“He feels as I do, Tyler. We will join you in praying for wisdom and clarity for you to hear from God. If He is speaking to you, you must listen.”
“But how will I know if this is actually God speaking to me or if it’s just my own thoughts made to seem that way?”
“Discernment is a discipline. That is why you must fast and pray and ask God to show you His way. Bishop Ott is praying for you even now. As am I. And your grandmother. We are already praying for you to hear from God. Like the prophets of old, if you ask Him for wisdom, He will answer with wisdom.”
I didn’t doubt for a moment that Bishop Ott’s counsel was wise, but I didn’t know what that meant for the here and now. “And what do I do in the meantime?”
My grandfather reached out a strong arm to touch my shoulder. “That is all you do, Tyler. You pray and ask for wisdom. Do not rest until you have it.”
I spent the following week in a concerted effort to hear from God—fasting for the first twenty-four hours, rising each day earlier than usual to pray on my knees at my bedside, returning again and again to the quiet of the pond because that was where I first felt that flickering summons of unrest.
Mammi still said nothing to me about what we were all quietly praying for, though several times that week she reached out her hand to touch my face or my arm when she served me at the table, and her eyes spoke encouragement mixed with apprehension.
During the day, I kept my mind on the work I had at the buggy shop. We had a new hydraulic brake we were putting into all of our buggies, and I had a week’s worth of retrofits to keep my hands busy while I listened for an answer from God.
By that Friday, I was getting weary of the diligence this sort of prayer required. I knew God did not always answer prayers in a swift manner, but I felt a growing sense of urgency as the week ended. Everything that related to the rest of my life—baptism, church membership, marriage to Rachel—hinged on God’s answers to these prayers.
On Sunday morning, I woke well before the sun. It was not a worship Sunday, so I crept downstairs, grabbed my jacket, and quietly opened the mudroom door. I could feel the change in the air the moment I stepped outside. It was early yet for snow, but overnight a heavy frost had fallen, and I was greeted by a rousing chill. My breath came out in puffy clouds as I whistled softly for Timber.
Once he joined me, we walked across the pasture to the windmill and then took the well-worn path down to the pond, icy grass crunching under my boots. The surface of the water was lightly frozen around the edges, and I was tempted to break the thin layer of ice so that I could see my reflection, so I could search for the me on the other side. I didn’t, though. Somehow it didn’t seem right to disturb what the finger of God had done overnight.
As Timber made his usual sniffing tour of the shoreline, I knelt there at the bank, closed my eyes, and prayed with renewed vigor.
Lord, You know all things. You know what has been keeping me awake at night and dropping me to my knees in the morning. I don’t want to feel restless and unsettled anymore. I humbly ask that You would reveal to me whether You are testing me or tugging me. Show me what to do. Show me…
I stayed there until after the sun rose, long after Timber had trotted back to the house. My limbs were stiff and cold when I finally stood and left the pond, but my vision was no clearer than it had been when I had arrived. Back at the stables, after I fed a hungry dog and tended to the horses, the morning passed slowly. I shared a quiet breakfast with my grandparents but otherwise kept to myself. No answer came the rest of that day, or the next few days after that.
It wasn’t until the following Thursday, in fact, that my answer seemed to come. I was in the buggy shop finishing up a brake job when the phone rang. My cousin Harley answered it.
“It’s for you, Ty,” he said after a moment, turning toward me.
I put down my tools and took the receiver from him, a bit puzzled. The phone was primarily for staying in contact with our suppliers on the outside. I hardly ever used it and wasn’t expecting a call from anyone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Tyler.”
The voice on the other end of the line was my father’s.
SEVEN
It took me a few moments to grasp the notion that my dad had called me on an ordinary Thursday in October. We usually only talked to each other on special occasions, never just to chat. In fact, the last time we’d spoken had been when he’d called me on my birthday, seven months earlier.
My first thought was that something terrible had happened, but his voice didn’t sound upset.
“Dad, how are you?” I asked, the only question I could think of as I moved away from the noise of the shop’s interior and closer to the outside door.
“I’m doing well. And you?”
“Um…I’m good. Is something wrong? Is everybody okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m calling because I need to ask a favor.”