Lest Anyone Should Boast: Sequel to Regard Us as Servants

By Roberta Bedell Bausum

Several years have passed since the terrible bus crash that took the lives of so many young people from Bedford. Pastor and Mrs. Warren are still dealing with the loss of their precious daughter, and the unexpected arrival of twins. Jeff Warren is also busily dealing with a wayward young woman, the breakup of a pastor friend and his fiance, the discovery that a member of his church staff is a pervert, and the knowledge that he is losing his zeal for the ministry. He is reaching out for something that will help him to once again be on fire for the Lord.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468508505

Roberta Bedell Bausum

Roberta Bedell Bausum is the author of four Christian novels. This novel, Lest Anyone Should Boast, is the exciting sequel to Regard Us as Servants, and continues the story of Pastor Jeff Warren and the town of Bedford. Roberta has also published The Shekinah Road and Beyond this Night. A native of Missouri, and longtime resident of California, Roberta is now living in a small town in middle Tennessee. For over thirty years she worked as a registered nurse, and spent several years as an RN for the USAF NC. She has also been a teacher, a newspaper reporter, and a radio news reporter. She is currently working on her doctorate through Liberty University. She and her husband, Rev. George Bausum, have been married for thirty-three years, and have a combined family of nine children.

Book preview

Lest Anyone Should Boast

SEQUEL TO REGARD US AS SERVANTS

ROBERTA BEDELL BAUSUM

V00_9781468508512_TEXT.pdf

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© 2012 Roberta Bedell Bausum. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 3/15/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0851-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0850-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903324

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. Ephesians 2:9 The Holy Bible, New King James Version by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Life is Good

Let me not fail to find that life is good.

Though storms may rage around me, and the dark

Press close upon the heights whereon I’ve stood.

Let me lift up a song as does the lark

Sure of the warming sunlight when the shower

Is done, and rainbow beauty rims the hill,

For nothing hinders God’s almighty power

To summon blessings where and how He will.

From out the stormiest place, the darkest deep,

At His great word a steadfast friend may come,

Or from the loss that once I stayed to weep,

A shining blessing greater than the sum

Of all my woes. I need but take His hand

To see life fair, to see it whole and new,

Touched with his matchless glory, like a land

Of promise such as eager pilgrims view.

I need but trust His love, as all men should,

To know with job and faith that life is good.

E.H. Zimmerman

Lest Anyone Should Boast was written with affection for my own steadfast friend of over 50 years.

Thank you for the constant light of friendship through the stormiest of nights.

With Special Gratitude to

Our nephew,

Detective Mark Evans,

For his special knowledge

Of criminal behavior

This Book is Lovingly

Dedicated to my much

Beloved son,

Mark Stephen Howell…

Who is still finding his way.(Jeremiah 31:3)

Chapter One

Jeffery Phillip Warren, ThD, 56 years of age, and pastor of Martin Avenue Baptist Church in Bedford, Missouri, was lost in deep thought as his wife, Grace, entered the conservatory of their lovely home where he sat in the sun.

A penny for your thoughts, Reverend Warren. she said softly.

He looked up and smiled.

Well, for one thing, I was thinking what a lucky guy I am that you had the courage to go ahead and marry me. My life sure would have been different without you.

You’re thinking about Wes Green. Do you think that getting to spend some time in your cabin in the woods is going to help him get over the grief of his fiancée jilting him?

Donno, but I sure hope so. He’s a nice guy and deserves better than that little miss.

"You didn’t think much of her did you, Jeff?’ She moved a lawn chair closer to him so that she could watch his face.

Frankly, I thought she was shallow. She may have thought she loved Wes in the beginning, but it was obvious there at the last that she was in a situation she didn’t really want. She had higher aspirations than being a pastor’s wife.

Grace took his hand. There is no higher aspiration.

I’m sure glad you feel that way, honey. You’re one terrific gal.

Well, I do thank you sir. Now hadn’t you better start telling me what clothes you want to take to the conference at Windermere? Are any of the other preachers going with you?

You’re right, I guess that I’d better start getting my stuff together, and yes, Mike Bolins is going with me. Some of the other guys are going to ride together, so Bedford should have a pretty good showing. Tom White was planning to go, but his heart is acting up again. His doctor is urging him to give up the pulpit, but Tom says that he’ll go home to Jesus with his boots on.

Grace sighed. He’s such a dear man. He always has such a calm and gentle spirit, but I’m afraid that the death of his grandson took an awful lot out of him. He’s always seemed so frail since the bus crash.

Jeff glanced quickly at his wife. It had been three years ago in March, and only in recent weeks had she been able to refer to the horrible crash that had taken the lives of so many of the young people of Bedford, including their own 15-year-old daughter.

I’m going to check on the twins, she said, leaving as quietly as she had come in.

Jeff nodded his understanding. The twins were two and a half years old and what one couldn’t think to do, the other could. They had been born after the death of their youngest child, Carol. Children of my old age, he thought ruefully. John Aaron and Holly Elizabeth had come at Christmas time just as Carol had. Was there really a time in his life when there had not been two-and-a-half-year-old livewires running wildly through the house? Jeff sighed. Yes, actually, it felt as if it were only yesterday when the house was bursting at the seams with teenagers.

Just a few years ago his beautiful dark-haired daughter, Amanda, had been the big sister of the trio. She was always quietly self-assured, and sometimes bossy. Jason, the middle child, had managed to escape all the reputed problems of most middle children. He seemingly had no self-doubts or need to be the center of attention. He had always loved the soil and from the time he could talk he followed Jack, their gardener, around demanding a plot of ground of his own to plant his seeds. He was solid and sure, no teenage upheaval for him. Then lastly Carol had come: their Christmas child. She was a combination of everything good and naughty; full of life and mischief. She was magic and sunshine, kindness and stubbornness, fun and laughter: a curly blond haired nymph. Her only grief was when someone else was hurting. When she touched the violin it came to life. She had captured the heart of everyone who met her. His eyes filled with tears at her memory.

He allowed his memory to drift back to that cold March day over three years ago. The bus had been traveling through Arkansas on the way to a musical festival in Memphis when a sudden blinding blizzard had seemingly come out of nowhere. The driver of a semi-truck had lost control of his vehicle and had slammed into the bus carrying the choir, causing it to crash into a ravine and explode. Only Will Garrison, youth minister of Martin Avenue Baptist Church, and Amanda’s fiancé, had survived. He had been thrown out of the bus when it stopped. He suffered many broken bones and a concussion, but he lived to marry his sweetheart. Now the couple would soon be going somewhere as missionaries.

So many lives lost, Jeff reflected. Only God knew why. Everyone who lived in Bedford had his life touched by the incident. The Rev. Clarence Hollingsworth, now known as Don, had been drastically changed. He had finally been able to come to terms with his own daughter’s death after 25 years of self-blame. Jeff reflected on the goodness of so many people at that time. Jack and Millie, the married couple who were gardener and housekeeper, as well as dear friends, had been pillars of strength as they quietly went about their duties. Connie, dear, dear Connie, another precious friend who was the church secretary, had efficiently and without fanfare seen to all the needs of everyone. Aaron Goldberg, a Jewish rabbi who had become like a member of the family, had shared their grief and imparted his own strength. Jeff’s own father had suddenly become close in a way that Jeff had never before known. So many people had pulled together to help the town bear the awful tragedy.

Then the surprise of discovering that they were going to be parents again gave not only Jeff and Grace, but the entire town, a sense of new birth. He had reminded himself of that joy just recently when he discovered his best shoes full of water. A serious John Aaron had explained to his daddy that, the boats wouldn’t float, Daddy.

He smiled and petted his huge marmalade cat, Ginger, who had placed herself on his lap. He looked out the glass windows of the conservatory in time to see his large Golden Retriever, Mazel Tov, running across the back yard with a mutt of no great distinction, but much personality, named Goy. Goy was Aaron’s dog and the Warrens had agreed to dog-sit while Aaron was in Israel. Jeff laughed softly. It had been somewhat due to the gentile dog with the Jewish name, and the Jewish dog with the gentile name that Jeff had first met Aaron deep in the Ozark woods. What a blessing that had proved to be.

Still making no move to select his clothes for the upcoming conference, Jeff leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the early morning sunlight. The room faced east and the sunbeams danced across the tiled floor, landing seemingly at will on the various potted plants in the large room. The lemon tree greeted their arrival this early June morning by giving off an intoxicating fragrance. This was his favorite place in their house. Their gardener, Jack, kept a glorious assortment of hothouse plants growing in this room. Orchids grew up the twisted trunk of some exotic tree that he was certain only Jack could name. Jack raised flat beds of seedlings in this room and planted them in the gardens in their carefully tended yard. At Christmas Jack set up numerous evergreens and turned the sunroom into a winter wonderland. Just now a beam of sunlight landed with a million diamonds on a waterfall as it gently cascaded down several levels to nestle in the fishpond at its base. A bright yellow canary, happy in its caged home, greeted the day with song.

Contented, Jeff thought about his fellow pastor friends. They got together each Monday morning to discuss their various church situations, and how the Sunday services had gone. Jeff loved the Monday morning meetings for they had led to deep and abiding friendships among the men. When the tragic bus crash had threatened to destroy the fabric of their community, the men met faithfully together to pray and seek God’s strengthening love.

Any pastor in the area was invited to the Monday morning meeting but usually the same bunch came every week. They were a varied lot. Don Hollingsworth was pastor of the First Baptist Church of Bedford. Once frightfully obese and unbelievably stuffy he was now slim, physically active, and steadily moving from being Jeff’s nemesis to one of his dearest friends. Wes Green, the youngest member of the bunch, and Bill Lochman were both pastors of rapidly growing churches on the expanding south side of town. Paul Chen pastored the Church of the Orient. Thomas J. White was pastor of the, mostly black, General Baptist Church, and John Mendoza pastored the Hispanic church on the West Side. Mike Bolins, former convict, was pastor of the rough and rowdy West Side Baptist Church. Robert J. Lawrence, divorced and remarried pastor of a small church in a nearby town and Luke Conley, a country boy himself, who pastored a small but thriving country church were also regular attendees. Frequently the group was joined by the priest of the Catholic Church, Father Maus. Sometimes pastors of other churches joined the group for breakfast, but they were mostly just acquaintances. The nucleus of the group was dear friends. They had shared many heartaches and joys together. Jeff was sorry that young Green had received a Dear John from the woman that he loved, but secretly he had always questioned whether the engagement was of God.

Jeff had always been able to find his own solace and peace in a cabin deep in the woods of the Missouri Ozarks. Therefore he had decided that the most effective way he could help Wes find peace was to offer him a few days in his cabin in the woods. He hoped the sanctuary that had eased his own soul during troublesome times would prove to be a balm for the soul of Wes Green.

Chapter Two

She rolled down the car windows so that the June breeze could flow freely throughout the hot car. The gas gauge was so near empty that she didn’t dare turn on the air conditioner. Not to even think about was the small but steady escape of steam coming out from under the car’s hood.

The young woman felt a moment of panic. It was the first time since leaving her grandparents’ home in California that she had experienced any doubts about her adventure. Now she was out of money and shortly would be out of gas. Using her credit cards was out of the question because she didn’t want to be traced. She was of age and legally able to check herself out of the hospital her parents had taken her to, but still she had a nightmarish fear of being forced to go back. Horrible dreams of never being free again haunted her sleep.

Debbie had called her parents the night before her discharge and had told them that she would be in the hospital for two more weeks. She had asked them not to come during visiting hours until time for her discharge; then she checked herself out of the hospital the next day and took a bus to her grandparents’ house.

Her grandparents were traveling in Europe when Debbie arrived to pick up her car from their large beachside home in Laguna Beach. She still had a key to their vacation house, making it possible for her to access the 1986 Buick that had been given to her on her 18th birthday. She had waited until after midnight to slowly back the car out of the garage, leaving the lights off until she had driven several blocks away from her grandparents’ neighborhood. She then drove on to her parent’s home in Bel Air. She quickly selected only a few items of clothing because the possibility of her parents coming home early made longer packing too risky.

Having withdrawn all of her funds from her checking and savings accounts, Debbie started out on her trek with a light heart and a seemingly endless supply of funds. How could she possibly have spent $2,100 in just three weeks?

Of course she had to buy new clothes, there were motel stops each night, and then the car had broken down in Albuquerque. She had spent quite a bit of money in New Orleans, although she couldn’t really remember what all she had done there. While driving in Charleston, a place she had always wanted to see, she had a close call because she was going slightly over the speed limit. Fortunately the highway patrolman had simply flashed his headlights and shaken his finger at her. She had been mighty careful since then.

It was while buying gas in Atlanta that she realized she was getting low on funds. It was at that point that she decided to travel to the Midwest and find a job and a new life. She wasn’t sure why she had chosen the Midwest except that she had once read where the Bible Belt was the last bastion of moral values. She didn’t see the incongruity of wanting her freedom to do as she pleased and the desire to live in the last bastion of moral values. The conflicting emotions that warred within her were very familiar, so she gave it no thought. Actually, Deborah Renee Bradley gave little thought to most of her actions. She just wanted to be free, whatever that meant.

Now here she was in the Missouri Ozarks, near some podunk town, nearly out of gas, and out of money. Well, she didn’t want to run out of gas on the highway, and risk some local sheriff or the highway patrol questioning her, so she had better get off on a side road. That one just ahead looked pretty isolated. Let’s see where you take me, she murmured.

The gravel road led off the highway and wound up a steep hill where it appeared to dead end into a small farmhouse. Beyond the farmhouse ran a small dirt road with a huge oak tree standing right in the middle of it. She thought that she could just ease her big Buick around the tree without landing in the ditch.

She glanced back at the farmhouse as she steered her car forward and noticed a strangely dressed man standing by what appeared to be a hog pen. Brother, you would look right at home where I just came from, she laughed to herself.

The road, more like a path really, meandered for a couple of miles back into the woods. She came to a sudden change in the path as two stone posts indicated an entrance to an area that had been cleared to house a small cabin. Just as she spied the cabin in the clearing her car’s engine began to sputter. She eased the car into a smaller, nearer, clearing, and turned behind a grove of trees just as the engine died.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and slid out from the seat. She reached into the back seat for her suitcase and then walked through tall weeds until she came to a small path leading to the cabin. Standing quietly on the path for a few minutes, she waited to see if anyone was going to come out of the cabin to investigate. She was startled to see cows nearby, but relaxed when she realized that there was a fence holding them in. She took a minute to stare at them. They had soft, gentle eyes and were chewing something; she didn’t know what cows chewed. Surely not gum. No one would give cows chewing gum! Perhaps they really had to chew the grass well before they could swallow it. Since Debbie had never actually seen cows before she wondered if there were any boy cows among them. She had read somewhere that boy cows could be mean, and thought that she remembered boy cows didn’t like red. Her shirt was pink; she wondered if that counted. She turned her eyes back to the cabin. There was a small stream of smoke coming from a pipe in the roof of the cabin, but there didn’t appear to be any other sign of life.

She noticed several poles with birdhouses sitting on top of them. One tall pole had a large white birdhouse with many holes. For a crazy moment she felt like asking the birds if they had to pay more for a private house. There was a goat tied close to the little cabin. It raised its head to look at her. Eventually it lowered its head and continued its grassy meal. She realized that she had only seen goats in the San Diego Zoo, and they didn’t look much like this one.

She walked to the side of the cabin and looking through a window could see a very small kitchen with a sitting area on the other side of the room. A narrow staircase led upstairs. Her stomach suddenly squeezed in on itself. There was a loaf of homemade bread on the woodenkitchen table and a pot of something cooking on the stove. She hadn’t eaten anything except an apple and some crackers since yesterday noon.

Debbie walked around to the front and knocked on the screen door: no answer. Cautiously she opened the door and walked in. Unless there was someone upstairs, the cabin was empty. She walked softly up the stairs. There was a double bed with a wooden headboard, made up with a quilt that looked handmade. It was very pretty with many patterns of cloth pieced together to make a star. She wondered if some woman’s dresses had gone into making the quilt. She thought that it would be nice to own a quilt like that some day. There was a nightstand, battered and scratched, next to the bed and a hanging rod for clothes. Several books sat on a table by the window and a chair was drawn up to it for someone to write on the notebooks lying there.

She noted several Bibles among the stack of books. Uh oh, religious freak. Be careful, Debbie, she groaned.

There was a mirror hanging over an old-fashioned water basin. Debbie washed her hands in the water and smoothed her hair. The reflection in the mirror showed a beautiful young woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her eyelashes were so long that they touched her cheeks. She usually wore heavy makeup; but hadn’t bothered to put any on that morning. She was 20 years old and had recently been discharged from a