The Braxtons of Miracle Springs

by Michael Phillips

  “Would you like to be?” I asked.

  “Like to be what?’

  “Sure that you are right with the Lord.”

  “You bet I would. But I didn’t know if ye could be sure o’ them kinds o’ things, and I reckon I was always a mite embarrassed to ask Drum.”

  “Well, you can be sure of them, Alkali,” I said. “And it’s not just a matter of the Lord’s having favor on you when you pass over to the other side, like you say. The same thing that will help you there will also wake up the sleeping spiritual side of you now so that you can know what it is to live completely . . . right now.”

  “So how can a feller be sure?”

  “By saying to your spiritual side, that little piece of God that’s inside of you: Wake up! It’s what Jesus called being born again. It’s so simple to do that it only takes a minute. After that, life begins all over again, with both your physical and your spiritual halves awake.

  “Would you like me to help you wake up your spiritual side, like your friend Drum has done?”

  “I’d be obliged to ye, young Braxton. Ye just tell me what t’ do an’ I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 23

  Waking Up the Other Half

  As Christopher spoke, I could not help glancing over out of the corner of my eye at Pa where he sat listening. His eyes were glistening and wet as we heard Christopher talk about his conversation with his old and dear friend. But I’ll let Christopher continue on with the story.

  “All right, Alkali,” I went on. “How do you feel about talking to God?”

  “Ye mean prayin’?”

  “Doesn’t matter what you call it. Do you think you can talk to God?”

  “Don’t rightly know. . . . I reckon.”

  “Some men can’t. It takes a strong man, with guts and courage. It’s not the kind of thing a weakling can do.”

  “I reckon I oughta be able t’ give it a try. But why’s a feller gotta talk t’ God t’ wake that place in him up?”

  “Because you need God’s help to do it. Only God can wake it up, but he can’t wake it up without your asking him to. You can’t be born again all by yourself. You need God’s help, but you have to ask him for it.”

  “Wasn’t you gonna tell me what t’ do?”

  “All right, just say to God—”

  “I gotta close my eyes?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I thought ye had t’ close yer eyes when ye was prayin’.”

  “You just have to talk to God. Imagine that he’s sitting right here in this room with us. Would you close your eyes to talk to him?”

  “Don’t reckon. But he ain’t in the room.”

  “Of course he is. We just can’t see him, that’s all.”

  “You’re sayin’ I should pray with my eyes open?” asked Alkali. It was such an incredible thought to him that God was right beside him and not way off in the sky somewhere.

  (We all smiled at the thought of Mr. Jones trying to imagine God coming and sitting down in his messy little cabin. He had spun so many tall tales in his life, but I think he’d finally met his match in what Christopher was now telling him.

  And everything Christopher was saying was true, unlike some of Mr. Jones’ most outlandish stories!)

  “It doesn’t make any difference one way or another,” I went on. “Let’s just begin talking to him, and you can do whatever you feel like. How’s that?”

  “Fair enough,” said Alkali. “Ye’re gonna tell me what t’ say?”

  I nodded. “Now just tell him that you would like his help in waking up the spiritual side of you that’s been asleep.”

  He looked at me, eyes wide. There was no fear in his expression, just a childlike, innocent bewilderment. It was all so new to him.

  “What do I call him?” he asked after a moment.

  “You can call him God, or Lord, if you like. People pray to him using many of his names. What he mostly wants us to call him is Father, because that’s what he is to us. That’s what Jesus called him and what he told his disciples to call him.”

  “So now I just say it to him, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “How?”

  “In your own words—however it comes out.”

  “All right, then, here goes. God . . . er, uh . . . Father,” he said, stumbling some at first, “I reckon it’d be good . . . uh, fer this other side of me t’ get woke up. Braxton here says I can’t . . . uh, do it without yer helpin’ me, an’ so I’m askin’ ye t’ do whatever it is ye do t’ wake old men like me up when they ain’t been in the habit o’ thinkin’ too much about religious things.”

  “Good, Alkali,” I said to him, “that’s just exactly right. God is listening, and he’s heard everything you’ve said. He’s very pleased. I’m sure he’s smiling right now, just like a proud father would be when his little son is first learning to walk.”

  “Ye really think so?”

  “Of course he’s pleased. That’s what you’re doing—you’re just like a little boy, reaching up for your father’s hand to learn how to walk on your spiritual legs. Now, tell him you want to be one of his children. Tell him that you want to be part of his family and that you want to be born again so that you can be his son forever.”

  “God,” he said, “ever’thing Braxton said is right. I reckon I’d like t’ be born again so I can be in yer family along with Drum an’ his family an’ the Rev. an’ Braxton here an’ all the rest of ’em. I don’t know exactly what t’ do, but I’d like t’ be yer son, that is, if you’d have me.”

  “That’s excellent, Alkali!” I said. “Now, just tell your heavenly Father that you’re giving yourself to him so that he can be in charge of your life from now on.”

  “God, I’m givin’ myself t’ you, like he says.”

  By now it was all I could do to keep the tears from gushing out my eyes, but I forced myself to remain calm.

  As the rest of us listened to Christopher tell it, I think we all felt exactly the same way! I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.

  Christopher stopped and looked around at all of us. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Pa was looking down, just kind of shaking his head.

  “I . . . I just never realized,” Pa said. “I figured if Alkali wanted to know more, he’d ask. I didn’t want to push it on him.”

  “It’s sometimes very difficult to tell what someone is thinking,” said Christopher. “Especially about spiritual things.”

  “I just figured he was coming along with the rest of us,” said Pa. “I’m happy for him, and I’m indebted to you, Christopher, for leading the way for him like you done. I just can’t help wondering if I should have done more earlier.”

  “Put it out of your head, Drum,” replied Christopher with an encouraging tone. “The Lord makes use of many factors in a person’s life to bring them to a point of readiness to say, Wake up! to their spiritual being. Your life has been a tremendous influence upon Alkali all through the years. He would not have been so eager to respond to the things I had to say had it not been for you.”

  “I reckon you’re right.”

  “Another thing to remember, Drummond,” added Almeda, “is that oftentimes the Father will use someone other than those closest to us when that moment of decision actually comes. You and Agatha gave Corrie, for instance, all her early training and instruction, and you set her values and attitudes in a godly direction. Yet there came a time in her life when he chose to use me in a more direct way as well. And he brought Hawk along in Zack’s life just at the right time. Such it is with Alkali and you and now Christopher. God makes use of us all, in distinctive ways, to carry out his purposes.”

  “You’re both right,” said Pa. “I just hope I didn’t overlook Alkali and maybe take him for granted.”

  “You didn’t,” said Christopher. “He considers you his best friend. He’s been watching you all these years, seeing the changes. Your life affected him in a thousand ways, whether you ever talked to him dire
ctly about God or not. I truly believe, Drum, that you are the chief reason for what happened today.”

  “And the Lord wasn’t overlooking him all this time,” said Almeda. “That’s why he turned Christopher’s prayers toward Alkali once the time was ripe to harvest the seed you had been silently sowing through the years.”

  “Well, I want to know what happened next,” I finally said to Christopher. “Did you and Mr. Jones talk any more?”

  Christopher laughed. “Did we ever! He was full of questions and just as eager to listen to what I had to say as a little child. It was wonderful.”

  “Then, on with it!” boomed Pa. “We want to hear every word.”

  Christopher drew in a deep breath, then continued on.

  Chapter 24

  Making Spiritual Legs Strong

  “Very good, Alkali,” I said. “You’ve done it. Congratulations.”

  I reached out my hand to his and shook it. “Welcome to God’s family!”

  “That’s all there is t’ the thing?’ he said, surprised to find it over with so quickly.

  “That’s all.”

  “I don’t feel no different.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said. “You asked God to wake up your spiritual life. That’s what he was waiting for. It is awake now. You have been born again. You are his son, and he is your Father.”

  “I feel like just the same tired ol’ man.”

  “That’s the physical part you feel, and it hasn’t changed. It’s only the spiritual part that has changed. While the physical part of you is still the same old man, the spiritual part is like a newborn baby, just barely awake. That’s why you don’t feel it yet.”

  “Reckon what ye say makes some sense.”

  “The spiritual place down inside you doesn’t know much about living yet. You and the Lord working together have wakened it up. Now it needs to be taught how to live, just like your physical side had to learn how to live when you were a baby.”

  “Will I feel it down there someday?”

  “Sure, once it learns how to walk. Spiritual muscles are just like physical muscles—you’ve got to make them strong by exercising them. You’ve got to teach your spiritual legs how to walk.”

  “How in tarnation does a body do that?”

  “Practice . . . exercise—the same way a child’s physical legs get strong.”

  “Practice what?”

  “Using your spiritual muscles.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Practice walking like God wants his sons and daughters to walk.”

  “Huh?”

  “Behaving like God wants his people to behave. Talking like God wants his people to talk. Doing what God wants his people to do. Thinking like God wants his people to think.”

  “How does a body know all that stuff God wants?”

  “I imagine you know quite a bit already, Alkali. You told me yourself that you’ve listened to Rev. Rutledge many times. So now I’m going to ask you—what do you think God wants his sons and daughters to do? How do you think he wants them to behave?”

  A surprised look came over the old man’s face.

  “Uh . . . I reckon he wants them t’ be good . . . t’ be nice t’ other folks, I reckon,” he answered.

  “Certainly,” I said. “That’s right at the top of the list. What else?”

  “Uh . . . t’ pray?”

  “That’s very important as well. You must talk to your Father if you want to know what he wants you to do.”

  “Ye mean . . . jist talk t’ him, like we done a minute ago?”

  “Yep—just like he’s your Father.”

  “What do ye say?”

  “Tell him what you’re thinking and feeling, what you’re wondering about. Father, you might say, what do you want me to do?”

  “Ye make everything sound too blame simple, Braxton!”

  I laughed. “It is simple, Alkali,” I said. “Not always easy, but simple enough.”

  He just sat there, sort of shaking his head.

  “All right,” I went on, “besides being nice to people and praying, is there anything else you can think of that God would want his people to do?”

  “Well . . . don’t know—being good seems likely t’ cover it.”

  “I think you’re probably right. So how does a person be what you call good?”

  “I don’t know . . . puttin’ other folks ahead o’ himself, I reckon.”

  “That’s exactly it. Putting other people first. Just simple unselfishness. If you do those few things—be nice, be good, put other people first, and then, like I said, talk to your Father and try to listen to what he says and do whatever he tells you—then your spiritual legs will get the exercise they need to grow strong.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s not all, but that’s where it starts.”

  “How do ye find out what else he wants ye t’ do?”

  “First of all, when you and he are talking together, you can ask him to speak to you.”

  “How’s he do that?”

  “In your heart, in your mind. He puts thoughts there. You can ask him to help you hear him, and he’ll do it. Then it’s important to do whatever you think he might be telling you to do. Your legs will grow stronger, too, by listening to Rev. Rutledge and putting into practice everything you learn from him and by always trying to do whatever you think Jesus would do in any situation.

  “That’s how your spiritual legs get strong, Alkali—by doing what Jesus would do. That’s what being a Christian is—following Jesus. Doing what he would do, thinking like he would think, treating people like he would treat them, being a son to your heavenly Father just like he showed us how to do.”

  The cabin got quiet. Finally it seemed he was out of questions.

  We sat for several minutes, and this time it was silent for quite a long time. I saw Alkali shiver slightly and realized the fire in his stove had burned low. I got up and put a few more logs onto it and stirred up the coals. When I sat back down I could see that he was thinking hard about what we had been discussing. I waited.

  “Blamed if it ain’t completely different than anything I done heard about afore,” he finally said. “Ye ain’t said a word, Braxton, about what a body believes or don’t believe. Ye ain’t talked about heaven an’ hell or that thing I heard about called santeeficashun—whatever in tarnation that is—and all the other kind o’ highfalutin stuff religious folks is always jawin’ about. You just make it all down t’ earth so’s a body can git a grip on it with his teeth.”

  “Does your friend Drum go in for the up-in-the-clouds kind of religious words and jargon you’re talking about?”

  “No, don’t reckon he does. No, Drum ain’t no highfalutin kind o’ feller. He’s like you—practical about it.”

  “The kind of religion that doesn’t mind some dirt under the fingernails and sweat on the shirt?”

  “That’s it—hee, hee, hee! Dirty, sweaty kind o’ religion. Hee, hee, hee!”

  (We all laughed to hear Christopher tell it, trying to imitate Mr. Jones’ cackling laugh. But Christopher couldn’t do it as well as Tad.)

  “That’s Christianity, Alkali. It’s not for people who want to keep their hands clean. Practical—you bet it’s practical! It’s the most practical creed you can live by, the most down-to-earth religion there is. That’s the kind of man Jesus was too—dirt in the fingernails, sweat on the shirt . . . a real man’s kind of man. That’s why we’re supposed to try to live like he did.”

  “I always figured him fer—if ye’ll pardon me sayin’ it—fer kinda a limp-wristed womanly sort o’ feller.”

  “Many people make that mistake, Alkali. But if you read through the Gospels, you’ll find something altogether different.

  “Let me ask you a question. If someone you didn’t know was to come along and tell you to come with him, and he looked to you like a weakling, would you follow him?”

  “Ain’t likely,” he answered.

  “What
about your friend Drum,” I said. “Is he a weakling?”

  (I glanced over at Pa, but not so much as a muscle of his face twitched. He was too caught up in Christopher’s account even to react to the question one way or the other.)

  “Not fer a second,” said Alkali.

  “And that’s why you like to be around him?”

  “Ye’re right there.”

  “Why do you think the rest of the community thinks so highly of him—because he’s weak?”

  Alkali snorted. “Drum ain’t weak!”

  “Exactly! And that’s just the way Jesus was. Why else do you think those big burly fishermen left everything to go with him? Would they have done that for a weakling?”

  “Don’t reckon so.”

  “They followed him. Huge crowds followed him. Women followed him, men followed him, rich people followed him, poor people followed him. He was a man’s man. He knew how to fish, and those nets could be as heavy as the big rocks we pull out of our mine, Alkali. He worked with his hands. By trade he was a carpenter—no doubt had to lug around big boards. He walked long distances. When he took a whip in his hands, everyone scattered in fear. This man Jesus was a strong man who made folks stand up and listen.”

  It got quiet again, and Alkali and I sat in silence for a long time. I think finally poor Alkali had taken in about all the new information for one day he could handle.

  Well, that’s about it. I think I’ve recounted nearly the whole conversation.

  We all kind of shuffled around on our chairs. All the supper things were still on the table. Nobody’d touched anything in an hour. I shivered now, too. Our fire had almost gone out just like Mr. Jones’.

  “I just have one question,” said Pa, chuckling even as he thought of it.

  “What’s that?” said Christopher.

  “Back when you were first telling us about Alkali praying and him wondering about whether to look or not . . . did Alkali have his eyes open or shut?”

  Christopher smiled at the memory.

  “He kept them open,” he replied, “staring down at the floor the whole time.”