Chapter 10
God's Crescendo
The Mission was filling beyond capacity. Nash put wooden barriers outside the building from all directions keeping anyone from getting too close. The quarantine signs got bigger, and the warning signs more graphic. Many times angels delivered children in ambulances and wheeled them in on stretchers while pretending they were sick. That whole section of town broke out in sweats to even get near the Mission.
The angels picked the best times and sent out some their own: hacking and puking up chunks of diseased slime for everyone to see. Angels dressed in doctors’ garb dramatically dragged them back into the building. Several times someone pretended to die on the Mission sidewalk. The news of it spread all over Nashville, including local TV News. The hospitals didn’t and couldn't volunteer to help since they were stretched beyond their limits already.
God’s Dozen (Good Times)
Keel, Anne, and Carey kept their church meetings going strong. They laughed at the way their first healing service sounded. Anne would say, "It was the pimple miracle. Can you imagine if we could market it? We’d make a fortune. They’d put up a statue of Allister. We’d have those before and after pictures like they do for diet scams." They would get so tickled thinking about it that they couldn’t work.
Other kids noticed Allister and kept asking what happened. What was he using? He would smile and say, "Jesus."
They’d get mad and storm off and counted him as one of those fanatics but always wondering, "What did Jesus have to do with it?"
God’s Dozen stayed in the Bible and fellowship with the Lord, and they were having a great time. They admitted that this was the best time of their lives. They praised God for bringing them together and wouldn’t have it any other way.
Gasoline Miracle
Cole’s church was filled with anticipation and some concerns. They were saving up gasoline, but it didn’t seem they had enough for all the cars, including the church buses. They kept praying for a miracle. The transportation committee had blankets, food, and people to prepare food for the journey, just no gas. Cole’s church scheduled a Saturday carwash. It was really a way to get an accurate count on the transportation that was working. As the cars kept piling in, it was obvious that the gas crisis was not going away. Some of the cars arrived on empty while some were pushed from blocks
away. Church members were exhausted after 50 out of the first 100 ran out of gas before making it to the church.
Some disgruntled members spoke angrily to Cole, “Why can’t God have those angels of yours conjure up some gasoline? You say they give things to the Mission, don’t they? If this is so important to God, why doesn’t He do something?”
Cole was surrounded by frustrated skeptics. What his members said struck a cord with him. Why didn’t God do something? He answered, "I agree with you. I do believe we need to have faith, but God needs to do His part. We need one of those water-to-gasoline miracles, rather than the water-to-wine miracles. I’ll be right back. I need to go ask some of these same questions."
He headed down the street towards the Mission. It was hard for him to imagine why God didn’t provide for something this important when He provided for everything else. He wanted to find Aaron or Isaac. They must know about the gasoline. He didn’t find either. Instead, he found Irish sitting in a rocker out in the first-floor hall. She had a small baby in her arms and was singing a sweet, haunting melody. He had heard this kind of singing before. He couldn’t place it, then finally it came to him. It was something he had heard on Echoes, a WPLN radio broadcast, which played some Celtic melodies. He liked it so much that years ago he had ordered a
recording of a similar show years ago. He used to go to sleep listening to it, but had forgotten all about it since. Her singing reached deep into his inner being. It pulled on the ancient strings of his spiritual man without him knowing why.
Irish looked up and put her finger on her lips saying, "Sshhhhhh."
He walked quietly to her and asked in a whisper, "Is Aaron or Isaac here?"
"No Cole, they’ll be here tomorrow. Something is bothering you, isn’t it?"
Her smile was beautiful and comforting. The colors about her moved in soothing rhythm to her breathing, and he felt intoxicated by her. He felt a perfect sense of peace by being near her. No wonder God used angels like this to help families. The sense of harmony coming from her would cause any family to feel safe, warm, protected, and cared for. He kneeled beside her chair and reached out taking her hand. She didn’t pull away but squeezed his hand tenderly.
She whispered, "Cole, can I help you with your problem?"
Cole hesitated, and Irish smiled knowingly. "Cole you know what I am. I also know what my aura does to humans. Get past it, Cole. It’s the way I’m created. If you didn’t feel comforted by being next to me, even lifted up, even thrilled, there would be something wrong with me. What’s your problem? Maybe I can help." She gave him back his hand and gently kissed the sleeping baby as she stroked on the child’s face and rubbed his tiny ears and fingers.
Cole shook his head like he was trying to snap out of something and said, "Yes, of course. I do have a problem. We don’t have enough gasoline for the trip. Why can’t one of you whip up some for us?" He felt ashamed the instant he said it. He felt he wasn't acting in faith.
Irish nodded a little "yes" and said, "Why whip up something for you, as you say, if you could do it on your own through faith? Faith is a muscle that must be used. If we did everything for you, you’d never learn to use your Godly muscles and learn to walk on your own." She stopped for a second and put her hand into the air, palm open in with a praise gesture; her eyes closed.
He was caught off guard by her movements but knew she was talking with God. He bowed his head in prayer and opened his heart
to God’s guidance. God spoke to him in his spirit, "You have what you ask for. I work with my timetable, not yours." He felt the scolding right between the eyes of his heart. He was given a promise; but at the same time, he was rebuked for his lack of faith. He knew he should have believed better and should have spoken the promises of God as answers, not problems.
Irish put down her hand; and as she opened her eyes, she smiled and said, "Do you understand? God has already made provision for your gasoline. Think about today. Aren’t all the cars at
the church by now? Of course, they are. What better time to take care of this than today? If you had a little more Godly patience, you wouldn’t ask us to ‘whip up something,' as you called it. If you want to see your miracle, I’d suggest you go back to your church as fast as possible. By the way, I’d suggest you grab some empty milk jugs, as many as you can carry. You’ll need them." Irish stood up, bowed slightly, and walked into a nearby room to put the baby down.
Cole felt ashamed and excited at the same time. He ran into the kitchen and saw a tall stack of empty milk containers. They saved them per Irish’s request, but they never knew why. Cole grabbed handles until he could carry no more. He was able to get three containers in each hand and raced down the street towards the church. The church members saw him coming and laughed. He looked ridiculous as if his hands were really milk-jug fingers. Some church members realized why they were needed before Cole got close enough to say. They started running into the church to see if they could find some of their own. They thought Cole was given a new miracle, not realizing that God had already prepared one for them.
Cole was almost out of breath; and when he got close enough, he shouted, "Get empty jugs, get funnels, make them if you have to. God's already provided. The gas is coming today. We all were acting like a bunch of unfaithful, inpatient children. There are plenty more jugs in the Mission kitchen." His words were like whips across their hearts. They felt the rebuke. Some dropped their heads in seconds of immediate repentance, then ran after the others into the church while many more ran to get
more containers from the Mission.
Just-In-Time Ernie
Ernie Jacobson was driving a bottom-load, gas tanker from the Charlotte Pike, Sun Oil Refinery, in a delivery of a full load of gasoline to the Nashville airport. He was on I-24 moving towards the downtown exits. On his side of the interstate before the downtown route, barricades were across the road and state workers flagged him down.
He thought when he saw them, "They can’t be repairing the roads. The state stopped that ages ago. Must be a gas leak or something." He slowed and stopped.
"What’s going on?" he asked.
A tall man with sunglasses approached Ernie’s rig and said, "Sorry, the interstate is closed. You’re going to have to reroute yourself through downtown. Go up Lafayette Street and down Murfreesboro Road. You’re going to the airport for a delivery, aren’t you?" The man was up on his side of the rig only a couple feet from his face. Ernie got the urge to roll up his window. Something about this guy spooked him.
"Yeah, the airport, but what happened? I know you guys aren’t repairing the roads." Ernie stared intently at him while trying to see through his sunglasses. He thought he saw the reflection of the sun in this guy’s glasses, but it was overcast. He looked up to check.
The state worker said, "Federal roadblocks. There was a robbery on the silver mint nearby. They asked us to keep traffic rerouted while they try to box them in. Carrying a lot of gasoline today?"
Ernie nodded his head, "Topped out. My load is worth more than silver any day?"
The state worker replied, "Don’t we all know. Don’t we know.”
Ernie drove down to the next exit. When he looked back in his mirror, the roadblock was gone. He could swear they disappeared. "Must be gas fumes," he said out-loud. It was one of those private gasoline-tanker jokes. One of those verbal excuses they gave for all screw-ups.
He worked at his gears moving slowly up to Broad Street, taking a left, and then a right on Lafayette Street at the Federal Building. He took a wide right turn and slowly moved to the next light. There was an accident completely blocking the road. He turned left, detoured down the side street by the bus station, and passed the barricaded Mission. He saw what looked like an immense car wash at a church a couple of blocks down. As he pulled up to the stop sign, he noticed all the church people waving at him.
He thought, "Aren’t they a friendly bunch? Look at all those cars. I wonder where they get their gasoline? Look at all those milk jugs. They could fill up a semi with all those things."
Ernie saw a beautiful woman out of his right rear mirror. He waited, not moving forward. He wanted to get a closer look. She swayed with her sundress clinging softly to her as she walked effortlessly, almost floating like the breeze until she was even with his right cab window. Her Celtic-cross earrings reflected the afternoon sun that made her almost sparkle while her black hair blew carelessly from her face, accenting the long lines of her neck, then came to wrap with feathery whips around her face when she stopped and turned towards him.
Ernie wasn't a lady’s man. He worked so hard that he never had time, but he did appreciate beauty. He would be on the road and see a young lady driving a car or walking up the street. He’d say out-loud, "Perfect. How perfect. How beautiful." It wasn’t even sexual. It was more like admiring a painting, but these paintings were alive. There was no evil imagination, only enthralled rapture.
"Hi," she said, waving a friendly hand at him. "Want some company?" she asked as she walked closer.
Was this woman really speaking to him? Her old Celtic accent was so sing-song it made him think she was singing. She climbed up on the passenger’s side and stared into Ernie’s eyes. She knew exactly what Ernie was going through. She saw the sweat break out on his face and neck and an almost dreamy look come over his face and knew that Ernie wasn’t dangerous, not to her or any other woman. He was nice to look at thought Irish. She suspected he was about 40 and liked his deep brown eyes and long hair that was a little outdated for his age. He was clean-shaven, not overweight, just a little middle, and his six-two frame was set off by muscled arms and thick traps (from his high school wrestling days) that extended above his shoulders. She liked his boyish looks and was thrilled to see his shock that she was talking with him.
She quickly noted, "He's shy, but I bet he never admits it."
"Sure," said Ernie as he unlocked the door and pushed it towards her while watching her swing into the seat beside him.
"So where are you headed?" asked Irish.
"Well, I was headed to the airport, got rerouted. You need a lift that way?"
Irish smiled, "No, I just thought you might need some company. I’m new to Nashville, and I thought that I might get a first class tour while sharing your company."
Ernie still didn’t drive forward. He was so excited to be talking with Irish that everything else was blocked out. He left the engine running and put it out of gear. The street behind him was clear, and no one was pushing him to move on. He figured, big boat rule, make those little cars make him move. The engines blocked out any sound, but Irish reached up and touched him on the side of the face over his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything except her. She casually motioned to the awaiting congregation to go ahead, but he never noticed.
The church was using their homemade funnels under the gas valves to control the flow from the gravity tanks. They kept pouring gas into their cars, vans, trucks, and any containers they could find, then running back for more.
Ernie had his eyes on Irish and never looked back. He was never more comfortable in his life. He felt like he could sit and talk with Irish all day long. As the minutes clicked off, almost 3000 gallons had been siphoned off for the vehicles and another thousand for the buses. There wasn’t a container of any kind that wasn’t brimming over.
Since Irish faced the church, she noticed when they finished, but she and Ernie continued to talk. They talked about feelings, dreams, family, marriage, and love. They talked about what they wanted most from life and what life really meant or should mean.
Irish said, "Ernie, I've got to go. I’ve enjoyed talking with you. You’re a nice human."
Ernie looked puzzled, "Why did you say human?"
Irish leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Ernie felt such a marvelous warmth and well-being. It was so great that if it had been a drug, he’d be totally addicted the rest of his life—the Irish drug.
Irish answered simply, "Because Ernie, I’m an angel." She pulled her glasses off displaying her rainbow star eyes and disappeared.
Ernie sat there, not moving with his mouth dropped open. He looked around his cab and noticed the engine still going, and then he started hearing the city sounds again. From behind him, a car honked. He jolted and started gearing to move on. As he did, he noticed the church parking lot to his left was full of people hugging, jumping, a hilariously happy people. They were still waving at him, and he waved back, then looked at his watch. He
discovered he had been stopped for at least an hour. He admitted, the best hour in his life. He committed to finding someone now. He realized that he needed to find someone like Irish to share things with. She showed him just how important sharing his inner person was. If he ever got a chance to thank this "angel" for revealing this to him, he would.
Children of the Sanctuary Page 12