The Ghost Rider Series – Chapter Four
The morning fog was coming in from the marshes, heavy, thick, and limited visibility on the back road to the old church. After another night dreaming deeply of Peter sitting by Heaven’s Gate smiling and shaking his head, telling me I still had work to do, I knew I had to have coffee and work so I could shake the night from my mind.
It was difficult riding down the narrow dirt road, the truck bouncing and the fog laying low, so it was hard to see the trees just a few feet off the side of the road. I could hear the preacher hammering and cutting boards. I finally made the clearing and was surprised to see scaffolding rising from the front of the church. Blake was already there sitting with the preacher and between the two the steeple was rising higher and higher as they added boards.
I grabbed the thermos of hot coffee and met them at the tent where the sketch of the steeple was spread on a table made of sawhorses and plywood. I asked the preacher what his name was, and he said, “John, they used to call me Deacon John and now most folks call me preacher.” We heard people coming down the road, dozens with hammers, saws, mallets, paint, and everything needed to raise the steeple high in the sky.
The day grew long, the work hard, the fellowship inspiring and the spirit touching all of us. People were bringing food, the choir stood near the graveyard and sang, people pulled out guitars, fiddles, and snare drums. The crowd swelled and became a congregation of hope, the hope that come Sunday they would have a service here near the Glynn Marsh. Their steeple would reach high, and the church bells would ring loudly calling all to hear the preacher, a single soul believing that he could raise the steeple, and indeed he did.
I slowly headed toward my truck, thanking people along the way for helping. My day over and a joy filled my heart, my hope tonight would be to keep Heaven’s Gate out of my dreams as I still had more to do.