Kansas University –
Thursday Afternoon, March 9, 1989
“Something is troubling you. It’s written all
over your face,” Christina said as she and Jerry sat on the slope to the campus
lake.
“That’s the trouble with me, can’t hide anything,”
he said.
“What is there to hide?” She tilted her head
looking at him with interest.
Hide?
There’s lot’s to hide. If you only knew, you wouldn’t want me. “Well .
. . ” He took in the patches of blooming daffodils scattered around the lake.
The swans glided across the still water and reflected the peaceful, easy
feeling that he wished he had.
Instead, he was bound up inside, wanting to let go of his secret, yet
apprehensive. What does it mean? There
was more that happened during that lightning strike than just a storm in the
heavens. There was more . . . more that I heard . . . more that I felt.
But now, he felt remorseful about who he was and
how he portrayed himself. She was pristine, and he was tarnished. She seemed
without flaw, yet he had routinely smoked pot and wound up at a frat party
nearly every weekend. He had never met a girl like Christina; rather, he
caroused with sorority girls that had too much to drink and flaunted their
sensuality. He had walked away when Yannie
passed him a joint. But he caved in when Yannie came over for dinner. He had tossed his Playboy magazines. But he
eyed the bronze sculpture of Venus in the fountain in front of the auditorium
as more than a piece of art. He had
stopped watching porn. At least he hadn’t been tempted there. That was a start.
The desire to party had waned. Or was it just simmering on the back burner? All
it took was familiar surroundings with his college bud and a smoldering joint,
and he slid back into his old routine. He just wasn’t good enough, he felt, to
pursue the goodness in Christina. She
was on his mind now, and as he reflected, the two did not fit together, his rabblerousing
cowboy lifestyle and her devotion to worship with inspirational dance.
“Trust me, Jerry.”
Her soothing words washed away the downward
spiral of his negative thoughts. She was interested in him, and his mood refreshed with the exuberance to be alive when he
could have been dead, electrocuted by 100 million volts that bolted from the
glowing sphere in the ominous cloud.
He blurted out, “I came to my senses, soaking
wet, my face and body warm, this acrid and stinging smell of burnt oil.”
“What are you talking about?”
He picked at the grass, not knowing where to
begin. Trust me, Jerry. He idly pulled
a few more blades. “I was at the library studying for the graduate entrance
exam. It was late, the library was closing, and I was exhausted. I had a lot on
my mind, and cooped up in the library for hours I had no idea . . . ” He
thought of the swirling rain that soaked him, the chill of the air, the flashes
and rumbling in the distance. His mind was caught up in the storm, and he
squinched his eyes to replay the scene from the beginning. “I pushed hard on
the library door. I was upset. I had so much to do and was frustrated why I was
doing it.”
“Doing what? What were you frustrated about?”
“Spending four years at school studying subjects
that are dry and boring—finance and accounting—huh, sounds exciting doesn’t
it?”
“Depends on why you are doing it.”
“That’s my point.”
“Then why?”
“To get rich quick.”
“Running from something?”
“Huh?”
“What was your home life like? What does your
dad do?”
He looked at her in wonder. How would she know what is bothering me?
“We are either running after something or running
from something. Which is yours?”
“Hmmm.” He pulled at more grass exposing a bare
spot.
“Look in your hand. You have a tuft of grass.
You harvested what was there for the taking, but . . . did you plant it?” She
studied his profile as he pondered the grass in his hand. “Getting rich quick
and growing wealth are two different sides of the same coin. One leads to
prosperity and the other leads to an unsatisfied want for more. You grew up on
a ranch and I can see that in how you dress, how you walk, how long hours of
labor have made you a strong and muscular man. You’re not a city boy content to
sit behind a desk, crunch numbers, and shuffle paper. Is that what you’re
frustrated about?”
She
should be a therapist. Pulling out the strands of my thoughts and weaving the
true story. I’m living a façade of dreams, nothing behind them but thin air. “Yeah,”
he offered meekly. “I come from six generations of ranchers. My
great-great-great-great grandfather
started with 160 acres the government deeded him—the Homestead Act of 1861. All
he had to do was prove that he could work the land and survive on it. Each
generation inherited what the previous generation grew, and now my dad has a
2000 acre ranch to pass on to me, the only son.”
“So, what’s wrong with that?”
Jerry tossed the grass to the wind. “The bank
owns the ranch. We hit hard times, first with plummeting beef prices, then the
two-year drought. We haven’t recovered. The herd’s growing, but it’ll take a
decade to pay off the debt—if we ever do. We raise cattle the old-fashioned
way, grazing them and letting nature takes its course with reproduction. Cattle
ranching is big business now—hormones, artificial insemination, grain-fed
cattle that never leave the stall.”
“So that’s what your running from? Abandoning
your father’s caving business that you could rescue, leaving him holding the
debt while you sit behind a desk and foreclose on misfortunes only to sell them
to ranching corporations for a whopping profit. Is that what’s troubling you?”
Jerry felt the knot tighten in his stomach. Christina reached for his arm. His
crystal blue eyes illuminated guilt as she looked within. “Sometimes God has to
get our attention to move us from the path we have chosen. What happened after
you left the library.”
He studied her eyes, scintillating colors of
amber, topaz, and brown sapphire, a kaleidoscope that transfixed him. Trust me, Jerry.
“A burst of wind ripped the door wide open and
slammed it against the brick wall. The smell of rain, it was humid and thick,
pressed against my face.” He paused as the images and feelings came to him one
frame at a time. “I leaned into the wind and shivered from the falling
temperature. It was unseasonably warm when I entered the library Friday
afternoon. I wanted to kick back and relax on the lawn, but forced myself to
focus. I’m naturally a daydreamer and a procrastinator.” Not good enough. She has it so together. Trust me, Jerry. “I was
already two blocks from the library when the inky black darkness above me
opened its mouth with a lion’s roar and a hurricane vengeance.”
“Wow! I can feel it. Has anyone every told you
that you’re poetic?”
“Yeah, right. I can’t even write an English comp
paper.”
“Go on, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Pelting rain swirled around me and I was
instantly drenched, my T-shirt clung to my skin and my jeans and boots felt
heavy. I was only a few minutes from my flat or I would have turned around. I
gripped my Indiana Jones bag around my chest and hunkered down hoping to keep
my books dry. I’d been caught in storms before out on the range. I was
exhausted and all I could think of was lying in a dry bed with the sound of
rain soothing me to sleep. Like in the saddle rounding up the herd, I just kept
pushing on, driven to my goal, this one as simple as getting home, splashing through
puddles that reflected lightning flashes, the low roll of thunder cascading
through the heavens.”
Christina watched his face, the tiny twitch of
muscles on his angular face, his shoulders hunched as though he was now walking
in the rain.
“Funny, when I reached the curbside . . . I know
it doesn’t make sense, but I glanced up and saw the orange hand of the crossing
light. Instinctively, I stopped and waited. The street was deserted. Rain was
dripping into my eyes and down my cheeks. I felt so sad. Anyone else would have
run for cover, but I just stood there.” Jerry stared ahead, transfixed. Moments
later, he jolted and rapidly blinked his eyes. “The light changed to the green
glow of GO.” He
continued to stare across the lake. “I methodically stepped into the street.”
He waited as if he was watching every step he took. “A spidery web flashed and
filled the haunting heavens. I stopped. I was in the middle of the street just
standing there, watching the churning . . . boiling . . . swirling darkness
that surrounded a brilliance contained in the calm of a magnificent glow . . .
it looked so weird . . . an ominous pretension of the power of destruction
within the cell of the storm.” Slowly, he continued. “I . . . I . . . I heard a
voice.” He shook his head in disbelief. “The voice I heard in that storm . . .
” He reflected and tried to rationalize the paranormal event. “I heard the
sound of a blaring trumpet. Maybe a tornado siren, I don’t know, but it came
from above . . . from the swirling clouds. This puffy black mist grew . . .
like it was falling to the ground . . . then it lit up and lightning splintered
in all directions. The swirling blackness above it filled with radiant light .
. . you’ll think I’m crazy, but it looked like war in the sky . . . and then, in
a split second, the light imploded within the cloud . . . there was a deafening
explosion, then the sound of a massive bone breaking in heaven.” He
instinctively hunched his shoulders and lowered his head as if he feared that
something was falling from the sky. He was breathing hard as he forced out
raspy words, “The sinister closeness of the snap-crackle explosions in the
smoldering black sky sent goose bumps up my spine.” He shuddered and Christina,
wide-eyed, noticed the goose bumps and hairs raise from his arms. My ears rang . . . then, the light collapsed
to a sphere . . . it looked like a smoky veil shrouding the sun. Then . . . this
lightning bolt . . . oh my God, even to think about it makes me shiver, oh my
God, the lightning bolt . . . a column of blinding, hot-white light . . . must
have been two feet wide . . . hit the pavement directly in front of me!”
Christina stared at him with stark fear. “You
lived to tell the world about this . . . ” She moved close to him and wrapped
her arm around his shuddering, hunched shoulders, his head lowered pressing his
forehead in his hands. “And you’re just
now telling me the trauma of it all?” she said empathetically.
“Huh?”
“Who have you told about this?” she whispered.
“Only you . . . I . . . well, it really sounds
kind of crazy . . . I haven’t told you the rest.” He shook his head. She’ll think I’m nuts if I tell her.
“And?”
She leaned forward to coax him to continue.
“I heard this voice that sounded like thunder
from heaven.”
“Yeah, and what did you hear?” She put her hand
on his shaky arm. “It’s okay, it’s okay, Jerry. Trust me.”
“The voice said, ‘Jerry, you are not alone.’ ”
He closed his eyes and humbly lowered his head.
Christina gripped his arm. “Wow, Jerry.” She looked
puzzled as for how to continue. “You had a supernatural encounter with God,”
she said in a hushed tone, then recoiled. “Oh my God! You should feel blessed!
But I feel how it was so frightening. I have goose bumps all over . . . the war
in heaven . . . darkness battling light . . . the lightning spear . . . then
hearing from God.”
He looked up to find her searching his eyes as
if peering to find meaning. Her ringed irises scintillated a kaleidoscope of amber,
topaz, and brown sapphire that welcomed him to continue. His vulnerability
dissipated, replaced by a comfort of trust. He marveled at her beauty, simple and
without a trace of makeup. The translucence of her olive skin expressed purity
and wholesomeness. Her beauty was more than skin-deep.
“I was too stunned and shocked . . . literally .
. . to understand what happened, why it happened, and how I survived. I know it
was a miracle, but why? I haven’t done anything to deserve a miracle, let
alone, ask for one.” His eyes squinched and he felt tightness around his throat.
He hacked a cough and forcefully breathed, “But . . . there is still more to tell.” He
lowered his head, his voice gloomy, “In the middle of the night . . . 4:44 . .
. that’s what the clock flashed at me when I saw the front of my shirt . . . I
was . . . strangled—”
“What? Strangled? When? After the lightning
strike?”
“Somehow I made it back to my flat. I woke up
suddenly, felt like I was in a deep sleep. I thought it was a nightmare! I
couldn’t breathe! It felt like there were hands around my neck pulling me up
out of bed.”
She turned to face him and took his hands in
hers and scooted closer until their knees touched. “And?”
“I felt like I was going to die, helpless, limp
like I couldn’t move if I wanted to, you know, when you’re in a dream, and you
want to fight It off, but you’re
paralyzed.”
“It? What was it? What did it look like?”
“All I saw was inky blackness swirling around me
like an octopus. Its tentacles wound around my neck, crushing my chest, lifting
me off the bed . . . ”
She swallowed hard and her arms tremored. “Go
on.”
“Then the window shattered. Hot, foul air rushed
over me. It smelled like rotten eggs . . . sulfur water. I was lying flat on my
back, gasping for air, then suddenly my lungs filled like someone was blowing
me up like a balloon."
“Wow! Praise God! Breath of Life!”
“Huh?”
“Tell me more. We’ll get to that later. I want
to hear the whole story . . . ”
v v v
Jerry lay peacefully on the grassy slope of the
lake, eyes closed. Christina sat beside him and stroked his hair.
“What does it mean?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“It was an attack of Darkness.”
“But why and how? No one was in the room. The
broken window, the hole the size of a fist, what was It?
“Evil. But, the cross on your shirt, drawn with
burnt motor oil?”
“Yeah?”
“Oil. When God calls a prophet, He anoints him
with oil.”
“Prophet . . . Hehe . . . I’m not a prophet . .
. Just a cowboy with a tender heart . . . That’s what my dad said . . . I have
the heart of my mom.”
“And God knows that. Before He formed you in
your mother’s womb, he knew you. Before you were born, He set you apart for His
holy purpose. He appointed you . . . ” She bent toward his face. “Jerry, have
you told me everything?”
He looked into her kaleidoscope eyes. Loving
eyes, eyes that drew out his soul. Eyes he could trust. She’ll either stand by me, or I’m making a fool of myself.
“The voice said something else.”
You
have received the power of My Spirit, the Voice revealed.
He abruptly sat up and shivered and darted a
look over his shoulder.
“Jerry, what’s wrong?”
His eyes wandered to the water, the trees, to the
swan and her clutch of cygnets. I’ve lost
my mind. I’m hearing voices in my head. She’ll think I’m crazy. I am crazy. The lightning . . . it zapped my
brain. “I just heard it. I wasn’t recalling what I had heard. I heard a voice in my head.”
“What did He say?”
“Huh? He?”
“God has not
given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power— ”
“Ha! You won’t believe it. The voice said, “You
have received the power of my spirit.”
Christina beamed with a smile that covered her
entire face. Jerry squirmed. She does
think I’m crazy. We’re toast. So much for being honest, Jer.
“Uh huh, you,
Jerry, are an extraordinary man. God has anointed you with His Spirit.”
He just stared at her.
“What does that mean?” He looked dumbfounded. She’s heard voices, too? We’re both crazy.
Milk toast.
“That
voice is the Holy Spirit speaking to you. And the rest of that verse is about
God giving you a spirit of love and self-discipline.”
You
will be my witness wherever you go, the Voice revealed. How you live matters much, even more than
your words. Turn from your hypocritical ways that turn people away from me.
“Self-discipline,
huh? Ha, ha!” Sheesh, I have been more
disciplined. No weed, okay a little, no booze, no loose girls. “Okay, I’m
beginning to get this Holy Spirit thing—”
“The Holy Spirit is not a thing, Jerry.”
Whew. The way she said—Jerry—snapped his mind to attention. “Okay, okay, I do remember—Father
God, Jesus Christ his son—and well, the church I grew up in, they called it the
Holy Ghost, I mean him, yes, the Holy Spirit. For gosh sakes, Christina, the
word ends in—it—so I just thought— ”
She burst out laughing, and he sheepishly joined
in.
She
gets this. Maybe I don’t yet, but she’s with me. Whew!
“You’re just a babe, a newbie, born again in the
Spirit, God’s Spirit, and it’s got to be unnerving, hearing His Voice for the
first time. But that Voice within in you is God speaking directly to you.
Cherish every word. He’s not long-winded. Did you hear anything else?”
Jerry reflected, the Voice resonating in his
head. “He said, ‘You will be my witness wherever you go.’ ”
They both gazed out on the lake. The swan and
her clutch skirted the edge of the water amongst the reeds, one cygnet
obediently behind the other.
Christina broke the silence, “We are God’s
children, and He wants us to follow Him obediently.” She turned to look at him.
Jerry studied the beauty of new life in the
cygnets. “The offspring model their behavior to what they see.”
Receive
me as your first love, the Voice revealed, and you will be a new creation, a new man. Your life is a witness to
the world about Me.
Christina looked again at the clutch of cygnets.
“What else did He say?”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy? I’m not making
this up. He just spoke to me again, and He added more to it.”
“Jerry, I not only believe you, I believe that
you hear from Father God. I believe what you hear because the words you hear
are in God’s Word—the Holy Bible.”
“Really? Hmmm . . . don’t want to disappoint
you, Christina. I know you know a lot about God . . . but I don’t. Why would
God anoint me?”
“God doesn’t call the qualified. He qualifies the
called.”
“Okay. The voice said—”
“God said.”
“Okay. God said, ‘Receive me as your first love
and you will be a new creation, a new man.’ ”
“Yeeehaa! Like burning off the dross, you know,
like smelting gold to remove the impurities. You said that you smelled burnt
oil on your shirt, that it formed a cross.”
He looked at her intently, slightly cocking his
head and felt understood that she found a deeper meaning to his experience.
“Yeah?”
“God is showing you that he is burning the chaff
off your life, the behaviors that do not please Him. Like the goldsmith.”
“Goldsmith?”
“Yeah, a goldsmith heats raw gold until it
melts, the impurities separate and then can be poured off leaving the pure gold
for casting jewelry or a coin.”
“Wow, so cool, but there’s more.”
“Tell me, what else did God say?”
Your
life is a witness to the world about Me, the Voice revealed.
“The voice said that my life is a witness to the
world about him.”
“Have you written this down? Have you written
down every word that God told you?”
“Well, uh . . . no, I didn’t.” Jerry felt like a
boy who forgot to do something he was supposed to. “I haven’t been able to write
my thoughts at all since then . . . can’t even get this English comp paper
started . . . I have this stirring feeling inside, but can’t find the words.
Bottled up I guess.”
“What are you trying to write about?”
“Huh, you’d think it would be easy. I had career
goals set from the start of my freshman year, and now . . . ” He shook his
head, no longer smiling with excitement. He took a deep breath. “Now, I’m questioning
my motives that gave me the drive to get through all of those dry, boring
numbers classes. Wondering . . . why I set the goal.”
“Which is?”
“Make a good life for me.”
“Which is?”
“Work hard, establish my own mortgage company,
buy a yacht, cruise the Caribbean.”
“Hmmm, so where’s the passion?”
“Yeah, that’s the point. It now lacks passion. I
had my sights set on the endpoint . . . sailing the seas, living the last half
of my life without a worry, free of the race to riches. That’s what gave me the drive to do grad
school straight through and get my MBA. I wanted to hit the pavement running,
rather than being stuck working mortgage files as a loan processor.”
He looked into her eyes. She patiently waited,
her chin resting in her hands. He knew what he wanted to say next, but instead,
he absorbed the feeling of being understood. I don’t need to fear the Voice, but if it is God . . . His mind
flashed to her dancing at church, flowing with life, vibrant and on fire, seemingly
elevated from the floor as she danced to the waves of music.
“I feel dead inside when I think of that destiny
now,” he said to her kaleidoscope eyes.
“Hmmm, maybe God has something to say about
that. I mean you are talking about your purpose in life . . . your destiny . .
. pretty big stuff to tackle alone.”
Jerry adjusted his watch. “Ahh, jeez, gotta cut
our break short or I’ll be late for class.”
“You have a class this late?”
“Hehe . . . English comp, my favorite. I like to
write . . . more poetic I’d say. Force me to write? Can’t do it. Gotta have the
inspiration.”
He looked her in the eye. He had new
inspiration.
v v v
Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from
PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge, a writer of transformational fiction with
characters that tell life-changing stories.
This is a
pre-published scene.
To read the
scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A
Novel – Prologue”
Your comments
are welcomed and appreciated. Simply check one of the reaction boxes below,
write a comment, or email me at bycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a
work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and
locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and
authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
