Irene Brand - The Test of Love

When she’d always advised her staff to avoid personal encounters with their patients, Connie was hard put to understand why she’d suggested this outing with Joseph. There wasn’t anything she could do now, but she vowed that this was just a one-time incident. Regardless of today’s outcome, she would know better in the future. With these thoughts, she salved her conscience as, mindful of Joseph’s injury, she put the vehicle slowly into motion. But her conscience didn’t have to deal, as Connie did, with Joseph’s soft breath on her neck, the firmness of his arms around her waist, nor the strength of his hands clasped in front of her.

Joseph needed NLC, but Connie didn’t need the frustrations his presence provoked, and she wondered how she could endure three months of daily interaction with him and retain a strict patient-therapist relationship. Did she have the strength to remain dispassionate to this man who’d captivated her thoughts since the first day she’d met him?

When they entered the forest behind the chapel, the trail curved steadily upward. Connie shifted into a lower gear and glanced over her shoulder.

“Okay?”

“Not a twinge so far. You’re a careful driver.”

“Paddy’s Point is only two miles on this trail, but it’s too far for you to walk,” she shouted, as she revved the motor and moved forward. The vehicle lurched into a small ditch, and Joseph’s chin bumped into Connie’s head.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Did that jolt your leg?” she yelled, for the noise of the engine was deafening.

“Don’t worry about me—I’m fine.”

They soon arrived at a scenic spot, where a few years earlier, a forest fire had destroyed the tall trees, making way for a new stand of aspens and pines. Several miles to the west, the mountains around Berthoud Pass lifted their majestic peaks skyward. A small table and two benches provided a resting place for patients who jogged along this path. They were hailed by a couple of teenagers from Lakewood, who came to NLC daily to work out in the gym and test their endurance by climbing Faith Mountain and jogging back on the reservoir trail.

Joseph grunted as he laboriously raised his injured limb and eased off the four-wheeler. Connie stood by, ready to assist him if necessary. Joseph gasped, grabbed his cane for support, and stood for a few minutes before he limped to the table and sat heavily on the bench facing westward. When Connie brought the food basket, his eyes were fixed on the distant mountains, but noting the bleakness expressed on his face, she surmised he wasn’t observing the beauty of nature.

“It’s hard for me not to be angry when I see those two kids running down a trail like that, when I can’t even walk.”

Ever conscious of the purpose of NLC—to heal the body and the spirit—Connie pondered her reply as she spread a cloth on the table and set out the food items Rose had packed for them.

“Was the accident your fault?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he said indignantly. “I was taking my wife to the hospital, and we were traveling in a blizzard, with visibility at zero level. A truck came around a curve in the road, skidded, and we hit head-on.”

“Then, why are you carrying around a load of guilt?”

“Hey,” Joseph said angrily. “Are you a psychiatrist? My mind doesn’t need to be healed. I don’t want you probing around.”

“I’ve had a lot of psychology training, and I told you the first day that we work with the spirit as well as the body. It’s a two-fold program. I’m not interested in your past,” and as Connie said the words, she doubted she was being completely truthful, “but you strike me as a man who has a load of worry on his mind. Even Dr. Melrose’s report indicated as much, but he wasn’t specific.”

He didn’t answer, and Connie said, “When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen, but let’s have our picnic and enjoy the beauty of God’s creation. Tomorrow, you start the hard stuff, so you need relaxation today.”

Ignoring his silence, Connie offered a brief prayer of thanks for the food. On a paper plate, she laid a piece of chicken, a slice of bread, quartered one of the tomatoes and placed it in front of him.

“I hope you like iced tea—that’s all I have except water.”

He nodded, his face still gloomy. She placed the plate and beverage in front of him.

He sipped the tea. “No sugar?” Joseph asked grumpily.

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Connie reached in the basket. “One or two packets?”

With a sheepish grin, he said, “I don’t want any sugar. I’m wallowing in self-pity, and I was ready to be angry if you told me I couldn’t have any sugar.”

Connie’s laugh bubbled. “You told me you’d be cantankerous, but I didn’t expect you to be childish.”

He laughed lowly, and Connie was glad he hadn’t taken offense at her words. “You might as well learn the worst about me as soon as possible. Sit down and eat your lunch. You don’t have to wait on me. I’ve prepared more than one meal for myself.”

Connie sat beside Joseph, and made a sandwich of the chicken and bread.

Still moody, Joseph said, “I don’t suppose you know what’s it’s like to have your life put on hold—everything you want to do pushed on the back burner—your whole life disrupted in a matter of seconds.”

Connie nibbled on a tomato wedge before she said, “As a matter of fact, I do, but I don’t want to talk about that now.”

“So you understand why I didn’t want to talk about the accident—it’s still too painful.”

“Certainly, I understand. I’m not pushing you.”

Except for an occasional comment about the food, they ate in silence until their initial hunger was sated. The serenity and the beauty of the spot soothed Joseph. His leg pained him, and he dreaded climbing back on the ATV for the downhill ride, but except for that, he was comfortable with Connie. He experienced peace and contentment he hadn’t known in years. How much should he tell her? Or should he tell her anything?

“I won’t talk about the time my future plans were disrupted,” Connie said, disturbing his thoughts, “but I do understand how frustrating a physical disability can be. I know from experience how difficult it is to be unable to walk properly.”

He turned to stare at her, his gray eyes incredulous. “I can’t believe you’ve ever been sick a day in your life.”

“Oh, but I have. When I was born, my left leg was shorter than the other, and I limped badly when I started walking. My parents were afraid I’d always be crippled, but they were people of prayer, and they made up their minds that they wouldn’t accept my disability as permanent. So they prayed for my healing, and asked others to pray, and I sincerely believe that the reason I’m walking normally today is due to Divine healing. I went through a rough childhood at fitness centers, taking stretching exercises and strengthening my body in general.”

Joseph’s expression softened to hope. “And that’s all it took?”

“Not exactly. They kept me on a strict diet so I wouldn’t gain weight, and gradually my leg lengthened. One day, when I was ten years old, I was reading the Bible incident about Jesus healing a man’s arm, and I actually felt my leg stretch until it was the same length as the other one.”

Joseph’s face registered skepticism as she talked, so she was surprised at his next comment.

“He said to the man, ‘Stretch out your hand.’ He stretched it out, and his hand was completely restored.”

Connie’s eyebrows lifted. “So you are familiar with the Bible!”

“When I was a child, my parents forced me to spend every Sunday afternoon memorizing Bible verses, and that was enough Scripture to last a lifetime. I haven’t read the Bible since I left home.”