MY EYES ARE ON YOU LORD
But mine eyes are unto Thee, O God the LORD: in Thee is my trust; leave not my soul destitute. Psalm 141:8
Samantha just left to saddle Bella. I’m surprised she didn’t drink a second cup of coffee with me. She normally bubbles with joy and conversation in the mornings, but today she quietly packed a lunch, kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll be home for supper, Mama. I’m checking over the property.”
I was deep in thought, but I came out of it when she squeezed my shoulder. Her wedding is only weeks away. The transition from a carefree woman to a wife with responsibilities may be on her mind. She’s still a child in many ways. I’ve tried to talk with her, but she evades my questions. Both of us are dealing with the changes upon us. I miss Samuel.
Images of him sweeten with the years. He was supposed to grow old with me. But here I sit . . . drinking coffee by myself at the table he made. Middle-age looms. My dark roots have some silver at the temples. There’s an eagerness inside my heart that causes me to toss and turn at night. Discontent with my current life grows daily.
I am concerned that Samantha’s not chattering away about her wedding. I wonder if she and Matthew have had words. Come to think of it, she hasn’t been smiling lately or spending much time at his ranch. She’s been roaming all over our place like she used to do with Samuel. I wish she would talk to me. I wonder, is she letting go of the land she loves? She doesn’t know it’s to be a wedding gift for them.
Matthew Clark has asked her several times about making his ranch house her own. She says there’s plenty of time . . . after the marriage. Humm . . . she must be nervous about all the changes in her life. We’re very close. I wish she would come to me for advice, but for some reason she isn’t seeking my guidance. If only her papa could be here for her.
The thought of being alone in this big house depresses me. I feel trapped in a dream that no longer exists. Samuel wanted to fill all these rooms with children. The countless miscarriages changed those plans. We were so thankful when Samantha was born. He taught her all the things he would have taught his son. She rides better than most men.
When my husband died, I was overwhelmed by grief and fear. Memories of our last day and night together have been such a comfort through the years. I have treasured each word he spoke in love . . . the sound of his laughter . . . the feel of his arms locking us inside a world of our own. I’m so thankful our last hours together were good ones.
God, being merciful, sent Samuel to me in my dreams. Peace returned for the night. My husband held me in his arms just like always. He assured me that he was okay. That Samantha and I would be okay. That repose would vanish with the morning light. As soon as I realized he wasn’t with me, familiar pain filled my chest.
I couldn’t believe that God had allowed such a tragedy to fall onto us. I was angry. Samuel loved the Lord. He belonged to Him. I asked why, but no verses came to mind. It took me the better part of a year to understand that God wasn’t going to explain why He broke my heart. I needed to accept His will and move on with life.
In my anguish, I remembered when Samuel had read the book of Job to me. I heard his deep voice, as I searched the verses for understanding. Lord, why must we suffer such unbearable grief? That poor man couldn’t understand why either, but his faith stood out to me. He said even if God killed him, he would trust Him. With time, I have come to that conclusion myself.
If Job had known why God was allowing such pain, he would’ve still grieved for his losses, but I think it would have comforted him to know his loss was God’s gain. Why? Job loved Him. The Lord had a reason. He always does. I can’t even begin to imagine the reason, but I like to think that Samuel’s death was God’s gain.
I’ve accepted that being a widow was God’s will for my life. That mountain of grief was a hard one. Samuel, my stronger, better half, wasn’t beside me. I don’t know if I would’ve made it to the top without Samantha. She needed me. I had to be strong for her, but the truth is . . . I needed her desperately. She looks like me, but she’s Samuel. He was such a joy-filled man. He loved life, and he loved me.
Samantha is all of those children that we wanted rolled into one. Our “miracle child” was very close to her papa. During that time of unbearable grief, she was holding onto me and asking questions I struggled to answer. I wanted to curl into a knot and just forget about life. But I kept climbing, until we scaled that mountain.
The Clarks were very kind and helpful during that dreadful time. Samuel and I had been friends with them since we moved here. Matthew and Samantha grew closer. He was fond of her papa. I have watched him grow into a wise man that Samuel would have loved. He has suffered much grief in his short life. His older brother left the ranch and was disowned by his father. When his parents were killed, Samantha was there for him.
As soon as I stopped wearing black, the offers of marriage started. I was repulsed by them. Samuel’s love cannot ever be replaced. He had left me prosperous and prepared. I was able to take care of his child and myself. I never mentioned the offers to anyone. I tried to forget them as soon as I walked away from the man proposing.
When we first married, Samuel taught me many things. One was to use a gun. He had me practice with it until he was satisfied that I was comfortable with it. He worried about snakes that might cross my path, and evil of other kinds. He wasted no time teaching his daughter not to fear guns. She wears a pistol when she rides.
Every moment of raising Samantha has been such a joy for me. Even when she was ill. Not a day has passed that I haven’t mourned Samuel’s absence from our lives. He missed so much of knowing her. She was a child when he died. He would be amazed at the beautiful woman that calls me “Mama,” and “friend.”
I miss the little girl that once lived in this house . . . the baby, too. I long for the man that rolled on the floor and played with that child and held the baby. If I don’t leave, I may lose my mind. When the light is too dim to crochet, I see them together in the shadows. I hear his voice laughing, along with childish giggling. I hear her say, “Papa.”
The cycle of life is a natural sequence of change. Thankfully, changes come slowly with children. I already miss her, but I want her happy. I missed my mama when I married, but oh the joy of being Samuel’s wife. I wish that for her. For several years, I have accepted that she’s going to leave me for Matthew Clark. He’ll be the son I never had.
When I designed the vardo, the builder had said it looked like a dollhouse. That’s what I named it. I would take Samantha places locally, and we’d camp for days on end. I never told her what my heart longed to do. While she enjoyed the change of pace, I was quietly dreaming of the ocean, meeting different people and seeing places without memories. Even the animals enjoyed our break from our very ordinary routines.
It’s when I read The Journals of Lewis and Clark, that my daydreams suddenly turned into a real plan. I relished reading about their journey. They met different peoples and discovered new lands, plants, and animals. How exhilarating is that? Each day was an exciting, and often risky adventure. Yes, there were problems and dangers, but I refuse to live in fear of anything. Well, except for God.
I long for a fresh start in my life. What’s left of it. But . . . I can’t help but wonder, am I selfish to walk away from Samuel’s labor and our dreams? To be honest, those dreams were buried with him. These last seven years were lived for our daughter. This place prospered, because of the men my husband hired to work it. The last one left us two months ago. Family needed him.
I believe Samuel would approve of my decision, but he might be concerned for Samantha. I’m leaving her in good hands. The boy he hoped that she would marry has turned into a powerful man. Matthew is quiet, but I sense his strength and love for my child. Samantha bubbles, while he seems cool, calm and collected. Still waters run deep.
I believe God also approves of my odyssey. I’ve asked him to place His wings over me, The Dollhouse, and the animals. I’ve asked Him to help Samantha as she leaves the nest and tests her wings. I’ve asked Him to help her understand why I must refocus and find a purpose for my life. I sense her inner struggle. I pray she’ll have clarity and peace.
After the wedding, I would like to begin this adventure. I’m hoping that Samantha will understand. I won’t be present for the births of her children, but my mother wasn’t here with me. I do feel some remorse about putting my dream ahead of any possible grandchildren. My heart is regretful, yet it longs for the unknown. My soul seeks the mystery of the bend in the road.
Suddenly, Proverbs 27:20 comes to mind. Hell, and destruction are never full; so, the eyes of man are never satisfied. Is this a form of greed in me, Lord? Are my eyes never satisfied? Why did You bring that verse to mind? Am I wrong to long for new faces? For new experiences? To test my personal limits? Help me Lord to know Your will.
Instantly, Joshua 1:9 comes to mind. Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest. I feel such relief, as I bow my head and gives thanks. I knew God was with me on this decision. Telling Samantha is my next challenge.
Dear Readers, are you curious about “the mystery of the bend in the road?” Agatha Beckett is in for some surprises on her journey to the ocean. If you would like to follow her unique odyssey, you may order My Eyes Are On You Lord as an eBook. It’s available on this blog and at Barnes and Noble. Search them by my name, Patricia Gunn Hall. I would love to have feedback from you. Your input helps me to become a better writer.
