Searching Moments

Gwen woke up suddenly. She reached to turn on the touch lamp, and in a surprisingly graceful movement for a woman of her generous size, rolled out of bed.

She made straight for her walk-in closet, shrugging into her dressing gown en route. This closet, in the ‘granny flat’ extension of the old weatherboard farmhouse, was her favourite place on earth. It contained only two pieces of furniture: a leather chair draped with a colourwash quilt and a small bookcase overflowing with devotional books. There was a clothes rail, but no clothes hung from it. Peppered over the walls and door, secured by Blutack, was a plethora of maps, photographs, church bulletins and newspaper clippings. Gwen took her reading glasses out of her dressing gown pocket and flicked on the light switch inside the tiny, windowless room. Now she could shut the closet door.

Settling into the chair, she tucked the quilt around her knees before picking up her Bible and prayer diary from the top shelf of the bookcase. She flicked through the diary. On each page were two columns: the first was headed Prayer Requests and the second Date Answered. The subjects in the first set of columns ranged from her grandson’s school project to natural disasters in far-flung parts of the world. A smile of satisfaction appeared on her face as she scrolled down the second set of columns, noting the number of dates filled in. For everything there is a season, she thought.

Then she noted a concerning pattern; there were no entries next to a variety of requests on behalf of a particular young woman. Gwen looked up. Her eyes focused directly upon a photograph of this very person. The image, showing a lovely but serious girl in her twenties, was stuck crookedly beneath the map of Australia. Gwen cleared her lap, and stood up. As she reached for the girl’s photo, she accidentally knocked sideways a newspaper picture of an Israeli soldier. He was shown praying at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, his forehead pressed against the stone.

Gwen righted the newspaper clipping and then picked up the photograph. Jacinda. Brenda’s daughter. She held it for a moment, face up in the palm of her hand, before turning it over to see what she had written on the back:

We know

All things

Work together

For good …

She murmured, “It’s time to push.” Pray Until Something Happens.