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I'm A BelieverChapter 5 free porn video
Dulcie speaks;
Sometimes, God (I dare to criticise Him!) is rather slow to act. However, recently I’ve seen a most satisfactory situation. After what could have been a tragedy, I’ve watched a young woman who had suffered through a devastating experience come to a living faith. Coincidentally, she has found her soul-mate in the man who had quite possibly saved her life. That would be Joseph Hancock. He’s of interest, too – an occasional attender at St. Mary’s, but always a little ... detached, is the word, I think.
After Rebecca’s encounter with my Lord, I sent her home with the suggestion she needed to pray for Joe, and the next time we met I could tell that something had happened. I’m not one who tries to force the pace, though, however frustrating it may be to wait.
Rebecca continued in her studies, and Joe in his work as a seaman, a ‘sailorman’ in the local parlance. It’s a curious thing. Heritage sailing is inevitably a seasonal thing, and enthusiasts manage their obsession in various ways. Joe is a registered nurse, and works for an agency during the off-season. In his late twenties, he’s well off enough to own a (mortgaged) studio flat in a modern development, not too far from the Hythe Quay.
When Joe found Rebecca in the small hours of the morning, battered, abused and unconscious, something about her imprinted her on his heart and mind. He told me it was summed up in a song by a manufactured pop/rock group from the eighties, ‘I’m a Believer’. The song, by the way, refers to believing in love, rather than God, but I think the two go together. Anyway, Rebecca became interested in exploring the idea of Christian ministry. I prayed for her and she experienced an encounter with God, though without a clear indication of her direction for the future. In my experience, that’s not too unusual. I like to say, ‘put your hand into the hand of Jesus, and let Him lead you’. I suggested to Rebecca that she pray similarly for Joe. That had a similar result.
I was confident that they would find their way, but was concerned for Rebecca’s parents and continued to pray for them. Joe took his fiancée to visit his parents, who welcomed her with open arms. They had, they told me, worried about his solitary state.
The wedding – the formal wedding, that is – was arranged for the last Saturday in June, after Rebecca’s last ‘A’ level exam.
Out of the blue, however, Rebecca’s father turned up on the Rectory doorstep. I always say that there’re no coincidences in the life of a child of God, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that it happened while I was actually there, rather than out visiting. Liina answered the door, with Sara toddling alongside – Peter, now a ‘big boy’, was in school.
I heard the doorbell, and Liina’s steps to answer it, then a man’s voice. “I’m looking for Rebecca Upthorpe.”
After a brief hesitation, Liina said, “She’ll be in school right now. If you’d like to come in, I’ll see if...” another hesitation, “Reverend Dulcie will see you.”
Some confused noises, then Liina’s footsteps along the hall, then she popped her head round the open door of my study.
“I heard,” I smiled at her. “Why don’t you bring him down?”
More steps, and I stood and moved round my desk into the middle of the room to greet my visitor. When he entered the room, he took the hand I offered with a firm squeeze.
“Missus ... Reverend ... Chesterman. Thank you for seeing me. I was hoping to find my daughter.”
I sized him up carefully, and, actually, liked what I was seeing. “May I ask why?” I hoped my voice lacked any element of criticism.
He nodded. “I have been convicted...” he sighed. “Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” He shook his head. “My wife is still angry with Rebecca, but I cannot help but repent of driving her away. Reverend...”
“Why don’t you call me Dulcie, Mister Upthorpe?”
“Well... Dulcie... if we’re to be on first-name terms, I’m Don. You’ll understand, I hope, that in our church we’re,” he hesitated, as if groping for the right word, “quite formal.”
I smiled. “Don, the Church is a family. I may be the Rector, but I don’t set myself up as superior. Indeed, as Jesus commanded, I am the ‘servant of all’. But you were seeking Rebecca. She is in school, preparing for her ‘A’ level exams. She’s engaged to be married and – please don’t judge – she’s living with her fiancé. She is a good girl, Don, and has found a living faith in the Lord and Saviour of all.”
“I see.” he sighed deeply. “I cannot judge her in this, though I expect her mother will. Do you think she’ll be willing to see me?”
“I would hope so. Do you have a mobile phone?”
“I do. Can anyone manage without, these days?”
I laughed. “You might be surprised. I know quite a few Luddites! Don, I need to work on my sermon for Sunday. I’ll text Rebecca and Joe, and see if they’ll meet you. In the meantime, why don’t you take a walk by the river? If you need refreshment, there are any number of places down there to get food and drink. Please don’t leave Maldon without calling in.”
“I’ll do that ... Dulcie.”
I showed him out and checked that Liina was prepared to feed more than the immediate family, then returned to my study.
I got a quick response from Joe, but not from Rebecca. As Joe was working on a barge by the quay, he suggested a meeting there, and I communicated that to Don Upthorpe.
Rebecca;
I forgot to switch my phone on. But I walked from school down to the Hythe anyway to meet Joe. I could see him, talking to a man aft on Reminder. I’d crossed Thistle to get there before I had any inkling of what I was seeing. The man turned at the sound of my feet on the steel deck.
“Rebecca...”
“Father?” I’m a bit stiff with him.
“I’m sorry...”
He actually looks and sounds sorry, and I relaxed a little. “Mother?”
“Still the same.”
“Oh.” I took a couple of steps toward him, and he spread his arms. Suddenly, I don’t know how, I was there, wrapped up in his arms. It was almost as good as being in Joe’s arms.
“Sweetie,” he went on, “I’m really sorry you felt you had to run away, and I’m desperately sorry about what happened to you.”
I leaned back a little so I could look up at him. “It was horrible,” I acknowledged, “but now, I’ve found a happy place. It was worth it to find Joe, and even more so to meet Jesus.”
“I don’t understand...”
“When I was in hospital, Dulcie visited and prayed for me, and I had a vision of Jesus, holding my hand and weeping. Then, when I was thinking about becoming a minister, she prayed for me again, and He was there again, and laid a hand on me, and said ‘receive the Spirit’...” I thought it better to not go into details – speaking in tongues is not well thought of in my parents’ church. Actually, the sort of experience I’ve described is not well thought of; it’s ‘wilful self-delusion’, if not demonic. (Satan is real and active, but the Holy Spirit isn’t? Don’t go there.)
He was silent, then, for a minute or so, though he continued to hold me. But then, “Rebecca, can you forgive me?”
It was my turn to hesitate, but I knew what the answer had to be. I nodded before saying, “Dad, I forgive you. I’ll continue to pray for mother, and you.”
“You’re getting married.”
“I am. Once my exams are over.”
“May I be there?”
“Of course! You’ll need to walk me down the aisle!”
That shocked him, I think. “You want me to walk you down the aisle?” His voice broke in the middle of that.
“Yes, Dad.”
He released me and turned away, rummaging in his pocket for a handkerchief. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my father registering any emotion.
He turned back. “Rebecca, thank you. I need to get home, and Dulcie wants me to call in before I leave the town. Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Between Dulcie and Joe, I have everything I need.”
He nodded, though I thought he looked sad, and turned back to Joe. “Look after my little girl, Joe.”
“I will, sir. She’s precious to me.”
They shook hands. My father then shocked me by kissing me on the forehead before striding away.
Joe;
Here we are. Twenty-eight (almost twenty-nine) year old, Sailing Barge Mate in the sailing season, agency nurse in the off-season. Motorcyclist. Married – unofficially, as yet, the legalities at the end of June. My fiancée? Eighteen, party at the Rectory. Ran away from a crushingly restrictive home about a year ago, she was picked up, drugged, abducted and abused, then dumped for me to find quite by accident. Dulcie would say ‘no accidents’, and I’m not arguing, really. Something – perhaps an arrow from Cupid’s bow – hit me the first time I saw her and I haven’t been the same since. She’s been sailing with me now and then and enjoyed it, but has got the idea of being ‘like Dulcie – a minister’. She went to see Dulcie to talk about that, and came back glowing, wanting to pray for me. For the first time in my life I had a religious experience. That should be ‘spiritual experience’ I suppose. Church is more meaningful, now.
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