1894

The man at her door looked to be bearing bad news. What went up in flames now?

Thought Hope, thinking of the terribly hot summer when any small spark started a fire on the dry Kansas prairie.
“Mrs. Ashford?” His slow moving lips were easy to read. How did he know?
“I am she.”
“I’m from the telegraph office in town. We received a telegram saying that a threshing machine blew up ‘bout thirty miles south of here. We were given the list of men who were with it and were informed that there were no survivors. There was . . . a--a Mr. Joshua Ashford. Do you know him?”
She must not be seeing straight. “Joshua Ashford . . . w-was among those who died

?” At his nod, she stuttered on, unfeeling. “He is . . . my husband.” Despite her deaf ears, she could hear her heart thudding in her chest. Surely he was misinformed.
“Please accept my condolences ma’am. I realize this is difficult news for you. We in town will do all we can to help you and --” Not able to take any more, Hope shut the door on him. If not for the large mound under her apron, she would have collapsed on to the ground in tears. Instead she leaned against the door and sobbed. Not Joshua. Not her Joshua. She still remembered the day he left with the other men to harvest the neighboring farms with the threshing machine.


Hope looked out into the still-dark morning as she stirred the scrambled eggs. Today was the day Joshua was leaving. It would be the longest time they’d been separated since they were married. She sensed the clunking of boots on the hard wood floor of their small house, and smiled. His strong arms sneaked around her waist while his head rested on her shoulder. Kissing her cheek, he signed into her hand, “Do you think you can get by with lip-reading while I’m gone?”
She nodded and continued listening with her hand.
“Can you read mine?”
She looked into his eyes, those pools of blue that she seemed to drown in. Then he kissed her warmly. The smell of burning eggs caused her to pull away and take the pan off the hot stove. She poured his coffee, filled his plate, and they both sat down at the table, trying to savor those last moments together.
Putting her hand on her belly, Hope said, “My time may come while you are gone.” She knew she talked strange, but how could she fix it when she couldn’t hear?
A cloud shaded Joshua’s eyes, but only for a moment. Smiling, he said, “Then whenever I feel like quitting I’ll remember I have a beautiful wife and baby to hurry home to.” He squeezed her hand, and finished his breakfast. How she wished she could hear his voice.
The next minutes flew by in a blur, and soon, too soon in Hope’s thinking, she felt the groaning and banging of the huge threshing machine outside their door. Above the noise the great monster made, came, “Hey Ashford, you ready to go?”
Joshua opened a door and motioned that he’d be right there. Hope hurried to get together enough food to last him a few days. The farmer’s wives would feed the men when they harvested their fields. She added a loaf of bread to the bundle of dried fish, carrots, and a few cookies and put it in Joshua’s bag. He came over and kissed her again.
“Be careful.” She signed.
“As long as you be careful yourself. I want to see you and that baby alive and well when I return. Now, I’ve told Mrs. Mcallister to drop in on you about every other day, so if you need anything

, you tell her. You hear?”
She nodded like a dutiful child.
“Now,” he cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Don’t worry about me. Just worry about you.” He kissed her forehead, then gathered his things. She followed him outside. As he climbed onto the thresher and it lumbered him away from her, Hope saw him wave and say, “I love you Hope.” Then he smiled that smile that had always made her knees weak, and blew her a kiss.
And, just as the sun was rising, he was gone.


Hope stirred, realizing how late it was. The dried tears on her face and her puffy eyes made her feel weary, but she knew she needed to eat -- for the baby’s sake. As she tried to rustle something up, her mind kept going round and round what the man had said. Joshua can’t be dead. He just can’t. I only saw him two days ago. But the man had a telegram . . . No, he’s not dead. Her inner argument continued as the night dragged on. She felt numb, as in a dream. Maybe it was a dream and it would all go away when she woke up in the morning. Thinking this, she fell exhausted on the bed.

Beginning of the Road

Hope woke to a gentle hand on her arm. As she forced her crusty eyes open, they fell on Mrs. Mcallister who was holding a bowl of something that smelled hot, but not necessarily good. Seeing the kind face of the woman made her dissolve into tears again.
“I know, dear, I know.” Mrs. Mcallister set the bowl down and took up stroking her hair.
Unable to go to the effort of talking in her grief, Hope signed, “He can’t be dead. He can’t.” Though she didn’t understand sign language, Mrs. Mcallister seemed to get the meaning.
“You poor thing.” Lifting Hope’s face so she could read her lips, she said, “I made you some broth that will keep up your strength for the baby. I take it you haven’t eaten much?” At Hope’s head shake, she held the bowl to her lips saying, “Drink.”
Hope obeyed, but grimaced at the bitter tasting liquid. When she’d drunk about half the bowl, she managed to say, “I need the outhouse.”
Mrs. Mcallister nodded and helped her out of bed. Though as she flipped back the sheets, they both gasped. The small red stain seemed to leap out at them. Blood meant something was wrong, seriously wrong, with the baby.
“I can’t loose this baby. Not after what happened . . .” Hope didn’t want to be crying again, but she was.
“Hope. Look at me. Calm down. You have to fight if you want to save the baby. I don’t want you givin’ up on me now. I’ll do all I can to help, but you’re the one everything rests on. Now, you go use the necessary, and I’ll clean up. Then it’s bed, nothing else.”
Hope nodded and made her way outdoors. Tears slipped one by one off her face as she cleaned herself up. Joshua would never be able to hold his child, and now there was a chance that she wouldn’t either. He needed to be here. Pushing thoughts of what she was going to do after she had the baby out of her mind, she went back into the house and sank into a clean bed.
“I don’t care what you say. I’m staying here at your place until we get this child born. I’ll first go home and get my things. I’m sure Mr. Mcallister won’t mind.” The kind woman bustled around, her motherly way comforting Hope.
“Thank you.” Hope whispered.
Smiling, Mrs. Mcallister handed Hope a small leather book. “I’d read some of this if I were you.” Then she was out the door.
Hope knew exactly what the book was, it was a Bible. She knew about God, and seemed to remember going to church with her family. Memories were so hard to recall with no sound involved. But when she and Joshua started courting, He seemed to fade away from her mind, until she rarely thought on Him at all.
She opened the little book to the bookmark; thoughtful Mrs. Mcallister; and her eyes fell on the verses in Psalm 103. “Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

Heals all diseases? Satisfies desires? This was not the god she had grown up knowing. The god she knew wanted nothing but perfection, striking grim circumstances on all who crossed him. She flipped through the thin pages, the phrase in Job caught her eye. “Who makes the people deaf . . . is it not I, the Lord?”

Did God take away her hearing to punish her? Other verses filled her mind, primarily the ones promising God will triumph over the world, and to her surprise, promises of the deaf hearing again in that day.
Mrs. Mcallister walked back in at just that moment.
“I have some questions.” Hope said.
“I thought you might.” Mrs. Mcallister pulled a chair over to the bed and took up her knitting.
“What I’m reading is saying that God cares about me. I don’t understand. I’ve never really read the Bible, only parts that are about justice and punishment and all. This is so different from what I grew up on.”
“Hmm, think about it like this. Imagine God as your earthly father.”
Hope remembered how her father had shunned her because of her disability, had completely ignored her, and at times had made fun of her.
Seeing her expression, Mrs. Mcallister said, “Maybe that’s not a good example. Take Joshua then.”
That got the tears started again.
“Try to listen dearie. Imagine Joshua wants to talk with you, to be with you, every moment of every day. You probably don’t have to imagine that, because he already di--does.” She caught herself before she used past-tense. “Imagine you ignore him. He wouldn’t force you to love him, he would wait patiently until you are ready. He might try to get your attention, though. That’s like Jesus. He loves you so much, and is ready to be your best friend, to take away all your sorrows and replace them with joy. Sometimes He’ll send trials to get your attention and to draw you closer to Him.”
Eyes still damp, Hope said, “But I’ve done too many horrid things to be able to be close to him.”
“Hope, that’s the best part. Jesus came to the earth and died, so you didn’t have to. All your sins are forgiven, even before you commit them. The Bible says no matter what you do, the Lord’s mercies are new every morning, and he’ll never give up on you.”
There was a silence, and they seemed to both be basking in that truth. Then Hope said, “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”
“Would you like to have a personal relationship with Jesus, dear? He’s waiting for you.”
Lower lip trembling, Hope nodded.
“Dear Father,” began Mrs. Mcallister, clasping Hope’s hand in her own. “This child of Yours needs Your help and your comfort. You knew her dear Joshua was leaving her even before she did, so I ask now that You make Your presence known to her, that You would be a shoulder for her in this time of trial.” Pausing, she said softly to Hope, “You can repeat what I say out loud, or in your heart. Father, I realize that I am a wretched sinner and deserve to die; to forever be separated from You. I believe that Your Son died for me, and conquered death so that I may live with You forever. I want You to be the Lord of my life. I want You to come into my heart and live there. Please help me to live the way You want me to. In Your Son’s Name, amen.” Even she sniffed.
“It’s that simple?” Hope asked around her tears.
“It is. Try to talk to Jesus like one of your best friends, for that is what he is. There is so much more for you to learn, though, and most of that is in the Bible.” Mrs. Mcallister stopped when she heard Hope’s quick intake of breath, and saw the pained look in her eyes. “The baby?”
Hope nodded, then shook her head. “It’s too early.”
Holding her hand again, Mrs. Mcallister began praying again. “Father, we know You love the baby this dear girl is carrying. We ask that You spare its life, for its mother’s sake. But that is our own selfish request. Your will be done, Jesus. We know You have a plan, for good and not for evil. That one day we will look back and know exactly why all this was happening.” She felt Hope’s grip again tighten on her hand. “Please help us now. Give Hope Your strength. Amen.”
“Do you really think He will?”
“I know He will do what He sees best, which is always the better way. Now, hold on. Let me go boil some water.”

Pain

Pain. That was all that consumed Hope’s mind. How long had the contractions been coming? Most of the night, she knew. She also knew it wasn’t good that the baby hadn’t made an appearance yet. As another contraction ripped through her body, she prayed, “God, please. Please help me.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she actually heard a whispered I already have been.

It made sense that God could speak to her, even when she couldn’t hear. Suddenly Mrs. Mcallister was at her side. She shook her so she would know to read her lips.
“I’ve turned the baby, and I can see its head crowning. It shouldn’t be much longer. On the next few contractions, I want you to push with all your might. Got it?”
Hope nodded. Feeling another one gathering, she tried to collect what strength she had left and pushed. And again. And again. Then, she felt the baby slide out. She saw Mrs. Mcallister smacking the tiny back, then swishing it in warm water. Its skin was a heart-stopping grayish blue. She turned around to Hope and mournfully shook her head. Hope was too full of grief to cry, to think. Her last tie with Joshua. Gone. She was momentarily distracted as her body expelled the afterbirth. Then Mrs. Mcallister placed the still little body, a boy, in her arms. She then busied herself in cleaning up the mess, leaving Hope to mourn over her loss.
When Hope had clean sheets and a new nightgown, she was finally able to talk.
“His name is Caleb.” She murmured into Mrs. Mcallister’s motherly bosom. She felt her nodding as she stroked her hair. Suddenly overtaken with extreme exhaustion, she fell back on the bed, asleep instantly.


She woke not knowing how long she slept, but burning with fever. Mrs. Mcallister was immediately at her side.
“I believe little Caleb was dead inside of you for sometime. Your body was poisoned by it. I’m afraid you’ll be sick for a while.” She felt her head at the same time, a shadow crossing her face. “Mr. Mcallister stopped by a while ago, and he went for the doctor. Should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Sure enough, the local doctor walked in, mentally taking in the situation. Hope caught bits and pieces as Mrs. Mcallister explained everything to him. She was vaguely aware of him feeling her head, then a cold metal object being stuck in her mouth.
“She’s running a temperature of a hundred and three degrees. I’m afraid we have a long road ahead of us.”
Mrs. Mcallister nodded and stroked Hope’s hand.
“I want you to soak her sheets constantly, so we can try to cool her down.”
Instantly Mrs. Mcallister moved to do as ordered. It was tedious work though, as the sheets dried quickly due to the violence of the fever raging in Hope’s body.
All through the day, they struggled on. Just after sunset, Hope regained consciousness. Seeing Mrs. Mcallister at the side of her bed with the ever-present knitting needles, she said, “Why didn’t He?”
“Why didn’t He what, dearie?”
“The baby. He could have saved Caleb, but He didn’t.”
“You are right that He could have saved him. But like I said, sometimes our Lord does things that don’t make any sense to us at all. He gives, and He takes away as He sees fit. And in all circumstances we must say, ‘blessed be the name of the Lord.’ I promise you, dear Hope, that one day you’ll look back on this time and know exactly why all this was happening. And you will be so thankful for it.”
Hope looked away, unable to answer. She didn’t want to think about Caleb or Joshua anymore, for it seemed she didn’t even have the strength to cry.


That night, the fever came back, in all its strength. The doctor said Hope’s temperature was over 104 degrees, and still rising.
Hope had been sleeping fitfully most of the night, plagued by dreams that only sickness can bring. At one moment she was seeing her beloved Joshua running home to her, in his arms their precious Caleb, and the next they would fade away, never to be found again.
Mrs. Mcallister was overcome with sorrow, seeing her friend slipping away. She was comforted, however, with the knowledge that Hope would be with Jesus should she die. If one could see prayers, hers would be spiraling up to heaven, like the smoke of a candle just blown out.
The doctor announced 105 when for some time Hope had been lying still. Deathly still. She seemed to be struggling with each breath. Mr. Mcallister had joined the doctor and Mrs. Mcallister, and he and his wife were knelt by the bed praying. Hope’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and suddenly, all was quiet. The doctor checked her breathing, then tried again, then finally rose and shook his head at the Mcallisters.
Heaving a sigh, Mrs. Mcallister said, eyes moist, “She’s with the Lord, and all the pain is gone.” Nodding once, she rose to look in Hope’s closet to find something to dress her body in. A shout from the doctor brought her running back to the room.
“Don’t get your hopes up, but I found a pulse. It’s so faint, I wonder if it’s even worth it, but I’m going to do my best.”
Blinking, Mrs. Mcallister said, “So . . . she’s still alive?”
“Barely. But the fever is so high, her body is shutting down. We need to find some way to bring that temp down. Do you know if there is a river around here?”
She nodded. “There’s one not fifty steps away from the house.”
“We have to get her in the water. It’s the only way we have a chance of cooling her off.” Motioning to her husband, they both picked Hope up and carried her out the door into the cool night and to the river. With Mr. Mcallister in the water making sure she didn’t sink, they could almost see the steam rising off of Hope’s body. Her breathing started back up, and she began twitching and shivering.
Nobody knew how much time passed, but presently the doctor said, “That’s enough.” And they carried her back into the house and settled her into the fresh sheets; courtesy of Mrs. Mcallister.
“Doctor, do you think she has a chance?” Mrs. Mcallister asked as the doctor again took Hope’s temperature.
Smiling at the results on the thermometer, the doctor said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, but things are certainly looking on the bright side.”

"My cup overflows..."

Hope stirred as the sun rose the next morning. She could smell eggs cooking, and cornmeal mush. Trying to pry her eyes open, she blinked to clear the fog surrounding her vision. Then she noticed it. Click, click, click, click.

What was that? Looking around the room, she saw Mrs. Mcallister, lips moving. She must be praying. In her hands something soft was taking form, probably for one of her grandchildren. Hope stopped there. The knitting needles. Could it be?

She thought. Moving her hands took more strength than she wanted to spend, but she raised them to cover her ears. Silence. The silence she had experienced her whole life. She uncovered them, and the clicking returned. Heart thudding, she hardly dared hope what she thought.
Seeing her movement, Mrs. Mcallister ceased her knitting and said, “Hope. We thought we’d lost you there for a while.”
The tears sprang to Hope’s eyes and streamed down the side of her face. A sob escaped her lips.
“Why dear, what is it?” Talking seemed to bring on more tears.
Finally Hope managed to speak around her crying. “I . . . I . . . I can hear

you.”
Mrs. Mcallister’s mouth rounded into an O that grew into a soft smile. Then tears came to her eyes as well. She embraced her friend as they both cried together. She whispered over and over, “Thank you Father. Thank you God.” Then realizing the other’s needed to know the wonderful news, she shouted, “Doctor, Henry, come quick!”
The doctor and Mr. Mcallister came running into the room, no doubt expecting bad news. “What happened?”
Both women crying and laughing at the same time, Mrs. Mcallister said, “She can hear.”
A wide smile spread across Mr. Mcallister’s face, while the doctor’s wore unbelief. He sputtered and stuttered, then pulled out his device used to examine ears. After checking each ear twice, he took Hope’s temperature. Then, wide-eyed and head shaking, he said, “I’ve heard of cases like this before, but I honestly never thought it could happen. The fever burnt so high, it just burned away the deafness. Her body shutting down like it did was like it resetting itself, so I suppose that helped. But like I said, when they told me about this in medical school, I just believed it was impossible.”
“The impossible must always bow its knee to Jesus.” Mrs. Mcallister said with a smile.
Hope closed her eyes, overwhelmed with joy. Loosing Joshua and Caleb was the hardest thing she’d ever endured, but like Mrs. Mcallister had said, God had a plan for good and not for evil. He’d known that through all of this that her hearing would return, and she’d be all the more thankful to Him. And like she knew He wanted, she was ready to listen to Him.


Three weeks later found Hope still weak from her episode, but taking her first trip to town to pick up the mail.
“Now if you feel at all tired, you turn around and come straight back home, you hear?” Faithful Mrs. Mcallister was staying at the Ashford’s house until she was sure Hope was completely recovered.
“All right. Anything you need at the store?”
“No. We’re fine here.”
“Okay then, see you later.” Hope hupped the horse and drove the wagon out on to the road. Kansas was always so gorgeous in the midmorning. The dry heat hadn’t picked up, yet the sun was warm enough to wake one’s body. Not a cloud graced the blue sky, and a gentle breeze lifted the wisps of hair sneaking out of her braid. And thanks be to God, she could hear the rustling of the grass, and the birds. No one ever told her how beautiful birds sounded.
Hope thought back to the last few weeks. They’d been working on her speech so that she sounded almost normal. She’d also learned to recognize words. It was like she was learning to talk and read and write all over, but with sounds involved. Sooner than she expected, the houses became more frequent, and she rolled into their little town. It wasn’t much of anything really, just a general store, a post office, and a bank. Pulling up in front of the post office, she tied the horse to the post, ignoring the curious stares. One woman said, “Isn’t that young Ashford’s wife? The one who can’t hear?” She said can’t hear

like it had a bad taste. Clamping her teeth at what she wanted to say, Hope entered the tiny office. The clerk, Miss Hart, looked up. Eyebrows shooting up she began signing, “Mrs. Ashford. How good of you to come.”
Smiling, Hope signed back, “You needn’t sign . . . because I can hear now.” She spoke the last part.
“Oh Mrs. Ashford, that’s wonderful! H--how?”
Hope tried to summarize the story so it wouldn’t take up all of Miss Hart’s afternoon. When she finished, she said, “Mrs. Mcallister said that the impossible must always bow its knee to Jesus, and here I am; living proof to that.” Accepting the congratulations of the clerk, she walked back out with her mail and put it in the wagon. She didn’t feel tired at all, so decided to go browse the dress goods at the store, for she hadn’t had a well-fitting dress in a long time. She crossed the road to the store, and walking on their small boardwalk counted the dollar bills she had to spend. It should be enough.
“Hope.” A voice she didn’t recognize uttered her name. Well, she didn’t recognize many voices, since she hadn’t been able to hear them until just a few weeks ago.
She looked up at her name just in time to bump into a tall, dark haired man. “Oh, please forgive me, I am so sorry.” She found herself staring into blue eyes; pools of blue that she seemed to drown in.
“Hope, it’s you.” The man signed. This had to be a dream.
“J--Joshua?” Hope squeaked.
He trailed his hand on her cheek, then he smiled. At the smile, she knew. She fell into his arms, sobbing. If he was a dream, at least she could remember being with him right now.
He held her as she cried, knowing the reason for her tears. There would be time to explain later.
Finally, she stepped back, remembering they were in public and people were probably staring at them. Though she couldn’t help touching his cheeks, realizing he wasn’t an apparition. He really was real, not a figure of her imagination.
“Come.” He signed, then took her hand and they walked behind the buildings where they could have privacy. Hope tried to wipe away her tears, but they kept coming. Joshua was alive! Her dear Joshua was alive! On top of all other things, she couldn’t wait to tell him her news.
When they were alone, he signed, “First order of business . . .” and then kissed her. She melted into his arms, for she had thought she would never again feel his lips against hers. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with such love in his, it started the tears flowing again.
“You’re probably wondering what happened.”
Taking his flying fingers in hers, she said, “Yes, I am, but Joshua, you don’t have to sign.”
Confusion lined his face.
Smiling through her tears and trembling lower lip, she said, “I can hear.” She’d been saying the words to everybody in town, yet they were so much more wonderful to say to her husband.
His face relaxed, and remained expressionless. When his lower lip slightly dropped, she knew she had him.
“Oh Joshua, I can hear you!”
Tears filled his own eyes, and he clasped her into his arms, and they wept together. “How?” He said against her hair.
She closed her eyes in joy that she knew what he was saying without looking at him. Then she remembered she had to tell him about the baby. Little Caleb. So she did. She told the whole story, beginning to end. How she’d wanted to die when she’d thought he was dead, how Mrs. Mcallister told her about the Lord, how Caleb was born and she’d been sick for days, and how God used all her trials and wove them into something beautiful. Joshua cried with her when he heard about their son, but still he still clasped her hand and said, “I’m just glad I have you still.”
Hope leaned against his chest, not knowing how to express her gratefulness that she had her husband back. And at being able to hear him. His voice was so perfect, deep and soothing. To think she’d never heard it before this time.
After some time, Joshua said, “You want to know my side of the story?”
“Do I ever.” She replied.
Over the next few minutes, Joshua told her how he and another man had been at a nearby town getting mail and replenishing food supplies when the threshing machine blew up. When the news was telegrammed to Hope, the sender had just assumed everyone was dead, since some bodies were burned beyond recognition. Joshua and the other man had had to walk all 30 miles home, which was why he hadn’t returned sooner to her.
Hope pondered the words in her mind. God definitely wanted to get her attention, and He certainly had it now. She was eternally thankful that Joshua’s life was spared, but what about all the other men who died, leaving their wives feeling the same as she, but with no happy ending such as this one. Suddenly, a thought floated through her mind. “I must go visit the wives of the men who died.”
“I think that’s a good idea. You’ll be able to help and relate to their situation.” He kissed her again, then happened to look at the sky. “It’s late.”
“Oh my, Mrs. Mcallister will be so worried.”
“Shall we adjourn home, my love?”
She answered, “We shall.” It was so good to have him back.
They then walked to the still parked wagon and untied the horse. Hope leaned against Joshua’s strong arm as they drove home. She knew there was one Book they both needed to read, every day. And Someone who Joshua needed to get to know better.
Hope smiled, thinking that life really couldn’t get much better. Her husband was alive, her child was with Jesus, and she wasn’t “young Ashford’s deaf wife” anymore. She was Hearing Hope.

Author's Note

I love writing. Though to some people, my style of writing might seem a little unrealistic, or they may not like how I blow through everything without taking time to describe each situation in detail. Think of it like this: some authors write like one runs a marathon. You save your greatest strengths till the end, and drag the whole thing out. I write like one runs a sprint. You run as hard and as fast as you can, not bothering to save anything till the end. Sometimes sprints are far more impressive than marathons because they exhibit the raw speed and power the runner possesses. For me, ideas come so quickly I can’t get them on paper fast enough, and when I do, my whole novel ends up being only a few chapters. Perhaps this is one of my weaknesses, and I need to work on it, or perhaps it is one of my strengths. Either way, I wanted to write a new book, and this is what came of it.
Some parts of Hearing Hope, even I admit, are a bit unrealistic, and are not likely to happen in real life. Even so, they could happen, because the God we serve can do anything, big or small. For those of you who are suffering, I’m not saying you should loose a spouse, have a baby, get sick, and your hearing and happiness will return. My point is that God works in mysterious ways. And He knew your struggles even before you did. He sent them to you for a purpose, and one day you will look back and know what that purpose was. James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

And Jeremiah 29:11, “ ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ ”

My goal in writing Hearing Hope

was to get that point across. I am very sorry if I offended or confused you. I do pray, though, that you walk away enriched and encouraged.
So now, we’ve come to the end. Did Hope and Joshua have other children? Did they follow Jesus with their whole hearts for the rest of their lives? That, my friend, is another story. One that you must finish for yourself.

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Texte: All text is copyright of sodelight on Bookrix. Please do not steal
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.11.2011

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To those who are suffering, I pray this will lift you up.