Move of Faith by Ethan Slunk |
| I had been watching her walk up Main Street since she had first come into view around the corner of the First Union Bank. Her pace was slow, her face drawn and tired, although she looked young. The rain spattered her hood and jacket as if to pound her into the sidewalk. By the time she reached the library steps where I was sitting, she seemed close to collapsing, so I slid aside to make room. She didn't look at me, but with a mumbled "Hi," ducked under the building's shelter to take the offered step. "Don't tell me you're one of those people who trusts the weatherman," I joked as she sat down beside me. I laughed. She shrugged. A biker zipped down the walk, spraying rainwater in a mad rush to reach shelter. I watched him dwindle down the street, feeling fortunate that I had my car waiting for me behind the library. At the moment, I was taking a fifteen minute smoke break before I had to shelve books again, and I was enjoying watching people scurry beneath the weather, like ants whose hill has been overturned. Beside me, the stranger shivered. "You need something warm?" I asked, thinking I could run across the street to Java's to get her a hot coffee. She shook her head. "I'm fine." A burly young man and his featherweight girlfriend suddenly stumbled onto the flooded sidewalk and dashed toward the library steps, the girl shrieking in the rain. "Got room?" the guy panted. I shifted aside some more. "Thanks, man." he gasped, heaving himself down, two steps behind me. "I'm freezing," the girl complained, leaning into him and rubbing her arms vigorously. She was soaked to the skin, wearing only a spaghetti-strap tank top and shorts. "Yeah, pretty chilly," I said, trying to pull my eyes away. "Ooo," she said suddenly, "The library. I didn't know we had one." I turned to the stranger. "You've got far to go?" She nodded. "I could drive you home after work," I offered. "No thanks. I'm not going anywhere in particular." I couldn't help feeling intrigued. "Running away?" "No." "Then what? Looking for someone?" At last, her eyes met mine. "God," she said. "God?" I said, stupidly. "Hey, I go to church," the burly guy spoke up, having overheard us. "I go every Sunday." The featherweight girl turned to him. "You never took me." The guy grinned sheepishly. "That's because you work Saturdays and I have to find time during the weekend to see you." "So you don't go to church every Sunday," his girlfriend smirked. "Well, mostly I do," he protested. I turned to the stranger and tried to sound conversational. "So, found Him, yet?" She shook her head. "Not yet." "Any idea of what you're looking for? You know, lightning bolts or anything?" She shook her head again. "I'm hoping I'll just know." "Just know, huh?" I thought for a minute. "Maybe," I suggested, "He's me." She looked me up and down, watching as I put out my cigarette. "In that case, God's going to die of lung cancer." She laughed suddenly, her voice like wind-chimes, "It was nice of you to make room for me, but it would have been better if you could have commanded the rain to stop." I chuckled. "Who says I can't?" and turning to the rain, I bellowed, "Cease!" then "Alakazam!" and "Por Favor!" But the rain kept pouring and the four of us laughed. "Maybe, I don't have the words just right. I'll have to check my Bible." "You've got a Bible with you?" the tank-top girl asked, still rubbing her arms. "Inside." I jerked my thumb to the library doors. "So you work there?" "No," the large guy interjected, "It's on the library shelf, is what he's getting at." Actually, I did work there and I had brought my Bible. I kept it in my backpack and pulled it out at lunch-break if I couldn't find anything else in the library that I wanted to read. But I didn't often find it very inspirational. I was pretty sure it required some sort of special degree to interpret its meaning. The stranger had fallen silent again as she stared across the street at the traffic whooshing by. Her face was pale in the gray afternoon light. I felt something moving inside of me … a need to help her. I felt strange. It had been so long since I had felt His spirit moving me. "Ugh, I wish this rain would stop," the shivery girl sighed. "Why don't you visit the coffee shop?" I suggested. "I'm broke," the guy confessed. His girlfriend gave an exasperated huff. "Hey," he protested, "I spent it all on the movie." The girl didn't drop the petty argument and I turned back to the stranger. "There's a church on the corner." I pointed. "Yeah," she sighed, "I've been there." She looked ready to cry and I had no idea how to comfort her. "Hey, I'll buy you a quick cup of coffee. We can spend a minute at Java's and then I've got to get back to work." "No, that's all right." She stood up. "I need to leave." My mind whirled. Wait! I wanted to say. What had my pastor said about sharing the gospel? What verse was I supposed to quote? Wasn't this the point where I was supposed to hand her a church flyer or a free Bible? None of it seemed right. "Uh--well--" I said, standing up, "Good luck." She didn't say anything. Just walked hurriedly into the rain and into the street. "Hey, dude, didn't mean to interfere or anything," the big guy apologized. "What happened?" his girlfriend asked. The rain poured like a barrier between me and the stranger and I just stood there, arms hanging limply at my sides. Watching her … watching her leave. I scurried into the rain, across the street, my feet pounding the asphalt and water splashing my jeans. Catching up, I touched her arm. "You know, I'd really like to get you a cup of coffee." I said. She turned to me and I thought I had stopped the wrong person, because her eyes sparkled, no longer grieving. They suddenly seemed to open up into another world, a world that I could glimpse only for a moment. Her gaze pierced mine like sun on my face. Down the street, I heard wind chimes singing. And then she became the stranger again. I offered my arm. "I've got three minutes left." She smiled. "Thank you," she said, and took my arm. |
Copyright by Bethany Nuckolls
Writing as Ethan Slunk
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