Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

A few seconds of silence could feel like an eternity.

“Okay then.” Jason’s eyes shone. He took her hand and kissed it.

Granny’s shoulders slumped. “Thank God there’s no war.”

“What, Hildie?” Mitch grinned down the table. “Dawn might strap on a rifle and follow him into battle?”

Everyone laughed, even Granny, though not as brightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Dawn is my granddaughter.” She told the gathering she’d almost enlisted in the nursing corps during World War II, but Trip made her ineligible.

“How’d he do that?” Christopher wanted to know.

“He got me pregnant!”

More laughter resounded around the table. Georgia winked at Dawn. “Now, there’s a welcome idea.”

Dawn put in her two-week notice at the clinic. They offered a bonus if she would stay until they could find a replacement. After discussing it with Jason, Dawn agreed to stay on staff for a month. Jason had his Honda serviced, packed, and headed for Oklahoma, leaving Dawn to decide what to take, sell, or give away before following him to Fort Sill.

Until Jason walked out the door, Dawn had no qualms about the decisions they had made. After he left, she lay awake at night, filled with anxiety. What had ever given her the idea she could drive cross-country alone? What if the car overheated or broke down? What if she ran out of gas on some long stretch across Arizona or New Mexico? Where would she stay when she arrived in Lawton, Oklahoma?

Burying her face in her hands, Dawn prayed. Her mind wandered to Abraham and Sarah. God had told Abraham to go forth from his country, his relatives, and his father’s house to the land God would show him. And he’d gone without question, just like Jason. Maybe she should have been like Sarah and gone with him rather than stay behind and follow later.

Lord, help me not to be afraid.

Oma came to mind. She’d never been afraid of anything, had left home at fifteen and gone out alone into the world to make her own way. Oma had lived in Montreaux and then moved to France and on to England. She boarded a ship, crossed the Atlantic, and started all over again in Montreal, Canada. When she married, her husband went off to the wheat fields to work, leaving her behind to run a boardinghouse and then travel by herself with a babe in arms to join her husband. Then she gave birth to Granny in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere-no hospital, no doctor, not even a midwife to help her. Later, with three children, she packed and came with her husband to California, where they lived in a tent before finally having a place of their own.

Fear lost its grip when Dawn thought about her great-grandmother. Granny had always said Oma was hard, but Dawn hadn’t found her that way during that week in Merced. Crusty on the outside, perhaps, but she’d revealed a softness inside that had made Dawn wish she’d spent more time with her, gotten to know her better. Still, she had assurance Oma’s blood ran in her veins.

God didn’t give His children a heart of timidity, but of power and love and discipline. She would get maps, lay out her route, and take the journey one day at a time. What sense did it make to worry about tomorrow?

Dawn talked with her mother before setting off. She half hoped Mom would volunteer to come with her. Instead, she talked about Oma. “She loved to take long drives and explore. She would’ve loved the kind of trip you’re going on.”

Doodling on a notepad, Dawn tossed out another hint. “It’s a little daunting driving so far without any company.”

“I know. I did it once.”

“You had a friend with you.”

“Half-comatose from drugs and alcohol.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to go alone, Dawn. You could ask Granny.”

Dawn’s heart sank, and she rubbed her forehead. “I think I should go alone. I might as well grow up now and not put it off.”

“You’re growing up quite nicely, May Flower Dawn.”

The softly spoken compliment brought tears to Dawn’s eyes. “Do you really think so, Mom?” She felt like a baby, wanting to wail.

“Yes. I do. I’m proud of you.”

Dawn almost blurted out that she wanted her mother to come with her. She wanted time alone with her so they could talk. She wanted to get to know her mother before they were separated by half a continent. “I’m a little nervous about the trip.”

“Understandable, but you won’t be alone, Dawn. You’re never alone. God is with you. He goes ahead and He watches your back. He walks with you and dwells inside you. Just keep listening to Him.”

“I’m glad you finally started believing in God.”

“I’ve believed in Jesus for twenty-four years, Dawn. It’s people I never learned to trust. I’ll be praying for you. So will Georgia and a host of others. Granny, too. You know that. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to call me, let me know how far you make it each day. You don’t have to talk long.”

“Jason insisted I check in with someone every day.”

“Good for Jason.”

When they hung up, Dawn finished packing the last few things and went to bed, hoping for a good night’s sleep before she set off the next morning. But her mind wouldn’t shut down.

Twenty-four years. Isn’t that what her mother had said? That would make it right around the time she had gotten pregnant. Maybe it had been the hardship and accidental pregnancy that had driven her mother to her knees. A desperate surrender.

Dawn yearned for the open affection Mom gave Christopher. But at least now her mother felt pride in her. They could talk more. Their best days as mother and daughter had been during the worst time in Dawn’s life. Mom had known she grieved over Jason. When she came to Dawn’s bedroom that dark night of despair, and Dawn confessed, Mom never spoke a word of condemnation or disappointment. What Mom said helped Dawn change course: Examine yourself; take what is true and do what’s right. And when others hurt you, forgive.

Maybe someday they’d be able to sit down and really talk. Maybe someday they could go back to the beginning and go deep and rise up out of the pain of the past, together.

Dawn set out early Saturday morning, a disposable camera close at hand. She drove north to Atascadero, cut across to Shandon, and then took the road southeast toward the Central Valley. Orchards covered the area around Blackwells Corner. She pulled in at James Dean’s Last Stop and browsed shelves of candy, dried fruit, jars of preserves and salsas, Indian art, and fifties memorabilia. After buying trail mix and a few souvenir postcards, she got back on the road. She passed rows of pink, red, and white rosebushes near Wasco before joining Highway 99 south.

She stopped at a roadside café on the other side of Bakersfield for lunch and studied the map while she ate. Later in the afternoon, she stretched her legs by walking through a Route 66 museum. Heat kept her in the car after that. Finally, as night approached, she could see a dome of light on the horizon. Las Vegas. She drove the Strip and found the hotel where she’d made a reservation.

Tossing her duffel bag on the green paisley spread, she picked up the telephone and punched the number for an open line.

Mom answered on the second ring and sounded relieved when she heard it was Dawn. “Everything go okay today?”

Dawn summarized what she’d seen in less than a minute.

“Are you in a decent place?”

“Clean, good lock, close to the Tropicana. I’m going to walk over there for dinner.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to delay you.”

Dawn realized how abrupt she must sound. “I didn’t mean to…” Why was it so much easier to talk to Granny than her mother?