The president was not sitting in the Oval Office, and the National Guard would not soon arrive to start relief efforts. In short the world had changed drastically, and it was time to accept it and get on with life. Ira didn't need to read the articles to know just how much things had changed. He had watched most of the destruction himself, first hand, and he knew how great it was.
As Jimmy Johnson spoke he did not speak so much as an authority on the situation, or even as an authority on God. Although he had made up his mind on the latter, it was not something he felt compelled to tell others about. What he spoke of instead was reality, or more correctly, the new reality of the way things were. He spoke of the fear that everyone had held inside, namely that it really was over, but that did not necessarily mean the world was over. Their futures depended on themselves. Only themselves, and it was time to stop fooling themselves that everything would be fine once someone else decided what they should be doing, or the long-gone National Guard finally got there.
Some cried openly as they listened to him. Others rejected what he said, feeling that he had possibly just given up. Most of the people however saw the truth in what he said. He didn't tell anyone what they should or shouldn't do, or even try to swing them in one direction or the other. He simply stated the facts. The crowd grew absolutely silent as they listened.
As he spoke the other police officers who had also been holding out hope, left their posts and mingled in the crowd. They had been in the unenviable position of being in charge. They were perceived only as law and order, the holders of the keys to rationality, and without realizing it they had been the primary force still holding out for the hope that help would come. If there were still cops, then there could still be hope of rescue, of help on the way. When they left their cars and horses behind, the hope died.
It was an admission that they would have to turn to themselves for hope, or go back to the oldest hope, which was God. It was a hard thing for Jimmy to do. He cried himself as he spoke. But it was a necessary thing. It was as necessary as burying loved ones who died, so that the living could get on with living. It was opening the secret room buried deep within your soul, where the driving force of life was locked away. For some it was love that drove them, for others it was hate, but for all there was something locked away in that room.
When Jimmy Johnson finished speaking, several others began to speak. It was not an act performed just for the sake of speech, but a pouring out of whatever the small room within them held. It was Jimmy's turn to listen as people spoke. This one about their trip to get to Rochester, or another about how they knew it was over, but hadn't wanted to face it. A young mother who had lost her children, an older man who had been on the verge of bankruptcy, and had thought things could get no better, or no worse, and now felt it was probably better.
Ira listened from the top of the stone steps as first one, and then another told of how they felt, and what they had been through. He listened as the conversation turned from what had been lost to what was still left. He was lost in an overpowering feeling coming from the crowd of people. He felt love and when he heard an older man’s voice speak beside him he was not surprised to turn and see his Lord standing there.
"Their outpouring was great," the older man said.
Ira simply nodded his head as he turned back to the crowd.
"They are my people, Ira, even the ones among them who do not believe, or have yet to believe... They are all of them my children, and I love them all, Ira."
Ira was surprised to feel tears running down his own cheeks as he watched the crowd. "Does this mean they decided?" Ira asked.
"No, Ira, it does not. It simply means they have decided to decide. I cannot say where they will go from here, or even whom they will follow. It is one thing to decide, and yet an entirely different one to follow," he paused briefly as if thinking.
"Things that will soon come to pass, will be great to overcome, Ira," he paused again, looking out over the crowd.
"Will they follow?"
He continued "...It is not certain."
"But you know, Lord, don't you?" Ira asked. "You kin tell what will happen can't you?" Ira had turned away from the crowd and now faced the older man beside him.
"It is never certain, Ira. Certainty would take choice away, and choice must be maintained. It is up to them. They can walk entirely away from the fight if they choose, or they can stay and fight the fight. Either way the choice must remain."
Ira reached up and brushed the tears from his cheeks, as he listened. When the older man had finished he nodded his head in agreement.
"I know that," Ira said, "you told me, Lord. It's just a hard thing to understand, or even think about. I don't know what I
