The Other Side of Darkness (11 page)

“But what about church and school and—”

“To be perfectly honest, we were both getting a little fed up with the whole thing at VBF. Maybe this is God’s way of rescuing us.” She laughs again.

“I can’t believe you think it’s funny.”

“Okay, it’s not really funny. But Dennis and I are happy about it. The company is going to cover all moving expenses and provide us with really nice housing, and we’ll just put our place up for rent. If things don’t work out, we’ll come back home. We see it as an adventure, Ruth. Can’t you be happy for us?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if you’re really happy and you’re sure it’s the Lord’s will.”

“We are!”

I guess I should be relieved. Having Colleen that far away will eliminate any possibility of my being influenced by her, which I’m sure will make Cynthia happy. Still, I feel sad. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too! But we’ll stay in touch. Have Rick teach you how to set up an e-mail account on the computer. We can e-mail each other all the time.”

“Yeah …” But even as I say this, I know that I won’t. Communicating with Colleen is probably not a healthy thing for me to do. Besides, the Internet isn’t spiritually safe. I’ve heard Cynthia say this repeatedly.

“And that reminds me,” she says suddenly. “I told Darlene at work that you might be interested in my job. She said to come on in and introduce yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’d love to stay on the phone and gab with you, but I’ve got a million things to do.”

So we say good-bye and hang up. And even though I know Colleen is still on the other side of town, I feel like she’s already gone. I feel like the Lord has removed her from my life for a reason, and I’m flooded with a conflicting mixture of relief and sadness—and confusion.

I manage to distract myself during the next few days. We’re putting up posters for the concert, taking announcements to the local Christian radio stations, and just trying to get the word out.

“We might have to hold this thing outdoors,” Pastor Glenn tells
us at our meeting just two days before the concert, “if the predictions for numbers are correct.”

“What about the weather forecast?” asks Carl. “I heard it’s supposed to rain on Friday.”

“Maybe we could rent one of those big tents,” suggests Edna.

“On such short notice?” says Cynthia. “We’d probably be better off to pray against the rain.”

“Yes!” agrees Pastor Glenn. “Let’s pray against the rain.”

So we all bow our heads and fervently plead with the Lord to deliver us from the rain. We bind the spirit of storms and rain and clouds, and sometimes we even laugh at our prayers, but we mean it. God knows we mean it.

“Okay then,” Pastor Glenn says with a big smile. “Let’s plan on holding this thing outside in the church parking lot. Carl, you coordinate this with the sound guys, and, Edna, you let Ginger know.” He claps his hands. “And everyone keep praying against the rain!”

I want to ask what the backup plan is if it should rain, but I know this would sound like a lack of faith on my part, so I keep my doubts to myself.

But when Friday comes, it is overcast and gloomy outside. As I drive the girls to school, I feel a heavy spirit coming over me. “You girls need to pray against the rain. Pray that the clouds will all blow away in time for the concert tonight.”

“Do you really think the Lord will change the weather for the concert, Mom?” Mary asks.

“Why not? He sent frogs to the wicked Pharaoh. Why can’t he blow away the clouds so we can have a beautiful Christian music event tonight?”

“I’ll pray against the rain, Mommy,” says Sarah. “I know the Lord can do it!”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I didn’t say I
wasn’t
going to pray,” Mary says quickly. “I just wasn’t sure the Lord would change the weather.”

“The Lord can do anything,” I remind them.

“That’s right,” echoes Sarah. “The Lord can do anything!”

We also pray against the rain at Bible study, and to my relief I’m not spotlighted in the group for any kind of special prayer or deliverance today. In fact, it’s a rather ordinary Bible study, and much of our focus and energy is directed toward tonight’s concert and what it might mean for our church and its growth. We pray specifically about this and for all the visitors who might show up tonight.

As the day progresses, my faith increases. It seems the Lord really is holding back the rain. When I pick up the girls, I see that the school traffic has been rerouted to the back of the church so chairs can be placed in the parking lot. And the sound stage is all set up in the front with balloons and streamers, and it really does look like something exciting is going to happen tonight. My job is to help greet new people and to give them fliers with information about our church along with a schedule of church activities.

Both girls seem excited about the concert as we fix a quick dinner for the three of us. Naturally, Rick is working and won’t be able to make it. No surprises there. And Matthew is working tonight as well, but at least he promised to stop by if he can get off in time. I’m praying that will be the case. A concert like this might be just the sort of thing that my slightly prodigal son would actually respond to. At least he hasn’t come home drunk lately.

We head over to the church early so the girls can get good seats while I work as a greeter. But as I drive toward the church, I am surprised at how dark it is outside, and seeing people’s homes decorated for Halloween, which is only a few days away, I feel a spirit of darkness looming over our entire town. Silently I pray against it and against the rain.

I feel a wave of relief when I pull up to the church, parking far off to the left of the building where there are still a few spaces available. But as we walk through the well-lit parking lot, where Mary and a bunch of her friends helped to string scores of Christmas minilight strands so it looks really festive, I am glad to see quite a few people are already here. Some are at work, while others are visiting and milling about the parking lot, and then the musicians start warming up. There’s a feeling of energy and high expectation in the air. And all in all it appears to be a happy and inviting scene. Yet something is bothering me.

“The band wasn’t too thrilled to find out that we’re having this outdoors,” Amy quietly tells me as she hands me a stack of fliers.

“Why’s that?” I ask as Cynthia joins us.

“They’re afraid it’s going to rain and their equipment will be ruined.”

“Pastor Glenn assured the young men that prayer warriors have been praying against rain for the last several days,” Cynthia adds in an authoritative voice. “And as you can see, it hasn’t rained a drop all day.”

“Maybe we should pray right now.” I mostly suggest this because my faith is lagging a bit. I can feel the heaviness in the air, which I know is partly spiritual opposition, but I can also feel a heaviness of rain, perhaps even a storm coming. I’ve always been sensitive
to weather like this. My dad sometimes called me his little barometer. Of course, I don’t want to tell the women this.

“That’s an excellent idea,” says Cynthia. “Why don’t you lead us, Ruth?”

And so I do. And together we all bind the rain and the clouds and the darkness and Satan and his demons and deceptions. And then we loose the Lord’s Spirit and goodness, and finally we shout out, “Amen!”

“Good for you,” Pastor Glenn says as he passes by with a couple of the elders flanking him on either side.

“And pray for our pastor,” Cynthia whispers to me after Amy goes over to distribute more fliers to some other greeters.

“Any special reason why?” I’m surprised I have the nerve to ask this, but it seems my confidence has been growing lately.

“The elders and the council,” she says in a hushed tone. “They haven’t been supportive of the outreach concert.”

“Too bad.”

But people are starting to arrive, so we move to our preappointed positions, ready to greet the newcomers and make them feel at home. But within a few minutes, it becomes clear that parking is going to be a challenge since we’re using most of the church parking lot for the concert. Cars are forced to park in nearby neighborhoods, and people must walk several blocks to get back here. Naturally this leads to some complaining once they arrive. And then some savvy drivers start dropping off passengers closer to the church, which actually causes a bit of a traffic jam and slows things down even more. But eventually most of the people are in place, the chairs are filled, and finally, about thirty minutes later than planned, Pastor Glenn steps onto the stage and offers a warm welcome to all.

“We’re so pleased you could make it tonight. And we’re equally pleased that the Lord has been gracious to answer our prayers, holding back the rain so we could all enjoy a beautiful outdoor concert.” He continues to tell them about his vision for reaching out to the community, opening the church up, and making everyone welcome. And as he speaks, I think, not for the first time, that Pastor Glenn has a certain kind of charm and charisma. When he’s being lighthearted and happy, most people are naturally drawn to him.

“And it seemed that a concert was a wonderful way to kick things off,” he says finally. “We hope you’ll be blessed by the music tonight. So, let’s all offer a warm welcome to our talented musicians—Recycled!”

With that, the band strikes up a lively song, and most of the audience seems caught up in the rhythm and enthusiasm, and some of the younger people, including my two daughters, even stand up and clap along. After the first song, there is long, loud applause, and then the leader of the band introduces himself and his band members. It really seems like tonight is going to be a huge success, and even the elders and council should be pleased. Then midway through the second song, a flash streaks across the sky, followed several seconds later by a loud clap of thunder. But the band keeps playing.

Sarah’s hand slips into mine, and I know she’s afraid, but I give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and then I close my eyes and fervently pray with every ounce of faith I have, begging the Lord to hold off this storm until the concert is over and everyone is safely back in their cars and heading for home. But the third song barely starts before it begins to rain. Huge, fat droplets shoot from the sky like soft bullets, but at least there aren’t many of them. Then the
second bolt of lightning flashes, almost directly overhead, accompanied by a thunderous boom that I can feel in my chest.

People immediately rise to their feet, but the brave band continues to play. That may be reassuring to some of the younger members of the audience, like my Mary, who seems hardly fazed, but the older ones are already skirting toward the edges of the chairs and into the church. The musicians look nervous, and the leader appears to be signaling to them that they’ll quit at the end of their third song. But before the song is finished, another bolt slashes down through the sky, and it feels like God’s judgment. And in the next second the music is silenced, and everything turns pitch black, and a few people actually scream in terror.

Sarah still clings to my hand, and I reach to grab hold of Mary’s. Everyone seems to be running in different directions now, and I’m not even sure which way to go.

“This way, Mom,” Mary says to me, and for some reason I trust my twelve-year-old and follow, pulling Sarah along behind me. Finally we make it to the far edge of the parking lot, away from the church, going the exact opposite direction of almost everyone else. Now it’s really pouring, and we’re getting soaked.

“Let’s go,” says Mary.

“Where?” I ask dumbly, thinking we should head back to the church.

“Home!”

I start to protest but then realize she’s probably right. And then another flash of lightning shows us that the minivan is only a few yards away. So, holding hands, we make our way through the wet darkness to where we think we spotted our van. It’s such a relief to unlock the doors and climb into the dry and well-lit interior. And then I get an idea.

“Maybe we should drive over there,” I say to the girls. “Closer to the church with our headlights on so others can see to find their way to their own cars.”

“Good idea, Mommy!” exclaims Sarah.

So I carefully back up and navigate my way closer, pointing my lights directly toward the church. I’m amazed at how much they illuminate the previously blackened parking lot. People seem to understand what we’re trying to do, and some even wave as they dash through the rain toward their cars. And before long, other cars are doing the same thing. That’s when Sarah starts singing “This Little Light of Mine.” Mary and I join right in, and soon we are laughing and making jokes, and it’s really not so bad. Oh sure, I feel sorry that the concert was ruined, but it’s not the end of the world.

Finally, when it seems things are under control and plenty of vehicles are lighting the way for others, I decide to take my girls home. We’ve had enough excitement for one night. But we’re all in good spirits when we get home, and I’m pleased to discover that the power outage hasn’t hit our side of town.

“Can we watch a video?” pleads Mary once we’re safely inside the house.

“Oh, I don’t know …”

“Please,” begs Sarah.

“We would’ve still been up if we’d stayed at the concert,” rationalizes my older daughter.

“And we’re too excited to sleep anyway,” adds Sarah, which I know is true.

So we change out of our wet clothes into jammies, pick out an old Doris Day video, make some popcorn, and snuggle onto the
family-room couch and watch the movie together. And, really, isn’t this better than a concert out in the rain and cold?

Of course, I feel guilty for having this thought. I know it’s wrong to rejoice over someone else’s misfortune. And then I consider all the work, time, and prayers we all put into this thing tonight. And what about the band and their instruments? Well, I know I should feel much worse. Maybe I will tomorrow.

I
ran into Dennis McKinley at the gas station yesterday,” Rick tells me on Saturday. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper, but he’s eying me carefully as if he’s suspicious about something. “Dennis says they’re moving to Albuquerque.”