A Steadfast Surrender Read online

  A STEADFAST SURRENDER

  “This may well be Nancy Moser’s best novel yet. A wonderfully entertaining story that will have book discussion groups all over the country buzzing.”

  DEBORAH RANEY, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF A SCARLET CORD AND BENEATH A SOUTHERN SKY

  “If you felt that God was asking you to sell everything you own and follow Him blindly, would you do it? A Steadfast Surrender is a wonderfully compelling tale of someone who does just that. Yet Nancy digs deep beyond the single act of obedience and gets to the heart of our desire and struggle to hear God’s voice. This gripping drama will challenge your own spiritual journey—what I love best in a novel!”

  CLAY JACOBSEN, AUTHOR OF INTERVIEW WITH THE DEVIL

  “Nancy Moser writes compelling fiction that teaches. As I read A Steadfast Surrender, I couldn’t help but reevaluate my own obedience to the one I call Lord. You won’t want this story to end.”

  LOIS RICHER, AUTHOR OF THE CAMP HOPE SERIES

  “A Steadfast Surrender—an out-of-the-ordinary reading experience that’s probing and daring. Try it!”

  LYN COTE, AUTHOR OF AUTUMN’S SHADOW

  “A Steadfast Surrender is a challenge to every reader to listen a little more closely to that still, small voice of God; to boldly take the path few others have chosen; to seek God’s will in every situation. Nancy Moser’s witty style will keep the reader enveloped in the lives of the citizens of Steadfast, Kansas, through the final revelation of God’s plan for them.”

  HANNAH ALEXANDER, AUTHOR OF THE HEALING TOUCH SERIES

  “Once again, Nancy Moser manages to weave drama, a bit of suspense, and spiritual challenge into an entertaining whole, complete with a surprise ending.”

  JANELLE BURNHAM SCHNEIDER, AUTHOR OF RIVER OF PEACE

  THE SEAT BESIDE ME

  “Nancy Moser delivers a fast-paced, absorbing story in The Seat Beside Me. I didn’t want to put it down!”

  ROBIN LEE HATCHER, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF RIBBON OF YEARS AND COAUTHOR OF THE STORY JAR

  “A powerfully dramatic story that forces the reader to wonder, How many times have I been spared? After reading The Seat Beside Me, you will never sit by a stranger without the realization that every encounter is God appointed.”

  VONETTE ZACHARY BRIGHT, COFOUNDER OF CAMPUS CRUSADE FOR CHRIST

  “Nancy Moser is a wonderful storyteller whose novels plumb the depths of spiritual issues. The Seat Beside Me is no exception. It will keep you reading—and stay with you long after the last page.”

  JAMES SCOTT BELL, AUTHOR OF DEADLOCK

  “Vividly written, heart-wrenching drama that brings haunting TV footage to life. A powerful story of how lives are changed by a hero’s heart.”

  DEBORAH BEDFORD, AUTHOR OF A ROSE BY THE DOOR AND COAUTHOR OF THE STORY JAR

  THE INVITATION

  “A riveting allegory of the process of salvation and God’s desire to direct lives and utilize the talents he has given each person to touch the lives of others…. The plot moves quickly and the literary style makes this book difficult to put down.”

  CHRISTIAN LIBRARY JOURNAL

  THE QUEST

  “Nancy weaves a fascinating story showing how God uses ordinary people in extraordinary ways. Get ready for a page-turner!”

  KAREN KINGSBURY, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF HALFWAY TO FOREVER AND ON EVERY SIDE

  THE TEMPTATION

  “Nancy Moser deftly melds page-turning suspense with engaging characters and solid biblical truth. Along with the two prequels, The Temptation deserves shelf space with spiritual warfare classics like those of Frank Peretti!”

  CINDY SWANSON, PRODUCER/HOST OF WEEKEND MAGAZINE RADIO SHOW, ROCKFORD, IL

  I dedicate this book

  to the steadfast life and love of my parents,

  Lyle and Marge Young

  Thank you, Dad and Mom, for everything.

  NOVELS BY NANCY MOSER

  The Ultimatum

  A Steadfast Surrender

  The Seat Beside Me

  Time Lottery

  Second Time Around (November 2004)

  THE MUSTARD SEED SERIES:

  The Invitation

  The Quest

  The Temptation

  THE SISTER CIRCLE SERIES:

  (Coauthored with Vonette Bright)

  The Sister Circle

  ’Round the Corner

  An Undivided Heart

  A Place to Belong (Spring 2005)

  You will keep in perfect peace

  him whose mind is steadfast,

  because he trusts in you.

  ISAIAH 26:3

  Prologue

  His eyes are on the ways of men; he sees their every step.

  There is no dark place, no deep shadow, where evildoers can hide.

  JOB 34:21-22

  THE GIRL WRAPPED THE PILLOW around her ears, muffling the argument in the kitchen above her. She hated when grown-ups fought. Before her parents were killed, they had fought. A lot. Never caring if she heard. Wanting her to hear?

  She couldn’t blame words for her pain. Words didn’t kill. In fact, death made most words as worthless as a puff of air in the wind. “Don’t worry, Sim, everything will be all right.”

  She expelled her own puff of air and let the pillow fall free, allowing her aunt and uncle’s shouts to reach her. Their words were meaningless. Powerless. They couldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t let them.

  The basement darkness was so thick it throbbed like a smothering blanket. Her uncle had given her a night-light to help her find her way to the toilet in the unfinished storeroom nearby, but the girl chose the dark. It matched the color of her life. She didn’t need—didn’t want—a room with a moon to light it, or yellow curtains with ruffled edges, or a wicker rocker inhabited by an unused teddy bear. Special places like that were reserved for babies who wouldn’t come. Not for an orphan too old to count for anything.

  The air conditioner chugged to life, muffling the angry voices. Sim turned onto her side and closed her eyes, then opened them again, finding no difference in her sight; it was as if she were blind. It was appropriate. Darkness had been her companion since the car accident.

  But soon…soon there would be light. There had to be. She would fight for it. Soon she would be free and on her own, running in the light. Soon she would be away and everything would be all right.

  It was a promise she had made to herself. One she dared not break.

  One

  The rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business.

  JAMES 1:11

  THE INTERCOM BUZZED. “Claire, your husband, line one.”

  Ex-husband. Claire Adams’s money-grubbing, selfish, two-timing ex-husband. “Tell him I’ll call him back.”

  “I already tried that. He says it’s an emergency. He says he’ll hold.”

  He can hold till the Second Coming, for all I care.

  “Claire?”

  “All right, all right, I’ll take it.” She settled in behind the desk at her mosaic studio, closed her eyes, and tried to find the calm before the storm that was… “Ron. My two-timing ex. What can I do you for?”

  “Plenty. Obviously. But besides that, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Haven’t you done enough propositioning?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Do you hear me laughing?”

  “Are you going to dredge up the past or can I talk about our future?”

  “We don’t have a future, Ron.”

  “Don’t be difficult.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Talking with Ron made her emotions dry and brittle, like a slice of bread left on the counter overnight. She mentally tapped into a verse that had been her mantra during the d
ivorce: “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” Ron had offered no water. No refreshment. No relief Only the refreshment of God had seen her through his womanizing and her eventual surrender of their marriage.

  “CeeCee?”

  She took a cleansing breath. “Can we wrap this up, please?”

  “Don’t be so quick to cut me off. This benefits you too.”

  She snickered.

  “You like boating, don’t you?”

  It took a second for the word to register the word. “Boating?”

  “I want to buy a boat. I want you to pay for half.”

  Her laugh was full now. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I’d let you use it. Like I said, you like boating.”

  “I liked boating. Past tense. Those days are over, Ron. And since you dumped me for a younger model, I think it’s inappropriate for me to pay for half of a boat she will use.”

  “But CeeCee, you know I’ve always wanted one.” Ron could make instant gratification an Olympic event.

  “Then buy one. But leave me out of it.”

  “You know I don’t have that kind of money. You’ve always made more than me.”

  Ron’s ego hadn’t liked that fact when they were married, and he had taken advantage of it since the divorce. Claire had been generous in the settlement, willing to give up some cash and possessions for the whole thing to be done with as soon as possible. Maybe that was a mistake. “Do unto others” was hard to maintain when others got greedy. She sucked in a breath and steeled herself. “My answer is no.”

  “No?”

  “Why doesn’t your beloved Tiffany pay for it?” There was silence, and Claire began to laugh. “She’s left you, hasn’t she?”

  “I kicked her out, not that it’s any of your business. She was an absolute leech.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “You should see the bills she ran up.”

  “A disgusting opportunist.”

  He sighed. “So I’m alone now. All alone.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find another young babe to keep you warm.”

  “Tiffany was hardly young. She was thirty.”

  “And you are?”

  “You know very well how old I am, and my love life is none of your business. Not anymore.”

  But it had been her business once. Ron left Claire because a pretty girl stole his heart and promised him a life of passion and adoration. Lola lasted thirteen months before Ron realized her portrayal of a high-living Lolita was a front for an empty bank account that she wanted Ron to fill. Besides, Lola the Lolita liked to roam more than her Lothario.

  In spite of Ron’s infidelities, Claire had wanted to work things out. Not because she loved him so much, but because she knew it was the right thing to do. Saying “till death do us part” in a church had meant something to Claire. Yet just as it took two to argue, it took two to make up. And Ron hadn’t wanted to work at their marriage. Not after he discovered other women who made him feel young again in a way Claire couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

  She didn’t blame him entirely. Just mostly. Claire knew she worked too much and had tunnel vision toward her art. But in her own defense, she’d never forgotten a birthday or anniversary; she’d hung up Ron’s towels without complaining; and she’d made him his favorite cheesecake, which was unsurpassed by any la-di-da restaurant charging six bucks a slice, even though it kept her in the kitchen way past her preferred time limit.

  Claire realized Ron was still talking. “—suppose I’ll have to cancel the order, though I already had a weekend planned.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “Don’t be mean. I thought you could be a little generous, what with your recent success. I saw the article in Newsweek about your work. But I guess I—”

  “Generous? Don’t you dare talk generous with me. Who got the good cars? Who got the house?”

  “You said you didn’t want them.”

  She hadn’t wanted them, preferring to start fresh, but that wasn’t the point. “I have to go, Ron.”

  “What if we go 60-40?”

  Bye.

  “Uh-uh, don’t you dare hang up on—”

  She dropped the phone in the cradle and immediately longed for a nap. What she had once celebrated as Ron’s spunk, she now saw as plain old petulance. After twenty years of marriage, he’d changed.

  And you didn’t?

  She frowned. Had she? What traits had Ron found initially charming in the twenty-five-year-old Claire Adams, up-and-coming mosaic artist extraordinaire? Had her ambition and creativity turned into something less desirable at age forty-five? Had fame and money irreparably changed her?

  Actually, it didn’t matter whose fault it was. Their marriage was over. It still hurt like a gaping wound, and every call, every contact with Ron added a handful of salt.

  She shoved all thoughts of him aside and was actually pleased when her stomach growled. Needing and wanting to eat were good signs. For months the necessity of food had been a burden, and she’d ended up losing fifteen pounds.

  The divorce diet. If only she could package it.

  Lunch and a meeting at the gallery beckoned. She stood to leave just as the line buzzed again. “Call on line three, Claire. It’s your pastor.”

  Claire could hardly skip that one—and she didn’t want to. The previous Sunday they had dedicated the mosaic altar she’d created and donated. He was probably calling to share some compliments with her. She picked up the phone. “Pastor Joe. All’s well with the altar, I hope?”

  “An altar fit for a King. We’re extremely grateful for it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Uh-oh. I feel a request for a matching baptismal font coming on.

  “Actually, I need your culinary expertise.”

  For a moment she was speechless. “Surely you jest.”

  “Oh, you’ll do fine. We have the administrator of a Denver shelter visiting. She’s been talking at the circle meetings and will give a speech at the congregational dinner tomorrow night. She’s staying at the Martins’. But tomorrow—Saturday—the Martins have some Softball function for the kids, and Molly and I have a bowling tournament—”

  “How’s your game?”

  “I’ve hit three digits.”

  “Ooh. Strike three, you’re out.”

  “Wrong kind of strike, Claire. Anyway, we wondered if you would entertain the administrator tomorrow noon. Have her over for lunch.”

  During the divorce Claire had taken solace in the church she previously ignored and discovered the benefits of becoming a joiner. She was now on Pastor Joe’s ready-willing-and-able list of volunteers and didn’t really mind. Giving back eased the pain of what she’d given up.

  “You’d like her, Claire.”

  She sighed. “Does she have a name?”

  “Michelle Jofsky.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a couple do this?”

  “I think she’s been coupled out. An afternoon woman-to-woman would probably be a relief. She’s a baseball fan, just like you. Sometimes eating pizza and watching baseball is a thousand times more satisfying than a four-course meal.”

  That made it easier. “Pizza I can handle. Baseball, huh? A Royals fan, I hope?”

  “Cubs. You’ll have to duke it out.”

  “I’ll kick in my Christian tolerance. For one afternoon. As a favor to you.”

  “And God.”

  “Who we both wish were a more avid Royals fan.”

  “I’ll call Michelle and tell her to be over at noon. And Claire? This is a good thing you’re doing, and I’m proud of you. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Be good. Okay?”

  “Hey, you started it. But never fear. I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Michelle Jofsky tried to block out the noise of the Martin boys arguing
over a video game in the next room. She tried to concentrate on the Bible in her lap. It wasn’t easy.

  She enjoyed traveling and talking to churches about the Salvation Shelter where she worked. And she really didn’t mind staying in people’s homes. Most of the time. It wasn’t that she was used to silence. She wasn’t. Her apartment was above the shelter and there was always noise. People noise. Since being at the Martins’ she’d realized it was mechanical noise that grated on her nerves: TV, computer, stereo. How could these people ever hope to hear God if they never allowed silence into their lives? She’d said something to the youngest boy, but he merely turned the volume down from deafening to annoying.

  She’d escaped to her room, starting her so-called quiet time with a prayer for tolerance and a dose of God-sent concentration. She opened her Bible at random, willing God to lead her time with Him. It opened to Colossians. She read: “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”

  She looked up. Interesting. Especially considering all the speaking she’d done in the last two days. And tomorrow night was the big congregational dinner. Good words. Appropriate—

  A tap on the door. “Michelle? Phone.”

  She left the guest room to take the phone in the kitchen. It was Pastor Joe.

  “How you faring, Michelle?”

  She glanced at the alien battle being played out on the computer screen across the room and remembered the verse’s admonition to have her conversation be “full of grace.” “I’m doing fine, Joe. What’s up?”

  “How’d you like to watch baseball and eat pizza with Claire Adams, one of our single parishioners?”