That night Jordy tried to explain it. By then the story was on the home page of Fox News. Wendell couldn’t possibly read all the comments under the hashtag #HamiltonHigh, but the ones he did read were dramatically mixed.
Some people applauded him, but most wanted his head on a platter. They called him a right-wing racist, forcing his religious babble on the hearts and minds of innocent kids. Wendell wondered if they knew he was black. Could a black man be considered racist for believing in God? He wasn’t sure, but anything seemed possible in today’s culture.
One thing was certain. Based on their posts, the majority of people shouting at him on social media seemed to hate God even more than they hated Wendell Quinn. Eventually Wendell had to walk away from the computer and fix dinner for the kids. Spaghetti and acorn squash. Leah’s favorite.
When they were all around the table, Wendell looked at the kids, one at a time. “You’ve heard what’s happening in the media. With Hamilton High?”
“Yes.” Darrell, the youngest, had looked frightened ever since he got home from school. “Everyone’s mad at you. Right, Daddy?” Tears welled in his eyes. “That’s what my teacher said.”
Was it possible that they were talking about the news even at Darrell’s junior high? Wendell made a note to call the school’s principal the next day. Neighboring teachers didn’t need to stir the concerns of the students. The news was definitely doing that for them. Wendell set down his fork. “They aren’t mad at me, Darrell. They’re mad at God.”
“What did God do to them?” Alexandria was clearly trying to be brave. But now that they were finally talking about it as a family, tears fell onto her cheeks, too.
“Well.” Wendell drew a deep breath. “God doesn’t care if those people are angry with Him. But He wants them to bring their anger to Him. Pray about it or talk about it. Not spread rumors on social media.”
Leah took a bite of her squash and stayed quiet.
“Hamilton is still trending on Facebook and Twitter.” Jordy held up his phone. “You should hear this one, Dad.”
“No, Son.” Wendell raised his brow. “Put your phone away. Not during dinner.”
Jordy looked surprised, but he slipped his phone back in the pocket of his jeans.
“Daddy . . .” Only then did Leah look at him. “Rachel said the police are going to put you in jail. Is that true?”
There were so many false rumors flying around. So many false beliefs. Wendell sighed. “No, it’s not true. A person can’t go to jail for talking about Jesus.” He thought about Alicia’s fears. “Lots of people think that’s true in America today. But it’s not.” Wendell worked to keep his tone in check. “The Constitution guarantees us freedom of religion, Leah. Which means the kids at Hamilton High have a choice to pursue the Christian faith . . . or not.” He hesitated. “It’s their choice. And no one is going to jail.”
Relief filled her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Completely.” Wendell smiled at her. He looked at his plate; he’d barely touched his food. No matter how calm he tried to appear to the children, the pit in his stomach was worse than ever. “Everything will be okay.”
Wendell told himself that throughout dinner and while they cleared the dishes. He did so again later as they prayed together and as all of them said goodnight. Everything was going to be okay. No one was going to jail. Really.
His reassuring thoughts lasted until the next morning.
The reporters were camped off school property but just a few yards from Wendell’s marked parking spot. As he walked past them he learned several things—things the media had apparently found out before he did. Their questions came at him rapid-fire, even when he didn’t stop to answer them.
“Mr. Quinn, have you had any personal issues with parent Andy Nelson before this?”
Another woman pushed her way closer. “What is your statement about the lawsuit filed this morning on behalf of Mr. Nelson?”
The reality hit Wendell so hard he nearly stopped walking. Andy Nelson? Cami’s father? Wendell felt sick to his stomach, but he kept on. The questions did, too. “How do you plan to handle the mandate from the school board, that you cease all further meetings with your after-school Bible study program?”
Wendell’s head was spinning. Could all of that possibly be true? He ignored the reporters and headed into his office. Once inside, he closed the door. His hands shook, and the noise from outside echoed in his mind. A quick look out the window told him what he had hoped wasn’t true.
The reporters were talking to students. Whatever students were willing to stop before they reached campus. Wendell’s mind raced and his head began to spin. His school district had issued a mandate, ordering the club to stop meeting? Andy Nelson had filed a lawsuit against him?
Wendell turned on his computer and checked his email. His heart pounded as he spotted a message from an attorney for the school district. Yes, indeed, he was being sued. The charges against him had been filed by Andy Nelson, father of senior Cami Nelson. The letter was replete with legal jargon, but the bottom line was this:
He was being summoned to court. The date seemed to consume the computer screen. Everything the reporters had said was true.
In the most terrifying slow motion, Wendell felt the walls around him begin to crumble and fall in on top of him. The roof crashed onto his shoulders and the ground wouldn’t stop shaking. As if the world’s worst earthquake had started to destroy him, only this one showed no signs of stopping.
Wendell held on to his desk and closed his eyes. How am I going to survive this, Lord? Make the room stop spinning, please. I have to lead this school, I have to take charge. And right now I don’t know how.
Then, the way God always did, He whispered the faintest words to Wendell Quinn. The words Wendell had read yesterday morning in this very office. The ones from 2 Chronicles. You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the LORD will give you . . .
Wendell repeated the words to himself. You will not have to fight this battle The Lord will deliver you. Which meant one thing. If Wendell was going to stop the spinning and find some sort of steady ground, he couldn’t just sit here.
He lowered himself to the floor. Slowly, and with the greatest certainty, he took his position, preparing himself for the battle ahead. And he did so from the only place he knew how to fight.
On his knees.
And there Wendell remembered the name of the person he had determined to contact if he ever wound up in this situation, his back against the wall: Luke Baxter. As soon as he finished praying, Wendell sat back at his desk and made the call to a man he’d never met before. And then he said one more prayer.
That Luke would know what to do next.
11
Luke Baxter jumped as high as he could and snagged the Frisbee from the air—just before his brother-in-law Ryan had a chance to grab it. “Mine!” Luke laughed as he ran with the Frisbee. “Who’s on my team?”
A handful of voices called out from the other side of the yard. Luke spotted his son Tommy, also on his team, and wound up for the throw. But instead of making it to Tommy, the Frisbee soared up and off the field—like it had a mind of its own.
“Out of bounds!” Dayne ran to get the Frisbee while everyone laughed and caught their breath.
Luke loved days like this. He had never been busier at work, and he knew the reason why. He was one of a few dozen attorneys battling for religious freedom in the United States, and very clearly the battle was getting worse.
But no matter how busy things got, no matter how many cases came his way, Luke had always been determined to have one thing on the weekends: time with his family. Recently, though, his resolve had given way to the pressure of the cases he was handling, the importance of the religious freedoms at stake.