It's About Time

By Jamie Greening

This bundle contains three different short stories which, in different ways, deal with time and pastoral theology. "The Land Begins to Heal" is the only new release of the three. It is about the effects of time on emotional and spiritual wounds. The second story, titled "Speculation," is about the first three seconds after we die. Finally, Legacy deals with time in the future when things are changing rapidly. It is a future not too different from our present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bard and Book
• Release date: Jun 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301705474

Jamie Greening

I am the Senior Pastor (actually, there are only two of us on staff) at First Baptist Church in Port Orchard, Washington.I Love my life and have the best job in the whole world!

Book preview

IT’S ABOUT TIME

by Jamie Greening

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Copyright © Jamie Greening 2013.

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Published by Bard and Book Publishing

Website: www.bardandbook.com

Cover by Julius Broqueza.

Table of Contents

Introduction

The Land Begins To Heal

Speculation

The First Second

The Second Second

The Third Second

Legacy

INTRODUCTION

This special collection of stories was chosen because of their common element of time. The Land Begins to Heal is the only new story in the bundle, but it centers on an old character, Pastor Butch Gregory, as he seeks to find the answers to a puzzle he discovers one cold day in the church attic. Time heals all wounds, but time is a painful surgeon.

The second story I’ve selected is Speculation. I first published it last year as a stand alone story. It speculates on two ideas. The first idea is what happens right after we die. The second idea is how is it that all people, even those whose sins are forgiven, somehow face judgment. How would that work? What might it be like?

Finally, the last story is an excerpt from my book The Haunting of Pastor Butch Gregory titled Legacy. It is used here by permission from Athanatos Publishing Group. Two different time elements come into focus with this story, which is a parody I had a lot of fun writing. The story is set in the future and it is meant to convey the differing ways in which groups of Christ-followers handle our changing times. I wrote this story in 2008 and it seems far more applicable now than it did then.

I hope you are moved by these stories which I have collected under one title, It’s About Time.

Jamie Greening

Port Orchard, Washington

June 2013

THE LAND BEGINS TO HEAL

A Pastor Butch Gregory Short Story

Pastor Butch Gregory ascended the feeble ladder into the darkness to seek the documents he needed. Reaching the top of the ladder and crawling through the hole, he felt for the light switch he was certain was mounted on one of the joists.

He should have brought his flashlight, but his phone had a flashlight app.

He reached into his pocket and within about half a minute the glow from the LED screen illuminated the darkness. Somehow his hand had been all around the switch, groping in the dark. He flipped it on and the single 60 watt bulb pushed dim light throughout the attic. The bulb dangled from a frayed cord which certainly did not meet current building codes. Butch saw his crystalline breath in front of his face. He carefully followed the plywood trail over the insulation, dodged joists and protruding nails and made his way to the storage bins which were on the far wall from the ladder. The bins were stacked directly over the chancel.

He didn’t know for certain that the building fund was formed in 1978. He was still in middle school in 1978. Morgan Dempsey told him that was probably the year, but he also added it might be 1976, 77, 79 or 75.

It’s definitely not later than 1980, Morgan told him. Fortunately for Butch the same giant plastic tub held all the meeting books for years 1962 to 1984. He squeezed the edges of the lid and pushed up and popped the top, causing dust to explode upward toward his face. He sneezed, then coughed and sneezed again. The tub was full of nearly identical three-ring binders, all black, with yellowing labels. Pastor Butch squinted in the faint light. Lying on top of the binders was the actual original articles of incorporation which proudly stated that Sydney Community Church in Sydney, Washington was legally incorporated in 1928.

He didn’t have time for nostalgia until he found what he was looking for, so Butch fingered through the binders until he found 1976-1977.

He double-checked, because it was hard to believe only two years’ worth of minutes were held in one binder. Looking through the pages though reminded him that back then the church held monthly business meetings with detailed financial reports and expense requests not to mention that the church voted on nearly everything. Butch shook his head as he thumbed through a request for money to buy a new coffee pot and then the blow by blow detailed account of the debate on the issue, the reasons for it and the reasons against it, what color, how many cups would it hold, where would it be put, who would control it, where would the coffee come from and then the final vote tally. The measure failed. No new coffee pot was bought in 1976.

No wonder people left the church in droves—it must have been like watching C-SPAN.

The next month’s report had what he was looking for. The minutes from the business meeting were surprisingly short, and there was very little discussion on the vote to start the building fund. The line simply read, A proposal to create a building fund passed unanimously. That was it. No policies were adopted and no stipulations on carpet color were made. He didn’t think there would be, but he needed proof, and now he had it. He didn’t think Murray was right when he said the fund was founded with a stipulation saying all carpet had to be crimson.

Butch appropriated a two by four as a makeshift chair and thumbed through the book in the dim yellow light. A smile crept across his thin lips. He recognized many of the names mentioned in the pages: Mark Dunbar, Steve Glambet, Bonnie Straws and many more. Ah, he said aloud as he spotted a motion in the July business conference by Buddy Baker to supplement the youth trip to New Mexico out of the church budget. Pastor Butch buried Buddy Baker two winter’s previous. Some of the last names were familiar, but with different first names. Children of children who rose up to take their parents place of leadership. It was almost Levitical in nature.

His fingers worked through the clear sheathed pages rapidly until November caught his attention. Stapled to the minutes was a crisply typed letter on grey stationery.

Pastor Butch opened the end of the sheath and pulled out the minutes and the stapled letter.

Dear Sydney Church,

It is with great regret that I must resign my position as youth director, effective immediately. The recent crisis in my life, and the heartache that I still carry, prevent me from effectively continuing to represent our Lord and our church in a faithful way. I know that you are all praying for me, and for her, and I ask that you continue to do so. I hope, that as I am able to work through all of these present troubles, that I can still have a place at Sydney Community Church. It has been my spiritual home since I moved here, and I eagerly desire to continue being a part of it. I know that mistakes have been made, and sin has been committed; confession has been made forthright. Please forgive me of my iniquity, as the Lord has forgiven me.

Sincerely,

Ransom Rainey

He read the letter twice more and each time his curiosity was piqued.

Who was the her, and who was Ransom Rainey? What happened? Why had he never heard of this?

Butch thumbed through the rest of the minutes and saw, finally, the last action on the new business. The church voted unanimously to remove fellowship from Mr. Ransom Rainey in that November business meeting.

Maybe it wasn’t like C-SPAN after all? The frost from his breath shimmered in the light and then disappeared. The light bulb flickered three times and then blinked out. Butch sat in the cold darkness. Faint light fled into the room from the ceiling entrance by the ladder, but the air grew heavy. So heavy was the air that Butch felt as if the weight of it made his back and shoulders bend. It was an oppressive, holy weight that lingered and moved around him. He was not frightened, but he definitely knew he was not alone in the loft. A knot began to form in his gut, and he