Mead Mountain (An Inspiring Christian Fiction Novel) by B.K. Dell

Author:B.K. Dell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: christian fiction, christian novel, bk dell, mead mountain
Publisher: B.K. Dell

When Andrew Crenshaw arrived at the church, he saw a small group of protestors that had gathered in the front lawn of the church. He wasn’t sure what they were protesting exactly—all their signs just read “hypocrite”—Pastor Ellison’s whole existence, maybe.

There was a man in sandals and a brown corduroy jacket, a few sizes too small. There was a woman with a large knit hat covering birds-nest hair. There was another man hiding behind a feral beard and black, thick-framed glasses. His fingers were covered with rings and he gestured with them as he talked incessantly about “haters” and his hatred for them.

Andrew Crenshaw thought about coining a new term. When he looked at the motley protestors a thought came to his head: they were a group only Pastor Ellison could love.

There was one girl there, however, who seemed out of place. She wore an oversized man’s dress blazer. Andrew Crenshaw didn’t know what to make of her.

A group of Andrew’s fellow newsmen, and their cameras, had descended on the sententious assembly. Andrew Crenshaw couldn’t help but notice that the reporters outnumbered the protestors, but he knew it wouldn’t look that way in the footage tonight.

Andrew drove his car around and entered through the back door. Before entering the church, he took a good contemplative look at the face of Mead Mountain.

When he rounded the corner through the open door to Ellison’s office, he noticed the pastor jump slightly.

Andrew Crenshaw exaggerated his wave and said, “Just me.”

Ellison stood up and extended a warm handshake.

“You were expecting me,” Andrew Crenshaw said, half question, half statement.

“Of course. You just caught me deep in thought is all.”

“Well, I imagine you have a lot to think about.”

Ellison laughed at his understatement. He asked, “Do you know an effective way to shut your brain off?”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t like it.”

“Try me.” It was Ellison’s habit of assuming the best about people which led him to press the seemingly vice-free reporter.

The reporter cleared his throat. He pulled out a pad of paper and a voice recorder and said, “Actually, I’ve found sharing my problems in intimate detail with the press to be very cathartic.”

Ellison laughed again. “Smooth.”

Andrew smiled guiltily. He said, “Well, I’m a pro.”

Both men waited for the other.

Andrew Crenshaw cleared his throat again. Finally, he said, “Well, what’s on your mind, Pastor?”

“Actually, I was pondering the implications of the hypostatic union.”

Andrew laughed. “That’s not really the story on everyone’s mind.”

“No?”

“No, not exactly.” There was another moment of silence. Andrew Crenshaw wasn’t sure why he wanted Ellison to be the one to bring up the prostitution; it was probably just because he had grown used to the pastor shooting straight with him. He said, “I take it you saw the protesters?”

“It’s not the first time this place has been targeted for that,” Ellison said with a voice that was both dismissing and proud.

Andrew Crenshaw’s eyes glanced to the old-fashioned circular coat rack, where he was used to seeing either Ellison’s red windbreaker or his blazer. Ellison had the windbreaker on, but there was no blazer in sight.

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