The Other Side of Darkness (17 page)

I smile at her. “I know Cynthia seems a little odd at first. But she really loves the Lord, Mary, and she’s a strong Christian and a good friend.”

“But wasn’t she good friends with Pastor Glenn?”

“Yes …” I study my daughter’s expression. I can tell she’s slightly perplexed about something, and I wonder how much she knows.

“But didn’t he get fired?”

“Is that what you heard?”

She nods. “Everyone was talking about it at school today. And we were so glad when he didn’t come in to do morning devotions.”

“You didn’t like his devotions?”

“I guess I liked them sometimes. But sometimes he got carried away.”

“Carried away?”

“You know, Mom. He starts talking about how we have to do all this spiritual warfare and stuff. Sometimes it just gets old.”

“So you don’t think it’s important to do spiritual warfare, Mary?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“What were devotions like today?”

She grins. “We didn’t even have them.”

I sort of blink at this. “You didn’t even have them?”

“No, we all went into the gym just like usual, and then after we sang a couple of songs, Mr. Thomas announced there would be no devotions. He said we needed a break. And all the kids clapped and cheered.”

“Oh.”

Sarah has been hovering in the shadows, but I can tell she’s been listening to her sister’s tale. What does she think about this?

“Did you clap and cheer too, Sarah?” I say, and Sarah steps out where we can see her, but her face looks worried. I’m guessing she’s still fretting about her missing Samantha doll.

“I felt bad,” she says in a sad little voice. “I miss Pastor Glenn.”

“No way,” says Mary. “You must be crazy, Sarah.”

But Sarah just shakes her head.

I pat the couch, motioning for her to come sit beside me. “Pastor Glenn is a good man.”

“Then why did he get fired?”

Something about Mary’s attitude bothers me, and I wonder if it’s something she’s picking up on at school. I consider how best to answer her.
Why did Pastor Glenn get fired?
I don’t know that I’m totally sure myself. “Pastor Glenn was doing his very best to serve the Lord at Valley Bridge Fellowship. And sometimes when people are trying to serve the Lord, they offend others.”

“Like Daniel?” Sarah says quickly. “Like when he wouldn’t bow down to the golden idol, and they put him in the lions’ den?”

I nod. “Yes, kind of like that.”

“But no one told Pastor Glenn to worship a golden idol.” Mary crosses her arms over her chest.

“No, you’re right. But people did want him to worship the Lord in a different way, a way that felt dishonest to Pastor Glenn.”

“How’s that?” Mary sits in the chair across from me.

“Well, Pastor Glenn felt the Lord had called him to protect his sheep. He felt the Lord had told him that his sheep were going to be under attack and that we needed to be ready to defend ourselves against the Enemy.”

“He told us that at devotions too,” says Sarah. “He told us we
have the power to beat the devil but we have to use it. He said, ‘Use it or lose it.’ ”

“That’s right. The Lord doesn’t want us to get beat up by the devil. He wants us to be strong and to stand firm against the devil and sin. But some people didn’t like hearing that. Some people got uncomfortable when Pastor Glenn talked about sin.”

“What’s going to happen to Pastor Glenn now?” asks Sarah.

I smile. “The Lord is helping him make a new church.”

“Where is it?” she asks.

So I tell them a little about it and that maybe I can take them to visit it sometime. Mary doesn’t seem too interested, but for some reason Sarah really wants to go. And this is encouraging.

Finally homework is done, and the girls are in bed, and I try to pick up a little around the house. Other than my neck and wrist, I don’t feel too bad physically. But I still feel shaken in a spiritual sense. Why did the Lord allow that to happen to me today? And I can’t help but think it was part of Satan’s vicious attack. Especially as I recall the man whose truck rammed into me and the way he was so angry, so full of hatred. I feel frightened just to think of it. We are so vulnerable. One minute everything seems okay, and the next minute you could be seriously injured, maybe even killed.

What if my girls had been with me when I was hit? They could be in the hospital right now. As I think this, I begin to pace back and forth in the kitchen, replaying the incident and imagining how much worse it might have been.

“What’s up, Mom?” Matthew asks as he comes in and slings his backpack onto the floor by the door.

First I study him carefully, making sure he hasn’t been out drinking
again. But he seems to be sober and normal. I tell him about the car accident today.

“Seriously?” He stares at me in disbelief. “Did you get hurt?”

“No. Just shaken up.” I look into his eyes. “But it made me realize that we really have to be careful, Matthew. And you need to be really, really careful when you’re on your bike, especially at night. Things happen so quickly. And Satan is out there just waiting for a chance to take you out.”

Matthew kind of laughs.

“It’s not funny. And if you go out drinking again and something bad happens, well, you’ll see what I mean.”

“So had you been drinking today, Mom?” His eyes twinkle. “Is that why you got into a wreck?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why then?”

“I guess I let myself be distracted.” I nod as it sinks in. “Yes, I was worrying about something else, something the Lord probably didn’t want me to be thinking about. And I wasn’t praying like I should’ve been. I wasn’t doing warfare, and then it was too late, and I got hit.”

He just shakes his head. “So the Lord zapped you?”

“Not the Lord, Matthew.”

“The
devil
then?” His words are dripping with sarcasm, and I wonder how it is that both Matthew and Mary have grown so cynical. Oh, Mary isn’t as bad as her brother, but she’s questioning things much more than she used to do. It seems that little Sarah is the only one of my children who is truly growing up in the fear of the Lord. Hopefully I can protect her and keep her faith strong.

“He is real,” I tell Matthew. “Satan is alive and well, and he prowls the streets ready to destroy and devour. Don’t fool yourself.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know, I know … I’ve heard it all before.” He opens the fridge. “Anything to eat in here?”

I point out the leftover lasagna, then go to my room and close the door. I kneel before the bed and labor in prayer for my children, for their faith, and for their spiritual safety. And as I pray, I wonder if this is my fault. Perhaps I’ve been spiritually lax or have let down my guard. Or maybe I just haven’t instructed them as I should. Haven’t given them the tools they need to take on the spiritual battles facing them. But I also know that Rick is partially to blame too. He hasn’t been the spiritual leader this family needs.

Finally the back of my neck is throbbing, and I lie down on the bed to continue praying. But then I feel myself drifting, and I fear I am too spiritually weak to hold this family together.

O Lord, protect us. Deliver us from evil. Protect us. Deliver us from evil. Protect us. Deliver us…

I
’ve heard that hostages can be tortured into submission through sleep interruption and deprivation. Sometimes I feel that’s what is happening to me. Sarah’s nightmares, which happen almost nightly, seem to always wake me out of a dead sleep. And I feel I’m being tortured as I force myself to get out of bed. Not that I don’t want to comfort her and pray with her and finally lull her back to sleep. I certainly do. But by the time she’s peacefully slumbering, I’m usually wide awake. It must’ve been after four thirty when I finally got myself back to sleep last night.

And I must’ve slept hard too, because when I finally awaken, I see that my alarm clock, which apparently didn’t go off, says it’s after nine. I leap out of bed, causing a pain to shoot through my neck, and I dash out to see if the girls have gotten up yet. But they are gone. And Rick is gone too. Rick, who never gets up before ten, is not in bed!

A wave of panic surges through me. I’ve heard Pastor Glenn preach on the Rapture enough times to know that Jesus is coming back like a thief in the night. And as crazy as it sounds, I fear this may be what has happened. I crack open the door to Matthew’s room to see that he is still in bed, sleeping soundly. And for a moment I’m reassured, but then I remember that Matthew seems to have fallen away from the Lord this past year. So, really, it’s no consolation that he’s still here.

“Don’t be a fool,” I whisper to myself as I close his door. Then I
go into the kitchen, where I see breakfast dishes still in the sink and spot the note on the table, informing me that Rick has taken the girls to school and then gone to check on the condition of the minivan. I rub the back of my sore neck and remember yesterday’s accident. Of course. Why was I so stupid?

It takes time, but the kitchen is finally properly cleaned, and I go to get dressed, carefully pulling a sweater over my head, trying not to stress my sore neck. I start to put on jeans but then remember that Cynthia and Bronte are coming over today. Perhaps jeans aren’t appropriate. I’m sure my mother would agree. She still thinks that ladies don’t wear jeans. Well, unless they’re working in the yard. This thought almost makes me go for the jeans again, just to rebel against the memory of my mother’s oppression. But I don’t. I suppose a small part of me is worried that my mother might’ve been right.

I try to pace myself as I continue putting my house in order. Both my wrist and my neck still hurt, but the rest of me aches as well. In fact, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I guess I have.

“What are you doing?” demands Rick when he finds me vacuuming the living-room carpet.

I turn off the noisy machine. “Cleaning.”

“Why?”

“Because the house is dirty.”

He unplugs the vacuum and coils up the cord. “First of all, the house is not dirty. It’s just fine. But second of all, and more important, I took the girls to school so you could sleep in and rest this morning. Not so you could go on some crazy housecleaning binge.”

“But I—”

“No buts, Ruth.” He walks me over to the couch. “Just sit down and rest, okay?” He sets my favorite throw in my lap.

It’s hard not to appreciate his kindness. Rick isn’t usually that nurturing. Yet at the same time, it’s past noon already, and I still have a lot to do. The bathroom hasn’t even been touched.

“The minivan is probably totaled.” He sits in the chair across from me. “The insurance adjuster already looked at it.”

“What does that mean,
probably
totaled?”

He sighs. “Well, if we were to get it fixed, which might could be done, it would cost us a thousand dollars right out of our pocket.”

“But what if it’s totaled?”

“Then the insurance will pay off the remainder of the loan, and we’ll have to get another car.”

“You mean we’ll have to pay for a brand-new car completely on our own? The insurance won’t even cover it? The loan on the minivan was more than halfway paid off. We would’ve owned it free and clear in just a couple of years.”

“Yeah …” He sighs. “That’s called ‘depreciation,’ Ruth.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

He laughs. “Whoever said that life was fair? Especially when it comes to insurance companies.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“As soon as you feel well enough, we’ll have to go car shopping.”

I start to tell him that I feel well enough now, but then I remember that Cynthia and Bronte are coming over. “Maybe tomorrow?”

He brightens. “Okay. Let’s make it fun, Ruth. And, you know, we don’t have to get a minivan again. Especially since Matthew is eighteen and thinking about his own car. Maybe we could get something smaller, something sportier.”

“Maybe something more economical.”

“And you’re going to look into that job?” he asks hopefully.
“Colleen said she’s pretty sure you could get it, and she’s bringing the girls home again today.”

I rub the back of my neck, and Rick tells me to get some rest, but as I lean back on the couch, all I can think is that our debt is piling up and that it’s mostly my fault. Or maybe it’s Satan’s attack on me, trying to kick me when I’m already down. I need to fight back. Fight back. Fight back! I close my eyes now, imagining that I am a warrior, swinging my saber like Luke Skywalker in
Star Wars
, as I slay one demon after another.

I stay on the couch, doing my spiritual warfare, until I hear Rick’s pickup pulling out of the driveway and it’s safe to continue cleaning the house. I work fast, knowing that Cynthia and Bronte will be here soon. But just as I finish with the guest bathroom, I find Matthew in my kitchen amid a mess of tortillas, refried beans, and shredded cheese, which looks like it must’ve exploded out of the shredder.

“What are you doing?”

He looks slightly indignant. “Making bean burritos. What’s it look like?”

“It looks like a disaster. And I just cleaned this up, and I—” The doorbell ringing interrupts me, followed by Sadie barking in the laundry room. I glare at my son, then tell him to quiet the dog and to clean up his mess when he’s done.

I invite the two women in, using my sore neck as an excuse to plant ourselves in the living room. “I’m sorry. I’m not much of a hostess today.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Bronte says with a graceful wave of her hand. “We didn’t expect you to lift a finger on our account.” She smiles and holds up a small white bag. “In fact, Cynthia told me that you like Krispy Kremes.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have—”

“Shall I put them in the kitchen for you?”

“No
, no. My son’s fixing burritos in there. You might as well leave them in here. That is unless you’d like some—”

“No thanks,” says Bronte. “We just had lunch, and I’m stuffed. Cynthia’s been showing me around town. Pointing out some of the local dark spots.”

“Local dark spots?” I imagine people who forgot to pay their power bill.

“I mean
spiritually
dark.”