The Object

The petite, teenage girl kneeled in the darkened bedroom -- elbows on carded percale sheets, knees on a cold, terrazzo floor. She breathed deeply, calming herself from a night of much homework. Then, as her heart began to focus on her Savior, she began to bring her petitions, requests and concerns to her Lord. Red hair cascaded past clenched and carefully manicured fingers. College decisions and career choices danced and scattered through her thoughts.

"Where do I go to college? What do I do? Where can my gifts be used, God?" she asked, barely above a whisper, head bowed.

She waited in the quiet. The sound of the overhead fan brought a muffled hum to her room. Somewhere behind her a page fluttered from her desk.

The memory of her mother's words came to her mind: "What are you good at?" she'd asked. "Where is your passion, sweetheart?"

"I'm good at a lot of things, God," she said softly. "What choices do I make? Show me."

Quiet permeated the air.

Something stirred in her heart. Slowly a focus began to take shape. A question. What was it she really wanted to do?

She mouthed the words in silence. "I like to help people, God." She paused to contemplate that, picking up the ticking sound of her wind-up alarm clock.

Help people.

But how does one make a career choice based on that?

She began to take mental inventory, allowing God to point out her strengths. What was she good at? Well, now that she thought about it, she was blessed with a good memory - able to grasp and retain many difficult concepts. And now that she thought about it, she was pretty good at biology too. That subject just came so easily. Even her science teacher remarked at it.

But it was people... People that she wanted to help.

She opened her eyes and looked across her bed. On the far side, next to the glowing face of her alarm clock - it read 12:15 am -- she could see the gleam of five round objects. Gifts. They'd be going into the hands of her friends tomorrow... rather, since it was after midnight, she'd actually be giving those gifts later today.

She smiled to herself, imagining the joy they would certainly feel.

"That's helping people, isn't it, Lord?"

Yes, she decided. Encouraging a friend was certainly helping them. She couldn't wait to see the look on their faces.

Without voicing the words, she moved her lips again in silence. "I love my friends, Lord. Bless them, each. Bless them all. Greatly! Instill in them a heart to pray. So that they.... can help and pray and love others. Show me my way, God. Show me where You want me to go. Show me what I was made to do..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harmony Bay, FL - Present Day

"What is THAT?" 4th grader Jimmy Martin exclaimed as he jumped down into the dirt pit near the construction site for Harmony Christian School's new library. Pulling the object from among the reddish dirt, he scrambled up the small incline and then wiped it clean on his shirt. It looked like a gold coin! It was awesome! He just had to show his sister this!

He ran to the school's chapel and breathlessly announced to his sister: "Heather! Lookee!"

Heather looked up from her assigned task of straightening chairs after Friday morning's chapel service. The object that her brother placed within her hands was beautiful. In all of her sixteen years, Heather Martin had never seen such a lovely charm, or -- as she turned it over in her hands - or... coin. It looked like an old coin. Very old.

"Where'd you find this, Jimmy?"

Jimmy grinned. "I'll trade you for your three red rocks."

It was no secret that Jimmy's fascination with her polished rock collection bordered on the obsessive. Though her room was off limits to him, and dire consequences were always threatened, she still caught him playing with the various rocks of her collection on way too regular of a basis.

"Found it by the dirt hole," Jimmy offered, pointing in the direction of the construction. "Will you trade me?"

"For this," she said, flipping the object over in her hands and studying him seriously. "For this, I will trade."

"Yeah!" Jimmy yelled and did a little dance.

"You'd better get going," Heather suggested. "I'll swap the rocks with you after school." Jimmy smiled and skipped out of the room. Because he enjoyed an earlier school dismissal, her red rocks were as good as gone already.

Turning to the other person in the room - the one she was supposed to be helping - Heather called, "Stacy, check this out." She held the object up. Stacy's reaction was one of annoyance. She rolled her eyes as if to say, "Get back to work" and continued her task, vacuuming the stage.

Heather took another look at the golden metal. It was a little larger than a quarter and had a perfectly shaped loop in the top. Perhaps for a chain? Yeah, she wondered that's probably what this was. Some sort of pendant or necklace. Other than that, it was fairly nondescript... except... for the back. How had she missed that? A barely discernable cursive script flowed across the back. Words that she couldn't decipher. Was it Greek? Hebrew maybe? Wouldn't that just be something, she thought humorously, an ancient Greek object from a Florida construction site.

"This thing looks expensive!" she called to Stacy.

"Would you just finish already!" came her friend's exasperated reply. "Chapel was boring enough without Mr. Pauley insisting we do chairs AND clean the stage too. What's he think we are? Servants? Get working! I want out of here!"

"Fine!" Heather shot back with a tinge of anger. What was with Stacy lately, she wondered. Her once close friend had become distant and angry, and no amount of questioning seemed to help. She was becoming a closed door with no handle.

Heather pocketed the metal object and then brought it back out again. She thought about turning it into lost and found, but Jimmy said he found it at the construction site... not a likely place for a student to lose something. Judging from the amount of dirt still caked on the side, this thing had been buried for a while. And this object did have a certain charm to it. Kind of 'Lord of the Rings'-like. She slipped it in her pocket for the second time and looked over at Stacy's back as the vacuum was jerked too and fro. Mr. Pauley's chapel message had been on praying for others. Stacy certainly needed that. In a whispered voice of compassion, where only God could hear, she prayed, "Father God, bring my old friend back to me. Help Stacy with whatever problems she's facing..."

Stacy whirled around suddenly as if she'd heard the prayer, her face an angry mask. "WORK, Heather!!!"

Heather winced as Stacy's vacuum inadvertently knocked over an empty guitar stand. Heather smiled caringly, trying her best to take some of the tension from the air, but Stacy had already turned away, intent on her seemingly laborious task. Grabbing the back of the next chair, she quickly aligned it next to its neighbor. "Be with her, God," she whispered once more. "Rescue her, God."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later, amid the hustle and bustle of class changes, Heather stood at her locker exchanging books for her next subject. She noticed beneath her a very sad Jerry Michaels. He was flipping through papers, and Heather couldn't help but notice the low scores on each. It broke her heart for she knew his grades weren't from lack of effort. He just seemed to struggle in most of his classes.

Help Him, Father, she prayed silently.

An abrupt shout interrupted her thoughts. "Heather Martin!"

Heather gulped. It was never good when the headmaster yelled your name in a hallway. Had Stacy turned her in for her lack of help in the chapel? She gulped, ready to take the consequences. "Yes, sir," she replied respectfully. Three laughing guys pushed past her on their way to class.

"Heather," the headmaster said coming closer, limping with his cane. It was then that she saw that he wasn't upset. Well, that was good. "Heather, we got a call from Karen Ellis - Stacy's' mother. She'd like her to come home right now, and I know you two are friends..."

"Really? Uh, yes we are." Her mind quickly queried the class that this conversation could lead to escaping: English. Yes!!!

The headmaster continued. "Normal procedure is for her to be checked out by a parent..."

"But, she lives practically right behind the school, Mr. Harrings..."

"Yes, I know. And I also know that her mother has been struggling with illness lately. Her father mentioned it to me. It was also mentioned in Sunday's bulletin both for her illness and her salvation."

Stacy's mother... sick? Heather had no idea "Uh, ok..." some of the earlier enthusiasm over leaving school left her. "How can I ... help?"

"I've already received your mother's permission... Would you walk Stacy to her house and then report back to me?" Mr. Harrings leaned heavily on his cane, his face lost in thought. It was becoming clearer to Heather that there was more going on here. "I know this is highly unusual to have you assist like this. I... but I just feel it's what should be done right now."

"I'll go find Stacy right now," Heather offered. "She's about to start English."

"It will probably take about five minutes. You shouldn't miss too much of your next class."

Great.

"After you find Stacy, have her sign out at the office."

"Yes, sir."

She watched him limp away, then, feeling the object in her pocket she whispered, "God, help Stacy's Mom with her illness... and save her, God. Bring Your light and truth to her heart."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been several months since she'd been to Stacy's house. As they approached, Heather found it strange how the curtains were still drawn shut on the two story house. Stacy had yet to say anything in their short walk.

"Your mom has been sick?" Heather inquired compassionately.

Stacy hugged her books hard as they walked up the driveway. Heather glanced over, willing her eyes to send the message that she cared.

Stacy stopped hard near the sidewalk leading to her front door. She clicked her heels together nervously. "She's been real sick..."

"I'm so sorry, Stace." Heather placed her hand on her friend's shoulder. Tears fell then. Stacy's.

"She doesn't know God... and... I don't know how to help her..."

Something caught Heather's eye. The curtains were jerking downward on the left side. Then, with a muffled crash, the entire curtain came off the wall and fell past the window.

Stacy turned, dropped her books, and bolted for the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that afternoon, Heather reclined in her backyard, her hammock gently creaking between two palm trees. She read through the end of Psalm 66 meditating on the aspects of prayer that Mr. Pauley had shared at chapel earlier that day.

Psalm 66:20 seemed to really jump out at her: "Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me!"

Not rejected my prayer, Heather thought. To not reject meant to accept. God hears my prayers, she reflected. God was speaking through His words and into her heart. And welling up within her now was the urgency to pray. To really ask. She smiled and set her heart on God's presence. The memory of the ambulance whisking Stacy's mother away came to her mind. Since that moment just scant hours ago, Stacy had ignored all of Heather's repeated cell phone calls. "Heal Stacy's mother, Lord. Heal Stacy. Bring Your salvation to her mom." More people came to her mind, and she journaled her petitions onto the pages before her. Cursive script flowed as she outlined her specific requests for Stacy and for her mother. Next she wrote her prayers for several classmates, her family, herself. Then came a quiet, a stillness. In that reflective moment, she suddenly was praying for her school's limping headmaster - asking God to give him strength to lead -- and to walk. Not just spiritually, but physically walk. To walk freely without the cane.

"Wow, God. Where did that come from?" she said aloud. Was there anything wrong with that? No, she decided. It was a valid request, so she notated it in her journal.

Next came a memory of Jerry Michaels. The sight of him at his locker today... He struggled with grades in almost every class. "Help him, God. Help Jerry to concentrate and do better in school. He tries so hard... and he has such a good heart... he helps others. Please help him, God. Reward and multiply his efforts."

As Heather looked up at the pinkish clouds scudding across the sky, she reflected on all she'd just asked for, it surprised her. She had just approached God boldly, and in sincere faith, believing. And asked. This was new for her. Very new.

And there was a sweetness, a communion with God that was fresh and new.

"Thank You for meeting with me, Father."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

School on Monday came and went and still Heather hadn't heard or seen her friend. It had been three days now. As she lay in the hammock again, looking west into a setting sky ablaze with color, tears began to course down her face. On her lap lay her open journal. Friday's prayer requests. Reading through her writing, the entries astounded her

How many had God answered? Almost all of them.

A mixture of emotions hit her then. The God of the universe had answered her prayers? The sheer magnitude of that thought brought more tears. Who was she that God would listen?

Yet, she couldn't deny what her eyes had seen.

Beside each bulleted journal request she drew a line to the opposite page and chronicled how God had answered.

What had changed? Why had this happened?

The object.

That had to be it. God had somehow infused the pendant with His power. It was the newest thing in her life. Withdrawing the object from her pocket, she realized that every time she'd prayed, she'd had the object. This was amazing! Astounding! What could she ask for next? Her mind swirled.

A car? Yeah!

She turned the page in her journal and started writing again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Stacy returned to school on Tuesday. She now sat across from Heather at a school lunchroom table. Heather could barely contain herself. The things she'd seen, and witnessed - they were starting to blow her mind! An excitement bubbled within her. Her cheese sandwich on white bread sat untouched before her, next to the unopened bag of Tostitos and a Ziploc bag of grapes. She hadn't been able to stop talking since they'd both sat down.

"What? You're telling me that this... this... this thing," -- Stacy gestured to the object that Heather held out for her to see -- "that this thing made your prayer come true?"

Heather studied her friend closely.

"What?" Stacy asked a second time.

"It hasn't just been one thing. I asked for other things too."

"What kinds of things?"

"Did you notice Mr. Hasting's cane this morning?"

Stacy looked thoughtful. "The headmaster?... Uhh...No..."

"He wasn't using it. He didn't even bring it to school yesterday," Heather blurted out. "He's always limped. He's not limping now. I saw him get out of his car. No cane."

"That could be just coincidence..."

"It's not a coincidence. I asked God to take it away from him. Last Friday. I asked. And how about Jerry?"

"Jerry?"

"Jerry Michaels. Don't you notice anything ?" Heather tried to hide some of her exasperation. Couldn't her friend see what was happening here? "Jerry has been failing English. Always gets papers turned back in with D's and F's - he struggles to read..." Heather's voice trailed off. She still felt a hurt when she thought of Jerry's constant struggle. "I...I... asked God... I prayed that Jerry would read better."

"How do you know God answered that?"

Heather choked up. Her glance toward the lunchroom's corner showed a jubilant Jerry Michaels showing off an English paper to a close friend. Even from this distance Heather could see the 'A' in bright blue marker. She turned her eyes back to her friend. "Stacy... then there's you."

Stacy froze. Her tuna fish sandwich moments from being bit into. "Me?"

"I asked God to... to rescue you... To help your Mom..."

It was as if a switch had been thrown. Stacy's eyes filled with tears as she pushed her unfinished sandwich into her paper sack, stood and made a quick exit through the east lunchroom door.

"Stacy... I..." Heather started to call after her. But something whispered deep within her: Let her go.

"Be with her, God," Heather breathed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the end of school day, Heather stood in the school's courtyard. Stacy had managed to avoid her all afternoon and now Heather's burden for her friend had grown to an ache in her stomach. She frowned. Where was she? This friend was disconnecting from all those around her. The school's English teacher, walked by and Heather held her hand to attract her attention.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Groveland? Have you seen Stacy Ellis?"

The English teacher looked thoughtful for a moment. "The bench near the play gym. Yes. She was there around twenty minutes ago."

What was she doing there? Heather wondered. Thanking the teacher she headed straight for the playground, spotting the hunched over sobbing figure a moment later. It took a moment for Heather to realize her friend was crying into a cell phone. Without hesitation, Heather sat down next to her. Stacy was so engaged in whoever she was talking to that she made no indication of noticing Heather's arrival.

"M...M...Mom... I love you," Stacy choked back more sobs. "I love you... so much. I --" Stacy looked over and locked eyes with Heather. Dark mascara was smeared under her eyes. "I'll see you in a few hours.... Ok."

There was something different in her gaze, Heather noted. Something had changed.

Stacy flipped the phone closed. They sat in silence.

"Heather, I --" Stacy fumbled the cell phone back into her purse.

"What?"

"My Mom. She's going to be okay."

"Wha?" Incredulousness shot through Heather. "She's going to be okay?" Why was that so hard to believe?

That's what you asked Me to do, a small voice inside suggested to Heather's heart.

That's true. She had asked God to do that. Save her, God...

"Stace... I'm relieved... thankful..."

"The doctor told my Dad and I, that she wouldn't have lasted another hour... if we hadn't come along when we did..."

Heather clasped her friend's hands and with tears said, "But we did. We did help your Mom last week. We called the ambulance that helped her."

Stacy started to speak, then took a deep breath. She looked uncertain, her eyes full of questions. "There's, uhh, something else." She looked out over the school campus, focusing on something distant. "My Mom never asked me to come home last Friday. She never called the school."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Too much was happening. She needed to talk to someone, and Friday's chapel speaker was her first choice. Heather gathered up her gym bag after volleyball practice and found Mr. Pauley in the most likely of places: shooting basketball hoops on the outside courts. She watched him sink two three-point shots then approached near the hoop's pole.

"Mr. Pauley, can I ask you about something?"

Mark Pauley eyed the rim, from the top of the key, and sank the third shot. "Sure can," he called out retrieving the ball and motioning toward the bleachers. "Step into my office," he said with a chuckle.

Heather smiled and took a seat. "Do you really believe you can ask God to change things?"

"Whoa." Mr. Pauley grabbed his chin. "Does this question stem from my talk last Friday?"

Heather nodded. "Kinda."

"Why do you ask?"

"Do you think that God could give you something that would make Him listen to us?"

"Absolutely!"

"Oh good! Cause I found this coin thing --" she brought it out of her pocket and held it up "-- and ever since then God has been answering my prayers and I think it's got special powers and..."

Mr. Pauley made a "T" with his hands. "Whoa. Time out," he smiled. "Special powers? This?" he indicated the coin in her hand.

"We've got to get more of these! We could change the world!" Heather exclaimed.

Mr. Pauley laughed. "Heather, do you know Jesus? Really know Him?

"Yes. I do," she replied honestly, feeling God's power within her. "He is my Lord. My Savior."

Mr. Pauley took the offered coin and closely examined it. Pointing to the back he asked, "This writing, do you know what it is?"

She shook her head.

"It's a scripture verse, Heather."

"Scripture?" She cocked her head. Her curiosity was fully engaged now. "Which one?"

"1 John 3:22"

Heather was perplexed. "How do you know that? Isn't it written in Hebrew or something?"

"Let me tell you a story..." he handed the object back to her then leaned back on one elbow to the bleacher seat above him. "About twenty - no, it's probably closer to twenty-five years ago a group of high school friends decided to begin a special group. They named it, 'God's Fingerprint Club', for they sought to pray and watch for God's 'fingerprints' in and around their lives and the lives of others. There were five of them - three girls, two guys. The father of one of the girls - her name was Gossamer - owned a custom jewelry shop and made all kinds of different things. One Christmas, Gossamer used much of her summer savings to buy the metal for her Dad to make five special pendants. A pendant that she gave to each of her friends to remind them of their commitment to pray. To pray for others."

"Was it like this one?" Heather inquired.

Mr. Pauley smiled knowingly. "From what I can tell, it is that one."

Heather's mouth dropped open in shock. "What?"

"Your pendant looks just like the one I lost several weeks ago. I brought it to church to show a friend. He ended up giving me a tour of the new library construction -- and when I went to show him... well, it was gone. That was the last time I saw it."

"It's yours?" she still couldn't believe it.

"Not too many like that."

They sat in silence for a moment. In the distance, a car with a pulsing bass line rushed past the school.

"All my prayers were coming true..." Heather finally said.

"Did God give you everything you asked?"

"Well, I haven't gotten a car yet."

Mr. Pauley chuckled. "God does answer our prayers, Heather. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Sometimes, wait a little while."

"Well, I don't even have my learner's yet..."

She stopped, and they both said simultaneously, laughing, "Wait a little longer!"

Mr. Pauley continued. "You asked me if God gives us something that makes Him listen to us. And I believe He does give us something. He gives us our faith. He gives us His Holy Spirit. The 'special power' -- if I can borrow your words - doesn't come from an object or a thing. It doesn't come from this coin. That's not what moves God. It's your faith.... Your asking."

Heather eyed the pendant, and then held it out. "I can't keep this. It belongs to you."

Mr. Pauley made no move. "God is hearing and answering your prayers, Heather. Isn't it an amazing thing?"

It was amazing, she reflected. And suddenly, she wanted to cry... for she was so unworthy of being heard by God. Her voice choked a bit. "Y.. Yeah."

"Why don't you keep it as a reminder to pray. That's what I used it for." Mr. Pauley grabbed the basketball down near his feet and stood up. "Do the things that please Him."

Heather stood too. God's awesomeness threatened to overwhelm her at that moment, and she fought against her emotions. Mr. Pauley, no doubt noticed her threatening tears, but his gaze gave her no cause for embarrassment or unease. She watched as he lined up for another shot... the net swished with another easy basket. She looked at the object in her hand then walked up to him and held it out. "I'd really feel better if you had this back," she said sincerely. "God is hearing and answering my prayers because I'm His child... not because of this."

The grin that split Mark Pauley's face was priceless.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a pen and wrote '1 John' in blue ink on the palm of her hand. "What was that verse again?" she asked, pen poised.

Mr. Pauley bounced the ball once and grinned. "1^st John 3:22."

She completed the verse on her palm.

"Thank you, Mr. Pauley. I'm going to go look that up."

"You're welcome." The ball swished again.

Heather turned and saw Stacy standing near the new library. Most likely waiting for her dad to pick her up.

Pray with her, a gentle voice suggested.

"I will, God," she responded almost without thinking. As she walked across the concrete court she whispered upward toward the pink clouds, "Forgive me, Father, for attributing Your power to an object." She paused, stepping into the grass. "Thank You for hearing me, God. Stacy's heart is breaking... please bring Your salvation to her mother. In a moment, God, we will both ask that of You. Save her, Father..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was the cold, sterilized feel of Room 237 that bothered Karen Ellis the most. She glanced up at the nearby IV pole, watching the clear fluid slowly drip into a line leading to her right arm. Over on the table next to her, she spotted flowers and a card. From the inside of the card she could see her daughter Stacy's handwriting. A simple, "I'm praying for you, Mom. I love you." Those words, her daughter's love, should have buoyed her spirits, but it didn't. Instead, she felt a deep emptiness and guilt. A fathomless loneliness assaulted her soul.

Though her husband and daughter Stacy professed faith in God, and attended church regularly, Karen had fought against God's invitation - His knocking -- for close to ten years. Even now, as God quietly whispered His invitation to her heart, another voice - one of fear and desperation - called louder. The voice of fear railed at her. Accused her. Crushed her to the ground.

Karen bit her lower lip and clenched her fists. Help me, God... I feel so lost... so helpless... so lost. I have nowhere to turn, no one to help...

...and sunshine walked in the room.

The white uniform highlighted the nurse's striking red hair - and her smile... it came from more than her face. It reached out from her soul. Her lips were moving silently as though she was talking to someone.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellis."

Darkness seemed to flee into the far corners of the room. The walls seemed suddenly brighter. Had a cloud just moved away from the sun outside? she wondered. Karen felt a hope and wondered where the dark accuser had gone.

The nurse moved closer and put a stethoscope to her ears. "How are you feeling today?" she asked as she expertly wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Karen's left arm.

"I'm... I'm feeling a bit better..." Karen looked up at the ceiling, then back over to the nurse. A gold glint near the nurse's neck caught her eye. "That's beautiful," Karen remarked.

The nurse smiled again. "Thanks. My father made it for me a long time ago."

The tears struck suddenly, without warning. The accuser was back. Desperation squeezed her like the cuff around her arm. Karen felt so lost, so alone. Helpless. Why was there such desperation within her?

The blood pressure cuff came off. Quietly and without fanfare, the nurse pulled up a chair next to the bed. Karen felt warm hands holding hers. More than holding... they were soothing, reassuring.

"T... Tell..." Karen bit down on her emotions. "T.. Tell me your name."

"My name's Gossamer."

"Gossamer... my, what a name..." her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath.

Gossamer smiled, leaning forward.

"Do you believe in God?" Karen asked, surprising even herself with the question.

"Yes," Gossamer responded. "More than believe, I have a relationship with Him. Through His Son, Jesus, I have been given life."

There was an urging in her soul. A hope. Karen pressed on, "My husband says he knows Jesus. And so does my daughter." She looked into the sparkling green eyes of this radiant nurse. "C.. can you help me to know Him too?"

"Help you..." The glowing nurse's eyes misted and a single tear rolled down her face. "Of course I can help," Gossamer said in a voice barely a whisper. "It's what I've been praying for."

©2006 Ron Masters