Miracles Page 5

  The elevator doors opened, and John stepped on. Sam was beginning to get that sick feeling again. “Who are we visiting?”

  “Annabelle York.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “She’s old. She’s been homebound for a while, but until a few months ago she sat in the front row and said ‘Amen’ to everything I said.”

  “Oh, yeah. The little white-haired lady. She has been out for a while, hasn’t she?” He was ashamed that he hadn’t thought of her until now.

  “She’s got cancer of the liver. They’ve done everything they can do.”

  “Well, you’re not worried about her spiritual condition, are you? I mean, she’s obviously a Christian.”

  “Maybe, but you can’t ever tell. You know what the Bible says. Not everyone who calls ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven.”

  The doors opened, but Sam made no move to get off. “Why would she come to church every Sunday, sit in the front row, shout out ‘Amen,’ if she wasn’t really a Christian?”

  “I’m not saying that’s the case,” John said, catching the elevator door before it could shut. “If I were the judge, I’d say this woman’s got it lock, stock, and barrel. But the problem is, a lot of times they fool you. A lot of times they fool themselves. I just don’t like taking chances when someone’s about to leave the world. I want you to tell me what you hear.”

  They got off the elevator, and Sam began to feel the dread he’d always felt when he’d approached his mother’s room. He looked for an exit door as they walked. “John, how am I gonna do this? I can’t just tell you what I hear in front of her.”

  “Find some way to pose it. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it. I need to know.”

  Once again, Sam resented this gift that he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. He slowed as they approached the door to her room. John knocked, and when he didn’t hear an answer, pushed the door open, and stuck his head in. “Miss Annabelle, how are you doing, sweetheart?”

  Sam grudgingly followed him in. This was rude, he thought, shoving his way into somebody’s hospital room when they weren’t feeling well. But it was too late to stop the pastor. John was at the bed, leaning over it. The old woman smiled and reached up to take his hand. He squeezed it and asked her softly how she was doing. The woman could barely speak.

  “You remember Sam from church, don’t you, Miss Annabelle? He’s making the rounds with me today.”

  She smiled weakly and nodded her head, as if she knew him well, but Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever been close enough to look her in the eye. “How are you, ma’am?”

  “Fine,” she mouthed, as if too weak to project. Then he heard a strong voice that wasn’t coming from her lips. “It’s too late. Way too late. So many years wasted.”

  Sam took a step back and tried to signal John with his eyes that he’d heard something. Then he realized that if he leaned over and whispered to John, she probably didn’t even have the strength to notice.

  John’s eyes riveted into Sam’s, and he nodded for him to pass it on.

  “She thinks it’s too late,” Sam said quietly, and he saw her looking at him, straining to hear. “She thinks she’s wasted years.”

  John frowned as if he didn’t know what to make of that. “But does she know the Lord?” John whispered.

  As if in answer, the voice came again. “All the people I could have taken to heaven with me. But I was more concerned about doing that busy church work and keeping a clean house.”

  Yes, Sam thought. She knew Christ. At once, a boldness overtook him and he wanted to talk to her, to help her. He didn’t want to play games by whispering to John. He stepped around the bed and got closer to her. “Miss Annabelle,” he said. “The Lord has revealed something about you to me. Do you mind if I tell you what it is?”

  She shook her head.

  “The Lord told me that you’re concerned because you didn’t lead more people to Christ. That you feel you were more preoccupied with church work and housework than with soul winning.”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her mouth came open as she tried to speak. She looked from Sam to the preacher and squeezed his hand. “Think . . . how many people . . . I could have helped.”

  John bent down over her, still holding her gnarled hand. “Miss Annabelle, let me pray for you.”

  Sam bowed his head as John began to pray for the old woman who was suffering her last hours of life on earth and worrying about coming face to face with the One who knew her original potential.

  Later, when they were back out in the hall, John smiled softly. “Miss Annabelle will be in heaven soon.”

  “Yes, she will,” Sam said. “She’s definitely a Christian. But she seemed so sad about what she hadn’t done.”

  “I think a lot of us are going to feel that way when we get to the end,” John said. “I see that a lot.”

  They went on to the next room that John had on his list. “Who are we gonna see now?” Sam asked.

  “Sid Beautral. You know, Hattie Beautral’s husband?”

  Sam frowned. “I thought she was a widow.”

  “No, she just comes alone. He’s not big on church. He had gallbladder surgery.”

  “So he’s not dying?”

  “No, just recovering.”

  “Thank goodness,” Sam said. They paused at the door and John knocked. A woman called, “Come in.”

  John pushed the door open. “Hello, Miss Hattie. How are you, Sid?”

  John hugged the woman easily, then shook the hand of the man in bed. It seemed second nature to John to embrace the weak, while Sam found creative ways to avoid them.

  “What brings you here, Preacher?” the man asked gruffly. “You know I ain’t dying.”

  “Of course you’re not,” John said. “I don’t just visit dying people. I visit anybody in my flock who’s in the hospital.”

  “You count me in your flock?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes, believe it or not, I do. Now, how are you doing?”

  Sid shrugged. “Guess I’m okay.”

  Then Sam heard his voice again, but Sid’s lips didn’t move. “I’m powerless. Can’t defend myself. All my life is in somebody else’s control.”

  Sam nudged John. John nodded, encouraging him to speak. Sam cleared his throat and tapped his hand nervously on the bedrail. “Uh . . . Mr. Beautral, you’re probably feeling pretty powerless lying here, like you’re not in control . . . like you can’t defend yourself.”

  “Defend myself from what?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Sam was at a loss. “From anything. I don’t know. What threatens you?”

  The man looked as if he thought Sam was crazy. “Nothing threatens me. I mean, nothing I can think of.”

  Fortunately, John took it from there, and Sam let out a heavy breath and stepped back. “Sid, you know you don’t have to feel powerless,” John said. “There is someone in control, and it’s someone who loves you and knows the number of hairs on your head.”

  Miss Hattie smiled, and the man looked up at him, his face changing as his eyes locked into John’s. Sam prayed that John would lead this man to Christ before they left here today.

  When they got back into the car to leave the hospital, John’s eyes were dancing. “I think this has got to be one of the best days of my Christian life.”

  Sam wished he felt so exuberant, but every muscle in his body was as rigid as stone. He knew the tension would take hours to subside. “I think it’s probably one of the worst days of my Christian life,” he admitted.

  “Why?” John asked. “Don’t you feel good knowing that you’ll never get to the point where Miss Annabelle is, getting to the end of your life and feeling regret because you never led anyone to Christ? Look at how many people we’ve influenced just this morning.”

  “You’ve influenced,” Sam said. “I haven’t really done anything except repeat back what I’ve heard.”

  “You’ve done more than you know. You’ve listene
d, Sam. Not everybody listens.”

  “Not everybody has to hear what I hear,” Sam muttered. “What am I gonna do with this now? How am I gonna get used to this?”

  “Maybe you won’t ever. Maybe you’ll be known as the guy who can nail people’s souls. There are worse things people could say about you.”

  “I don’t want that reputation. Or that gift, or whatever you call it. I’m not ready for this.”

  “Of course you are. If I were to leave you right now at the bus station and you went in there and all those people were standing around, you’d know just what to do.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he said. “It would freak me out. This morning in the grocery store when I was hearing all those voices at the same time all around me, I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “Well, if it was possible for you to transfer the gift to me, I’d take it before you could say Ephphatha.”

  Sam was exhausted by the time John agreed to return to the church. As John went in, Sam got into his car and sat there a moment, thinking. He knew he couldn’t handle going to the office, so he called Sally on his cell phone and told her he would be out the rest of the day.

  “I bought the lottery ticket, Sam,” she said. “Maybe you ought to start looking for another secretary.”

  He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the steering wheel. “How about I wait until you’ve gotten the check?”

  “All right,” she said. “But I can’t promise two weeks’ notice.”

  He clicked off the cell phone and thought of the need he’d heard in her that morning. “Eleven, six, fifty-seven . . . It has to win. It has to!”

  What if it did? He had heard it out loud, without her uttering the words. It didn’t fit the category of “spiritual need” like all the other things he’d heard today. Maybe she was onto something.

  He withdrew a pad of paper from his glove compartment and jotted down the numbers—11, 6, 57. He wondered if it was too late to buy a ticket.

  He started the car and headed to the closest convenience store that sold lottery tickets, pulled into the parking lot, and idled there for a moment. Then he remembered the rest of what her soul had said.

  “If I win, he’ll see what I’m worth.”

  Was that why he’d heard the numbers? Because they were part of her spiritual need?

  Could winning the lottery really be someone’s spiritual need? Or was it just God’s way of giving him an insider’s tip?

  Eleven, six, fifty-seven.

  What was the jackpot this week? How would Sally feel about having to split it with him? Would she feel betrayed, or amazed? And what would his wife think? Would she accept the money when she was so opposed to the lottery, or would she understand that this new gift gave him vital information that he might as well use? Besides, being wealthy could give him more time to help others.

  Suddenly, his runaway thoughts screeched to a halt. What he’d heard had been vital information, all right, but he knew deep down that it was not so he could win the lottery. It was so he could win souls to Christ.

  He must be crazy. Either that, or Satan was trying to get in on the act. He closed his eyes and asked God for forgiveness.

  Maybe hunger and fatigue, when added to his stress, had been the lethal combination that had driven him to such foolishness. He didn’t need a lottery ticket anymore than Sally did. He needed food. Two visits to the diner, and he still hadn’t eaten. He and John had been too busy going from one place to another, like Paul and Silas, full of the good news and not enough time to tell everyone about it.

  We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard. It was a quote he had seen when his Sunday school class studied Acts, and it had jumped out at him then. He’d been convicted that there was something wrong with Christians who could stop speaking about what they had seen and heard.

  But he was one of them. He’d felt bad about that for half a day, and then he’d gotten over it.

  Was this how the Lord was disciplining him? God had struck Paul blind to bring him around. Maybe Sam didn’t have so much to complain about.

  He started the car and decided to head back to the diner for the third time that day. Janie, the waitress, was still behind the counter, accommodating all her customers with the economy of motion of a seasoned waitress. Sam quietly took a table in the corner, away from anyone he could hear, and watched Janie as she waited on the last of the customers. He remembered what she’d said this morning about needing rest—or what her soul had said—and realized that something wasn’t right in her life. She had a need.

  When she’d finally finished with all those customers, she came back to his table. “Sam, I’m starting to think you have a crush on me. Coming in here three times in one day? Aren’t you married?”

  Sam chuckled. “Yep, I am. It’s been a weird day, Janie.”

  “Aren’t you working today?”

  “I guess I’m taking the day off. I’m not feeling my best.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re not contagious, are you? I can’t afford to get sick.”

  He grinned. “If only I were.”

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  She pulled out her menu pad. “Well, what’ll it be this time?”

  “A hamburger,” he said. “With everything. And how about taking a break and keeping me company while I eat it?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What would your wife say?”

  “She would agree that you look like you need a rest. For a few minutes, at least.”

  Her smile faded, and she looked down at him. He wondered if she realized that was what she needed. “Man, I sure could use a rest. Okay, Sam, I’ll be right back.”

  She came back in moments with his meal and a glass of her own iced tea and sat down across from him, gratefully sighing a breath of relief. “It has been some day in here.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  She laughed and looked into her iced tea.

  “No, I’m serious. I really want you to tell me about it.”

  She looked up at him, and in that moment he heard the voice again. “I can’t go on like this. Everything’s going to fall apart.”

  “It’s just been busy,” she said aloud. “My feet are killing me.”

  His brow knit together in concern. “You don’t feel like you can go on, do you?” he asked. “Like everything’s just going to fall apart.”

  She frowned and leaned back in her seat. “How did you know that?”

  “Have you ever heard the Bible verse . . . I don’t even know for sure where it’s found. But it’s when Jesus said, ‘Come to me all ye who are weary . . . something-or-other . . . and I will give you rest.’”

  As he watched her slow reaction, he mentally kicked himself for being so inept with Scripture. Had he really said “something-or-other”? He might as well give it up right now, he thought. He didn’t have a chance of leading her to Christ.

  “Say that again?” she asked.

  He wanted to groan. He couldn’t make himself ad-lib again, so he decided to paraphrase. “Jesus said to come to him, and he will give you rest.”

  “I’ve heard about that kind of rest,” Janie said. “Six feet under.”

  “No,” Sam chuckled. “He means rest now, here. And help with your burdens.”

  She laughed, but her heart didn’t seem to be in it. “No offense, Sam, but I’m handling my burdens just fine.”

  “Then why are you so soul weary?”

  “Soul weary?” Janie asked. “Who says I’m soul weary?”

  “I just have this feeling. Jesus said that he came to give us abundant life—he meant you too, Janie.”

  “What does that mean? Abundant life?”

  “Life so full that it just runs over.”

  “My life is running over, all right. I have spills all over the place.”

  “But it could be running over with living water.” The words surprised even him.

  Now she was quiet as she mul
led that over. The toughness in her face seemed to melt away, and she seemed to have trouble speaking. “Living water, huh? Abundant life? Rest?” He wasn’t sure, but he thought she was blinking back tears. “Tell you the truth, those sound pretty good.”

  His heart jolted. Had the Scripture, even poorly quoted, really gotten to her? Was it possible that she was receptive to Jesus despite his sorry attempt to help her? Maybe he really could do this!

  “See . . . I sometimes lie awake at night,” she was saying, “and have to get up so early, and I’m so tired—”

  “Why do you lie awake nights?” he cut in.

  Her eyes grew distant. “I just lie there, thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything falling apart.” Her eyes widened as she realized he had said that a moment earlier. “I just keep thinking that nothing’s ever going to get better, that things will just keep breaking down until they get worse and worse and worse.”

  “What things?” he asked.

  She covered her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you like this.” She drew in a deep breath. “My life,” she said. She looked down at the wood grain on the table, then brought her moist eyes back to his. “I’m supposed to be cheering you up. That’s what you tip me for.”

  “You do cheer me up,” he said. “But if it’s all an act, then what’s in it for you?”

  Her grin faded to aggravation. “No offense, Sam, but what do you care? You come in here every single day, and you’ve never said more than, ‘Hi, how are you?’ and I ask if you want the usual, and you say, ‘Yes,’ and then you eat, and pay me, and go.”

  “Well, maybe that was the old me.”

  She laughed again. “The old you? You mean there’s a ‘new, improved you’?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a new me. I don’t know if it’s improved or not. Time will tell.” If she only knew, he thought.

  “And what do you blame this newness on?” she asked sarcastically.

  He knew she was teasing him, but it didn’t matter. “Jesus Christ,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes and nodded as if she’d heard it all before. “No, really.”