Angels of Humility: A Novel (26 page)

“Hello.”

“Barbara, I’m so sorry to wake you—”

“Sarah, are you all right? Did you fall?”

“No, I didn’t fall and I’m embarrassed to call you, but I need your help. Can you come to my house and get me some medicine?”

“I’ll be right there. Are you hurt? Are you sure you’re OK?”

“I’ll explain it when you get here.”

An embarrassed Sarah explained it all, and Barbara gave her the missed dose of her medicines. “I still think we should call the doctor.”

“I’m not waking anyone else up. I’m adamant about that. I’ll call in the morning if I haven’t improved.”

In spite of Sarah’s protests, Barbara spent the night on the couch. In the morning Sarah’s mobility was back to “normal.” Barbara had the coffee made when Sarah woke. Sarah was very embarrassed and apologetic,
although Barbara threw the whole thing off as nothing. But she did extract a promise from Sarah to always take all her medicine.

“I had no idea how bad I was without my medicines. I thought I was bad when I was taking them. I just missed one dose and my legs quit working.”

Sarah was tearing up and Barbara looked at the floor. She felt impotent. She felt worse than impotent; she felt responsible. She was the one who gave Sarah the book on healing.

Barbara crawled into bed that night with a heavy heart. She silently prayed,
God, You’re going to heal Sarah, aren’t You?

The next morning Barbara pulled into Sarah’s drive at 10
a.m
. sharp. Sarah was waiting on the porch swing. Barbara helped her down the front steps and into the car. They drove in silence for several minutes. “I’m sorry we have to do this,” said Barbara. “But it’s doctor’s orders. It’s just good to have a back-up plan.” She turned the car into Bradbury Manor, the town’s nursing home, parked, and came around to help Sarah up. Sarah never went anywhere without her walker now.

Later that night in her bed, Sarah wept. She hadn’t told anyone, but her tremors had gotten so bad she’d had to change her eating habits. Eating with silverware was too difficult now. Soup or salad was out of the question. Sandwiches, apples, bananas, a muffin, anything big she could pick up with both hands was all she could manage. If she filled a glass more than half full, the beverage sloshed over the side. She would put a glass on the table and drink with a straw so she didn’t have to hold it and splash the liquid down the front of her blouse.

The spirit of Fear invaded her room and tormented her with images of the most infirm, helpless patients—half conscious, unable to hold their heads up, drooling out of the sides of their mouths. She could even smell the stench of urine that had assaulted her as she shuffled down the hall with Barbara.

“Jesus, Jesus, please help me.” She wept until she fell asleep.

The next morning, she called the local handyman, Herald Ray, to make her home safer. He moved her washer and dryer from the basement to the
pantry, between the kitchen and the back porch. She also had him install grab bars in the bathtub and bring the rest of the boxes upstairs. Now there was no need to go down those basement stairs, ever. I
can stay in the house longer. What do doctors know, anyway?

She also spent time the next ten days sorting through her closets, under her bed, and through her dressers. Then she called the local charity to come cart it away. It felt good to unclutter her house, and she didn’t want to be a burden to anyone when she passed on.

“Three men were taking a tour of the White House,” said Pastor Paul to the congregation. “It turned out that all three of them were contractors. ‘This must be my lucky day,’ replied the guide. ‘The security door that the president uses is broken. Maybe you can all bid it for me.’ The contractor from Missouri took some measurements and said, ‘I can fix it for $400. That’s $200 for parts and $200 for labor.’ The contractor from California examined the door and said, ‘I can fix it for $500. That’s $250 for parts and $250 for labor.’ The contractor from New York said, ‘I can fix it for $2,400.’

‘Twenty four hundred dollars? That’s outrageous. You didn’t even measure it. How do you get $2,400?’ asked the incredulous tour guide.

‘A thousand for you, a thousand for me, and we hire the guy from Missouri.’”

Paul loved their laughter almost more than anything. It was like the congregation was saying he was just one of them; he fit right in.

“I have a very exciting reason to be talking about contractors today. The elders and I have been discussing the rapid growth going on in our fellowship, and we are proposing that the church begin a fundraising drive in preparation to buy land and build larger facilities projected for completion in two years. This plan has been divided into very attainable smaller goals, and we won’t go on to another until we reach the one directly in front of us.”

Paul spent the whole time that morning explaining the details and extolling the virtues of the plan. After the service, the feedback was mixed. A lot of the members, mostly the newer or younger ones, were very excited about the church being taken to the next level. Then came the, “We’ve-never-done-it-this-way-before,” group who would fight any change as if their lives depended on it. They rallied informally to do just that, with Wilma leading the deadly phone brigade under the influence of several destructive spirits intent on breeding division.

Paul wasn’t aware of them as his family ate lunch, however. He was still high on the idea of bigger, better, and more prestigious, even as the phone network snaked through the older members of the congregation. Wilma picked up the phone and Ardare said to her:
“They sharpen their tongues like swords and aim their bitter words like arrows. They shoot from ambush at the innocent, attacking suddenly and fearlessly. They encourage each other to do evil and plan how to set their traps in secret.’”
³

“No, No,” shrieked Gossip, “this young pastor just gets voted in, and he has the audacity to make plans to abandon your church and build a new one, who knows where. This is the church where you’ve grown up, Wilma. You were married in this church, and all your kids were baptized here. If Paul thinks he can just close it down and build another one just because of some vote of the elders—well you just can’t let that happen! It’s your responsibility to do something.”

From her comfy recliner, Wilma rallied the troops and formed a battle plan, much to Ardare’s dismay.

Bernice thought they should all make their voices known by withholding their tithes, and Carol proposed a petition they could circulate. Wilma
felt maybe the group who wanted to build should leave with Pastor Paul and go build. The rest of them could stay right where they were and find a pastor who thought more like they did. Then everyone could be happy.

Although Sarah hadn’t been there since that first Wednesday prayer meeting, her name was on the list of older adults. Later in the week, when the phone tree got more organized, she received a call from someone she couldn’t even remember.

“Sarah, my name is Katherine Plumb, and I’m helping with the committee against the building campaign at the Victory Church.” Sarah felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of the church’s name.

“You go there, don’t you?” Rather than explain the “unique” circumstances, Sarah just said, “It’s my church.” She was immediately hit with a barrage of gossip organized into a plan to squash the new building campaign.

“Pastor Paul wants to start a building campaign for the church?” asked Sarah.

“Yes, and if successful, we would be forced to leave our beloved church and move to a new facility, who knows where?”

“Well, that’s not good,” said Sarah, thinking of Paul’s forward drive with the church when he was supposed to be gravitating toward the jail.

“Good, I’m glad we can count on your support. Now, here’s what we’re asking: withhold your tithe, sign the petition that Carol is circulating, and boycott Thursday visitation. If we didn’t keep getting so many new members, we wouldn’t be outgrowing our facilities. These are our first efforts. If they don’t work, you can be sure we’ll try something else.” Before Sarah could think what to say, Katherine concluded, “Thanks for your support; look for Carol; she’ll be set up in the Sunday school room with the petitions. Bye.”

Sarah was stunned by the divisiveness and evil that she felt from the plan to usurp the building campaign. At the same time, she knew that Pastor Paul was not supposed to be pursuing a secure future at this church.
Both sides are wrong. I guess two wrongs will never make a right
.

She opened her Bible to James chapter three to look for the verses on controlling the tongue, but her eyes fell on verse one of chapter three.
“Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.”

That’s Pastor Paul; he will be judged more strictly as a leader. He’s not where he is supposed to be, and he is leading this group of people where they shouldn’t go. I wonder if I should share this with him?
She smiled, remembering Barbara’s advice. I
better pray about it a lot before I decide. I sure don’t want to go shooting my tongue off and causing more problems
.

She put her feet up on the coffee table and relaxed while she prayed in tongues silently, and with her mind she interceded for the church and Pastor Paul.

Paul was in his office meeting with his trusted confidant, Mike. Mike had heard from Jessica, his wife, who heard from an older member of the church who sometimes babysat for them, who had received a phone call that there was an organized movement against the building campaign.

“Can’t they see, can’t they just see what a good thing this is for the church? I swear, every time I try to accomplish something, there’s someone to oppose it,” said Paul, slamming his palm down on his desk.

“Kind of like Jesus?” said Mike, smiling.

Paul looked a little less intense and then laughed, “Yea, kinda like Jesus.”

“I’m not sure how to deal with this, are you?”

“No,” said Paul, suddenly serious again, “they didn’t have a class on preventing church splits in seminary.”

“Apparently they should have.”

“Maybe if we can find out who the informal leader is, we can talk to him. If we succeed in changing his mind, the opposing structure will naturally deteriorate.”

“I don’t think it will be quite that easy. From the sound of it, most of the older adults feel strongly enough to sign a petition, withhold their tithe, and boycott Thursday nights,” said Mike.

“I could care less about their petition and few of them visit on Thursdays anyway, but if the majority withholds their tithe, it could be serious. The over 60 group gives nearly 65 percent of the budget. How long could we last with that kind of a reduction?”

“Well, the group health insurance for the staff just went up, and the parking lot is going to have to be repaved. I’m afraid someone is going to fall and get hurt. We’re also looking at a new roof pretty quickly; the old one is leaking in the women’s bathroom, third stall—”

“All right, I get the picture.”