Chapter 18
Karl and Arvilla left Bible study on that April night and went to Arvilla’s house. They talked about the evening as usual. Karl was regaling his conquests and Arvilla was listening. For awhile after the blowup, Karl was a changed man, but as human beings tend to do, he regressed to being his normal self. The person he was destined to be could only be contained for so long. He once again talked mostly of himself and Arvilla tried to get a word in here and there. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but it was pretty bad.
I’m happy, thought Arvilla, I am. Who could wish for anything more than what I have. He’s so nice, he’s good looking and smart and popular, but why do I have these reservations? So what if he has some faults, but don’t all men? Karl launched into a tirade about how stupid some people are for questioning the authority of God’s will. He didn’t bring up Harmon’s name but Arvilla knew who he was talking about. Karl left Arvilla’s house at 10:59, April 12.
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Later that same night, on the Welsh Mountain high above the Pequea Valley, two figures stood in the light of the moon. The bare branches of the trees swayed in the April wind. They stood in a clearing looking at the lights of the farms and houses below. In the distance were the lights of Intercourse and even further was Bird-in-Hand. Far to the East was a glow which represented the outskirts of Philadelphia.
The Pequea Valley was thousands of years old, cut in two by the lumbering Pequea creek. The creek wound its way for miles through farms and villages, under covered bridges and past a few old mills until it found its way to the mighty Susquehanna. The valley had been inhabited by the Iroquois and Susquehanna Indians for hundreds of years. One of their old trails later became Route 340. In the 1700s hard working Swiss and Germans, in search of a new life in a new land, left Europe and crossed the Atlantic to such a land promised by William Penn. A land where life was hard and religion was free to be practiced as one wished. They’d reached the port of Philadelphia and headed west to settle in the valley. With their bare hands they cleared the mighty forests of Pennsylvania Oaks and Maples and made a lifestyle in the harsh wilderness.
Their descendants still dwelt in the valley. Some were Amish. Some were Mennonite. Some were Amish Mennonite. Others were known as English by the Amish and Mennonites but they were really Germans who had dropped their plainness. Through the years others had settled in the valley. People from New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia descended upon the area in search of a country lifestyle. With them they brought the city ways they sought to escape. They built houses on small plots of land at the edge of farms, on hills and in woods where farming was impossible. Their houses encroached upon the Welsh Mountain, which for years had been home only to a few hippies, cabins, hunters, and the occasional mountain lion.
The two figures stood in the clearing in the moonlight far from any houses or roads but they were speaking in hushed tones. One was Amish Mennonite. The other person was shorter than the Amish Mennonite, and was hunched over but his body portrayed confidence. Dressed all in black and leaning on a stick, he appeared to be old. A long, flowing, white beard graced his face and a black hat was pulled firmly upon his head. He spoke. The words were raspy and muffled but the Amish Mennonite heard them quite well.
He looked at the ground. A sudden gust of wind blew through the trees and he braced himself, pulling the hood of his jacket tightly around his head. Clouds passed in front of the moon and it was dark. In a shaken voice he spoke, “Are you sure?”
The other man said nothing. He slowly looked at the ground and poked around with his stick.
The Amish Mennonite spoke again, “But what are the consequences?”
The other man looked at the ground some more. Finally he looked up and spoke again, “We will see. We will see.”
The Amish Mennonite looked at him with apprehension. The other man turned and walked away. The wind blew harder. In the distance a dog barked. Long after the old man disappeared into the forest, the other man remained. He sat looking at the valley below. One by one the lights in the houses went out. As the moon disappeared in the West, the figure slowly moved from the clearing.
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Later that day, Harmon drove the tractor through a field on the family farm east of Bird-in-Hand. The field was big, the tractor was old, and the corn planter kept breaking down. During an extra long stretch of not breaking down Harmon let his thoughts drift back to NBC. He’d rebounded well from the Susan situation and begun counting the days to return to Lancaster County. In NBC tradition, the last week had brought not only budding romances and a volleyball tournament, but also a revival speaker.
The speaker was the esteemed Arnold Hostetler from Goshen Indiana and he was a short, black bearded, fiery man. Every night for a week he poured the word of God upon the hearts and minds of the impressionable young Amish Mennonites. Every evening, after a 2 hour sermon, he gave an invitation in which time the youth would sing a haunting song which pricked their hearts. The songs were mostly written during the Second Great Awakening of the mid 1800s and were still used to bring young people to a Christ.
The first couple nights the pleading calls of the pastor went largely unheeded. Verse after verse of various songs was sung, but only a few souls were brought to repentance. Most of the children were already professing Christians so the call on the fourth night turned to one of recommitment. After a plea to come forward the pastor called them all to stand if they wanted to recommit their lives to Christ. Of course Harmon stood because everyone else did. Also because he really did want a closer walk with Christ.
On the 7th and final night of NBC revival meetings the pastor preached a sermon of fire and brimstone which may have rivaled those of Whitefield and Wesley. Students began crying as he spoke. Harmon felt a heaviness in his heart. He felt a guilt and he wanted only to be free. Hostetler spoke for 3 hours and no one looked at the clock. The song leader began the haunting tune, Just as I am, and the children responded in droves. They walked to the front, knelt and prayed, putting their arms around each other and weeping. Soon the front filled up and they knelt in the aisles and between benches. Harmon sat there feeling guilty. He’d never responded at an alter call and wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He felt as if he could get right with God on his own, in his seat, or on his knees beside his bed. But finally it became clear to him that everyone else was kneeling and it wouldn’t be embarrassing to go forward. Henry and Mark had gone. Susan and Willard were kneeling together with space between them of course.
The chorister led,
“Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come”
Then he went back to verse one because most everyone was kneeling and those who were still singing didn’t know the last two verses of the song. They sang,
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”
Harmon got off his feet and went forward. He knelt beside a boy who he thought was really weird and put his arm around him. He prayed and poured out everything to God. The youth continued in this manner for 39 minutes and then they all stood up and looked at each other. Harmon stood with a light feeling in his heart and looked at those around him. He felt free. This was a turning point in his life. Everyone looked at each other kind of strangely. For 3 weeks everyone had been putting on a front of goodness and in one hour it had had all been torn down. They were all sinners who all had faults and now they had all confessed them. Everyone felt free and happy and good.
That night no one played volleyball. Someone built a campfire and they sat around it singing hymns and praise songs. Between songs people took turns speaking and confessing to the group what they had confessed to God only moments before. Harmon didn’t share because he was afraid to speak in public. He noticed Willard and Susan were sitting beside each other but didn’t care. The youth sang and prayed deep into the night. On this night curfew was lifted because Mr. Kauffman determined the youth were doing good and not getting into trouble.
Bible School ended a few days later but those last few days were Harmon’s best. No one looked at each other with eyes of judgment. Everyone was on the same level. No one was cool or uncool and nobody did anything bad.
Harmon was jolted back to the present day when his corn planter broke down again. “You _______ thing,” he muttered as he got out of the tractor and went back to look what was wrong. Oops, there I go again, he thought. Somehow the corn seed had become jammed in the planter. Harmon rammed it around for awhile and returned to his seat on Old Green.
He thought about his life. He thought about how committed he was to leading a new lifestyle and how hard it had been once he’d returned home. Those sins he’d laid before God had been just as tempting upon his return. He’d burned all his bad CDs and tapes and books but now he wished he could read a Lewis novel or listen to DC Talk again. He wished he could do everything he’d done before and he didn’t want to wish it. The same impure thoughts were there again. The same thoughts of bitterness and anger toward certain people were there. The thoughts of pride were there.
“God, why does it have to be so hard,” Harmon said. “Why does everything that feels good have to be a sin?” Why does everything have to be wrong?” Why does it have to be so hard?”
Harmon drove on through the field. The planter was not breaking down anymore. His thoughts drifted here and there and he was wondering what he could do to make the cows give more milk when he spotted Pete walking down the field lane with a fishing pole over his shoulder. He was wearing earphones and walking the other way so he didn’t see Harmon driving along. Harmon didn’t think before he did what he did. He just did it because he wanted to, he could, and it felt good.
Driving as deftly as one can with a tractor and corn planter, Harmon drove right toward Pete. He drove closer and Pete still didn’t see him. Can I actually pull this off? Closer. Closer. Pete was moving his head to the beat of his music. Closer. Harmon clenched the steering wheel with both hands and pressed the gas pedal. The loud old tractor wasn’t loud enough to disturb Pete, who trudged on. Harmon moved ever closer. 15, 10, 6, 3, 2, 1 feet and at the last second Harmon eased off the gas and nudged his fat brother right on the rear.
Jolted from his musical reverie, Pete jumped 2 feet in the air. The fishing pole flew 10 feet up, 2 little blue gills flew 12 feet in the air and the headphones flew off his head. As the big body lifted Harmon drove slowly forward, throwing Pete onto the hood of the tractor. He belted with laughter. Pete was in shock. He had no idea what hit him. Since he never helped work, the tractor was a foreign object to him. His whole body convulsed with fear as he lurched backward.
Then he realized what happened and his whole body convulsed with anger as he turned to look at his brother. A string of Mennonite profanity poured from his mouth. “You _____, freaken, little ______ you.” He shouted as he sat up on the tractor which was still moving slowly forward. “I will teach you whose the…” Harmon slammed on the brakes and Pete fell forward off the tractor. Harmon roared with laughter.
Pete finally stood up. He was all dusty. He looked for his fishing pole, headphones, and fish but couldn’t find them and then he saw them under the tractor wheels and a string of non Mennonite profanity poured from his mouth. Harmon stuck his head out of the tractor and yelled, “Get out of the way, you big oaf.” Did you catch any fish?”
“You’re gonna pay for this,” Pete said moving toward Harmon.
“Don’t fail me now Old Green,” Harmon said to the trusty old John Deere. It didn’t. Harmon stepped on the gas and drove past Pete, who stood there looking for his headphones.
“Nooooo,” Pete screamed as he saw the headphones, fishing pole and fish smashed in the dirt. He turned to the departing tractor and shouted, “Your just jealous I stoled your girlfriend.”
Harmon drove to the machine shed and parked the tractor. He knew the consequences of his actions wouldn’t be pretty and he knew he’d sinned. He patted the tractor as he walked by, “God forgive me Old Green,” he said, “but man was that ever fun.”
That night Harmon II met Harmon III in the barn. He began speaking but Harmon stopped him. “Save it Dad, I’ll milk the cows every morning and night for the next 3 weeks,” he said and walked to the other side of a cow. Harmon II walked out. Across the cow stable Gloria giggled and Pharon chuckled. When Harmon told them the whole story peals of laughter rang from the old barn. Outside Pete paced up and down the driveway. He wanted to go give Harmon what he deserved but Pete was scared because Harmon is our Hero after all….(Ilw 4/10/09 to be continued)
Click here to go to chapter 19.
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Comments:
Kevin wrote: 4/23/2009 12:33 PM
So glad to see Harmon is back. Keep it up.
Read Our Hero Harmon next week to read about a wood cutting, plus finally some interaction between Harmon and Arvilla.