Then ages fourteen and fifteen struck him.
Maybe it was due to the other guys in high school thinking she was “hot,” like Zach did. Or maybe it was all the other girls in school that his eyes kept latching onto for long moments at a time. Whatever it was, there was eventually a trigger—a day when he saw her walk through the living room in those pink shorts.
It startled him. He remembered his heart rate picking up and realized that his hormones were kicking in. Big time. That had been the day when nothing could be the same again, and that had been months ago. Months of desire and agony.
The other day, in the dining room, when he’d been eating that PB&J sandwich, a new dynamic had been added to his attraction. He had verbally fallen all over himself, and as a result, he knew that she now knew that he was attracted to her.
He’d seen something akin to a look of astonishment in her eyes. When she had walked away and turned back to look at him again, that’s when he knew that he had to take the chance of following through on his self-created invitation to visit her at work.
Well … here I am.
She finished placing the plates before each of her customers, said something, and turned around to head back into the kitchen area. She glanced into the waiting area but apparently didn’t see him.
Still, it made his heart jump.
Man, I hope she doesn’t think I’m creeping on her.
Several minutes passed, and a few more families were seated. Then he was called up.
Dena said, “If you’re willing to sit at the counter, I can get you seated right away.”
He thought about it for a moment but declined.
She smiled, nodded, and called another name.
About ten minutes later, Dena called his name again.
“Jamie? I can seat you now.”
She grabbed a single menu and a set of napkin-rolled flatware and led him into the dining area. He followed her to a small, two-person booth where she placed the menu and utensils.
“Your server will be with you shortly.”
“Thanks.”
Jamie positioned himself in a seat that gave him visual access to the door that led to and from the kitchen. Each time the door opened, he wondered if it would be Elizabeth who exited. On the third swing of the door outward, there she was. Another tray load of food orders. This time, she also held a carafe of coffee.
He watched as she walked down the seating aisle to his left. Again, she didn’t notice him as she passed. He looked over his shoulder to see her warm up an elderly couple’s coffees, and then she continued walking down the aisle and turned to come into his seating area.
She stopped at a table with two men who appeared to be in their early forties, if Jamie’s ability to gauge such things was correct. Both of them smiled widely at her approach.
Elizabeth placed their meals before them, then stayed there, engaging them in conversation.
Of course, he was unable to hear any of their back and forth, but Elizabeth flicked her long dark hair back behind her shoulder, exposing her left ear and neck. She kept her head tilted slightly to the right as she looked at them with a smile that would have caused Jamie’s heart to explode. Then, before she turned to head back to the kitchen, she rested her right hand on the shoulder of one of the men, who seemed to really appreciate the gesture.
When she finally did leave the table, both men appeared to admire the way she walked. And she was walking right toward him, hips wiggling a wee bit too much.
And that’s when she saw him.
And that’s when her smile disappeared.
Jamie’s blood ran cold. She had just been flirting with those two older guys, and the end of her wiggle and the loss of her smile seemed to prove it. Did she know how they looked at her when she walked away?
She stopped abruptly, skillfully handling the tray with the carafe atop it.
“Jamie?”
“Hi.”
Her eyes betrayed not only her surprise, but even a little bit of annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a hushed tone through clenched teeth.
Oh boy. This isn’t good.
“I was … I thought … you know. Fries and a piece of pie.”
He almost dropped his eyes but determined to keep eye contact. His dad had taught him that.
A mixture of emotions seemed to play across her face, finally landing on one that seemed to convey, Oh. Yeah. I remember now, and How much did you just see?
She said, “Well, you know you’re not sitting in my serving area.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to ask for you to be my server. It would have looked … weird.”
She was the one who looked down. For a moment. The annoyance left her face, replaced with a timid smile. “I, umm … I can talk with your server. I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll tell her you’re not a rich tipper.”
This time Jamie smiled, though he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to take what she’d just said.
“Okay.”
“Be back in a minute.”
As she left, he noticed that her hip sway had transitioned back to Lawton-home normal. He liked it that way.
But what was he supposed to do with what he’d seen? Was that something she did all the time? He was sure it was all about getting guys to tip her better, but.…
He sighed. What else did he not know about her outside life?
Chapter 20
B
rent and Tara faced Pastor Jonathan Sagan in his office at Restoration Church in their hometown of Millsville. The three sat in soft chairs in the more comfortable area of the pastor’s spacious office, away from his desk and wall of books.
Brent knew it was an attempt to make things feel more like a gathering of friends than that of counselor and counselees. And it almost worked—probably because Brent had sat in these chairs before and experienced Pastor Jonathan’s genuine concern and friendship.
That didn’t mean, though, that talking about another problem would be easy. While Brent knew that he could use the insights his pastor might be able to provide, he also felt that sitting in the man’s office, with yet another need, was getting too close to the tolerance level that his pride could handle.
Pride. Yeah. A lot of good that’s done me over the years.
After the cordial hellos, warm affirmations, and casual catching up, Pastor Jonathan brought the conversation around to the need at hand.
“So, tell me about this dream.”
Brent shared everything that he had told Tara the day before, including how the dream didn’t seem to match anything that was currently occurring in or around his life.
Pastor Jonathan sat back, a thoughtful look on his face.
Tara broke the momentary silence. “What do you think the white pants mean?”
The pastor emitted a lighthearted laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here. I’m not a dream interpreter.” He looked at Brent. “How closely does the dream mirror those you had as a teenager?”
“Almost perfectly. Save for the white pants that Tara is panicked about.”
Tara lunged to her left to smack shoulders with him. “Behave.”
The two men chuckled. A good mood enhancer for Brent.
“That and the ending,” Brent added.
“And those are the only two contrasts?”
“The only two.”
“Okay. As I said, I’m not a dream interpreter. In fact, I can’t say that I’ve ever been used by God to help someone determine the exact meaning of any dream, and trust me, I’ve been asked quite a few times over the years. However, from an evaluation standpoint, I think it’s the differences, not the similarities that may be important here.”
“How so?” asked Tara.
Brent inwardly smiled. His wife was now leaning forward, elbows on her knees, gearing up to mentally record all the facts. He knew she would soak in every word that the pastor w
ould say, as if an ancient mystery was being brought into the light of day for the first time in a thousand years.
“Well.…” The pastor leaned forward a little bit as well, hands clasped and in his lap. “Let’s see if we can come up with that answer. Brent, when you were having that dream as a kid, how did it correspond to what was happening in your life at the time? Can you remember?”
Brent became introspective. There had been so much torment going on in his life, and the dream had been just another layer. Periodically, through the years, he’d wondered about the significance—the message—behind the dream, but there had never really been any true clarity.
“I was hearing so many voices from demonic spirits back then.… I was suicidal and depressed. My parents’ marriage was falling apart….” Brent shrugged. “The dream didn’t seem to match up correctly with any of that. It just seemed like a dream that spoke of hopelessness turned to hope, turned back into hopelessness.”
“Let’s see if we can pick it apart a bit.”
Brent, too, leaned into the conversation. It seemed like the perfect posture for pondering.
“A dark place. Nothing to see. All of a sudden, a shaft of light appears in the distance. There is nothing else of interest at this point. Right?”
“Except for the potted flower.”
“We’ll get to that.” The pastor paused, looking as though he were contemplating how so little could mean so much. “All right. Let’s stop for a moment. We need to pray before we move any further along.”
Already in the perfect praying positions, Pastor Jonathan closed his eyes. Tara and Brent followed his lead.
“Hello, Father. We love you, and we acknowledge your greatness and strength and knowledge over all things. You alone are God. Here we are, standing before you in your throne room, a place into which your Son invited us to come boldly. And so we have. We seek your help, Father. By the Holy Spirit living within us, grant us the wisdom and insights that we need to answer some, if not all, of the questions before us. Thank you, Father. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Brent opened his eyes. No one shifted.
The pastor continued. “So, this shaft of light catches—arrests—your attention. Did you have even the smallest inkling that you should turn around to see if there was also something happening behind or to either side of you?”
Brent had never considered this before. “Not even the smallest bit of curiosity. I was transfixed by that beam of light.”
“All right. I want to try something. Let’s not look at this dream as something demonically influenced. Let’s view this as God-given.”
“Well, I’m not sure that this is the best starting point,” Brent began. “Remember, the dream back then ended in fear, confusion, and defeat. Hardly what God is all about. Right?”
“Right. God does not give us a spirit of fear, nor is he the author of confusion. And he has called us ‘more than conquerors.’ So, at first glance, yes, you’d almost be forced to believe that the dream had demonic origins, especially considering the demonic activity that you were involved in as a kid.
“However, God was not putting into you a demonic spirit of fear. You were already dealing with fear before the dreams started, right?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Okay. As for confusion, let’s look at it, for now, as just a lack of clarity. And defeat? We’ll look at that point last. But for now, let’s look at the light as being a God thing.”
Brent had to admit that this conversation was growing far more interesting than he’d have readily admitted to Tara the day before.
When she had called him at work late that morning and told him that she’d talked with the pastor and that he had some available time to meet, he’d felt peeved. He was the chief of police, running an entire department; not to mention, it was a Monday and the policing issues of the weekend had to be addressed. He hadn’t had time for this appointment. But Tara being Tara, she had used her logic to corral him. So, here they were.
Here he was. And he was now captivated by where the conversation was headed.
“Okay. I’m game. So, you think the light is some metaphor of … what … holiness? Hope?”
“No. Let’s look at it for its surface value. An attention-grabber.”
Brent sat up. Then so did the pastor and Tara.
“Brent, in the dream, you’re in a place in which you have no apparent purpose. You’re lacking direction, basically floundering in a sea of uncertainty. All of a sudden, a light shines. Now there is focus, direction. You don’t have to stand still any longer, wondering if there is anything that you can do, wondering if there is any value to your existence in the midst of … well … whatever the situation is.”
“Okay. You’ve got my attention.”
Pastor Jonathan gave a quick smile of acknowledgment. “Now you’re made to start venturing toward this shaft of light. Right?”
Brent nodded. “To put it mildly, yes.”
“Things are getting out of hand. Chaos begins happening all around you. Dangerous things. A misstep could result in injury or death. But … there is that light, and below it you see a flower. You know you’ve got to get to it. Why? Well, you think it’s a symbol of purpose and hope. Maybe you’re right. Maybe not. Regardless, you’ve got to move. Standing still is not an option. You are being compelled—possibly by God—to move. You’ve got to be careful, yet also daring and brave. All you know is that you have got to get to that potted flower.”
Brent’s pulse quickened. Both the dream of his youth and the current one were coming alive, with a new layer of meaning. He felt beads of sweat begin to surface on his forehead.
He saw Tara look over at him. She must have seen something in his face, because she reached over and grabbed his left forearm as Pastor Jonathan continued.
“Brent, you know that you have a mission, and it is all that is important in that moment. You fight your way to that flower, and in the dream of your teen years you get there—almost in time—to save that flower from falling. But you were just a moment too late.”
Brent’s jaw tensed, and he nodded in agreement. “Yes.”
“There was absolutely nothing more you could do. You had done your best. Is that right?”
Another yes.
“Did the platform of railroad ties that you were standing on at that point fall?”
“What?” And after another heartbeat. “What do you mean?”
“Did the platform fall? Did you fall with the flower?”
“Umm … no. No, I didn’t. At least I don’t think so. It was at that point, as I screamed when the flower fell away, that I would awaken.”
“But your scream happened while still on the wooden beams.”
Curiosity struck.
“Yes.” Brent swallowed. He felt Tara’s grip tighten and he reached over to put his hand over hers. “What does that mean?”
Pastor Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “I don’t really know, but let’s keep talking.”
Brent nodded.
“Good.”
Chapter 21
P
astor Jonathan pressed forward.
“This is where the differences may come into play.”
Brent and Tara were all ears.
“You’re how old now, Brent?”
“Forty-eight.”
“And several months,” Tara playfully added.
“Thanks for that,” Brent said with a shake of his head.
“That’s what I’m here for. Moral support.”
Pastor Jonathan laughed.
“So it’s been thirty-three years since your pants were blue.”
Had it really been that long? Brent nodded thoughtfully. “Hard to believe, but yes.”
The pastor smiled. “Time flies, doesn’t it? So, the question becomes, why would your pants transition from one color to another? To me, it’s got to be significant. It’s another attention-grabb
er.”
Tara said, “Yes! That’s what I think too.” Her eyes became alive. She was in the moment, looking as though she was pleased that she’d been the first one to discover that there was a major significance to the color change. “What does this part mean?”
Both Brent and the pastor chuckled, resulting in Brent being rewarded with a quick punch to the shoulder.
“Stop it,” she said in response. “Leave me alone. This is exciting and I was right!”
Brent offered up, “Yes, babe, you were.”
She looked at the pastor. “I like when he calls me babe.”
Both men laughed again.
“I don’t know the answer, Tara,” the pastor responded. “It’s just important somehow. And I still think that this is from God.”
This caused Brent to ponder something. “Okay, wait. I want to try to wrap my mind around what it sounds like you’re implying. You’re thinking that the dream I had when I was fifteen may actually have something to do with me today?”
“Brent, throughout the Bible, God has shown himself to be the master of one thing pointing to two things.”
“Dualisms?” asked Tara.
“Not quite. Dualisms, by nature, contrast. We’re talking about something that Bible scholars call ‘double-fulfillment’ or ‘multiple bearing.’ This is when something that initially seems to have one meaning turns out to have more than one. An example would be when Jesus was about to be captured in the Garden of Gethsemane. Follow me on this. King David, in the twenty-second psalm, wrote under the influence of the Holy Spirit about his own internal turmoil, the anguish he faced because of his enemies. However, what David probably didn’t know, was that it was a prophecy of the emotional torment that Jesus would face in the garden when he sweat drops of blood. Even the hateful words that the priests yelled to the crowds during his crucifixion were unknowingly quoted precisely from a thousand years earlier.”
“Wow,” said Tara.
“Exactly. I think that may be similar to what’s happening with this dream, if it is, in fact, from God. It’s possible that the dream had some original, still hidden, meaning for what was going on back then. But, it’s possible, maybe even likely, that your past dream is even more significant right now. And if it is from God, my prediction will bear out. We’ll just have to see.”
That Dark Place Page 12