“Nope. I came because God loves you.”
“See, those two things—God and love—don’t go together. My picture of God is of a ruler with a big stick, striking down everybody who makes him mad. And I seem to have a knack for that.”
“Your picture is wrong. Jesus told a story about a son who took his inheritance and squandered it away on parties and sinful living until he lost everything and had to take a job feeding pigs.”
Janie looked around her. “Yep, I can relate to that.”
“He realized how much better off he was with his father, so he went back home to ask his father to hire him. He figured his father would never welcome him back into the family, but he hoped he would at least give him a job. But his father saw him coming from a long way off, and he ran out to kiss him. He put a robe and a ring on him and threw this huge party to celebrate his boy’s homecoming. That father is the picture of God waiting for you, Janie. Not with condemnation, but with longing and deep love.”
For the first time, Janie seemed speechless. Her eyes lit on his for a moment, then darted off, pensive. “If that was true . . . if I could have a love like that . . .”
“You do, Janie,” Sam said. “All you have to do is reach out and embrace your waiting Father.”
Her eyes blurred with tears, and she wiped them away as they fell.
6
It was midafternoon by the time Sam got back home, still shaking after his time with Janie. Kate, who got off at three, would be home soon unless her ride didn’t bring her straight here. He saw that the light on his answering machine was flickering, so he pushed the button and dropped down on his couch while he listened.
“Hey, Sam, it’s me—Bill. Me and the guys’ll pick you up at six for the game. Jeff and Steve are coming, but Brother John can’t come because he has a meeting tonight. Call me if there’s a problem.”
Sam sat up quickly. He had completely forgotten about the game he had tickets for tonight. It was the biggest game of the year, between the two biggest state universities. They went every year, but this year was particularly exciting because neither team had lost a game yet.
But then he realized that this wouldn’t be like other years. He was different.
What would it be like sitting in those stands and hearing all those needy souls around him? He thought of begging off.
He lay down on the couch and tried to take a nap, catch up on some of the sleep he’d lost the night before, but those voices he’d heard today kept circling through his mind. The woman who thought gravity would let her go; the one who thought she was her past; the man who thought he was dirty . . .
He sat up and thought of the people in the houses around him, all of them with voices and needs. What if he could address them all? Help them as he’d helped Janie? He realized this “gift” was going to hound him. But even Christ took time to rest, he thought. Then he berated himself. He had spoken to a few people about Christ today, and now he was patting himself on the back, thinking he deserved a nap. As if he’d addressed multitudes, cast out demons, healed the sick . . .
What was the matter with him? He could do better than he’d done. He didn’t have to cower away in his house for fear of hearing what he didn’t want to hear. He should see this gift as John saw it—he should look at these as opportunities. He heard the kitchen door shut, and Kate shouted out, “Sam?”
“In here,” he called.
She came to the living room doorway, still wearing her nurse’s uniform. She helps people every day, he thought. Maybe God should have given her the gift. She would have done a better job of using it. She probably would have never considered using those lottery numbers. “What are you doing home so early?” she asked.
He lay back down on the couch and patted the cushion next to his hip. “Come here,” he said.
She approached him slowly. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “Sit down.” She sat slowly down beside him and touched his forehead. “You’re not hot. Are you sick?”
“Sort of. Well, not really.” He swallowed and looked up at her. “Remember that dream last night? The one I told you about?”
She nodded. “Vaguely. You were trying to catch a plane . . .”
“No, that was your dream. Mine was the coin. The voice.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It did something to me. I mean . . . God did something to me.”
“What?”
“He gave me ears . . . to hear. I mean . . . like he hears.” Kate’s expression reflected her confusion, and Sam sat up, putting his face close to hers. “I know it sounds crazy, but, Kate, you’ve got to believe me. Call John. He knows. I heard his soul, and then—”
“His soul?” she cut in.
“Yes. And other people’s. Everybody I got near today. I heard their spiritual needs. What Christ hears. And John went with me, and we talked to people . . .”
“Went with you where?” She wasn’t following him at all.
“To the diner and the hospital.”
“You were at the hospital today? My hospital?”
“Yes. But I didn’t look you up, because I was a little freaked out, and I didn’t know what to tell you about it. But, Kate, we told people about Jesus. Or John did. I just kind of sat there like dead weight. What else is new? But then . . . Janie, the waitress. She accepted Christ today after I talked to her, Kate. And there was this pregnant woman with a little girl and Mrs. Beautral’s husband. Did you know she had a husband?”
She was looking at him, as if mentally fitting him for a strait-jacket. “No.”
“Well, she does, and he had gallbladder surgery, and now he’s a Christian.”
“Because of his gall bladder surgery?”
“No, because of our visit. Kate, you’re not listening!”
She got up and backed away. “Sam, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring me,” he said, sitting up. “Kate, I was in the grocery store, and I heard all these voices at the same time. But their mouths weren’t moving. I was hearing their souls. Just what the Holy Spirit hears.”
“Now I know this is a fantasy,” she cut in. “You haven’t been to the grocery store in years.”
“I went to buy Tylenol. Kate, I’m telling you, I hear things people don’t even know they’re feeling.”
She turned and headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting the thermometer.”
“Kate!” He followed her into the kitchen, and as she rummaged through a drawer looking for it, he heard her voice.
“I wish I could have a broken heart again.”
“Aha!” he shouted. “You just said you wished you could have a broken heart. I heard you!” His face twisted as he realized the words made no sense. “Why do you want a broken heart?”
She stopped riffling through the drawer and looked up at him. “I didn’t say anything about a broken heart.”
“You did!” he said. “You did say it. You said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could have a broken heart again.’”
Dumbfounded, she closed the drawer and moved across the island from him. “When you say you heard that, what do you mean?”
“In your voice,” he said. “I heard it, Kate. It must be in there somewhere, in your soul, even if you don’t know it. Even if you wouldn’t say it out loud.”
Her eyes changed, and her mouth rounded in surprise. “It is.”
“See? I told you. What . . . what do you mean, you want a broken heart?”
She seemed to struggle for words that she’d never uttered before. “I’ve been feeling like . . . like I’m not sensitive to the Holy Spirit anymore. Like I’ve gotten jaded. Like my zeal has faded. I keep thinking that I need God to break my heart so I can get back in tune with him. You know, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.’ Blessed are those who mourn.’ I haven’t mourned for Christ in a very long time.”
“Yes!” he shouted, jumping. Startled, she backed farther away and grabbed a spatula, as if that would protect her. “Honey, I know just ho
w you feel!”
“And you heard that?” she asked, obviously terrified. “In my voice?”
“I thought it was a curse,” he said as tears came to his eyes. He crossed the room and, ignoring the spatula, took her shoulders. “Until I introduced Janie to Christ. And then I came home wiped out, like I’d just recited the Sermon on the Mount to five thousand people. I told one person how to know Jesus and I think I’m Elijah.”
The shock was beginning to fade, and she looked fully at him now. “You really led someone to Christ?”
“Yes! Can you believe it? Me!”
“I’ve never done that,” she said.
“Go with me tonight,” he said. “to the game. The guys are picking me up at six, but I’ll call them and tell them I’ll just meet them there. John isn’t using his ticket, so we’ll run by and get his, and you can use it.”
“You want me at the game?” She touched his forehead again. “You never take me to the game. It’s guys’ night out.”
“I want you to come and see. I’ll hear the voices. You can help me. Maybe I’ll be less of a wimp when you’re with me.”
“But what’ll you tell the guys? They’ll think I made you bring me. They’ll call you henpecked.”
“I don’t care what they think. I’ll hear their needs too. Maybe I can light a fire under them to help me tell people. Think about it. We could spread out, all of us, and tell people about Jesus until the game’s over. We could tell dozens of people about Jesus tonight. We could—”
She grabbed his wrist and began taking his pulse. “You’re not going to tell them you hear voices, are you?”
“Well . . . I don’t know. They’re my best friends. My accountability partners. They can handle it.”
“No, they can’t,” she said, dropping his wrist. “Trust me. You don’t want to tell anybody else about this. Just . . . find another way.”
“Fine. But will you come?”
“How can I refuse?” she asked. “I’m afraid to let you out of my sight. This could be the prelude to a stroke or something. Is your arm numb, Sam?”
“No,” he said. “Kate, I feel great. Nothing is numb. I don’t have fever or palpitations. I just have this gift.”
She couldn’t surrender her worries just yet. Those lines on her face were deep as she stared at him. “I’ll come, but I reserve the right to have you committed after the game if I see fit.”
He grinned and pulled her into a hug. “Fine. People there need Jesus too.”
7
Sam and Kate showed up at the stadium just after kick-off. Sam pushed through the crowd of people and up to the section where he and his friends always sat. The three guys were already there, sitting side by side and yelling at the activity on the field. Sam led Kate down the row to the two empty seats.
“Hey, guys, how’s it going?”
Bill looked up and slapped hands with him. “Kate, you decided to come out with Sam tonight?”
She gave him a contrite smile. “How will you guys ever forgive me?”
“Man, this is gonna give all of us a bad name,” Jeff cut in. “When Andrea finds out that you got to come, next thing you’ll know, we’ll all have to bring our wives.”
Sam glanced at Kate, hoping she wasn’t offended. “You know, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“Look, I’ll just go home . . .”
“Kidding,” Jeff said. “I was kidding.”
But Sam knew he wasn’t. He squeezed Kate’s hand as they took their seats. He looked down at the field, trying to figure out what was going on. Smathers had the ball and State had just made a first down. A cheer rose up around them, and his friends sprang to their feet.
Then he heard the voices.
“I need a miracle.”
Sam looked around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. It was someone to the left of him, but he couldn’t zero in on it.
“I’m gonna die, right here. I’m gonna die and shrivel up.”
This came from behind him, and he swung around. All the fans behind him were on their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs.
Next to him, he heard Bill’s voice, cracked and high-pitched as he yelled at the referee for making a bad call. But there was another voice coming from Bill. A quieter one that seemed to whisper in Sam’s ear. “I can’t be used. I’m worthless.”
He looked over at his friend, frowning. He couldn’t believe that such a dismal thought could come from his soul while he stood on his feet, cheering and yelling at the game before them. Before he could react, he heard another voice from the row in front of him.
“Nothing makes any sense. It’s all chance. Coincidence.”
Then came the voice of a woman. “I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve forgotten my way home.”
None of the faces that went with the voices seemed depressed or dismayed. The people seemed intent on the game, as if it was the one most important thing in their lives. He was amazed at the contrast with what he was hearing from deeper down.
Beginning to feel sick, he realized he was sweating. Kate looked over at him as he unbuttoned his collar.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. The voices . . . they’re everywhere.”
She stared up at him, concern etched on her face. His hands were shaking again. It was like in the grocery store, only worse. The voices were surrounding him, pursuing him. There was no escaping them.
“You want me to go get you something to drink? Or maybe an ambulance?”
“Drink, yes; ambulance, no. I’ll come too.” He got to his feet, and Jeff leaned around Bill.
“Where you going, man? You just got here.”
“I’ve got a headache, and I—”
The words were like a voice-over, blocking out what Jeff was really saying. “What’s the matter with me? Why can’t I bear fruit?”
Sam met Jeff’s eyes and wanted to answer the question, but he couldn’t think. Sudden panic came over him—what would his friend think of his heart reading? Grabbing Kate’s hand, he almost knocked someone down trying to get out of the row, then they walked down the stadium bleachers until they were in the corridor where the concession stands were. There weren’t many people there since the game had just begun, so he found a vacant area and hurried to it and leaned back against the wall. Kate was beside him in an instant.
“Sam, something’s wrong with you. You’re sweating, and you’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon! Are you having a heart attack?”
“No,” he said. “It’s the voices I told you about. I can hear them everywhere. It’s torture.”
She stared at him for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears. She covered her mouth with both hands and turned away from him.
He pushed off from the wall and turned her around. “Kate, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
“Because I don’t want you to be crazy,” she said in a high-pitched voice.
“I’m not crazy,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you what you were thinking before?”
“Yes, but . . . this is too weird, Sam. I don’t know if I can handle this.”
“That’s just what I thought. But then I used it, and . . . I can do it again. You’ll see. The people out there, they’re hurting.”
As if his words were further proof that he was nuts, she shook her head. “Those people are cheering at a ball game. Half of them are drunk. They’re not hurting.”
“They are hurting,” he said. “I heard their pain. I have answers I can give them.”
“All right,” she said, trying to calm down. She wiped her eyes. “What are we gonna do? Pull them away from the game one by one and tell them what their deepest need is?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked at the few people milling around near the concession stand. “All I know is I’m not gonna accomplish anything standing here.” He stepped toward the concession stand, and she followed tentatively. A couple of people
were ordering popcorn and hot dogs.
Kate watched him with dread, but he knew her concern had more to do with his health and his mental state than it did with his spiritual gift. She still didn’t get it.
“What am I gonna tell my wife?” The voice came from a big man standing close to him. He was munching on popcorn as he waited for his drink order to be filled. “She’ll leave me. I’ll be alone. I don’t know how to fix things.”
The words were so personal, so haunting, Sam wished he could just pass out right there on the floor and forget he’d ever heard any of them, but he forced himself to step forward. “Excuse me, but . . . well . . . I have a sense . . . that there’s something going on in your life.”
The man shot him an annoyed look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean with your wife. You’re wondering what you’re going to tell her about something, and you’re afraid she’s going to leave you.”
The man caught his breath and took a step back. Kate caught Sam’s arm and squeezed, as if to tell him to cool it, that he was about to get decked. “Are you a detective?” the man asked. “Did she hire you?”
The question startled him. “No, nothing like that.”
“Because if she did, you can tell her that she’s wasting her time. She’s not gonna catch me at anything. You got that?”
“Man, this isn’t about catching you at something,” Sam said. “I don’t know what you’re involved in. I don’t know what’s going on with your family. All I know is that you don’t have to sit here and wonder what it’s going to feel like to be alone.”
The man’s face twisted. The concession worker brought his drink, but the man didn’t see him. “That’ll be six bucks,” he said, holding out his hand. The patron ignored him and kept staring at Sam.
“Turn it over to God,” Sam said. “Believe in him and he’ll . . . uh . . . he’ll direct your paths.” Sam vowed to brush up on his Bible as soon as he had the chance.
Finally, the man realized that the concession attendant was waiting for his money, and he reached into his pocket, got out six dollars, and slapped it on the table. Before getting his stuff, he turned his worried eyes back to Sam. “What has she seen? Have you been following me? Have you got pictures?”