Authors: Wid Bastian
Two men fainted, most looked on silently and in wonder, not knowing what to think. A good number dropped to their knees and started praying.
Some were sure they had witnessed a miracle. Others were skeptical from the outset. Scams are a routine part of prison life.
“Did you feel that surge, that pulse, when Peter finished his prayer? Tell me it wasn’t just me,” Saul asked.
“I felt it, Saul. Sure enough, it was like someone jolted me with a live wire,” Malik confirmed.
Peter Carson dragged himself over to the nearest wooden bench and collapsed onto it. His first healing had taken all of his strength. While he would not admit it to either Malik or Saul, Peter’s prayer was not made in total faith. He doubted his ability to perform the miracle, but he never doubted the possibility that it could happen. He knew God’s power was limitless, but would He act?
He wondered if this was how it was “supposed” to be done. Did this mean that he and Malik and Saul had power over the material world like the prophets and the Apostles did? Could this really be true? The concept was too staggering to contemplate.
The answer to Peter’s question was now standing right in front of him.
“Thank you, God bless you,” Alan said, trying his best to control his adrenaline surge long enough to speak coherently. “I knew you could do it, I absolutely did. Never a doubt! That guy in my dream was so convincing. I don’t know … ”
Peter cut him off. “What did this guy look like?”
“He’s a white dude. Imagine me dreaming about a white man, and he wasn’t arresting me or calling me a nigger. I guess he might have been thirty or thirty-five. Had brown locks, kinda curly.”
“Thought so,” Peter responded.
“You know this guy? Guess I shoulda figured that. He must be real close to God. Can I meet him, say thanks?”
“Maybe someday, Alan, who knows. God bless you brother, go in faith and peace.”
With that the crowd, which by now had swelled in size and constituted three quarters of the camp, could no longer be contained. They mobbed Alan, touching him, hoping to reap a small leftover of the Power that had restored his crippled body. Thoughts of possible miracles and healings of all kinds filled their heads. No place needs miracles more than a prison, yet sadly, not many places see less of them.
Somehow in this chaos Malik and Saul rounded up Peter and the three of them headed for the now vacant and locked chow hall. Malik worked mess duty and knew how to sneak in. They were hoping for a few moments alone before the mob finished with Alan and came hunting for them.
“Talk to me, Peter,” Saul begged.
“Yes, Mr. Pete, tell me too,” Malik added.
“Was it real?” they both asked, nearly in unison.
It turns out Peter Carson wasn’t the only one who had prayed with some doubts.
“I’m sure of this, our prayers were answered. Audry couldn’t walk, we all know that. Remember that time he cussed Jenkins and got knocked off his chair? Alan sat in the mud for two hours before someone found him and pulled him out. Alan Audry was healed here today, but we had little to do with it.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Saul said.
“It was Alan’s total faith and no doubt the mercy he’d shown his brother that brought forth God’s healing. We were merely the obedient vessels who carried out His will.”
“Never forget that, my friends. We are nothing but servants of the Most High God. Any good that comes from our efforts and prayers cannot be of our own doing. Humility, brothers, we must always remain humble.”
Peter’s admonition was a timely one, because an instant after it was delivered, the crowd discovered their hiding place and burst in. They were in a frenzy, one half sure they’d seen a miracle, the other half positive it was all an act. Each side was looking for validation.
Parkersboro would never be the same again.
Six
“Why me?” Gail asked herself. Transferred to Parkersboro six months earlier, Warden Gail McCorkle had hoped for, and until now had received, a peaceful and routine assignment. Coming from a medium security prison where she was an assistant warden, “Miss Mac” expected to lay back and cruise at her new duty station. No more fights with shanks and clubs to break up. No more bloody gang battles on the compound. Inmates at mediums are serious, hard core felons, who, in some cases, may never go home again. On the other side of the spectrum are the “campers,” the cream of the crop when it comes to federal prisoners. They are non-violent and pretty much trouble free. At least that’s the theory.
“So, why am I here on a Saturday morning sitting around with you three gentlemen when I should be home polishing my bowling ball, drinking beer, and kicking my dog?”
Peter, Malik, and Saul could only shrug sheepishly in response to Gail’s question. They didn’t want to be in her office that morning anymore than Warden McCorkle did.
The news that a man who, by all appearances, could not possibly have been faking his paralysis simply got up and walked away after being prayed over in a federal prison spread quickly to the outside world. The media were asking questions, requesting interviews. The Justice Department demanded a report, but none of this really troubled the warden.
“My concerns, gentlemen, are not with your desire to avoid publicity. Your reluctance to speak out only makes my job easier. My problem is the impact that your little “miracle” is having on the men under my care. You’ve made a mess of a very neat and tidy situation. I must tell you this does not make me happy.”
The residents of Parkersboro knew from experience that when “Miss Mac” was unhappy they were all made to suffer right along with her.
In the three weeks since Audry’s healing, the camp had split into two factions, those who believed Alan Audry’s miracle was genuine and those who thought it was an elaborate snow job.
Warden McCorkle, being a realist and a seasoned corrections officer, put her money down squarely on the scam side. Over the past couple of weeks she had expected to see a slew of new “miracles,” followed inevitably by the solicitation of more “healing prayers” for money by the men now sitting in front of her.
Not only had this not happened, neither the additional miracles nor the shake down of the inmates, she had on her desk reports from three separate physicians all documenting a surprising truth; without question Alan Audry had been paralyzed, his spine was shot nearly clean through by a nine millimeter shell.
All of this served to make the already cynical Gail McCorkle even more suspicious, because she knew that the best schemes are so clean anyone can be fooled, for a time anyway.
“I’m only going to ask you gentlemen this once. Please take me at my word. What’s going on here? No bull**** now, don’t make it any worse.”
“Do you believe in God, Warden McCorkle?” Peter asked as humbly and politely as he could.
“Oh please, don’t start in on that crap with me fellas. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve had more smoke blown up my a** than Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.”
“I need you to answer my question if you want us to answer yours.”
“Alright, Mr. Carson, I’ll play. Sure, I believe in God. She’s a two hundred and fifty pound black lady that sits in the sky throwing gas balls around the cosmos for all I know.”
Warden McCorkle thought her bit of blasphemy was cute, but when she stopped smirking long enough to look over at the inmates parked across from her, it became clear that no one else in the room was amused.
“If you believe in God, Miss McCorkle, why do you automatically assume that He didn’t heal Alan?” Saul asked.
“Well, let’s see, Mr. Cohen,” Gail answered, opening all three of the files on her desk. “First, because you’re a drug dealer and a bank robber. As for Mr. Graham, let’s just say if it’s violent and illegal he’s done it. How in the hell you two characters ended up in my camp is still a mystery to me.
“And last, but far from least, there’s Mr. Carson. You’re obviously the brains behind this operation. Your ability to tell convincing lies is well documented.”
“So, what is it boys? Where’s the other shoe? Did you manage to fake Audry’s medical records, switch them up somehow? C’mon now, speak up! Believe me I haven’t got all day for this nonsense. I’ll ship you all out of here within twenty four hours if that’s the only option you leave me.”
“You can do nothing to us unless God allows you to, Miss McCorkle,” Peter said, knowing his presumption would generate a harsh response.
“Boy, oh boy! Playing it for all its worth are we?” Warden McCorkle was getting angrier by the minute. “Mr. Carson, how would you like to visit a medium for awhile? Ask Mr. Graham about how it works up there with the big boys. Let’s put it this way, ever see
Deliverance?
You’ll be playing Ned Beatty’s part.”
All three men knew Warden McCorkle could easily make good on her threats and that she was right, Parkersboro had become unsettled and tense since the healing. Half a dozen fights, minor scrapes but still violence, had broken out between the two factions. Unchecked, even these little incidents were a danger to everyone. Today’s busted lip can be the catalyst for tomorrow’s melee.
Regardless of the consequences, Peter had instructed his disciples to “wait on the Lord” and, for a short time, that meant doing nothing in spite of the temptation to take action on their own and get ahead of God.
They were learning to be disciplined. It was not easy, but it was essential if God’s plan for their lives was to succeed.
Peter ignored Warden McCorkle’s crude threat of male-on-male rape and changed the subject entirely. “You have a niece, don’t you Miss McCorkle? Carrie Lynn Johnson of Montgomery, Alabama. She’s ten, I think. Been disabled since birth, something to do with being oxygen deprived during the course of delivery. Am I right?”
“How did you know all that? Why, you miserable son of a … ”
Peter cut her off and continued.
“You adore little Carrie, your only sister’s only child. You go to see her as often as you can, spend every extra dime you have on things for her. The child loves you perhaps even more than her own mother. You call her “Care Bear” and no one else refers to her by that name.”
It takes a great deal to stun a hardened prison veteran like Gail McCorkle. Nothing in her life had ever shocked her so much as to render her speechless. Until now, that is.
How could he possibly know these things?
Gail silently asked herself. Only Bernice, her sister, knew about the name “Care Bear.” Gail did not use it except in private when she wanted to express her ultimate affection for the child. She did love Carrie more than anything else on earth, certainly more than herself.
Peter didn’t wait for a response, he simply moved on.
“There isn’t anything you wouldn’t sacrifice if it meant that your niece could be healed. You have asked God hundreds of times to have mercy on Carrie, I know. Didn’t think He heard you, did you?”
Gail McCorkle, unflappable woman of the world and tough as nails, was now reduced to a quivering bowl of jello.
At that moment, Gail had a vision, so strong and pure it was as if it was superimposed on her view of the world. She saw her beautiful little niece as she had never seen her before; healthy, happy, running, talking, laughing. It was so real she knew she could reach out and touch her. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
“Would you like God to make what you just saw a reality?” Peter asked.
Somehow Gail managed to move her head up and down signifying yes. It did not occur to her at the time that Peter Carson must also have seen her vision in order to ask this question. There was no opportunity now for Gail to think through anything, reality itself was being redefined.
“Then the Lord your God says this to you, ‘Leave My servants alone.’ Do you understand Him, Miss McCorkle? You are not to limit or hinder us in any way as we work for Him at this camp. Christ wants to bless you, Warden, but He needs your cooperation.”
Gail eked out another nod.
During this exchange Malik and Saul remained silent. They were engrossed in the unfolding events, but by now, after Legion and Audry, they had seen too much to be thunderstruck.
Peter rose, joined hands with Malik and Saul and began to pray. Little Carrie Lynn Johnson was lifted up to the Most High God in a short, but eloquent, plea.
This time Panos Kallistos was praying with total faith. The Holy Spirit had told him what to say to Gail McCorkle. Peter had complete trust that He would now finish the job.
“Call your sister, Gail,” Peter instructed, as the three men returned to their seats.
“What do I say? I mean really, Mr. Carson, I can’t just … ”
“Call you sister, Gail. Use the speaker phone, please.”
Warden McCorkle dialed her sister’s number, not sure if she had completely lost her mind or finally found it.
When the call was answered all they could hear at first were outbursts of emotion, but not the type made from panic or fear.
Gail had dialed into a celebration.
“Bernice! Bernice! It’s Gail. Is that you, girl? What’s going on down there?”
“Gail? Is that you? My God, honey! I can’t believe you called. Do you know what’s happened? Lord in heaven, sister!” In her excitement Bernice dropped the phone.