Chapter 25

Zeke let the letter fall to his lap. His body fell back against the couch. A flood of tears rushed down his face and onto his shirt. He let the crate he had buried so deep inside himself open. All the emotions he had packed away escaped in the salty flood. He cried for his mother. He cried for himself. He cried for his failed relationship. He cried for the family he never knew. He cried—because he had not let himself cry for so many, many years. He cried until he could cry no more.

Then he sat up.

His head hurt and he needed to blow his nose. He stood, leaving the letter and the Bible on the couch. Step by step, he headed straight to the master bathroom and turned on the shower. The steam filled the room. All that his mother had written swam in his mind like a whirlpool.

He remembered the touch of her hands, the warmth of her smile. How loved he felt with her and how much he loved her. The hot water fell on his head and shoulders the moment he stepped in the shower. He sighed as it washed all his pain down the drain. His sinuses cleared. His headache eased. Gradually fatigue replaced sorrow.

When he finally climbed into the huge bed, sleep took him into its arms and gently held him. The sense of his mother’s presence stayed with him while he slept.

“Zeke.”

He sat straight up in bed. His eyes darted around the dark room. Who called his name? Was he dreaming? There couldn’t be someone in the house. He had set up the security system.

“Zeke.”

The voice was in his head and yet in the room. He had heard it before. He knew who it was.

“Yes, Jesus,” he answered.

“Return to me.”

The silence that followed the simple statement engulfed him. After a moment, he nodded, giving in to what he knew he had to do. He slipped his legs over the side of the bed and padded downstairs. He picked up his mother’s Bible and walked to his uncle’s sacred room.

He opened the small Bible and read the words that seemed to leap off the page and into his heart. Romans 1:16 ... because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes ... Other verses, planted in his heart over ten years ago, eddied in his mind.

... for all have sinned ... wages of sin is death ... unless one is born again ... Jesus as Lord ... He died for all ... Him who died and rose again ... He pulled out the ebony chair and turned it around. He laid the Bible on the seat and knelt before it. Folding his hands, he leaned his elbows on the seat. There, in the tiny room of the huge mansion, wearing nothing but his boxers, he prayed.

He declared Jesus as his lord. He asked for forgiveness. He asked for salvation. Lastly, he asked to be healed. Then he said, “Amen.”

He continued to kneel. Waiting. For what? He didn’t know. He just rested in the—peacefulness.

There was a sense of newness in his heart. He smiled and rose slowly. Glancing back at the urn, he said, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Muted sunlight spilled into the master bedroom. Zeke woke revitalized. He stretched, yawned, and smiled. Joy filled his heart. The memory of kneeling in the prayer room was not a dream. It really happened. He had his mother to thank for it. She had planted the seeds over the ten years he was blessed to be with her. He also thanked Jesus for not giving up on him.

Exhilaration surged his senses. He couldn’t wait to tell somebody. Downstairs he made coffee and toast. Before long he was driving to the Cañon City Community Church.

Pastor James nodded and smiled at Zeke when he walked in.