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Excerpts from
"Pursued"
Foreword by
Lisa McInnes-Smith
Dani Cherrie is a woman of vision and adventure. She is risk
taker, she is an initiator and she is an entrepreneur. Where
others have boundaries of fear and reservation, she doesn’t
have a conservative bone in her body. She can believe for
anything and it is inspiring to watch her in action. It
doesn’t matter whether she is dealing with where to live,
what to do or how to earn an income, she trusts God for the
impossible – or what is seemingly not attainable.
Her beginning was difficult and there are challenges that
still linger in her thinking. But Dani is a fighter, an over
comer and a conqueror of insurmountable odds. As a
girlfriend it has been an absolute joy to travel the journey
of life with her. We met at that precarious age of mid
twenties when one is trying to work out the meaning of life
and our place in it. It was almost simultaneously that we
realized that God was real and personal and available for us
for every detail of our lives. We often cried together as we
spoke of His goodness in our lives. We were overwhelmed with
a love that seemed to count none of our past mistakes
against us but constantly provides mercy. God has shown
Himself so big in Dani’s life because she chose to say ‘yes,
whatever you want’.
The writing of this book has been monumental. Some would say
a miracle. Just being able to read and sort through Dani’s
diary entries is quite a task but so much has been recorded
in spite of her trials and travels. I have always known that
Dani’s story needed to be told because of the finger prints
of God all over her life. We know it is difficult to go back
and gather up all the threads of the past and put them into
a legible form. I think Belinda her co-writer has been a
miracle worker here.
I hope you love this story as much as I have. I pray that it
encourages you to the core of your being, reassuring you
that God is with you and for you and in you if you invite
Him to be. Dani is a trophy of His grace and goodness. He
took a girl from a difficult background and turned her into
a voice of love and encouragement for those who are broken
or struggling. Her transparency brings freedom for others.
She opens a door to each of her readers to say ‘come with me
into that place of truth’ and tell it like it really is, so
that the past can’t defeat you but merely be gleaned from
and lead you into a glorious future.
Love is a little word but means so much. She is not selfish
but generous to a tee, sometimes to her own detriment but
never to the reputation of God. When you meet Dani, she’ll
love you, tell you the truth and lead you to a better future
because she leads you to Jesus and not her own wisdom.
She’ll be embarrassed about every word I’ve written because
she doesn’t like the focus on herself. It’s always been
about others for Dani.
She’s a woman on a mission even when she thinks she’s going
nowhere. Dani doubts herself but never doubts God. She likes
to play a supporting role but not the main lead. In writing
this book she has moved beyond her comfort zone and let
someone else decide that her story is worthy of being told.
I know her story has to be told because of the hope it will
bring and the courage it will stir in you. Move on –
that’s the cry of Dani’s heart. Go forward, believe in the
future, and don’t look back. In fact, run – with all that’s
within you. God will be running with you.
See you on the track!
Lisa McInnes-Smith
Professional Speaker and Best Selling Author
Chapter 1
Excerpt
Broken
(1981)
The horse’s hooves dug hard into the sand as we cantered
along the water’s edge. The rhythm was hypnotic – the
heaving of its breath, the pounding of its legs, the rise
and fall of its head, the mane flicking up and down, up and
down. I surrendered myself to the rhythm, the saltiness of
the ocean spray, the warm tangy smell of the animal, the
smoothness of the worn leather saddle and the bite of the
reins in my hands. It was good to be alive.
The autumn morning on the
Victorian coast might have been gloomy, but my spirits were
high. I was 22 years old, and the whole universe lay ahead
of me, like a present waiting to be unwrapped. My nursing
career was blossoming in new directions. I had a boyfriend
who’d begun to make noises about marriage, and while I
hadn’t quite figured out what to do with him yet, it was
good to be wanted. It was Sunday, a precious day off, and I
was out in the open air with
some old school friends, doing something I absolutely loved.
Eventually, pleasantly
exhausted, we left the beach and rode back towards the
stables. The route took us along a narrow dirt road, through
scrubby bushland. We slowed the horses to a walk, chatting
amicably about the ride, the week we’d had, the week ahead.
When a car rounded the corner up ahead, we naturally and
easily fell into single file to allow the driver to pass. I
was on the end of the line.
A shout of alarm broke my
morning reverie, “He’s not slowing down! Get out of the
way!”
We couldn’t believe it. Country
drivers knew the protocol around horses. You slowed down and
passed quietly, but this car was coming straight for us
along that narrow roadway, throwing up clouds of dust. As
the car roared past the first riders, my horse reared up in
fear, lashing out with its front hooves towards the vehicle.
The reins were wrenched from my
hands, and the world went into slow motion. Shaken clear of
the saddle, I was flung all the way to the other side of the
road, landing hard and squarely on my back.
The thud jarred the air from my
lungs – and the thoughts from my head. I didn’t feel any
pain at first, just the stunned numbness of shock, as horses
whinnied, and a cloud of dust swept over me.
The rest is a blur. Jostling
horses, angry voices shouting accusations at the driver, the
edge in the voice of my friend Mike as he bent over me.
“Dani, are you all right? Can
you hear me? Dani, stay awake.”
I can’t tell you who called the
ambulance, or how long it took to arrive. I drifted in and
out of consciousness, vaguely aware of concerned faces,
uniforms, professionally calm voices, and finally the
antiseptic smell of a hospital.
The nightmare dragged on and
on. There were x-rays and examinations and consultations
between the medical staff. I was thinking more clearly by
then, and with that had come the soaring pain in my back. I
was in agony and I knew the bruises were going to be
spectacular, but at least I could still move – I wasn’t
paralysed! I’d never been so relieved to be able simply to
walk.
Finally, they let me go. I was
dying to get out of there. I felt out of control, with all
these people telling me things. I hated hospitals – a great
endorsement, coming from a nurse! I just wanted to be home.
I wanted my Mum, and I wanted to rest.
It was so good to get home to
peace and painkillers, but the relief didn’t last long. It
seemed I’d only just got there when there was a knock on the
door. My mother came back into the room with a tall man, a
stranger.
“I’m an orthopaedic
specialist,” he told me. “I do some consulting at Frankston
Hospital and I’ve had a look at your x-rays. I want you back
in hospital straight away. Looks like you’ve broken some
bones in your back that need further investigation.”
This astounding statement just
bounced off my brain. I was still numb and confused, and
more than a little addled by all the painkillers. I refused
to believe him.
“My spine’s not broken,” I
said. “I can move. I can feel my legs. You must have made a
mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” he
replied. “It looks like there are three breaks across the
spiny processes and it doesn’t look too stable. We need to
get you flat for six weeks to give them a good chance to
heal. I’d like to put you in traction as soon as possible.
There are some potential complications. I strongly recommend
that you come back to the hospital right now.”
I still argued with him. I was
young and far too sure of myself, and I also had the inbuilt
Martin family conviction that I was bulletproof. The
specialist moved on to explicit warnings. He explained the
breaks in my vertebrae. I could move because my spinal cord
hadn’t been broken – but some of the little bony outcrops of
the vertebrae bone had. The transverse processes were also
affected. They could no longer do their job of holding
ligaments in place. To add to the instability, further down
a vertebrae had also slipped forward onto the vertebrae
below. I could lose feeling and power and eventually lose
bladder and bowel control.
In spite of these dire
predictions, I remained stubbornly opposed to going back to
hospital. I was a nurse and I’d heard plenty of
medico-babble. It didn’t frighten me – even when perhaps it
should have! My poor mother, on the other hand, was out of
her mind with worry.
“Daniela, listen to the
doctor,” she begged. “You must do as he says. Please!”
Chapter 5
Excerpt
Restless
“Why don’t we get married?” said Hassan. “I could build a
home for us in Tarabin. Not just a tent, a proper house.”
It wasn’t the first time he had
brought up the subject. I was both alarmed and excited by
Hassan’s desire to marry me. “I’m not sure about living in
the village,” I replied.
“We wouldn’t stay there all the
time,” he said earnestly. “We could travel together. We
could go diving in Greece. You know how much you want to go
to Greece. We can be together forever. I love you, Daniela.”
I had found somewhere to
belong, a sense of acceptance, and I had grabbed it with
both hands. I hadn’t thought through the consequences of
these choices. I’d been living from moment to moment, driven
by my emotions. Although I had thrown myself whole-heartedly
into the Bedouin experience, I never ever thought I would
end up living in that village. To me it was a game, an
adventure. I loved it, but I never dreamed I would end up
living like that for the rest of my life.
Hassan himself was torn. He had
a foot in both camps. The village was too restrictive for
him because he’d tasted the freedom of life under Israeli
rule. He could speak fluent Hebrew and Arabic, and had basic
literacy in both languages. He didn’t want to live in the
village full-time. At the same time he loved the security of
his own tradition, but he also felt restricted by it and
thought there was a better way.
Hassan had never been outside
that area of the Middle East so he thought it was a very
good offer for me.
I actually had a lot of freedom
around Nuweiba and Tarabin, because Hassan was well liked
and respected. But now the pressure was on.
Chapter 10
Excerpt
Crushed
The pain made me want to scream out loud. It gnawed at my
spine, and radiated down my right leg. My thoughts were
scrambled, and sleep brought no refreshment, only
nightmares. I had to leave Ernabella, and go back to
Melbourne.
More than three years after my
horse riding accident, I felt like I was back to square one.
I was flat on my back again, bombed out on pain medication,
dependent on others to help me, and spiraling down into that
old depression.
The physical agony was matched
by emotional pain, as I thought about my Bedouin boyfriend,
reaching out to me from the other side of the world. Were my
feelings for him true love, or just duty? I started having
bad dreams about Hassan, as I lay there waiting to go into
hospital in Melbourne, and waiting for him to come.
9 August 1984
Every thing feels so near and yet so far. I am waiting to
speak to Hassan tonight to find out if he got his visa for
Australia and Greece. It is painful waiting and not knowing.
I wish all of this was over. I can’t believe he might be
here next week. It seems too good to be true. I don’t want
to believe it in case I get hurt. It is hard enough just
trying to keep strong. Please Hassan, have good news for me.
I had tests on my spine and
something went wrong. Spinal fluid leaked out, and I had
never known such pain. The agony of the original break was
child’s play compared to this. For ten days, I couldn’t lift
my head off the pillow without getting blinding spinal
headaches. They put me in traction with sandbags, and I
prayed they could do something to fix it.
Chapter 12
Excerpt
Turning Point
Rain was falling steadily
outside Nicole’s Paris apartment. Inside, I was full of a
head cold, and feeling lonely, sick, restless and bored.
Nicole was at her chef’s class, and I was at a loose end. My
head was spinning with questions. Where on earth was my life
going? I had to get out and walk.
I rugged up in one of Nicole’s
old coats and wandered aimlessly for a while in the drizzle,
until I stumbled upon a small museum. It was midweek and no
one was around, but the door was open, so I walked on in.
Inside, the air was hushed, and my footsteps sounded
unnaturally loud on the wooden floorboards. The museum was
done up like an artist’s studio, with just a few sparse
pieces arranged around the rooms. The stairs creaked as I
climbed to the second floor, and there I stopped,
transfixed.
Before me was a statue in a
glass case – praying hands, carved from wood. I had no idea
if this was the famous original, or a copy, and it didn’t
matter. I was mesmerised by the posture, and the delicacy of
the carving. As I stood there lost in thought, the
realisation struck me that I had no idea who God was. I felt
incredibly small. I thought, “Who am I, if there really is a
God?” Here I was, running around the world, trying to make
my world and myself look important, but I was nothing. I was
a nobody. All these years I’d been playing games with God,
putting him in a box, making him to be what I wanted him to
be. I suddenly felt ashamed for using him like a vending
machine. I’d used the lingo and said all the right words –
but I was empty. So much garbage came out of my mouth about
what I knew and thought. “I don’t know anything!” I thought.
“I don’t know who I am or even what the point of it all is.
I have no idea who God is, or if he’s even real!”
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