The neighbours were less than thrilled, but they’ve come around. We started offering volunteer manpower at harvest time and try generally to keep our guests productive. That’s the best therapy. We now have about forty residents. Two barns converted into dormitories, one for the women, one for the men. Six extra beds in our own home, for residents with children.
Sounds like you’re doing a terrific job, Connie said.
Oh, you know, Dashiel said, it’s not me. It’s really the people who come and get clean that deserve the credit.
I’d like to be involved in something like that.
Connie, the need is great. These people are so poor. Last month, we delivered a baby. The mother didn’t have any medical insurance. She’s a recovering heroin addict. Well, the baby, you should have seen her. Came out yellow as a Chiquita banana, so we called her Chiquita. She’s as healthy as a peach now.
Connie smiled and said, not self-pityingly, but with true humility, You make me feel like a fraud. I’ve never done a good generous thing like that in my whole life.
Connie walked back inside and followed the arrows for the prophetic ministry, up a set of stairs that led to a small second storey, the kind of floor where a boss might look out over his factory workers, safe above the thundering sound of a thousand industrial sewing machines. At the top of the stairs, a woman sat behind a desk collecting appointment cards. It smelled like air freshener, a bubble-gum smell. Can I keep mine? Connie asked and opened her bag and showed the woman how she’d already stuck her card into her journal. The woman said, Oh, you’re good. Look at you. Aren’t you good.
She directed Connie down the hall towards what looked like a classroom. There were rows of wooden chairs and about fifteen people sitting around, some talking in low voices while others read their Bibles or simply sat and stared. The sound was of a hushed expectancy. Connie took a seat in the third row, and a woman with brassy dyed hair came in wearing a dark green wool wrap, which she flung over her shoulder before pointing to a row of four people and saying, Come with me.
A man at the back said, What about the people who’ve been here since one-thirty?
Who’s been here for more than an hour? the woman said.
Half a dozen hands rose into the air.
Okay, sorry, folks, she said to the first group of four, who sat down again, looking disgruntled, and led the other six people out of the room.
It doesn’t usually take this long, Connie heard a woman say.
A man mumbled, What is this, the gates of heaven?
Connie felt as if the room had suddenly turned into a gypsy tent, with paper lanterns and strings of red chili-pepper lights. What was she doing here? What was she after? She wanted a mystical experience of God, but is this where she was going to find it? In this assembly line? The tone was so crass, it made the whole thing seem ridiculous.
Now a man was taking an informal census of the people in the room, trying to figure out who had waited the longest and who should go next. I used to be a crossing guard, he joked, directing a few people to get up and sit near the front.
Another man laughed and said, You have the gifts of administration and provenance.
Connie closed her eyes. When it was her turn, she followed the lady with the brassy hair out of the room and passed Hannah on her way. You came! she said, holding back nothing of her relief. Come with me, she said and grabbed her sister’s arm. Have you been drinking? she whispered.
We went into town, Hannah said.
Where’s Zeus?
He’s outside somewhere.
Connie shook her head and led her sister into the prophecy room. Inside, there were two circles of chairs, one on either side, tape recorders on some of the seats – the kind with the flip-up cassette slots – and maybe twenty people.
What are the tape recorders for? Hannah asked.
You get a recording of what they say to you, Connie said and suddenly realized she didn’t want Hannah to overhear what the prayer counsellors might tell her. This should be private, she said, for both of us. We should probably separate.
Fine, Hannah said and headed off, seemed to remember something, came back and handed Connie a letter. It’s from Harlan, she said, and Connie quickly pressed it against her chest with a look of panic.
Don’t read it now, Hannah said. It’ll colour your experience.
I guess so, Connie said.
It’s not urgent, Hannah said. It’s a letter.
You’re right, Connie said and slid the envelope into her Bible.
Hannah made her way across the room and, as she slipped between two chairs to take a seat, turned and gave Connie a goofy wave, as if they were both climbing into different cars on a rollercoaster.
Connie felt such affection for her sister then. She loved it when Hannah was funny. Two women on her right stood up and put their hands on a man’s head and started praying over him. Another man was kneeling in front of a black woman, in a pale blue business suit, and prayed while holding her knees. It’s loud, Connie thought. It sounds like the sea. All those susurrating voices. She tried not to stare as four people prayed in a muscular, energetic way over a young man, kneeling on the floor in the corner of the room. He was bent forward with his forehead on the carpet and Connie heard someone say, God loves you, Kurt. And it reminded her of Harlan’s description of his own conversion, twenty years ago, at a Leighton Ford crusade.
Across from her, a Chinese woman sat with an older couple who must have been her parents. An attractive couple, with kind, gentle faces – even their posture had a cheerful grace about it. The father in a pressed white shirt and olive-green, high-waisted slacks. His wife in a navy blue windbreaker. Their daughter had her arm in a sling, and a bearded man was praying for her.
I see a town crier, he said.
The young woman didn’t know what he meant.
That you will cry Jesus to the people, the man explained. Tell people all about him.
As if jolted by an electrical current, she rose up in her chair and cried out a sustained musical note, like a ribbon pulled across the room. It was joyous and painful, as lonely as a train whistle, and then it subsided and she sank primly back into her seat, as glassy-eyed and limp as if she’d just had an orgasm. A moment later, she cried out again, singing her one ardent note, oblivious to anything else, carried out of herself by some divine power.
I want something like that to happen to me, Connie thought, and she looked across the room at Hannah. Already a woman had sat down with her, to impart a message. Connie started to feel sorry for herself. Even here, she wondered, in this place, am I to be overlooked? I want, she prayed, to feel blown away by you, Lord. Crush me, if you have to. Devastate me. Just don’t ignore me!
When she opened her eyes a woman was sitting beside her, pressing with the first fingers of both hands the record and play buttons of a tape recorder on her lap. What’s your name, honey?
Connie, she said.
Well, Connie, what I got was, um – oh, I get pictures? And I saw the word jewel, and I believe God considers you his rare and precious jewel. And I just saw this treasure chest, and there were all these jewels in there, but you? God looked in this chest and you just shone the brightest.
I mean, you sparkle, she said, and that’s how he sees you. He delights in you. He has adorned you with his beauty and you carry that. He calls you beautiful, he calls you precious one. I see your heart, and I see that there’s been some, like, electrical wire that has been put around it, of defence, and I see that the Lord is just breaking that wire. I see him coming in with such a fire for you, that he’s coming in and he’s saying, no wire! I desire you! It’s like this passionate burning flame that wants to capture every corner of your heart. And it’s not like you’ve done anything wrong because you haven’t. But I see that he’s just breaking in there, in such a way that he’s actually surprising you. It’s like, nobody could ever love me this much, and he’s saying, but I do.
The woman’s voice was mellow and reass
uring. Connie felt herself softening too. The woman patted Connie on the knee, then turned to look up at another woman who was waiting to pray for her. She handed over the tape recorder and said, She’s all yours, Doris.
Doris sat down beside Connie and arranged the tape recorder and put her hand on Connie’s shoulder. She said, I’m getting a powerful sense that you are a mother. I sense that you have children, am I right?
That’s right, Connie said and a powdery bomb like a bag of flour went off at the base of her spine.
You have a girl, I think.
Yes.
And two boys, is that right?
How do you know this?
And your daughter, Doris said, squinting as she talked. She’s the oldest, and she’s a very strong and independent girl.
Connie started to cry and Doris handed her a box of kleenex from a nearby seat.
And the two younger boys, she said, maybe you worry about them a little more? Perhaps they seem a bit more vulnerable, out in the world?
Connie sucked in a jagged lungful of air.
You worry about their safety. And maybe about their spiritual welfare as well. The kind of role model their father’s been to them, and whether or not he’s been modelling good Christian values. Doris paused to give Connie a sympathetic look. You’ve had a bit of a rough time, haven’t you?
Connie was nodding and twisting the kleenex into a tight strand.
You’ve been carrying around a real specific burden of concern, and God is telling me, he’s saying that, by the grace of his son, Jesus Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit, today he’s going to lift that burden off your shoulders.
Doris lifted her hand off Connie’s shoulder and Connie felt lighter.
What I’m feeling in my heart, Doris said, what feels really obvious to me right now is this certainty that your children, all three of them, will come to know God. I sense that you’ve been troubled about this, am I right?
It frightened Connie how accurately Doris could read her. And from whom no secrets are hid.
All I know is what Jesus permits me to know, Doris said. And he’s saying have faith, Connie, that your children walk in righteousness.
How could this woman know these things about her, the things she needed to hear? When Connie opened her eyes and looked around, Hannah was gone. Have I been here a long time? she asked.
What’s a long time, Doris said gently, when you’re spending it with the Lord?
Connie thanked her and took the tape and sat holding it in her lap. She had been longing all her life to hear God’s voice, hear him speak to her, and she wondered now if she had. But regardless, she felt a confidence that was palpable, that was having a deeply relaxing effect on her body. Think of it as a holiday – wasn’t that what her mother had said? She opened her bag to put the tape inside, saw her Bible, and remembered Harlan’s letter. She opened it calmly and read.
Connie,
Just wanted to let you know that the kids and I are okay. I know you don’t like them being here, but at least Jodes been smoking out on the balcony since they arrived. Last night, I made fishsticks and mashed potatoes and it reminded me of my own childhood. The kids had been out in the street earlier, in front of Jodie’s building, playing in the rain. It was one of those really windy days, I know how much you love that. The ocean all covered in white caps. Around four o’clock, there was a huge downpour, with thunder and lightning, which is totally out of season, I think. But you know what the weather’s like these days. Well, I went out with an umbrella and stood with them. They were hugging my legs like they do, and within minutes, the gutter was like a river. We all sat in it while the water rushed around us, spraying in an arc off our bodies, and they were having a blast, laughing their heads off. I thought, is this what I’ve been afraid of all my life? What have I been running away from? When we came in, we were all soaking wet, but Jodes had warmed up three towels in the oven like our mom used to do. I just wanted to write you and tell you that we’re all good. I don’t want you to worry about me. I mean, I’m totally ashamed of myself too. But I want you to know everything’s going to be okay. And we really miss you, me and the kids. We can’t wait for you to get home.
Love, Harlan.
Hannah left the room like a spy. When she’d arrived with her sister, she’d felt curious and open to what might happen but also guarded. It all came back to her, how she used to feel, sitting in church, ashamed of how detached she felt. Was it really a sin? The sin of being unconvinced? Wasn’t God powerful enough to overwhelm her doubts? There was Thomas in the Bible. He was a disciple, but he got proof. That’s all she wanted too. A little wound oozing with blood and water that she could slip her fingers into, to lay her doubts to rest. Was that too much to ask for? Hannah looked around the room. The scene laid out before her – the ministrations, the whispered urgencies, the sudden distressing noises of agony, or ecstasy – it put her in mind of a temporary field hospital, at the edge of a battle, taking in the maimed.
She was waiting for someone to approach her. Did she look like a hard sell? She felt her body heat up with self-consciousness, then a woman with malformed hands sat down beside her. The woman’s knuckles reminded Hannah of antique, nickel-plated taps. What’s your name? she asked. Then she pushed the buttons on a tape recorder and started talking about a net, how Jesus was mending it, how Hannah was going to reel in a lot of fish. As she prayed, the woman’s eyes kept darting towards her. The effect was imploring, uncertain – as if she was seeking her approval. Hannah felt like she was dealing with an amateur, a novice in the prophetic ministries business. She looked across the room at Connie, who sat alone with her head bowed.
I see you out in a boat, she said. And just like the disciples, when he told them, they’d been fishing for a really long time, but the Lord said, cast your net on the other side, and when they did that, the net just became so full of fish. And I believe that God is calling you to this. All the pieces of the puzzle may not be there yet, but it is a time of mending and when it happens, you’re just going to cast your net out into the sea and it’s going to reel in a lot of people.
The woman stopped, and Hannah, out of consideration for the woman’s feelings and affected by her physical handicap, gave a gentle pushing gesture with her head to signify that it had, indeed, been meaningful, and thanked her. The woman pressed eject on the tape recorder, but the slot was empty. Oh dear, she said. Another woman hovering nearby said, You’ll have to do a recall, Margot, and handed her a blank tape from her pocket. Margot, blushing and stammering slightly, repeated her story about the fishing net, into the machine.
When she was done, a man came over to Hannah and knelt in front of her with a look of heartfelt urgency. He was a good-looking guy, about her own age, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He was kneeling close to her and Hannah felt a stirring within her that meant she was in the proximity of the possibility of sex. Not in a literal sense, but alive to the possibility. It was distracting. It made her feel excited and shy and a little seedy, but she felt it must be undeniable to him too. There was acknowledgment in his eyes, some flirtation.
The man said, Jeremiah 29, verse 11, says, For I know the thoughts. And I’m just going to, for I know the thoughts I think towards you, Hannah, says the Lord, or Adonai. Thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. I just felt that you’re a woman who he’s – you’ve – I’ll just put it plainly. He’s just madly in love with you, and he has a wonderful plan for you.
The man had a golden voice, the warm chestnut accent of the southern states. I know, he went on, I just believe, in the beginning of your life, the word rough wouldn’t begin to describe the kind of things you went through. I think you’ve had a long season of roughness. I still think you keep having these long seasons of roughness, but I hear him say this, Hannah, I am so in love with your heart for me and for other people. You’re an overcomer, you’re someone who is going to help many people see Jesus. There is, he says, there is thousands without ho
pe, and you’re going to bring hope to thousands.
How? Hannah thought. How is this going to happen?
I just felt him say, just let her know this, that I know the thoughts that I think towards you, and that they are thoughts of peace. The man licked his lips and ran a hand through his thick hair and shifted sideways off his knees. He pulled a leg up and rested his Bible on his knee, close to his face.
An overcomer, Hannah thought.
The man found a new page. Psalm 56, verse 8, he said, glancing up at Hannah, and this will be a big one for you, because it is for me too, and I think we’re the same. There was a flash of masculine power in his look that quickened Hannah’s heart.
I think we’ve had the same kind of past, he said. Psalm 56, verse 8, says, he knows every wandering, which means every step we’ve ever taken, and every tear we’ve ever cried. He’s collected them in a bottle and recorded it in a book. He is going to, he is coming so near to you, and you’re a woman who literally has been snatched away from the enemy’s hands, to a woman of grace that you are right now, right here today, and you are a woman that he delights in and there is, um, there’s a treasure inside of you that’s going to be released to other people. Like there’s parts of Jesus that people will never know until they meet you. And they’ll say, hey, I never knew that about Jesus after talking to you. God’s restoring you. He’s totally restoring you. Okay, I’m done, and he sank back towards the floor, as if sapped of energy.
Hannah found herself crying a little. It felt good to be praised and she was crying a little out of gratitude, because she was flattered, and out of consideration for his feelings as well. She was crying a little out of politeness, out of a wish to conform – at which point, he whipped out a small pack of kleenex and Hannah felt shabby. Tears were the goal, and this whole business an indulgent theatre of sentimentality. I’m the big stuffed bear at a shooting gallery, Hannah thought. Won and handed over to this guy who just shot down another sliding row of tin ducks for Jesus.
Sweet Jesus Page 24