Pastor Samson's Secret Sins: The Story Of A Strong Man of God With A Weakness For Women

by Liberty Gaines

  Samson couldn’t believe his eyes as Delilah opened her eyes and stared at him with an incredulous look.

  “Samson?”

  Then she saw the fire and yelled, “Fire! Fire! She jumped up. As she did, her nightgown caught fire. She cursed and yelled and tore it off and ran away straight through the flames. Samson saw how she disappeared in the hallway.

  All of Samson’s strength was gone and he sank down on the bed in the midst of the flames.

  It is finished, Samson, the voice came again. It’s time to come home.

  “Thank you, Father,” Samson mumbled. “Into your hands I commit my spirit, Father. I am ready.” The flames now completely engulfed him. The bed that Delilah had been lying on only minutes earlier was now on fire as well and the flames started to lick at Samson’s body.

  Why didn’t he feel pain? That wonderful sense of peace was still there. He knew everything was all right. This was the end, but it didn’t matter. He was forgiven and God was calling him home.

  “Thank you God for the life you have given me and for how you have dealt with me and—But Samson couldn’t finish his prayer as right then another enormous beam came tumbling down and landed right on his head.

  Samson slid on the floor and all became dark.

  *Isaiah 43:2

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  GOD’S LOVE KNOWS no boundaries

  The note that Samson had secretly written in the gas station and had managed to stuff to the sleepy old man had not been in vain. The man had felt that there was something very strange about the two men that came into his shop and was glad they had left. He waited to read the note until the car had left the station and had trouble deciphering the handwriting. He almost threw it in the garbage container, but at last he tried one more time and with a shock he understood the message. He was instantly on the phone and notified the police. Jimmy Fox was caught that same night after a manhunt in the woods near Delilah’s cabin. The police had found Delilah naked, crying and shivering near her burning cabin and they covered her with a blanket and transported her to the hospital to get checked. Other than a bad bruise on her forehead from the butt of Jimmy’s pistol she was all right, although in shock.

  And Samson?

  They found the charred remains of his body the next day.

  When Precious received the news she cried, but also felt strangely comforted. This all had been God’s doing. How unexplainable where the ways of God at times. After all these years in prison, Samson was finally on the right track and then he was gone. Just like that. But Precious knew where to go with her pain.

  “O God, how great you are. You give and you take but blessed is Your name. I trust in You and I believe that You knew it was time to call Samson home.”

  Abigail had been weeping, but when Precious assured her Daddy was safe with Jesus and was now looking down at them from Heaven and would be helping her as an angel, she calmed down quite a bit.

  “Your Daddy gave me the biggest gift I could have ever received, Abigail,” Precious sniffed.

  “What’s that Mommy?” she had asked with quivering lips.

  “He gave me you, sweetheart. And you are very, very precious.”

  Samson was buried the day after.

  Pastor Osbourne led the service on a beautiful, warm, sunny day.

  The cemetery was packed. What a testimony his death became. The word spread like wildfire that Samson had saved Delilah from a certain death and people were in awe. Everyone wanted to show their last respect to Samson, and Delilah was among them.

  She was standing right next to Precious during the burial service and Precious noticed how her eyes were glistening. She was dressed in black, but that was nothing unusual. Delilah was often dressed in black. But Precious noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  After the service was done, Delilah asked if she could talk to Precious.

  “Sure,” Precious said with a warm voice. She could tell Delilah was broken and sincere and as long as Delilah was like that there was no reason to hold her at bay. As the other attendants left the cemetery, Precious led her to a bench and sat down. Delilah bit her lip and took the place next to her. She looked at Precious and blushed as she was struggling for words.

  None of them spoke for a while. At last Delilah cleared her throat and asked, “Why do you think he did it?”

  “You mean, why did he save you?” Precious asked.

  Delilah just nodded.

  Precious sighed and looked at the woman who not too long ago had been considered an enemy. At last she spoke. “The Samson that saved you was a very different Samson than the one you first met. The Samson that saved you was the Samson God had in mind.” She smiled at Delilah who lowered her eyes. “The Samson you first met was the sinner Samson. The one who died in trying to save you was God’s Samson.”

  Delilah looked up and Precious noticed a longing in those sad and empty eyes that held a deep loneliness. “I don’t believe in God. I hate God.”

  Precious couldn’t help but grin. “No, Delilah. You don’t hate God. You hate who you think He is. You can’t hate Him for you never met Him.”

  Delilah coughed and stared out over the peaceful cemetery. She changed the subject. “And you? Are you not heartbroken?”

  Precious thought for a moment. “I am and I am not,” she answered cryptically. “I am because I miss him. But I am not because I know God called him home. His mission was accomplished and Samson gave me my biggest treasure anyone could have. He gave me my daughter Abigail.”

  Delilah nodded.

  Precious could tell there was more on Delilah’s mind.

  At last Delilah spoke again. “There’s one more thing…”

  “Sure, Delilah. Speak.”

  “Well…eh,” Delilah struggled with her emotions. “That Pastor…his name was Oxborne or something, well he said something in his message that bothered me.”

  “O? What was it?”

  Delilah shrugged her shoulders and moved her feet around in the dirt. “Well,” she finally said, “he said that Jesus died for us while we were yet sinners. What does that mean?”

  Precious felt a tear brimming in her eyes and she took Delilah’s hand in hers. “O, Delilah. There’s so much I would like to tell you.”

  “Tell me then,” Delilah asked. “I want to hear.”

  Precious wanted to say something, but before she could open her mouth she noticed a beautiful white Kingbird perched on a gravestone nearby. The bird peered at them and chirped cheerfully. Where did that beautiful bird come from?

  “Faith…,” Precious said, while her heart was warmed by the presence of God, “…is what is needed to carry us through this life.”

  The bird stretched out his wings and flew away.

  THE END

  *

  What a story! I hope you enjoyed reading this timely tale of sin and redemption. It would be great if you enjoyed the books if you hop back to Amazon and leave a review that would be so great. Thank you again for reading, and do please sign up to receive updates of new releases and free books by Liberty Gaines. Click Here to Sign Up For Updates

  Also by Liberty Gaines

  Want To Read More by Liberty?

  Why Not Try The Secret Billionaire Series?

  Secret Billionaire 1: Unexpected Love

  Secret Billionaire 2: Unforgettable Love

  Secret Billionaire 3: Race To Love

  I have also included a free Bonus Chapter from Unexpected Love at the end of this book for your enjoyment…

  Chapter 1

  BONUS CHAPTER - UNEXPECTED LOVE

  First thing in the morning, Crystal was usually groggy, or thirsty, or cold, or needed to use the bathroom. Today, she awoke well-rested, warm, no post-nasal drip, bladder empty. She laid there a while, soaking up the rare comfort.

  And then she saw the time.

  She had forgotten to set her alarm! Or, more likely, she had set it for PM instead of AM; a mistake she made at least once a month
.

  She catapulted out of bed and ran straight to the bathroom. No time for a proper shower; just a quick pass with the toothbrush, and a heavy spritz of perfume. She put on her glasses, stuffed the natural black twists of her long hair into a ponytail, dashed to the closet, and threw on the first work-appropriate thing she found. Makeup would have to wait until she was on the train.

  Breakfast was a granola bar clenched in her teeth; chewing would have to wait too. She fumbled through her purse for her keys, then tore the door open.

  Right there in front of her was a man passed out in her doorway. The granola bar fell out of her mouth.

  Crystal jumped back into her apartment and slammed the door. She stood there for a second, panting, hand on the knob. Had she really seen that? She opened the door a crack and peered out.

  There he was; one eye black and puffy, flecks of brown crust around his mouth. Blood or vomit; hard to tell which.

  A cocktail of body odor and evaporating urine billowed from his clothes as she opened the door a little more and prodded the lifeless body on her doormat.

  “Hey! You!” She prodded him with a foot. The man grunted and rolled onto his stomach, making Crystal jump back. Suddenly it occurred to her that this man might be dangerous.

  She grabbed her cellphone and started to dial:

  9-1…

  Just as she was about to punch the last digit, something stopped her. Call it what you will, her gut just told her not to be afraid and try and help this poor wretch.

  Inwardly she was scolding herself for being so naive, but she carefully opened the door again and stepped outside.

  Maybe he had some ID? Maybe he was just some poor soul who had been mugged and got lost trying to find his way home? For all she knew, he might live in the building; there were eighty apartments, after all.

  The man lay face down, snoring. Crystal worked up as much courage as she could, and reached for his back pocket. Millimeter by millimeter, she drew a thin leather wallet out. As it came free, the man made a muffled groan. Crystal fled back through the door, slamming it behind her. She ran into the kitchen and opened the wallet.

  The only thing in it was a wrinkled business card from someone named Charles Carlyle, Director and Curator of Carlyle Galleries Inc. Crystal was not a big artsy person, but that name rang a bell. Judging by the picture on the card, the man on her floor was not Charles. He probably stole the wallet and emptied it paying for the booze that allowed him such comfort on her hardwood floor. Strange, the picture looked familiar. Maybe she’d seen him on TV or in magazine.

  She reached for her phone again, and the card fell from her fingers. She bent down to retrieve it. There was a message scrawled on the back.

  If found, please call. -Charles

  Either Charles had a very limited supply of business cards, or he was the one who looked after this guy. Why someone would invite such a sweaty, grease-stained mess into their life, she couldn’t fathom.

  Oh well, not her problem, as long as Charles came by to collect his garbage. She dialed the number on the card.

  There was a cough, then a deep voice said, “Hello?”

  “Charles?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  Crystal bit her lip. “Um… I think I found something that belongs to you.”

  The man sighed. “He’s alive?”

  “If you can call it that.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry. Thank you for not calling the cops, I just… Where was he? What part of town are you in?”

  “Long Beach. He is in the hall of my apartment building.”

  “Oh, great. I’m probably not far. Text me your address, I’ll come right over. I’m so sorry you had to deal with this.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Be right there.”

  It’s fine. Really? It was pretty far from fine. Crystal always wanted to slap herself when those words crossed her lips. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Go right ahead, walk all over me.

  Even if Charles lived next door, this would probably take a while. She would be hours late now, not minutes. How would she explain this to her boss?

  That was a problem for Future Crystal to sort out. Present Crystal needed a shower. She was already late, she might as well be clean. Double locking the door to keep her unwanted visitor outside where he belonged, she headed for the bathroom, shaking her head.

  Charlie laid his phone on the desk. He scratched his stubbly chin and blinked at the light pouring through his hotel window.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d decided to walk across the street to the Hilton instead of facing a late ride back to the apartment. The Brackman sculpture had come in the day before, and set-up had run into the wee hours. Charlie wanted to be there to see it. He not only sold art, he loved it, and this piece was exceptional.

  What a wake-up call. His brother Marcus had really outdone himself this time, getting himself into some poor girl’s apartment building. Charlie didn’t put much past Marcus, but breaking and entering? No, it couldn’t be true. Marcus was a lot of things, but not a burglar. If he needed money, he would have taken it from Charlie. Money was not an issue, although Charlie tried to budget Marcus for his own safety. It must be some kind of misunderstanding.

  The girl’s text came through. Her apartment was just a few blocks from the gallery, but it would still be a long trip back. Jarrod could take him over there in the jag. There was no telling how far gone Marcus would be, and Charlie could only carry his slobbering brother so far. He pulled out his phone and asked Jarrod to meet him outside.

  Once outside, across the road, the sheer bullet proof glass walls of the gallery sparkled in the morning sun. The Brackman sculpture dominated the main display room. Called Polis Synthetica, it was a massive network of pulleys, cables, and toy train tracks surrounded by plaster and wire buildings decorated with the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life. Wine corks, bottle caps, wrinkled receipts, bits of car tires, discarded jewelry, no two square inches were the same. When it was turned on, it was a dizzying display of mechanical activity, and made a powerful statement about wasteful, overcrowded urban life. Charlie’s galleries were now well known as the place to tout your creations to the elite of the art world. A buyer for Brackman was in the bag. In fact, Charlie already had several would-be buyers bickering and upping the price tag before the exhibition even opened. He shook his head at the vanity of the ugly business that surrounded the beauty of the art world. But, the beauty and the business were just two sides of the same coin. Charles had come to accept that. He just tried to make sure that the business face did not eclipse his appreciation of the beauty. Another reason he kept his feet firmly on the ground, and his fortune quiet.

  Three months before, he had opened a coffee shop in an expensive commercial space adjacent to the gallery. Through the windows of the coffee house, he could see the manager Joy wiping the steam spout of the espresso machine.

  As he stood waiting for Jarrod, Charlie’s bad mood simmered in the morning heat. He should have been numb to Marcus’ behavior by now; but every time he had to pull his brother out of some filthy crack house, or bail him out of the drunk tank, Charlie lost a little more of his mind.

  He knew Marcus had a disease. Addiction was a disease, right? Wasn’t that what everybody said? For every disease there was a medicine, why wouldn’t Marcus just take it? The best rehabs in the world were at his disposal, but his stubborn refusal to get help from anyone was simply infuriating!

  By the time he made it to the girl’s apartment building, he was fuming. Jarrod pulled over and opened the door for Charlie.

  The apartment was on the top floor. Charlie found the door, and gave a sharp knock.

  He waited. Marcus was curled in the corner by the stairwell. He could just drag him down the stairs, throw him in the car and have done with it, but it would be impolite not to thank the lady for her kindness.

  Another knock, harder and longer.

  After another minute or so, a dark skinny
girl opened the door. He was glowing from the warmth of the shower she had just stepped out of. Her eyes were such a brilliant green that for a moment Charlie lost himself in them. Then he saw that her long black curls were soaking, matted to her neck. She wore nothing but a bath robe.

  “I’m sorry, I–” he began.

  “I have to get out of here,” she called on her way back to the bathroom, “I’m late for work. Take your friend and go.”

  “Okay. Really sorry!”

  “It’s fine!”

  Charlie glanced around the apartment. Everything was white and parallel to the walls – even the magazines on the coffee table were at perfect right angles.

  “Look, I really feel bad about this,” Charlie called.

  “I said it was fine!” the girl called from the bathroom.

  “I want to make it up to you if I can.”

  “You can make it up to me by dragging that filthy thing out of my apartment building and never letting me see either of you again.”

  Charlie’s rage toward his brother redirected itself.

  “That filthy thing is my brother, alright?”

  He wanted to yank the words back into his mouth, but it was too late.

  The girl stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying, you don’t have to be all like…”

  She put a hand to her hip. “Like what? Angry that some disgusting crack-head was waiting where my newspaper should be?”

  That was it. He had no right to direct his anger at her, but it was swelling like a balloon inside him and she had just stuck a needle in.

  “He isn’t a crack-head! He’s got problems, okay? Have a little sympathy, would you?”

  “He’s got problems?” The girl strode back into the hallway and leveled a finger at Charlie. “You’ve got problems, buster. Running around after him, enabling stuff like this? I wish I had called the cops, maybe he’d learn something.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about! I don’t need you trying to teach my brother a lesson, he’s my family. It’s none of your business!”