W: The Planner, The Chosen

by Alexandra Swann

  “I believe what I believe; it’s what makes me what I am. I did not make it; no it is making me. It is the very truth of God and not the invention of any man.”

  Suddenly she remembered how it felt to be young and enthusiastic about life—about Jesus. Memories flooded back to her—during that year she had believed that she had a calling on her life to do something great for God—something that would change the world. She spent more time listening to her music and reading the Bible than she did studying for class, but she had been so happy that the stresses of college did not even matter. But that was before graduation, before working for Jim, before meeting Ben, before she started making a lot of money and experiencing the thrill of success. Every trace of that joy and freedom had disappeared so many years ago that she had forgotten it had ever existed.

  When she finally looked around, the Bible study had ended without her hearing one word of it. All of the guests were sitting with their heads bowed murmuring quiet prayers. The memories of her college years and the cold reality of where she was at that moment left Kris feeling empty. “What happened to me? How did I ever get so lost?” Past recollections of joy were replaced by crushing sadness. She heard Todd’s voice as he led the group in the closing prayer, and it was as though he could hear her thoughts and prayed specifically for her:

  “Lord we come to You tonight to ask for Your forgiveness. The Bible promises that when we seek You, we will find You, if we search with all our hearts.

  “Lord, we confess that we have not followed Your commands. We have not loved You with our whole hearts—we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not stood for the truth of Your Gospel. We have sat by and said nothing when Your name was blasphemed and mocked. We did not take a stand when we saw Your laws despised.

  “We know that many times we ourselves have been among the worst offenders. We have lived sinful lives that are contrary to the word of God. Like Esau, we have traded away our birthright for a little convenience; we have despised this incredible gift of freedom that You provided for us and allowed all of the liberty that our country offered to be trampled down. We have forgotten the words of King David who said that it is better to fall into the hands of God than to be at the mercy of men, and so we now find ourselves living under the rule of a cruel and despotic government who has stolen everything from us and shows us no mercy.

  “We know that everything that is happening to us is a result of our bad choices, both individually and as a nation. You gave us the gift of being born into a free nation—the greatest nation the world has ever seen. You gave us a form of government unlike any other that had ever been known by any other people, and we did not value it enough to defend it.

  “For all of these things, Lord, we ask Your forgiveness. We pray tonight that You will change our hearts so that each of us will begin to love what You love, to hate what You hate and to want what You want. We ask You to save our nation, for we know that the Bible teaches that salvation belongs to our God—no political party, no ideology, no government can save us. If we don’t find salvation in You, we won’t find it at all.

  “Please turn Your face to us again, and give us back our freedom, and restore our country so that we can truly be one nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all. We ask all these things in the name of Your son, Jesus. Amen.”

  Tears were streaming down Kris’ face. She wiped them away, but they continued to flow. In that moment, in that one prayer, she knew the truth—the real truth of her life, of her relationship with Ben, of everything she had ever done. She had not just displeased her parents; she had offended God, and she had never even been willing to admit that she had done anything wrong. The weight of all of her sins and bad choices seemed as heavy as an anchor. She stood and walked out the door without saying goodbye to anyone, but after she was seated on the commuter train, she put her head in her hands and cried all the way home.

  That night before she went to sleep she got down on her knees by her bed and talked to God sincerely for the first time in over twenty years. “I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry about everything. I threw away everything you gave me. I am so sorry about living with Ben—it was wrong from the beginning, and I knew it, but I didn’t care. I was so angry—I mainly just wanted to spite Dad because of the way he had treated me, and then later I couldn’t even remember that what I was doing was wrong. I’ve done so many things I shouldn’t have. Please forgive me and help me to change. Change my heart and help me to love what You love, to hate what You hate and to want what You want. And help me to fix this mess I have made.”

  Chapter 14

  From that night on, Kris felt different. Nothing in her life had changed, but her internal longing to return to a place where she had been at peace never subsided. She downloaded a Bible on her phone and began to read the four Gospels completely for the first time in her life. As she sat alone each night in the darkness with only the light from her phone, Jesus’ words from the Gospel of John: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life,” took on new meaning.

  Every Thursday Keith made the drive to Scottsdale, and they went shopping and then took their purchases over to distribute among the affected couples. Keith never stayed for the Bible study; Kris alone remained to take the commuter train back to her own FE Division. The little group never really warmed to her, but after the first week they did borrow a chair for her from a neighboring unit so that she had a place to sit when she stayed for the Bible study. And in some way, it seemed to her that they came to recognize that whether they liked to admit it or not, she really was doing the very best she could.

  Her own rationing left her only one meal a day. A large portion of her pay was going to pay off her credit cards which had now all been closed, and since she could not change the deduction outside of an election period, having half as many credits left her with very little to survive on for a month. Without a commuter pass for the weekend, she was stuck in this crowded community filled with people she hated who, in turn, hated her. She thought that she was living the life of the world’s oldest teenager—grounded by an authority figure on whom she depended for survival. “This must be what prison is like,” she told herself and then immediately she remembered her mother’s words, “You spend your days talking people into signing over all of their possessions to the government and coming to live in this prison…” and she felt another wave of guilt and sadness.

  One Saturday night she went for a moonlit walk very late. The night was predictably hot, but the moon was full, and the sky was blanketed with stars. Except for sporadic unit parties throughout the community, the neighborhood was quiet. These midnight walks had almost become the best part of Kris’ weekend—she was outdoors away from the criticisms and complaints of the seniors whom she was supposed to help and of her fellow Planners who despised her for having once had a good life. Outside she could listen to the night sounds as she walked and thought about her life—both as it was and as she wished it could be. It took two hours to walk the perimeter of the community. Unfortunately, with only the moonlight to guide her steps, she did not notice a considerable shifting in the sidewalk which had caused the concrete to separate and drop several inches. She stepped into the hole created by the shifting and turned her ankle so badly that she fell forward. As she did so her ankle twisted. The pain was terrible, and she limped all the way back to her building and up the stairs.

  The next morning her ankle was bluish-red and swollen. Every step hurt. She limped down the stairs and over to the chapel where she sat miserably through a boring little sermon. From there she hobbled over to the dining hall and stood in line for her meal.

  “What happened to you?” a voice behind her asked, with an unusual note of concern.

  Kris turned to see Michael Linton standing behind her, looking at her swollen ankle. “I went for a walk last night in the dark. I fell over a part of the sidewalk that has settled. It’s nothing; it’s
just a sprained ankle.”

  “That’s more than a sprain. You need to come over to the clinic. You don’t even need an appointment; just tell Sandy that I told you to come in so that I can wrap your ankle and give you something for the inflammation—and for the pain, too.”

  “Thank you,” she answered stiffly. “I think it will be fine, but if it doesn’t heal on its own I will come see you.” She took her tray and sat down by herself. She could not bear to admit to anyone that she was on disciplinary action and could not see the doctor or pay for medication or eat more than one meal per day, so she isolated herself as much as possible from everyone and prayed that her ankle would heal. Instead, every day it hurt worse. By Thursday her foot was so swollen that she had to remove her shoes while she sat at her desk and while she rode in Keith’s jeep. She could barely make her way into her parents’ unit.

  “What’s the matter, Krissy?” her mother asked when she saw her.

  “I was walking, and I fell. I turned my ankle—it’s just a sprain, but it has hurt worse and worse. Now I feel like I am walking on broken glass.”

  “That might be gout,” her mother observed. “I started having issues with gout when I was just a few years older than you. You have to treat it. Don’t you have a doctor there?”

  Kris nodded.

  “Go see him,” Janine ordered. “You can’t stay on your feet with swelling and inflammation like that and expect your foot to heal.”

  “He’s very busy. I don’t know when I can get an appointment,” Kris lied. She had never told her parents about her own fine and the resulting lack of funds.

  “Well then find somebody who has time. Kinkaid could write you a prescription—or Derek maybe. He’s not too bad when you get to know him. As soon as this thirty day sentence is up I have to go get my blood pressure medication prescription renewed. Usually I don’t have to wait more than about thirty minutes. Why don’t you take the train out here tomorrow after work and tell him that you can’t get in to see your own doctor and you need some medication?”

  “Maybe, I’ll see. I’m sure it will be better by tomorrow.” In her heart she was thinking that she was not at all sure of that, but she wanted to stop this conversation.

  “Kris hurt her foot and leg and she does not have time to go to see the doctor. I want everybody to pray for her,” Janine announced. Ordinarily, Kris would have been annoyed, but her leg hurt so badly and one set of prayers—hers—didn’t seem to be helping at all, so maybe if lots of people prayed, God would hear. Maybe God was mad at her, too—maybe He was punishing her by making her suffer like this during a month when she couldn’t get painkillers. And maybe, if enough people prayed, He would forgive her. Or, maybe not—all of the members of the prayer group took turns praying for her at the end of the Bible study, but she did not feel any better as she made her way outside to wait for the train.

  An hour later, Kris hobbled off the train and down the sidewalk. The night was stiflingly hot—though it was past 11:00 the temperature must have been one hundred ten degrees. The prayer had not helped—her foot and leg throbbed, and every step she took felt as though she were walking on broken glass. With each step she felt a little surge of anger towards her parents for getting into trouble, towards the government for creating this hellish world, and mainly towards herself. This place was actually worse than prison—in prison the authorities have to provide treatment for the inmates. She fumed to herself that she would have ended up better off if she had killed somebody. If she could only go back to that day in March when she accepted this job, she would do anything to avoid being here now. A lifetime of waiting tables eight hours a day seven days a week would have been better than this. She did not even have enough credits left to get aspirin at the community store when it reopened in the morning and still buy food, and she still had ten days to go before her benefits were restored. She mumbled curses under her breath as she inched toward the entrance to her building and tried to psych herself up to climb the three flights of stairs which led to her unit.

  “Miss Mitchell,” she heard a voice call from the street. “It’s time I had a look at that leg.” She turned to see Michael Linton standing close behind her.

  “You need a doctor. I told you that a week ago.”

  “I can’t. I would, actually, but I can’t. One of the residents got into trouble, and I am being fined because of it. I barely have enough credits to buy food for the next week and a half. I can’t pay you, and I can’t pay for any medication.” She turned away from him.

  “I’m the doctor around here. I have discretionary authority to treat whomever I decide needs treatment—even to order treatment if I decide to. Credits have nothing to do with it. You are coming with me.”

  She could see under the dim street lights that he had brought up one of the little electric golf carts in which he transported patients. “Get in,” he ordered.

  Her foot hurt so badly that just sitting down would be a relief, so she complied. “I am surprised you still have lights at this time of night.”

  “Each medical clinic is allowed a backup generator to keep the temperatures constant for the drugs. I have lights 24/7. I just don’t turn them on unless I have a reason.”

  In two minutes they were at the clinic. She leaned on him as he unlocked the door with a hand scan and he supported her as she limped inside. Directing her to a chair, he kneeled down on the floor to examine her leg.

  “You have torn ligaments and a bad sprain in your ankle. I will have to order an X-ray to see if there are any actual breaks. But this swelling and redness in your foot appears to be coming from more than just the injury to your leg.”

  “I think it might be gout,” Kris flinched as he touched her toes. “My mother has had problems with gout for the last fifteen years. I have never had any problem until these last few days, but the way I feel now is exactly what she has always described. I feel like I have broken glass inside my feet.”

  “Very possible. I need to run a test for that too. Elevated levels of uric acid are indicative of gout—that causes the crystals to form which give you the sensation of broken glass. We can clear up the attack, but this is a diet-related condition. Since your mother lives with it, you should know the drill. No wine, no grapes, no raisins. I can give you a list of foods to avoid. I can also give you a dietary restrictions card for the cafeteria so that they will make sure that your meals do not contain foods known to trigger an attack. Don’t put your shoe back on—it’s just aggravating the swelling. I will come back in a minute with some pain killers and an anti-inflammatory.”

  She looked into his face. He was looking back at her with those clear blue eyes which were always so serious and yet compassionate. Rising, he opened the door to his office and unlocked the small wall safe to retrieve a script pad. Through the door she could see his desk. On the wall next to it hung a blue banner with the star of David and the Shema, “Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Elohaynu Adonai Echad” “Hear O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One, And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might, And these words that I command you today shall be in your heart. And you shall teach them diligently to your children, and you shall speak of them when you sit at home, and when you walk along the way, and when you lie down and when you rise up.” Kris had learned much of this in her church youth group as a teenager, but as she kept reading, the words and memories flooded back to her stirring her deeply, taking her mind off the pain in her foot. She was so engrossed that she was sorry when Dr. Linton appeared in the doorway and blocked her view.

  “You’re Jewish?” Until she had seen the star and the Shema the idea had never crossed her mind.

  “I am. My father is a rabbi, my grandfather was a rabbi—nearly all the men in my family are either rabbis or doctors.” He smiled a little as he sat across from her and made some notes on the scripts pad.

  “So you chose the other family profession. I see you graduated from Cornell—good school.�
� She was now looking at the other prominent piece of paper on the wall of the tiny office. “How in the world did you end up here?” The words had just slipped through her lips when she realized how they sounded, and she stuttered an apology to the first person who had shown her any kindness in months. “I’m sorry; that was very rude and none of my business.”

  His eyes met hers directly. “I chose to be here. I was one of the youngest and most successful cardiac surgeons in the United States. Soon after the Affordable Care Act was implemented, the government began to require that all surgeons, regardless of their area of specialty, had to be on call to assist with surgical abortions. I resigned, gave up my license to perform surgery, and went back to school for a year to train in elderly patient care. Shortly after that the government decided that my parents’ home and the homes of the others in their community were the ideal location for a central park. My parents’ home was confiscated through eminent domain, and they were moved into a Smart community. My mother has health issues, and I was afraid that she would not receive the care she needed, so I volunteered to come here as a community doctor so that I could keep an eye on both of them.”

  Kris thought for a minute, “If they live in W, I should know them, but I don’t remember meeting anyone named Linton.”

  “Their home was taken before the Smart Seniors’ program. They are in a community about twenty miles from here for religious minorities. We represent the smallest of all minority populations, and we are segregated accordingly.”

  In spite of her pain, Kris shook her head and smiled at his exaggeration. “Jewish people are actually three or four percent of the population. That’s not a big percentage, but it represents millions of people and certainly does not make you the smallest minority population.”