Just Believe - Christian children's book read by author

Hi, my name is Dave Edgren, and I'm going to be reading you a book that I've written that's being worked on right now at Signs. It's for families, for children, and to be used together to lead them from the book of Luke into the book of Acts. It's titled Just Believe, and here's the first chapter. Chapter 1: The Colors. I'd still be dead if not for Jesus. That probably seems like a strange way to start a story, and for most people it would be, but for me it's true. I died when I was 12 years old, and then I was alive again. And the first thing I saw when I came back to life was Jesus, so you can guess how I feel about him. I love Jesus. I talk about him all the time. My name is Talitha, and and I am 15 years old. Less than a week after my 10th birthday, I felt a pain in my head. It was a small pain compared to what I would feel in the next 2 years, but on that day, it was the worst thing I'd ever felt. I'd had headaches before, but this was different. I saw flashes of light. The white flashes fragmented into colored dots and spun all around me. When I closed my eyes, the spinning prism of colored lights filled my vision. It was like being inside of a rainbow, and it would be— it would have been beautiful if it wasn't so painful. It hurt a lot. That first day I had to sit down for a few minutes. I'd been helping Mama make bread for opening Sabbath when the colors came. I cried out in pain and grabbed my head. Mama wrapped her arms around me and guided me to a chair. "What is it, little one?" Mama said. Still holding me. "Are you all right?" They had called me "little one" for as long as I could remember. It was a play on my name, Talitha. Talitha means "little girl." "I'm okay," I said. "It's just a headache, I think." The pain had gone almost as quickly as it had come. "The colors are gone," I said. "Now I just feel tired and a bit dizzy." "The colors?" Mama asked. I explained the sudden stab of pain behind my eyes and the exploding rainbow of colored light that came with it. Mama said she'd seen colors like that before, once when she hit her head. She'd been cleaning the floor under the table when someone knocked at the door. She stood up quickly and smacked the back of her head on the table. That's when she saw the colors. Then she crawled out from under the table and answered the door, still sitting on the floor. It was a neighbor lady who quickly dipped a cloth in water and held it to where Mama had hit her head. "But I didn't hit my head," I said. "I know, little one," Mama said. "We will talk to Papa about it when he gets home." After a minute or two, I was up and helping Mama again. The colors and the pain were barely a memory by the time Papa came home. I think we mentioned it, but I really can't remember. It was at least a month before I saw the colors again. The second time was much like the first—sudden, painful, and over quickly. I wasn't stuck in my bed until just after my 12th birthday. By that time, I was seeing the colors every hour or so. The pain still came and went as quickly as the colors, but I was so tired. Every time I saw the colors, the pain would make me tired. It wasn't the kind of tired you feel when carrying a water bucket up a hill. And it wasn't the kind of tired you feel after counting backwards from 100 to 0. It was a different kind of tired. The best way I can explain it is, it's the kind of tired you have when you wake up right after you fall asleep and your eyes are half open but you can't open them the rest of the way. And then you can't fall asleep. I was tired. Tired of the pain. I was tired of the colors. And I was tired of being tired. Papa knew lots of people, and he talked to all of them about me. Every doctor from our village and villages nearby came to see me. They asked all the same questions, and they all gave the same answer. "Rest is best," they said. "Talitha should stay in bed. The more rest she gets, the quicker she will heal." So I started spending more time in bed. Every time the colors came, I would go to bed and rest. Sometimes it worked. I would wake feeling better, get up and help Mama around the house. Other times I would see the colors in my dreams and I would wake with a scream. I tried to stay quiet at night. Some nights I could make it until sunrise before calling out in pain. I didn't want to wake Mama and Papa, but as it got worse, I couldn't help it. I would cry out and Mama and Papa would come running together. The last month before I died, Mama and Papa were taking turns coming when I cried. They needed their sleep too. The night before I met Jesus, Mama never left my bed. She sat next to me and played with my hair all night. It felt nice when it wasn't— when I wasn't lost in the colors and the pain. I couldn't fall asleep, and then as morning was growing warm, I did. Chapter 2: Sabbath. Sabbath is for life. That's what Papa says now. He used to say Sabbath was for synagogue. Sabbath was the law day, and Papa was a law man. He worked as a teacher at the small synagogue in our seaside town. Sabbath was the day Papa read God's law to the people in our town and told them what it meant. I've heard Papa preach a thousand times, and I've heard all of his sermons twice. First, at the dinner table on Friday night, and second, on Sabbath in the synagogue. On Friday nights, Papa would practice on Mama and me. Sometimes he would get so passionate we would laugh. Sometimes his plea for change was so powerful we would cry. And sometimes he would say things so forcefully he would hit the table. He said it was for effect. "That striking of the fist against something solid," Papa said, "helps the law hit the heart." It makes the hearer of God's word feel it in his guts. And he was right. I never liked those sermons. They always made me feel sick. I remember one time Papa hit the table. I was only 5 or 6 years old. Papa had been talking about sin and how horrible it was. He told the story of Eve eating the forbidden fruit. Then he talked about suffering, pain, and death. 'The wages of sin is death.' And on the word death, Papa's fist slammed into the table. I jumped right out of my chair. I was crying. I can't remember what was going through my head. I just shouted, 'I didn't do anything.' Then I ran to my room and threw myself on my bed. Mama followed a few minutes later and sat next to me. She held me in her arms and wiped the tears from my eyes. Papa was very surprised by your response, to his sermon, she said, a small smile stretching across her face. I was surprised too, little one. We sat there in silence for a long time, Mama playing with my hair. Is it really our fault? I whispered. Did women really curse the earth to suffering, pain, and death? I copied Papa's phrase and tone as I said those three words. "That I don't know, little one," Mama said. "But this I do know: God gives life. God gave us you. And he gives us a sunrise every morning. God is good and he loves us more than we can imagine." "The wages of sin is death," I play-punched the bed, imitating Papa again. "You know Papa loves you," Mama said. He's still sitting at the table. He hasn't moved since you left. I love him too, I said, swinging my feet off the bed. I'm going to go tell him. Mama tussled my hair as my feet hit the floor. He'd like that, little one, she replied as I headed toward the door. I gave Papa the longest hug ever. Then I said, I just wish there was more to this sermon. "What do you mean?" Papa asked. "Death," I said. "Why is that the end? Can't God come up with a better ending for our story?" Papa laughed a big belly laugh. "You sound just like a rabbi. That is the exact kind of thing we would say in synagogue." "It is?" I asked. Papa nodded. "It is what I hope they say tomorrow." "You do?" I said, "Why do you want them to ask that same question? It's just a little girl's question." "Ah," Papa said and hit the table again. "It is not. That is the right question." "It is?" I asked again, my eyes wide in amazement. "Indeed it is." Papa hugged me tight. "Now you'd best be off to bed." "But I want to know the answer." "We all do, little one." Papa pushed his papers into a neat pile. "We all do." Sabbath is for life. That's what Papa says now that I'm alive again. As the colors came more and more, I couldn't go to synagogue on Sabbath. I needed to be near my bed, and that meant Mama couldn't go either because she was caring for me. Every Sabbath it got harder and harder for Papa to go to synagogue. He didn't mind going alone. It's just that he wanted to be with me. I was dying, and he was afraid he would come home and I wouldn't be there anymore. Sabbath is for family, Papa would say when Mama said he really should go to synagogue. Sabbath is for resting, is another thing he said. Sabbath is for healing. He had a lot of things to say about Sabbath as long as they meant he was staying right there next to my bed all day. "I have to work every other day of the week," Papa said. "Sabbath is the only day I can rest as God rests with his children." Chapter 3: Jesus. My best friend Josh lives next door. He came to see me every day when I was sick. Usually he would stop by in the morning on his way to school and again on his way home. On the weekend, he would come over multiple times throughout the day. Mama and Papa were best friends with Josh's parents. One morning we ate breakfast together. Josh and his parents had come to our house and I was feeling well enough to join in. We all sat at the table. Near the end of our meal, a group of people walked down the street past the house. They were all laughing and talking amongst themselves. There was excitement in the air. More people kept coming and the crowd grew. Then Josh saw a friend in the crowd. "Tavi!" Josh shouted. Josh's mother scolded him for yelling at the table, but Tavi had heard and came to the open window. "Hey, Josh," Tavi said. "We're going to see Jesus. You want to come?" "The storyteller?" Josh asked, clapping his hands. "Where is he?" "His boat just sailed past the village," Tavi said. "It's near the shore. They must be landing soon, maybe in the next valley. So we're all following the boat until it lands." Josh turned to his parents. "Can I go? Please?" His father and mother looked at each other as the decision was made in their eyes. "Just come home with me for a moment," his mother said, "so I can make you a lunch." Josh and his parents stood, thanked Papa and Mama for breakfast, and made their way to the door. As his parents were going out, Josh and Tavi were already running into the house. A minute later, they were back outside and rushing down the road. At the window, Josh stopped and looked in. "Talitha, when I come back, I'll tell you everything." I clapped my hands. "Listen to as many of Jesus's stories as you can," I called out. "I want to hear them all." Josh laughed and said he would. Then he and Tavi disappeared into the crowd. The colors came twice that day, once after lunch and once during sunset. When I woke late in the night, Mama told me Josh had stopped by after dinner. He said he would be back in the morning. I slept fitfully that night and woke later than usual. As I opened my eyes, morning light was shining through the window. Because I slept so much of the time, my bed was now in the main room so Mama could look after me better. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I heard Josh's voice. "She's awake!" He had said it quietly, but as it was the only noise in the room, it sounded loud to me. "Yes, I'm awake," I said, rubbing my eyes. Josh was sitting on a chair next to my bed holding a steaming cup. He held it out to me. "This is for you. It's the tea that you like." "I thought I could smell something," I said. "Where did you get that?" "From me," Mama said from the kitchen side of the room. "I was just boiling the water when Josh arrived. He said he doesn't like tea, but his hands were cold, so he held your cup and waited for you to wake up. He's only been here a few minutes." Ah, I said, thanks. I sat up in bed and took the hot tea from Josh. I blew across the top of the cup and took a careful sip. It was just right. I took a longer sip. My mouth filled with beautiful pomegranate tea. My favorite. Mama, I said after swallowing, you made pomegranate tea. Yes, Mama smiled. I knew that you liked it. I love it, I said. I grinned back, breathing the steam through my nose. The smell is amazing. Now, I said, looking at Josh, I'm ready, ready to hear your stories. Tell me all about Jesus. Josh told me story after story. So many of them began, "The kingdom of God is like," and some of them were about amazing things like pearls and treasure, but most of them were about everyday things like Normal people like us that we could understand, like planting seeds and kneading dough and fishing and farming, children, parents, sheep, goats, losing things, finding them again. I couldn't believe how many stories Josh could remember. Finally, I asked, "Josh, what was your favorite story?" "The one about me," he laughed. "Jesus told a story about you?" I asked, not sure if I believed him. "No," Josh replied with a laugh. "He created a story about me, a new story." I was more confused than before. "What do you mean?" "At the end of the day," Josh said, "everyone was hungry. Jesus asked if anyone had any food. I still had my lunch. I'd been following Jesus around listening to his stories and was so interested that I had forgotten that I had a lunch in my basket." 'When Jesus asked his disciples if anyone had any food, I remembered the lunch mother made. So I gave it to the disciple named Philip, and he took it back to Jesus.' 'Jesus ate your lunch?' I laughed. 'No,' Josh said, clapping his hands together like he was doing a magic trick. 'Everyone ate my lunch.' 'What?' I said. 'How?' 'Jesus did a miracle,' Josh laughed. 'He prayed for my lunch and then started reaching into the basket and pulling out bread and fish. And when I got home, I asked Mother, "How many little loaves and fish did you pack in there?" And she said, "Just the usual, 5 loaves and 2 fish." "How many did Jesus pull out?" I asked. "Um, like a billion." Mama decided she'd heard enough. "Joshua, telling stories is one thing, but now you're just making up nonsense." "Sorry, Auntie," Josh said, growing serious, "but I'm not making it up. You can ask anyone who was there." Jesus fed thousands of people with my one little lunch. He prayed, blessed it, and then gave it to his 12 disciples to feed us all. Mama sat down on the foot of the bed. Josh, if this is true, Jesus is more than just a storyteller. Oh yes, he surely is, Josh said respectfully. He did lots of other miracles. He healed blind people and deaf people, mended broken bones, and healed sores on people's arms and legs. Josh paused and stared into Mama's eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to me. "Talitha," he said, "I believe Jesus can heal you." Chapter 4: Blasphemy. When Papa came home from work, it was already dark. "Papa," I said as we ate dinner later that night, "Josh saw Jesus heal people." "Lots of people are saying the same thing," Papa replied as he bit a chunk of bread. 'Can you, can you please ask him to heal me?' I asked. 'People saying something,' Papa said, 'does not make it true.' 'Papa,' I was, I was heartbroken. 'Papa, just believe, Papa.' 'I believe in the one true God,' Papa said. 'The God who created us from dust. The God who redeemed us from slavery in Egypt.' 'What does Egypt have to do with Jesus healing me?' I was crying. Papa, why are you— what are you talking about? I'm talking about the God who gave us the Sabbath, Papa stated matter-of-factly. If we throw away the Sabbath, we throw away the God who gave us the Sabbath. Mama interjected, who is talking about throwing away the Sabbath? Mama was confused and upset as I was. Sabbath reminds us of two things. Papa said in his preaching voice, "God made us and God saved us. He made us from the dust of the earth and he saved us from slavery in Egypt. These are the two reasons we rest from work on the Sabbath: to remember God's creative work and to celebrate our freedom in him." Papa paused and set the rest of his bread on the table. He fixed his eyes first on me and then on Mama. 'But this Jesus, he does not rest on the Sabbath. He walks through fields. His men harvest and eat the grain as they walk. There are even stories of him doing healing work on the Sabbath.' 'Papa,' I said, 'maybe Jesus is honoring the Sabbath in a different way.' I took Papa's big hand from where it rested on the table. You've always taught me that Sabbath rest renews and heals us. Maybe Jesus is doing the same thing. I kissed Papa's hand. He is healing people, Papa. Mama reached across the table and took Papa's other hand. And Jesus is rescuing people from being slaves, Mama said. How so? Papa asked, looking back at Mama. He is setting people free. Mama said, "People locked up in the chains of suffering and sickness, like our little one." "Hmm." A deep rumble came from Papa's chest. It was the sound he made when he was thinking something but wasn't ready to say it, or when you had said something he wasn't ready to hear. It meant he was listening. Sometimes it meant Papa was hearing something new or special from God. Sometimes it meant Papa was slowing his racing mind enough to hear Mama and me. There was a familiar knock on the door. "It's Josh," I said. "I will think on these things," Papa said as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood to open the door. Josh bounded into the room in his typical way. "Good evening, Uncle and Auntie," he said. Before they could even respond, Josh blurted out, "Have you heard? Jesus walked on water last night! Everyone is talking about it." Papa raised his eyebrows. More silly stories? Really? Josh shook his head. He's the reason the storm stopped so suddenly. It was true that everyone had been talking about last night's strange storm and sudden calm. People were used to storms in our seaside village. Animals were moved inside houses, windows shuttered from the outside, doors boarded from the inside. When the storm suddenly struck, Papa and Mama jumped out of bed and quickly prepared our house. As the wind whipped sea spray through the door and window. In seconds my blanket was wet and salty. Mama hung it in the middle of the room and got me a spare blanket. These storms were common enough that people didn't worry too much. After a day or two, the storm would end with a heavy fog hovering over the sea and the village, connecting the two. The fog would always slowly clear on the morning after the storm. That's how I— it always was. Until last night. Last night was strange indeed, Papa said. The suddenness of the calm drew people out of their houses to see what all the silence was about. Did you see the moon? Josh said excitedly. Yes, Papa said. It was the only thing in the sky. Not a cloud to be seen, not a wisp of wind. It was as if we were in the very eye of a storm. And yet, Mama said. The storm was gone. The moon was the only eye to see. Josh laughed. Why did the storm stop? I asked. Because Jesus told it to, Josh said matter-of-factly. Both Mama and I gasped. Joshua, Mama said, you mustn't say such things. This is blasphemy. Only God commands the sea and the storm. Papa had walked to Mama's side when she gasped. He laid his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, dear," Papa said. "He's only repeating what he's heard others say. This story has swept from village to village faster than last night's storm." "You already knew that Jesus stopped the storm?" Mama asked. "I heard the story," Papa said, "and I do not repeat nonsense." Papa looked for reasons for the unexplainable. "God called back the storm, no doubt. We all witnessed it, but this Jesus is taking credit." Papa paused. "Well, it has all the rabbis demanding something be done. You can't call yourself God and get away with it." "But maybe Jesus is God," Josh said too quickly. Papa pointed at the door. "Goodbye, Josh. I'll not have you repeating blasphemy in our house." Josh hung his head and walked out the door. Papa stood silent for a moment, shook his head as if clearing his thoughts, and walked into his room. Mama glanced at me, a deep sadness in her eyes. There was no more talk that night. Chapter 5: The Apology. The next morning, just as we sat to begin breakfast, there was a slow, unsure knock at the door. Mama rose quickly. "I'll get it," she said. She opened the door a crack and looked out. "Yes?" she said, a note of recognition in her voice. "I'm here to apologize," said a very subdued Josh. Mama paused. "Let the boy in," Papa said. "A good man always repents of his sin and allows others the right to do so." It was a phrase I'd heard Father say many times. Josh shuffled into the room and Mama closed the door behind him. "I am sorry for speaking so rashly," Josh said. "On behalf of myself and my family," Papa said, "I accept your apology." Papa offered his hand to Josh. Josh shook it. Then Mama hugged Josh. "Will you join us for breakfast?" Mama said, holding on to Josh and directing him to a chair across the table from me. "If you wish," Josh said as he obediently sat. As we ate, everyone waited for Papa to begin the conversation. After a long silence, Papa said, "What have you learned from last night, Joshua?" Josh considered his answer. "I have learned that I should allow others to speak." "Wise," Papa said. "And what would that have accomplished?" "Perhaps someone else—" Josh looked up sheepishly. Would have said it better? Papa burst out laughing. You're not wrong, Josh. There are ways, ways of saying a man is working with God without declaring him to be God. Mama joined in. Papa and I talked about it late into the night. It is clear that Jesus is doing things impossible for a human to do under his own power. Do you think that Jesus is a prophet? Josh asked. Perhaps, Papa said. He certainly says things in the unsettling way of a prophet. What do you mean? Josh said. Just as miracles disregard the rules of nature, Papa said, a prophet often disregards human niceties. You mean? Mama smiled. They are rude. Josh and I both laughed. "Jesus has said harsh things about the synagogue leaders," Mama said. She looked concerned. "And about Papa." "Yes," Papa said. "He sends us back to the scriptures." "He does?" I asked. I had only heard about Jesus' stories and miracles. "Indeed," Papa said. "Jesus knows the Torah and the prophets as if he were there when they were written." Papa laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his own words. "He understands the wisdom and the meaning of the scriptures more deeply than many of our most well-trained scholars." "Well, that's no excuse to be rude," Mama said. Papa smiled at her reaction and squeezed her hand. He knew she was offended on his behalf. "He talks like a rabbi." We often introduce a new teaching and a rash rebuttal of an old one to plant seed It helps to break the ground. Josh interjected, but do you feel he is too mean? Before Elisha called down fire from heaven, Papa reflected, he spent hours teasing the 850 prophets of Baal. Hard hearts often require blunt force. Please don't take offense, Josh said, but it sounds like you're siding with Jesus. I'm giving him a chance, Papa said. I don't want my heart dry and hard. Me either, Josh said. If you are challenged by the words of a man, Papa said, consider his actions. Do his words and actions agree with each other? If they do, then test him against Scripture. Your words and actions always match the scriptures, Josh said. Oh, I wish that were true, Papa said, but thank you. A man should always try to have unity in word, action, and truth. The Messiah will be a man of such integrity, and we must always be looking for the Messiah. Do you think Jesus could be the Messiah? Josh asked. We must always believe, Papa said, that the Messiah could be among us. He is that close. So Jesus could be the Messiah? Josh asked. It is possible, Papa said. You have certainly caused me to give it consideration. How will you decide? Josh asked. I will ask others about him, Papa said, and if I get the chance, I will test him myself. You gotta step out of the boat, Josh smiled. Papa laughed. You mean like Peter did. Jesus told him to do it, Josh said. Papa looked at Mama and me, raising his hands with a flourish as he explained. People say Peter walked on water like Jesus. Yeah, but he sank, Josh laughed, like a rock. Every fisherman has big stories, Papa said, but with Jesus and his followers, the stories just keep coming. I'm not closing the book yet. So you're not mad at me? Josh said. Not today, Papa laughed, and then put on a funny face. Yesterday I wasn't so sure, but today I'm glad God put your family next door. Thanks, Uncle, Josh said. I need to get ready for school. Thanks for second breakfast, Auntie. Don't tell my mom. And with that, Josh was out the door as quickly as he'd come in last night. He was back to his old bouncy self. His energy made me happy. It reminded me of when I could run and play without being tired or worrying that I was suddenly gonna be blinded by the colors. I hadn't been outside for months. Daylight was too bright, and by evening I was too tired. Every day I stared out the window and imagined all the things I could do. If I were normal. Now I had hope. Hope that one day soon Papa would believe in Jesus and ask him to heal me. Chapter 6: Death. Over the next few weeks, Papa came home with new stories about Jesus every day. Jesus had been going into homes of outcasts, walking through villages healing the sick, traveling across the countryside healing lepers. Everywhere he went, he told stories about the kingdom of God, challenged the religious leaders, and empowered the common the people with promises of status and inheritance in his Father's kingdom. The night before I died, Papa came home very excited. "I think Joshua is right," Papa said. "Jesus might be the Messiah we've been waiting for." "Why do you say that?" Mama said. "The Messiah will set us free from our oppressors," Papa said. "To do this, he will need to supply armies with food and armor and weapons." "Jesus doesn't seem like a fighter," Mama said. "He's always talking about peace and kindness." "Yes, those are his words," Papa said. "But his actions! The other day he fed a huge crowd with miracle food. A few bread rolls and fish became food for thousands. Today he did the same thing with money." "He gave money to thousands of people?" Mama wondered aloud. "No," Papa said. "Jesus needed to pay the temple tax but didn't have any money. So he sent Peter to the shore to catch a fish. One fish. 'Cast out a line,'" Jesus said. "The first fish you catch will have a 4-drachma coin in its mouth." And it happened just as Jesus said. "4 drachmas," Mama said. "That's the amount of the temple tax." "Exactly," Papa said. "He can bring forth food and money from thin air. He may not be a military leader yet, but he has the ability to resource an army of unlimited size." "I see," Mama said. "And that's why you think he could be the Messiah?" "Precisely." Papa was nearly laughing with joy. I had been listening quietly. My head was very sore and I was desperately tired. I hadn't slept well in days. He cleared the temple in Jerusalem the other day, Papa continued, like he owned the place. He told the salesmen and money changers to get out. While they hurried to get away from him, children rushed to Jesus. He sat on the temple steps and blessed each child one by one. He is without a doubt up to something. Papa, I said, It was all I could do to whisper. Papa and Mama hurried to my bedside. They hadn't realized I was awake. Yes, little one, what is it? If Jesus is the Messiah— I paused to build up enough strength to continue— maybe his Sabbath habits are not. For 5 or 6 breaths, I could only swallow and blink my eyes as my throat tightened and tears began to fall. Then I continued, Papa, maybe— I wanted to explain to Papa that if Jesus was the Messiah and was able to do miracles with bread and fish and money, and if Jesus could walk on water and still a storm, restore lepers, and heal legs, arms, heads, and hearts, then maybe he wasn't a Sabbath breaker. Maybe Sabbath was best honored the way Jesus was doing it. And if Jesus was not offending God's perfect law by breaking God's holy Sabbath, then maybe Papa could allow Jesus to heal me. But I couldn't say all that. I only had enough energy for one word: Papa. Mama and I had talked about Jesus every day while Papa was away working at synagogue. She understood what I was trying to say. She wants Jesus to heal her, Mama said, but she knows you believe Jesus is a Sabbath breaker and cannot be welcomed into our home. I'm no longer convinced he is a Sabbath breaker, Papa said thoughtfully. To know the good you can do and to purposely not do that good on the Sabbath is the same as doing evil on the Sabbath. For Jesus not to heal— Papa paused, considering the weight of what he was about to say— for Jesus not to heal on the Sabbath when he knows, and everyone else knows, that he can heal. That would indeed be a great evil. Papa stroked his beard. I suppose there is no greater thing for a healer to do on the Sabbath than to heal. So, Mama said quickly, if Jesus is not breaking the Sabbath, then you will let him— she paused. Heal me, I whispered. I need to walk. Papa stood and began pacing the room. "Perhaps, just perhaps..." Papa was mumbling the way he did when he was thinking out loud. "Perhaps Jesus is showing us what the Sabbath is truly meant to look like." Papa worked his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Perhaps Jesus is more truly able to honor the Sabbath than any man before him." "And perhaps..." Mama brought the point home. Jesus is able to heal our little one? Just believe, I breathed. Papa, just believe. I believe I do. Papa laughed. Over the past few weeks, I have become convinced of Jesus's healing power. There are too many testimonies about him for them to be anything but true. But I couldn't allow myself to go to him because of his Sabbath habits. Now I think you're right. Papa stopped and turned to face us. You're both right. Jesus is what we need. I smiled through my pain, tears streaking down my cheeks. You will get Jesus? Mama asked. When the sun rises in the morning, Papa said, I will find him. This is wonderful news, Mama said, tears covering her cheeks. Jesus will heal you, little one. Mama smoothed the sweat-drenched hair back from my forehead. "Let's all try to get some sleep now. Tomorrow we see Jesus." When I awoke the next morning, the sun was already above the window. Papa had been gone for hours. Mama told me she and Papa were unable to sleep. She said that I had been screaming in pain all through the night. I don't remember any of it. Even now that I was awake, I could barely concentrate on what Mama was saying. The only thing I could think about was the throbbing behind my eyes. I could hear Mama talking, but I could not respond. My eyes fluttered open and closed. The colors and the pain came again. Jesus will be here soon, Mama said. Rest now. I closed my eyes and felt myself falling into sleep. The next time I opened my eyes, there were people in the house. Lots of people. A doctor sat next to my bed. Mama stood behind him. I closed my eyes again. It hurt too much to keep them open. We're losing her, I heard the doctor say. I'm sorry, there's nothing more I can do. That's the last thing I remember before I saw Jesus. Chapter 7: Kingdom Life. I'd still be dead if not for Jesus. That's how I like to start my story, and it's the only way I can finish it because It's true. While Papa was out searching for Jesus, I died. The doctor saw it, Mama saw it, lots of people saw it. They started the traditional mourning and crying. Mama sent two people to tell Papa. He was halfway back through the town when they found him. Don't trouble the master, that's what Mama told them to say. Your daughter is dead. Papa said his heart broke For the first time in his life, at that moment, everything went into slow motion. He saw the crowd all around him, sandals shuffling, mouths moving slowly and silently. The dull roar of grief filled his head. He could hear nothing else. He saw the woman to whom Jesus had been talking. She was crying and hugging Jesus. Then Papa made eye contact with Jesus. Jesus' eyes understood Papa's pain and spoke to his heart. That's what Papa says. Jesus was shaking his head no. Jesus' eyes said, "Don't break now, heart of Jairus. Be strong." Then Jesus spoke. He rested his hand on Papa's shoulder and shouted over the crowd, over the fear, over the grief, "Do not be afraid, just 'Believe.' And so Papa did. Mama came home— Papa came home and he brought Jesus. When they entered the house, Mama says Jesus drove the people out like he drove the money changers out of the temple. He had no time for their tears. 'Get out,' Jesus said. 'She's only asleep.' I like the way Mama tells this part of the story. 'He took your little lifeless hands, Tally, she always cries. He took your cold, pale hands in both of his big, tan carpenter's hands, and he said your name. He called you back from the dead. He really did. I heard it like an echo. Talitha, wake up! My eyes opened and I saw Jesus smiling down on me. If Papa hadn't been there to hold Mama, she would have fallen in a heap. I took one big breath, sat up, and got out of bed. I'd been stuck in bed for so long, it felt amazing to be well. I felt better than I'd ever felt before. I hugged Jesus. "You came!" I laughed. I jumped up and ran around the room hugging one person after the next. Mama, Papa, Jesus again, Peter, John, James. Then I ran next door and hugged Josh. "Look!" I laughed. "I'm well!" Then I ran back into our house. Jesus said I was hungry, so Mama gave me some bread and some fruit. Josh and his parents came over. All the mourners still waiting outside saw me run out and back in, and they were amazed. The crowd grew fast. I was dead, and then I wasn't. That's pretty big news no matter where you live. Jesus and his disciples stayed in our home for a few minutes longer, and then they went on their way, but they never really left us. You remember I told you I'm 15 now. I died 3 years ago. A year later, Jesus died. He came back to life too. I, for one, should have believed him when he said he would die and come back to life. But like everyone else, I didn't. We are a Christian family now. We have church in our house every Sabbath. The cool thing is my story can be your story. Jesus promises you A new life, if you believe him. Last Sabbath, Papa explained why he believes that Jesus is God. Jesus brought my little one back from the dead. I've heard Papa say this a thousand times. But the prophets of God also gave back life to children. Then Papa pauses and strokes his beard. He looks into the eyes of his listeners and makes sure he has their full attention. Then he finds the most skeptical person in the room. Looks into their eyes and says, "The cross. Jesus died on a cross. Then his lifeless body went to the grave. The hearts of his followers broke. My heart broke the way it did when little Talitha died. Then after spending 2 nights in that grave, Jesus walked out alive." Papa lifts his hands and shrugs his shoulders and says, That's a story I can believe. That's a God I can believe in. Jesus, champion of the grave, defeater of death, giver of new life. Jesus gives life to all who accept it, life to the full. So that's the way Papa likes to tell his faith story. You already know how I like to tell mine. I'd be dead if not for Jesus. How has Jesus changed your story? Let's bow our heads for closing prayer. Dear Lord, we thank you that each one of us have a story. Some of us think that our story might be a small story, but each one of them is death into life. Help us to see the power of our story and to share it every chance we get, to connect people to you Through the story of how we were once lost and then found, we were once dead and then alive. We are yours and eternally alive in you. Thank you for loving us so much. In your name, amen.