The List

by Robert Whitlow

  After unpacking her suitcase, Jo showered and changed. The house was quiet, and she took a few moments to study several of the old photos as she walked back to her room. One in particular caught her attention. Two Western ladies, one of whom appeared to be a much younger Mrs. Stokes, stood with a Chinese woman in front of a primitive-looking wheelbarrow. Jo made a mental note to ask about the story behind the picture.

  It was an hour and a half until supper, and Jo wasn’t sleepy enough to take a nap. She opened the closet door again, and the feeling of awe and reverence she had felt earlier returned. She wanted to sit in the chair and kneel on the cushion, but she hesitated, wondering if she should ask permission. No, the right to enter the closet was part of staying in the room.

  A King James Bible sat on the nightstand. Jo picked it up, slipped into the closet, and closed the door. Sitting carefully in the chair, she opened to Matthew 6:6 and read: “But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.”

  An unexpected tear rolled down Jo’s left cheek. Wiping it away with the back of her hand, she couldn’t think of a reason to be sad.

  Then, suddenly, the undeniable inner Voice came into the tiny room and exploded in her spirit: “Jo, I am thy Father.” And a dam broke. Through the blur of tears now cascading without number, she saw the verse again, but this time the only words she could bring into focus were, “thy Father.” Thy Father, thy Father, thy Father echoed inside her. She wept until the corner of her robe was soaked.

  “Father, what is this?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands as the tears slowed.

  The answer came in a thought whose origin was not in her conscious mind. “I’m healing your heart.”

  Jo breathed in and out slowly several times, then asked, “From what?”

  “The absence of a father’s love.”

  A new wave of weeping swept over her as the enormity of her need opened before her understanding. She’d thought her stepfather’s acceptance filled the void of abandonment created when her natural father left her life. Now she knew it had not. In fact, she had a need for fathering beyond the capacity even the best earthly father could provide, a fathering that could only come from “thy Father,” the One who would never leave her nor forsake her, who was forever faithful in everlasting love.

  The second wave of tears subsided. She continued to sit, immersed in the divine love that saturated the tiny room. Then, unbidden, another wave, less intense than the previous ones, demanded a release of emotion. Another wave, another pause, another wave, another pause; however, the tears began to have a different meaning. Beyond healing, she felt a profound gratitude; a deep appreciation for what the Lord had done filled her heart and overflowed through her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, slipping from the chair to the cushion on the floor. “Thank you, thank you.”

  It was not a moment to be hurried or rushed. Finally, Jo’s eyes lost the capacity for tears. Their work was done. Sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, she let the Presence fill her with peace.

  Opening the closet door, Jo looked at the clock. It was six. Through the open bedroom door she could faintly hear Mrs. Stokes clattering pans in the kitchen. Walking down the hall to the bathroom to fix her hair, Jo looked in the mirror. Two swollen eyes and puffy cheeks returned her gaze. Her appearance couldn’t be helped, but she had no regrets. She splashed water on her face and spent the next few minutes getting ready for supper.

  Renny was sitting on a stool with Brandy lying at his feet on the kitchen floor when Jo came into the room. “Did you rest any?” he asked, then blurted, “You look like you were hit by a truck.”

  “Thanks, Renny. Do you recognize the tread marks?”

  “No, I mean, what happened? Are you OK?”

  “I’m better than OK,” Jo said, smiling.

  Mrs. Stokes glanced up from the sink where she was draining some vegetables and studied Jo’s face. “You look fine to me. I’d even say you have a little glow about you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s wait until after supper.”

  “OK.” Renny knew he didn’t understand women, but it was always unsettling to have his ignorance revealed.

  They ate informally in the kitchen. Renny told stories about his growing-up years in Charleston. Both Mrs. Stokes and Jo were especially interested in Mama A and her friendship with Renny’s mother.

  “Your mother and Agnes Flowers had a remarkable relationship,” Jo said. “You know, how they were friends both inside the home and outside in the community.”

  “It was not common, then or now,” Renny admitted.

  “It’s the same with the Chinese,” Mrs. Stokes said. “We think they are all one people, but they have as many walls between themselves as if they were from different ethnic groups.”

  “Were you able to do anything about prejudice in the places you served?” Jo asked.

  “Only after people had walked with the Lord for a period of time. As part of learning that God’s ways are higher than man’s ways, we let them see the need to act against the dictates of their culture. We respected their way of life in every way we could without compromising the essential truths of the gospel, but prejudice has no place in the kingdom of God.”

  “That reminds me,” Jo said, “I wanted to ask you about one of the pictures in the hallway. You and another Westerner are standing with a Chinese woman in front of an old wheelbarrow.”

  “I’ll go get the picture and tell you about it.” Mrs. Stokes put down her fork and disappeared down the hall. She returned, wiping the glass frame with her sleeve. “This is the one.” She set the photo in the middle of the table so they could all see it. “It was taken about thirty-five years ago. The other white woman is Juliana Tobler, a Swiss missionary who worked as a translator. The Chinese woman is standing in front of a homemade wheelbarrow. Both of the woman’s legs were severely injured during a Japanese bombing of her home city during World War II, and she hadn’t walked since. Some family members who had become Christians brought her in this wheelbarrow to one of our meetings. After the service, her brother asked us to pray for his crippled sister. Juliana and I prayed, and the woman held up her hands to her brother, who helped her to her feet. Her first steps were tentative, but within a minute she could walk normally. It is hard to describe the effect this had on the congregation in the room. People were shouting, jumping, crying. Supernatural events like that woman’s healing were more common in Taiwan than they are here.”

  “Did you see a lot of miracles?” Jo asked.

  “Not as many as we wanted. Desperately ill people came all the time for prayer. Some were healed, some were not.”

  “Why was that?” Renny asked.

  Mrs. Stokes shook her head with a wry smile. “That’s a question I can’t completely answer. People occasionally ask me why we saw so many miracles among the Chinese and so few here in the U.S.”

  “What do you say?”

  “The only answer I know: simple faith.”

  As they were finishing up the last bites of deep-dish apple pie with ice cream, Jo leaned forward. “Mrs. Stokes, thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “No, I really want to thank you,” Jo’s voice trembled. “I spent some time praying in your prayer closet.”

  Mrs. Stokes smiled. “I’m glad you recognized it for what it is.”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Jo and Mrs. Stokes exchanged a long look, and the older woman said, “Thank you, Father.”

  Jo’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That was part of it.”

  “That was part of what?” Renny asked, bewildered.

  Jo shook her head. It was clear she could not speak and keep her composure. Mrs. Stokes came to her rescue. “Renny, there is a closet, actually more like a
narrow room, that opens into the blue bedroom. I cleaned it out soon after I moved into the house, and I use it as a place to pray and meet with the Lord. The term prayer closet comes from a verse in Matthew that says we are to go into our prayer closet and pray to our Father in heaven in secret. Jesus taught that the secret life we have with God is one of the true tests of the genuineness of our relationship with him.”

  Jo took a deep breath. “It surprised me. I sat in the little chair you have in the room and read Matthew 6:6, the verse you just referred to. I began to weep without any apparent reason.”

  “Did you figure it out?” Renny asked.

  “Oh yes. The Lord spoke to my heart that he is my Father, or as the verse says, ‘thy Father.’ Thy Father, my Father—not just the Father of us all, but my very, very own.”

  “Like what I told you about the love of God?” Renny asked.

  “In a way, yes.”

  “What a blessing,” Mrs. Stokes said softly.

  “Renny knows things about my past. My earthly father abandoned my mother and me when I was very young. My stepfather was great, but he died when I was twelve. There was something missing inside me that I didn’t even know I was lacking until I met with the Lord today. I wept with joy and gratitude until there wasn’t a tear left to shed. My eyes were completely cried out. That’s why I looked like I’d been hit by a truck,” Jo said, smiling weakly at Renny.

  “I’m sorry—” he started.

  “No, don’t worry about it. But I don’t want to analyze it too much because my heart is so tender right now. I’m afraid if I talk about it too much, I’ll somehow lessen the power of the experience.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mrs. Stokes said. “You must carry treasures like these in the deepest places of your heart. But thank you for telling us what happened. It blesses me to know he met with you so wonderfully and so deeply.”

  Mrs. Stokes began to clear the table. “Let me help,” Jo said.

  Renny pushed his chair back. “I’ll take Brandy out for a walk. Be back in a few minutes.”

  Hearing her name and the word walk, Brandy came to attention, her tail wagging so fast and furiously it threatened to clear the table before Jo could get to it. Renny fastened the dog’s leash to her collar and opened the kitchen door. Still dusky light outside, the edge of the day’s heat was gone. Walking down the driveway, he turned left and set a slower than normal pace down the sidewalk. Brandy pulled hard on the restraint until she realized this was not going to be a run, then she settled back in sync with his steps.

  Renny thought about what Jo had said—he wasn’t sure about miracles. Maybe if he saw one himself, he’d believe. And as far as hearing God’s voice, did God sound like Charlton Heston?

  But Renny could not deny the intensity he felt when Jo described her afternoon experience in the prayer room. He remembered his own sensations while sitting in front of his grandfather’s house in Moncks Corner and his reaction when Paul Bushnell described God’s love at St. Catherine’s. It must have been something like that. But he had never considered that God’s touch could produce such a powerful emotional reaction. He had always linked the words religion and emotionalism in a totally negative way: rolling on the floor, swinging from the rafters, weeping at an altar. Nothing but hype and nonsense.

  He knew he was not on the same page of life’s coloring book as Jo and Mrs. Stokes. They were coloring a picture of Jesus walking on water. He was coloring, what? A sports car parked in front of a beach house? A Van Gogh–like self-portrait?

  He walked five blocks, then did a loop around a small park. Turning in the direction of the house, he came to a crosswalk, stopped, and waited for the light to turn green. That was what he needed to do, he realized: stop, not overanalyze. He knew he was on a path, but like the sidewalk at his feet, he couldn’t see very far ahead. What was the Chinese proverb? “A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.”

  “Come on, Brandy. One step at a time.”

  15

  Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord.

  ISAIAH 2:3, NIV

  Mrs. Stokes and Jo were sipping a cup of coffee in the living room when Renny returned.

  “Do you want some coffee? It’s decaf,” Mrs. Stokes asked.

  “No, thanks, it’s a little too warm outside for coffee.”

  “I was telling Jo about a bed-and-breakfast I love to visit in the foothills of the Blue Ridge. It’s one of my favorite places on earth.”

  “I’d like to go,” Jo said. “Do you think we could go up for the day while I’m here?”

  “Fine with me,” Renny answered. “How far away from Charlotte is it?”

  “Maybe a hundred miles.”

  “Who owns it?” he asked.

  “George and Helen Manor, a couple who lived in Charlotte for years before moving to the mountains. My friend Paula Phillips took me up for a visit three years ago, and we spent a couple of days. I’ve been back several times since.”

  “Could you call them for us?” Jo asked.

  “Of course. I’ll call Helen in the morning and see if it’s a convenient time.”

  Mrs. Stokes rose from her chair. “I’m going to my bedroom and give you some privacy.” She patted Jo’s shoulder as she passed by her. “Have a good night.”

  “Good night,” they echoed.

  “Well, are you having a good time?” Renny asked when Mrs. Stokes left the room.

  “Better than good. Mrs. Stokes is a special woman.”

  “I knew you would like each other. You’re kindred spirits.”

  “Kindred spirits?”

  “Yeah. I heard the phrase in a movie. It applies to people who can communicate heart-to-heart.”

  “Oh, I’m familiar with it from the book Anne of Green Gables,” Jo said. “Anne Shirley is one of my inspirations.”

  “That’s it. I’ve not read the book, it was, uh—”

  “A girl’s book.”

  “Right, but I saw the movie on TV. It was well done. Made me want to visit Prince Edward Island, Canada, but not in the winter. It’s probably colder than Michigan.”

  “That’s hard for you to imagine, I’d guess.”

  “Impossible,” Renny said. “You would like the movie. It has a lot of snow in it, but you and Anne are different. You don’t have red hair, and your name is Jo without an e.”

  Jo laughed. “It wasn’t her hair color or the way she wanted to be elegant by adding an e to her name. It was who she was as a person. That’s the attraction.”

  Renny studied Jo a moment in mock analysis. “I can see it now,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to puff you up?”

  “How?”

  “You remind me of Anne.”

  “This should be interesting. Tell me how.”

  “Well, we’ve eliminated the possibility of red hair or an e on your name. But from what I remember, the greatest thing about Anne Shirley was her ability to draw others out of their comfort zones of sterile protection into the excitement of living. Some viewed her as selfish, but actually, she only drew people to herself so they could come alive in their own unique way. She was a life giver. And she was without guile. So are you.”

  Jo beamed. “Well done, Mr. Movie Critic. And thank you. That’s the desire of my heart.”

  Renny bowed.

  “Which brings me to a moment of confession,” Jo said, turning serious.

  “Yes, my child,” Renny responded.

  “Please, I’m not joking. I came to Charlotte because I wanted to see you. But there is a part of me that came here to fix you.”

  “I’m sure I need some fixing.”

  “Sure, but there was an arrogance in my attitude, a wrong sense of superiority. I need to apologize for that because I need fixing as much as anyone. I realized that this afternoon.”

  “Apology accepted,” he said simply.

  They sat quietly.

  Renny spoke first. “I have to go by the off
ice for several hours in the morning to review some papers that weren’t finished when I left to pick you up at the airport. Maybe Mrs. Stokes can call the folks from the B and B in the mountains while I’m gone.”

  “OK, I’ll ask her.”

  “And I’ll call when I’m finished at the office.”

  “That’s fine. I’m pretty tired from working so many hours; nights and days have run together. I could use some sleep.”

  Renny walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of ice water from a pitcher Mrs. Stokes kept in the refrigerator. “Do you want some?”

  “Sure.”

  Handing a glass to Jo, Renny raised his own. “A toast. To tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Jo said. “L’chaim, to life.”

  Later, Renny lay in bed, excited that Jo was just a few feet away in the main house below. At first, he hadn’t liked the idea of driving to the mountains, but it was not where he went but whom he was with that mattered. For that reason, tomorrow would be a good day.

  Mrs. Stokes lay awake long after Renny and Jo went to sleep. Most people considered her retired, but Daisy had simply relocated to a different mission field. According to the evangelization society’s guidelines, she had to leave Taiwan when she turned sixty-seven; however, she couldn’t find a strong argument in the Bible for retirement from the kingdom of God. Thus, the provision of the house and car in Charlotte from her brother’s estate became the ticket to her next port of call. Taiwan or Charlotte, people were people. They all needed a touch from God.

  The upstairs apartment had proven to be a fruitful avenue for ministry. During the past ten years, a succession of singles and couples had passed through Mrs. Stokes’s life and home. Each one left blessed and closer to the Lord than when they came.