Free Departures by Robin Jones Gunn Page A

the evening, Christy chewed on the end of her pen and leaned back against the bed’s pillows. The soft light from the lamp on the nightstand cast a buttery glow about the room. She felt content. Tomorrow she would see Matt again, and that would be nice. She didn’t know for sure if there was something between them, but she didn’t feel as if she had to decide that yet.
    Then, remembering the thoughts she had had about love at the reception, Christy wrote,
    Here are two words I want to think about when it comes to relationships: commitment and intimacy. I think commitment needs to be the foundation for any lasting relationship—just like I didn’t have a deep and growing relationship with Christ until I first made a commitment to Him. With intimacy it’s about knowing the other person’s heart in a special way so that you share and treasure the same things that are important to him
.
    A thought came to her. She wrote quickly before it slipped away.
    I never realized it before, but I want that kind of intimacy more in my relationship with the Lord. I want to share and treasure the things that are important to Him. I want to know what’s in His heart
.
    Suddenly Christy had such a clear thought that she held her breath. For one sacred moment, everything was still. If her guardian angel had even slightly fluttered one wing in that moment, Christy was certain she would have heard it.
    God wants to have that kind of intimacy with me. He knows everything that I’ve tucked away in my heart, and He wants me to share it with Him
.
    She felt astounded that Almighty God had chosen to be committed and intimate in His relationship with her. Love was a choice, just like Grandma had said. And God chose to love her. Not just one time, but over and over again He made that choice, even when she did things He couldn’t stand.
    As Christy scribbled that last thought in her diary, her eyes misted with tears. She closed her diary, turned off the light, and slid between the cool sheets. Outside the open window the crickets performed their nightly symphony. In the upstairs hallway the grandfather clock
tick-tocked
with unfailing rhythm, sounding its whole notes at the quarter hour.
    Through the bedroom window came a welcome breeze. Christy turned her face toward the window and noticed the moonglow tiptoeing into her room. The summer moon spilled a filtered trail of thin, ivory light across the edge of her bed.
    The beauty of the moment caused Christy to think of a verse in Psalm 68 that was a line in a song Doug had been teaching her.
Sing to the one who rides across the ancient heavens, his mighty voice thundering from the sky.… God is awesome in his sanctuary
.
    As she watched the moon slowly shift its shimmering pathway toward the foot of her bed, Christy tried to remember the tune and hum it. God wasn’t thundering from the sky in His mighty voice tonight. He was murmuring. Or maybe He was humming the way she was, humming contentedly as He rode across the ancient heavens.

14

    e’re ready to go, Christy! Dad said to tell you to hurry up,” David called out, pounding on the closed bedroom door.
    “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Christy hollered back. She couldn’t believe they had let her sleep in while everyone else was preparing for the picnic. She didn’t have time to shower or anything. In five minutes she pulled on her bathing suit, shorts, and T-shirt and frantically stuffed a few essentials in her backpack while trying to slip on her sandals at the same time. “Tell them I’ll be right there!”
    Like a whirlwind, Christy grabbed her sweatshirt, a brush, and a clip for her hair. She flew from the bedroom and bounded down the stairs only to find Aunt Marti standing at the entryway wearing one her expressions of disapproval.
    “Really, Christy, you should try to be a little more ladylike. This is your grandmother’s home, you know.”
    “I know,” Christy muttered, not in the mood for any criticism this morning,