by Chris Fabry
“Hannah, are you okay?”
She nodded. “Ask me who I am.”
Had he heard her correctly? John looked at the other students, then back at Hannah, puzzled. It took a moment for her words to register. It was the question Thomas had asked him at the hospital, the question he passed on to Hannah at practice one day, the one she hadn’t been able to answer.
“Ask me who I am,” Hannah said again, a little louder.
The other students continued talking.
It dawned on John that she had an answer to the question. He called to her across the room. “Who is Hannah Scott?”
Hannah took a step forward, breathed in deeply, and with a confidence John had never seen in her, she put her shoulders back and looked him squarely in the eyes.
“I am created by God,” she said. “He designed me. So I’m not a mistake. His Son died for me just so I could be forgiven.”
Her voice carried through the auditorium. She used her hands when she spoke, emphasizing each syllable. And he thought he saw something glisten in her eyes.
“He picked me to be His own, so I’m chosen. He redeemed me, so I am wanted.”
The students hushed and turned their attention toward her. She took a few steps forward, and now there was no mistaking it. There were tears in her eyes and flowing down her cheeks, and there was no shame, no holding back.
“He showed me grace, just so I could be saved.”
The room was quiet, captivated by Hannah’s authenticity.
“He has a future for me because He loves me. So I don’t wonder anymore, Coach Harrison. I am a child of God. I just wanted you to know.”
John sat stunned. He and Amy and the boys had prayed for Hannah and Barbara and Thomas, but what he saw here was beyond anything he could have asked. Somehow, God had broken through into the girl’s life. There was power in her words. She’d been changed.
Hannah turned and walked toward the open door behind her. John rose and followed her. Behind him he heard Troy’s voice.
“Did you see that? That’s what I’m talking about! That was fire! John, why is she not in my class?”
John kept walking. He couldn’t answer Troy’s question because he had to catch Hannah. He rushed into the hall and called for her.
“What happened to you?” John said, beaming.
“I talked to Mrs. Brooks yesterday. And prayed. And then I read, um . . . in Ephesians?”
“Yeah,” John said, nodding.
“And it was like God was talking directly to me.”
“This is amazing. What you said in there was amazing.”
“I want to know more,” she said. “I want to read more.”
“You can.” John’s heart beat faster as if Ethan had just hit that shot at the buzzer in the championship game. No, better than that. This was much better. He wanted to jump up and down and pump his fist in the air, but he controlled himself. “I want Amy to hear this. Can we go see her?”
As they walked, Hannah told him more. She was a quiet girl who kept things inside, but now a dam had broken and a cascade of words flowed.
“Coach, I’ve read the Bible before, but this time it was like the words jumped off the page.”
“That’s God’s Holy Spirit helping you, Hannah. He’s at work inside. He’s the one making you hungry to know more, to read more.”
She nodded. “And it’s not just understanding the words. It’s like God was whispering these things, that I’m forgiven, that I’m chosen, I’m adopted.”
They walked the hall together and John couldn’t remember a happier moment. With all the success he’d had as a player and coach, there was something about the change he saw in this girl that arrested him. No win on the court could compare with this feeling.
Amy looked up as the bell rang and her students filed out of class. She saw Hannah, then glanced at John, then back at Hannah.
Later, John heard that every teacher in the classes up and down the hall came out of their rooms to see who had shouted so loudly. Several traced it to the science classroom and peered inside to see Amy embracing Hannah, both of them crying, and Coach Harrison with both hands over his face, wiping away tears of joy.
CHAPTER 32
When Hannah got home from practice, she put her things on the kitchen table, then remembered what her grandmother had said so often. “You can run five miles lickety-split, but you can’t put your backpack on the hook?”
Hannah smiled and promptly hung up her backpack. Then she fell on her bed with a sense that things had changed. Hope had somehow burrowed deep within her, and the feeling didn’t come from changed circumstances but a change inside. She still had tons of questions about life, but now she didn’t feel alone.
She had found her father—or, better put, God had helped her father find her. She’d received love from her heavenly Father, who had pursued her. Now, lying on the pillow, her heart finally at rest, she turned and opened her nightstand drawer, pushing the shirt away to reveal the blue box. She took off the top, then sat up and pulled the box to her lap and pawed through all the things she had stolen. The iPod. Coach Harrison’s watch. Jewelry. Her sin was in this box and all the evidence stared back at her like witnesses at a trial.
Who are you to call yourself a Christian after all the bad things you’ve done?
It wasn’t a voice, just thoughts. And she wanted to silence them by sealing the top and tossing everything into the trash. But she knew that wouldn’t solve things. Even if she tossed the box into the sea and let it sink to the bottom, she’d know it was there. And God would know.
God did know.
Hannah thought of her list. She was loved by Him. She was saved. She’d been chosen before the foundation of the world. Redeemed. She was forgiven.
But at the same time, she was guilty. The box was evidence of who she was.
And then it clicked.
This box wasn’t who she was. The box was evidence of her sin. It held the evidence of what she had done. But this was not who she was any longer. Only God had the right to tell her who she was, and He’d said all of those things about her in the Bible.
So what did a forgiven person do with a blue box? How did a forgiven person act after receiving love?
Her father had abandoned her, and he’d let shame and guilt keep him away for fifteen years. How she wished he had come looking for her years earlier. No doubt he felt the same way. But God had changed him, just like He had changed Hannah. God had given him another chance.
She looked at the box again. The expensive headphones caught her eye first. They were right where she had put them. And even though it frightened her to think of it, she knew what she had to do.
The next day, walking home from school, her heart beating wildly, she took a detour toward Webb Park. At the knoll, she heard a bouncing basketball and voices of boys in competition.
She stopped behind a tree and studied the players. Three of them had run after her that day. Including the one who had promised to find her and make her pay. Headphone Guy.
Everything in Hannah told her to turn and run. Everything but the quiet voice that said she needed to do what was right. The voice that said she wasn’t defined by her sin any longer.
She unzipped her backpack and took out the headphones, then walked down the hill toward the court, holding them by her side as she slowed her pace. She passed the basket. The boys kept playing. She stopped at the edge of the court and waited.
Headphone Guy dribbled the ball and finally saw her. “Hold up, hold up.” He looked straight at her and dropped the ball and it bounced away.
Hannah had played the scenario out in her mind. She had a whole speech ready. She’d apologize first. Then she’d tell him that God had forgiven her and that she was returning the headphones.
“And I’d like you to forgive me. I’m sorry.”
That’s what she wanted to say, what she wanted to happen. And in her dream, she would tell the kid what she had read in the Bible and how much better sh
e felt inside knowing God had loved her enough to die for her. And the kid would be so overjoyed at getting his headphones back that he would smile and ask questions about what she was talking about. And she would pray with him like Mrs. Brooks had done and she would tell him to read Ephesians and the other kids around would listen and they would want to pray.
She stood there, holding the headphones out, and watched the boy walk toward her. There was anger on his face.
“I don’t believe this,” he said to his friends. Then the venom came. “You’re the little thief who took my headphones.”
Thief.
There it was again. The accusation. But that wasn’t who she was. She’d been forgiven. She wasn’t a thief. She wanted to protest—but instead she just held out the headphones as the others gathered. She tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
He snatched the headphones from her in anger and inspected them. Finally Hannah gathered her courage.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft and reserved, but she had said it. It wasn’t the speech she had rehearsed, it wasn’t some eloquent sermon, but it was all she could give.
Instead of smiling, Headphone Guy’s face contorted. Sweat dripped from his nose and his muscles tightened, and when he spoke, it felt like he was spitting.
“Who do you think you are? You just take whatever you want?” Veins popped in his neck and he moved closer, his eyes boring a hole in her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
That was it. Her words unleashed a response she didn’t expect. He drew back like he was going to punch her, then violently pushed her and she fell hard.
Someone shouted. A woman’s voice. “Hey, get away from her!”
Hannah was on her back, the woman over her now, trying to help her up, but Headphone Guy moved forward, hovering like a linebacker taunting a sacked quarterback.
“See what happens when you take something from me!”
The woman stood her ground and pointed a finger at him. “That’s enough!” She helped Hannah to her feet.
So much for asking forgiveness. Was this what happened when you tried to do the right thing? Was this what following Jesus looked like?
“What’s your name?” the woman said gently.
Hannah couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She’d felt so good about returning the headphones and now, so defeated.
“I need to go,” she said, turning and running for the woods.
“Hey, wait a minute!” the woman called after her.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Headphone Guy yelled. “You’d better run. Thief!”
The word echoed in her soul. She ran until she felt safe enough to stop, far from the sound of the voices. She sat by a tree. How would she be able to prove that she was no longer the same person? How could she get others to understand the change that had happened inside?
In the front pouch of her backpack were other items she needed to return. No one had told her she had to—it was just something she felt God wanted her to “walk in,” like it said in Ephesians. She’d written that verse in her journal. She believed God had prepared good things for her to do ahead of time, things He had for her to accomplish. One of those things was taking back all she had stolen.
She pulled out her English notebook. She’d written a bunch of essays this year, but these notes would be even harder to compose. For each item, she turned to a blank page and wrote something to the owner.
Hello,
My name is Hannah and I took this from you in the locker room at the Y. I’m sorry. I’ve asked God to forgive me, but I know I need to make this right with you. I apologize. I hope you can forgive me. It’s because God loved me that I’m returning this to you.
Sincerely,
Hannah
She knocked on doors, and when no one answered, she left the items and the notes. At one house, she knocked and heard feet clambering inside on hardwood.
“Who is it?” a voice called. It sounded like the girl from the Y, another latchkey kid like Hannah. She’d seen her walk to this house from the Y’s after-school program.
“My name’s Hannah. I have something I need to give you.”
The door opened just enough for the girl to see. She looked up at Hannah, then her eyes traveled to the bracelet Hannah held.
“You found it!”
The door unlatched and the girl opened it wide and grabbed the bracelet. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Where was it?”
“It was at the Y and I—”
“Oh, thank you!” the girl said, interrupting. “I thought it was gone forever.” She clutched it to her chest like it was a long-lost friend. “How did you know it was mine?”
Hannah paused. She could make something up, fudge the truth. But she looked into the girl’s face and knew she couldn’t tell her anything but what had really happened.
“I took it.”
The girl squinted, the front door wide-open behind her. “What do you mean?”
“It was sticking out of your backpack one day. Nobody was looking.”
Her mouth formed an O. “You mean you stole it?”
Hannah nodded.
“You shouldn’t have done that. That’s mean. My mom says that . . .” The girl paused.
“I know. Your mom is right. Stealing is wrong. And I’ve asked God to forgive me. And I want to ask you to forgive me too. You don’t have to.”
The girl looked like she might cry. “My daddy gave it to me right before he got deployed, and I thought it was my fault I lost it.” She studied Hannah again. “So nobody made you bring it back?”
Hannah shook her head.
“That’s awesome,” the girl said. Then her face turned sour. “I took some money from my mom’s wallet once. I never told her.”
“I bet she’d forgive you if you did,” Hannah said. “And you might feel better about it.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” She looked at the driveway. “Well, I’m not supposed to open the door for anybody. I need to go. Thanks for bringing this back.”
She closed the door quickly and Hannah walked home. She sat on the porch and watched cars and people pass. The word thief echoed in her head. She pulled out the page she had shown to Mrs. Brooks, the one with all the things the passage in Ephesians told her she was in Christ.
She scanned the list and realized she had a choice about what to believe. She could believe what others thought—or even her own feelings—or she could believe what God said. She could trust His words were really true.
Mrs. Brooks had said that trusting God and believing what He said was faith. And what Hannah had just done, returning items and asking forgiveness, was walking out what she believed. Every step she took to return the things she stole, every word of apology she wrote, was her choosing to believe in and trust God.
She recalled her father’s words and the emotion he showed on her last visit. Suddenly she knew she had to see him. She couldn’t wait one minute to go and tell him what he had longed to hear. She couldn’t have him thinking she hadn’t forgiven him.
She jumped on her bike and rode to Franklin General. When she reached the front entrance, she realized she had forgotten to bring her bike lock. It would be ironic if somebody stole her bike after she’d returned so many things.
She got a visitor’s pass and rode the elevator to the fourth floor, excited to walk in on her father and tell him. She found his room and pushed the door open, ready to burst in and give him a hug.
His bed sat empty.
The noisy machines, the tubes and bags of dripping liquid—all of it was gone.
She’d missed her chance. She would never be able to tell her father about the forgiveness she wanted to offer him.
Tears came to her eyes. Her mother had died at this hospital. Now her father had done the same. There was so much more she wanted to say to him and now . . .
“Hey, are you looking for Thomas Hill?”
Hannah turned and saw a dark-haired nurse with a clipboard.
“Are you a relative?” the nurse said.
“I’m his daughter.” As she said it, Hannah realized she had spoken the truth about herself. And the truth felt good. Thomas Hill was her father, and she was glad.
The nurse put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Well, he’s just been moved to ICU, sweetie. You want me to take you?”
A flood of relief washed over her. She felt like she could breathe again. She followed the nurse and asked what ICU stood for. It sounded ominous. When they reached her father’s new room, Hannah looked through the window and asked the nurse if he was okay.
“His EKG showed signs of a heart attack during dialysis. But he’s stable now. You can go in.”
Hannah slowly walked inside and stood by her father’s bed, studying his face. The same beeps were here, but there were more machines. The window shades were drawn. Her father turned his head at the sound of her sneakers.
“Are you okay?” she said softly.
He smiled, immediately recognizing her voice. “Hannah.”
She loved that he knew it was her. She loved that he spoke her name.
“They said you had signs of a heart attack.”
He chuckled to himself. “I just needed a little excitement. Sometimes I get a little bored, and so I decided to shake things up a little bit.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t do that again,” Hannah said.
“I admit I don’t want to,” her father said. He caught his breath and said, “So how are you doing?”
“Well, I want to tell you something. Two things, really.”
“Okay.”
“I made the decision to follow Jesus.”
That brought a huge smile to his face and it seemed he couldn’t keep still. His legs moved beneath the covers and his whole body reacted to the news.
“I’ve been learning a lot,” she said. “And reading a lot. And one thing I’ve learned is, if Jesus can forgive me for all the things I’ve done, then I can forgive other people.”
The smile left his face and he became somber.
“So I wanted you to know that I forgive you. And I want to spend more time with you, if that’s okay.”