Free The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 by Susan Meissner, Mindy Starns Clark

behind it.
    “Only God knows the future, Tyler. Sometimes you learn how to handle things by making mistakes the first time around.”
    That Sunday, the worship service was held at Rachel’s farm, and though I was glad to see her, she and I did not speak of what I had mentioned at the wedding. Not directly, anyway. Chatting after lunch, she asked me about Jake—if we had heard from him and how he was liking farrier school so far—but there was a veiled concern there, as if her question really didn’t have much to do with his absence at all. We were surrounded by other people, so I wasn’t free to tell her that I had talked to both Jake and Daadi about what I was wrestling with, and that Daadi would be asking the bishop what I should do. I could only tell her that Jake had left a message on the buggy shop phone, assuring us he had arrived safely in Missouri, and that I missed him but appreciated not having to fight him for the last pork chop at dinner.
    Back home that afternoon, as I put away the buggy and began to brush down my horse, Daadi joined me in the stable. I could tell something was on his mind.
    “I spoke to the bishop,” he said, taking the harness from me and hanging it on its hook.
    “Yes?” My heart was pounding, but I focused on running the brush over the mare’s brown flank.
    “He feels as I do, Tyler. We will join you in praying for wisdom and clarity for you to hear from God. If He is speaking to you, you must listen.”
    “But how will I know if this is actually God speaking to me or if it’s just my own thoughts made to seem that way?”
    “Discernment is a discipline. That is why you must fast and pray and ask God to show you His way. Bishop Ott is praying for you even now. As am I. And your grandmother. We are already praying for you to hear from God. Like the prophets of old, if you ask Him for wisdom, He will answer with wisdom.”
    I didn’t doubt for a moment that Bishop Ott’s counsel was wise, but I didn’t know what that meant for the here and now. “And what do I do in the meantime?”
    My grandfather reached out a strong arm to touch my shoulder. “That is all you do, Tyler. You pray and ask for wisdom. Do not rest until you have it.”
    I spent the following week in a concerted effort to hear from God—fasting for the first twenty-four hours, rising each day earlier than usual to pray on my knees at my bedside, returning again and again to the quiet of the pond because that was where I first felt that flickering summons of unrest.
    Mammi still said nothing to me about what we were all quietly praying for, though several times that week she reached out her hand to touch my face or my arm when she served me at the table, and her eyes spoke encouragement mixed with apprehension.
    During the day, I kept my mind on the work I had at the buggy shop. We had a new hydraulic brake we were putting into all of our buggies, and I had a week’s worth of retrofits to keep my hands busy while I listened for an answer from God.
    By that Friday, I was getting weary of the diligence this sort of prayer required. I knew God did not always answer prayers in a swift manner, but I felt a growing sense of urgency as the week ended. Everything that related to the rest of my life—baptism, church membership, marriage to Rachel—hinged on God’s answers to these prayers.
    On Sunday morning, I woke well before the sun. It was not a worship Sunday, so I crept downstairs, grabbed my jacket, and quietly opened the mudroom door. I could feel the change in the air the moment I stepped outside. It was early yet for snow, but overnight a heavy frost had fallen, and I was greeted by a rousing chill. My breath came out in puffy clouds as I whistled softly for Timber.
    Once he joined me, we walked across the pasture to the windmill and then took the well-worn path down to the pond, icy grass crunching under my boots. The surface of the water was lightly frozen around the edges, and I was tempted to break the