I feel a bit like you do after having a big blowup with someone and then going away and rehashing the words you just said. I knew what I was going to say this morning, but maybe I went on a little too much. Perhaps I should’ve walked the fine line and then let it go. But I dove in deep.
I’m not sure what to think now.
If I didn’t know smoking was such an awful, life-threatening habit, this would be the perfect moment to just sit and stare into space and smoke a Marlboro. To be the Marlboro man, deep in thought, smoking.
Yeah, great motivation there, Tommy Boy.
I turn on the radio. Taylor Swift is telling me to shake it off. I change the station right away. The Beatles are suddenly telling me to carry that weight a long time. I switch again. Bono is reminding me he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. I try one more time. Oh, good, it’s Céline Dion.
Yeah, sure, my heart might go on, but my career ain’t going nowhere.
I turn off the radio just as I get a phone call.
It’s verdict time.
Sitting at the defense table, I’m feeling like the school outcast. I’ve gotten a couple of nasty looks from the judge, a few haughty glances from Kane and his team, all while Grace sits beside me silent and looking the other way. I’ve only said hello to her. I figure I’ve already pushed my luck with her. At least on this day.
When the jurors file back in, I can’t get a sense of what they’re thinking or feeling. That’s typical, but I usually pick up some kind of vibe. I’m getting nothing.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a decision?” the judge asks.
“We have, Your Honor,” the jury foreman, a woman named Doris, says.
“How do you find?”
I hold my breath and pause my life for a moment.
“We, the jury, find in favor of Grace Wesley.”
An uproar sounds behind us as Grace closes her eyes and brings her clasped hands up to her face. This moment is one I’ve hoped for, yet now it looks and feels nothing like I envisioned.
There’s sudden motion as Brooke and several others rush to us and give us hugs. I gather my briefcase and smile. Grace is innocent and I’m being held in contempt by both the judge and the defendant.
“You’ve kept quiet for so long,” I hear Grace telling Brooke. “Why don’t you go out and share the good news?”
The young woman beams and heads back toward the doors and out to the courthouse steps. Others are talking to Grace now, congratulating her. Her eyes glance over at me. They’re no longer hostile.
She gets what I did.
As I wait on Grace, I see Kane whispering something to his teammates. He looks like he’s scolding them. As he turns and buttons up his suit coat, I actually can’t help my grin. I seriously can’t. I know I’m gloating.
I doubt the older man will give me any ounce of credit. His team collects their ten thousand pages of notes and then prepares to follow him out of the courthouse.
“Hey, Kane?” I ask as he passes.
He pauses for a moment to look back.
“I like your shoes,” I say.
The statement, just like my entire existence, is completely beneath him. Kane turns and walks down the aisle.
It’s nice to see him leaving for good. Guys like him are part of the reason I wanted to become a lawyer. Because I guess I hate them. In some ways—in many ways—I never wanted to become one of them. Until I realized I was heading in that direction.
Maybe the whole fall from grace was a good thing.
I feel a hand tugging my shoulder.
Speaking of Grace . . .
“I’m sorry,” she says after I turn to face her.
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I deserved it.”
It’s nice to see her smile. And the relief that’s washed all over her.
“It’s just—I didn’t realize what you were doing.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “I couldn’t tell you. It had to come as a surprise or your reactions wouldn’t have moved the jury.”
“So you had a plan after all.”
“No, you did. You stood up for what you believe. And you stayed faithful. I don’t know anyone else who would have done that. They were hoping to make an example of you, but instead, you’ve become an inspiration for others. Including me.”
“Thank you,” Grace says. “For everything.”
She gives me a hug. Like everything else about her, it just feels right.
57
SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN Brooke shouting to the crowd that Grace won and the group of people suddenly celebrating and scattering at the same time and then Grace and Tom stepping out to greet everybody is when it hits Amy. It’s not unusual for her to have moments like this—they’ve happened to her all her life. Times when she’s at a family function or a business meeting or a classroom or a party and she suddenly has a kind of out-of-body experience and finds herself looking over everybody. She feels it’s the artist in her, the part of her that’s always watching and wondering and searching for meaning.
Meaning is here in three bold words.
The irony is that they’re not the three words everybody is chanting all around her like football fans at a playoff game.
“God’s Not Dead!”
Amy finds herself thinking of the witness named James Wallace, whom Tom called to testify. The former homicide detective, an atheist who eventually came to faith by applying logical methods to the Scriptures. She recalls his testimony about the connections in the Gospels.
“That’s an example of interconnectedness on a surface level. But there are others that go much deeper.”
She wrote that quote down and started to think about it for a future blog. Now, alongside the smiles and the celebration and the singing, Amy begins to write that blog in her head. She knows what three words she will highlight. And they’re not God’s Not Dead. Though maybe she’ll start there.
God’s Not Dead.
That’s right, of course. He’s not. But that’s only half the story.
Four passages of Scripture highlighting a woman named Mary Magdalene all connect in a very cool way.
Of all the people in the world to announce his resurrection to, Jesus chose Mary Magdalene. A woman he cast demons from. Not exactly the shining beacon of lifelong faith.
But that’s the point, right?
That’s absolutely the point.
The Gospels all tell the same story.
In Matthew 28:6—“‘He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen. Come, see where his body was lying.’”
Mark 16:11—“But when she told them that Jesus was alive and she had seen him, they didn’t believe her.”
Luke 24:6—“‘He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead! Remember what he told you back in Galilee.’”
John 20:17—“‘Don’t cling to me,’ Jesus said, ‘for I haven’t yet ascended to the Father. But go find my brothers and tell them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”’”
The other half of the story, the half that makes us whole?
He is risen.
Jesus is alive.
He is risen.
“I am ascending.”
Risen, alive, and ascending.
Amy feels wrapped up and shaken and moved. So many thoughts inside. God’s Not Dead. Which she finally came to grips with a year ago. Do you believe? A question she’s been asked repeatedly for the last few months.
She knows something now. Not because of the crowd or because of the verdict but because of seeing the undeniable faith played out in others’ lives the last couple of weeks.
The three words that define the meaning of all this?
He’s surely alive.
58
I DECIDE TO END THE DAY by celebrating my victory with someone who won’t have a clue who I am. But after seeing the joy in everybody back there at the courthouse, this just seems right. I can’t explain it to anybody else,
not even Grace. One day, maybe, I’ll be able to put it into words. But I’m still processing this myself.
Back there, seeing the smile on Grace’s face, all I could think about was Mom. Seeing those students singing and laughing, all I could picture were the students in my mother’s classroom. The ones who attended the funeral, some grown kids in their twenties or even closing in on my age. Grace and her high school class brought me back to my mother.
Which brings me here.
I have to pass The Captain. I nod and smile and say, “Good evening.”
Surprisingly, he nods back. He doesn’t smile, but I actually get a nod.
This is my day. I need to go play the lottery.
I have no idea I’m about to win it.
I walk in and approach my grandmother carefully. She’s sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, a book in her lap.
“Hello, Ms. Archer. I’m Tom Endler, your attorney.”
I’ve said this so many times it sounds like I’m on a channel, pitching something.
“Tom.”
The excited voice tells me everything. She says my name and I suddenly know.
“Since when do I need an attorney?” Grandma asks with a laugh. “Look at you. My, you just keep getting more and more handsome.”
I’m out of breath, my legs suddenly weak. Actually, my whole body’s weak. I lean against the door I just opened.
“Well, come here and give your Nana a hug.”
I drop the stupid briefcase I brought in and then walk over and bend down and embrace her.
“Okay, okay, you’re going to suffocate me,” she calls out.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“What’s wrong, Tom? Do you have bad news?”
I shake my head and wipe my eyes. “No. It’s nothing. Just—it’s good to see you.”
Good being the understatement of the century.
“Well, sit down. There’s a chair over there.”
“The bed’s fine,” I say, sitting right across from her.
She’s so beautiful. The way the wrinkles circle her eyes and lips like a half-moon when she smiles. The eyes that have lightbulbs behind them.
“So how have you been?” she asks.
I swallow. It’s been a long day and I’m tired and emotionally spent, so this is all a bit too much. In a great way. Like finding extra presents on your bed the night after Christmas.
“I’ve been good. Great, actually. Today—it was a great day. That’s why I’m here.”
“Really?”
She’s so happy for me.
Joy for something I’ve done from someone I care about? It’s impossible to quantify how good it feels.
“I won a big case today,” I say.
“Well, tell me all about it. I’ve needed to hear some exciting stories.”
I nod and begin telling her.
I’ve needed you to be able to hear them.
I tell her about the case, about Grace Wesley and what happened in her history class, about the suspension and my getting the job, about how the trial went. I even tell her about my final argument, which landed me in contempt but ultimately won the case.
With every detail, Grandma listens with an animated face that’s so proud. I tell her about the celebration on the courthouse steps, about the chants of “God’s Not Dead,” about all of it.
“And do you believe that, Tom? Do you believe it?”
I smile, looking down, wondering how much Grandma remembers. If she remembers it all, she’ll know that the Tom from years ago would shake his arrogant head and say a resounding no.
“Maybe,” I say.
I’m given this door—no, maybe it’s just a window of time. So I’m not going to waste it lying or bothering to hold back. It’s true. Right now I’m a maybe. I’ve seen some strange things and seen how normal faith has looked on people like Grace and Brooke.
“Your mother used to tell me how worried she was about you. Worried about the anger. How she felt like it was a huge barrier between you and God. Like the Great Wall of China.”
I guess Grandma knows more about me and my faith issues than I’d even guessed.
“Your mother prayed for you every day and night, Thomas. Not just when you were young, but even more so when you were older. Do you know that?”
I nod, facing the floor again, trying not to let Grandma see my tears.
“People wonder about prayers being answered and not being answered, but you know—God doesn’t promise he’ll answer them. And when he does, it’s in his own time and way.”
I look up and see the Grandma I always remembered and I have to laugh. I wipe my eyes. “Yes. You’re certainly right about that.”
He decided to answer mine right here in this room tonight.
“She would always say that she didn’t care about any kind of success you might have. About being some big-time, big-shot lawyer. She would pray that God would protect you and guard your heart. She once said you’d run away from him. That you’d run west where the sun could try to outshine his Spirit. She prayed every day that you would come back around.”
I think about Judge Nettles. It’s a name I haven’t even uttered in my mind for some time. I think about everything that happened in California. Being arrogant enough to believe I was bigger than a judge, bigger than the system in place. Then being tossed and having my world turned upside down. I think about the following dark times. Then finally coming back around after Mom was gone. Because she was gone.
The past can be given to you on a single postcard with a simple snapshot of every important thing that’s ever happened. Memories don’t have shapes or outlines or boundaries, and sometimes they can all be compressed into one room and one moment in time. Like now.
“Your mother never gave up on you. That spirit of hers—the way she used to be with those children she taught. I would look at her gentle soul and be envious. Do you know that? So envious. And you know something else, Thomas Endler? When I see you, I see your mother inside of you.”
My face feels heavy and my eyesight glassy, and I do my best to swallow past my dry mouth. I have to wipe my eyes again. “Thanks for saying that.”
My voice is so weak.
“She would have been proud about that big court case you had. Very proud.”
“Yeah.”
All this time, I’ve been coming to this place hoping and wanting to talk to this woman, wishing I could do so with her knowing whom she was talking with. Now I’m here and she knows and I can barely get any words out.
“You put your trust in the heavenly Father. No matter what happens. No matter the bad times that come. ‘But we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.’ That’s Romans 5:3-5.”
I just shake my head. “Good memory, Grandma.”
She nods. “Yes. Sometimes I surprise myself.”
For a second I think about this verse and then remember Grace talking about it with Amy and me in the parking lot after the first day of the trial. I’m guessing this Romans book must be a pretty popular one in the Bible. Maybe I’ll check it out. It’ll give me something good to talk with Grandma about.
A nurse comes and checks on us, giving my grandmother some pills. “Are you going to stay for a while?” she asks me.
“Definitely. If that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
We sit there in a room that smells like old age filled with toys that look like childhood. I find myself in the middle, with memories I want to forget and a future I don’t want to think about.
“Would you mind sharing some more stories with me?” I ask Grandma.
Her spotted hand, which seems like it’s nothing but bones, sets the shaking cup down on the small table next to her. “What kind of story would you like?”
“About my mother. Or about you. Or about whe
n I was a kid.”
So Grandma begins telling some stories, and I listen, and each sentence makes my heart feel a little better. Even if I’ve heard the story before or if it’s some random tangent that doesn’t make sense.
Grandma knows the stories. But there’s something far more important.
She knows me.
59
THEY’VE BEEN THERE in the coffee shop for an hour, talking all about the aftermath of the trial and the last week at school. Brooke has been almost breathless, sharing story after story. All along, Amy’s been waiting to get to the main reason she wanted to meet.
“Can I say something?” she finally asks.
Brooke apologizes, her face a bit flushed. “I’m sorry—I know I’m just talking and talking.”
“It’s okay. It’s just—I’ve wanted to give you something for a while now.”
She gives Brooke the box first. The girl takes it with curiosity and then peels off the top and unwraps the tissue paper. Her eyes and mouth widen, and for a moment Brooke acts like she can’t touch what’s inside.
“Take it out,” Amy tells her.
So she does. Amy can see the young woman’s hand quivering.
“Oh, my—I can’t . . . What is this? Amy, I don’t—why are you giving this to me? Is this real?”
Amy nods. “It’s a white-gold diamond locket. Very expensive—extravagant, exclusive—use whatever adjective you like.”
Brooke starts to hand it over to her while shaking her head.
“No, Brooke, it’s yours. Seriously.”
“I can’t.”
“Listen. Someone gave me that as a present some time ago. It’s someone who is not in my life anymore, thank God—literally. I’ve wondered what to do with it. But the last few days, it came to me.”
“What?”
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