One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation (39 page)

“Yes.” She gave him a polite smile but kept her distance.

“Jake …” Tom reached his hand out, and Jake shook it. The stranger's eyes welled up. “I'm … I'm sorry about your buddies. About all of it. We've been praying.” He shrugged. “The whole country's praying.”

Jamie could feel Jake's uneasiness.

He shifted his weight some and nodded. “Thanks.”

There was a sad hesitation, then the man gave Jake a half grin. “You look great.”

Sierra worked her way to the other side of Jake and took his hand. A smile lit up her face, and it was obvious she agreed with the man. “Daddy's getting better!”

“It must feel good to get out.” The sun was bright that morning, and a cool breeze played through the trees that lined the parking lot.

“Yep.” Jake squinted and cast a look toward the church entrance.

There was nothing left to say, and Jamie could feel the moment grow awkward. “Excuse us …” She nestled against Jake's side and took two small steps forward. “We don't want to be late.”

“Right.” The man dropped Jake's hand and shot one more smile at him. “We're here for you.” He looked at Jamie. “All of you. Anything you need.”

“Thanks.” Jamie's answer was quick, and the man got the hint. He nodded once more and returned to his family. When he was out of earshot, Jamie leaned close to Jake and whispered, “They don't know about the amnesia, right?”

“Not unless you've told them.”

“No.” She fell in step beside him. “I only told the guys at the station. I haven't said a word to anyone else.” Jamie thought about that as they headed for the church's front door. Of course she hadn't said anything. She didn't know these people, not one of them, because Jake had kept this part of his life separate from her, not wanting to pressure or force her to believe as he did. Not wanting to burden her with talk about faith or religion or even God. Unless it was something she wanted. And even though they'd been very kind, bringing meals by and making promises of prayer for their family, Jamie wasn't about to share private details with them.

Fifteen yards separated them from the church doors, and along the way three other people waved or approached Jake with hugs and statements that they'd been praying for him. Jamie cast an occasional glance at Jake, and she felt him press in closer to her. He seemed to sense the way the attention of these strangers made her feel uncomfortable. He might not remember his past, but his journal had taught him lots about her. He had to know that attending church with him was not easy for her.

He brought his head close to hers and spoke in a voice only she could hear. “You okay?”

She licked her lower lip and shrugged. “Nervous.”

Sierra was skipping along on the other side of him, her hand tucked in his. But now, for the first time since the terrorist attacks, Jamie felt Jake reach for her hand and weave his fingers between hers. The sensation made her knees weak. In a rush of familiarity, she felt instantly at ease. She was with Jake and Sierra, together as a family for the first time in more than a month. And not even a sermon could touch the joy of that.

They went inside, Jake limping and leading the way. With every person who approached them, Jake pretended he remembered.

“God is always faithful,” he'd say. Or, “I felt your prayers every hour.”

These were things Jake would've said, without a doubt, things he believed. But Jamie knew they weren't statements he ever remembered saying. In fact, in a ten-minute period Jake pulled off a performance that was worthy of an Academy Award, one that would've been impossible without the time he'd invested in reading his Bible and his journal.

People continued to approach Jake, and the attention he was getting gave Jamie the chance to glance around the inside of the church. It was actually fairly nice looking. A few banners with Bible words written on them, but none of the statues and stained glass she'd found so intimidating back when she was a child.

The people continued to come, thrilled for a chance to connect once more with Jake and to pass on their thanks. He was among the city's most famous heroes now. Not that he hadn't been before. But the status awarded firefighters in the weeks since September 11 went way beyond ordinary hero and skyrocketed up into the realms of celebrity. Normally this much attention might have shaken Jamie, but as long as Jake had hold of her hand, as long as he stood tall and strong by her side, she felt perfectly content.

They checked Sierra into Sunday school and then made their way to a pew toward the back of the church. As soon as they sat down, a dozen people came up and offered still more kind words and assurances of continued prayer. Jamie watched them, struck by the light in their eyes. It was then that she finally noticed something about these people. Their love wasn't only for Jake.

It was for her too.

Though Jamie had never come with him, though these people had never seen her even once at church, they hugged her and offered whatever help she might need. Several of them had tears in their eyes. The realization brought back Jamie's feelings from before September 11. Sierra had been asking her to come to church with them, and Jamie's interest had been roused.

Here, now, she was curious once more. She might not believe, but she didn't have to hold something against these people. Clearly, they loved her family and even her. The least she could do was give them a chance.

An older woman approached and patted Jamie's hand. “Well, hello, dear. It's so good to finally meet you.”

A man behind her smiled big at Jamie. “We're family, remember. If there's anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

By the time the service started, Jamie's head was spinning. She'd gone from curious to baffled. Was this what she'd been afraid of? A warmly lit building filled with kind people, a place where she felt surrounded by comforting words? She stared at her lap for a moment and tried to collect her thoughts. It didn't matter how nice the place felt. What mattered was the fact that by sitting here she was making a mockery of herself. She didn't believe in God. Especially since September 11. It was wrong for her to be here, and as soon as Jake's memory returned, she wouldn't be back.

She wouldn't be a hypocrite.

The pastor took the pulpit, and Jamie steeled herself. This was the part where he'd do one of two things. He'd either shout at them about hell—making them feel guilty for every careless thought and pressuring them to believe. Or he'd give a sugarcoated message about how everything always worked out for those who believed.

Jamie huffed quietly to herself.
Tell that to the people buried in the rubble of the World Trade Center
. She dismissed her thoughts and worked her fingers more tightly between Jake's. The preacher could talk all day as long as she had Jake's hand in hers, his warm body beside her.

Someone had handed Jamie a bulletin when she came in. Now she opened it and scanned the list of pastors until she found the name of the man about to speak. Pastor Jason Ritchie. Jamie closed the pamphlet and set it on the seat next to her.

“Good morning and welcome to First Community Church.” He smiled, and something about the man reminded her of Jake's father. “If you're visiting with us today, we're glad you came.” He looked around the congregation until his eyes fell on Jake and Jamie. “We have someone very special with us today. Many of you know that Jake Bryan is part of the church family here. He's a firefighter with FDNY, and back on September 11, he nearly lost his life in the World Trade Center.” The man paused. “Jake's here today, well enough to join us this morning.” The man's voice sounded strained, and for a moment he seemed to fight tears. “Let's give Jake a welcome back.”

People all around began to clap, and after a few seconds, a row of people stood and then another and another until the entire congregation was on its feet, clapping and looking at Jake. Tears streamed down the faces of several of them. Jamie leaned in closer to Jake, her heart touched by this outpouring. Was this what she'd been missing? People young and old who saw Jake as part of their family?

In a way it reminded her of the love at the fire station. But this was different. These people didn't love Jake because he was a firefighter; they loved him because they shared the same faith, the same God. Whole or broken, flawed or not—their common bond was one Jamie had only that morning begun to understand.

When the people returned to their seats, Pastor Ritchie began telling them a story about Jesus and a few of his friends. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus—siblings who shared a home together. The story went that Jesus cared about these three in a special way. So it was when Lazarus took sick and died, Jesus was deeply moved.

“See,” the pastor's voice rang clear and true, and Jamie found herself listening, so caught up in the story that she forgot to be leery of it. “Death was not a part of Christ's plan. It never had been.” He hesitated. “Certainly as he listened to Mary and Martha cry for their dead brother, Jesus was reminded that life was never supposed to hold that type of pain and loss.” His voice dropped a notch. “What did Mary and Martha say to Jesus, anyway?” He paused. “They said, ‘Lord … if you'd been here this wouldn't have happened.’”

Pastor Ritchie sauntered across the stage and made eye contact with people on the far side of the church. “Since the terrorist attacks, we're tempted to say the same thing, aren't we?” He gave them a sad smile before turning and making his way toward the other side of the congregation. “We rail and shout and shake our fists at God, yelling at Him through our tears. ‘If only You'd been here, God … in the buildings where You were supposed to be … none of this would've happened.’” The pastor stopped and squared himself toward the middle of the room. “But is that really the way it is?”

He returned to the story of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. As he did, Jamie waited anxiously for each word. Why hadn't she heard this story before? And when was he going to start yelling at them? She glanced at Jake beside her, but his attention belonged completely to Pastor Ritchie—almost as though this were a part of his life he remembered perfectly. Jamie wondered if he really did, or if spending all those hours in the Bible had created a new belief as strong as the one he'd forgotten.

Finally, the pastor reached the part in the story where Jesus went to the tomb, the place where Lazarus was buried. The congregation was silent as Pastor Ritchie searched their faces. “Jesus was surrounded by weeping people, folks He knew and loved, and He was staring at the tomb of a man who had been like a brother to Him.” The pastor narrowed his eyes. “What did Jesus do? Did He look at them and tell them everything would be okay?”

Jamie wanted the end of the story so badly she could barely sit still. She squirmed and leaned forward a bit.

“No.” The pastor gave them a half smile. “Did He shout at them, yell at them, ask them where their faith was? Berate them for grieving when He'd promised them it would all work out in the end?” Pastor Ritchie shook his head. “No, Jesus did none of those things. Do you know what He did?”

Jamie had no idea.

“He cried.” The pastor's voice dropped a notch. “He wept right alongside them.” Pastor Ritchie held up a Bible, and the man had tears in his eyes. “Sometimes I think John 11:35 is my favorite verse in the whole book. Because it tells us Jesus cares. If we cry, He cries. No question about it.”

The pastor began to pace again and wrapped up his sermon. “The truth was, Jesus had it all figured out that day. He shouted at the tomb and ordered his dead friend to come out, and that's exactly what Lazarus did.” Pastor Ritchie smiled bigger than before. “And everything worked out just as it was supposed to.” He cast a look in Jake's direction. “But that didn't mean death would stop dancing on our earthly days. Since the snake entered the garden, it has done that, and it always will.” He gave a shake of his head. “Rather … the story of Jesus and Lazarus is a prototype, an illustration that with Christ, death will not have the last dance. Not ever.”

He took a few more steps, stopped, and faced them again. “Those of us in Staten Island lost seventy-eight firefighters on September 11. Some of you here today worked with or lived among those fallen heroes. Others of you lost family and friends who worked in the World Trade Center.”

He paused, and across the church, Jamie could hear the muffled sound of several people sniffing or reaching for tissues. Tears filled her own eyes as the pastor continued.

“God's message for you this morning isn't that everything will be okay here on earth, because it won't. The rotten, sorrowful smell of death is still too strong among us for me to tell you anything but the truth.” He held up a single finger. “But death will not have the last say. For those who believe in Jesus—in a God who would cry alongside you—death will never have the last word. And that, dear friends, is the hope we can take home with us. Hope that comes packaged in that very special story about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.”

He was finished speaking, and he asked them to close their eyes, bow their heads, and pray. “Every Sunday I do my best to give you a glimpse of Jesus, a picture of the man that He was, the God that He is. And each week I give you the same chance I give you today. The most important decision you'll ever make is what to do with Jesus Christ. Today, right here, you can decide to have a friendship with Jesus, a relationship with the One who weeps alongside you in all your pain, the One who knows that if only you'd take His hand, everything really will work out in the end.”

Jamie's heartbeat doubled, and her defenses dropped like so many autumn leaves. She'd never thought about God that way, never imagined Him as a friend who cried with her and cared for her. It was all she could do to remember that she wasn't a believer, that this information was fine for people like Jake, but not for her. Not when God had taken her parents so swiftly and surely; not when He'd robbed Jake of his best friend and allowed the deaths of so many innocent people. She blinked and tried to focus.

“Others of you have been believers for a long time, but you need a chance to recommit, a chance to tell God yes all over again. Yes you believe, yes, you want Him to lead your life from this point on. Yes, you want to know your eternity is safe with Him.” Pastor Ritchie's voice was filled with concern. “If you fit into either of these categories this morning, please—right now while everyone has their eyes closed—raise your hand.” He waited for a minute. “Okay, I see you over there. And you near the side.”