The Mercy Seat

Chapter One

Joshua Anderson was out on the street that night as usual. He slept in the doorway of the Emook Bar and Grill, and the bar wasn't closed yet for the night, so he couldn't go to bed quite yet. That was okay, though, because he had to go around the downtown making sure that everyone had someplace out of the wind to sleep.

Josh blew on a cup of hot tea that scalded his hands as he walked along the streets of Ambler, Alaska, reflecting on the reason that he was out on the street tonight.

Josh was saved, more than 15 years already, and doing his best to live for the Lord. When he was younger, he attended college and some Bible school, but when his parents died, he couldn't afford to go anymore.

He managed to finish his architecture degree and pass the licensing exam, dreaming that he would build housing for the poor. But financing such homes was tough, almost impossible. Banks didn’t want to give mortgages to poorer people, not because they default on their loans more (in fact, poorer people are much more conscientious about paying their debts), but because there was a lot more profit in loaning out $250,000 over forty years than there was in loaning out $30,000 over 15 years. Banks favored the higher profit margins and snubbed the smaller but more stable loans. So Josh’s business, American Dream Architecture, went bust.

Disillusioned, he went back to his hometown and opened a mission to the poor of Ambler, but due to lack of donations and workers, he had to close it after only five years.

Dejection and failure haunted Josh. He felt worthless, and worse, cursed by the God he loved to serve so much. He felt like he must have missed God’s will for his life, maybe he had taken a detour and didn’t know it, because nothing was working for him.

Failure at business and failure at ministry had defeated Josh. He used what little money he had left to take a prayer retreat to find the meaning of his life, to discover his mission and figure out how to pursue it. He wrote a mission statement during that time, and wrote it inside the cover of his Bible-"Keep pointing people to Jesus," was all it said.

But when his money was gone again, he still didn’t have any idea what to do with his life, so he decided to go back to work and wait for God’s plan to come to him.

He easily got another job, making $100,000 a year, but he hated designing luxury homes, and he missed the people at the mission so much that he decided it would be better to be homeless serving them than to be rich serving his boss. He quit his job after only nine months.

Despite careful budgeting, Josh was broke again within months, and he moved out of the squalid rooming house into the street. Maybe because he had lost everything and was now homeless, Josh never felt freer. His only possession, other than a few pieces of clothing, was his worn out Bible.

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Chapter Two

Rufus Ample was Josh's best friend on the streets. Rufus had had a wife and kids and a nice home in Skewy, Alaska but he had slipped up and had an affair and his wife threw him out. He was walking around Ambler at 3 AM one night when Josh found him and asked if he was all right or if he needed a place to sleep. Rufus tried to be cool, but as soon as he opened his mouth to answer, loud sobs came out. Soon he had told Josh his whole story, and Josh told him about Jesus. Rufus threw himself at the foot of the Cross and cling to it ever since.

Now Rufus led a cell group for the homeless, in charge of getting them food and warm clothing and teaching them how to read and how to put themselves under the Lordship of Christ. Rufus found the work hard but joyous. He loved to tell people that Christ came to give us life in abundance, even for the homeless, and that's why God had named him Ample.

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Chapter Three

Josh had finished all his "night checks," as he called them, and everyone was fine, tucked in with a decent blanket after a meal of hot soup and rich bread that folks from the Baptist church had brought by.

Josh crouched down by a tree in the park, still waiting for the Emook Bar and Grill to close for the night. Occasionally one of the exiting patrons would see him and offer him a small bit of money, a "guilt offering" Josh called it, although Josh never knew whether they were feeling guilty for being drunk, guilty for being warm, or guilty for not caring more. Josh didn't care. Every dollar meant something to him, because he had so little. Three dollars meant that he could take three of the guys into McDonald's for hot coffee in the morning, where they could get warm and wash up in the men's room. The Baptist church people had brought them all toothbrushes and toothpaste, too, and combs. Josh felt more joy from that gift than he felt from all his rich Christmases put together.

And as Josh crouched by the tree, he thanked God for all the blessings of the day. It felt so good to be treated with dignity and respect by the church people, by any people, that Josh put that at the top of his "praise list." Being disrespected is the hardest part of being poor. Folks who are warm and dry and fed treat those who aren't like crap.

Josh huddled a little tighter against his legs and drew his arms up the sleeves of his parka. Even in the summer, this part of Alaska can be quite chilling at night. He started to dream that he was in a warm bed, but clatter across the street at the bar awoke him rudely. Someone was having a fight.

"Ah, gee," Josh thought with a large amount of disgust. Another fight. Why couldn't these guys either hold their liquor or quit drinking? Josh sighed. Now there would be blood and maybe broken glass in his bed. It all just made going to bed so much more complicated. Josh almost abandoned the idea of sleeping there that night. But the guys knew to always look there for him, and he didn't want to take the chance that they couldn't find him if something came up.

And the fighting almost certainly meant there wouldn't be any "guilt offerings" that night. Guys with broken jaws and fat lips never tip the homeless guy. Josh almost cursed at them, but checked himself and his heart reminded his lips that Jesus died for these losers, too.

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Chapter Four

John Heckler Ransom was not homeless. And he didn’t live in Alaska. John had three homes, two in the US and one in France. He was an architect, and whenever he got bored with one house, he simply designed and built himself another. John Heckler Ransom was not just any architect; he was a world-famous developer who had made his first billion dollars before he was forty. And now at forty-five, he had everything a man could want, materially anyway, but nothing a man dreams of.

When he was young, he dreamed of becoming a great architect, building houses, making people happy by giving them beautiful abodes in which to raise families and live their lives. Of course, one of those happy families would be John’s, living in the most beautiful house of them all.

But John had neither a family nor happiness. Somehow, life had passed him by, and although he had over a billion dollars in assets, not one of them made up for the emptiness that saturated his very soul. John Heckler Ransom was a success, but a failure, too.

And every night when John went to bed, the emptiness of his grand home and of his grand life swallowed him whole and tortured him. And his childhood dreams haunted his nightmares.

Life was mocking John Heckler Ransom, and like an abused child, he wailed silently inside his heart.

Chapter Five

John wondered why his life wasn't working. He was successful at business, but his real estate developments, his "monuments to self" left him stressed and unfulfilled. He expected more from his career. He expected to feel some sort of "spiritual fulfilment" from his achievements, but he felt nothing but tiredness. Architecture was hard and lonely work. He achieved critical acclaim for his developments, but in his heart, he felt nothing but criticism. What good was it all, without a "soulmate"?

John had had three serious relationships in his adult life--with Porter, Lisa and Deborah--but all of them had crashed and burned. None of them filled the void that occupied his soul; none of them had been his "soulmate."

In fact, that was the excuse that John always told himself when a relationship broke up---she just hadn't been his "soulmate," and when he did find his "soulmate," that relationship would work.

Porter was not John's first love, not even his first girlfriend. He had loved a girl in high school who didn't love him back. Trisha Sweeterman took his kisses, his time and his money, but she disdained his love. When he caught her with the captain of the football team (how trite!), she didn't even make an excuse or try to soothe his broken heart.

Trisha just said, "Hey, John, that's the way it goes. We had fun, but now I have David." And she smiled a mocking smirk at him, and waved him away like he were a fly.

In college, John went for Porter, a beautiful and sophisticated business student, in a big way. She was upfront about not loving him, and John liked that. Porter was pragmatic. Porter wanted sex and the social status of dating a Sigma Chi, that's all. And after Trisha's exploitation, John didn't want the complications of a real relationship, either. He didn't want the entanglements of love right now.

And architecture school was hard. More difficult than he had thought it would be. Having a real girlfriend who would demand his time and attentiveness would just be an added pain in the butt. Sex and fun with Porter was fine with him for the moment. His future didn't include Porter, and Porter's future didn't include John.

It seemed like a match made in heaven.

When he was in his Junior year, Porter announced that she was pregnant.

She left the message on his answering machine, casually, like she might leave the message that she had ordered a pizza for dinner.

John's roommate Ray was home when she called, and Ray had heard.

"What are you going to do?" Ray asked, thinking that his buddy would freak.

"Nothing," was all John said.

But inside, he was in panic. Pregnant! Cripe!

John was swallowed by a wave of fear; fear that he would have to abandon his dreams, quit school, and marry a woman he only liked for sex. They had nothing in common, nothing to build a future on, nothing to sustain a relationship with.

His grades had dropped and he almost lost his scholarship. He knew he was being selfish. He didn't care about Porter or the baby and would never be able to love them, because they would be the cause of the ruination of his dream.


In the end, John didn't have to do anything. Porter had deliberated for months about whether or not to have an abortion, but at almost 5 months, she lost the baby.

After that, he couldn't stand to be around Porter anymore.

John had made a cursory attempt to visit her in the hospital, but his immaturity wouldn't let him get passed the lobby, and he never spoke to her again. Something inside John's soul ripped that day, but he never knew exactly what that was.

He gradutated later that year, and he determined that when he remembered his college days, Porter would be erased out of his memories. He would remember everything all around her, all the events they went to together and such, but Porter would not be in them. Porter no longer existed to him.

Sometimes, even now, 25 years later, he would have a nightmare about reliving those five months in which he vacillated between fear and loathing. He didn't care about how it had all been for Porter, or even where she was now, all these years since. He had no feelings about her at all. Porter was a user like Trisha, and if he felt anything, it was hate.

Chapter Six

But Lisa! Oh! John often thought about Lisa with longing and joy. Lisa was so different than Porter.

John had met Lisa Franklin at an inaugural party. It was a party for the staff of the incoming President and John had been invited to escort the sister of a coworker. John’s good looks always opened doors for him to interesting, and beneficial, situations. He had been working on a big project in Columbia, Maryland, and his coworker asked him to escort his sister, who was part of the new President’s staff and new to D.C. John agreed, seeing it as a potential entré to some healthy connections in federal government.

The sister was a plain, bookish kind of girl with no real potential to marry well; she would probably spend her entire tenure in the West Wing as a low-level assistant to an assistant, John thought as soon as he met her. But Lisa caught his eye as soon as she walked into the room. She was petite, blond, trim and fair-skinned, and her east coast upbringing had been kind to her. Her accent was charmingly polished, her mannerisms charmingly comforting, and her style was charmingly cool.

Lisa Franklin was an aide to the incoming President, reporting directly to the Chief of Staff. Her expertise was foreign economy, which she said she hated, but John doubted that anyone was ever better at researching and analyzing data about the economics of foreign governments or corporations, he was so taken with her. “You don’t have to love your calling to be good at it,“ she told him as they danced. The concept was incomprehensible to John. He had followed his first love—architecture—and it had been very good to him. By that time in his career, just 6 years out of school, he was an associate partner of one of the biggest real estate development firms in the world.

His lonely and sad heart was smitten with Lisa that night. After taking his date home, he went back to the party to see if he could see Lisa again. He waited in the parking lot for over an hour in the cold, feeling too awkward to go into the ballroom to look for her, but too love-struck to leave without talking to her again.

She finally came out, unescorted (her social confidence impressed John all the more), and he walked her home.

John stayed at Lisa’s townhouse that night, and from then on, he commuted to his Maryland job site from Washington DC every day. Without really meaning to, John had got washed head-over-heels in love. For three years, John and Lisa lived together, and John expected to propose to her one day. His mind often wandered to the future, where he and beautiful, successful Lisa would raise three adorable, intelligent children and he’d be the envy of every guy in the world.

Then the most wonderful and the most terrible thing happened. John received a fellowship to study architecture in Florence, Italy for two years.

Lisa came home very late the night that he heard about his fellowship, late even for White House workers, who routinely burn the midnight oil. John had a hot bath ready for her, and a cold bottle of champagne, and a dinner fit for the king of the world. He was eagerly awaiting celebrating with her, and planning with her their big move to Florence.

But Lisa was too tired to talk that night, and fell asleep on the couch while he was breaking the big news. She left before he woke up in the morning, rushing back the West Wing for a dawn meeting.

Two days went by before she could hear John out while he told her the big news. She was not as happy as John expected.

“Go to Florence!” she cried. “I can’t go to Florence! My job is here, my career is here. What would I do in Florence? Who would care who I am in Florence? I’d be just another person there, not Chief of Foreign Economics!”

Lisa bawled her eyes out for over an hour, then fell asleep. John realized that he would either give up his fellowship or lose his relationship. He loved Lisa. He loved the proud feeling of earning such a prestigious honor as the fellowship. Few architects ever get two years, all expenses paid, in the cradle of fine architecture—Florence. He vacillated once again between fear and hate; fearing to lose Lisa, but hating her for making him choose.

She didn’t even see him off at the airport. She had a meeting with the President later that day and had to get ready for it. John took a taxi, and began his new life as a single, loveless man in Florence.

Chapter Seven

John loved Florence, but he missed Lisa with an ache that nearly killed him. Everywhere he went, everything he saw, he wished he could share with Lisa. Even Italian food was bland without Lisa. He often comforted himself by imagining that she was with him, looking at antiquities, at great art, at rich religious festivals, at all the things that made Florence the most amazing place in the world. He kept a journal that he planned to give her when he returned home to her.

His soul longed for her; his heart ached for her, his body craved for her. Life without her was an intensity of negative emotions and emptiness. Writing and talking on the phone did not assuage his hunger for her presence.

After nine months, John couldn’t stand it anymore, and after buying the most beautiful engagement ring he had ever seen, he flew back to Washington to surprise her.

He waited on the steps of her townhouse until nearly midnight, when she finally came home…

On the arm of another man.

Lisa’s shock and embarrassment radiated from her like heat from a 300-watt lightbulb. John nearly had a heart attack from the shock of seeing her with another man.

Lisa sent her date home and took John into the house. John wept as he showed her the beautiful ring and proposed to her anyway, which only embarrassed Lisa more. She said that she had just become engaged to the man she was with that evening, the man she loved more than she loved her job. She was leaving the White House and moving to Indiana to teach college and be his wife. Then they both burst into tears and cried all night. By dawn, John had accepted that Lisa could never be his.

But in his imagination, Lisa would always be the one he would spend eternity with.

Chapter Eight

Josh Anderson awoke the next morning, stiff and cold from sleeping on the concrete steps of the Emook Bar and Grill. He was 36 now, not a child, fast approaching middle age, and his body was changing in bad ways.

He knew that not many people could live on the streets for very long and survive. Street life is hard on the body, and lacked sanitary facilities and places to just wash your hands, so street people are prone to die from infections caught from even the smallest cut. And systemic illnesses come easily and go untreated. Pneumonia was a common killer, as was the flu.

Last month, Josh had lost a homeless parishioner to cancer. The man was very sick, and got sicker every day. His belly swelled from an enormous tumor on his liver that Josh could feel when he palpated it. Josh took him to Ambler Memorial Hospital, but the doctors refused to see him. Ambler Memorial is a for-profit hospital, and they only see as few indigent patients as required by law, and they had met their quota for that month. For six months, Josh took Roger to the hospital, making sure that they were there at midnight on the first of the month. And for six months, nurses let Roger shower and gave him clean clothes from a pile of clothing left behind by other patients, but Roger never got to see the doctor. Josh demanded an explanation, but hospitals never take homeless people seriously; they assume they are too retarded or mentally ill to understand. Even when his skin turned yellow from the liver cancer, the doctors did nothing for Roger, and one morning, Josh found him dead.

Josh called 911, and an ambulance came to take Roger away, but Josh knew he was already gone. Just three months before, Roger had accepted Christ as his savior. And although his was very sick and in great pain, he attended every Bible class and every praise session Josh’s cell group had. They always made a point to find where Roger was crashed for the day, and brought him whatever food and drink was available. Someone had even found a bottle of Tylenol and brought it to Roger for his pain, but the dosage was too weak to have any effect.

Roger lived a sinner, but he died a saint.

And more than that, his illness had brought out the goodness of his homeless brothers-in-Christ. They cared deeply about the ailing man, even before he got saved, and learned a lot about faith from watching his suffering.

When Roger died, Josh tried to go down to the hospital to claim the ashes (Ambler’s morgue is in the basement of the hospital), thinking that he and the guys would scatter them in the park where Roger usually slept, but Josh was informed that if claimed the ashes, he would be required to pay for the cremation services, $400. He and the guys found and scrounged as much money as they could for almost a year, but they never even got close to $400. As soon as the scraped a little savings together, one of them would get sick or hurt or need it for something else.

At the end of the year, the hospital threw out Roger’s ashes as bio-hazardous waste and he was taken to the landfill. It hurt Josh to know that his friend was thrown in the town dump. He knew homeless people are considered disposable, and that Roger’s being was now in heaven, not in the old waxed cup in which they had placed his remains, but for some reason, Roger’s destination caused Josh’s soul to ache.

Josh took the guys out to the dump and had a memorial service for Roger. Everyone cried, not only because of Roger, but because they knew that this would be their burial place, as well. Their bodies would be of so little value to the world that they would spend eternity among the rotted food scraps and soiled diapers.

Josh reminded them that, for those who were Christians, this resting place would be temporary, since at Christ’s Second Coming, their bodies would be taken up into the sky to meet and be reunited with their bodies. Twelve of the men got saved that day. They abhorred the idea of lying in garbage for eternity, and savored the idea of being in paradise with God.

Josh was now pastor of twenty-five homeless Christians. In his first sermon to the new believers, Josh reminded them that Christ spent many years homeless as well.

Now Oscar was sick, too. Josh would have to start taking him to Ambler Memorial, hoping against reality that they would have a change of heart and give Oscar more than just a bath.

And Josh knew that his days on the streets were numbered as well. He had lived homeless for a year now, through an Alaskan winter, and knew that he would not live to see too many more Alaskan summers. It’s a rare man that survives in the streets for more than a couple years, and in Alaska, more than a few months.

Josh knew he would have to decide either to get a job and move indoors, or move south to a place where weather wasn’t such a hardship. But he hated to leave the ministry he was building here. Rufus wasn’t able, spiritually or physically, to take his place. The “homeless church of Ambler” would die away or fall away, and no one would know or care.

Chapter Nine

John Heckler Ransom went back to Florence to complete his fellowship. Everywhere he went, he imagined Lisa being with him, even though he knew it was wrong to have such fantasies about a married woman. He started talking about her as if she were with him, like, when he was describing a side trip to Pisa to a friend, he said, “We had such a good time!” The friend didn’t catch it, but John realized what he said and it scared him. Maybe he was losing his mind?

John thought the best cure for that was to find another true love, his soul mate, this time, and have all these wonderful experiences with her. There were plenty of American, Canadian and English women around Florence, it is a mecca to which many architects make a pilgrimage. But Italian women were so interesting and beautiful, and his Italian was passable and getting better, so one day when he was at the street market, he spoke to a lovely Italian girl.

“I am new to Florence,” he lied in Italian. “What should I see here?”

The young lady, about twenty years old, flirted back with him, saying, “Oh my sir, if you can’t see all around you beautiful things to look at, you must be blind!”

John, who was still perfecting his art of flirting said, “If I am blind, it is because your beauty dazzles me.”

It worked, and this sweet young woman, her name was Maria Theresa, left her market stall to be a tour guide for John, who had already lived in Florence almost two years.

John loved looking at everything through Maria Theresa’s eyes. She had lived in Florence all her life, and was able to show him places and things he would have never guessed existed.

She took him to an underground Roman-era bath that few people knew about and tourists never visit, where they had an amazing swim in the cool, pure water. The water, the architecture and the silence of the place electrified John’s psyche, and he felt at peace and energized at the same time. He longed to kiss Maria Theresa, to make love to her. But he felt that he should control that passion, although he did not know why.

Then she took him to the basement of her church, where some of the earliest Christians had been buried after being persecuted to death. The basement seemed to be part of another world, part of the spirit world, a place so holy John felt uncomfortable. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of not being worthy of existing in this room. His heart throbbed and he became light-headed as he tried to shake the feeling of being unclean in some way.

Maria Theresa caught him as he fainted, and they sat down on the damp stone floor of the burial chamber. Her face was warm and rich in the golden candlelight that filled the chamber. She looked at him with great concern, but she knew what was wrong.

“You are not a follower of Christ,” she said, sadly.

“No,” John whispered, suddenly ashamed of himself and how he had lived his life. This young girl, twelve years younger than he, was pure and innocent, and a believer in Christ. He had spent the entire day in lust for a girl who was too pure to know shame, and too full of grace to be in the same room with him.

He threw himself on the cold stone floor and wept. He cried for his badness, for what had happened with Porter, for his lost love with Lisa, for the filthy thoughts he had been thinking about this beautiful saint kneeling on the floor next to him.

Maria Theresa told him about Christ, how he had lived to show us God, how he had died to cancel the power and weight of sin. John held on to Maria Theresa like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver. When she asked him if he understood and wanted to pray, he couldn’t speak, he could only nod.

Maria Theresa prayed, “Lord our God, thank you for bringing John to this holy place today, where he could feel the nastiness of his sin, and learn of the beauty of your grace. He understands that he is unworthy and awful compared to you, and he wants you to wash away all that nastiness and awfulness. Please take him here in this holy place and be his Savior.”

When she was done, John nodded again and Maria smiled.

That night, he went to Maria Theresa’s house for dinner, his first time in a Florentine home, and she told everyone what had happened to him that day. The whole family rejoiced and a great celebration ensued.

John felt lighter and happier than he ever had, than he ever thought he could, and he knew he had done the right thing.

He went to Maria Theresa’s home every day after that, and went to church and Bible study with them, and often went to that cellar where the saints who came before him had been buried. He was so thankful to be in the family of God that he lifted his arms and sang the only hymn he knew by heart—“Jesus loves me, this I know…”
Eight weeks after his heart made faith in Jesus Christ, John’s architecture fellowship was over and he had to go home to America. He had accepted a job in Chicago with one of the world’s largest architecture firms, a partner-track position, and was eager to recommence his career as a Christian. He had a new heart and new plans for his life.

But it didn’t last. John never got settled into a church in Chicago, and the demands of his work kept him from going to church regularly anyway, and after a few years, John fell away into a bad life again, even though it pained him with guilt.

John couldn’t even think about the things he did during those years, without breaking down in to crying jags that lasted days. His heart was broken by the things his brain and body did.

Chapter Ten

John Heckler Ransom was already forty-two and a billionaire when he met Deborah Munson, at her eighteenth birthday party. She was the daughter of Richard Munson, his business partner at Ransom-Munson, an international real estate and development firm. He had risen up the ranks of every firm he worked in, making partner in record time in most, and needed new challenges to keep him happy. If he rested for any amount of time, the pangs of guilt rose up in him like vomit from a sick stomach, so he kept busy, and that led to material success.

He hadn’t heard from Maria Theresa in years by then. She had married in Italy a few years after she had led him to Christ; he had flown back for her wedding. She married the young pastor of her church and they were raising their daughter and son. He got postcards from them for a while, but since he never wrote back and moved around a lot, he lost touch with them altogether.

In some ways, it made him feel better, knowing that she would never find out he had backslidden, and in other ways, it made him sad, because she was his one strong link to the Christian life.

Life had gone on the same old way for John Heckler Ransom for many years, until he met Deborah Munson at that party, and saw in her the innocent beauty he saw and loved in Maria Theresa, and confused that for love.

Chapter Eleven

Josh Anderson saw the food van from the Baptist Church pull into the park, and he had an idea.

He went through the food line, eager and excited over the hot meal of meat and potatoes they were giving, and tried to figure out which of the men was the pastor. He finally had to ask the woman who was filling cups of orange juice.

“Brenda Ralston is our interim pastor,” she said. “We are between pastors, and Brenda and her husband came to pastor us. But her husband died last month, and Brenda has taken over all the church responsibilities except preaching. Our men preach to us on Lord’s Day. But Brenda does all the administration and approvals over the church. We love her, but we know eventually, the Convention will replace her.” The woman with the orange juice sighed deeply.

“Her husband started this food ministry, but Brenda loves it as much as he did,” she said. “We’re trying to love you guys as Jesus would love you.”

For some reason, Josh believed her. She was trying to learn to love him and his cohorts. She didn’t know them, or know that many of them were her brothers-in-Christ, but he could see that she really wanted to be more Christ-like in her love for the poor.

When Josh went back for seconds, he spoke to Brenda Ralston. “Pastor, may I come to your office tomorrow, say around 1 o’clock?”

Brenda looked surprised, but she agreed to meet him. “You won’t mind if Elder Simmons and Mrs. Beatty are there, will you?” She turned and nodded at the man and woman next to her.

“Of course not,” Josh replied, aware that they highest principles of propriety must be upheld. “I insist.”

After being filled and warmed by the luxuriously meaty meal, Josh settled onto a park bench for a time of prayer. He prayed nearly all night, falling asleep just before dawn.

Chapter Twelve

When Josh awoke, it was already daybreak. He had only slept a few hours, but he felt refreshed. He had a lot to do before 1 o’clock.

He did something he had never done before, something he promised himself he would never stoop to doing. He took an empty orange juice container out of the trash (Josh swore to himself that he would never be a “trash-picker” or “recycling specialist” as he called them), and he filled it with water at the drinking fountain. Then he went into the men’s room and took off all his clothes, and used the liquid hand soap and the water jug to give himself a good bath. There was never any hot water in the men’s room, and the faucets had been designed so that a jug wouldn’t fit beneath them, and the park rangers kept a careful eye out for anyone showering in there, so Josh tried to be inconspicuous as he scrubbed the dirt and stink away.

Being clean gave Josh new energy. It was well worth the risk of being caught, and he pledged to be a look out for the other guys if they ever wanted to shower there.

Josh hated putting his dirty clothes on over his clean body, but he didn’t have any other choice.

At 9 o’clock, the Goodwill thrift store opened and Josh went in with the 13 dollars he had left from the money they had pooled to buy Roger’s ashes. He bought a suit, a tie, a dress shirt, underclothes, shoes and even a pair of socks. He bought a handkerchief, too, and put that in the breast pocket of the suit. He put his old clothes in a plastic bag they gave him, and walked out into the street dressed in business clothes for the first time in over three years. He felt strange, but good. He had a mission today, and he prayed the whole morning that God would be with him, and with Brenda Ralston.

Chapter Thirteen

At one o’clock, Josh stepped into the foyer of the Crestview Baptist Church. He silently prayed again, that God would make the people listen and open their hearts even more.

Mrs. Ralston, Elder Simmons and Mrs. Beatty were waiting for him when he was let into the church office. Josh drew a big breath as he introduced himself and plunged into the reason for the meeting.

"I am Josh Anderson. I am a registered architect, or at least I was until last year when I didn't have the money to renew license. But for 14 years, I was an architect" Josh was astonished to hear himself say this. It sounded like a sob story. He could hear them thinking, "Poor guy was an architect until some stupid thing happened and now he's nobody and homeless. "

He took another deep breath and prayed to be clear and articulate.

"I didn't come here to tell you a sob story. I came to tell you my story, who I am, what I do, where God has sent me and why." "Doh!" Josh thought, "that's not better!"

It had been so long since he had to explain himself to anyone that he had forgotten how.

"I am pastor to 25 homeless men here in Ambler," he went on. "I used to run the gospel mission down on Lichens Street, and God called me to live as a homeless man and lead his homeless people here in Ambler." Whew! That was a little better!

"For a year now, I have been in this mission. In that time, twenty-five men have come to the Lord. We are a family in the way the Christians of the first century were. We live to look out for each other, we pool oour resources, and you will never find a group of men who have more agape love for each other." Yeah! That's the way, Josh thought.

"We love you people so much for caring about us," Josh continued, "and about those who are unsaved. We pray for you folks every day, and we are always so happy and grateful when we see your van come into the park."

Josh looked at the three sitting on the other side of the desk. Their faces told him that they were expecting him to ask for money. So he launched into it--

"Life on the street is very hard, especially in Alaska. I don't need to tell you what the winters are like. In the summer, we are nearly eaten alive by the bugs. We never have enough food. We don't have any way to get medical care. One of our men is sick. We don't know what is wrong with Oscar, but he isn't able to walk anymore. He gets weaker and weaker every day. The hospital won't see him because he can't pay for his care. Will you help us clean him up to make him presentable, then take him to a doctor?" Whew! That was it--he had done it!

Josh sat silently, looking from face to face. They didn't look at him for a while, they just looked at the floor. Josh knew that meant they would be saying "no." But he kept looking at their faces, boldly, unabashedly, praying that God would open their hearts a little more.

Brenda Ralston was the first to speak. "What time can you bring him here?" she said.

They want to meet him and make sure he isn't a drunk, Josh thought. "It is easier to take you to him. I'd rather not disturb him too much, and it's a long way back to the park if you turn him down," he said.

Brenda spoke up again, "We're not going to turn him down. We're going to bathe him, dress him, and take him to the hospital."

The words were like an energizing balm to Josh's heart.

"I'll get him right now!" he said, unable to cover his excitement.

But suddenly, Elder Simmons spoke.  "Brenda, it is completely unacceptable for a bunch of homeless men to carry their friend to this church for a bath.  I am nearly outraged that you agreed to this."

Brenda, Mrs. Beatty and Josh were non-plussed.  All eyes turned to Elder Simmons, and Josh's heart started to pound.  There was going to be a fight.  Josh was suddenly very sorry that he came to the church.  He wished he could escape from the argument he knew was coming.  He silently prayed for help!

"What are you saying, Tom?" Brenda  replied as calmly as she could. 

"I'm saying that those men will not be allowed to carry the other here from the park.  I wil take the van down to the park and get him.  Those men cannot possibly have the stamina to carry their friend 18 blocks!  We'd be taking them all to the hospital for exhaustion.  I'll go get him and be right back." 

Tom Simmons had Josh wait on the sidewalk while he went to get the van.

Josh couldn't believe what had happened in that office!  These people were going to love beyond themselves and help their brother-in-Christ! The joy ripped through Josh like a heavenly bullet. After he left the meeting, he could ot help but dance a bit on the sidewalk. He didn't care who was watching!

Chatper Fourteen

John went into a panic-attack whenever he thought about Deborah. Or should he call her by her current name, "Noor--Princess of Islam." He shook his head, thinking about what her new life must be like as the fourth wife of the head of an Islamic cult based in Sacremento. He couldn't imagine why she chose to marry Abrahim Saadeem Mamood (formerly known as Larry Jones), who was already married to four women--at the same time. They had flown together to Nigeria, where sharia law allowed Larry, um, Abrahim, to marry Deborah, um, Noor, and still keep his other wives.

Of course, Deborah had left with John their baby daughter, Rory, born just three months before the wedding trip with Abrahim. Abrahim had decreed that the child, born illigetimately, was the offspring of satan, and that Noor had an obligation to abandon her so that Abrahim would not be forced to live in the same home as satan's seed.  Deborah, inthralled with Abrahim, agreed.

John was forty-three when Rory was born, and he had never been a daddy before. Without Deborah, he didn't know how to raise a child. He had done the only thing he knew to do. He hired a staff to raise her. Two nannies and a nurse were hired full-time to care for her while John was at work. And John was always at work.

To be honest, he wasn't even sure where Rory was right now. She was probably in one of his houses, or even in the cottage he kept on the island of St Lucia (cottage is a relative term to the rich; John's Carribbean home was bigger than most American mansions). Maybe she was at his apartment in Rome? John knew she was somewhere, but...

His panic-attack got worse as he realized that he didn't know the whereabouts of his only child.

He got on the phone and started calling around. John couldn't remember the phone numbers of all his abodes, but they were all programmed on speed dial, so he just started hitting buttons.

After ringing twice, the phone was answered in his home in Arizona, his winter home. The bulter answered. John was pretty sure the butler's name was...Robert. He thought. Oh well, whatever, John finally decided.

John announced that it was he who was calling, and he asked to speak to Rory. Robert said that Rory was not currently living at the Tempe residence. He didn't know where she was, but he didn't expect Rory to be in Tempe at least until Fall. The tone of Robert's voice was just short of condescending, and John mildly resented it. He made a mental note to deal with Robert after he had found his daughter.

Next John dialed the apartment in Rome. A woman answered and spoke in Italian. John asked for Rory. The Italian woman told him that Rory was in New York.

John hung up and dialed the townhouse in New York. A man answered, John didn't recognize the voice. John asked for Rory, and the man said that Rory had left with her nannies and nurse two hours ago for England, on a working holiday for the nannies. They planned to tour all of Brittain and Ireland for about two months. He offered to fax their itinerary to John, who thanked him and gave him his PDA's phone number.

Within seconds, the itinerary was being displayed on John's PDA. The entourage was headed for Heathrow, due to arrive at 8 PM Pacific time. John made another mental note to call her at the hotel as soon as they arrived.

Exhausted from his frantic search and the panic-attack, John laid down on the bed in his hotel room. He could see out the window, but he didn't recongize the city. He pulled his briefcase closer to him so he could look at the roll of drawings he had stuffed in there. Down in the lower right corner was the address of the development he had come to see. He could hardly believe it. Alaska. Stebbins Island, Alaska.

He looked through the drawings to refresh his memory on the project. Hmm, yes, he could see that it was a major resort Ransom-Munson was building here. It combined high-end hotels with eco-tourism--truly the next wave of resort developments, John thought. His innovative ideas kept Ransom-Munson ahead of the competition, and Richard Munson's financial and business savvy kept them able to keep being innovative. Ransom-Munson was a true partnership where each of them would fail without the other. John thanked God that Richard Munson had come into his life; without him, John Heckler Ransom would be just another architect.

Before Rory was born, Deborah had seemed happy, even elated, at the prospect of becoming a mother. She excitedly shopped for baby things, buying very high-end items that sometimes surprised even billionaire John.

"Our baby is the child of a billionaire, and the grandchild of a billionaire," Deborah explained, "She shouldn't have to live in rags!"

John looked at the price tag on a tiny fuzzy sleeper from Pam Piaget, a very exclusive designer in Paris, where Deborah had just been on a shopping spree. "$850!" he thought silently, but he was nearly bowled over by the shock.

"Deborah, this sleeper is a newborn size. It may not even fit her after a couple weeks," he finally said to her.

"So what," Deborah replied. "It's my baby and I can afford it. She should have the best and look the best."

Every day during the pregnancy, John had regretted involved with Deborah. She was so young, and even for her age, she was such a flake! One day she would come to him and demand that she had selected a new name, "Leandra," for instance, and the next she would go back to Deborah. It didn't surprise John greatly that Deborah had latched onto Abrahim as quickly and firmly as she did. The first thing he did after they met was give her a new name, "Noor." She explained to John what it meant, but he didn't pay any attention; she had been through a dozen names in the last nine months. John thought "Noor" was just another one of them, and he hoped it would pass quickly, because it reminded him of cow manure.

She was such a silly little girl. He didn't even know how they had gotten together. Surely he had more morals than to seduce an eighteen year old! Whatever happened to his Christian faith? What was he thinking when he allowed her to move into his home because she couldn't get along with her father?

John realized none-to-quickly that he had made a big mistake. Deborah was just looking for a man to substitute for her father, who was never home. Her mother had died just a few months before Deborah turned 18, and clearly she was in no position to form a lasting, romantic relationship with a man a year older than her father.

But true to his typical MO, John didn't think through the moral end of things, he just acted on impulse. The next morning, he regretted it completely and totally, and vowed never to touch another woman unless he was married to her.

Two weeks later, Deborah announced that she was pregnant.

John went weak. He was so grateful to finally be a father, that he didn't care they weren't married. He even thought to himself, "God wouldn't give me a child the righteous way, so I'm going to get one my way." And part of him felt really gratified, and the other part felt very wicked. He knew his thoughts were wrong, but he was so desparate to have the family of his dreams that he just didn't care. In a way, John was thumbing his nose at God.

He proposed to Deborah, but she said she didn't need him, and had a lot of living to do before settling down with one man. He words hurt John deeply, but he felt that he deserved them. He had gotten things all out of whack. He feared that she would leave him and take the baby, and that he would never get to be a father to his only child. Later, John realized how ironic those fears became.

Chapter Fifteen

It was raining when Tom Simmons and Josh Anderson pulled into the park in the church van. Josh directed Tom to the cluster of bushes where Oscar usually slept, and they parked the van.

Both men got out in the hard rain, and ran toward what appeared to be a bundle of rags under the bushes, the pile of rags was Oscar.

Tom was a little upset about being out in the rain, and it showed a little in his face when they got to Ocsar's hiding place. Josh knelt down in the mud under the bushes and shook Oscar's shoulder, gently but firmly.

"Oscar, wake up," Josh said. Oscar made no response, so Josh shook him harder. "Oscar, wake up. We're here to take you to the hospital."

Oscar's eyes opened, but Josh could see that it was in great pain. The rain had drenched him and he was feverish and the pain in his stomach wouldn't allow him to sit up. He groaned softly, trying to talk.

Josh held his head down close to Oscar. He silently prayed, "Dear God, please let Oscar help us get him into the van. He's too big for just the two of us to carry. Please Lord, help is here, don't let us fail to help Oscar!"

Oscar groaned again, and lifted himself and sat up. From there, Tom and Josh were able to help him to the van, where Oscar collapsed.

Tom drove off toward the church, and Josh stayed in the back with the ailing man. Over his shoulder, Tom said, "Josh, we better get him right to the hospital. There's no way he's going to make it unless we get him there right away."

Reluctantly, Josh agreed. He was sorry for the indignity of poor Oscar going to the hospital dirty and grimy from weeks without a bath. The hospital staff would use it as an excuse to mistreat his friend, and Josh couldn't keep the tears from streaming down his cheeks. Things didn't look good for Oscar, and Josh was sorry that he would have to die dirty.

Through the rearview mirror, Tom could see Josh struggling with the tears, and he opened the glove compartment of the van and handed Josh a box of wet-wipes. Josh thanked Tom and lovingly washed Oscar's face and hands with them, as Tom drove as fast as he could toward the emergency room. Tom couldn't help thinking that he shoudl pull over and call an ambulance, but he knew that they couldn't respond quicker than he could drive. Within a few minutes, they would arrive at the hospital.

Josh looked up from his work of love when the van drove under the ER canopy, because the sound of rain suddenly stopped pounding the van. Tom ran in to get help as Josh finished washing Oscar.

When the orderlies got to the van, they saw that the patient was a homeless man, and they stopped.

"We can't take him in," the older one said. "He's a homeless man, and we aren't a charity hospital. You'll have to take him into Anchorage."

Tom was astonished that they could turn away someone so sick, but he could see from the man's face that he was very sorry.

"We have our orders, and if we take that man in there, we will be fired for insubordination. And they still won't treat him. You'll just be wasting valuable time. Please take him into Anchorage! And hurry!" the man said. And Tom and Josh could see the orderlies couldn't do anything.

Tom decided that it was best not to argue. But he couldn't help himself from saying, "The church is guaranteeing his treatment. You won't have to worry about not getting paid."

The older orderly shock his head and said, "Mister, it's my job if this man goes in there. I've got kids. I've got to keep my job."

Chapter Sixteen

Tom drove like a wildman as the van careened down the highway to Anchorage. There was no way they were going to make it in time, he thought. He kept praying, hard, that Oscar could hang on and that he wouldn't wreck the van on the way.

But halfway there, Oscar breathed deeply, gasped a haunting groan and died.

Josh threw himself on Oscar's body and sobbed. It was not the first death he had ever witnessed, but it was the most desparate one. Just when help seemed so near, Oscar had died. Josh knew he was home with the Lord, out of pain and want, but he felt honestly diminished by the death. God had entrusted this man to his pastorate, and Josh had failed him. If only he had gone to the church sooner! But he had thought the church wouldn't care. So he didn't even try.

They took Oscar the rest of the way to the charity hospital in Anchorage, where they pronounced Oscar dead, and took his body away. Tom asked what would become of it, and the staff said unless he was claimed, his body would be cremated and sent to a hazardous waste disposal site.

"A landfill, you mean," Tom said.

"Yes, I'm so sorry," the doctor said as he handed Oscar's paperwork to Tom. Josh determined to be strong and not weep here in front of everyone. He just looked away and pretended not to hear.

Tom surprised Josh when he said, "I'll claim the body."

The doctor was surprised, too. But he sent Tom and Josh to the basement morgue to fill out all the paperwork and make the arrangements for burial.

On the way back to Ambler, Tom hugged Josh and told him how sorry he was that Oscar was gone. "We didn't do him any good after all, Josh," he said, with true sorrow in his voice.

Josh only shook his head.

They rode along in silence for a long time.

Then Josh said, "But there are others. There are others who need the church's help almost as much as Oscar did. Can you help them?"

Tom looked, a seriousness darkened his face. "Yes. Yes, Josh, we can," he said. And a flood of the Spirit went through both men, right there in the truck. And they knew the Lord was with them on this. Grandview Baptist Church's mission to the homeless was born at that moment.

Chapter Seventeen

John awoke to the sound of a helicopter nearby. It was there for him, to take him from the hotel on the mainland to the resort on Stebbins Island. He must have fallen asleep, though he didn't remember it. He wasn't ready for the copter yet. He had planned to shower and shave and change out of his travel clothes into something casual yet smart. Something to project the impression that he was relaxed yet in control.

He got up and looked in the mirror, planning to make a quick change and a quick pass over of the electric razor. HIs eyes had heavy circles under them. It was obvious that he had been crying. He phone the heliport on the roof and asked them to power down and wait for him. Then he jumped in the shower to try to wash the evidence of his emotions off his face.

He felt like he was made of lead. His body ached from the grief of his shameful life. He wondered where he had gone wrong, but he didn't dwell on it, for fear that he would lose control again. Instead, he thought about Porter, and anger welled up in him enough to let him focus on the job he had to do.

But Joh resovled that when he was done on Stebbins Island, he was going to take a vacation, maybe a long auto trip through Canada on his way back to New York. He could stop in Cleveland and check on the Lakeview development there, and end up deducting the whole thing from his taxes. Yes! That's what he would do!

The thought gave him enough energy to get dressed and out to the heliport, where the chopper was waiting. Off they flew into the foggy sky, rising above the mist in a matter of seconds. It made John's head feel clearer and happier. This was going to be an excellent job, a development to be proud of, world-famous and worthy of oodles of design awards. John breathed deeply of the rarified air, and remembered the good things in his life--the wealth, the fame, the honor and prestige--the things that had made the last 40 years worthwile.

Yet there was a hollowness to it, a feeling that he would never be able to regain his arrogance, his self-satisfaction, his happiness. He didn't swell on that, either. A mental breakdown was only moments away down that road, and he didn't want to make a scene in front of his employees. "God almighty!" John prayed silently, "Please help me hold together until I can get this over with!"

The Stebbins Island project was not going well. They already were booked up for their opening season, and the project was about three months behind schedule. At this rate, there was no way they would be able to open on time. Besides the money that would be lost, there would be the embarassment of failure. John and Richard couldn't let that happen. They had never failed, ever, and it was there reputation for delivering even on the toughest projects that kept people investing in their company. Everything was riding here, and they had to make it work.

The project manager was a new-hire, a guy they had sweet-talked away from the competition, someone with the reputation of getting things done on time, on budget, 100% of the time. They needed this guy to come through now. He had been hired for this project, but he was failing them. The schedule was kaput, the budget was out of whack, the masons were somehow scheduled before the foundation workers, the concrete was ordered before the site work was finished. John secretly thought the guy might be a mole, someone planted by the competitor to ruin the job. It was a dog-eat-dog business, and if Ransom-Munson was out of the way, the competitor would be able to walk in and take over the field. John was genuinely afraid.

The helicpoter landed in front of a large sign that read: Stebbins Island--a new resort by Ransom-Munson. It listed the names of the engineer, the financial backer, the contractor, and John and Richard's names.

The project manager was waiting when John got out. He started scraping and bowing immediately, which annoyed the heck out of John. He realized immediately that they had simply hired the wrong person for the job. John excused himself and dialed the office on his cell phone. "Get Meeks and Liber out here ASAP," he barked to his assistant. "Get them out here before morning. And tell them they are staying until the job is done." John fired the project manager on the spot. The man begged, but John had no choice. It was his job, or John's company. One of them would go. John was not going to lose everything he worked so hard for, and lose 6000 jobs, for the sake of one nincompoop. He had had over a year already, and he wasn't making good on his potential or his promise.

John had the man escorted off the island, by way of cargo boat, and halted all work until the morning, when Liber and Meeks would be there to take over. In the morning, they would all assess the project and determine the right course of action to put the project back on track.

When the helicopter dropped him back at the hotel, John was exhausted. He forgot all about what he had gone through just a few hours before. He felt relieved and tired, and fell asleep in his clothes.

Around midnight, he awoke, and started through the roll of drawings for Stebbins Island, so he would be prepared in the morning. He had named the resort after his maternal grandmother, Ida Stebbins, her maiden name. His mother's name was Betty Heckler, hence John's middle name, and she had married Walter Ransom, John's father. John's parents had a stormy marriage, which ended when John was 12. That's when John's dream of having a normal, happy family was born. He wanted to fill the gap in his own heart by making a happy life for his own children.

John knew the island had some native name, like emok-i-neho, or something hard to remember and harder to spell. But names like that can break a resort. If people can't remember what it is called, they can't ask their travel agent to make reservations for them. Stebbins Island was easy. It was a name that could be copyrighted and branded. They already had their brand package complete with logo and theme, ready and in the high-end travel magazines. They had reservations booked before the groundbreaking. Already the first full tourist season was completely booked.

John laughed at that childish dream. Like he could shape his world! John was a fatalist, and ever more so, believing that man is helpless to direct his own way, that life is full of suffering and sorrow because God ordained it that way. John had started believing that his life was his just punishment for what he had done to Porter, and that made him hate her all the more. Everything comes back to Porter, he often thought. If I had never met her, my life would be different and better. Why didn't God protect me from Porter?!

John fell asleep again.

He woke to hear the helicopter on the roof again. Meeks and Liber had arrived.

He quickly showered and they were on their way to the resort by daybreak. By noon, they had mapped out a new stategy, and by nightfall, John knew the project was in good hands and would be finished on time. The budget was broken, but Stebbins Island would be able to open on time.

anyone reading this? Should I continue?

Chapter Eighteen

It wasn't until two days later that John realized he had forgotten to call Rory in London.

Chapter Nineteen

Tom couldn't drop Josh off at the park. It was well after dark and the park was locked up tight. "Where do you want to go?" he asked Josh.

"Oh, I don't sleep in the park," Josh replied, surprised at how odd that sounded in his own ears. It startled him a bit that was talking so casually with a stranger about where he slept. A flicker of worry flashed through him, an odd fear of sleeping out in the open, just like the first night he had lived in the streets. Then shame overtook him, and he could't help blushing. Josh was grateful that the car was too dark for Tom to see his face clearly. "I sleep at the Emook. Over on Enani Street."

Tom looked down and away for a moment, which shamed Josh all the more. He knew Tom didn't know what to say, how to act. It made Josh look down and away.

"Why don't you come to my house tonight?" Tom finally replied.

"I can't. The guys wouldn't know where to find me if anything happened. And they'd get scared if I was suddenly gone. They might be up all night looking for me. I better stay at the Emook tonight. But thanks for asking," Josh replied.

"Can I get you a hot dinner?" Tom asked.

"Will you eat with me?"

"Sure. I get kind of lonely this time of the evening. My wife died last year, and I still haven't gotten used to the empty house," Tom answered. "Where would you like to go?"

For the first time ever, Josh went inside the Emook Bar and Grill. He had never ventured past the front porch before. He was always curious about what it looked like inside. He imagined that it would be something out of an old gunslinger movie, bloodstains on the floor, broken glass everywhere, the tables and chairs sticky and stinky from spilled beer. All the drunken fights he had seen outside the bar made him expect that.

But when they walked in (both of them feeling a bit embarrassed and fearful about being seen inside a bar), it was clean and cozy. It was a little too warm (the air conditioning must have been broken), and the lights were dim,but otherwise it looked like any other dinner-type restaurant. Tom and Josh found a table and sat down to look at the menu.

Josh couldn't help looking around. It just amazed him that the place was clean. There was a faint aroma of beer, but not stale beer. Then why all the fights? he wondered. This didn't look like the kind of place to get plastered and start a fight.

The waiter came by to take their order. Josh hadn't even opened the menu yet.

"Three drink minimum guys. That all right with you?" the waiter said.

Tom sputtered and Josh gasped. "Three alcoholic drinks?" Tom asked.

"Yep," said the waiter. "That's $18 for each of you, and food is extra."

Josh didn't know how to act. He wanted to tell the waiter he must be out of his mind. At least the fighting now made sense. If you had to pay $18 per person for drinks, you were going to drink them!

"Well, we don't want drinks, we just want food," Tom said, politely.

"Doesn't matter," replied the waiter. "Anyone who comes in within one hour of the floor show must pay the minimum. Are you going or staying and paying?" he added.

"Floor show?" Tom questioned again.

"Yes, floor show," said the waiter, increasingly snippy and resentful. "You know this place has a floor show. That's what you came for. I'm sick of you guys who are afraid your wives might find out. You always act so astonished to find out this is a gay bar. Do you think you are the only married men who come in here? Do you think I've never heard that story before?" the wait snapped.

Josh and Tom just looked at each other. "Neither of us is married, sir. We really just came in here to get a bite to eat. We don't want to drink alcohol or see naked men. We'll be going," Tom replied, calmly.

"You know you'll be back," the waiter yelled after them. "And I'll remember you! Do think I won't remember you!"

Tom and Josh got away from that place as fast as they could. When they reached the van, the sighed with relief.

"Gay bar!?" Josh said. "I've been living in their doorway for a year, and I never suspected it was a gay bar. What do you think I ought to do? Move?" He earnestly look to Tom for advice.

"You might, " Tom replied. "Or you could stay there and start to witness to the guys going in and coming out."

"It wouldn't take long before they'd call the cops to stop me," Josh said.

"Yeah, but think of all the men who might not hear about the love of God any other way," Tom answered.

Josh couldn't argue with that. "Could you maybe get me some tracts?" he answered, and that settled the matter. Josh was taking on yet another ministry.

Thanks! For a while I wasn't sure whether I was writing this just for myself, or if others were reading, too.

Chapter Twenty

Tom and Josh ended up in the Ambler Diner, the greasiest greasy-spoon in town. Josh felt so good, having Tom to talk to. It was pretty rare for Josh to get to talk to someone who wasn't mentally ill. He loved his flock, but sometimes it seemed like it was getting harder to tell the delusions from the reality. It was just one more thing that scared Josh about being on the streets. He was starting to see that his time in this ministry was short. He needed to make other plans, so when it was time to let go, he had somewhere to go to.

"Tom," Josh said after chewing a bite of the yummy chili cheese fries Tom had ordered as an appetizer, "I, I sometimes think about moving on in life and letting go of this ministry."

Doh! Josh thought.  That was a stupid, whiny way to start a conversation!  Sheesh!  Being in the streets so long made him forget how to talk to normal people.

"Please forgive me, Tom," he said aloud.  "It's been a long time since I talked to anyone who wasn't mentally ill or in a crisis.  I've forgotten how to make small talk, and I don't know anything about what's going on in the world outside Ambler."

Tom smiled, which put Josh at ease a bit.  "Don't worry about it Josh.  I'll make small talk and you can join in."  Josh could see that Tom was kidding him, and that relaxed him more.  He hadn't ruined things by starting off with a complaint!

"So Josh, how'd you come to Ambler?" Tom asked.

"I was born here," Josh answered.  "My parents were church planters, and we would move into a town that didn't have a church, and there are lots of those in Alaska, and mom and dad would start one from scratch.  They were in Ambler when I was born.  In fact, I was born in that hospital that turned us away today."

He looked at Tom, to see if he was bored to death yet, but he looked interested.

"How'd you come to be in Ambler?" Josh asked Tom.

"My wife's family founded that hospital that turned us away today," Tom replied.  "They were medical missionaries, and there wasn't a hospital within 80 miles of here, so they came and set one up.  For seventy years it was owned by the denomination that sent them, but eight years ago they sold it to a private corporation, who changed the mission from helping the residents of Ambler, all of them, including the homeless, to making a profit.  The first thing the corporation did was get rid of any references to God in the place.  There was an inscription over the front door that said, ' Heal the sick who are there, and tell them, 'The kingdom of God has come near you. Luke 10:9'  The first thing they did was have that sandblasted off.  My wife cried when she realized that everything her grandparents had lived for was being destroyed.

But there was nothing she could do.  The money from the sale of the hospital went to the main office of the denomination, and they spent it on new carpet and furniture, things that won't last.  The legacy of her grandparents and parents was ultimately wasted, and that hurt her more than if the building would have burned down.  I don't know if that had a hand in her illness, but less two years ago she was diagnosed with heart disease, and she died a year later."

When Tom finished his story, Josh was silent.  "Where did you meet your wife?" he finally asked.

"On a mission trip to San Francisco," Tom answered.  "She was stuying to be a nurse, and I was preparing to go to Bangledesh to build better communities for the very poorest people.  We both went to a training session on "ministering to the poor," and as soon as I saw her, I was captivated.  She didn't like me at all, though and avioded me.  I think I was just coming on too strong for her.  She was on the elevator at the hotel, when I got on.  She couldn't not acknowledge me or get away, so I finally had my chance to give her my 'pick-up line'."

"What did you say?" Josh smiled.

"So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like Bangledesh?" Tom laughed.

"You didn't!" Josh scoffed.

"I did!" Tom replied, "And she laughed so hard she couldn't ignore me.  We went to lunch, and three years later we were married."

While they were laughing, Josh discovered that he no longer felt ackward or out of place.  Tom had made him feel completely comfortable in the normal world.  Josh silently prayed thanksgiving to God for bring him this new, normal friend.

 

It's about two architects; one's a billionaire and one is homeless. I go to extremes, don't I?

One gave up his career for his faith, and the other gave up his faith for his career.