Of course he was trapped in the middle of this stupid pew, practically in the front row.
Caleb stepped behind the pulpit, his Bible in his grip. “Let’s praise the Lord together that this past week Jethro’s place burned to the ground.”
Mack frowned, glanced at Jethro, who was just grinning at the pastor, nodding.
“We’re so grateful that no one got hurt—thank you, Mack—”
Mack looked away, toward the stained glass window, just in case Caleb decided to look his direction.
“But we are also grateful for the opportunity to suffer. To die and be born again. Sorrow is part of life. It’s a part of living as a person of faith—we will have it. And it can be either from sorrow we bring on ourselves or sorrow others inflict on us—cruelty, injustice, even deliberate evil. The point of suffering is our faith. It either shows you yourself and what you believe…or destroys you.”
And what if nothing remains? Mack’s question from a few days ago returned to him. Maybe he had nothing of faith to begin with.
“Suffering is the key to rebirth,” Caleb said. “In fact, the Bible says in Philippians, ‘I want to know Christ and experience the mighty power that raised him from the dead. I want to suffer with him, sharing in his death, so that one way or another I will experience the resurrection from the dead!’
“Suffering leads to death of ourselves because our only chance of survival is to cling to Jesus. And when we cling to Jesus, we are changed. Reborn. We become who we were meant to be because there is nothing of ourselves left.”
Mack didn’t know when he’d turned back, staring at Caleb, but every muscle in Mack’s body stilled.
“When you have nothing, that is a perfect place for Jesus to fill you with His resurrection power. To be reborn.”
And shoot, now he looked right at Mack. Just a moment, right before he swept his gaze over the rest of the congregation. “Do you have nothing? Do you want to be reborn? Do you want to discover your true self?”
An anvil lay on Mack’s chest.
“Then right now is the day of your rebirth.”
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Mack was shaking. Because he didn’t know who he’d been before. And frankly, maybe he didn’t want to know, ever.
But he did know who he wanted to be now.
Caleb came down from the pulpit. “First Peter 1:3–5 says, ‘We have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and to an inheritance which is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you.’ Be reborn into living hope today. Embrace the inheritance of peace and joy and eternity offered to you.”
And shoot, if Mack’s legs didn’t move him out of the pew, past Raven.
Moved him right up to that blood-covered altar. Gave out on him in front of the cross.
And just like that, Mack Jones bent his head and held on to the only thing that made him who he wanted to be.
Please, Jesus. I don’t know who I was, but…I want to be a different man. A man who trusts You. Please forgive me for the darkness I know is in my past…and help me to live as a new man.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Jethro kneeling beside him, his head bent. “Bless this son of Yours, Lord. Thank You for bringing him to us. Help him find his place in Your grace.”
Mack’s jaw tightened.
But the fist in his chest had released, and he lifted his head and took a breath.
A full, undefiled breath.
Free.
Alive.
Anew.
He smiled and found Jethro grinning at him, his eyes shiny. “See, I knew you came to us for a reason.”
Mack got up, and Caleb met him, his hand outstretched, then pulled him tight into a quick hug. “Welcome, brother.”
This felt awkward, but he slapped Caleb’s back before he let him go.
Raven stood in the aisle, beaming at him.
And behind her, farther down at the end of the aisle…Sydney.
Tears streaked down her face, her eyes wide on him.
What—?
The only promise you have to make to me is to not let go of the guy who saved my life.
The voice slammed through him, and he gasped.
She swallowed, nodded as if in finality, turned and practically fled the building.
“Wait!” Mack looked at Raven. “Go home without me—I’ll meet you there.”
Then he strode past them all and headed down the aisle. “Sydney!”
She had worked her way through the crowd in the vestibule and he barely caught sight of her disappearing down the stairs. “Sydney!”
A few heads turned, and he offered a tight apologetic smile as he pushed through the crowd, out into the open.
She was halfway out of the parking lot, fast-walking toward the sidewalk.
He leaped the last step and took off for her.
She glanced over her shoulder, hustled her pace for a second, then she turned and held up her hand. “No—no—” Tears streamed down her face.
What on earth? Because the sight of her crying nearly wrecked him, a strange response that he couldn’t untangle.
She turned and bolted. A flat-out run—and she was wearing Cons and a pair of jeans and had some real speed on her.
Okay, so this was weird.
But he sprinted after her.
And yes, he felt a little like a predator, but he couldn’t suppress the urge to talk to her. Right. Now.
She knew something.
He dodged a bicycler and a display of flowers outside Mystical Pizza and caught up to her just as she hit the Riverwalk Park. “Stop!”
He didn’t want to grab her arm, but she wouldn’t slow down, so, “Please!”
Maybe it was the please, because she whirled and he nearly smacked right into her.
She was still crying, but a fierceness had washed over her face, into her eyes. “What do you want?”
“What do I—you’re the one following me!”
Her mouth opened, and oh no, he was right. She was following him.
“Oh—you know me, don’t you?” And now he did grab her arms, pushing her back into the shadows of a towering oak. “You know me, don’t you?”
Her blue eyes latched on him, her jaw tight. “Do you know me?”
He blinked at her. “This isn’t a game!”
“I know—believe me, I know! But answer the question—Do. You. Know. Me?”
He drew in a breath. Then, slowly, shook his head. Let her go. “No. I think I should, but…I don’t.”
Her mouth tightened into a grim line.
“But you know me.”
She nodded.
“Who am I?”
She wiped her cheeks, almost harshly, met his eyes again. “Do you really want to know?”
The question had the force of a punch right to his sternum. He swallowed. Nodded past the tightness in his chest.
“Your name is York. You’re thirty-two years old. We met in a foreign country, and if I tell you any more, it’ll destroy everything you’ve built here.” She raised her hand, as if she were going to touch his chest, then dropped her hand. “It’ll destroy Mack Jones.” She swallowed. “Do you want that?”
He stared at her.