Love Is A Dangerous Road

A Story by Waldo Richardson

The timekeeper's horn blew, and instantly the stadium became a mighty crescendo of screaming, shouting humanity. The great Wabash Homecoming game was over. Even Doc Brown, the oldest graduate on the faculty, could remember no such battle as the boys had waged and won that afternoon. With one minute left to play, the home team had trailed Ashley U. 20 to 18. Then, 38 yards downfield, Benton had kicked a beautiful field goal that sailed perfectly over the goal posts to edge out Ashley 21 to 20 and give Wabash the coveted league trophy.

It was three quarters of an hour later before Bill Benton could finally get away from the excitement and congratulations of the locker room into the crisp, autumn air. It felt good. He cut across the campus from the field house, crunching the huge, golden maple leaves beneath his feet. It had been a good game. He was tired and happy. Even though, from out of some far corner of his mind came vivid memories of a similar glorious autumn afternoon two years ago when he had led State to its great victory over Randall...And the way Alice's eyes had sparkled as they had dinner together that evening.

Someone had lit a fire in the fireplace at the Christian Union house and the fellows stood around enjoying the warmth after the chilly afternoon in the stadium. They were jubilant. Dinner was ready, but no one considered eating until Bill Benton got back from the field house. Benton, man of the hour and idol of the campus, would not find his house-brothers unappreciative. They'd grown to like him a lot in the few brief weeks since the army air force had told him thanks and sent him home. It would take time, the doctors had said, before he would be in shape again. A long time. No more football for sure. But Bill had fooled them. He was no longer the mighty captain of State's undefeated giants, but he could sure kick a sweet field goal in time of Wabash's need. Modest chap, too. If it hadn't been for Joe's rummaging around in Bill's top drawer one day to borrow a handkerchief, they probably wouldn't know yet about his Distinguished flying Cross. Joe had called the rest of the fellows in to take a look. But they hadn't said anything to Bill about it, and somebody else loaned Joe the handkerchief.

They hailed him with frank enthusiasm when he came in a few minutes later....Bill grinned and suggested dinner.

Afterwards they sat around the fireplace like they did sometimes, and talked. About the game, naturally, but eventually, of course about girls. Some of them were a bit worried about Jack and his new girl friend, and frankly told him so. She was a grand girl, they all agreed, but not a Christian. Jack just chuckled. "Listen," he said, "if you boys could date as nice a girl as Nancy, maybe you wouldn't worry so much about it. I hope you won't be too shocked - tonight I'm asking her to marry me!"

Bill Benton had been silent during the discussion. Tired, probably. Just sat there, looking into the fire. Finally they asked him. "What about it, Benton?" they said.

It was then that Bill told them the story.

It was a warm night in early autumn, two years before, at State. Bill didn't go much for garden parties, but the Theta's were doing a bang-up job, and Bill was enjoying himself. That was the evening he met Alice.

And like every other fellow there, Bill had said to himself, "There's the girl I've been looking for!"

It was two weeks before he could finally get his first date with her. And when she came down the stairs to meet him that night he realized he had already forgotten just how lovely she really was. He was thrilled as she gently took his arm and together they walked across the campus to the pep rally. Leaves crunched under foot in the early twilight. Bill couldn't help feeling proud. The captain of the football team, and on his arm as charming a sweetheart as Sigma Chi had ever boasted. He wasn't bragging either. Every man on the campus admitted it.

After that, Bill had but one aim - more dates with Alice.

One Saturday afternoon they went for a long hike across the fields, he a bit somber because of the things he wanted to say and she happy, with lovely laughing blue eyes that kept interrupting his thoughts. Alice was, to say the least, very surprised to learn of his aspiration to be a minister. She herself had never seen very much in religion, she confessed. In fact, she had assumed that those who thought the matter through had uniformly concluded that the enigmas of the universe were too deep for man to understand. Of course, she believed in God, though she couldn't define very closely her conception of God. Some all-great influence, perhaps, or maybe just man's ideals and honest hopes.

Bill welcomed the opportunity to talk to her about these things. And although she remained certain that his testimony, though genuine, was based upon some individual mystical experience, yet she maintained her certainty so trustfully that he felt sure she would in time be convinced.

...The autumn days passed quickly. His schedule had become rigid and tough, with hard practice on the football field each afternoon, hard studying of next day's chem each night. Yet even so they found time to see each other occasionally: walking her home from the library in the evening...Bill occasionally escaping from the training table so they could dine together at the Commons before the evening grind began...the concert Tuesday night....

It soon became evident to both of them that their respect and enjoyment of each other was becoming deeper than friendship. Actually, Bill had been in love with Alice from the first. Gadually she realized that she, too, was more interested in him than she thought it wise to be. Marriage seemed to her almost out of the question because of their deep difference in religious attitudes. And yet she supposed that after all they had so much in common in other ways that this was perhaps a minor matter and nothing to worry about.

Still, she wondered.

Bill's whole life involved a purpose that would mold everything he did - a purpose that had already proved to cause a wide divergence in their thinking and their actions.

Bill didn't like to dance, for instance; she loved the soft swaying rhythm of the music.

Bill liked to leave his religious convictions, in printed form, under his plate with a tip for the waitress. That embarrassed her, but she said nothing. He had felt her disapproval, though, and the next time shoved the tract back into his pocket, remembering.

And, remembering again that night when he got back to his room, he was startled. Apparently he was beginning to think more of Alice than he did of the Lord. He went to sleep worrying about it. But next morning the sun was shining brightly and he had forgotten.

A few nights later there was to be a special evangelistic service at the church, which he was anxious to attend. Alice had a house-meeting and couldn't come.

He was glad in a way.

There was always a little tension when they went to church together. He was too aware of her lovely presence there beside him, coolly critical of all the wonderful truths Dr. Byron was pouring out of his full heart of love for Christ. A wonderful man, Dr. Byron; but sometimes Bill had wondered if there wasn't some deep tragedy in his life.

The moon was almost full that Thursday evening in late November, the evening of the service at the church. It was such a wonderful night that Bill secretly wished he felt free to go for a walk with Alice instead. On the way to church Bill made his final decision. He would try to meet her at the library after the service and go for a walk - and ask her to marry him. The very audacity of such a question almost suffocated him. But he wanted to get it settled. The war shadow was becoming darker and the whole campus was upset with the prospect of all the fellows being called away. Bill Benton, captain of State's undefeated football team, felt entirely fit and had no doubt that he would be one of the first to go....

The church was packed when he came in, but an usher found him a place down toward the front. From the very first hymn the service seemed unusually effective to Bill. Dr. Byron, though apparently tired - there seemed almost a touch of sadness as he preached tonight - had never preached more powerfully. He used Romans 12:1 as his text: "I beseech you therefore...by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service." It was thrilling to hear Dr. Byron show how wonderfully God could use a fellow or girl who was willing to be used no matter what the cost.

Then...suddenly...confused...smitten with dread, the truth of the message drove home to his own heart. From somewhere out of his memory came unyielding words he recognized as part of a Bible verse: "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers." Willing to be used, no matter what the cost, Dr. Byron had said. For him, Alice was the price, and he knew it.

"O God," he cried silently, "I can never give up Alice. I love her. She means everything to me. Don't ask me to do that..."

Dr. Byron was closing his message. "Young man or woman," he said with intense meaning, "what is it that is holding you back from God's best, grieving God the Holy Spirit, and making it necessary for Him to give you only a second-best life? What is it in your life that is grieving God because you stubbornly refuse to let Him make the decision for you? Why do you fear to trust Him when you know how much He loves you? Is it that you're afraid He won't let you have the career you've been planning and dreaming? His way is better than yours. Are you afraid to let Him have your life because He might send you to the mission field? But He wants your life. Give it to Him. Are you afraid He won't let you marry the one you love? Then God in His infinite mercy look down and help you to trust your Saviour." Dr. Byron was himself deeply affected as he said the last words.

Finally the meeting was ended.

Bill waited outside the church until the crowd had gone home and he had seen Dr. Byron cross the lawn to the parsonage. He waited another five minutes, then crossed the street to Dr. Byron's home and knocked. Mrs. Byron opened the door, and inviting him in, went to call her husband. He remembered having seen Mrs. Byron once before. Traces of the beauty of her younger years were very evident. She was gracious and cordial. Yet, it seemed to Bill, somewhere deep within her a door seemed shut...an indefinable reserve...

Then Dr. Byron came in, greeted him heartily, and lit the gas fireplace. They sat down to talk.

Bill came immediately to the point. "Dr. Byron," he said, "I'm going back to the campus tonight to meet Alice and to ask her to marry me."

"I am sorry to hear it," Dr. Byron spoke quietly, and remained silent, waiting for Bill to explain. Then Bill put his hands over his face; he trembled. "I know you love her very much," Dr. Byron said. Then he added, "I faced a similar decision once."

He went on slowly. "She was such a girl as a fellow sometimes dreams of meeting. Perhaps I can explain it by telling you that she was much like Alice. And I loved her with all my heart. But she was not a Christian--"

"And so you gave her up for the Lord," Bill finished.

"No," Dr. Byron said, "I married her."

Bill stared.

Then, suddenly it was clear - the deep sorrow hidden somewhere in the old minister's keen gray eyes, Mrs. Byron's reserve. Her real self was a prisoner within her dutiful conformity.

"We were married," Dr. Byron continued. "I thought that surely she would become a Christian. But, if not, what difference? Her inspiration and companionship in other things would be all one's heart could want.

"But we soon found out that our whole system of values, our entire point of view hinged on our attitude to Jesus Christ....How could we have family devotions with a wife and mother who thought the whole thing foolish? How could I get up early to pray and to study my Bible when she silently thought me a fool? And how could I expect her to feel differently since she had no loyalty to the Saviour? How could I tithe without hurting her when we needed all the money we could get for things about the house?

"The years have slipped along," Dr. Byron went on brokenly, "Years of utter loneliness for both of us. Love soon went. There is instead a mutual respect, and a longing for sweet companionship we had expected. We have lived our lives together, worlds apart."

"Bill," his face grew stern - "I was warned by those who knew the road before us, and I refused their warning. I don't expect you to listen to me. But I'd give my heart if you'll do this one thing: get on your knees before your Saviour for an hour before you ask Alice... God help you..."

Bill, shaken, confused, afraid, stumbled out into the night to try to think...

Never had Alice seemed more lovely than she did later that night as they walked together to the Theta house, both quiet with their thoughts. His heart was almost bursting with pride, defiance, longing and fear. As they said goodnight Bill wanted desperately to put his arms around her, hold her close and forget the world of difference between them. She was bewildered by his obvious confusion of heart and perplexity. She wanted to help, but didn't know how or what to say. For a brief moment her face rested against the collar of his greatcoat, then she slipped away into the house. Bill turned away into the night. Clouds scuttled across the face of the moon and raced away. All that night he walked alone, yet not alone, with God...

And in the providence of God, when Bill woke up late the next morning, he found a notice from his draft board ordering his immediate induction. He decided to leave on the late afternoon train immediately after the game.

State had not seen such a magnificent game for years as he played that afternoon. Time after time the great stadium re-echoed with his name.

Alice was there, thrilled and happy.

Her heart jumped with joy when back at the Theta house she found a letter in her box addressed in his scrawl. She opened it eagerly, wondering if perhaps tonight would be the night he would ask her to go walking and haltingly tell her of his love.

Then she read the letter and the light faded from her face. Quietly she walked up to her room, closed and locked the door, not to come out for many hours...

****

Bill Benton had been speaking slowly, evenly, with difficulty. At last he had finished the story he had wanted most to forget. "You see?" he asked simply.

"Yes," said Jack, "I see."

Jack went up to his room. Hours later his lights were still burning. But next morning there was peace in his face. God had won.