Angels of Humility: A Novel (30 page)

Paul tossed and turned on the couch that night.

Sarah had been in the hospital a week, and in her mind that was seven days too long. Therapy was slow, tedious, and painful. The therapist, Janet, came to her bed and helped her work her leg and foot. Once a day she was transported by wheelchair to physical therapy. She was trying to walk, holding on to parallel bars. Janet always encouraged Sarah as she held her up with a belt circling her mid section. Progress was slow. Of course, the Parkinson’s made it worse.

The caseworker from social services had come by and discussed temporary facilities with Sarah. She’d need to be totally cared for the next five or six weeks. The only place offering that was the Manor, unless she wanted to be transported to Mt. Peilor, but she didn’t know anyone there.

The Manor had three levels of care for their residents. The first was assisted living. This was a small apartment where a person lived independently, but the staff did the laundry, cleaning, and meals. All the residents dined together. The next option was where Sarah would start, the temporary wing. She needed 100 percent care, but most people there were expected to recover and move on or go to the third level, which was skilled nursing. This was the nursing home. Nobody ever wanted to go there; nobody ever went home from there. That was home until the end.

Social services had been very adamant about Sarah’s options. First, living at home by herself was not an option. If she recovered fully, they recommended she hire someone to live with her or that she move into the independent living facility at the Manor. If she didn’t recover fully, they recommended the skilled unit.

Sarah was praying fervently about her living arrangements and about the prisoners that she was unable to visit. She talked Barbara into going to the jail to explain to the inmates that Sarah hadn’t abandoned them. “One more thing, please swing by Jamie’s Bakery and pick up eight dozen cookies. I had to give up on Slice ‘N’ Bake cookies, and these cookies are the best. Get five dozen chocolate chip, and one dozen each of peanut butter, snicker doodles, and oatmeal. And get two of the oatmeal without nuts. Spike loves oatmeal, but is allergic to nuts. Oh, and get a cinnamon roll for Toothless Ed. Thanks.”

Barbara hung up the phone chuckling. “What a lover.”

Barbara wouldn’t have turned down Sarah’s request for anything, but she was very anxious when she pulled up in front of the jail by herself. She’d prayed all the way there and didn’t slow down as she approached the entrance. She explained to the first guard she met that she had a message from Sarah for the inmates. He immediately led her to the main corridor and shouted, “Listen everyone, this is Barbara and she has a message from Sarah.”

Never one for public speaking, especially to a group of male inmates, Barbara stammered and stuttered, all the while looking at her shoes. She finally communicated that Sarah had broken her hip. She added that Sarah missed seeing everyone and she was still praying for each of them and would try to come back as soon as she could, but it might be five or six weeks.

Then she moved from cell to cell offering cookies. I
hope they can’t see my heart pounding through my blouse
. When she looked to the left, down the row of cells, all she could see were muscular biceps extended between the steel bars. She had to keep telling herself they were waiting for her cookies, not for her throat.

Most of the inmates sent greetings back to Sarah; many commented that they would pray for her as well. Barbara had a special message for Will. After locating him, she told him, “Sarah said she’s praying for you and she hopes to get back soon to see you. She also said that she’s suspending the two cookie limit for you today—you’re to have three.”

Will grabbed three cookies and grunted, but Barbara noticed that just for a second, he looked like he might tear up. Then he turned his back and sat down.

By the time Barbara finished, she was much more at ease. The inmates seemed genuinely concerned about Sarah and overall had been very polite. She surprised herself by walking back to the middle and asking, “Who wants cookies tomorrow?”

It was unanimous.

Barbara couldn’t wait to report back to Sarah. After being so discouraged about her limited living options, she knew Sarah would enjoy hearing this good news. She turned onto Old Highway 3 and headed for the hospital.

In Barbara’s excitement, she burst in the door, startling Sarah, who dropped her sippy cup and spilled grape juice down the front of her hospital gown. They both had a good laugh about it. “I just got back from the jail, and I had to tell you about it. I’ve been a nervous wreck all day, and the closer I drove to the jail the more nervous I got. Do you remember you told me that the first time you left the jail you had sweated so much that your shirt was soaked at the armpits?”

“I sure do,” she said chuckling at the memory.

“Well, mine was soaked through before I even got to the bakery.” They shared another laugh.

“How’d it go?”

“Great, once I started passing out the cookies. Almost everyone was receptive. Everyone took cookies and Sarah, most of the inmates said
they would pray for you
. They seemed genuinely concerned.”

“That’s so nice to hear. I sure miss my regular visits there.”

“And, I’m going back tomorrow!” Barbara said with enthusiasm.

Nothing could have pleased Sarah more. She gave Barbara a few more messages for specific inmates and filled her in on which inmates were already Christians. “Start off by getting to know them. Then you can have a few encouraging experiences before tackling some of the harder cases.”

“Wow, spoken like a pro.”

Sarah smiled. “By the way, did you give William my message?” “Yes, he grunted appreciatively.”

“Grunted, eh, well it sounds like you’re making more progress than I did. From William, I’d consider a grunt to be a whole conversation.”

Paul arrived at the church extra early on Sunday. He knew the day would be grueling, but didn’t know exactly what to expect. He went to his office and prayed.
God, would You thwart the opposition to Your plan? Let me have wisdom to say the right things and let my message communicate today
.

The knock on his door made him jump. It was Mike, who had come early to lend moral support. “Well, Mike, what am I up against today?”

“At the very least there will be a petition. I don’t know where the plan to withhold the tithes is.”

“Mike, I’m going to hit the issue of withholding the tithe in the sermon today. Can we change the order of the service and take up the offering after I preach? I think we’ll get a better response financially.”

“Sure.”

The petition was circulated in the older adult’s Sunday school class and everyone signed it. Wilma even made a joke that set everyone laughing.

“Look,” she said while writing her name twice as big as the other signatures, “I’m John Hancock.”

Paul hadn’t dared enter their Sunday school class to confront them about the petition. That was clearly their domain, and a petition didn’t mean anything anyway to the government of the church. Anything official required a vote.

Paul was sitting on the front row when they filed in together. He almost laughed; they looked like a retired military unit. Everyone marched together, single file, not looking to the right or the left, and then they all sat together in the center section, filling rows three through seven.

Paul felt like he was on trial, and they were certainly a hanging jury if he ever saw one. No one cracked a smile. Many sat with their arms crossed in front of their chests.

No offering was taken during the special music, and when it was finished, Paul stood behind the lectern.

“How many Pentecostals does it take to change a light bulb?” He paused for effect then answered, “Ten; one to change the bulb and nine to rebuke the spirit of Darkness.” He got a few laughs from the younger crowd, but rows three through seven still looked like they were sucking lemons.

He began, “I know that there are concerns among some of the members over the proposed building plan—”

“Amen to that,” shouted Floyd Fenley. His wife blushed and elbowed him in the side. His comment got a bigger laugh than Paul’s joke.

“—but I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will satisfy the majority of the church. Tonight we will have a meeting to discuss the plan. There will be an open microphone, and I invite all of you to come and make your opinions known. We, the elders and I, want to hear everyone’s input. Please come.”

Now, put this in your theological pipe and smoke it
, thought Paul as he began preaching about the tithe and how it was holy unto God. He didn’t come right out and say he was preaching for the benefit of the older member’s boycott, but everyone knew. When he ended, he called the ushers forward
and sent them up and down the aisles with the golden plates. To his surprise, every person on rows four through seven dropped in their tithe envelopes.
Yes! Yes! They were reachable; they were reasonable. They heard my message and changed their minds
.

Later that afternoon Mike called to tell Paul that inside all those envelopes were tithe checks with a big “VOID” written across the front. Some of them had scrawled notes in the memo or the back saying that when the building campaign was dropped they would resume paying their tithes. And some of the notes were not even Christian in content.

Paul was crushed. He hung up the phone and went to his office. Not only was the boycott still in full swing, but his preaching had failed to sway even one opposing member. This pulled up all his old rejection issues. Kathy was playing with Jordan and hadn’t even heard the phone ring. Paul passed the afternoon battling demonic mood swings from anger at Kathy for not being sensitive to his needs, to self-pity at having so many church members who were jerks.