by Max Lucado
“You’ll know what to do.”
Manny ditched his popcorn bucket and darted down the aisle, the film’s soundtrack building as he headed off to battle. By the time Manny reached the exit, his spirits were soaring. He paused in the doorway to offer Michael some parting words.
“May the Force be with you,” he said, bowing his head.
“And also with you, Manny. And also with you.”
Chapter 47
Chelsea turned off Hancock and Emily’s night-light and slipped out of their bedroom. She stayed in the room with the kids until they were sleeping peacefully, cherishing one more night of serenity before she turned life as they knew it on its head. Hancock knew change was coming. But Emily? Would she rest as easy tomorrow?
Chelsea had begun to have nightmares soon after she learned of her own parents’ divorce. Ominous shadows lurked in her dreams well into adulthood. As a child, she could almost sense them waiting for her to fall asleep. The thought of her own daughter being plagued with such terrors made her cringe. But it was soon replaced by a thought that troubled her even more. Would her children blame her the way she had blamed her father? How could they not? When it came down to it, the choice to split up the family was hers. These questions raced through her mind until they were lapped by one that had been running circles in her head all day.
How will I make it on my own?
Chelsea was finally ready to find out.
The router came to life with a zap that made her take a step back. In the pitch-black café, the glowing orb looked more spectacular than ever, its blue lights flashing like lightning bolts. They seemed to move in time with the crashes of thunder echoing through the night outside.
The movement of the trees bending and cracking behind the bay window in the sunroom was reflected on her laptop screen. She watched the cursor blink at the end of her eight simple words. With a burst of resolve, Chelsea struck the key. She watched as her question instantly appeared on the God Blog. If the past were any indicator, she would soon be hearing from the Almighty Answerer in the Sky.
Craaack! Thunder reverberated through the sunroom. The lamps flickered and faded, leaving Chelsea with the blue light of her laptop.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Chelsea exclaimed, staring at her screen.
She had lost her wireless connection to the God Blog. She closed the laptop, stood, and felt her way toward the door. She was nearly out of the room when she caught her first whiff of smoke.
Manny was out of breath. He had run ten full blocks, but there were still several more to go. How he missed his wings! For a brief moment he considered stopping to rest, until he recalled the archangel’s words. Heaven never gives up.
Manny rounded the corner onto King William Street, his heart uttering silent prayers for Chelsea, Hancock, and Emily. When he spotted the Higher Grounds Café, he grasped the urgency of his task. Chelsea’s home was engulfed in flames. Smoke billowed out of the shattered front door.
“Chelsea!” Manny called, sprinting toward the café. As he stepped onto the front porch, Hancock leaped through the broken glass opening, knocking Manny over.
“Hancock! Are you okay? Where’s Emily and your mom?”
But Hancock was overtaken by a spasm of violent coughing. Seconds later, Manny received his answer as Sawyer emerged from the café, holding Emily in his arms.
“Chelsea . . .” Sawyer gasped for air, struggling to speak. “Can’t find her upstairs . . .”
Manny needed no more answer than that. Seconds later he was racing through the smoky darkness in search of the person he was sworn to protect.
“Chelsea!” Manny called, but the only sound he heard was the blazing fire, angrily devouring the century-old house. He stepped toward the kitchen, his arms stretched out before him. Without his angel eyes he could see next to nothing. But Manny pressed on. Like Luke Skywalker boldly navigating the Death Star with nothing but the Force, Manny launched himself forward, trusting in something bigger than himself.
As he neared the café counter, an explosion of flame burst through the wall near the storage pantry. Manny ducked to avoid a downpour of fiery debris. From what he could see, the fire was emanating from the very place where Chelsea kept the precious router. He doubted this was a coincidence. Manny could only imagine what his unseen angelic compatriots were battling in this very space.
“Chelsea!” Manny called through the swinging door of the kitchen. No answer. And no sight of her either. Time was running out, and Manny couldn’t afford to lose his wits. He closed his eyes to the world around him and listened. Though his angelic senses had been dulled by the clamor of the tangible world, Manny prayed he could still hear, still see something more.
God protect my daughters . . .
Give Chelsea eyes to see how much you love her . . .
The chorus of prayers, still resounding from decades past, every bit as potent as when they first were offered to heaven. And in this moment, they were louder to Manny than the destruction around him.
Bring healing to my family . . .
Lord, keep Chelsea safe . . .
Manny burst into the sunroom and found her lying on the floor. “Chelsea!” he called, but she was unconscious. As Manny knelt by her side, he could hear the ceiling above him giving way. He took strength from the echoes of prayers encircling them. Scooping Chelsea into his arms, he raced out of the sunroom, all the while dodging pieces of the crumbling ceiling.
Manny bolted through the café doors and into a line of firemen and paramedics. Even still, he refused to let her go. He kept running until he knew she was safe. Only then did his legs collapse beneath him. When the paramedics finally caught up to Manny, they were in awe that he had made it out alive, and with Chelsea no less. But then again, this wasn’t Manny’s first rescue mission.
Chapter 48
Chelsea’s eyes stung as she opened them. Through a haze she saw Sara seated nearby, her head bowed in prayer, a singed photo album resting in her lap. When she opened her mouth to speak, she felt as though the contents of a fireplace had gathered in her throat.
“Sara,” Chelsea whispered in a gravelly voice.
“Chelsea!” Sara rose to her sister’s bedside, taking her hand, careful to avoid the IV. “How do you feel?”
“Awful, but alive,” Chelsea said with a wry smile that lasted only a second. “Hancock and Emily?”
“They’re okay. They’re perfect.” Sara poured Chelsea a small cup of ice water. “Sawyer has them. They’ve been staying at our place.”
Chelsea took a sip of water, tears of relief forming in her eyes. “Manny saved me last night.”
Sara nodded, her own eyes brimming with emotion. “He did. But that was two nights ago. It’s Sunday now. Easter.”
“Was it Manny who got the kids out?”
“Actually, that was Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?”
Sara nodded. “I don’t know why he was there, but thank God he was. He’s the one who called the fire department and pulled both Hancock and Emily from upstairs. But he couldn’t find you, and the smoke had really gotten to him. Manny showed up right in time. He found you in Mom’s old room, right near where the fire started.”
“What caused it?”
“The storm. It hit just right and caused all that old wiring to short-circuit. The fire started, and once it did . . .” Sara shook her head, her voice quaking. “They said it’s a miracle y’all made it out.”
“So the café . . .”
“It’s gone.”
Chelsea swallowed hard. She knew it would take a while for that reality to set in. Still, she was grateful. Compared to the lives of her children and herself, the loss was small.
“Chelsea, there’s one more thing,” Sara said, reaching for the photo album on her chair. “You had this when Manny found you. The nurses gave it to me with some of your things, so I’ve been looking through it. Just to remind myself of, well, how good God has been over the years.”
Chel
sea nodded, even if she did not fully agree.
“Well, I found this tucked in one of the pages.” Sara pulled out a newspaper clipping from the Tribune, yellowed with age. Chelsea scanned the article, which detailed their fateful accident from her childhood.
“Look there,” Sara said, rolling back the crinkled edges to give Chelsea a better view of the accompanying photograph, a rare artifact caught by an onlooker. “Do you see that?”
Chelsea studied the fuzzy photograph. Emerging from the fiery wreck was a man cradling an eleven-year-old Chelsea in his arms. This mysterious hero was Hispanic, around age thirty, and strikingly familiar.
“Call me crazy, but who does he look like to you?”
“It’s . . . it’s Manny,” Chelsea said, her head shaking in disbelief.
“Exactly!” Sara exclaimed. “But how?”
Chelsea awoke this time to the sight of a kindly nun dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth. “Are you all right, honey? You were mumbling in your sleep.”
“Is it still Easter?” Chelsea whispered.
“It is indeed,” she said, offering Chelsea the straw from a Styrofoam mug. “I’m Sister Margaret. I’ll be looking after you this evening.” Sister Margaret’s smile was deep and sincere, as if etched into her face from years of loving care.
Chelsea drank deep, the cool liquid a comforting balm to her scorched throat. “Thank you.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“Is there a chapel in the hospital?” Chelsea asked.
After assisting Chelsea into a fresh white hospital gown, Sister Margaret wheeled her through the double doors of a simple chapel. Chelsea continued down the center aisle, which extended the length of three oak pews, ending at an altar beneath a polished wooden crucifix.
“Shall I leave you for just a bit?” Sister Margaret asked.
With a nod from Chelsea, Sister Margaret locked the wheelchair in place and slipped out the door, leaving Chelsea alone in the silent sanctuary.
Chelsea stared at the cross, her mind flooding with so many things she wanted to yell, ask, and scream. But amongst the torrent, eight simple words floated to the surface.
“How will I make it on my own?” Chelsea asked of the heavens through a stream of tears. Yet once again her question seemed meaningless, destined to remain unanswered, as if she had cast a message in a bottle into an infinite sea of stars.
A twinkle of light caught Chelsea’s eye. She wiped her eyes and turned to see a familiar face in the pew beside her.
“Manny?”
“Hi, Chelsea,” he answered.
Chelsea blinked as her eyes adjusted to a bright light. She was certain the face smiling back at her was indeed Manny, but something was different. He glowed, as if illuminated from the inside out. Chelsea didn’t dare say aloud the thought crossing her mind. Instead, she formed her words carefully. “You’re . . . not from around here, are you?”
Manny chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”
“So you’re—” She still couldn’t say it.
“An angel,” Manny said matter-of-factly. “Your guardian angel.”
“Is this real life?” Chelsea glanced around the empty sanctuary, rubbing her forehead. Her imagination was in crisis mode. The Manny she was looking at was anything but human. But that was impossible. An impossibility that offered answers to the questions she had been asking for months. Chelsea’s steel trap of a mind had been sprung wide open.
“So the God Blog? That was you?”
“Oh no. I suggested the idea. But the answers? All him.” Manny pointed to the heavens.
“And the people who brought the router, they were also—”
Manny nodded. “Just like me. But in better-looking disguises.”
“And . . . the car accident?”
Manny nodded. “He sent me there too.”
Chelsea held her forehead, struggling to put the pieces together.
“The question you were asking,” Manny said.
“How will I make it on my own?” she offered.
“Chelsea, you won’t ever have to make it on your own.” Manny took her by the hand. “Let me show you.”
Chapter 49
Chelsea was still sitting in the chapel. She knew this because she could still feel the rough hospital carpet beneath her feet and the cool metal of the wheelchair behind her knees. But her surroundings appeared to be the expansive Seattle home her family had lived in for three punishing years. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the white, airy living room showcased a rare sunny day, though even at its brightest, the Seattle sky seemed overcast to a Texas girl like Chelsea.
“Mom, Emily’s trying to fly her dolls in my model planes!”
As soon as Chelsea heard Hancock’s voice, she placed the day. The phone would be ringing any minute. The tired thread holding her life together would snap.
“Manny, I don’t want to be here,” Chelsea whispered.
But it was too late. She already was. An eerie chill went down Chelsea’s spine as she watched herself enter the living room to answer the ringing telephone. It was like watching a stage play, and she was the lead. Too bad it was a tragedy.
The room seemed to be darkening by the second. As Chelsea peered into the shadows, she noticed faceless forms moving around the perimeter of the room, encroaching on their unknowing suspect. The nightmare that haunted her over the years had come to life before her eyes. Chelsea was thankful Manny still had her by the hand.
“Just wait,” Manny whispered as Chelsea gripped his palm. “I want you to watch the windows.”
Chelsea’s eyes drifted to the windows, where the sun was overtaken by a beam of light that swelled and multiplied by the second. But these were no ordinary lights. At the white-hot center of each beam was a radiant figure unlike any Chelsea had ever seen. As these figures entered the room, their dynamic lights scattered the shadowy figures, forcing many into hiding. Only the darkest, boldest villains remained, encircling Chelsea’s former self.
As the old Chelsea crumpled to the floor with the news of her husband’s infidelity, a shock of light dropped down from above, dispelling the darkness around her. The radiant glow covered her like a cloak.
Even as a bystander to the scene, Chelsea sensed the wave of warmth rippling toward her, wrapping her in a healing embrace.
“Is that you?” Chelsea whispered to Manny.
“Oh no, Chelsea. That’s him.”
“He was there?”
“He’s always been there. See?”
Chelsea followed Manny’s gaze. Now she was looking at the steepled ceiling of the old wedding chapel in Alamo Heights. She saw herself making the long, lonely walk down the aisle. She knew this scene all too well. She had lived and relived this moment a million times. But this time it was different. Chelsea thought she had walked the aisle alone. She hadn’t. She wore a veil of that same dazzling light, which enveloped her every move. God was with her.
For the first time, Chelsea experienced the memory of her wedding day unshadowed by a heavy cloud of shame. She noticed her mother, nodding her encouragement from the front pew. Sara smiled at the end of the aisle, in spite of the blue taffeta bridesmaid dress. Then her eyes landed on Sawyer, waiting at the altar, held together by a stiff tuxedo. She remembered his trembling smile, but his watery eyes reflected a deeper love than she recalled.
With Manny as her guide, Chelsea journeyed through memory after memory. Every moment of loneliness, abandonment, and heartache was revisited. Redeemed. From the discovery of her accidental pregnancy to the accident that nearly claimed her life, even Chelsea’s darkest memories were illuminated by heaven’s presence. A barrier had been broken. Beneath the hard, painful surface of her recollection were layers of healing truth. God had never left her side, not even for a moment.
“But why?” Chelsea asked as the last scene vanished from view. “Why me?”
“Because he loves you. In this moment. In every moment. He loved you before you uttered your first prayer
s with your mother on Easter morning. Even before you were born.” Manny paused as a wave of emotion passed over him. “Would you like to see for yourself?” he asked, offering his hand to Chelsea one more time.
Chelsea clasped tight to Manny. As their palms touched, Chelsea’s surroundings made their most dramatic transformation yet. To her left she saw an archway that led into an ancient city. To her right, about half a mile in the distance, she saw a hill.
“Where are we?” Chelsea asked. “Or should I say, when are we?”
“You are on a path that leads out of Jerusalem to Golgotha. Over two thousand years ago.”
As they drew closer to the hill, Chelsea noticed a trio of posts on its brow. Like props for a passion play, they loomed over the crowd, but the scene unfolding was brutally real.
The cloudless sky deepened to the color of a bruise and then to blackness. Chelsea could see only enough to make out the silhouetted figure of Christ on the cross, his arms in a V position. His chin rested against his chest and his hands were held by nails. He groaned, his breaths growing further and further apart as dark forces slithered around his chest, gripping his body like a boa constrictor.
Chelsea scanned the crowd for some glimmer of light, but all she saw was darkness. Then out of the black came a fearsome cry that silenced the clamoring crowd.
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
His language was foreign to Chelsea, but Manny had given her access to his eyes and ears, so she understood the words.
Chelsea watched in horror as Christ’s head fell limp for several moments. Then he pressed himself up on the nails and cried out, pausing between each word: “It is finished!”
Bitter tears stung Chelsea’s eyes. She couldn’t bear another moment of the cruel struggle. “Why did you bring me here, Manny?”
“This is the loneliest point in history. The last moment of true abandonment. From here on, abandonment is nothing more than a myth. And loneliness? A choice.”
