Brother Word (6 page)

“Baby, we’ve all been praying for you at church,” Jeannette spoke up, grasping her daughter’s hand. “Pastor Gentry called all of us to pray and fast for your healing and recovery.”

Several church elders had visited her as well, following the scripture in James 5:14, where the elders of the church were called for, to pray over and anoint those who were sick in the name of the Lord. Lynn’s own faith had strengthened as a result, prompting her to lay her right hand over her eyes in the middle of the night, confessing healing scriptures from the Word of God.

“Lynn, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Dr. Winthrop continued. “Additional tests showed that the corneal damage to your left eye was so severe that there is no chance of sight restoration to that eye. Your right eye fared a little better. The optical nerve was not severely damaged; in a surgical procedure called temporary keratoprosthesis vitrectomy, we remove the injured cornea and place a clear, artificial cornea over your right eye. Retinal surgeons will then transplant a donor cornea.”

“Wait a minute,” Lynn interrupted, unsure of what she’d just heard. “Are you saying there’s a chance . . . I could remain blind?
Permanently
?”

In the brief silence that ensued, Lynn heard Dr. Winthrop rustling some papers and quiet sniffling from her mother. It was the respectful silence normally reserved for funeral parlors.

“Yes, Lynn, there is a chance of permanent blindness,” the doctor finally answered. “However, the technology for treating ocular trauma has grown in leaps and bounds over the years. The finest eye trauma surgeons in the country are in Birmingham, Alabama, at UAB’s ophthalmology department. I have a colleague there who has successfully performed this procedure hundreds of times. Making arrangements is no problem at all. The Callahan Eye Foundation Hospital in Birmingham is just a five-hour drive away.”

Though Dr. Winthrop’s words were reassuring, Lynn was still unable to move past the unthinkable. She . . . could . . . go
blind
for the rest of her life?

No! God, this can’t be happening!

“Lynn, honey, maybe we should think about this procedure,” she heard her father say.

“. . . and you know God is still able,” her mother added.

“I’ll leave you to discuss the options,” Dr. Winthrop said. “I’ve given your parents a packet with all the information.”

A packet that I can’t read
,Lynn thought despairingly.
A packet that I might never be able to read . . .

“Oh, Lynn, we’re going to get through this,” her father said, moving over to the bed and taking her hand in his. “We’re just going to have to trust in the Lord. He’s never let us down.”

Lynn agreed with her father one hundred percent—after all, she’d always been the rock of faith in the Harper family. She’d always known she was
called
to the gospel ministry, even when it was unpopular for women to make such announcements in certain denominations. She’d led in campus ministry at the university, leading many students to Christ, and had fit in easily with the ministry team at Faith Community Church. If anyone knew that God would not disappoint, it was she.

But I can’t see, God . . . I can’t see!

It was one thing to believe for someone else’s healing, she knew. But she was now discovering the unique dilemma of believing in the miraculous when it was
she
standing in the need of prayer.

While her mother cried quietly and her father read over the information the doctor had given them, Lynn began meditating on the Word of God.

“I sought the Lord, and He heard me and delivered me from all my fears . . .”

Chapter Nine

N
EWS OF THE SEVERITY
of Lynn’s condition soon reached Pastor Gentry’s attention, causing him to shake his head and gaze up at the small gold cross hanging on his office wall as if to ask,
why
?

Pastoring Faith Community Church had taught him one consistent theme throughout the fifteen years he’d been there—it was inevitable that God’s trials befell every one of His children. No distinction was made for those with titles in front of their names, no matter how gifted or anointed they were. In fact, the more anointed a person, the greater the trials. But while Gentry understood the general principle behind trials, he was nevertheless baffled at the current predicament of the church’s director of outreach.

“God, I know You have a plan for our lives,” he began praying. “And I know Your Word in Jeremiah 29:11 tells us the thoughts You think toward us are designed to give us a future, a hope, and an expected end. Lynn Harper is one of Your precious daughters, and I know Your expected end for her is to bless, favor, and give her the desires of her heart. I do not understand how her being blind fits into Your plan for her life, but Your ways are higher than mine. Your thoughts are higher than mine.

“I pray for her faith, God, that it would remain strong. I pray for her parents, Brother Leonard and Sister Jeannette, that You would encourage their hearts and cause them not to despair. First Peter 2:24 declares that Jesus bore our sins in His body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness, and that by Jesus’s wounds we have been healed. I believe in the power of Your name to heal. And I confess that Lynn Harper be completely healed in the name of Jesus Christ.”

THIRTY MINUTES LATER
, after Gentry had finished praying for the members of the church, for his wife, Shanice, and finally for himself, he stood and walked over to the refrigerator he kept stowed away in the corner. Retrieving a water bottle from inside, he stretched and glanced at his watch. He was scheduled for a meeting with the altar workers in twenty minutes, then a meeting with his elders before going home for a meeting with Shanice.

That’s my most important meeting of all
, he thought, smiling.

The phone rang as he was taking a few sips of the water, and he moved closer to his desk to glance at the caller ID. His smile became even broader when he saw the name displayed.

“TR, is that really you?” he asked, settling back down into his chair. “It’s been too long since we last got together.”

“That’s not my fault, Alonzo,” T. R. Smallwood replied with a chuckle. “I hear the reports of what’s going on over at your church. I’m surprised you even have time to breathe.”

Alonzo laughed. Their relationship had begun long before Alonzo had founded Faith Community Church. Smallwood had asked him to preach the summer revival at Hope Springs Church, back when Alonzo was just starting out into full-time ministry. The older pastor had been the first one to publicly recognize his call, for which Alonzo would always be grateful.

“God is good, TR, I can testify to that. How’ve you been?”

“The best I’ve ever been, Alonzo!” Smallwood recounted the events of the strange man sitting in his church service, and how God had used him to heal his heart. He ended by saying he was preaching a series of healing sermons, beginning next Sunday.

When TR finished talking, Alonzo felt goose bumps along his skin. Was he hearing this right?

“TR, I’ve just finished praying for the healing of our church’s outreach director. You remember the Harpers, right? Their daughter was in a car accident and lost the sight in her eyes. Everyone at our church is believing for the miraculous, and hearing your testimony has just charged my faith.”

“Praise God!”

“You have
no
idea who that man was?”

“Nope. Not a clue. I’ve been looking for him ever since, though. God’s given the gift of healing to all believers, but some operate in a greater level of faith. I remember attending an Oral Roberts tent meeting back in 1954, where I saw legs growing out, the lame getting out of wheelchairs and walking, and tumors disappearing right in front of my eyes! But when this man laid hands on me . . . my God! It was the touch of glory itself!

“And, I’m telling you, Alonzo—this man . . . he has it. He has the gift.”

“THIS MAN” SAT A MERE FIVE MILES AWAY
from Faith Community Church, eating dinner at Five Points Diner, unaware that he was the current subject of conversation between two preachers.

“Would you like a refill on that iced tea?” the waitress asked, stopping next to his table.

He shook his head.

“Not real thirsty, huh? That’s a shame. We serve great tea. You from out of town?” She seemingly had not caught the subtle hints that he wished to be left alone. After introducing herself with a boisterous, “Howdy, I’m Florence,” she had taken a lengthy pause by his table each time she walked by.

“Yes.”

Florence grinned. “I can spot ’em a mile off! Where ya from?”

“Here and there. No place in particular.” He smiled, then cut another piece of waffle, dipped it in syrup, and placed it in his mouth. Florence seemed to get the hint this time and moved on to the customer two booths back.

The man finished his meal, left a decent tip for Florence, and strolled out the door. He headed for the bus stop, which would take him back to his encampment along the Congaree River. He had money for a rental car, but he preferred riding the bus. It catered to his need for privacy—no paper trail that way.

He took a seat at the very rear of the bus, and was instantly reminded of the time he and Nina had taken a bus to go sightseeing in Washington, D.C. They were there on a high school field trip, but had both decided to take an unofficial detour from the recommended itinerary and spend time together. Though they had money for a taxi, Nina had thought it would be more fun to ride the bus.

“Let’s just ride and see where it takes us,” she’d said, her big brown eyes lighting up at the prospect of the adventure.

He had agreed (though at that point he would’ve agreed if Nina had asked him to accompany her to Mars), and for the first fifteen minutes they’d been treated to excellent visuals of the White House, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, and the Capitol. But in ignorance they had neglected to get off the bus, and were thus taken to the seedier streets of the nation’s capital—areas not represented in all the glossy tourist brochures. Upon seeing their predicament, the bus driver had just smiled and advised them to stay on the bus until he reached the station and could transfer them to a connecting route back to the Mall.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Nina had asked, her brown eyes still sparkling, when he’d suggested they both move to the seat directly behind the bus driver.

He’d affected a macho shrug. “’Course not.”

“Good. Then let’s sit in the back instead.”

Before he could protest, she had scrambled all the way to the rear of the bus, never once glancing back to see if he was following her. In retrospect, he realized it was at that point that he’d begun falling in love with Nina. He’d never known her to be this incredibly spontaneous, so vigorous and full of excitement. She was a live wire to his more reserved personality, and the more time he spent with her, the more he knew this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“Hey, buddy,” a rough voice said, breaking up the man’s nostalgic trip down memory lane. “Somebody sittin’ here?”

He shook his head and moved closer to the window, allowing the passenger to take the aisle seat. The man hadn’t realized how crowded the bus was becoming as it traveled its circuitous route through the streets of downtown Columbia. Closing his eyes once more, he sought relief in the sweet sanctuary of memories.

Chapter Ten

L
YNN’S RELEASE FROM THE HOSPITAL
, nearly one month after her debilitating accident, should have been cause for celebration, if not for one major unresolved issue. Though she was thankful for the great care she had received from Dr. Winthrop and others at Palmetto Memorial, the likelihood of permanent blindness was a bitter pill she still could not swallow.

Gingerly and hesitantly, she now walked out the front doors with the support of a cane and the aid of her mother’s arm.

“Your father has the car ready, just a few more feet,” Jeannette whispered, leading her step by step.

The dark sunglasses Lynn wore hid the cloudy, almost lifeless irises of her eyes, but they could not stop the tears that began rolling down her cheeks.

“Lynn?” Jeannette noticed the tears, and quickly took a handkerchief, still damp from her own tears, from her purse to wipe her daughter’s face.

“Mom . . . why?” Lynn’s grip hardened on her mother’s arm. “Why did this happen to
me
?”

“I don’t know, baby. Sometimes, God . . .” Jeannette paused to look away. If Lynn had been able to see, she would’ve seen the utter heartbreak on the face of a parent unable to comfort a hurting child.

“Lynn, I don’t know why this happened,” Jeannette finally managed. “I know the Bible says God won’t put more on us than we can bear, but this . . . this is right to the limit. This is right to the breaking point. But somehow, we’ll get through this. Somehow.”

Lynn was already preparing herself for the words of sympathy and faith she was sure to receive; well-intended expressions from others to try and comfort her and reassure her that everything would be alright.

But how can everything be alright? I . . . cannot . . . see!

The simple act of walking twenty feet from the hospital’s front door to the circular driveway turned into, literally, an act of blind faith.

How am I going to live? How am I going to take care of myself?

The rational part of her brain told her that millions of people all over the world functioned without eyesight, so it
could
be done. The faith in her told her that with God, all things were possible, and to never stop believing for her healing. But at the moment, optimism and faith were no match for
reality
. The reality was that her life had been forever changed by the act of a drunken driver.

“Lynn, I’m right here,” she heard her father say now as he helped her into the backseat.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she replied, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.

God, I know You can do all things . . . but I need a miracle . . .