Chapter 41
Benjamin sat in the church pew with one arm wrapped firmly around Summer, the other holding the hymnal they shared. He’d been terrified to open his eyes yesterday morning, afraid he had only dreamed that he’d held her all night. But when he’d finally found the courage to open them, she was right there, in his arms. And waking up with her in the same place this morning—well, he was ruined for life. He never wanted to wake up without her again.
Please, Lord, he prayed as the hymn ended. Don’t let me lose her.
A plastic dinosaur landed on Benjamin’s knee, and he smiled down at Max. Him either, Lord.
He had checked his phone a million times yesterday and this morning, even though he knew it was unlikely that Judah’s office would get back to him over the weekend. But it was driving him crazy that there was nothing he could do for these two people he loved other than wait and pray.
As Pastor Cooper, Beautiful Savior’s youth pastor, moved to the pulpit for the sermon, Benjamin’s knee bounced, and Summer’s hand fell softly onto it. He stilled, turning to find her smiling gently at him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, and she nodded and rested her head on his shoulder just long enough for him to drop a kiss on her hair.
“Well, y’all,” Pastor Cooper began. “When I was a kid and people would ask me what my favorite part of school was, I always had a ready answer: recess.” He grinned as the congregation laughed. Benjamin smiled. He always enjoyed the youth pastor’s light sense of humor.
“I mean, of course it was. It was easy, right?” Pastor Cooper went on. “And fun. And I was really, really good at it. But—” The pastor held up a finger. “I had an equally quick answer for my least favorite part of school: tests. Because they were the exact opposite of recess. Hard. Not fun. And I was really, really bad at them. It could be a test on a subject I had down cold, something I’d studied for hours, but the moment the teacher put that test in front of me, I froze. You want to know one of my favorite parts of being a grown-up?” He grinned. “No more tests.”
The congregation laughed, but Pastor Cooper’s grin faded. “Or are there?” He paused and scanned the congregation. “Only these tests are harder. They’re not on paper. They’re in our hearts. In our lives. I’ve gone through them, and so have you. Trials and hurts and heartaches of every kind imaginable.” He shook his head. “I’d list them, but the list is pretty much endless, isn’t it? And they’re worse than any test we ever took in school. Because these tests—they’re not about a grade. They’re about our lives.”
Benjamin’s eyes traveled the pews that held his family. Between them, they’d been through more than their share of tests like that. And they’d all handled them with grace and faith. All except Benjamin. He felt like he’d messed up every single test of faith he’d been given over the past two months.
“And if I’m completely honest,” Pastor Cooper continued. “I like these tests even less than school tests. And I feel like I do worse on them too. I freeze up. I ask, ‘Lord, why is this happening to me?’ I cry, ‘Lord, why aren’t you doing anything?’ I accuse, ‘Lord, you must not love me.’ And then,” he sighed dramatically and shook his head. “I try to take matters into my own hands. Instead of trusting in the Lord.”
Benjamin stared at the pulpit, realization slowly stabbing into his conscience. What Pastor Cooper was describing—that was exactly what he’d done when he’d married Summer. He had been sure that God wouldn’t—maybe couldn’t—take care of the situation, so he’d taken things into his own hands, followed his own ways.
“Well,” Pastor Cooper said, turning cheerful. “My mama always told me the best way to be prepared for a test is to study.” He tapped the Bible that rested on the pulpit. “And I can’t think of a better book to prepare us for our tests of faith than this one. Lots of people in here faced tests of their faith. I mean, we could go back and start at the beginning, right? Adam and Eve in the garden. Their faith was tested when God forbade them to eat from one single tree in the garden. One tree out of hundreds, maybe thousands, was off limits. And they— Oh hold on. They’re not a good example. They failed the test. Okay, skip them. Let’s go to Abraham. There’s a guy who was tested many a time. God asked him to leave his home and everything he knew and travel to a distant land. And Abraham faithfully went. He brought his wife Sarah with him—and was afraid that Pharaoh might kill him so that he could take Sarah as his own wife. He didn’t think God had taken that into account. So Abraham pretended that Sarah was his sist— Oh wait, hold on. He failed the test too, didn’t he?”
Pastor Cooper rubbed at his hair, as if thinking, then held up a finger. “Okay, I’ve got one. Peter. Surely if ever there was an example of someone who passed the test, it must be Peter. He eagerly followed Jesus. He was the first to speak up whenever anyone had a problem with the message of his Lord. He boldly declared that he would die before he would betray Jesus. And then . . . He denied knowing Jesus three times in one night.” Pastor Cooper hung his head and sighed. “This is sounding kind of bleak, isn’t it? Is there no one who can pass the test?”
He lifted his head again, his brow wrinkled but his smile wide. “Only one. And you know who it is. Jesus. He passed all the tests for us. He kept God’s law perfectly. He never once messed up. Never once let fear or worries or hardships lead him astray. He remained perfectly in God’s will always.”
Benjamin leaned forward, restlessness prickling his soul as Pastor Cooper continued, “The thing is, as much as we know that, it doesn’t always make going through the tests any easier. We’d rather skip them altogether. Is there any point to them anyway? James 1:2-4 tells us, ‘Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.’ And 1 Peter 1:6-7 says, ‘In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.’”
The pastor looked up. “So yeah, there’s a point. A pretty big one. These tests refine our faith—our most precious possession. They teach us to persevere—not in ourselves, but in the Lord and his ways, so that our faith may become mature and lacking nothing.”
The pastor let his gaze sweep over the congregation. “Passing the test doesn’t mean having all the right answers. It means surrendering to God and trusting that he does.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “You know, there’s another person who faced some pretty enormous tests who I didn’t mention earlier. Job. I don’t think any of us ever want to be tested the way he was. And Job didn’t really want to be either. He tried to argue with God, to tell him how things should be. But in the end, Job had to confess, ‘Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.’ He couldn’t make that confession on his own. He could only make it after God reminded him who he was—and who God is.”
Pastor Cooper smiled. “We can’t make that confession on our own either. Left to our own devices, we’ll fall and fail just as badly as Adam and Eve, as Abraham, as Peter. But Jesus promises that he forgives us for those failures. That’s the whole reason he passed every test. So he could take that perfection to the cross, where he gave it up for you and for me. He exchanged his perfection for our sin. Which means that when God looks at you, he sees an A+ on every one of your tests. He sees Christ’s perfect score written on your paper. And because of that, he promises that with every trial, ‘you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.’ Amen.”
Benjamin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Summer turned to him. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
He nodded. He thought he was now.
Pastor Cooper led the congregation in prayer, and Benjamin bowed his head to add his own plea. Forgive me for doubting and blaming you, Lord, for not trusting in you. Please show me how to surrender to you. How to trust that you have the answers for Summer and Max and their health. He paused, wrestling with himself for a moment, then added, Let your will be done. Whatever it may be. Amen.
After the service, they chatted with his family for a while, all of whom promised to keep Summer and Max in their prayers. On the way out to the parking lot, Benjamin pulled his phone out of his pocket to check it, mostly out of habit. But the notification from Judah set his heart racing. All right, Lord, he admitted silently. You do know what you’re doing.
He held it out to Summer, and her eyes widened. “This Wednesday? We can’t. You’re supposed to fly out to Atlanta.”
“I’ll cancel.” In all the commotion of the last few days, he’d almost forgotten he was supposed to see Ian, but there was no way he was going to delay getting Summer and Max to Cleveland.
“Benjamin, you can’t. Your friend already bought the tickets, and—”
“He’ll understand,” Benjamin reassured her. Actually, he wasn’t at all sure that was true, but he didn’t care.
“What about Mama?” Summer asked.
“I’ll mow her lawn this afternoon while you get her groceries. Then I’ll make a few meals to stick in her freezer, and Dad can stop by to check on her.”
“But—”
“Summer.” Benjamin grabbed her arm as they reached the car. “We’re going.”
She watched him a moment, then nodded.
“Good.” He caught her lips in a quick kiss. Then he moved to open her door and Max’s.
“You want to take a trip, Maxerooni?” he asked the boy.
And Max gave exactly the response he was waiting for: “Boy oh boy!”