Chapter 12
The Sewanee Puzzle
Apollyon’s War Room
Apollyon sat in his war room, not making a sound while watching his commanders. This time, he sat at the head of a long, cold-stone, gray table, which was surrounded by his best officers. His private domain was suspended in the midst of hell like an immense rock island. The first order of business, as suspected, was Dar-Raven’s replacement.
"As you know, Dar-Raven won’t be with us for at least the next eight weeks," said Apollyon, saddened by Dar-Raven’s temporary demise.
A rather sinister-looking specter, called Sint-Hades, clothed in a dark wizard robe, stood with only his eyes glowing from his ancient hood and shouted. "I will take his place Old Dark One, with your permission, my lord!"
He bowed in submission towards Apollyon, and others growled and hissed in protest. They all wanted to share in the glory that Dar-Raven basked in as the commander of the dark legions.
"What makes you so qualified to replace the great Dar-Raven?" asked another dark angel called Dark-Pit whose black hair flowed down his back and wrapped easily around his waist. He was not only massive but also painted much like the Sudanese warriors with bright colors over his face and chest. Even his wings were painted, not leaving any black showing. He looked more like an evil circus clown with wings than a dark angel from the depths of hell.
Apollyon sat down to watch the challenge and waited to see if they would draw blood in a battle for Dar-Raven's envied position. The dark-cloaked Sint-Hades dropped his hood. His cloak slid to his waist exposing an elaborately tattooed body of snakes baring fangs, which curved around his body showing a snake-like skin. The heads of two snake tattoos ended on each side of his face so that upon first glance his head looked like a snake's head, except for his human eyes, nose, and mouth. He pulled out a five-foot obsidian-steel sword with a diamond edge, placing it on the table before him. On his back were shafts of black obsidian arrows. With his hands on the table before him, he leaned towards his challenger, flexed his tightly strung muscles, and quivered with the energy of rage within him.
"I've fought with Dar-Raven for eight thousand years on assignment. None is as qualified to lead the legions, including those of the Sudanese, than me. I have slaughtered as many of God’s angels, if not more, than any of you, and have done so in a savage and merciless fashion. My strength and cunning caused me to become an assassin for the glory of the Dark Father. I have never failed to slaughter my assigned targets and have no respect for the humans or their angels. It has been my agenda to change the heir-servants to open game, except for God’s unrelenting protection of them. If they are on God’s side, they need to be included in the blood sport, not one of them should be excluded," he spoke proudly.
He continued, "My name is Sint-Hades, and Dark-Pit will never live through his challenge of me. I propose that whoever loses this challenge be tossed to the scorpion tails, which are locked away until they are released on the earth. How do you think they will treat one of us, whom they have envied for thousands of years since their creation? Is that not a just fate for the loser?"
Dark-Pit jumped up on the table and pulled a large sword with an abnormally shaped point in the form of a gothic axe head. He hissed his challenge, "I accept the challenge of this assassin. This assassin hides in the shadows lurking on the prey, not able to face the battle head-on like the rest of us. He has used guile and surprise like a great thief in the night, afraid to match wits on the front lines like the rest of us."
Apollyon still didn’t move, enjoying the show. He spoke quietly but was heard, "The loser will be thrown to the scorpion tails to be released only when the Jehovah One gives the orders. I agree, they will not fair well against the great-tailed ones. It will be a special hell of its own, but a just one. Only the strongest shall win."
At that point, Dark-Pit swung his battle sword over his head towards Sint. It shaved off the top of his black hair, which was especially short, but now to a burr of black fuzz. Sint picked up his sword feeling the brush of Dark-Pit’s blade whizzing across his scalp and lunged towards him. He drove the point of his sword through Dark-Pit's stomach and threw him back over his head, which made him land only inches from Apollyon's stone throne.
Sint turned to him and rushed him; but instead of using his sword, he met him getting up and rolled with him in a great wrestler's hold. Dark-Pit groaned against the sudden weight and forced Sint backwards, then pushed at him with his powerful legs. Dark-Pit was outweighed by at least fifty pounds by the thickness of Sint's muscled torso but made up for it with stronger, more massive legs. He was driving Sint back towards the table a foot at a time. Both dropped their swords in the struggle, and they were trying to break each other in two with their grinding grips. Sint let his right hand grasp go and grabbed for the black shafts of his arrows. He was able to get a hold of four three-foot arrows in one snatch and brought them down, then plunged them into Dark-Pit’s upper chest and neck, making blood surge out of Dark-Pit’s body. He had already healed himself from the stomach wound but was caught off guard by the force of the arrows piercing so many places at once.
Sint dropped the arrows and threw Dark-Pit on the floor. While holding Dar-Pit's head backwards and the other hand on his chest, he seized with his snake-like mouth onto Dar-Pit's open neck and savagely tore at him. Sint's teeth ripped through flesh and muscle like razors and cut through Dark-Pit’s jugular until he passed out from the momentary loss of blood.
Sint stood, covered with blood and torn flesh and wiped his face off with the bottom of his robe, which he dragged behind him in the battle and smiled wickedly. His teeth were long and jagged. He had honed them to a razor’s edge thousands of years ago when he took on the images of the snakehead. The other angels groaned and watched quietly as Sint kicked Dark-Pit towards the edge of the floating island. Finally, Dark-Pit went over the edge, and Apollyon moved his little finger, which directed Dark-Pit’s fall directly into the abyss of the great-tailed ones.
For a moment, there were only the same cries coming from the scorpion tails, "Oh, Apollyon, set us free," but then, for several minutes the crying stopped. They were occupied with tearing Dark-Pit to pieces. Every time he would repair himself, it happened all over again.
Sint stood on the great table watching the others cowering away, and he bowed before Apollyon, who still didn't move, but gave an affirming nod of encouragement to his minor groveling. Apollyon spoke with his own respectable hiss, "You will take Dar-Raven’s place. Before you do, you must take over where Tare and Little Ahaz left off. Try to figure out God’s puzzle. Try to figure out exactly who it is that Irish is trying to connect with and what this writer is going to write. It will be complicated on purpose. Anything you can do to hinder her progress is important. I can’t help you figure it out. You'll have to do that. I also can’t afford to give you any backup. We’ve seen the extent to which God is willing to use His legions. It must be done quietly and unseen. Use your assassin skills. Never underestimate the ability of Irish to call upon Aaron."
Sint spit in anger at the mention of Aaron. "I'm not afraid of the likes of Aaron!" He lied, he was, but suppressed his fear in Apollyon’s presence.
"Keep out of his way. I don’t care whether you're afraid of him or not. He's not someone to toy with. He hasn’t been around for over ten thousand years for the fun of it. Just do your job. If we can find out the plan, we can eliminate some humans and stop everything. You stand a lot better chance of that than winning over Aaron. I have something special for you."
Apollyon reached into a portal in time and space and pulled two small vials of liquid. He gingerly handed them to Sint. "This is sickness. You've actually made and used some of this before. As you know, you can use each one only once. You can apply it the same way believers anoint someone for their healing. It makes human biochemical warfare look like a kid’s game. Use it wisely. This stuff is special. It contains a great curse, which will block the anointing from b
ringing healing. Remember, you can break the human spirit by killing those they love the most."
Coming To Sewanee
Sint nodded as he took the cursed liquid from Apollyon. He disappeared, arriving along I-24 only a mile from the Sewanee exit on Monteagle. This time, gone was the snake tattoos and his closely cut dark hair; instead, he had fair skin and fashionably long brown hair with a blonde weave hinting of sun-bleached highlights. His hair hung to just above his shoulders. It was a nice cut and combed back from the front of his face into a gathered but trim thickness. As a human, he wasn’t as tall as an angel, only slightly above six feet, but kept some of the critical proportions of his previous physique. He wore faded, clean jeans with a lightly-colored, green shirt tucked in around his narrow waist, and a Vandy ball cap stuck in his back pocket. His boots were a military type with green canvas webbing on their sides, laced high above his ankles. He carried a green camping backpack from which hung a large tool belt filled with carpenter’s tools. Above his backpack was a bedroll and on it was a small sign that read, "Have hammer will travel."
As he walked up the interstate, cars with Vanderbilt coeds, on their way for a big game in Chattanooga, spotted him from the opposite side of the road. They honked and waved at him, admiring his good looks. Everything about him was electric and charismatic. He knew that anyone he met would be mesmerized and enchanted by him. He would be an intoxication of the flesh to anyone he approached or spoke to.
Only five minutes from the Sewanee exit, Gaafar passed Sint. Irish turned instantly to stare at him and felt a great dread come upon her with inner warning, a voice that said, "Angel in disguise."
"What’s wrong Irish? You got goosie bumpies!"
Gaafar looked scared for a minute and looked in his rear-view mirror for another angel attack. He had never seen Irish looking so apprehensive. She was staring at her own side-view mirror while trying to get a better look. She saw Sint smile slightly when she looked back at him. She let the details of his looks burn into her consciousness. She knew that L.A. had been replaced. To her, an angel in disguise was the worst kind of adversary. Their power over humans in mortal form triggered every alarm within her. They could do just about anything they wanted with others; so persuasive were their ways and their persona.
"Gaafar, this is our exit. Please promise me something." Irish reached out and touched his arm lovingly as she spoke.
"Yes, my lady, what is it?" He was already tearing up, knowing this was the end of this journey.
"Promise me that you won’t pick up any hitchhikers. Don’t believe everything you see and hear from humans. Trust only the Spirit of God in your heart, and make sure, you seek God for your answers rather than depending on man, no matter who they are." She pointed to the Hardee's at the top of the hill heading towards Sewanee, and he pulled off the road parking close to the restaurant.
Gaafar was hardly able to control his quivering lips and answered, "I promise."
Irish looked around the parking lot and back towards the interstate exit, not seeing Sint. She sensed something else. "You know something, Gaafar. There will come a time when everything man has built will come crumbling to the ground: the economy, the careers, the morals, and the very foundation of everything they live for will be brought to dust. In that time, you would do well to move onto the top of this mountain or encourage your children to. This is God’s mountain; and when that time comes, He'll make this place a holy place to bring and save the children. Wouldn’t you like to live in a place like this?"
"My lady, the angel prophetess, you're trying to tell me something important, aren’t you?" He was beginning to understand that he was given a glimpse into the future of mankind. It was a warning and a suggestion that he would take to heart.
"Gaafar, you're Episcopal, aren’t you?” she asked flatly.
"Yes, my lady," he answered. "Most of my family were Muslim, but a missionary, Brother Henry and his wife Deborah brought us the news of Jesus. They were in Sudan translating the Bible so we could read it in our own language. We received Jesus as our savior. It was at a terrible cost. Many of my family were killed by the Muslims for betraying Allah."
"Have you ever thought about going back as a missionary?" She was thinking logically, not knowing anything about whether he had thought about it or not.
"My lady, I have thought about that. I have a degree in engineering. I have thought about entering the seminary at Sewanee so I can lead my Sudanese brothers to the Lord. I have thought about it a lot. Do you know something that I don’t?"
"Actually, no, I just believe with what you have seen and shared with us angels that you must do something with all that knowledge and that history of us behind you. When you see the sky turn red, remember Sewanee. If you are in a place to do so, come to this mountain or as close to the top as possible. If your children or their children are not near, tell them to come near. There will be other places like this that are also under the palm of God. They will be safe havens protected from even the dark angels. These will be places where God gathers the children, and they will find safety from all harm."
Gaafar nodded in understanding. It would be a message that he would teach to his own children one day. His encouragement from the mission fields of his home would send many families to the protection of a God’s mountains or somewhere near them, even some at Sewanee. Irish kissed him tenderly and disappeared. She showed up walking only a half-mile from the Hardee's along the flat stretch towards Sewanee's University Avenue. Behind her, out of sight, was Sint. He was picked up by some University of the South coeds. As he passed Irish, he looked back with a knowing smile.
The other girls in the car commented, "Hey, what’s up with you? We girls give you a lift, and you’re eyeballing a lady walking down the road. What are we chipped-beef or something?"
They laughed together, then noticed how un-amused he was. His presence started giving them bad feelings. His eyes pushed dark around his contacts, and his anger from their rebuking caused their neck hairs to stand on end.
"You have no idea what you are talking about! That’s no lady walking out there! That’s Irish! No matter how much I dislike her, she’s still the most beautiful angel in God’s heaven. If I want to look at her, rather than you 'chipped-beef,' then nothing you say or do will stop me. Let me out of this car, now!"
They pulled the car over so fast their own heads jerked back and forth. They were only a block from University Avenue and so glad to unload him that they sped off almost before his feet hit the ground. They didn’t say a word but were all thinking the same thing that he was a crazy carpenter-drifter on drugs.
One of the girls started hollering at the driver, "The next time, Miss Susie hot pants, you want to pick up some guy off the road, leave me out! That guy was in orbit. Did you see those eyes of his? He looked like someone on crack!"
Susie sparked back, "If it wasn’t for the obvious drooling from you guys, I wouldn’t have done it. Remember, you all, I mean every one of you kept shouting, 'He’s a hunk! He’s a hunk! Pick him up! Pick him up,' remember?" They all shouted blame back and forth while they headed for their dorm.
Piece Of The Puzzle
Robert paced back and forth in the maternity ward of the Springfield Metro Hospital. He thought, "This is all happening at the wrong time. I’m in my senior year at Evangel, working in an interim, which has turned into a full-time position at a local Assembly God Church, and now this. I can barely take care of my school expenses, never mind a new baby!"
Grandma came running in the waiting room, then seeing Robert, ran to him, "What’s going on with my baby, my little girl?"
"She’s fine, Miss Maggie, just fine. They just asked me to leave because I was hyperventilating. You can go in if you want. She’s been in labor for ten hours, now. Oh, Lord, I hope that baby is okay!" Robert was so stressed that he pulled at his fingers and hands, twisting them until they turn
ed a permanent red.
Here, he was supposed to be this refuge of strength, Preacher Robert, and he was falling apart at the seams. He lost his balance in the excitement and fell back against the hospital wall. He turned suddenly and dashed into the bathroom, then heaved in his self-made trauma. He finally got over it and washed his face, saying a little prayer, "Lord, I’m just people. Help me through this. I know you have your hand on my family. Please, Lord, protect us all, especially Judy and our newborn."
Maggie came out and yelled for him, "Robert, the baby is here. He’s here. He’s beautiful. He looks just like my Judy!"
He ran towards her thinking, "There they go again. Her whole family already determined exactly who their baby would look like, and they never gave him a body part, not a one."
They had already determined his child would be a girl; he laughed at how that turned out. He played along with them before his son came. He did turn the tables on them one evening and said, "I’ll give you every benefit of your clan's inherited good looks, but I bet she'll have my butt."
There was complete silence and no one answered him back. How could they? What were they going to say, "No, I believe she’s going to have Uncle Joe's butt?" Not a chance!
"Guess what, guys," he said, "we don’t have any boy names!"
Judy was deliriously happy to see her boy squirming and crying loudly. "What are we going to name him, Robert?"
He thought for only a second and could only think of his sail-boating days. He thought about a name that would mean something one day. A strong name to be a driving force in his son’s life. He got it, Keel, like the keel on a boat.
"Keel, name him Keel!" he said joyously, making Judy and Maggie jump from his excitement.
Judy felt a confirmation of his name within her spirit and kissed her newborn's eyelids softly, then said, "My Keel, my precious little Keel."
Maggie didn’t think too much one way or another and said, "If it works for you two, it’s okay with me. I was thinking of something a little more biblical, but I can see how God can use a boy named Keel."
In that instant, they all three heard voices around them and saw four angels gathered near the bed. There were two powers at the foot of the bed with swords drawn in a defensive manner and two heir-servants with their rainbow colors illuminating the air around them.
There was a distinct voice that said, "It has begun. God’s child for the end of times," then they disappeared.
The Jacobs Family
Sean Jacobs walked into his Sewanee home and looked beaten down and frustrated. He had just been to his first seminary classes and felt a moment of disillusionment mixed with fatigue. He saw his little Sal, he called her, running up to him, then jumping in his arms. Her bright smile instantly changed his afternoon disappointments to sunshine, and he hugged her affectionately and sang a little tune, then danced her around the room.
As a five-year-old, she was always busy. She wasn’t a hyper child, just a busy one. She gave love so unconditionally that it was hard for anyone to resist picking her up and getting an excited squeeze. She made everyone she met wish they could keep some of the energy she expended so continuously.
She was Sean and Karen’s perfect joy. She came from the deliberate trip to China through a long adoption process. They got Sal when their only son, Chad, was nine years old. The kids definitely didn’t look like peas from the same pod, with Chad’s blue eyes and long blonde hair next to Sal’s dark oriental features with big black eyes and hair. Her face was as tiny and petite as she was, but it never stopped her from trying to keep up with Chad, who took on a brotherly, protective manner with her. They had become the mighty duo, going everywhere and doing everything together. Chad was always with his Sal, he nicknamed "Dish," like the China porcelain dishes in his mother’s cupboard.
"I missed you, daddy. I missed you," she said while pretending to dance, holding her dad’s hands in a ballroom waltz posture.
"And I missed you too, Sal. Have you been a good girl for Mom today?" he asked, then let her loose as she squirmed from his embrace to run to get something, not quite answering his question.
"Look, Daddy," she replied while holding up a little plant pot with nothing in it but dirt. "Can you see my watermelon?"
Sean laughed to himself at the choice of plants, watermelons. Karen ate watermelons by the dozen when she was pregnant with Chad. Still to this day, she'd bring them home, several at a time, and Chad, Sal, and Mom would sugar them down and spoon them out, leaving watermelon rinds scattered in bowls and plates all around the house. The garbage was dangerous to take out, loaded with the leaking leftovers. He knew the Sewanee trash men hated to pick up their garbage, just because of the mushy weight. Heaven help them if they ever spilled a trashcan, which would send multiple rinds rolling out onto the street.
"Yes, dear, I see. I bet that one will be a fifty pounder. What do you think, Sal?" He poked at the dirt admiringly.
"Oh, no, mine will be a hundred. I prayed over it in Jesus name," she announced in no uncertain terms.
"Do say, do say," he answered, then saw Karen coming down the stairs and rolling her eyes at Sal’s comment.
"That’s all your fault, you know? She is a chip off the Jesus block, just like your son. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did get that big."
She laughed and went to hug Sean, but noticed a hesitant look in his eyes. They would talk later. Sal joined them, hugging quickly and running back upstairs when she heard Chad turn on his X-Box.
"I want to play, Chad! Don’t start without me, Chad!"
She ran, 'cause she never walked, and with a burst of speed was at the top of the stairs, bounding into Chad’s room and jumping on the bed while they both took up their controllers for a mad game of Unleash the Monkey. The TV was on the top of a dresser, and the edge of the bed made a great bench. Sometimes, they would fall back with their controller cords pulled tautly across their stomachs and play while reposed on their backs, heads propped by pillows—true relaxation.
"How was your first day of seminary, babe?" Karen was almost afraid to ask from the look on his face.
"Scary, just plain scary," replied Sean. He sat down at the kitchen table and grabbed his hermeneutics book. "That Professor Pendwight is a jerk. He's a heathen, a heretic, and a jerk. I can’t believe that I have to learn anything about the Bible from the likes of him. I heard that the school keeps loading him up with extra classes, hoping he'll quit. It's not working fast enough for me."
"What about the rest?" she asked while hoping to defuse him a little, and it did.
"Great, just great, but I had Pendwight for my first class, and it took all day for the other classes to offset it. The more I thought about it, the madder I got."
Karen got up, walked behind him while he sat in the kitchen, and encircled him with her arms, then laid her head next to his face and shoulder. He patted her hand and didn’t say anything for a minute.
"You know how much I've looked forward to seminary. I’ve gone to night school for the last eight years to get ready to go. Even, after getting my master's in organizational management, I hammered out a significant major in biblical languages in my spare time. This is really all I ever wanted to do—Sewanee seminary. Well, he must have done his homework on me. He asked everyone in class to introduce themselves and tell a little about themselves while they were at it. Things like, 'Why are you here?' 'What does seminary mean to you?'"
He continued, building up a crescendo, "I never suspected anything sinister about the introductions until they came to me. I just stood up and explained that I was just glad to be there and nothing more." Sean squeezed Karen’s hand and knew he was getting his dander up again so she moved around and sat down at the table across from him while still holding his hands.
"Pendwight had a little guy in class by the name of Scott, who was his cheerleading section. It was as if he planned the whole thing. He said, 'Oh, Mr. Jacobs, you're t
oo modest. You’re a writer, aren’t you? In fact, here are seven of the last books that you've written, which I downloaded from your website recently. You need to be congratulated because you may be the only one here not really needing seminary since you believe God gives you the words to say about so many important subjects. Maybe you need to be teaching this class, not me. After all, I’m just biblically educated, unlike you. Your silly Greek and Hebrew studies from that fundamentalist college means nothing here. This is what we think of your books at Sewanee.' Then he took a stack of my books and threw them in the trashcan."
"That guy Scott shouted 'Bravo, bravo!' and clapped."
"Oh, Sean, what did you do?"
Karen shared his anger and pain but knew that they were warned that not everyone agreed about the scriptures; and certainly, about a layperson writing about scriptures. They knew they would run into these kinds of liberals, but to have gotten one the first semester in the first class was bad luck, very bad luck.
"What could I do? I just sat down and tried to keep my hands from shaking. I actually believe the rest of the class was embarrassed for me. Some said so when we left class. Scott couldn’t resist and came up and said, 'We don’t need fanatic fundamentalists, orthodox, conservatives in the Episcopal Church. Why don’t you go back home to Kentucky?'''
"Karen, how can I keep writing with so much against me? How can I tell people about Godly scriptural things when the institution ignores what I say? What makes me think I have an inside track on the Word of God? Why am I even trying? No one is going to listen to me, until I've been ordained; and even then, the educated elite will just boohoo it as hogwash as long as they have one more PHD behind their names than me. There's no way for my writings to make a difference." Sean bowed his head in his hands and wept quietly.
"Pity party!" exclaimed Karen loudly. "Pity party!"
"Now that’s what I call sympathy!" he replied angrily.
"Sean Jacobs, you said that God called you to write. If he did, which I believe, then what do you care if some pagan professor doesn’t like your stuff? You’ve been given a rock thrower from the get go. King David had one, now you got one, too. What are you going to do, quit doing what God has asked you to do? Listen, you put up your schoolbooks, since you don’t have but one class tomorrow and no homework yet and go write. Someone needs to read what you've written. Your book Forgiveness may make a difference to someone one day. Now, do it!"
She was standing, pointing her finger directly at him. She was taunting and challenging him to "get over it." She knew him better than he knew himself. She was really speaking under the anointing of the Holy Spirit. God was using her to get to him, and she was the hammer.
"Okay, okay, you’re right. I think I need a walk and some prayer time first. I’m going to All Saints for some time alone. I’ll be back shortly. To write, Karen, to write. Both you and God are right. I give."
Her speech was just enough to jar him loose from his self-pity. He kissed her lightly and turned to leave. Before he got to the door, she spoke, "After supper, I want to talk to you about the job I found. You know we need the money, but we've got to find someone to help around here and with the kids. I know it'll work out. We just need to talk."
Dance Of Hora
Irish finally made it to the University Avenue intersection leading into Sewanee. There was nothing there except a corner restaurant, more like a coffee shop; and as she walked up University Avenue, she saw the Greek restaurant and the bookstore on her right. She went into the bookstore and milled around a little. In the back of the store, almost hidden from sight, was a selection of Sean Jacob's books. She picked them up and casually thumbed through them. God had already given her every word in every book as her own insightful reference with a note, "I'm pleased."
The bookstore owner approached her and said, "You can have those at half price if you want. I’ve been trying to get rid of them." He was a portly gentleman with a big, bulbous baldhead and high-arched eyebrows.
"Why?" asked Irish mystified.
"They’re from some lay guy who puts them together himself. If we had known that they had spiral binding like a cookbook, we’d never taken them to begin with. We gave him the order over the phone, never thinking it wasn’t perfect binding. Anyway, what can a layperson have good to say about God and scriptures? This is Education Mountain, no room for that kind of stuff."
"Maybe you ought to have asked God what he thinks about spiral binding." She felt a righteous anger welling up in her.
"What’s God got to do with my bookstore?" he answered pompously.
"With yours, maybe nothing." Her words acted as a rebuke, and he felt the sting of them more strongly than if someone punched him.
"Lady, if you don’t want to buy them, then just put them back. Use some of those hard covers to hide them, will you?" He pouted off to his desk and started sorting through his new arrivals, mumbling to himself about women with attitudes.
Irish left, knowing she would handle him later. As she approached All Saints, her spirit quickened, and she felt the presence of God overwhelm her as she opened the immense wooden doors leading directly into the sanctuary. She stood stunned by the bright-stained glass and the wooden artwork and carvings. All this was on earth like heaven, this ancient cathedral full of beautiful light and Godly images. She walked slowly up the middle aisle and stopped every so often to feel the texture of the pews and small, wooden chairs, picking up the reverence of this scared place. She approached the altar and bowed gracefully. This was where she was supposed to be, and this was part of God’s puzzle for His glory. She stood in awe before the great altar where the bread and wine were poured and broken. She imagined the glory of the communion, saying out loud, "The gifts of God for the people of God." She had arrived and felt the happiness of it cascading over her in waves.
Irish caused herself to change into a lightly colored dress of ancient Hebrew attire. She pulled a multi-colored scarf from the air and bowed before the altar. She wanted to celebrate and rejoice before the Lord. She wanted to leap and dance as King David had before the sacred Ark of the Covenant. She stood slowly and with a pristine but delicate spin twirled around listening to the sounds inside her head of bells, timbrels, lute, and lyres. She spread her arms out to her sides and basked in the stained-glass light that blazed in from the evening sun. She moved gracefully and pointed her toes high into the air and turned as if she was in the water of her heavenly pond. She felt the Spirit of God moving over her and beckoning her to dance higher. She did, arching her back and moving quickly to the sounds of the old music of praise and worship. As she danced before the altar, God sent her a shower of flowers, changing the stained-glass sunbeams into the falling petals. The air was filled with them. She danced, through and around them, opening her up to their touch, enthralled and lifted by her worship with God. She was unaware of any visitors, thinking only of her worship before her Lord and King. She opened her wings and pointed them towards heaven, then scooped the petals as they fell and tossed them high into the air. Her colors blended with the stained-glass colors, and the sounds of the dance music continued to echo inside her head.
She turned around and noticed someone dancing with her. It was Grace. She was already an inch taller, not quite tripping over her rainbow-colored wings, and they joined hands and danced together. They sang to the music and sent a shower of echoes that resounded off the sanctuary walls, then filling the inner sanctum with beautiful harmonies of praise. They slowly stopped and bowed before the altar and embraced each other.
Grace said, "I couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?"
"No, wouldn’t think of it. I'm so happy to be here. I know how important this part of my journey is."
"Keel has been born, Irish. No one suspects who he is or what God has planned. The puzzle is so intricate, not even Apollyon will figure it out. I love you and will see you soon." Grace disappeared. Irish did too, appearing several blocks do
wn the street and brushing petals from her new attire: a long, soft, white, A-line dress.
Sean stood stunned by what he saw. He entered the sanctuary just as Irish started dancing. He saw her change to her new clothes and watched her dance with the scarf as it twirled around in the air. The scarf was still lying on the altar floor, and the floor was covered with thousands of flower petals that hid the polished wood and marble. He saw her wings come out, and he held his arms to him, not wanting to faint from the experience, and then Grace joined her. He heard their singing while they danced and recognized the old song from music he had heard before.
He walked towards the altar. Still shaking in disbelief; he picked up the scarf. It still held the presence of God, and the anointing from it made a flood of peace move over him. He silently knelt before the altar, overcome by what he just witnessed. He couldn’t hear them speak from the front of the church, but he felt their love for each other. He felt a personal God gave him this special drama because of his own deep need and to verify that his calling was real, as real as it gets. He had to run home to finish Forgiveness. He had to.
Meeting God's Best
Howard saw Irish coming into the front of his real estate office. He jumped up more shocked by her beauty than a prospect.
"My name is Irish. I’m looking for work here at Sewanee, and a little bird told me that you know everything that goes on around here and might be able to help." Irish reached out to shake his hand, and a great sense of peace came over him. She sat down in front of him and didn’t say a word. He was still standing, forgetting to sit down.
"Work? What kind of work?" he asked, staring at her, and focusing on her perfectness.
"Maid, housekeeper, nanny, cook. I’m sure you know someone who needs help."
Howard was a retired priest who had been in the mission field for years and took up a prominent position with real estate. He knew every house that would be empty because of the students graduating and every family that worked or didn’t. He knew everything about everyone.
"Actually, I do know of a possibility. Karen Jacobs might come to work for us as a new receptionist and do some real estate, too; once she gets her license. If she takes the position, she's already asked me to keep an eye out for a qualified person to do exactly everything you've mentioned. You’ll have to wait till she and Sean make up their mind whether she goes to work or not."
"In the mean time, do you have a place to stay? I didn’t see you driving up. You walking or have a ride?"
Howard sat down, leaning back in his chair and swiveled in it nervously. He felt a certain assurance that God put her in the right place at the right time for the Jacobs. It gave him chill bumps thinking about the timing.
"God is good," he said to himself.
"I had a ride, but they went on. It’s just me and where ever these win…legs can carry me," she answered, almost slipping up.
"Well, you might want to go over to Saint Mary’s Convent. I know one of the head nuns, Sister Mary Bernard. She can help you with a room and a hot meal. That way, I can get in touch with you when I need too. There aren't any phones at the convent, but everything is within walking distance around here, even Saint Mary's. Come on, let me walk you down and introduce you."
Irish smiled at Howard, knowing he was one of God’s best. His tender heart made him loved above many by the Lord. As they walked towards the convent, Irish put her arm through his, and they strolled up the boulevard across the lush, green campus lawns.
Evil Lurks
Sint watched Irish walking into All Saints. He didn’t go in, not wanting to enter such a holy place. He just wasn’t a glutton for punishment. He noticed Sean Jacobs entering but thought of it as only a mere coincidence. After awhile, he sensed Irish wasn’t there anymore, but he was sure of it when he saw her and Howard walking arm and arm across the campus.
As they walked along, a student came running towards them. It was a friend of Howard’s. Howard was to do some proofreading for him. He handed a manuscript to Howard and shook hands with Irish. Then, Howard handed the manuscript to Irish, who tucked it under her free arm as Howard wrote down the student's phone number. Irish held onto the manuscript as they walked towards the convent.
Sint took note and left watching Irish to follow the student. He figured he needed to close the doors on this situation quickly, not wanting anything that God was putting together to work. The student entered a frat house only a block from All Saints. Sint walked up to the frat house and knocked briskly on the door.
Another student answered, "What can I do for you?" He eyed the tool belt that Sint pulled from his backpack and put around his waist. Immediately, he assumed that this man was sent by the college.
"Oh, you’re here to repair the screen on the back porch door, aren’t you? Come on in." The young man ushered him through the house, and Sint surveyed the kids while trying to find the young man he had followed.
He didn’t spot him and asked the student, "Did you know the kid that came in before me?"
As the student pointed to the broken door, he said, "Oh, that was Ralph. He’s really a basket case right now. Getting that dissertation done is killing him."
"What’s a dissertation?" asked Sint.
"You know. That book they have you write?" he replied.
"Book?" he said simply. "By the way, I’m supposed to get a place to sleep for doing all your repair work. Do you have a place for me to hole up while I get things done?"
The student looked at him, then winked, "I got just the place." He took him out to the gardener’s shed, which was more like a little cottage with all the amenities. "Just make yourself at home. How long do you think it will take to get things done? We've got a pretty long list. This porch door is only one of them."
"I don’t imagine it will take more than a week or so to figure all this out." He wasn’t talking about the repair work.
"Hey, what’s your name?" asked the student.
"Sint-Hades," he replied.
"What’s your full name?" he asked, almost pestering him.
Sint didn’t understand "full name" but guessed, "Hades," but the kid heard it wrong, and it came out Haley.
"Oh, Haley Sint, cool name. Okay, Haley, the place is yours, and I’ll go get your list."
"My friends call me Sint," he replied disgustedly.
"Oh, okay, Sint, be right back."
Sister Bernard
Howard introduced Irish to Sister Bernard and turned to leave. For a great moment, Irish and Sister Bernard held their handshake, not letting go. Irish thought, "Another wonderful believer. This woman is the apple of God’s eye."
Sister Bernard felt the rush, as others did, upon touching her; it was exhilarating. Sister Bernard still didn’t let Irish’s hand go but sat down with her in the lobby of the convent.
"I sense that you truly are a follower of the Lord," stated the Sister.
Irish smiled, "Of course, I am, and you too."
"Isn’t our Lord wonderful to bring two strangers together who aren’t strangers at all, but believers, sisters in the Lord?"
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Irish. Irish noticed she was still carrying Ralph’s dissertation. "I’ve got Ralph’s dissertation. I assume I'll see Howard soon enough, won’t I?"
The Sister answered, "If Howard promised to help you find work, you won't have any trouble seeing him again. He always keeps his promises. He's the best of Sewanee. You just hold onto it. I'll bet he comes over tomorrow to check on you." Irish nodded and felt the weight of the manila envelope with a three-inch-thick manuscript stuffed into it she was glad heaven didn't have requirements like this.
"Irish, I’m going to go to All Saints for a time of prayer. Would you like to go with me?" asked the Sister.
Irish remembered All Saints and thought, "I wonder if they've cleaned up the flower petals."
"Yes, I would like that. They say it's a beautiful place to worship." They walked arm in arm towards the sanctuary.
Sint got out his tools and looked at the long list from the student, but he was still looking out for Ralph. He worked on his own assassin tools this evening and sharpened his obsidian arrows until late.
The Jacobs' Celebration
Sean ran all the way home from All Saints in his excitement. He had Irish's scarf stuffed into his back pocket, and his other pockets were full of flower petals. He rushed through the front door so suddenly that he startled Karen, who jumped at his abrupt entrance. She could tell from his face that he was excited about something as he ran past her to the attic study, turned on his computer, and inserted the Forgiveness floppy. Afterwards, he went into Chad’s room, picked Chad up, then kissed and hugged on him enthusiastically, then included Dish for a group hug. They looked surprised by his excitement but yielded to his loving ways.
He said to them "Come down stairs! I have a surprise for you!"
Dish jumped repeatedly in one place shouting, "A surprise, a surprise!" and rushed downstairs before Sean and Chad started down. Just before getting to the last steps, Sean picked Chad up and jumped with him, then landed with a thud on the bare wooden floors of the old house.
Sean put Chad down, and Karen begged, "Will you please tell me what's going on? Why are you so excited?"
"Because of these," he said, pulling handfuls of flower petals from his pockets and throwing them into the air. Dish giggled and rushed to grab them as they floated to the floor.
"Sean Jacobs, you’ll have to clean up every one of those before supper. Do you hear me?" she scolded him, not knowing where he would have gotten them.
"By the way," she asked, "where did you get them?"
She picked up some and noticed their freshness and the fragrance that filled their house. "These petals are mostly from white lilies, pansies, daisies, and irises. They’re all beautiful, but where did you get them?"
"From the same place as I got this," he pulled out the four-foot scarf of fine silk weaves, colored like a rainbow, and let it fall on Dish’s face while swishing it around her and through the air.
"Sean, please tell us what’s going on?" she asked in frustration.
"I got all of this from two angels at All Saints. They were dancing the Hora, a celebration dance to the Lord. They were beautiful, multicolored angels, and the sunbeams turned to flower petals, covering the altar and the floors as they danced and sang together. One was a grown angel, and the other looked to be about ten years old. They were beautiful. I know I was allowed to see them to confirm my calling!"
"Oh, daddy, how cool," shouted Dish excitedly, and she grabbed the soft scarf and danced around in circles, then let it flow around and above her head. "Like this?" she asked.
Sean looked shocked, "Yes, like that." Dish’s moves mimicked Irish and Grace to the detail.
Karen couldn’t have known, but Sean did and replied, "You are truly God’s child, Dish."
Chad asked an important question, "Are they still there, Dad?" He believed his dad. He was brought up with Holy Ghost answers for everything from healing to helping his dad pray for people to get saved and watching it happen. Sean shook his head "no."
Karen asked a more practical question. "You really needed to see angels today, didn’t you?"
Her skeptism was seasoned with reason, but she still believed he saw something. She just didn’t know what until the scarf landed on her face after being thrown high in the air by Dish. The sensation of great peace came over her when it touched her. Her skin felt like pins and needles, but a pleasant electricity of it, not painful. She grabbed it and stared intently at it, then took it and ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
"Hey, don’t run off with the goods. You need to share." They all laughed.
They were interrupted by Karen’s loud comment, "Oh, Sean, it has to be true!" She opened the bathroom door and showed him her hand. He didn’t understand, but nodded, humoring her.
"Sean, when you came through the door, you startled me so much that I cut myself on a potato knife. It didn’t bleed much, but it was a deep cut right here where you don’t see anything. I put the scarf on it and prayed. It was instantly healed just like Peter and Paul’s handkerchiefs in Acts. The anointing of God is on it. It was created in heaven, and it's full of the Holy Ghost."
Chad looked at his mom’s hand, as did they all, and they said in unison, "Cool, praise the Lord."
God’s Petals
Irish and Sister Bernard walked into All Saints, and the Sister immediately noticed all the flower petals. "What in heaven's name happened here?" She couldn’t believe the scope of what she was seeing until several petals fell from the air above her and landed on her shoulder. She looked up, and there were still more petals falling for a moment.
"Looks like a celebration to me," answered Irish, remembering. "Look at all the different kinds of petals, but mostly white lilies, God’s special flower, right?" She picked a handful and tossed them into the air, and they seemed to swirl around her, a white spectacle of color and fragrant scents.
"Right," said the Sister. She picked up a handful herself and threw them into the air, then watched the same thing happen to her.
"These petals must be from heaven. They must be here from something joyous that happened. I can feel it. How wonderful!"
Irish took the Sister's hand and spun her around in an old dance way and let her spin through the falling petals. She giggled at the sensation and fell back against Irish for support, just a little dizzy.
"Irish, you are someone very special. I hope, when I’m much older that I don’t forget you. I want to remember how special all of this is for as long as I live. This is a sign that something grand is going to happen or has happened here at Sewanee. I have a funny feeling you are part of it, aren’t you?"
Irish smiled, "Somewhat."
"I’ll bet somewhat. How about, somewhat a lot!" Irish put her finger to her lips to not say a word and knelt before the altar in prayer followed by the Sister. They stayed for hours, neither wanting to leave. The Sister was filled with euphoria and exaltation. Irish was like having a marvelous heavenly drug, and she was enjoying every minute of her company.
The Brethren
Robert got a call from his local church late the evening following Keel’s birth. "Brother Robert, this is Deacon Jonathon from church. We need to see you as soon as possible. We have some issues to take up with you. Can you be at the church at ten tomorrow morning?"
Robert was astonished that he couldn’t even get a break for his own son’s birth. He had been up for hours, getting little sleep while letting Judy sleep in. Keel hadn’t been cooperating very much, sleeping only for two hours, then up for two hours, and the cycle was killing him.
"Brother Jonathon, can’t this all wait until we recuperate from little Keel arriving? We’re a little exhausted and stretched by all this right now. I’m sure this can wait."
"No! It can’t wait! We want you to be at the church at ten tomorrow morning! We’ve waited long enough!"
Robert couldn’t imagine what could be troubling the church, but he buckled to their insistence, "Okay, ten, but I don’t have much time. I have classes at eleven and have to get back to the baby before he wakes up again."
"We don’t need much time. Just be there," he replied rather abruptly and hung up.
Judy woke, "What’s wrong, dear?" She sensed that something was troubling him.
"I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. There's something going on at the church, a problem of some kind. They want me at ten tomorrow morning. This pastor's work is grueling with everything we have going on right now. Can you call your mom at the motel and get her to come to stay with you in case Keel wakes up when I’m gone?"
"Sure, don’t worry about us.
Moms live for things like that."
She reached out towards him and groaned, having moved the wrong way. They took Keel by caesarian section at the last minute since Keel was turned wrong with the cord around his neck. She felt the stitches pulling painfully at her.
"Please don’t strain yourself. I promise I won’t be long," he said as he patted her hand and kissed her forehead tenderly to comfort her.
The next morning Robert arrived just a few minutes before ten, and the parking lot was full the cars of deacons and other long-time members. He thought to himself, "What is this, a convention?"
As he entered the church, the folks became quiet and didn't look him in the eye. He went to the front of the church, but a deacon stepped up to him, not letting him go any farther than the front row and pointed to the end of the pew, which had him sitting alone.
Deacon Jonathon stood up and addressed the church from the pulpit. "Brother Robert, we have asked you to come before us because we have a complaint against you. We have discussed this and have concluded that you can’t be our preacher anymore. We are agreed that you are not a suitable preacher for an Assembly of God church that prides itself in Holy Ghost preaching. You're too quiet."
Jonathon continued, "We know that the youth seem to respond to your type of preaching, but we've just lost two retired couples who have gone to the Church of God across town because their preacher speaks with the power of the Holy Ghost."
"We feel that Evangel has ruined you as a preacher, or you just may have never preached forcibly in your life. Again, we acknowledge that over twenty young people have been brought to the Lord from your speaking, but that doesn’t do us older folks in the Lord any good. We need to be fed with loud, powerful preaching. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Robert was stunned. He never imagined that he was being judged for not speaking loudly enough. He felt the power of the anointing when he preached. The fact that so many young people gave their lives to the Lord was a perfect example of the effect of his preaching. He was angry, hurt, and broken all at once. He felt betrayed by some kind of collective ignorance.
He stood up and faced the congregation, trembling with emotion. "I want you to know that God has called me to preach. God has anointed me to preach. I know it and feel it when I open the Word and speak about the Lord. My volume control will always remain as it is. There is nothing in the scriptures demanding that I preach so loud that it shakes the rafters. I may not suit your church, but nothing you can say will deter me from following my calling. Now, if you will excuse me, I've got to go back to my wife, and Keel, my newborn."
"Wait, Brother Robert, we still want you finish out the next three Sundays. We don’t have a replacement for you yet."
Robert was halfway down the aisle when he heard it. He turned, almost laughing, "Now that sounds like a personal problem to me. No let me say it this way: nada, net, not, not going to happen, get a life, and get over it!" He then turned back towards the door and walked out.
The money the church provided was substantial, especially concerning the need for tuition and the expenses of his newborn. He said he would always follow his calling; but in his heart, he was angry. He was so angry that there wasn’t a kind thought coming from his heart, and it scared him. He wanted them to pay for hurting him like that. He wanted someone to pay for all that ignorance. He felt so betrayed that he doubted whether he should preach again. He’d rather sell cars than be faced with a group of brethren like that again.
The next day, he went to a car dealership and took a sales job that allowed him to work around his school schedule, but one that kept him away from home sixty hours a week on top of his school. Judy only saw him in passing. He worked, went to school, and came home to study. He lost his enthusiasm for school and dragged himself wearily from subject to subject. It was a more a matter of the tuition. He was already past the time of refundable withdrawal. He was just trying to get his monies worth. His grades went from A’s to C’s, but he hung on as he almost slipped to D’s, but lucked out with some extra credit papers given him by some of his professors.
Judy saw it on his face every time he came home. She knew that he was drifting away from his first love, away from that very thing that caused him to want to go to Evangel. He pulled away from her and into himself. He didn’t respond to anyone, even to those who disagreed with the church. He was running from his calling and from God.
His professors had already heard about what happened; and regardless of whether they should, they gave him breaks on his grades. They felt his pain and wondered how anyone could ever pastor that church. They were always burning out the preachers and finding reasons to make them leave. It was a sadistic habit of theirs. Years ago, this church started meddling in the affairs of the college and tried to pass judgment on the teaching styles and its curriculum. They went so far as to demand that they have an opportunity to survey each department. They were flatly told to mind their own business. Many of the teachers at the school believed that the raking through the preachers was their way of paying the school back for not giving in to them.
Most of the preachers they fired shrugged their shoulders glad to get away from them, but others, like Robert, went into an emotional down spiral that caused several to leave the ministry. The faculty pulled together behind the students and tried to assist them when it happened. Robert was going to be one of those hard cases. He was steeped in anger, and it was shoving those who cared away from him.
When Robert wasn’t studying or working, he thought about the church. He had dark visions in his mind of the church blowing up, burning down. He saw tornados and terrible events in his daydreams destroying those he thought caused this harm. Judy saw it all. She saw him burning up inside and burning out. She was glad that Thanksgiving was coming up soon. They had talked about taking Maggie back to Nashville. She hoped it would be enough of a break that he could get it together again. She was losing her preacher man, her Godly husband, right before her eyes, all because of the brethren. She did manage to get in touch with some of the youth at the church. That was probably the only bright spot in the whole situation. Little Mary went first to visit him.
"Mr. Cramer," she said, surprising him as she walked up from behind him on the car room floor. "I’m so sorry for what the grownups did. You know that the teenagers love you. We understood your words and believe that you are called of God to preach. Maybe there's some place for you to work with kids like us."
Robert felt the anger waning away for a minute, and his love for the kids overwhelmed him. She had said something that struck a spiritual cord with him. He couldn’t be angry with the kids, not them. He sat down in the lobby of the dealership and talked with her for a long time. It was the best therapy he could have gotten. There was an evolution taking place in Robert. He knew that he was called to preach, but maybe he was just preaching to the wrong crowds. He asked a question but never heard an answer, "Lord, where and to whom do you want me to preach?"
Each day that passed during the remainder of school until a week before Thanksgiving, the kids came by one at a time, then sometimes in small groups. Some to chat, some to get advice, and some to say the same things that Little Mary said, "They were sorry."
The kids left the church on their own and sought out another congregation, even when their own parents protested. They pulled together, gave each other rides, and continued to grow in the Lord. The parents blamed Robert for their rebellion; but they knew that without Robert, there was no reason for the kids to stay. The adults signed their church's death warrant. It was as if God had left and gone with the kids. The power of the Holy Spirit started falling away. The overflowing praise at the altar and the great overpowering services just weren’t anymore. However, they did have a preacher from Texas who preached extra loud. He could be heard from two counties away. They figured they had their man when all they had was his mouth and a good set of lungs. He left the church after only staying a month.