From the Pulpit, Chapter 3

That October evening the church leaders had joined Pastor Mike and his wife for dinner at the parsonage across the street from church.

Mike had gotten married late in life.  He turned forty the day of his wedding to Janelle who was ten years younger.  They had met at a denominational conference; she was the daughter of a seminary professor and had just returned a three year long missionary assignment to Kazakhstan.   They hit it off immediately and dated each other for only six months before they tied the knot.

Eighteen-month-old Mike Junior, dubbed Mini-Mike by the teens in the church, was born a little less than a year after their marriage.  It was a relationship made in heaven thought Mike, and Janelle seemed to concur.  They were truly happy.

A couple of the church women who had come over to help out with the evenings dinner were scurrying back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room bringing dishes and plates of food to the deacons and elders seated around the table.  LeRon was laying out plans for a new outreach to the University Heights neighborhood in downtown Columbus near the OSU campus.

“The way I see it, we can easily and relatively safely get a youth program started in the area right away.” He was saying.  “I have already made an agreement with the guys at the boxing gym to use their facility for one hour every day after school to get the kids involved in some activities and keep them off the streets.”

“What about the gangs in the area?” asked Deacon Phelps, “I am sure they have heard of it. How are they reacting to the plan?”

L’il Mac answered, “They don’t like the plan.  They’ve heard of LeRon’s success in the other neighborhoods and have actually made a threat on him.  But that’s been the case with most of the neighborhoods we’ve worked in and nothing ever came of any of them.  God has always protected us so far.  Just in case though, we’ve worked out a deal with the Guardian Angels to have a half dozen of their guys stationed outside the gym and also to escort any guest speakers we may bring in.”

Elder Johnson, an eighty-year-old retired shopkeeper who had been a member of the church since his own birth, spoke up.  “Is it wise to go into an area that we require protection and body guards?  I don’t want to be endangering any of the members of our church who want to help with this mission.”

“Don’t worry about that sir.”  Replied LeRon, “L’il Mac and myself will be the only ones from the church going into this neighborhood for a while, at least until we get it all set up and smoothed out.”

He turned and gestured to Pastor Mike.  “We’re not even gonna let the Preaching Marine in there now that he has Mini Mike to take care of.”

“And”  added Mike, “we’ve also talked with the city police to let them know what we are doing.  The success of our work in the other neighborhoods we have set up programs in has impressed them.  They said they will add a couple of extra patrols through the area while we are there.”

Elder Johnson spoke again, a concerned look in his eyes.  “I don’t want to put a damper on this whole thing, I think you men have been doing a great job, a really effective work.  But” he paused growing uncomfortable with the words he was trying to say, “…I don’t know how this is going to sound to you, but I have been having a bad feeling lately, a feeling like something terrible is going to happen.  I can’t exactly explain it, but…well…”  he hesitated again as he tried to carefully put the words together.  “I’ve been having some bad dreams.  Dreams like I have never had before.”

There was silence around the table.  This kind of statement was not expected from a person like Elder Harry Johnson.  He was not known to be the mystical type who would put much value in dreams or visions.  So to hear him say something like this drew attention from the others.

He went on.  “Back in ’53 when I got home from the Korean War the VA doctors warned me that my experience there might give me bad dreams and such.  Well, it never did.  That whole part of my life, three years in that awful war, was behind me.  I had committed it to God and he took it off my shoulders.  I never had a bad feeling against any of those North Koreans or Chinese, cause I figured they were just like me, you know, just doing their job, obeying orders.  I never dreamed about that war and the terrible things we all did to each other there.  That’s been the case until just the last couple of weeks.”

“Two weeks ago, I had a dream that I was in Seoul, running through the streets trying to find a person who killed my friends and was planning to kill more of them.  Then I heard a big explosion and a baby crying and I woke up.  Now the funny thing was I knew the dream wasn’t about my own experience, because I had never fought in the battle of Seoul but had been in the further south parts of that country.  The next night I had the same dream again but this time I also saw the words ‘Not Your War’ in the sky.”

“Now, you all know I am not the kind of person who puts much merit in all that kind of wishy washy dream stuff.  But I have had this dream repeated almost every night since then, and I’ve got to be honest with you, it has me concerned.  I just don’t know what else it could be but a warning from God about something really bad happening.”

The men around the table, most of whom had known Harry for many years had serious looks on their faces.

Pastor Mike spoke first. “Well Harry, it sounds like this is something we will all have to spend some time in prayer about and see what comes of it.  We have a couple of weeks before we will be ready to start.  Gentlemen, let’s take this time to pray and think about what Elder Johnson has brought up.  In the meantime, LeRon continue with your arrangements, but keep in mind we may have to stop before it actually goes live.”

“I understand.”  Replied LeRon.  “Elder Johnson, thanks for letting us know about those dreams.  Even though I may seem all fired up to get in there and do this thing, one thing I’ve learned since coming to the Lord, is that patience is golden.”

“All right, now.” Said Mike as he stood from the table, “sorry to break up this party but my wife needs to put Mini Mike to bed pretty soon, and Big Mike is getting tired too.  Sunday’s sure are taxing on me anymore.”

Everyone rose and made their way to the door.  Ten minutes later the house was empty except for the Farris family.

Janelle called out as she ascended the steps towards the bedrooms, Mini-Mike slowly walking up one step at a time.

“I’m going upstairs to put your son in the tub honey.”

“Alright.”  Came the response from Mike as he entered the small downstairs bathroom to relieve himself.

Just as he sat down the doorbell rang. 

“Oh man!”  he declared.  Cracking the door open he shouted into the hallway, “Honey!  Janelle!  Could you get that?”

Janelle had just reached the top of the stairs.  “Yes, I’ll get it.” 

She picked up the toddler, turned and went back down the stairs to the front door.  She opened it to find LeRon standing there, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry to bother you Mrs. Davis, but I forgot my cell phone in the dining room.”  He said.

“No problem LeRon,” she answered, “If you know where you left it go ahead and get it.”

“Thanks,” he replied as he went in, retrieved the small phone from the dining room table and put it in his pocket.

Janelle waved at L’il Mac who was sitting in LeRon’s car on the street in front of the house. 

As LeRon stepped out the door onto the front porch, Mini Mike called out to him.

“Bye unka Newon!”

His hand waved up and down in the cute way of a toddler as he smiled to his daddy’s friend.

LeRon turned and smiled back at the baby, “Bye-bye Mini Mike.” 

As he returned the wave to the small child, tires screeched around the corner and there was the sound of an engine gunning loudly.  LeRon and Janelle both instinctively turned towards the noise, the baby still smiling at the young man on the porch.

There was a quick series of loud staccato pops and the crack of shattering glass from LeRon’s car in which L’il Mac sat where it was parked on the street.   LeRon abruptly tumbled back onto the porch.  Janelle buckled and dropped to her knees, a loud thump echoing from the wooden surface of the porch as she and the baby fell face down.

Pastor Mike came running out to see what had happened to find his wife, his son, and his friend laying in a spreading pool of blood just outside the front door.

From the Pulpit

Click on the Chapter link you would like to go to:

1   2  3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   30

Check out all of my writing at http://basilsands.gather.com