Part 7 (1/2)

I watched for him to come around the back of the house and toward the front of the yard again, trying not to have a silly grin on my face in case he should look my way. He appeared soon enough, circling around the back deck and weaving his way toward me through the fruit trees. It was him, all right. He spotted me right away, smiled that same pleasant smile, and this time he waved. I waved back. He seemed like a nice guy.

I looked down at the catalog in my hand so as not to stare at him. I was just debating whether to return indoors or walk over and say h.e.l.lo when I heard the mower stop in the front of John's yard.

”Hey Travis!” the man yelled. I looked up. ”Got a minute?”

”Uh, sure.” I set the mail in the mailbox and left the door open to remind me. Crossing the street, I kept looking at his face and probing my memory. He knew me by name, but had we met before? Had he ever been to the church while I was pastoring? Maybe he came into Judy's a few times, or attended one of the acoustic jams. I crossed the street, approaching the little lawn mower where he sat waiting. I did not remember this guy. He gave me a sympathetic smile. ”You're really going through it, aren't you?”

I smiled to be pleasant. ”Excuse me?”

”You'll be okay. It's just a little eye opener, that's all.”

”Have we met before?”

”Never face to face.” He offered his gloved hand. ”Or hand to hand.”

I took his hand to shake it and felt a weird tingling, like electricity. It didn't stop and I pulled my hand away. ”Whoa!”

”What?”

”Got a little shock.”

He chuckled. ”Sorry. Must be the lawn mower.” He rested his elbows on the mower's steering wheel and looked at me casually. ”We've known each other for years, Travis, ever since you were eight years old.” I was about to question him on that, but he didn't pause. ”It's a lonely time for you, I know, especially when so many folks don't understand what you're going through. They've never been there. But you and I have.” He chuckled, shook his head, then said in a mimicky voice, ”Travis, you need to come back to the Lord.” He told me sincerely, ”They don't know your heart.”

Just a landscape man? ”Who are you?”

He gazed at me for just a moment, his head slightly c.o.c.ked. ”I've been with you all this time and you don't know me?”

Well . . . he could have been Jewish, from the Middle East. His skin was dark, his eyes a deep brown, his hair jet-black with a gentle curl at the ends. Then again, he could have been part Native American or perhaps Hispanic. He seemed to know a lot about me, even what I might be thinking, but I wasn't about to take the bait. ”No. I guess I don't know you. But go ahead, I'm listening.”

He drew a breath, sighed it out, and then said, ”Travis, you've lived here for years. You know the people, you know the ministry. So tell me. I've sent some messengers on ahead to prepare people. How are people responding? What are they thinking?”

I was trying to remember what I had prayed for a few minutes ago. Whatever it was, I wasn't expecting this for an answer. ”Oh, people are really buzzing about it. Yesterday the ministerial had its best attendance in years.”

”They even let you in.”

”I behaved myself. I didn't say much.”

”What else?”

I thought a moment, then told him about Nancy's big write-up on the healing of Arnold Kowalski and the angelic visitations. ”She sold a lot of papers this morning.”

He smiled and nodded, obviously quite pleased.

”So, I'm to understand you're the cause of all this?”

”Well, I haven't appeared in the clouds. I haven't appeared to anyone except you. You know how it is. Some people receive the message and ponder it for what it is, and some take it like a handoff and just run with it-usually out of bounds. It happens.”

Wow. He knows football. But then I pulled out the old 1 John 4 test. ”So let me ask you: Did Jesus come in the flesh?”

He held out his arm and pinched the flesh under his s.h.i.+rt. ”What do you think this is?”

”But why all this show biz, all this angelic stuff and weeping images?”

He shrugged. ”John the Baptist doesn't get out much these days.”

In spite of myself, I laughed. ”I can't believe I'm having this conversation.”

”Give it time, Travis. I don't expect you to believe everything in one moment, not even one week. But I was kidding about John the Baptist. This all goes deeper than clouds and angels and images. You know that.”

”This is a gag! Somebody sent you, right?”

”Actually, I came on my own.”

I laughed at that as if it were another joke. ”Yeah, right.”

”I'm a little surprised you haven't asked me about Marian.”

That was no gag. It was a sudden, very serious twist, and I could feel it. I studied him. He just raised an eyebrow and looked back at me, waiting.

So now we were going to talk about Marian? This man was a total stranger to me. My answer came with difficulty, but I hoped it would close the topic. ”It would be a very big question.”

He nodded as if he understood. ”The answer's pretty big too.” Then he added, ”But she sends her regards.”

If this was a joke, it was a sick one. I could feel my anger starting to rise- A car pulled up beside us. ”h.e.l.lo?” a lady called from the pa.s.senger side.

I turned. ”Yeah? Can I help you?”

Behind me, the mower started up. ”We'll talk again, Travis!”

I jerked my head back to see him putting the mower in gear.

The lady in the car was saying something I couldn't hear over the mower. I turned to her again. ”Excuse me?”

She repeated, ”We're lost. Can you tell us how to get to the Catholic church?”

I approached the car so I could communicate better. I could hear the mower whirring toward the back of the yard. ”You're looking for Our Lady of the Fields?”

”Yes, that's it!”

I noticed the car was full; four women and two men. It had an Oregon license plate. ”Uh, well, you head down this street till you get to 7th-it's right where that red pickup is parked.”

”Uh-huh.”

”Turn left, go down the hill to Highway 2, that's the main drag through town.”

The lady driving the car elbowed the older woman sitting next to her. ”I told you we weren't supposed to turn!”