The Book of Strange New Things(132)

Billy’s coping well, I think. Taking care of Sheila, sort of.

I could write about what’s been happening in Pakistan but it’s a huge topic and I very much doubt you’d want to hear about it anyway.

Joshua’s cowering under the table as if he thinks I’m going to kick him. I wish he would just curl up in his basket and go to sleep. I mean, let’s be honest, life really isn’t so bad for a cat. Instead he just skulks around. And he doesn’t sleep with me anymore, so I don’t even have the comfort of his physical presence.

I must have a rest. Big day today. Will write again tomorrow. Will you?

Love,

Bea

Peter vomited, then prayed. His head cleared, his guts were soothed with a fuzzy numbness, his fever – which only now he recognised as a fever – ebbed away. God was with him. What Bea was facing now, they had faced together many times in the past. Not the precise circumstances, but the feeling that life had become unbearably complicated, a tangled network of insoluble problems, each requiring all the others to be solved before any progress could be made. It was in the nature of a troubled soul to regard this as objective reality, a hard look at the grim facts that were revealed once the rose-coloured glasses were off. But this was a distortion, a tragic misconception. It was the frenzy of the moth butting against the lightbulb when there was an open window nearby. God was that open window.

The things that were worrying Bea were genuine and awful, but they were not beyond the power of God. In their lives together, Peter and Bea had been confronted with police harassment, financial ruin, eviction, a hate campaign by Bea’s father, the concerted opposition of local councils, malicious lawsuits, escalating vandalism, threats from knife-wielding gangsters, the theft of their car (twice) and a burglary so bad they were left with little more than their books and a stripped bed. In each case, they had appealed to the mercy of God. In each case, He had untangled the barbed wire of trouble with a firm, invisible hand. The police had suddenly apologised, an anonymous donor saved them from bankruptcy, the landlord had a change of heart, Bea’s father died, a Christian lawyer took on the council on their behalf and won, the threatened lawsuits melted away, the vandals were caught red-handed by Peter and ended up joining the church, the gangsters got jailed for rape, one stolen car was found undamaged and the other was replaced by a parishioner, and, when the burglars cleaned them out, the congregation showed such kindness and generosity that Peter and Bea’s faith in human goodness was boosted to ecstatic heights.

Dear Bea, he wrote.

Please don’t use the word ‘Godforsaken’. I know you’re upset and rightly so but we must honour with our mouths the fact that no one is truly forsaken by God. In all your distress, I get the feeling you’re not leaning on Him as trustingly as you might. Remember all the hundreds of times we’ve been at our wits’ end and He’s come through. Turn to Him now. He will provide. Philippians 4:6 reassures us: ‘Be careful for nothing (ie, don’t be anxious about anything), but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.’

I’m sorry I didn’t offer to come home early. I did think of it and was very strongly tempted by the idea but instead of airing it with you I struggled with it inside my own mind before I wrote. Apart from anything else I didn’t want to raise false hopes in case USIC told me it wasn’t possible. There is already a ship on the way, I gather, containing (no doubt among other things) another doctor to replace one that died.

I’m not as attached to staying here as you think. While it’s true that this mission is an extraordinary opportunity, the spread of God’s word has its own momentum and its own timescale, and I’m sure the Oasans could do marvellous things on their own, with the input I’ve had so far. The reality is that I will have to leave them in a few months anyway, and there’ll still be a lot to do. The Christian life is a journey, not a self-contained project. I am giving these people my all, but when I have to go, I’ll go, and my sights will then be set on our life back home.

Please try to reconnect with the love and protection that God has shown us in the past and which is waiting there to shield you now. Pray to Him. You won’t have to wait long for evidence of His hand. And if, in a few days, you still feel distraught, I will do my best to arrange to come home to you, even if it means forfeiting some of my payment. Whatever happens, I’m confident that I’ll be treated fairly. These are benign, well-intentioned people. My instincts about them are good.

As for the countryside, yes, I admit ignorance. But as Christians – and, again, with God’s help – we have the power to affect what sort of ethos a place has. I’m not saying there won’t be problems but we’ve had big problems in the city too and you’re currently having a horrendous time so could it really be worse? I’ve been spending most of my time outdoors here and there is something so calming about it. I would love to go walking with you in the sunshine and fresh air. And think how Joshua would adore it!

It will be your morning by the time you read this. I hope you slept well.

Love,

Peter

Having sent this message, Peter was clammy with sweat. And ravenous. He showered and dressed in clean trousers and T-shirt. Then he went to the mess hall and ordered himself the sausages and mash.

When he returned, he resumed work on the Bible booklets. Several of the Jesus Lovers had asked him about the parable of the Good Shepherd, the Hireling and the Sheep. He’d gently urged them to tackle a different episode, because this one involved sheep and wolves, two creatures they’d never seen, and besides, it was full of sibilant letters. But they insisted, as if worried that their natural limitations might prevent them from comprehending something utterly crucial. So, he was tinkering with it. For sheep, he could substitute whiteflower. God could be the Good Farmer, making sure that the crops were tended properly and picked at the correct times; the Hireling could be . . . what could the Hireling be? The Oasans knew nothing about money and recognised no difference between vocation and employment. And what about the conclusion of the story, where the Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep? A farmer couldn’t lay down his life for his crops. The whole parable was untranslatable. Yet the Jesus Lovers would not be fobbed off. He would have to teach them about sheep, wolves, shepherds, hirelings. It was an absurd challenge, although it might be worthwhile if it allowed the Oasans access to the concept of the Lamb of God.