Page 18 of Hidden Ascent

One day, he and the other boys had decided to teach the preacher a lesson. They pushed him off his stool, kicked him while he was down and then had stolen his wallet.

Jay hadn’t wanted to do it, but his dirty sneaker had connected with the man’s leg like the rest of them.

Later that afternoon, the remorse had him chained up. He couldn’t think about anything else for the rest of the day. Eventually, it had became unbearable, and he’d known he needed to do something or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He’d taken a couple of crumpled dollars—it was all he had—and found the street preacher sitting on his stool against the wall. He’d been reading an old worn Bible.

Jay had shoved the bills under the man’s nose. The preacher looked at the money, then at Jay.

At first, he’d thought the preacher didn’t remember that Jay was one of the kids that had given him trouble. But then, he’d seen something in the man’s eyes.

When the preacher had reached toward him, he flinched but stayed where he was. If the man cuffed him across the head, he deserved it. He’d take his beating, then drop the money in the guy’s lap and take off.

But the preacher had taken hold of Jay’s hand, closing his small fingers around his money.

“I don’t need this,” the preacher had said. “I have all I need from my Heavenly Father who gave up everything for me.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that,” Jay had replied with a sneer. “I’m just here ’cause I’m sorry for hurting you and stealing your wallet.”

The man had nodded and frowned. “One day, when everything is lost, and there’s no more room for hope, remember that all you need to do is call out to Jesus, and He will rescue you.”

Jay returned to the present. His lungs were burning for oxygen, but his body refused to return to the surface.

Jesus, I have nothing. I have nothing of any value to give you, but please help me. I don’t deserve your help, but if what that man said was true, I’m calling out to you to rescue me. Please. Whatever little I have left is yours.

Heat radiated through his body, and his legs twitched. He kicked, and his strength returned, so he kicked again until his head rose above the water and he took a deep breath, choking on the water that he sucked into his lungs.

As he coughed, his body warmed further, and he kept his head above the water.

He looked again at the lights on the shore. But it was still so far away.

The warmth that radiated from his core must have been because his body was succumbing to the cold, but then why could he move his arms and legs?

If his life was over, then it wouldn’t matter if he trusted that God had responded to his cry for help. So he started swimming back to land, unsure if his arms and legs were moving in a way that would propel him to safety. But he kept moving. Kept kicking. His arms plunged into the water, drawing back and repeating. He focused on the strokes, afraid to stop and look. Afraid to break the thin thread of hope that made his muscles work, to discover that each stroke was only taking him farther out to sea.

He didn’t push himself like he had when he’d first entered the water. His focus wasn’t on release now. It was on ignoring the screams his body made to give up.

But he refused to give up. He wouldn’t give in to his fate. He couldn’t. His life was no longer his own. It belonged to Jesus, and if Jesus wanted him to make it out of the water alive, then he’d do everything he could to make that happen, even down to his last breath.

And then what? The question buzzed in his mind, taunting him.

All that’s left for you is to become a crazy street preacher standing on a stool and pleading with the world to turn their lives to Jesus. Is that what you want?

But Jay didn’t care. If he survived the night, he’d do whatever was required of him. He’d surrendered to a God he sure hoped was real.

* * *

It wasn’t until the waves pounded his face into the sand that Jay realized he’d made it back to shore. His mind and body tingled with numbness, and his head pounded with a raging headache. He was only able to drag himself half out of the water before he collapsed.

The waves crashed over him, lifting his body a little so it felt as though someone was shoving him out of the water.

“I can’t. I can’t move.” But he knew that, if he didn’t get warm, he would still die.

You would give up so easily?

The voice that spoke inside of him sounded like a challenge. He was never one to give in to anything easily.

He dragged his arms through the sand, positioning his hands beside him. In his mind, he was pushing himself up, but then another wave hit him, and he realized his chest was still on the ground.

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