Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
didn’t have to fight anymore. She wished she were back in the valley. She
wished it were the way it had been in the beginning, just her and Michael.
She wished Paul had stayed in the mountains. Maybe things would have
worked then.
Not for long. Sooner or later, the world comes charging in.
You just don’t belong, Angel. You never will.
When the service finally ended, others came out ahead of Michael. Every
one of them looked straight at her where she sat on the wagon seat, waiting
for him. Several women stopped to talk together in a small group. Were they
talking about her? She kept watching the door for Michael. When he
appeared, he was with the minister. They spoke for a few minutes and then
shook hands. Michael came down the steps, and the dark-suited man
looked at her.
Her heart started pounding again. She could feel the sweat breaking out
on her skin as Michael strode toward her. He stepped up, took the reins and
set off without a word.
“It didn’t even look like a real church,” she said as he drove down the hill
toward the river road. “There was no priest.”
“The Lord isn’t bound by denomination.”
“My mother was Catholic. I didn’t say I was.”
“So why’re you so afraid to be inside a church?”
“I wasn’t afraid. It made me sick. All those hypocrites.”
“You were scared to death.” He took her hand. “Your palms are still
sweating.” She tried to pull her hand free, but his tightened. “If you’re convinced
there’s no God, what are you afraid of?”
“I don’t want any part of some great eye in the sky who’s waiting for a
chance to squash me like a bug!”
“God doesn’t condemn. He forgives.”
She tore her hand free. “The way he forgave my mother?”
He looked at her with that maddeningly quiet assurance. “Maybe she
never forgave herself.”
His words were like a blow. Angel stared straight ahead. What was the
use where Michael was concerned? He didn’t understand anything. It was as
though the poor fool had never even lived in this world.
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