By Felice Gerwitz, Media Angels Publishing

A Few MinutesWith odGThe Journey Begins

By Felice Gerwitz, Media Angels Publishing

A Few Minutes With God The Journey Begins

Copyright © 2016 by Felice Gerwitz All rights reserved.

Publisher: Media Angels, Inc.

ISBN-13: 978-1517271190

ISBN-10: 1517271193

ISBN ePub: 978-1-931941-37-2

ISBN Kindle: 978-1-931941-38-9

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any

means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or other wire, without the prior permission of the

publisher, except as provided by USA copyright law.

MediaAngels.com

Cover Illustration: Robert W. Ahrens Printed in the United States of America

Contents

The Dream 7Between Heaven and Earth 15Truth Revealed 21An Ultimatum 31Life’s Purpose 41The Crossroad 53The Mission Begins 61The Threat 73The Joy 77The Beginning 89

“I will reveal myself to the world in the little things … and you will

be my messenger.”

And so, the journey begins with a reluctant teen and his younger sister.

A Few Minutes With odG

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he click of the front door closing is my daily morning alarm clock for high school. Like any other teenage boy, I badly want to roll over and

go back to sleep, but the need to see my mom, however briefly, wins out.

After pulling on my school uniform—navy pants that are almost too short for my six-foot frame and a white-collared shirt—I rake my fingers through my straight, dark hair. Then I peer closer into the bathroom mirror. My red-rimmed, blue eyes give me away.

Busted! I look like I haven’t slept all night. I hope Mom doesn’t notice.

I meet my little sister, Mary, in the hallway. She’s still wearing her white nightgown and rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, Brat,” I call out.She sticks out her tongue. Laughing, I allow her to pass and then follow her

into the kitchen. To say our apartment is cramped is an understatement: one-story and two bedrooms. But at least I don’t have to share my room with the brat.

“Good morning, darlings!” I know from her cheerful greeting that Mom’s tips from

the all-night diner were better than usual last night, and breakfast will consist of more than just carbs this morning. I perk up.

Mom was regal at one time. She keeps a picture on her dresser of a formal she and Dad attended years ago. Sometimes I sneak a look when she isn’t home.

Chapter 1 The Dream

T

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A Few Minutes With odGBut these days Mom looks pale and haggard in her

drab-gray diner uniform. The accompanying stiff, white apron doesn’t do much for her looks, either. Most of the time dark circles show up under her blue eyes.

She’s exhausted. “Morning, Mom,” Mary and I mumble.I sit down at the kitchen counter and stretch and

yawn, only half awake. “Can I skip school today?” I’m tired from staying up late texting Max. No one was home to make me go to bed.

I watch through droopy lids as Mary wraps her slim arms around Mom’s waist. Mom is very thin … too thin.

Mom gives Mary a tight squeeze and plants a kiss on the top of her dark curls. She studies me with that certain, wistful look I’ve come to recognize—a look of regret.

I know what she’s thinking. I look too much like Dad.“Seriously, Joseph? Skip school? Let’s not start the day

by complaining, please.” I’m used to her semi-aggravated tone, but it changes

when she smiles down at Mary. “How’s my little angel this morning?” she whispers sweetly. “Did you sleep well?”

Mary gasps. “Angel!” Her eyes grow wide. At the word “angel” I feel sucker punched. I catch my

breath and fight to sit up straight. The last vestiges of sleepiness vanish.

In an instant, my mind flashes back to last night’s dream. My heart races. The dream is as real to me this moment as when it happened. I recall everything in

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detail and exquisite color. I always dream in color, yet this time my dream is especially clear, stunning, and unbelievably vivid.

“What’s with you two?” Mom gazes at us, clearly stunned. I see the fear in her eyes. “Joseph, are you okay?”

My mother’s voice sounds distant. I hear roaring in my ears and feel like I’m going to faint. “Umm, I’m not sure.”

It’s the best I can muster. I’m trying to make sense of my thoughts as they race around inside my head. One scene shifts to another … then another. I place my elbows on the counter and prop up my head. The roaring slowly recedes. “I think I’ll live.” My heartbeat returns to normal.

“Well, breakfast is served, and food always seems to make you feel better.” Mom shakes her head and lifts two containers out of a brown paper bag.

Whew! I’m glad the focus has shifted. I need time to regroup.

Mary grabs the napkins and forks from the drawer. She passes them to me before scooting up on the barstool and taking a seat on the other side of Mom’s stool. She’s bursting with eagerness, glowing even, if that’s possible. She opens her mouth to launch into the reason for her excitement.

Before she speaks I’ve got a feeling that I know what she’s going to say.

“I had the weirdest dream ever,” Mary says. “I feel like it’s still happening.”

The Dream

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A Few Minutes With odGMom stops scooping out the eggs and narrows her eyes,

as if seeing Mary and me for the first time. Slowly, she puts down the container. “Both of you—both

Mary’s face and yours, Joe—are … are aglow. Not with the rosy glow of sleep, but with the glow of someone who has seen something otherworldly.” Her voice catches. “Otherworldly? Really! Did I just say that out loud?”

Mary and I exchange astonished looks. Something is wrong. Very wrong. It must have something to do with the dream.

“Joseph,” Mom says. “Do you see it?” I stare at Mary’s face. “Weird!” That’s about all I can

manage right now.“Did you dream what I did?” Mary asks me.“I don’t know how I know this, but yes, I did.” Okay,

I’m starting to freak out here. “Look at me.” Mom’s voice sounds tense. “Does someone

want to explain what’s going on here? Joseph? Mary?” She places a hand on my shoulder. The food is all but forgotten.

I stare into her eyes. Weird, unbelievable, or outrageous as it might sound, I can’t lie. “I can’t explain it, but Mary and I had the same dream. We dreamt about angels and being with Jesus. And”—I swallow—“It’s still going on. Not the ‘seeing it’ part, but I remember it all, in detail. I feel like I could talk to the Lord right now if I wanted to.”

“Joseph, don’t frighten your sister.”“No, Mom, it’s true.” Mary bobs her head. Her curls

frame her face like a halo. “Last night I saw angels. They

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were big—really big. This big!” She jumps off the stool and reaches for the ceiling to demonstrate the angels’ sizes. “Bigger than that, even! They told me not to be afraid, that Jesus wants me to spend time with Him, and to listen to what He has to say.”

Mom sighs. “I’m bone-tired, kids. I’ve worked the red-eye shift at the diner for five nights straight, and I am in no mood for fairy tales, especially when it comes to God. My life has been filled with about as much sorrow as I can handle. Happily ever after is not in the cards I’ve been dealt.”

Mom looks close to tears, but there is nothing I can say to cheer her up.

She goes back to dishing out the food. Her marriage to Dad, her childhood sweetheart, ended in a tragic accident. The business they owned went bankrupt. I remember losing our home, our friends, and most of our family.

I don’t know all of the details—Mom doesn’t say—but Dad’s family won’t talk to us. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with money. Who wants to take in a widow and two kids, especially in the current economy?

“No handouts for me.” That’s what Mom always says. She won’t take government entitlements. She provides for us by managing the local diner at night, even if it means taking a double shift to fill in when the help—more often than not—fails to show up for work.

Mom looks at Mary. She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I only wish I did see angels, sweetie, even in

The Dream

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A Few Minutes With odGa dream. But I don’t.” She places her hand against my forehead, and then Mary’s, to check for fevers.

It’s my turn to be annoyed. “No, Mom, we’re not delusional.” “I’m glad to hear that. Now, no more angel talk. Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school.” She sets plates in front of us.

“It’s no use, Mary.” I pick up my fork, stab a chunk of eggs, and cram them into my mouth.

Mary pouts. “But I saw angels, Joseph. I saw Jesus.”“I know. So did I,” I say through a mouthful of eggs. “Hello, kids! I’m right here,” Mom reminds us. “I said

no more talk about angels. Just eat.”I pause halfway through my breakfast. I need space

and time to think before I head out the door. For some reason, though, I’m compelled to share something important.

“Mom, I know you don’t want to hear anything more right now, but believe me, everything is going to be okay. Please don’t worry.” I shove in another bite, chewing as I gauge her response. When she doesn’t say anything I add, “Our lives are about to change drastically.”

“Joseph!” Mom holds up her hands to stop me from going any further.

I guess I shouldn’t have added that last bit. Mom’s eyes narrow. She’s obviously confused, and rightly so. Who would have guessed I’d be sharing a dream about angels or assuring her about our future?

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“I’m looking at you,” Mom says, “and you seem exhilarated and at peace all at the same time. You found Jesus? How can that be? This is so unlike you.”

“One more thing. Just one. I promise.” I need to get my next sentence out in a rush or I’ll never be able to say it. “I feel the presence of the Lord strongly right now. When you’re ready, He has a message for you.” I duck my head and shovel in the last of my food. After that latest revelation, I can’t imagine what Mom will say.

“We’ll revisit this later, Joe. If you two don’t hurry and get ready for school, you’ll be late.”

At least she didn’t blow a fuse this time.Mom stands and watches us place our plates in the

sink. Her hand shakes slightly as she drinks her coffee. What is happening to me? I feel shaky too.Mary leads the way to our bedrooms. I take a quick

glimpse backward and catch Mom looking wistfully around the tiny apartment. I am positive she wants to believe us. I think she wishes she could see some heavenly proof.

Taking a deep breath, I enter my room. Our family needs a faith boost. The holidays have come and gone, and Mom’s mood slid further downhill. Holidays and anniversaries always make us think “what if?” What if Dad hadn’t died in that car accident two years ago?

After he died, Mom started a journal, which eventually grew into an online blog. She said she wrote as a distraction, and slowly she began to earn a small income. At first, Mom wrote for herself. It was a way to grieve. Then somehow, other grief-stricken people began to find

The Dream

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A Few Minutes With odGher blog, read it, and comment. They found solace in her words.

Mom doesn’t know this, but I read her blog and find solace too. I see her write even when she is tired, trying to fight off sleep. She doesn’t go to sleep until after we leave for school, and even then she manages to find the time to write.

If only Dad hadn’t died.

T

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Chapter 2 Between Heaven

he day is a challenge for me. I recall every detail of my dream: the angels, the time with Jesus, everything. It is the weirdest thing I’ve ever

experienced. Dreams don’t usually last in my memory. When they do, I only remember little parts.

Not like this dream, though. I want to be there instead of here in the world of school, books, and friends.

Mary’s fifth-grade classes are easier than my freshman year, yet I suspect she’s having just as difficult a time concentrating as I am today. Our lunch periods are scheduled at different times. We ninth graders file into our Christian school’s lunch room just as the younger kids are leaving.

Mary breaks rank and runs over, throwing her arms around me.

Awkward! I quickly get out of line and squat down, ignoring

the laughter of my friends. When I’m eye level to her, I whisper, “What’s up, Brat?” But I already know. I see it in her eyes. She is struggling too. She wants to be there, not here.

Her eyes tear up. Oh, no! She can’t cry. Not here. I encourage her as best I can. “It’s okay. School will be over soon. Then we can talk.”

Normally, Mary and I ignore each other, not wanting to admit we’re even related. But things are different now. We share a secret. I give her a reassuring nod. She smiles and scurries away.

and Earth

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A Few Minutes With odGI go to the back of the line, glad my friends are already

midway through. I don’t want to have to explain anything. Right now I’m between two worlds. One world is the present, here on earth. The other is a heavenly realm. I want to let my mind wander.

Somehow I make it through lunch. I laugh at my friends while they try to stuff food up each other’s noses. Later I hang back, letting the group walk ahead of me in the crowded hallway.

Algebra class is meaningless to me today, although generally I enjoy the challenge. All I can think of is what the Lord has said. You’d think God would have the decency to do this on the weekend to give me time to process—not on a school day.

This thought and others are bouncing around inside my head when I’m interrupted by the bell … and by Max. “Hey, Joe! What’s with you? Let’s ditch the next class and go to the batting cages.”

“I can’t.”“Come on. No one will catch us. They never do.” “Can’t.” Max scowls at me. “Can’t? Or won’t? Big difference.

You got a better offer?”“Yeah.” I shrug. “An invite from God.”“Huh? What?”“Never mind. Look, I’ll call you later. I gotta run.” I grab my backpack and slip out the door before Max

can ask any more questions. Man, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I rub the back of my neck, suddenly

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angry. I didn’t ask for this, and I know I’m not worthy of this, whatever this is.

Any other time, I would jump at the chance to skip class or even the whole school day. I’ve managed to fly under the radar often enough. Mom is too busy and too tired to notice what I’m doing. The only time she learns about my cutting classes is when Mary rats me out.

This “new” way of looking at things is not going to be easy. Jesus, I need a way out., You’ve got the wrong guy. Yeah, that was it!

The school day doesn’t end soon enough for me, but finally Mary and I are walking home. In silence. We don’t dare talk about our day or what happened, at least not yet. Too risky. One look at my sister’s teary eyes and I caution her to wait. I don’t need a hysterical brat blubbering all the way home.

“After Mom leaves for work we can talk, okay?” Mary nods. The dark curls framing her face make her

look younger than nine. She’s just a baby. Why did You drag her into this, God? I’m fuming now.

Mom is home with an early dinner waiting. That’s our ritual. Mom cooks, we eat, we start our homework, and then she leaves. Tonight I want her to leave earlier so I can talk to Mary. I’ve got to find out the similarities between our dreams.

Mom finally leaves, and Mary finishes her homework. I even finish mine, which is really weird. When did I grow a conscience?

Between Heaven and Earth

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A Few Minutes With odG“Do you think we’ll dream about angels again?” Mary

whispers, as if she is afraid someone will overhear us. “And if we talk to them, that they’ll talk back?”

I look out the window at the slowly darkening sky, stalling for time. I’m afraid to answer. I glance around the apartment. It’s one big room with two bedrooms down the hallway. Mary and I are sitting in the room that contains the living area and a kitchen with an eat-in counter. It’s too small for a kitchen table.

Mom uses a small, fold-down table in the living area on weekends, when she insists we eat around the table like a family. The chairs substitute for a couch, and we don’t own a television. Our only computer has an internet connection that Mom uses for work. More often than not she takes the computer with her so she can write during breaks.

“Joseph?” Mary prompts.I haven’t forgotten her question about the angels. “I

don’t know. What I do know is that He has the wrong guy. Why me? Why us?”

Mary shrugs. “How would I know? But guess what? I’m not scared.”

“Me either.” But I am frustrated. I wonder if I should ask the next question. I do anyway. “What did you dream, Mary?”

Mary’s entire face lights up with that glow Mom talked about earlier this morning. “First I saw an angel. Then I saw a lady, a beautiful lady dressed in blue. She didn’t say anything. She just pointed and smiled. And then …”

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Mary pauses and catches her breath. “I saw Him. It was Jesus. He gave me a hug and asked me if I wanted to take a walk. We picked flowers and walked through a bazillion butterflies. It was so pretty!”

For a few heartbeats, neither of us say anything. We’re both lost in thought.

Mary is the first to break the silence. “And you? What did you dream?”

“Well, the beginning was the same as yours, except when I saw the angel he pointed to the lady. She was dressed in blue and smiled. Then she spoke to me. ‘Do what He tells you.’ I felt someone standing behind me. I turned around, and it was Jesus. He smiled at his mother and put out a hand to lead me. I too walked with Jesus. We climbed to the top of a high mountain, and I wasn’t out of breath or tired. We stood in snow, but it didn’t feel cold. Afterward, I wanted to see what was down by a faraway stream. The minute I thought about it, it happened. Just like that”—I snap my fingers—“I was there.”

“Wow! Did you fly there?”“I’m not sure what you call it, but it felt incredible. I

was so happy, so free! We stayed by a stream, fishing. Just me and the Lord. How weird is that? But it felt totally normal. Jesus and I had the entire place to ourselves.

I felt complete. I didn’t want or need anything.I had everything I ever wanted. And …” I pause.

Mary is sitting there taking in every word. She nods her understanding.

Between Heaven and Earth

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A Few Minutes With odG“I feel Him here now,” I continue, “but I still think He

picked the wrong guy.”Mary grins at me. “Joseph, God doesn’t make mistakes.” “Yeah, that’s what He said.”“Do you see Him now?” I shake my head. “No, but I feel His presence just as if

He were sitting right here physically. I talk to Him the same way I talk to you, but in my

head.”“Me too.” Mary’s eyes sparkle. “And He answers. What

did He tell you to do?”“He told me to give Him a few minutes of my time, and

He will do rest.” The rest of what? I wonder silently. I’m still so confused. I can’t let Mary know I’m worried, so I force a smile. “What I want to know is why us? Why a couple of nobodies? A couple of kids?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I like dreaming about angels.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Brat. I’m not sure how long this will last, or if we’ll have the same dream ever again.”

Mary yawns. “I didn’t even think we could have the same dream again. Do you think we might?”

“I don’t know. Come on. It’s time to find out. Let’s get to bed.”

“Okay, Joe. I’m just happy it happened to both of us.” Mary jumps up and gives me a hug.

I’m not good at the mushy stuff, so I ruffle her hair instead. “Me too, Brat. Me too.”

F

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or the next few days the routine stays the same. I wake up living in what seems to be a continuation of my dream. I still participate

in my life on some level, but I feel removed. I don’t understand it. I can’t explain it. I’m here, yet I’m not here

How can I be totally here when I feel the presence of the Lord so closely? He speaks to me—not in an audible voice, but in my mind. I am at peace for the first time in my life. If this is what true happiness is, I never want it to end. My life is complete.

It’s the same for Mary. We don’t fight anymore, and I don’t feel like calling her “Brat.” My biggest problem is other people. I don’t want to go to school, but then, not much has changed in that way. I want to stay home for other reasons now. Only at home do I have the time to think, to analyze, to listen carefully.

I’ve even stopped questioning why the Lord selected me. I’ve made my choice. I choose God, and He has changed my outlook. I don’t dwell on the past. I know where Dad is, and I know God cares about every little detail of my life. I’m no longer upset about situations I can’t control, like where I live or what we all gave up after Dad died. I have no doubt God is in control. I can count on Him.

Every day I can’t wait to retreat back to the apartment. It has become my escape. Better yet, Mary has become my friend. She “gets” me. She understands. We both long for and enjoy the quiet. Sometimes we don’t say a word to each other. In the silence, we hear God.

Chapter 3 Truth Revealed

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A Few Minutes With odGMary and I can hardly wait to go to sleep. It is in our

dreams that we really live, when we are in heaven. I always thought I had to die to go to heaven. I was wrong. Each dream is different, but every dream has a similar element: walking with the Lord.

At the end of the school week after that first dream, Mary and I walk home. We are happy that the weekend has finally arrived. Yet, neither of us are ready for the bombshell our mother drops during Saturday morning breakfast.

“Do you two think I haven’t noticed your behavior?” Mom stirs her oatmeal. “I realize you think you’re having this spiritual experience, but I need proof. Otherwise I’m going to take you to the psychologist, and heaven knows I don’t have the money for that.”

“You think we’re crazy?” Have we acted that weird? My sister and I have been good, a mother’s dream, and she thinks we’re nuts? How’s that for gratitude? “So, being good kids gets us landed at the shrink’s?”

I glance at Mary to see how she’s taking this. Her eyes are closed, and she’s smiling. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s praying.

Mom points at Mary. “Do you see what I mean?”“It’s okay, Mom.” Mary opens her eyes. “Jesus says

He’ll give you what you want.”“I want a sign!” Mom is angry, and she means business.“Isn’t that testing God?” My stomach turns over. The

peace I’ve felt for the past week is still there, but this is untested ground.

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“What do you want me to think?” Mom glares at us, and her eyes start to mist. “I’ve been extremely patient with this … this whole thing.” Her voice rises. “Look at it from my point of view. My children have conversations with Jesus, dream about angels, and look like they’ve just witnessed God in the burning bush. Is this normal? I don’t think so. Your faces are radiant each morning. It’s just plain weird.”

I slide off the bar stool at the counter and head down the hallway to look in the mirror. “I look the same,” I call to Mom. “It’s Mary who looks different.” After I say that I know it is the wrong thing, because I’m admitting she is right.

“Well, I think you both look radiant,” Mom replies when I return to the counter.

“And you’re both acting … surprisingly well-behaved. You haven’t complained about doing your homework or chores, you are up before I wake you, and you haven’t fought with each other in days, not since this revelation. What am I supposed to do?”

The time has come for damage control. “Mom, if you’d let us, we would explain our dreams. We remember the details, but you haven’t asked or wanted to know.”

“I’m afraid of what you’ll say.” Mom pushes her bowl of half-eaten oatmeal away.

I’m starved, and so is Mary. We eat.“Apparently, heavenly signs haven’t diminished your

appetites.” Mom’s sarcasm tells me she is definitely in one of her

moods. She folds her arms and leans back in her chair,

Truth Revealed

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A Few Minutes With odGlooking even more tired than when she walked in this morning from her late shift.

“Mommy, it’s okay.” Mary leans over and gives Mom a hug.

Mom absently hugs her back. Then a faraway look comes to her eyes. “It seems that if you can talk to Jesus, you’d ask Him about”—she clears her throat—“well, about your Dad and Grandma and Grandpa for starters.”

“We’ve seen them,” Mary says.“What?” Mom looks at us in shock. “It’s true. They’re with Jesus, in heaven and happy.”

Mary scoops up a spoonful of oatmeal, swallows it, and says, “Just like we’re happy because Jesus is here with us.”

The color drains from Mom’s face at the mention of Dad in heaven. I get ready to spring off my stool in case I need to catch her if she faints. But her spell is short lived. The paleness is quickly replaced by anger as she gathers steam.

“I need him here with me now! Not rejoicing in heaven while I’m left to pick up the pieces.” Mom takes a deep breath, clearly trying to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I know I should be happy for you. You may think you see Dad in heaven, but I’m angry.”

“You can be happy,” Mary pleads, as if saying it will make it so.

I know better. I know adults see things differently. Even though I’m not an adult in years, what I’ve experienced in the last week makes me feel so much older. Mom doesn’t

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understand this, and our words are making things worse instead of better.

“There you go again.” Mom’s shoulders sag, “How can you know happiness? Look around you. We’ve lost your father, our house, our business, our money, our cars. We have nothing.”

“You always told us things don’t matter,” Mary says. “We don’t care about those things. We have each other, and we have God.”

“When your father died, so did my faith.” Mom buries her head in her hands and sobs.

I begin to recognize the depths of my mother’s anguish. It now makes sense in a way that is eye opening. My heart jumps. I suddenly realize this is the “why” I’ve been searching for, the reason I believe the Lord chose Mary and me. If for no one else’s sake, it is for our mother’s salvation.

I place a hand on my mother’s arm and silently begin praying for her. Mary does the same. Mom’s heart-wrenching sobs shatter the silence, and all we can do is pray. I ask the Lord to comfort her, to bring her peace, and to show her that He is real. I also ask the Lord to give her back the gift of faith she has lost.

Mom raises her tear-streaked face and takes a deep breath. She tries to smile to hide her embarrassment at breaking down in front of us. Holding back a sob she says, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to burden you, but life …” She sighs. “Well, life has just not turned out how I expected it would for our family.”

Truth Revealed

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A Few Minutes With odGI hand Mom a diner napkin—we can’t afford store-

bought tissues—and she dabs her eyes. It’s my turn to try and make things better. Lord, give

me the words. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear this, but I want to

tell you one of the things Mary and I have learned this week.”

I pause to see if she’s listening. Her eyes are still misty, but she looks at me thoughtfully and nods. So I go on. “Jesus has taught us that sometimes you are happy, and sometimes you are sad. Sometimes you are at peace, and other times you are in turmoil. Sometimes you are spiritually devout, and other times spiritually dry. Jesus wants you to know that you must ignore those feelings and focus on Him. The world will always be uncertain. However, He is constant, no matter what happens in our lives.”

Mom reaches for another napkin to wipe the fresh torrent of tears. Sniffing, she says, “Very wise thoughts coming from a fifteen-year-old.”

“It isn’t from me, Mom. I haven’t gotten any smarter, but I’ve learned to listen. In listening I’ve realized that when the Lord is with me and I have God’s presence, I feel peace even with bad things going on. He has always been here for us, Mom, but we never gave Him even one minute to listen to anything He had to say. Even in our prayers we were always talking, asking Him stuff. He wants us to pray, yes, but to listen too.”

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Mom pats me on the hand. “Okay, so what else have you learned from the Lord through these, these, umm … thoughts?”

“The main thing is to be still and listen,” Mary pipes up. “I’m only nine, and even I can do that.”

“What you have requires faith, Mary, and right now my faith is not very strong.”

“You can have faith. You just have to pray for it.” Mary speaks these words as if it is the easiest thing in

the world to acquire faith. Right now I wonder why I ever wanted to call her a brat. She is an amazing little sister.

Mom sighs. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” It’s Mary’s turn. She looks at me. I smile, urging her to

share with Mom what she has learned. She takes a deep breath. “Jesus says it’s a waste of time to worry or to be upset about what will happen tomorrow. It is a waste of time because it may never happen.”

“What?” Mom is clearly shocked to hear Mary say something so profound. Even I’m surprised. But then, Mary and I have different needs. The Lord appears to be tailoring what He shares with us based on our unique questions.

“Do you need me to say it again?” Mary’s eyes cloud over. Her face shows her fear that she has messed up somehow.

“Oh, no, sweetie! For the first time, I’m beginning to believe this might be authentic.”

I can see she is shaken by Mary’s words, and as often happens, the Lord’s words pierce our hearts.

Truth Revealed

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A Few Minutes With odG“You wanted an answer, so I asked Jesus,” Mary says.

“He said to read Matthew 6:34.”“I’ll get your Bible, Mom.” I know right where it. The

Book sits unused by her bedside. It belonged to my father, and that’s probably the main reason she keeps it. I have no idea where Mom’s own Bible is, or if it even survived the move to our apartment.

I rub my hands over the worn leather surface and try to keep myself from sprinting down the short hallway. Dad treasured his Bible, and I know Mom is thinking the same thing as I place the Book in her hands.

She tentatively flips it open, thumbing through the pages until she gets to the correct Gospel passage. “Do not worry about tomorrow,” she reads. “Tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

“Jesus said the evil one tricks us into worrying about things that may never happen, and we are frozen by fear,” I tell her.

These past couple of years I’ve lived in fear. That’s why I’ve tried so hard not to care about anything. I’ve been pretty successful … up until now.

I was afraid if I cared about one thing, I’d have to care about everything. I believed caring meant I’d have to change, and I liked my life the way it was. Or so I thought.

Mom looks at me strangely. “Okay, so continue.” I fold my hands on the countertop. “Jesus says that

just about everyone in this life goes through grief at some point, especially if they live long enough. But He doesn’t

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abandon us. This isn’t heaven. The sooner we realize that, the easier life will be.”

A smile appears on Mom’s face. “What has happened to my son, and what have you done with him? Who are you? Aren’t you the same person who told me just a week ago that the point of life is to have fun?”

I smile sheepishly. “A lot has happened since then.” “Having fun isn’t evil, Mom. It’s just …” Mary’s voice

trails off.I pick up her train of thought. “When fun becomes your

main focus in life, it becomes a distraction that keeps us from knowing that true happiness comes from God alone. It is never fulfilling. We just want to do the next thing, and it leaves us empty inside.”

Mary nods her agreement. “Nothing is ours, anyway. It all belongs to God. If He gives it or takes it away, it’s still His.”

Mom gives Mary a wide-eyed look, her mouth slightly agape. The simplicity, truth, and honesty of our words have certainly made an impact.

Thank you, Jesus. “He gives us the grace we need when we need it,” I say.

“If we ask.” Mom’s eyes mist again. She skims the open Bible and points to a verse.

“I wish Jesus had asked you to tell me to read Matthew 7:7. ‘Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.’”

“He’s already given you that with your very life, Mom,” I explain.

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A Few Minutes With odGGlancing at the wall clock, Mom slides off the bar stool.

The discussion has ended. “That’s all I can handle of the Bible lesson for today. Let me think about what you said.” She yawns. “You two scoot. I need to focus and get some blog writing done and find time to sleep before tonight’s shift. What are your plans for the day?”

For a split second, Mary looks scared. “I can’t do this, Joe.”

“Do what?” Mom turns to look at us from the trash can, where she is scraping out her half-eaten oatmeal

The fear on Mary’s face freezes her.She glances at the mirroring concern on my face.

Something clicks. She understands something we are not ready to tell her.

“O

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h, no.” She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. If you think God is sending you on some kind of mission for Him, then know

this right now. I forbid it.” “There will be no missions for God in this family.

Do you hear me? You are kids, for goodness’ sake.” Mom slams her bowl in the sink. It would have shattered if it wasn’t plastic. “I have only one word to add, and that is ‘no.’”

She leaves the dishes in the sink, runs down the hall into the bedroom she shares with Mary, and slams the door.

Discussion over. There’s no mistaking Mom is angry. “Now what?” Mary asks. “We do nothing. God has directed us to be obedient and

submit to Mom’s decision. By doing this, we are doing the will of God.”

“Wow. We usually argue with Mom when we don’t get our way. I feel horrible about that now.”

“It was never important to listen before, was it?” Mary shakes her head in agreement.“I think Mom knows more than what we actually said.

She needs to think it over. We need to be patient.”“But we don’t have much time.” “Time belongs to God, remember? It’s up to Him to open

Mom’s heart. If we can’t get our own mother to believe us, how are we going to help anyone else see the truth?”

I walk over to the sink and begin washing the dishes. Mary finds a dust cloth and sets to work cleaning. No

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A Few Minutes With odGone tells us what to do. We just do it. The cleaning spray tickles Mary’s nose. She giggles and moves back to avoid the mist.

I shake my head in wonder. We’re having fun doing the simple things. These mindless jobs give us a chance to be with the Lord. In the quiet and the simple tasks we find Him.

He, the Word that became flesh, instructs us. Our work becomes joyful. He fills us with a profound love I can’t grasp, much less explain. I’ve never felt this way before. Sure, I’ve had a crush on a girl in class. Well, more than one, actually. This experience isn’t anything like that one. I know this is a gift from God and something I can find only in Him.

An hour later our tiny apartment is clean. It smells like a pine forest from the cleaner Mary uses. Mom shuffles out of her room yawning. The night-shift is taking its toll on her. She’s fighting sleep, but I try not to stare. Mom hates leaving us on the weekends when we’re home all day. She doesn’t need to say it. I just know. She can’t help it, though, and we need the money. Mom won’t let me get a job to help out. She needs me to be here for Mary.

Mom gets water out of the frig and pours a glass. “Everything looks fantasticThanks for doing your chores without being asked.” “You’re welcome. It was no problem.” I smile, hoping

she’ll smile back. She does. It’s a very small smile as our eyes meet above the rim of the water glass, but at least I know she’s trying.

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“Mom, can we watch a movie later?” Mary asks. She loves movies, but we can only watch something when Mom and her computer stay home.

“Sure.” Mom sets the water glass on the counter and adds, “once you finish your homework.” She stifles another yawn and rubs the back of her neck. “Look, I’m sorry for being so upset. But God will just have to find another missionary for whatever He wants done. Right now I have all I can do to pay our bills. I don’t need any more complications. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.” There is nothing more to say. We have our marching orders: obey Mom at all costs. Even if it means we have to say “no” to what God wants us to do. He is able to change her mind, so I don’t worry.

“Come here.” Mom walks into the living area and opens her arms to us. We spring from our chairs and embrace her. Mom holds back tears as she kisses the top of Mary’s mass of dark curls. Then she reaches up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

If I’m not careful she’ll catch me with tears in my eyes too. Since when did I become the crying type or such a wimp?

“Whatever am I going to do with you two?” Neither Mary nor I answer. Thankfully, it appears Mom doesn’t expect us to say

anything. Instead, she releases us and turns to head back to bed. She can no longer fight her exhaustion.

When the bedroom door shuts, Mary asks, “Now what, Lord?”

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A Few Minutes With odGI hear the answer to Mary’s question as clearly as if I

asked it myself. Trust Me. Don’t lean on your own understanding. All

things will work to My will. Listen and be alert. The time will come soon. I am here, and I am your God.

My face must show my astonishment because Mary smiles broadly at me. “Yes, I hear it too.”

After completing our homework, the Lord instructs us to begin a journal. All we have is lined-notebook paper. It will have to do. I sit there looking blankly at my paper. Writing has never been my thing. I’m a math person. I lean back and close my eyes.

Then it comes to me. Specifics on what I should write. I should have realized I didn’t have to come up with my own stuff, but this is all still so weird and still so new.

I peek over at Mary. She’s drawing pictures—probably scenes from her dreams. She is so much younger than I am. I wonder how she understands these things when I struggle to understand them myself.

I begin writing. When I get stuck, I close my eyes and I listen. Sometimes He directs me to a specific Bible verse. Some of the words practically leap off the page. I’m so excited by the revelation that I have to show Mary. She seems to understand.

“How?” I ask. “How can you understand these things?” “Grace,” Mary replies. “Only by God’s grace. Some of

the words are so big that without His grace I’d have no clue.”

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We use our Bibles to find passages that concur with the revelations God is giving us. In this way we assure ourselves that we are not making it up, that it is truly from the Lord, and that nothing that has been revealed is contrary to the Scriptures.

Mary is given passages that are naturally easier for her to understand, and she illustrates them with drawings. She sketches scenes of the Garden of Eden, Abraham, and Noah.

I, however, am being stretched in a way that is both difficult as well as a challenge. No Bible study in the past has ever prepared me for this one.

Mary looks up from her drawings. “Do you think we’ll always be this happy?”

“If we do as the Lord directs us we will,” I say. “Remember, happiness doesn’t depend on anything but God. So the answer is yes, as long as we remember this important truth.”

“Do you think we’ll go on a mission?”“In His time, Mary. We can’t rush things. If we go out

and start telling people that God loves them and wants them to spend time with Him, they’re going to think we’re nuts. If God wants us to tell people, we will. They’ll come up and ask us.”

“How do you know? Did He tell you?”“I’m not sure how I know, except that …” I think of the

past and all the times I spent being angry and blaming God, my parents, my dad. “I know we can’t do anything for God that He doesn’t want us to do. If we try to do this

An Ultimatum

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A Few Minutes With odGon our own, we’ll be scared and worried. Only He can give us the strength we need to accomplish His will.”

“Okay.” Mary’s voice is firm, like she wants to believe and hopes I’m right.

“What makes me sad is that the Bible has been here all the time. I never thought reading the Word could make me so happy.”

“But we’ve prayed before,” Mary says. “We pray all the time in school, and we have Bible classes.”

I nod. “We know the Bible is true, but sometimes what’s in our heads—head knowledge—doesn’t make our hearts right with God. Knowledge alone can’t change us for the better, but it’s a start. God wants our hearts, Mary. We had to dream about angels and being with Jesus before we believed. We’re just as bad as the Pharisees. They wanted signs and wonders before they’d believe.”

“Jesus gave them signs,” Mary says. “I remember my lessons from school.”

“Yes, He did, and they still refused to believe. He has given us His Word, and He wants us to tell others about Him. He wants them to know He is here. He is real. He wants us to find Him in the little things. If they look, they will find God. They won’t find God in the things money can buy.”

“Will anyone listen?” Mary’s eyes turned anxious.“Don’t worry about that. Our job is not to make them

listen. We tell them the truth and let God change their hearts.”

“What if they think we’re lying?”

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“We make sure anything we say comes from the Bible. There are no new revelations. We aren’t saying anything different. Everything that needs to be taught is already in there. If anyone gives God even one minute of their time, it will change them for the better.” I sigh. “But they have to stop long enough to listen.”

“What will He say to them?” I don’t know why Mary thinks I have all the answers,

but I feel like I do. That surprises me. “He may just give them one word, like He gave me the word ‘peace.’”

“He gave me the word ‘joy.’ But”—Mary hesitates—“do you think the evil one wants to get us?” Her eyes widen.

I can see Mary’s fear, and I want to comfort her. “The evil one wants to stop anything that is good and from God,” I say quietly. “But we don’t need to be afraid. We know the end of the story. God has already won. Jesus was born, suffered and died for our sins, and rose from the dead. He opened the gates of heaven so that if we repent and believe, we can have salvation.”

Mary relaxes. “Oh, that is beautiful.” “When we turn from our sin and believe the Lord is our

God and Savior, the evil one no longer has any lasting impact on us. It’s as easy as that, Mary.”

“I believe … but it’s still hard to do what is right all the time.”

I forget Mary is so young. Here I am talking to my sister more in the last hour than I have over the course of our entire lives. Talk about strange. She is the only one who understands, so I continue to explain.

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A Few Minutes With odG“I still need to live my life, and you need to live yours.

This isn’t heaven, and I’m not happy Dad died. But you and I both know there is a heaven. We’ve been blessed to see it, to dream about it, to be with Jesus. And while we can’t be with Dad now, we can be with him at the end of our lives and forever.” I grin at the look on her face. “Am I getting too technical of you?”

“No, it’s okay.”“Everything falls into place when we realize God’s

love for us. We learn to love our enemies, turn the other cheek, and pray. Prayer stops being a chore and becomes something we want to do.”

“Just think!” Mary stands up, holds out her arms, and spins around. “The God of the universe hears us!”

I laugh. “He does hear our prayers, but most of the time we are so busy telling him how to do His job that we can’t focus on doing our own.”

“I know here”—Mary points to her heart—“that you are telling the truth.”

“Look at this verse.” I flip open to John 15:9. “‘As the father loves me, so I love you. Remain in my love.’” That’s just one verse out of so many that talk about the Father’s love for us.”

“He does love us. That’s why all the butterflies have such beautiful colors.”

I wouldn’t have explained it quite like that, but Mary understands these things on her own level. “Just think, Mary. In the past we barely talked to each other. When we did talk, it was about things that were so much different.”

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“Yeah, you called me ‘brat.’”“That’s because you’re a pest,” I admit. “Always bothering me and telling Mom if I skipped

school.”“If you ever skip school again, I’m still telling her.”

Mary laughs but then quickly becomes somber. “There’s something more, isn’t there? I keep thinking this is all homework for what’s coming.”

An Ultimatum

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“Y

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ep, something’s missing. Something else is going to happen, but right now isn’t the time for us to know. I do know two things,

though. One, I feel at peace, but I have to fight against feeling anxious. The second thing? Whatever is coming, our lives have already been changed forever, but this will be even greater.”

“What can be greater than talking to Jesus?”“Wait and see, Mary Rose. Wait and see.”Upon waking, Mom finds the apartment unchanged

from when she went to bed. I know what she’s thinking. I can see it in her eyes when she looks over at us, sitting on chairs, each reading. We usually make a mess. We leave dishes on the counter from lunch or leave out the milk. Then she yells at us and tells us she doesn’t have money to waste on spoiled milk.

This happens just about every weekend. She glances around the spotless kitchen with suspicious

eyes. The lunch dishes are washed and put away. The casserole is thawing on the counter, waiting for her to wake up. We’ll bake it for an early dinner before she heads to work.

Yeah, she’s sure puzzled. I hide a smile behind my book.

“If this isn’t miraculous, I don’t know what is.” Mom sounds uneasy, but she’s fighting hard to control her emotions. “My dreams all ran together. I can’t remember anything with clarity. I prayed I’d dream what you did, so that I can see what you’re experiencing.

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A Few Minutes With odGBut … it didn’t happen.” “I’m sorry, Mom,” Mary says. I’m at a loss for words. Mom no doubt thinks the Lord

considers her unworthy.She opens the refrigerator looking for something and

then closes it without taking anything out. She seems distracted, as if she doesn’t want to admit what she’s thinking. Her next words confirm it.

“I guess the Lord doesn’t believe I’m ready for this gift, and I’m okay with that. Truthfully, I don’t blame Him. I’ve turned my back on God.” She sighs. “And to think, I’m the one who brought your dad to the Lord in the first place. With your father’s death and the fight with his family, I still have a lot of unresolved anger.”

“It’s not your fault about the property,” I say. Dad’s family refused to share the sale of property they

all jointly owned. After his death, while Mom was still grieving, one of his brothers had her sign paperwork. Mom believed the papers gave her rights to a portion of the sale of the property. Later, she found out she’d signed over all claims.

It must have been devastating for her.“The money from that property would have gone a

long way for providing for our family,” Mom says. “We wouldn’t have lost our house, and I wouldn’t need the job at the diner. Yes, I’m angry about the situation, but there is nothing I can legally do. I’ve wasted enough of our savings hoping an attorney would set things right. He didn’t.”

“Mom, don’t,” I urge.

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Life’s Purpose

She holds up her hand to show she doesn’t want to hear me. “This world is not a place of light and truth for me, Joseph. I’m sorry, but while I’m happy you and Mary seem to have found peace, it’s an elusive shadow for me right now.”

Time to change the subject. “Do you need help with dinner?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” After popping the casserole in the oven, Mom makes a

salad. Then she heads for the shower. It’s loud through the paper-thin walls of the apartment.

Mom comes out of the bathroom ready for work, with freshly applied make-up and dried hair. Steely resolve flashes from her eyes. She wants to get to the bottom of this new “problem” Mary and I have created for her.

The good news is Mom only has enough time to eat with us before work. Despite the look in her eyes, she doesn’t want to get into an argument before leaving.

Our small stack of papers is neatly piled between two Bibles on a small end table in the living room. I hope Mom doesn’t see it. Most moms would probably be thrilled to discover their kids were studying the Bible on their own on a sunny, Saturday afternoon.

No such luck with Mom. She notices the pile and she gives me a sharp look while she tucks a loose strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Like Mary’s, Mom’s hair is curly. Stray locks never stay in the tightly woven bun.

“So, how have you spent the day?” Mom scoops a portion of tuna casserole onto her plate.

“Studying,” Mary says.

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A Few Minutes With odG“Studying what?” I sigh. Mom isn’t going to let this drop. Yep, I’m living

on the edge these days. “The Bible.” Last week I landed in trouble for cutting class. This

week it’s for studying the Bible. What can I say? When you say “yes” to Jesus, He doesn’t mess around.

“Hmm, no baseball practice, Joe?” Mom asks.“Practice doesn’t begin for another couple of weeks. Now

that I’m in high school we don’t practice on weekends, only after school.” I’m puzzled. Doesn’t she remember?

“Oh, that’s right.” Mom moves her tuna around on her plate then looks at me with piercing blue eyes. “This isn’t your typical way to spend a Saturday afternoon, is it?”

“Not exactly.” I fork a large amount of tuna into my mouth—not because I like it, but because I don’t want to answer anything else right now.

“Okay,” Mom says. “I’m starved, and I don’t have much time, so let’s just eat. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ve made a decision, but I don’t want to discuss it during supper or before I leave for work.”

Bingo! I was right. I try to keep my face from showing my elation, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I know you’re happy we’re postponing this, Joe, but it’s only a temporary reprieve. I do want to hear more about your experiences, and in detail. I have to admit that what I see in your recent behavior shows me that something wonderful has happened.”

I smile. “It has!” “No doubt, but I’m also worried. Normally you’d be

begging to hang out with your friends. And you”—Mom

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points her fork at Mary—“you’d be asking to spend the night at a friend’s house. You can’t blame me for being concerned that you’re both happy to stay home on a weekend.”

“Can I spend the night with Charlotte next weekend? It’s her birthday,” Mary asks. She wrinkles her nose as she takes tiny bites of the tuna. She hates the stuff.

“Now that I can answer. Sure, but I need to call her mom to arrange it first, okay?”

“You’re the best, Mom. Thanks!” Mom smiles. “Normal conversation. I like that. Well,

then, let’s pray. We forgot to do that before we began eating. Joseph, do you want to lead?”

I gulp down what’s left in my mouth. Thankfully, I don’t start choking on my surprise—no, shock. I swallow my tuna, bow my head, and give thanks to God before Mom changes her mind.

I remember clearly the last time we prayed as a family. It was a little over two years ago, when my Dad was alive. He always led the prayers.

Miracles are slowly taking place.As soon as Mom leaves, Mary and I clean up our

meager dinner. At least tuna casserole is filling, and my stomach doesn’t growl any longer. Even if it did, I wouldn’t complain. The “other” me, the angry one, never complained either. Instead, I would drink two or three glasses of water—or milk if we had it. That often filled me up.

It was harder to pretend when I snuck out to join my friends. Oftentimes, they wanted to stop for something

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A Few Minutes With odGto eat. I’d say I wasn’t hungry, but that didn’t fool them. They knew my story. Not from me, of course, but from the newspapers and the lawsuit.

Yeah, it was all over the place. My Dad comes from money. He had pretty much turned his back on the family business to start his own company, and it was very successful. There was only one problem. A construction company can’t continue without the contractor who holds the license. Dad died, and the license died with him. Mom didn’t have enough time to get a license of her own to keep the business running, and she wasn’t in any shape to do it.

Regardless, it’s a moot point. No one wanted to help us out. They harbored the fear

that Dad’s family would hold a grudge. Dad’s family was his competitor, a ruthless building company. Or so I heard when Mom and Dad talked and they thought I was asleep. Dad’s family took Dad’s portion of the land when they saw a chance. They didn’t like Mom. They blamed her for making Dad believe in God in the first place and for running an ethical company. This was their revenge.

I wash, Mary dries. The tuna casserole is stuck on the baking dish, as usual. I scrub with more force than necessary.

“What are you thinking? You’re scowling.” Mary’s question cuts into my musing.

I shrug. “Nothing. I’ll finish this. Why don’t you grab a shower while I find a movie to watch on the computer. Mom left it home tonight.”

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“Great, but I want to watch something funny.”“Tell me something I don’t know.” I reach out to ruffle

her curls with my sudsy hands, but she’s too quick. She giggles and heads for the bathroom.

About this time on most Saturdays, my friends call and ask what I’m doing. I usually take off after Mary’s in bed and return home in plenty of time before Mom shows up.

Yeah, pretty bad. Now, I ignore the ringing phone. I would put it on vibrate, but I can’t in case Mom calls. Those are the rules. We don’t have a land line. Mom and I both have cell phones so we can keep in touch in case of an emergency. I keep mine hidden in my pocket while I’m at school. It’s an old-fashioned, flip phone. Totally uncool.

I try not to think of the electronic devices I had once upon a time. I owned everything. Plus, a vintage car was waiting for me to turn sixteen when I could drive. Dad bought it at an auction years ago. We used to fix it up together. I was the envy of all my friends.

The car was the first thing to go to pay for the business debts.

Enough! Stop thinking about this. It’s not helpful and it’s slowly robbing me of the peace that has been with me all week.

I’m suddenly impatient for Mary to get out of the shower. I bang on the bathroom door. “Hurry up!” Girls!

Later after my shower, we sit down to watch a movie. Within a few minutes, Mary and I look at each other. The sensory overload after the peace and joy of the Lord is grating on my nerves.

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A Few Minutes With odG“Let’s turn it off,” I suggest. I walk over to pick up my

ball and glove that sits unused in the corner. I begin throwing the ball up and catching it.

“You know what?” Mary says. “All I want to do is go to bed so I can be with Jesus in my dreams. But I’m also afraid I won’t dream about Him.”

“Yeah, me too. But Jesus wants us to live in this world right now. Someday we’ll always be with Him.” I grunt when the ball almost escapes me and I make a dive for it. My knee bangs the chair. It topples over. The crash is deafening.

Mary laughs. “Smooth, Joe, really smooth.” She puts the lid down on the computer. “Let’s play

catch. Hold on while I get my glove.” In a minute she’s back, ready to play. I throw the ball

underhand so she can catch it, She throws it back.“I can’t wait for softball to start.” She catches it again. “I can wait. It means I have to walk you to the field and

watch your weekend games.” I reach up as she purposely throws a high ball. Bet she’s hoping I’ll miss and run into the chair again.

Mary makes a face at me then asks, “Do you think heaven is always like our dreams, being with Jesus and doing everything we love to do?”

“I have no clue, but we need to keep focused on our mission for now. That means praying to know His will for us.”

“I’m not sure what to do.” “That’s where the Holy Spirit comes in. He guides us.

We have to live each day with a purpose. Everything we

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do has an impact on our lives and on the lives of others, most importantly on Mom.”

“Why?” “Well, remember that old movie It’s a Wonderful Life?” Mary nods and hangs on to the ball so I can explain. “In that movie, George didn’t think his life had any

purpose until he had a chance to see what the world would be like if he had not been born. The same thing is true for each one of us. We have a life purpose.”

“We’re just kids.”“That’s why we never cared if we put away the milk or

washed the dishes. Mom always did it for us if we forgot. But … kids have a life purpose too. We just never realized it before last week. It took having to dream about Jesus to open our eyes.”

I squat down in the catcher’s position and smack my glove with my fist. “Put it right here.” She winds up and pitches the ball.

Smack! The ball lands in my mitt. “Strike one!” I toss it back.

Mary pitches another and asks, “What we do today makes our tomorrow better? Is that what you mean?”

I stand up. “More like everything we do today has a direct effect on someone else and on future generations.”

“Great. I’m going to make a mess of that, and you are too, Joseph.” Mary holds out her glove.

I throw the ball. “We’re special, Mary. One of a kind created in God’s image. That makes us unique.”

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A Few Minutes With odG“Mom always says there’s no one like me.” Back and

forth the balls goes, a little like our back-and-forth conversation.

“She’s right. You’re extraordinary, and what you do is vital to the future of the world. Even if Jesus had not come to us in a dream, He’s been evident to us before. We just didn’t see it, or even cared to see it, I guess. The voice of the Lord is a still, small voice. He asks us to be still and know that He is God.”

The only sound is the smack, smack, smack as vinyl hits leather.

“Now I realize that He was talking to me all along,” May says. “But I ignored Him. I thought it was my imagination. I didn’t know it was Jesus saying ‘I’m here.’” She smiles. “Everything is different now. It’s like I dream in color. The world is all bright colors too.”

“Jesus has opened our minds and our hearts to want to hear His Word, and the Holy Spirit has given us a gift of understanding. When I read the Bible before, I got distracted. Now I can concentrate and understand what I read.”

“Me too.” Mary drops the ball, and it hits the ground with a thud. She follows it and scoots on her knees to retrieve it from under the table before throwing it.

I catch it easily and pitch it back. “Your talent in sports is a gift, Mary. It’s similar in some ways to the gift of understanding God’s Word. And this new gift is not just for us. It is for anyone who believes and prays.”

Mary arcs the ball as high as our low ceiling allows.

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I jump up to catch it before it falls. “God created the world for us. For the first time in our lives we’re seeing things the way God has wanted us to see them all along.”

“My eyes have windshield wipers now.” Mary laughs.I laugh too. “Like the Lord washed away the dirt and

now we can see the beauty.”“So we can ask anything?”“Yes, squirt, anything you want. However, God is God.

He says ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ or ‘not right now.’”Mary wrinkles her nose. “Oh, so that’s how it works.”I smile. “Yeah, squirt, that’s how it works.”We spend the remainder of the time before bed playing

catch until we are both worn out, and then we pray. We pray for Mom, our extended family, and for our financial situation. We can sense Mom is really worried.

At least now we have joy. God hears our prayers! I hope the “not right now” will be replaced with a “yes” very soon” smile sleepily. I can always ask Jesus when I see Him later in my dream.

If I dream about Him again.

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I

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hope Mom’s happy when she walks into the apartment the next morning and finds pancakes ready and Mary and me dressed for church.

“Look at you two,” she exclaims with a smile. “And you made breakfast? Thanks.”

“How was work?” I ask.“Very good, actually. I enjoyed interacting with the

customers, and the tips were excellent.” I’m surprised to hear her say this. It’s the first positive

thing I’ve heard Mom say about waitressing. “I usually detest everything involved with restaurant

work,” she says. “I was used to having my house cleaned and the laundry done weekly. Your father loved to spoil and pamper me. But there is real satisfaction in getting to know the regular customers. Some of them are nice people.” Mom hands each of us a small bag. “Here, I have something for you.”

I look at Mary. Her mouth is wide open. She is as surprised as I am.

“Thanks, Mom.” Mary gives her a hug.Mom laughs. “Open it first before you thank me.”Mary pulls a journal from the bag and squeals her joy.

She’d been praying for something just like this to keep track of the Bible verses she reads.

I find a journal too, only in a different color. “This is great, Mom. Thanks.” I’m tempted to ask if we can afford spending money on this kind of thing, but when I turn the book over I see the sale sticker.

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A Few Minutes With odG Mom smiles when she catches me looking at the price.

She then turns serious. “Let’s eat, and I’ll take a quick shower so we can make the nine o’clock service.”

After church, Mary and I sit at the small table in the living area. Mom is asleep. She even skipped her computer work so she can wake up early from her nap to talk with us. Instead of working out a plan of what we are going to say, Mary and I pray and read the Bible. I’ve learned the voice of the Lord is not loud or insistent.

I pray hard, especially when I have confusing thoughts. If I can’t find it in the Bible, I ignore the thought. Spiritual warfare is real. Many times I have to ignore self-doubt. Am I making this up? Is it real? Is God real? Then I sense the angels. I can’t see them, but I know they are there. God has sent them for my protection.

I enjoy writing down my thoughts. Scribbling my thoughts is more like it, I admit. Mary’s handwriting is much neater than mine, and I still prefer to print. Whoever invented cursive writing didn’t understand that most kids hate it, especially me.

My words pour out onto the pages of my journal. My hand trembles with exhaustion. This is more than I’ve written in one sitting in my entire life.

As I write, I long for my mother to awaken, but at the same time I dread it. If she agrees to the Lord’s request, our journey will begin. I’m not sure Mary and I can go through with it, but in the end it’s a choice we will have to make.

Then in a split-second, my anxiety calms. I will say “yes.” But if mom says “no,” it’s all over. I’m filled with

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the incredible, comforting knowledge that the Creator of the universe expects us to be bound by our mother’s decision as well as our own agreement.

It makes sense, though. We are not puppets. God gives us free will. It also makes sense that as children, we are under our mother’s guidance. After all, it’s one of the Ten Commandments: Honor your father and your mother. Funny, I never considered the Ten Commandments as anything I should read or even believe in … until now.

I hear the shower running. Mom’s awake. I set aside my journal and begin to pace our cramped quarters. I walk to the window and stare outside. The day is sunny. Normally I’d be outdoors. In some small way, I wish I could escape. The suspense is killing me.

“Joseph? Are you okay?”I spin around. My thoughts dissolve. “Sorry, Mom.” “It’s the second time I called your name. Come over

here and sit down.” She sounds eager to hear what we’ve been wanting to tell her all week.

I swallow. I suddenly have no urgency to tell her. It’s is as if too much time has passed. The moment is anti-climactic. I’m filled with dread and fear. What was I thinking? I can’t possibly go through with this!

“You don’t look well.” Mom walks over and lightly touches my arm.

I snap out of my dire thoughts. I feel Christ’s presence without seeing Him. Everything will be okay. I smile wanly. “I’m fine. Let’s eat.” I can’t imagine choking down a bite.

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A Few Minutes With odGA few minutes later, I’m eating the last of my sandwich.

The mundane acts of biting, chewing, and swallowing have helped my senses become my own again. My heart skips when I become aware of the true cause of all this dread and anxiety. I’ve been plagued with doubt by the evil one!

Oh, yes. I’ve come to recognize my tormentor. It is the feeling of despair and hopelessness I used to sense all the time. It comes to me when my defenses are weak, when I doubt, and when I am not praying. I’ve never talked with Mary about this feeling, so I’m not sure if she has the same conflicting thoughts. But from the looks of her half-eaten sandwich, I don’t need to wonder. She does.

Finally, Mom is ready to hear our story. She is true to her word to listen without interruption. Mary and I carefully recount everything we have experienced and learned—from the details of our dreams that seem to mesh together in everything but specific location and activities—to how we feel right now. The words in the Bible have come to life for us, with clear explanations and insights that can only come from a gift of faith, from God.

Then we then add the request the Lord has asked us. We pause. Everything now depends on our mother’s blessing and permission.

“As you were recounting this … this incredible story, I noticed you both seem more mature, more in tune with each other, and at a place spiritually that I’ve never been. I also know somehow—though I’m not sure how—that the fate of this … um … mission lies with my decision.

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Right now I’m doing everything I can within me not to shout ‘no’ like I did the first time you tried to tell me.”

“Yes, it’s up to you.” I’m half hoping she’ll say “no.” “Let me see if I understand this.” Mom wipes her

mouth with her napkin and folds it before placing it on top of her empty plate. “The Lord came to you in a dream. You experience time with Jesus, but you think it’s heaven. Jesus spoke to you about different things, some important and others just normal conversation like with a friend. You dream about Jesus every time you go to sleep. You’ve dreamed consistently for the past week. When you awake, you converse with Jesus in your mind. At times you feel the presence of angels, especially if you feel afraid. They are there for your protection, and they are the same ones you see in your dreams. How am I doing so far?”

“That’s right. I know it sounds weird, but—”“Weird doesn’t even begin to describe this, Joe.

However, your behavior and your countenance prove there is something spiritual going on here. My concern is that it is a good spirit leading you and not an evil one.”

“That’s why Jesus told us to look in the Bible. When He teaches us something, we find it in the Scriptures to confirm the teaching,” Mary explains.

“Wise words for a nine-year-old.”“That isn’t normal either.” I grin and wave my hand in

Mary’s direction. “So, what is the next step?” Mom’s eyes fill with tears.

“I know in my heart you are on the verge of a mission. What, exactly, is it?”

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A Few Minutes With odGI smile, suddenly ready. He is giving me the strength

and grace I need, just when I need it. “It’s simple, Mom. The Lord Jesus wants us to tell anyone who approaches us to listen to Him, and He will reveal Himself.”

“Oh, is that all?” “He also wants people to have joyful peace.” Mary flips

open her new journal and reads what she has written:1. Repent from sin.2. Spend time with Me.3. Watch your words and choose them carefully.4. Don’t look for more in life. Be happy with less.5. Don’t put yourself above others.6. Serve others.7. Pray to do God’s will.”

Mom snorts. “How incredibly simple!” Her sarcasm isn’t lost on us. Mary and I exchange

worried looks. I suppose it was too much to expect that it would sound simple to anyone who has not been spending the week with Jesus in dreams and in prayer.

“How do you propose to spread this? National television? The Internet? Via webcam, or maybe through video? How about the morning show? Should I book you?”

I ignore her outburst. “That might be easier and faster, but no, we’re supposed to do nothing. We’ll wait for the Lord to direct us.”

“You too, sweetie?” Mom glances at Mary. “I can’t imagine the Lord is asking my little daughter to be a prophet.”

Mary holds her look. “Only if you say ‘yes,’ because being obedient to you is being obedient to God.”

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Tears flow from Mom’s eyes. She sobs. She knows. I see it in her eyes. She knows God is

directing us! Whether or not she understands it—and I can’t imagine that she does right now—she knows her “yes” will set things into motion.

“God is in control, Mom. That should give you some relief.” I hand her a fresh napkin.

Mom dabs her eyes. She takes a deep breath, as if summing up courage from deep within, then she uses words straight from the Bible, from Mary, the mother of Christ, at the wedding feast of Cana. “Do whatever He tells you.”

Mary gasps. She flips to the last written page in her journal and lays her finger on the neatly scripted writing. She pushes the page across the table. “Look, Mom!”

“Jesus says we will know that Mom says ‘yes,’” Mom reads, “when she quotes John 2:5, “Do whatever he tells you.’”

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om’s permission opens the proverbial floodgates. People from all over begin stopping Mary and me whenever we are

together or apart. They ask similar questions. Most ask, “Do you have a message for me?”

It first starts with friends on the walk to school, on street corners, walking home, or in the cafeteria line at lunch. It’s always a hushed conversation, as if someone is afraid we will be overheard. Oftentimes when asking a question, the person looks behind his or her shoulder to see if anyone else is watching.

When each person walks away, they are changed. It’s as if windshield wipers have cleared their vision, just like Mary described.

Mary and I never have an idea ahead of time of what we will say. We are messengers—no more and no less. Many times after an encounter, we forget what we said. We have no recollection if someone asks us to repeat the message.

God gives us the grace to answer questions as clearly and simply as we can. How else could I—the kid who used to skip class whenever I could or left my sister alone in an apartment to hang out with friends—urge everyone to go to church, to speak with their pastors, and most importantly to pray and study the Bible?

It is sure not coming from me! My friends know it. But now they too have been changed. It is a very rare experience to find someone who has not been visibly changed after hearing the message.

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A Few Minutes With odGThings are going well. I grow comfortable and happy

in my mission. Other areas of my life settle down too. My grades go up—the best they’ve been since Dad died. I learn to be with God during my private times, and in the world of school as well.

Mom’s raise at work sets her mind at ease over finances. Her blog numbers begin to skyrocket, which means she’s earning a good income from that source also. I can’t remember being this happy since my father died. I’m at peace with the knowledge that Dad is in good hands and enjoying his heavenly reward.

A few weeks later things begin to get out of hand. Walking home from school one day I find myself alone.

Mom picked up Mary for a dentist appointment. When I suddenly find myself surrounded by a group of strange boys, I’m glad my little sister is not with me.

“Are you Joe?”I eye the three muscular boys a year or so older

than myself. It looks like they could flatten me with one punch. “Yeah,that’s me.”

“Hey, let me talk first!” The boy who questioned me shoves the other one aside.

“Shut up!”“Hey, Kyle! Man, that hurt. You got no—” “I said shut up. I’m askin’ the questions.”The kid backs down. A twinge of fear passes over his

face. Kyle—clearly the boss—takes his place in front of me. “So, what’s the big deal?” he demands.

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The Mission Begins

My stomach turns over. I’m outnumbered and outsized. I straighten my shoulders and try to make my six-foot frame look taller.

“I asked you a question,” Kyle yells. “What’s all this @#$% about angels?” He slams me backward into a tree and lands a punch to my gut.

Oof! I double up and suck in my breath. My head spins. Help me, Lord! Instantly, I feel a company of angels nearby. Grace surrounds me, and I’m at peace in the presence of my enemies. Amazing!

“You won’t believe anything I say unless you are willing to listen,” I manage. “Can you do that? Listen?”

Kyle scoffs his disbelief. “Gimme a break. That’s all you’ve got?” He laughs and elbows his buddies. They laugh too, but it sounds forced. I see a tiny glimpse of fear in Kyle’s eyes. Insight comes to me. This bully is afraid. He’s afraid to believe.

I don’t respond. I know his type. Words fall on deaf ears if a person is not ready to listen. I believe Kyle will understand more if I remain silent but don’t back down. I hold his gaze and pray for peace. After all, what else can happen? Another punch?

I see Kyle opening up … a crack. He obviously isn’t used to people staring him down. Curiosity is warring with his desire to beat me up. I see it all over his face. It’s eating him up, this desire to know what makes me talk about angels and God. His shoulders relax slightly, and he lowers his eyes. When he looks at me again, glimmer of something—hope?—replaces his arrogance.

“Okay. Tell me, what does Jesus want me to know?”

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A Few Minutes With odGI lean close and whisper a message from Jesus that is

only for Kyle, and one only he can hear. On the heels of my words comes the familiar gasp in response.

Kyle jerks back and straightens up. He gapes at me. Not with the former stare of intimidation, like he wants to beat me up, but with a look of understanding. “So, it’s true? All of it?”

I smile. “Yes.”Kyle looks at Mark. “Hey, man, I’m sorry for roughing

you up earlier. Can you forgive me?” “What? Umm … uh … sure.” Mark’s eyes are wide

with shock at Kyle’s sudden transformation. He doesn’t wait to figure it out but edges up closer for his own turn.

After Mark, the remaining bully comes around. All three leave changed.

I hurry home to check out my bruise. At least it’s hidden beneath my shirt so I don’t have to explain how I got it. I’m grateful once again that Mary wasn’t with me. How kids who don’t even go to my school found me or knew about the message puzzles me. I ponder this idea late into the night.

The rest of the week at school I’m fully engaged. I’ve never felt so alive. When I’m home in the small apartment I never feel better. I thought this mission might be a burden, but I was so wrong. I learn that all things are a joy if I do them in the will of God.

A growing crowd makes passing from one class to another nearly impossible. It’s as if Mary and I have become rock stars or—in Mary’s case—country-music

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stars. Oftentimes the teachers and campus security step in to help disperse the crowds.

When Mary and I talk things over in the evenings, I learn that students surround her too. During lunch in the cafeteria, kids come up to talk to Mary or ask to sit with her.

Not long afterward, the rules begin. In general, teachers have strict guidelines about passing notes and talking during class. Unfortunately for me, I soon become the focal point of all this note-passing. I have no choice but to turn any note over to the teacher’s outstretched hands.

My Algebra teacher calls me aside after one of these incidents. “Do you have any idea what this note says?” He keeps his voice low.

“No, Mr. Davis, I don’t,” I whisper back. I turn all notes in without reading them.

“It’s a plea for help. I’m not sure if I should hand you over to the principal’s office or congratulate you for a job well done.”

“Sir?” He hands me the note. My back is to my classmates. I know they can’t hear

us, yet I hesitate. If I open the note, I’ll have to explain. From the look on Mr. Davis’ face, my explanation will need to be a good one.

I carefully scan the note: Please meet me after class. I want to know what Jesus has to say to me. I fold the paper and hand it back. This is the typical question. “I get this kind of request all the time.”

“Do you need help?” Mr. Davis is serious but concerned.

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A Few Minutes With odG“No, thank you, sir.” How can I say what I’m thinking?

I have all the help I need, sir. Jesus tells me what to say.Mr. Davis lets out a breath. “Okay, you don’t need

to tell me what’s going on. I can see a major change in your attendance and your grades. But the other teachers and I are watching. There’s been talk and concern about what’s going on. If you need me, call. My phone number is included in the emails I send to all the parents.”

“Yes, sir. I will.” I hurry back to my seat and smile at my friend Max. He was one of the first to ask what Jesus had to say, and I’m glad he did. At least now he isn’t asking me to ditch class.

Lunch turns into a line filled with a steady stream of classmates who want to hear what message the Lord has for them. Each person seems to hear a message specifically for them. It would be easy to give only one message. I’d write it on a piece of paper, photocopy it, and hand it out to the entire school.

But that’s not how God is using me. Try as I might, once I share an individual message, I can’t remember what I said. And I have a very good memory.

Mary reports the same. Once she shares a specific message from Jesus, she can’t remember it either.

Even the cafeteria staff, the cleaning staff, and some of the teachers ask me for the message. I often witness tears of happiness or smiles so wide I’m sure their jaws will hurt later No one seems embarrassed by the exchange. It’s as if honesty and truth are the only important things.

Our school experiences a revival. Everyone can feel it, whether or not they understand or step out in faith

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to hear whispered words like “God wants you to repent. Open your heart to the truth that is in Christ and spend one minute in silence with Him each day. He will do the rest.”

If these words are meant for you, you will never be the same again. If not, the words fall on deaf ears and you remain unchanged.

While exciting to some, this news doesn’t sit well with many school officials. I learn all about their concern the next morning when Mom shakes me awake.

“Joseph?” she whispers. “Huh?” I bolt upright. Somehow, I slept through the

door opening and Mom’s return. “Wha—what’s wrong?” Something must be wrong. Mom usually just yells for us to wake up and get ready for school.

“I had a meeting at school yesterday. You can imagine my surprise at seeing the principal and the assistant principal waiting for me. The way they made it sound—like an emergency—I half expected to find you and Mary there.”

I’m totally awake now. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up straighter. The suspense is killing me. “What happened?”

“I asked if you and Mary were okay. In the words of Mr. Remington: ‘That’s what we want to know, Mrs. Fisher.’” Mom rolls her eyes, making me smile. “Wow, is he ever stiff and humorless.”

“What did you tell him?”

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A Few Minutes With odG“I asked him to explain what he meant, and he told me

you and Mary are attempting to evangelize the school. So I said, ‘Well, this is a Christian school, isn’t it?”

“And then?” Mom’s expression shows she’s reliving the conversation

and getting angry. “He reminded me that you and Mary attend school through an endowment. They expect you to be model students and not stir up trouble.” She clenches her fists. “Oh, that man! You can imagine how much I enjoyed hearing I can’t afford the tuition we were once able to pay.”

“Did Mrs. Hunter say anything?” “She was very condescending and voiced her concerns

about students talking about your ‘angel’ dreams: ‘Many believe in angels in a new-age sense,’ she reminded me. ‘Talk about the paranormal isn’t allowed.’” Mom snorts.

I suppress a smile. Her impersonation of the vice principal is right on.

“She then accused me of letting you go unsupervised, like it’s my fault I work a nightshift. Mrs. Hunter ended her tirade with the opinion that you must be watching too many movies or television shows that are giving you these fanciful ideas.”

Mom closes her eyes. “I was so upset I even sent up a silent prayer for help.”

Wow. That’s a start. I don’t voice my thoughts out loud. “What did you do then?”

“I told them that while I understood their concern, I didn’t think all references to angels are new age. The Bible is full of angels sent as messengers and protectors.”

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“They know that, right?” “I hope so, but Mrs. Hunter wouldn’t let it go. She

asked if I believe you and Mary see angels. I told her I believe you see them in your dreams, and I have no control over dreams. I did admit that I’d hoped you had the sense to keep these visions to yourself. She agreed, almost grudgingly, that you two have become model students and a faithful example to the others.”

Mom drew a deep breath. “Then they wanted to know how you act at home.”

“We’re studious and read the Bible as our book of choice,” I quip. “How did that go over?”

“About as well as telling them we don’t own a television or have access to movies about the paranormal. Plus, I take our only computer to work with me almost every day, unless you need it for school.”

“Didn’t they have anything to say about our improved grades and behavior?” A hot spurt of anger burns in my gut. “Heck, Mom, I haven’t skipped school in months.”

Mom sighs. “Actually, Principal Remington cut in at that point and told me your teachers have seen misconduct. Misconduct? Ha! At this point I was pretty angry, and I stood up to leave. I was glad I decided to dress up and wear heels.”

Mom is short even in heels. Principal Remington is a short man too. “I bet he asked you to sit down so you could see eye-to-eye.” I chuckle at my joke.

Mom leans over and ruffles my hair. “I told him I preferred to stand. Apparently, your misconduct involves passing notes in class. You’re also a ‘distraction.’ Kids

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A Few Minutes With odGline up in the halls to discuss ‘who knows what’ with you and Mary.”

“Did you fill him in on what we’re saying?”Mom nods. “You’re sharing Jesus, encouraging your

friends to pray, to read the Bible, to do things for others, and to be thankful. Here’s the kicker, Joe. They agreed these are all good things, but they said I was missing the point. Mrs. Hunter who really irritated me. She told me I need to discuss the ‘dangers of seeing imaginary friends.’ Dreaming, I reminded her. Not seeing. There and then I had to leave, before I said something I would regret.”

I pondered this a bit before asking, “So, now what?”“Now you lie low at school. You wait around in the

classroom until your classmates leave. You look down the hall to make sure it’s clear before you go to the next class. You keep to yourself.”

“Are you saying you don’t want us to spread the message?” I have this horrible feeling that Mom is going to remove her permission.

“Oh, Joseph, no. I’m not saying that at all. I just don’t want any trouble.”

“Okay, Mom, I get it.” We hurry through breakfast, and Mom drops us off at

school so we won’t late. Our early-morning talk put us way behind schedule. When Mary and I get out of the car, she gives me a warning look.

I nod. By mutual agreement, we haven’t let Mary in on what Mom went through during the school visit. She does know to lie low, though. I head into the building with a silent prayer for help.

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’m not sure what’s going on when Principal Remington calls Mom into his office a few days later, along with Mary and me, but I have my

suspicions. Mary must have hers too. She and I are seated in stiff-backed chairs when Mom walks in. My sister’s face is wet with tears, but I quietly urge her to be strong for Mom.

Mr. Remington’s first words send a jolt of shock through me. “First, I want to ask your forgiveness for our first meeting, Mrs. Fisher.” He folds his thick hands together on his desk and leans across it, clearly wrestling to find the right words.

“I realize now that the message your children share is truly of God. I see the good fruit that has come from it, not only from the students but also from some of our staff as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Remington.” Mom’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She is as wary as I am. I hear the silent “but” in his words and suspect the outcome of this conversation. But I smile anyway. An apology is a good way to begin.

“But,” Principal Remington adds, confirming my suspicions, “for the children’s sake, I think you need to keep them at home.”

“What?” Mom exclaims. The blood drains from her face.“Please, Mrs. Fisher, let me explain what I mean.” Mr.

Remington mops the perspiration off his balding head with a towel. “We can help with their curriculum , but

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A Few Minutes With odGyou’ll need to withdraw them. I believe you homeschooled the children when your husband was alive.”

“Yes.” Mom’s voice is a little above a whisper. “But I was a stay-at-home mom at the time. I work full time now.” She clears her throat. “This was not what I was expecting to hear. You’re kicking them out of school?”

It is Principal Remington’s turn to look shocked. “Not at all, Mrs. Fisher … Martha, may I call you that?” He goes on without waiting for an answer. “Joseph’s math teacher, John Davis, has offered to help with school work on his own time. From what I understand, you work nights, right?”

Mom nods.“Splendid! So you are home during the day. The children

can work on their own while you sleep, or Joseph can help Mary. We’ll give them their assignments, and they can work from home. With your permission, Mr. Davis will come to your home to help them as needed. Really, it is for their own safety.”

“What do you mean ‘for their own safety?’” Mom rubs the back of her neck, still reeling from the news.

“I’m afraid things are getting out of hand. Everyone wants to talk with Joe and Mary—from the teachers, to the rest of the staff, to the kids of all grades. We’ve even had first graders ask for bathroom passes and then found them waiting for Mary outside her fifth-grade classroom.”

“You consider first-graders a threat?” I try not to laugh, and I know better than to look at

Mary.

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“I consider ten kids crowded around your young daughter a threat. It’s worse with your son—bigger crowds. This whole thing is getting out of hand. Kids push each other out of the way to get near them, resulting in some in-school suspensions.”

“Really?” Mom’s eyes narrow. Busted! We’ll be in trouble later for failing to share that

bit of information with her. Truthfully, the crowds came slowly, and we were pretty used to it by now. Besides, we’ve been lying low, just like she asked us to do after the last office call.

Principal Remington has more on his mind. “I even hired extra security guards to patrol the school. Kids hanging around the school waiting for them to walk home.”

“What!” Mom rounds on me. “Did you know about this?” “Yes, Mom.” I can’t lie. “People come up to us after

school on our way home.” Thankfully she doesn’t ask for more details.

“I’m asking you to understand, Mrs. Fisher … Martha. We are concerned about the safety of all our students. I can’t have this type of disruption, even if it is for a good cause. Also, some parents have called and expressed their concerns. Just this morning I had an angry father in here. I’m averaging at least one a day.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Mom’s eyes tear up. Principal Remington hands her a tissue. “I’m sorry,

truly I am. I just don’t have any other choice.”“Forgive, me,” Mom says just before giving way to her

pent-up emotions. Sobs fill the room. Mary runs and

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A Few Minutes With odGthrows her arms around Mom. I sit frozen, at a loss for words. I’m processing all of these events and pray silently. Only Mom’s crying breaks the silence.

“Take your time,” Mr. Remington says kindly. He excuses himself. “I’ll see to your withdrawal paperwork. Come out when you are ready.”

Mom’s gaze settles on a bundle of books on the floor beside me. “So, it’s a done deal.”

The books were my first clue this morning that this meeting would not end well. I was right. “Everything’s going to be fine,” I say.

Mom forces a smile and gives Mary’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m okay. It’s time to go.”

As we walk down the hallway, I read the familiar sign over the exit. I see it every day, and I’ve memorized it: GO FORTH TO SERVE HIM.

Mom reads the sign and quietly says, “No wonder the Lord wanted His message told. Even within the halls of a Christian school there is need for conversions. This time, at least, I am at peace that God will work out the details.”

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Chapter 9 The Joy

Six months later

ary! Joseph! The car will be here in fifteen minutes,” Mom shouts a warning not to be late. She emerges from her bedroom,

a sweater draped over her arm, hooking on one earing while shoving her foot into her heeled shoe. She gives a little hop to catch her balance.

I laugh. “Good juggling act, Mom. Looks like the warning is for you and not for us. We’re ready.” Mary and I are sitting on the couch in the spacious living room of our modest, new home nestled in the woods.

“Where are we going today?” I ask, slightly concerned. I should be used to public speaking by now, but it still makes me queasy. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Mom drapes her sweater over the couch and walks over to her desk. She gives me a quick glance, the “look” that says she understands I’m nervous.

“I have the list in my briefcase to give to the driver.” Mom pulls her rolling case along behind her. Her heels tap the wood floors. “What gives, Joe? It’s not like you to be this tense.”

I delay my answer by hurrying over to her case. “Let me get that for you.”

I lean over to push down the handle and lift the heavy case, placing it by the front door before returning to the couch.

“I’m still waiting.” Mom finishes fastening her earrings.

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A Few Minutes With odG“I’m not sure. It just seems like something is ‘off.’” I

quickly change the subject. “You look nice.”“Thanks, but hold on. Let me look at you two. You both

look fantastic.”Mary giggles. “You say that every time no matter what

we wear.” Mom smiles and turns a pirouette. “You know, I’m

still in shock. Each day I expect to wake up and find that this is all a dream. Who would ever think we’d be giving television and radio interviews? My blog has reached one million followers. I’m earning enough to work from home, and I can even pay the rent for this house.”

“Mr. Davis found us a great house,” I say.“He sure did,” Mom agrees. It had become increasingly dangerous to stay in our

apartment. Strangers began to knock at our door, insisting on talking to us. It happened once when Mr. Davis was tutoring us. He fielded all the requests and refused to let anyone enter. Not long after that, Mr. Davis suggested this house tucked away so no one could find us.

My life hasn’t changed much except now I consistently make good grades. I still see my friends and play basketball and baseball.

The Christian school allows me to play sports on campus school even if I don’t attend. And Mary plays soccer there.

“I’m so happy you homeschool us.” Mary hugs Mom tightly.

Mom hugs her back. “Oh, sweetie, if I didn’t believe in miracles that fact alone would convince me.” She laughs.

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“I was devastated when the school told me you weren’t safe. It seems like years have passed since that day, instead of only six months.”

“You know this is just the beginning, right, Mom?” I stand and begin to pace. “God opened the door for us to give interviews through Christian radio and television. That has helped spread his message. But soon …” My words trail away.

“Soon, what?” Mom places her hands on her hips. “Spill it, Son. What do you know that we don’t? Has God given you another directive?”

I walk over to Mom. My blue eyes mirror hers. I place a hand gently on her arm. “I believe that very soon God wants us to tell the world through the radio and television stations that are not Christian. That’s going to be difficult. They will ask some very hard questions.”

“Then we’ll need to pray for strength and grace, Joe, because it begins today. Why am I not surprised that you already know? I’m quickly learning that when we work for God, He gives us the information at just the right time.”

“What?” I snatch back my hand as if I’ve been burned. “We’re going to a secular radio show today? I didn’t think it would be so soon.” I chew my lip. “Although … while in prayer the Lord let me know to be ready.”

Mom walks over to the couch and pats the seat beside her. Mary joins her. I’m still standing there in disbelief.

“Jesus told me too.” Mary’s eyes are bright with excitement. “He said not to worry. He will provide what we need.”

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A Few Minutes With odG“I’m counting on that today,” Mom says. “It is a

prerecorded television interview for a local station with a national affiliate. That’s why I asked you both to dress up. I didn’t want to worry you.”

There is a knock at the door. Our driver has arrived. I look through the peep hole before unlocking and opening the door. “Hey, look who’s here!”

“Mr. Davis!” Mary bounds off the couch. She runs over and gives him a hug.

“John? What are you doing here?” Mom asks in surprise.

He walks into the room, towering above us all. Even I look short in comparison. “Hey, Mr. Davis.” I reach out and shake his hand.

He clasps my hand and smacks me on the back. “You don’t think I’d let you be fed to the wolves without watching, do you?” he teases and lightly kisses the top of Mary’s head. “How are you, squirt?”

He bends down to pick up Mom’s briefcase and smiles at her.

Mom blushes and quickly turns around to retrieve her sweater.

I hide a smile. It’s easy to see that she likes Mr. Davis, and he likes her. It’s been almost two years since Dad died. It’s time Mom moved on.

Mr. Davis is another miracle in our lives. He is cool, nice, and funny. He’s never been married but says he’s had plenty of kids—his students. He’s been like a father to us since he began tutoring.

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I know Mom works hard to not appear interested in Mr. Davis. She doesn’t want to jeopardize the arrangement that includes his continued help with our studies.

Within minutes, the four of us are settled in the back of the limo and praying about the upcoming television interview.

After prayers, Mr. Davis says, “I’m glad the driver is working out.”

A complicated procedure has been put into place to keep our whereabouts hidden. Each time we hold an interview, Mr. Davis is responsible for setting up our transportation. He’s adamant that no one should discover where we live. He keeps the drivers in the dark about whom they are transporting, which is why he set up a limo service. Discretion is what they are all about.

“I don’t know how you cover the costs involved with arranging for the stations who interview us,” Mom remarks.

“My business and financial background does have its perks, but I’d rather teach a room full of rowdy ninth graders than deal with the corporate world again.”

“You’ve been a lifesaver,” Mom says.Mr. Davis smiles. “I like you thinking that, and I never

tire of hearing it.”“She repeats herself a lot.” Mary giggles. “But she is

happier, so that makes us all happy.” Mom joins her in laughter. “I’ve finally spent time with

God, and He has led me to a level of joy and peace I’ve never experienced before.”

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A Few Minutes With odG“I have to agree with you,” John says. “My life-saver

message is the one Joe shared with me after class one day. I haven’t been the same since. I thought I had left worldliness behind when I left my corporate job. Then I realized that having money in the bank allowed me to rely on myself way too much. When you worry about putting food on the table like you did, Martha, it is difficult to be joyful. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I believed I was going to lose my children because I couldn’t provide for them financially. We went deeper and deeper into debt. I blamed God.

I was so angry! But it was a lie that kept me frozen and fearful. I couldn’t see it then, but I can see that now.”

“When we are in the middle of our problems, it is hard to see anything,” John agrees. “I was so busy making a name for myself that I didn’t realize I kept hurting the people who loved me the most. Now that my parents are gone, all of my success doesn’t matter. There is no one to see it.” He shakes his head. “I wasted so many years.”

“I’m happy you decided to teach and then offered to help us,” Mom says. “I wish you would let me pay you. I can afford to now.”

“No, Martha. That’s the reason I told you I didn’t need to work or need the money—so you wouldn’t stress over it. When I began to pray daily, I knew in my heart God wanted me to help your family. I just didn’t know how. So when I heard the school was asking you to leave, I knew how I could help.”

“Another God-thing.” I smile.

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The hour ride flies by. We are ushered into the sound studio and greeted by a team of professionals who ready us for the cameras. Mr. Davis watches from a safe distance. Not surprisingly, several of the staff members privately ask either Mary or me to share God’s message. As usual, they turn radiant once they hear His calm, still voice.

We soon find ourselves in uncomfortable, leather chairs under the glare of hot, blinding lights. Mr. Davis sits a few feet away. That us great comfort, especially me. He squeezes Mom’s hand before we head for the set. “I’ll be praying,” he says.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” The throaty voice belongs to Cheyenne Morris, the blond talk-show host. She smiles at us, poised and cultured, yet her dark eyes look hard.

I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “We’re ready.” I say. I just want to get this over with.

The countdown begins and soon they are filming. We have been coached to look at Cheyenne, not at each other—and definitely not at the cameras.

However, those instructions are clearly not for Cheyenne. Her peppy monolog comes out bright and happy as she looks straight into the camera a scant few feet from her face.

“This is Cheyenne Morris for KHNY outside of Atlanta. Today you are in for a surprise. We have the exclusive interview with the Fisher family, an internet sensation. Just this month their video hit the one-million mark in views.”

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A Few Minutes With odGShe pauses. “I’d like to introduce Mrs. Martha Fisher, a

widow. She is joined by her two children, Joseph, fifteen, and Mary, age ten. She currently homeschools them.”

I find myself surprising relaxed. I look around to see Mom and Mary are at peace too. We smile at Cheyenne and murmur our hellos as she introduces us.

Small talk and welcoming words blur together, and soon Cheyenne switches tactics. Her hard line of questioning begins in earnest. “So, Martha. May call you by your first name?” Without waiting for an answer she continues. “It has been reported that your children see angels and historical figures.”

I try not to laugh. Historical figures? Really? That’s what you’d call our Lord Jesus?

Mom cocks her head to one side and smiles. “Are you referring to the dreams my children share about seeing angels and speaking to Jesus? If so, then yes, it’s true. However, they don’t see angels during the day or talk to random historical figures.”

Cheyenne returns the smile. “I didn’t mean they see historical figures like, well, George Washington.” She looks squarely into the camera and laughs. Canned laughter follows from off stage.

I wince inwardly at the fake audience’s canned laughter following the host’s absurd remark about Washington. It’s time to change the rules. “The bigger question, Mrs. Morris,” I say, “is what we’ve shared with the million viewers on the video on our website A Few Minutes with God. Jesus loves each of us and wants us to spend just a few minutes in silence with Him each day.”

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I watch out of the corner of my eye as the crew swings their cameras on me to catch my words. I wonder if they’ve been caught off guard. Probably not. They’re professionals.

“Yes,” Mary adds. A camera quickly pans to her. “All He asks for at first is one minute. That isn’t much time to spend with God, is it, Mrs. Morris?”

“Well, now.” Cheyenne smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It looks like these two aren’t camera shy.” She pauses while the canned laughter plays. “It’s sweet that you two seem to believe, really believe, that Jesus talks to you. But come on now. Do you really see Jesus? You know, like you see me?” She turns her gaze directly on me.

I stare back without answering. She falters and smiles at Mary instead.

Mary’s face glows. “We see Him in our dreams, Mrs. Morris.”

“So you had one dream, and this is what He told you?”“We dream about Him every night,” Mary says.“Every night?” Cheyenne asks sharply. “Since when?” “For about eight months now,” Mary says. “It began

right after Christmas, the best present ever.”“So in these dreams you hear Jesus tell you … what?” “Different things. The first time He just spent time

with us. Sometimes He tells us to let people know He loves them. Mostly He wants us to spend time with Him and just listen.”

“Earlier on during the program your brother said Jesus wants everyone to spend one minute with Him. I

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A Few Minutes With odGmean, really”—Cheyenne adjusts her scarf and widens her deep-brown eyes. She looks astonished, but I suspect she’s playacting. “If He’s the Son of God, isn’t He … well … busy?”

We’ve rehearsed what we should do if someone asks a silly question—like this one. We hold our tongues.

Our silence appears to anger her. “Did He tell you to share something with me?” she blurts.

Mary looks at me. “It’s time.” I reach for Mary’s hand and bow my head in prayer.

We are oblivious to our surroundings, but I know the cameras are recording our every move. If we take too long to pray, they can cut out some of the dead air space during editing. Right now I don’t worry about it.

Mom clears her throat. I know she is praying for us and understands why I felt so uneasy today. Until this very moment, even I wasn’t sure it was time.

“Time for what?” Cheyenne claps her hands lightly, like a giddy school girl. “A scoop? How exciting! Please, do tell.”

I lift my head and look directly into the camera. “The time is now. The time of faith has come. Along with faith comes joy—the joy that surpasses all understanding. The time is now.”

My voice grows in strength. “Each of you watching this show has a problem, a problem different from anyone else’s. It is unique to you. It may be one problem, or it may be many. It may be a small problem or a large one. Each of you wonders if God hears you. He does. He is

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listening. I don’t have to convince you that He knows because God already has …”

My voice trails away. I have nothing left to say. I plant the seeds. It is up the Holy One to do the rest.

Mary takes up where I leave off. The camera team scrambles to zoom in on her sweet, radiant face. She looks angelic, glowing with joy.

“Yes, Jesus said now is the time of faith and joy. But to know this joy you must give Him one minute … just one. He said ‘come to Me, and I will do the rest.’ Don’t talk, don’t think, just listen. If you don’t hear anything, it’s okay. Just practice spending one minute with Him or maybe a few minutes. Do it every day. It is a time of joy. Today is the day. Have faith. Jesus loves you.”

A soft whimpering echoes Mary’s final words. The source shocks me. It’s our host, Cheyenne. An off-camera assistant slips her a tissue.

“Oh, my. Wasn’t that special?” There is no malice or mocking in her words this time. A genuine smile covers her face. “I’m sure our listeners will be touched, as I have been. Thanks so much for sharing your message about faith and joy, something we can all use. I plan on spending one minute … a few minutes … getting to know this historical figure. I truthfully don’t know much about Jesus, but I’m going to learn. Thanks again for joining us.”

The canned applause roars. The signal to end the show is given, and we hear real

applause. The film crew claps. Some wipe tears from their eyes and pat each other on the back. Off camera,

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A Few Minutes With odGCheyenne sobs openly. She waves goodbye to us then quickly makes her way to her dressing room.

Mom wrinkles her brow in bewilderment. “You didn’t share anything that profound, or anything that can’t easily be found in the Scriptures.”

“You’re right,” I agree. “It proves the Lord is the One doing all the work in the hearts of His people. A new Eden is dawning.”

A

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Chapter 10 The Beginning

renaissance of sorts is occurring all over the world. We no longer give live interviews. Mom no longer writes on her blog. She’s given it

over to others. Our work isn’t over. “Dad, what time is the teleconference again?” Mary

asks.John Davis looks up from his computer. “At four,

eastern time, squirt. Why do you ask?” “I need to do something first and want to make sure I

have time.”“Maybe I need to bump you up a grade if your

assignments are too easy.”“Ha! No thanks.” Mary giggles and runs to her room

before Dad changes his mind. “Sorry, Mom!” she shouts, nearly running into her as she enters her room.

I sit at the dining room table working on my Calculus problems. I shake my head, smiling. Never a dull moment around here.

“Slow down, Mary. Teenagers,” Mom scoffs. She averts disaster, saving the two frosty glasses of iced tea she’s carrying. “What’s she up to?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, she’ll be ready for the teleconference. I threatened to promote her a grade in school, which caused her hasty exit.”

“Oh, John!” Mom laughs. “I should have known your teasing was behind it.”

John’s eyes light up at the iced tea. “Just what I needed.”

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A Few Minutes With odG“I figured you’d be thirsty.” Mom sets one glass down

on the coaster and take a sip of hers. “Sorry, Joe. If I knew you were out here I would have brought you something as well.”

“I didn’t mean I needed something to drink,” John breaks in. “I meant you were just what I needed.”

I duck my head, hiding a smile, but not before I see Mom blush. She and John Davis have been married for over three years. He can still make her blush, and he enjoys doing it.

When I raise my head John winks at me and grins at his wife’s discomfort. He takes a swig of his tea before setting it down. “Are you ready for the conference?” he asks me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Mom sighs wistfully. “You know, I still can’t get over

the Lord’s forgiveness. I was the doubting Thomas, and yet He has me working alongside my children for the eternal kingdom.”

“And right from our living room,” I add. “It is amazing how the Lord provides.” I nudge John. “Can you help me with this math problem? I’ve worked it three times, and I still can’t get it right.”

“Sure, let me take a look.” John pulls my notebook over. For a moment I’m taken back to the time when he was my math teacher. I’m glad he married Mom, but I’m happy he doesn’t insist I call him “Dad.”

“Maybe your mom wants to tackle your math. What do you think?”

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“She might want to, but you explain it better.” I smile at Mom. “No offense, Mom. But you do teach English composition better.”

“Good try, young man, buttering me up like that. I’m glad you set the record straight.”

Mom continues to look at me over her iced tea. I give her a questioning look. She sets the glass down. “I know you’re discerning whether you want to go into full-time ministry or not, Joe. Either way, you’ll have to pass your final exams.”

“I get it Mom. Tests, finals, but this is my last year before college. We’ll see what the Lord has in store for me next.”

“Ah, here’s where you went wrong.” John launches into an explanation of the math problem.

When the lesson is over, I retreat to my room. I open my journal and begin reading through my notes. Soon, I find myself immersed in Bible study. I much prefer spiritual studies over academics.

Our messages are now being spread over the entire globe. It’s incredible what God has done in such a short period of time. The messages have touched the hearts of many people around the world, and faith is spreading.

I look at my watch and see it is almost time to begin the teleconference. I scramble from my room, round the corner, and sit down with Mom and John at the table.

Mary joins us. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, sliding into the chair beside Mom.

“Yes?” “How long are we going to do the teleconferences?”

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A Few Minutes With odGMom and John exchanged puzzled looks.“Until the Lord asks us to stop doing them,” I answer.

“Why do you ask?”“Just like Mom felt we shouldn’t travel for interviews

any longer, I feel we are at the end of the ministry.” She sighs. “And I don’t want it to end. I want everything to stay the same.”

“Are you worried that Joe is graduating this year?” John asks.

“Partly,” Mary admits. Mary and I still dream about Jesus, but He speaks to

Mom’s heart. Through prayer, she decided that we should no longer travel but conduct our ministry from home. We received the same word but waited for our mother’s lead.

“I know the Lord wants us to continue the non-profit work.” Mom says.

Because of John’s wealth, there is no longer any need for Mom to work or make money from the ministry. Donations are distributed directly to those in need. When people learned about our earlier financial struggles, they insisted on donating. Later, with John’s help, Mom set up the non-profit ministry to help those in need, people in desperate financial situations, and widows like Mom. Countless others are helped through this ever-growing fund.

“God has blessed our ministry above and beyond anything I could ever have imagined, teaching people to help each other. I want it to continue.” Mom’s eyes turn glassy as she remembers our own struggles. “I could have used this type of organization to help me.”

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John reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “I wish I’d known you were in such a desperate financial situation. I would have been glad to help.”

Mom smiles at her husband. “I know, John. You and so many others would have helped, but our world wasn’t ready for that yet. This ministry has gone beyond paying it forward. It has become a payment in kindness. People look for nothing in return.” She sighs. “I was too proud and too embarrassed to ask for help, and I would have refused charity, anyway.”

“That’s in the past,” John says. “Now if there is a need, news spreads quickly. Everyone comes forward to the help. The spirit of giving, with brother helping brother, has once again returned, like in the old days.”

“It’s all because people are spending time in prayer,” I add. “It is a simple message with a powerful outcome.”

“Don’t forget how God has even blessed nature,” Mary says. “Everything seems to be flourishing. Where the message is spreading, crops are growing with record yields. Natural disasters are negligible.”

“I recently attended a meeting where they discussed the question of whether federal agencies are required any longer. Private groups take care of the needy,” John says. “Government spending is the lowest it has been in a decade. A new evangelism is truly taking place.”

“We can still keep the website up,” I add. “But truthfully, even if we no longer recorded the telecasts, there are still hundreds of hours of seminars from the past few years. I’ve often wondered what will happen after I graduate

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A Few Minutes With odGfrom high school, but I didn’t want to ask the Lord about it. Like Mary, I don’t want things to end.”

“Mom, what do you think?” Mary asks.“I think the non-profit will continue, and you are right,

the website and videos will still be available to the public. But I also agree that our time is almost over. I have it here in my notes.” She turns her journal around for all to see:

Your time of public ministry is over. A new beginning and more awaits you.

“What does that mean?” John asks.“With God, every day is a new adventure,” Mary says

happily.“All we have to do is listen, pray, do what He asks, and

go where He leads,” Mom adds, laughing.“Well done, good and faithful servants.” My heart fills

with joy as I look around at my family and realize that the blessings we have could only have come from the Lord. He has provided in such wonderful ways.

I can’t imagine what else He has in store for us, but I can’t wait to find out.

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Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither

have entered into the heart of man, the

things which God hath prepared for them

that love him. 1 Corinthians 2:9

The still small voice of the Lord is evident to us all. He

wants to be heard. He wants to be found. He can be found

in every small corner of our lives. Go, repent to the Lord,

share your sins, and ask for forgiveness. Then listen and

learn. Listen to His voice. Take it down, deep into your

heart. Know you are loved. Know that He is Lord.

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In the next book, “A Few Minutes with God: The Journey Continues” Joseph’s faith and resolve is tested

as he enters college and faces new challenges.

Sign up for the eZine: A Few Minutes with God to receive reminders to pray as well as to keep informed

about the next book. http://www.afewminuteswithGod.com

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Media Angels Publishing

A Few Minutes with God The Journey BeginsWhen is a dream not a dream? When you are living it day and night.

Joe Sullivan had it all, a vintage car waiting for him to turn sixteen, every electronic gadget imaginable and even a pesky, little sister, and parents who adored him. That was then. Now, almost sixteen he finds everything he loves stripped from him. Joe is living a lie and slowly dying inside. Skipping school and sneaking out at night is his new normal, until one fated evening.

He soon learns through a mysterious dream, also shared by his ten-year-old, little sister, Mary that they have been called on a mission. If they chose to say yes, there is no going back and their lives as well as anyone they encounter willing to take the challenge, will be forever changed. Only one thing stands in his way. His mom.

Joe quickly realizes that God doesn’t call the most equipped, but He does equip those He calls. In the silence, Joe finds peace with God. Joe makes an unlikely alliance with his little sister and together they forge a path through adversity, learning that miracles do happen in the strangest ways and finding that with God anything is possible.