Choose life. Choose me.
Who are you?
I am the way, the truth, and the life.
A burst of color explodes inside my head. Words I heard at church, songs I sung standing beside Jake, words spoken in prayer by my mother and Aunt Bobbie calling out from the speaker . . . deliver us from evil . . . they crowd inside me, pushing away the fog, pushing away the doubt.
Images, like a well executed movie preview, unspool inside my head. I see Joe standing far away. In his hands is the chest which contains all the hurt and pain and confusion I’d collected over the years. “I carried it for you,” he says. He walks toward me. The chest grows, becoming bigger and bigger, until it’s twice the size of the man. He shifts it to his back and now he’s dragging it along behind him, bent over from the weight of it.
The image becomes wavy as though I’m looking through curtains of heat in the desert, then it morphs into something else. A man, covered in dirt, dripping sweat and blood, trudges across the sand. He stumbles under the weight of the huge piece of wood on his back. The cross that he carries. He stops in front of me, looks up at me with eyes full of love and pain, and says, “I carried it for you.”
My head clears. One limb at a time, I feel the pain subsiding and the strength returning to my body. Vinnie’s voice echoes in my head, “Call on the Name.” I hadn’t understood who that was.
I hadn’t been thinking big enough. But I am now.
I take a deep breath and look up at Ba’al. The beauty of his face is melting away, leaving him as grotesque and contorted as the souls he’s manipulated. Now, for the first time, I see him as he really is.
There’s no doubt in my mind anymore. No confusion. I know exactly what I have to do. Through dry, cracked lips I rasp, “You lose.”
An unearthly shriek bursts out of him. He shoots upright, grabbing the lapels of his coat and ripping it in half, exposing leathery skin stretched across a skeletal chest. Despite my resolve, fear grips me. I try to stand, try to get away, but my heel catches on something and I fall backward. I scream as the speaker wires begin growing like possessed kudzu vines, wrapping around my arms and legs, holding me down.
Ba’al points at me. “We will have you. You belong to us!” There’s no music left in his voice, just ugliness and discord, like a hundred angry voices all clamoring at once. He drops to one knee and lets out a growl as he hits the pavement hard with his fists. Great cracks emanate around him in every direction, shaking the ground. All around me, the white posts fly from their moorings and black, ghost-like figures emerge, rising into the air in a swirling frenzy.
The air grows cold and echoes with sounds no human ear should hear. He’s calling in reinforcements. I know I can’t do this on my own.
“You can’t fight us.” He snarls at me and saliva drips from one corner of his mouth.
I struggle against the wires that encircle my neck, against the fear that clutches at my heart. “Not me,” I choke out.
The ground shakes again, but this time it takes him by surprise, almost knocking him from his feet. He jerks, regains his balance. “What are you doing?”
“You can beat me. But you can’t beat him.”
He recoils, and for the first time, I see fear reflected in him.
“I’ve got a name.”
Thunder cracks.
He puts his hands over his ears. “No!”
The speaker wires loosen, and I’m able to free myself, pull myself into a standing position. “The only name that matters.”
He grabs handfuls of his hair and rips it out by the roots. “No!” His scream is nearly drowned out as the wind picks up speed. All around me are ear-splitting wails and shrieks. But they can’t stop me. Nothing can stop me. Not now.
With my hands and face lifted to heaven, the name comes up from the depths of my gut, loud and clear and pure.
“Jesus!”
Wind like a hurricane rushes through the drive-in, blowing away everything until I’m left standing alone in the middle of the maelstrom.
A blinding flash of golden light encompasses me, fills me. It blocks out thoughts of anything else but the name I just uttered.
I feel myself falling, floating. I let myself go, but the name still pours from my lips.
Jesus.
31
After the Drive-In
I’m sitting on grass.
The drive-in is gone. Ba’al is gone. But I’m not alone. There’s a man sitting beside me, wearing slightly wrinkled, beige Dockers and a long sleeved, blue shirt. His feet are bare and his arms are wrapped around his raised knees. He’s smiling at me. It’s Joe. Only now I know who he really is.
“Jesus?”
He nods. “I knew you’d get my name right eventually.”
And not a minute too soon. “What just happened?”
“That was a battle for your soul, Allie. You had to choose.”
I can still hear the voice in my head, feeding me the answers, prodding me in the right direction. “Choose life. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “You chose wisely.”
I cock my head to the side, looking at him closely. Am I imagining it, or did the Son of God just make a very sly Indiana Jones reference right out of The Last Crusade?
He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I forget all about the possible joke. The sensation that fills me is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life. It’s more than peace, more than love or contentment. It’s all those things and a million more. I close my eyes and dig my fingers into the ground, feeling the damp earth underneath my nails, relishing the fresh, green scent that rises to fill my nostrils. I want to stay like this forever, sitting on the grass with Jesus.
Wait a minute—I’m sitting on the grass, out in an open field, with Jesus. How can I be doing this? “Am I in heaven?”
“No. I’m just letting you regain your strength before I send you back to the diner.” He motions off to the side with his thumb.
I look in the direction he’s pointing, to the left of us, past a row of leafy elm trees . . . Ah, now I can see it. The pink walls are brighter than before and the neon sign glows bright, flashing the full cup, empty cup, full cup, empty cup. My heart skips in my chest, both from the joy of seeing something familiar, and the disappointment that I’m going to have to leave the peaceful place I’ve settled in.
“Why do I have to go back?”
“You’re not quite finished there. There’s still some work to do, choices for you to make.” He chuckles a bit under his breath. “Besides, Vinnie’s worried about you.”
“Really? You mean he doesn’t know what happened?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. Angels aren’t omniscient, you know.”
“So I hear.”
I breath deeply, desperate to absorb as much of the moment as possible. I feel stronger now than I have since the accident, and somehow I understand that my time here with Jesus is almost over. I wish I could simply relax and bask in the tranquility of the moment, but I can’t. There’s something I need to know before I leave. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” he says without hesitation.
“The things that happened to me . . . to my mother . . . why didn’t you stop them?”
The pounding in my ears equals the thudding in my chest. I want him to tell me it was a mistake. Just some slip-up in the great celestial scheme of things, and now that I’ve called on him, now that I believe in him, nothing bad will happen to me again.
But he doesn’t say that. In fact, he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he pulls a dandelion that has gone to seed up out of the ground. Holding it in front of his lips, he blows on it, sending the white shoots flying. We watch as they bob and weave, like tiny white umbrellas turned inside out, carried along by the breeze until there’s not a trace of them left.
He turns his face toward me. “Do you have any idea where all those seeds will end up?”
“No.”
“Of co
urse not. How could you? There are so many unknown factors determining their paths: wind patterns, obstacles that might get in their way, predators.” He drops the bald stem on the ground beside him, then turns his whole body toward me, legs crossed. “You don’t know, but I do. I know what will happen to each one of them. And if I know about something as small as where a dandelion seed will end up, don’t you think I know everything there is to know about you, my precious child?”
Tears burn the rims of my eyes. “But if you know, if you knew, then why . . .”
“Why did I allow you to be hurt? I could explain it all to you, but it wouldn’t make sense. The simple version is this: The Father never intended the world to be the way it is. He knew what was going to happen, but it wasn’t his perfect plan.”
I crinkle my forehead and he smiles. “See, you’re already confused. Let me give you the Reader’s Digest version. The first humans were created in our image. They were given free will. And they chose poorly.” He pops open the button on one shirt cuff and starts rolling up the sleeve. “That’s why you live in a sinful world full of people who have the ability to make their own choices, to choose between right and wrong. Sometimes, they do very well, especially if they’re seeking the will of the Father. But other times they do a terrible job at it, and that affects everyone around them.”
That part makes sense to me. After seeing my mother, I know she would have grown up to be a different person if not for the evil done to her and to her sister. George didn’t know it, but the sins he committed spiraled down, through the generations, leaving a legacy of guilt, shame, and pain. It affected how my mother raised me and how she approached every relationship she ever had with men, which also spilled over onto me. So really, my own relationship issues can be traced back to George. Maybe even further.
“What a mess,” I mutter.
He nods, moving on to the other shirt sleeve. “Indeed. And not only in this world, but in the next. The cycle of sin never stops, and the price it demands is very high. Which is why you need a Savior.”
My eyes drop to his arms. Now that his sleeves are pushed up, I can see the scars. They’re not neat little holes in his hands like you see in paintings. These are jagged, angry red and white welts weaving a pattern across his hands, his fingers, around his wrists and up past his elbows where they disappear beneath the blue cotton of the shirt. My mind fumbles through all the random Bible stories and verses I’ve heard over the years, stories of Jesus’s sacrifice and his amazing love. Now, they finally begin to make sense. It all clicks into place. I may not understand everything about my life, but I understand the price Jesus has paid for me.
I reach out, then pull back, not sure if I’m allowed to touch him.
He smiles and moves one arm so it’s closer to me and easier to reach. “Go ahead.”
I extend my hand slowly. My fingertips barely make contact with the scars before I have to pull away again. I can’t do it. I’m not worthy to look at them, let alone touch them.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is a soft, gentle whisper, like the breeze that makes the wild flowers around us bend and bow.
I close my eyes and drop my head, shaking it from side to side. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you don’t. Nobody does.” He has every right to sound harsh and resentful, but he doesn’t. There’s nothing but love in his voice, and it breaks me down even more.
I open my eyes, but turn away and look in the direction of the diner. So many memories were stirred up in there, things I’ve been carrying around with me. Baggage that’s weighed me down, shaped the person I’ve become, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. Is it possible I can finally let it all go? I want to. I want so much to put the past behind me, once and for all, but I don’t know how. “I’ve done things . . . things I’m not proud of. Really terrible things.” I turn my head and look into the eyes of Jesus. “I can’t figure out how to forgive myself. How can you ever forgive me?”
“All you have to do is ask.”
He makes it sound so easy.
“It is easy,” he says with a smile, holding up his scar ravaged arms. “I did the hard part, remember?”
A sob jumps up from deep inside me, but I hold it back and force out the words I should have said a long time ago. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please forgive me.”
“Done.”
He opens his arms wider, and I fall into them. Every other time I’ve been held by a man, I’ve wondered if there was an ulterior motive behind his touch. But this is different. There is nothing strange or uncomfortable about being in these arms, no purpose other than to love and comfort me. He pulls me onto his lap, cradling me, like a father holding a child. And there on the grass, in the arms of my savior, the broken pieces of my heart begin to heal.
A moment later, he speaks, his breath soft and sweet against the top of my head. “Penelope says hello.”
A new wave of tears comes as emotions bubble up from deep inside my spirit. It surges through me, needing to burst out. And on its way, it pushes out all the guilt and grief that’s clawed at my soul. These tears aren’t the bitter, pain-filled tears I’ve cried for so long. These tears are pure joy. He knows my daughter. She’s with him. And one day, I’ll be with her, too.
He hugs me tightly and then moves me from his lap so we’re sitting side by side again. “And now, someone needs to say goodbye.”
He blows out a sharp whistle. Barking sounds from far off, and then a dog bounds through the tall grass. I don’t recognize the animal until he knocks me flat on my back and licks my face like crazy.
“Grimm?”
I push him back enough so that I can sit up. His eyes are the same, his body shape is the same, but gone are the scars that used to reshape his features and make him look like something that stepped out of a nightmare.
“Grimm, you’re beautiful.” I look at Jesus. “You fixed him.”
He smiles. “This is how Grimm was always meant to look. Did you ever wonder how he got all those scars?”
I shrug while scratching Grimm between his shoulder blades. “I always assumed that he got into a lot of street fights.”
“There were a lot of fights, but not because he wanted to participate. He was raised to be a fighting dog. But when his owner put him in the ring, he’d only fight enough to protect himself. He wouldn’t go for the jugular and finish the other dog off like he was expected to do.”
My heart breaks at the thought of what his life had been like, always struggling, always protecting himself, and never knowing if the next fight would be the one that finished him off. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him to me, laying my cheek on the top of his head. “No wonder I was drawn to him at the shelter.”
“You saw Grimm’s heart. Just like Jake sees yours.”
My head jerks up. “Jake. Are you saying . . . ?”
“I’m saying that Jake sees you. The real you that you were always meant to be. That’s all. You have to take it from there.” He stands and dusts off the knees of his khakis. “And now, it’s time for Grimm and me to be going.”
My arms tighten around Grimm. “Both of you? I don’t understand.”
His smile is gentle. “I’m taking Grimm home.”
That can only mean one thing. My mind goes back to the accident. Grimm jumping into my lap, wedged between me and the steering wheel. His wet fur. What had the fireman said? The dog probably saved her life.
Grimm died in the accident. He died saving me. And now he’s going home with Jesus. Part of me wants to cry, but instead, laughter tumbles from my lips as I give Grimm’s neck one last squeeze. “We’ll see each other again one day.”
When I turn him loose, Jesus reaches his hand down to help me up. “Are you ready to go back now?”
I sigh. “Do I really have to?”
“Yes, you really do. Remember, you’ve got more work ahead of you.”
I don’t want to leave him. Of course, he knows this because, unlike angels, he does know e
verything. He rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a firm but gentle squeeze. “I am always with you, even when you can’t see me as you do now. I will never leave you, even in the midst of trouble and despair.”
And there it is. He isn’t promising me a perfect life, but he’s not asking me to walk alone, either. How could I ask for anything more? “I think I’m ready.”
The diner is closer than I thought it was. It only takes a few steps, and I’m at the front door. I reach for the handle, then turn and call, “Thank you!”
All that’s behind me now is an empty meadow, the wild flowers and tall grass dancing gently with the breeze. Jesus is gone from view, but a familiar warmth fills my chest. I can still feel him.
I know he heard me.
32
Vinnie’s Diner
“Surprise!”
Excited cheers, frantic clapping, and the shrill call of noisemakers pour out the door of the diner. The wave of noises rushes to meet me as I step inside. The diner is back to being the size it was the first time I walked in, but there are some noticeable changes. A colorful banner proclaiming “WELCOME BACK ALLIE!” stretches across the back wall above the kitchen pass through. Music blares from a flashy red and chrome trimmed jukebox which stands where the radio used to be. Twinkling white lights, the kind you’d find on a Christmas tree, line the perimeter of the ceiling.
I stand in the doorway, shocked into immobility. It’s a lot to take in all at once.
A hand reaches out and grabs me. Fred Astaire waltzes me into the room, gives me a dip, then passes me off to Gene Kelly. Gene twirls me around, then passes me off to someone else. Trying to catch my breath through the laughter and dancing, I look up into the face of my new partner.
Vinnie.
He does a move with each of our arms over and behind the other’s neck that’s straight out of a disco movie, then takes me by one hand and pulls me further into the room, deeper into the throng of people. I have to do a double-time step to keep up with him. “What’s all this?”
His smile is so big, it just might split his face in two. “What does it look like? This is a celebration.”
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