“God is here. He’s touching hearts.”
Hushed amens echoed throughout the sanctuary.
“For some of you, this is brand new.” The pastor began to pace back and forth on the podium, scanning the congregation with searching eyes. “Your heart may be pounding, your emotions may be thrilling, or you just may be feeling a tug on your heart, a tug that’s whispering, ‘Come closer. Come closer to God.’
“If that’s you, and you’ve never accepted Jesus Christ as your Savior, it’s the call of the Holy Spirit to accept Him, to believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died to save you from your sins.” Pastor Scott paused and peered out into the congregation. “I challenge you this morning, before almighty God, to answer the call. I’m not going to ask for a show of hands. I’m going to ask you to be bold and step out of your seat and meet me right here in the front.”
Usually, Pastor Scott had to spend a few minutes asking for people to answer the call, but today, several men and women immediately began walking down the aisles to the sound of thunderous applause from the rest of the congregation. Sheila began clapping as well, but suddenly stopped.
She saw a familiar figure approach the pastor from the far side of the church, and did a double take.
Miguel Manriquez?
She blinked, and looked again. Now he stood with his back toward her, but she recognized the stance and build, and the black hair slicked back behind his ears. Still, he could have been another Mexican who just resembled Miguel. Sheila had never waited so long for her pastor to pray the prayer of salvation. She shifted impatiently, anxious for those standing in the front to turn around.
When they finally did, Sheila was satisfied and bewildered at once. It was Diana’s father. She was so shocked she couldn’t even move as he walked down the middle aisle with the rest of the new believers, being led to one of the classrooms where they would receive counsel and a free Bible.
Was Diana there, too? Sheila strained to see through the crowd separating her section from the section where Miguel had come from, to no avail. She spent the rest of the service in a state of complete distraction, wondering what had brought Miguel to the church, if his answering the altar call had been genuine, what was going to happen next in his life.
The thought crossed her mind as well: could she now return the interest he had in her, now that he was a believer?
She immediately dismissed the question. She knew well that coming to faith in Christ did not eliminate every problem in life. Besides, you’re going to Zimbabwe in a month, remember?
She remembered. And she also was becoming more convinced that she didn’t want to go alone.
When Pastor Scott finally dismissed the service two and a half hours after it had begun, Sheila jumped out of her seat, determined to catch Miguel before he left. If nothing else, she wanted to know why he had changed his mind about God and church.
She needn’t have worried. As she dodged around the mass moving toward the exits, she caught sight of him coming the opposite way. Next to him stood Diana, one of her hands gripping his, the other waving frantically at Sheila. They finally headed into the same row of now-vacant chairs to get out of the press of the crowd.
Sheila and Miguel stood facing each other, an uncomfortable moment passing between them before Miguel said, “Maestra, I have something I have to confess to you.”
They sat down, Diana between them, her face beaming. No wonder. Jesus had fulfilled His promise to heal her father. After all, what greater healing was there than that of the soul?
Miguel glanced at his daughter, then placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Diana, please go wait for us over there.” He indicated a chair in the aisle across from them. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
When she had complied, Miguel turned his eyes toward Sheila. To her surprise, they were filled with tears.
“I’ve done something wrong.” The remorse in his tone matched the sorrow on his face. “I have been trying to get you to like me, because I need a mother for Diana.”
Sheila did her best to maintain her poise, while her mind whirled. Why her? Why not some nice lady in the Mexican community? When she found her voice she said, “I guess I can understand that. A girl does need a mother.”
Miguel shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.” He sighed and glanced at Diana, who was watching in fascination as the band put away their instruments. “I’m dying.”
“What?”
He turned to face her. “I have liver cancer. From all the drinking. And it’s spread.” He stared down at his hands. “The doctors give me only a few more months.”
Sheila sat motionless, trying to digest the information. Miguel Manriquez was dying. He clearly didn’t want to have to give custody of Diana to his sister Rosa, because of her career choice, no doubt. So he had tried to get to Sheila, hoping to form a relationship with her so that when he died, she would feel obligated to take care of his little girl.
What a crazy day. Week. No, year. Sheila sat back in her chair, staring at a point beyond the back of the platform where the band members still worked. She didn’t know what to say. Somehow, “I’m sorry” would sound horribly shallow and insufficient. As she struggled for the right words, suddenly she remembered the first time she had taken Diana to church with her.
Jesus said He’s going to heal my papá.
Of course! Why hadn’t she seen it before?
“Come on.” Sheila nearly jumped out of her seat. “We need to find Pastor Scott.”
* * *
Pastor Scott spoke slowly and simply, eliminating the need for Sheila to translate. Miguel listened in amazement. Growing up, he had heard the stories of how Jesus healed when He was on the earth. But even as a child, he had been skeptical. He had never seen a miracle, and heard many adults scoff at them.
Now he was being told that not only were the miracles that Jesus did true, but also that He still performed them today. Miguel was not totally convinced by the time Pastor Scott finished talking. And even if Jesus could heal him from his cancer, why should He? Miguel had done nothing to deserve any kindness from God—or from this pastor or teacher who sat with him.
“So you say,” he said, “dat Jesus, He want to help me? I behave bad all dees years, but He still want to help me?”
Diana, sitting on his right side, snuggled against his arm. “Jesus loves you, Papá.”
Miguel held her close. It was enough that the God he had defied all these years had saved him. To think that His love would reach beyond that and restore his physical life was incomprehensible.
But he had to try to believe. The little girl leaning into his side depended on it.
Miguel took a deep breath. “Okay.” He nodded. “Pray for me.”
Diana moved away so that Pastor Scott could lay his hand on Miguel’s abdomen. As the pastor began to pray, Sheila bowed her head, whispering into her chest. For a couple minutes, Miguel felt nothing.
Then his right side became awashed in heat.
At first, he thought the effects of the pain medication had worn off. He almost stopped the pastor so he could pause to swallow a couple of pills. Then he realized the heat was not at all painful, and that it was not originating in his body. Instead, it seemed to be flowing right out of the pastor’s hand, penetrating through Miguel’s skin, and moving through his body like a stream of hot water.
For several moments the heat remained in his right side, but then he began to feel it move down toward his groin, up toward his chest, and over to his left side. He wanted to say something, ask about it, but at the same time the flow of heat had begun, a Presence had fallen in the room. The same Presence he had felt just before going up to the front of the church earlier that day.
He had closed his eyes in reverence when Pastor Scott began praying, but now opened them, half expecting to see an angel or some other apparition. Sheila now sat still as stone. Diana leaned against her, shedding silent tears. The pastor’s voice had diminished to a whisper
, and a single tear escaped from under his closed eyelids.
They felt it, too.
Only when the sensation began to cool did Pastor Scott remove his hand from Miguel. He opened his eyes, and smiled. “Go visit a doctor tomorrow,” he said. “I believe you will be told that the cancer has left your body.”
CHAPTER 21
“Jesus healed my papá. Just like he said he would.”
If the grapevine was to be believed, Diana Manriquez said the same thing to every person, adult or child, that she ran into. This was the first time she had encountered Hank since she had begun her one-girl mission to share her good news with the world, and her eyes sparkled as though the event had happened yesterday instead of a week ago.
“So I’ve heard, Diana,” Hank said, grinning. He’d gone into the cafeteria during the Kindergarten lunch period to get ice for a science experiment.
A teacher aide notorious for her atheistic beliefs stood behind Diana, and rolled her eyes. “Sweetheart, go sit down.”
Diana skipped back to her seat, still beaming, and waved at Hank as he left. He waved back, and realized that he felt much lighter leaving than when he had walked in five minutes ago. Lately, he felt like he’d been walking around under a cloud. He knew it had something to do with Sheila’s abrupt departure from the lounge the day Barbara had come to tell him about her job interview. Sheila was obviously jealous, and he supposed he could understand why.
But shouldn’t she be over it by now? He was happy that they had reestablished their friendship through working on the May Day festival together, and hadn’t seen any hint that she still felt anything for him in a romantic way. Yet, the day of the festival she only spoke to him when necessary, and then with terse words, and since that day she would look away whenever they had a chance encounter somewhere in the school.
When the word began to spread about a Kindergartner trying to evangelize the school, Hank considered hunting Sheila down to find out the whole story. Somehow, he knew that she had something to do with it. But he didn’t want to make her feel cornered, so he decided to leave it alone.
He bounded up the stairs to his classroom, two at a time. He’d left the kids alone with a math worksheet, but he knew if he let too much time pass, chaos would soon reign in room 215. To his great shock, when he opened up the door, every student was seated in her desk writing vigorously on a piece of paper. No one even looked up when he walked into the room, and for a few seconds Hank wondered if he’d entered the wrong place. His class had never been so quiet, not even during a test. Now silence pervaded the room as if it were empty of living bodies.
Hank was about to ask one of his students what was going on, when a movement to his left caught his eye.
Mr. Medina was sitting at Hank’s desk, glaring.
Oh, Lord. Hank knew what had happened without having to ask the principal. His kids had exercised very bad timing and lost control just as Medina was passing by. Who knows what they might have been doing; it didn’t really matter. What would matter to Medina was that Hank had left them unsupervised, and did not have them disciplined enough to maintain order in the classroom without him.
Mr. Medina got up and out from behind the desk. “My office, 3:10,” he whispered to Hank as he passed him to exit the classroom. Then he raised his voice to address the class. “Remember, I want those essays on my desk by 8:00 tomorrow. In your best handwriting.”
“Yes, sir,” several students mumbled in reply.
When Mr. Medina had left, Anthony let out a low whistle. “Mr. Johnson’s in trouble,” he said in a sing-song voice, to the amusement of half a dozen other kids who giggled in unison.
Then something happened that had never happened before. Not during school to Hank, anyway. He lost his temper.
He slammed the container of ice onto a nearby table as a white-hot rage surged through him. He turned to the class, fighting the temptation to call them all sorts of names.
“Mr. Perez,” he seethed to Anthony, “now you’re the one in trouble. Detention for a week.”
Anthony’s eyes widened. “But I—”
“Two weeks!” Hank couldn’t keep his voice down to a normal tone.
“That’s not—”
“Three!” Every girl and about half of the boys cringed as Hank bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Would anyone else care to argue with me?” He had kept his eyes on Anthony during the exchange, but now he took in the whole class with a sweeping glare, daring anyone else to challenge him.
Then he snatched up one of the essays. “Why Students Should Control Themselves in the Classroom,” was its title. He threw the paper back down on the desk, causing its writer, one of his top female students, to flinch.
He took a deep breath, and forced himself to use a professional tone. “You have ten minutes to finish your essay for Mr. Medina. And if I hear one peep out of any of you during that time period, you will get exactly what Mr. Perez got. If you don’t finish, you will add it to your homework list.”
Ignoring the incredulous stares of some of the bolder pupils in the room, Hank sank into his desk chair, guilt overwhelming him. Jesus, forgive me. What’s the matter with me? How could I treat Your children this way?
He listened for an answer—for once his room was quiet enough to hear a still, small voice—but none came. He awaited the end of the day with dread.
* * *
If Hank had thought for one second that his meeting with the principal was an omen of the evening to come, he would have canceled his date with Barbara. He’d left the school with his proverbial tail between his legs, unable to shake the confusion and shame that had settled on him in Medina’s office.
“I’ve given you a whole year, Mr. Johnson.” At least Medina didn’t glare at him the way he’d glared at Hank’s class a couple hours ago. But his sharp tone conveyed the seriousness of his words. “Now, there’s no doubt your students love you. And some did excel on the TAKS test. You are clearly doing some things right.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “But teaching requires more than creating fun lesson plans. One needs a knack for organization, structure.”
“And you think I’m lacking.” Hank made sure his tone was free of any hostility. He didn’t need any more points against him.
Mr. Medina observed him for a long moment. “If you really believe you’re called to teach,” he said, “you can develop those skills.
“The district is offering a week-long training in classroom management this summer. If you agree to sign up for it, I will not ask you to transfer.” He waited for the meaning of the words to sink in.
But Hank was still on Medina’s previous words: if you really believe you’re called to teach. By the time he had digested the rest of what the principal had said, he felt so deflated he couldn’t even bring himself to accuse Medina of threatening him.
“You don’t want me to come back next year.”
Medina heaved another sigh. “Any classroom needs structure and a firm hand to obtain optimum learning. A classroom full of inner city children needs even more. I only want—”
“What’s best for the kids. Right.” Hank stood up. “If you don’t mind, I need to go home and think this over.”
But school was the last thing he wanted on his mind this warm Friday evening in May. He had plans. Important plans. He had a date with Barbara, and he needed to recover his usual cheerful attitude that had got sucked away into some black hole after returning to his classroom from the cafeteria.
Three hours after ending the ominous conversation with Medina, bits and pieces of it still echoed in his mind, and it was only after great effort that he was able to quiet his mind and focus on what he hoped to accomplish that evening. He tied a navy striped tie around his neck, put on a matching sportcoat, and ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if Barbara at all suspected what was about to happen. All he had told her was to dress up nicely, that he felt like celebrating with a friend because the school year was almost over.
S
he was wearing a spaghetti strap pastel blue dress that fit her in a becoming yet modest way when he picked her up from the friend’s house where she was staying while she waited to hear from her prospective employer. She said little on the way to the restaurant, an upscale Mediterranean place in north Fort Worth.
“A dollar for your thoughts,” he said to her about halfway there, but she merely smiled and shrugged. He wondered if something was wrong. She was usually much more outgoing, and her reticence concerned him. But if he pressed the issue, and it was something Barbara was unwilling to discuss, he would be responsible for any resulting tension. The last thing he wanted was for either one of them to feel any degree of discomfort. The evening was too important. So he forced himself to be content with a quiet ride to the restaurant.
Barbara warmed up as the evening wore on, to Hank’s great relief, and by the time they were finishing their meal she was chattering away. For a while Hank was afraid he might not get to say what he had planned to say.
Finally, there was a lull in their conversation. Hank decided it was time.
“Barbara,” he said, looking straight into her eyes, “I’m afraid I brought you here under false pretenses.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
With a slow, deliberate motion, Hank reached across the table and placed his hand over one of Barbara’s. Her eyes widened in a startled expression as she glanced down at her hand then back at his face.
“I mean, I didn’t bring you here just to celebrate the end of school.” His mouth went dry, and he had to clear his throat to continue. “I believe I’m in love with you.”
Barbara stared. “Oh, Hank.” She covered her mouth with her free hand as she pulled the other one out from under Hank’s. She shook her head as she stared down at her plate. “I wondered on the drive here, if you had something going on. . .but then you seemed your normal, friendly self when we got here, so that I thought maybe I was just imagining. . .Oh, Hank.” She brought both her hands in front of her chest, where she wrung them together as she bit her upper lip. “I don’t want to hurt you. It’s the last thing I would ever want.”