The Heart Reader

  “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 sub-side. “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 listened, 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 ou
t 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 mulled 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.”

  He smiled. “Yes, really. I’m serious. I’ve been a Christian for a few years now. But last night something happened. I had a dream.”

  “A dream?” she repeated. “What happened in your dream?”

  He leaned forward on the table. She didn’t look away. “The Lord spoke to me. He started making me care about the condition of people’s souls. And today I’ve found out that there are frightened souls, empty souls, guilty souls, tired souls . . .”

  Her eyes filled up with tears, and she looked away. He had never seen her cry before. He didn’t know if he was going to cry now too, but something about those incipient tears grabbed his heart. He didn’t know what to say next. He wished his wife was here, so she could try this from a woman’s perspective. He wished he had his Bible or a tract that he could toss at her and run.

  He was shaking, fearful that he’d upset her more, but he made himself speak. “Janie, don’t you want that rest?”

  “If I understood how it could happen, I’d take it in a minute,” she said. “But just because the Bible said it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “Because the Bible said it is the best reason to believe it’s true.”

  “You believe that?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “So what do I have to do? Start going to church? Change how I dress? Do my hair different? Quit going out with men?”

  He shrugged. “Hey, do I look like I have a list of rules on me?”

  “Isn’t that what Christianity is about? Rules?”

  “No way. It is not a list of dos and don’ts. It’s about God choosing you because he loves you.”

  “Choosing me?” she asked. “Heaven forbid that God should choose me for anything.”

  He took a bite of his hamburger and chewed. It bought him a couple of minutes. Finally, he spoke again. “Janie, let me tell you how much God loves you.”

  “Yeah, you tell me,” she said, almost mocking.

  “Enough to send his only Son to die for you.”

  She smirked. “See, that’s what I don’t get. I’ve never asked anybody to die for me. And when you Christians say that stuff about God sending his only son to die for me, my first question is why? What’s the point in that?”

  “He died for your sins, and for mine. Because of those sins, we’re all destined for hell, but Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost, and all we have to do is believe in him, and we can change our direction.”

  “I know an awful lot of people who believe in Jesus,” she said. “They’re some of the people I drink with at night. Some of the men who try to come home with me. Some of the ones who gamble on the boats. They have ‘Honk if you love Jesus’ bumper stickers and those little fish symbols on their cars. But they’re not a whole lot different from me.”

  “You got that right.”

  She squinted at him, obviously surprised. “What?”

  “They should be different, but you’re right about their being a bunch of sinners. Christians are sinners saved by grace
.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean? See, I hear this saved-by-grace stuff on the radio every Sunday, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it means.”

  “It means that while we were sinners, Christ died for us, because God promised he would punish sin. We didn’t deserve to have Christ pay that penalty for us, and we still don’t deserve it. But it doesn’t make it any less true. And just because some Christians are hypocrites and just because some of us let God down, it doesn’t change any of it. The bottom line is that Christ is true. And he sent me here three times today to talk to you.”

  She shot him a disbelieving look. “He didn’t send you here to talk to me. He sent you for breakfast and lunch.”

  “Sorry, Janie, but the food’s not that good. He sent me because your soul is tired and because there’s rest waiting for you.”

  Her eyes were growing misty again. “Yeah? And how do I get it?”

  “By just believing.” He shifted in his seat. “Not just recognizing your need, but clinging to God to meet your need. Holding on to him for dear life. Embracing him.”

  “So you’re saying that if you believe with all your heart, it makes you different.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Not a bunch of rules. Just clinging.” He smiled and leaned across the table. “The thing is that when you believe, when you really believe, the Holy Spirit will start making changes in you, not because of a list of rules, but because he loves you and wants the very best for you.”

  “Humph,” she said. “I don’t know about that.” She scratched a spot off of the table with her fingernail. “You know, you ought to be careful. You start talking to somebody like me about God, and the next thing you know, I might actually show up at your church.”

  “Why would that be a bad thing?”

  She shrugged and combed her fingers through the black roots of her bleached hair. “I’m not exactly the kind of person who was raised in Sunday school.”

  “Neither am I,” he said. “Even as a believer, sometimes I’m not the type. But God’s working on me. He hasn’t given up on me yet, and he hasn’t given up on you, either.”

  She seemed to be considering his words. “So it’s not a crush or your stomach that brought you here three times today?”