A Treasury of Miracles for Teens (11 page)

T
he market colors began changing while Steve Getz was shopping for a cold can of Mountain Dew. Mixed up with the wrong crowd
during his eighth grade year, Steve had dabbled with drugs ever since. But that summer he had just turned sixteen and promised
his parents he was finished with doing drugs and hanging out with other people who did them.

But in the San Francisco neighborhood where he lived, drugs were easy to find and the shady friends hard to shake. Less than
a month after his birthday he began using again and now here he was on a full-blown trip like he’d never experienced before.
An hour before coming to the market, Steve had taken a mixture of illegal drugs, and now, suddenly, the walls of the market
seemed to be melting, their colors running into each other.

Without a doubt Steve hated this—hated how it made him feel panicked and sweaty, hated how his
heart raced, making him feel like he wouldn’t last another minute. Steve looked around desperately, trying to steady himself,
aware that sweat had begun pouring from his forehead, dripping down his face, neck, and arms.
Why do I do this to myself?
The thought tapped at the inside of his brain until the sound became a deafening drumbeat.

“Not now,” he whispered out loud. “Please not now.”

He turned toward the produce section, but the fruit and vegetables had turned into large blob-like substances, and worse,
they were coming toward him.

“Help!” he screamed. Then he began running full speed through the store, up one aisle and down the next. Finally, alerted
by concerned customers, the store manager and someone who looked like a customer caught Steve and forced him to the ground.
As strange as Steve was feeling he was surprised at the strength of the customer, a tall man Steve guessed to be in his late
twenties.

“Hold his feet!” The customer directed the store manager toward Steve’s legs. “I’ve got his arms.”

Steve could barely make sense of any of it. His heart was fluttering within him and he couldn’t breathe right. He struggled
to break free from the grasp of the two men, but he couldn’t find the strength. The hallucinations were worse than ever and
he felt himself twist wildly on the floor. He had
to be free! The tomatoes were going to get him, bury him alive if he didn’t find a way out.

Steve closed his eyes but when he opened them, he screamed in terror at what he saw. Horrible, dark demons were coming toward
him. They had fierce expressions and fangs that dripped blood. There were small, evil demons floating near his face and laughing
at him, and there were huge, monstrous demons circling him. Worse than the way they looked, the demons seemed to be emanating
a sense of utter evil, a death and destruction that Steve was powerless to escape.

“Help me! Someone help me,” he shouted. “They’re trying to kill me.”

The customer, who had been holding Steve’s arms, leaned in closer to him.

“You’re going to be okay.” The man’s voice was soothing and clear. Despite Steve’s severe hallucinations, he could hear the
man, and he began nodding.

“Help me!” he shouted again.

“Open your eyes, Steve.” The customer’s voice was calm, and no one else around them seemed to hear it. Steve kept his eyes
closed. He could hear a crowd of people gathering around them, but he tuned them out. With all the concentration he could
muster, he forced himself to listen to the man. “Come on, Steve, you can trust me.”

Steve opened his eyes slowly. As the picture became clearer, his eyes grew wide in astonishment.
The demons were still there, but they were retreating. And in the center of the picture was what appeared to be the face of
Jesus Christ. Steve was sure that’s who the guy looked like. After all, his parents had taken him to church when he was a
kid. It was the same picture of Jesus he’d had in his Bible storybook back then. Awestruck, Steve stopped twisting and struggling
and suddenly grew calm.

As he stared, the image in the center of the picture began to speak. “Do you want to be free from the demons, Steve?” the
voice of the Christlike image asked. “You need to decide.”

Suddenly, Steve began to cry. The crowd, which had grown even larger, watched as the young man continued to lean over him,
talking in a voice none of them could hear.

“Yes,” Steve cried softly. He thought of his parents back home and all the bad decisions he’d made. He needed to be free from
the drugs. Now, before it was too late. He struggled to find his voice. “Help me get rid of the demons. Please help me!” The
man in the picture smiled gently. “No more drugs, Steve. With them come the demons. It is your choice.”

“No, I can’t do it by myself!” Steve screamed. The customer stayed at his side, uttering calm words—words different from the
ones uttered by the Christlike image, but somehow words that seemed to go together. Steve closed his eyes again and once more
started to struggle out of the stranger’s grasp.
But the man seemed to possess an inhuman strength and Steve’s efforts were futile.

“Look at me, Steve,” the gentle voice said again. “Trust me.”

Slowly, Steve opened his eyes again. This time the demons were gone completely. Only the image of a very pure and radiant
Christ filled the center of his vision.

“Help me.” Steve’s voice was weak now, and tears filled his eyes. “Please.”

“Steve, you won’t have to do this by yourself. If you want to be rid of the demons, turn to me. I will always be right here
to help you. Just call me and I will be with you.”

“Lord.” Steve whispered the word, not sure if he was still hallucinating, but savoring the peace he felt all the same.
Is that you, God? Are you really here, with
me,
talking to me?

Slowly the image began to fade. But before it disappeared altogether, he heard the voice once more. “Yes, Steve. It is I.
I will be here for you.”

Suddenly Steve felt extremely tired. He closed his eyes and his body went limp.

The customer who had been talking quietly to Steve and holding down his arms stood up and turned to the manager. “I think
you can handle it from here.” He shook the man’s hand. “The worst of it’s over.”

“Thanks.” The manager looked a little awed at the customer’s strength and ability to calm down
the drugged teenager. Before he said anything more, the manager pinned down Steve’s arms in case he woke up again. When the
manager looked around to ask the customer how he’d managed to calm the drugged teen, the man had vanished. At that moment,
paramedics and police arrived and the manager stepped back so they could work on the boy.

“Excuse me,” a woman said as she made her way to the teenager. “I’m his mother. Please let me see him.”

Steve’s, Mom, a pretty, dark-haired woman with tears in her eyes, moved next to Steve and watched as paramedics took his vital
signs. A friend of Steve’s had called and told her that he had taken a lot of drugs.

“I’m worried about him, Mrs. Getz. He went to the market, but he’s in no shape to drive.”

She had raced to the store, terrified she’d find his car crashed on the road somewhere along the way. Now she stood back some
so paramedics could work on her son. “Is he … is he going to live?”

“Seems to be okay now,” one of them said. “Drug hallucination?” The paramedic directed the question to the store manager.

“Yes, definitely. Never seen anything like it.”

Steve’s mother closed her eyes and let the tears come. Steve had promised her his days of doing drugs were behind him. He
had been in and out of
a rehabilitation center twice since his thirteenth birthday, and now this. Would he ever quit? Would she forever be hunting
him down, worrying about whether he was killing himself or someone else because of his drug addiction? She and her husband
prayed for him every day, but Steve hadn’t believed in God since he was young. Where would he ever find the strength to leave
the drugs and partying if he didn’t grab hold of the faith he’d once had?

The paramedics backed away from Steve. “He needs a place to sober up, but there’s nothing wrong with him medically.” They
nodded to Steve’s mother. “I’m sorry about this, ma’am. It must be very difficult.”

She nodded and bit her lower lip. Tears would serve no purpose now. She needed to figure out a way to get Steve home. After
that, she and her husband could figure out what the next step was. She moved in close to Steve’s head.

“Steve … wake up,” she whispered. When he was asleep like this—even lying prone on the floor of a supermarket—he still looked
like the kindhearted child he’d once been. Her heart grieved at all he’d lost, all he’d become over the years. “Come on, Son,
get up.”

Steve opened his eyes. It took only seconds for the frantic confusion she’d seen so often to flash across his face. “Where
is he?” He glanced around the circle of people still gathered near him. Then he looked at his mother. “Mom, where did he go?”

Great, more hallucinations. A wave of embarrassment washed over her and she kept her voice low. “I don’t know who you’re talking
about, Steve.”

Steve sat straight up and looked around until he saw the store manager. “Where did he go, that man who was holding me down?”

The manager glanced at the crowd, which had dwindled to just a few people. “I guess he’s gone.”

Slowly, Steve rose to his feet, his arms and legs shaking. The strange images were gone, but there was no question the drugs
were still working their way through his body. At that instant, a policeman moved in and placed handcuffs on Steve’s wrists
as he read him his rights.

“Wait a minute!” Steve’s mother stepped back, her eyes wide. “Why are you arresting him? I’ll take him home and he’ll be fine
there. Please … don’t do this.”

One of the officers cast her a kind glance. “His hallucination took place in a public market, ma’am. We’re arresting him for
making a public disturbance.”

The other officer nodded his agreement. “Besides, it’ll be hours before he’s sober again. There’s some concern he could act
wild again. We want him in handcuffs for his safety as well as that of the people around him.”

Before the police led him away, Steve turned again to the manager. “Please …” He was suddenly
much calmer than he had been moments earlier. “Tell me what that man looked like, the man who talked to me.”

The manager squirmed uncomfortably at the strange request. “He was … well,” he began, trying to remember. “He was a customer.
He had short blond hair, a muscular build and, let’s see, well, a real clean-shaven face. That’s all I can remember.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I mean the other man. The one who leaned over me and talked to me.”

The manager frowned. “Yes, that’s who I’m telling you about.”

Steve shook his head, desperate to know about the other man. The one who’d looked like Christ. “No, the man who helped me.
He had dark hair, a beard, brown eyes. Where is he?”

The manager stared at him, his face blank. At that point, his mother stepped in and placed her hand on Steve’s arm. “Maybe
it was the drugs, Son.”

“No, Mom, it was a man. I saw him right above me, looking at me, talking to me. He even knew my name.”

The manager drew a slow breath. “All I can tell you is that the man who helped you was a blond guy.”

The police were anxious to leave, but Steve’s mother stopped as though she’d suddenly remembered something. She looked at
the manager.
“You’re sure the man who helped my son was blond?”

“Definitely.” The manager shrugged. “He left right after your son calmed down.”

The police led Steve toward the door. “We need to take him to the station now.” They nodded toward Steve’s mother. “You’re
welcome to follow us.”

As they walked toward the front of the store, Steve looked back at his mother. His face was paler than before. “Something
happened in there.” He shook his head. “My life will never be the same again, Mom.”

He saw the frightened look on her face, unsure of what to make of his statement.

“Don’t worry.” He smiled as tears built in his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

Steve was booked and released from the police station after promising to appear in court to deal with his public disturbance
charge. His mother took him home a few hours later. Normally after he’d gotten into trouble because of his drug use, Steve
was angry and defiant. But as he approached his mother in their car and climbed inside, he was strangely upbeat.

“Okay, what is it Steve? What happened back there at the store?” His mother leaned back in the driver’s seat, waiting for
Steve to explain himself.

“It was the strangest thing. Not like my other drug trips, Mom. I’m serious.”

“What you saw was strange?”

“At first it was like usual—vegetables chasing me, that kind of thing. But then this man looked at me. His face was …” Steve
stopped himself. “Mom, do you think God might be trying to tell me something?”

His mother swallowed. Steve hadn’t talked about God in years. “Of course, Son. That’s what your dad and I pray for every day.
That God will get through to you, whatever it takes.” She hesitated. “So finish your story. What happened back there?”

Steve told the story, careful not to miss any details.

He drew a shaky breath. “I began sweating and then I think I started running through the store screaming for help.” His eyes
narrowed, ashamed at himself for how he’d acted, thankful his mother hadn’t seen the worst of it. “Then I began seeing black
little beings in the air and I closed my eyes. I think I just stood there screaming for help. When I opened my eyes, there
were demons; that’s the only way I can describe them. They were all around me … black beings with fangs and claws and blood
dripping from their mouths. Oh, Mom, it was so horrible.”

Steve hung his head for a moment, reliving the nightmare of the hallucination. His mother reached over and took his hand.

“What happened next?”

Steve wiped at a stray tear on his cheek. “I felt
someone grab me and take hold of my feet. Someone else was holding my arms. I had my eyes closed and I was still screaming.
Then, all of a sudden I could hear this calm, gentle voice telling me to open my eyes and to trust him. Now, here’s where
it gets really weird. I opened my eyes slowly and the demons were leaving; they were moving away as fast as they could. And
in the middle of the image was a man who looked exactly like the pictures of Jesus. You know, pictures from my Sunday school
class as a kid. Anyway, he was holding my arms real gentle, speaking soft so that only I could hear him.”