Coming Home, Chapter 5

Have you ever had a dream, and you knew it would take sacrifice, time, and heart?

I’ve had many. One dream was of a family that was emotionally healthy, safe, and welcoming. That dream came true, but not without growth, learning curves, making mistakes, and taking risks.

I also dreamed that I would be a writer. Leaving what was secure to step into what seemed insecure (because it was), felt uncertain, but all these years later, I’m so thankful.

The truth is, all of us who are dreamers, whatever that dream might be, will not arrive overnight. We pray. We plan. We prepare. We may even try to plan out the obstacles, so that they don’t surprise us.

But the truth is our dreams aren’t linear. They take us in new directions. Up. Down. Backward. Forward.

In today’s chapter of Coming Home, the 3rd book in The Legacy Series, Molly shares a secret dream with Thomas, one that she’s never shared with anyone.

I hope you, my dreaming friend, resonate with this chapter. With the what-if’s, with the mistakes we often make when it comes to dreams, with the wrestling, and with the trust that comes as we dare to dream.

And while you are at it, I’d love for you to consider following or subscribing to receive weekly chapters.

Thank you again for your support, your thoughts, and being a part of my community. I treasure you.

She sat at a distance on their park bench, something Thomas had designated from that first meeting. Her coppery waves were drawn back from her face, revealing fine angles and a smattering of freckles. In a sea of male students, she was a vision.

That weekend, as Thomas had perched in the seat of the shiny Ford “Tin Lizzie,” he found himself counting the miles, distracted as his classmate shared details of his weekend with family. Though Thomas was close to both of his parents, he had not mentioned Molly. His feelings were too fresh to give air to them.

He had never felt this way about anyone.

As he approached the bench, he noted that she wore a simple cotton shirtwaist blouse with a dark brown walking skirt. Sturdy lace-up walking boots were the finishing touch. Though the drab brown did nothing for her coloring, Molly’s unadorned beauty made the simple garments shine.

She smiled as he stood in front of her.

“Hello.”

All the words he had rehearsed went out the window. He brushed a stray leaf from the bench. When he sat, his hand brushed hers. It was soft, warm. A blush cascaded all the way to his hairline. He reached into his book bag, closing his fingers around a thermos. He unscrewed the metal lid. Steam escaped.

“Soup?” she asked.

“My mother sent it home with me.” He poured the broth, with chunks of chicken, thick noodles, carrots, celery, and potatoes into the lid. The aroma made his stomach growl. “Do you want some?”

She held up her sandwich, wrapped in wax paper. “That’s kind of you, but I have this.” A bit of chicken salad rested on her lip and he resisted reaching to gently brush it off.

Thomas felt the old feelings rise as they sat quietly eating together. Their friendship was new and he privately hoped for something more, but memories of friends intrigued by the slight accent he never knew he had, or those who scoffed when he chose reading over rabbit hunting, arose. Potential friends over the years who eventually found him too different—came to mind.

“Thomas?” Molly said, interrupting his reverie.

He set his spoon down and poured the remaining soup back into the thermos.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m not like others,” he said. He instantly regretted that these, of all the words he could have said, were what slipped from his mouth.

“You are not so singular, Thomas Rhodes.”

His head came up. It was not the response he expected.

She nibbled on her sandwich, then set it, wax paper and all, on her lap. She turned to face him. “Our differences are what makes us stand out. It’s why I noticed you and hoped we might be friends, but it’s a mistake to let our distinctions hold us back or to count them as unworthy.”

He heard someone call his name, but ignored it, wanting to hear what she had to say.

Molly held her hands out. “For example,” she said, “I’m one of only two women chosen to attend this university in this class. That’s an honor, and I realize that, but every day I’m told—in one form or another—that I don’t fit in. I’ve heard that same message from my own brothers, even my papa.” She paused. “But at some point, we decide that their opinions are not the deciding factor.”

Something inside Thomas opened at her words. It was a deep longing for conversations that weren’t afraid to delve into hard topics. Honesty. Frankness. Though her words were bold, they were gentle and honest. It gave him permission to do the same, which warmed him even more toward this woman sitting next to him. “I have lived most of my life wishing I was somewhere else,” he said. “Not right now, of course, but for the longest time. I’ve often wondered why God took so much that I loved from me.”

The red-haired beauty fixed her gaze on him. “What if you are asking the wrong question?” she said. “What if God wasn’t taking something from you, but was trying to give you something new? It doesn’t take away from what you had, but perhaps it was an open door for new things to appreciate, new things to learn. Instead of looking back, perhaps you could ask what God is trying to give you right now, right where you are?”

It was a question Thomas had never posed to himself.

He felt a slight shift inside.

It felt unfamiliar. Intriguing.

Like a prism, the light played on her words, showing him a different side. It made him want to know more about her.