what he thought was praying. With the door ajar, he glanced in to make sure she was all right. She was not praying. She was curled up on the floor next to her bed, talking to Bundt.
“Everybody has my life all planned out. It seems like ever since I was born I was destined to be smart and to do the right things. Always the student with an A on her report card, and never the girl with an A on her sweater. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for what I have. I have you. I remember when Dad brought you home as a surprise. You were so small. When you curled up, just like you are now, you looked just like a chocolate Bundt cake. That’s why we named you Bundt. You were a sweet surprise; but you’re not the only surprise he has graced us with. Remember when Dad surprised us with a two-week camping trip to the beach. We all thought he was crazy. We were so unprepared and so not wanting to break the family tradition of using Dad’s year-long wedding and funeral money to enjoy some mountain resort. That vacation turned out to be the best time together, and we got to take you along, too. Oh, and remember when we . . .”
Pastor Donovan stopped eavesdropping. He plopped on his bed and drifted asleep. Though already exhausting, his day of reckoning continued, for he fell into a dream.
He found himself standing on top of the church’s spire. There, up on the steeple, with his feet on the cross, he heard someone yell from down below, “Drop the baby.” Much to his surprise, he let go. The baby fell face down toward the ground. But just before it hit the ground it slowed down and then stopped because it was connected to him by a long umbilical cord. The baby bungeed back up toward him. As it returned, it turned over. Now faced up, Pastor Donovan saw that the baby was Anne. She was smiling and saying, “Do it again, Daddy.”
He woke up with his daughter by his side saying, “Daddy, I think this is something I should do.”
Pastor Donovan shook his head to clear away the sleep. “Are you sure, Precious?”
“If this would really be Jesus’ second coming, then what else can I do? It would be wrong to say no.”
He hugged her and said, “Don’t tell your mother.”
3
The main point of Pastor Donovan’s message the following Sunday was that every conversion is a virgin birth, or, as he said more than once to be more accurate, a virgin conception. He shared that being born again was a work of God. “He opens our eyes so we can see. He opens our ears so we can hear. He opens our hearts so we can welcome the gospel.” Pastor Donovan explained that this new life, conceived in us like the One in Mary’s womb, is by the Holy Spirit. While we are yet doubters and unworthy, God proclaims, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Pastor Donovan’s eyes and heart fixed upon his daughter as he preached.
He sensed something different about his sermon. His parishioners sensed it, too. If only these people knew what kind of a week I’ve just had. Pastor Donovan could not help but think this as he shook hands at the close of the service. He smiled, but he did not hear his parishioners, except when a few broke from their usual script.
“Pastor, you sure preached with passion today. It really felt like an angelic announcement when you looked right at Anne and said, ‘Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.’”
As he held the hand of this sweet elderly parishioner, Pastor Donovan thought, If only you knew, Mrs. Gabriel. If only you knew.
After dutifully listening to a few more customary pleasantries, Pastor Donovan found himself caught off guard when Brother Bob followed up his standard “You really hit a homerun today” with “I’m sure you impressed the search committee that came here today to hear you.”
“Search committee? What search committee?”
“That search committee!” retorted Brother Bob as he pointed to the group of four men gathered at the end of the line.
Pastor Donovan’s heart skipped. Making their way to shake his hand was George Carlson and the team of men that he met last Monday at SarkiSystems. “What are they doing here?” Pastor Donovan intended his query to be a mere thought, but Brother Bob heard it.
“That is the question. If they are not a search committee, then who are they and what are they doing here?”
Pastor Donovan did not want to answer these questions. In this case, he preferred questions to remain questions. He spouted rather nonchalantly, “Oh, they’re just some friends that showed up to surprise me—and that they have.” Eager to curtail further inquiry, he whisked Brother Bob along.
Curious, but not eager, Pastor Donovan anticipated the inevitable encounter about to happen. With his eyes’ fluctuating attention on the team, he greeted the remaining few individuals exiting the church. A decoy to mask dismay, he greeted the men with his pastoral voice. “It was a joy to have you here today.” He was not about to admit that he did not notice them in church. Though he faced the congregation the entire service, he saw only his daughter in the pew and the distractions in his heart. He smiled and continued, “I wish I would have known that you were coming. I would have asked Ashley, my wife, to have prepared more food for lunch.”
Rather perplexed, George asked, “You did not get the phone message that I left last night?”
“No. As a rule, I go to bed early on Saturday nights; and I do not use electronics on Sunday mornings—no phone, no Internet, no television. It is a spiritual discipline to help prepare me for church.”
“I called to let you know that we were coming to hear your decision, meet Anne, and to tell you that everything is in place to begin.”
With peripheral vision, Pastor Donovan noticed that the family stood ready to go have lunch. What he didn’t see was Anne coming to tell him this. She stepped right up to him, leaned her head on his shoulder, and politely interrupted, “Daddy, Mom says the food in the oven will be burnt if we don’t leave now.” She took her eyes off her dad and turned them toward the men. “Hi. I’m Anne, the pastor’s daughter.”
“We know.”
She looked back at her dad. He cleared his throat, and hesitantly revealed, “Precious, these are the men that know about our surprise. They came to find out our decision.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I have not.”
Anne stood up straight, faced the men, and declared, “I am willing, and anxious, to pursue the plan.”
With muffled elation (for there were lingering parishioners nearby), George said, “That’s wonderful! I know that you have questions. That’s why we want you to attend our meeting tomorrow night. Your questions will be answered and the Lord’s return will be accelerated.”
“Will my dad be at the meeting?”
“We would have it no other way.” George nodded to the team, indicating that it was time to go. He looked at Anne and said, “Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow night.” He looked at Pastor Donovan and said, “And thank you. That was a great sermon.”
Pastor Donovan smiled, and then winced when he saw the suspicious look on his wife’s face. Even from the parking lot she could make her mistrust known. This was not going to be a normal lunch.
* * * * *
Doug quipped, “It’s the way we all like it,” when his mom removed the more than well-done roast from the oven. She was not amused by this stock assessment whenever something went wrong in the kitchen.
After the blessing, Ashley immediately asked, “So who were those men that you were talking to after the service?”
“Well, they were not a search committee, if that is what you were wondering.” Believing diversion was the best tactic to avoid his wife’s inquest, he turned to Anne and asked, “More importantly, how did your college admission exam go yesterday? How do you feel you did?”
Ashley interjected, “I’m so sorry, Anne. I completely forgot to ask you about