Dee Baylor was among the departing saints that day. A steady and constant presence at Antioch Mission, she was a robust, heavyset woman in her forties with a prominent nose and hair that added measurably to her height. Short, mousy Blanche Davis and tightly permed, blue-rinsed Adrian Folsom were walking with her across the gravel parking lot as the three worked excitedly to keep the Christian grapevine alive.
“That’s all he said?” Adrian asked.
Dee didn’t mind repeating the story or any part of it. “Just that ‘her answer was on his way.’ And according to Sally he said his way, not its way.”
“So who was he talking about?” asked Blanche.
“Maybe her future husband,” Adrian ventured. “God told me I was going to marry Roger.”
“So what about the crucifix at the Catholic church?” Blanche wondered.
“You can’t limit God,” Dee answered.
“No, you can’t limit God,” Adrian agreed with extra insistence in her voice.
“But a weeping statue?” Blanche asked, making a crinkled face.
“That sounds awfully Catholic to me.”
“Well, it’s something a Catholic would understand.”
Blanche considered that in silence.
“We need to be seeking the Lord,” said Dee, her eyes closing prayerfully. “We need to be expecting. God has plans for Antioch.
I think the Lord is ready to pour out his Spirit on this town.”
“Amen.” That was what Blanche wanted to hear.
“Amen,” Adrian echoed.
Dee looked up at the sky as if looking toward heaven. The clouds were breaking up now. Patches of blue were beginning to show, promising a pleasant afternoon.
Adrian and Blanche walked and continued the conversation until they noticed they were by themselves. They looked back.
“Dee?”
She was standing still, clutching her Bible to her bosom and looking heavenward, her lips moving rapidly as she whispered in another language.
“Dee?”
They hurried to her side. “What is it?”
All she could do was point, then gasp, her hand over her mouth.
Adrian and Blanche looked quickly, afraid something might fall on them. They saw nothing but billowing clouds and patches of blue sky.
“I see Jesus,” Dee said in a hushed voice. Then, raising one hand toward the sky she shouted ecstatically, “Jesus! I see you, I see you!”
Brother Norheim walked by. He was old, bent, and hard of hearing, but a respected church pillar. He knew how a church should be run and how the Spirit moved and how to properly wash out the communion cups so as not to offend the Lord. When he started “Bless the Lord, O My Soul” from his pew in the evening service, everybody sang right along whether Linda Sherman could find the right key on the piano or not. He could see the ladies were excited about something.
“What are you looking at?”
“I see the Lord!” Dee gasped, and then she broke into a song.
“I see the Lord . . . I see the Lord . . . He is high and lifted up, and his train fills the temple!”
Adrian and Blanche kept staring at the clouds, hoping to spot something, making quick sideways glances at each other for clues.
Brother Norheim looked the sky over, smiling with three golden teeth and three gaps. “The firmament showeth his handiwork!”
“What do you see?” Adrian finally asked.
Dee pointed. “Don’t you see him? Right there! He’s looking right at us!”
Adrian and Blanche looked carefully, following the point of Dee’s finger. Finally, Blanche drew in a slow, awe-struck gasp.
“Yeeesssss . . . Yes, I see him! I see him!”
“Where?” Adrian cried. “I don’t see him.”
“Isn’t that incredible!”
Adrian put her head right next to Blanche’s, hoping to gain the same perspective. “Show me.”
Blanche pointed. “See? There’s the top of his head, and there’s his ear and his beard . . .”
Adrian let out a crowlike squawk she usually saved for funny jokes and deep revelations. “AWWW! You’re right! You’re right!”
Now all three women were pointing and looking while Dee kept singing in and out of English. Brother Norheim moved on, glad to see the saints on fire, but others came alongside to see what the commotion was all about. Dave White, the contractor, saw the face right away, but his wife, Michelle, never did. Adrian’s husband, Roger, saw the face, but found it an amusing coincidence and nothing more. Don and Melinda Forester, a new couple in church, both saw the face but disagreed on which direction it was looking. Their kids, Tony and Pammie, ages eight and six, saw Jesus but also saw several different animals on top of his head.
“Look!” said Adrian. “He’s holding a dove in his hand, you see that?”
“Yeeahhhhh . . .” Dave White said in a hushed voice, his face filled with awe.
“He’s ready to pour out his Spirit!” Dee announced with a prophetic waver in her voice.
“Eh, beats me,” said Roger, squinting at the sky.
“He’s speaking to us in these last days!”
“You’re crazy,” Michelle insisted. “I don’t see anything.”
“Hey Pastor Sherman!” Tony yelled. “We see Jesus in the clouds!”
“There’s a rooster!” Pammie squealed.
“IT JUST KEPT GOING FROM THERE,” Kyle Sherman told me. “The three women started seeing all kinds of things because the clouds kept changing. For a while Jesus had a dove in his hand, and then after that he turned into a door—you know, the door to the sheepfold, the door to heaven, whatever you want—and then—”
Kyle looked toward the ceiling as he recalled the appearance of the sky. “Uh . . . a flame, I think.” He drew it in the air with his hand.
“Kind of wavy, you know, up and down like a pillar of fire.”
Kyle hadn’t used any names up to this point, so I asked him, “Are we talking about Dee Baylor?”
He nodded, looking abashed.
“Adrian Folsom and Blanche Davis?”
Kyle nodded again, a reluctant yes.
“Makes sense,” I said, picking up my coffee cup and taking another swallow.
It was Monday, the typical pastor’s day off. Kyle Sherman and I were sitting at my kitchen table with coffee cups and a bag of Oreo cookies between us. He was still in his twenties, dark-haired, wiry, a fresh horse ready to gallop. For the past four months, he’d been at this table in this little house several times, keeping in touch and trying to be a good shepherd.
And hoping to keep some strays from straying further, I surmised. I know I caught his attention the moment he arrived to take over the pastorate. I was still the official pastor until I passed my mantle to him, but I was conspicuously missing. Antioch Pentecostal Mission had a pastor—a former pastor—who couldn’t go near the place.
Kyle immediately did the pastoral thing by coming after— coming to—me and becoming a regular part of my life, welcome or not. The minister in me understood what he was doing and admitted that, if I were in Kyle’s place, I would have done the same. As for the rest of me . . . well, I’ll get to that.
Today’s visit was decidedly different from the others, however. I hadn’t heard quite so many Praise Gods or Hallelujahs from Kyle today. I could tell the spiritual escapades of Dee Baylor and company were weighing on him.
“Dee seems like she’s—” Kyle was either struggling for words or waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
I filled in the blanks. “Dee is a follower with followers. Meg Fordyce has a little prayer and praise meeting at her house once a week, and Dee gets out there pretty often. Just put it together from there.”
I could see a light bulb coming on, but Kyle apparently wasn’t comfortable with my drift. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Kyle, it’s simple. Meg told Dee about Sally seeing an angel.
That means someone else is getting a special visitation from God that Dee isn’t getting
. You don’t get something from God without Dee getting it too. She won’t allow it.”
Kyle actually looked disappointed. “So what about Sally? You think she made the whole thing up?”
“You can talk to Charlie and Meg about Sally. It’s up to you, but no, I don’t believe her. It sounds too much like the vanishing hitchhiker.” Kyle laughed. “You’ve heard about that, right?”
“Oh yeah.” He paused. “So Dee’s copycatting?”
“No, with Dee you get it back with interest. Sally saw an angel.
Dee’s seeing Jesus.”
But Kyle shook his head, still unsettled. “They’re excited, Travis. And not just Dee and Adrian and Blanche, but the Whites, the Foresters—”
“Excited about what? Jesus in the sky with a rooster on his head?”
“Pammie thought it was a rooster.”
“Hey, you asked me.” I set my coffee cup down on the table like a judge closing a case with a gavel.
“So what about Arnold Kowalski?”
I made a conscious effort not to roll my eyes. “Didn’t a statue of Elvis start crying once?” I looked in my empty coffee cup and then at the coffee maker. There were still at least two cups in there.
“You need a refill?”
“No thanks.”
I got up and poured another cup for myself. “Maybe Arnold Kowalski is the Catholic version of Dee Baylor.”
I could tell from Kyle’s tone that he was getting impatient with me. “No, now come on, Travis. Kowalski went to Dr. Trenner down in Davenport, and he took x-rays and the whole thing. He says the arthritis is gone.”
I sat down, my hand still on the handle of my coffee cup, and just looked at him. “What do you want me to say, Kyle?”
He sighed. “Just say what you think.”
“I’ve already said what I think.”
He stared at his empty coffee cup, dragging it by the handle in little zigzags around the table. “But you don’t suppose God could surprise us once in a while? You know, do something we weren’t expecting?”
I leaned forward. “Kyle, what these people experienced, they expected. Trust me.” I leaned back, sipped my coffee, and tried to come up with some closing comment. “If you want my advice, I’d say don’t sweat it. This kind of thing comes and goes and the wrinkles wash out eventually.”
“I just need to take a position on all this.”
The very thought of someone else having to take a position gave me a dark little pleasure. “Yeah, you’re the one who has to remain stable, aren’t you? Well, it won’t hurt to let the jury stay out a while.”
“I think Dee and Adrian are watching the clouds again today—”
There was a knock at the front door.
“It’s Rene,” I said, then hollered, “Come in!”
She came in. “Hi, Trav.”
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing her old green sweats, same as she did every time she came over. I introduced my big sister to the new pastor, and I took pleasure in another thought: Rene lived in Spokane, so she didn’t have to worry about Kyle calling on her.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” she said, turning toward the bedroom.
“We were just finishing up.”
“Uh—” Kyle fished around for his lost thought but apparently found another one. “Anyway, the ministerial’s going to meet tomorrow morning to talk about all this. I think Nancy Barrons is going to be there.”
“Great,” I said. “Newspaper coverage. That’ll put the fire out.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow at me. “Hey, Travis, the whole town’s buzzing about this. There’s a lot going on out there and you’re missing it.”
I smiled. That made three pleasurable thoughts in a row.
Rene came out of the bedroom with my laundry basket. She was giving me a look, most likely a comment on how full that basket should have been but was not after a week.
Kyle was still talking. “Anyway, why don’t you come with me?
I haven’t gotten to know all the ministers yet. You can introduce me, sit in and listen, have some input.”
It was a ploy, pure and simple, and not the first time Kyle had tried to get me moving in the old church circles again. I gave a little disarming chuckle and wagged my head.
“It’ll be at the Catholic church. We’ll all get a chance to look at that weeping crucifix.”
I made a face. I couldn’t help it. “Get real!”
Kyle just raised his hands in surrender to logic. “Hey, you can bicker about hearsay or you can go straight to the source and see it for yourself.”
“And sit down with all those ministers again? Not this year, thank you.”
Rene walked behind me to the refrigerator and checked my supply of frozen meals and leftovers.
Kyle looked at me for a moment, and I knew I wouldn’t like his next question. “Do they have something to do with it?”
“To do with what?”
“Yes,” Rene answered.
I shot her a glance over my shoulder and she shot me one back.
Kyle had no fear of thin ice. “With you resigning your pulpit, sitting here in this little house all by yourself—”
“Never changing your clothes,” Rene cut in, “not shaving, not cleaning up—”
“I change my clothes!” I said.
She looked at the laundry basket on the floor. “There’s only one shirt in there. Have you worn that same shirt all week?”
I looked down at the shirt I was wearing. I couldn’t remember how long I’d worn it. “I like this shirt.” I turned back to Kyle. “And you’re living in the parsonage now, with my blessing. You’re welcome to it.”
Kyle raised his hands to show a truce. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“Trav, we’re not trying to pick a fight.”
No, they weren’t picking a fight. It was just the same old dilemma: friends whose loving concern keeps stumbling into your raw nerves, with every irritating stab well meant. I stared at my coffee cup because I couldn’t look at them.
“It’s your life, I know that,” Kyle said gently. “We just care about you, that’s all.”
Then you might come up with a solution I haven’t heard already, I thought.
But I didn’t say it out loud. We had already had that conversation and it got us nowhere. Instead, I just looked at him, managed a smile, and reminded myself that I really did love this kid—sorry, this man. This fresh new pastor, this up-and-coming man of God with the young, pretty, piano-playing wife and the two energetic kids. I reminded myself that twenty years ago I was sitting in his place. I was thinking the same things, offering the same solutions, excited for the same reasons. Man, did that feel like a long time ago!
“Thanks for the invitation,” I said finally. “Not this time. Maybe later, when I’ve got something better to say for myself.”
He returned my smile. “Okay.” And to his credit, he dropped the subject. “I gotta get going. Give me a call if you change your mind.” With that he rose, patted me on the back, and headed for the front door.
“Oh, I will,” I promised almost jokingly.
After Kyle closed the front door behind him, I looked up at Rene, still standing by the refrigerator. She was in her late forties and looking great, though giving me a somewhat scolding look the way big sisters do. It had always been her role to run interference for me while reaching back to swat me when she thought I needed it.
“We’re, uh, we’re doing better, Kyle and me,” I said. “We got along pretty well today, all things considered.”
She shrugged. “One of these days you’re going to give him a lot of credit just for coming back.”
“I do already.”
“You gonna let me cut your hair today?”
“Maybe next time.”
“You’re getting pretty shaggy.”
“Next time.”
She came around and sat in Kyle’s chair, facing me directly. “I don’t know when that will be.”
She sat back in the chair and sighed deeply. “Travis Jordan, I owe you an apology. I’ve been wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
She drew a breath and sighed it out. “Wrong about letting you just sit on your rear.” This was Rene’s characteristic bluntness, her tough love. “Trav, it’s been ten months. You know Marian would be upset to see you like this. I’m upset. Danny and I have been talking about it, and he’s right: I thought I was helping you by doing your laundry and planning out your grocery list and cooking most of your meals. But . . .” She looked away and drummed her fingers on the table while she built up to it. “I can’t be your mother anymore. School’s starting in the fall, and by that time you’re going to have to be a clean, resourceful, responsible adult again. You’re going to have to be an example.”
“In other words, get a life.”
“No, you have a life. I’m telling you to get on with it. I mean . . . ” She looked around the house. It was a small place. She could see the dining room, living room, and bedroom from where she was sitting. “When we were kids, Mom would never let us get away with a mess like this. We had to clean our own rooms, remember? Now here I am, cleaning yours. What’s wrong with this picture?”
I looked around. This was a mess? I’d come to regard it as simply having everything I owned in plain sight and within easy reach at all times.
“I shouldn’t even have done this, but I talked to Don Anderson yesterday, and he has a washing machine in stock that was damaged in shipping. It works fine, it just has a dent in it. He said he’ll let it go for a hundred dollars. Travis, buy it. Hook it up and use it. Get yourself some rope and make a clothesline out back. The weather’s warming up. You can dry everything back there. And did you try that meat loaf recipe I gave you?”
That meat loaf. “Uh, yeah. I think I cooked it too long.”
“You used to cook when you and Marian were in California. I know; she told me. And you still have the makings for meat loaf in the freezer. Try it again. Try all the recipes again, and keep trying, ’cause after today, I’m out of here.” She hurried around me and picked up the laundry basket. “I’ll do this load, and then . . . you’d better buy that washing machine.” She bent and kissed me on the cheek. “We’re gonna talk someday. We have to.”
The Frank Peretti Collection Page 54
