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Show MT M O ST INSPIRING MOMENT Love Demands If Mil y 'I f-vf4fe"ji pjy I I K-s- I J if I - I . - I , ;f-f- ' 1 V , . L .r, ' f . '. - .'. If t tr'l?i J,u ! iWv 1 I ... :? ; . By CATHERINE MARSHALL Author of "A Man Called Peter" and "Beyond Our Selves"; editor of "John Doe, Disciple: Sermons for the Young in Spirit by Peter Marshall" I SAT AS take-ofThis famous Writer WOndGred." Should She say yes when romance arrived with three yOling Children tagging GiOngr f, in the hot, stuffy plane waiting for flocks of birds darted and wheeled beyond the edge of the runway. Just like my darting, confused thoughts, I mused. major decision faced me. It had been 10 years since the death of my husband, Peter Marshall. Now, suddenly, love had come into my life again. From the weekend with Len and his family at Christmas Cove, Maine, one fact had emerged: this man had no intention of allowing me to take our friendship casually. It was all or nothing ; he wanted to marry me. I had thought I wanted love again. But now that love was staring me in the face, I was afraid. Why did I want to flee? Could it be because this romance was not tailor-- . made to my dream specifications? Len was asking me to love not only him but his three young children as well. My thoughts slid into a kind of interior prayer: "Aren't you overdoing this a bit, Lord? Three children g was over. I don't at my age, when I thought understand, don't understand at all . . ." And within me was a desperate plea for illumination and guidance. The pilot's voice over the intercom cut into my thoughts : "Sorry for the delay, folks. Things are a little A child-rearin- 12 Family Weekly, January 5, 1964 had gone was I through a period of wrestling with a question: to a writing going to give the rest of my life solely career or did it possibly include remarriage? No voice had spoken to me out of heaven giving me a Small Voice blueprint of my future. Instead, that Still of the inner spirit had asked some searching questions: How ready are you to face up to the major readjustments necessary for another marriage? What about certain areas of your life where some rigidity is creeping in? What if I send you a man not just to satisfy your own needs of love and romance but because he has gigantic needs himself? As a result of those questions, I had begun to see the kind danger in trying to dream up any specifics about the of man I wanted to marry. Basic character qualities, would yes; but height, color of hair or eyes, whether he be handy in the yard or a Mr. Fix-i- t in the house, whether he preferred loud or muted colors, or liked my favorite authors these things, no. These I dared not stipulate. For this man, like all men, would have defects and weaknesses, just as all of us women have defects. Surely it is because of those human imperfections that involvementespecially in the close bond of marriage stretches us to the point of stark realism and even pain. Sitting there in the plane, these thoughts of five years before were played back to me like a recording carefully kept for this moment. Then I had been thinking in generalities. Now my thoughts were focused on the particular man who had just asked me to marry him. Len was the editor of the inspirational magazine, Guide-postsand in a sense, I had written myself into this romance. He had gotten curious about me when he condensed a chapter from my book, To Live Again. He had come to Washington to find out for himself about the woman behind the book and we had fallen in love. The love he was offering me promised an end to my loneliness. But I still hesitated. I thought of the new house that was being built for me in Washington. Adjoining my bedroom, cut off from the rest of the house, n room where I would write. It would be a would be my sanctuary. But I would live in that house alone except for those brief holiday times when my son Peter John would come back from college. About JfeN I P ';i; stacked up here at La Guardia this morning. Only four more." planes ahead of us now; maybe 10 to 15 minutes Fifteen minutes. I did not know it then, but imbedded in those minutes of waiting would be one shining moment which would shape the direction of my life. five years after Peter's death, I step-dow- I stood at a I might produce many articles and books. There I would have a cushioned, sheltered life yes, and probably a lonely one. And if I chose the other road, I would plunge directly back into the main stream of life. It meant being a Two roads stretched ahead, and now In that house being built mother to Jeffrey, a mischievous imp of three; to Chester, seven, with enormous brown eyes and a passion for baseball ; to Linda, 10, soon to be an adolescent possible difficulties there. The sheltered life would be no more. I would battle to find enough time for my writing. Somen room off one else would enjoy that beautiful the bedroom, for the house would have to be sold. Len's work was in New York, not Washington. And then I remembered a sermon Peter Marshall had step-dow- ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT BAXTER |
