My life was filled with fear and it almost killed me. I’ve got to resist these thoughts. Painstakingly, she knelt by her bed. She set the brick on the floor and opened her Bible to Psalm 140:1–3, “O Lord, rescue me from evil people. Protect me from those who are violent, those who plot evil in their hearts and stir up trouble all day long. Their tongues sting like a snake; the venom of a viper dripsfrom their lips….“10 She prayed. “Father, please protect me from harm. Please send angels to surround my home.” Then she prayed for the person who threw the brick. She didn’t know what else to do so she just kept praying so her mind wouldn’t wander.
“Sarah, you are totally safe,” whispered Joel. “The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose hearts are loyal to Him.”11 Malta and Joel stayed with her, encouraging her that nothing could separate her from God’s love—not death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing.12
Outside, six other angels appeared. One stood guard at each corner of the house. Their golden wings were spread wide, and they were armed for battle. Each one held an ornate silver shield and a flaming sword. The other two sat on the porch swing, visible to all, their heavenly glory restrained, but disguised as men wearing sweatsuits and built like professional wrestlers.
A car turned the corner, cut its headlights, and pulled slowly toward the curb. The passenger, holding a large rock on his lap and a can of spray paint said, “There’s two guys on the porch. Keep driving. Go, go.” They disappeared into the night and never came back.
When all the citizens of Bradbury found out that Sarah had indeed sold the land, a rage spread through the town. At first Clarence got people riled toward Paul, but Paul and his dark friend Manipulation were able to help them vent toward the real guilty party—Sarah. This animosity was in full swing. It would eventually run its course and end up as a stronghold of Anger and Depression hovering over the town.
The check for $50,000 arrived by registered mail. Sarah sat on her couch staring in disbelief. Of course I’ll send $5,000 to my church. She bit her lip. Nursing homes are really expensive, Lord what do You want me to do with the rest?
The $5,000 check that Barbara dropped in the offering for Sarah was enough to temporarily lift Pastor Paul’s mood. Finally, something good came from the sale of her ground. He shook his head. If Missouri ever has a hurricane I’m going to suggest they name it Sarah.
CHAPTER 20
HUMILITY PRAYER
“God, I am far too often influenced by what others think of me. I am always pretending to be either richer or smarter or nicer than I really am. Please prevent me from trying to attract attention. Don’t let me gloat over praise on one hand or be discouraged by criticism on the other. Nor let me waste time weaving imaginary situations in which the most heroic, charming, witty person present is myself. Show me how to be humble of heart, like you.”
Alpha Omega1
Six months came and went in Bradbury. Winter was pushed back by the invading spring. The trees were leafing out and daffodil bulbs began poking through the ground in response to the sun’s rays. As good weather returned, garage doors went up and lawn equipment spilled out onto driveways. Neighbors chatted, renewing their friendships after the long winter.
The church had voted to call Pastor Paul, much to his relief. He’d immediately unveiled his grand and glorious five-year plan. A visitation program on Thursday nights was in the works.
Kathy was still enjoying full-time motherhood with Jordan and had made some good friends. She had also taken over as the adult Sunday school director. But she was concerned about Paul and their lack of unity. She prayed in earnest for him. She knew in her spirit that things weren’t going well. She was especially uneasy about his five-year plan. Her concerned questions to Paul brought frustratingly vague and frequently snippy answers. When she tried to share what she was learning from the book on humility, he would listen somewhat patronizingly, but she never saw any attempts at change. Even with encouragement from Valoe, she felt resentment creeping in, especially when Paul consistently worked 70-hour weeks.
The jail was on the way to completion. The residents of Bradbury had reached a resentful resignation over its presence. Twenty men had even taken construction jobs and were getting paid a good wage. There was talk about more good-paying jobs once the jail opened, which was scheduled for two months if it wasn’t a wet spring.
Clarence was still fuming over the jail, but everyone was tired of hearing about it—it was fast becoming a reality. So the proposed 1½-cent sales tax increase to rebuild the bridge over the Platte River became the new cause to pour all his energy into.
Wilma, Bernice, and Carol were still enmeshed in their gossip hotline. Nothing Ardare or the other angels did could permanently penetrate their hearts. They’d feel conviction, but the ringing of the telephone made it disappear. Ardare and his friends cried many tears from the Father over these ladies.
Barbara was enjoying her new home and had it decorated with the antiques she had collected over the years. She had big plans for the yard. She’d never had the time or enough land to have a garden or grow flowers. Her dog-eared seed catalogs were spread over the dining room table. She and Sarah were closer than ever, and she continued to encourage Sarah in the things of the Lord. She remained God’s merciful answer to Sarah’s desperate prayer.
Sarah had been given a slow death sentence. Doctor Schumacher had diagnosed her with Parkinson’s. Even though she was taking several medicines, she was very aware of her decreasing mobility and ever-increasing tremors. Sarah had stayed inside for months, but not because of Agoraphobia. That spirit had been defeated. She just couldn’t risk falling on the ice. Barbara had faithfully grocery shopped for her.
Every day that Sarah had been trapped by the weather, she, Joel, and Malta sat on the couch together. A cup of hot chocolate, coffee, or tea sat on the side table, depending on her mood. She closed her eyes and mentally “walked” the blocks, picturing every house and praying for its inhabitants. She surprised herself; she was able to imagine every house on all four blocks.
Sarah’s times of intimacy with the Lord had increased her desire to surrender totally to Him and had allowed Him to grow her into a powerful intercessor—His life’s plan for her. At home she listened to religious television programs and radio shows. She read her Bible and prayed for missionaries, the visitation program, the church, Pastor Paul, her niece in Tallahassee, and the requests from a magazine called The Voice of the Martyrs,2 which told of Christians being persecuted and executed all around the world.
I knew that people got martyred in the Bible, but I never dreamed that thousands of Christians are martyred now.
Sometimes the Lord gave her a glimpse of an emaciated man or woman being held in a cramped, dank cell. When this happened, she would pace or curl up on the couch under a blanket and sob and pray until the burden lifted off of her.
She also dedicated a special prayer time for “The 10–40 Window.”
Sarah fluctuated between grief and incredulity when she discovered that it contains over 70 percent of the world’s people, but only 8 percent of all missionaries. Less than half of 1 percent of church budgets reach the window. Ninety-seven percent of the poorest of the poor dwell there, trying to survive on less than $1.40 per day. Of the world’s 50 least evangelized countries, 37 are within the window.3
Each day she cried out to God for these requests, sometimes multiple times. Her life was becoming a living prayer.
“She thinks she’s a candle shining a little light into the darkness,” said Joel. “She’s really an inferno for God’s Kingdom, consuming the enemy’s plans and burning up his territory.”
Sarah put on her jacket and stepped on her front porch, eager to start her prayer walks again. I feel like a bird released from a cage, she said, flapping her arms for emphasis and chuckling. Malta and Joel spread the
ir huge, gossamer wings and flapped along with her, joining in her laughter.
As they began their walk, Malta reminded her that she used to be the woman who almost starved to death because she was so terrified to leave her house.
When she thought back on her life after George’s death and before she accepted the Lord, she couldn’t identify with that Sarah at all. I can’t believe I even contemplated taking my own life. I’m a totally different person.
“You are a totally different person, Sarah; you have been delivered from the powers of darkness and translated into the Kingdom of God’s son.4 You are new in Christ.”5
“Thank You for making me Your daughter and delivering me from that awful spirit. Thank You, Jesus; it’s so nice to be outside again,” she said out loud.
She took a deep breath of the brisk, outside air. It was still nippy, but she didn’t care. The snow was off the sidewalks so she could safely shuffle along. The medicine didn’t seem to be working, at least not to her satisfaction. The doctor said she was doing fine, but she felt the disease gaining on her. As she rounded the corner, she looked up in the sky and saw a commercial airliner heading west. “I wonder how many people are on that plane?” asked Malta.
“Two hundred and thirty seven including crew, and there are seven dogs down below,” said Joel with a grin.
“I wasn’t asking for your benefit.” Malta rolled his eyes. “So, SARAH, how many people do you think are on that plane?”
I wonder how many people are on that plane, thought Sarah. I wonder how many are saved? She stood until the plane was out of sight and prayed for the passengers’ salvation, that they would all fulfill their destinies and that the enemy’s plans against them would be defeated.
After she finished her prayer walk she had a snack. Then she gathered her Bible and got in the car. She followed Old Highway 3 out of town and pulled across the street to look at the jail. Because of the cold weather, it had been several months since she’d been there. Most of what she was used to seeing had been bulldozed. The old wood fence surrounding the property was gone. She remembered how she and George had labored to keep it repaired. And then there was the time we had to paint it. Oh, my goodness! She smiled at the memory now, but it wasn’t amusing then.
The jail’s huge. I guess it has to be to hold over 100 inmates, she thought. The four exterior walls were up and the roof was on. She felt a deep satisfaction for the part she had played, her small link in God’s plan for “such a time as this.”
She left the jail and parked at the cemetery. She sat by Reverend Templeton’s grave. As she touched the head stone she repeated a quote she’d read in her devotional guide last week. It had stuck with her. “He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”6 Reverend Templeton, I feel like we are kindred spirits, drawn together by God’s plan for a plot of land. I look forward to meeting you when I get to Heaven. By the way, I know you know this since you’re with Jesus, but the plan for our land is progressing well.
When she got home she took four pieces of typing paper and in her best penmanship she painstakingly printed copies of the phrase from her devotional guide. The tremor in her right hand had worsened, interfering with her writing and crocheting. This looks like a first grader did it, she thought, somewhat disgusted by her best efforts. Nevertheless, she taped one on the wall at the foot of her bed, one on the bathroom mirror, and one in the living room. Now for the one location that will really get the most traffic—my refrigerator door. In order to make room she had to rearrange all the pictures and newsletters from missionaries whom she prayed for daily. She called it her “devotional refrigerator.” She never got something to eat without praying for someone who was ministering in another country.
“Sarah, you need to add another daily prayer ritual,” prompted Joel as she read the obituary page from Mt. Pielor’s Sunday paper. As she scanned the pictures, she wondered what kind of lives these people had lived and if they had known the Lord. She was saddened by the finality of the situation. No more chances; they had made their choice—destiny was sealed. I hope they chose wisely, she thought. Life is so fleeting. I wonder how many people last week thought they’d end up in the obituaries this week?
“Pray each day,” said Joel, “for the people all around the world, who are going to die in the next 24 hours. Pray that the Lord would give them repeated chances to be saved and that the enemy’s deception that clouds their judgment would be supernaturally removed. No one who even catches a fleeting glimpse of our Lord’s great love would ever reject Him.”
“The Lord is not willing that any should perish. Even if someone has spent his whole life cursing God, He still longs to snatch them from the enemy’s kingdom on their last day on earth.
Joel added, “When Christians get to Heaven, they receive a full understanding of the incredible price that Jesus paid to obtain their salvation. They will worship around the throne day and night crying out in thankfulness, “Holy, Holy, Holy.” However, those whose hearts are overflowing with the most gratitude are those who were snatched from Hell on their last day on earth, possibly at the moment of their last breath. Those are the very best worshipers.”
“My friend, C.T. Studd was a missionary to China, India, and Africa during the early 1900s,” said Malta. “While he was on earth he said, ‘Some want to live within the sound of church or chapel bell; I want to run a rescue shop within a yard of Hell.’7 The Lord wants you, through intercession, to work at that rescue shop.”
With a tear in his eye, Joel said, “There are about 100,000 a day who die without our Lord, and He has already paid the full price for their salvation.”
Sarah prayed this for a few days in a row and then it slipped her mind. Later in the week she turned on the evening news and was horrified at what she heard and saw. A major earthquake had hit Afghanistan.
“More than 5,000 people may have died in a powerful 7.6-magnitude quake,” said the announcer. “Several villages have been completely wiped out. As you can see here, people rushed to dig with bare hands, trying to rescue children trapped beneath the rubble of their school.”
Sarah quickly turned the television off and began sobbing and praying. “Oh Jesus, please, please forgive me for not taking Your command seriously to pray each day for the people who are going to die.
“Lord, I know there are many people still alive and trapped beneath the rubble and that many others will die in the next few days. Lord, please have mercy. You are the God who is not willing that any should perish. Would you make Yourself real to every person crying out in prayer, even if they aren’t crying out to You? Lord, You are the true God; would You answer them?
“Lord tear down deceptions and strongholds that would keep them from accepting You. Would You let them see Your eyes of love looking into theirs, longing for them to turn to You, and longing to take them to Your Kingdom of life? Lord, would You snatch them from the enemy’s kingdom even during the last seconds of their lives?
“Send Your angels to minister to every injured person. Please supernaturally guide the rescue workers. Let them get to the people who are still alive. I pray for the people who have lost loved ones and are homeless and traumatized. Lord, in some tangible way will You make Yourself real to them?”
Sarah continued to pray most of the rest of the evening and fell asleep with a plea on her lips for salvations in Afghanistan.
Sarah hadn’t been to church all winter, partly because of the weather, but also because Fear of Man had convinced her she would not be well received. Now that the weather was nicer, Barbara encouraged her by saying that most people at Victory Church were over it by now, but Sarah was unconvinced.
Thursday came and Sarah thought about attending the new visitation program, but in the end decided it might not be wise. I’ll just slow down whatever group I go with, was her rationalization. But she still struggled with fear of rejection. The memories of the first prayer meeting and the town meeting at the Elk’s lodge were still an open wou
nd. If she imagined them for any length of time, she felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She decided that her contribution would be to pray for one hour every Thursday night, starting at 7, for those who were visiting. Lord, I commit to do this as long as the program continues, provided You give me the grace I’ll need.
Pastor Paul, wanting good attendance the first night of the visitation program, and being nobody’s fool, scheduled a potluck dinner to kick it off.
Forty-three people attended. Wilma brought her homemade peach cobbler (although she went home immediately after the potluck). It doesn’t get any better than this, thought Paul, scooping seconds out of the baking dish.
Each Thursday evening, Sarah was on her knees praying, and each week someone was saved. People started visiting and joining the church. Sarah also spent another hour each week praying for Pastor Paul and the church. God was honoring her prayers. They thwarted some of the traps the enemy laid for Paul.
Pastor Paul, on the other hand, had let his prayer time slide to mostly the Wednesday night meeting. The rest of the time he was just too busy. He had great intentions, but when he went to bed at night and reviewed his day, he just couldn’t fit it in. He had to prepare a killer sermon each week. I don’t want the church to regret their decision to call me as pastor. He’d also started doing counseling—marital and individual. At least three evenings a week were tied up at the church. He was trying to get a cross-denominational prayer breakfast going for all the pastors in town. There were occasional hospital visits, and he at least tried to squeeze Kathy and Jordan in somewhere for some quality family time.
Deception perched on his shoulder and dug in his gnarled claws. His red eyes flashed as he whispered, “The Lord is really blessing your efforts. You’ve added four new families recently. If this keeps up you’ll be ahead of schedule for your building campaign.” Paul was sure he could feel the smile of God over his life because so much was getting done. Productivity always came with a sense of satisfaction, along with an intense, but short lived, boost in self-esteem. Then he was back on the treadmill chasing his next affirmation fix.
Angels of Humility: A Novel Page 13