Chapter 4
Camp Praise Journey
The church left that evening for Camp Praise in two buses packed with excited kids. Irish noticed how restrained the children and adults on their bus seemed to be. Hardly a soul talked to them. Everyone was reverently quiet while nervously staring at them, frozen in silence and respect, which made the first twenty miles very uncomfortable. They seemed caught off guard by their angelic presence, everyone except Sister Gloria, who was crammed up against Irish with all her largeness as if trying to hold her captive. Her arm was placed uncomfortably around Irish’s shoulder while she continued to get as close as possible. After all, Irish was her special prize, and she was claiming rights to her angel, her best friend, hers.
The children were the first to break the ice. Irish heard, "Can we play with her, Sister Katie?"
The answer was a quiet, "No," whispering that angels probably didn’t do such things and to leave them alone.
The children were insistent, "But Sister Katie, Sister Grace looks all alone upfront. We just want to ask. Can we? Please? Sister Katie, please?"
"Well, go ask; but if you get in trouble, it’s your fault. Do you understand?"
Sister Katie was petrified of doing something wrong. They were afraid of doing something that would bring down God’s wrath on them all for offending their heavenly visitors. Just at that moment, the other bus passed them with kids waving and yelling out their windows and singing a grand Gospel tune at the top of their lungs.
Irish and Grace noticed the musical mayhem, and Irish said simply, "They’re rocking, aren’t they?"
"What’s that mean?" asked Grace, trying to push her face up against Irish’s ear but barely able to get close enough because of Sister Gloria’s firmly gripped arm.
"Oh Grace, it’s just the way things should be, not like this quiet un-mess we have here." She couldn’t wait for Grace to get a taste of the other bus' exuberance. Irish looked back and saw three kids slowly making their way towards them.
"Sister Irish?" a child whispered.
Standing next to Grace were three kids holding hands. They were driven by their quest—Mary, Abby, and Simone (some called her Pretzel because of her doubled-jointed skinniness). They giggled and reached out timidly to touch Grace’s arm, expecting something magical to happen. They were surprised when she felt just like a little girl. Grace looked at them strangely as they gently poked at her.
Pretzel spoke again, "Sister Irish, can Grace play with us?"
"Finally," thought Irish in relief.
Sister Gloria scolded, "You shouldn’t bother these angels. They have better things to do than…"
Irish interrupted, "Oh no! Sister Gloria, please! Yes, girls, but remember, Grace doesn’t know anything about human ways, yet. If you want her to play, you’ll have to teach her."
Irish smiled in relief to see the threesome pulling Grace off the bus seat and dragging her towards the back while Grace looked at Irish mouthing, "Is this okay?"
Irish only nodded "yes" and laughed into her hands at the bewildered look on Grace’s face at being carried away by the little humans.
It seemed that was all that was needed to defuse the uneasiness of the bus ride. Soon, the kids were in an all out noise-a-thon: singing, running back and forth, and exceeding the energy of the children in the other bus. Irish smiled when she saw Grace and her friends playing a game of jacks on the bus floor, stopping only to sing along to some Gospel tunes. Irish believed she was having the time of her life.
Irish turned to Sister Gloria and said, "Sister Gloria."
"Yes, Sister Irish," she answered. She was infatuated with the colors of Irish’s star-eyes while trying to get as close as possible.
"I’m surprised you haven’t asked about heaven," remarked Irish.
"I was about to, Miss Irish," replied Gloria.
Irish stuttered for a moment since Aaron was the only one who called her Miss Irish. It was his pet name for her. She smiled at the coincidence and continued, "Well, I just wanted you to know that you'll fit well in heaven. We look forward to having you join us."
Gloria straightened herself up in her seat, and her chest heaved confidently. "I just believe in believing. I just believe in living what the Bible says. It’s simple. Jesus in us; what more can we ever ask for? No sense getting out of sorts about anything with such wonderful glory camped out on our insides. Is there a lot of glory in heaven, Sister Irish?"
"Yes, Gloria, it’s full of glory. You’re closer to heaven than you think by the way you live, act, and worship. In heaven, whatever you really want to do, you can. Whatever you really thought or imagined doing, you can. Those artistic things that your flesh held you back from—there's no holding back anymore. Those flower gardens that never grew—will grow like nothing you've ever seen on earth. But Gloria, you won't be housed in your body anymore. You'll be immortal."
Gloria jumped up with her hands in the air, "Hallelujah Lord! Praise His name! No diets for me, no more!"
Irish's hand immediately went into the air in a praise gesture. Grace did the same while stopping in the middle of an airborne ball with her jacks. "Yes, Sister Gloria, you will fit in quiet nicely."
The buses stopped at a gas station, and Irish slipped away for a moment from the suffocating Sister Gloria. She got an eerie feeling and saw the hairs on her arm stand on end. She looked around to see what could make her feel this way. Near the building was a dumpster and reflected against the station wall was a tall shadow. As soon as she fully turned its direction, it moved. Its size bothered her. It was too large to be a human. It was something else.
She thought to herself, "Are we being followed, stalked?"
She sent a mental note to her small army, and all around the building her protectors appeared unseen. Her angels walked around the building, and several checked near the dumpster. She sent another message for one of them to stand so a shadow was cast against the station wall. When they did, it was obvious that whoever or whatever was as nearly as tall as Aaron.
Irish talked to herself, "Why? Why would a dark angel follow us? What could they know about my assignment? Could they know about the writer’s book or about the unborn child for the end times?"
She couldn’t imagine how. Maybe it was just some curious dark angel. She knew that Apollyon understood how Irish was only assigned the top missions. Maybe he got word about her being escorted by Aaron to Los Angeles. She knew it didn’t take a real genius to figure out the Irish-Aaron connection. Everyone in heaven knew how they felt about each other. It made sense that dark angels knew it too. After all, no matter how many tens of thousands of angels there were, it was still a small community. Aaron never denied his intentions for Irish, and no other angel dared deny him his right of first refusal. They all respected his authority as a commander as well as his good taste. Irish finally decided that they were only watching and on a fishing expedition.
The kids piled excitedly back into the buses. Sister Gloria assumed her close proximity, and another group of kids swapped buses wanting to get near Grace too. The bus labored up the long hills of California. After traveling until ten that evening, they finally made it to their overnight stop, an out-of-the-way motel at Pedro Valley near the Nevada border. Everyone scrambled out and grabbed their luggage as the night clerk came out to greet them.
"Welcome in the Name of the Lord!" yelled Brother Rufus as they all came by to get their hug from him. His brother was one of the deacons of their church.
Sister Gloria rushed up to him and informed him like a sergeant, "We have extra guests. We might need another room." Actually, she was hoping Irish would room with her.
"Yeah, I heard from my brother, but I still can't believe it."
A group of old-timers were sitting in front of the motel rocking, chewing, and spitting from time to time. As kids came by, they tried to figure out which ones were the angels. Since there were only two white women from this completely black church, they were conspicuous, but the porch-sitter
s continued to be suspicious and too afraid to ask.
Grace came by with her girlfriends and stopped in front of them. She watched them spitting a chew in the dirt and asked curiously, "What's that you’re eating? Don't you like it? Why are you spitting it out?"
Irish watched from the bus door and laughed lightly and said to herself, "This is going to be an interesting trip."
"Hey girl, where are you from, New York City?" an old man spat and spoke, still unsure if she was an angel or not.
"No. Does it taste good?"
She stepped close to him, and he reached in a pouch and grabbed a bit of chew. Before she could say another word, he plopped it in the side of her mouth. Sister Gloria was only a hair away from grabbing the old-timer and throwing him through a motel window when Irish touched her arm and shook her head "no."
"This is why we're here, Sister Gloria. She has to learn." Irish turned her head away from Grace barely able to contain her laughter. "I believe it’s going to be a long night. Maybe she’ll learn about the porcelain god tonight."
"Would me," replied Sister Gloria.
Grace didn’t move while the old-timer yelled at her, "Don't swallow it, chew it!"
It was too late. Just as she felt the tobacco juices slowing leaking down her throat, she swallowed hard and felt a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Irish shouted, "Don't turn green, Grace!" Irish fell backwards and landed on her rear while laughing hysterically.
"I shouldn't have said that," she whispered as Gloria helped her to her feet.
Gloria saw it first, "My Lordy! She's turning green all over!"
"Yeah," said Irish, "call it the power of suggestion."
"Old Joe! Look at that child! Holy mackerel! She's turning green!" Old Joe took his glasses from his pocket, spit on them, and wiped them off with a shirtsleeve. He stared in bewilderment at the green hue covering Grace.
He thought, "This gives a new meaning to green around the edges."
The others saw it too and mixed their astonishment with exclamations of, "Man oh Man!" "Heavens to Betsy!" "Lord have mercy!"
Gloria shouted, "Would someone please help this poor girl, look at her!"
"Hey Joe, I think you’d better move. I got a strong feeling she's…" another porch-sitter warned but not in time.
Grace felt an acid taste in her mouth, and without warning, felt her stomach turn inside out. She looked over at Irish, not knowing exactly what to do, then hurled all over Joe. Before he could move, she did it three more times. The tobacco was mixed together with leaves from the tree of life. (Her last-minute snack before leaving heaven.) The sweet smell mixed with his big red was too much for him. He smelled like a strawberry patch with a hint of watermelon. He went running for the end of the porch and never made it.
Grace touched her stomach lightly and wiped her face with her dress sleeve saying, "Wow, I feel better now. Is that what that's
Irish: An Angel's Journey Page 6
