Middle of Nowhere

By Stan Escott

It was a magical place that, at first, children Tom and Sarah thought only existed in their daydreams.
Now grown up, the two embark on a honeymoon adventure over Wyoming back roads, through fields of wild flowers and stampedes of wild horses, seeking a place they knew existed, a place they called Middle of Nowhere.
Nudged along by mysterious happenings and encounters with eccentric characters in remote valleys of the Bighorn Basin, the couple find them-selves in an abandoned village. They discover a sealed gold mine nearby that holds many secrets that challenge the couple. But that is just the beginning. There is also a deserted chapel with a mysterious and active presence.
In this supernatural spiritual adventure in Grand Teton country, the two must learn to trust their faith as they discover the valley’s tragic, spiritual and magical history. Little do they know that throughout all of their adventures and discoveries, they are being observed by unseen young Watchers: Angels-in-training.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TouchPoint Press
• Release date: Mar 22, 2022
• ISBN: 1956851135

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Chapel

1903

The transformation of the valleys began in the spring, with the arrival of a lost, sad-faced young woman whose presence was hardly noticed. In her desperate wanderings, she happened upon an old chapel, now deserted, the pioneer worshippers having moved on years before.

Exhausted, she sat on a crumbling stone wall that ringed a small cemetery, its markers tipped or obscured by prairie grass. There was no one to see the forlorn figure sitting there, her lips moving in quiet grief, her sobs causing tears to streak her cheeks.

As darkness settled in the valley, the woman stood, pulled a ragged shawl around her shoulders, and made her way into the old chapel, sitting on a bench against the back wall. Her crying continued and could have been heard outside, but there was no one to reach out to comfort her. The quiet sobbing continued.

She sat with her head in her hands. Through her tears, she spoke aloud, It’s been three years, and I’ve tried, but I have no hope. I’m lost! How did I get here? What have I done? What am I to do?

Yes, for those years she had been a wanderer, lost in her thoughts and her deep depression. For nearly three years, she had been overwhelmed with sadness, an all-consuming grief, a loss of what might have been. She was angry, and then sad, crying, often thinking of ways to harm herself.

She thought about her daughter, now four years old, being raised by another woman. She thought about the love of her life, her husband, his sudden illness, his death, and her own sense of helplessness in raising their baby. Over these years, the loss of the two loves had crushed her, leaving her with a deep, painful emptiness. She was the lost one.

In desperation, again she cried out, God, please help me! The tears of hopelessness continued to fall as darkness deepened around the old chapel. Overcome with exhaustion, she stretched out on the bench and, mercifully, drifted into sleep.

How long she slept, she had no idea. She opened her eyes to a strange light in the chapel. She sat up. Her first thought was that she had slept until dawn. But, no, a glance outside told her it was still night. Yet, the chapel was bathed in a soft, golden light. Looking for the source, she found none, although the glow seemed to be coming from the far end of the old chapel or just beyond it.

There must be a fire, she thought fearfully. Then, just as suddenly, she rejected it. As she looked around, everything seemed as it was when she first entered. But, now this light? This glow? What is that?

Strange thoughts and sensations came to her mind. The fragrant smell of flowers. A long-ago remembrance of being truly loved. Of having worth. The kiss of a lover. The warmth of a newborn baby, asleep in her arms. The feeling of contentment. Faint sounds in the air, almost like music, or a gentle breeze through pine trees, or, perhaps, the sound of a sleeping baby. The overall feeling was like . . . what? What was that feeling, so calm, soft, and warm?

Where did all these thoughts come from? What was it that had changed? Was she dreaming? If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake. What is different? She realized that some of the difference was her. The depression and fear that had gripped her for so long were gone. But it was more than that. There was no sense of being overwhelmed, of loss, or even being lost.

In place of all those negative thoughts was an awareness of forgiveness—of being forgiven, maybe even forgiving herself. What she was feeling now was fresh and new, and something else, she didn’t know, but something more. Peace?

Yes, it was peace. That was the feeling. She felt at peace. But, still, there was something else there. A new thought. A strange, new thought. She felt at home! Yes, that was the feeling; she felt at home!

How could that be? How could she feel at home in this deserted old chapel? Yet, there was no sadness, no sense of being lost, only that freeing awareness of peace. Tears came. Tears of happiness, tears of joy streaked her face. For the first time in a long time, she relaxed, and once again, she surrendered to her exhaustion, lay back on the bench, and slept.

The first rays of the new dawn touched the inside of the chapel, and gradually, she awoke. Her first thought was that she had a dream, a blessed dream. But, no, those feelings of peace still encompassed her. She felt again the soft warmth of a newborn in her arms, and she knew without any doubt that she had done the right thing and that her baby was being well cared for by her sister.

As a growing sense of peace enveloped her, that strange thought returned to her mind; she was where she was supposed to be. She felt, for the first time in a long, long time, that she was home! Finally, home! She sensed, again, that feeling of a newborn in her arms, and she knew that it was a symbol—a sign of her purpose, her new, God-blessed, purpose.

Something, words, a phrase, kept repeating in her mind, something she had said. God Help Me! Yes, that is what she had said, that is what she had . . . prayed. It had been a prayer of desperation, and hopelessness, and surrender. But it had also been a prayer of faith, a heart-felt, deep call to God. With that realization and conviction, she knew that it was a prayer that had been answered, and while she didn’t understand it, she knew she had been gifted.

She bowed her head and prayed aloud, with confidence and belief. Thank you, Lord. I am yours. Use me according to Your will.

For the first time, the Living Light of the chapel touched the young woman, and while she was unaware of it at the time, at that very moment, she had become the Reverend One. For more than 56 years, thereafter, led by the Reverend One, the chapel and the two valleys grew in spiritual power and reflected the Living Light, the transforming love of God.

Over time, it blessed all who came to the valleys—those who settled there and built the village, and the miners who arrived after gold was discovered, and even those who only visited.

Chapter 2: The Heavenly Vast

Far above the valleys, the thunder rolled on and on, and clouds gathered, illuminated by flashes of lightning. Amid the celestial chaos in the Heavenly Vast, a voice—a voice that echoed joyfully above the tumult, offering prayers of celebration and heart-felt love and adoration, and saying, The new Reverend One has been chosen! She has called upon Great One! Living Light has been granted divine power. May pandemonium reign! And the celebration among the archangels, the guardian-angels, angels, the seraphs, and all the redeemed continued unabated.

Over time, another voice could be heard, Wise One, you may gather your Watchers and begin the Holy Instruction.

The announcement touched off a renewed burst of excitement as the Littlest Angels-in-Training rushed to gather around the Wise One. Finally, their time of instruction had arrived. The laughter and the smiles of relief filled their faces, for they knew that they were finally beginning those steps necessary to earn their wings, becoming angels, and, maybe, guardian angels.

Little Watchers, welcome. Shall we begin? If you have done your preparation, what are the four duties for Angels-in-Training?

We know, we know! Watch, Listen, Be Patient, and Love.

Very good, but what do those four duties that you know so well, mean? Why are they important?

The Little Watchers looked at one another; there were shrugs, but all were silent.

Very well, we will start with Watch. Have you been observing the Mortal that entered Great one’s home? What did you see?

She was so sad and was crying tears of sadness.

Yes, she was sad, but what else did you see?

Tiny, the smallest of the Little Watchers, spoke shyly, We saw the Living Light, but, Wise One, we do not know what that means. it was so dim, at first, but it seemed to get brighter . . .

Oh, that is good. Well done! Did you hear what Tiny said, and they all nodded. The Mortal was very sad, but that changed, and the Living Light brightened. We all know what that means. But what happened to make the Living Light get brighter? Does anyone know?

We know! two Watchers spoke at once. The Mortal asked Great One for help, and He touched her with Divine Light.

Yes. But what is that Divine Light?

Shyly, one ventured an answer, "Is it Love? Is it Great One’s Love?

You did well with your preparation. One more question; can anyone tell us about Listen, Patience, and Love?

They all spoke at once because they knew: Listen is like Watching, only with our ears. Patience is the hardest, for it is like waiting. Love is like . . . everything, warm and good!

Watchers, we are off to a good start! Now, there is something else I must tell you, and you’ll hear me say this over and over again, so get used to it. Keep watching Great One’s Plan unfold. Keep listening and have patience. Now, find your places, for it is time for you to truly watch.

Chapter 3: Tragedy

1957

It was a party. A big celebration of the pastor’s birthday, and everyone from the valleys and the surrounding prairie was ready to be a part of it. The excitement had been building over the past week. A giant tent had been erected in the south end of the West Valley, with a long buffet table. Scattered throughout the tent were enough tables and chairs to accommodate the expected crowd of those who wanted to honor the life of their dearly loved pastor, Sarah Louise Rutherford.

Pastor Sarah, as she was known far and wide, had been pastor of the Living Light Chapel for the past 54 years, and this was her 75th birthday, although no one dared mention her age.

No one was more loved or more respected in all this prairie than this diminutive, little fireball of a preacher—and her strong, quiet husband, Sam.

From the start, her ministry had been one of legend, from her first worship service on. That first service set the standard for all that would follow.

Within no time at all, a stranger, just arriving in town would have heard about the story of Pastor Sarah, her ministry, and the first worship service she conducted in the valleys, right there in the saloon.

It was late fall, 1903, and Pastor Sarah, dressed in the dog collar of a pastor and wearing a holster and gun, walked into the crowded saloon and up to the bar. There, she turned, pulled out her pistol, and fired a shot into the ceiling to get the attention of the noisy crowd of cowboys and miners. She then announced in a surprisingly strong, loud voice, This bar is closed until the worship service is over. Nobody leaves!

The saloon went deadly quiet. All eyes were on the woman at the bar, still holding the gun; then all turned as one to the tall, slender cowboy that moved toward the bar, and they waited, hardly breathing.

Ma’am, you got our attention, said the cowboy, as he strode up to her, a smile on his face. What are you thinkin a-doin'?

Well, cowboy, she said, looking him right in the eyes and speaking with a decisive tone. I thought I made that clear. We’re going to have ourselves a church service right here, right now. You might want to take a seat.

Yes, ma’am, but let me say this; you better be preachin’ one fine sermon because these are some mighty thirsty men here, and they’ve been known to get pretty restless if they’re kept too long from their beer and whiskey.

One man started, But, Sam, are you going to let this . . . only to be stopped by the Cowboy raising his finger.

The cowboy continued, So, here’s what I’m goin’ to do, Miss Preacher. I’ll just take my chair and put it over there by the front door and sit. Then, turning to the men, he continued just to make sure you all enjoy this sermon and are polite to this young preacher-girl, for I know that every man in this place is eager to hear her message, he said in a slightly sarcastic tone. Am I right, gentlemen? Of course, I am. Now listen up to what this gun-totin,’ determined pastor has to say to us.

Then he turned to the pastor and said, Now, my dear, the saloon, or should I say, the church, and this congregation of cowboys and miners, is all yours. We are curious to know your name and if we are going to have the pleasure of your company around these parts for a while, but, mostly, we are all lookin’ forward to your sermon. Knowing these men, they have a real need for a message from the Good Lord. Then, carrying a chair, he walked to the door and sat down.

My name is Sarah Louise Cassidy. I am not a book-learned pastor. I am a God-appointed and God-blessed pastor . . .

And that was the start of the legend of Pastor Sarah Louise! Her reputation and her legend continued to build year after year. That young cowboy that confronted her? Why, two years later, he married her, and together, they became partners, not just in ministry, but in creating the Living Light that powered the transformation of the two valleys.

Pastor Sarah and Sam were responsible for the growth and development of the village of Living Light, as well as the popularity of the Chapel. The two set the tone for love and acceptance of all who entered the valleys and settled in the town. Pastor Sarah was the most loving, outgoing person anyone had ever met, a feeling that was contagious, affecting everyone like a welcoming embrace. It was well-known that anyone coming into the two valleys was never a stranger for long.

Now, it was the day of the birthday celebration. People started gathering early in the afternoon. It wasn’t long before the prairie on the side of the East Valley was packed with cars and tethered horses, while Main Street of Living Light was just full of smiling people, all heading for the big tent, there in the West Valley. The music and the singing were something to behold, and when the staff of the saloon paraded in and started unloading trays of good food for the buffet table, a great cheer went up, and the people started taking their seats.

Pastor Sarah and Sam circulated among all the tables and greeted the people with loving hugs and best wishes. It was a day that everyone would remember, at least that was the unanimous belief of the people as they enjoyed the food, drinks, and some of the most sumptuous desserts many had ever seen.

At Evensong, the crowd adjourned to the beloved chapel, and soon, every pew was filled, while others lined the walls and clustered outside at each of the open windows. Music, beautifully played with talented guitar pickers and of course, the Pastor, herself, sitting at the great piano. The music seemed to instill an added sense of peace in everyone. It was a blessed event. A fitting service to cap off the grand celebration.

But then, tragedy. It started with a low rumble, a slight vibration felt in the soles of their feet. Then a shockwave hit, and everyone knew that something terrible had happened at the mine. People immediately checked for loved ones and wondered who was still in the mine? Was anyone there?

The foreman and all the miners rushed out of the chapel and headed at a dead run for the mine entrance. As they topped the hill, they could see bellowing dust clouds flowing out of the mine entrance and the worst of their fears were confirmed–at least one tunnel had collapsed.

A count was made of all the miners, and five were missing. After days of frantic digging, two were rescued, but efforts to reach the other three miners, heads of families, were lost. Tragedy! Three women, widowed, and five children rendered fatherless.

The entire community felt the loss and came together in love and support for the three families. Pastor Sarah and Sam, beloved partners in ministry, were an almost constant presence during the weeks following the disaster. The two visited all families, for grief filled every home.

The decision that all the families feared came to pass less than a year later when the company announced the closing of the mine. What followed was almost a panic as workers and their families loaded wagons with their belongings and, with an air of desperation, left to find paying work, elsewhere. Within a matter of weeks, the town of Living Light was nearly deserted.

The Chapel continued to shine in power and brilliance from that first day in 1903 and dimmed only with the illness and the passing of the Reverend One, in 1960. The spirit of the Living Light and its promise remained within the walls of the old chapel. And so, the valleys and all that they contained waited expectantly for the return of one who would become the Reverend One. . . .

Chapter 4: What Does that Mean?

Do not surrender to discouragement, my little ones. Great One reminds us that for lo these many years we have been on the glorious mountaintop with the believers, gathered in Living Light. All those happy years were meant to teach and strengthen our faith. Put all doubt aside.

But what happened? Those poor Mortals, and those poor, sad little ones. Why would Great One do this? We don’t understand.

My little Watchers. This does test their faith, doesn’t it? How could this be part of Great One’s plans, you ask? You may not understand this, but I would remind you of something that is written in Great One’s Notes and Narratives. It says: ‘The Lord disciplines the ones He loves and chastens everyone He accepts as His son.’ What does that mean, Watchers?

The Watchers were very quiet for a long time, and Wise One let them think about the question and what was written.

Wise One, we are not sure what it really means. I remember when I was a Mortal, my daddy would sometimes paddle me when I was naughty, or sometimes I just had to sit in a chair. Then, later, he would come to me and hug me and tell me he loved me, and I know that he did.

Some of the Watchers nodded at this.

"That is such a good thing to remember because the Great One is much like the Mortal father that some of you remember, who loved you. Here is a thing for you to remember; all Mortal little ones are Watchers. They grow and learn by watching their Mortal mommies and daddies. When they feel Great One’s love, when they see that love in their parents, they learn. As they become parents, they pass it on. So, you see, the act of watching is so important to their instruction and yours.

"The Great One’s Notes go on to say that we all had Mortal fathers who disciplined us, and we respected them for it because we felt his love. Those fathers disciplined you for what they thought best, but the Great One’s plan disciplines for their good, that they may share in His holiness.

"Is it painful? Of course. Will those children be sad? Yes. Their mothers will be sad, too. How will they get along? This is the lesson that those Mortals will learn. Everyone in the Valleys is still bathed in the Living Light, a power guided by the blessed Reverend One. The painful process of suffering through this loss is not meant to be endured alone. What these valleys experienced when all was well has taught them the power of fellowship. They will use fellowship to support one another.

The Great One is not looking for them to endure alone, for this sadness creates in them a deeper relationship of these Mortals with Great One and Holy One, and for us, the watchers of Mortal life, for us to trust Him and rely on Him in dark days, during storms.

It’s a hard lesson to learn for them, isn’t it, Wise One? I mean that the bad thing happened when all was going well and they were singing and worshipping. It was a wonderful celebration. Then those poor Mortals were killed.

"You saw that it was the Reverend One that calmed the fears and softened the grief of the Mortals when the tunnel collapsed, leaving those children without fathers. We know that tragedy led to the closing of the mine, and shortly thereafter, the Reverend One became ill and, then, she came to dwell with us. So, the town became abandoned.

But, listen to me, Little Watchers. Each of those families lived in these blessed valleys for a time and learned the power of Great One’s love. As they left the valleys and traveled to other places where they settled, the power of Great One’s love was with them, and they, in turn, shared that love with others who may not know of those wonderful graces. And, so the story of Great One’s love is told and retold, just as He planned it.

But the loss was still painful, wasn’t it?

"Yes, it is a hard lesson, one that for many of the Mortals, is very difficult to understand. But in time, as the Great One’s Notes say, it will produce a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have endured and are faithful.

"Let me remind you what Holy One endured on the awful cross to open the way for Mortals to come to Great One. That was the fullness of Divine Love that you all know so well.

Now, Little Watchers, let us look ahead, long beyond the tragedy to a fresh beginning for Living Light. Watch Great One’s plan unfold. See, it begins . . .

Chapter 5

2006

The early summer moon cast a pale light on the valleys below, illuminating a foraging coyote that paused at the top of a rise, its ears alert, listening. Its head was in constant motion, sniffing the gentle breeze for any hint of prey. The night, silent, except for the coo of a prairie dove and the distant hoot of a summering snow owl.

For more than 55 years, the twin valleys had been a bustling place, driven by two powerful influences: At the north end of the west valley, a gold mine in full operation. In the east valley, the Living Light Chapel, a spiritual power source that transformed the valleys in an almost tangible sense of peace and calmness, not just in the hearts and faces of all who came here, but in every aspect of life in the valleys.

But, on this day, the light of the moon revealed a sadness in the deserted valleys. A mine closed by tragedy, a village without people, a chapel without worshippers. The only sign of life, a coyote stalking prey, and the occasional flutter of canyon wrens.

In the east valley, a dim light, soft, glowing, barely discernible, came from a small chapel, a worship center, unused for decades. Its siding was weathered and unpainted, many of its windows damaged by prairie storms, and, yet, a glow from within.

In the west valley, moonlight touched the tops of buildings that stood in a row in the abandoned village. The pale light reflected off a stream that flowed nearby and disappeared in the distance.

If one listened carefully, a suggestion of music was in the air, as if carried by the gentle prairie breeze, indistinct. Imagined.

No, not imagined! The music was real, coming from where? There, just topping the crest of the hill at the north end of the valley, a small truck, an army surplus jeep, that slowly entered the village, bringing along the music. The driver was looking for a place of refuge for the night. At one point, the Jeep stopped; the driver stepped out, flashlight in hand, and slowly, cautiously, walked along the deserted homes and shops, looking in windows, opening doors, determining where to stay.

The driver, short and stocky, wearing a fringed leather coat, faded jeans, boots, and a broad-brimmed Stetson, entered one or two of the homes, and then, as if deciding, began carrying bags from the Jeep into the house.

Her name is Caledonia Fuller, a woman of many talents. She had survived and thrived as a cattle-drive, chuck-wagon cook for years, well-liked, but bull-headed. Then, for several years, she served as master of the kitchen at a cattle and dude ranch over near Sundance, in the northeast corner of Wyoming. But she had other plans, ideas that had given her independence. Now, she was seeking a home, a temporary base, here in the Bighorn Basin.

As her music was stilled and the light in the home extinguished, the suggestion of music of the prairie could again be heard. The quiet breeze and the coo of a desert song bird, the only sounds. Peace and solitude again returned to the valleys.

Chapter 6: Surpassing What Was

A Watcher asked, Wise One, how can Living Light continue without believers?

Watchers, what have we talked about? Remember what Living Light is.

The worship by Believers had provided the substance of the Light that spread throughout the valley. They made the whole valley, even the mine itself, a special place, a place of praise and worship, a Holy Ground. Then the Evil One attempted to change all that. Now, it seemed to the little Watchers, that no one could restore the vision that is Living Light.

Again, a