Page 29 - Billy Graham in Heaven

22 Billy Graham's Glorious Jam
“The war was going to happen no matter what we did,” Jake told Cathy breathlessly, still winded from the climb.
“You don’t seem bothered by the killing,” said Cathy. “I feel like I’m being sucked into a giant violent vacuum and I’m tired of being alienated from my friends.” The usual smooth depth of her voice acquired a desperate edge. Her tan skin muted the angry red rising in her face so that she softly glowed rather than glowered.
Cathy felt like many people in the country who had opposed the war. She thought she was one of the few experiencing the disaster to its full extent.
Down in the valley thousands of tiny cars slowly inched people along their busy ways. Pisgah’s summit was quiet except for occasional whooshes of wind. It was a moderately cold crisp January day. The hot war raged far, far away.
“We should get some distance on this thing,” said Jake tenderly. They sat on the brittle grass. Jake touched Cathy’s hand.
Cathy focused her brown eyes on Jake. Her short, jet-black hair fell off its ear perch and sheened a bright mahogany scarlet. Jake was surprised and tried to hide a thrill that shot up and down his body. For six months he’d thought her hair was just black. That small detail, added to hundreds of other attractive qualities, pushed him over the romance precipice. Sold. Heart attack. Love.
“Maybe that will help,” Cathy said sadly. She gave Jake’s hand a squeeze, then pulled hers away. Jake winced, then pointed to a hawk circling serenely, hundreds of feet below them.
“Hate to love, war to peace, hawk to dove,” Jake said