The Other Side of Darkness (6 page)

I have no idea why I need small bills or why I need to hide it. But I do it anyway. Maybe it’s the Holy Spirit guiding me. Just today Pastor Glenn said that the Holy Spirit often urges us to do the unexpected. I feel a huge sense of relief as I drive away from the bank. But as I get closer to home, I realize that this feeling is heavily mixed with guilt.

C
olleen and I have grown apart these past few years. At first I thought it was because she and her husband moved to the other side of town. But when I speak to her today, I’m not so sure. I’m afraid that Colleen is falling away from the Lord.

“I heard you went to that meeting,” she tells me as I wait in the parking lot for the girls to come out of school. Colleen’s twin boys also attend VBF, and she parked her SUV next to my minivan and is now standing by the driver’s side so that I am in essence a prisoner in my own vehicle.

“How did you hear that?” I ask in a slightly hushed tone, although no one is close enough to overhear our conversation.

“Ginger.”

“Oh.” I nod. Ginger has been the church secretary for nearly thirty years, which, she likes to point out, is a lot longer than Pastor Glenn has been there. Ginger is also a good friend of Colleen’s. And, in my opinion, Ginger talks too much.

“So what’s going on?” Colleen frantically waves at her son Kyle, yelling at him to quit hitting his brother with his backpack.

I shrug. “Just some planning.”

“Ginger said that Pastor Glenn is doing something behind the backs of the elders and that they’re not happy about it.”

“Carl was there.”

“Everyone knows Carl is Pastor Glenn’s puppet.”

I turn and stare at her. “That’s not a very Christlike thing to say.”

She just rolls her eyes, the same way she did in high school. “It’s a well-known fact.”

I sigh deeply, trying to think of a kind way to reprimand my old friend.

“I don’t see why you’re so loyal to Pastor Glenn. Can’t you see he’s tearing this church down with all his so-called words, which are really just false accusations? He’s going too far. And it’s just a matter of time before the council and elders toss him out.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Colleen. It’s disrespectful.”

“I’m just calling a spade a spade. Church attendance is way down. Lots of parents have removed their kids from the school. Glenn Pratt is tearing this place apart, and unless you’ve got your head in a hole, you know it’s true.”

“Just because a few people have been offended?”

“Not just a few people, Ruth. Sure, only a handful were publicly rebuked. But Glenn has torn more than a few apart in private, including my own husband!”

“Are you serious?” I study Colleen carefully. She’s always been a bit of a drama queen, but I don’t think she’s ever lied to me.

“Dennis confronted Glenn about the harshness of his ‘word of knowledge’ rebukes, and Glenn got mad and really lashed into poor Dennis.”

I frown. Pressing my lips tightly together, I consider reminding her that Dennis is far from perfect. I happen to know that he plays poker with his friends from work and that, even worse, beer is served. Colleen knows all about this, but she doesn’t seem to care. I
wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the reason Pastor Glenn reprimanded Dennis. Still, I don’t say anything. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Anyway, Dennis met with some of the elders last week. He told them that either Glenn goes or we do.”

“Really?” I blink. “You’d leave the church?”

“And we’d take the kids out of school too. I’m so glad we’re paying tuition by the month. I can’t believe you paid the year in advance, Ruth. I hope you’re not sorry.”

I don’t know what to say. And now her twins are bouncing around their SUV, yelling and swinging their backpacks at each other like a couple of hoodlums. Maybe the apples don’t fall too far from the tree.

My girls are approaching now, and I can tell by Mary’s expression that it hasn’t been a good day. “I better get going.”

“Call me!” Colleen climbs into her SUV, loudly telling her boys to buckle up and shut up.

I feel embarrassed for my friend. Despite giving her heart to the Lord so many years ago, she still has a few rough edges. And her distrust and dislike of Pastor Glenn comes as no surprise. She was terribly upset when Pastor John retired a few years ago. She’s never given poor Pastor Glenn a chance. Still, this insurrection comes as news to me. Oh, I knew that some people’s noses were out of joint for the public rebukes, but I had no idea it had gone this far. As the girls get into the van, I make a mental note to call Cynthia to mention this to her.

“I hate our new school,” Mary says as I exit the church parking lot.

“Me too,” echoes Sarah.

“It’s just going to take some time. You have to be patient. It’s only been a little more than a month, and things are still new.” Then I
begin to quote to them from 1 Corinthians 13. “Love is patient and kind. It is not jealous or boastful … or arrogant or rude.” Even as I recite these words, I feel some personal conviction. But more than that I feel offended by Colleen’s unjust judgment of Pastor Glenn. What right does she have to judge him?

I call Cynthia as soon as I get home. Trying to avoid sounding like a gossipmonger, I convey my concern over some of the rumors circulating through the church. But I don’t mention Colleen’s name.

“Oh, trust me, I’m well aware of this problem. As is Pastor Glenn. This is part of the reason for our new outreach ministry. Pastor Glenn feels we need to bring new blood into the church. We need fresh people with fresh ideas and, most of all, open minds. We want people who are willing to let the Spirit move, even if it gets uncomfortable at times. You know, the Lord doesn’t want to make us comfortable. He wants to push us onward and forward, pressing us into his glorious image, making us perfect even as our Father in heaven is perfect.”

“Yes!” I say with enthusiasm. “That’s just how I feel too. That’s what I want in my own life.”

“I know. And that’s why you’re part of our team, Ruth. We need you.”

“And I’ll get right to the phoning.”

“Good for you,” she says. “May the Lord bless your conversations!”

So while Mary and Sarah play outside, dressing up our golden retriever, Sadie, in some of Sarah’s old baby clothes, I start making calls. And I find that if I do the same lines each time, the lines Pastor Glenn wrote out for me, I’m okay. But if I deviate in any way, I get lost and confused. When I first started, I dropped my notes one time and got so flustered that I actually had to hang up on a woman.
Thankfully, I hadn’t identified myself or our church yet. After that I was much more careful.

I notice it’s getting dark, so I call the girls in to do homework, and I start dinner and put a load of laundry in, but soon I’m back to phoning. Cynthia told me that the prime time is from six to eight o’clock, and I’ve made it my goal to get through at least a third of my list tonight. I’m curious as to where these names and numbers came from, but I trust that whoever compiled this list must know what they’re doing. And it’s better than going through the phone book. I assume that most of the people I’m calling are at least saved. But occasionally I am surprised.

“How’d you get my name?” one man growls at me.

“It was on the list, and I—”

“Well, take it off the list. And you can tell whoever made that stupid list that it’s wrong for one church to be beating the bushes of another church just to increase their membership.”

“Oh, that’s not what this is—”

“I know what this is, sister. I wasn’t born yesterday. And I plan to tell my clergyman just what you people at Valley Bridge Fellowship are up to. That pastor of yours is nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing!”

“But we just wanted to invite—”

Click!

I shake my head and look at the kitchen clock. It’s after eight. Time to quit anyway. Still, I feel bad about the grumpy man. I was only saying what I’d been told to say. I hope it doesn’t reflect poorly on our church.

“Can we watch TV now?” Mary asks.

Television is a controlled substance in our house. At least when I’m home. Rick sometimes breaks the rules during the weekends, and
I’ve caught Matthew watching some things that were completely out of line. But for the most part, we only watch the acceptable shows. Mostly family sitcoms. And although they often have situations that aren’t very godly, if I’m watching with the girls, I can run damage control on some of the immoral values being taught and maybe even make some good points for the Lord.

Since Mary and Sarah are done with their homework and ready for bed, I have no excuse to keep them from watching television. And to be honest, it’s a relief just to sit down and focus on something relatively mindless. And I actually catch myself laughing a few times. Oh, I know that some of the jokes aren’t particularly godly and Pastor Glenn might not approve, but I am, after all, only human. Besides, it’s such a safe and comforting feeling to have my girls on either side of me. Everything seems under control now, and during a commercial break, which I mute, Mary makes us some microwave popcorn, and I begin to relax. It feels good.

Too soon the shows are over, it’s time for bedtime prayers, and Matthew should be coming home from his job at the bookstore. I occupy myself with folding laundry and unloading the dishwasher, but finally it’s after ten, and Matthew is still not here. It’s times like this when I wish we had cell phones.

Rick has tried to get me into this new craze (or maybe it’s an old one by now), but something about walking around, or driving around, with our heads attached to those silly little phones seems ungodly. And I’ve heard that they can heat up and explode in your ear. So I told Rick no. Besides, our budget wouldn’t allow it. But right now, with Matthew still not home, I wish he had a cell phone.

I do a few more chores and then sit down to read my Bible, but it’s nearly eleven and still no Matthew. Fearing the worst, I pace back
and forth in the kitchen, praying for the Lord to send his angels to protect my only son. I don’t like that Matthew rides his bike downtown to work. Oh sure, it’s only a few miles, and he has a good bike light and a sturdy helmet, but it’s so dark out there at night, especially since autumn has set in, and it feels so late when he gets off work at nine.

I wipe down the countertops to distract myself, scrubbing and scrubbing until it feels like I’m going to wear through the laminate finish. Then I stand at the sink, looking out the window as I wash my hands again and again. I can’t help but feel that Matthew’s welfare is directly related to me. If only I were a better mother, a better person, a better Christian, my son’s life would be on a better track. If anything happens to him tonight, I know it’ll be my fault. All my fault. All my fault.

I feel certain that some evil person has attacked my son, robbed him, mugged him … Or perhaps it was a hit-and-run driver. I read about one in the paper just last week. I go and look out the front-room window, longing to see his little light coming down the street, but all I see is darkness. Darkness that keeps getting darker.

My heart beats faster and faster as image after image assaults my mind. First I imagine my Matthew twisted and bleeding on the side of the street, crying out for help, but no one stops. And then I see my son tied up and gagged, stuffed into the trunk of a big black sedan. And it’s more than I can stand. I see myself identifying his lifeless body at the morgue, a white tag attached to his toe.

“O dear Lord, please help my son! Protect Matthew, Lord. Please, please protect my son.” I am on my knees now, a familiar posture, as I hunch over the couch and repeat this prayer again and again, as if these words will be the magic charm to keep all harm at bay.

I’m not sure how many times I say these words, but it’s as if I’m stuck and can’t stop. I will never stop praying these words until I see my son again, whole and well. And suddenly I hear the back door open, and Matthew walks into the kitchen. Make that staggers.

“Wha’s up?” he says with a crooked little smile and a noticeable slur.

I stand and stare at him, then turn and point to the clock. It’s after midnight now. “Where have you been?”

“Jus’ hangin’ wif friends …” He tries to walk past me but bumps into me, and I smell the distinct stench of alcohol on him. He tries to continue on his way, but I stop him in his tracks, firmly holding him by one arm as I stare into his watery eyes.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

“Nah …” He stupidly shakes his head. “Some of my friends were drinking, but not me. I don’t drink.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I grab him by both arms, actually shaking my six-foot son as if he were a ten-year-old.

“Stop it, Mom.”

“What’s going on here?”

I turn to see Rick enter. He sets his lunchbox in the sink and walks over to where I’m still holding on to Matthew, my fingers digging into his arms.

“She’s outta control,” Matthew says like he thinks it’s funny.

“He’s drunk.
Your son is drunk.”

“My
son?” Rick looks at me curiously.

“Our son!” I glare at both of them now. “Matthew just got home. He’s obviously been out drinking, and he’s had me worried sick and—”

“I don’t feel so good.” Matthew tries to pull away from my grasp, slowly twisting from side to side.

“Let him go!” Rick says, but I continue to hang on. “
Ruth!
Let him go! He’s going to throw up!”

I reluctantly release my son, and he staggers toward the bathroom but not in time. He bends over, clutching his stomach with both hands, and vomits in the hallway, right on the carpet.

“See.” Rick points to the mess. “I told you to let him go.”

“Thanks.” I glare at him.

“Better clean that up,” he tells me. “It’s gonna stink.”

“Why do
I
get to clean it up?”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let him go.”

Matthew eventually makes it to the bathroom, and it sounds like he’s throwing up again. And I’m almost glad that he’s sick. It serves him right. Perhaps it’s the Lord’s way of warning him about his stupid choices. But Rick goes to check on him.