The Other Side of Darkness (27 page)

“Aunt Lynette is on the phone,” Mary tells me, interrupting me from my regular early-morning prayer time. I promised Sister Bronte I would pray for the church every day from six until seven. Normally, there are no interruptions at this hour, although I do find it a challenge to be up so early. Especially since I often have been up praying through the night before. And I must admit that since giving up coffee after Sister Bronte taught a nutrition class for the women of the church, it is even harder to keep my mind alert. Although I do believe Sister Bronte’s research is correct, and she’s helped me understand that not only is caffeine extremely bad for us, as bad as drugs, but Satan can use it against us as well. Still, giving it up has been hard. It’s been nearly a week so far, but I still get
caffeine-craving headaches by midmorning. I guess that simply proves how right she was.

“Tell her I’m busy,” I whisper to Mary since she has the cordless in her hand and I’m sure my sister is listening.

“She said not to tell her that,” Mary says loudly, holding the phone out to me as if it’s a weapon.

I take the phone and glare at my daughter. “Hello?”

“That’s right,” Lynette says in a grumpy tone. “I did tell Mary not to let you claim you were busy. You always make them say that, Ruth. What on earth are you so busy with, anyway?”

“Life,” I say in a flat voice. I would try to expound on my answer, but my sister is so incredibly dense when it comes to spiritual things that it hardly seems worth the effort.

“Yeah, right. Well, so am I. And I asked Mom to call you, but she says she can’t get hold of you.
No one
can get hold of you. Don’t you ever pick up the phone or check your message machine? It’s like you live under a rock or maybe in a cave. What’s up with that, Ruth?”

“Did you call just to yell at me?”

“Hmm … maybe so. But don’t you understand how aggravating it is not to be able to reach someone? I’ve considered driving over to your house and forcing my way in just so I can talk to you, but then my schedule’s pretty full too.”

“And so?”

“So in case you haven’t noticed, it’s Thanksgiving this week. And if you’d listen to Mom’s numerous phone messages or if you’d pick up when I call, you might have remembered that it’s my turn to host it. And I’m really going all out this year. You haven’t made any other plans, have you? Because Jeff did run into Rick a few days ago when he shipped some stuff for work, and he said that Rick said you guys
could come. So I expect you to be here. And, oh yeah, could you bring that sweet potato thing you always make? The one with the walnuts and apples and stuff? Mom said you wouldn’t mind.”

How dare my mother answer for me! Just because these people are relatives doesn’t mean they should control me. Brother Glenn said this very thing just last week. He reminded us of how Jesus challenged people to leave their families behind to follow him. In some ways that’s exactly what I think I should do right now.

“Ruth? Are you still there? Did you hang up?”

“I’m still here,” I say in snipped bites. “But just barely.”

“Why are you acting like this?” she asks in a softer tone. “Don’t you want to spend time with your family? We really want you guys to be here. Please, tell me that you’re coming, okay?”

Everything in me wants to say, “No, forget it. We are not coming.” But I can’t quite put these words together. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want to hurt her or because I don’t have the energy to wage this battle. With so many other battles going on, why would I look for another one?

“Maybe,” I finally say.

Then she tells me what time to come and asks if she can borrow my turkey platter.

“You can borrow the platter, and I’ll even make the sweet-potato casserole for you, but it doesn’t mean I’m coming.”

“You’re my sister, Ruth! I’ve only done Thanksgiving at my house once before, and if you remember, it was a total disaster. I need you here to help me this time. Don’t let me down like this.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“See you on Thursday,” she says firmly. “Be there or be square. Later!”

Even as I hang up, I feel fairly certain we will not go to Lynette’s for Thanksgiving. Hopefully, Rick will be so busy by then that he’ll have forgotten his conversation with Jeff—

“Are we going to Aunt Lynette’s for Thanksgiving?” Mary asks as I replace the phone in the cradle. Sarah is standing right behind her, and both of them look hopeful. It’s obvious they both heard the whole conversation.

“I don’t know …”

“Come on, Mom,” urges Mary. “It’ll be fun.”

“We’ll see …” I tell them to finish getting ready for school. I almost let them in on my secret—telling them that they have only a few more days to wear those silly uniforms—but I stop myself. Best to play this hand close to the vest. And then I remember that today is the day to write that letter to VBF. Perhaps it will help that I’m still riled by my sister’s demands to participate in her silly Thanksgiving family gathering. I seriously doubt anyone in my heathen extended family will bother to give thanks to God.

So after dropping the girls at school, I come home and sit down at Rick’s computer. I’m not really that fond of computers, but I know how to use the Word program, and if I’m going to homeschool the girls, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get a little more comfortable with this everyday technology. Jeannie Taylor, one of the homeschool moms at church, told me she couldn’t do homeschool without it.

“But don’t you worry about what the kids might be exposed to online?” I asked, truly horrified that a woman as careful and conservative as Jeannie would take such risks with her own children. I may be somewhat computer ignorant, but I happen to know that all kinds of evil lurk out there on the information highway.

“Oh, we’re not hooked up to the Internet,” she told me with an
equal amount of horror. “We wouldn’t dream of doing that. And I have to admit that the computer made me nervous at first, but we’ve found some really good academic programs that the kids just love to do. We even use these programs as rewards for when they’ve completed their handwritten work. We pretend that they’re games, but they are actually all about learning.” She smiled knowingly. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

So I remind myself as I start up the Word program that perhaps computers not connected to the Internet aren’t such a risk after all. Still, I feel odd as I type out my letter. It’s hard to explain, but I feel as if I’m being watched. Maybe it’s the old Big Brother thing, or maybe it’s that I know Satan is hovering over me, reading over my shoulder or perhaps right through the computer screen. And why not? He can masquerade as any earthly object or being.

Even if this computer isn’t actually connected to the Internet, and I know that it’s not because Rick said we can’t afford it, perhaps the computer has been programmed in such a way that information could be passed through it anyway. How would I know? Naturally, I find this very unsettling, causing me to nearly abandon my efforts before I’ve begun. But I really need to write this letter in a way that looks official. I want VBF to know I mean business!

I soon forget my computer phobias as I become absorbed in a letter that’s meant not only to explain my need for the refund of the tuition but to point out the false teaching that I believe VBF is guilty of. I even quote some Bible verses as well as a few things Sister Bronte has said. When I’m done, I’m surprised to see that my letter is three pages long. And single spaced! All in all, it’s quite a sermon I’ve created, and I’m actually fairly proud of it. Perhaps I am ready to educate my own children after all. I say a quick prayer, print it out, then
carefully fold the pages and seal my epistle in a legal-size envelope and slip it into my purse. I will deliver it tomorrow.

I am amazingly energized after creating such a fine piece of work. Similar to the way I feel after a long deliverance prayer or a deep spiritual purging, I am ready to take on my spiritual foes with force and power and authority today. I walk around my house, praying out loud against spirits, the way I often do when I’m home alone. And I ask the Lord to heighten my spiritual awareness so that I might be quick to see and quick to hear and that I might be able to sniff out the Enemy’s secret hiding places and uproot them and remove them from my home.

“Don’t let me hold back, Lord,” I pray with fervor. “Let me be diligent and disciplined as I purify my home.”

I feel the Spirit leading me as I move through our home like a purging fire. I gather up all sorts of things—it seems that many items have a history attached to them—and I pile them out in the driveway. Then I call Goodwill and ask if they’d send a truck by to pick them up. The woman informs me that they’re not scheduled to go out today.

“Too bad,” I tell her. “I have some valuable antiques and—” Well, that seems to get her attention, and a couple of hours later a truck swings by, and a couple of guys quickly load it up. But then my doorbell rings.

“You sure that’s all supposed to go, ma’am?” the short, balding man asks. “There’s some awful nice stuff in there.”

“It’s all supposed to go.” I try not to sound guilty as I look at the antique oak hall tree in the back. Rick was fond of that piece.

The man hands me what appears to be a tax receipt. “Well, thanks, and have a happy Thanksgiving!” I close the door and lean against it to steady myself. My hand shakes as I look down at the
receipt. He’s jotted down a value of five hundred dollars, which surprises me. Not that I care since I know it’s tainted. I take the paper to the fireplace and light a match, watching the yellow paper burn with holy flames. Then only ashes remain, and the spiritual rush I’d gotten while purging the house is fading.

I look at where the hall tree once stood, but instead of feeling relieved, I see its empty spot like a friend who has suddenly left me. And then, like a slap on the face, I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. I glance into the living room, which now seems stark. Many familiar pieces are missing, including a painting from my mother and numerous large houseplants that my brother Jonathan gave me while I was still unaware of his rejection of the Lord. I see the gaping holes on the bookshelf where Rick’s old books once sat, and finally I notice where the montage of old photos once hung. Rick has inquired numerous times, and I have always evaded, acting as if I’ve just taken them down temporarily. Isn’t life on earth temporary?

I feel a severe caffeine headache coming on again. And I suspect that Satan is tempting me now, trying to make me regret my sacrifices, to take false delight in corrupt material wealth. I go to my room, get down on my knees, and repent of these evil temptations. I pray to deliver my home from all demonic influence. I promise obedience and purging my life and my home from all evil, even if I have to strip this place down to the bare walls and floors. I would gladly do this to obtain spiritual peace. The loss of material things is a small price to pay for a safe haven. That’s all I really want, after all—to be safe and protected from the Evil One.

W
here’s the hall tree, Mom?” Mary asks just minutes after we’re in the house.

“I got rid of it.” I rub the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, wishing this throbbing headache would go away and longing for another shower like the one I took before picking up the girls. Handling all those items today has left me feeling especially unclean and defiled.

“You got rid of it?” She sounds an awful lot like her father right now. In fact, it occurs to me that she really resembles him too. Especially when she frowns like that. Why haven’t I noticed that before?

“Yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” I start to walk away.

“Why?”
she demands, and I turn to see her peering at me with blatant curiosity. At first I think perhaps she’s concerned about my throbbing headache, but then I can tell by her eyes that she’s questioning my state of mind.

“I didn’t want it around. And it was mine to do with as I please, Mary. I bought it, and I refinished it. And today I realized that it wasn’t good to have it in the house. It is very old and was owned by others, and I can tell that it holds some very disturbing secrets.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it was evil. I got rid of it. End of story.”

She walks around the living room, noticing almost every other
item that’s missing as if she’s taking inventory on all the things in her house, and she asks me again and again, why did I get rid of this, why did I get rid of that?
Why? Why? Why?

“I’ve told you! It was wrong to keep those evil things, Mary. It was sinful and dangerous. If you can’t understand it, it’s simply because you are not spiritually mature.”

I can sense Sarah lurking in the hallway now, listening to everything but too timid to question me the way Mary does. Or perhaps she really does understand.

“Look.” I try to put a positive spin on this. “Forget about these things, okay? They are just things, and really, they don’t matter, do they? What truly matters is that we love and serve the Lord, right?” Mary doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with those big brown eyes.

“Sarah,” I call out. “I know you’re there. Come here and listen to Mommy, okay? You can understand that some things are evil, can’t you? You understand how the Lord doesn’t want us to live with evil in our midst, don’t you? How we have to take the upper hand, get rid of the demons and evil spirits so they don’t contaminate our lives and our hearts, right?” Sarah nods but looks uneasy.

“Okay, I have an idea, girls. You know how Sister Bronte has been saying we should get a keyboard?” Mary’s eyes light up, and Sarah nods with interest. “Well, instead of waiting until Christmas, I think maybe we should go looking for one today. Then you girls can practice that song Sister Bronte wants you to share at church. Maybe you’ll have it down well enough to do it for church on Sunday.”

“Really?” Mary is eager now. “Can we really get a keyboard, Mom?”

“Change out of your uniforms,” I tell them, suddenly convinced
this is a perfect plan inspired by the Lord. “You don’t need to worry about homework tonight since you don’t have school again until Monday. Let’s go shopping.”