Authors: Along Came Jones
A
short scramble later, Deanna sat between Shep and Maisy O'Donnall, dazed by the
barrage of questions and warmed by the friendly reception. Up front, the
mayor's wife sidled past three of her sisters to take her place in the choral
ranks behind the podium. Deanna would have had to be blind not to recognize the
woman who'd donated so many of the clothes the church provided—the loud ones,
at least. Juanita's floral red-orange suit from her winter vacation in Hawaii
screamed
Aloha
from the front row of the choir.
"It's
a cryin' shame the choir doesn't wear their robes after Easter," Maisy
whispered to Deanna after the candles had been lit. "If she don't blind
us, we'll sure as shootin' have to see them dimpled knees of hers winkin' at us
through the whole service."
When
the special music selection was over, the minister stepped up to the pulpit.
Maisy elbowed Deanna, snickering as Juanita shifted from one hip to the other,
fiercely tugging on her straight skirt until it could at least be seen below
the flowing drape of her shawl-collared jacket. Although she smiled in
response, Deanna was too nervous for any humor to be genuine.
After
the invocation and responsive reading, the congregation sang an upbeat
traditional hymn. Since there was a shortage of books, Deanna shared Shep's.
Their joined voices stood out from the rest in her ear as they sang—his
masculine one, her feminine one—blending as God designed. The words declared
that their hope was built on nothing less than Jesus. And He was
her
last
hope. All other ground was sinking sand. Only God and the Shepard next to her
kept her from being consumed by the quicksand she'd gotten herself into.
She
considered Shep as he sang the chorus without looking at the words—clean cut,
fresh shaven, and dressed to the nines, or rather from boots to bolero. She
thought him handsome from the first time she'd seen him cleaned up, but
something was different. It wasn't the suit, or even the discovery that he had
a decent voice. It was something else... a sense of confidence maybe, or was it
joy? From out of the past, a song Deanna used to sing in the children's choir
came to mind—"This Little Light of Mine."
The
answer smacked her in the face. She should have known from the Bible he kept by
the recliner or the devotionals she found in the bedroom and bathroom. Or the
way he took a total stranger into his home without some ulterior motive. It was
his faith. Unlike C. R., Shepard Jones's beauty was more than skin deep. Beyond
the physical, it came from his soul.
Indulging
a flight of whimsy, she imagined the two of them as a couple, worshiping at the
family church, surrounded by friends and neighbors. It was just like that
morning, when they'd cleared the breakfast table and done the dishes together.
The last time Deanna had felt this sense of right, she'd been a child,
surrounded by loving family
God,
I don't want it to end.
But
it had to. It was inevitable that either the law or C. R.'s shady associates
would find her. If she prayed, she should at least pray for something possible.
"All
things are possible through Jesus Christ." Reverend Lawrence's words from
the pulpit reinforced the voice that had been echoing them in Deanna's mind.
Dare she hope it was God and not Memorex?
On
either side of Deanna, Maisy and Shep joined the congregation in an
"Amen."
"With
that truth in mind, let us present our burdens and concerns for others,"
the minister proceeded. "Are there any additional requests for others
besides those on the prayer list printed on the back of your programs?"
Shep
flipped it over scanning the names, but Deanna could no longer read it.
All
things are possible through Jesus Christ.
The last three of the minister's
words kept bouncing around in her brain. Her eyes stung, while an invisible
vice closed in on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
All things are
possible through Jesus Christ.
Through
Jesus.
Was
that the missing ingredient?
A
hand covered her shaking one, squeezing it. It was her Shepard, her kind,
gallant knight, for the moment
not
in denim. "Are you all
right?" he said under his breath, head bowed in reverence to the
minister's prayer.
Deanna
nodded. She dug in vain through her purse for tissues, realizing that she must
have used the last ones at the wedding reception. Just a little more than a
week ago, it felt like a year ravaged with fear and despair.
Shep
handed her his handkerchief. "Go on; it's clean," he teased. Around
them, the congregation echoed the reverend's "Amen."
Maybe
she'd made a mistake coming to church. With her guilt for staying away and all
that happened of late, her emotions were too volatile. Desperate, Deanna
practiced a technique of breathing she'd learned in a yoga class to regain her
composure. She couldn't allow herself to become a blubbering basket case and
humiliate, not just herself, but Shep as well.
"Paul
prayed that the Ephesians might grasp how deep the love of Christ is,"
Reverend Lawrence said, commencing the sermon after reading a verse from the
large Bible on the podium.
Amplified
by the wooden acoustics, his voice filled the room with a holy authority. His
words were not just heard. Deanna could
feel
them. They brushed her bare
arms light as angel wings, lifting the downy hairs on her skin.
"The
apostle wanted them to know this love that surpassed their knowledge and
understanding, that they might be filled as only God could fill them."
Reverend Lawrence gave a little laugh. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"
It
did, especially to a beleaguered soul drained of all spirit. Deanna let out a shaky
breath.
"But
I'll bet that Seth and Becky Farley didn't feel that kind of love when Becky
was diagnosed with breast cancer." The young man who'd helped Shep carry
some feedbags out to the loading dock at the Farm and Ranch General and the
pretty woman next to him nodded, smiling. "And what about you, Mayor, when
your grandson nearly died from a tractor accident. It sure didn't feel like
God's love when the doctors told you he might not make it, did it?"
"No,
sir, it did not," a heavyset man with jowled cheeks said.
"When
bad things happen to good, innocent people, when we are pushed to the very
limit of our endurance, I don't care how strong your faith is, doubt can shake
it, and you will become involved in a spiritual battle between good and evil
that will take no prisoners. One or the other will win." The minister
leaned forward on the podium, looking around the room. "My question to you
is: Which one will triumph over you?"
"Which
one will triumph over you?"
The
question riveted Deanna to the back of the bench. Which was stronger, her doubt
or her faith? Her feelings or her knowledge?
Lord, I don't know. I know I
want my faith to be stronger.
In
the midst of her confusion, a strange warmth penetrated her awareness, as
though a comforting arm braced her back instead of the old wood, curved and
worn smooth by saints long since gone. Its reassuring welcome seemed to say,
Hey,
you came here, didn't you? That took faith.
Or
was it desperation? Doubt countered, reluctant to surrender its grip upon her
conscience.
A
voice slipped through her awareness—a testimony of faith strong enough to hold
a family together. "When our youngest son was imprisoned for drug
trafficking in California, even Ruth and I, with all our knowledge and faith in
His Word, felt like God had ignored our prayers for him. We'd done all we could
as parents and left the rest to a God... who must have taken a vacation that
week."
The
minister skimmed the sea of faces in the congregation with a twinkle in his eye
that belayed his previous statement. Behind him, Juanita Everett still
struggled with her skirt. A baby cried out suddenly on the other side of the
room, resulting in a flurry of activity to assuage it.
"Plugged
that one pretty quick," someone from the other side of the room snorted,
evoking a ripple of amusement among his peers.
Deanna
could picture a pacifier bobbing up and down as the child suckled it, but her
focus was on Reverend Lawrence. His thick, white hair gleamed in the sun cast
through a palladium panel over the stained glass windows behind the choir and
sanctuary Although he wore a pale blue suit with a clerical collar, in lieu of
a formal white robe, the light made him look like a divine messenger, waiting
patiently until the congregation was as quiet as the baby.
"I
imagine more than just a few of you have felt the same way... as if your
prayers weren't reaching God's ear... as if surrounded by a dark and stormy sea
while He slept."
Deanna's
heart squeezed out a resounding yes above the clamor of confusion in her brain.
That was exactly how she felt. Reverend Lawrence might be looking the other
way, but he was speaking to her heart—no, to her weary, flagging spirit,
battered by the doubt the reverend mentioned and compounded by her own
self-reproach. She'd made some bad choices, like not pursuing her spiritual
needs.
"No
matter how old we are, we often tend to be like the little boy who sat at his
mother's knee, watching with fascination the passes of her needle and thread as
she embroidered.
"After
studying the twisted tangle of the many-colored threads the mother had taken
such great care to stitch, he became puzzled. Why, the child asked, was she
working so hard on a helter-skelter work of knots and loose ends that resembled
nothing at all?
"I'd
say that's a pretty good description of how our lives appear at times, wouldn't
you?"
Deanna
nodded emphatically at the rhetorical question. Oh yes, she could see it now.
The
minister continued after a reflective pause. "Laughing, the mother drew
her son up on her lap and showed him the work from the topside—a beautiful
piece of art coming together one thread at a time."
Deanna's
chin sagged as the point of the story registered. The tangled strings of life
below are threads being masterfully woven according to the plan of the Great
Weaver. Great. Just when she sees a glimmer of hope, the minister tells her she
has to go to heaven before she can look down and understand. But then, the
loose ends of her life would probably expedite her journey by hanging her.
God,
this isn't exactly the encouragement
I was
hoping for.
"After
His fervent prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus Himself hung on the
cross, His human pain blurring His spiritually perfect vision. For that moment,
all He could see was the bottom of the Father's embroidery as He cried, 'My
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'"
Deanna
looked past the minister at the stained-glass depiction of the Savior on the
cross, nails driven through His hands, a crown of thorns forced upon His brow.
Why should she, with all her admitted flaws, deserve more consideration than
He, who was without sin?
"God
did not forsake His Son," Reverend Lawrence averred without doubt.
"Although, at that moment... driven to a point beyond human endurance,
Jesus
felt
—" he made air quotes with his fingers—"abandoned by
the Father. The key word here
is felt.
Feelings and faith are sometimes
at odds in our lives, dear ones. Jesus
felt
abandoned, but He
knew
He
was not," he explained. "Jesus
felt
doubt, but even while
blinded by His suffering, He reached for the thread of His faith buried in the
middle of the tangled knots and loose ends of His Father's embroidery. See the
difference?"
But
Deanna thought doubt was the sign of a poor believer. And she'd been filled
with it.
"How
do I know this?" The minister smiled. "Because next in the seven
sayings of Jesus from the cross is 'I thirst,' which I take to mean He longed
to feel God's reassuring hand, God's water for His spirit. And even though He
was given vinegar and brine instead, He still reached for that hidden thread of
faith, trusting that it was there. He surrendered Himself to God's will. 'Into
thy hands I commend my spirit.'"
Surfacing
amid the words came a message that felt like precious water to Deanna's dry
spirit.
It's okay to doubt. It's only human. Just don't give up.
"'The
Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you. He will not leave
you nor forsake you,'" Reverend Lawrence declared loudly. "You can
bet your bottom dollar that Jesus knew that quote from Deuteronomy and believed
it with all His heart and soul. It was His earthly senses, trapped in a human
body that cried out, "'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'
Not..." He struck the podium with his fist. "His..." He struck
it again. "Spirit." He waited for the words to sink in. "That
was pain speaking,
not... His... faith."
One
could almost hear a pin drop. It seemed to Deanna that even the normal shuffle
of people in their seats was stilled by the impact of Reverend Lawrence's
words. He broke the somber spell with a grin.
"Now
I know that no one in this church ever said things that he or she didn't really
believe or mean when he slammed his finger in a car door or struck his thumb
with a hammer."
Beside
her Shep laughed outright with the rest of the congregation at the minister's
tongue-in-cheek observation. "Or when his knee felt like a nail had been
driven through it by a grocery cart," he said in an aside to Deanna.
"The
more spiritually mature of us have conditioned ourselves to respond
appropriately with an excited gee willikers or something as harmless. Any
hands?" he asked facetiously
A
few ventured up tentatively Deanna's was not among them.
"Others
call out for God in a prayer that only the Holy Spirit can translate," he
added, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "And others curse God, as if
it were His fault you weren't paying attention. In other words..."
Reverend Lawrence resumed when the varied reactions of the listeners stilled.
"You say things you don't really mean or believe in because the pain blinds
us to God's presence... and you can be sure that God has not abandoned you like
it feels. He's hearing
every word you say."
A
few Amens mingled with humor rose from the congregation.
Reverend
Lawrence silenced them by raising his hands and his voice. "And Glory be
to God for showing us that, even though Jesus is the Son of God, He was also
human." He turned his notes over as if he were through with them.
"Why," he asked pointedly, "is this so important to you and me?
Because Jesus knew that we, too, would feel abandoned, even though we believed
in God's Word, and He wanted to assure us that
it's only human.
He
didn't want a wedge of guilt to separate us from His unconditional love and
understanding. He wanted us to know that He had been there, without the benefit
of His godly powers... just like you. He wanted us to know that He
understood."
Like
her, Deanna thought, her mind racing with the current of her emotions rather
than against it. Like her, Jesus had been pursued by the righteous and the not
so righteous. Like her, He'd prayed to be spared, but God hadn't answered His
prayer the way He preferred but according to God's plan.
But,
God, I don't know if I can accept Your will like Jesus. I'm not that strong.
I'm not worth the dirt under His toenails.
"Each
and every one of you is precious enough to Jesus that He died for You. You
don't have to be worthy for His Grace. And that's a mighty good deal, since
none of us are."
Gooseflesh
rose on Deanna's arms. This was too weird, even for her. It felt as if the
minister was reading her mind without even looking at her. But she knew better.
The irony was not lost on Deanna.
What
she felt and what she knew were at odds... just like her feelings of
abandonment were at odds with the Word she professed to believe in. God hadn't
abandoned her. He'd been with her all the time, waiting for her to reach up in
faith for the hand she could not see. He'd sent her a shepherd.
"Remember,
God doesn't expect us to be perfect. He knows from experience how hard that is
within the limitations of the human form, even for the Son of God. All He
expects is for us to reach up for Him in trust, admit our shortcomings, ask
forgiveness for them, and try our best."
A
sob caught in her throat. Deanna blew her nose in a lame attempt to cover it.
At Shep's inquisitive look—how could he miss the fact that she was in
tears?—she quipped, "If I'd known how good church was for my sinuses, I'd
have attended every week and skipped my allergy shots."
The
minister glanced over at a board on the wall where the music selections were
listed and announced the page number of the last one. The organ began to play
softly above the shuffle of pages and feet as the congregation rose.
"As
we sing, I want to invite you to lay your burdens down at the altar of God.
There may be someone heavy on your heart. Bring them here. You may be
overwhelmed by concerns of your own. Nothing is too big or too small for our
God. Or maybe you've felt like Jesus, overcome by pain and persecution.
In
her mind's eye, Deanna saw the interrogation where the police had hammered the
nail of accusation with merciless questions through her fear-stricken heart.
"By
rejection and humiliation..."
They'd
made her feel like trash... C. R.'s throwaway a criminal... "Abandoned by
God."
There'd
been no one to turn to, and God hadn't answered her pleas—at least she couldn't
see that He had.
"Then
come here and claim God's promise. He's reaching down for you right now,
waiting for you to take His hand."
"Are
you sick, honey?" Maisy, her heavy makeup accentuating the concern on her
face, put a comforting hand on Deanna's arm.
She
couldn't answer. A blade of emotion was slitting her throat from the inside
out. And Reverend Lawrence—no, God— was offering a balm.
"He's
saying, My child, I've been there. I know what You are feeling. I
understand."
The
reverend extended his hands to the congregation. "Come, beloved. There is
always room at the cross for you."
With
the crescendo of the organ, the people began to sing the hymn. Each word
strengthened Deanna's conviction that it was no coincidence that she wound up
in Buffalo Butte, with this man, in this church. For the first time since its
onset, the storm had cleared. And through it, Deanna saw a nail-scarred hand
reaching out to her. All she had to do was take it—trust in it.
***
Shep
wasn't sure what came over Deanna back at the church— contrition, the Holy
Spirit, or maybe a little of both. She not only sniffled through the sermon,
but when Reverend Lawrence gave the altar call, she went forward, so visibly
shaken that Shep had gone with her. When Maisy and Esther flocked to either
side of her like mother hens, he stepped aside in relief. Maybe it was a woman
thing.
"I'm
so sorry," Deanna said for the umpteenth time as he pulled up to the ranch
house. "I felt like an idiot, crying like a baby in front of the whole
church. It would have taken a plug big as a wagon wheel to shut me up."
Shep
couldn't help but smile. She may have lost her composure, but not her Brooklyn
accent and wisecracking wit. "People cry at the altar all the time."
"The
way I was carrying on though, I scared the others away... like it was
catching." She blew her nose on the ball of tissues Shep grabbed as they
left the church. His handkerchief had reached its limit, too. "Miss Maisy
and Miss Esther must think I'm some kind of lunatic."
"Maisy
and Esther know all about your trouble. That's why they ran to your side."