by Davis Bunn
“Great. Just great.” He walked over as the pair entered, and offered them his hand. “Gentlemen. Come on in and have a seat.” He stopped Lorraine’s question before it was spoken. “That will be all, thank you.”
He waved them into seats and sighed as he sat back down himself. “What can I do for you?”
“Be careful what you say,” Agatha said. “Buddy is in one of his moods.”
“I do not have moods,” he snapped.
Agatha Richards harrumphed. “Buddy Korda, I’ve known you all my life. And I know you can be the most quietly contrary man I have ever laid eyes on.”
Buddy turned to the pastors. “Don’t pay her any mind. She’s the one who’s being contrary.”
“Now that is just not true. I simply wanted to offer you my help.”
“No, you didn’t.” Buddy knew he should stop, but he did not feel able. “You came in here to sit at the feet of the wise man. Well, I’m sure not wise. And I’m not interested in your getting down on my carpet, no matter what the reason.”
Clarke Owen halted Agatha’s reaction with, “Actually, we came by for the same reason.”
“If you really want to help me,” Buddy snapped, angry despite himself, “you’d make this whole mess up and vanish.”
Agatha was horrified. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Distress rose in waves. “Do you know what I hear when you start talking about last night? I hear the end of a life I’ve loved. Everything is about ready to be turned on its head, and I’m supposed to be happy. Now tell me exactly what it is that I’m supposed to be so all-fired delighted about.”
There was a long silence, finally broken by Pastor Allen. “So you really think it’s going to happen. This economic famine, I mean.”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.” Buddy kneaded his forehead. “It’s not only the famine I’m talking about. It’s the warning. It’s the fact that I’ve been chosen to go out and deliver this to people. Only I don’t want to go. Is that so difficult to understand? I hate traveling. I’m scared of airplanes. I don’t like trains. My car is eight years old, and it’s done less than twenty thousand miles.”
He felt thoroughly unable to explain what he was feeling. His gaze landed on Pastor Allen who wore a troubled expression. Buddy said, “I sound ungrateful, don’t I?”
“I should say so,” Agatha huffed.
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know what I have to be grateful for.” Even so, the act of confessing was calming. He could feel the pent-up steam leaking out with his words.
“If you don’t beat all.” Agatha had difficulty finding the words. “Buddy Korda, the Lord has called you.”
“That’s right, He has. Now let’s take a look at what exactly this calling is. I’ve been given a message of direst ruin. A seven-year famine is coming. That’s my message. I’m called to go out and spread this message to anyone who will listen. I’m called to make myself a laughingstock in the business community, at least among those who won’t believe me. And for those who do believe, I’ll be bringing a warning that dashes every dream. I’ll be telling them that their worst fears for the future will soon come true.”
He felt like a deflated balloon, yet he was satisfied just the same. There was a genuine fulfillment in speaking the truth. And that was what he was going to do, he decided then and there. “I don’t want this job. I didn’t ask for it. I’m not a talker, and I don’t like being noticed. The Lord’s called me, and I guess I’m going to do what He’s told me to do. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Not one bit.”
Agatha looked from one pastor to the other. “Are you just going to sit there and let him go on like this?”
Clarke Owen turned and waited for the chief pastor to speak. But Reverend Allen continued to study Buddy. Genuine uncertainty clouded his gaze.
For some reason, Pastor Allen’s silence seemed to satisfy Clarke. He turned back to Buddy and said, “I have to tell you, Buddy, what I’ve just heard here only makes me more certain that the Lord has chosen rightly.”
Agatha’s mouth worked a couple of times, but no sound came out.
“Buddy, you’re not a pastor. You’re not called to lead a flock. You are called to give the world a warning. A message, Buddy. That is what the Lord intends for people to focus on. Not the messenger. Never the messenger. Do you see where I’m headed with this?”
“Yes,” he reluctantly allowed. “Yes, I guess I do.”
“Someone who wants to be the center of attention could very well get in the way of what God is intending here. He wants His people to hear a message, and to have it spoken with an authority that is so solid, so certain, that they will do as He instructs. They might not be anywhere near that certain if the message was to come from someone else.”
Clarke paused for another glance at Pastor Allen. A knowing smile played across his features. “If the message came from someone with a talent for speaking and a heart for the stage, their attention might be on the speaker. But that’s not what’s intended here. The Lord wants people to focus on Him.”
There was a moment’s silence before Pastor Allen shifted in his seat and said quietly, “I agree.”
The soundness of what he was hearing left Buddy locked in his unfolding destiny. “I’m so afraid.”
“Well, of course you are,” Clarke affirmed.
“Every word you say,” Buddy went on, “brings my departure one step closer.”
“Buddy, I’d like to tell you that you can go out and do your work and return home. I wish I could do that.” Clarke placed his hands on his knees and leaned through the distance separating them. “But I can’t. What I can say is that I’m proud of you. And I’m certain the Lord is too.”
Pastor Allen rose slowly to his feet. “I suppose I’d better be getting on. I’ve got appointments back-to-back today. I just wanted you to know I’m behind you on this.” His gaze fell not on Buddy, but on his associate. As Clarke smiled up at him, Pastor Allen went on, “Buddy, there’s a meeting of the Businessmen’s Bible Fellowship tonight over in Wilmington. They’ve asked me to speak. I think you should be there in my stead.”
“I—” Buddy stopped as he watched Clarke reach out, grip Pastor Allen’s arm, and squeeze it hard. His smile was exquisite. Buddy told them, “I don’t know what to say.”
Clarke dropped his hand and turned to Buddy. “Tell him yes. Let the Lord begin his work.”
–|| FOURTEEN ||–
The chairman of the Businessmen’s Bible Fellowship in Wilmington, Delaware, tried hard to put a good face on it. But he was definitely unhappy with Buddy’s appearance as their speaker. “We meet every Wednesday morning for a prayer breakfast. Once a month, we have these evening suppers. Usually it’s on a Saturday, but we rescheduled to have our senator make the address—he could only come tonight. Then he couldn’t make it, and Pastor Allen said he’d fill in. And now, well, I guess he had something come up too.”
“No,” Clarke said from Buddy’s other side. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t clear at all on why the reverend felt that we needed to hear Mr. Korda.” He was leaning back in his chair so he could see Clarke, and paused long enough to offer Buddy an apologetic smile. “Normally we get in some big speakers for these evening functions. The wives come, and we invite other people from the community.”
“I am pretty certain,” Clarke replied, “that you won’t be at all disappointed.”
The chairman looked as if he wanted to say something more, but settled on, “Maybe it’d be a good idea if you did the introduction, then.”
“I’d be honored.”
Buddy waited until the chairman had turned to speak with someone else, then muttered to Clarke, “I wish I was half as sure about all this as you are.”
The room was part of a riverside wharf restoration project, with ancient timbers holding up the high ceiling. Every sound rebounded off the red-brick walls and polished floor. By the time everyone was sea
ted and dinner was served, over a hundred people filled the long banquet tables. Every time Buddy looked up from his place at the front table, his stomach did flip-flops. A wave of laughter swept down one side, and it seemed as though the noise beat at him. Buddy pushed his plate away untouched.
Clarke set his utensils down and slid one arm around the back of Buddy’s chair. “You’ll do just fine.”
“I wish it was over.”
“I know you do.”
“All of it. Not just tonight.”
“Well, it’s not. It’s only just started. And you might as well get used to the idea and stop bellyaching.”
The words were so surprising, coming from the quiet assistant pastor, that Buddy felt pushed an inch or two away from his anxiety. He stared at Clarke and was met by intense gray eyes. Clarke went on, “The Lord has chosen you, Buddy. You may not like it much, but it is still an honor. And more than that, what you have to say may be of vital importance.”
Buddy gave a single slight nod. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am. God is not intending for you to go out and scare his church. He wants them to prepare.”
Strange how being scolded could force him to a new level of calm. “There’s a second part of the message about how to do just that.”
“I did not doubt it for a moment.” Clarke looked beyond him. “The chairman is going to call us to order.”
Buddy sat through the opening remarks and the Bible reading and the prayer and the singing, scarcely hearing any of it at all. His heart beat a frantic pace. Finally Clarke rose at the chairman’s nod and approached the podium.
“When I came to the First Christian Church in Aiden twenty-seven years ago, I did not know a soul. New assistant pastors are generally treated like a sort of third thumb at first—people don’t have any idea what to do with them. Yet Buddy Korda went out of his way to make me and my wife feel welcome. In his own quiet way, he treated us like family. And that is exactly how we have considered him ever since. A member of our family.”
Buddy’s attention was caught by the side door opening, and he started at the sight of two people slipping in. His brother, Alex, was in the lead. Agatha Richards came in next. He stared as they slid into two empty chairs by the side wall. A more unlikely pair Buddy could not imagine.
“Buddy is assistant branch manager of the Valenti Bank in Arden. He has helped handle the finances of our community for more than thirty-five years. People tend to overlook him unless they need his help with something, because he prefers to stay in the background. To say that Buddy would rather not be up here tonight is like calling the Atlantic a fair-size puddle. But he is here, and he does have something to tell you. There is nothing I can say that will prepare you for his message, and so I am just going to sit back down and ask him to come forward. Buddy?”
There was some scattered applause and more than a little muted conversation as Buddy made his way over. He gripped the sides of the podium, feeling the grainy wood under his fingers. He looked out over the hall and remained silent. He was no longer afraid. That was not why he did not speak. He was silent because there before him in that sea of strange faces Buddy caught a glimpse of his own future. Traveling from place to place, passing on from church to Bible study to gathering, moving farther and farther from the town of his birth. Spreading a message of doom.
“Buddy.” Clarke leaned over his empty chair, and gave his quiet smile. “It’s all right, brother.”
And suddenly it was all right. Perfectly all right. Buddy found himself abruptly sheltered within invisible wings of love, safe in the arms of the same Lord who had asked for his help. Buddy looked out over the murmuring crowd, and quietened them by simply starting with his story. How he had started having nightmares. How the Bible passage had risen up before his eyes. How the message had been given to him after a day of fasting.
He stopped there, expecting some back talk and mutterings. But the hall remained silent. Utterly still. So Buddy continued with how he had then asked for signs, looking directly at his brother as he explained what he had asked for. He felt anew the stab of pain over Alex’s illness, an ache so deep that he caught his breath and stopped.
Which, as it turned out, was a very good thing.
A man seated at the center of the table to his right suddenly rose to his feet. It was a gradual change, almost as if the man was lifted up by invisible strings. But what raised the hairs on Buddy’s neck was the expression on his face.
The man wore a look of blinding ecstasy.
One by one other people around the hall followed Buddy’s gaze. The man remained as he was, hanging limply and yet erect. And as silent as the rest of the room.
Then it happened.
There came the sound of a rushing wind. A spark of joy so powerful it leaped from person to person and rushed through the room. From where Buddy stood, it looked like an instantaneous storm ignited the entire chamber. Some people remained seated, others rose and stood at their places. But no one spoke. Not a word, not a sound. Only the rushing wind. A deeply drumming crescendo of the power of God.
As swiftly as it came, it passed. In its place was a vacuum, interspaced here and there with the quiet sound of weeping. Buddy looked out over the crowd, waiting for people to resume their seats. He had not felt a thing. But he had seen it. And though he was sorry not to have had the experience anew, he was glad all the same. He did not think he would have been able to speak if he had been caught up once again.
“I have something more to tell you,” Buddy said, and he waited until all eyes were once more fastened upon him. There was a new focus to the room, a desperate desire to hear what he had to say. Which was good. Because he then delivered the second part of the message. And that was far more surprising than the warning itself.
–|| FIFTEEN ||–
Thirty-Five Days . . .
When Buddy arrived home from work Tuesday he was struck by a panic attack. Cars filled his drive and spilled out along the front curb. Then he recognized all but one of them and breathed a little easier.
He had hardly stepped through the doorway before he heard four voices squeal impossibly high and saw two white-blond-haired and two auburn-haired girls come racing from the kitchen. “Granddaddy!”
“A family gathering. Just what I need.” It seemed as if the sun rose in his heart at the sight. “How are my princesses?”
He sank down and allowed himself to be engulfed by his four granddaughters. It was like trying to hold a basketful of wiggling puppies. Meredith and Macon belonged to Paul, his older son. They were almost exactly the same age as Jennifer and Veronica since Jack, his younger boy, had married while still in school, whereas Paul had waited to start his family. Buddy tried to envelop all four girls at once and wished there were some way to stop time from advancing. He would have loved to spend the rest of his days with these little angels, just as they were right now.
“You didn’t hug me, Grandpa.”
“Yes, he did. I saw him.”
“Well, he didn’t hug me enough.”
“I cut my thumb. Will you kiss it?”
“I got an A on my coloring today. The teacher put it on the board for everybody to look at.”
Buddy kissed the Band-Aid on one little finger, looked up to where Molly and his two daughters-in-law were watching and smiling, and said, “This is just the medicine I needed.”
“Did you have a hard day?”
“Let’s see.” He rose to his feet, keeping his hands down low to hold the little forms close. “The entire morning was spent writing letters to three hundred customers telling them to oppose the bank’s new credit-card policy. Then after lunch word filtered back to the branch manager about my speech last night. That’s when things got interesting.”
“Oh, Buddy.”
“It occurred to me about then that it might be a good idea to take some vacation. I’ve got almost a month stored up.” He looked at Molly. “I know we were planning to use it for that trip out West, but I
don’t think I could bear trying to handle the bank and this new work at the same time.”
Molly gave him a quiet smile. “You were the one who wanted to go out West. Not me.”
“I wanted to take you off somewhere.”
“It looks like I’ll be traveling with you now,” she said, clearly at ease with how things were.
All six females were watching him—his two daughters-in-law and his four granddaughters—waiting to see his reaction. It was not the time to show worry. “Where are the boys?”
“Out back, keeping the company occupied.”
“Company?”
“Wait, don’t tell him yet.” Trish was Jack’s wife, as petite as Molly and as auburn-haired as her two girls. “I want you to see something first before you get all worked up.” She raced back into the kitchen.
Buddy started to ask worked up about what, but the four granddaughters stuffed little hands in their mouths to stop their giggles and did excited dances in place. He put on his sternest face. “Jennifer, what on earth is your mother up to?”
“You’ll see.” She beamed up at him. “Something good.”
“Veronica, you’d better tell me right quick.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I didn’t have time to wrap it, Dad.” Trish reappeared, flushed and flustered. “We just picked it up from the framer’s on the way over here.”
Trish did scrollwork and etchings for a number of the local shops. Buddy watched as she rushed over, hugging a frame to her chest. “What have you been up to, Daughter?”
This brought forth another paroxysm of giggles from the four little girls. Shyly, Trish raised the frame for him to see. “I hope you like it.”
A simple, gold passe-partout framed three different pastels and bestowed a sense of colorful depth. At its center, words were scrolled in rich blue and edged in gold. They came from First Corinthians, and said:
Pursue love, and desire spiritual gifts, but especially that you may prophesy. He who prophesies speaks edification and exhortation and comfort to men. He who prophesies edifies the church.
