Children of the Sanctuary
Page 6
Chapter 4
The Breach Standers
Nash cupped his face in his hands in exhaustion. The Mission was swamped with people in need of everything, including food, clothing, and shelter. The new problems from New York and Washington, D.C. brought survivors with radiation poisoning. He was unable to help the sick except to feed them. The hospitals were so overloaded that they couldn't do much either and were putting people out on the sidewalks—there was no room anywhere else. The ones showing up at the Mission’s doors didn’t even know who they were. They were too hungry, too completely disoriented, and too sick to care.
Getting enough food was a feat. Thank the good Lord for the 100-pound rice bags and lots of chicken bouillon—the staff of life. The National Guard continued to keep him supplied. He was their first stop before anywhere else—what a blessing. Sometimes they gave him extra things like bags of egg noodles. He and Enya would boil up a big pot of noodles and throw in a half-dozen chicken bouillon cubes with salt and pepper to savor every morsel.
Nash always talked about Great Grandma Willey’s huge noodle pot. Her house was only half-block down from Franklin Elementary in Wichita, Kansas. When it was lunch hour at school, he’d run down the street with great-noodle anticipation. He and Enya talked about the same memories every time. What they wouldn't give for a chicken. They talked about and asked the same questions.
"Do you think this world will get out of this mess, Nash?"
Nash always answered, "No, Enya, I believe the Lord is coming back too soon for that."
Enya always replied, "I hope so, Nash. I can't wait. Heaven's got to have chicken in their noodle soup," and then laugh together.
Nash noticed in his chronic fatigue that there weren't as many children as usual. He vaguely wondered where they were but discounted it as a temporary illusion.
Nash wasn't a big man, standing only five-ten and weighing less than a 160 pounds. His hair was blonde, thinning in the same spots as his father's. He hadn't changed much in 20 years, same hair, same balding spots, just getting older. At 40, he felt like 80 from working nonstop and feeling his weight and energy dropping. Who could afford to sleep?
The pastor from the nearby Kings Episcopal Church called, "Nash, it’s Pastor Cole Watchman. You have a minute?" At times, Cole was too formal. Nash knew who he was, but Cole always started his conversations the same way. Nash was used to it by now.
"Sure Cole, what's up?"
"I don't know. I got a church full like you have the Mission full. But, have you seen many kids lately?"
"Funny you should mention it. I was noticing it a second ago. Been so tired that I can't keep track of anything lately. Why?" Nash took some ice from his sweet tea, rubbed it on his face and neck, and then pinched himself hard to make sure he was awake. Had to keep going. He couldn't afford to fall asleep while talking with one of his best friends.
"Yes, I’ve got an idea. It's the smart ones who have run to the country and dug a hole to hide in with the children. They’re all doing a better job of hiding than the rest of us."
Cole was always a little sarcastic in a Bob Newhart sort of way. Nash used to think, "If Bob Newhart had been black, he'd be Cole Watchman."
Nash loved Cole’s sermons. Cole preached people into stitches while getting them convicted of their sins. He would comically imitate St. Paul getting struck blind, covering his eyes and screaming from the pulpit in writhing, ridiculous movements, "I can't see spit! I can't see spit!"
Nash cracked up every time. He especially liked Cole’s animated story about God trying to convince Moses to get his people to start brushing their teeth. "Okay, God, you want me to ask them to do what? Okay, put some green, red, blue, striped goo and take a brush. God, do you know what we use for brushes? Yeah, goat-hair brushes, God. Kind of defeats the purpose of that sweet, smelly stuff, don't you know." It was Cole’s humor that kept the teenagers coming around a lot. It makes sense that Cole, more than anyone else, would notice the children or lack of.
"Cole, I understand your concern. Maybe folks are gone, moved out, and hiding their kids. With all the gangs around, who can blame them? What kid wants to come down to this stinking inner-city dump? I'd be finding higher ground or a hole to hide in too if it were I. I've got the worst lot of homeless people, ever. They’re refusing to come to services or listen to God’s message. It used to be that they’d listen about Jesus, or they didn’t eat a second time. I lost my federal funding years ago because of it. I don’t have the heart to turn anyone away. Everyone is messed up. Now, they don't seem to even care about God. At least your church is growing. There aren’t but five churches even having services in this town now, excluding us. Talk about a great falling away."
"I know, Nash, but it makes me think something is going on with the children. I think maybe you've struck on the answer. Parents are hiding their kids and trying to protect them. I’ve been on the Internet and picked up on the chat rooms. There’s a lot of talk about the kids.”
Cole continued, “One guy mentioned an orphanage in Virginia that was looking for someone to take the kids off their hands because they can't feed them. It's real sad, Nash, sad. I was talking to a pastor friend in Richmond two weeks ago, and he was really upset about the missing children. When I called him back today, he didn't respond. He knows something but isn't saying. At first, it was like there was a problem, now there's not. Go figure? I still believe this guy to be a firecracker believer, still do, but I believe that something is happening."
"Do you really think there’s a problem in Nashville?" Nash felt Cole’s concerns, but it seemed uncontrollable. What could they do? He had too many other difficulties in just keeping the Mission open.
"Maybe not, but I believe there’s going to be. You see, I had this dream two days ago. An angel came and sat beside me and put his fingers on my lips and said, 'Bless my children. Protect my children. Help my children,' over and over again. This wasn't just the chili I ate. This was one of those Joel dreams. I can still feel his fingers on my lips."
"That’s a good one. Something strange happened here a couple days ago. One of the men in the soup line said, 'This isn't Sanctuary, you know?'”
“I said, ‘What!’ He repeated it. I thought he was delusional so I humored him. I said, ‘Well, where is Sanctuary?’”
“He gave me the spooks. He wore sunglasses so I couldn't really tell how serious he was. He said, ‘You'll find out soon enough.’ I turned around to get some more soup bowls; and when I looked back, he was gone. He must have run out the side door. Real strange, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since."
Nash thought, "Now, why did I mention that? It had nothing to do with the kids. Oh well, that’s what friends are for. He hears my stories. I hear his."
"Nash, it sounds like we have a real kids’ puzzle, a mystery on our hands. I'll tell you this. I sure wish I did know where Sanctuary was, some place safe. If I had some kids, I'd get them there and tell them not to leave until this mess blows over."
"So would I, Cole. So would I. Hey, Cole, I heard some homeless guys talking about a bad murder around Printers Alley last night. They said the murderer cut this guy's throat with a can top, right out in front of Tootsie's and took a kid from him. They later found the guy cut in two."
"Cut in two? What did the guy do? Carry a chainsaw to Printers Alley, crank it up, and whack him sideways when he wasn’t looking?"
"No, cut him in two from top to bottom. They said that they heard the police say whoever did it must have been huge to get an angle like that on someone. They think he was cut with a heavy, metal object, honed down to a sharp edge. From the looks of the cut, whatever did it was at least an inch thick and weighed at least a hundred pounds. Kinda’ makes the chainsaw a little antique, don't you think?"
"Oh great, now, I need to worry about a ten-foot giant with a sharp what-some-a-call it."
"Well, there was a kid in the story at least. I don't suppose it all fits together, anyway. Cole, are those kids who ar
e missing only one sex, like the girls?"
Cole responded immediately, "No, it's boys and girls, all ages, starting at about five to twelve. The teenagers haven't been seen much either."
Nash noticed someone walking in the front of the Mission. Nash was using the pay phone inside the chapel, which gave him a good look at anyone wandering in. This man was so massive that he blocked the sun coming through the doorway. Nash felt something jump inside of him.
"Cole, I have a strange visitor. I'll call you back, got to go."
The new stranger was making his way directly towards Nash up the chapel's center aisle. Nash thought, "This guy is huge. I'll bet he's at least seven-foot tall. Nash noticed he was powerfully built and wearing sunglasses with what looked like an unimaginable amount of hair bundled up behind his head.
He thought to himself, "I'd hate to meet him on a bad hair day."
When the stranger was 15 feet away, Nash saw a boy tucked beside the guy's hip. The boy was hugging close to him like he was frightened, but not of the stranger, just scared.
The stranger spoke six feet from Nash but continued walking slowly towards him, "My name is Aaron. This young man is Joey. And yes, I do tend to get cranky when I’ve had a bad hair day."
Angels couldn't read minds. However, they were great at reading faces, eyes, body language, lips, and the obvious first questions and thoughts most humans had. Aaron was well practiced at the art of reading humans.
As Nash put his hand out to shake Aaron's, he heard Aaron’s "bad-hair-day" comment and instantly pulled his hand back. He wanted to see who Aaron really was. Aaron made him extremely nervous, but it was from excitement rather than fear. Aaron understood the pullback response and withdrew his hand smiling.
"I'm sorry, maybe I need to introduce myself again." He reached up and took off his sunglasses. Aaron's eyes shown like two brilliant stars, daystars, others called them. He put his hand out towards Nash again.
Nash fell back with one hand on the pew, and his knees buckled slightly. He felt weak; and for a moment, he wanted to go to his knees in prayer, but he resisted.
Angels were his servants, "heirs to the children of promise."
He became elated. "Aaron, did you say? May I call you that?" His voice trembled, and his stomach fluttered with excitement.
"Yes, Nash, I wouldn't have it any other way."
Joey didn’t move, but kept his eye on Nash while sizing him up in his own way. It's seemed obvious that Aaron wasn't going to kill this one.
"Aaron, I had always hoped to meet one of you. I'm so pleased. If you're here, it must be important. Does it have anything to do with Joey?" asked Nash.
"Yes, Nash, it has everything to do with Joey and many more."
"What can I do? I'm just people you know?" Nash said it to everyone when it was obvious others were paying too much attention to him. He would silently absorb only so much personal attention before pointing to Jesus. Then, someone would hear, "I'm just people you know. Jesus gets the glory."
"God needs and wants 'just' people, ordinary people, doing extra-ordinary things. You qualify, Nash. In the next few months, there are going to be a lot of children coming here. Before we can move them to 'Sanctuary,' they need to be cared for, and above all, be kept hidden. Right now, there are some particular Nashville businessmen who have realized the economic, carnal value of 'the children.'" Aaron was thinking about the man he killed, including those who were going to buy Joey from him. There was the word "Sanctuary." It hit Nash across the face so hard his head jerked back. The guy in the lunch line must have been an angel too.
He thought, "They're everywhere."
He regained himself slightly and asked, "So you want me to be kind of a collection point for them? How many kids do you want me to take care of?" He wanted to say rescue, but he didn't. Rescue was exactly the image God gave him, a perfect description.
Aaron was listening intently to Nash. Aaron didn't sense any hidden agendas, no alternative motives. No wonder God chose Nash for the job.
"Nash, you have something more than the Mission and a big kitchen."
"What's that?"
"You have Sanctuary." Aaron didn't know if Nash understood, but he threw it his way to see.
Nash heard that word again, "What do you mean by Sanctuary?" Nash was using (sly-chology) on Aaron to get a better answer. It didn't matter what Nash thought Sanctuary meant. Nash needed to know what God meant.
"You have a place on Monteagle Mountain near Sewanee," said Aaron gesturing to the south.
"Those 30 acres? It's about five miles from downtown Sewanee on Highway 156. The property I let the Boy Scouts use for their Jamborees?"
"Yes, that property."
"Aaron, it's not much of a Sanctuary. It has a well, some bathroom facilities, and a picnic pavilion. No housing, just the land?”
"It's enough. It’s safe, and what's safe now, our Lord and Master intends to keep safe. It’s safe because God has chosen the top of Monteagle at and near Sewanee as a refuge. It's one of God's Mountains." Aaron's heart warmed when he thought about places like this, places that kept precious children safe.
"How many children did you say?" Nash started thinking about using the 30 acres. How many children did Aaron mean?
"I didn't say, but get ready to take care of 5000 before it's all over." Aaron was watching Nash’s response intently.
"Five thousand children! Where in the world can I keep…? I can't house more than a thousand stacked on top of each other. My only extra space is in the basement. I’m full up."
"You'd be surprised how many children per square foot you can fit, trust me." Nash felt the word "trust" more than he heard it. It gave him instant peace. Nash didn’t question Aaron again and didn't want to.
"There are others who will help, but this is going to be the first stop. Are you willing to take care of them?" Aaron held out his hand for a businessman's handshake. Nash reached out and firmly shook it. Aaron's hand swallowed his, and he couldn't even see his own hand.
Enya came up from the downstairs. She gasped as she came into the front of the chapel with her hand flying over her mouth. She came running up to Nash, grabbed his hand, and pointed. She was trying to say something to Nash then motioned knowingly at Aaron.
"Nash, Enya is trying to tell you that she had a dream last week about me visiting you. When she saw me, I was bringing Joey and many more to you."
Enya cried with excitement and buried her face against Nash’s chest while trying to control her sobs. She knew the dream was about something important. The real crying was because she was shown much more. She saw hurt children rolled up into recluse balls of silence, beaten, tortured, abused, and maimed. She cried in her dream for their pain, and now she felt the pain of the dream come to life. It meant those terrible things were true.
Aaron moved closer to Enya and Joey, kneeled down and put his arms around both of them. With his free hand, he reached out to take Nash’s.
"Nash, pray to our Lord for this thing we have to do, for His glory."
Nash gently turned Enya towards Aaron and introduced Joey. Joey ran for her and clutched her waist. His need for another person to love was too strong. Enya knelt down to hold him. If ever there was an instant Mom with an instant son, it was now. Whether it was only 5,000 or 10,000, it would be the same. Each had Enya with all the love, care, and protection that he and Enya could give. The provisions and the space needed, he concluded, weren’t his problems. God never started anything He couldn’t finish.
Nash shook inside and with quivering lips, "Lord, help us to do Your will. We are only people. Help us to understand more clearly how to care and love so many children. Thank You for Aaron and many more like him as they bring us the kids. In Jesus’ Name, amen.”
Tears streamed down everyone's face. As they rose to their feet, a semi-trailer pulled up to the front door. A group of young men were carrying in hundreds of cots, sleeping bags, blankets, and boxes of clothes tha
t were clearly marked by sex and age group. Enya saw them streaming in the front door.
She ran with Joey in hand, repeating, "Go to the first door, the basement, the basement."
She seemed to know that they weren’t to be seen. They ran two immense canvas covers from the front and back of the truck to the Mission building. Nothing could be seen unless someone squeezed or crawled under the semi-trailer. If they did, all they would see would be glimpses of feet scurrying back and forth. The angels thought of everything.
Aaron spoke directly to Nash, "Whatever you need. Let us know. Think about what you need for Sanctuary too." He saw Enya returning with her face beaming and eyes wide with excitement.
"Enya, did you hear what I told Nash? Whatever you need. Make a list for now and for Sanctuary."
"What Sanctuary?" Enya looked back and forth between them, waiting for an answer.
"You remember your dream, Enya?" asked Aaron.
"Well, most of it." She was embarrassed that some of the details had escaped her.
Aaron said quietly, "Come here, Enya."
He took her free hand and pulled her near to him with Joey still hanging to the other, then took her face in his hands and with his massive thumbs gently caressed her forehead as if he was shaping a clay sculpture.
He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Remember."
As he released her, she opened her eyes and exclaimed at the same time, "Yes, I understand. I do understand. I remember. Oh, I remember, so many children, so, so many children, oh, mercy! We need lots of toilet paper! I know what to do!"
She ran off with Joey to the basement. They could hear her barking orders to the angels and telling them exactly where everything was supposed to go. Aaron and Nash chuckled together about it.
The truck was emptied, and Aaron turned to go saying simply, "Remember, whatever you need, open your eyes in faith and claim it in His name. We are the servants of the heirs of promise, aren't we?" He waved as he disappeared out the front door.
Enya
Nash and Enya got busy setting up cots and covering the windows. They didn’t want anyone to see their kids. They received thousands of provisions of every kind, which filled the basement of the Mission. Previously, it was more for storage than human habitat. If they watched how they put things, they still had room for the kids. They figured a thousand kids in the basement was the maximum.
Enya was right, thought Nash, "We’re going to need a lot of toilet paper."
They had used the basement in emergencies before. On one occasion, a Nashville tornado left thousands homeless. Their 200-room Mission was filled wall to wall with people, pillows, and blankets. Another time, a large Sudanese contingent was in town for an international conference at a local Episcopal church. They repeated their efforts, and the Mission sufficed. They would be able to get even more children per square inch than they had with the adults.
Nash wondered why Enya always got those dreams and insights. They were a great help. That's why Enya and Nash were such a great team. He remembered how she always understood things in simple ways and got all those insightful, intuitive ideas and thoughts. He figured it out long ago. If God took the time to tell Enya something, He must want him to hear it. God knew exactly how to get to him by getting to Enya, and she’d get to him.
Nash thought how great Enya looked, and he watched her lovingly as she counted off the squares for the cots. She was so small, an elfish five feet, a 100 pounds soaking wet. Her energy bounded during the day; and at night, they always took time to be together with Nash rubbing her feet and hands, smoothing out the few wrinkles on her tan face. She looked like the dark Irish-Scott’s of the McDonald Clan. She’d get in the sun for only an hour and turn 10 shades darker. Her dark black hair was full of white-gray specks and streaks. It flowed down to her shoulders, and Nash loved it when she put it up in a bun, a Pentecostal knot. It showed the slender lines of her neck and always made him think of her as his little girl.
Enya was happy—she had kids coming. This was her secret wish and her prayer. When they were in secular life, she had worked in a daycare nursery for 20 years. She wouldn’t have it any other way, and no one was happier. Although she didn’t like to admit it, only the
children kept her there. It was their love returned to her so unconditionally, and she confessed to herself that she missed it.
They tried to have children of their own but couldn't. They felt they missed their chance so they moved on to other things. Enya was always attracted to where kids hung out, and she volunteered for anything involving children at the churches they attended. Her empathy and ability to listen drew her more than her fair share of teenagers needing advice, and her compassion and sensitivity were un-measurable.
Sometimes she was too sensitive, thought Nash, and her tenderness had her crying at every animal that suffered and/or died on TV. No amount of kidding about the same animals returning on further episodes quelled her sobbing responses. People were maimed and dying while Enya sobbed, "Not the dog! Not the dog! Not the cat! Not the cat! Oh, no, not the guinea pig!"
However, it was Enya who was the people person. Why God picked him to deal with so many people was a puzzle to Nash. He felt like a loner, always had. He used to say, "I’m the only person on earth who could live on a deserted island by myself and be happy." Nash wondered why God used loners like him. It was so against their nature. Nash knew that God was in the business of changing our most comfortable, awkward natures to do uncomfortable, Godly things for Him and making us love it.
The Mission
The Mission was an apartment-type facility that took in hundreds for feeding, showering, and sleeping. Those who entered the front doors entered directly into the chapel. Off to the side of the
chapel and leading into a cafeteria was the kitchen, fully equipped to cook for hundreds. The founder of the Mission died leaving a life insurance policy that paid it off two years ago. Otherwise, they’d never make it now. There was a trust set up to provide the Mission with enough money to pay for the ongoing utility bills and buy a little food but not much else.
Nash always invited local preachers to speak. He tried not to get pegged as a preacher himself. He talked about Jesus simply, but no one called it preaching. He’d just tell them about Jesus, rather than preach to them. His words didn't matter nearly as much as his care for them. He came to the homeless with a compassion for their needs, and they knew it. It was his real down-to-earth way of talking
about the Lord that drove many would-be tenants away. Nash got to them too easily, and they couldn't stand hearing it from someone who cared so much. It was too powerful, to close, and got under the skin of their hearts. These homeless were whom he was about. It was as he explained to Cole that there was a protest against worship at the Mission. The homeless refused to worship, but he still couldn’t turn them away. Their denominational backgrounds didn’t matter to Nash. What mattered was that they listened to the Gospel the old fashion way. Nash wanted them to partake of the service, just as they partook of the provisions, a 100 percent. It was a shame that most of the time it didn’t work out that way.