Miracles (6 page)

“But I can't just repeat back to you what I hear,” Sam said. “They'd get wise.”

“Wise to what?” John asked. “Wise to the fact that someone knew their spiritual needs? That last guy is proof that they're not even thinking these things consciously. You could probably repeat them right back to them verbatim, and they may not even recognize them.”

“You recognized them when I repeated your needs.”

“But I'm already a Christian. I've prayed about what you heard. I've looked my problems in the face.”

Sam couldn't help remembering the needs he'd heard in John. “You aren't really thinking about leaving the ministry, are you?”

Several moments passed before John answered. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Why? I thought you loved preaching.”

“I love serving the Lord. But if I'm not making an impact, then I need to get out of it. It's a frustrating profession sometimes, Sam. You stand up in that pulpit, pouring out your heart and soul, and half the congregation just stares back at you with glassy eyes, trying to stifle their yawns. Five minutes after the sermon they can't remember what your main point was. Churches are supposed to grow. Christians are supposed to bear fruit. If neither of those things is happening in my church, then I'm failing.”

Sam gaped at him. “I don't get it. You're not failing—how do you figure that? Our church is vibrant. It's great.”

John breathed a cynical laugh. “Yeah, we did win the citywide basketball championship this year, and our softball team is shaping up to be a winner. But that's not what I'm going for. It's all those pesky lost souls that are troubling me. And all those yawning Christians who don't care about them.”

“Oh, come on,” Sam said. “I care. But this stuff is hard. I mean, you just said that lots of people don't even know their deepest spiritual needs. If they don't, what's the point? I mean, what can you really do? Even this so-called gift I have, how does it help if they don't recognize their needs when I mention them?”

“The point is that their soul would recognize them. Something inside them would stir, whether they admit it or not. These people we're going to visit in the hospital . . . some of them are scared. They need to know what Jesus can do to help them.”

“But don't they have enough problems, being sick and all?”

John shot him a look. “Some of them are going to die. This may be their last chance. That's part of the reason why I insist on visiting members of my church. I don't want anybody to die without understanding completely.”

Sam got quiet, thoughtful, as they walked the rest of the way to the hospital. His wife worked here as a nurse, and as they went in, he was assaulted with the mingling smells of sterility and disease. He knew other people couldn't smell it, but it always seemed to jump out at him. That was why he avoided hospitals like the plague. His mother had died in a room on the fourth floor, and he hadn't been back since. Whenever he picked up Kate, she met him in the parking lot.

He wondered what his wife would say about his being here now, or about this bizarre gift he'd been cursed with. This morning, when they'd had coffee together, he hadn't known about it. Why hadn't he heard her needs? His mind ran back through their conversation.

I just want to be useful.

The words scampered through his mind. He'd heard her say that, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't been looking at her. Had she really said it, or had she felt it?

John glanced over at him as they reached the elevator. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I'm fine. I was just wondering if I should tell Kate.”

“Why keep it secret from her?”

“I don't know. She might feel violated, knowing I can hear right into her.”

John grinned. “Are you kidding? That's every woman's dream. To know that her life partner can hear her deepest needs. The problem will be convincing her, but if you do what you did with me this morning, she'll believe you.”

The elevator doors opened, and John stepped on. Sam was beginning to get that sick feeling again. “Who are we visiting?”

“Annabelle York.”

“Do I know her?”

“She's old. She's been homebound for a while, but until a few months ago she sat in the front row and said ‘Amen' to everything I said.”

“Oh, yeah. The little white-haired lady. She has been out for a while, hasn't she?” He was ashamed that he hadn't thought of her until now.

“She's got cancer of the liver. They've done everything they can do.”

“Well, you're not worried about her spiritual condition, are you? I mean, she's obviously a Christian.”

“Maybe, but you can't ever tell. You know what the Bible says. Not everyone who calls ‘Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven.”

The doors opened, but Sam made no move to get off. “Why would she come to church every Sunday, sit in the front row, shout out ‘Amen,' if she wasn't really a Christian?”

“I'm not saying that's the case,” John said, catching the elevator door before it could shut. “If I were the judge, I'd say this woman's got it lock, stock, and barrel. But the problem is, a lot of times they fool you. A lot of times they fool themselves. I just don't like taking chances when someone's about to leave the world. I want you to tell me what you hear.”

They got off the elevator, and Sam began to feel the dread he'd always felt when he'd approached his mother's room. He looked for an exit door as they walked. “John, how am I gonna do this? I can't just tell you what I hear in front of her.”

“Find some way to pose it. I don't care how you do it. Just do it. I need to know.”

Once again, Sam resented this gift that he hadn't asked for and didn't want. He slowed as they approached the door to her room. John knocked, and when he didn't hear an answer, pushed the door open, and stuck his head in. “Miss Annabelle, how are you doing, sweetheart?”

Sam grudgingly followed him in. This was rude, he thought, shoving his way into somebody's hospital room when they weren't feeling well. But it was too late to stop the pastor. John was at the bed, leaning over it. The old woman smiled and reached up to take his hand. He squeezed it and asked her softly how she was doing. The woman could barely speak.

“You remember Sam from church, don't you, Miss Annabelle? He's making the rounds with me today.”

She smiled weakly and nodded her head, as if she knew him well, but Sam wasn't sure he'd ever been close enough to look her in the eye. “How are you, ma'am?”

“Fine,” she mouthed, as if too weak to project. Then he heard a strong voice that wasn't coming from her lips. “It's too late. Way too late. So many years wasted.”

Sam took a step back and tried to signal John with his eyes that he'd heard something. Then he realized that if he leaned over and whispered to John, she probably didn't even have the strength to notice.

John's eyes riveted into Sam's, and he nodded for him to pass it on.

“She thinks it's too late,” Sam said quietly, and he saw her looking at him, straining to hear. “She thinks she's wasted years.”

John frowned as if he didn't know what to make of that. “But does she know the Lord?” John whispered.

As if in answer, the voice came again. “All the people I could have taken to heaven with me. But I was more concerned about doing that busy church work and keeping a clean house.”

Yes, Sam thought. She knew Christ. At once, a boldness overtook him and he wanted to talk to her, to help her. He didn't want to play games by whispering to John. He stepped around the bed and got closer to her. “Miss Annabelle,” he said. “The Lord has revealed something about you to me. Do you mind if I tell you what it is?”

She shook her head.

“The Lord told me that you're concerned because you didn't lead more people to Christ. That you feel you were more preoccupied with church work and housework than with soul winning.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her mouth came open as she tried to speak. She looked from Sam to the preacher and squeezed his hand. “Think . . . how many people . . . I could have helped.”

John bent down over her, still holding her gnarled hand. “Miss Annabelle, let me pray for you.”

Sam bowed his head as John began to pray for the old woman who was suffering her last hours of life on earth and worrying about coming face to face with the One who knew her original potential.

Later, when they were back out in the hall, John smiled softly. “Miss Annabelle will be in heaven soon.”

“Yes, she will,” Sam said. “She's definitely a Christian. But she seemed so sad about what she hadn't done.”

“I think a lot of us are going to feel that way when we get to the end,” John said. “I see that a lot.”

They went on to the next room that John had on his list. “Who are we gonna see now?” Sam asked.

“Sid Beautral. You know, Hattie Beautral's husband?”

Sam frowned. “I thought she was a widow.”

“No, she just comes alone. He's not big on church. He had gallbladder surgery.”

“So he's not dying?”

“No, just recovering.”

“Thank goodness,” Sam said. They paused at the door and John knocked. A woman called, “Come in.”

John pushed the door open. “Hello, Miss Hattie. How are you, Sid?”

John hugged the woman easily, then shook the hand of the man in bed. It seemed second nature to John to embrace the weak, while Sam found creative ways to avoid them.

“What brings you here, Preacher?” the man asked gruffly. “You know I ain't dying.”

“Of course you're not,” John said. “I don't just visit dying people. I visit anybody in my flock who's in the hospital.”

“You count me in your flock?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, believe it or not, I do. Now, how are you doing?”

Sid shrugged. “Guess I'm okay.”

Then Sam heard his voice again, but Sid's lips didn't move. “I'm powerless. Can't defend myself. All my life is in somebody else's control.”

Sam nudged John. John nodded, encouraging him to speak. Sam cleared his throat and tapped his hand nervously on the bedrail. “Uh . . . Mr. Beautral, you're probably feeling pretty powerless lying here, like you're not in control . . . like you can't defend yourself.”

“Defend myself from what?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing.

Sam was at a loss. “From anything. I don't know. What threatens you?”

The man looked as if he thought Sam was crazy. “Nothing threatens me. I mean, nothing I can think of.”

Fortunately, John took it from there, and Sam let out a heavy breath and stepped back. “Sid, you know you don't have to feel powerless,” John said. “There is someone in control, and it's someone who loves you and knows the number of hairs on your head.”

Miss Hattie smiled, and the man looked up at him, his face changing as his eyes locked into John's. Sam prayed that John would lead this man to Christ before they left here today.

When they got back into the car to leave the hospital, John's eyes were dancing. “I think this has got to be one of the best days of my Christian life.”

Sam wished he felt so exuberant, but every muscle in his body was as rigid as stone. He knew the tension would take hours to subside. “I think it's probably one of the worst days of my Christian life,” he admitted.

“Why?” John asked. “Don't you feel good knowing that you'll never get to the point where Miss Annabelle is, getting to the end of your life and feeling regret because you never led anyone to Christ? Look at how many people we've influenced just this morning.”

“
You've
influenced,” Sam said. “I haven't really done anything except repeat back what I've heard.”

“You've done more than you know. You've listened, Sam. Not everybody listens.”

“Not everybody has to hear what I hear,” Sam muttered. “What am I gonna do with this now? How am I gonna get used to this?”

“Maybe you won't ever. Maybe you'll be known as the guy who can nail people's souls. There are worse things people could say about you.”

“I don't want that reputation. Or that gift, or whatever you call it. I'm not ready for this.”

“Of course you are. If I were to leave you right now at the bus station and you went in there and all those people were standing around, you'd know just what to do.”

“No, I wouldn't,” he said. “It would freak me out. This morning in the grocery store when I was hearing all those voices at the same time all around me, I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Well, if it was possible for you to transfer the gift to me, I'd take it before you could say
Ephphatha.”

Sam was exhausted by the time John agreed to return to the church. As John went in, Sam got into his car and sat there a moment, thinking. He knew he couldn't handle going to the office, so he called Sally on his cell phone and told her he would be out the rest of the day.