“What happens if you let it,” Rainey says, her voice soft and fragile, “is that God, working through your family, gives you the courage and will to believe that the Bible is His Word. It’s simply through His grace that you come to accept the Scriptures.”

I realize I have begun to resent the amount of time Rainey spends at Christian Life. In the last couple of months she has been up there at their huge complex for part of four or five days of every week. Christian Life is like a separate city within Blackwell County, but that’s the point. A way of life, she says. It’s difficult to avoid the conclusion that Christian Life is a cult, but Rainey flatly maintains there is nothing unusual about its doctrine or its leadership. Because of its size, she says, they break themselves down into “families” which nurture people like herself.

My daughter, who has never been shy before around Rainey until tonight, clears her throat and asks, “And you believe the Bible now word for word?”

Rainey smiles.

“About ninety percent of the time I do. To help new members, they use the familiar metaphor of a trip. Joining Christian Life is like taking an unexpected journey. When you first begin it, you don’t have the right clothes; you’re anxious about what you’re leaving; you’re nervous about your destination.

After you’ve been on it long enough, you learn how to be comfortable. That’s where I am right now-I’m learning how to be comfortable.”

I take my spoon and press it hard against the table, trying to contain my frustration. I’ve felt Rainey slipping away from me for months. Christian Life sounds like a day-care center for adults. All you have to do is check your brains at the door. Yet she has told me that a number of Blackwell County’s movers and shakers are members now, including a number of attorneys who are partners in the biggest firms in the state. “Tell me about Shane Norman,” I mutter.