The deliverance of the Lord.
A truth Wendell always tried to remember. He had scribbled something in the margin next to the text. A date—first day of school a year ago. Back then the words had meant something very clear to Wendell. His students had been under siege from the culture. Gang killings, crime, suicide, depression. A lack of achievement and desire to excel. God’s Word had literally provided the answer then. The students were winning now, Wendell, too.
So what was this feeling inside him? And how come the message in 2 Chronicles seemed almost cryptic? Like he ought to again pay particular attention to the words? Wendell closed his Bible just as the phone in his office buzzed. He answered it on the second ring. “Principal Quinn. How can I help you?”
There was the slightest hesitation on the other end. “Is this Wendell Quinn?” The voice belonged to a woman. Her words came in a sharp staccato. She sounded fierce.
“Yes.” Wendell leaned forward in his chair. “This is he.” The three presentation folders were on his desk. He glanced at his Bible.
The woman drew a sharp breath. “I’m a reporter from The Indianapolis Star. Last night we received a call from the parent of one of your students, telling us about a Bible club that meets at your school two days a week.” She barely paused. “Is this true?”
Wendell stood and paced to his office door and back. His mind raced. “The club is voluntary. The students choose whether to attend or not.”
She seemed to ignore that. “Our understanding is that you run the club, is that right, Mr. Quinn?”
“I run it, yes.” His heart beat hard against his chest. He was ready for this. But that didn’t make the moment any easier. “Again, it’s voluntary.”
“How many students would you say attend the club, Mr. Quinn?” She barely gave him time to finish his sentence before firing the next question.
“It varies.” He returned to his desk and pulled out his presentation folder. His hands shook as he looked at it. In This Moment. His coach’s words came back to him. What good can you do in this moment? He tried to grab a full breath.
“Mr. Quinn?” She sounded beyond impatient.
“Hold on.” He thumbed through the folder.
He needed to share some of the quotes he’d gathered, quotes from the founding fathers. Or let her have a copy of the independent report, the one done by AnnaMae Williams. “Our school is a better place since we started the club. I could give you—”
“Mr. Quinn, the Star will run a story on this matter in the next few hours. Do you have anything you’d like to say, anything we should include?”
Wendell felt like he was slipping through a dark hole. “You can’t run this story now. It’ll ruin everything.”
“Is that your final statement?” She sounded angry and impatient. Like she didn’t have time for his thoughts.
“No.” Panic slapped him in the face. “First of all, which parent called you?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Her answer sounded rehearsed. “I need to know if that’s your final statement, Mr. Quinn.”
“No.” His frustration grew. “That’s not my statement. What I’m saying is, I have a lot to add to the story. You need to come to my office and I’ll explain why we started the program. I can show you what’s happened since.”
“There’s no time for that, Mr. Quinn.” She huffed, as if she was completely put out at how Wendell was wasting her minutes.
“This is my statement, then.” Wendell was pacing, again. How could he quickly sum up what had happened at his school? “Since our Bible program began, since our students have been praying, we’ve seen miraculous results at Hamilton High. God has heard our prayers and met us where we are. We are a different student body because of Him.”
As soon as the call ended, Wendell tried to remember exactly what he’d said to the reporter. He called his secretary, Ellen Boggs, into his office. “We may . . . be getting other calls from reporters today. I’d like you to put them all straight through to me.”
Ellen nodded, her eyes the slightest bit fearful. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Wendell nodded. “Yes, it is. There’s just . . . there’s some interest in our Raise the Bar program. That’s all.”
It didn’t take long for Wendell to realize how wrong he was. Saying the media had some interest in Hamilton High’s Bible study program was like saying North Korea had some interest in taking over the world.
The Indianapolis Star’s article ran online exactly two hours after the reporter’s call to Wendell. And immediately Wendell’s office phone began to ring. Ellen put the calls through and Wendell said the same thing to every one of them. Yes, the program had been meeting for a year. Of course attendance was voluntary. Yes, he’d been running the program. And sure, he definitely believed God was working a miracle in their midst.
Over and over and over again.
He took calls from the Dispatch in Ohio and the Free Press in Michigan. Reporters from Illinois and Kentucky and Oklahoma called, and nightly news programs contacted Wendell from stations throughout the Midwest.
By two o’clock, something else began to happen.
Local ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox News vans pulled up in front of the school. Reporters attempted to come onto campus, but Wendell met them at the entrance. “This is a closed campus,” he told them. “You do not have permission to be here, and you may not talk to our students.”
By the time Wendell returned to his office, Jordy was waiting for him. He looked like he was about to pass out. “Dad . . . what’s happening? Hamilton High is trending on Twitter.”
Wendell wasn’t sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. “Some parent called The Indianapolis Star about our Bible study program.”
“Why?” Jordy’s anger was instant. “They don’t want us to raise the bar? They want us shooting each other and doing drugs and failing out of school?” He dropped his backpack on the floor of Wendell’s office and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Listen to this.” He held up the phone. “Principal Quinn said that God has heard the prayers of the school. We are a different student body because of Him.”
Jordy stared at Wendell. “As if that’s a bad thing?” He huffed. “What are we going to do?”
Wendell had no idea. Outside his window another news van pulled up. The media that had arrived earlier were setting up cameras and reporters just off school property. When the final bell rang, in less than an hour, the press would be ready. Wendell turned to his son and held out his hand.
Whatever fear and frustration was coursing through Jordy, making him angry and coloring the tone of his voice, it faded in that moment. Wendell came close and took his hand.
“Let’s ask God what we’re supposed to do.” Wendell felt an otherworldly calm come over him. “I don’t see any other way through this.”
Jordy nodded. The hint of a smile eased his expression. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Yes.” Wendell looked at his son for a few seconds. “We’ll get through this, Jordy. We will.” He prayed then, that God would protect the students at Hamilton, and the program he’d started. “Lord, don’t let one student be dissuaded from attending the Raise the Bar club, but bring others into our midst because of whatever happens here today. And we ask for Your protection through it all. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen.” Jordy hugged him, the way he used to when he was a little boy. When he pulled back, the concern was still strong in his eyes. “It’s trending on Facebook, too.”
“That’s what you said about Twitter. Trending?” Wendell shook his head. “When we get home, maybe you can show me what that means.”