INFECtIOUS

by Elizabeth Forkey

  In the last week I've been assaulted, terrified, filled with hate and self-pity, heartbroken, made to feel like a pariah in my own community, and, now, imprisoned in my own house. I can't think of any other time in my life with that much trial and drama; a test to be sure. Who is Ivy? What is she really made of? Who does she really value? Oh, it's so obvious. I'm full of me.

  Perhaps you think, "If I were in a more favourable position I might serve the Lord's cause, but I cannot do any good where I am"; but the worse the people are among whom you live, the more need have they of your exertions; if they be crooked, the more necessity that you should set them straight; and if they be perverse, the more need have you to turn their proud hearts to the truth. Where should the physician be but where there are many sick? Where is honour to be won by the soldier but in the hottest fire of the battle?

  Was Spurgeon clairvoyant! Did he look into a crystal ball and write this specifically for me? How could anyone describe the zombies any better? Or my trapped position in the town of Toccoa in the midst of all the hate outside of our gates!

  And when weary of the strife and sin that meets you on every hand, consider that all the saints have endured the same trial. They were not carried on beds of down to heaven, and you must not expect to travel more easily than they. They had to hazard their lives unto the death in the high places of the field, and you will not be crowned till you also have endured hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. Therefore, "stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong."

  All week I've been asking the wrong question, "Why me?"

  Really the more appropriate question would be, "Why not me?"

  I can hear the warriors and saints of old asking me, "Who do you think you are? Hundreds of thousands of saints have suffered much worse than you and persevered and won their crowns. How wussy can you be?"

  Yes, I can picture St. Paul saying "wussy".

  The shame of my failures in the past week—I don't know, maybe it's been going on even longer—makes me fall on my face in the carpet next to my bed. I have been a complete failure. I have been muddling along on my own, without going to Him each day, each hour, like I need to for the right perspective, the right attitudes, the strength to face the tests that come at me. I have done it all on my own instead, and the fruit of my efforts has been fear, anger, resentment, foolishness, fickleness, and loveless results.

  I was a horrible example to Matt and a bad friend to Aunty Coe who has cared for me so faithfully all these years. I was disrespectful to the guard who is putting his life on the line for me daily, and I drug Harmony into all of it with my lack of wisdom and careless disregard for anything but my own agenda.

  I totally suck.

  Tears spill over and wet my carpet. I've cried all week long, but tonight's tears are not made of fear or anger or loss. They are the refreshing tears of repentance, and they flush out my sin. The carpet in my room is very old and it always smells like wet dog. I usually avoid putting even my bare feet on it. Now, wet with my tears, it is even grosser, but I continue to lay my head against it and cry. I am humbled and ashamed and finally willing to submit to my loving God.

  While I'm crying, He reminds me that everyone sucks. That if I didn't suck, I wouldn't need Him. If anyone was capable of saving himself through hard work or charity or goodness, Jesus wouldn't have had to come; wouldn't have had to die. We suck. It's the best thing we've got going for us. It's how He shows us how much he loves us.

  I love Him so much; and, for the first time in ages, I feel His love for me. I've known something was wrong. I've sensed but avoided the truth that I was slipping. You'd think if you recognized that you were dying that you'd hurry to stop it, to heal whatever is sick. It's innately human to struggle for life. But for some reason, though it makes no sense, it's also innately human to lean away from eternal life. I should feel ashamed, but I feel—grateful. His grace and peace and joy have moved back into their rightful place in my heart. I offered my heart to Him years ago, but then I pushed him into a corner and let myself take the Master Bedroom. With Him back on the throne, everything fits like pieces of a puzzle back into perspective.

  I sing Him some of my favorite songs about Him. He warms me all over, and I feel life in my soul again. It is cold outside, cold and drafty on the floor of this old house; but I'm brimming again with His love, and I feel warm. It might sound crazy, but my whole world is crazy. The cursed who live beyond our gates are the dark side of my story, but you’ll only understand them when you meet Him; the Hero that my heart desires—my Savior. I belong to an awesome, loving God.

  Even the disease is His goodness. He has done everything to restore His creation, to bring His people back to Him. When they still wouldn’t turn back, He made the curse of sin even more recognizable and even more obvious through the disease. And He gave even more proof of his goodness by curing anyone who would come to him. Miraculous Healing on display for all the world to see. The outsides cured with the insides.

  And still. Still most of them refuse to see it.

  And it's my purpose to do my best to show them with the time I have left. I can't run away afraid. If they come for me, I'll show them love. I'll show them till they kill me and send me home. This is why we don't kill zombies. We were born to love them for Him. If I die, my fate is set and secure. Their fates still hang in the balance and we are all running out of time.

  A transformed Ivy stands up in place of the guilt ridden girl who fell woefully down on the musty carpet. With joy in my spirit, I go to the bathroom to wash my salty cheeks. A glance at my face in the mirror makes my eyes go wide with shock. My skin looks radiant and new—glowing. I haven’t looked this alive in ages! Had it gotten that bad? Was I decaying and not even noticing? It looks like I just came back from a week of spa treatments and facials.

  And it's not just my face; I feel the rejuvenation in my limbs and in my bones. Energy. Vigor. I shudder to think of how bad I would've looked a month from now if I hadn't been cleansed. I was so awful to Matt—and so grossed out by him and his kind—and I was unfathomably close to seeing my own skin rotting. I'm blown away by my God; overwhelmingly thankful for another fresh start. It’s my one thousandth fresh start. It’s my umpteenth clean slate. His grace is amazing.

  Before I climb into bed, I need to go talk to Aunty. It's late and I haven't knocked on her door after bedtime in years, but this can't wait until morning. I know her well enough to know that she'll forgive me. She’s probably praying for me right now. After I make things right with her, I think I'm going to have the best night’s sleep I've had in ages.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pancakes Always Give Me the Sniffles

  After a night of restful, dreamless sleep, the first thing I do this morning is open my Bible. I won't play it that close again. I have to do this every day; visit with Him, focus on Him, or I'll fail again. Who knows what the consequences of walking away could be next time? I don't want to take anyone else down. I must stay on task. I decide to keep going with the material Sherry sent instead of picking up my normal devotional book. I do as she asked and look up more verses to add to the Spurgeon study. There are a lot of ways Sherry could go with this one, but the most obvious to me is bravery to live among our enemies and what our purpose is here in the midst of them. So with that in mind I find:

  Matthew 5:16 "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."

  1 Peter 2:12 "Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us."

  I wonder if Sherry would notice if I wrote zombies instead of pagans in that one.

  Philippians 2:15 "So that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe."
/>   1 Peter 4:16 "However, if you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed, but praise God that you bear that name."

  Proverbs 29:27 "The righteous detest the dishonest; the wicked detest the upright."

  Very nice of God to understand: We hate them and they hate us. But God wants us to be the better person here and love them because He loved us back when we hated Him.

  John 16:33 "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

  John 15:18 "If the world hates you, you know that it hated me before it hated you."

  I decide to write them each down and memorize them.

  Praise God, today is Sunday! Even though I'm stuck with this horrible house arrest, I already get to go out today. Rev. Depold said I could still come to U.R. meetings with Aunty. I'm looking forward to worshiping, and I can tell Sherry how much her stuff helped me. She loves hearing about the cool things God does in our lives. I pray for a minute, and then head to the kitchen for some breakfast.

  Aunty, of course, forgave me last night. She probably had forgiven me even before I knocked on her door. We hugged and chatted for almost an hour before our yawning had us laughing, and I climbed out of her bed and found my way to my own. We used to hang out in her bed all the time. It's nice to know that even though I'm pretty much a grown women, I'm still welcome there.

  I'd never admit it to her; but, last night in her nightgown with no makeup on, Aunty looked so old. I guess I've been so self absorbed that I wasn't even noticing her aging. I’d be lost without her. The end is near for all of us. We’re almost done here. If we can just make it another year together, we won't ever have to say goodbye to each other. This world will end and melt into the next, and we'll be healthy and young and beautiful together for all of eternity.

  When I get to the kitchen, Aunty is there waiting for me with coffee and pancakes. I'm sure she thought I'd be thrilled to enjoy pancakes and syrup since I missed out the morning she made them for Matt. But Matt—that antagonistic smile when he poured my syrup on his flapjacks, his beautiful green eyes and the special wink he always gave me. The memories sink into my chest and resonate with that familiar dull ache. I look up into Aunty's blue eyes, warm again today, and I know she is reading me like her favorite book. My eyes glisten with a new layer of held back tears.

  "I thought so." Aunty sighs. "I wasn't sure, I of course suspected, but this confirms it."

  "I miss him," I blubber, "and I treated him so awful, and then it was too late."

  I am such a mess.

  I'm usually more together. I must be PMSing or something. Aunty wraps her arms around me and clucks her tongue at me. It's slightly condescending, but appropriate I guess. She's older and wiser; and, as it turns out, I am just a silly girl after all. I've been so out of character this week with all the crying and all the hugging. After a somber pancake breakfast, we clean up and head to different parts of the house to get ready for the Upper Room.

  *****

  Twenty minutes later, Aunty and I are strolling down the jagged, pitted sidewalk towards the U.R. arm in arm. I left my depressed heart behind at the Inn, trading it out for a fresh spirit from a little Bible reading before we left. Aunty and I are wearing our best new clothes and coats, and I feel chipper and elated to be out in the cold fresh air of freedom. The sky looks glorious. The blue is so fresh and deep that it's almost the same turquoise of my new coat, and the clouds are piled over and over on top of each other with peachy pink shadows to differentiate each puffy shape.

  Aunty opens the door for me when we arrive at the front of the U.R.; and, with a deep breath and a wink, we enter and split up towards our different Sunday School classes. Aunty walks slowly and gracefully upstairs in her pretty red high heels, and I turn towards the basement steps, comfortable in my old tennis shoes.

  Sherry's class is mostly full when I arrive, and everyone gets quiet as I walk in and sit down. Harmony isn't here yet. Sherry gives me a little smile, but it isn't full of her usual warmth. Insecurity and nerves pound the first crack in my confident, peppy spirit. Sherry starts right in with the lesson, the last in our series study on the book of James. It's good. Her teaching is always great. Harmony sneaks in a few minutes late; and, even though there isn't anyone in my whole row of chairs, she sits down somewhere behind me.

  Wow.

  So I guess she's mad at me.

  Great.

  The self-esteem my new clothes brought and the joy I felt on the walk here both shatter along the fault line that Sherry's half smile started. I fidget through the rest of Sherry's lesson, missing most of it. At one point, I glance behind me and catch a scowl from Jamie Crest—my last week crush. He's friends with Terry, the guard. Terry probably told Jamie all about what happened yesterday. And, from the judgement in Jamie's scowl, I'm guessing Terry didn't tell it quite like I would have. During Sherry's closing prayer, I duck out like a coward, hurrying out the door and up the stairs to the Sanctuary.

  I am relieved to run into Aunty in the lobby, and I cling to her side like a little girl. I work here! I help run this building! I’ve always felt so at home here, important even. But today I feel distinctly not welcome. Am I paranoid or does everyone here think badly of me?

  I'm absolutely certain that they're all talking about me. I try not to hear our friends’ whispers as Aunty and I walk to our usual seats near the front—my face red with shame and frustration. I'm dressed nicer than anyone here. Aunty brought the clothes we got for the clothing bank days ago. I thought the other girls my age would be wearing the new clothes we brought. But everyone else's clothes look old and bedraggled; their Sunday best barely nicer than my cleaning clothes. Are they intentionally not wearing the clothes? Is this some sort of show of disapproval?

  My new clothes, that I was so excited to put on this morning, fit my body nicely and make me feel so pretty. Last Sunday, I would've been proud to have these new things and thankful. I would've walked past Jamie Crest and felt confident that he might have noticed me and liked what he saw. Today, I realize belatedly that I should've worn my hand-me-downs. These stupid clothes are the reason that all of this is happening.

  We must look so vain—so selfish—to put our friends at risk for new clothes. It's so unfair. I didn't even want to go! Aunty made me. But they don't see it that way. I look like the spoiled rich girl who lives in the mansion and has to have the best of everything. I wish they knew how much I worked. I clean that place all week long. I cater to the constant needs of strangers in my own house, having almost no privacy and never a day off! They don't know me. But I wish they did. It would be vindicating.

  The music starts, and I ask Him to help me focus on worshipping Him. He answers, and I'm lost in His grace for the rest of the singing. We sing a lot of the old hymns. They are so full of meaning and depth; written by men and women who lost much in their service to The Lord. We studied them once, some of the most famous of the old hymn writers, and their stories were tragic. Dead children and wives, terrible health, blindness, and they chose to write praises to the King who allowed it all to happen. I admire those people a lot.

  Ms. Julia stands up at the small podium in front to give a few announcements about the missionaries' homecoming next week. There are preparations to be made for the extra gatherings we'll have, and volunteers are needed. I thought I'd be a big part of the homecoming, but now I'm not sure I'll even be allowed to go. I’m not sure I even want to go.

  My eyes wander the large room we meet in as Ms. Julia continues on in her monotonous, business-like tone. The U.R. used to be the city court house. This was the main courtroom, and the wooden pews we sit in were meant for those attending trials. The judge's seat still sits in its prominent place at the front of the room, but no one sits there. It's very symbolic to us though. That seat is for Jesus. As the blameless, perfect Lamb who died for us, He’s the only one who can sit in judgment over us. And even though we are constantly si
nning and Jesus has every right to condemn us—all of us deserving the death penalty—He considers our debts paid because He paid them for us. He met our bail. He rescued us from the prison we deserved, and He looks at us with incredible Love from His place in the Judge’s seat.

  When this building was just a courthouse, all the offenders got their due. No human judge ever offered to take the sentence of murderers and thieves. Those of us who sit here today know what's been done for us, and we try our best to live our lives to please Him; to thank Him. Incense burns in a little dish at the Judges desk. It is always burning there, and its smoky wisps are just visible in the bright florescent light. The smoke rises with our praises to bless the real Judge where He sits in Heaven. The spicy, smoky smell fills the whole building and I'm so used to it that I hardly notice it anymore.

  Finally Rev. Depold stands to deliver this morning's message. "Zombies," he says and then pauses for effect.

  Oh no.

  Please no. Please don't let the sermon be about me. I can't handle this!

  I want to crawl under the bench and hide.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Devil Made Me Do It

  Rev. Depold booms from the pulpit, "It was recently brought to my attention that some of our number call the diseased, 'Zombies'."

  My face is a bright red beacon. It's chilly in this big room, and I'm certain there must be obvious steam emanating from my warm, humiliated face. I sneak a glance at Aunty. She isn't looking at me, but she has a pained expression on her face and her lips are pressed in a hard line.

  Our Pastor continues, "Obviously, a very derogatory way to think of and refer to our neighbors. But it stuck with me. I spent some time thinking and praying about that term. And, believe it or not, friends, there is some unique truth in that word. Not just for them, but also for us. Let me share with you what the Spirit has laid on my heart.