An Act Of God?

By S.C. Gwynne/Little Rock

Darrell Scott is tired. Since his daughter Rachel was murdered at Columbine High eight months ago, Darrell, 50, has left his job as a sales manager for a food company, and now lives on the road, speaking at churches, stadiums and high school gyms from Dallas to Bismarck. He takes Dramamine for motion sickness and eats in Cracker Barrel restaurants. It might seem like a dreary existence, reliving your daughter's death over and over. But while others in Littleton still seethe with anger, Darrell and his family have found deliverance from despair. To them Rachel's death was a Christian martyrdom--an act of God meant to spark a spiritual revolution in young people.

This conviction has brought Darrell's family, including his ex-wife, together in a ministry they call the Columbine Redemption. The message is powerful: in London, Ky., a town of 7,000, fully 5,500 people showed up to hear Darrell speak. That was a jaw dropper, but he regularly draws crowds of more than 3,000. "God is using this tragedy to wake up not only America but also the world," Darrell told a Christian group in Little Rock in November. "God is using Rachel as a vehicle. If I believed for one second that God had forsaken my daughter or that he had gone to sleep or that he wasn't aware, I would be one of the angriest men in America."

Instead, Darrell believes Rachel's death was meant to be. He believes this because of the eerily prophetic journals Rachel kept, as well as a number of "visions" experienced by others that prove, say the Scotts, that the killings at Columbine were "a spiritual event."

The voluminous journals, which her parents discovered only after her death, and which contain poetry, letters to God and drawings, convey Rachel's belief that she was not going to live to see adulthood, and that God was going to use her for some purpose. On May 2, 1998, she wrote, "This will be my last year, Lord. I have gotten what I can. Thank you." On another occasion she wrote, "God is going to use me to reach the young people, I don't know how, I don't know when." Her last diary entry, written 20 minutes before she died, was a drawing of a pair of eyes crying; from the eyes fell 13 drops onto a rose--images Darrell says had been described to him in an earlier phone call from a man he did not know.

Among the many stories about Rachel was one that first appeared in a local Christian newspaper, saying she had been asked if she believed in God and had answered yes before Eric Harris shot her. The account was credited to Richard Castaldo, the now paralyzed boy who was having lunch with Rachel when she died. The Scott family believes this account. But in an interview with TIME last week, Castaldo denied telling the story. Darrell, who agrees that Castaldo would be the only plausible source of such a story, says, "I'm surprised. If he said that, then either it didn't happen or he changed his story."

Darrell, former pastor of a 300-member church in Lakewood, Colo., first came to prominence with an appearance before the House Judiciary Committee in May after the Columbine killings. He declared the answer to school violence "lies not in gun laws" but in a "simple trust in God." His message resonated strongly with Christian groups. Soon he was deluged with speaking engagements. And he invited his daughters Bethanee, 24, and Dana, 22, as well as his ex-wife (Rachel's mother) Beth Nimmo, to become full-time members of the Columbine Redemption. Beth and Dana speak to groups; Bethanee answers mail and runs the Littleton office. Darrell's fiance Sandy will be joining him on the road after their Jan. 30 wedding.

In spite of their shatterproof belief that Rachel did not die in vain, the last eight months have been difficult for the Scott family. Craig Scott, Rachel's 16-year-old brother, who was kneeling next to Isaiah Shoels and Matt Kechter when they were shot to death in the library, has had the hardest time. Though he has on occasion spoken to groups with Darrell, he refuses to return to Columbine High and is being schooled by a county home-tutoring program. "Some days he can't get out of bed," says his mother Beth.

It was Craig who first identified Cassie Bernall as the girl in the library who said she believed in God just before she was shot. When police later took Craig back to the library, he pointed forward, to the place where he had heard the question asked. His face turned ashen when he realized that Cassie had been sitting at a table behind him. One policeman said he thought Craig was going to vomit. The girl who actually said the words Craig heard, according to witnesses interviewed by police, was Valeen Schnurr.

Members of the Scott family say every atom of their lives has been rearranged since Columbine. "Things I did before, like shopping or going to movies or eating out, seem frivolous now," says Bethanee. Beth says, "Things don't mean much anymore. They bring no joy or comfort. It's only people now. And even my friends have changed." Darrell spends hours at Rachel's grave when he is not on the road, indulging in the tears he can't afford to shed on the podium. "The biggest thing I do for him is just listen to him cry and talk about her," says friend Wayne Worthy of Springfield, Mo., who helps with the new ministry.

Darrell is also pushing ahead with his vision of a large youth ministry based on his daughter's life and journals. He has become a prominent advocate of reinstating prayer in schools. He has stepped up his fund raising--he earns about $1,500 for the ministry each time he speaks--and in December brought out the first issue of a magazine called Rachel's Journal. He wants to build a combined Columbine memorial and Christian youth center that would focus on teaching and training young people from around the country. And he wants to build a 200-ft.-high cross somewhere in the area.

The big question is whether the Columbine tragedy has spiritual legs. "We all realize that at some point the Columbine story is not going to be as strong as it was," says Pastor Billy Epperhart of Littleton, a close friend of the Scotts'. "There has to be something that is bigger than Columbine. The question is, What does it look like for Darrell's life?" Right now it just looks busy: he has speaking engagements booked through the end of the year 2000.

--With reporting by Timothy Roche/Littleton

With reporting by Timothy Roche/Littleton