The Light at Hope's End

By Kathy Dolman

Ray Weber peers out through the darkness, mesmerized by a mysterious light on the mountainside opposite from his home high above the town.

A struggling small-town pastor with a crumbling family and fading ministry; a distraught, lonely waitress facing her dying mother's last days alon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Dolman
• Release date: Apr 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734934717

Kathy Dolman

The youngest of seven children, Kathy Dolman grew up in the Wyoming Valley of Northeastern Pennsylvania. From her earliest years, she has always enjoyed writing. Kathy holds a degree in journalism and has had articles published in local newspapers and Pray! Magazine. Kathy is the author of the Hope's End series of Christian fiction books. A native of Swoyersville in Northeastern Pennsylvania, Kathy currently resides in Dupont, PA with her husband, Jerry, and two sons, Jerry Jr. and Kevin, and is an active member of the Full Gospel Chapel of Avoca.

Book preview

Prelude

I HATE YOU!!! the young man shouted at his father, his voice trembling with emotion.

What did you say? Pastor Bill Taylor screamed. With veins popping out of his head, he stood face to face with his son. The overpowering smell of alcohol on the boy’s breath sent his stomach into a fit of nausea. One hand was clamped onto his hip as the other clenched and unclenched in perfect sequence with his jaw. With all of the self control left inside of him, he held himself back from physically throwing this rebellious boy from the house.

Robbie Taylor, all one hundred and thirty pounds of him, stood with shoulders squared just a foot from his father. He held his fists jammed inside tightly folded arms. They were ready to actually strike back with a vengeance should this man who had given him life really take a swing. His breathing was loud and heavy and his skewed expression was flush with vehement anger. Through his teeth, he growled, Oh, you heard me. I said, ‘I hate you!’ You’re a joke. Nothing but a joke! You have no clue what real life is about, Dad.

The word Dad was said with such sarcasm and loathing, it could have been a vile curse. With his arms now flailing wildly, he continued. You walk around here throwing your rules and laws around like some kind of dictator just waiting for one of us to step out of line. Oh no, we have to be oh so perfect. Wouldn’t want your marvelous reputation as this wonderful man of God to be tarnished. I’m nineteen years old! Not once have you ever considered what I want for my life. Not once have you ever even taken time to find out what I’m all about. If it doesn’t have to do with the church, then you could care less. Well, you know what, Dad? I could care less about your God, or your church, or your religion. As far as I can see, it’s nothing but lies. You stand up there on your almighty altar and preach all about love and goodness and kindness, but you don’t know the first thing about any of it. My friends care more about me than you do. Why do I drink, Dad? You want to know why? Because when I’m drinking with my friends, I don’t have to be anyone else, or act a certain way. They like me just the way I am. And I drink because it makes all the hurt inside go numb. And I don’t have to think about anything. And I can pretend that I am someone else, from somewhere else. I can pretend that I am someone else’s kid, someone with a father who gives a crap about who they really are!

Pastor Taylor walked to the front door, ripped it open so hard the hinges jumped. He turned back to his son and, with every fiber of his being trembling ferociously with anger, he whispered, Get out. Then, as if everything within him had let loose at once, with a stiff arm and index finger pointing toward the street, he shouted the same two words. GET! OUT!

Don’t worry! I’m outta here! Have nice life. I know I will. Robbie said as he grabbed his coat and walked out of the house.

And don’t come back! Pastor Bill said through his teeth and he slammed the door so hard that one of the ornamental glass inlays popped from the frame and shattered on the floor. Through the newly formed hole, he watched Robbie speed out of the driveway and round the corner, squealing the tires as he did.

***

An hour and a half later, his wife came home from work and found him in the backyard seated on their old wooden swing with his head in his hands. Without a word, she sat down next to him and waited. Rubbing his temples with eyes closed, he related the story to her. He picked up his head, rubbed his face in his hands more than a few times. Looking up into the sky, all he could manage to say was, I’ve lost my son.

***

Sarah trembled desperately trying to contain her emotions. She thought she might be ill, as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She understood Bill’s outrage knowing that there had been multiple confrontations with Robbie prior to today. At the same time, she knew the pain that had driven her son away from her husband. She knew the loneliness and disconnect that Bill had caused. And even though it was done in the name of furthering the work of God, it hurt just the same. He had become so consumed with trying to bring new life to New Harvest Gospel Chapel that he had become oblivious to the fact his family life and his marriage were one step from death.

Bill, I can’t take this any more. Who is the adult here and who is the child? I’ve asked you, no, begged you, to spend more time with him, with Shannon, with us, but you ignore me. You dismiss our lives as being second to anything to do with the church. I know your commitment to the Lord and you want nothing more than to see revival come, but you’re off balance. I’ve told you this time and time again, she said trying to keep her voice steady. She was quiet for a time, trying to bring the next line to her lips. With a tear flowing down from her closed eyes, she simply said, If things don’t change, I will be the next one gone.

She waited for a reaction from him. There was none. He just sat with his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. Sarah stood, took a deep breath and walked away.

Alone again with his thoughts, he began to weep.

Oh Lord, help me! Help me please! he said over and over.

One

Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth Proverbs 27:1.

The angelic host were summoned and lined up in a row, ready for action. The sparks of energy from the prayers of the man on Earth flowed up through the atmosphere in front of them. As the man’s faith swelled, the sparks formed a stream, beginning like a thin gossamer thread. It thickened and fattened until it became a glowing beam. Looking down, they watched the man on Earth. As tears flowed from the man’s eyes, the fervency of his prayer intensified. Suddenly, there flashed hot lightning flowing from below, along the beam of light, up toward His throne. It branched and sparked, seeming to electrify the air. From the end of the branching energy, fine sparkling, dust-like particles floated down gently into a golden bowl. The host began to swirl in a circular motion like a ribbon, dancing, and flowing around the lightning. The sound of their endless song pulsed in the air giving continuous praise to the Holy One. At once, the now full bowl tipped spilling the sparkling dust. As the dust spilled, it turned to fire and flowed down through the unseen realm toward the man.

The angel called Breakthrough was summoned forward and waited at attention for the order.

It is time. He is ready. His help is being prepared.

As he listened to the continued instruction, the angel called Breakthrough simply nodded. Having heard all that was ordered of him, he bowed his knees and head. The host surrounded him also and in a ripple of motion, all beings genuflected in reverence of the Holy One. When all had bowed low, Breakthrough lifted his hands and cried aloud, Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty! In response, the host mimicked the action and words. The sound shook the heavens. Then complete silence fell until noise ceased.

Then one word cut through the silence.

Go.

Breakthrough blew the trumpet and in a funnel of fluid motion, he led the host down toward the Earth, toward the town, toward the man.

***

Making the final pass with the belt sander, he tipped his head up to use his bifocals and surveyed the ornate piece of art. With one last glance, he balanced it on a teetering tower of others.

Ray Weber had been in his work shed most of the day and he was exhausted, famished and sore. He flipped the power switch that cut energy to his machinery. In one motion, he pulled off his spectacles and raked his tired eyes with both palms. He scrubbed his face with his hands and gave his beard a scratch before he opened his eyes again. Only then did he afford himself a long, drawn stretch and a roaring, releasing yawn. Ray surveyed the room as he rose from his stool, still flexing his weary biceps. He had been woodworking for almost five years now and loved the life his art had afforded him.

If anyone had told me five years ago that I would be doing this for a living, he thought to himself. Tonight, though, something inside of him felt flat. He felt unfulfilled and dissatisfied.

Ray’s homestead and workshop stood on ten acres of family-owned land at the summit of Astral Mountain. Years ago, his grandparents bought the land for a song. Who in their right mind would want to build a home in the nothingness at the top of a mountain? A dirt road wrought with boulders and deep ruts was still the only passage to the home. But, it was the solitude and raw nature that drew his grandparents to build here. Over time, the encroaching forest had been tamed into an expansive yard. Part of the acreage was a large flourishing victory garden that was a few rows short of a farm. A typical dark red country barn stored machinery and the family cow’s pen. Grandpa Weber treasured the sight of morning deer strolling past the front gate and the quiet of the cool mountain nights. It seemed the best of both worlds being just half of a mile from town, yet far enough above it to enjoy country life.

The love affair with Astral Mountain passed from generation to generation. So much so, that the old barn had been resurrected into a rustic home, now owned by Ray’s one and only sibling, his sister, Linda. She and her husband, Thom, made the once drafty barn into a showcase country home. The Ross’s barn/home relaxed against the surrounding forest at the far end of the clover-patched yard, while the original white homestead with its peeling paint graced the edge of the so-called street. Across the dusty pathway stood the unpainted shed that Ray now called his workshop. An overgrown berry patch surrounded by a crooked chicken wire fence flanked one side of the building. On the other side of the shed, old farming equipment that had long given up the ghost stood tangled in suffocating weeds. A long forgotten butterfly garden still beckoned a small host of fluttering orange monarchs in the heat of a country summer. Now as the winter played on the edge of the days, most of the green had become dry and faded.

***

Astral Mountain was but a bump in the range of mountains called the Poconos that snake through northeastern Pennsylvania. The town that thrived in the pocketed valley below was named Hope’s End. The area was very microcosmically minded and held little in the way of opportunity for the young people. It was said that the original settlers gave the town the name because they had found just enough hope at the end of their strength to lay down roots. Many in Ray’s age group used the name, Hope’s End, a bit more cynically. The area had been economically depressed for decades, having endured the oppressive abuse of the coal barons in its early days. Most of the families in Hope’s End were now three generations beyond mining, yet the mentality of never being able to reach for more still hung over the area like a dark cloud.

College, even community college, was a financial impossibility for Ray’s family. He graduated high school, and went right to work in an assembly line at the town’s mill; and he despised every single minute. His discontent was most evident to his mother, Sylvia, who hated to see him leave, but knew it was time for him to find his own path. She was a woman of deep faith and insight. After a few agonizing months of tolerating the factory work, Ray packed his bags and headed west in search of the proverbial, something more. While kissing him good bye, Ray’s mother held his face in her hands. Son, whatever you do, make me proud, she choked out.

And so it was, with tears of joy, and yet concern, she welcomed home the prodigal son some years later. He traveled some, worked some, and had his share of the life in the fast lane. Until one night, at the bottom of a bottle, Ray had decided that this was not what he had left home in search of. He longed for the serenity of watching sunlight being splintered through towering pine trees. Hunting and fishing in the mountains brought the cathartic release he had searched for while he was away. But yet, somehow, he felt defeated by returning home. It took time and soul searching to make peace with his decision to return.

Once again, holding his now sullen face in her hands, his mom said, Now is the time to get your life back together. Ray, I know you hate it when you think I am preaching to you, but now is the time for you to realize what you’ve been looking for is not something external. It’s something inside that is missing. When you were little, you would sit next to me in church and sing so loud that people would turn to look at you and smile. I know you were just a boy, but there was a joy inside you, Ray, there was contentment. It’s time for you to come back to that love, that joy. It’s time to recommit yourself to Him and walk away from that life you knew away from home. You left home to find life, but the Life you need comes only from knowing Him.

He remembered rolling his eyes in frustration at her, but knew somewhere deep down inside she was probably right. He even went to church with her once in a while, if to do nothing more than to keep her quiet. She tried not to nag him, but she also never missed an opportunity to sneak in a comment about his need to return to his faith.

It was quite humbling to accept an entry-level job at a cabinet maker’s shop in town, but it was there Ray discovered two things about himself. First, he loved working with wood, and secondly, and equally as important, he had a natural skill. Capitalizing on his gift and love for woodworking, he emptied the old tool shed across from the homestead and converted it into a makeshift workshop. He began with just a few machines and as he could afford them, he added more. The walls were lined with shelves, bins, paints and stains. He studied how to make everything from a small illuminated ornament to large tables, headboards and all varieties of furniture. If it could be made with wood, Ray Weber could create it. And each piece was a handcrafted work of art.

The Pocono Mountains were rich with craft fairs which catered to weekend New Yorkers looking for homemade treasures to carry home like trophies. The first time Ray loaded up his old truck and headed down the steep hill from the family home on top of Astral Mountain to a local show, he also discovered he could make a sweet sum off of the work of his hands. Then, he found out how easy it was to sell his items over the internet and began to take specialty orders. He was able to craft just about anything a customer could describe.

***

After a year at Smith’s Natural Cabinets, he shook hands with the owner, collected his last paycheck, and went on his own. Of course, living on family-owned land without a great deal of expenses, he could live comfortably on what he made. He renovated separate living quarters in the old homestead and made himself a very spacious, yet modest place to call his own. The only part of the home that he shared with his mom was the ground level entrance. Sylvia passed away just a year after Ray had returned home, but he still inhabited his renovated section alone. The furniture and appliances still remained after her things had

been removed. Slowly, Ray had taken over much of the empty rooms as storage.

Stepping into the refreshing chill of the night air outside of the workshop, he pulled his plaid work coat around his slightly chunky build and clicked off the lights. Even though he was just a few steps from home, he pulled on his baseball cap and wound his long ponytail through the back of it. Another benefit of working as his own boss was being able to keep his hair as long as he liked. He kept it constantly tied back, but it somehow gave him a feeling of being ever so slightly, still the rebel. It also gave him a look of an artist, unconcerned with looking like the rest of mainstream America.

***

Hearing the door click was all that his sister’s dog, Chloe, needed to hear. Like a shot out of cannon, she came galloping and barking to greet Ray.

Hey, Chloe. What’re you doing out, girl? he asked the boxy golden retriever.

Chloe was Linda’s dog, but she loved to follow Ray on walks in the surrounding woods. Truth be known, Ray had long claimed Chloe as co-owner. Tonight, however, he really just wanted to get to the house, have something to eat and relax. He scratched her big furry head and threw a stick to amuse her. She disappeared in the gathering darkness in search of her prize.

As Ray looked up at the day’s closing light, he could see it was going to be a clear evening. The stars were already beginning to shine. As he looked down the road, he could see the lights in the town below blinking on. It was like a nightly light show, equally as relaxing as watching the stars come out. He wished he could put his finger on the reason for a nagging emptiness that pulled at his soul. The sky just after sunset usually gave him an inward peace, except for tonight. Tonight he felt he wanted to reach up and grab one of the rising stars and be transported somewhere far away.

He was about to turn back toward home when something caught his eye. A light. A single light straight across from where he stood pondering on the opposite mountain. He really couldn’t say why, but it struck him so odd to see a light there. As far as he remembered, that part of the opposite mountain was not inhabited. The whole expanse, left to right of the single beam was black. There was thick darkness from side to side. The still waning daylight made the mountain seem darker still, except for that single pinpoint of light. Why it should intrigue him, he didn’t know, but for some reason it did. He found it singularly beautiful, like a diamond tossed from the pile of shining gems in the town that became stuck in the side of the mountain. Above the dark outline of the mountain, the sky was brilliantly painted with a clear evening’s sunset. The orange hue melted into yellow, which became a soft green, ending finally in a hazy dark blue. The view from atop Astral Mountain at sundown was always breathtakingly beautiful. The glow of the sky seemed to compliment the sparkle of the mysterious single light.

Maybe someone forged a road up into the mountain and built a home, just like ours, Ray thought. But as much as he could tell, it was not a cluster of windows. It was not a car. It didn’t move.

As he watched it for a few moments, standing there in the chilly air, he tried as best he could to discern the light’s color. Was it a fire? No. No flickering, he thought. But yet it didn’t look like a street light either. Not a street light. No. Not a flash light. Too far away. I’d never see a beam that weak and small, he thought to himself. But more than anything that made him wonder, was why this light somehow captured him. He just could not explain it. It seemed that time had momentarily stopped, there in the chill of the night, on the top of Astral Mountain.

***

Two giant paws, landing on his chest brought him back to the present as Chloe handed him back her doggy slobber covered stick wedged in her teeth.

Chloe! shouted Linda. Get over here, you silly girl! Linda had pulled up in her SUV at some point while Ray stared across the valley in wonder.

Hey baby bro, just getting done for the day? Linda said strolling over to give Ray a hug.

Yeah, the Christmas orders are starting to come in now fast and furious. Just trying to keep ahead of them, Ray replied, while still lost in a trance staring toward the opposite mountain.

Linda flipped her long blonde mane away from her face and pecked her brother on the cheek. I hardly get to see you and you live 500 feet from my front door! I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow after work. Do you need anything? she asked.

Since Mom passed away, Linda tried to take on the domestic keeper role in Ray’s life. Not that he needed it. He loved to cook and kept a tidy house for the most part. It was nice having his sister to worry about him. And, having she and Thom close by kept him from being lonely and totally alone.

Ignoring his sister’s question, he looked again across the valley at the light. Have you ever noticed that light over there? His voice trailed off as he took a step away from Linda.

"What light? The town is full of lights! What are you talking