“Well, I don’t think she’s crazy, but I can’t speak to whether the word is accurate or not. I guess you could always just make a fleece. Ask God to have them offer you the job if it’s His will.”
“Well, I think she’s crazy and,” he mumbled the next words, “they already offered me the job.”
She jumped to her feet, “THEY WHAT? And you didn’t tell me that, either?”
“Hold on. It’s not like it seems. They offered me the job before Sarah gave me the word. I didn’t even consider it. It would have taken up more family time. It didn’t seem like it was from the Lord at all. I didn’t purposely hide it from you; it was just a nonissue. I immediately forgot about it.”
“Well, now what do you think?”
“The same thing I thought then. I don’t take words from crazy ladies about my employment. That I got offered the job was merely a coincidence. I’m one of the local pastors. They probably were calling off a list, and when I said no, they called the next pastor. I’m sure they have someone by now. Can we just give it a rest?”
“No, we can’t give it a rest. I have more to say. I visited with Sarah, and I don’t think she’s crazy at all.”
“Oh really? How do you explain her stalking our house—?”
“Will you stop saying that! She wasn’t stalking! She was prayer walking. She prayer walks the neighborhood at least once a day, if not twice. She prays for us a lot. She said the Lord put it on her heart when we moved here.”
“Right, you can say that the Lord put us on her heart. I still call it an unhealthy fixation.”
“I’m telling you, she prayer walks, and that’s why she was pacing up and down in front of our house.”
“OK, so she was prayer walking. She’s still done lots of other crazy things. She sold her land to the jail instead of the church.”
“That’s her prerogative, and I don’t see that that makes her crazy. Maybe they offered her a very good price. I think you should at least see if the job at the jail is still available.”
“No, I’m called to the church. I’m not going to go chasing other jobs.”
“But can’t you at least call and see if it’s available? If it’s not, then at least you won’t have to wonder if you missed God.”
“I’m not the one who is wondering,” he said in a sarcastic tone.
“Well if you call then maybe I won’t be wondering.”
“You don’t have a right to tell me how to run my ministry. I’m not calling and that’s final.”
“But we used to be partners—”
“I said no, and that’s final.”
“You’re so controlling. Who died and made you king?”
“I’m not controlling. I’m just right. Why aren’t you submissive?” At that verbal jab, Valoe rested his hands on Kathy’s shoulders. “Don’t return evil for evil.”
She took a deep breath to control herself. “When you come home, you don’t even communicate with me any more. We’re like two people living single in the same house. We just don’t connect. You don’t even have time for Jordan. Where are you, physically and emotionally?”
“I resent it that I have to come home to your badgering cross examinations. Who do you think you are? I need to be able to relax in my own home, and I need to be able to run my ministry the way God tells me.”
Paul tossed and turned on the couch that night.
Sarah had been in the hospital a week, and in her mind that was seven days too long. Therapy was slow, tedious, and painful. The therapist, Janet, came to her bed and helped her work her leg and foot. Once a day she was transported by wheelchair to physical therapy. She was trying to walk, holding on to parallel bars. Janet always encouraged Sarah as she held her up with a belt circling her mid section. Progress was slow. Of course, the Parkinson’s made it worse.
The caseworker from social services had come by and discussed temporary facilities with Sarah. She’d need to be totally cared for the next five or six weeks. The only place offering that was the Manor, unless she wanted to be transported to Mt. Peilor, but she didn’t know anyone there.
The Manor had three levels of care for their residents. The first was assisted living. This was a small apartment where a person lived independently, but the staff did the laundry, cleaning, and meals. All the residents dined together. The next option was where Sarah would start, the temporary wing. She needed 100 percent care, but most people there were expected to recover and move on or go to the third level, which was skilled nursing. This was the nursing home. Nobody ever wanted to go there; nobody ever went home from there. That was home until the end.
Social services had been very adamant about Sarah’s options. First, living at home by herself was not an option. If she recovered fully, they recommended she hire someone to live with her or that she move into the independent living facility at the Manor. If she didn’t recover fully, they recommended the skilled unit.
Sarah was praying fervently about her living arrangements and about the prisoners that she was unable to visit. She talked Barbara into going to the jail to explain to the inmates that Sarah hadn’t abandoned them. “One more thing, please swing by Jamie’s Bakery and pick up eight dozen cookies. I had to give up on Slice ‘N’ Bake cookies, and these cookies are the best. Get five dozen chocolate chip, and one dozen each of peanut butter, snicker doodles, and oatmeal. And get two of the oatmeal without nuts. Spike loves oatmeal, but is allergic to nuts. Oh, and get a cinnamon roll for Toothless Ed. Thanks.”
Barbara hung up the phone chuckling. “What a lover.”
Barbara wouldn’t have turned down Sarah’s request for anything, but she was very anxious when she pulled up in front of the jail by herself. She’d prayed all the way there and didn’t slow down as she approached the entrance. She explained to the first guard she met that she had a message from Sarah for the inmates. He immediately led her to the main corridor and shouted, “Listen everyone, this is Barbara and she has a message from Sarah.”
Never one for public speaking, especially to a group of male inmates, Barbara stammered and stuttered, all the while looking at her shoes. She finally communicated that Sarah had broken her hip. She added that Sarah missed seeing everyone and she was still praying for each of them and would try to come back as soon as she could, but it might be five or six weeks.
Then she moved from cell to cell offering cookies. I hope they can’t see my heart pounding through my blouse. When she looked to the left, down the row of cells, all she could see were muscular biceps extended between the steel bars. She had to keep telling herself they were waiting for her cookies, not for her throat.
Most of the inmates sent greetings back to Sarah; many commented that they would pray for her as well. Barbara had a special message for Will. After locating him, she told him, “Sarah said she’s praying for you and she hopes to get back soon to see you. She also said that she’s suspending the two cookie limit for you today—you’re to have three.”
Will grabbed three cookies and grunted, but Barbara noticed that just for a second, he looked like he might tear up. Then he turned his back and sat down.
By the time Barbara finished, she was much more at ease. The inmates seemed genuinely concerned about Sarah and overall had been very polite. She surprised herself by walking back to the middle and asking, “Who wants cookies tomorrow?”
It was unanimous.
Barbara couldn’t wait to report back to Sarah. After being so discouraged about her limited living options, she knew Sarah would enjoy hearing this good news. She turned onto Old Highway 3 and headed for the hospital.
CHAPTER 32
“At the center of all sin is pride. Self-glorification is the solitary goal of pride. That’s the motive and ultimate purpose of pride—to rob God of legitimate glory and to pursue self-glorification, contending for supremacy with Him. The proud person seeks to glorify himself and not God, thereby attempting in effect to deprive God of something only He is worthy to receive.”
C.J. M
ahaney1
In Barbara’s excitement, she burst in the door, startling Sarah, who dropped her sippy cup and spilled grape juice down the front of her hospital gown. They both had a good laugh about it. “I just got back from the jail, and I had to tell you about it. I’ve been a nervous wreck all day, and the closer I drove to the jail the more nervous I got. Do you remember you told me that the first time you left the jail you had sweated so much that your shirt was soaked at the armpits?”
“I sure do,” she said chuckling at the memory.
“Well, mine was soaked through before I even got to the bakery.” They shared another laugh.
“How’d it go?”
“Great, once I started passing out the cookies. Almost everyone was receptive. Everyone took cookies and Sarah, most of the inmates said they would pray for you. They seemed genuinely concerned.”
“That’s so nice to hear. I sure miss my regular visits there.”
“And, I’m going back tomorrow!” Barbara said with enthusiasm.
Nothing could have pleased Sarah more. She gave Barbara a few more messages for specific inmates and filled her in on which inmates were already Christians. “Start off by getting to know them. Then you can have a few encouraging experiences before tackling some of the harder cases.”
“Wow, spoken like a pro.”
Sarah smiled. “By the way, did you give William my message?” “Yes, he grunted appreciatively.”
“Grunted, eh, well it sounds like you’re making more progress than I did. From William, I’d consider a grunt to be a whole conversation.”
Paul arrived at the church extra early on Sunday. He knew the day would be grueling, but didn’t know exactly what to expect. He went to his office and prayed. God, would You thwart the opposition to Your plan? Let me have wisdom to say the right things and let my message communicate today.
The knock on his door made him jump. It was Mike, who had come early to lend moral support. “Well, Mike, what am I up against today?”
“At the very least there will be a petition. I don’t know where the plan to withhold the tithes is.”
“Mike, I’m going to hit the issue of withholding the tithe in the sermon today. Can we change the order of the service and take up the offering after I preach? I think we’ll get a better response financially.”
“Sure.”
The petition was circulated in the older adult’s Sunday school class and everyone signed it. Wilma even made a joke that set everyone laughing.
“Look,” she said while writing her name twice as big as the other signatures, “I’m John Hancock.”
Paul hadn’t dared enter their Sunday school class to confront them about the petition. That was clearly their domain, and a petition didn’t mean anything anyway to the government of the church. Anything official required a vote.
Paul was sitting on the front row when they filed in together. He almost laughed; they looked like a retired military unit. Everyone marched together, single file, not looking to the right or the left, and then they all sat together in the center section, filling rows three through seven.
Paul felt like he was on trial, and they were certainly a hanging jury if he ever saw one. No one cracked a smile. Many sat with their arms crossed in front of their chests.
No offering was taken during the special music, and when it was finished, Paul stood behind the lectern.
“How many Pentecostals does it take to change a light bulb?” He paused for effect then answered, “Ten; one to change the bulb and nine to rebuke the spirit of Darkness.” He got a few laughs from the younger crowd, but rows three through seven still looked like they were sucking lemons.
He began, “I know that there are concerns among some of the members over the proposed building plan—”
“Amen to that,” shouted Floyd Fenley. His wife blushed and elbowed him in the side. His comment got a bigger laugh than Paul’s joke.
“—but I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will satisfy the majority of the church. Tonight we will have a meeting to discuss the plan. There will be an open microphone, and I invite all of you to come and make your opinions known. We, the elders and I, want to hear everyone’s input. Please come.”
Now, put this in your theological pipe and smoke it, thought Paul as he began preaching about the tithe and how it was holy unto God. He didn’t come right out and say he was preaching for the benefit of the older member’s boycott, but everyone knew. When he ended, he called the ushers forward and sent them up and down the aisles with the golden plates. To his surprise, every person on rows four through seven dropped in their tithe envelopes. Yes! Yes! They were reachable; they were reasonable. They heard my message and changed their minds.
Later that afternoon Mike called to tell Paul that inside all those envelopes were tithe checks with a big “VOID” written across the front. Some of them had scrawled notes in the memo or the back saying that when the building campaign was dropped they would resume paying their tithes. And some of the notes were not even Christian in content.
Paul was crushed. He hung up the phone and went to his office. Not only was the boycott still in full swing, but his preaching had failed to sway even one opposing member. This pulled up all his old rejection issues. Kathy was playing with Jordan and hadn’t even heard the phone ring. Paul passed the afternoon battling demonic mood swings from anger at Kathy for not being sensitive to his needs, to self-pity at having so many church members who were jerks.
Physical therapy was grueling for Sarah. Not only was it physically painful, but even worse was the psychological pressure. She knew she had to do well if she ever wanted to walk again.
Tomorrow they were transferring her to the temporary wing at the Manor to continue her therapy. She groaned as she pointed her right foot, then flexed. “Eight more, you’re doing fine,” said Janet, her physical therapist. Sarah looked toward the colorful, encouraging poster on the wall, gritted her teeth, and continued.
So far in the six days that she’d done therapy, she had been unable to stand on her own, even with the assistance of the parallel bars. When did I get so weak? I’m on a downhill slide.
It was nearly impossible for Sarah to get comfortable in bed. She didn’t have the strength to roll herself over. If I stretch out, my right side lets up a little, but my leg hurts. If I try to curl up on my side my leg eases some, but the pressure on my side makes the whole thing throb. It seems like there should be one position where everything stops hurting, if only for a moment, but I’ll be darned if I can find it.
The doctors and therapists had all been encouraging, in an effort to help her, they increased her Parkinson’s medicine. But inside she constantly wrestled with the fear she wouldn’t walk again. It was hard enough just getting around with my walker before I broke my hip. These constant tremors made it hard to grasp anything. My hands almost seem useless. And although she hadn’t told anyone, she started to notice that swallowing was sometimes a problem.
She was shuttled between her hospital room and physical therapy in a wheelchair. The thought of spending the rest of her life in one of those was almost unbearable. She tried to put on a happy face during the day with the staff, but at night Sarah would pray to the Lord and weep, crying out for mercy and strength until she fitfully dozed.
The next morning, Jan gave her a sponge bath, helped her brush her teeth, fixed her hair, dressed her, and packed her books and belongings. She wheeled her to Barbara’s waiting car, where one of the male nurses picked her up and gently placed her inside. Pain shot down her leg and she grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. Then Sarah watched as he folded the wheelchair and placed it in the back seat. Just knowing it was following her to the Manor made her cringe. She wondered if it would carry her the rest of her life. She turned her head and stared out the window so Barbara wouldn’t see her tears.
Barbara turned on her blinker and pulled into the Manor driveway. She looked at Sarah. “You know, if you continue to do well in therapy this is only tem
porary. We can find someone to live with you, and you can move back home in a few months. I’ve been checking with some home health agencies. It’s quite expensive, but with the money from the ground, you can certainly afford it.”
“The money is…” she bit her lip. Jesus, she prayed silently, Help me to trust You, and help me to have a good attitude. I’ve never felt so scared and helpless in my life.
Barbara parked the car outside the glass double doors and disappeared inside. In a few minutes she came out accompanied by two male aides.
“Hi, I’m Wayne.”
“And I’m Gary. We’re going to lift you from the car and put you in your wheelchair.” The phrase your wheelchair was almost more than Sarah could bear. She teared up, but managed to nod and put her arms around Wayne and Gary’s necks to help with the lift.
Gary grabbed her suitcase and held the door, and Wayne wheeled her inside the lobby. Barbara followed behind. Everything was like she remembered it. There was a lounge to her right, with a television blaring. Four people in wheelchairs were watching television, and there were others on couches, most with walkers parked in front of them. Several were asleep and slouched uncomfortably in their seats.
Wayne pushed Sarah by more patients in wheelchairs. “Hey everybody,” shouted Gary. “This is our new resident, Ms. Sarah. Everyone say ‘hi.’” Several patients looked up as Sarah passed by.
“It’s an hour ‘til lunch, but people start gathering early,” said Gary pointing to the dining room on the left. Sarah looked toward the long corridor they were approaching. When Wayne turned the corner, she flinched as the smell of urine hit her in the face.
Angels of Humility: A Novel Page 20
