The others stopped talking, noticing a change in him. Then William said quietly to his guests, “I guess, since we’re all going to be working together now, there’s something I need to tell you about.”
PARIS—As America went to bed that night, Sadim awoke after only a few hours’ sleep in yet another Paris hotel, this one notable for its lack of notability, on the southwest side of the city. He had begun his circuitous trip late Wednesday after signaling Wafik that an unexpected meeting was necessary; and he’d arrived in the City of Light on Friday evening. After changing hotels twice he finally felt safe enough to give in to the fatigue that swept over him.
But with the morning he was up, praying and exercising in his room. The dining area in his hotel was too small for them to meet safely, so at nine Sadim joined his colleague at a bustling neighborhood café that served delicious croissants.
“Ah, my friend.” Wafik smiled as Sadim approached from the front door and joined him at a corner table. “What a pleasure to see you here so unexpectedly.”
“Yes. Allah be praised. Thank you for arranging all things on such short notice. I’m afraid we must change some of our strategy to use the great gift we have been given.”
“Let us order, first. I assume you could use some coffee,” Wafik said, his smile contrasting with the seriousness in his eyes. “And then please tell me this news.”
After they ordered, Sadim leaned forward and asked, “Do you have all the tapes of the congressmen?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How many are there?”
“Twenty-one. Twelve representatives and nine senators.”
“And they are all clearly heard to be taking money?”
“Oh, yes. Some even boast about it!”
“Good. Did you see President Harrison’s address on Wednesday morning?”
“No, it came on too late. But I’ve seen clips since, and I read the entire text after your call.”
“Excellent. It’s hard to imagine how anything he could have done could have played more precisely into our hands. It must be a great gift from Allah, wrapped in Harrison’s own religious blasphemies.”
Wafik held up his hand to stop the conversation while the waiter served coffee and croissants. After the waiter left, Wafik said, “Please explain what you mean.”
“Gladly,” Sadim replied, first taking a sip from the steaming cup.
Twenty minutes later he concluded with, “And so that is why you must move back to America within the month. You are the only one of us with the experience and sensitivity to report accurately on the activity before this election and to guide our final moves. And of course you must also continue to instruct our twenty-one congressional friends on their new foreign policy initiatives, so they will be ready to do our bidding on the election as well, encouraged by your tapes when necessary, in case any of them begin to waiver.”
Wafik reflected for a moment on what he had heard and then nodded. “Yes, you are right. It is a great gift. We will have to be ready a few weeks earlier than originally planned, but it’s worth it. I will propose this change to the Council, and assuming that it meets with the approval we both expect, I’ll move back to the Georgetown apartment by the end of the month.”
“Good, then I will return to the south after we finish here this morning,” Sadim concluded.
“So little time in Paris after such a long journey?”
“Unfortunately yes, my friend. If we are to meet the new schedule, there can be no slip-ups, so I must be there. But obviously our work is being blessed.”
“Obviously.” Wafik nodded in reply.
21
No free government now exists in the world unless where Christianity is acknowledged, and is the religion of the country.... Its foundations are broad and strong, and deep.... It is the purest system of morality, the firmest auxiliary, and only stable support of all human laws.
SUPREME COURT OF PENNSYLVANIA
UPDEGRAPH V. THE COMMONWEALTH, 1824
Saturday, March 2
One Month Later
HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT—William awoke early, alone in a hotel room, just over a month after his State of the Union address. He was on his first regional swing out of Washington to speak on behalf of their new course. After a fundraising breakfast followed by television interviews that morning, he was scheduled to speak at a large rally in the center of town at noon, then go on to Boston.
As he was drying off after his shower, he thought, I hope it’s a large rally. New England is tough for us. Despite strong Christian roots around here, where are the believers? Our polls show that people are still personally religious. But unless the churches get behind this rally today, it could look terrible.. Just what we need. More negative press.
He shaved and dressed, thinking about Carrie, who was doing her own tour of eastern Virginia that weekend. He hoped that all was going well with her. What a joy it is to be friends again. What a fool I was.
But as he took his tie off the hanger, the emotional heaviness that had been building in his heart for days seemed to gain a physical weight. He had tried to be strong, too, but the crescendo of one attack after another on their plan—which now contained twenty very specific and, he felt, excellent points for the nation to rally around on schools, taxes, prayer, abortion, welfare, defense, the national debt—had begun to wear him down, and he found himself questioning what he was doing.
I haven’t really prayed in days. I’ve missed my quiet time with God because of our schedule. Well, this morning we’ll just have to be a little late.
William walked over and took the phone off the hook, then knelt in front of a chair in the living room part of the suite.
O Father... Dear God... I praise you for always driving me back to your strength, even when it takes some pain to get my attention. Thank you for all your blessings, and your love for this nation, this people, and her institutions. Thank you Father for all the people who have been encouraged and have rallied because of this challenge—help me Father to focus on your agenda rather than the media’s agenda. Your timing rather than theirs. Jesus’ ultimate victory rather than Satan’s temporary boasts.
He went on to praise God and to seek his will. Within a few minutes the heaviness on his heart began to lift as he unburdened his doubts and his fears. As he continued to pray he once again began to lose control of his words, just as he had the morning in the White House back in December, and he heard his own voice saying quietly, One at a time. One person at a time. One at a time.
For several minutes this experience continued, then the words began to lose their intensity. Eventually he was able to pray again, and he continued to do so for another ten minutes.
Then he rose, finished dressing, and departed for their breakfast reception, not worried any longer about the size of their rallies. He knew that the count in November was the only tally that mattered.
RALEIGH—Graham had taken his son Tim for their haircuts late that morning, and Mary was sitting at their breakfast room table addressing invitations to a fund-raiser for a good friend of theirs who had just announced his candidacy for Congress, citing William’s challenge as the “wake up call” that led to his decision. As Mary finished the first bundle, Sarah, dressed in jeans and a light sweater against the day’s still chilly weather, walked in and placed an overnight bag and party dress on the free end of the table.
“Matthew will be here in a minute,” she explained, turning to the refrigerator for some water.
Mary had been praying for her daughter and their relationship since the night of the news special a month earlier. While Sarah had obviously survived any immediate jabs from her peers, Mary worried that their relationship was worse than it had ever been. There was a distance, a coldness between them that had never existed before. Now that Sarah’s health class had moved beyond the computer section, Mary assumed that the network show and normal growing pains were the problems, unaware that another, bigger change had occurred in Sarah’s life at alm
ost the same time. Unknown to Mary, Sarah’s embarrassment over her uncle and her parents had driven her even more heavily into the arms of her boyfriend. Mary had decided the week before to back off and to just be herself, rather than push her daughter, hoping that this passive approach would salvage their ability to communicate before Sarah left for college in the fall.
Mary looked up over the tops of her glasses. “I hope you all have a good time at the baseball game, and please remind Matthew to drive safely. What time is the dance over?”
Sarah swirled the ice in her cup. “Midnight.”
“And the game will go on too long for you to come home and change?”
“It could. It’s the first away game of the season, and Matthew wants to stay after our game and scout the teams in the second game, who we play next week. He says it helps him when he’s pitching. So then we’ll have to hurry to dinner and the dance.”
“And where will you be changing?”
“At Amanda’s. She lives over that way.” She and Matthew actually had no intention of staying for the second game or of even attending the dance, except that they might drop in for the last thirty minutes after spending six hours alone together.
“Well, tell Matthew good luck. Oh, Cynthia Williams called about these invitations before you woke up and mentioned that she and Tom were driving downtown last night and saw you and Matthew, she thought, near the Royal Suites Hotel.”
Sarah turned away to look out the kitchen window. “She, uh, had to be mistaken. Matthew and I were at the movie, like I told you. Oh, here he is. Bye!”
She quickly scooped up her things, waved in the direction of her mother, and went out the door to the turn around.
As she left, Mary said to herself, “That’s what I told Cynthia—she must have been mistaken.”
WASHINGTON—Michael Tate had accepted William’s invitation to join their new team one week after their dinner. His commitment was only through the election, but he was enjoying the opportunity to work with so many intelligent and committed people for what they prayed would be a real turning point for the nation.
This Saturday morning he and Joe Wood were in Michael’s new office in the White House. They were discussing the committee that the African-American pastor hoped to establish from contributions. It would print literature and distribute it across the nation, summarizing the writings of the founders about God’s important continuing role in the life of America.
The phone on Michael’s desk rang, and he answered it.
“Reverend Tate, hello, this is Janet Sullivan.”
Michael thought for a moment and then remembered the name. “Oh, yes, hello, Mrs. Sullivan. How are you, and how can I help you?”
“Well, I’m sorry we haven’t met yet, but I know from Carrie how you discipled William, and I want to thank you.”
He smiled. “And I know from Carrie how you and your husband brought William to the Lord’s feet last summer.”
This time she paused. “Only as the end of a long process begun by others.”
“I know. Thank God. Now, what can I do for you on this beautiful Saturday morning? By the way, Joe Wood is here with me, so I’d like to put us together on the speaker phone.” He pushed the speaker button and replaced the receiver. “Go ahead, Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Hello, Reverend Wood, as well. I read that William is travelling, and I hoped that you could either give me a phone number for him or at least take a message.”
“As much as they’re moving around, I think the message will be easier, unless it’s an emergency,” Michael answered.
“No. And after you hear the message, we may need to talk, anyway. The message is that after a lot of prayer and fasting, I’ve decided to run for Congress.”
“What? That’s great! I know both William and Carrie will be thrilled. How did you decide?”
“Well, actually I told my husband, Richard, on the night of William’s speech that he should run, as William challenged. He didn’t immediately say no, but after a week of praying he said that not he but I should enter the race. He felt that my background in communications would help me in the race, and, if I’m elected, in Congress as well. I then prayed and thought and talked to our children and friends, and last night we decided together to make the jump. So we’re on the team, at least until November! We’re ready to help, and of course we need help ourselves.”
“That’s wonderful. Welcome. I guess you more than most new candidates know what’s ahead of you. God bless you, and thank you,” Joe Wood said.
“No, thank all of you. And, yes, I’ve seen lots of campaigns. We pray that ours can be somewhat different, though we’re ready for the tough work. But what sort of help can you give us?”
“First things first. Which party do you plan to run from?” Michael asked.
Janet almost laughed. “That’s the really funny thing. We’ve never been supporters of William’s party.”
Michael smiled as well. “That’s no problem. At least half of the candidates who’ve identified with us are in the same position. And it is interesting, since the traditional parties don’t know exactly what to do. It’s almost like the Civil War. Both parties’ leadership is so divided by all that’s happening that they’re talking about just splitting the campaign funds for this fall down the middle and giving half to those who support the president and half to those who don’t. It’s really pretty bizarre, but you should at least get a little money that way. Otherwise I’m afraid it’s the usual old method of personal, local fundraising.”
“I see,” Janet said. “What about other kinds of help?”
“We’re still working on that, but for now we’ve got a nice presentation of the twenty key points which we hope all the candidates who identify with God’s worldview will support. We’d like to begin our work next January with this road map of what to tackle first. While most of the brainpower for that piece is right here, we of course had it printed by contributions, not at government expense. The same is true of everything associated with the election, as opposed to current government policy.
“Other than that, we’ve set up a bureau to coordinate speakers and good ideas that seem to work, and Joe and I are brainstorming over a couple of other things. But by and large these elections will be run and paid for locally. Oh, most important! We’ll add your name to our national prayer list, which is being lifted up by prayer warriors all across the nation, every hour of the day. So far we think we have over four thousand voices from that same number of churches, every hour, and growing!”
“Praise God,” Janet whispered.
“Yes,” Joe added. “Praise him, not any man or woman.”
“Certainly the president will want to come out and speak for you,” Michael added. “I’ll let him know tonight when we talk.”
“Thank you. And I guess we’d better get to work raising money for all that expensive TV time,” Janet concluded.
“First, let’s start you off by praying together,” Joe suggested. And they did.
ATLANTA—Bruce had stayed in Boston an additional two weeks, making preliminary arrangements as best he could for his parents. He returned to Atlanta in the middle of February. While still in Boston he’d had long days and nights to think about his future and to plan. Since returning he’d been especially nice to Rebecca, but the tension caused by his appearance on the U. S. Network was still there, although the two of them had only referred to it in passing.
Saturday afternoon was cool but sunny, just perfect for a jog on one of the long nature trails by the Chattahoochee River. They had just finished a five-mile run and were cooling off by walking in the crisp sunshine. After a long period of silence, Bruce turned to Rebecca and said, “Look, I’m sorry about that show last month. They called and I did it. You know I don’t agree with your brother’s new ideas, but I was careful just to say what happened and not to give my opinion. So will I ever be forgiven, and will our relationship ever be the same again?”
Rebecca listened and consid
ered well before answering; she knew this could be an important conversation with a man in whom she’d now invested more than a year of her life. “Bruce, William’s beliefs were just so personal...and you seemed so condescending, treating his beliefs like he had been brainwashed, like you knew the truth and he’d missed it. That’s what upset me the most—besides the shock of you just being there—the tone, the derision for someone who had done so much for you.”
Now it was Bruce’s turn to be silent for a while. “I guess you’re right, but if it makes any difference, the tone was unconscious, not intentional, I guess because I do feel that way about his new ideas. But you’re right, he did help my mother, though it now looks like the operation only postponed the problem. Anyway, I think people need to trust in themselves and their government, not in some invisible, magical God.”
They walked along in silence. Rebecca decided not to argue with him about God—they’d been over this ground before, and her own growing belief in God was so ill formed and nebulous that he always found some way to discredit it.
Finally, hearing no argument, Bruce mustered the courage to say what had been on his mind for two weeks. “Turning closer to home, to us, Rebecca, I had a lot of time to think while I was in Boston. I now know that I love you very much, and that I want to spend my life with you. So I’m asking you if you’ll marry me.”
She stopped walking and looked up at him, shading the sun from her eyes with her left hand. She just looked at him, without saying anything, seeming to concentrate on his eyes, as if she were looking at him for the first time. After a while he smiled and took her right hand, but still she said nothing.
“Come on, Rebecca, I’ve never known you to be speechless. What do you say? Will you marry me?”
The President Page 50
