The Dividing Asunder

By Jude Atkins

Monica is an average Mexican-American teenage girl, who lives below the poverty line and struggles to make ends meet. Monica works hard to keep her head above water only to discover she became pregnant by her abusive ex-boyfriend. About this same time her boss, a vulgar, self-centered, but wealthy car dealership owner is stricken by an angel and the only words he can speak are Bible scriptures,à la King James Version. To complicate matters further, Monica is the only person who can understand and interpret what he says. Although Monica and her boss live in completely different worlds, the angel’s visit causes both of their planets to collide in a way that alters their lives forever. With Monica’s life in near shambles, will she be able to grow up and find the answers she needs to gain hope for herself, and her unborn baby or will she be drawn too deeply into the affliction of her boss only to discover that if the power of life and death lie in the tongue, will those words that have brought her to the precipice cause her to fall to her death or be saved?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jude Atkins
• Release date: Mar 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998494944

Jude Atkins

Jude Atkins is a Mexican-American who grew up the small town of Grants, New Mexico then later moved to Colorado, where she considers Colorado Springs her home. As the youngest of four children in a poor family, she grew up to graduate magna cum laude for her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in psychology, then continued on to pursue a Ph.D. in psychology. Jude has counseled countless people toward freedom in Christ. She is married to her childhood sweetheart, Jason, an accomplished musician, with whom she has five beautiful daughters: Ijaz, Iman, Iniyah, Imarah, and Iva.

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The Dividing Asunder by Jude Atkins

Copyright 2017 Jude Atkins.

All Rights Reverved.

Published in 2017 by Twoedges Publishing. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Books may be purchased in quantity and/or special sales by contacting the publisher, Twoedges Publishing, at 4356 Montebello Drive #26557, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80936; [phone], or by e-mail at [e-mail]

Published by: Twoedges Publishing, Colorado Springs, CO

Interior Design by: Maureen Cutajar (gopublished.com)

Cover Design by: Islam Farid

Editing by: Julie Ruesch, and Jason Atkins

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900344

Print ISBN: 978-0-9984949-0-6

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

1) Spirtuality 2) Drama 3) Romance

To Jason, my wonderful and dedicated husband, without whom this book would be devoid of humor, and to Ijaz, Iman, Iniyah, Imarah, and Iva, my beautiful daughters, given to me by God so I could know him better.

May The LORD bless you and keep you; The LORD make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The LORD lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace.

~Numbers 6:24-26

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About the Author

Thank you!

Excerpt: Jack Reed

For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

~Hebrews 4:12

Chapter 1

Isat in the driver’s seat of my old car looking in the rearview mirror. It was me staring back. I looked entirely different. Only four weeks had passed. I couldn’t believe that anything had changed, but it had. Everything changed.

My name is Monica Gutierrez. I’m seventeen years old, and I’m pregnant. So there. I said it. So, 26%, that’s one in three, of all Hispanic teens, get pregnant. Four weeks ago I became a statistic. My mom was always telling me, "No seas como ellas." Don’t be like them. She spoke very little Spanish to me, but I remembered her saying that since I was young. She was talking about the other pregnant teens in my family. As a matter of fact, my parents left New Mexico eight years ago so that I would get away from my other cousins who were all turning up either pregnant or in jail as soon as they got into their teens. So I worked hard not to be either of those things. Ever since I was fourteen, I enrolled in this student work program and started working at this car dealership at the Auto Mall. I stayed off the streets, unlike those other girls. I tried to do good by my mother. A Mexican mom has lots of kids, and as far as my mom was concerned, I was supposed to be the one who did things right. Then I met Danny Montoya, a mechanic who worked at the same dealership. Long story short, I got pregnant. A lot can happen in four weeks, and this is what happened.

All night long I was freezing cold. It was the first week of August in Colorado Springs. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold. I had to shut the window in my room and get my sarape (that’s a Mexican blanket) down from my closet and lay it over my comforter. But for some reason, I still couldn’t warm up. My stomach was upset all night long, too. I was pretty sure I was coming down with something, I had to be. I hadn’t felt this miserable since I was in eighth grade and got the terrible stomach flu. I was lying in my bed. It must have been one or two in the morning, and I started counting the days since my last period and when I had been with Danny. The idea that I could be pregnant crossed my mind, but I tried to put it out of my mind. It wouldn’t go away. Then, it was all I could think about all night long. So I got up early that morning and drove to a store in a different neighborhood up north, you know, where no one knew me and bought a pregnancy test. I didn’t even leave the store. I went straight to the back bathroom and peed on the stick, and before I could even wipe and wash my hands, the little blue cross appeared in the window. I was pregnant.

I headed out of the dirty little gas station bathroom to my car. I turned around and bumped into a sign outside of the bathroom. It read Be positive about life . . . Eek, positive?! Then I walked down the aisle and knocked over little bags of BABY carrots. Who sells carrots at a gas station? Everyone knows! Even the carrots know! I left the baby carrots on the floor and went to tell the clerk about the spill. He must have seen me because he said, Hey! No problem. Danny Montoya’s a jerk.

Excuse me? I asked.

I said no problem. Have a good day at work.

It seemed like everyone was looking at me. Even the bags of chips I passed in the aisle seemed to look at me strangely. I got in my car and headed south to go to work. I didn’t feel anything. I was numb. Maybe I was in denial. I figured I’d check again later and the test would be wrong. Little did I know, this day was about to get way more strange.

I got to work on time, 9:30 A.M., right when we open. I walked in through the big glass doors and my boss, Tim Claycomb, was standing at the reception desk with all the sales people gathered around. He was yelling and cussing at everyone. He was throwing pens and crumpled papers at the sales people. He picked up a bag of popcorn off the free popcorn display and started flinging popcorn at them. Then he focused on one person at a time, throwing single pieces of popcorn at their foreheads as if by laser precision trying to hit a bullseye with a dart . . . Ping!

Was it you? he asked as he questioned whether they were the ones who left day-old popcorn in the display. His face was red as a beet. He was mad like they’d run over his grandma’s cat!

This car dealership is one of the biggest in all of Colorado Springs. My boss is the owner. He’s the typical old, rich white guy in his late 50s. He’s a trip. He said he likes me because I’m cute. He tells me all the time that if I were old enough, he’d want me as his Mexican wife. I know he’s joking, but he’s always flirting with me. But to everyone else . . . watch out, because he’s hell on the loose. His dad started the business, but when he passed away, Tim took over. His father, Tim Sr., was also a Baptist preacher. Tim Jr. took over the business, but not the church. He still went to that church, though. Then I heard that Tim Jr. always thought that the employees took advantage of his dad’s niceness, so Tim Jr. was determined to rule with an iron fist. People need a job, so they stay. Everyone hates him, though. He flirts with all the ladies. He says things like, If your skirt was shorter than the other girls, you might get a raise. That kind of stuff. Mainly he flirts with my manager, Janet. He constantly barks at all the men, calling them lazy and useless usually preceded and followed by obscenities. He cusses more than anyone I’ve ever known. Everything that comes out of his mouth is vulgar or mean. He’s a disgusting man. But I need my job. Probably now more than ever.

My stomach was upset. Not because of my boss yelling, I’m used to that. So when I got to the reception desk, I fished around my desk drawer for my cheese crackers. I always kept something in my desk to munch on, because the summer was busy and there were times it was too hectic to get any lunch. I worked full time in the summer but would go back to part-time when school started at the end of this month. Finally, Tim stopped yelling and came behind the reception desk.

Good morning, Mr. Claycomb, I said as he passed by my desk and complimented my shirt.

Call me Tim, sweetie pie. Call me Tim. How many times must I tell you that?

Five million, I answered in my head. But to him, I just smiled. I knew I had a good job. Any other kid my age was working at some fast-food joint flipping burgers or assembling tacos. I would not say or do anything to make this man fire me. As Tim stopped by my desk, a homeless looking guy came through the front entrance. This guy was a mess. He was wearing two different shoes. He had to have had three layers of clothes on, not to mention a rainbow scarf. He looked like he hadn’t had a bath in a year. He was twenty feet from me, but I could smell him all the way to my desk. His hair was long and matted to his shoulders, and his beard was just as long. The guy dragged in a trail of black mud on his feet. Tim turned to me and said, Call Big Mike. We have a situation. Big Mike was head of security at the store.

Then as Tim walked over to the homeless guy, it was as a bright light shone over the guy. I got chills all over my arms. Then the man pointed at Tim and said, Orville Timothy Jubal Claycomb! And I’m thinking, Orville? Jubal? What in the heck?

Tim stopped in his tracks like lightening had hit him. I expected a string of cussing to begin at any second. That was Tim’s way. But he didn’t say anything; he just froze. I just froze. I know he said call security, but I couldn’t move.

But I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment, the homeless guy bellowed. His voice sounded musical. Almost like a pipe organ. I heard one once when I went to church in Denver with my friend. Tim still didn’t move. He just stared at the homeless man who was still talking. Talk no more so exceedingly proud; let no arrogancy come out of your mouth, for the Lord is a God of knowledge; and by Him actions are weighed. Then the hobo turned and left, just like that. The two salesmen that were there, me and Tim just stood there watching as the vagabond walked out. No one stopped him or moved until we could only see him walking down the street through the windows. Tim just looked at everyone then all but ran to his office and slammed the door. He slammed the door so hard that it just popped right back open. The salesmen acted like they didn’t see anything. They just shrugged their shoulders and went back to what they were doing, which was nothing. I realized that there wasn’t even any mud on the floor or smell in the air. I thought, what in the heck just happened here?

A few minutes later, everything seemed to have returned to normal; other employees came in, people came in, customers came in, phone lines start ringing, etc. Then Tim called the front desk and said, Then one of them which was a lawyer, asked him a question . . . Then he hung up the phone in my ear. I didn’t understand what he was saying. But then he did it again. This time he said, And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up . . . then he hung the phone up again. So I got up, and I went to his office. I knocked lightly on the door jamb then let myself in. Tim was sitting at his desk looking as confused as I felt.

Is everything okay? Did you need me? Is your lawyer coming in today? I asked.

Talk no more exceedingly proud, let no arrogancy come out of your mouth, for the Lord is a God of knowledge; and by Him actions are weighed, Tim answered. I recognized what he was saying; the homeless guy just told him that.

Excuse me? I asked.

Hereafter I will not talk much with you, Tim said then covered his mouth with his hand.

I’m sorry, Mr. Claycomb, I’m not sure I understand. Then Tim got a piece of paper and scribbled out something on it and handed it to me. Then Laben and Bethuel answered and said, The thing proceedeth from the Lord, we cannot speak unto thee bad or good, I read aloud. Sir, I’m sorry. I’m confused. I don’t understand any of this. Tim laid his head on his desk in defeat. Then he looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

Then I said, Ah, Lord God, Behold! I cannot speak: for I am a child. Tim continued, Thou holdest mine eyes waking; I’m so troubled that I cannot speak.

Ummm . . . is this old English?

There is no speech or language, where their voice is not heard.

None of this makes sense . . . , I mumbled. Kind of sounds like my grandma’s Bible.

Then Tim’s eyes lit up, and he jumped up out of his chair and grabbed my arms, shaking me enthusiastically. They are all plain to him that understandeth, and right to them that find knowledge, Tim said excitedly. Did I understand him? Why was he quoting scripture at me? Then it hit me. I don’t think he can say anything else.

Mr. Claycomb, is scripture the only thing you can speak?

And the angel of the Lord said unto Balaam, Go with the men: but only the word that I shall speak unto thee that thou shall speak. So Balaam went with the princes of Balak, he said with an exasperated sigh and hand gesture.

I needed reinforcements. I went next door to Langston Jefferies, the vice president’s office. Mr. Jeffries, something is wrong with Mr. Claycomb. I think you need to come in here, I said as I stuck my head into Langston’s open door. I went back to Tim’s office with Langston. Mr. Claycomb, what are you going to do? I turned to Langston and said, Mr. Claycomb can only speak in Bible scriptures. Langston watched as the conversation between Tim and I continued.

And Pharoah said unto his servants, Can we find such a one as this is, a man in whom the Spirit of God is? Tim said pointing to the door.

You want to find someone? I asked. Tim smiled as we continued in this very strange conversation. Who are you going to find?

Come and see a man, which told me all the things ever I did: is not this the Christ?

You want to find Jesus? I asked more confused than ever.

Tim got up from his desk and grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the door with him and led me down the hallway toward the main entrance. Langston just sat there speechless. He didn’t get up or say anything. But . . . but, I . . . I protested, but Tim kept dragging me along. We stood outside on the sidewalk in the heat of the late morning. Tim looked down the street both ways. Traffic was normal, but there weren’t any people walking around the area.

And he said, Let us take our journey, and let us go, and I will go before thee, Tim said taking the keys out of his pocket.

I need to get my purse out of my desk, I said snatching my arm out of his hand.

Tim realized that he was holding on to my arm with a clenching grip. For I will declare mine iniquity; I will be sorry for my sin, Tim said patting my arm. He followed me back into the building.

As we were heading to my desk, the office manager, Janet, passed us. She was wearing a short white leather skirt and matching jacket. And let’s just say, for propriety’s sake, she left nothing to the imagination. Tim was always flirting with her. As time went by her skirts got shorter, and her shirts got lower. Janet winked at Tim as we got closer. Tim wielded his classic dog lip licking gesture and stuck his chest out, preparing to say something raunchy to Janet. I tried lightly humming to distract myself from what Tim was about to say. Then he said, So shall the king of Assyria lead away the Egyptian’s prisoners, and the Ethiopian’s captives, young and old, naked and barefoot, even with their buttocks uncovered, to the shame of Egypt. Tim gasped, letting out a girlish squeak. Then with an audible slap, he covered his mouth as if he had no control of his own words.

Janet looked confused, but started tugging at her skirt to pull it down and with the other hand she tried to close her suit jacket over her chest, which was protruding. Suddenly, she looked like she was ashamed of what she was wearing. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. Tim looked at me impatiently as I grabbed the stuff out of my desk. With everything that was going on I had almost forgotten my own personal matters, but I grabbed the box of crackers out of my desk and shoved them into my oversized purse. Hey, where do you think you’re going? Janet asked with an annoyed tone of voice.

Umm, Mr. Claycomb has an appointment, and he wants me to go along, I said semi-convincingly while I was searching for a better, more truthful answer in my mind.

Just who do you think is supposed to mind your desk and the phone while you’re gone? The irritation in her voice and face was growing.

You? I answered. I didn’t know what else to say. Tim wasn’t saying anything in my defense. Tim couldn’t say anything in my defense. The pressure was growing. Janet already didn’t like me. She never had. She made snide comments about Mexicans when she thought I couldn’t hear her. I usually tried to avoid her and not make any waves at the office. She didn’t hire me, but technically, she could fire me. Her face was growing redder by the second.

Me?! She was incredulous at this point. I ought to fire you! Your disrespect is—

The sojourner who is among you shall rise higher and higher above you, and you shall come down lower and lower, Tim said to her grabbing me by the hand and leading me to the front door urgently.

Well, I never, she huffed.

Maybe you should, I said under my breath as we walked out. Tim led me to his Cadillac Escalade. It was the newest model; top of the line, because that’s what we sold at this dealership. He always drove the newest, nicest vehicles before they even hit the salesroom floor. I climbed onto the soft, tan leather seats. Everything in that SUV was pristine and perfect. Tim pulled out of his parking spot like a mad man. I hadn’t even put my seatbelt on, and I almost slid out of the seat and onto the floor. Hey, slow down! I yelled, reaching for my seatbelt. My fascination with the SUV quickly dissipated. What are we doing? I mean, where are we going?

And Pharaoh said to his servants, Can we find a man like this in whom is the Spirit of God?"

Oh, right. Looking for a man. Are you looking for the homeless guy who came into the dealership this morning?

And the Lord said to me, ‘They are right in what they have spoken,’ Tim replied. We searched the street while we drove away from the dealership. I also looked down the streets to see if I recognized any of the people walking around. As Tim turned toward Cimarron Street, there were increasingly more people. This was a popular area for homeless people. Many of the people loitering looked similar to the man that walked into the dealership that morning. Tim drove slower. Abimelech said, I do not know who has done this thing; you did not tell me, and I have not heard of it until today.

I know, I responded, this would be easier if we had a name. What in the heck? I was actually going along with this whole thing?! Tim and I slowly drove all over the southwest side of town. We drove up and down every street for two hours, but we didn’t see the guy we were looking for. We couldn’t stop and ask anyone because we didn’t have a name, and half of the homeless people in the area were wearing the same thing and fit the description exactly.

It was almost one o’clock when I think Tim finally gave up. And he became hungry and wanted something to eat, but while they were preparing it, he fell into a trance.

Yeah, I’m hungry too, I agreed. I thought about the crackers in my purse but then decided against it because I wouldn’t dare drop a crumb in Tim’s car. Besides feeling hungry, my stomach wasn’t upset anymore. I looked down at my stomach and thought it strange that there was a little life living in there. There’s a diner on Eighth Street, The Egg Shoppe. It’s a greasy spoon kind of joint, I said to Tim. It’s not great, but no one there will know you.

The hungry eat his harvest, and he takes it even out of thorns, the thirsty pant after his wealth, Tim replied.

The diner was a dive. None of the chairs at any given table matched. The air was thick with grease. There was cheap hotel art hanging on the walls and plastic plants that have never been dusted strewn throughout the place. An older couple was sitting by the window, but otherwise, there weren’t any other customers. A thick-waisted Mexican lady in her late twenties greeted us from behind the counter. Hi, there. Just grab a menu and sit wherever you like. I’ll be there shortly. She was pleasant but disinterested. She had dark eyeliner and exaggerated Sharpie lined eyebrows and wore lots of purplish pinkish eyeshadow. She had a tattoo on her neck that said Enrique in cursive lettering.

Tim chose a table in the far corner. The waitress came to our table and asked us if we would like some coffee or drinks. And he said to her, ‘Please give me a little water to drink, for I am thirsty.’ So she opened a skin of milk and gave him a drink and covered him, Tim replied, while he stressfully rubbed and massaged his forehead with his left hand, elbow on the table.

What? The waitress asked with a confused look on her face.

Uh, nothing, I said. We’ll both just have water. The waitress shook her head as she walked away from the table. I turned to Tim. Mr. Claycomb, could you just not talk to other people? I’ll communicate with them.

I must speak that I may find relief; I must open my lips and answer, Tim answered.

Fine, I said, then talk to me and I’ll talk to other people.

Then some of the scribes answered, ‘Teacher, you have spoken well,’ Tim said as he skimmed over the menu. He pointed to the southwestern omelet on the menu. I was ravenous. Everything looked good.

Sounds good. I’ll have the same. The waitress brought over two arguably clean glasses of ice water. We’ll both have the southwestern omelet.

Corn or flour tortillas? the waitress asked.

Corn, I replied. Then Tim started say something to order flour tortillas. Before any sound could come out of his mouth, I quickly blurted, I mean, just bring both.

What next? I asked Tim as soon as the waitress left. We didn’t find the guy who came into the dealership. Now what will you do?

And when you draw near to the battle, the priest shall come forward and speak to the people, Tim said.

You want to talk to a priest?

Yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue?

Sometimes you are so hard to figure out, I said. Do you want to go to church and talk to a priest?

Chapter 2

As I was sitting there in the diner, I thought about the time when Tim called me to his office. He was spitting mad that day. Who knows why . . . , but he got me involved in his mess. He called me on the receptionist’s phone, and when I went into his office he said, I have to go deal with some lackluster employees, evaluation time! You’re going to come along with me. I want you to pretend to take notes. And then no matter what I say, you follow it up with ‘Mmm, it’s a shame when somebody says that about you.’ Do you understand? Tim made me role-play so I would be well rehearsed in making his employees feel especially low when he verbally chopped them down to size. You’re a lazy, good for nothing, no-selling bum, Tim said. He cut his eyes to me and gave the go ahead nod.

Mmm, it’s a shame when somebody says that about you.

Not bad, but I need way more attitude than that! You’re Mexican. Be one of those angry Mexican warrior womenfolk.

Warrior womenfolk? I’m not sure what he meant, but it really got under my skin. MMM, it’s a SHAME when somebody says that about YOU! I said with irritation not sure if I was more annoyed at the Mexican warrior womenfolk comment or at Tim for making me do this stupid thing.

Perfect, Tim said. Let’s go! The first casualty on the hit list was Joey Deux. Joey is the head of finance. He’s been with the company for six years. He’s a friendly guy that’s always apologizing to the accounting people under him for Tim’s mistreatment and disrespect. Joey and Tim attend the same church where Tim’s dad used to preach. Joey sang tenor in the church choir. He stood up from behind his desk and greeted us as we entered his office. His office was clean and organized with pictures of his twin sons and two Weimaraner dogs, all wearing matching outfits every year for the past six years. He had a picture of him and his wife wearing matching outfits on the golf course. There was a high school tennis trophy from 1994 on his bookshelf and a pet clothing catalog on his coffee table

Good morning, Mr. Claycomb. Joey tried to sound confident and upbeat, but I could tell he was nervous. It’s always great to see—

Sit down, Joseph, Tim said, cutting off Joey’s attempt to be cordial.

It’s Joey, sir, Joey said sheepishly. Joey had been correcting Tim’s disregard for his name since he got hired six years ago.

Joey? Tim said with a look of disgust. Was your mom a marsupial? Joey looked puzzled and deflated by the question. Anyway, it’s always nice to see matching outfits and old trophies, but you’re not MVP here, sport. As a matter of fact, you are currently LVE, least valuable employee. Tim gave me the look.

"Mmmmm, it’s a shame when somebody says that about you!" It was like Joey survived getting hit by a bus only to get run over by a train when I dropped that line on him. Tim is truly evil.

You don’t get any trophies around here for being nice, Joseph. I know you’re far too nice to your sales people. You let them take advantage of your motherly coddling. Consequently, they are all lazy bums because of you. I hated being part of this conversation, but I was not going to lose my job for him or his dog’s matching outfits. Tim cleared his throat, giving me the signal because I got distracted pretending to take notes.

"Oh, uh. Mmmmm, it’s a shame when somebody says that about you!" Joey survived the train only to have an atomic bomb land on his head when I said that the second time. Something about negative reinforcement really drives a nail in some people’s coffin. Joey was no exception.

"Joseph, you need to man up, or I will