Angels of Humility: A Novel

by Jackie Macgirvin

  Paul’s face was suddenly invaded by a lovingly worn, one-eared Winnie the Pooh with a small rip by its grinning mouth. “Daddy, sing to Pooh.”

  “Daddy’s busy right now, sweetie. I’ll sing to Pooh at bedtime.”

  “Sing now—for Pooh!”

  “No, Daddy’s busy I’ll sing later. I promise. Go play.”

  Paul was too busy looking at his graph, showing the predicted attendance at the Victory Church of Bradbury, to notice the disappointed look on Jordan’s face as he shuffled back to the living room, dragging Pooh behind him. To Kathy, the disappointment was glaring. She glanced at Paul, still absorbed in his charts, and excused herself to the living room where she snuck up on Jordan and grabbed Pooh.

  “My Pooh,” she said cuddling the well-loved, tattered bear close, as she sat cross legged on the floor. Jordan laughed.

  “My Pooh,” he said reaching his chubby arms to grab Pooh’s one remaining ear. Kathy released her grasp. As Jordan snuggled on her lap, hugging Pooh, she put her arms around them both and rocked back and forth as she sang, “I love ice cream, I love candy, I love Tiggers aren’t they dandy? I love Piglet, I love Pooh. But most of all, I looovvve YOU!” She ended the song with a rousing tummy poking, which sent Jordan into gales of laughter.

  “Come on sport. I think it’s Pooh’s bedtime. Let’s get ready and daddy will be in to sing….” She finished the thought in her mind…. Or I’ll flog him within an inch of his life with his stupid graphs.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I used to think that God’s gifts were on shelves—one above the other—and the taller we grow, the easier we can reach them. Now I find that God’s gifts are on shelves—and the lower we stoop, the more we get.”

  F.B. Meyer1

  “‘Become nothing if you would become something.’ In His rules of success, you must stoop to rise, go down to get up. And shrink to grow.”

  Unknown

  The type for the headline on the Bradbury Gazette was bigger than it had ever been. The owner and editor, Clarence Harvey, had never felt the need to go bigger than a 63 font and had only used that once, when the robbery ring had been broken wide open by the sheriff. He only used it then because he was emotionally involved in the story—his home was one of the first ones hit, and they’d stolen his collection of antique fishing equipment, which was never recovered. Now he was equally stirred up and displayed the headline in all caps and size 82 font: “MINIMUM-SECURITY JAIL PROPOSED FOR BRADBURY!”

  Emotions were running high all over the town that morning as residents opened their papers. The consensus was that no one wanted a jail anywhere close to their home or their hometown.

  Sarah didn’t read the paper that morning. She, Joel, and Malta had covered their regular prayer walk, and then she drove to her appointment with Dr. Newbury. He had been her family doctor for 20 years. Even though George had been treated by a cancer specialist in Mt. Pielor, Dr. Newbury continued to drop by the house to visit George until he passed away.

  After exchanging pleasantries, he asked Sarah the reason for her visit.

  “I’m just having a harder time getting around,” she said uncomfortably, staring at the trashcan in the corner of the room. “I have a hard time getting out of bed and sometimes lifting my feet to take the next step; but then when I get going, it gets easier.”

  “How old are you, Sarah?” asked Dr. Newbury still perusing the chart.

  “I’ll be 72 next year.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” he said with a sight grin, “but if you hadn’t noticed, you’re getting old. We both are!”

  “Believe me, I know that. It just seems like it’s more….” She shifted self-consciously and her voice trailed off. She decided not to tell him about the tremors that she sometimes had in her hands.

  “Are you still taking your arthritis medicine regularly?”

  “Yes. No. Sometimes. Well, mostly just when I need it.”

  “From now on I want you to take it every morning,” He turned to face her for emphasis, “Even if you don’t feel like you need it. Here’s a new prescription. You’re at five milligrams now; go to 10, and if you need to, you can increase to 15 at your discretion. If you don’t see improvements in your mobility in a month, call me back and we’ll do some testing.”

  Sarah thanked him and left. Lord, let it just be arthritis, she prayed as she walked across Main Street to Tully’s drugstore.

  Sarah handed the prescription to the pharmacist. He wasn’t the regular. She wondered if he was the Jernstrom’s son. His father was one of the deacons and had mentioned at church that his son finished his college and he’d returned to Bradbury.

  He handed her the prescription. “That’ll be $20 even.”

  “Goodness, that’s highway robbery! Last time I filled this it was $12.” “Well, maybe you can have me locked up in the new jail.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The new jail. They want to build a jail in Bradbury.” Sarah tried to refrain, but an audible gasp escaped her lips. She actually felt her heart racing.“A jail?”

  “That’s kind of everyone’s response,” said the pharmacist. “It was splashed across the front page of the Gazette today. It’s already causing quite a controversy.”

  Sarah smiled weakly, fished $20 from her purse, and headed for the door. She had to go home and pray.

  “A jail in Bradbury, that’s not good,” said Paul over his weekly lunch with Mike.

  “Be careful,” said Saldu. “You need to pray about this and not go off of assumptions.”

  “It’s not a sure thing, but it’s proposed,” said Mike.

  “If it’s proposed, can it be opposed?”

  “Sure, anything can be opposed. They already tried to build it in Leesville, but no one there would sell them land. That’s why they’re here. Mayor Forbes is all excited though because of the additional jobs it’ll generate. But I think it’s going to be a hard sell to the residents.”

  “Well, when we get the prayer meeting going on Wednesday we can spend time praying about this,” said Paul wadding up the wrapper from his corned beef sandwich.

  All the way home from the pharmacy, Sarah prayed about last night’s dream, and she kept hearing Matthew 25:31. “God, was that dream from You?”

  Last night’s dream was unusually vivid and just plain unusual. She was visiting inmates, telling them about Jesus. It seemed very out of character for her and scary too. God, I’m certainly the least likely candidate to ever do that!

  She pulled her old blue Chrysler into the driveway, bent slowly to pick up the Gazette, and went to the kitchen table with her Bible and a cup of coffee. She unrolled the Gazette and the headline made her gasp again. It’s like that television show where the kid gets tomorrow’s headlines today. She flipped in her Bible and started reading Matthew 25:31. She read about Jesus separating the sheep from the goats. She put down her coffee cup. I don’t know what that has to do with a jail.

  “Keep reading,” said Joel.

  Then the King will say to those on His right, “Come, you who are blessed by My Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited Me in, I needed clothes and you clothed Me, I was sick and you looked after Me, I was in prison and you came to visit Me.”2

  Sarah felt herself tearing up. It’s You, God—the dream was from You.

  “That’s right, Sarah; you’re learning to hear Father’s voice. He speaks to you through the Bible, through words in your mind, and even through dreams. He’s taking you through a season of letting you hear His voice very clearly so you’ll learn to recognize it and believe it,” said Joel.

  “And,” added Malta, “He’s giving you His heart for the downtrodden, the rejected, and the prisoners. He wants you to know that He loves the widows, the orphans, and the outcasts. He wants you to know that no act of kindness is too small for Him t
o see and reward. God will never forget the deeds you do and the love you show.3 Now read the rest of my friend Matthew’s chapter.”

  Through her tears, Sarah continued reading,

  Then the righteous will answer Him, “Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You something to drink? When did we see You a stranger and invite You in, or needing clothes and clothe You? When did we see You sick or in prison and go to visit You?” The King will reply, “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.”4

  “The Lord loves the unlovely—unfortunately His Church does not,” Joel said. “Many who have professed to joyfully serve the Lord find it odious to serve people.”

  “Humble yourself, reach down to the outcasts, stoop to help the undesirables to their feet again,” said Malta. “The lower you reach, the more the Lord can fill you, the more He can use you. He says three times in His Word that He gives grace to the humble. Without His grace, you can do nothing. His grace is everything. It makes all the difference in your life.”

  “That’s right,” said Joel. “Dead religion makes us exhausted workers; grace makes us lovers.”

  Malta ministered an increase of compassion to Sarah straight from the Lord’s heart as he played the flute and then sang the Father’s love over her. Joel raised his hands toward Heaven. Flames ignited on his palms, and he placed them over Sarah’s heart.

  Oh Lord, I’m sorry. I’ve ignored all the hurting people. I just didn’t want to deal with them. I didn’t know how. I was only concerned about my needs and those I loved. I’m sorry I’ve ranked people and placed higher value on certain ones. Help me to see people the way You do. Help me to look into their souls, to not to be distracted by how they look or swayed by their wealth or poverty. Help me to empty myself so You can fill me with Your compassion. Help me to love the things You love and hate the things You hate. Help me to use the rest of my time here on earth doing whatever You want. Amen.

  Tears spotted the Gazette‘s article.

  Just as Sarah was pulling herself together, blowing her nose and dabbing her eyes, Joel suggested she turn to Hebrews 13:2. “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels. Remember the prisoners as if chained with them—those who are mistreated—since you yourselves are in the body also.”

  Now she cried again, the burden of the Lord resting heavily on her.

  “Father loves Sarah very much. I’m curious what He will do next,” said Malta.

  CHAPTER 9

  “The Spirit builds confidence, the flesh builds arrogance.”

  Bobby Conner1

  Driving to church on Sunday morning, Paul saw four signs and three banners in people’s yards protesting the new jail. “It sure didn’t take this town long to get organized against the jail, did it?”

  “Apparently not,” replied Kathy.

  “Clarence Harvey, the Gazette’s editor, had posters printed and placed all over town. I hear he’s going to rent space on a billboard. Financing it himself.”

  “Well, I can’t blame them; jails have to be located somewhere, but I can understand why they don’t want it in their town.”

  “Our town, dear,” he corrected. “Our town. I’m announcing the beginning of the prayer meeting this morning. When that gets going, we’ll put some time in on our knees about this jail.” Although Paul didn’t like himself very much for the next thought, he couldn’t get it out of his mind: If I can rally the church behind this movement, it could get me some communitywide exposure. And wouldn’t the church members love me if I was instrumental in getting this jail thing canceled?

  “Paul,” said Saldu, “walk in the Spirit and you won’t fulfill the lust of the flesh.2 The flesh always lusts; it’s lusting now for recognition and accolades. But it’s insatiable; it’s never enough. If you don’t learn to get your affirmation from the Lord, in your time together, you’ll continue trying to manipulate praises from people, but they’ll never satisfy. Only one opinion matters or satisfies. Seek the Lord on this jail issue and quit riding the wave of public opinion.”

  It was a rainy Sunday morning, so of course, attendance was down. That meant the offering was going to be down too. Paul sat in the front row tapping his foot to the special music. When it was over, he took his place behind the lectern and shifted his weight from his left to his right foot and back again. He took a deep breath and began.

  “A mother skunk and two baby skunks were walking in the woods when they were startled by a hungry bobcat. The bobcat chased them and cornered them against a rocky cliff where there was no place to escape. The mother skunk was unbelievably calm. The baby skunks cried out, ‘Mom, mom, what should we do?’ She turned to the children and said, ‘Children, let us spray.’”

  “And we need to spray too. We need God’s vision for this church and for the lives of each member: every mother, father, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, everyone!”

  By the time Paul had finished, most of the church was in agreement that what they really needed was a Wednesday night prayer meeting. “We’ll begin this Wednesday night at 7 sharp. Come and prepare to be blessed.

  Amen?”

  “Amen,” most of the congregation answered.

  After shaking hands with everyone at the back door, Paul went to his office, opened his leather binder containing his five-year plan, and placed a big check mark in the empty box on page two. “Begin Wednesday prayer meeting—done.”

  “Paul,” said Saldu, “you’ve barely prayed about your plan. You’re just assuming it’s also God’s plan, and it’s not. You’re excited because you think it will bring you glory and honor. Don’t make glory and fame your god and your goal. Humble yourself so He doesn’t have to; it is by far the wiser of the two plans.

  “Humans are blinded by their pride because they compare themselves to one another. If you stop and look at Jesus alone, you will get a true comparison. Looking at Jesus is the only way we can see where we truly stand. It is in Him we find our example of love and humility. If we look at those around us, we will not get a true measurement of what we are supposed to look like.3 Trust me, Paul; no one in Heaven is impressed with your five-year plan.”

  There was a good turnout Wednesday evening; even Wilma, Bernice, and Carol had come. It was about 6:45 and Paul was chatting with a group of people; the conversation was predictably about the jail.

  “We need to pray, to pray that place right out of our town,” said Wilma, shaking her fist. “Maybe we should pray and even fast.”

  “Yes, I agree. Our town will never be safe. Our kids could never play safely outside,” said John Seas, even though his main concern was really for his property’s value. He and Lori had been planning to sell off part of their acreage to help finance some travel when he retired in eight months.

  “What if, Heaven forbid, one of them escaped?” questioned Bernice.

  “Maybe we could pass around a petition among the church members,” added Carol. “The whole idea just gives me the creeps.”

  “I can see that this is a very important issue to all of us,” said Paul. “I’ll lead us in prayer about it tonight, and we’ll see what comes out of this meeting.”

  Sarah arrived about the time the group was breaking up. She snuck into the back row and didn’t wait for the meeting to start. She closed her eyes and prayed, Lord, thank You for being good to me. Thank You for the way You’ve been talking to me lately. Help me to love the unlovely. Help me to pray more, especially for Pastor Paul and this congregation. Help me to love Your Word, and help me to hear Your voice in all the ways You speak to me—

  “It’s 7,” said Paul, adjusting the microphone, “Time to start. Thanks to each one of you who came to this prayer meeting tonight. We’ll have an open mic so if you have something you want to pray about, I invite you to come forward. At 8 I’ll close, providing the Spirit doesn’t fall and keep us here all night,” he said chuckling.

  Joel looked at Ma
lta. “No chance of that happening.”

  There was an uncomfortable five-minute period where no one went forward. All heads were bowed, praying that someone, anyone, would pray. Finally, Wilma decided that she would break the silence. As she walked to the microphone there was a collective, silent sigh of relief.

  “Dear Lord, You know about the jail that they want to put in our town. I’d ask You to cancel these plans and send them back to the devil, where they came from.” Amens resounded from all corners of the room. “You know that the town’s children need to go to bed at night feeling safe, and we need to go to bed at night knowing our children are safe. That would just never happen again once they break ground on a jail.”

  Sarah sat in the back row in shock, her heart pounded. Lord did I hear wrong? I was so sure it was You.

  Lying whispered, “Of course you heard wrong. These people have been Christians for years. Listen to the rest of the prayers and you’ll get your answer as to who is right and who is wrong.”

  There were two prayers about finding the right pastor, and Michelle Bunkoff prayed for her husband to be saved and the gallbladder problems he had to be healed. Bernice prayed for the homebound members, and all the other 30 prayers were against the jail.

  Two new demonic reinforcements also attended the prayer meeting that evening—Respectability and Intimidation were there to help sway Sarah. It was 7:50 and she was still wrestling with whether to go forward.

  “You got ridiculed the last time you sincerely thought you heard the Lord,” said Respectability.