Brother Word (27 page)

What if he could find out Chance’s room number and then somehow sneak in and conduct a surprise interview? Travis knew the chances of such a plan working were slim to none, but what other choice did he have?

At that very moment, however, he literally saw what other choice he had. Seated in the waiting area, casually reading a magazine, was none other than Miss Lynn Harper.

Eat your heart out, Detective Columbo . . .

Chapter Forty-eight

S
EEMS THAT YOU
and Chance Howard have this interesting habit of meeting by
coincidence
.”

Lynn recognized the voice before looking up from the magazine, though she was not completely surprised by Travis Everett’s presence. It was inevitable that he would show up sooner or later, given his seemingly hell-bent approach to writing this story.

“And it seems
you
have this interesting habit of tracking me down,” Lynn replied. “But I hardly think that’s by coincidence.”

“It’s my job as a reporter to follow a story, wherever it may take me,” Travis said, taking a seat opposite Lynn. “I’d like your assistance in something,” he continued. “I’d like to ask Chance a few questions.”

“Oh, really? Just like you asked
me
a few questions, then completely distorted and lied about what I said?”

“Now hold on a second—I didn’t exactly
lie
about what you said.”

“Yes, you did. You quoted me as saying this mystery man claimed he was Jesus Christ. That’s a ludicrous statement, and one I’m quite sure I did not make.”

“It was late at night when I was piecing that first story together. Your name . . . may have inadvertently been attributed to a quote from someone else I interviewed, and for that I apologize.”

“Do you really expect me to accept your apology? Not
once
in your articles have you included anything about Jesus Christ receiving the glory for these healings, a position that both I and your sister, Andrea, feel strongly about.”

Travis was visibly taken aback. “You know about Andrea?”

Lynn nodded. “I’ve spoken with her several times, and I know she shares my disappointment that you’ve reported on this story from an exclusively skeptical standpoint. Didn’t Eddie’s incredible healing and testimony have any effect on you?”

Travis opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and instead fiddled with the reporter’s notebook in his hand.

“You witnessed Eddie being deaf and crippled for the first seven years of his life,” Lynn continued, “and you knew that the doctors had virtually given up hope that he would ever hear or walk. You also knew that Andrea and James continued to pray and believe that God would heal their son.

“And that is precisely what happened. But instead of sharing such a powerful testimony of faith and answered prayer with your newspaper’s readers, you write about some mysterious, delusional man claiming to be Jesus. Have you even
met
Jesus?”

Travis blinked a few times. “Th-that would be impossible, seeing how Jesus has been dead for over two thousand years.”

“Once again, you exhibit the small scope of your knowledge. Since your profession is built around
facts
, what do you say to these factual statements: there has never been a record of Jesus’s body being found after his burial, and over five hundred people witnessed him alive in the days following his crucifixion.”

Travis was silent.

Looks like the cat’s got your tongue, now . . .
“It’s because Jesus rose from the grave three days after His crucifixion, precisely as He had prophesied. And He continues to live today, at the right hand of God the Father and in the hearts of believers like your sister Andrea, Chance Howard, and myself.”

“Y-you can’t prove that,” Travis stammered. “My profession is not only built around facts, but it’s built around what can be
proven
.”

“You’re speaking as if this is a court of law, Travis. And God is not on trial here. But if you want to speak to Chance, then be my guest. You should be warned, though.”

“Warned about what?”

“That you should be careful what you wish for.” She went back to flipping through the pages in her magazine, although she wasn’t reading anymore. Silently, she was praying for Travis Everett’s soul.

A HALF HOUR LATER,
the nurse’s assistant walked into the waiting area. “Excuse me, Miss Harper? Mr. Howard is awake now, and he has asked to see you.” The assistant glanced over at Travis. “I informed him that you were here as well, but he declined to speak with you at this time.”

Travis shot a pleading glance toward Lynn.

“Just wait here, Travis. You’ll get your interview. Just remember my friendly little warning.”

Chance was sitting up in his bed and looking much better when Lynn entered his room.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Still a little sore,” Lynn replied, walking over to him. “But I’ll make it. How about you?”

“Tired, but fine. Shouldn’t you be back home? I’m sure there are people in South Carolina who’re missing you right about now.”

Lynn smiled. “Let’s just say I’m using this time as substitute time for the vacation I never really took in June. Really, though, I’ve called my parents and they’re doing fine. I’ve also talked with the outreach team, and they’re doing great. Those healings have really sparked revival all over the area.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Listen, I just want you to know that I’m here to help you. I know it’s not cool or popular for a guy to get help, much less from a woman, but I’ve never sided with the status quo.”

“Lynn, you know how grateful I am that you dived in after me, alerting the rescue workers to where I was. But what kind of help do I need
now
?”

“Chance, have you thought about what you’re going to do after you get out of the hospital?”

Chance scratched at the three-day-old stubble growing underneath his chin. “Well, with Jucinda not around to harass me, I can stay here with Pop.”

“And do what? Go fishing every day? Chance, I’m not here to talk anymore about your gift—although the fact that my eyes see you will always bear testimony to it—but what if we were to organize your ministry?”

“What ministry?”

“Chance, for the past two years you’ve been going around to various churches, praying for people. And although you’ve changed many lives, think about what could happen if we were to arrange healing services all over the country, with financial support from local churches and partners?”

“You mean like what Floyd Waters is doing?”

“Yes and no. What God has given you is unique to you, Chance. There’s no monopoly on healing ministries in the body of Christ. With all the sickness and disease out there, we need more men and women of God with the gift of healing to walk fully in that gift.”

“Where did this ‘we’ talk come from?”

“I’m an outreach ministry director, Chance. It’s what I do. And God’s strength is made perfect in weakness. Who better to operate in a healing ministry than two people who understand what it is to need healing? I wouldn’t want a pastor who’s never gone through life’s trials to preach to me about overcoming adversity; I wouldn’t want a teacher explaining something to me that he doesn’t really understand; I certainly wouldn’t want someone praying for my healing who has never before experienced the healing power of God.”

Chance stared out of the room’s window. “Yeah, but I don’t want the publicity. Nothing comes from that but scrutiny and criticism from both inside and outside of the church. For example, that reporter is here right now, isn’t he?”

Lynn nodded. “He’s in the waiting room.”

“You see? That’s what I’m talking about. Once you announce you have a ministry that heals blind eyes and makes the lame walk, you create this instant magnet of negative attention.”

“That’s because the devil doesn’t want the world to see the true greatness of God’s power, Chance. The Bible says that the devil has blinded the minds of people; that if our gospel be hid, it is hid to the lost. Yet the Bible also says that we are the light of the world. A city set on a hill that
cannot
be hidden.”

Chance looked toward the window and sighed. “I just don’t know, Lynn. I just don’t know.”

“Chance, there will always be haters in the world and in the church who will talk about God’s vessels. But should that stop the light and the message of His love and power? What about the little Eddie Everetts of the world? What about the T. R. Smallwoods? What about all the people God has
ordained
for you to minister healing to? Are you just going to turn your back on them because you can’t move beyond the events of the past? For the sake of God’s call on our lives, Chance, we
must
move forward. Think about Nina for a second.”

Chance shot her a look of both surprise and accusation. “I think about her every day.”

“Okay, now think about how strongly she believed in divine healing, and how she believed God had given you that gift. If she could speak to you now, what do you think she would say about how you should use that gift?”

Slowly, Chance’s expression softened. “She’d want me to lay hands on as many people as possible.”

“Of course she would. But see, you have to remember the most important thing about gifts in the body of Christ—they’re always for someone else. A gifted singer’s purpose is to minister to the listeners, not to his or her own ears. Your healing gift is not for you. It was for me, and the countless others praying to be healed who will cross paths with you.”

“You certainly don’t lack for passion about this, do you?”

“That’s because I was the one whom doctors said would never see again. I had to fight the fear of being dependent on someone else for the rest of my life, of having to feel objects with my hands to determine what they were, of . . .” Lynn wiped away a tear as the worst seven weeks of her life sprang to memory once again.

“I’m sorry,” Chance gently cut in. “I . . . I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Lynn sniffed, smiling. “You didn’t make me cry. I just . . . well, I just get tears in my eyes every time I think about what God has done for me.”

They were both silent for a while, remembering their own respective experiences of faith. After a few minutes had ticked off the clock, Chance looked into Lynn’s eyes.

“God is so good,” he breathed. “Listen, I know what to do about Travis Everett. I’ve always known what to do about him. He’s still in the waiting area?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can go tell him I’m ready to talk now. He should have been careful what he wished for, though.”

“That’s funny. I told him the same thing myself.”

Chapter Forty-nine

T
RAVIS ENTERED THE ROOM
behind Lynn, looking as wary as a rodent eyeing the cheese on a mousetrap. Chance quickly motioned for him to pull up a chair.

“I won’t bite,” Chance said, teasing. “Not unless you want me to.”

“You two probably don’t need an introduction,” Lynn began, as she sat back down in her wheelchair. “But, Chance, this is Travis Everett. Travis, Chance Howard.”

“You’re a hard man to catch up with,” Travis said as he flipped open his reporter’s notebook. “Why so elusive?”

“I think of myself more as
private
rather than elusive,” Chance replied. “There’s a difference. Privacy is a freedom that everyone should be afforded.”

“Everyone except public figures,” Travis responded, scribbling something in his notebook. “Look, Mr. Howard, I don’t intend to waste any of your time so let’s get right to the point. A number of people claim that you touched them and healed them of various sicknesses or handicaps. Is that true?”

“Well, it’s true that I laid hands on them, but only as a point of contact between believers and the Lord.”

“Mm-hmm. So, in effect, you’re saying you
did not
heal these people?”

Chance resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Everett, I know what you’re doing. You want me to say something that’s already in agreement with your preconceived assumptions. You’ve probably already written your story, slanted in the extreme way you choose to frame it. My quotes are just gravy.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Travis responded, shooting a quick glance toward Lynn. “I’m here to get your side of the story, in your own words.”

“Oh, really? In my own words? Then why not print one of my statements, verbatim, in your article?”

“I couldn’t do that; I’m only working within an eight-hundred-word limit.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t reprint a person’s statement verbatim, if the statement is short enough.”

“
Theoretically
, that’s true, but I don’t write my stories in that manner. Like most reporters, I prefer using quotes within the context of my article.”

“You’ve
never
done something like that? Really?” Chance narrowed his eyes. “Not even when you quoted, verbatim, a university researcher’s statement on the proliferation of summertime gnats in greater Richland County?”

Travis’s jaw dropped a few inches. “H-how did you . . . know about that?”

“I read the newspaper,” Chance replied, winking. “Doesn’t everybody?”

What Chance
didn’t
say was that after sleeping outside at Congaree National Park (and after being inundated with swarms of gnats), he’d gone to the public library to do a little research. Specifically, he’d wanted to learn if the gnats were capable of biting or if they were just a nuisance. An online search had provided him with the information he’d sought (they were just a nuisance), and he’d printed out a few pages of a leading researcher’s statement. Later that week, when he’d learned that Travis Everett was the reporter so diligently tracking him, he’d accessed the
State
’s Web site to find out some information on him. The first article he’d clicked on had been Travis’s story on the proliferation of summertime gnats, of all things. The article, for the most part, had been an
exact
copy of what the university researcher had written, word for word.

Travis was now visibly uncomfortable with the knowledge that Chance knew about his past plagiarisms. He coughed a few times and tapped his pen on his notebook. Chance figured Travis
should
be uncomfortable—in light of news scandals still fresh in the public’s mind involving journalists at two important national newspapers who had openly plagiarized articles,
every
reporter’s worst nightmare was a plagiarism accusation.