The young man’s hands begin to shake. His adrenalin is full-tilt, like in Afghanistan when the team was on high alert out on patrol, unsure of what was going to happen next. Paul’s cynical struggle with his faith is still very real as he asks as if for clarity, “Help?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“That’s a laugh. How’ve You helped?”
“By stopping you from making a bad decision. Keeping you safe. Engaging with you to answer your questions, address your issues.”
“Safe? You told me I’m going to die!”
“Yes, I did.”
“And You were going to tell me when?”
“Yes. But you already know when. Don’t you?”
Feeling violated, Paul gets defensive. “What? No, I don’t!”
“Now who’s lying?” God keeps his eyes locked onto his.
“How could I possibly know when I would die?”
“You knew exactly when, didn’t you?”
“But how could I?”
“Because it was going to happen by your own hand, Paul! You had it all planned out.”
The air suddenly seems sucked from the room. Paul’s horrible truth is now uncovered. No longer his dirty little secret. He desperately wants to deny his plans, but the truth is all over his face. He defends, “No. You don’t know that.”
“There aren’t always signs when someone’s in trouble.”
Gary’s words at the office come roaring back, and Paul wonders if God is repeating the message for him as evidence of connecting dots over the past three days.
“But you can’t hide from Me, son. You can try. So many do. But you can’t.”
Beginning to feel a bit light-headed, Paul asks, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You just lost your way, and I’m trying to lead you back. It’s really that simple.”
“No. No, because You let this happen.”
“How so?”
“I prayed. I prayed!”
“Yes, I know . . . and I heard you . . . and I’m here.”
“I begged You for help!”
“Paul, you think bad things happened to you because I don’t care? Bad things happen all the time, every minute of every day. It’s a sad fact of living in a broken world. You know that because you said it yourself. But the truth is that most people only seem to notice when bad things are happening to them. And for Me, that’s the saddest part of all.”
“So why? Why don’t you help us?”
“I hear it all. Why is there war? Starvation? Poverty? Disease? Fires, floods, and famines? People losing hope.”
“Then do something. Just do something.”
“I’ve given you more power than you think. Food can be grown. Diseases cured. Wars ended. People rescued. Hope restored.” God switches gears and gets personal to Paul’s circumstances. “A troubled veteran can be helped. A marriage can be saved. A young reporter can find a life he never thought possible.”
The room seems to grow brighter. But in reality, it may not be the room at all.
God continues, “So when you ask Me why something happens in this world, look to each other, and I’ll be there to help you. Always have been. Always will be.”
Paul wobbles off-balance as the room seems to sway. “But I don’t know. I can’t . . . Not sure I can . . .”
“Just give yourself some time, Paul. You’re on a journey. Stay on the path. Don’t look to the right or the left. Straight on. You and Sarah. You are each gifts I have given you, to one another. As you walk forward, I’ll be there with you. I promise.”
“No, I need a miracle from You. Right now.”
God gives his young friend a warm, joyful smile. “And miracles happen. Every day. And sometimes . . . sometimes, Paul, you are the miracle.”
The blinding light that Paul first saw when he walked into the room the second time returns but continues to glow until he is completely saturated and immersed inside its rays. Curious but oddly not fearful, Paul asks, “What is this? What’s happening to me?”
“You’re having an epiphany, a revelation.”
“No, I think I must be dying. Am I going with You?”
“No, Paul. You’re going to live. For the first time in a very long time.”
Still engulfed in light, Paul starts to hear the strange sound he heard in the park and in his apartment, resonating in his ears like a mass choir of whispering voices. Inside this experience, he closes his eyes and keeps repeating, “But God, I can’t . . .”
“Why not? Yes. Yes, you certainly can.”
Paul feels compelled to open his eyes. Where the large picture windows were, there is now what it appears to be the beauty of a sunrise with a figure with arms outstretched toward him, welcoming. Though he can’t make out a face, he senses an overwhelming peace emanating from Him. Paul feels an odd sense of homecoming to a place he’s not sure he has ever been before. But one thing he knows for certain—he never wants to leave now that he has been found.
Instinctively, as in the majestic and awesome presence of Someone far greater than he and his circumstances, Paul drops to his knees as the room is now the purest white he has ever seen or even imagined. The voices go silent, and he slowly crumples onto the floor and loses consciousness.
Chapter Seven
Evidence of the Intangible and Invaluable
Paul starts to awaken. He stirs. His eyes pry open. He remembers the light but realizes there is now no need to squint. The bright rays are not only gone, but in fact, the room seems darker than before. No voices. Total silence. His senses seem to be back to normal.
Raising his head and looking around, he sees he’s now alone. Fading light from the windows indicate that it must be late afternoon by now. He’s been out for a while, assuming this is even still the same day. With the state of his life and relationships now, he’s not sure how long it would take for someone to begin to wonder where he is.
His phone buzzes and vibrates with a text message. It’s Matt, following up. Who could blame him for being curious? His message reads: “Checking on you. Call me. What’s up with the pic of the dead guy?”
All that has happened floods back to Paul’s memory. He brushes through his hair, wipes his eyes, and types back, “Sorry. Will do.” He’ll ignore Matt’s probing question for now.
Paul stands up, checking his equilibrium. All seems to be well. He throws his phone into his bag, gathers his things, and walks to the door. But as he grabs the handle, he stops, turns, and looks back at the room. As odd as it sounds, a part of him wants God to be standing there again. One more time. But no. The room is quiet and empty. He shakes it off and walks out.
He heads down the halls toward the building’s exit once again, seeing no one, not even the lady from earlier. Now out on the sidewalk, he goes to where he parked his bike. He looks around, confused. No bike. Gone. Obviously stolen. Even the lock is nowhere in sight.
A horrible thought streaks through his mind.. He reaches into his bag and gropes around. His fingers find the problem—his bike lock. In his distracted state, he’d never even secured it. Just leaned the bike on the building and walked away. The two-wheeled version of leaving your keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked.
Yesterday, even just several hours ago, this situation would have sent him into a veritable tailspin of self-loathing and anger at life. But now . . . Paul just shrugs and mutters, “Okay, great. My bad. Nice day for a walk.”
Feeling amazingly lighter, Paul almost strolls through the streets. His shoes are far better for biking than being on foot, but he’s not feeling the burn yet. Playing back the past three days in his head, he tries to connect the details he may have missed before, tying together any and every loose end.
The sun is still shining but suddenly a shower begins. A passing cloud, but Paul doesn’t take much notice. He’s enthralled in recounting his experience. As the raindrops dissipate, he’s thinking about how hard he fought God. How arrogant he must have seemed but how patient God was. How
He allowed for Paul’s voiced fears and doubts and constant questions. Paul feels a bit embarrassed, while, at the same time, he’s glad that he was completely honest with God. He laughs to himself that he now has a fresh firsthand perspective on the actual grace of God, not the mystical, far-away version he has battled with all his life.
Miles down the busy streets, thousands of people passed, and a full replay of late gone by, Paul remembers Matt’s request for a call. He stops, steps under an awning, grabs his phone from his bag, and taps the screen. Two rings, then he hears the familiar, “Hey, Paul.”
“Hey. Matt. How’s it going? Hey, sorry, I—”
“You good, man? You left me hangin’. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. No, I’m good. Just walking home. Listen, what happened? Your appointment? How’d it go?”
“Yeah, I got right in to see someone. I was really dreading it. Afraid it would be weird or awkward. But it wasn’t at all. I was comfortable really quick. And man, once I started talking, it just poured out of me. I was so ready to get all this out of my head and out of my heart. It’s been poisoning me for too long. And the best thing was he assured me I was not alone, that so many soldiers go through what I’m experiencing, and that he knew for certain he could help me. And I’m so ready. Which is exactly why he said he could. I feel like a weight is being lifted off me. I know it’s going to take work and lots of time, but Paul, I actually felt some hope today for the first time in . . . well, I can’t even remember how long.”
Hearing such great news, Paul smiles with his entire being, the first time he’s experienced that sensation in what seems like forever. “Ah, dude, that’s such great news! And I get it. I know exactly what you mean. I got that kind of feeling today too. And, yeah, it’s going to take work, but at least we’re on the journey, right?”
“Paul, thanks for all your help. I don’t think I would have followed through and found someone on my own. I would probably have just suffered in silence until . . . well . . .”
“C’mon, now, it was just a contact I got,” Paul interrupts to save Matt’s struggle. “It was nothing, really. You did the three hard things. You asked for help. You called the number, and then you followed through and actually went. Now you’ll keep going and put in the work for your future.”
Matt laughs. “Yeah, kind of a miracle, huh? Especially from where I was and how bad things had gotten. I had hit bottom and was just trying to find up.”
Paul’s smile opens up into an actual laugh too. “A miracle . . . Yeah, okay. Who am I to say it’s not?” As the words come out of his mouth, his eyes well with tears. His heart feels strangely full. In this moment, he’s overwhelmed by the words he’s hearing from Matt and what he’s feeling inside himself. He realizes while the circumstances are different, he and his friend are running—or maybe better said, crawling—in parallel lanes.
Paul continues, “Yeah, for what you’ve been through and how you served your country, you deserve a miracle, Matt.” Deep inside his heart, he hears a voice ask, And don’t you?
Matt switches the topic back to the mystery man from their texts. “Well, hey, what about the officer who died in Afghanistan that I identified his picture for you?”
“Uh, well, that’s going to have to wait and be a story for another day. But I promise I’ll tell you when I can. Thanks for all your help. I get what you had to do to get that info. For today, let’s just focus on how well your appointment went and leave it there, okay?”
Matt laughs again. “Okay, but you really got my curiosity up now . . . Hey, tell Sarah hi for me, okay? She’s quite a lady, Paul. Take good care of her.”
“Yes. Yes, she is. And I will. I promise. I’ll tell her . . . hopefully soon.”
“Thanks again, Paul. Love you, bro. Take care.”
“No, thank you, man. Love you too. Proud of you. Talk soon.” Paul disconnects the call and slips his phone into his pocket. He stands staring into the distance, his mind fixed on a brand-new thought that Matt’s challenge triggered.
Obviously the first solid and confident decision he has made in a while, he spins around and starts walking in the opposite direction. Block by block, his decision feels more right and his pace quickens.
At the door of the basement apartment, Paul firmly knocks three times. Then he politely steps back so he’s clearly visible through the peephole. He hears the footsteps approach from inside, and steadies himself as the person stops, no doubt peering at him. The seconds waiting feel like an eternity.
Finally, the door slowly opens. Grace, who has obviously been crying, appears surprised. “Paul. What are you doing? Why are you here?”
Concerned at seeing her tears, he fires off way too many questions. “Is everything okay? Did something happen? Where’s Sarah?”
“Uh, yeah . . . Well, we were talking about where both of our lives are going. And that started the upset. Then I was just trying to tell her to not, uh, walk away from . . . well, that she shouldn’t give up something so . . . Anyway, she came back at me with a who-are-you-to-try-and-tell-me-what-to-do. And something about a log in my eye and a speck in hers? I don’t know. It was weird . . . I’ll admit my life has been . . . well, is a mess, but I was only trying to help my sister.”
Paul responds with even more questions. “So is Sarah here? Did she leave? Where did she go?”
“She stormed out. I don’t know . . . I don’t know, Paul. She didn’t say.”
“And you just let her leave when she’s that upset? Not knowing where she was going?”
Grace just gives him a don’t-you-guilt-me-too look as she wipes her eyes. “Well, Paul, maybe in this one situation I actually have a little more faith than you. Like I said at your office, you need to give her time.”
“Okay, but did you try calling her?”
“Yeah, but then when I heard her ring tone, I realized she left her phone here.”
Paul pauses and looks off in the distance, concerned, worried, trying not to panic. He starts walking away backwards, still looking at Grace. “Hey, I’m really sorry for coming at you. I’m just worried about Sarah. If she shows back up here, please let me know. Please. I have to . . . I need to talk to her. It’s really important. Okay?”
Sharing his concern and understanding her brother-in-law’s emotions, Grace offers a reassuring smile and responds, “Sure, Paul.”
As she closes the door, he spins around to keep walking down the street. He has no idea where to look for Sarah. She isn’t at work, he can’t reach her by phone, and she isn’t at her sister’s, plus they’re in New York. Finally, he decides to go home and wait. And who knows? Maybe pray.
By the time Paul gets to their neighborhood, it’s right around dusk. The sun is just beginning to set as he rounds the corner of the block to their apartment building. Down the street, someone is sitting on the stairs leading up to their entrance.
Surely not.
He picks up his pace to be certain. The flowing hair and distinct features soon come into focus, and his heartbeat quickens. It is indeed Sarah sitting alone on the front steps. She’s peering off, straight ahead, lost deep in thought. His mind races with possibilities of what she’s waiting to do. Is she here to tell me it’s over? She’s leaving me for good? Or maybe she’s . . .
He can’t go there yet. False hope would hurt way more and far too much.
Is there room for still one more miracle today?
The brief shower that moved by has made the world around her glisten, and the fresh scent of early summer rain hangs in the air. Now only half a block away, Paul stops for a moment to collect his thoughts, his eyes still glued on her. He thinks about how beautiful she is. How much he’s missed her smile, her laugh, her being all who Sarah is to him. The most important thing right now is her heart, whatever her decision. He just needs to love her, no matter what.
Paul walks up slowly to make sure he doesn’t startle her.
Sarah snaps out of her trance and, a bit surprised and a little emb
arrassed, turns to look at him. She offers a tentative smile, completely uncertain of his thoughts regarding her unannounced visit.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
With care and a comforting tone, Paul confesses, “I was looking for you.”
“Oh? You were?” Puzzled that Paul is on foot, she asks, “Where’s your bike?”
Paul looks down, smirks, and then smiles. “I have no idea. Somewhere in New York with a total stranger, I guess.”
Sarah looks worried and confused. “What happened? You okay?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just . . . well, gone.”
Sarah looks apologetic. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. You loved that bike.”
Paul’s newfound peace shows all over his being. “Well, at the end of the day, it’s just a bike. Not life or death.”
Sarah, looking a mix of surprised and curious, nods. “Okay. True.” She then notices the poorly wrapped and slightly bloodied bandage. “Paul, oh my goodness! What happened to your hand?”
He holds it up, slowly turning it in an its-really-not-that-bad movement. “Well, I . . . I broke one of your antique jadeite cups.”
Now more puzzled, she says, “Oh . . . Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll heal. But I’m really sorry about the cup.”
Sarah tilts her head a bit, gives a soft knowing grin, and repeats her version: “Well, at the end of the day, it’s just a cup. Not life or death.”
Paul smiles and nods back. “Okay. True.”
They both offer tentative smiles, as if needing permission to show any sign of happiness.
Sarah doesn’t know what to say next, as she hasn’t yet worked up the courage to express what she came for. She waits, feeling like she’s dying on the inside, until finally she goes for a typical icebreaker. “So . . . how was your day?”
Paul looks at her with bewilderment. How in the world could I possibly answer that question with any level of honesty? He just gives a small laugh and shakes his head in a private moment of amusement. “Sorry, um, how was my day? Trying to think how I can best answer that.”
An Interview with God Page 11