Behind the Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  The woman had fought a spiritual war on his behalf back in 1981, which had made her his favorite person for life. For eight-and-a-half years, he hadn’t known the whole story. And the story he finally heard was very humbling. His actions had cost his grandmother a lot of sleepless nights. She had never told anyone about her own personal experiences during those late winter months as she waged spiritual warfare on Brent’s behalf, and she only revealed them to Brent because he had felt a need to piece together all the events that ultimately led to his freedom from demonic oppression.

  So, what to do now? Brent hadn’t known what to expect when he finally reached his grandfather’s secret prayer location, but he’d hoped for some sort of revelation, just the same—something that would make sense of all the things that were happening in his life, something that would take the ache away. It would seem, however, that the most he was going to get from his trek up the mountain, though, was a beautiful view.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He walked back to the rock and sat down. Grabbing his backpack, he opened it and pulled out the letter penned by his papaw. He kept calling it a letter, but it was really more like a loose-leaf journal.

  He read the three pages through once again, then stared off into the distance. You knew your number. You saw your wife healed. You had real conversations with God. I’ve never received any of the above.

  Conviction hit him square in the middle of his chest. Brent had had experiences with God that no one else would believe. It’s not like he didn’t have evidences of God’s work in his own life.

  Brent shot to his feet. He yelled at the sky, his papaw’s journal pages creasing as he raised his arm and shook the papers bitterly. “No! I don’t care! I don’t care about any of that! What I wanted was to say goodbye! You could have let me say goodbye!”

  “I thought you did everything the right way! How freaking hard would it have been to let her live until I got here!” Brent dropped his arm and walked to the edge of the ridge. “If I had your power, I’d have made decisions that people could live with, even if she did have to die!”

  The emotion that Brent had bottled up since hearing about his mamaw’s death was expelling toward the heavens like a geyser. Anger, bordering on hatred, came out naked and unhidden.

  “I hate this! My life was already crashing down around me! Nothing was going right! Then this? Really?! Give me your power and I’d protect people! Give me your power and I’d allow people to say a simple goodbye! But you?! No! Not you!

  “How about pouring down some of that blessing hidden behind that window up there? I thought I wasn’t supposed to be able to contain it! What is it? I don’t qualify for any of that anymore?!

  “And, you know what?! It’s not just me! How about all of the other people that you’re holding back on? I pray for people and your hand still doesn’t seem to move! Answer that one for me!”

  Brent spun around and glared up the slope toward the mountain’s summit, as if by doing so he’d be facing God one-on-one. “Where are you?!” he cried, reaching both arms up into the sky. He spun around again. “Answer me!”

  Brent dropped his arms to his side. His voice lowered. “That’s what I thought. I have to be accountable to you for my actions, but you don’t have to be accountable to anyone. If I had your power…”

  Brent closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a few seconds, he released it slowly. “What’s the point?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “What’s the point?”

  He walked to his backpack and put the wrinkled journal pages into it. Slinging the pack over his right shoulder, he began his trek back down the path.

  Ouch.” Tara said. “You really said all of that stuff to God?”

  “At least I kept it all PG-13.”

  She giggled. “You were on the verge of sounding like me before I became a Christian. Dangerous words, don’t you think?”

  “At the time, I thought I was just being honest. Hindsight, though—hindsight being my foremost superpower—caused me to reevaluate. I finally had to admit that I had accused God unjustly. But, as Scripture says, ‘We are snared by the words of our mouths.’ I had no idea of the trap that I had just set for myself. And I had definitely stepped right into its jaws with both feet.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Tara’s eyes widened a bit.

  “Oh, yeah. Just when I thought that my life couldn’t possibly get more complicated.”

  WHEN BRENT REACHED the bottom of the path and entered the back lawn of his grandparents’ farmhouse, he noticed four additional cars in the driveway. When he was close enough, he saw that one was from North Carolina—his Uncle Carson—and the other three from Georgia—his Aunt Sarah and Uncle Gary’s family. Approaching the house, he could hear a lot of conversation taking place from the front.

  They’re all probably on the front porch.

  As he rounded the porch, his guess was confirmed. The large front portico was filled with relatives. Everyone was there. Uncle Joe and Aunt Sally, Uncle Mark and Aunt Susan (“Sissy”), Uncle Dave and Aunt Jeanette, Uncle Carson, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Gary, and his mom and dad. All of the Moore siblings were together in one place. It had been a very long time since that had happened.

  Along with all the “adults” came all the “children,” a few of them with their own spouses and children in tow. It turned out that a total of twenty-six people had squeezed onto that porch and the concrete steps leading up to it. Things were getting crowded.

  Brent wondered who would be sleeping where over the course of the next few days. Maybe one more family could fit into the old house. Another two couples would be able to stay at his Uncle Joe’s. Would the rest stay at motels?

  When Brent’s Aunt Susan saw him as he rounded the corner, she smiled sadly and quietly walked toward him. On top of the familial love he had for the woman, Brent really liked her. She opened her arms and enveloped him, holding him tight. Her actions drew the attention of others on the porch, and Brent could hear several comment that he had finally shown up.

  “How are you, my handsome nephew?” she whispered into his ear.

  Brent didn’t have it in him to lie after his recent rant of truth. “Surviving,” he responded softly.

  “Me, too.”

  Susan released her hold on him and stepped back. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a few years. Too bad it took this to bring us back together.”

  Brent just nodded, unable to make eye contact just then.

  “Come on up and join us.”

  Brent resigned himself to the idea that he was going to have to interact with several people who were going to pronounce both their joy in seeing him and their love for him. The uncomfortable thing was that some of his relatives were virtual strangers. Heck, he hadn’t seen his Uncle Carson in probably six or seven years. Be that as it may, Brent joined the family hive that was very much abuzz. There were a few too many smiles, considering the reason they had all assembled.

  Things were done a little differently in the hills. This wasn’t going to be some hello, so sad, goodbye event. He’d heard his mom talking with her brother, Uncle Joe, the previous day. There would be two separate opportunities for people to venture out and pay their respects to his mamaw.

  The first would be a day in which his mamaw’s body would be back in her home, her casket open for viewing in the living room. This would allow those who might have a difficult time leaving the hollow an opportunity to come at any time during the course of the day. It would be an open house. The second would be the more common viewing hours at the funeral home, followed by the funeral at the family cemetery. Brent and his family would staying for at least another three nights—as would, he suspected, most of the others.

  Brent would have to make the best of a situation in which the word “best” shouldn’t have even been a consideration.

  IT HAD BEEN a long evening. A little better than tolerable, to Brent’s surprise. A lot of catching up on a lot of people’s lives. While he didn’t do much in the way of part
icipating in conversation, he did listen. He found that two of his cousins were just as interested in politics and Christianity as he. Maybe after the smoke had all cleared, he’d contact them. Maybe. He certainly didn’t want to talk about either right now.

  Sleeping accommodations had been made. Brent’s Uncle Mark and Aunt Susan would exchange sleeping locations with Uncle Gary and Aunt Sarah’s larger family. It would be simpler for Uncle Mark and Aunt Susan to stay in the farmhouse. They sacrificed air conditioning over at Uncle Joe’s home to allow the whole of Aunt Sarah’s family—three cars-full—to stay in one place.

  Uncle Mark brought into the house a queen-size air mattress for him and his wife. The only place large enough to set it up was the living room. When Brent realized that, he volunteered to relocate. He had two choices available to him: the newly vacated small bedroom at the back of the house or the upstairs bedroom. It was the latter that he chose. It would allow him to be the farthest from any clamor. But in taking the room, it meant that he’d better get to bed as soon as possible so that he’d get the maximum amount of cool-air time. After all, the upstairs bedroom always became the warmest room in the house after the sun rose.

  Walking into his Uncle Carson’s and Uncle Joe’s childhood bedroom was a bit eerie. Brent wondered how long it had been since anyone had slept within those four walls. He’d never known anyone to do so. There was still one twin bed in the room to his right. His Uncle Carson’s bed. The bed that had kept his papaw’s body from hitting the floor during his first encounter with God.

  Brent walked straight for the window after dropping his bottle of water, PJs, flashlight, and a novel that he was reading onto the bed. It took some effort, but he was eventually able to raise the lower sash seven or eight inches before it got stuck and wouldn’t go up any further. It would have to do.

  He quickly changed his clothes and pulled back the covers on the bed, glad to receive the scent of fabric softener into his nostrils. At least the sheets were freshly washed.

  After lying down, he realized that he might have had a better night’s rest in the back bedroom. His Uncle Carson’s old bed had its share of lumps.

  Brent lay on his side, flashlight in hand, thinking that he might be able to do a little reading to slow down his thoughts. The idea was short-lived. He just didn’t feel like diving into somebody else’s fantasy world this night. Instead, he set the flashlight on the floor and his novel next to it. He grabbed the bottle of water, swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, and returned the bottle to the floor.

  With nothing better to do, he laid his head on the thick pillow and willed himself into unconsciousness. More quickly than he might have expected, his thoughts cascaded into that dark, safe, and peaceful place where sleep occurs.

  “Brent.”

  A voice. Far away. Somewhere else.

  “Brent. Wake up.”

  The voice was familiar, and yet he was sure he had never heard it before. It was a kind voice. But for some reason it intimidated him.

  “Brenton Nathaniel, son of Keith. It is time for you to awake!”

  Brent sat bolt-upright, fully alert. His eyes rapidly scanned for the one calling his name.

  He realized immediately that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

  “Hello, Brent. How about we have that conversation you demanded?”

  Nuh-uh! You’re not going to say…” Tara’s sentence trailed off.

  “I’m not going to say…what?” I asked with a grin.

  “I’m scared to say, just in case I’m wrong!” she said through a laugh.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure your thought is right on target.”

  “Okay, now my heart is starting to race!”

  “You think your heart is racing? I can’t begin to explain what mine was doing.”

  “Blah blah blah. Whatever. Keep going!”

  “Hey, now. You’re the one that interrupted the story, remember?”

  “Blah blah blah.”

  What could I say to that? I just laughed, shook my head, and kept going.

  THE FIRST THING that grabbed Brent’s attention was the man standing about fifteen yards before him in a grassy field. There was nothing particularly impressive about him. That is, until he looked into the man’s eyes. They were hard, exacting…and full of love—completely contrary characteristics that still somehow made sense in that moment.

  After a few seconds, the man began to grin, then the grin transformed into a broad smile. Perfectly straight, white teeth filled the space between his lips.

  The man was a few inches shorter than Brent, around 5 foot 8 inches. He had a full head of well-groomed, dark-brown hair that came down to just below his shoulders. He was dressed in a very white, button-up dress shirt with an open collar and a pair of not-so-new blue jeans that were torn at the knees. Brand-new-looking white tennis shoes rounded off the ensemble.

  “Hi, Brent!” exclaimed the man as he began to stride forward.

  Brent realized that he must have had a perplexed look on his face when the man said, “It’s all right, Brent. Relax. Everything is okay.”

  That didn’t help Brent at all. After all, he was supposed to be asleep.

  Maybe he was.

  “No, you’re not sleeping. Anyone seeing your body in your mamaw’s upstairs bedroom would think you were, though.”

  What the…?

  The man suddenly laughed. “No, you’re not there either.”

  Brent wished the stunned feeling that he was enduring would begin to fade, but so far, it wasn’t. Not even a little. However, Brent was finally able to find his vocal cords, though even those didn’t prove to be particularly useful.

  “I uhh…what…where …”

  The man laughed again as he came to a stop about three feet in front of Brent.

  “Brent, son of Keith…peace. Take a deep breath and let it out.”

  Almost involuntarily, Brent did just that.

  “Good. You’re with a friend. In fact, you’re with your best friend.”

  Why the statement rocked Brent to the core, he couldn’t figure out. After all, from the moment that he first laid eyes on the man, he instinctively knew with whom he was standing face-to-face. It must have been the man’s confirmation that threw him off-balance.

  “Jesus?”

  “I Am.”

  Instantly Brent fell to his knees, eyes to the ground. “My Lord! My God!”

  “One of my disciples said those very words when I surprised him, too. You should have seen Thomas’ face!” A good-humored laugh sprung from deep inside Jesus.

  Brent felt a hand rest upon his left shoulder. He looked up. Jesus removed his hand and held it out for Brent to take. And so he did.

  Helping Brent to his feet, Jesus said, “How about you call me Joshua.”

  “Joshua? But…”

  “It’s a variation of my given name. It’s going to help make things a little more comfortable for you during our conversation.”

  Still having challenges making his words fluid, Brent resorted to a simple nod.

  “Shall we walk?”

  Brent looked around in order to find where a walk might lead. He found that he was in the middle of a huge meadow. Huge was actually too small a word for it. As he turned 360 degrees, he realized that there was nothing but green grass sprinkled with tiny flowers of varying colors for as far as his eyes could see. There were no structures, no hills, and no landmarks of any kind.

  A complete sentence finally came to him. “Where are we? Is this…?” His question came to a halt. Almost two complete sentences. He was getting better.

  “Heaven?” Joshua grinned. “No, it isn’t time for that yet. This, you might say, is my board room. I’ve found that the blue skies and beautiful ground cause my children to relax. Plus,” he continued with a chuckle, “no one runs away from me when there’s no apparent place to run to!”

  For the first time, Brent let out some emotion with relaxed laughter of his own. Jesus—Joshua—was funny!


  “So what’s the deal with your jeans? I mean…they’re jeans. Ripped jeans.”

  “Brent, have you ever known me to be anything but a paradox?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

  Joshua walked past Brent and started to walk toward the horizon. Brent turned around and quickly brought himself up alongside, matching his pace.

  “So, you want to talk with me,” Joshua began, without a hint of accusation.

  Suddenly, Brent was feeling pretty foolish. He couldn’t seem to look back at the past day and dredge up any of the hostility that he’d had toward God. Though, emotions aside, he was able to find his words.

  “I’ve got questions.”

  “Questions are good. Healthy.”

  “Even if I’m questioning you?”

  “Yes. That is, if you are willing to listen to the answers. I’m not a big fan of lack of faith, to be sure, but I do have an enemy who creates a lot of chaos and, thus, a lot of questions arise from those that I know.” Joshua looked over at Brent, not slowing his pace. “Sometimes there are accusations, as well.”

  Brent looked down at his feet for a moment, then back over at Joshua. “I’m sorry about all of that. But nothing is making sense to me.”

  “And that, Brent, is why you are here. You are much like Jonathan, son of James—your papaw.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but at least his anger took place before he became a Christian. Mine? I should have known better.”

  “Do you think that your grandmother’s ailment was the only thing that made your grandfather angry with me? Your papaw’s and my meeting spot on that mountain was a great place for him to vent.” Joshua’s voice lightened as he began to laugh heartily. “I am always right, but that doesn’t mean that he always saw it that way.”