Miracle at the Higher Grounds Cafe

by Max Lucado

  “I’m so tired.” Hancock took a sip of his Sleepy Time tea.

  “You want to go back to bed?”

  “Oh no, I can’t sleep. I’m just tired of . . . being mad. And sad. You know?”

  Bo leaned forward, pulling his recliner upright. “Rough day?”

  “That’s just it. I had a great day, and I still feel like this. I can’t make myself stop.” Hancock shifted in his seat, flicking at the tea bag in his mug. “I guess I’m just weird.”

  “No way,” Bo said. “I’ve felt like that before. Couldn’t make myself stop either.”

  “Then what did you do? You seem happy now.” Hancock’s eyes never left his mug.

  “Did the only thing I knew to do,” Bo said, reaching for the Bible on the end table. “There’s an answer for every occasion in here. Like a map for life.”

  Hancock watched as Bo navigated the large book like a seasoned sailor.

  “Here we are,” the older man said, anchoring a page with his finger. “This is Jesus talking. He says, ‘Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’ ”

  Hancock looked up, his eyes glistening. His voice wavered beneath waves of emotion. “How does that work?”

  Chapter 25

  Manny was lost. Lost in a galaxy far, far away. He had been to three showings of Star Wars that week, and he managed to get lost on the way home every time. Always in a different direction. On this particular night he wandered six blocks into the Lavaca neighborhood before his mind emerged from deep space.

  “Uh-oh,” he whispered upon discovering he had no idea where he was. Again. Fortunately, Manny always had a map on hand. All he had to do was look up.

  “Amazing!” Manny marveled as he plopped onto a nearby bench, scanning the night sky for the Big Dipper. He traced the saucepan with his finger and followed the trail to the one star he could always count on. “Gotcha!” He pinched the North Star between his thumb and forefinger, then stood up, getting his bearings.

  “You might not want to leave just yet.”

  Manny could feel the hot white light of an angelic presence blazing behind him. “Gabriel!” he exclaimed.

  “What’d you call me?” A gruff voice ripped through the air.

  Manny’s eyes darted across the street to a hulkish figure swaggering to the curb. He had the wide shoulders of a wrestler and the snarl of a jackal. He glared at Manny from beneath a hoodie. “What are you doing on my street?”

  Gabriel intervened. “Enough with you!”

  The figure didn’t challenge. He turned and disappeared.

  Gabriel chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

  “And don’t come back!” Manny shouted across the street. He pivoted on his heels to face Gabriel. “Am I glad to see you.” He blinked through the blinding brightness. He could feel his pupils shrinking. “I have so many questions.”

  “And I have answers. But first there’s something you need to see.” Gabriel grasped Manny’s shoulder. The street faded away and a room began to form around them. He could still feel the concrete beneath his feet, but when he looked down he saw an oriental rug and distressed wood floors. What he saw when he lifted his eyes nearly knocked him off his feet.

  Angels everywhere. Shoulder to shoulder, they filled the upper level of the Higher Grounds Café, creating a halo of light. At the center of the circle, Hancock and Bo sat side by side, heads bowed in prayer, unaware of their enraptured audience.

  The reverence in the room was tangible. The angels knew this moment for what it was. Holy and sacred. A heart was opening itself for the greatest gift of the universe, the presence of God.

  But through the window, Manny noticed dark shadows lurking. A wind whistled into the room, and a dark cloud serpentined around Hancock, its tendrils reaching and grasping at the young boy. Voices emerged from within: throaty and gutteral, filling the atmosphere with lies of shame, abandonment, and despair.

  “God has no place for you, Hancock.”

  “God? What God?”

  Just as the corruptive fog drifted toward Hancock’s consciousness, Gabriel began to sing. “Holy is the Living God.”

  At the sound of the angelic voice, the murky cloud stopped its advance.

  “Blessed be the name of the Lord! Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

  The shadows inched back at each chorus.

  One by one the angels joined Gabriel, lifting their voices to heaven. It soon sounded as though hundreds, perhaps thousands were singing. Outside the window, multitudes of angels orbited the house, bathing it with song. In the presence of such mighty voices, the evil encircling Hancock held no sway. There was no shadow for such lies to hide.

  Manny laughed as the abysmal cloud dissolved into the air. “Resist the Devil and he will flee from you,” he quoted as he stood next to the much taller Gabriel.

  “Thy kingdom come! Thy will be done!” Gabriel invited.

  Manny sang along with the chorus of angels. What he lacked in tone he made up for in volume as he beckoned to the Father.

  Then it happened. A descent of light straight from heaven’s throne, a ball aflame with glory and color. It was sunrise, sunset, silver, and golden. It was every color of the rainbow. A thousand and one hues. Vibrant like a star, gentle as a candle flicker, it hovered over the boy and then entered his spirit.

  The angels pronounced the victory:

  “Chosen by God!”

  “Redeemed for eternity!”

  “Full of God’s Spirit!”

  “Forever forgiven!”

  “Born anew!”

  Light surged through the cracks and crevices, not just mending but recreating Hancock’s innermost being.

  The chorus of angels erupted with a new verse. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty!”

  Manny was still singing when Gabriel lifted his hand from his shoulder, drawing him back to the present. It was hard to believe his feet had never left the pavement. “Thank you,” he whispered, first in a prayer, then to Gabriel. “Witnessing that. Each time it is stunning. But this time, with Hancock . . . he is a special boy.”

  “Special indeed. And you played a part in changing his life,” Gabriel said. “You’re doing great work down here, Manny.”

  “You really think so? ’Cause today . . . today was rough.”

  “But you rose to the occasion. Took that kiss like a man.”

  “You saw that?” Manny’s ears started to feel hot. “I mean, of course you did. You just wouldn’t believe how confusing things get down here. So many details, so many people, so many emotions!”

  “It all seems a little simpler from heaven’s view,” Gabriel agreed.

  “Of course, the humans do have a few perks. Have you seen Star Wars?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Seen all of them.”

  Manny startled. “Wait. There’s more than one?”

  “Oh yeah. There are a bunch. But the first three are best.”

  Manny was jittery with excitement. “Could this night get any better?”

  Chapter 26

  I’ve missed this, Chelsea. We’re good at this.”

  Chelsea stood on her front porch, studying Sawyer’s face. She could tell he was sincere. Detached from reality maybe, but entirely earnest.

  “Good at what? Talking? Strolling beneath the stars? This isn’t real life.”

  Sawyer took a step back. Chelsea knew her response had shocked him, and all she could do was shake her head.

  “We can do real life,” he answered. “The good, the bad, the ugly. I mean, how much uglier can it get?”

  “I don’t plan to find out!”

  Sawyer reached for Chelsea’s hand. “I know we can do this, Chelsea. We can make it. Together.”

  The words ripped open the space-time continuum. Chelsea was sitting on the bed of her dorm room, looking into the same big blue eyes filled with hope and determination. Sawyer had no idea he was repeating history, but she would never forget. Chelsea couldn’t alter t
he past, but this was her chance to change the future.

  “I have every reason I need to divorce you.”

  “I know you do,” Sawyer conceded, pain gleaming in his eyes. “But I’m going to keep hoping you don’t.”

  Just before going upstairs, Chelsea took one last look out the window. What she saw didn’t surprise or disappoint her. Not anymore. She’d lived through this before. Sawyer, phone to his ear, calling someone well after midnight.

  Every reason indeed.

  Like an overworked computer, Chelsea’s mind struggled to process all the events of the day. She had almost forgotten Bo was waiting upstairs.

  “Well, how were they?” Chelsea asked.

  “Perfect little angels,” Bo said. “I had a good chat with Hancock.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll let him fill you in.” Bo grinned. “And you? How was your night?”

  Chelsea was far too weary to put on a show. “Fine. We’re getting a divorce. But it’s for the best. Sawyer is great on holidays. But real life? Not so much.”

  “Sounds an awful lot like my wife’s first husband.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “She was married to a drunk. Arrested twice for DUI. Had trouble making it to work. A real deadbeat dad. He made excuses to go on ‘business trips’ just so he could drink and party.”

  “Good thing she left him.”

  “She never did, actually. She kicked him out all right, but he kept coming back like a bad penny.”

  “Sounds familiar. So how’d she finally get rid of him? I could use some tips.”

  “Well, to be honest, you’re looking at him.”

  Chelsea stared long and hard at her neighbor. “That was you? What happened?”

  “Hard to say without sounding trite. But you see, God . . .” Bo scratched his chin, searching for the right words. “Well, I guess he came after us. Really pursued us. Through friends. Through events. Even through our rotten marriage. I wanted a better wife. She wanted a better husband. But God gave us something even better. Himself.” Bo stared off into space, his eyes welling with tears. “Joanne and I were together forty years. I do miss her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Chelsea said.

  Bo collected his Bible and coat and stood to go. Then he turned and looked directly at her. “Your mother once asked me to pray for you and Sawyer. I want you to know I haven’t stopped.”

  “I don’t think it’ll ever work out between us, Bo.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Not really my business, I reckon. Either way, I think you should know . . . God’s pursuing you, Chelsea.”

  Chapter 27

  What’s the year?” Sara pulled a vintage photo from the album on her lap for Chelsea to see. The image showed a much younger Sara in the middle of a science experiment, complete with a lab coat and goggles. The hairstyles and fashions around her screamed nineteen eightysomething.

  Chelsea scanned the image for a clue. Noticeably absent was the hairline scar on Sara’s chin, but that could be anytime before 1990. It didn’t help that Sara had the same long, silky blond curls until she turned thirty. Then Chelsea got it. “Oh! Fall 1989.”

  “That’s seven for seven!” Sara said, checking Chelsea’s answer against the date on the back. “How’d you know this time?”

  “Elementary, my dear. See that kid behind you? That’s Roger Halbrook. He was in your chemistry class the first half of your freshman year. Deb had a crush on him.”

  “You guys were in fourth grade!”

  “You know Deb. She always had a thing for older guys.”

  “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re the next Sherlock Holmes, I’ll get back to work.” Sara began tucking the photos back into their respective places in the album. “I just needed a brain break.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara. You’re the one moving, and here I am asking you to help me pack up. But we’re making progress. Watch this!” Chelsea glided from one side of the sunroom to the other. After three consecutive evenings working through the cluttered maze, this was a considerable feat.

  Sara offered a small smile.

  “Everything okay?” Chelsea asked.

  “Well, I didn’t want to burden you, but the offer fell through on the house. The For Sale sign goes back up on Monday.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sara. You could’ve told me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. But at this rate we’ll be in a new school district just in time for the twins to start kindergarten.”

  “Any more boxes, Mom?” Hancock stood in the doorway.

  “Um, that stack by the phonograph goes home with Aunt Sara. Everything else can be stored in here.” Chelsea gestured to the apothecary cabinet she and Sara had centered on the wall. “We’re down to three boxes!”

  “Want me to take your stuff to the car?” Hancock asked.

  “That’d be great! Thank you, sir,” Sara said.

  Hancock stacked several books on a cardboard box, bracing the tower with his chin.

  “You’re amazing!” Chelsea called to him as he continued his balancing act down the hall.

  “He seems to be in good spirits,” Sara said once he was out of earshot.

  Chelsea smiled thoughtfully. “He really does. He told me he had a great talk with Bo the other night. Didn’t say too much, but he’s clearly feeling a lot better. And I sure can tell a difference.”

  “I’m glad Hancock’s spending time with Bo, and I bet Bo loves the company. His only son is stationed overseas, so they don’t see each other much.”

  “Oh, that has to be hard on him,” Chelsea said. She opened one of the last boxes. “More photo albums to go through! Could you imagine if Mom had had a Facebook account?”

  Sara shook her head. “There’s one plus side to her resistance to technology!”

  “Seriously,” Chelsea said, flipping past a series of brace-faced photos from her awkward phase. She lifted up one snapshot and gazed at it. Ten-year-old Chelsea at a costume party, wearing her mom’s oversized, polka dot dress, yellow Easter hat, and high heels stuffed with tissue paper. She was blowing a kiss to the camera.

  Chelsea smiled, remembering her mom on the other side of the lens. “Like this, sweetie!” Virginia had said, coaxing her daughter into the playful pose. Chelsea did her best impression. “Perfect!”

  Chelsea had wanted to be just like her mom when she grew up. She thought her mother really was perfect. Now she knew otherwise. “You know, I had a hard time at first reconciling how Mom could end up in such a bad place financially and not tell anyone. But after walking in her shoes for a few months, I kind of get it. Running a business is hard, and sometimes admitting you need help is even harder.”

  Sara nodded, but Chelsea could tell her mind was elsewhere, lost in a memory of her own. “What do you have?” Chelsea asked, scooting over to join her sister.

  Sara was studying an image of herself in a hospital bed. Little Chelsea stood beside her with a somber smile. Sara’s face was bruised and swollen. One eye was completely closed. A line of stitches ran from the left corner of her mouth to her jaw.

  Chelsea shuddered. The girls had been spending a typical weekend with their father. He was away on a “business trip” on a Saturday night, leaving sixteen-year-old Sara to look after eleven-year-old Chelsea. Chelsea had awakened trembling and choking after a nightmare. She saw shadows in the windows, menacing shapes on the walls of her makeshift bedroom. Faceless creatures circled her bed, grasping at her throat. The same vivid dream that had haunted her over the years.

  Chelsea had begged Sara to take her back to their mom, and that was the last thing she remembered. The rest of her “memory” came from an article that ran in the Tribune. The girls had been struck by a drunk driver just after Sara merged onto the highway. An eyewitness saw the little blue Volkswagen flip three times before landing on its side in a cloud of smoke and flames. When the paramedics and fire fighters arrived at the scene, Chelsea and Sara had been rescued from the fiery wreck by a Good Samaritan stranger. Chelsea ma
de it out unscathed. Sara’s recovery was long and hard.

  “You want to know something weird?” Sara asked, unconsciously tracing the scar on her face. “I’m thankful for the whole thing.”

  Chelsea remained silent. Who was she to argue with Sara? Her sister wore a constant reminder of the traumatic event. Yet deep within herself, Chelsea felt a wound that had gone untreated. A wound still stinging with doubt, fear, and regret.

  “That experience opened my eyes to how deep God’s love is. I’m reminded of his love for me every time I look in the mirror.”

  “You’re just so certain about it,” Chelsea marveled. “I have the hardest time believing that the God of the universe watches over me and you. The idea that he loves us individually. It sounds nice. But it also sounds like a fairy tale.”

  “I know God was watching over us that night, Chelsea.”

  “Then why did we get in the accident in the first place?”

  Sara paused before answering, slowly assembling her thoughts, or perhaps working up the courage to share them. “Personally? I think there’s more going on around us than we realize. I think God uses even the bad and ugly things in this world to lead us to a good place.”

  “You sound like Mom,” Chelsea said, pulling herself to her feet and bringing the conversation to a close. “Hey, did you ever find her Sinatra album? I’ve had that ‘Lost in the Stars’ song she loved stuck in my head, but I only know the chorus.”

  “We’re lost in the stars, lost in the stars . . .” Sara chirped in an airy soprano. “That’s all I know, but I love that song! I’m sure it’s over there. Like a needle in a haystack,” she added, motioning toward their mom’s extensive record collection.

  “Good thing the chorus is nice,” Chelsea joked.

  When she went upstairs for the night, Chelsea was still humming “Lost in the Stars.” When she peered into Emily and Hancock’s room, she found herself living the lyrics. Beneath the starry scape of their night-light, Hancock and Emily were kneeling at the foot of the bunk bed in prayer, their reverent murmurs indiscernible to Chelsea’s ear. She had countless memories of being on bended knee in that very room. Each evening, Chelsea’s mother led her in a nightly prayer, but tonight Hancock filled the role. Part of Chelsea wanted to step in and play her proper part, but since she wouldn’t know where to begin, she quietly slipped away.