You Raise Me Up Read online

  You Raise Me Up

  a novella by Alana Terry

  Note: The views of the characters in this novel do not necessarily reflect the views of the author, nor is their behavior necessarily condoned.

  The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic, audio, print, film, etc.) without the author’s written consent.

  Copyright © 2020 Alana Terry

  Scriptures quoted from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  www.alanaterry.com

  CHAPTER 1

  My name is Lucy Jean, but I insist on being called Grandma Lucy.

  I should warn you starting out that my mind isn’t quite as sharp as it once was. I hope that’s all right with you. What I’m saying is that I’ve got a story to tell you, except I can’t always be sure that I’m getting things down exactly the same way as they really happened. Comes from getting older, I suppose.

  I’ve lived a long life on God’s beautiful earth, and I’m tremendously thankful to say that the good Lord has sustained me for all these years, and I have no doubt he’ll continue to do so until the day he calls me heavenward.

  I make my home in Washington. We’ve got a little farm in a small town named Orchard Grove. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Kind people. Small community. My niece and I raise goats there. Well, Connie tends the goats, but I declare she’s getting up there in years too and really needs to hire help.

  If my own niece is a senior citizen, I wonder what that says about me and my age!

  We do serve a wonderful Lord, don’t we? He’s so good to us in all his ways. I was just telling my grandson about it the other day. Let him know that it’s high time he realizes all the things he’s going through in life are God’s way of getting his attention. That’s the problem with young people. When something bad happens or things don’t go their way, they automatically assume God’s out to get them.

  If they even believe in God at all, I should add.

  Ian doesn’t. Not yet. But he will. I know it’s going to happen.

  He’s had a sad life, my grandson. Mother killed by a drunk driver, and him so little. He and his sister both. Alayna’s doing well these days. Married to a pastor so far out in the country in Alaska those poor folks are hauling their own water. But they’re doing God’s work, Alayna and her little family.

  Ian’s the one I worry about most. He’s got such a compassionate streak, my grandson does. Always talking about this injustice or that oppressed people group. And I love him for it, believe me. Some Christians stick up their noses at that type of thing, which I just consider hogwash. All you’ve got to do is flip open to any passage in the Old Testament, and you’ll see that God is a warrior for justice. Yes, he is.

  Well, my grandson makes his living traveling the world. He’s a reporter, by the way, in case I hadn’t mentioned that earlier. He’s building a pretty big name for himself, too. Recently helped make a full documentary about that terrible tragedy in Detroit. You’ve heard of it by now, I’m sure. After what happened on Flight 219, everybody in the world’s heard about it, no doubt.

  Short story is there’s a school for little kids in Detroit that never should have been built. You’d have to ask my grandson to give you all the details because as a journalist he’s better with the facts. But kids were getting sick. Parents were worried about long-term damage just because the particular spot where this school was built used to be a pharmacy factory, making all those pills, and that was before there were better safety regulations, so they didn’t handle their waste properly at all.

  I feel so sorry for those poor kids and sorry for their parents too. But that certainly doesn’t excuse what General and his batch of criminals did to my flight when I was only trying to get home last December.

  I’d gone to see Ian, the grandson I was just telling you about. He travels all over the world, like I mentioned, and was about to take off on another trip. He’s been working on a documentary about North Korean refugees, and I told him the day he started it several years ago I had a bad feeling about that place. The North Korean government really doesn’t take kindly to Americans poking around in their business, if you know what I mean, and I worry for my grandson, which may surprise you, seeing as how I’ve developed something of a reputation as a prayer warrior. Truth be told, I’m a worrywart, and that’s the perfect truth, especially when it comes to my grandchildren. It’d be different if Ian was saved already, but he hasn’t accepted Christ as his personal Lord and Savior. Not yet. So I told him, “Ian, it’s one thing if you go to North Korea and get yourself captured there after I’m perfectly convinced that your soul’s made its peace with God. It’s totally different if you’re still walking in rebellion to him. I’m worried for you.”

  And he always says the same thing to me. That he’s not going into North Korea, he’s just interviewing refugees who’ve made it out to China. He promises me he’ll be safe, but I’m not so sure. Call it a premonition if you will. I just don’t like him going over there all by himself.

  You’d think with him spending so much time in Asia, I’d be thrilled. That’s where I grew up, actually. My parents were missionaries in Shanghai. In fact, my father owned and operated one of China’s first bookstores and printing companies for Bibles and Christian literature. You can’t do that type of thing now, not unless you have special government permission, but back then things were a little different.

  Of course, the political climate at the time was pretty unstable, but we managed. Even saw ourselves through the bombings of Shanghai, but that’s a story for another day.

  I was telling you about Ian, wasn’t I? That’s where I was. So, my grandson lives out near Boston, even though, like I told you earlier, he’s traveling all the time. I really do pray that one day God sends him a nice young woman to help ease that restless burden in his soul. I sure would love to see that boy settled down before the good Lord calls me home to glory.

  Anyway, I was on Flight 219 because I’d been out East to visit my grandson. See him off before another one of his trips around the world. I wanted him to hear the gospel one last time as well, so we went out to dinner, and I spelled it out to him plainly. He’s a sinner, just like we all are, and unless he repents and asks God to forgive him, he’ll remain lost.

  Ian’s a smart boy. Graduated from Harvard, even. But he doesn’t like to be told that he’s wrong. Thank the good Lord, we have a good relationship, and he knows I’m only telling him these things because I love him so much.

  What I did was plant some seeds. It’s up to God now to water them and make them grow.

  That’s why I pray for Ian as hard as I do. For Ian and all my other grandkids and great-grandkids who aren’t walking with the Lord. Not yet. I pray that God would open their eyes to the glorious truths of his Word, that he’d send them conviction when they need it, that he’d make them so unmistakably aware of his love for them and his presence in their lives.

  It’s one thing to know about God. It’s quite another thing to know him personally.

  I went decades not understanding the difference, squandered years of my life before the good Lord showed me some sense. But that’s a story for another day.

  CHAPTER 2

  I wasn’t supposed to be on that particular flight, not originally.

  I’d visited my grandson, I’d told him what I flew out there to say, and then it was time to leave Ian’s soul in God’s hands and fly myself home. Connie doesn’t like me traveling alone. Says I’m too old for that. I suppose one day I might need to slow down, but I don’t think tha
t day’s here.

  Not yet.

  There were snowstorms in the Midwest. Lots of flights were getting cancelled or delayed. If I’m remembering correctly, originally I was meant to fly from Boston to Chicago, and from Chicago on home. I was looking forward to it too because last year when I was flying through Chicago, I met a woman who served me tea at a little restaurant, and she looked so sad, and I asked her what was wrong, and she told me a tragic story about how the foster father she loved like her daddy had just gotten shot, and more than anything she wanted to be there to spend her Christmas with him, except she didn’t have any money and was desperately worried about her father.

  Well, I prayed with her, and I ended up sharing the gospel with her too. I figure if God’s granted me the chance to travel and hasn’t decided to take me home yet, that’s just because there’s more people here on this earth like that worried waitress he wants me to witness to.

  Fine by me. I know my marching orders.

  Anyway, I gave that young woman my phone number, and she promised to be in touch, but I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t know if her father survived his injuries, if she made it to be with her family that Christmas or not. More than anything, I want to know if she took anything that I said to her that day to heart. She told me she grew up in a Christian foster home. Her father was actually a pastor out East. But you can have a saint for a parent and still not be saved. Just look at me. My parents were missionaries during some of the most dangerous periods in China’s history. And even then I didn’t come to know the Lord personally until well into my adulthood.

  But that’s a story for another day.

  Well, I’d been looking forward to reconnecting with that waitress in Chicago. Then my flight got cancelled, and the airlines decided to fly me out to Detroit instead to catch my next plane from there. Well I told God that was fine with me. I figured the Almighty had that nice young waitress taken care of, and instead there must be somebody in Detroit I was meant to minister to. Either that or maybe somebody on the airplane.

  I could tell even while I was waiting for my flight that the Lord was working mightily behind the scenes. Some days I travel and use the waiting periods to pray and think about all the blessings God’s poured out on me during my long life on his beautiful earth. Other times, he just seems to send one person after another my way, people I can share the gospel with or give a little word of encouragement to.

  That’s what happened in the airport while I was waiting for Flight 219.

  First it was a young mother traveling alone with her little boy. He was a real sweetie too. Perfect manners. Absolute gentleman.

  Turns out they were headed to Detroit, but the flight they were on was cancelled, and this little tyke was so sad he wasn’t going to be able to see his grandma for Christmas. Well, the good news was I’d been at my gate by then for a little while and knew they were calling standbys, so I told them they should see about getting on my plane.

  I had a real heart to pray for that young woman. She struck me as anxious. Sad. When her son said they were visiting their grandma, I could tell his mom wasn’t nearly as excited as he was.

  And so I prayed for her.

  Prayed that God would be working behind the scenes to restore her relationships. To bless her little boy. To show them both just how incredibly he loves them and wants what’s best in their lives.

  I still pray for her, by the way. I don’t know her name, but I’ve added her and that darling little boy of hers to my prayer list. When I first started praying for them each afternoon from my prayer room, I got such a heavy sense of sadness, but now my prayers feel lighter. I hope that means this young mother has finally found some peace. When I talk to Jesus about that little boy, my heart’s just filled with joy. I’m convinced he’s going to grow up to change the world for Christ. I just know it. Sometimes I get a sense about these things. And I might be wrong sometimes, but in this case I have no doubts.

  Well, I kept on waiting for my flight, kept on running into other passengers. And it’s interesting. It really is when you sit back and realize just how intertwined our lives all are. It’s like a novel, where each of the characters comes in and out of the story, and you realize there’s somebody at work behind the scenes. There just has to be. These things don’t happen by chance.

  But I suppose you didn’t come here to chat with me about the people I met and prayed with before we boarded Flight 219, did you? It’s interesting though, isn’t it? How we’re in a spiritual war each and every day. And yet it’s things that happen in this temporal world that make the news. A plane getting hijacked. A young girl being kidnapped. That’s the only danger most people see. They have no idea about the spiritual battle raging on around us each and every day. I suppose the devil likes to keep us blind like that. If we spend our whole lives scared of terrorists and kidnappers and murderers, we almost forget that the real battle is for our souls.

  Flight 219 was a war zone, both in the physical and spiritual senses. God gifted me a premonition of the attack before it started. I was at the gate praying with another passenger when he gave me the vision. Maybe you want to know why I didn’t sound the alarm, let somebody know. Well it doesn’t quite work like that. See, I didn’t know if God was giving me a picture of my own flight or someone else’s. I didn’t know if the danger was going to happen today or five years from now.

  All I saw was a plane going down in smoke. I could hear the screams of the passengers. And there I was in the back of the cabin, my hands outstretched just like Moses while the Israelites fought in the valley below him, and I was praying for God to uphold that plane.

  That’s what I saw.

  It could have meant almost anything.

  It could have meant that God was showing me what he was protecting me from.

  It could have meant that God was prompting me to pray for my grandson and his flight to China.

  It could have meant that I’m an old, old woman with an active imagination, and sometimes when I let my mind wander during my prayers, I see pictures that don’t mean a single thing.

  Like that time God gave me a dream about a goat in labor, and I was so sure it meant our little doe was in trouble, and I made Connie get out of bed and her husband too, and we all went to check, and everything was fine.

  But that’s a story for another day.

  At the airport, when I was praying with another passenger before we were supposed to board, I saw an image of fire and smoke and a cabin full of terrified passengers.

  It wasn’t until that man knocked out the air marshal that I realized exactly what my vision meant.

  And by then, it was too late.

  CHAPTER 3

  I’ve been in scary situations before. You don’t get to be my age without going through your fair share of fear and trauma. That’s the way life works, isn’t it?

  I’m certainly not afraid to die. I figure that statistically speaking, it’s going to happen soon. And since I’m not really keen on the idea of weeks or months in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, it’s not that frightening to picture myself getting shot in the head.

  People who know me, people who’ve read about that flight ask me about it quite a lot. Did I know what was going to happen when I stood up to General? Did I know his gun was going to misfire?

  No, I didn’t.

  But that doesn’t make me a hero. Not in the least.

  I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I suppose if I’m going to tell this story, I should try to stick to things in the order they happened. That’s harder to do than it sounds, you know. Sometimes I wonder how people like Ian manage who make their living from writing words all day.

  On the airplane, I was seated toward the back. There was a family who got on then got off again before they closed the doors. I think it was God giving the mother a feeling, warning her that something was about to go terribly wrong.

  I’ve added that family to my prayer lis
t as well. They looked so nice, all dressed up for their flight. I remember when that was the thing to do. You’d never travel anywhere without putting on your Sunday best. Now, people show up at the airport in sweats or flannels. Look like they’re still in their pajamas. I suppose if that’s how they feel the most comfortable, that’s fine with me, but it’s one thing that made this family stand out to me all the more.

  The mother wore a long denim skirt. So did her daughters. The father was young but had a long beard. Made me wonder if the man had ever seen a razor in his life. They were quiet. Sweet. But there was something in the mother’s eyes that caught my attention. A fear she was trying to hide.

  I’ve been praying for her quite a bit these days. I’m afraid I can’t recall just how many kids she had and how many of them were boys and how many were girls, so I focus on praying for her. She’s the one I remember most.

  And in my prayers, I ask God to ease that fear she’s been carrying around for so long. He sure is an amazing Lord, isn’t he? Big enough to bear our burdens, even the ones that feel like they’re going to drown us in despair.

  I think about that young mother, and I think about Psalm 91. Are you familiar with that one? It’s such a beautiful blessing to pray over anyone who’s frightened.

  Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

  Such a beautiful promise, isn’t it? And how encouraging to picture ourselves resting in the shadow of the Almighty. So many times we think of shadows as places of fear and uncertainty, of darkness. Like the shadow of death.

  Except this verse is different. It’s talking about the shadow of the Almighty and the rest we find ourselves in when we’re safe within his protective care.