A Step Of Faith Part 19

"Yes, please."

He b.u.t.tered the bread and returned to the table. Almost the instant he sat down, the kettle began whistling and he popped back up. He poured the steaming water into a teacup. "Honey or sugar?"

"Honey," I said.

He brought the tea and honey over to the table. "Be careful, it's a bit hot."

I squeezed some honey into the cup, then tried a sip.

"I can get you some ice if it's too hot," he said.

"It's fine," I said. "It tastes good."

"Good. Good." He took a bite of bread. "Sister Balfe makes a mean banana bread loaf."

I smiled at his choice of words. I took two Tylenol from my front pocket and took them with my tea.

"Headache?" he asked.

I nodded, then took another sip of tea. "Your sign out front says to experience Pentecost. What does that mean?"

"Are you familiar with the Bible?"

"Some."

"In the New Testament we read that following the resurrection of Christ, the spirit was poured down upon the Apostles during the Feast of Pentecost. The celebration had brought large crowds of people to Jerusalem, and the Apostles were given the gift of tongues and taught the people about Christ in their native languages.

"The event was prophesied by the prophet Joel, 'And it shall come to pa.s.s in the last days, saith G.o.d, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.' In the Pentecostal faith we welcome such gifts."

"People really speak in foreign languages?"

"Yes, they do. The Bible tells us that G.o.d's the same today as He was yesterday. Why would the gifts change?"

"I guess you don't hear about them much."

"No, you don't. Gifts of the spirit require faith. People today don't want the gifts. They don't want the mystical, they want something they can quantify. They want science. If someone today saw a burning bush like Moses did, they'd douse it with a fire extinguisher." He smiled. "The gifts of the Spirit are the fruit of the tree of faith. The gift of tongues, healings and miracles are the blessings of faith. We live in an age of unbelief, but I promise you, miracles still abound. Are you going to still be in town on Sunday?"

I shook my head. "No. Sorry."

"Shame. I think you'd enjoy our meeting. If you ever find your way back here, I invite you to join us."

"Thank you. I will." I wasn't just being polite. His explanation of spiritual gifts made me curious to see them.

When we'd finished our tea and bread, I retrieved my pack and the pastor took me to a bedroom near the front entrance, a small room painted eggsh.e.l.l white with a simple twin bed without a headboard.

"Sorry it's not the Ritz, but it's definitely a notch up from the shed you requested."

"It's great. Thank you."

"The bathroom's at the end of the hall. If you need anything, just holler. My wife's in Fort Wayne visiting her sister, so you don't have to worry about running into anyone."

"Thank you for everything," I said. "Good night."

"Night, my friend." He shut my door and I listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall.

I was still hungry, so I ate an apple, a Pop-Tart, nuts and some jerky. Then I turned down the bed, undressed and turned off the lights. As I lay in bed, I thought about what the pastor had said about miracles. Did they still happen today? Had they ever? I hadn't seen miracles in my life, but perhaps it was my own fault. I certainly wasn't looking or asking for them.

No, that's not true. I had asked for miracles before. I had prayed as sincerely as a man could for McKale's life to be spared.

I rolled over and went to sleep.

CHAPTER Sixteen

Everyone has suffered more than you know.

Alan Christoffersen's diary

The next morning I lay in bed taking stock of myself. My body was sore all over from my first full day back walking, but especially my feet, ankles and calves. In spite of my workouts in Pasadena, I felt as if I'd pushed too hard. Thankfully my headache was gone. My head itched a little along the line of my incision and I ran a finger down the scar. Even though my hair had grown long enough to partially conceal it, the skin around it was still raised and numb.

There was a light knock at my door.

"Come in," I said.

The door opened just enough for the pastor to look in. "Sorry to wake you."

"I was just lying here," I said.

"I'm making breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"

"I'm not picky. However the spirit moves you."

He laughed. "All right, divinely inspired eggs. I'm still making biscuits, so you've got twenty minutes or so. Help yourself to the shower."

After he left, I took some clean clothes and a razor from my pack, then went into the bathroom. A hot shower was an unexpected treat, and I stood beneath the spray for at least ten minutes, shaving in there as well. Then I dressed and went into the kitchen. Pastor Tim already had breakfast on the table.

"Sorry I took so long," I said.

"Not at all. I love a long hot shower." He lifted the lid off a pan, exposing a mound of scrambled eggs and patty sausage. "Help yourself. The sausage has a little kick to it."

I loaded up my plate, then took a couple biscuits. Pastor Tim did the same. As I lifted my fork to eat, he said, "Would you join me in prayer?"

I set down my fork. "Of course."

He bowed his head. "Dear Lord, we are grateful for our many blessings. We are grateful for our meeting and ask a blessing to be upon Alan. Please keep him safe on his journey. We ask Thee to bless this food to our good and us to Thy service, Amen."

"Amen," I said.