The Veritas Conflict (47 page)

“One day,” Claire looked down at her hands, “we were going down this mountainside, and a rockslide started above us. She was the last person in line, right behind
me, and she threw me down and lay on top of me as this mass of rocks came crashing down. Several big rocks smashed into her.”

Claire’s eyes misted up. “I was knocked out, but really only scraped and bruised. And most of the others had gone around a bend and were fine, but Miss Gana—” After a moment, Claire took a shuddering breath. “Miss Gana was not fine. They got her down from the mountain and to the hospital, but they said her internal injuries couldn’t be repaired.”

Claire started crying. “She asked to see me at the end. She told me that God had a special calling on my life. She said that she knew I’d never committed myself to Jesus and that He wanted my heart and my soul.” Tears dripped onto Claire’s folded hands. “I prayed with her in that hospital room. She … died. In the middle of the night.”

The room was silent. After a moment, Mansfield pulled a tissue out of a box and handed it to Claire. The two men waited while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Claire smiled slightly, wadding the tissue into a ball. “Sorry to get all emotional.” She aimed for the wastebasket and made it. “But you did ask.”

“I don’t know how you could tell that story
without
getting emotional,” Ian said. “She saved your life and then she—well—she saved your
life.”

Claire sighed. “So that’s my story. My parents gave me a Bible, and I started reading it and … well … here I am. Just this struggling person trying to figure out what God’s calling is for my life.”

“A special calling, from the sound of it,” Mansfield said.

“I don’t know about that. I’ve always wanted … well, never mind that. But I feel like I’m so knocked around here that I can’t get my footing. Its hard to know what God wants me to do.”

Mansfield smiled. “A common sentiment, my dear. Just remember that its all about God. He’s the potter, and we’re the clay. Its His right to use us for His perfect will—whether these earthen vessels are used for a common or noble purpose.” He stood to his feet. “Claire, I’m asking you to consider joining our little team on this project.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“But I’m only a freshman!”

“Yes, and Ian here was only a sophomore when I realized the extraordinary spirit and gifting that God had placed in him.” He smiled at her, and she felt herself flush. “Normally its true that a research assistant would generally be an upperclassman, but in this case … well, let’s just say you’re already well versed in the issue, and I’d prefer to bring in as few people as possible on a matter as delicate as this.”

His gaze turned serious. “However, there are a few things you should carefully consider before you accept this position. I usually have quite a few balls in the air, and thus
I require a high level of professionalism in my assistants. I consider this a job, like any other job. If you say you’ll do something, I consider it done. If you say you’ll work certain hours, I’ll depend on you to be here. I realize your primary job at Harvard is to study, but I’m looking for a person who can handle both study and work. In return for this extra commitment, I pay my permanent assistants slightly more than the department average.”

His eyes bored into hers. “Are you able to commit to that, or do you want some time to think about it?”

Claire sat for a moment and let out a soft breath. A prayer coursed through her thoughts, and with a thrill of recognition, she knew what her answer should be.

“Professor Mansfield.” She stood to her feet and held out her hand. “It would be an honor to work for you.”

He shook her hand and smiled. “Done.”

She saw Ian’s grin and tried not to blush.

Mansfield gestured for her to take a seat again and picked up his notes. Claire listened carefully as he described their next steps. “Go to the archives … go to the financial offices and see if the resource staff have suggestions … make sure you check with me every few days … be discreet.” He looked up at Claire. “Please show Ian the ropes for how you researched the older documents so he can head up this project.”

“Yes sir.”

The meeting broke up and Mansfield left for another appointment. Claire compared notes with Ian on when they would make the first move. They said good-bye, standing in the long, echoing corridor of Robinson Hall, the Friday evening shadows creeping in the large windows at each end.

“So I’ll see you on Monday at three?” Ian asked. “At the steps of Widener?”

“Okay. See you then.”

Ian smiled down at her. “It’ll be a fun project.”

“Yes.” Claire’s stomach flip-flopped suddenly. She ducked her head and walked down the hall.

She climbed the stairs to her dorm room at record pace and arrived out of breath. The hallway was empty, the suite quiet, all the others presumably at dinner. She was missing the HCF meeting, but what a small sacrifice for the events of this day!

Claire sat on her bed, then flopped backward, arms out. Words of praise and thanksgiving suddenly sprang to her lips, and she didn’t feel foolish for speaking them aloud. She closed her eyes and let a simple worship song spill out. “You have been faithful.… You have been good.…”

After a moment, she reached underneath the bed and drew out a wooden jewelry box, beautifully decorated with angels and streaks of light. A portion of Psalm 91:11 was engraved along the lid: “He shall give His angels charge over thee.…”

She opened the box and poked through the jumble of earrings and necklaces. She pulled out a small, worn piece of notepaper and carefully opened it up. The notepaper bore the insignia
Marquette Memorial Hospital Marquette, Michigan
. The handwriting was uneven but clear.

My dear Claire,

What an extraordinary day. I believe I shall soon be with the Lord, and nothing gives me greater joy. The doctors say they cannot stop the bleeding, but I have no family except my brother—whom you met in the hospital—and I am only too ready to leave this dark place and go dance in the light.

But before I do, I must tell you something. Claire, when I said that God had a special calling on your life, I was not just speaking of the special purpose He has for all of us here to be His ambassadors to this world that so desperately needs His love. I meant a truly anointed calling to draw people to Himself.

On the mountain waiting for the paramedics, I don’t know if I was conscious or unconscious, but I saw what I can only describe as a vision of some kind. I saw a great assembly of people spread out in some sort of open place, a rather dark place. Its hard to describe, but there were thousands upon thousands facing a stage. And on that stage was you.

Claire gripped the paper harder, reading the familiar words as if for the first time.

I don’t know how old you were—I sensed that you were older—and I don’t know what you were saying, but you were speaking to the crowd. And as you spoke, it was as if there was a light shower of something like golden rain. It fell into the darkness in the crowd, and each place it fell, the darkness turned light and started to shine.

The handwriting grew more uneven.

They are telling me I am tiring myself and must stop. I just said that’s silly if I’m going anyway!

So anyway, Claire, I saw individual people in the massive crowd, and on many a golden cross appeared on their chests—like the cross that used to be on the armor of knights in the middle ages, you know? It was as if they were marked in some way as they listened to you and as the golden rain fell.

Dear Claire, I don’t have the gift of interpreting these things, but at least something seems clear: You have a role to speak out and see others be affected by God. You must cling to Him, Claire. If in your future there is a fight against what God has for you, you must cling even more strongly to Him. Psalm 91 says that He will send His angels to protect you, but it also says that that protection is for “he who dwells in the shadow of the Most High.” So dwell there, Claire.

Do not let the darkness distract or discourage you. He has a special purpose for you. Stand fast in the faith, and I will be part of that great cloud of witnesses cheering you on.

Claire folded the note and fell sobbing to her bed. “O God, O God … I am so weak, so feeble! Who am I that You should regard me? Who am I that You should give me
any
special calling? God, whatever You have for my life, I yield to You.” She paused, wiping her tears on her pillow. “And God … just don’t let me mess it up!”

FORTY-TWO

“H
EY
. D
ID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE CRASH?”

Claire looked up from her desk, her mind still trying to process the nuances of protons and neutrons. Sherry was standing half in, half out of the bedroom.

“What?” Claire could hear the television in the lounge area of their suite and a lot of voices talking at once. She had thought it was just another Sunday evening procrastination session.

“A jumbo jet crashed just outside Chicago about nine o’clock this evening. The news said it was one of the worst air disasters ever. Something like—” Sherry leaned back into the common area—“how many, you guys?”

Several voices could be heard beyond the door. “Four hundred.”

Sherry turned back to her roommate. “Four hundred people on board. All presumed dead. The plane crashed right beside one of the Great Lakes. I forget which one.”

“How awful.”

Claire went out into the lounge area. Several of her hallmates were coming into the room, joining others watching the news. There were hurried shots of crying people, glimpses of the rainy nighttime weather outside O’Hare, cameramen jostling each other, reporters shouting questions.

“Sir, how did you find out that your wife …?”

Claire watched the ravaged faces, sick to her stomach.

“Sir, would you like to say anything to the airline …?”

“How do you feel about this tragedy …?”

“How the heck do you think they feel?” Torri was perched on the arm of the couch, her face tight as she yelled at the screen. “I hate those blasted reporters.”

Stefan was sitting against the coffee table. Sherry sat next to him and leaned into his shoulder.

Teresa was also there, teary-eyed. “Those poor people. God comfort them.”

“Yeah, right.” Mercedes snorted, leaning against the wall near her room. “Like God cares, even if He does exist.”

Claire’s head snapped around. Teresa glanced in her direction, her eyes red, before responding to Claire’s suitemate. “He does care. Just because we don’t know why something happens doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t give me any of your religious trash! How—”

“Cut it out, Mercedes. You always harp on the fact that you don’t believe in God, but I know that God exists and He does care. Now is not the time for—”

“Give it a rest, Saint Teresa. In the face of
that
, “her finger jabbed toward the screen, “how can you even
begin
to argue the existence of a loving God?”

Stefan stirred a bit. “Hey, Mercedes, tone it down would you? Her religion is how she deals with tragedy—all the people on that plane are now in a better place, that sort of thing. We all find our truth and our comfort in different places.” He nodded several times, his voice kind. Sherry was looking up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “its important that people pursue whatever works for them.”

“I don’t mind it when people practice their religion in private,” Mercedes said. “Just don’t get in my face about it.”

Teresa stood up. “And you’re not in
my
face? So its only nonreligious people who are allowed to broadcast their private opinions? But if a person of faith wants to do so, its called getting in your face?”

Claire stood up straighter
That’s a really good point
. Why couldn’t she ever think of good comebacks like that?

Mercedes’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t think anyone here wants to hear your fundamentalist judgments at a time like this.”

Teresa glanced again at Claire, her eyes pleading.

A strong sense of conviction overwhelmed her.
You do not know how to respond, because you never take the risk and try. Set aside your pride, child. Trust
.

Claire glanced at the pictures of the hellish nighttime crash site, shots of the initial flames playing and replaying on the screen. Several verses flashed through her mind.
“The prince of this world …” “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith …”

Should she say something?

In a flash Claire somehow knew that she was being presented with a choice, a life-changing decision. The next level in her walk with God, or retreat and self-protection. It was stark and obvious, staring her in the face. And she had to choose.

“And besides,” Mercedes was continuing, “you can’t even answer my question about how a loving God would do something like this.”

“I think you’re confusing God with Satan.” Shocked, Claire realized those words had come out of her mouth. All heads turned in her direction, and she noticed some of her hallmates looking embarrassed for her.

For one split second she faltered, but then a surge of confidence overtook her as the argument took shape in her mind. “We’ve all seen both good and evil in the world. God is completely good and loving, but there is also a being of pure evil in the world. God
doesn’t delight in causing planes to crash; but the evil one sure does.” She gestured at the television screen. “Would you say that looked like the work of a good and loving God? Or like the work of an evil being that loved killing and destroying?”

Torri was openly staring, her eyes incredulous. “But God is supposed to be all-powerful, right? So He may not have
caused
it, but …”