Sarah flipped through her mail. The phone bill and the water bill. She sighed. George’s pension wasn’t that much, and the savings account was being depleted more quickly than she’d anticipated. Lord, help me to trust You with my finances.
The next letter was from Buchanan County Correctional Facilities Inc. What’s this about? she wondered as she tore the letter open. It was the private company that wanted to build the jail. She took a deep breath. Why would they be writing me? Her heart pounded as she read:
As you might have heard, we are interested in building a minimum security correctional facility on the outskirts of Bradbury and are interested in purchasing from you the 36-acre plot of land at the intersection of Old Highway 3 and JJ for a sum of $36,000. Please feel free to contact me.
Sincerely,
David Burris, President
Buchanan County Correctional Facilities Inc.
Sarah didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She and George had farmed that land the first 23 years of their marriage. Then George had taken a job with the fire department and they had leased it to a local farmer. Sarah had no idea what the property was worth. She had always thought she’d just pass it on to her niece, since she had no children.
Oh, my goodness; I’ve got to pray. This seems to be straight from the hand of God, but I have to make sure. She went inside and sat on her couch, one of her designated prayer spots. Malta and Joel were right behind her. “Lord, show me what to do. I need to make sure that I hear from You.” After praying for several minutes, she got up and poured a cup of coffee.
“Well, George, how would you feel if I sold our land, the land that we farmed for 23 years, the land that your father farmed practically all his life?” Her voice cracked and her hands began to shake. “Oh, George, I miss you so much. I’m so scared. I don’t know if you ever accepted Jesus.” She released the pent-up tears. How could she stand it if her beloved George was in Hell?
“Don’t talk to George. Turn your anxieties into a prayer and give them to Father,” whispered Malta. “The enemy’s strategy is to run your emotions ragged. Pour out your emotions, hurts, and fears to Father. Then the Lord has room to fill you up with His peace and love.”
“Give all your worries and stresses to Him because He cares about every area of your life,”8 added Joel.
Oh Jesus, please show me whether George is in Heaven with You. I miss him so much. I’m tired of being alone. Now the whole church hates me, and if I sell the land, the whole town will hate me.
Clarence Harvey, the paper’s editor, had been on the phone all morning, and he showed no sign of slowing. He’d been reminding everyone he could think of about the meeting tonight at the Elk’s hall. “That’s right, 7 sharp. We’ve got to stop this jail. See ya tonight. Bye.” He scrolled to the next number on his cell and called again.
Between Clarence’s persistence on the phone and the overwhelmingly strong feelings about the jail, the hall was packed. Everyone was milling around talking—no one lacked an opinion. Paul scanned the room for Sarah, but didn’t see her. He breathed a sigh of relief. That’s just what I’d need is for crazy Sarah, one of my church members, to stand up and start in about God’s will for the jail. This crowd would stone her before she got halfway to the door.
Lying had been doing his best to distract Sarah. When she finally looked at the clock on the mantle, it was 6:55. She hurried to her car, drove to the Elk’s club, and circled the block looking for a close parking space, a hard commodity to come by tonight.
“Just go back home,” said Discouragement. “There’s no parking within miles. By the time you found parking and walked your decrepit body to the meeting, it’d be over.”
At 7:00, Clarence called the meeting to order. “First of all, I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight to deal with this important issue. We have a lot to get done so let’s get on with it. I’ve been meeting with several men throughout the week, and I’d like to introduce them now. Eric Wilcox. You all know Eric owns the auto parts store just off the square. His brother Andrew retired from the fire department. Gary Carter, who’s my assistant at the Gazette, and last, but not least, Paul Reynolds the new pastor at the Victory Church.
“Clarence,” interrupted Paul, “I’ve got to correct what you just said. I’m the interim pastor. I’m not the new pastor yet.” He flinched. He didn’t mean to let that yet slip out, it just did. Selfish Ambition chuckled at Paul’s mistake.
Clarence plunged on, “We’ve been meeting every day at noon to come up with a plan; and we’re here to share it with you and then open it up to questions, suggestions, or comments.
“First, I’ll give a recap. The company that wants to build this minimum-security jail is called Buchanan County Correctional Facilities Incorporated. They’re a private company. They already have six jails operating in other Midwestern states. Since they are a private company, as long as they get appropriately zoned land, we cannot legally stop them from building, just like any other businessman who went through the right channels. But that doesn’t mean we are giving up without one heck of a fight. Isn’t that right?” he yelled, punching the air with his fist. The crowd’s cheer nearly rattled the windows.
“Now I’d like to call Pastor Paul, the entering pastor. Paul, tell us what you’re working on.”
“Thanks Clarence. That’s uh, the interim pastor. Well, I’m heading up a petition drive. My goal is to get as many signatures as we can by next Wednesday. We’ll have tables set up at church this Sunday to get all the church members or any of you who’d like to visit. Service is at 10. Plus all this week, our deacons and I will be going door-to-door. The petitions will also be displayed at most stores around town. Everybody, please sign.” Paul headed back to his seat; he and his demon Pride both enjoyed the round of applause elicited by his little speech.
Sarah was still looking for parking. Finally, in exasperation, she pulled into Edna’s driveway one block from the Elk’s club. She’d read in the Gazette that Edna and Clyde were visiting their grandkids in Atlanta for the week. Joel and Malta helped her out of the car and walked her up the steps. Lying, Discouragement, Intimidation, and Respectability followed at a distance.
By the time Sarah snuck in the back of the Elk’s club and leaned up against the back wall, the other men had already spoken and Clarence was giving his spiel. “We can make our displeasure known to BCCF, but they don’t have to do anything they don’t want to. This isn’t a government proposal; we don’t get to vote on it. Once they buy land, we can’t stop them. There are very few tracts of vacant land that are zoned for this. We need to be vigilant. Has anyone heard anything about a possible location?”
Sarah felt her face flush and her heart beating—pounding. She pressed her hands on her chest as if to manually slow it and tried to calm herself by breathing deeply. Respectability and Intimidation perched on her shoulder.
Lee Harms rose to his feet. “I got a letter yesterday; they were interested in some of my land south of town.” He paused for effect. “I threw the darn thing in the trash.” The crowd almost raised the roof. After the whoops and hollers died down, James Masters stood. “I got one, too; they were wanting the land I own by the park.” There were gasps from all corners of the room. No one wanted a jail close to the lake. That’s where half the town hung out during the summers. “They offered me a good price,” he grinned, “but I’m turning ‘em down.” More cheering. Someone broke into, “For He’s The Jolly Good Fellow” and everyone followed.
“Has anyone else heard from BCCF?” asked Clarence. There was silence.
“Shut up,” whispered Intimidation in a gruff voice. “If you speak now, everyone will turn against you. This is your last chance to possibly have a friend.”
“Aren’t Christians supposed to be kind and loving?” asked Respectability. “Everywhere you go you cause problems. That can’t be God.”
“If you mention that you’re even considering selling your land, everyone, and I mean everyone in this town will
hate you. You’ll die totally alone,” hissed Intimidation.
Joel and Malta were holding Sarah up, literally supporting her weight. She felt lightheaded; beads of sweat clung to her upper lip and forehead. Over the internal sound of her heart pounding, she heard her own voice fill the hall. “Yes, I did.” Then there was silence again.
“Well Sarah, what’d you tell them?” asked Clarence.
Sarah took a deep breath and scanned the audience. All eyes were looking back, silently pleading, anticipating her answer.
“Now’s a good time to shut your mouth!” hissed Intimidation. “A very good time.”
“I-I-I haven’t told them anything yet. I just got the letter today.”
“Well, you’re surely gonna tell ‘em ‘No’ aren’t you? You wouldn’t want the legacy of George’s land to be a jail would you? George would never allow that if he was still here.”
Paul buried his face in his hands thinking, SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!
Sarah felt sweat beading under her arms and trickling down to her bra. She took deep breaths and silently prayed, Jesus, what do I say? Then to her surprise she heard her voice throughout the room again.
“I’m praying about it, and when I hear from the Lord, then I’ll know what to do.” There was a stunned silence for three long seconds; then a dam of conversation burst. Everyone was talking to someone. Sarah stood in the back supported by her unseen helpers, watching the bedlam in slow motion. She scanned the crowd and heard her name everywhere. There were ugly looks, incredulous stares, fingers pointing, and tongues wagging. Oh Jesus, I just want to please You; do I have to make everyone angry doing that? She turned and pushed open the big oak door. The chilly evening wind blew across her warm body; she inhaled deeply. The tears came again, obscuring her view as she held the handrail and felt her way down the steps. Joel and Malta escorted her back to the car.
She pulled out of Edna’s driveway and turned left. She’d go the extra three blocks out of the way to avoid driving past the Elks hall. Intimidation, Lying, and Despair were all attacking simultaneously. They were shouting about how foolish she was, how she hadn’t heard from the Lord, and how she’d never have a friend the rest of her pathetic life.
When she was almost home, Joel suggested a drive out to the land. It didn’t sound like an especially appealing idea, but neither did going home. She passed her street and headed for Old Highway 3.
CHAPTER 12
“Plenty of people wish to become devout, but no one wishes to be humble.”
Joseph Addison1
Several additional spirits swarmed around Sarah, the result of the verbal curses that the town’s people were unknowingly putting on her. The spirits’ glowing yellow eyes peered from black scorpion-like bodies. Sarah suddenly felt nauseated, but attributed it to the horrendous experience she’d just had.
In just a few minutes she was there. As she turned off Old Highway 3 and onto the property, she heard the gravel crunching under her tires. A hundred yards from the intersection was an old cattle gate. She got out and with a groan and much effort pushed it open. She got back in the car, pulled through the entrance, and then got out again and closed the gate. The extra effort was worth it; she didn’t want anyone to know she was here. She didn’t want anyone to know she was anywhere. She just wanted to disappear off the face of the planet. Even with her angelic companions in the front seat, she’d never felt so alone in her whole life.
She sat in the car, scanned the land, and prayed in the Spirit, but this time there was no accompanying joy. The first field had been harvested. There were broken corn stalks everywhere. To the east she could see the remains of the house that was built by the original owners in the 1800s. The stone chimney rose eerily in the moonlight. The barn had been gone for years.
She hadn’t been here for a long time, not since George died. Her loneliness, plus tonight’s pressures and the demonic presence, overwhelmed her again as she crossed her arms over the steering wheel and sobbed. What would George think about a jail? Can he see me now? Where is George anyway? Heaven? She tried to encourage herself and refused to dwell on the alternative.
Delighting in their cruel assignments, the spirits swarmed around her. “Where’s God in the midst of this?” growled Despair, gnashing his yellow teeth at her. “Why did He tell you to do something that makes everyone mad and then leave you alone and defenseless? Everyone hates you. You’ll never be accepted by anyone in this town ever again.”
“I thought knowing God was supposed to make you feel good and love everyone. It’s only made you lonely,” taunted Accusation as it burrowed its hooked talons into the side of her head.
“You probably heard wrong on this jail. If you don’t sell the land, you could be the town’s hero; then you could tell everyone about Je-Je-Je, God’s son,” stuttered Lying, breaking out in a sweat. “If you sell the land, you’ll have to stay in your house hiding the rest of your life. You’ll die a lonely recluse. What kind of a witness is that?”
“You could be dead for months and no one would even notice. They’d probably throw a party when you die!” whispered the raspy voice of a mocking spirit.
Malta began to sing, “When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the Prince of Glory died; my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.”2 The demons screeched and temporarily retreated to the back of the car where they huddled together, baring their fangs, snarling, and snapping at the two angels.
In desperation she cried out, “God, why does doing Your will have to make everyone mad? I need a friend. Is it too much to ask to have just one friend to confide in? Someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy? This is too hard for me! I’m so lonely, and I miss George, and now the whole town hates me. You have to show me whether I should sell this land. Please speak to me, please. Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” She broke down sobbing again.
“Sarah,” said Malta gently, “The Lord loves you, and in His wisdom He allows spiritual warfare to test and prove your faith. If you trust God, and don’t accuse Him, He can use this hard time to work spiritual growth, humility, and authority into your character. He even tells us that we must endure hardship. The apostle Paul said, ‘Endure suffering along with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus…do not let yourself become tied up in the affairs of this life, for then you cannot satisfy the one who has enlisted you in his army.’”3
Sarah was in too much emotional pain to be very concerned about character growth that night. After crying out all her tears, she was physically exhausted and afraid that if she stayed there any longer she might not have the energy to push open the gate. I don’t want to sleep in the car all night. After a little help from Joel, the gate swung open. She put the car in gear and headed home.
An evil presence flooded the car. The gargoyle-like spirit of Death had an assignment to carry out. “She must be stopped. The master grows impatient,” he spewed angrily. “Get out of my way!” With his hooked talons he struck the black, low-ranking imps and sent them sprawling.
On the outskirts of the city, with no lampposts to help light the road and her eyesight still somewhat obscured by tears, the car drifted to the gravel shoulder on the right side of the road. In a panic, Sarah quickly overcorrected and shot across both lanes and through the ditch, where Malta brought the car to an abrupt stop. Sarah flew forward and banged her face on the steering wheel. Her emotions were on edge and her body was quaking.
“You don’t have permission to take her life, you vile, deceptive spirit. I command you to leave by the blood of Jesus.” Death didn’t wait for Joel to draw his sword; the mention of the blood was sufficient. He departed cursing and vowing revenge. “We owned her for 71 years, and if she won’t renounce God, we’ll take her life.”
Sarah felt something trickle into her left eye. She dabbed at her forehead. A cut across her eyebrow saturated the tissue with blood. She sobbed again, not as much from the pain as from the frustration of her situation.
Joel attended to Sa
rah, comforting, and encouraging her in the Lord’s goodness and love for her.
“Even though you walk, or in this case, drive, through the valley of the shadow of death, you need not fear any evil. He is protecting you, even preparing a banquet for you to enjoy as He holds your enemies at bay.”4
After she stopped shaking and the bleeding stopped, she looked outside for the first time. In front of her the headlights illuminated weeds that were as tall as the hood.
“Just pull ahead slowly Sarah,” said Malta, motioning toward the hood. “Keep going and in just 10 feet it levels off and you can get back on the road.”
Sarah put the car in drive and inched forward. She never looked out the left window to see where the ground dropped off sharply to the creek below. She was too busy obsessing about how she’d been abandoned by God. She didn’t realize that if Malta hadn’t stopped her car it would have rolled over several times, ended up in the creek bottom, and been obscured from view.
Kathy had stayed home with Jordan from tonight’s meeting. Paul was pacing back and forth between the bookshelf and the tan corduroy recliner where Kathy was knitting. Saldu and Valoe were positioned by the front door, radiating their unseen heavenly glory into the room.
“And then she said that she didn’t know if she’d sell the land to them or not. There was dead silence; no one said anything, and then the place came unglued, absolutely unglued. Sarah fled the building at that point, but it took five minutes for Clarence to wrestle the meeting back to order. People were livid,” he said, raising his voice and gesturing with his arm.“They wanted to know what they could do to keep Sarah from selling the land. Everyone felt betrayed, like one of their own was going to do them in, and of course she’s one of my church members, so it makes me look bad, too!”
Angels of Humility: A Novel Page 8
