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to reconsider your decision.”
    Christopher paused to take in a breath. A few chuckles went about the room from his comparing himself to a lame nag of a horse, but the illustration did relax everybody, and now they sat back in their seats to listen.
    â€œIn other words, I am perhaps not all I seem at first glance,” Christopher went on. “I would have you know me, and know me well, before any final decision is reached. You may learn more about me and decide this is not the kind of man you want as your pastor, and I want that option to be plainly in front of you. I will not accept your call simply on the basis of the committee’s kind offer. I would only accept if a majority of the church, after knowing me better, agreed that they were comfortable and happy with the selection.”
    My heart was pounding as I listened. Christopher sounded as if he might take the position! As if reading my mind, his next words resolved that part of the question.
    â€œSo my half of the answer to your gracious request, Mr. Shaw,” he said, looking at Patrick Shaw as he spoke, “and you others of the committee—Katie, Douglas, Mrs. Bosely, and of course you, Harriet—” he said, glancing toward each of the others one at a time, “is this—that if the church wants us, after you hear my story this morning and have a chance to weigh its implications, then Corrie and I will remain in Miracle Springs, and I will become your pastor . . . and Corrie and I will together seek to serve and minister among you.”

Chapter 13 Christopher’s Story
    The words were no longer out of Christopher’s mouth before a shriek of happiness sounded, and suddenly I realized it had come from my mouth!
    I jumped out of my seat and ran up to Christopher and threw my arms around him, right there in front of everyone, while he watched in astonishment. What kind of undignified behavior was this, he must have thought, from the young lady who might well become the next minister’s wife? But I couldn’t help it.
    â€œOh, Christopher,” I whispered in his ear, “I did trust you, and I do trust you . . . and I will be content to be with you wherever you go . . . oh, but I am so happy, I can’t deny it!”
    I took my arms from around him and turned around. Suddenly it dawned on me what I had done. There was the whole church looking at us and clapping, my own family most of all. I felt my face getting ten shades of red all at once, and I hurried back to my seat amid laughter which now mingled in with the applause.
    â€œPerhaps you may find my wife the unsuitable half of this arrangement!” said Christopher.
    Now everyone did laugh, including Christopher. Gradually the commotion settled down. Christopher waited until quiet had again descended, then took a deep breath and started in.
    â€œThe man you see before you and whom you know as Christopher Braxton,” he began, “is much different from the Christopher Braxton who grew up in the farming regions of the Ohio valley.”
    He paused momentarily. “The big problem I had when I was growing up,” he went on, “was simply that I did not feel that I was any good, or that I ever could be any good or could amount to anything. The memory of that feeling still lives with me and cannot help but affect the man I am today. These memories sometimes affect my confidence and weigh me down with inner burdens of insufficiency, even after all these years. I do not think I exaggerate,” he added, “when I say that scars remain upon my soul from those years which will probably be permanent in this life. And it is because of these scars that I compared myself to a lame nag a few moments ago.”
    He paused and smiled lightly, though, I thought, a little sadly too.
    â€œI would like to tell you briefly how these scars came to be on my soul, because if you take me, I’m afraid the scars come too, as part