Thirty-Two
Nate paced the length of his boyhood bedroom and rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. If he had to remain under his parents’ roof another day—if he had to live under this cloud of oppression, not knowing what the future held for him—he would go mad. The impending birth of Daria and Cole’s child had put everything on hold, and while he knew Daria had never planned for events to unfold the way they had, still the waiting was excruciating.
She had to make a decision. He knew it wasn’t fair under the circumstances to rush her, but he had to know what she wanted to do. He had made his intentions very clear: She was his wife, and he still loved her. He wanted to raise their daughter together, wanted to make up together for the lost years of his life—of their life.
Still he struggled with feelings of anger—toward Daria for leaving him behind in Colombia, toward the Chicoro for refusing to help him, toward Juan Mocoa for ensuring his captivity, and finally, toward God for allowing any of this to happen in the first place. And yet he knew that on Daria’s part, it had all been a tragic mistake.
He bowed his head and prayed the prayer that had become his watchword over the last days: “Father, forgive them. And help me to forgive them. Help me to forgive Daria. She couldn’t have known.”
He thought again of the child to whom Daria would soon give birth. Cole’s child, if it lived, would complicate matters immensely, but Nate was completely willing to take it in, to raise it as his own. His father assured him that any court would quickly grant Daria custody of the child with reasonable visitation rights for Cole Hunter. Nate was even prepared to allow Natalie to have visitation with Hunter. After all, the man was the only father she’d known until now. It was obvious that he loved her—and that she loved him as well. Hunter seemed like a decent man, a reasonable man.
A twinge of guilt rose in him, and it made him furious. Why should he feel guilty for wanting to be reunited with the woman he loved and the daughter he’d never had a chance to know? He felt deep sympathy for Colson Hunter. He knew it would be a huge grief to give up Daria—and yes, Natalie, too. Of course he knew that! Hadn’t he been forced to do that very thing? He had no doubt that Hunter loved Daria and Natalie both deeply. But right was right. A man belonged with his wife and child.
He wished he could have some time to talk to Daria, find out what she was feeling. He’d learned from his mother that Hunter had stayed in Kansas City, that he was visiting Daria every day in the hospital. That fact scared him to death. He could only imagine the kind of bond that waiting for this child had formed between them.
His heartbeat quickened, and he felt the bile rise in his throat. It was wrong to let himself become so angry. He knew the only right thing was to leave this in God’s hands. He held his scarred hands in front of him and despised the fact that they were trembling. He longed for the sense of peace that he’d been granted so many times before. How strange that in the danger and squalor of a jungle prison he had known that peace, yet in the affluent luxury of this house, in the safety of this free country, it eluded him.
He crossed the room and picked up the Bible that lay open on his dresser. Leafing aimlessly through the thin pages, his eyes were drawn to the twelfth chapter of the book of John. He read the words, whispered them aloud, seeking comfort in the very pronunciation of the syllables.
The truth is, a kernel of wheat must be planted in the soil. Unless it dies it will be alone—a single seed. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives. Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who despise their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. All those who want to be my disciples must come and follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And if they follow me, the Father will honor them.
At first the words were meaningless, but as he continued on, they seeped slowly into his heart, the words of Jesus echoing the cry of his heart.
Now my soul is deeply troubled. Should I pray, “Father, save me from what lies ahead”? But that is the very reason why I came! Father, bring glory to your name.
He wasn’t sure exactly what the words meant for him, but nonetheless he sensed that they were for him. He knew the context in which they had been spoken. They were Jesus’ words before he went to his death on the cross. Suddenly he felt that precious peace begin to flow over him, to fill him up.
He flipped the pages, anxious to be comforted, anxious to discover just what the words meant for Nathan Camfield. He read on:
In his kindness God called you to his eternal glory by means of Jesus Christ. After you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation. All power is his forever and ever. Amen.
He had surely suffered for more than a little while. Was this God’s promise that his suffering would soon come to an end? Was this confirmation that Daria would choose to make her life with him? Was that the restoration God meant for him?
He turned the passages over and over in his mind, knowing the answer was there, but not quite getting a grasp on the true meaning of it. And yet, there was no anxiety, no fear connected to this unknown. Only peace.
He lay down on top of the quilt on his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling, but seeing far beyond it.
Scenes of Colombia materialized before him, and he felt a longing, a physical homesickness like he hadn’t experienced since he’d gone to camp the summer he was eight. He missed his Timoné family. They still thought him dead, and he longed to see them, to tell them of God’s goodness to him even while he had been imprisoned. He feared they had felt deserted by Daria and him—and perhaps by God. He prayed that Anazu had not grown weary of seeking God’s truth. He prayed that the man’s wife and daughter continued to walk in faith toward God.
After a long while, he rose to shave and dress.