Miracles (10 page)

The woman gave her a suspicious look. “That's okay. I've got it. I'm not going far.”

Kate glanced self-consciously back at Sam. He winked at her, then started toward the other guy at the counter.

“Look, I know this is weird,” he heard her say. “But I just had this sense . . . that you need someone to talk to but you can't trust anyone, and well . . . I know you don't know me from Adam, but I'm a good listener and . . .”

Sam grinned as he reached the man.

“If only someone bigger was in control,” the man was saying, “and I wasn't at the mercy of that tyrant I work for.”

Sam reached for the straws on the table and accidentally knocked them over. The man squatted and started helping him pick them up. “I've been so clumsy today,” Sam said. He extended his hand. “Sam Bennett.”

And as they began a conversation, Sam told him who was really in control.

8

S
AM DIDN'T RETURN TO THE STANDS UNTIL THE GAME was almost over. His friends, who usually gave each other the benefit of the doubt no matter how bizarre one of them acted, each asked Kate privately if Sam was all right. They were good guys, all of them. The four of them, plus John, their pastor, had become close at a Promise Keepers rally three years earlier. After that, they'd formed an accountability group that met once a week in Bill's office. They prayed for each other diligently and held each other mildly accountable for their Christian walk. But it occurred to Sam as they pushed through the crowd out into the parking lot that none of them had been very fruitful over the years. They'd stayed cloistered in their own little group and had done essentially nothing to reach out to people in need.

As they reached their cars, Kate turned back. “Look, I think I'll just go on home. I'm pretty whipped from working so hard today. Sam, can you ride home with one of the guys?”

Sam shot her a look and started to tell her not to go, but then he realized he needed this time to talk seriously with his friends.

“I'll take him home,” Bill said.

“All right. I'll see you guys later.” She reached up and pressed a kiss on Sam's lips, then whispered, “Be careful.” He watched her as she got into the car, then he rejoined his friends. “So what's this about you standing in the corridor the whole game, leading people to Christ?” Bill asked as they headed to his car.

“Man, I know it sounds crazy, and you probably won't believe it. But I've just had the most incredible day. I took the day off today and spent it with John. We met all these people and visited in the hospital. He was telling people about Christ left and right, and I got in on the act. It was the most amazing thing.”

Bill's eyes twinkled as he took in the story. “It sounds great, man, but do you really think somebody who prays a prayer in a football stadium really knows what they're getting into?”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean ‘what they're getting into'?”

“Don't you think you're selling them an easy believe-ism? A repeat-after-me kind of faith?”

“That's not what I'm doing,” Sam said. “They need Jesus Christ, and I'm trying to show them where they can find him.”

“I'm sorry,” Bill said. “I don't mean to be a wet blanket. I just think that sometimes when things come that easy, maybe they really haven't come at all.” They reached his car and he unlocked the door. All the guys climbed in.

“All I know,” Sam said, settling into the backseat next to Jeff, “is that we meet once a week and we talk about God and all the things he's doing in our lives, and we ask for prayer for each other, and we do devotionals, but how many of us have really influenced anyone else?”

They were all quiet as Bill pulled into the line of traffic waiting to leave the stadium. “There's a harvest out there, and God needs workers,” Sam said.

“I just believe I can influence people with my life,” Steve said, looking over his shoulder. “At work, people know I'm different. They tell me all the time, and then I'm able to share with them that God is the difference.”

“How many times has that happened?” Sam asked, genuinely wondering. “I'm not criticizing, really. Just curious. How many times has someone come up and asked you what's different about you?”

Steve thought for a moment. “Well, last year, people commented on how I behaved when Joan had cancer. Several people mentioned it.”

“And what did you tell them?” Sam asked.

“I told them I relied on my faith to get me through.”

“Did you tell them about Jesus? Did you pray with them?”

“No, I didn't have to.”

“Are those people Christians today?”

Steve was getting angry. “What are you trying to do, man? Pick a fight?”

Sam sighed. “No, nothing like that. I'm trying to point out to you how lame it is just to hope that somebody will figure it out by the look on our faces.” The other two guys were acting peeved, too, so Sam backed off for a moment as Bill pulled into the Shoney's parking lot. They were quiet as they went in. Sam closed his eyes, wishing he couldn't hear the waitress's soul saying how powerless and worthless she was. He tried to block out the sound of the man he passed who thought no one cared about him, or the mother who thought life was too chaotic, or the girl whose fear was an overwhelming dread in her heart, or the old man who rued the fact that he could never make anything of himself. All the needs, all the fears, all the dread, all the emptiness. His eyes burned with emotion as he reached the table and sat down.

There are so many people in here,
he thought
. I would never have time to go to them one by one and address their needs.
He needed helpers. He needed others to share the burden.

They sat down and the other three guys quietly began looking at the menu. “Look,” Sam said. “Look around you at everyone in here. That girl over there, she's scared to death. Feels like life is just too big for her, pressing down on her and she can't breathe.”

Bill glanced over at the girl. She didn't look hopeless at all. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“And that old man over there,” Sam said, “he thinks he'll never make anything of himself.”

“Well, if he hasn't already,” Jeff said, “then he probably never will.”

“He can realize that God has already made him valuable by creating him in God's image, that he's special because somebody died for him. He can be a saint and a joint heir with Christ. We have that information. Why are we withholding it from him?”

“Withholding?” Steve asked. “Come on, Sam. You're being a little melodramatic.”

“Somebody needs to tell him, Steve,” Sam said. “And see that woman over there? She thinks nobody cares about her. She feels all alone. And the waitress who brought us to the table feels completely insignificant.”

Steve looked at him with disgust. “How do you know these things?”

“I just know,” Sam said. “Every single person in here has a spiritual need. Take you three for instance . . . you need to be fruitful and do the work that Christ started. But no, you don't do it. And so your need isn't being fulfilled. You're the one standing in your own way. Not the church, not your jobs, not anything. Just you.”

Bill looked down at the menu, his jaw popping. Steve stared across the table at him, still disgusted. Next to him, Jeff began tapping his fingers. “Sam, we just wanted to go out and have a good time. Watch a ball game. Crack a few jokes. Why do you have to make this so heavy?”

“Because people are dying,” Sam said. “There's a hell and it's real and people are going there. Someone in this room may not make it home tonight.”

Bill slammed his hand down on the table. The patrons around them looked up. “Since when are you so worried about people's souls?” he whispered harshly.

“It should have happened when I became a Christian,” Sam said. “But it actually didn't happen until this morning.”

“So let me get this straight,” Steve said. “You went out with John this morning and told a few people about Christ, and now you think you're the apostle Paul?”

“No, I don't think anything like that,” he said. “I'm a Christian. Bottom line. That's it. That's all there is.”

The waitress interrupted and took their orders, and Sam looked up at her, desperately wanting to tell her that she was valuable, that she was precious in the sight of her maker. But he was in the middle of making a point with his friends, and he couldn't decide which was more important.

She went around the table and took their orders for coffee and soft drinks. When the waitress had scurried away, he looked around at each of them. “Let's make a plan,” he said. “Tomorrow night, we drop whatever we're doing, we go out to the mall or a Laundromat or the hospital, somewhere . . . and we start talking to people about Jesus.”

They each looked at him as if he'd just suggested going for a swim in a sewer.

“I have a Boy Scout meeting with my son tomorrow night,” Bill said. “I can't go with you.”

He looked at Jeff. “What about you?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, I told Andrea I'd be home tomorrow night. After being out tonight and choir practice Wednesday night . . .”

“Bring her with you,” Sam said. “She'll love it. She'll really get into it.”

Jeff compressed his lips. “I said no, Sam. Not tomorrow.”

Sam looked at Steve across the table. “Come on, Steve, you can come with me.”

Steve shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'm just . . . not ready for that.”

“Ready for that?” Sam asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I'm not prepared. I don't know what to say to people. You know, I have considered taking that evangelism class John told us about Sunday, maybe learning a few verses of Scripture, practice a little, learn how to share my faith before I actually go out there and do it.”

“Man, you don't need a script.” Sam looked from one man to the next, crushed that he couldn't persuade them. “If you could just
hear
what's going on in people's hearts!”

Bill gaped at him. “Like you can?”

Sam wanted to tell them, but he knew they'd never believe it. “Bill, it's our job to go out and tell people.”

Bill blew out a sigh, then looked at his watch. “It's getting late, and I'm tired.”

Sam stiffened. “We didn't get our drinks yet.”

“I know, but I'm getting a headache.” Bill got to his feet. “Let's just go.”

“Am I making you that uncomfortable?” Sam asked. “Man, I've looked you in the eye and questioned your parenting. I've challenged you about your prayer life. I've held you accountable for your language. You've never gotten hot at me before. Why now?”

Bill sat back down and rubbed his face. “I'm not mad, Sam. I just don't quite get where this is coming from.”

“Maybe . . . God? Ya think?”

The other men kept their eyes riveted on his, and suddenly Sam realized he was going about this all wrong. He didn't need to shame them into talking about Jesus. What he needed to do was get them excited, fill them with stories about what had happened to him today. The joys and the victories. “Guys, just listen for a minute. I want to tell you about some of the people I talked to today. Just open your minds and listen.”

The waitress came back with their drinks, and the four of them sat there as Sam went on and on about the pregnant woman with the little girl, and Janie, the waitress, and the man tonight who had wept and accepted Christ at the stadium. At last he ran out of stories, and they sat, uncomfortably quiet.

He wondered if he should give up. “I've really put a damper on the whole night, haven't I?”

“No, it's just late.” Bill's voice was flat. “I'm tired. Need to get home.”

“All right.” He got up and followed them wearily to the car. They got in one by one, none of them saying a word. Sam was the first one Bill took home. When they pulled into his driveway, Sam waited a moment before getting out. “Guys, I'm really sorry for coming on so strong tonight, but this is serious business.” He hesitated, waited for some kind of response, but there was only silence. He opened the door. When it was clear that they were all waiting for him to get out, he did. “See you guys later,” he said in a weak voice.

They muttered their good-byes, and he closed the door. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he walked to the front of his house. “Help them, Lord,” he whispered before he went inside. “Work on them like you worked on me. Give them a chance to know this joy.”

9

K
ATE WAS ALREADY IN BED WHEN SAM CAME IN. HE leaned down and kissed her cheek. She smiled and hugged him. “John called. Said he needs to talk to you, no matter how late.”

“Good.”

“How did it go with the guys?”

Sam began unbuttoning his shirt. “They may never speak to me again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I made them uncomfortable.” He sank down on the mattress next to her and slumped over with his elbows on his knees. “Oh, Kate. I was awful. I was sarcastic and accusing . . . No wonder I didn't make any headway with them.”

“You should have just witnessed to someone else right there in front of them, like you did me. Let them overhear you telling someone about Jesus. That would have done it.”

“Yeah,” he said, regretting the missed opportunities. “There was a waitress in Shoney's who really had a deep need. I was too distracted with them, so I didn't talk to her.”

“You can go back tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He got up. “I'd better let you sleep. You have to get up early.”

She turned over to go back to sleep, and Sam went into the living room, too revved up for bed. It was just after ten. He wondered if John was still awake. He was glad the pastor needed to talk. He could use an ear himself.