Page 85 of Deadly Force
The verse I plastered on sticky notes during college, underlined in three different colors in every Bible I owned, crashes back with brutal clarity.
Because I haven't been trusting Him. I've been trusting me.
My instincts. My timing. My methods. My understanding of how justice should work and when and through whom.
If I'd been submitting to God, I would've submitted to Caleb's wisdom without needing a disaster to prove him right. I would've listened when he told me to wait and taken a weapon when he offered one.
Instead, I told myself that faith meant pressing forward no matter what. That standing alone wasnoble. That being the last one in the fight meant I was doing something holy.
I've been calling defiance "boldness." Calling obsession "obedience." Calling burnout "sacrifice."
I convinced myself that caring meant never backing down. That love for justice meant never trusting anyone else to fight for it. That serving God meant serving Him exactly the way I thought He wanted to be served.
But God doesn't need my understanding. He needs my trust.
He doesn't need my methods. He needs my submission.
He doesn't need me to be the only one who cares. He needs me to remember I'm not the only one He's called.
I thought the problem was that I cared too much.
But that was a lie I told myself to avoid the real truth.
I'm wrong. I'm sinful. And I'm finally out of excuses.
Seeking the truth has become my idol.
Caleb
I hit the third-floor landing, boots thudding against the worn tile as I scan the dim corridor. Theair up here is hotter, stale, like the building gave up trying to breathe sometime around noon.
Through the narrow, wire-reinforced glass of Room 3C, Brooke is sitting on the floor, staring at the floor. Her whole body radiates defeat.
My shoulders drop. The breath I didn’t realize I was holding eases out. And under it all, a quiet gratitude stirs.Thank You, Lord. You kept her safe. Again.
I step closer to the glass, tap once, voice low but steady. "You okay?"
Her eyes snap to mine, and she scrambles to her feet, almost running to the door. “Areyouokay?
I cock my head at her. “Peachy. Why?”
She chews on her lip then shakes her head. "Someone locked me in here," she yells back, her voice muffled but the sarcasm crystal clear.
Her expression shifts, just a flicker, but I catch it. The three R’s. Remorse. Regret. Repentance.
Just in case it’s jammed from her side, I try the handle but sure enough, she’s locked in there.
“Can you pick it?” she asks.
I glance at the lock and mutter, “ASSA Abloy. High-security. Sidebar mechanism. I’d have better luck with a sledgehammer.”
Heavy footsteps tear my gaze away from her. Reese appears, out of breath, and sweating. Good thing he has a clean bill of health. This job is giving his lungs a serious workout.
"Sorry, man, but can you go find a set of keys? Don't feel like breaking university property today."
With a wry smile and a head shake, he mutters, “Next time, you do the running around.”
I clap a hand to his shoulder. “You can count on it, brother.”
