So far, John, Kailey, and others felt impressed to begin a Bible Club at their high school. Dr. Westman, the principal of the 1500 student school, was fully supportive. The Bible Club members felt urged to convert to prayer meetings, even more than once weekly. The troubled kids continued to spiral out of control. For James, life had just blown up.

            “John, a word?” Dr. Westman was waiting outside Room 412. They stepped into the Bible Club room.

            “John, what’s up? How’s it going?” He waited, giving John the time to determine what Dr. Westman was really asking.

            John wasn’t sure how to relate that God had spoken to him. Remembering that Dr. Westman was an associate pastor, he decided to simply put it out there. “Um, several of us felt that God wanted us to change things up.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            Had John been a seasoned pastor, or possessed the confidence of an experienced man of God, he would have spoken the words that immediately came to mind – “God told me to change the club.” Instead, slightly intimidated by Dr. Westman and realizing the ramifications of changing the club with respect to their charter, he appealed to the authority of the mass. “Several of us felt the same thing at the same time. We, uh, well…” Finally, he saw no better option. “Many of us feel that God spoke to us over the Christmas break, telling us to make it a prayer meeting for the school… intercessory prayer for the kids.” There. He’d said it. Sighing deeply, he waited for the principal to declare the end of the club or, at least demand his removal as the leader.

            “John,” Dr. Westman began solemnly. “The men and women groups at my church… churches around the community, your church, pray for the safety of our students regularly. I honor your attention to God’s voice and I don’t doubt your sincerity, but…”

            “Dr. Westman, we feel like we have to do this. When it’s time for Club, nothing will even come out of my mouth but… something, something from deep in my gut pleading, begging… no, demanding God’s intervention here, now.” John was near tears, his voice cracking. “I don’t really know why, but the direction seems very clear.”

            Dr. Westman felt the same, sensed the same. While John figured he was composing his decision, Dr. Westman was actually composing his soul. He sighed before continuing, “Now I know why I was so burdened to pray for you and the other club leaders during the break. I hear you, John, and I agree with you. I feel like there are things that only you students may be able to accomplish. No policing, no policies, no regulation can produce the results that you students may be able to pull off.

            “But we can’t just… we have to be mindful of certain reactions. You have a charter and people are watching. Believe me on that. I can’t allow the Bible Club to become a church service.”

            John began to speak but held his peace at Dr. Westman’s raised hand.

            “I want you to follow God. We all need you to. So, here’s how we’ll do it. You can have the room every day of the week, if you want. But do your homework and have an appropriate scripture to lead each session. It doesn’t have to be an exhaustive study, or even a devotion, but we’re still a Bible Club, under the same charter. Okay?”

            John was ecstatic. Choked for words. Lips quivering, he managed a heartfelt “Thank you.” He stood firm, waiting for Dr. Westman to leave first so that he could have a personal moment with God.

+++

            T.J. bought his ammo from an online site using his father’s debit card. He’d done his homework. And when his dad asked him to gas up his truck, since he was going to the store for Mom anyway, he put it into high gear. A quick trip to his room with the debit card, the website saved to a favorites, zip-zap-zip and the full metal jacketed bullets were on their way by UPS. Knowing that UPS didn’t deliver on weekends and that delivery required a signature, he’d get the attempted delivery card and hotfoot it to the pick-up point on his bike the day after the notice.

            Full metal jackets were not as devastating as hollow points, but he figured with his first magazines, he wanted the bullets to pass through the front victims, getting multiple hits each. The subsequent reloads would be Dad’s hollow point rounds, made to wreak physical havoc and mayhem. And any would-be heroes would be stopped dead in their tracks – literally.

            There was a landfill eight miles out of town where no one worked on Sundays, he was certain. Already trained with his right hand, it would be quick work to blast through thirty practice shots with a gun in his left.

            Reloading practice, he could do in his room.

+++

            Jimmy’s gun was a Brazilian-made 380. An exact replica of a James Bond 007 pistol, the bullet was nearly the same size as a 9mm. Hollow points all the way for Jimmy. His holes would bleed bad. From the Weaver stance that he saw on YouTube, he could take out ten at a time, forty with the extra magazines in his shirt pocket. The guy he bought the gun from said that Jimmy could test fire the weapon under the train overpass if he was quick about it, no more than two or three minutes. Jimmy proved him correct, twice. In less than two minutes he could empty four magazines.

+++

            Anthony Prescott’s dream MP5 9 was going to be a $700 Romanian Draco AK47 pistol with a thirty-round magazine. But the kid that promised it couldn’t deliver, offering a variety of handguns, but nothing of the nature of a machine pistol. Anthony settled on making a pipe bomb. Stuffed with 16 penny nails, it would have the devastating effect of a very large hand grenade. Better than a gun that required aiming, actually pointing it at kids.

+++

            James Pentecost’s Uncle Earl hadn’t seen his AR15 in many weeks – no reason to check on it. He never even thought about it. In the summertime he took his grandkids, nephews and nieces out for target practice. The day after Amy’s talk with James that next May, Earl should have checked his weapons and ammo, though he would have had no idea to do so.

            James would need no practice.

            Earl thought it cool to own a sixty round drum magazine.

            James agreed. But Earthquake Day for James was still months off.

+++

            Philip Andrews’ father’s Glock 19, the most popular hand gun in America, had been in the back of Philip’s mind since mid-terms. It remained there as an image of his father’s Remington 12-gauge pump took dominance. An angle grinder rid him of the barrel that was too long for concealment. A hand saw took enough off the stock for the weapon to fit in his backpack.

            First the shotgun, then the Glock, then the second magazine. That ought to keep Emily from the podium, and then some. He’d just make sure he planned the shooting when his friend Saul was at P.E., or somewhere safe. Maybe suggest he stay home once he’d picked a date.

+++

            The first prayer session of the reformatted club was tough. John, Kailey, and B talked afterward about how hard it was to stay focused, being distracted by every slightest noise, or someone’s wiggle.

            At the second prayer meeting, a few began to quietly sing worship choruses.

            “Uh, guys?” John interrupted. “How about we pray out loud. You know, like the Bible says they did in the Upper Room. It doesn’t matter how well we say anything, or how many times we repeat stuff. It would even be okay if we echo each other. God knows our hearts. And maybe we can stay on track better if we’re out loud. You don’t have to, of course, and whispers are okay too. Let’s try it, ‘kay?”

            Some in the group nodded, others shuffled uncomfortably but waited silently.

            John began. “Jesus, you know why we’re here – you called us here. You know our hearts and that we are willing to do what you want us to, but we need your presence and direction. Show us how to help our school, our friends, our classmates. We feel the burden you’ve given us. Help us to see our way… your way.

“We pray now for all the seniors, especially for those experiencing troubles, those who are lost, those who are depressed, the ones that are suicidal, or just can’t see their way. Lord, we’re asking You to touch their hearts. Lord, put someone in their path that can help them find You.

“Jesus, we pray also for the seniors’ teachers. Guide them, Lord, help them to minister to the kids. Help them to counsel, or refer troubled kids to where they can get help. Help us to be their friends in their time of need.”

John went on to pray the same prayer for each of the grade levels.

            Kailey was next. “Father God, help us to do your work at our school. Show us who needs you the most and give us the words we need.” Her prayer focused on various groups: band members, theater students, athletes. But mostly those not connected anywhere. Some of the kids prayed aloud simultaneously.

            Three more very brief prayers were offered up, followed by a silence of meditation. Maybe they were on the right track.

                    After most of the kids left, John, Kailey and B hung out. B suggested, “How about writing some topics on the board?”

            “I know,” Kailey offered, “Kinda like we do at church. We’ll make up sets of papers with four or five topics on each, some slightly different, but covering things like, uh, I don’t know…”

            The three bantered about until they had more than twenty prayer suggestions, all related to students’ safety as well as prayers for troubled kids in general, not mentioning any names. B offered to type the list in random sets for card-sized handouts.

+++

“John,” Kailey said after club members had all left. “What’s your thinking about us losing half our members?”

            It was mid-March and after several prayer meetings. The attendees began to dwindle. At first some left early, praying only fifteen or twenty minutes. Then they began to skip the meetings all together.

            “I’m kinda okay with it. As long as there’s some of us here. I’m sure the others are praying, just not comfortable about it here, in a group.”

            “Yeah, I guess. Maybe if we put it out that kids are welcome to spend five or ten minutes with us… still make it to their buses?” Kailey thought out loud.

            “Great idea. Would you text and message all of them? And be sure to add that somebody will be here Monday through Thursday.”

+++

            By the end of April the club numbered twelve members, though many popped in for few minutes. Every one of the twelve considered their efforts a rousing success. The next moment, the same ones felt burdened as never before, that God had not answered their prayers. It wasn’t that He had not heard, they felt, but that whatever they sought was not yet delivered. They persevered all the greater.

            They found themselves reducing their pleas to two: protection for the students and help for those disturbed.