. 04

Author's note:

This is, in all its seven parts and their many chapters, one very,

very

long story. If long stories bother you, I suggest you read something else.

No part of this story is written so as to stand on its own. I strongly suggest that you start with

the beginning of Part 1

and read sequentially—giving up at any point you choose, of course.

All sexual activity portrayed anywhere in this story involves only people at least eighteen years old.

In fact, nowhere in Part 6 is there any explicit sexual activity. (This should surprise no one who has read Part 5.)

This entire story is posted only on literotica.com. Any other public posting without my permission in writing is a violation of my copyright.

Sunday morning, we went to the church where my grandparents had been members. We took Mom's car, as it was a bit too far to walk. We didn't go early for Sunday School. I felt that that wouldn't make much sense, just for the one Sunday.

A good number of people recognized me, even after around five years—five years in which I'd really grown up—and even more remembered me when I said who I was. Some who knew me were around my age, and a lot more were my grandparents' friends and peers.

After church, we stayed a little to socialize. It felt like I was showing Ellen off. At some point I apologized for that, and she said, "Phil, it's wonderful, meeting all these people with good memories of you, who are really happy to see you grown up and engaged, ready to get married. They're pleased that you came to see them, and the older ones at least see this as a big milestone."

"So long as it's not a millstone, for you," I told her. She was right, though. She was on display, but not as a trophy—see this beautiful woman I've caught!—but as the next big step in the life of someone they cared about. A partner, not as a possession.

We talked with the pastor at some length. He wasn't the man who had been there when I was mostly growing up, but he'd come about the time I went into middle school. He probably knew me better than the earlier pastor, because I'd been nearer to adulthood and really able to talk about spiritual issues with him. And both of them had mostly focused on adults, at that.

Our conversation was much interrupted by people wanting to speak to him, but I told him about high school, sticking mostly to the academic side of it. He knew I hadn't been a believer, and I made clear that I still wasn't—and of course that Ellen wasn't either—but made sure he understood that I felt that we were moving that way, and a little of why.

I said a few words about what I thought of as the Three Big Sermons I'd heard in the last few months, and why I was there for each of them. I described Sam as a close friend, who had invited me to stay with her before my apartment was available—and to my surprise he knew Uncle John. I don't know why this was such a surprise—a long-time professor at a Christian college wasn't a household name, of course, but within the limited culture of fundamental Christianity he wasn't a nobody, either. I told him how they had welcomed me, and treated me as family, and now Ellen as well for my sake and her own both.

I went on to say a little about the drastic changes Sam had gone through, and how much the sermon that one Sunday had seemed to her directed at her and why. I described Ellen's and my visit at Thanksgiving, and that sermon, and then how Ellen had responded to the sermon Pastor Mac had given when we had attended there—and why we were there.

I was pleased that he immediately saw the point, for me—that this was all one more thing that might, logically speaking, be coincidence, but that I was finding coincidence overstretched as an explanation.

"I really wish I could convey just how hard and deep Sam's repentance was for her," I told him. "Not just, not even mostly, her treatment of me, though that was important. But for her that was just one big piece of realizing that she had been wrong in her whole attitude, about everything. And, well, deep conversions do sometimes happen that don't seem to be Christian at all, but it's hard for me not to see the hand of God in it. And then when I hear three sermons—one after the other—that seem so specifically targeted, one to each of us, I just don't know that I have a better explanation available."

After a little more, he turned to Ellen. "I understand very well the kind of doubts and questions Phil is struggling with," he said. "I'd be interested in the issues you have, as well."

Ellen hesitated. "I guess I share Phil's doubts, a little, but that's not really what's at stake, for me," she said. "It's more—if this is all true, if, um—." She looked at me. "To really make it clear, I'll have to give some background, I think, and you may be unhappy about it in some ways. But in the end, it's this: if this is true, then my life isn't really mine. We're never really in control, of course, but even in the things that seem to be my responsibility, it would mean having to say I'm not. And that's really hard."

She went on, after a moment. "As far as background, you need to know first that my grandparents, all of them, were believers who fled persecution in China and came here. And my parents, both of them, grew up without ever really believing, but certainly insisted on respect for my grandparents, from my brother and me. Anyway, one of my grandmothers claimed to, well, to prophesy sometimes. Sometimes God told her things. And in fact, she and her husband just left almost everything they had and fled in response to a vision, and almost the whole rest of their church went into prison soon thereafter, and most died there. You understand, I just thought she was crazy, but I didn't say so.

"And once, we were doing something together, I was maybe ten or twelve, and she just told me it had been shown her that I, at least, um, that God would show himself to me. That I would believe. She said that it would be after I'm married, and my husband would come to believe along with me. And it got even stranger, because she said that before that, I would receive knowledge I wouldn't want, and despite that I still wouldn't believe, but the word would be true.

"And then, last year, I had a vision myself. 'Vision' isn't the right word, but it's the best I can do. I saw, but also I was told—except that it wasn't like hearing, it was like remembering having been told without remembering the telling. It was about something important Phil is going to have to do, something important and dangerous, he and his children. I saw his children, and I saw that his wife was me.

"This scared me to death, for a whole lot of reasons, but the big one was what I was saying before. I wanted more than anything I can think of to be married to Phil—but I wanted it to be because he loved me and I loved him, not because this vision said I was going to! It was like, what I wanted didn't matter, this was going to happen, and lucky for me it was what I wanted anyway, that part of it."

She stopped and looked at the pastor. He said, "I understand perfectly well why that would bother you."

"Well, I told Phil, and Sam and another friend who was there. I tried not to say the part about my being the wife I saw, but Phil saw that I was lying when I said I hadn't seen. You understand, there was plenty I didn't see in all this! And my grandmother, too, she had said right out she could only tell what she was shown.

"Anyway, I had to cut myself off from Phil. I just couldn't stand it. I didn't want him near me. And here's part of why I love him so much. He said, 'Please let me comfort you, but I promise, I won't ask for anything else, I won't even let you persuade me to give you anything else, until you can tell me seriously that you've settled all this for yourself.' And he did that, as he had promised, even though it hurt him.

"He also told me what he understands scripture to say about this—that God directs our actions, but not without regard for our feelings. Our feelings, what we think and want, are part of the means he uses to direct our actions. He said, if we get married, it will be because we love each other and want to. If it's because it's God's will somehow, he will provide that motivation to us. And later on I realized from something else he said, he meant that there are times when God might tell us to do something important without our really wanting that, but that in those cases there would be things we wanted that would provide the reasons." She paused a moment. "Of course, wanting to do God's will might be a reason.

"It took me a long time to think this all through, a couple of months. And understand, Phil loved me and wanted me, and I had to tell him, not yet, maybe never. But he—I had earlier promised to trust him with anything at all, and at this point I didn't do that, but he was perfectly trustworthy in spite of me.

"I know you don't believe in prophecy, for today, but my grandmother was right. I've been given knowledge I didn't want, and I can't doubt what I've seen, but I'm still working on whether I really believe that it comes from God."

He was quiet for a minute or two, and then he said, "I don't believe that the gift of being a prophet is ever given any more, the way it was once. I would never say that he never gives anyone knowledge in this kind of way. Certainly not that he somehow can't—and I've heard people say just that! But I must caution you, if you see a vision or anything like that, that doesn't by itself mean that it came from God or that it's true."

I said, "Sam and I told her uncle and aunt about this, and that's pretty much exactly what he said. I should probably tell you that I don't understand the scripture quite the way you do, on cessation of the more dramatic gifts, but of course your warning is there, in so many words, repeatedly. You understand, Sam and I had to tell them about this, because they had a right to know why we didn't expect Sam to be the one I married. This is only part of it, but it really is part of it.

"And I hope you could see it yourself, in what Ellen just said, but Sam and I both knew Ellen very, very well, and we both knew without any doubt whatever that this isn't something Ellen came up with to try to make me marry her. I only say this because I'm sure you've met cases where claims of prophecy were made for that kind of self-serving reason. And that's in scripture, too."

He looked at me. "I hadn't thought of that. You're right, I don't see any trace of that here, but I might have wondered later, thinking back about it. Thank you!

"Well, I greatly appreciate your taking all this time to tell me this. I admired your grandfather tremendously, and he told me many times that he hoped one day you would believe. He spoke of your knowledge of scripture and your insight into applying it, and I had opportunity to see that for myself, too. I hope you'll be back here when you're married, and that you'll stop in and see me then. And my wife and I will certainly pray for you."

We took our leave. Before we got in the car, Ellen hugged me. "Phil, that reminded me all over again of how good you've been to me, all along. It almost hurts to think about. Thank you."

When we got home, Mom asked, "Did the service run way over? We expected you at least half an hour ago."

"No, we just stayed to talk. First, a lot of people remembered Granddad and Grandmom, and some of them even remembered me—as a kid, of course. We spent kind of a long time with the pastor, at the very end."

We helped her get lunch on the table, and she called Dad in from whatever he had been doing. I mentioned that Ellen's ring had gotten a lot of comments, mostly from women. "They admire it, and I can't tell whether they're just being polite or they really are impressed. All that's really clear is that they're kind of surprised that there's no large stone for an anchor."

Ellen and Mom both looked at me in surprise. "Phil, they all were very impressed. Not just because it's a custom piece, and unusual, but it's elegant enough that in time some people may try to imitate it."

"All right, if you say so. Sometimes I can read whether people are just saying things to be nice, and sometimes I can't. Too many do. Certainly I think it's elegant and beautiful, and it's not just because it's Sam who did it. Or because of who's wearing it."

She reached over and took my arm and gave it a squeeze.

After lunch, Ellen asked Mom and Dad to excuse us. "Phil and I have a couple of things we should talk about," she said.

I was mystified. Of course I knew there were many things we needed to discuss, but I wasn't aware of any for the immediate context. I said, "Is it OK if I do the dishes first?"

Mom said, "There's nothing that doesn't just go straight into the dishwasher, and it won't need to run until after dinner. I can manage fine." She said to Ellen, "He always was helpful for his age, growing up, and his grandmother considered that to be basic politeness that most kids weren't being trained in, so she stressed it. I'm very grateful, and I wish I could take more of the credit. I hope he's as helpful with you."

"Remember, he does most of the cooking. That won't last, and that's not his fault. But at this point, he cooks and then feels he's imposing if I clean up. I usually have to point out other things he needs to do. Speaking of which, Phil, don't forget your taekwondo, in a while."

Before we discussed anything, we called Jenny and Sam, to make sure they had gotten home OK. They both had. They both were really happy to have been with us, even for such a short time, and to have met Mom and Dad. They thanked us effusively enough that I was a little embarrassed. I was pretty sure Mom and Dad would get nice thank-you notes.

With Sam, we talked about church and the people we had talked with, and her church that morning.

Once that was done, it turned out that what Ellen wanted to talk about was the issues we had discussed with the pastor. I didn't really have any more to say than what I'd already said. Ellen's issues were what she had said. She had some of the same theoretical doubts I did—she had started off with more of them than I had, in fact, because she had grown up not questioning the kind of easy disbelief she had seen in her parents, and it had been reinforced by what she was taught in school.

But in high school, at some point, for a class she had been assigned to consider how strong—from a logical and scientific point of view—the assumptions of naturalism and evolution were, and she had been startled to see just how weak the whole structure really was. Circular logic abounded, in particular. And then, having a vision—or one big vision and some lesser ones—had brought her to the point where a God running the universe seemed at least as plausible as the alternatives. There were still questions she would have to answer, but she felt no real urgency about them unless she could settle something more basic.

The one thing I could say, that she apparently somehow hadn't thought of, was that if she was ready to trust me absolutely—"Phil, with you, anything"—then why was trusting God that much such a hurdle to clear? Certainly, she trusted me in the first place because she knew me, some—she knew how I had treated her, and seen me with others too. I told her she was going to have to really look at the portrayal of God in scripture, with that question in mind. I didn't know whether any of that helped. I did point out some of my own failings, pretty strongly, as we talked.

We lay down next to each other and took a nap. We should have set an alarm. Mom came looking for us, a little worried, relieved to find such a simple explanation for our silence and absence. I should have said something to her ahead of time, except that I hadn't thought of a nap ahead of time. It was about time for dinner.

When I apologized, Mom just laughed. "You two get up early, and I hope your bedtimes are earlier than they've been the past week, but especially last night. We slept in. Your dad may have trouble getting up in the morning, Tuesday, and I think we'd probably better get back to a more normal schedule. But I hope you got your discussion in, too."

Ellen said, "Thank you for understanding. We did, but it's not something we'll settle quickly. It's sure not a problem between us, if that's what you're thinking."

I told her, "We really should have called a couple more people yesterday to announce our engagement. I'm thinking of Pete and Tammy—I count them as one person, we'll only call one of them—and Kelly. You know she'll be excited. They'll also be interested in seeing pictures of the ring, even though they'll see the real thing before long. At least, from here the time difference is in the right direction. Oh, and Elise, too."

We ate dinner without talking about anything too serious. It was enjoyable. At one point, Mom looked at Dad, and then said to Ellen, "When you arrived, even though we'd talked on the phone, we didn't really know you. But by now it sounds really formal for you to call us Mr. and Mrs. Morris. Will you please call us Mom and Dad?"

Ellen looked troubled. "I don't know what to do about sounding too formal. You're right, and I'm not happy about that. But if I call you Mom and Dad, some time it will slip out when we're talking to my parents, and they'll be hurt. They'll be wanting Phil to call them Mother and Father—or something more familiar, anyway—but only after we're actually married, I'm pretty sure. So I'm really hesitant. Can you understand that I'm happy to be welcomed as part of your family this soon? It's not that!

"I really don't think 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' are a good idea, in this case. That worked so well for Phil with Sam's guardians, but this is different. If you really would prefer Bob and Julie, I could try that, but I wouldn't feel very happy with that, either."

Mom looked at Dad again. She stood up and came around the table, and bent down to give Ellen a hug. "We can put up with being Mr. and Mrs. for a few more months, given all that. Just remember that we're very happy with Phil's choice for our daughter in law. Please. And we're in no doubt that the wedding will happen on schedule." She went back and resumed eating. I relaxed a little.

Dad says, "That very tangentially brings in something else I've been trying to figure out how to say. I hope you won't be offended, Ellen. You know I don't talk about the details of my job at home, and I don't even with Julie—unless she's with me overseas and needs to know something specific. But we have to be careful. Once it looked clear that you were heading toward getting married—even a long-term cohabitation really qualifies, or any long-term relationship—some checking was done on your family. Um. The Chinese background made it more thorough than if you were Jane Doe from Peoria, too. This really is geared toward security, you understand. From what was gathered, I have no idea whether I'll like your parents or your brother, for example—just from that, they could be really obnoxious to be around. Having gotten to know you, I'm not too worried about that.

"But anyway, you all came up very clean. Your father has business dealings in China and elsewhere, but it seems very clear that it's business, with nothing hidden. And he has a very strong reputation for honesty and fairness, with both customers and vendors, much more than most people in his position.

"And just for what it's worth, he put out somewhat similar feelers concerning us, looking for background on this man his daughter is planning to marry. I hope he's satisfied with what he heard.