Carla Chadwell sat at her computer, checking the printout of a proposal for one of Mr. Garman’s prospective clients. Nancy had already stopped by her desk with a miniature vase of winter-blooming pansies. The cheerful little flowers were especially precious, because they had come from Carla’s mother’s yard. Michael and Nancy had been to visit her on Sunday, and she’d sent them back for Carla.
Carla had called her mother early Saturday morning to tell her about the Moose Hollow incident. Bonnie had been understandably indignant with Sig’s assumed intentions, but she was thankful, she told Carla, more than anything else.
“Some girls don’t fare so well as you did,” she had told Carla. “God was watching over you.” Carla had agreed, sharing how she’d never prayed so fervently nor felt so strongly that God had been attentive to her cry for help. Carla shared with her mother that although she’d never before really felt a need for God in her life, she’d always known, through her mother, that He’d be there in an emergency.
Her phone rang. It was Mr. Garman, wanting her to pick up a memo from George’s office. Just as she was about to hang up the phone, he added, “Would you mind stopping by the kitchen on your way back and getting me a cup of coffee? I’m waiting for a call from McCormack.”
Carla finished the printout, smiled as she rearranged the purple and yellow flowers, and headed upstairs. Five minutes later she was knocking on Mr. Garman’s door.
“Thank you. How’s the coffee this morning?” he asked as she set down the mug.
“Very good. I think we’ve finally found the right brand.” Carla smiled. Coffee at the office was always under close scrutiny, and she and Nancy had determined they’d make it as good as the coffee houses. It had taken them a few weeks, but they felt they’d succeeded.
“Smells good.” Mr. Garman gestured to Carla to sit down. “We’re going to need to set up a conference Friday in the Horizon Room, and we’ll need lunch catered. Frigbees does a good job. Ask for Mina. She’s a little gruff-sounding, but don’t let her run over you.” He paused. “All the design engineers will be attending. The plant superintendent from Morningside is the one who really needs to be there, so start with him.”
Carla was taking notes as fast as she could. When Mr. Garman finally finished and Carla was preparing to leave, he suddenly discarded the business tone in his voice.
“By the way, how was your weekend?”
“It was all right.” Carla knew a lukewarm response would trigger Mr. Garman’s curiosity, but she couldn’t bring herself to put on an act of enthusiasm. After all, she had left her apartment Friday afternoon in love—or so she thought, but she’d come back feeling numb.
“Just ‘all right’?”
Carla’s first reaction was that her boss was overstepping proprietary lines in this comment, but she was also pleased that this very reserved man would let down his guard to express himself with gentle candor.
“Well, yes, just all right.” Carla smiled.
Mr. Garman bent down his head to catch Carla’s eye before she could change her mien.
“Are you all right?” he asked with open sincerity. His kindliness shattered the reserve Carla had been relying upon to turn this into a normal morning at work despite her raw emotions. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the tears from brimming in her eyes.
“I’m OK.” The words were only half intoned as she struggled to keep from crying.
She heard Mr. Garman sigh. “You’ll be fine.” His deep voice was confident but gentle. As he walked over to the door, and before opening it, he said, “One thing about us humans—we’re made to be resilient.” He paused and then added, “I haven’t touched that coffee on my desk, but I don’t think I’ll take it with me. I’ll be at Central Micro for a couple of hours. Will you take my calls?”
Carla nodded mutely, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’d be OK if he weren’t so kind: it was his sympathy that evoked the tears as much as the weekend’s circumstances. She knew he could have taken the coffee with him, and she suspected that his trip to Central Micro was spontaneous.
As he closed the door behind him, Carla sat wondering at how greatly her heart had been touched by her employer’s understanding attitude and his desire to help her get past the immediate predicament of tears she wanted to keep private. She walked over to pick up the coffee mug and took a sip. It was still hot. She smiled a teary smile and began wiping her face in an effort to remove the telltale smudges.
“Yes, I’m going to be all right,” she whispered, but now her voice was back under control. “One thing about us humans—we’re made to be resilient.” She spoke the words out loud, surprised that she could repeat them verbatim. They were wise words, she concluded, from a very kind man. Carla found herself wishing him a life of great happiness and hoping that Patrice fully appreciated the man who loved her.
……….
Thursday morning following the Moose Hollow event, Nancy stopped by Carla’s desk to ask where she wanted to go to lunch. “I took the bus today.” She scrunched her nose, explaining, “My car’s in the shop. I kind of wanted to go to Szechuan Palace, but…”
“But what?” Carla demanded.
“Well, you’d have to drive.”
“So? Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you at the front door at 12:30. Is that good?”
“Yeah! I’m so hungry for hot and sour soup.”
Carla grinned, thinking about their first lunch together. It had only been a few months, but it seemed so long ago, and now Nancy was almost next of kin. “How’s my brother?”
“Wonderful as ever.” Then, as though she had just remembered something important, she added, “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Can we pick you up tonight for TNC? Or is Sig wanting to take you?” Nancy kept a poker face about her feelings regarding Sig.
“I haven’t heard from Sig, so no, he’s not taking me. But I’m not sure I want to go, in case he’ll be there. I really don’t want to see him.”
“I don’t blame you, but you’ll probably have to face him some time or other. I’d kind of like to have you come, because the speaker’s a former abortionist.”
“An abortionist?” Carla said the word as though she’d never spoken it before. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she had.
“Yes. We had a really hard time booking him.”
“He’s in demand?” Carla asked, surprised.
“No,” laughed Nancy, “the problem was on our end, because churches—like ours—are hesitant to have him speak. They don’t want to offend anybody.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, I have to get to work. George gave me a huge proposal to type, and he needs it tomorrow.” She started to leave, then turned back to ask, “So, can we pick you up?”
“Well, all right. Something tells me this wouldn’t be Sig’s choice of programs to attend, so hopefully he won’t be there.”
Later, back in her apartment, Carla fixed a light supper and sat down to watch a sitcom re-run. Halfway through it, the phone rang. It was Nancy.
“Carla, we’re running late, but hopefully we’ll be there to pick you up at 6:30.”
“Don’t you have to greet?”
“I called and got a sub.”
“OK.” Understanding Nancy’s crunch for time, she said, “I’d better let you go. I’ll be watching for you guys.”
“See ya’ soon. Bye!” Nancy’s voice had a ring of excitement to it.
At 6:30, Carla, watching from the window, saw Michael’s car pull up. Nancy was in the front seat, but there was another person in the back seat; it was her mother.
“What!” Carla exclaimed out loud, grabbing her coat and her Bible. She didn’t usually bring her Bible, nor had she been reading it, but in view of the past weekend’s experience, she felt like she wanted somehow to give credit to whom credit was due by carrying a Bible under her arm. She ran down the steps and out to the car, grinning happily at her mother as she jumped into the back seat.
“Hi, Mom! What a wonderful surprise! It’s so good to see you!”
“You, too, honey. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Carla hugged her mother, greeting Michael and Nancy at the same time. “So what’s going on? What are you doing in Rock Pier?” Not waiting for an answer, Carla reiterated, “What a wonderful surprise!” She reached up to squeeze Nancy’s hand and gave her brother a quick shoulder grab.
As he drove away from the curb, Michael explained. “Mom actually called me, because she’d heard Don Whitten was speaking at our church, and she wanted to hear him. She drove to Nancy’s because Nancy thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
“But she’s staying overnight with you, if it’s OK.” Nancy was enjoying the success of the surprise.
“I can sleep on your couch, honey.” Bonnie Chadwell beamed with a mother’s pride.
“Oh, Mom, I’m so glad you’re here!” Carla felt like a little girl, suddenly, depending on her mother for love and security. The feeling took her aback, but she didn’t shake it off, either: the emotional upheaval of the past few days somehow justified clinging to an anchor. Taking a deep breath, she spoke sincerely. “It’s going to be great getting to spend some time with you. You can stay past tomorrow, can’t you—because I have to work until five.”
“I don’t have to be home until church time on Sunday. I was hoping I could take you all to breakfast here before I head home, but it would have to be early—like seven.”
“Seven?” Mike glanced at Nancy beside him. “Nancy’s in a wedding Saturday evening that will probably last until—what do you think, Hon?”
“Probably at least eleven, but seven’s OK with me. Actually, I love early breakfasts out. Where do you want to go?”
“Where do you want to go, Nancy?”
Bonnie’s engaging thoughtfulness filled Nancy with appreciation for Michael’s mother. “Michael and I really enjoyed a little restaurant on the south side of town a couple weeks ago.” Then, to Michael, “Do you think your mom would like McCrae’s?”
“Good idea. I know Carla would like it. They have good green chili.”
……….
By the time they got to Rock Church, there were only six or seven minutes left before the service started. Carla had requested sitting towards the back, and the others didn’t object. As soon as they were seated, she glanced around at the audience, looking for Sig, even though he’d left her a message that he wouldn’t be there. She was relieved when her quick glance did not find him.
The worship team led the congregation in some praise songs followed by a time of more somber worship. For the first time, Carla really focused on the words and how they applied to her own circumstances. She was seeing God from a totally new perspective, after the past weekend’s Moose Hollow event. He had truly been a refuge for her, and somehow she felt as if she wanted to thank Him in a physical way for a supernatural undertaking on her behalf. Consequently, during worship, Carla was listening with her whole being—not just to the music and words, not to the singing. Rather, she was listening for that same indelible voice which had told her in that honeymoon suite last weekend, “Leave. Leave now. Go find Lewis.”
Halfway through the worship, Carla put her arm around her mother’s waist as they were standing together, suddenly realizing that her mother’s persistent prayers for her daughter’s safety had surely been answered in a direct sense one time at least.
……….
Carla listened intently as Don Whitten talked. He had become a believer in Jesus Christ three years ago, he said. His story was riveting, but the bottom line was that he attributed the 180-degree change in his life solely to the prayers of Christian protesters. Carla stole a glance around the vast room at one point, about a third of the way into his speech. He didn’t mince words, and the word pictures he drew from his experience as an abortionist were not pleasant to hear. Carla surmised there must have been quite a few people in the audience who had had abortions and were no doubt quite uncomfortable.
As Whitten continued speaking about his conversion and how it had affected his pro-abortion stance, a change in the crowd occurred. A young couple sitting about halfway back from the podium got up and walked out. That triggered the quiet exit of several other people. Carla observed that this obviously concerned Nancy, from the look on her face. She glanced at Bonnie, whose eyes were closed. She knew her mother was praying. The attention was now divided, and Carla was curious to know how the former abortionist would handle this.
He stopped talking for what seemed like a long, long time, and must have been one whole minute. The room was quiet except for the people exiting. Then he asked, in a lowered voice but unabashedly, “Would anyone else like to leave? It’s all right. I understand.”
At this statement, about ten more people rose and headed out of the church, including two couples that, Nancy later informed her little group, were church deacons. The speaker waited for them to exit the hall before he continued.
“Well, at least these folks who have left are not fence-riders. Jesus himself said it was better to be hot or cold, right? Cold is dead wrong, but still honest and not hypocritical. Choice is central to life. Over three thousand years ago, God told His people through Moses, ‘I have set before you this day life and death, blessing and cursing. Therefore, choose life, that you and your children might live.’ His way is life—here, and for eternity—for us and for our children.”
Carla had never been in such a quiet audience. Every eye in the room was riveted on Whitten, it seemed to Carla, except hers, as she stole a wide-sweeping glance with her head remaining still.
“Now that I’ve told you the diabolical nature of my former profession, I would like to ask each of you to take home a postcard, available in the foyer, showing a dismembered child of twelve weeks. Take a good look at the crime we are committing as a body of believers. You see, in my unregenerate state, I was totally blind to the truth—the truth that is set eternally and doesn’t change. It’s only our perspective on it that is variable, not the truth itself.
“There are many people just like I was, who defend abortion because they do not know eternal Truth. Truth—with a capital T—is revealed by God to man. The first chapter of Romans addresses this fact. People who worship humanity—the creature rather than the creator, want to lead others in this worship, and they are very confident in their own discernment of truth. They reason that since man has discovered certain truths—facts—of science and physics, he’s qualified to decide truth in the realm of socioeconomic interplay including moral issues. These ‘social truths’ which we decide upon, as humans, fit our own personal desires, but they unwittingly totally eclipse our deepest personal need of a dependency upon God. That is where eternal Truth prevails. God created us, and He knows what is helpful as well as what is hurtful—for ourselves at the present moment and…” Whitten slowed his speech to emphasize his words. “…for our children and grandchildren in generations to come. ‘Therefore choose life, that you and your children might live.’”
Carla listened as the man went on to talk of how he came to the understanding that being born again meant becoming a disciple of the man Jesus Christ, not merely adhering to a philosophy.
As Carla sat listening, she began to realize that her life had already been changed in a very significant way through her experience with God at Moose Hollow. She saw everything from such a totally different perspective now. It was as if she were all of a sudden attached to God by an eternal cable. Was it because God hadn’t thrown out this lifeline to her before, or was it that she’d always ignored it instead of grabbing hold?
Prior to Moose Hollow, Carla had always thought of herself as quite self-sufficient and well rounded in general. But her life now had a new dimension. To talk—and listen—to God brought a peace that she’d never known. Admittedly, she hadn’t done it very much at all to this point—really just at Moose Hollow. But that experience had opened a new door in her life—a door she somehow knew was very, very important. Her life had taken on a fresh, wholesome flavor, like dormant grass soaking in the first spring rain.
As the former abortionist spoke of “God’s precious children,” a poignant smile spread across Carla’s face, a smile that stayed there, even in the middle of a demonstration of a poster showing an aborted baby. The smile came from knowing that the picture was one of a child still precious to God, even after death by abortion. Carla knew that God still loved that child just as much as He loved herself. Tears came to her eyes, and she was filled with thankfulness that her heart had been touched. Was this—this compassion—part of the born-again experience, too?
“Open hearts that God can touch is what we need to turn this holocaust around,” Dr. Whitten spoke quietly but with a sincerity that obviously impacted his remaining audience. The words were confirming to Carla’s thoughts.
She took a moment to concentrate on a prayer. “God, I feel you’ve given me an open heart. Please keep it open. I never thought I’d be thanking you for that horrible evening with Sig, but I am now.” Suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness, Carla used one hand and then the other to catch tears that threatened to spill over, before they fell. She tried not to be obvious, but the tears kept coming, and she smiled as Nancy pulled a couple of tissues from her purse and slipped them to her.
Much as she hated making a scene—even a silent one, she had to admit that the tears felt good. They were tears of thanksgiving for a Creator who loved her enough to have touched her on the shoulder. And they were tears of cleansing, too; Carla knew this as much as she’d ever known anything in her life. Unable to stop them anyway, she let them fall freely. It was not hysterical crying, just tears and tears, and more tears. Surely God had called her to Himself, and surely she desired to respond.
“Here I am; send me,” she thought, at the same time wondering where these Bible words had come from. Somewhere in her Sunday school past? Maybe a church play? She really had no clue, but they rang in her mind on the ride back to her apartment that night, and they played on her mind the very first thing as she awakened the next morning.