Stuff Dreams Are Made Of by Don Bruns Read Free Book Online

and make a true believer of you. Quietly.”
    A slight cough all the way in the back of the tent was the only sound to break the silence. Everything was very quiet. This guy had made a knockout entrance. He’d made an entrance to rival all entrances, then told us all to ignore that entrance. What a performer. Cashdollar tossed off the robe, and was now dressed in a tailored black suit that hid his ample girth. He accented the look with a simple red tie. Walking to the podium on the left of the stage, he held that gold Bible tightly.
    “I have a message for you tonight. A message that will set your hearts free. A message that could help you move mountains. Ask me what that message is. Let me hear you say ‘What is the message, reverend?’ Let me hear you!” He stepped back and put his hand to his ear. The response was deafening.
    “What is the message, reverend?”
    “I can’t hear you, friends.”
    I figured the guy must be deaf, because they’d about blown my eardrums out.
    “What is the message, reverend?”
    If this guy didn’t believe in fancy entrances and noisy announcements, I must be crazy.
    “It’s a very simple message.” He shouted back at us. “God wants you to be rich. God wants you to have an abundance of everything. Do you believe God’s message?”
    Like a well-rehearsed group, the several thousand people screamed, “Yes.”
    “Do you believe that God, your Father, wants you to be rich?”
    “Yes.”
    Cashdollar turned and pointed with his Bible to the huge letters that hung above his head. “Let me read to you
why
your God wants you to be rich.”
    The air was sprinkled with a light smattering of excited applause.
    “You will be made rich in every way, so that you can be generous on every occasion. Do you understand? Do you?”
    The resounding answer was “Yes.”
    “God wants you to be rich, but demands that you be generous with your wealth.”
    The choir sang their four-line song again, and Cashdollar smiled. A video camera picked up his face and flashed it on the big screens. The wide smile, the gleaming teeth.
    “Be serious about your generosity and God will be serious about your riches. We will start off tonight with a free-will offering. Can I please have the ushers pass the plates?”
    Dozens of dark-suited men stepped off the far end of the aisles and started passing collection plates down each row. James dug into his pocket and pulled a five and some ones.
    “What are you doing?”
    He looked at me through squinted eyes. “I’ve never given a dime to any religious group. What can it hurt?”
    “Never one to take any chances, are you?”
    “Skip, it’s like insurance. You never know when you might need some riches, right?” He dropped the money in as the plate passed and I saw a look of contentment on his face.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    We stayed for another fifteen minutes, just before they asked for collection number two, and right after the choir had reprised the song about three more times. Cashdollar mentioned that this collection was the serious one. I found out later there were two more during the service.
    “There are those people who give and there are those who take away. Do you know who I’m talkin’ about? Do you understand the people who would stand in your way to the riches that God will give you?” He’d moved to the center podium, and he was working up to fire and brimstone, pointing his left index finger at the crowd. On the huge screens you could see his hand and the huge diamond ring on his ring finger flashing under the spotlight.
    “You have a man who lives in your community, a man who eats in the same restaurants as you, who sends his children to the same schools you send your children to, a man who drives the same streets as you,” and with each “who lives,” “who eats,” “who sends,” and “who drives” he got louder, and angrier, “but a man who does not, does not, my brothers and sisters, get his richesfrom the Lord. This man is a