For Such a Time as This

Once a week, for the past ten weeks, Hattie had come to the local café for bible study with a few of her friends from church. It was led by Marissa, one of the longstanding members of the church. Once a week, for the past ten weeks, Hattie had left the café feeling uplifted, inspired, and closer to her Creator. And this week, the eleventh week, she expected no different.

Uplifting music wafted through the speakers, mixing with the sounds of dishes clanking and milk frothing behind the counter. The familiar noise was music to Hattie's ears as she entered the coffee shop.

"Hattie!" Carmen squealed, beckoning Hattie over from the door, "Coffee's on me today, I got you your usual."

Hattie smiled, Carmen was the personification of generosity, although that wasn't always the case. "How are you doing?" She asked, sliding into the booth that they always sat at.

"Better than I deserve." Harper quoted, appearing behind them. It's what Carmen always said when asked that question.

"It's the truth. God is so good, as long as I'm breathing, it's more than I deserve." She shrugged. Harper slid into the booth next to Hattie, smiling.

"Is Marissa late for the first time ever?" Hattie asked, looking around. "I thought I saw her car outside."

In response, Marissa came out of the bathroom and joined the three college girls at their booth. "Good morning, girls!" She said, eyes bright, as she took her seat next to Carmen.

The four girls took each others' hands and Marissa opened them in prayer before they opened their bibles and began reading and discussing the book of Esther.

Is it wrong to be so engrossed in divine wisdom that you lose track of what's happening around you?

Surely not, although it can be dangerous.

What is wrong is to come into a quiet, privately owned café at 11:38 AM, lock the doors, aim a gun at the ceiling, and set it off. Which is exactly what happened next. The shot rang out in the near silence of the café, piercing through the air like only a bullet can, sending a singing bell into the ears of all who were near it. A young child across the shop screamed, and was instantly grabbed by his mother, who hid under a table with her back to the aisle, blocking anyone from getting her child. A barista dropped a porcelain cup out of shock, and it shattered on the floor, spilling hot liquid everywhere. Hattie cupped her hands over her mouth, so as to not scream.

"Everybody hold up your phones!" The man shouted, swinging his gun around. "Hold them up high!" It took no time at all for everyone to comply. "Good. Now, you!" He pointed his gun at the man who was standing at the counter. "Go and get them, bring all the phones to me." The barista couldn't have been more than 17, and his hands shook as he went around to each table and collected the phones.

That seventeen-year-old boy wasn't religious, but at that moment, he was praying. Praying that somebody, anybody had called the police.

"It'll be okay, girls." Marissa whispered. Hattie could tell that she was trying to be strong, but she could also see the fear in her eyes when she glanced at the man with the gun.

"You four!" The man pointed his gun in the direction of Hattie and her friends, and it was at that point that Harper began to cry. "In front of the door. Stand."

None of them knew what he meant, but he motioned for them to get up, and since he had a gun, they did what he asked. Then he did it again to the next table, making them stand in front of the windows. Soon, the whole store was stood in front of the glass entrance to the small café, including the little boy and his mother.

While he was lining them up, the sound of sirens began, getting louder and louder, closer and closer, until they were too loud for Hattie to bear, and she covered her ears.

"Henry Walker," An amplified and slightly muffled voice said from outside, "This is the New York City police department. We have the building surrounded, come out with your hands up."

Of course, Henry did no such thing, but waved his gun in the air, almost as if he was saying “don't try me”. Next to Hattie, Carmen was holding her necklace so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, while her other hand was entwined with Harper's. Marissa's lips were moving, but there was no sound coming out. She was praying. Not a bad idea, Hattie thought. So she joined in. She closed her eyes and began to pray. As she did, words from the passages that the four girls had been going through came to mind. It was a popular verse, seen on stickers and coffee mugs. “For such a time as this.” Of course, the full verse was a bit more convicting, but that's the part that rang through Hattie's young mind as the minutes turned into hours. 

There was a clock on the wall behind the shop counter, and it served as a reminder of just how long these people had been standing here. 2:30. Three hours, and the police had done nothing. 

“Why aren't they just coming in?” Someone asked to Hattie's left.

“We're blocking the door. They no doubt have a sniper on the roof, waiting to take the shot, but they can't because they might hit one of us.” She responded, her voice low.

It had been too long standing here, she didn't want to do this, but she had put it off long enough. She took a deep breath. In and out. It always brought her peace, ever since she read that the name YAHWEH was originally written without any vowels, and that in every breath you could hear it being said.

Once she took a deep breath, she stepped forward, just a little bit. 

“What are you doing?” The man with the gun asked, aiming his weapon at her chest. “Get back in line!”

“You don't look so good,” Hattie said, her voice shaking ever so slightly, “Can I get you a cup of water?” 

Henry stared at her as he considered this. Evaluating, calculating, risk assessing. Hattie was doing the same, taking in the blood soaking into the side of his shirt, the sweat dripping down his face, and the wideness of his eyes. 

“What's your name?” Henry narrowed his eyes at her.

“Hadassah, people call me Hattie.” No one called the girl by her real name these days, but she told him anyways. “I just thought that you might feel better if you had a cup of water. Sorry.”

“Hadassah, yes, I think a cup of water would help me feel better. Thank you. Can you get one for me?” Hattie nodded, the weight of her decision settling in. No longer was she glanced over as just another piece of a horde, but now she had been called out, she was in this. It took all of her strength to take the next few steps. All of them brought her closer to a dangerous man who seemingly did not care about her safety, but there was still a little inkling in the back of her mind. A blossom of hope that slowly bloomed as she poured some water from the tap into a plastic cup and brought it to him, that maybe, just maybe, this would all go to plan. Hope that they would all make it out of this alive.

Henry, still suspicious, took the cup from Hattie but said nothing. She looked back toward the front window, at all the other customers, who were looking at her like a madman. Everyone watched with a sort of anticipation as he drank the entire cup greedily. 

“I need more, please, Hadassah.” He handed the cup back to Hattie and she filled it again and then gave it back. Once he had drunk his fill, he sent Hattie back to the front of the shop. 

45 minutes passed. This time, Hattie's voice shook even more when she stepped forward and said, “Excuse me?”

“What is it, Hadassah?” Henry asked, but he didn't point the gun at her. 

“I'm really very sorry to interrupt you like this, but I couldn't help but notice that you're bleeding. I'm training to be an EMT, I could patch you up, if you'd like?”

Now if it had been almost any other person in the cafè who asked this, they would have been turned down, but Hattie had somehow managed to find favor in the eyes of this man, and therefore he nodded, beckoning her forward for the second time. 

“The first aid kit is behind the counter.” Hattie said, pointing. He allowed her to go and get it, and when she had, the two of them sat down at one of the tables and got to work. 

While Hattie cut his shirt open so she could clean the wound and examine it, Henry kept his gun trained on the front of the store, so that no one would try to escape while he was inconvenienced.

“You've been kind to me, Hadassah. Why?” Henry asked.

Hattie pushed her glasses up with the back of her wrist, “I don't think that you're a very bad person. I think that, sometimes, people get mixed up in bad things. Things that grab a hold of them and try to drag them down into the depths of darkness. Sometimes, when something's got a hold of someone, they can't get out on their own. Sometimes we need to lend a hand to those who are wrestling with evil.”

“And what if I really am a bad person?” Henry responded.

“Well, then, that would make all of us. But there's a difference between a bad person and a bad person who's trying to be better.” Hattie threaded some string on a surgical needle. “And if you'll allow me, I'd like to help you with that. I want to be the hand that gives you what you need to win this fight with darkness.” It was truly a miracle that she had said all that without tripping on her words or messing up with her stitches. She tied the string off and cut it, then lowered Henry's shirt back down. The injury wasn't what she had been expecting, honestly, she thought he might've been shot, but it was still a deep scrape that needed patched up.

“And how would you do that?” Henry asked, taking her wrist. When he looked at her, Hattie noticed that his eyes were different than they had been. They were searching instead of wandering, passionate instead of crazed. “Help me, I mean.”

“Well, it could start by the two of us sitting down and having a very serious conversation about what it means to be good or evil, and how we can change at all. And then, depending on what you decide, it would probably end with you getting in one of those cop cars and atoning for what you've done up to this point.” Henry nodded, and Hattie sat with him, silently asking for wisdom on what she should say. With a steadying breath, she decided to start by explaining the gospel to him. Starting at the beginning, like she had been taught to do, she explained how God made the world, made us perfect, but then how we fell into sin. She explained separation from God, and what that meant for us in our fallen state, and then she told Henry, who was listening intently, as though this was the only thing he ever had to think about. 

“Henry, why are we here today? What made you decide to do this?” Hattie asked when she had gone through her spiel.

“I got in with some rough people, we did something bad.” He said, head in his hands. “Police pulled up and I didn't want to get caught, so I ran. Figured I could do what they do in the movies and negotiate my escape. Wasn't til I got in here that I remembered,” Henry looked up at Hattie, eyes shining with tears, “bad guy never gets out of the situation in the movies.”

“Okay.” Hattie nodded, “So what's next?”

“Everyone goes home,” Henry whispered, taking in a shaky breath, “and I go to prison.” 

Hattie stood and turned to the rest of the people in the Cafe, and Henry put the gun on the table, away from him.

“Go home.” Hattie told everyone along the window, smiling. Then she sat back down and faced the criminal before her. Asked him how he was feeling. Listened intentionally only to him while a SWAT team came in and surrounded them both. Henry had long since broken down into tears and was shaking with sobs so hard that he couldn't even hold his hands up in surrender. He didn't protest when they put the cuffs on him and read him his rights, or when he got it in the back of a police car. 

When it was all over, Hattie put her head down in her arms on the table. She did not anticipate how exhausting it would be to evangelize at gunpoint. Her friends came back in and laid a blanket over her, matching the ones wrapped around them. Shock blankets, they were called. 

“Hattie, that was so stupid and brave,” Carmen said, sitting next to her. “Are you okay?” 

“I'm fine. Just doing what had to be done.” Hattie responded, looking up from the table to her friends.

“We should go get ice cream.” Harper said, then quickly amended, “Through the drive through.” 

Hattie snorted, laughing. “I have ice cream in my dorm room. Come on.” 

The four girls left the café and drove to the college, each separately praying a little prayer of gratitude on the drive over and then finished their Bible study in the comfort of Hattie's living room, with bowls of chocolate ice cream next to them.

When Henry's trial came two weeks later, Hattie attended. She watched him plead guilty and apologize to the people he had hurt. She didn't visit him in prison but wrote him letters of encouragement every once in a while. When he wrote back that he had become a Christian, she shared it with everyone in her church, overjoyed. 

After a year or so, the four girls decided to try the coffee shop again. 

And so now, every week for the past ten weeks, Hattie, along with a new friend named Maya, has gone to the little, family owned, cafè for a Bible study with a few of her friends from church. She'd walk in and hear the quiet uplifting music and the gentle bustle of the few people inside and smell the fresh ground coffee beans and vanilla. Then Maya and Hattie would see Carmen, who had dyed her blonde hair bright orange since last week, and Harper with her new engagement ring and Marissa, who was now pregnant, and they'd sit and talk and read and pray. Just as they expected to do for the next ten weeks.