The Lights of Tenth Street (71 page)

He could not see his colleagues, but he knew they were there, surrounding the house, similarly shielded from the unearthly, hate-filled eyes inside. Off in the distance he could hear the sounds of the great battle being fought, but here—here it was dark, quiet, tense.

He watched as silent shapes began converging on the house from two sides, dark shadows flitting between trees and behind parked cars. Only moments … only moments …

And in an instant, he could feel the hand of the Master at work, moving all pieces smoothly into position. The angel felt a surge of holy power, of great trust, knowing that He had it all under His perfect control.

He shepherded his charge the last few feet, noting with satisfaction that the motion lights did not come on as she checked her little notepad one last time and lifted her hand to knock on the dark front door.

“Yes, sir.”

Sherry watched in horror as the man at the window received a phone call, listened briefly, and pulled a gun from his belt.

“Yes, sir.”

He walked away from the window and tapped his seated colleague on the shoulder, gesturing to the phone and then to the hostages. His voice was hard, unemotional.

“We’ll take care of it right now and meet the others back at the building.”

The seated henchman stood, stretching, lifting the heavy pistol from his lap.

“So it’s a go, then?”

“Yes.” The first man strode past the Woodwards and planted himself in the middle of the room, raising the gun toward the sofa.

Sherry tried to shout, tried to stand, but suddenly the firmest pressure she had ever felt held her fast in place, frozen, without words.

The man pointed the gun straight at Genna.

Knock, knock!

For a fraction of a second, concentration was broken. The shot rang out, shattering a distant window. And suddenly Vance was there—shouting and charging,
rearing up in his bonds and swinging his body and the chair like a battering ram at the man’s back.

The gun went flying, and the man turned to grapple with Vance, enraged and in pain, his henchman coming to his aid.

And suddenly the doors shattered. Bright lights—blinding lights—and men with guns came streaming through every door.

Sherry and the others screamed, cowering as the shots rang out, the two men falling, cursing, turning their guns on their attackers, Vance tangled in the middle of the melee, still tied in his chair.

And then, silence. A silence broken only by the terrified gasps of children and the sharp orders of hard-faced men in black, not yet ready to let down their guard.

“Search the house!”

“Any other gunmen here, ma’am?”

“Get a paramedic!”

Men surrounded them, cut their bonds, handed her terrified children into her arms. Jo cried out in relief as her husband was extricated from the pile, apparently unharmed, and rushed to embrace her and their son. There were two men on the floor: one broken and still; one being roughly hauled away.

And there was an unfamiliar woman cowering at the shattered front door, her hands slowly dropping from their protective position over her ears, a pocketbook askew on the doorstep. Her mouth opened and closed, unable to form any words.

Sherry stared at the source of the perfectly timed knock on the door. Holding her children close, she took a tremulous step forward, her voice disbelieving.

“Linda Hanover?”

Doug could hardly sit still as the van screeched to a halt amidst bright lights, throngs of spectators and emergency sirens piercing the night.

He had the door open before the van stopped moving, Agent McKendrick shouting after him to wait.

He didn’t wait. He ran up the busy lawn, pushing past the men in black, hearing McKendrick close behind shouting in a hoarse voice to let him through.

The door to his house was shattered, broken off its hinges, but he hardly noticed. The sound and chaos faded away, there were no more senses but sight, and all he could see was what was inside.

A young woman—a beautiful woman—was kneeling on the carpet, arms around two small children, stroking their hair, comforting them, turning their faces away from the chaos in the living room.

O God
 … He could hardly believe it, rushing forward.
O God … thank You, thank You!

There were embraces then, embraces like he’d never known before and never wanted to end. Kisses and tears and small hands desperately clasping him, and the sweet beloved scent of his wife, pressed against him, his cheek resting on her hair. He knelt and held them all and breathed it in, unable to comprehend how he had been given back what he had so recently given up, wondering if he could ever love his heavenly Father more than he did at this moment.

Across the room, he dimly saw the Woodwards huddling, rocking and crying with each other, wiping their tears away. And to one side, a shaken woman, a stranger, her face anxious, watching the door. She caught his eye and smiled a little, but seemed to sense that he had no focus for anything but the world in his arms and turned back to the door.

Ronnie allowed a tall agent to lead her up the path toward the front door, her stomach twisting amid all the noise and confusion.

She hovered on the threshold, hardly able to believe the evidence. It was impossible … and yet, there it was. The shaking, weeping, joyful results of all of Doug’s prayers.

She put a shaking hand to her mouth, sudden tears blurring her vision.

It is real, isn’t it? You’re really there! It’s not just a story, not a fairy tale
. Her mind grasped for the words her heart was crying out.
O God … I want … I want
 …

“Ronnie?”

She turned, unable to see from the tears. But that voice—

“Ronnie!”

She felt the arms go around her and gasped, suddenly clasping, grasping, sobbing in her mother’s arms.

She was beyond asking how on earth her mother was here, beyond wondering at the tender change in this woman. She let her mother hold her like she’d always longed to be held as a little girl, allowed herself to weep unashamedly from love, from grief, from the unexplainable feeling that overwhelmed her.

The darkness receded, the dark corners of her soul clearing and lightening with the knowledge of what had to happen soon … very soon …

Caliel shot into the sky, his face alight! He blazed into the heavens, surrounded by rank upon rank of the heavenly host, their voices raised in such praise and thanks-giving
that it seemed the very ends of the earth would echo.

And why not? The Ancient of Days had held out His scepter and death had been averted! In love and mercy and desperate care He had again—again!—moved heaven and earth to see His people set free, to save His little ones from the wiles of the enemy and the consequences of willful sin.

Caliel looked southward, watching with satisfaction as an airport scene unfolded almost as an afterthought. He watched as a raging beast was taken into custody, his lustful force unspent, unsatisfied, reduced to insignificance—at least for now—by the blazing holiness of the One who had orchestrated every step.

There had been not one lost! Not a one! Would the Lord’s fickle children grasp what had been done for them this night? Would the talk shows proclaim the miracle … or the great detective work? Would they listen to Doug’s stories or would his earnest calls toward Jesus fall on deaf ears? Would the news clips with their twenty-second sound bites broadcast his faith?

Every fiber of Caliel’s being rejoiced with honor and love and adoration, joining the heavenly chorus that ascended to the Throne. He stood side by side with Loriel, his comrades, feeling—with intense thrill—the Almighty’s pleasure in the work that they, too, had done.

He sensed the Father’s tender gaze as He looked upon a beloved child. A little lamb taking shaky newborn steps, tottering, running into the fold. A beloved little lamb who was no longer … no longer lost.

R
onnie held her breath and felt the water close over her head, felt her body immersed in it, felt the weightlessness, the peace, the silence.

And then she was up, the cheering and clapping ringing in her ears, the water of new life streaming from her hair, her face … coming up clean.

The lights of the church shone through her water-dropped eyes like stars, their halos sparkling with myriad colors. But no—those were people. People she knew, standing, cheering up at her, clapping, their figures blurry with the water and her tears. Her mom … Doug and Sherry … Jo and Vance … shining like stars. Tiffany, smiling politely, clapped beside them, not understanding—not yet—the piercing love of the Savior.

She looked to the heavens and felt those loving arms again wrapped around her, those arms that would never abandon nor forsake her. She looked to the heavens, to her Abba Father, a smile in her eyes and one word filling her mind. Filling her, for the first time, with great joy.

“
Daddy.
”

1. What did you think of Ronnie? How did you view her at the beginning, middle, and end of the story? If you had met Ronnie halfway through the story, when she was already an exotic dancer, would you have viewed her differently?
   
2. How should Christians interact with someone living a sinful, even depraved, lifestyle? If that person is willfully sinning, does it matter how they got there? Does it make a difference whether the person in question is a believer or a nonbeliever?
   
3. What did you think of Doug? Did you view him differently once you saw that he was ashamed of his sin and felt unable to stop? Do you believe that people can be addicted to sex, the same way that people can be addicted to alcohol, drugs, or gambling, or is it just willful sin?
   
4. What did you think of Sherry? How did you view the way she interacted with Doug
   before
   she knew of his problem? Although a person bears the responsibility for his or her own behavior, are there things the person’s spouse can do to either exacerbate or improve that behavior?
   
5. Consider the spiritual element of the story. Do you believe that there is a spiritual reality beyond what we can see, with angels and demons interacting behind the scenes?
   
6. Is there a spiritual analogy to the terrorists’ use of Ronnie and Doug as pawns in their dark plot? What spiritual parallels do you see in how the enemy of our souls might operate, and how we might react?
   
7. How might you adopt the message of unconditional, nonjudgmental love to how you live your own life, and how you and your church interact with those outside the church?
   
8. For married readers: how might the marriage-related messages of the story help you in your own marriage?
   

Because of the importance and sensitivity of the issues raised in this book, I believe it is important to explain the story behind the story, to provide encouragement and resources for those who want to do further investigation.

Before I began this book, I had never given much thought to the sex industry, believing—as many of us do—that it was not touching me or my community personally. It just didn’t seem to intersect my suburban, comfortable life in any way. What I didn’t realize was that this industry impacts all of us in both subtle and pervasive ways, whether we are aware of it or not.

Further, although I knew that Jesus befriended prostitutes and others ostracized by society, I could never (to my shame) imagine myself doing the same. Now, after a year of research and writing, I count a number of former strippers as dear friends. And I realize that even in the depths of their entrapment in that life, they were normal people caught in an abnormal situation. That is not to excuse sin, but when we recognize that everyone has a story, it is much easier to look on them and love them as a
person
, rather than focusing solely on their behavior.

Several of the ministry leaders I interviewed put it like this: We must look at whatever root is behind the bad fruit on the tree. Aboveground, we see only the fruit—someone’s visible behaviors. But hidden belowground is the root of that behavior—what that person believes about themselves, God, and others, rooted in events or relationships from his or her life. As these ministry leaders suggested, when we try to reach out and love the unlovable, we have to be willing to look beyond the often-distasteful fruit. When we concentrate on
behavior
, setting rules and saying “don’t do this,” we’re simply pruning. But pruning only works to make something good come back stronger. Instead, we must see the
person
and address the roots that are behind his or her behavior.

I have come to realize that many of us need to come face-to-face with some issues we may have simply never confronted before, especially so that we may pray for and love those who are hurting—just as Jesus would.

H
OW
THE
S
TORY
S
TARTED

The Lights of Tenth Street
arose from hearing the Christian testimony of a former stripper and prostitute, the first time I had ever (to my knowledge) met someone from that sort of lifestyle. She had grown up in a small, depressed town, was sexually assaulted as a teenager, and was lured into the strip club life thinking it would be a glamorous way to make lots of money. Instead it was depraved and an awful, dead-end trap. After she had spent years in that life, a Christian woman in her neighborhood knocked on her door, inviting her to her church’s Christmas banquet. And when she took her up on it, to her immense surprise, she found nothing but love and acceptance in that church, even though she didn’t know how to dress or act. The Christian woman ended up taking this jaded, world-weary young stripper into her home to live with her and just loved her into the Kingdom. Thar former stripper now has a wonderful ministry to other strippers and prostitutes.

When I heard that story, I somehow knew that the Lord was nudging me to write a book that would feature just such a girl, to show the incredible transforming power of unconditional, nonjudgmental love. But that wasn’t all. As the months passed, I realized that the flip side of this sort of story—the consumer’s side—leaves in its wake many devastated men (and, increasingly, even women) who have been ensnared by pornography. So there had to be two character plotlines—one to follow the young stripper, the other to follow the Christian couple who will eventually reach out to her … but to do so, the husband has to confront and be delivered of his own secret addiction. (And then, of course, in the post-9/11 world, the stakes for the rescue of the young woman were raised so that the battle for her soul also became a much larger battle.) As the book’s title implies, I set these two plotlines on opposite ends of the same fictional street. Two different worlds; two very different kinds of lights.