He rolled down his window and rested his arm on the door, letting the warm late summer breeze wash over him. Help me, Lord … am I being too critical?
A Bible verse flashed in his mind … one he’d come across last week in the early hours of the morning, the time of day when it was just him and God, getting ready for another shift. The verse was from Proverbs, chapter 14. There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads only to death.
What did the verse mean in relation to the prayer he’d just uttered? Clay focused on the road and sorted through the possibilities. Certainly the Scripture applied to the bad guys. It described everything about them. But how did it work for someone like himself, or Alex? Clay slowed his car, wanting to stretch out the trip back. When it came to Alex, Clay had avoided talking about the one way the young guy could find peace — a rock solid faith in Christ. Clay was waiting for the right opportunity, the barbecue when Alex didn’t seem so intense, or the moment when talking about God felt somehow appropriate.
But what if that moment never came? There was a way that seemed right to man, but in the end it would lead only to death, right? So the verse certainly applied to the young deputy. Clay doubled his determination. He would find a chance to talk to Alex about his beliefs, even if the timing didn’t feel right. Even if it created the most uncomfortable moment in Clay’s entire life. Certainty girded up his determination. He would seize the next possible opportunity.
Because the way that seemed right to Alex was whatever his heart told him, possibly even taking the law into his own hands. Everything Alex did, the way he was courageous on a crime scene, the way he worked with his dog, and the stony look of determination in his eyes — all of it told anyone watching that Alex Brady had one way that was right to him. He was responsible for eliminating any crime he came across without the help of anyone. Not even God.
That would never work, of course. One of these days, Alex was going to reach the end of himself, because no man could eliminate all the evil around him. Dealing with evil was something only the Lord could do, and in His timing He most certainly would deal with it. Clay was sobered by the truth, as if a new awareness had dawned on his understanding of Alex Brady. As he finished the drive back to headquarters, he prayed fervently for Alex, that the ways that seemed right to the young deputy would indeed take him to the end of himself, and that when he reached that place he would not find death.
But life, the abundant life God planned for him.
NINE
Jamie took CJ to preschool that morning and stayed to read to the children. She didn’t know about the hostage situation or that Clay was on a SWAT call until that afternoon when she and CJ were driving home from the supermarket.
“Cookie, Mommy?” CJ patted the back of the passenger seat and strained against his belt so he could see her. “So hungry, Mommy!”
“We’ll have a snack at home, okay buddy?” She turned and patted his chubby hand. “Mommy will slice up an apple for you.”
Jamie turned up the radio and caught a news reporter mid-sentence. “ — the situation on the hostage crisis earlier today. What we now know is that shots were fired at members of the LA County SWAT team. Two people are dead, and the two shooters are in custody. We’ll update you as we gain more information on the — “ Jamie slammed the radio off and grabbed her phone from her purse. Not Clay, God … please, not Clay.
I am with you, Daughter … I am here.
The blessed assurance was instant and all-consuming. She had lived in fear each day being married to Jake Bryan, worried sick that every call would be his last, refusing to believe in a God who would allow firefighters to die. Only after he was killed on September 11 did she finally make peace with God and realize the great ocean of strength and peace that came from putting all of her life in His hands. She could hardly pick up her old habits now.
“Mommy? What’s ‘a matter?”
“Not now, baby …” she held her finger to her lips. “Give Mommy a minute.”
She exhaled. Thank You, God … I hear You. I feel You here with me. Her hands were shaking, but she felt stronger than before, ready for the news. Whatever the news. She was about to slide open her phone and call Clay when the ringer went off. A glance at the screen told her it was her husband, and relief rushed over her. She answered the call and held the phone to her ear. “Clay, is that you?”
“Yes, baby.”
His voice worked its way through every cell in her body. “Thank You, God.” She was breathing fast. “I just heard the news.”
“This was the soonest I could call. I’m on my way back to the station.”
“What happened … two people were shot?” She couldn’t will herself to ask if the victims were from the department.
“It was bad. We were all out there, Joe and his men too. None of the guys were shot, but it was close.” He breathed deeply. “A couple of crazed gunmen.”
“The news said a K9 deputy got one of them.”
“Alex. He and Bo were closest to the scene when the call came in.” He sounded worn out. “I’ll give you the details later, but Alex shot one of the guys just as he fired at our backs. At the same time, he released Bo to get the other one.”
Jamie wasn’t surprised. “Oh, Clay, I am so glad he was close by.”
“Definitely.” Clay hesitated, but only for a few seconds. “He saved lives, for sure.”
“Is he okay?”
“Physically, yes. I can’t vouch for his heart, though. He looked almost like he was in a trance after the shooting.” The frustration was audible in his tone. “He won’t let anyone inside, not even me.”
Jamie exhaled slowly, allowing her heartbeat to return to a more normal pace. “I’m just glad you’re okay. We can talk about Alex later.”
They spoke another few minutes, and Clay had to go. By then, Jamie was just pulling into the driveway, and as she cut the engine, she turned around and smiled. CJ had fallen asleep, and why not? He had no worries, no concerns. He was with his mommy, and whatever was wrong, she would take care of it. Jamie held the picture for a few seconds. It was exactly how God wanted her to feel, safe and secure in His loving care — no matter what happened.
She took CJ from his car seat, carried him upstairs, and placed him in his new big-boy bed. His favorite blanket was spread out near the wall, and Jamie tucked it in around him. He still took two-hour naps, and she was glad he’d fallen asleep. Jamie sat on the edge of his bed and gently brushed his white-blond hair off his forehead.
Six months after she and Clay married, when she found out she was pregnant, Jamie came to grips with a very real possibility. The baby could look like his uncle Eric — distinctly different from Clay — the way babies sometimes favored one side of the family over another. And since Eric shared that uncanny resemblance with the husband Jamie had lost, he would look like Jake, like the son she and Jake never had. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, and not once did she share that particular thought with Clay. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to worry about the issue. CJ was his daddy’s son from the moment he was born — complete with Clay’s blond hair and round face.
But he looked like Jamie too, enough that CJ and Sierra were clearly brother and sister. Sierra was an amazing big sister, playing with CJ every afternoon when he came toddling down the stairs after his nap. Sierra would take him out back and run through the sprinklers with him, letting him catch her and swinging him around until his laughter filled the yard.
Jamie smiled at him, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. For today, they were all well and whole. Sierra happy at school, CJ safe in his bed, and Clay alive after another dramatic day of police work. Nothing about tomorrow was promised to them; Jamie understood that. But as long as God gave them the gift of today, she would cherish it with all her heart.
She stood and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. As she did, she remembered Alex and what Clay had said about him, how he wouldn’t let anyone inside. Jamie leaned agai
nst the stair railing, and slowly an idea formed. Alex’s dad was FDNY, same as Jake. Jamie knew the last names of the firemen her husband had worked with, and Brady wasn’t one of them. Odds were the two men rarely crossed paths, but the possibility remained. On the bigger calls, more than one station always responded. Maybe Jake had known Ben Brady.
It had been a year since she’d pulled Jake’s old journal down from the top shelf in the hall closet. She lived with the wisdom Jake left behind, so she didn’t need to look at the journal more often than that. Besides, Clay had suggested that looking at the book too often might not be healthy for her. Jake was gone, and this was her new life now. With him and CJ and Sierra. Jamie agreed wholeheartedly and she understood. Clay wasn’t jealous of her dead husband. He only wanted her to be healthy about where she was now, where they were as a couple.
But this was different. The house was quiet, and Sierra wouldn’t be home for another hour. She didn’t want time alone with Jake’s memory; she wanted to see if by some chance he had known Ben Brady. Jamie gave herself permission to check. She took soft steps toward the hall closet, opened the door, and carefully got the book down.
Often when Jake wrote in his journal, he talked about incidents at work, firefighters he’d come across, and what his conversations with them had stirred in his own mind. There were, of course, a number of entries where Jake talked about his best friend, Larry Henning. The two had died together in the Twin Towers, that much they knew. Their helmets were found in the same section of rubble more than a month after 9/11.
But what about Ben Brady? Was there a chance Jake had ever met the man or written about him? Jamie took the journal to a bay window seat where the afternoon sun was streaming in just so. Despite the warm afternoon, the news about the gunmen had left her cold inside. She took the seat, and warmth radiated through the window and into the muscles along her back.
She put the journal on her lap and opened the first page. Reading one entry after another would get her nowhere today, and it would leave her in tears. The way it always did when she allowed herself to go back to her life before September 11. No, this would be more of a scanning, an exercise of her left brain. In case the name Ben Brady was somewhere in the pages of Jake’s extensive writings.
The pages weren’t exactly ancient, but they had a brittle feel to them now. Jamie took great care as she opened the book and allowed herself to read the first page.
Jake Bryan, the inscription read. A journal for notes and observations, a trail so that someday my Jamie might look back and read, and that by doing so she might “believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in His name.” — John 20:31.
Jamie read the words a second time. It was always strange and uncanny what Jake had written, as if he had somehow known he wasn’t going to survive his days with the FDNY, and more, that the words in his journal, the words etched into the borders of his beloved Bible, might one day lead Jamie to the faith he had always prayed she would find. Which was exactly what had happened.
The slightest remorse seized Jamie, and once more she wished she’d found that faith while Jake was still alive. But this way, her change of heart would give them one more reason to celebrate someday when they were reunited in heaven. She steadied herself and turned the page. In keeping with her determination, she resisted the temptation to read each entry. Instead, she ran her finger down the page, searching for just one word.
Brady.
She was nearly fifty pages into the book and unaware of how much time had passed when suddenly the name practically jumped out at her. She gasped and let her eyes find the beginning of the entry. It was almost impossible to think Jake had known him, or that the name truly represented Alex’s father. But there it was, right in front of her. The entry started on the previous page and was dated a month before 9/11.
Sometimes I come across someone in the department who personifies courage and commitment, the sort of firefighter people talk about with words like bravery and loyalty, strength and honor. That’s the way I feel about my friend Ben Brady from the station a few blocks from mine. We worked a call together yesterday, and I found myself watching him, the way he took charge of the blaze and set an example for the men from his firehouse. Ben and I know each other. We’ve talked a number of times. But yesterday we talked on a deeper level, about what drives us.
Jamie could hardly believe what she was reading. Not only had Jake known Alex’s father, but also he knew him well and even looked up to him. She kept reading, drinking in every word.
I wasn’t surprised when he told me he was a Christian. “I take God with me on every call,” he said. I liked that. It’s the way I feel, the way I live. But I guess I never heard it put that way before. He said something else too. He told me he knows he can only do so much to keep the city of New York safe from fires. “When you live with constant danger,” he told me, “you have to remember John 16:33.” He winked at me. “That’s what keeps me sane. John 16:33.” I was familiar with the verse, so I understood. Jesus used that part of Scripture to tell his friends a simple, profound message: “… in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
He also told me he hoped one day his son would embrace the verse. “So far, my family has had very little trouble. Life is good, love is sweet, and time seems like it’ll last forever.” His eyes held a bittersweet shine. “We all know that isn’t true. Especially working for the FDNY.”
His words stayed with me all day and even now, as I write, I can hear them in my heart. He’s right. Today is like that for me and Jamie and Sierra. Life is good, love is sweet, and time seems like it’ll last forever. But it won’t. It never does. And so we stay strong in the hope of John 16:33 … because in the end, Christ has overcome the world. That’s what I have to tell myself every now and then.
Jamie let the final words of his entry fill her, consume her until she could barely breathe. Every now and then. The way they all needed the words from John 16:33.
And what about the connection with Ben Brady? Jamie had known the young K9 deputy for a year, known all that time that his firefighter father had died in the collapse of the Twin Towers. But never had she even considered looking in Jake’s journal, checking to see if, by some strange act of God, the two men might’ve known each other. Even then, she never could’ve imagined a find like this one — an entire entry about Jake’s admiration for Ben Brady and his thoughts on Ben’s wisdom.
An urgency came over her, the same urgency she’d felt each day when she reported for her volunteer work at St. Paul’s Chapel. In her years in that position, God had used her to help hundreds of men and women find a way out from under their anger and grief. With God giving her wisdom, she had helped people learn to live again. She was finished with her days at St. Paul’s, but now here was Alex Brady. A part of their everyday lives. Or at least a part of Clay’s.
She read the journal entry two more times, and goose bumps flashed across the length of her arms and legs. Once more, God had provided her with the wisdom she’d need to help someone find peace after the pain of 9/11. The journal entry would give Alex a window to his father that he’d probably never had before. And maybe in the process it would slice through the barriers that stood between Alex and the rest of the world. Maybe the news would whittle away the walls and allow him to find the life and love in Christ that had clearly marked his father’s every breath. Yes, that’s what God wanted her to do with this information. She could hardly wait to show Clay the journal entry. Certainly he would agree with her, that God had brought Alex into their lives for this exact moment, for this specific reason.
Now she only had to pray for the right timing.
She truly intended to put the journal away. After reading through the entry about Ben Brady the third time, she was about to close the cover when another line caught her attention, something about Sierra and how their daughter had worked her way so quickly into his hear
t. Jamie settled in over the page and clung to every word. One entry led to another, as she did what she hadn’t planned to do this afternoon.
Made her way back to her old life.
When the front door opened, she barely heard it, caught up in something Jake had written about one of their weekend trips to the beach and how it felt to ride their WaveRunner across the harbor with Jamie at the controls, pushing the machine to its limit, and how —
“Jamie?”
She straightened, lifting her eyes to the sound of Clay’s voice. Something wet was rolling down her cheeks, and her eyes felt thick and heavy. She was crying, and she hadn’t even known it. “Clay.” She closed the journal and set it on the window seat beside her. “You’re home early.”
“Captain told us to come home and get some rest.” He wasn’t looking at her, but at the journal. Slowly he came closer, the hurt in his eyes so raw the pain radiated from him. He stopped and turned to her. “What’re you doing?”
Jamie wiped at the wetness beneath her eyes and sniffed. “It’s not like it looks.” She didn’t have to defend herself, but Clay had a right to wonder. She stood and went to him. “I wondered if maybe Jake knew Ben Brady, you know, if maybe he might’ve written about him in his journal.” She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her black jeans.
“Thousands of men work for the FDNY,” his tone was kind, but wounded. “Don’t use that as an excuse to — “
“I found something.” She turned back to the window seat and brought the journal to him. She flipped through the pages until she found the right one. “I didn’t believe it either, but it’s there. Read it.”
Clay released a heavy breath, but then he took the book in his hands and read the entry. His expression changed, and when he finally spoke to her, a sense of wonder filled his voice. “That’s amazing.” He closed the journal and handed it back to her. “I can’t believe you would even think to look.”
The Tuesday Morning Collection Page 75
