by Dekker, Ted
I was walking on the ground without shoes—the first time I’d done so since coming to Louisiana, and I must say, the grass felt glorious under my feet. I wore a tank top, another first outside, and the sun was caressing my skin like a warm, loving hand.
Even the insects in the swamp were singing for joy at my rebirth.
All of this had so distracted me as I made my way down to the lake that at first I didn’t even notice there was a man squatting beside Bobby on the shore ahead.
I pulled up and felt my heart rise into my throat. I had been expecting Stephen, rehearsing every vivid detail of his visits in my dreams, but seeing him in the flesh without warning took me completely off guard.
Their backs were to me—they hadn’t seen me yet. Stephen had a small flat stone in his hand as did Bobby, who was cocking his arm to throw it.
“Like this?” He gave it a hurl and it skipped once before diving under the surface.
“Perfect!” Stephen said. “Just like that! Now try two skips. Just a little lower to the water.”
He handed Bobby the stone in his hand, and Bobby cocked his arm in his own ungainly way, and hurled the stone with all of his might.
This time the flat stone sailed low, skipped once, twice, then three times before plopping into the water.
Bobby bounced up and down, arms in the air, hooting his great accomplishment while Stephen chuckled.
“What did I tell you, boy? Each throw is perfect because . . .”
Bobby finished: “Because practice is perfect!”
Stephen gave him a soft punch in his shoulder. “That’s right. There’s no trying, there’s only doing, and each doing is . . .”
Again Bobby finished: “Its own perfect.”
They gave each other a high five. “That’s right,” Stephen said.
I wondered how long he’d been here, waxing philosophical with Bobby. Even in this I loved the Outlaw, I thought. He treated Bobby with no less affection than he did me, taking time for him when he could just as easily have come straight to the house. How he’d come upon Bobby, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. I was glad he had.
I started down the path and got halfway to them before Bobby turned.
His face lit up. “Eden!”
“Hi, Bobby.”
Stephen stood, hooked one thumb over his belt, and faced me wearing a gentle grin.
“Watch this, Eden!” Bobby scrambled around searching for a smooth stone. “Watch this!”
Outlaw winked at me.
I smiled wide, face flushed.
“Watch this!” Bobby said a third time, scooping up a stone. He whirled and threw it without aiming. In that split second I knew that the stone could take any number of paths, one of which was sailing true, skipping off the surface, not once but many times all the way to the far side. And I knew, in that instant, that its path could be determined by a choice.
I wasn’t sure exactly how, logically, but I knew without a shred of doubt that it could.
The stone skipped twice and plunged beneath the surface.
“See?” Bobby cried. “I can make stones fly.”
“Yes, Bobby,” I said, walking up to them, eyes on Outlaw now. “Yes you can.”
Stephen stepped up to meet me, never breaking his gaze. He stopped a pace from me and for a few moments we stood still, as if acclimating to our roles on this shore in the flesh for the first time.
The wind seemed to stall, the lake stilled, the crickets thought to be silent for the magical moment passing between two who know more than they.
Outlaw offered me both of his hands in invitation. “Eden,” he said.
I placed both of my hands on his, palm to palm. “Hello, Stephen. It’s good to see you.”
He lifted my right hand and kissed my knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, flashing an intoxicating grin. “I’ve waited a very long time to meet you. We have so much to talk about.”
“So much,” I said, grinning.
“And you have such a beautiful costume.”
I heard myself giggle once—a tiny, girlish offering of delight. But I couldn’t help it. I felt as if I was floating in his presence.
“I was raised in a monastery?” I asked.
“Yes. It was called Project Showdown. Along with thirty-five other orphans. Only a few remember. All of you are truly special. In time, I will draw the rest.”
My mind spun with questions.
“Where did you come from?”
“I grew up in a jungle, far away. That’s where I became Outlaw. It’s all in a book, I’ll share it with you soon.”
“That’s where you learned to walk on water?”
“Yes.”
“Which jungle?”
He gave my hands a gentle squeeze. “All in good time.”
Then Stephen Carter, the Outlaw, took me into his arms and held me close. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered, and kissed my hair. “So very, very proud, my precious Eden.”
A lump rose in my throat. “Thank you,” I said.
Tears filled my eyes, unbidden. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt such overwhelming emotion. I wasn’t even sure how to define them. I can only say that my tears came from a very deep well, and I seemed to have no power over them.
My shoulders began to shake. I pressed my face into his shoulder, weeping silently and with growing intensity beyond my control.
“The angels kneel in honor to one as beautiful as you, my dear.”
With those words, I lost myself completely. Why? Because I’m human. Beyond that I don’t know.
“The world weeps with gratitude.”
All that I can say is that a lifetime of suppressed relief and longing and joy and sorrow and love and peace, all rolled into one unspoken emotion, bubbled out of me.
It felt like a new kind of baptism.
“Welcome home, my dear water walker,” he whispered in my ear. “Welcome home.”
And I was. There, in his arms. There, in Louisiana. There, on the earth, in a girl named Eden . . .
I was home.
Acknowledgments
A massive shout-out to my friend and long-time partner in awakening, Kevin Kaiser. Together we take a journey through life, together we concoct wild scenarios that find their way into these stories, and together we imagine and commune with the tribe of Outlaws who gather in the world of story both on paper and in cyberspace.
I can’t adequately convey my gratitude for your partnership and bottomless creativity, so I’ll just go with thank you. The Outlaw Chronicles would not be what they are without you. Neither would my life.
About the Author
TED DEKKER is the Top 10 New York Times best-selling author of more than forty novels. The son of missionaries, he was raised among the headhunter tribes of Indonesia and there learned the transformative power of storytelling. Today, he’s known as one of the world’s most prolific and thought-provoking authors, and has won numerous awards, including being named among the Top 50 best thriller writers of all time on NPR.
Find Ted Dekker online:
@TedDekker
TedDekker
www.TedDekker.com
[email protected]
