The Turning (30 page)

The anchor punctuated the statement with a slow nod before turning to John. “Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yes?”

“Do you care to respond?”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear the man ask a question.”

“But surely you must have a response to the Reverend’s com ments.”

“The former reverend is entitled to his opinion.”

“Really, Mr. Jacobs. That seems a rather empty reaction to a very telling—”

“May I ask a question of my own?”

The woman thoroughly disliked being interrupted. Her smile was deadly. “Why, of course.”

John took his own time now. He took the sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it on the empty table before him. Using the silence to strain them both. It was a tactic he had used in numerous negotiations. Transport companies were run on the second hand. They carried this air of constant frenetic tension into every act. Sometimes the best thing he could do was force them to march to an uncomfortable beat.

“Mr. Jacobs?”

“Dr. Albright, is your appearance on the show tonight tied to the half-million-dollar contribution made this morning to your foundation by the Mundrose Group?”

The newscaster and the professor both blanched. Their facial muscles might have been pulled by the same puppet string, their response was so identical. The former pastor sputtered, “That is worse than absurd. It is an outrage!”

John countered, “Recently the Mundrose Group acquired an Austin-based electronic games company. Their trust has now donated five hundred thousand dollars to your organization. Your group’s stated aim is to denounce Christianity as a cultural phenomenon that has outlived its importance.”

The anchor rasped, “I would ask that you stay on topic.”

“I never left it.” John met Albright’s furious gaze straight on. “Do you wish to comment?”

“The entire issue is absurd, and your allegations are an outrage.”

John smiled for the first time. “What allegation is that, sir?”

Bonner leaned forward. “Gentlemen, we are out of time. Thank you both for appearing. And now a word from our sponsors.”

Trent managed the follow-up interview, but barely. He mouthed the words he had prepared. He spoke with the right amount of indignation. He had spent two hours that afternoon being prepped by one of the group’s on-air coaches. He did a good job. But his heart was not in it. He remained dazed by the confrontation that had gone on before. Shell-shocked, really. What’s more, he had the impression that the anchor felt the same way. On the surface she treated him with the same crisp professionalism as she had shown Jacobs and Albright. But beneath the surface had lurked a genuine rage over how their prey had escaped. Her ire helped Trent remain on target through the interview. They shared an energy and a determination. When the lights finally went off and the airtime was over, Katherine Bonner muttered quietly, “Next time.”

He carried that final note with him down to the waiting limo. Gayle sensed his mood and remained silent throughout the drive. But her perfume and the hold she kept on his hand were enough to soothe him through yet another disappointment. As they entered the traffic and the crowds snarled around Times Square, her phone rang. She answered, then cupped the receiver. “Colin Tomlin wishes to have a word.”

He was tempted to put off the head of their LA team. But he accepted the phone and said, “How did they know about Albright?”

“I’ve been asking myself the very same question. And there’s only one answer.”

“Austin. Has to be.”

“I fear you’re correct. We had two of our employees resign today, effective immediately. One was a gamer. The other from our accounting division. Both belong to a church that has been actively supporting this charade.”

Trent heard the unspoken apology. More than anything else that night, more than Bonner’s determined promise, more even than Gayle’s perfumed closeness, the LA chief’s remorse helped seal the wound. “There’s no way you could have known.”

“No. Quite.” The marketing director turned brisk. “Where are you now?”

“On Broadway, barely crawling forward.”

“I’ll meet you at the bar. We really must raise a glass.”

As he cut the connection and handed back the phone, their limo passed a cluster of young people cloaked as vampires, carrying a glittering banner echoing his logo.
Hope is dead
. Trent waved at them, wishing he could ignore the dull taste of defeat. These people were his target audience. At least with them he had not failed.

If only it were enough. After all, this was his hour. His time. He was the winner here.

CLEVELAND, TWO MONTHS LATER

John Jacobs drove through the quiet September dawn. The empty streets were bathed in a pearlescent glow. He was not due at the office for another hour, but for years his habit had been to arrive long before he was expected. He spent the time talking with his teams, getting to know them on a personal level. There was little time for such exchanges once the pressures of another day began. Now that he was appointed manager for the entire Midwest, he wanted the staff to know him as someone they could trust.

He and Heather had still been at the Barrett Ministry headquarters when the call had come from headquarters. The same executive who had fired him showed genuine delight as he described how the international produce group had delivered an ultimatum: either the man who had sold them on the company was put in charge of shipments, or they would take their business elsewhere.

John was still growing accustomed to his newfound role when Ruth Barrett had phoned to ask him if he would consider returning to Westchester County. The ministry needed a new leader. She and the board wanted John for the role. They could bring in a pastor or learned seminarian to do whatever preaching was required. But these were new times, and the ministry needed him. Ruth had recovered from her most recent bout of ill health, but everyone was well aware that the current situation would not go on forever. The offer had arrived four weeks ago. John was still praying with Heather over what the Lord wanted them to do. On the surface, he could think of a hundred reasons why naming him to such a position would be a huge mistake. But this wasn’t about him. Every time the doubts rose and he was tempted to phone them back and decline, he returned to that simple truth. So he prayed and he waited. And the ministry team was willing to wait with him.

The morning news droned softly in the background, until a new topic arose that captured John’s full attention. He turned up the volume and heard, “Stone Denning’s latest blockbuster film was released over the Labor Day weekend, and it fell flat on its face. Ticket sales were less than one-fifth what had been anticipated. A Mundrose company spokesman denied the low turnout had anything to do with the recent and highly publicized boycott, and claimed that international ticket sales were reaching new heights. Even so, Hollywood insiders are predicting the group will write down over a hundred million dollars after what can only be described as a disastrous first-week result.”

John turned off the radio. He and Heather had been fielding personal calls all week. The ministry had needed to hire new staff in order to manage the tidal wave of support. The tone of most people with whom John had personally spoken had been triumphant. As though they could all join together and claim victory. As though the battle was won.

But John saw a very different situation. This certainty was what kept him waiting on God to respond about the ministry’s offer.

The one person who most agreed with him was Alisha. She had accepted a new position as administrative director of Barrett Ministries, and now declared she had been waiting all her life for the chance, only she had not known it until she arrived. Alisha’s response to his plea for patience had been unequivocal. Wait for God to speak.

When he pulled up in front of the trucking company offices, a beautiful woman rose from her car and walked over. “Mr. Jacobs, you probably won’t remember me …”

Hers was a face that any man would easily recall. “You were with the guy from Mundrose at the New York television station.”

“Gayle Sayers. I’m sorry, I should have called, but I was afraid if I did, well …”

“Won’t you come inside, Ms. Sayers?”

“No, no, I—Actually, I really have no idea why I’m here.” She spoke with the precise diction of a highly intelligent woman. One who probably did not realize she was twisting her fingers into a nervous knot. “I just wanted to know you were, well, real. No, ‘real’ isn’t quite right. ‘Genuine’ is what I mean.”

“It’s not my being real or not real that’s been bothering you, though, is it?” John tried to carry as gentle a tone as possible. “You want to know if the One I serve is real, genuine. And the answer is, absolutely.”

“Perhaps I should just go.” But she remained in place, slowly clenching and unclenching her hands.

“Ms. Sayers, Gayle, could I make a suggestion? Why don’t you and I go across the street to that diner, and we’ll sit and I’ll try and explain to you just how very real all this is.”

She remained where she was for quite some time, then spoke in a small voice, “I think I would like that very much.”

John excused himself long enough to step inside and tell his office manager he would be a few minutes late. Then he led the young woman into one of the diner’s window booths. He asked her how she had come to make this trip, then listened as she described the young man and their relationship, and the changes she had noted in both of them as he continued his climb up the corporate ladder. And how she saw in his own naked ambition a growing resemblance to her own hard-edged lifestyle, something that no amount of luxury or success seemed to ease away. Instead, the gnawing uncertainty only continued to grow. Along with a questioning of all she had considered worth obtaining.

John listened as she revealed far more than she probably either intended or found comfortable. Then, as he began sharing with her the possibility of his own new course ahead, he found himself wondering if such discussions were to become the framework for his future, wherever God directed. And he decided that he would be just fine with such a turning. Whoever took on this role would have their work cut out for them. For John was certain the mission they had been working on was just now getting under way.

This was only the beginning ….

* * *

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The Moody Publishers Team

Does God still speak to us today?

In
The Turning,
a group of believers become convinced that God has asked them to take a bold step of faith. Here is a description: “The message was unexpected but unambiguous. A voice resonated from a distance and somehow from within. Against all earthly logic, it carried a divine command. And five very different people knew they were summoned to obey.”

This theme taps into something we are already drawn toward. At the heart of the Christian life is the hunger for a deeper connection with the divine. We yearn for the transformation that might come if only we listened more closely. The natural question is: how can I make such a message from God real in my own life?

Nothing I say here can provide absolute assurance. We must understand that a communication from God is a direct and personal experience. Here at the outset, you should ask yourself:

• Do I hunger for this?

• If God speaks, is it in words?

• What does it mean to prepare myself to hear him?