Wind on the Sand (The Winds of God)

by Felicia Mires

  "Darling Lauren, If you're reading this without me, then chances are I'm with the Lord or lost somewhere. I can imagine you're angry with me, with God. Especially with God since you seem to hold Him responsible for your parents' death. It's not God's fault. I'm not sorry I went. No matter what happens. I'm not sorry I went. That probably makes you even angrier with me.

  "I wish I could explain how I feel about God. Until you know Him, you won't really understand. But I have to try anyway. There's a song we sing at church that expresses what I mean. This is the air I breathe. Your Holy Presence living in me. This is my daily bread. Your very word spoken to me. And I'm desperate for You, I'm lost without You.

  "Lauren, I have felt the Presence of God so heavy that I could hardly move. That ruined me for ever being satisfied with anything this world has to offer. That's why it's easier for me to give up things that other people consider necessary. I would rather be some place that God wants me and feel His Presence than do anything else and live without Him. I'm desperate for Him. I'm lost without Him.

  "If you believe nothing else, believe this. I love you. God loves you. He doesn't want you to hurt or feel pain, but He does want you to learn things. Sometimes He lets things happen to get our attention or to take us to a new level of faith. Sometimes He just wants us to understand how someone else feels that will go through the same thing. It's really a huge compliment because he trusts us to trust Him. Whatever His reasons, I know my life has a purpose...to fulfill God's purpose. That's all that matters. I hope you can believe that and forgive me...and God.

  "Finally, Lauren, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, growing old with you, having children. I would have waited for you to have the time you need to find the Lord. Because I love you, more than anything else in this world, I love you. My heart, my passion, is yours. Jack."

  Lauren tried to control the sobs that rose in her throat, but she knew Chris could tell she was having a hard time. Sue was busy stuffing tissues in Lauren's hand. When Chris finished reading the letter, he gave her a few moments to console herself.

  "Thank you." She sounded shaky. "It's just your voice. You sound very like him. Please send it to me."

  "Of course. If you don't mind talking, I thought we could compare information."

  "I'd appreciate that. But I want you to know that a couple of weeks ago I went forward at church and asked Jesus to be my Savior."

  "That will make Jack extremely happy. Did you write and tell him?"

  "Yes, but I don't know if he got the letter before…"

  "It will be waiting for him when he gets back." He paused before continuing. "My father is pretty clear-headed, and he thought to ask some questions when Mr. Chaney called. This is what we know. Jack disappeared about the time the mail truck arrived. He mentioned that he was going to get the mail, they saw him walk out the door, but he never made it to the end of the street. It's a very small village so we're talking about a distance of less than 500 feet. Not much room for someone that large to disappear. But, they are completely surrounded by the jungle except for the small driving path that leads up the mountain to them.

  "There are no phones at all, but the missionaries have a wireless radio. My father intends to get one immediately so he can speak with them directly. Both of the other men have elected to remain in the village, hoping for news of Jack. They also refuse to let the mission die.

  "There was concern that they had encountered some opposition from the village leader, Pedro. He threatened Jack. Pedro's still in the village so he couldn't have taken Jack. However, he was threatening to bring in drug cultivation. I'm sure that's the reason they suspect drug-runners. Pedro's not talking. The federales of Honduras are investigating, but they really don't have the soldiers to hunt down a pack of drug-runners just for one missionary. Of course, our government is just talking at this point. We don't think much of anything is being done…in the natural. In the Spirit, of course, God is moving. Is there anything else you can think of?"

  Lauren had been scribbling furiously while Chris spoke. He had answered almost all her questions. "Yes, the boy that Jack was tutoring in the evenings, Juan. His father is the one that threatened Jack, right?"

  "Yes, that's what we've been told."

  "I want to tell you something that may make me sound like a nut."

  "If you think it will help Jack, tell me. I'm open for anything."

  She told him about the dreams.

  "That's incredible."

  "Do you think I'm crazy?"

  "No, I think God has given you the answer. I also think He was warning you to start praying. Did you?"

  "Yes, and I asked others to pray with me. But why did God want me to pray if He wasn't going to stop it?"

  "Maybe you stopped more than you realized. Maybe you prevented them from killing Jack. I know my family has felt an urgency for days to pray for Jack. Don't stop praying, he's not home yet."

  "Why do you think that dream is the answer?"

  "I take it you think Juan was used to get Jack away from the village. If that's so, it would be easy to interrogate Juan. He might not know where they've taken Jack, but it would be a start."

  "How can you ask Juan?"

  "When my father gets that wireless, we'll tell the two missionaries. Maybe they can find out something."

  "Thank you for calling, and for the letter, too."

  Chris cleared his throat. "I have to admit, I can't wait to see what you look like. My brother's never said stuff like that to a girl."

  "Oh...I have a picture of Jack and me together, I'll send you a copy."

  "We'd appreciate it. If there's anything else, don't hesitate to call. We'll be in touch." He gave her the phone number and hung up.

  Chapter 9

  Jack stood completely still listening for sounds that would tell him which direction to move. He took a few steps back the way he had come, but then he was lost. The trees in the jungle were so dense that not much grass grew. The undergrowth was mostly tangling vines and branches, not exactly the type of ground that would show where he'd passed previously.

  He didn't have long to wander. Within minutes, he was completely surrounded by a ragtag group of olive-clad soldiers, each carrying lethal-looking semiautomatic guns that were all pointed at Jack. He straightened but didn't say anything, waiting for them to make their intentions known.

  Pedro stepped to the front of the soldiers. With a malicious grin, he pulled Juan alongside him.

  Jack responded immediately. "Sending a boy to do a man's job, Pedro?" That would surely insult him.

  Pedro flicked his head at one of the soldiers, and the man walked to Jack and punched him hard in the face.

  His head snapped back. When he was able to focus, he saw the forlorn face of Juan. What threat had they used on him to make him betray Jack?

  "That is how a man gets things done, gringo." Pedro turned to Juan. "You see, he is not so big now. He says nothing."

  Juan looked at his father then ran through the group of men into the jungle.

  Maybe there was still a chance to get out of this alive.

  "What do you want, Pedro?"

  "The time for talk is past. We don' want no gringos nosing 'round in our business, bringing federales to snoop, finding our drugs. These men have offered big monies to use the villagers' land for their drug crops. We get rid of you, all the gringos leave, everybody happy."

  "What will the villagers eat if you get all the money, and these drug traffickers get all their crops?"

  "You don' need to worry 'bout that." He laughed. "You don' need to worry 'bout nothing no more."

  "You think if you kill me the federal soldiers will just ignore it?"

  "They will leave us alone when your body is found in El Salvador. Lots of terrorists in El Salvador. Maybe you not even missionary, maybe you come over here to join terrorists."

  "You expect me to walk to El Salvador?"

  "Easier for us if you walk, but you can go in a bag if you like. 'Course
maybe would be more convincing if we take all gringos. Whole group of you is terrorists." Pedro watched for Jack's reaction to the threat.

  "I'll go with you."

  Someone came up behind Jack and pushed him to his knees. His hands were yanked roughly behind his back and tied with something that felt as uncomfortable as sandpaper. The slightest movement scraped the skin off his wrists.

  "If you tie my hands, how will I be able to make my way through the jungle?"

  "We don' really care." Pedro walked closer. "This is for turning my son against me." Pedro lifted his boot and kicked Jack savagely in the stomach. Jack doubled over and fell to the ground, wrenching his shoulder in the process.

  He lay on the ground in an agony of pain until one of the guards yanked him to his feet and shouted.

  "Vamanos!"

  Jack had better move. If he didn't keep up, he would find himself in a bag.

  They skirted the edge of the village, at which point, Pedro slipped away. So, he wasn't going with them. Still, Jack didn't see how he had a chance of escape. He had counted at least 5 men, and he had no weapons nor was he familiar with the area. Aside from that, he had no use of his hands.

  He discovered why they had chosen that particular binding to wrap around his wrists. Before he could ever work his way free, his wrists would be raw and bloodied. They were already beginning to chafe from the stress of holding his arms behind his back.

  At first, he was able to keep their pace. All those runs on the beach had built up his endurance for uneven walking, but the high altitude grabbed at his lungs. If only he was allowed water.

  The high humidity caused a torrent of stinging sweat drip in his eyes, which he could not wipe away. With the sweat, came the mosquitoes, and he couldn't swat them. He became a walking, breathing feast for the huge bloodsuckers.

  While he walked, he prayed silently.

  For hours, they walked or stumbled through the forest. The pain in Jack's wrenched shoulder became an agony. He could feel the pounding of each throbbing nerve. Long after dusk when he thought they would have stopped, they trudged on. He had begun to focus on only one thing...keep his feet moving.

  When he tripped and fell several times, someone hefted him up and gave him a push. His face was riddled with cuts and abrasions from contact with whatever limbs or branches he was unable to move out of his way. Without the use of his arms, he was taking a beating. The last fall had been against his wounded shoulder. Nausea gripped him and bile rose in his throat. He just managed to swallow it before he was pushed forward.

  When it finally became too dark to see anything, they pitched a camp, such as it was, a small fire with a few branches and vines chopped out of the way. The soldiers sat about on the ground, smoking. Jack leaned against a tree root in too much pain to think. Eventually, someone came over and held a canteen of water to his lips, and he drank as much as they would let him. So much for not drinking the local water in a foreign country.

  After his wrist bindings were cut, he was allowed to relieve himself in the company of everyone else. When they walked back to the fire, someone handed him an opened can with a few beans and a spoon. He ate every bite, thankful they had decided to let him eat at all. Why bother, since they planned on killing him anyway?

  When they saw he was finished, the can and spoon were removed, and he was told to stand. He got knocked across the head for his trouble and sank to the ground, unconscious.

  Jack woke with an unbelievable thirst and a need to go to the bathroom. But that was minor compared to all the other aches and pains in his body. He never realized a body could hurt in so many ways. While he was passed out, someone had sat him upright against a tree and bound his arms behind the tree. They must have yanked his shoulder pretty hard because it felt even worse than before, and he hadn't thought that possible. His head was ringing from the two hard hits it had taken. Maybe he had a concussion. For someone to hit him hard enough to knock him out, he probably did.

  He took stock of his situation. There was no one on duty. Everyone else was asleep. He must have slept for hours because the fire had completely died out. If he didn't go to the bathroom soon, he would be in trouble. He stretched out his foot as far as it would go and nudged the guard closest to him. After several tries, the guy sat up and asked him what he wanted. He must have needed to go too because he didn't argue at all. Jack's wrists were freed once again, and he followed the guard behind some trees.

  Now would be the perfect time to escape. Except he didn't have the strength to overpower the guard, and he doubted he was in any condition to run. He prayed but didn't feel any particular leading from the Lord so he walked back to camp.

  When the guard went to tie him up again, Jack asked for water. This time, he was denied. They didn't intend to keep him too alive. Jack clenched his teeth when the guard pulled his arm back, but he couldn't stop the grimace of pain. The guard stopped, looked at Jack, and then told him to take off his shirt. Jack's shoulder was black and blue.

  The guard asked if his shoulder was dislocated which amazed Jack because he hadn't thought the man had a brain in his head beyond violence. Jack nodded, and the guard told him to stand up. He picked up Jack's arm and bent it several different ways.

  He looked Jack in the eyes. "Wad up your shirt and put it in your mouth. Bite down hard."

  Jack knew what was coming. Still, the shock, when it happened, made him lose focus for a few seconds. He was trying to keep conscious when the man picked up his shirt from where Jack had dropped it and helped him put it back on. He then tied Jack's hands to his feet, but he didn't stretch his arms around the tree again. When he finished, he laid Jack on the side that wasn't injured and went to lay down himself.

  At some point, Jack must have dozed because they were shaking him before the sun was even up. Now he was offered water, another chance to relieve himself, and another can of beans. When the opportunity arose, he thanked the guard that had fixed his shoulder. The man stared back at him, uncaring, and shrugged his shoulders. So much for compassion.

  After Lauren had finished her conversation with Chris, she wasn't sure what to do. Ryan and Sue asked for all the details of Jack's capture and offered what little advice they could.

  "Work will take your mind off things," said Ryan.

  Sue shook her head. "Maybe she should go home to bed."

  But Lauren had thought of another place she wanted to be.

  "I'm going to the beach." They both looked at her like she was crazy, but they didn't argue. Before leaving, Lauren gave them every possible phone number where she might be found but ended up telling them no matter what, she would have her cell phone with her at all times.

  Lauren drove by her parents' house and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before driving out to the Jamiesons' home. She had called on the way, and Mrs. Jamieson met her at the door.

  "Hey honey, what can we do?"

  "I just want to walk on the beach. I got used to it."

  Skippy was delighted that Lauren was "home" and followed her out to the water's edge. Lauren hurried across the sand. If she could just get to the point, she'd be all right. She'd be able to think there. She walked briskly past the cottage Jack had rented. Already, there were new renters occupying it. She was so intent on reaching the point, that she didn't notice the sun had retreated behind the clouds and the wind had picked up.

  She dropped back into the sand and heaved a sigh of relief. Now, she could think. All right, what do I want to think about?

  Jack. What to do.

  What could she do? Short of flying down there and traipsing around in the middle of a jungle she knew nothing about in the midst of people who spoke a language she knew even less, there was nothing. A big fat, nothing.

  Pray.

  You know that voice of yours, God, is getting a little louder. Thanks. But I don't know what to pray. The Jamiesons have already prayed a whole lot better than I ever could.

  Pray.

  "All right. I want those ange
ls Your Word talks about to hover over Jack and bear him up in their wings lest he dash his foot against a stone, or anything else, for that matter. And I don't want someone beating him up. Protect him from pain. I know there's only so much a body can take, but Lord, it would be a nice miracle if you just blocked out some of what he's going through…so he can take it. Make him strong, stronger than his assailants. Make his enemy weak. Show Jack the way out. Provide a means of escape. And Lord confuse the enemy, make their plans come to nothing. And finally, Lord, put a hedge of protection around him, when he gets away, hide him in the cleft of your rock. You know I'm scared. But I don't think Jack's going to die. Is that faith or denial? You're not going to tell me are you?"

  The waves had picked up out in the bay with white caps tumbling toward the beach. Lauren looked around for Skippy and noticed the wind blowing across the sand. All of a sudden, the sand got caught in a tiny funnel and whirled 'round and 'round.

  The sand was greatly affected by the wind. Just like her life. She'd always been greatly affected by the winds in her life. She twirled around whatever direction the wind blew, letting things bend and break her. But not anymore. I've got an anchor, now. I need You, Lord. No matter what happens, I'm Yours, I choose to trust You.

  Out across the bay, Lauren could see the storm approaching. She called Skippy, and they ran pell-mell for the house. The first rain drops had begun to fall as they ran up the wooden steps to the back porch. Lauren raced inside and dropped into a chair. It was even a little chilly. She grabbed the nearby afghan and leaned the chair back. In no time at all, Lauren was asleep.

  Her cell phone was ringing. Lauren jumped awake and answered the phone. "Hello?"

  "Hey, how are you?"

  "Oh, Jack!"

  "Lauren!" Her name was spoken sharply. "It's Chris. Sorry, I should have identified myself."

  "It was my fault. I was asleep, not thinking."

  "Lauren, I called because my father spoke to the other two men, the other missionaries. They went to talk to Juan, and he's gone. Everyone there thinks you were right-on with that dream. His father swears he doesn't know where Juan or Jack are. Now he's accusing Jack of kidnapping Juan. But Juan was seen long after Jack disappeared. The federal soldiers can't get anything out of Pedro, though. How are you holding up?"