by Joy Ohagwu
“But nobody gets away with anything.” Samuel rested his hand on Bishop’s upper arm. “Ever. I can promise you that God, who alone runs the universe, never ignores a single injustice. It’s just that, well, our times are not His times. He will grant justice, even though it may come at a later time in our estimation. Timing is everything to God. He gives justice when the offender can no longer hurt you for it.”
“How? I mean, what do I do when someone wrongs me?” Bishop wiped his nostrils with the back of his hand.
Samuel bent his head inside the vehicle until he was nearly face to face with Bishop, leaning his elbow on the front dash. “Can you trust God with the first step by relinquishing revenge to Him? God knows what you don’t know. If you accept that, that’s a good place to start.”
They waited. It felt like an eternity as Bishop stared ahead. “Give up my stepfather’s attacks on my mom? Give up the fact that I had to run away from home to find peace? Give up…” His voice broke, and his fingers looped so tightly that his knuckles whitened while a tear dropped on his cheek. He sat there—his face streaked by tears born from years of carrying pain inside like heavy stones and not releasing it—his shoulders bent by an emotional weight his frame was too young to carry. His heart bled out questions he’d not asked before—before the God who could handle them.
Stacy prayed harder.
She’d been angry. Upset with Bishop for getting her into the spotlight and not for a good reason. Especially when she had issues of her own to deal with. She didn’t have much cash to run on, and she was putting every penny she had into keeping the center going as donations whittled. And then this? She’d intended to give Bishop a good tongue lashing to keep him reined in.
But God had better plans—plans for his good—unfolding in front of her. She’d expected him to open up later. Not here, not now. Who was she to determine times and seasons? She gave herself a mental shake. Planned meetings, astute lectures, and even well-meaning therapy sessions may not yield this depth of transformation.
Her best support to Bishop now was the prayers streaming in her heart heavenward.
His body trembled as he bowed over.
More tears flowed.
She turned down the radio when they read out the next program indicating their twenty minutes sitting in the truck, handed Bishop tissues, and wouldn’t be bothered that cold air was pouring in through the open door where Samuel still stood waiting for God’s move through this young, bruised, and wounded life to be complete.
Anything to get the cold out of Bishop’s heart.
Anything to get the warmth of God’s love in.
Anything to see another life turned around for good through grace.
In whispers, her lips moved. “Lord Jesus, please show him Your way, Your truth, and Your love. Your perfect love casts out fear. You set me free from fear. I can see a form of who I was in this boy.” Her heart constricted in her chest, her tears warmed her face, and her voice caught in her throat. “He is afraid. Fear for his future being in his sights but out of his own control dogs him. Please deliver Bishop from the grip of fear, and please, God, let him find peace in his surrender to Your plan and Your wisdom and not his.” On and on, she prayed under her breath until the sobs ceased.
He raised his head and wiped his nostrils once more. Tossing the waste into a paper bag with leftover lunch she hadn’t trashed but was going to, he lifted his shoulders with a deep inhale. “I’ll do it.” He glanced at her first, then at Samuel next, and then nodded, unclasping his hands. “I leave all revenge in God’s hands.” He shook his head slowly. “I won’t try to get revenge for myself or others again.”
Samuel Davids smiled and straightened. “Congratulations, Bishop. You just became a man.”
Bishop’s brows creased. “A man?”
“Yes, son. The day you learn to relinquish power to God and hold only the authority He gives, that’s the day you earn the privilege to be regarded as a man. A man under authority, who accepts that he is under authority. Next, you can choose to accept the lordship of this same and only God over your life. That means He runs your life to give it the greatest chance of success in this life—and eternal life after death. You never have to walk alone again. No decision stops with you because you will seek His guidance and let Him lead the way while you follow. He defeats enemies for you, rebukes you when you’re wrong, and defends you at all times. He will make sure you are never without anything you need unless He wants to train you for the future through lack. Otherwise, He provides all your needs. All you have to do is choose to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and personal Savior. Would you do that, son? No pressure.”
Stacy could see Bishop’s brain work as his gaze darted side to side while Samuel spoke. After what felt like a long silence, Bishop looked up at Samuel. “Please excuse me. I need to climb down.”
Samuel frowned a little, then stepped to the side and let Bishop through. “As you wish.”
Bishop walked around to her side of the truck and tugged the door open. She blinked at him. “Mrs. Black, you’ve guided me since the day you rescued me from the street. You’ve shared about Jesus with me many times—and about His love and sacrifice for me—but you didn’t pressure me to believe. You gave me warm food and clothes and a place to sleep without charging me a dime. You’ve respected me and treated me like a son.” He shivered as another cold gust of wind blew through. “Please lead me in that prayer Mr. Davids spoke about. I want to accept Jesus as my Savior, and I want you to lead me in that prayer, if you wouldn’t mind.”
When she turned to Samuel, he nodded his consent, adding a smile for good measure.
“I might as well join you two in the cold.” Then she wagged a finger. “But I must get a hot cup of cocoa later.” Settled, surprised, and sure not to miss such an important moment, Stacy climbed down and joined Bishop in the cold, all three of them abandoning the warm vehicle. They both knew her hatred for cold weather and understood the weight she placed on this moment by leaving the truck’s warmth.
“I’ll make you a big cup of hot cocoa, Mrs. Black.” Bishop’s smile lit her heart up. Usually, she’d make him cocoa. He’d leave it until it ran cold and wouldn’t say thank you. She could see God changing her boy.
Her heart bubbled with joy. Never did she imagine when she woke up that this would be the day Bishop accepted Jesus as his Lord and personal Savior. But God specialized in miracles! “Please repeat after me: Dear Heavenly Father, I come to You in the name of Jesus. I acknowledge that I’m a sinner and have fallen short of Your glory. I accept that You sent Jesus to the world and that He died to pay the price for my sins. And that Jesus rose again on the third day. Today, I confess Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior. I accept His Lordship over my life. Today, I am born again. I invite God the Holy Spirit into my life. Please write my name in the Book of Life and please cancel my name from the Book of Death. Thank You, God, for saving me, in Jesus’ mighty name, amen.”
As he repeated the words, he choked at certain points, and she slowed to help him get the words and declaration right. “Amen,” he repeated the last word, and his eyes sparkled. “That’s it? Jesus is now in charge of my life? I won’t be without family again?”
She clasped both his shoulders, and a warm tear tickled her cheek. “Yes, that’s it. You are now born again, a true child of God.” He swiped her tear, and she backed away from one of the germy hands she often teased him about. He laughed at her gesture and swatted her defensive move away.
Samuel, who’d come over while they prayed, hugged Bishop and released him. “Bishop, that’s right, son. To answer the remainder of your question, you won’t ever be without family. God becomes your family from now on, and you can count on Him to show up anytime. He will watch your back. And you’ll never be alone again because God the Holy Spirit lives within you forever.”
“Cool.” Bishop glanced back. “Now, can we get out of this cold?”
Stacy laughed, even as she sent a prayer upward to heaven
. “Of course. Let me park this truck, then come inside, and you make me the cup of cocoa you promised.”
He wagged a finger. “Big cup, not a regular cup.” His smile grew. “You think you’re dreaming, but you’re not.”
“Unbelievable. Had anyone said this morning that the boy who abandons my cups of cocoa for him would be making me a big cup this afternoon, I’d say they were lying. But let me park this truck and get inside so I can see it truly happen.”
“And I’ll beg to leave as I have a meeting in an hour.” Samuel spoke up. “I’ll be a phone call away. Please let me know what you decide about the vacation notice. You need to mail the reply back today.”
Stacy wouldn’t let that bit of bad news dampen her day. “Of course. Thank you for the reminder. Thank you for your help today. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Twelve
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16
* * *
The prick of a needle stung Julia’s arm as she was waking up, and she winced. It had been a few rough nights sleeping alone. Having the other girls around her had made the situation bearable. Now with her stuck in a new room alone, sleep had been scarce. She hadn’t even known she’d fallen asleep until this…rude awakening. Hands jerked her upright as she rubbed sleep from her eyes, trying to adjust to the intense light filling the room.
“Get up and sit on the chair.” The man hauled her up.
A chair, already fitted with ropes—probably to restrain her—waited in the center of the room. When she shifted back, he raised a gun. “You want to move those feet.”
So she approached the chair and sat in it as it creaked. Dried blood smeared the edge where she gripped it to get more comfortable. She jerked her hand away as the door opened. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I see you haven’t secured her yet. Hurry up. I need an answer soon.” The man’s rough voice grated on her eardrums.
“Please, I don’t know anything. I’m just a schoolgirl.”
The man who’d pulled her up didn’t say a word. He worked the restraints quickly, his red sweater blurring in her vision.
“You’ve done this before. Did you kill the person? Are you going to kill me? I don’t want to die. Please.” Her throat closed, and her words came out slightly above a whisper. “What information can I give you? I don’t know anything!” Strong ropes whipped around her hand, and the pain of their cinch silenced her.
“You better don’t speak.” The man looped the last knot. “Until you’re asked to.” Another tight cinch, and she winced and bit her upper lip. “Or else, it could end badly fast. Got it?” Straightening, he bored his eyes into hers.
Julia got the message. The other man was their boss and disliked pleas. If she pleaded, he’d kill her faster. He had no mercy. So she pleaded to God inside her heart. God, please have mercy on me. Please rescue me. In Jesus’ name.
She’d heard her mom pray, so she knew the words. But she couldn’t fathom their full meaning or power. She simply knew her mom knew her God, and if she did, then Julia would call on Him, peradventure, He’d hear and answer her.
“Tell me what you said to the police.” The man’s imposing stature filled the room, or was it the threat of him? He jingled a bunch of keys, making her wonder whether the key to free her from this room was among them, dropped them into his pocket, and set a dark look on her. “Now.”
“I don’t know anything. I promise. I really don’t. I went to see my uncle.” If recounting that story would put her uncle and her mom in danger, she wouldn’t do it. “Please let me go.”
He glanced at his watch and pressed his lips tightly. “I shouldn’t have wasted time coming here.” He spun to the man who had restrained her, and they exchanged a knowing glance before the man strode out of the room.
The red-sweater man gave her an indecipherable look, then drew close. Without warning, as he leaned close like he would loosen her straps, a needle pierced her arm. “It’s a pity. What a waste.”
“What…” Dizziness cut off her words, and she gripped the sides of the chair she’d released before and wouldn’t have touched again. Hating to be making contact with dried blood, she blinked hard and tried to stay awake. Whatever they hit her system with, she would fight it. Fight it to gain freedom and to flee this captivity. She scratched her nails on the wood, getting some underneath her fingernails.
He loosened the ropes, lifted her off the chair, and hauled her over his shoulder. He pushed the door open. It thudded shut behind him. Then keys jingled when he spun toward the hallway. She hung limply as the floor tiles like fluorescent lights waved past, and he carried her through what might’ve been a hallway. Soon the floor turned dark, then concrete, and the stench of garbage hit her nostrils when he pushed a door open.
Her head swam more, but she blinked harder, pinching the inside of her palm, telling herself to stay awake. “What—” Her speech slurred.
Another pair of feet was there, and she saw the black garbage bag in the other man’s hand, the gun he held, and the protective gear he was clad in. That ran her blood cold.
“You want to kill me.” She kicked with all her strength, but her feet only flailed.
“Be quiet,” the man ordered before setting her on the ground. The narrow backyard fencing was up to eight feet and revealed the street afar off through its cracks. But surely, no one could see her or hear her weak voice.
“Please, I beg you. Don’t kill me.” Tears sprang down her cheeks as her body yielded more to whatever they injected her with.
The other man went inside, leaving her alone with the sweater man. He laid her on the ground and began clothing himself in protective gear.
“I am my mom’s only child. I’m all she’s got.”
His fingers paused long enough on the zipper before they resumed their zipping.
“Jesus! Please save me. I don’t want to die.” She prayed aloud, surprised to hear her voice stronger. Another wave of the drug in her system had her vision blurring.
She fought to breathe as her breath came in gasps. The man had finished zipping up and slid on large blue gloves. The other man hadn’t returned. If she would plead for her life, this was her best chance. “Sir, today is my birthday. Please don’t kill me.”
His hands stopped this time, long enough for her to know her words had made an impact.
“My mom is a Christian.” Julia struggled for breath but fought the wave of nausea. “She raised me all on her own, with little help.”
Another wave of dizziness, and she pinched her palm harder, sure now that it could be bleeding. Stay awake, girl. “She would die if I die.”
Choking on saliva, she gulped it down. If only she could get the last words out! Inhaling deeply, she blinked harder and pushed through a closing throat. “If you kill me, you killed two people, not one. But if you let me go, God will bless you.” Out of words of plea, out of breath, and unable to speak anymore, she gasped and waited.
So did he.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
He darted his gaze back to the door.
Daunted by the prospect of dying, she prayed in her heart harder than she had in words.
Light filled her vision.
A man with shining hair came out of nowhere she could see and reached out to her, and she took his held-out Hand. He seemed to be standing above the situation, unbothered.
His authentic smile calmed her and wiped the blurriness of her vision. The power of His touch traveled like a volt of electricity through her to her neck, and before long, the swelling of her throat stopped as He let her hand go. She inhaled and exhaled freely again. “Run,” He said. “Run,” He said again. Then He vanished.
“You are one difficult girl!” The captor walked back to the door. He shut it and returned to where she lay. His lips formed a thin line. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m going to let you go, but it could get us killed
. I will do it on two conditions. One—you never go home or else they’ll know you’re not dead. Two—you must never mention me, got it?”
Julia, still trying to understand what had happened moments earlier, simply nodded.
“Good.” The man took her hand and lifted her to her feet. Surprise lit his eyes that she could stand.
She couldn’t explain about the Man who had touched her hand and healed her. She knew he hadn’t seen the Man, and explaining would waste time. He also may not believe her, but she knew what she had seen. She knew He had to be Jesus.
Jesus was real.
He’d heard her prayer.
He’d come for her.
Choking on gratitude, willing to live, and trying not to alarm her captor, she shivered, and the multiplicity of emotions pulsing through her led a tear to drop. “Thank you very much. Really, I thank you.”
The man wrapped the garbage bag around her and pressed a hand tightly on her lips. Before she could ask, he clamped his hand harder on her lips to silence her. “Don’t scream.” He took out his gun, pulled the trigger, and shot her arm.
Pain raged through her upper body, and her fingernails dug into his arm. She must’ve dug deep enough because her fingernails had blood in them when she let him go. Blood dripped down her injured arm—clearly a flesh wound—and he dabbed it with a cloth. He soaked up what he might’ve considered sufficient and placed it on top of the garbage bag. Then he pulled out another piece of cloth, tied her arm with it, and walked over to use a set of keys and unlock the small gate. She spun when the doorknob of the house rattled with a jerk. She gasped, sure the other man had returned.
The captor rushed her forward, through the gate. “Hurry! Go. And don’t look back.” She had barely gotten through, and he had just closed it when the other door swooshed open.
She hid against the gate pillar and held her breath as her blood dripped down and she wedged the dropping flow with her other hand.