Inside Lucifer's War (7 page)

I finish the meal in a fog, though I am present enough to realize the food is surprisingly delicious. It is far more food than I need, but I eat it all. It has been so long since I had a slow Sunday breakfast, but I vow to do it more frequently in the future. Feeling uncharacteristically generous, I leave the waitress a twenty-dollar tip, knowing that it will probably make her morning. I applaud my generosity.

I step out of the restaurant and immediately feel the heat emanating from the sidewalk and the sky. Coming from the air-conditioned restaurant into the hot, humid air takes my breath for a second. I walk slowly toward my apartment. I feel sluggish as my breakfast sits heavily in me. I take the long way around to avoid getting back too early. In truth, I need the walk to help digest the food. I stare down at the sidewalk in front of me, which is a departure from my normal habit of simultaneously looking at my phone and the area in front of me. As I walk, I have a strange sensation that I am being watched. I look up a few times to catch a glance or two from strangers as they walk past me. His disciples or simply people walking past? I wonder.

I return to the apartment building lobby and decide to wait for Mike here. I fiddle with my watch for several minutes, trying to get it on my right wrist. I’m actually a bit fascinated that it’s this difficult. I never thought about the mechanics of putting on a watch. I just did it. My first two attempts end with the watch falling to the floor. On the next attempt, it keeps going in circles around my arm as I try to strap it on. Finally, with my mouth serving as a third hand, I get the watch in place on my right wrist. Of course, the first time I look at the watch to check the time, I look at my left wrist. I wonder how long it will take to get used to having the watch on my wrong hand. Will I need to get comfortable putting the watch on my wrong hand, or will the mark heal? My watch exercise occupies much of my time before Mike, thankfully, arrives in the lobby.

C
HAPTER 7

The Run

Mike is a finance professor at a nearby smaller, private university. From what I can tell, he is a very good teacher, and he chooses to stay at the smaller college in order to spend more time with his family. There are many differences between us, and that is just one of them. I can’t understand how someone would sacrifice his goals and professional advancement in order to resign himself to a personal obligation, but I respect Mike’s contentment with his choice. Another major difference between us is his faith. Mike is my only Christian friend. I probably have other Christian acquaintances, though they don’t seem to be very open about their faith. Mike isn’t afraid to speak about his faith, though somehow he never comes off as obnoxious. We sometimes have wonderfully heated discussions about God and Christianity during our runs. It always seems like those runs are our fastest. Although we disagree on the subject, we are respectful of the other’s beliefs. It’s actually a compliment that he tries to witness to me, given his beliefs. That is, I genuinely believe he is concerned for my well-being. I am concerned about his as well, though, I might express it differently.

I met Mike several years ago at a local conference for professors. I don’t recall the topic, but I believe it was on how the latest technology could help professors in the classroom. Mike and I selected the same breakout session and found ourselves at the same table. It was one of those horrible breakout sessions where each table was required to come up with a solution to a hypothetical situation. Mike was sitting next to me, and he expressed the same frustration I did when we were given the assignment. We had some good banter about the various lectures and technologies while the rest of our table did the legwork for the assignment. It was the last session of the day. The instructor, before dismissing us, reminded us that there was a gathering that evening in the dining room. I asked Mike if he was going to be there, but he said no. He was going for a run before heading home. We compared notes on our pace and decided we were compatible running mates. That’s not a trivial thing. You can run only with someone close to your pace, who knows when to speak and when not to, and can carry on a good conversation. We have been friends ever since that first run.

“Hello, Mike,” I say when I see him enter the lobby. “Are you ready for this heat?”

He smiles slightly. “Absolutely. Can’t imagine a better time to run. What are we looking at—ninety-nine, maybe a hundred degrees out there?”

I grin, knowing he will enjoy my response. “It’s good for the soul, right?”

He responds within my territory—Nietzsche. “What doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. Of course, the problem is, Thomas, we are getting to the age where this type of thing may kill us one day.”

Quoting one of his favorite movies, a grin spreads across my face. “But it will not be this day.” Mike chuckles at the reference to
The Lord of the Rings.

We stroll down the path that leads from my apartment building to the trail, casually stretching along the way. The Town Lake trail is relatively smooth, with minimal elevation changes, which allows a person to look up instead of constantly looking four feet in front of him. It also can easily fit three people abreast in most areas, which makes it easy to run side by side. There are some spots where it narrows, and bikers sometimes force runners to run in single file. For the most part, it’s great for running with a partner and carrying on a conversation.

“How about a bit slower pace today, maybe an eight or an eight-and-a-half pace?” I ask as we start down the trail. Mike’s silence and steady pace alongside of me confirm that he is comfortable with this pace. We start the jog in silence. Mike seems distracted. He can’t possibly be more distracted than I am, though.

At about a quarter mile into the run, he breaks the silence. “I think I mentioned that we’re having some people over tonight for the game. I’m going to barbecue. Are you interested in coming over?”

I raise an eyebrow, expressing interest and a question.

Mike, recognizing my look, continues, “It’ll be just a few of us. Very casual. Some neighbors you’ve probably already met. Stace and a friend of hers. We’d love to have you.”

It’s an appealing offer. I certainly don’t want to spend all evening alone in my apartment, and Mike and Theresa’s barbecue dinners are incredible. The deal sealer, though, is the mention of Stacie, or Stace, as Mike calls her, coming to the gathering.

“If you and Theresa don’t mind, I’d be delighted,” I say.

Mike quickly responds. “Great. Kickoff is at seven. People should start getting there at six thirty, but feel free to come anytime. Actually, what am I saying? You’ve never been one to hold to a specific schedule.”

I ignore his quip, but my mind doesn’t leave Stacie. I haven’t seen her in a while. I try in my most subtle and indifferent tone to find out more about her. “What has your sister been up to lately? Is she still dating that minor league baseball player?” I ask.

I think I see Mike smile, but I can’t quite tell. Then he responds, “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with her in a couple of weeks. She’s been traveling lately. I don’t think that social media is slowing down any. Besides, she talks more with Therese than me. Who can keep up with her dating? I’m not sure if she will ever be serious about anyone.”

I was drawn to Stacie the moment I met her, drawn in a different way than I am usually with women. Stacie is different. She has the attractive element that seems to lure me to most women. She has short brown hair, with strawberry highlights, and blue eyes that are like gems. She’s very athletic, which is easy to see by looking at her arms and legs. She isn’t tall, maybe five feet four or so, but she carries herself so much taller. Knowing me, it is easy to see why I am drawn to her physically, but with her, it is more than that. I’ve heard the pickup line about a woman lighting up a room when she enters it. Stacie doesn’t light up a room with her smile, but when she enters the room, everyone and everything seems happier. She brings an energy that spreads throughout her company. When she leaves, it feels as if something left with her. Maybe it is just me who feels like something leaves with her. She speaks boldly, sometimes too boldly, but without an edge. She can disagree with you and leave you still feeling like you are best friends. She can be playful but stubborn. Mostly, she is elusive—to me.

She is always kind with me, maybe even a bit flirtatious, but she is that way with so many people. I am astute when it comes to determining a woman’s feelings for me. Within thirty minutes, I can usually tell if I can make her mine or if it’ll be a waste of my time. Making her mine or conquering her is often how I view my encounters with women. Though, to be fair, I am up-front with the women I date that I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. They just fall into that trap. Something inside them chooses to ignore my warnings, and they long for a relationship I can’t give them. With Stacie, it is different. I have no idea whether she is interested in me. Moreover, the idea of conquering her has never entered my mind. I simply want to be around her. This is uncomfortable territory for me.

For the next half mile we don’t speak, and I enjoy daydreaming about the evening. I map out how I will approach her. My mind plays out the conversation, each scenario ending with my charming her. Although I know that usually the opposite happens. I feel like a teenager again.

“Hey, man! Watch out!” Mike yells as he bumps me slightly, breaking my daydreaming. “Unbelievable. Did you see that biker?” he asks, apparently referencing the biker that has just passed us.

“No,” I say.

“His handlebars nailed my arm. He could have waited another five yards to pass us, where it is more open. He didn’t even yell, ‘Left.’ ”

After Mike calms down, he looks over at me. “You seem distracted, Thomas. What’s up?”

“What does the Bible say about Satan and demons?” I ask in a professorial tone so as not to indicate my true concern.

“It’s going to be one of those runs, huh?” he asks.

“No. No. I am just working on some theories and papers, and I wanted to get your perspective.” And that’s partially true.

“Well,” he starts, “it says a lot of things. You aren’t expecting precise verses while we run, are you?”

“Of course not. Just some high-level thoughts,” I say, indicating that this conversation is no big deal.

“Well, for the most part, demons are believed to be the fallen angels that chose to rebel with Satan against God. Satan, if you will, is their leader. They were determined to be guilty, cast out of heaven, and thrown down to earth, where they will live until they rise up one last time in an attempt to defeat Jesus and his angels. They will lose, of course, and be destroyed in the lake of fire. Their fate is already sealed.”

I ignore his last statement. “So they live on earth?” I ask.

“Yes, but they are not bound by our earthly limitations. What I mean by that is that they are not subject to the same physical laws that we are.”

Momentarily we are running single file as some other runners pass us in the opposite direction. I catch back up to him, and he continues, somewhat huffing throughout his talking.

“We also know that though Satan’s permanent dwelling place is on the earth, he is still allowed to visit and talk with God in heaven. The book of Job provides a good example of that. Along with some angels, Satan presents himself to the Lord. That’s a difficult one to get my hands around. It also appears that Satan still acts as some sort of chief accuser in front of God. Demons aren’t bound by physical laws, either. The Old and New Testaments are full of stories of demons possessing people and animals.”

“Hmm,” I mutter. I think about the accuser role. When I was with Satan, he mentioned how he accuses individuals.

Mike takes my muttering as a verbal indicator to keep going. “Some are much stronger than others. There is a verse in the book of Daniel where an angel tells Daniel that he would have answered Daniel’s prayer sooner, but he was busy fighting with a demon—the demon prince of Persia, I believe. He was stuck and couldn’t get past this demon until Michael came to help him. That kind of stuff blows my mind. That means they are still engaged in warfare. The demons are constantly trying to prevent the angels from doing what God asks, and there are some demons and angels that are stronger than others. Of course, Michael is the one that no one wants to mess with. Michael is the one that threw Satan to Earth.”

“How do you know which ones are stronger? Do they have ranks?” I ask.

“I don’t have a good answer for you on that, Thomas. There isn’t a single section or book in the Bible that specifically addresses angels and demons, but there are references spread throughout. It is more of a puzzle that you have to put together. The Bible does talk about some of the different classifications of angels, but I can’t recall the specifics. My guess is that it would have mirrored the society under Joshua. I can look some stuff up if it will help you.”

Mike’s comment “if it will help you” amazes me. He often amazes me by doing stuff like that. He knows that often I am trying to discredit the one thing he holds more dearly than anything, and still he is willing to help me—to offer me assistance without any strings attached. He could easily have said, “I’m happy to get this for you, Thomas, but I would appreciate it if you at least addressed a section of your paper from a Christian point of view.” Yet he has never asked that of me.

“No. That’s perfect. Thanks.” That is all I can tell him. Quietly and without thinking, I say, “There is evil in this world. Real evil.” I think he doesn’t hear me, and I’m a bit relieved. I’m not sure I’m prepared to talk about this.