“They did a sort of a roll call. I noticed a person crossing off names on a piece of paper. I heard one of the names called out but there was no response. It was noisy down there but I thought the name sounded like Macca.”
“Mackenzie?”
“That could be it.”
A wave of wrong thoughts started to attack Aaron. “Churchie, I hope you’re wrong.”
“I could be, Aaron.”
Aaron just nodded. He left Churchie and started running towards the site. The crazy people, the gawkers were back. Aaron worked his way through the crowd. People were whispering, talking. Aaron saw the policeman from earlier in the day. He walked over to him.”
“Hi, remember me?”
He looked at Aaron.
“I was here earlier today. I was the army guy that assisted you with moving a lady away.”
The officer nodded his head. “Yep, I remember now.”
“Could I ask a quick question? Have they all returned?”
“Not 100 per cent sure. It looks like two may still be missing . . . a girl and one other”.
Aaron hoped otherwise, but he knew the girl was Mackenzie. He wondered who the one other was.
Chapter 20
AARON WALKED AWAY FROM the site. He wasn’t sure what to do. Dad’s body lying in a car park, bodies in trees, Mackenzie missing . . . he wanted to slam up a barrier to stop the negative thoughts assailing him. Where could Mackenzie be? Was she safe?
As he walked near Churchie’s usual abode, Aaron felt the ground moving. He turned to see a group of teens in a car, their heads moving in rhythm to the booming and thumping of some music. He wanted to tell them to turn their music down—it was distracting his thinking. What bugged him even more was that the pace of the car was in rhythm with his walking.
He saw Churchie, still sitting on the steps of the church, so went and sat with him to watch the exhibition pass. Aaron felt the thumping bass from the music vibrating through the cold concrete. Churchie shook his head in unison with Aaron as the car passed.
The vibrations were gone. The distraction passed.
“You were right, Churchie, some people are still missing, and one of them is Mackenzie.” Aaron paused and rubbed his head. “I hope she’s okay wherever she may be . . . I’m a bit concerned about the character she could be with.”
“God commands his angels to guard his children, Aaron. Mackenzie’s angel will be watching over her.”
He still wasn’t sure of this angel thing. He looked at Churchie. Hair trimmed, skin clean, clothes neat and tidy. Not Aaron’s image of a homeless person. It was Churchie’s eyes that moved Aaron—clear, radiating something. You wanted to look into them, dive into them, like a river.
Aaron pondered what Churchie said. He felt peace for a brief second, then his heart skipped a beat. “I hope you’re not saying she is in heaven.”
“Don’t you think that’s where she’d want to be, Aaron? She’s a believer, isn’t she?”
“Yes . . . but—”
“Aaron. I don’t know where she is. My angel doesn’t either.”
“But I assumed they would know everything.”
“They don’t, Aaron. Only God knows everything. But you need to know that she is being guarded.”
Aaron’s head was throbbing, his mind racing. Heaven, angels—this God stuff was confusing. He shook his head. He just couldn’t get his mind around this stuff. Then something strange happened. It was like he heard a voice from down, way down . . . he wasn’t sure where. Like way down in the depths of a stream . . . something flowing.
Stop trying to work things out. It wasn’t a thought, it was a voice: a still small voice. He looked at Churchie.
“Are you all right, Aaron?”
Churchie’s voice interrupted Aaron’s inward focus. “I’m sure I just heard a voice within me . . . within my . . . soul.”
Churchie smiled. “What did the voice say?”
“Stop trying to work things out.”
Churchie nodded. “God is telling you to be still, Aaron. Distractions are the work of the enemy. Look around us. Our minds are constantly being bombarded. It never stops. Technology is working hard to keep our minds active. Not enough people are stopping to hear God’s voice, stopping to smell the roses.”
Churchie stood up and stretched and continued.
“Think of those people in the car that drove past. Their minds are being bombarded by meaningless lyrics, some that will stay with them all the days of their lives. You can see that yourself, Aaron. Listen for the words of old songs or jokes that drop into your head every now and then.”
Aaron, now also standing and stretching, nodded in understanding.
“Your mind can’t work out the things of God—the created can’t advise the Creator. Let him tell you or show you his ways, but you need to be still.”
“Okay . . . is she okay?”
“Yes, God is in charge. Let me pray for you.”
