Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

Easily the prettiest spot on Lake Grapevine.

His sides heaved. Jack walked the bike up the grassy hill till he reached the top. There he laid the bike down and he sat on a flat rock, and all at once he saw his whole life play out before him. The Christmas mornings and summers in Belize, the conversations around the dinner table and the way his busy parents had spent more time with him after Shane died.

Like he was watching an actual movie, Jack could see every detail.

And then he heard the voice. A voice he hadn’t heard since he was a boy.

Jack, I have loved you with an everlasting love. I still love you.

So clear and crisp were the words, Jack stood and jerked his head one way, then the other. He put his hand on his waistband, ready to draw his gun. But there was no one else on the hilltop. The trail was quiet today. Jack had only seen a few hikers the entire morning.

He dropped slowly to the rock again. “God… is that You?”

A warm wind came up off the water and washed over him. I know the plans I have for you, Jack. Plans to give you a hope and a future… and not to harm you .

Agents didn’t cry. That was a rule Jack had set for himself when he began working for the FBI. He wouldn’t let himself linger in sadness over losing Shane or his parents. And so his heart and mind and soul had become a computer. A machine capable of great heroism and unmatched courage and physical strength.

But along the way he had trained himself not to feel sadness.

Until that moment on the hill.

Tears welled in his eyes. “You love me?” Jack spoke the words into the wind. “You took my family!”

There was no answer, no voice in the breeze. But a story came to Jack, one his mother used to tell him and Shane when they were little. Before they went to school each morning.

“A boy makes his plans,” she would say, a hand on each of their small shoulders. “But God ordains his steps.”

At first Jack hadn’t understood why his mother had quoted that Bible verse. But in time the words made sense. The people of God ought not write their to-do lists with indelible ink, but rather with the faintest pencil. Because in the end, God would have the final say about a person’s story.

“This world is not our home,” their father had told Jack after they buried Shane. “God decides the number of our days. The miracle is in having had Shane at all. Every day of his life was a gift, a blessing from God.”

And there were other reminders. His mother would tell him that he was the clay and God the potter. “He will make of your days what He wants. So long as you keep loving, Jack. Love God. Love people. Don’t ever stop loving.”

Her words had filled his heart on that lonely hilltop, and he closed his eyes. Love God. Love people. Jack was very good at his job. But he had long since stopped doing either of those things. He hadn’t loved God and he certainly hadn’t loved people. Not when they could be gone in a single undertow or the instant detonation of a roadside bomb.

There on that flat rock overlooking Lake Grapevine, everything his parents had ever told him, everything he’d ever read in the Bible, all of it landed on him again, with crystal clarity. And he understood something he hadn’t before.

While he had used his life with the FBI for good work, he had missed out on really living.

Tears stung his eyes. “Good plans… even now, Lord? I’m supposed to believe that?”

And then the strangest thing had happened. As if out of thin air, a man had appeared on the trail below. He stopped when he saw Jack and then he made his way up to the top. The guy was young, black and athletic with pale brown eyes that had seemed the very definition of peace.

“Hey,” the guy said. “Can I join you?”

Jack felt himself tense up. He squinted at the man, every instinct on high alert. Had he been trailing Jack? Was he part of a drug ring sent to kill Jack in the isolation of the trail? Jack had his gun, but suddenly as he studied the man he knew the answer. Knew it deep inside him. He wasn’t going to need his weapon. The guy clearly didn’t want a fight. And if he was out to get him, Jack would know soon enough. He hesitated before answering the man. He nodded. “Sure.”

The guy was maybe in his mid-twenties, same as Jack. He brushed a pile of old leaves from a flat rock a few feet away and sat down. Then he looked directly at Jack. “I’m Beck.” He paused. “You’ve been running hard, Jack.”

A chill ran down Jack’s body. He was wrong about the guy. He must’ve been trailing him, watching him. Probably a hired assassin sent from one of the traffickers Jack had taken down. He started to stand, started to reach for his gun.

But before Jack could say or do anything, Beck smiled. “I won’t hurt you, Jack. I bring you good news.”

Jack looked around again. How did the guy know his name? Was he being punked by the other Dallas agents? Or had he hit his head and now he was dreaming? He blinked a few times and stared at the man. “Beck?”

“Yes.” He bent down and picked up a handful of loose dirt. “God is the potter. We’re the clay.” He turned to Jack again. “Your mother used to say that.”

“How… how do you know that?” Jack’s mouth had felt dry. He wasn’t sure whether to run or fall to his knees.

“See, Jack.” The strange man let the dirt sift through his fingers back to the ground. “Even though we’re only clay, God loves us.” He turned his otherworldly eyes to Jack. “He loves you .” A soft chuckle came from the guy. “And yes, God is real. But then… you already knew that.”

For the next half hour Beck had sat there, talking about what it meant to live and love. To put off all fear of loss, and embrace life. “By the way.” Beck leaned over his knees and stared at Jack. “Shane and your parents… they’re good.” His smile faded. “But they want more for you. We all do.”

“My family is dead.”

Beck shook his head. “No.” He looked out over the lake and his eyes lifted to the blue sky above. “They trusted in Jesus.” Once more he turned to Jack. “They don’t live here. But they’re more alive than ever before.”

Jack had wondered if he might pass out from the strangeness of the situation. Who was this guy and why was he saying these things? How could he have known not only Jack’s name, but Shane’s… and the fact that his family was long gone.

A minute of silence had passed between them. Then Beck stood and faced Jack. “Live life to the fullest, Jack. Jesus died so you could do that.” Beck’s kindness pierced straight through him. “Have you been living that way?”

Jack’s answer wasn’t needed. Obviously Beck already knew the truth. Jack looked at the water. “I made a lot of bad choices. After my parents died.” It was true. Jack was a good guy by the world’s standards. But he had moved from one girl to another.

Getting girls had been as easy as getting grades. No telling how many he had hurt along the way. Nothing had mattered to Jack back then. Right up until he met Oliver Layton. Shame filled Jack’s voice as he explained that to Beck.

But the man only nodded. “All people sin. Everyone falls short.” He waited a beat. “Even you. That’s why you need a Savior, Jack. It’s never too late, no matter what. Not for anyone.”

Why had Jack never understood that before? He had figured his chance with God—if there was a God—was behind him. His bad choices and reckless living had sealed the deal. But Beck was right, of course. There was still time to turn things around.

Jack hadn’t been sure what to say.

After a few seconds, Beck reached out his hand and the two shook. As their fingers touched, another chill ran down Jack’s spine. Beck lowered his voice, as if this was the most important part. “God is always a whisper away.” He smiled. “Let go of the past, Jack. Love God. Love people… love again.”