“All your sins are forgiven, though, the minute you lay them at the throne. You know that, don’t you, Anne-Marie?”
“I know it now. I was also guilty of the sin of laziness, especially when it came to school. I never worked up to my ability. I didn’t even graduate on time. If I’m going to graduate, it will have to be through summer school, making up for low grades. About the only good thing is, I’ve been reading my Bible a lot.”
“Praise Jesus,” said Brother quickly. Then he declared, “I never graduated high school myself, but I can honestly say that due to the Lord’s guidance, it’s never been a problem.”
Anne-Marie was surprised but also encouraged. “Anyway,” she repeated herself, “I first knew the Lord at the end of that praise meeting.”
“Praise Him all the more then,” said Brother Jackson. “Praise the fact that He still chooses me as a vehicle for the coming of His Kingdom.”
“Can you remember when it was that you became a Christian?”
“Yes indeed, Sister. It was in an oil field, of all places.” He was very good at forking large amounts of food into his mouth and chewing on one side but speaking distinctly at the same time.
“An oil field?”
“Yes, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” He flashed the winning smile. “I grew up down around Fayetteville, Arkansas. We were as poor as we could be. My daddy reenlisted in the navy and went somewhere overseas. He wasn’t too good at writing letters or sending money, so we pretty much lost touch with him.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“It seemed bad at the time. Anyway, I dropped out of high school and went to work for a grain company, shoveling corn out of bins and into processing chambers. I had to lie about my age to get the job, but we needed the money.
“My only religion came from this colored church we used to go to when I was real young. I can remember singing old Negro spirituals while I was shoveling away at the grain elevator. It helped pass the time. My momma was working as a housekeeper at a local motel, so we were pretty much poor most of the time.”
Anne-Marie felt embarrassed just thinking about all the money and resources that had blessed her own life. She could see Brother Jackson had lived a hard life, but it wasn’t surprising to her. Maybe that was part of the reason he’d developed such strong moral character.
He said he needed a refill on his coffee and asked her if he could get her anything. “No thanks,” she answered. “I’m good.”
When he got back, he continued the story. “After Momma died, I left Arkansas and drove a truck awhile for a gravel company. Then they went out of business, so the next thing I knew, I found myself in Texas, working in an oil field. It was real hard work, and real dirty, but the money was good.”
Finished with his breakfast, Brother Jackson was wiping his mouth with a napkin. He sipped a little of his coffee before he said, “Anyway, there was this one day when I was up the chute on this oil rig, and a big storm was coming. Lightning and thunder like you wouldn’t believe. You’d of thought Armageddon was right up the street.
“I’d been changing out of my clothes, didn’t even have my shoes on. They told me to climb up the rigging real fast and cap off a couple of outlets before the storm hit. Well, I didn’t make it. I was screwing on one of the caps as fast as I could when lightning hit the rig. I’ll never forget the sound it made, about like a rifle shot, or the smell, either. It was the smell of burning metal, like an industrial fire.”
“Were you hurt?”
He shook his head. “I was not hurt. Not a scratch on me. Two of the other workers were hit direct, though, and didn’t survive. God rest their souls. But I had the shakes. I can remember just shaking in place, paralyzed with fear. The rig was on fire, it was raining cats and dogs, and the two fallen workers were down there on the ground. And then I saw my shoes. They were just construction shoes, work boots you might call them. Laying on the ground just as peaceful as they could be.”
“Why did you pay attention to the shoes?”
“All of a sudden my shoes were like my sign from the Lord. There was the fire from the rig which was burning around me right there in the rain and the shoes on the ground. And I was suddenly all at peace. In my mind was the story of Moses and the burning bush. ‘Take off your shoes, Moses, for you are standing on hallowed ground.’ It was that very moment when I knew the Lord was calling me to be His messenger. One of His messengers, anyway. So that’s a long story, Sister, but it’s the answer to your question. That was the precise moment when the Lord set me on the path and I’ve been on it ever since.”
“So did you go to seminary, then? Is that how you became a preacher?”
“Not what most people would call a seminary, not a formal one. I took a job in a convenience store in Lubbock, Texas, so I could have my nights free for Bible school. It was a school where they taught the Word. That’s what the Lord longs for most—people to preach the Word.”
Hearing the words convenience store gave Anne-Marie a brief lump in her throat. Would her picture be plastered in places like that as a missing person? Would there be an 800 number to call? She forced herself not to think about it.
“Most mainstream seminaries,” Brother Jackson went on, “are too mixed up with church financing and committees and other extraneous activities. They get so bogged down in the details of running a business, and politics, they forget that the real goal is the preaching of the Word.”
Anne-Marie knew how right he was. She remembered the numerous occasions of Presbyterian pettiness reported by her parents. It was more like being on committees or school boards than a sincere effort to seek the Lord.
As soon as Brother Jackson finished his coffee, they were on the road again.
It was almost noon by the time Brother Jackson found his way to the winding gravel road that snaked its way through timber and limestone bluffs. Anne-Marie found it hard to believe they were still in Illinois; it looked more like the Missouri Ozarks. Not only was the scenery breathtaking, it was also safely removed from the world. If Sister Abigail was half as spiritual as Brother Jackson claimed she was, it would be a refuge from all fears and problems.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
“No argument there,” Brother Jackson agreed. And then he smiled. “‘The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof.’”
Anne-Marie saw occasional backpacking hikers on rugged trails. She asked him if they were almost there yet.
“Just about. Can’t be more than a mile or two now.”
When they did reach the entrance to the camp, they passed beneath a rustic wooden archway with a huge timber across and the words Camp Shaddai formed from equally rustic wooden letters. A tarmac parking lot was located near a low-slung log-cabin-style central dining hall. There were several pine trees nearby, as well as sweet gum and flourishing patches of sumac. Anne-Marie was comforted by the beauty and serenity.
Brother Jackson led her along a narrow blacktop path to the quarters where he assured her she would be allowed to stay. Sister Abigail was waiting to greet them at the door of her residential unit, a larger bungalow in the same log cabin tradition, but with a long addition connected to the near side of the creek. She greeted Anne-Marie warmly, taking her hand in both of her own.
Anne-Marie decided immediately that she had never seen a woman so beautiful. Her makeup was applied expertly. Her clear skin was richly tanned. She wore her hair in a stylish, well-formed blond blunt cut. Abigail had fine features and regular, very white teeth. “We’re so happy to have you here, Anne-Marie,” said Sister Abigail. “You’ll find the Spirit alive and well here at Shaddai. We pray that the comfort and guidance you seek will be made known to you.”
Comfort and guidance? What details had Brother Jackson shared with her on the phone? But Anne-Marie merely said, “Thank you. Thanks a lot for letting me stay with you.”
“You are welcome. Are these the only things you’ve brought with you?”
Anne-Marie was carrying
only the backpack and tote bag. “This is it. I figure it’s best to travel light.” Then she laughed nervously.
Sister Abigail and Brother Jackson laughed as well. Abigail was wearing a collared white shirt with delicate embroidery to define the seams, and a series of seemingly random lines sewn on the front. If you stared at the lines long enough, though, you could see how they formed the word Jesus by means of an optical trick.
“Let me show you around,” said the counselor. “You’ll want to know where your bed is in the dorm, and you’ll need a place to unpack your things.”
“Sure.”
“Afterwards, maybe I can give you a tour of some of our other facilities. At least the ones that are close.”
“Sure,” Anne-Marie repeated with enthusiasm. It disappointed her to see, though, that Brother Jackson did not intend to join them. “You’re not coming?”
“Not now, Sister. I need to keep moving. It’s hundreds of miles to Oklahoma, and the Lord wants me there the day after tomorrow.”
“You mean you’re leaving right away, without any lunch or anything?”
“I guess I feel like there’s no choice.” He was smiling broadly. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“Is it okay if I walk you to your car?” she asked.
“I surely wish you would. Come on, then.” They headed back the way they came. He urged her to seek the Lord and all His wisdom while they were apart.
“You’re coming back though, right?”
“Of course I’m coming back. Just as soon as the Oklahoma crusade is finished.”
“So how long will that be?” The security that Sister Abigail brought took a dip when Anne-Marie thought of Brother Jackson so far away.
“Two or three weeks most likely,” was his answer. “If it lasts longer than that, it means we’re having unusual success. Praise Him for that, if it happens.”
“Praise the Lord,” Anne-Marie repeated, trying to set aside all selfish feelings.
They were at the car. When Brother hugged her goodbye, it was not a hug lovers would share, but a friendly one, a quick peck on one cheek and then the other. “‘The Lord is with you,’” he whispered quietly. “‘If God is with you, who can be against you?’” And then he was gone.
June 10
Anne-Marie watched the rattletrap Chrysler as it scattered some dust just before disappearing around the bend. It was an old and junky car, so different from the BMW she had watched fade from view in Indiana. But then, Brother Jackson was not a prisoner of material things. He would be back; Anne-Marie knew it.
The first thing Sister Abigail showed her was the dorm. It was a long narrow room, with a smooth and shiny concrete floor painted gray. There were eight twin beds, approximately six feet apart, lined regularly on each side of the room. Sister Abigail said two of them were unoccupied, so Anne-Marie asked if she could have the one closer to the bathroom. If she was going to have to pee so much, it would make sense.
At the foot of each bed was a metal hutch, about four feet high. It consisted of two storage shelves and a cupboard at the top with a mesh door. The hutches, like the floor, were painted gray.
“Will this be enough room for your things?” Sister Abigail asked her.
“Oh yes,” said Anne-Marie. “Plenty of room. I’ve only got this one bag and the backpack.”
She noticed there was artwork on the walls, and craft projects. Some were simple crosses made of wood and rawhide, while others were commercial posters with Christian themes. “Are we allowed to decorate the walls?”
“Yes, just as long as you keep your own things in the area above your bed.”
“Where are the other girls, Sister Abigail?”
“Some of them are in Bible study, and some of them are in a crafts class we started last month. You’ll get to meet them before long. You’ll be thoroughly welcome here, Anne-Marie; they’ll all treat you like a sister.”
It seemed too good to be true. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
The counselor laughed. “Don’t worry about that now. Why don’t you make yourself at home? Get your things put away and give yourself some time to clean up.”
“I’d like to. I haven’t had a shower for two days.”
Sister Abigail reached for and gently fingered the ends of Anne-Marie’s long blond hair. “Such pretty hair. It looks like you just washed it.”
“I haven’t, though. Not for two days. It looks prettier when it’s clean.”
Abigail dropped her hand. “Well. You get settled and then come back down to my quarters. We’ll have a cup of tea and get acquainted.”
As soon as she was alone, Anne-Marie began shelving her clothing in the hutch. There were two shelves but she only needed the top one. In the cupboard she put her makeup and bathroom articles, as well as her money. She discovered she’d forgotten several things she normally considered essential, such as her hair dryer, her conditioning rinse, and her eyeliner. Oh well, she reminded herself, things that were important at home were probably insignificant at Camp Shaddai.
She noticed all the beds were neatly made; some of them had quilts. The one closest to hers had some troll dolls resting on the pillow. Two had orange hair, two yellow, and one green. The green-haired one was largest. Troll dolls were soo outré, Anne-Marie had to wonder what kind of roommate this would be. Above the bed, on the wall, was a picture of John the Baptist exhorting listeners along the bank of the River Jordan. He looked especially wild and wooly. The picture itself looked crude, but it was professional work, crude-looking on purpose.
The bathroom turned out to be a group one, but it was very clean and there were curtains for privacy on each shower stall. A large linen closet with hinged doors was home for numerous soaps, shampoos, hair dryers, makeup kits, and tampons. Anne-Marie stared at a box of tampons; it seemed so weird not to need them anymore.
Since this cabinet was the home for hygiene items, she went to retrieve her own. She stacked them as neatly as possible in an unoccupied corner of one of the top shelves.
Anne-Marie took an extra-long shower, soaping herself slowly. When she lathered her large, well-formed breasts, she remembered with remorse how Richard relished them. But even worse, she remembered how she had always relished their power to arouse him. She soaped thoroughly in the nether regions of her loins, that treacherous location even Brother Jackson had been unable to resist.
It was disheartening to think about the craving of the flesh she not only inspired in males, but took pleasure in provoking. The person she was, had been, and might be again if her faith was weak.
After many soapings and gobs of lather, she let the hot water tumble down her torso and limbs. It felt so purifying and cleansing, as if she were washing away not just the dirt itself, but the self she was leaving behind. It felt like being born anew.
She had to borrow a towel from the closet (one more thing she hadn’t thought to bring along). Sitting next to the towel were two pairs of silver scissors, one the long slim variety designed for cutting hair. Also close at hand was a box of Clairol hair coloring, currant hue. None of these things belonged to Anne-Marie, and she hadn’t yet met the person to whom they did belong, but the urge to make herself over was keen. She had some money. If she did use the Clairol, she could easily replace it.
She stood in the steam from the shower stall that clouded most of the mirror. Using the towel, she wiped sections of the mist from the mirror so she could see. Her long blond hair was cheerleader hair, the legacy of Anne-Marie the worldly who strove for the look of a Maxim cover girl. Firmly and surely, she cut away the lower six inches of the wet locks. Her goal was to achieve a form of blunt cut, although she knew there would be uneven edges. It didn’t matter. What difference could uneven edges make here?
Enough of the mirror was clear by now to permit a full view of her body. The cross attached to the ring which pierced her navel—would Sister Abigail approve? Could the pagan part of it contaminate the Christian part? Surely not. The cross was a gift from
Brother Jackson, after all, and he himself had attached it to the circle.
She returned to the shower long enough to wash her hair a second time and apply the hair color. It took ten minutes or so to set before she could wash it out. She used the time to clean the wet locks from the floor in front of the wash basins. There were paper towels for wiping down the surface.
The net result was about what she expected: a short blunt cut, more or less currant in color, with uneven edges. She liked it. “This is the new me,” she said softly to the young woman in the mirror. It occurred to her as an afterthought that a new appearance would also make her more difficult to track. It was a needless thought, though, because Camp Shaddai was such a remote, sequestered place.
When Anne-Marie presented herself in Sister Abigail’s quarters, the counselor did a double take. “Goodness. Look at you.”
Anne-Marie felt self-conscious, but asked, “Do you like it?”
“I think it’s lovely. It makes a whole new you.”
“I was hoping so. That was the idea. But I never cut my own hair before, so it’s pretty uneven around the edges.”
“Not to worry,” said Sister Abigail. “One of your dorm mates is a girl named Crystal. You’ll be meeting her soon. She’s very good at cutting hair, and I have an idea she’ll be happy to clean up the edges. Why don’t you have a seat here at the table, Anne-Marie, and I’ll brew us some tea.”
Anne-Marie didn’t like tea, but the serenity of the environment put that concern aside. “Thank you very much,” she said.
Abigail went to the far end of the long room where there was a modest kitchenette. She put the pot on the stove and got some tea bags from a cupboard. Anne-Marie could see that her beauty was even more stunning than she’d noticed before. Not only were her limbs golden tan, but they were perfectly formed with muscular definition. Not the large pumped muscles of those gross bodybuilders who strutted their stuff on ESPN and looked like male wannabes, but defined with grace and beauty. It was as if her physical radiance was God’s stamp of approval, signifying her inner state of grace.
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