Dominion by Randy Alcorn Read Free Book Online Page B

greater thing; you’re my all, you’re the best; you’re my joy, my righteousness, and I love you Lord.”
Pastor Cairo Clancy stepped forward. A hush fell on the congregation. Dani had raved about Clancy over the years, but Clarence had only heard him preach once and wasn’t so impressed. He knew enough to realize that, like politicians, not every minister was what he appeared to be.
“Welcome to Ebenezer, family and friends of Sister Dani Rawls.” The pulpit looked like the bow of a ship, Cairo Clancy her captain. He gazed directly at the audience. Clarence could see no notes, nothing but a big black Bible.
“Sometimes I have to do funerals of people I don’t know. On a few occasions I’ve had to do funerals of people I wish I didn’t know.”
Some snickers and laughs and lots of knowing nods.
“But this time it’s someone I knew, someone I was proud to know.” His voice broke on the word proud.
“Amens” and “Yessirs” and “Hallelujahs” rippled through the crowd.
Clarence braced himself. He took pride in his objectivity. He resisted the emotional buttons they tried to push in churches like this. He viewed emotions as the back door, a way of sneaking past the mind to manipulate the audience.
Nobody’s going to manipulate me.
“Even as we meet right now, many of our minds and hearts are a few miles away at the hospital with little Felicia. Let’s go to prayin’ for her right now.”
Without looking down, as if no transition were needed, he talked to God: “Lord, we love that little girl and we pray for her healing. We want her back, Lord. She’s so young.” His voice cracked. “If you have a reason to take her to be with you and her mama, we’ll accept that—”
No we won’t.
“But you know we want her healed. You’re the great physician, Lord. You’re all powerful. And you’re all good. We commit Felicia to your care. We pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
If you’re all powerful and all good, you’ll have to prove it. I won’t let you off the hook.
“Most of you know Dani was an artist.” The pastor pulled out a painting from behind the big wooden pulpit. Clarence saw the blue waves of an ocean.
“Dani painted this for me. It hangs in my office and always will. I don’t think she ever spent much time at the ocean. But she knew how to dream, and her art was a gift from God.”
He held up the oil painting and pointed. “Look at this water. Just the right blue, with a hint of green. Bright and dark colors mixed just right. Now I don’t know a Picasso from a Grandma Moses—I’m no art critic. But one day Dani called me and Martha over, and we watched her finish up this beautiful painting. We saw her put her signature on the bottom. See, right here. Dani Rawls. And then she said to us, ‘I made it for you.’ Well, in the ol’ days people used to give things to us preachers, but I tell you, this painting sure beats fried chicken, collard greens, and a pan of cornbread! And you’re lookin’ at a man who likes his chicken and cornbread!”
Everyone laughed, replete with some hoots and snorts. Part of Clarence questioned whether this was appropriate at a funeral, but an older part remembered that in his family and in the black churches of his youth there had always been a close line between tears and laughter.
Clarence gazed at the painting. He knew Dani’s talent; she’d even sold a few paintings commercially over the years. In his home hung three she’d done for him and Geneva. One of his favorites was two old men playing chess. But the best was a painting of the Kansas City Monarchs, based on an old black-and-white photo of her father’s. There in the front of all these Negro League players stood Obadiah Abernathy, eyes sparkling and body strong. Obadiah loved that picture. Clarence thought he’d seen all her paintings, but never this one of the ocean. It took his breath away.
“Well,” Pastor Clancy said, “I’ve been looking at this painting, and I’ve been