“That’s okay, Daddy. I don’t ever have nightmares like them movies make me have. Sometimes I like it when you scare me about God and stuff.”
“Well, now, Son, I think sometimes we all do. Reminds us that makin’ that choice to live for God is a mighty important thing. Important enough that even that ol’ devil has to sit up an’ take notice of us. But do you know what I mostly do?”
“What, Daddy?”
“I look at them people an’ I realize how scared they are about what’s comin’. Then I take ‘em by the hand an’ I lead ‘em in the path of the Lord.”
“Ain’t that hard, Daddy?”
“Only when they’s bein’ muleheaded an’ ain’t listenin’ any too good. But when you got a man or a woman—or a youngster like yourownself—what’s wantin’ to know what the Lord has said about somethin’, why all I have to do is open the Bible an’ give ‘em God’s Word. Sometimes I get surprised at how strong an’ rested all that hard work makes me.”
The woman had almost reached the door when Delroy called out to her. “Phyllis.”
She went stiff-backed for a moment; she halted but didn’t turn around.
“Phyllis, I’m sorry.” Delroy stayed where he was, knowing he couldn’t go after her. The decision to come back had to be hers. “My daddy was Josiah Harte. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him, but he used to preach right here at this church. He preached long and hard to the folks that lived around here. I never saw him a day in his life when he didn’t know how to handle his relationship with God.”
The boy and the two girls turned to look at Delroy, but their mother held her ground.
“My daddy was a good man,” Delroy said. “A great preacher. He had a way with words that could ignite a congregation, scare them, and bring them home to Jesus in droves.” He paused. “But I’m not my daddy. I never have been. But if I let you walk out of this church—my daddy’s church—without at least trying to help you, I know I don’t deserve to be my daddy’s son. And, ma’am, that’s something that I just can’t do.”
Dominic pulled on his mother’s arm. “Momma, come on. Let’s listen to what he has to say.”
“I apologize, ma’am,” Delroy said. “I truly do. I’ve been lost myself for a long time. I’m still trying to find my way back to a lot of things I guess I took for granted.”
Slowly, Phyllis turned around. “It’s rare to meet an honest man, Chaplain. An’ rarer still to meet one what admits his failin’s. But I’ll tell you somethin’: all of us that got left behind, I figure we’re all just a little lost. Maybe it’ll take all of us together to find our way.”
A smile was on Delroy’s lips before he knew it, and lightness dawned in his heart. “Aye, ma’am. I expect you’re right.”
“I got to warn you, Chaplain, I got a powerful lot of questions.” Phyllis brought her children back up to the front of the church.
“Aye, ma’am.” Delroy straightened the pew she’d sat in, then got a chair for himself. He started to talk then, to outline the overall sevenyear period that followed the Rapture. As he talked and discussed God’s Word and God’s plan, he discovered that talking about those things seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.
As he spoke, another young couple appeared outside the church door. They held hands and looked frightened.
Delroy stopped. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“We was just wonderin’,” the young woman said, “if the church was open. We know it’s only Thursday, an’ ain’t no notice been hung, but if the church was open, we wondered if we might come in an’ talk.” She shook her head. “We’ve spent days worryin’ an’ wonderin’ about what’s gonna happen to us. We just want to know what to do.”
Delroy hesitated, uncertain how much responsibility he wanted to take on.
“You come right on ahead, chile,” Phyllis said. “Church is open today.”
10
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 2056 Hours
“—the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” Corporal Joseph Baker said as he reached for the young soldier’s face, then pinched his nose and covered his mouth. They were standing in the water tank Baker used to perform baptisms.
Goose stood at the back of the makeshift church. He leaned a hip against the line of sandbags that had partially converted the church area into a bunker against artillery attacks and tried to find a position that provided relief for his aching knee.
Rain continued to pound the street and the ground. Rivulets of water threaded through the metal chairs and crates and wooden boxes that had been set up to seat the attendees. The generator and the lights had been scavenged from bombed-out buildings in the city.
The church never shut down. Services were held all day and all night, twenty-four hours around the clock. When Baker couldn’t be there because of posting or sleep, other men took his place. Some of them were chaplains, but not all of them. Many had been deacons and youth ministers and Sunday school teachers back home. Some still were. Others had never had much to do with church at all until the last few days. Somehow all those men had been called into service at Baker’s church.
The church had begun small. Now it took up nearly six times the room it originally had. Somehow, though, the church continued to find the room and the means to grow.
One of the nearby buildings had been a restaurant. When the SCUDs fell, the owners had left. Soldiers had come forward and told Baker they wanted to help, and they’d seen to the refurbishing of the restaurant kitchens. Soup and sandwiches were served constantly. No one came to Baker’s church and went away hungry. Not physically and not spiritually.
And
