As the Greyhound bus rolled out onto York Street on that hot Labor Day, I looked around at the downtown of the city I'd loved for twelve years. Tears washed my face. I had no idea how long it might be - or even whether I'd ever see it again.
Then deep inside me, I felt, more than heard, this new song well up. I'd heard it for the first
time the night before at church;
"Emmanuel, Emmanuel,
His name is called Emmanuel.
God with us, revealed in us,
His name is called Emmanuel."
A fresh flood of tears as I prayed, "Lord, if You are not with me I can't go through with this!" The words repeated again, as if meant just for me.
Two years earlier Mom had phoned from my home town in the middle of the Canadian prairies. She'd said that she needed me to come home because her doctor had said her heart condition was such she should not be doing housework any more.
It had sent me into a tailspin because I was tender of conscience and heard that as a command to come home. But I was very busy doing many good works in my church, I rented out rooms to Christian college girls, and held down a full-time office job.
What's more, I had many friends in this lovely forest city of London, nestled between the Great Lakes, and other Ontario cities. This was a modern, multi-faceted life in the east. Hague was a small prairie town in Saskatchewan, which held mainly memories of a lonely, deprived childhood, filled with daydreams.
One night, just as I was lying down, it came to me that I'd finally get to use those long boring hours to write. Suddenly I had a strong sense of ocean waves of joy rolling over me and knocking me on my back! This kept me open to search for the right thing to do, despite everything in me that cried, "No, no, no!"
I had running conversations with God. and believe me, for the next year I discussed this matter with
Him. When our factory shut down for a two week vacation in July I flew home to size up the
situation.
It didn't look so serious. My parents were coping with their boring retirement life, and doing the same sure didn't appeal to me one bit. But God let me argue and reason with Him, and go back again in 1983 for another checking-out visit. This time there were some unpleasant scenes of misunderstanding, but by then, I longed more than ever to do what was right in the sight of God, my one true and faithful Confidante.
A younger, married sister living in the next town north of them, felt that there was no need for me to move home to look after our parents.
But as I watched Mom I knew she was getting frailer. It was not so obvious to others because she was stubborn enough to do things like go weed in the garden, until she came in huffing and puffing, collapsing on the couch like a corpse.
Mom had been in and out of hospitals since she was gored by a cow when I was about four, and had about 13 surgeries by that time. I could tell she'd dig in her heels and refuse to go to a nursing home as long as she had breath.
Besides that, Dad was a hard worker at physical things, but had never learned to express compassion or be a leader in the home. He really looked to Mom to make all their main decisions. As he aged he was becoming more and more a boy.
There had also been some hurt feelings in their church, and the bitter putdowns of others were like
mud and guk smeared on my tender spirt that was used to circulating with more positive friends in
London. I would wilt here!
Eventually, on the second trip, I knew, and admitted to God that I knew what was the right thing to do. I'd be miserable if I settled back into my reception job, and nine vocations in my city church, and hid from His better will. He did not hold a stick over me in this, but quietly waited until I faced the truth. I was needed here for a long-range spell.
What was more, for my own sake, I needed to learn to express love to my parents who had never been truly demonstrative.
It was a setup for heartache. But the Lord had already been teaching me about character development, and I knew I was far too busy with my commitments in London to tackle my writing dreams head on.
Before I left to prepare for my move, I told them of my decision. They agreed to cover my room and board. I assured them I would trust God for anything else I needed. By this time it was a pure faith commitment. If God got me through the spiritual and emotional aspects, then providing finances would be a small trick for Him.
That Labour Day, it took two hours to get to Toronto, where I had to change buses. There Aunt Jean, and our mutual friend, Ruth Cairns, met me. Aunt Jean saw I'd been crying, and I was out of even the last roll of toilet paper I'd brought along for tissues.
"You can still change your mind," Aunt Jean said, trying to be helpful.
"No!" I cried out miserably. "This is the right thing to do, I just didn't know leaving would hurt so!"
Besides, I'd burned all my bridges back. I'd resigned from my job, and about nine positions at the church, trained others to replace me, emptied my lovely home on The Ridgeway. My decision was made and I'd break my back if need be to keep my word.
While we sat on the luggage, our friend Ruth scurried around to buy me more tissues, and I asked my aunt, "Do you know this song, "Emmanuel, Emmanuel?"
She didn't. So I tried to explain how God was singing it to me. However, I simply could not sing it for her. It seemed to have gone away.
This was going to be a 48 hour trip. When the bus rolled out through Toronto, that song was back! Just inside of me. I could tell no one else heard it.
As far as Sudbury, I had a seat mate, a doctor's wife. She was sympathetic as I explained my move, but I was not able to sing for her the song that repeated softly and tenderly where only I could hear it, over and over again. If I talked or got off for a bathroom break, it faded, but as soon as I was quietly staring out of the window the words were back like a continuous tape, with a steady, unhurried singing;
"Emmanuel, Emmanuel,
His name is called Emmanuel.
God with us, revealed in us,
His name is called Emmanuel."
Each time I thought of all I was leaving behind, and the unknowns, my swollen sinuses would spill a fresh waterfall down my face, and the Holy Spirit of God held me and sang His lullaby to me again, and again. This reassured me it was okay to grieve this upheaval of my life, this huge change, and that He understood the cost.
No one else ever has! I lost friends over that move, Some thought I was throwing my life away! Of the ones I kept, few have given me any words of commendation for this decision. But then, this is only one chapter of my life, and it is not the last one, praise God!
When the bus finally pulled into Saskatoon, 48 hours later, I thought my head was dried out, my face and nose was crusty with dry, rashy flakes. Mom and Dad were there, and as Dad helped me load my heap of luggage into the car, I noticed the song was fading.
I tried to muster it up one more time, but still, I could not sing it, only listen;
"Emmanuel, Emmanuel,
His name is called Emmanuel.
God with us, revealed in us,
His name is called Emmanuel."
I was sick the next four days, but gradually I got involved in life, and began to make a few new friends and set up writing projects for myself.
Mom lived fourteen more years, and caring for her was another story altogether! Whew! And Gran'ma too!
But God has been so faithful and dear to me through the highs and the lows. There were many times when Mom's congestive heart failure or pneumonia were about to take her life, but her strong will and my quick decisions brought her through again and again. The last seven months she became like a demanding child, but in the midst of all that stress I received a peace about my relationship to her that surpasses comprehension.
Over those years I learned to pray more effectively, I took up genealogy, and published family histories, besides the novel I polished over and over, and I did a little freelance writing too.
The promised waves of joy didn't come right away, but now, 20 years later, they do wash over me, as I market my novel, Ruthe's Secret Roses on the Internet, gain new friends, and mentor some. Though I still care for Dad - this is a new era for me - I can heartily say, "God is with me, revealed in me. His name is Emmanuel."
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Ruth Marlene Friesen makes friends wherever she goes!
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