Soul's Gate

by James L. Rubart

  “Uh, yeah, I suppose it would be okay.”

  “Wonderful. Ready?” The woman bowed her head.

  Brandon held up his finger again. “Since I’m brand new here, don’t you want me to suggest something to pray for?”

  She smiled. “No, we’re going to ask the Holy Spirit what’s going on.”

  “Okay.” Brandon sat back. Wow. This really was Reece’s kind of group.

  After three or four minutes of silence, the man next to him put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “You can open your eyes now, Brandon.”

  He glanced at the others in the circle. It was obvious from the looks on their faces they had been waiting for him to open his eyes. No one had said “Amen.” No one spoke a word during the “prayer” time. How did they know when it was time to be done?

  The woman glanced around the circle. “Did any of you sense anything or see anything?”

  A teenage girl stared at her palms, then raised her gaze to Brandon. “I got the words finish strong and push through.”

  A middle-aged woman in a light blue blouse to Brandon’s right nodded. “That’s what I kind of got too. I kept seeing the word incomplete in big red letters.”

  To his left, an elderly gentleman with brown suspenders over a white dress shirt patted his cheek as he stared at Brandon. “I keep getting discipline, but not in a good way, as if that’s a painful word.”

  “Is any of this making any sense?” The leader nodded to the man and turned to Brandon. “It’s okay if it doesn’t.”

  Brandon stared at them. How did they know? “Yeah, it’s making sense.”

  As long as he could remember, finishing anything was a grind—an emotional marathon. Every song he wrote, every album he recorded took so much mental energy to get it right, that on some days he contemplated quitting music altogether. He’d prayed about the problem for years without any change. Even went to counseling at one time, but it hadn’t helped. No one knew about the struggle— not even Kevin. Brandon always gutted through whatever the project was at the time, made it happen, completed the task, made it as good as possible, but it was like going through a strainer every time.

  The part of him that couldn’t settle for a mediocre recording or mediocre songs was bigger, but the part that fought against it, the part that didn’t care how the song turned out, was almost as powerful and it seemed to be getting stronger.

  “There’s a part of me that wants things to be right, as perfect as possible. But there’s another part that doesn’t care. A part that says I’m not worth making it perfect or even just great. That I should settle for good enough. That part wears me out and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “Thanks for taking that risk.” The woman nodded at Brandon. “I imagine it wasn’t easy to open up to us like that.” She turned and looked at Dana, who had a stunned look on her face and seemed to be staring through the group to the wall in back of him.

  “How about you, Dana? Did you hear or see anything?”

  “What?” She brought her attention back to the woman leading their small circle.

  “Did the Spirit show you anything while we were listening?”

  “Me? Um . . .” She blinked and gazed back and forth between the woman and Brandon.

  “Do you want to tell us?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her face flushed as she glanced furtively at the people in the circle. “This whole way of praying is brand new to me. I don’t even know what you’re doing, so what I saw just now makes no sense. I didn’t get a word like you three did”—she motioned to the two women and the man—“I got a picture.”

  “What did you see?” the leader asked.

  Dana leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “You’re going to think I’m strange.”

  “Don’t you think we’re a little strange?” The leader smiled.

  “Yes.” Dana smiled back, then looked at Brandon as if to get his permission. He nodded and she began. “I saw a model airplane in a bedroom up on a windowsill. The sun was at an angle where it hit the wings just perfect, lighting them up. A little boy sat at a desk, staring at it. This kid was proud of that plane, his chin propped up on his hands like something out of a sappy holiday movie.”

  Brandon’s body went numb. “What color was the plane?”

  “Red with blue stripes, like the kind of plane Charlie Brown’s dog flew in the comics.”

  Unbelievable. He hadn’t thought about that plane for twenty years. Brandon slumped back in his chair, his eyes blinking back tears. “That was my plane. When I was eleven I wanted to make a model plane that was perfect. I decided on a Sopwith Camel because of Snoopy, because it’s the kind of plane he flew when he battled the Red Baron. It took me three months working on it every night. When I finished it, I set it in my windowsill.” Brandon stared at Dana. “Did I tell you about the plane?”

  Dana shook her head.

  “How did you know?”

  She shrugged.

  “What happened, Brandon?” their group leader said.

  “When my stepmom came through the front door that evening, her scream pierced through my door like a sword. She yelled for me to come downstairs, so I did.

  “There she stood, pointing at the dining room table and shouting how stupid I was. I’d put newspapers down, but some of the red paint still got on the table. I didn’t know it till she showed me what I’d done.

  “She asked what I was working on when I did it, and I told her my plane. She yanked me up the stairs and made me take my Sopwith Camel and set it in the middle of my room. She stood next to it and smiled at me, then raised her foot and smashed it down on the plane three times as hard as she could. She pointed at me and said, ‘That will teach you to spill paint on my dining room table.’ She made me sweep it up and dump it in the garbage can.”

  Their leader leaned forward. “Did you ever build another plane?”

  Brandon stared at her for a moment before answering. “I never built another model of any kind.” He dragged his fingers through his blond hair.

  A man to Brandon’s right who hadn’t yet spoken got out of his chair, stepped around behind him, and put his hands on Brandon’s shoulders. “You believed a lie that day. You made a vow you’ve had to fight against all your life. Do you know what it was?”

  Brandon wiped his eyes and realization swept through him. It was so obvious and yet he’d never seen it. “I told myself I’d never make anything perfect again. That it wasn’t worth it. Whatever I did or made or tried would just get destroyed, so why bother.”

  “Yes,” the man behind him said. “What else?”

  “That I wasn’t worth it. I became that plane. Not worthy of flight.”

  “And how has that affected you?”

  “I thought if I just forced myself through my projects, it would eventually get easier.”

  “But it’s never worked, has it?” the man behind Brandon said.

  “No.”

  “We are so good at treating the symptoms and so lacking in curing the disease.”

  Brandon nodded and tears rose to his eyes again. He’d always thought his deepest wound came from his stepmom calling him names. But this wound was even deeper. This wound and his mom walking out on him, then her not being interested in him as an adult, was a knockout combination.

  “And what lie has the enemy told you all this time since the plane was destroyed?”

  “That there’s something wrong with me. And I’m not worthy of anything great.”

  “And yet the enemy is the one who set up the circumstances to make you believe that in the first place. First he gets us to make a vow, then beats us up when we continue to agree.”

  Brandon barely heard the words because a revelation sent him out of his chair and onto his knees. The vow had not only affected his music, it was a sledgehammer in his relationships. He hadn’t told Dana the real reason he’d broken up with her. Yes, he wanted to protect himself—that was part of the reason—but there was a far deeper reason. He
wasn’t worthy of her. He wasn’t worthy of a person as beautiful and kind and strong as she was. He wasn’t worthy of anything truly wonderful.

  Brandon stared at Dana as he spoke. “I’m not worthy of anything great, let alone perfect.”

  “We have to break the vow. You are so worth it, Brandon. Not because of your music or your concerts. But for you. Just you.”

  He shook his head no till strong hands came to rest on his shoulders and his head. For the next twenty minutes their circle prayed with Brandon and for Brandon and for each other. The freedom he felt when they finished was like breathing the freshest mountain air he’d ever breathed. He was worth it. He was worthy. He gazed at Dana. So beautiful, so true. Brandon thanked her with his eyes, then got up, walked over to her, took her hand, and thanked her with his words.

  “You’ve set me free.”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

  Someday he would tell her the deeper reason. But not now, not until the time was right.

  As Reece, Marcus, Dana, and he walked toward their cars later that night, Reece said, “Thoughts before we call it a night?”

  Marcus turned and looked at David’s house. “I want to come back.”

  “I had no idea,” Dana said.

  “And you, Brandon?”

  How could he describe what happened in just a few words? “Revelation. Healing. I feel like I just had a transfusion where superpowered blood was pumped into my veins. And Dana and the Holy Spirit and the others were the medical staff.”

  He told them what happened and Reece nodded throughout.

  “If they’d let me say what I thought I needed prayer for, we would have missed the mind-blowing freedom the Spirit had for me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I think from now on, my prayer is going to be more of a two-way conversation.”

  “Novel idea.” Reece grasped his shoulder. “Well done, you just jumped off another cliff and built powerful wings.”

  Reece glanced over Brandon’s shoulder and looked at each of them, an intense gleam in his eye. As if that was new. A concentrated gaze was his look 90 percent of the time, but his countenance as he studied their faces raised the intensity level past the red line.

  “Friends, we need to talk about the days to come. This war continues to escalate.” He described the visitor to Marcus’s class and reminded them of the encounter in Dana’s office and the incident on the soccer field with Marcus’s daughter.

  “We know Dana’s visitor wasn’t human.” He looked at Marcus. “I don’t believe the man you saw or the man Kat and your daughter saw were either.”

  A look passed over Marcus’s face as though a truth he’d been trying to deny couldn’t be held back any longer.

  “I know.” Marcus blew out a long breath. “And the action we need to take?”

  Reece pointed to the home they’d just exited. “You’ve seen the power of listening prayer just now. The Spirit will speak. Take time to listen on your own. Then war in the heavens for the battle he reveals.”

  Marcus rubbed his temple.

  Brandon turned to the professor. “You’re getting something right now, aren’t you?”

  “There will be a battle tomorrow.” Marcus’s gaze flitted to all of them, then to the ground.

  “With who?” Dana said.

  “I don’t know. But I know I need to pray.”

  Brandon grabbed his friend’s elbow. “And we need to join you.”

  FORTY-ONE

  “COME ON, MOMMY.” JAYLA YANKED KAT’S ARM ON FRIDAY afternoon as they stood on the corner of 25th and 49th, just north of University Village, waiting to cross the street. “Let’s go.”

  “Stop that, Jayla. We have to wait for the light to turn green.”

  “I know.” Jayla bobbed her ten-year-old head back and forth. “But there’s not any cars coming. So we should go. We gotta get Abbie from practice, right? Gotta be on time. You said. So I’m helping.”

  Kat laughed. “Yes, but we still have to wait.” Jayla was always on the go, ready for the next adventure, always running everywhere she went.

  The instant the sign said Walk, Jayla let go of Kat’s hand and skipped out into the crosswalk. The roar of an engine being gunned filled the blue sky and time slowed. Kat turned to see a car come out of nowhere and streak toward Jayla—moving at least ninety.

  “No!”

  Jayla turned, her face toward the car about to end her life. Her complexion was the color of paste and her mouth opened a crack.

  Kat stumbled into the street. It didn’t matter there was little chance of making it in time. It didn’t matter that they would both be killed. She had to try. But after one step something from behind yanked her back. Then a flash as a man darted around her and lunged toward Jayla, his feet digging into the asphalt like a sprinter.

  Centimeters before impact, the man reached Jayla, snatched her into his arms, and lifted her into the air. The car slammed into the man’s hamstrings and launched him off the ground. Somehow he twisted his body while in the air so he landed with Jayla on top of him.

  From behind her a voice shouted, “Get that guy’s license plate! Did anyone see it?”

  Kat staggered to her feet and stumbled over to Jayla and the man.

  “Jayla!” Kat ran her hands up and down her daughter’s sides. “Are you hurt?”

  Jayla blinked, trying to hold back tears. “I’m okay, Mommy. I am.” She glanced to her left. Kat spun toward the man, who raised himself to his knees and stared at her.

  “How did you do that? How did you move so fast? You saved her life.”

  He nodded and brushed off his jacket. “She needed to be saved.”

  “He hit you. How bad are you hurt?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure? You have to be injured after being hit at that speed.”

  “I’m sure, but I do appreciate the concern.” The man got to his feet and eased over to Jayla and her.

  As he did a woman approached them waving a white slip of paper. “I got his license plate.”

  The man kept his gaze fixed on Kat and shook his head. “They’ll never find the man. That wasn’t his car.”

  “He stole it?”

  “Yes.”

  The way the man answered gave no room for doubt as to its truth.

  “How do you know that?”

  The man touched Jayla’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.”

  He turned back to Kat. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Pray for your children.” The man’s eyes grew more intense. “For yourself and for Marcus. There is power in prayer.”

  “Who are you?” Kat’s body convulsed.

  “A helper.” The man leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Stay strong. The King is for you.”

  He stood and jogged through the gathering crowd. In seconds Kat lost sight of him and two thoughts raced through her mind in rhythm with the pounding of blood through her veins.

  Jayla and she had just been rescued by an angel. Jayla and she had almost been murdered by a demon.

  Marcus set his cell phone down after a thirty-minute conversation with Kat and stared out the window of his office at the oak tree and the leaves jousting with the wind. A dull sensation crept through his body as he slumped into his chair as if he’d been misted with Novocain. They were all right. He kept repeating the mantra, but it didn’t help the fear that pulsed through him. Kat was stronger than he’d imagined she could be. Told him it was okay. That God had protected them.

  He stared at the Blade Runner poster on his office wall. He’d always imagined himself as the hero, Deckard, tracking down the replicants. But in this case he was the one being hunted. Marcus picked up his phone and dialed Reece.

  “Hey, Professor.”

  His words sputtered. “The ice . . . this is . . . it’s getting precariously thin, Reece.”

 
“What do you mean?”

  “Kat and Jayla . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “They were almost killed just now.”

  “What?”

  Marcus spilled the story as he paced in front of his desk. “Do you understand what I’m saying? A demon came after them!”

  “I understand and I can relate far more than you realize. I’m sorry.”

  “That is far from satisfactory.” Marcus clenched his fist and pressed it against his lips. “He’s targeting my daughters and you’re sorry? How am I supposed to fight this?”

  “You did fight it. You were warned last night and you stepped in and fought well. And there was victory today.”

  “I don’t care. This has to come to a halt or I’m out.”

  “It did. You and Kat stopped it.”

  “So Kat and I will have to pray in the way we did last night and this morning all the time?”

  “Not all the time. But at certain moments, without question. With her and on your own. You must fight for your family, Professor. Are you willing to?”

  Yes, of course he would pray and bring the power of the Spirit against the attack. Yes, Kat and he would join together in the fight. Yes, he realized he’d signed up for a battle when he got on that plane for Well Spring. But he hadn’t enlisted his family in this war.

  “It’s your choice to back down or not,” Reece said.

  “You make it sound like I’m a coward.”

  “That was not my intent. I know you are not a coward. You are a warrior riding strong. But that does not mean you are without choice.”

  “What about the prophecy?”

  “All I can do is choose to step into or not step into what the Spirit has commissioned me to do and trust him with what happens. You must do the same, friend.”

  Marcus hung up and sat in his office till the sound of doors closing and shuffling feet in the hallway outside his office faded into the late afternoon. When he walked in his door at home half an hour later, the girls were slouched on the couch in front of the TV, and Kat was sitting at the kitchen table, her Bible open, a pen and pad of paper next to her. A hint of her perfume hung in the air, which seemed to bring a peace he shouldn’t be feeling.