Before Michael could respond, Carrie interrupted. “And I think lunch is ready, so let’s continue in the dining room.”
Seated in the small, informal dining area off the living room, with a grand view of the camp around them, they were served lunch on presidential china. Michael offered a blessing.
When he finished, William picked up his fork, grinned, and said, “North Carolina barbecue—in honor of the holiday. Hope you like it.”
“It looks delicious,” Michael replied. They each took a few bites before Michael continued the conversation.
“I’ve never met the Sullivans, but it sounds like they gave you good advice.”
“I finally drought to ask Richard why he was in Washington.” William almost laughed. “I knew it was for a legal conference. But it turns out that some Christian and constitutional lawyers were getting together to plan strategies for fighting our administrations proposed tax on churches which refuse to comply with federal non-discrimination laws.”
William turned serious. “I want to come back to that in a minute. But on Sunday we changed our schedule around and made the Secret Service real happy by visiting the Church of the Good Shepherd—your friend Robert Ludwig. He’s the one who started me reading the Founding Fathers. Anyway, he gave another great sermon on the kingdom of God versus the kingdom of man—two different worldviews. Again, it was uncanny—like I was somehow supposed to be there. I want to learn more from him.”
“And the church tax?” Michael asked.
“Oh, yes. As ironic as that was—and I think it’s great that Richard never mentioned it until I asked—that’s exactly why I need you, and I guess Robert Ludwig, if he has time, and maybe others, to teach me what the Bible says about all these subjects. I think I’m a pretty good constitutional expert, although my recent readings have made me wonder if I really understand that incredible document. But I know that I don’t know the Bible. And that was the one document the founders relied on most. So I want to understand the Bible and its meaning for me as an individual—like any other new believer. But then I also want to try to understand how its teachings might influence what we do as a nation—specific legislation, for example. Like this tax. If I’m really going to be God’s servant and I’m in this office, then I want to do what he wants.”
There was a long moment of silence as all of them ate and thought about what the president had just said. Finally Michael responded. “I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest. One thing’s certain: we can’t accomplish any of this relying on our own strength. We’ll have to pray constantly and seek his will. We could easily go off on some human tangents and agendas that are not of the Lord. So we’ll keep our focus on him.
“The most important thing, it seems to me, is for godly people to teach you about our faith and about God himself—Father, Son, and Spirit. That’s how you’ll develop your own foundation of God’s principles and begin your walk with the Lord. Then you’ll have to decide, perhaps with others, how God’s Spirit speaks to you on these governmental matters. Teachers can and will certainly give you principles, but the actual laws are for men like yourself to propose and to pass—maybe that’s why you’re here.”
William looked at Carrie. “It seems you said something like that a few months ago.”
“Yes, but I had no idea it would turn out this way,” she said, reaching for his hand.
“How much time do you have, Mr. President, given your schedule, to devote to this teaching?”
“Please, Michael, call me William. I’ll certainly try to make time. I’ve got to. Maybe early in the mornings and in the evenings. Who do you recommend to help?”
“I wouldn’t presume to undertake such a task on my own—or limit your teaching to one man or one view of our faith. I’ll be glad to call Robert Ludwig and some other teachers in the Washington area from different denominations—men and women who share a strong faith in the Bible as the foundation for their belief. Give us a few days, and we’ll pull together a course, if you will, starting in ‘kindergarten on the basics and describing God’s worldview, like Robert apparently preached when you heard him.”
“That sounds good, Michael. I’ll talk to Barbara Morton about scheduling. Let’s keep this in the private quarters and off the nightly news for now, if we can. But early and late should work. Do you really think you can find people to help?”
Michael smiled. “I think so. We Christians have been complaining for years. Now God has apparently given us the opportunity to teach his principles to the president of our nation. I think many will jump at the chance. But there’s the interesting tension. What do we teach? Laws and legislation, like in a theocracy? No, I don’t think so.”
He paused and then continued. “This is really important, William, and I’m glad we’re focusing on it early. There will be a temptation for each teacher to try to tell you his or her agenda—what that person thinks God wants you to hear, he or she would no doubt say. But I’ll speak to them and emphasize that we’re to treat you like any other new believer who has felt God’s power and now wants to learn his wisdom. We’re going to compress the process as much as we can, but not change the subject matter.
“Once you understand these principles—again, God’s worldview— then it will be up to you and others to debate and decide what laws should govern our country. We can give you God’s principles, but it’s your job to govern. And both of those important but separate roles are established and confirmed over and over again by God in the Bible.”
It was William’s turn to think for a minute. “I understand,” he finally replied, imagining for the first time what it really might mean to have been elected for God’s purpose, as Carrie had told him months before. The thought sent a chill through him, and Carrie noticed his sudden introspection. After a few moments of silence, William asked, “When can we start?”
“I’ll make some calls this afternoon, and I suspect we can have a rotating schedule of men and women you’ll enjoy getting to know and learning from ready to go by Monday.”
As Carrie rose to take a telephone call from her aide at the door, William said, “The sooner the better.”
“In the meantime, keep reading Luke and Acts. And if you have some time this afternoon, I might build on what Robert preached and show you the foundations for God’s worldview in Genesis.”
“That would be great. Sure. And if you can recommend a book or two, I’d appreciate it, although I’m still fascinated with the early writings of the founders, both their letters and their laws. I’ll keep reading those as well.”
“Fine. I’d like to hear what you find out from that reading as we go along.”
Carrie returned to the room as the two men rose from the table. “That was Rebecca. Bruce called her from Boston, and they wanted you to know that his mother’s operation went well. It’s too early to tell anything conclusive, but the first indications are that they were able to remove all the tumor. They wanted to thank you.”
William was touched but a little embarrassed. “Thanks, Carrie. But they shouldn’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.”
“Well, they wanted you to know, and they’re thankful. Oh, and she also said that Leslie Sloane has called her and wants to fly down to Atlanta to do an interview—she’s thinking about it.”
“That’s fine. Well, let’s get our Bibles—mine’s so new the pages still stick together. Michael is going to spend some time with us on Genesis.”
“Great. I’ll be right back. I’ll have some coffee brought into the living room.”
As Michael followed his host into the living room, it was his turn to feel a chill. God, give me the words you want so that through me you can teach this leader of the most powerful nation on earth exactly what you want him to know about you and your will for our lives.
11
All the good from the Saviour of the world is communicated through this Book; but for the Book we could not know right from wrong. All the things desirable to man are contained in it.
> ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Monday, August 27
Eight Weeks Later
CHAPEL HILL—“I’ve had a really great time this summer, Aunt Mary,” Katherine said as she, her cousin Sarah, and Mary walked across the University of North Carolina campus after their lunch with Robert. They were headed toward the administration building, followed discreetly by one of the Secret Service teams that had been assigned to the president’s daughter for her working vacation in Raleigh.
“Well, if your interviews today go well and everything else falls into place, maybe you two will be together again next fall when you start college,” Mary replied, as they walked in the shade of the large oak trees for relief from the summer heat.
“And if we survive senior year in high school,” Sarah added. “That new computer is affecting just about every class at school, and I’m not real crazy about computers.”
“I thought computers made work easier,” her mother said, “Not that I understand them.”
“I guess, but not always for me. Matthew loves them, though. He’s promised to help me whenever I like get bogged down.”
Katherine turned to her cousin. “Sounds like a great excuse to spend lots of time with Matthew!” she said teasingly.
“Well, he really does know all about that stuff.” She couldn’t help laughing.
“And your new health class,” Katherine continued her teasing, knowing that she was treading on thin ice and glancing at her aunt. “Will Matthew help you with computer applications there, too?”
Sarah blushed and glanced sideways at her mother, but didn’t say anything.
Mary looked at her niece—they were almost the same height—and said with as much maternal authority as she could muster without ruining the mood of their day together, “I don’t think Sarah will need any help there, Katherine. We’ve given Sarah our permission to use her own judgment on that confounded computer course. She’s old enough to make her own decisions. But the last I heard, she’s had the courage and the faith to say no. Is that still your decision, Sarah?”
As they walked, Sarah looked down at the brick path in front of her. “Yes...I guess so. It does sound pretty weird. But a lot of the kids, and most of my friends, are going to try it once, I think. Matthew’s parents told him they don’t care, that it’s up to him.”
Katherine regretted she had pushed so far. She knew from their many late night discussions over the summer how torn Sarah was about the health class. And she had heard her aunt and uncle discuss the situation in very vivid terms. Aunt Mary was apparently looking into some sort of group or legal action to try to stop the class, or at least to prevent it from spreading to other schools.
“I’m sorry,” Katherine relented. “Those computer people have probably programmed all the guys to look like geeks anyway.” She tried to atone for her choice of subjects.
“Well, whatever they look like,” Mary added, smiling but obviously very serious, “I just pray Sarah has the good sense not to take a bite out of that particular apple.”
Mother and daughter exchanged glances, and then Sarah looked down at the path again. “Anyway,” Katherine concluded, “Here’s the admin building. Let’s forget about this September for a while and focus on the next. Aunt Mary, keep your fingers crossed for us during the interviews.”
“I’ll do much better than that, dear. I’ll pray.”
ATLANTA—As one of the Ob-Gyn head nurses, Rebecca had stayed late that Thursday night at the hospital to catch up on the paperwork that had piled up during her recent vacation in the Pacific Northwest with Bruce. It was early in the evening as she finally closed the door to her shared office and started down the hall, hoping to get home in time for the first pitch of the Braves game, when she ran into Dr. Harvey Thompson and an anesthesiologist, Dr. Priscilla Sawyer, heading for what appeared to be a delivery.
“Someone going to ruin your dinner?” Rebecca stopped and asked Harvey as they came together in the hall. They had been on staff together for years, though they were not particularly close.
“It shouldn’t be too bad,” he replied, slowing a bit but appearing to be in a hurry. “An abortion. No problem. We’ll be done in an hour.”
“Medical complications?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, continuing down the hall but turning back to finish. “She’s apparently decided it’s too much of a burden. We got a call from admitting. Gotta go. See ya.”
And under the new health plan, she’s ‘gotta’ get an abortion when she wants it, or we get cut off from federal funds, Rebecca drought, as she walked to the elevator. She was torn by two conflicting forces. Her feminist friends, as well as Bruce, argued, as did her brother, that an abortion was a woman’s inalienable right. And William had signed an executive order allowing full-term abortions. “A fetus is a fetus,” she could remember him saying during the campaign. “And an abortion one month is the same as an abortion any other month.”
But her training and her heart rebelled against that notion. She recoiled at the single full-term abortion she had witnessed, called a “D and X.” The doctor had used forceps to locate the baby’s feet, then pulled the almost born baby out of the womb until just the head remained in the cervix. It was when he cut open the baby’s neck and then sucked out the brain with a cannula that even Rebeccas veteran stomach had turned.
After the first few full-term abortions at the hospital, many of the nurses and other staff members had requested that they not be used for any abortions, including some staff who had previously worked on first trimester abortions but had apparently been affected by what they witnessed.
Soon after, however, federal guidelines were issued mandating that anyone on the staff at any federally funded hospital could not discriminate against any lawful procedure by refusing to participate, because costs would be increased by the restricted labor availability. So several of Rebecca’s oldest friends had quit, and others relied on their relationship with the schedulers to swap duties when necessary.
All of these thoughts were swirling through Rebecca’s mind again when the elevator doors opened and Sally Kramer walked out.
“Hello, Ms. Kramer.” Rebecca smiled, obviously confused. “You were just here a few weeks ago, weren’t you?”
Sally looked down and then started to walk toward the double doors that opened to the ward. “Yes, hi. Uh, Ms. Harrison, right? Yes. For an abortion. I was. You’re right. Hey, I’m just visiting a friend tonight. Good to see you.” And she went through the doors.
GUANTANAMO BAY, CUBA—The officers club at Guantanamo Bay Naval Station occupied a prominent location on a hill overlooking both the bay and the deep blue ocean beyond. A breeze always blew through its white tropical porches. Since Castro’s death and Cuba’s improving relationship with Washington, there was no longer the siege mentality that had existed for over forty years. Local musicians made the club a popular place for officers to relax away from their duties on the several ships that were always at the base for training.
The USS Fortson had been at Gitmo—as the base had always been called in navy jargon—for three long weeks. Gitmo’s instructors and inspectors prided themselves on the realism and the seriousness of their exercises—and for good reason. Lives would depend on how well a ship’s crew could react to an enemy’s challenge or to a natural disaster. The standard routine for the Fortson’s crew was to awaken the off-watch sections at five every morning and be underway by six. The heat of August only added to the difficulty of the seemingly impossible combination of tasks the staff planned for each day’s training.
Everyone on board was initially apprehensive about how they would perform together under pressure. But what had seemed impossible on arrival became commonplace by the third week, as the crew learned to work together, despite the difficulties. Of course the Fortson’s crew was aware they were a source of comment for the Gitmo staff.
The outside threat of the Gitmo staff had actually acted as a catalyst for the crew, who rose to the cha
llenge under the leadership of the ship’s veteran officers and petty officers. On their fifth day a fire control party that included a large group of the ship’s homosexuals received the first perfect score of the training period, and everyone on the ship shared in the pride. The younger members of the crew had never experienced the satisfaction of a life-or-death job completed successfully by a highly trained team.
Then late one night Teri Slocum’s division helped shoot down three incoming drone targets in rapid succession, earning the ship another well-deserved commendation from the inspectors. Hugh and Teri, sitting side by side at two radar screens in the darkened combat information center, shared a smile, a hand squeeze, and a look of mutual accomplishment as the third missile split its drone over fifty miles away.
By the end of the training period the Fortson’s crew was handling each exercise as well or better than the other ships at the base, and the admiration of the instructors was infectious. Pride in a job well done spread throughout the whole crew. Age, color, and sex were forgotten as individuals learned to rely on one another and to respect each other’s abilities, rather than focus on each other’s differences.
Any ship’s last night at Guantanamo Bay was always a celebration. Captain Robertson read the Fortson’s excellent scores and a letter of commendation from the base commander to the crew over the ship’s public address system late that afternoon. The pride in his voice was obvious. Then there was general liberty call for the first time in three weeks, and the only constraint was that each crew member had to be able to function at sea detail for departure the next morning.
As the officers left the wardroom after the Gitmo staff’s positive assessment of the ship’s preparedness, Hugh asked Teri in the passageway, “Are you going to the O Club tonight?”
The President Page 28