Prologue

May 31, London

Sam Sylvester was dying, and he knew it.

When he closed his eyes, he could picture the huge red truck careening around the corner on two wheels, its chrome bumper aiming straight for the convertible’s windshield.

Right before the impact, he’d glanced at Shari. As usual when they were driving, she’d had her nose buried in the pages of a romance novel. “It helps keep my mind off all the dangerous drivers,” she’d once said. It doesn’t get any more ironic than that, Sam thought.

He wondered where Shari was now. He’d seen the paramedics load her, bloodied and unconscious, into one of the ambulances at the scene. Had the Lord, in His infinite mercy, decided to take her home then and there, to spare her any suffering?

It was a struggle just to open his eyes, but Sam forced himself. Nothing in the bustling emergency room could possibly be as horrible as the pictures in his mind.

“Look ’ere, doctor,” came the mask-muffled Cockney accent of a nurse. “’e seems to be coming round.”

The broad, beefy face of a doctor peered at Sam from behind a surgical mask. “You know where you are, sir?” he asked, bushy brows drawn together in a frown.

Under other circumstances, Sam might have chuckled, because the doctor’s breath was causing the pleats of his white mask to puff in and out like the bellows of a tiny accordion. Instead, Sam tried to muster the strength to nod. Yes, he knew exactly where he was—on his way to heaven.

But you can’t go, he told himself. At least not yet. There was so much to do, so much to say, so many questions to ask before—

“M-my wife….” The words scraped from his parched throat like sandpaper across roughened wood. “W-where’s my wi—?”

“Down the hall,” said the nurse, patting his hand.

“Is she…is she—?”

The expression on her face told him everything he needed to know. Shari had already joined their Maker in Paradise. But maybe, just maybe, he’d read the blue eyes above the mask wrong….

He ignored the pain—pain that seemed to have no particular source, throbbing in every joint and every muscle. He screwed up his courage. He had to know for sure before he let go of this earthly life.

“Did she make it?”

In the moment of hesitation and silence that followed his question, Sam felt his own lifeblood seeping slowly onto the gurney beneath him. The doctors and nurses surrounding him were all perspiring, so why, he wondered, did he feel so cold?

Drowsiness threatened to take him far, far from the ER, but he fought it. “Did she make it?” he repeated with force.

“No, Mr. Sylvester,” said the whisper-soft voice of the nurse, “I’m afraid she didn’t.” Another gentle pat. “But I can promise y’ this—she didn’t suffer.”

Sam closed his eyes as a curious mix of gratitude and regret propelled a slow, groaning breath past his lips. Gratitude that his precious wife wouldn’t be “up there” alone for long. Regret because their sweet little girl would have to live the rest of her days without them.

At least Molly will have Ethan, thank God.

Ethan…every bit as alone in the world as Molly would soon be.

For the first time since he’d regained consciousness, Sam felt a profound fear pulse through him. Ethan…. They need to contact him right now because Molly’s going to need him!

With a strength that belied his condition, he gripped the nurse’s wrist. “What…what did they do with…where are my things?” he choked out.

“In a locker, just down the hall.” She fished in the pocket of her surgical gown as the corners of her eyes crinkled with a sympathetic smile. “I ’aven’t ’ad a chance yet to file it,” she said, withdrawing a key.

The way it caught and reflected the light made it look like a silvery cross, if only for an instant. In that instant, Sam pictured Jesus welcoming Shari home. “In my wallet,” he said, struggling for air now, “there’s a business card, and—”

Her blonde brows knitted with concern. “Please calm yourself, Mr. Sylvester.”

“Why?”

He watched as she blinked and tried to come up with a rational reason for him to calm down. His mind started to wander, and he recalled how he’d been a volunteer EMT in Maryland before moving to London. He’d witnessed enough accident scenes to know what impending death looked like. He knew that the remainder of his life could be numbered in minutes, and that he had just one reason to conserve his remaining strength: Molly.

He thought about the joy she’d brought into his life, into Shari’s. From the moment they’d picked up their round-faced infant at that crowded Korean orphanage eleven years ago, she’d enchanted them with her dancing brown eyes and elfin smile. And the first thing every morning since, Sam and Shari had thanked the Almighty for blessing them with their beautiful, raven-haired angel.

Life from now on would be hard for her. Very hard, especially at first. But Molly knew the Lord, and He would help her through those first sorrow-filled days. And she’d have her uncle Ethan to look out for her.

Molly adored Ethan, and Ethan had always loved Molly as much as if she were his own. Sam and Shari had discussed it dozens of times. The way he looked at Molly, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her—that was the reason they’d decided to make him godfather and guardian to their only child.

This would be hard for Ethan, too, Sam knew. But he’d be a good father to Molly. Sam was as certain of that as he was of God’s boundless love.

From out of nowhere, a line Sam had read somewhere reverberated in his head: In knowledge, there is power. Knowing Molly would be in good hands gave him enough physical power to persist with the nurse. “The card,” he said again, “will you…get it…for me?”

The doctor nodded his approval, and the nurse left to collect Sam’s belongings. He closed his eyes. Father, he prayed, let me hold on a little longer, for Molly’s sake….

“Is this it?”

Squinting, Sam smiled crookedly at the card held between the nurse’s thumb and forefinger. “After all that fuss,” he croaked out, “I’m ashamed to admit I…to admit that…that I can’t focus enough….to read it.”

“It says ‘Burke Enterprises,’ and under that, ‘Ethan Burke, President and CEO.’”

A relieved sigh rattled from his lungs. “Praise God,” he whispered. “Praise Jesus!”

For a moment, an odd stillness settled over the cramped, brightly lit cubicle, despite the blips and hums of the equipment monitoring his heart rate and pulse, despite the nonstop efforts of the medical team to repair his broken, battered body.

“What’s your name?” he asked the nurse.

She raised her eyebrows high on her forehead, her stethoscope bobbing, as she pointed to her chest.

“Yes, you.”

“Tricia Turner.”

Reaching for her hand, he said, “Will you call him for me, Tricia?” Sam squeezed her hand.

“I’ll see it gets done, soon as—”

Another squeeze, tighter this time, interrupted her. “I’d like you to do it.” Sam spoke slowly, knowing he had to conserve his waning strength until he could be sure Molly would be with Ethan as soon as was humanly possible. “You know as well as I that I’m not walking out of here, Tricia, so say you’ll grant me this last wish.”

She blinked once, twice, and then said, “I—I’ll try.”

“No,” Sam all but barked. “Promise me, before I die. Because my wife and I chose Ethan, there,” Sam said, nodding toward the card, “to be our daughter’s guardian, should anything happen to us. She’s only eleven, you see, and I—”

“I understand. And you have my word. I’ll phone him for you.”

“I have your word?”

She nodded just once, but it was enough. A feeling of great peace settled over Sam, and, smiling, he let go of her hand. “Thank you. And bless you, Tricia, for your kindness…for giving me peace.”

When she began to fade from view, Sam thought, Not a good sign. Not good at all. Good thing he’d given Molly an extra-big hug and an especially big kiss that morning. Good thing you told her how much you love her. And how you taught her to turn to God in times of trouble. The girl would need it—soon.

Soon, soon, soon, he chanted in his mind as a drowsy, dizzy sensation wrapped around him. The pain was gone now, and he felt nothing but the feathery weight of the stick-on patches that held the heart monitor wires in place on his chest. Sam closed his eyes and listened to the high-pitched one-note whine of the monitor.

“Code blue!” someone hollered.

“Crash cart, stat!” yelled someone else.

Their shouts didn’t startle him. Sam was beyond fear now. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his conscious mind, he remembered his days as a paramedic, when he’d seen the flat line on the monitor signal the end of a life.

This is the last time you’ll have that memory…last memory you’ll have, period!

Did the saints in heaven remember their days on earth? And if they did, were they granted permission to visit their former world? Sam hoped so, because he wanted desperately to know that he could look in on Molly from time to time.

The lead surgeon on the team applied electric paddles to Sam’s chest, then bellowed “Clear!” as Tricia prepared a syringe for one last-ditch effort to save him. But Sam knew it was pointless. Soon, they’d realize the futility of their efforts, and by the time the doctor called time of death, he’d be with his Father, and with Shari, in Paradise.

Sam said one last prayer:

Lord Jesus, be with Ethan now. Guide his steps and his words, for Molly’s sake, as well as for his….

Chapter One

Same day, Potomac Hills, Maryland

There’d been a time when Ethan had enjoyed hosting parties—the bigger, the better—especially right here on his own riverfront estate. But his heart wasn’t in this one. Hadn’t been “in” much of anything lately.

Not so long ago, his parties had been described in the society pages as “colorful affairs.” But there hadn’t been much color in his life lately, either. Even the sun setting over the Potomac seemed drab and washed out.

Ethan stood on the pier, hands in his pockets, and looked back toward the great expanse of lawn, where no fewer than a hundred well-dressed guests meandered from tennis court to swimming pool to dual-level deck.

You’ve got it all, he thought, frowning. And from all outward appearances, he did have it all—a successful, self-made business; a big, beautiful house on three acres of prime Maryland real estate; seven automobiles—a sleek, high-priced sports car (for impressing the ladies), a classy, imported sedan (for impressing clients), and five roadsters of various vintages to impress himself…and neighbors who were rich and famous, to boot.

So why did he feel like something was missing? Something meaningful, something vital?

There were two bright spots in Ethan’s life: Burke Enterprises and his Korean-born goddaughter, Molly. The mere thought of the pretty preteen raised his spirits a bit. In another couple of weeks, Molly and her parents would arrive for a long, leisurely vacation, and already, he was counting down the days until the family would leave London for their annual trek to Maryland.

A woman’s shrill voice broke into his thoughts. “Peewee-than!” she hollered. “There you are!”

It was Kate, the six-foot, blonde marketing manager his vice president had appointed a couple months back. She waved a hand of red-taloned fingers above her head, and he sent a halfhearted salute in return, then faced the slow-surging river and ran both hands through his hair. He’d been neatly dodging her blatant flirtations all afternoon, pretending the ice bucket needed to be refilled or feigning a must-have conversation with someone across the way. But now he felt trapped, like a captive standing at the end of the gangplank on a buccaneer ship.

Her high-heeled sandals clickity-clacked as she pranced across the wide, weathered boards of the pier. “Ethan, what are you doing over here all by yourself? People are looking for you.”

Of course they were. And why wouldn’t they be? Somebody, somewhere, was always seeking him out for any one of a hundred reasons—a favor, a raise, a piece of advice, an introduction to another mover and shaker. With shoulders slumped, he shook his head. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, pal, he chided. As his mother would have pointed out, God had blessed him with a lot—materially and otherwise. But He’s taken away a lot, too….

“Ethan?”

You’ve got two choices, m’friend, he told himself, grinning slightly as he looked at the water swirling darkly around the pilings. Jump, or pretend you’re pleased to see her.

Turning, Ethan took a deep breath and fixed a practiced smile on his face. “Kate, darling,” he said smoothly, taking the goblet of iced tea from her hand, “looks like you need a refill. Let me get—”

Laughing lightly, she patted her flat stomach. “Please,” she gasped, “one more ounce of anything and I’ll positively pop!”

There was an awkward pause, and Ethan knew she was waiting for him to fill the void with some form of flattery about her figure. Unable to think of a single truthful thing to say, he let the moment pass.

A quick glance at his Rolex told him it was nearly four in the afternoon. Another hour or so and the party would be over. The crowd had already thinned considerably; once the last of them had gone, he’d call Sam and Shari to see if they’d made their airline reservations yet. Last time they’d talked, he’d promised to have a car pick them up at Baltimore-Washington International Airport. They were the closest thing to a family he’d likely ever have, so nothing but the best for them!

Kate linked her arm through his and led him back toward the house. “It sure was nice of you to throw a Memorial Day barbecue for Burke employees and their families,” she purred. “I want you to know…I’m especially happy to be here.”

Yeah, I’ll just bet you are, he thought.

His vice president, Pete Maxon, had told Ethan what he’d overheard Kate say two days prior: “If I play my cards right,” she told the gaggle of gals gathered near the water cooler, “I’ll be Mrs. Ethan Burke by this time next year!”

Mrs. Burke, my foot! “Couldn’t very well invite everyone else and leave your name off the guest list, now, could I?” was his bland reply.

By the time Sam and Shari had made him guardian of their only daughter six years earlier, Ethan had pretty much accepted the idea that Molly was the closest he’d come to having a child. He would have loved kids—a house full of them—but a man needed a wife for that. And every female he’d met so far had been like Kate, keeping her tummy flat and her sights firmly fixed on his checkbook. Hardly mother material!

“You look very handsome today,” she said, then threw back her back and laughed. “Which isn’t to say you don’t always look handsome. I just meant that in those jeans and that white shirt—”

A gale of robust laughter interrupted her. “Ethan, m’boy! There you are! Seems I’ve walked every inch of this plantation you call a home looking for you.” The silver-haired gentleman fixed his gaze on Kate. “Well, now, no wonder I couldn’t find him,” he told her, wiggling his eyebrows. Leaning in close, he lowered his voice to add, “I’d make myself scarce, too, if my date was as lovely as you.”

Ethan heard the phone ringing in the distance. Without knowing why, he tensed. Everyone who might have a reason to call him at home had been invited to the cookout. “Kate isn’t my date, Dad,” he said distractedly. “She’s—”

“Dad?” Kate interrupted. “This attractive young fellow is your father?” She flung an arm over his shoulders. “Why, you don’t look nearly old enough to have a son Ethan’s age,” she cooed.

The older man attempted a W. C. Fields imitation. “My dear, you’re an outrageous flirt!”

Kate kept her eyes on Ethan’s father. “Now I see where you get your good looks and your charm, Ethan.” She turned slightly, aiming a haughty expression at her boss. “We-e-e-ell?”

His stiff-backed stance and tight-lipped expression spoke volumes. At least they should have. Kate didn’t seem to notice at all how much her presence irked him.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Poor Kate, he thought. She somehow got the idea that Dad has more money than Donald Trump. Shoving both hands into his pockets, he stared at the close-cropped lawn in an attempt to hide his grin. If this is going where I think it’s going, you two deserve each other. “Dad, this is Kate Winslow,” came his bored monotone. “Kate, meet Sawyer Burke.”

During the introductions, he noticed that the phone had stopped ringing, and he wondered if Maria had answered it or if the machine had taken the call. Wondered, too, why a sense of foreboding still churned in his gut.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear,” Sawyer said, bowing.

Her hands clasped beneath her chin, Kate giggled like a silly schoolgirl. “Oh, but the pleasure is all—”

“Meester Burke! Meester Burke!”

All heads turned toward the deck, where Ethan’s housekeeper was leaning over the railing with a portable phone pressed to her aproned bosom. “Hurry,” she yelled, waving him closer. “Muy importante!”

Maria had worked for Ethan for years. The only other time he’d heard her carry on that way had been last Christmas, when the warmth of the fire had brought hundreds of praying mantis nymphs to life in the branches of the twenty-foot Douglas fir that dominated the living room. His heart pounding with fear and dread, Ethan took the steps two at a time.

There were tears in the eyes of the plump, gray-haired woman when she said, “Oh, Meester Burke…poor leetle Molly….”

Not Molly, Lord, he prayed silently. Please don’t let anything have happened to my sweet Molly….

With a trembling hand, he accepted the phone and slowly brought it to his ear. “Ethan Burke here….”

“Mr. Burke? Um, my name is, ah, Tricia Turner, and I’m a nurse at ’ampton ’ospital in London? I, uh, well….”

He had a yard full of guests, so why was the little Brit hemming and hawing? But the instant she finished her sentence, Ethan wished he’d never rushed her, even in his mind. Because not even her crisp Cockney accent made it easy to listen to the rapid-fire dispensation of information that followed. Sam and Shari had been killed in a car crash at Trafalgar Square, and their daughter was home alone with her nanny.

“She hasn’t been told yet?”

The long pause made him wonder if they’d been disconnected. But then she said, “No. Before Mr. Sylvester passed on, he told us you’re the child’s guardian. He said you’d take care of everything, including breaking the news about her mum and dad.” Another unbearable pause ensued before she added, “’e was one brave chap, that pal of yours, ’oldin’ on till ’e knew ’is li’le one would be in good ’ands….”

Ethan slumped into the nearest deck chair, one hand in his hair, the other gripping the phone so tightly his fingers ached. The nurse’s tone of voice rather than her words themselves told Ethan that Sam had suffered in the end. But how like him to bite the bullet until all the loose ends were tied up.

Suddenly, the full impact of the news hit him. Sam and Shari, gone? Ethan struggled to come to grips with the stunning reality—the finality—of it.

“Mr. Burke? Are y’there?”

The oh-so-British voice snapped him back to attention. “Yes. Yes, sorry.”

“’ow long d’you suppose it’ll take you to get ’ere? I don’t mean to be crass, but there’s the matter of…of….”

“Identifying the bodies?”

“Yes. Rules, y’know.”

The bodies. The funeral arrangements. Ethan was at a loss for words.

“So you’ll be ’ere soon, then…?”

Ethan hung his head, shading his eyes with his free hand. Sam and Shari had trusted him to do what needed to be done should anything like this ever happen. Of course, he hadn’t expected there would ever be a need for him to follow through; they’d always been so full of vim and vigor, always so alive.

The word reverberated painfully in his brain. If he’d known, when he’d signed the documents making him executor of their estate, that the prospect of making those hard, under-pressure decisions would turn his blood to ice, he might have suggested they hire a lawyer instead. An outsider. Someone who didn’t love them.

“How soon d’you think you can be ’ere, sir?”

A mental image of Molly, alone in the Sylvesters’ London flat with some barely-out-of-her-teens nanny, flashed through his head. She needed him, and if he had to pull every favor owed him, if he had to charter a private jet, he’d get there by morning. “I’ll be on the next London-bound plane leaving Baltimore,” he said. And, thanking her, Ethan hung up.

Propping the phone on the arm of the deck chair, he stared out at the Potomac. It wouldn’t be easy filling Sam’s shoes. The guy had made fatherhood look as natural as breathing. No matter how tired or overworked he had been, Sam had always dug deep and found the energy to spend time with his little girl.

Molly had told Ethan no fewer than a dozen times that he was her favorite grown-up. It was one thing playing part-time uncle. Being a full-time dad was something else entirely.

For that precious child’s sake, he hoped he was up to the task.

***

Three months later

Through the two-way mirror in the waiting room, Ethan watched the therapist working with Molly. Miss Majors had been recommended by Pastor Cummings. Ethan had prayed before making the decision, and he prayed now that it had been the right one.

He’d been at his wit’s end wondering how to cope with Molly’s sad, stoic silence. Then Maria had suggested he turn to his church for help. He might have thought of it himself, except that church hadn’t exactly been at the center of his life for the past few years. If not for Molly’s refusal to speak, he might not have started attending again. But he’d had no choice. Her condition was his fault—no ifs, ands, or buts.

His head in his hands, Ethan closed his eyes, unable to watch the child’s sorrowful expression a moment longer. He loved her as if she were his own flesh and blood; loved her the way he’d loved his sister Bess, his mother….

Why did it seem that whomever he loved deeply suffered?

With his eyes still squinted shut, he couldn’t see into the next room, but he could hear every word thanks to the speaker overhead. The pretty, young counselor was pulling out all the stops. She’d tried everything short of a song and dance act to this point, yet Molly hadn’t uttered a syllable.

Ethan slouched on the sofa. He kept his eyes closed and let his mind wander back to that terrible morning in London when he’d broken the tragic news to Molly. Despite the speech he’d practiced over and over during the red-eye flight into Heathrow Airport, he’d messed up big time when the moment finally came.

When he’d arrived at Sam and Shari’s, it had been easy to smile as Molly skipped around him in a slowly shrinking circle, clapping her hands and squealing with glee that her uncle Ethan had come to visit. They’d played this welcome game since she had been old enough to stand on her own, and he cherished every giggly moment.

That morning, she’d wrapped her arms around him, just as she’d done a hundred times before…and then stopped. “Mommy and Daddy haven’t called….”

Worry and fear were etched on her little face, and even as Ethan had prayed for the right words to erase them, he’d known no such power would be granted him that day.

“They always call,” she’d said, looking up into his face. “There must be something wrong….”

He’d perched on the edge of the sofa, invited her to sit down beside him, and then, with one arm resting on her slender shoulders, looked into those dark, trusting eyes…and lost it.

What kind of a man are you? Ethan had demanded of himself as tears coursed down his face. You’re blubbering like a baby…. It’s your job to comfort Molly, not the other way around! He’d never felt more like a heel than during those long, harrowing moments when she’d patted his shoulder, saying, “It’ll be okay, Uncle Ethan. Don’t cry. Won’t you tell me why you’re so sad?”

A minute or so later, after his carefully chosen words had been uttered, Ethan realized that in the space of a minute, maybe two, he’d completely destroyed her safe little world.

He hated the old adage that said, “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.” However, looking into her shocked, pained eyes made him understand the truth of it as never before. He’d prayed for a kinder, gentler way to break the news. So, why hadn’t God delivered on His “ask, and ye shall receive” promise?

He should have been gentler. Should have eked out the information more slowly. Should have brought in a professional to help deliver the awful, life-changing news….

The ugly memory made him groan aloud and drive his fingers through his hair. The all-business attitude that had kept his nose to the grindstone while building Burke Enterprises had given him the drive and motivation to work until he thought he might drop, watch the market with a shrewd eye, and study his competitors even more closely. “Tell it like it is” had become watchwords—no exceptions. Straight talk had never let him down before, but it had backfired miserably that morning with Molly. He wondered what Miss Majors would say about his pathetic performance as a parent.

Well, at least he’d done one thing right—he hadn’t gone into detail about the accident. He’d been to the morgue and seen his friends’ battered, lifeless bodies. The poor kid sure didn’t need the image of that in her head for a lifetime!

Ethan didn’t think he’d ever forget the way her dark lashes had fluttered as her deep-brown eyes filled with tears. She’d begun to quake, as if each tremor was counting the beats of her breaking heart. “B-but…but they promised,” she’d whimpered.

“Promised what, sweetheart?”

“That…that they’d never leave me. Th-that they’d be here for me, forever.” She’d punched the sofa cushion. “They can’t be dead. It isn’t true! It isn’t!”

Not knowing what to say, he’d simply held out his arms, his own eyes filling with tears again as he sent a silent message with one nod of his head: Yes, it’s true.

For a moment, she’d simply sat, staring. Then she’d thrown herself into his arms, and they’d cried together. Ethan had no idea how much time had passed—minutes? half an hour?—before her rib-racking sobs and shirt-soaking tears subsided. Then, Molly had sat back, dried her eyes with the hem of her plaid skirt, and sucked in a huge gulp of air. “It’s my fault,” she’d whispered, staring blankly ahead.

She hadn’t said a word since.

And now, despite Miss Majors’ valiant efforts, Molly sat stiff and straight in the bright-red armchair, ankles crossed and hands folded primly in her lap, staring at some indistinct spot on the floor.

It would feel good, actually, to confess his faults and frailties to this stranger; it would feel equally good when she gave him the tongue-lashing he deserved, not that taking his lumps would change anything.

The counselor stood up and walked over to the two-way mirror, flipped a switch on the wall, and tapped on the glass. Up to this point, Ethan had been able to see and hear everything that was going on in the exam room without being visible to its occupants. But now, Miss Majors and Molly could see and hear him, too. The counselor’s beautiful green eyes zeroed in on his, and she smiled softly. “Mr. Burke, I realize Molly’s session has ended, but I’m hoping you’ll stay a few minutes to talk with me.”

Ethan blinked, unnerved by her intense scrutiny. Here it comes, he thought, the dressing-down of your lifetime. “I—uh, well, sure,” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. He had the sudden feeling that this nervous habit betrayed a deep psychological disorder, and she must have read his mind, because Miss Majors tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

She opened the door in the exam room that led to the waiting room, then walked past him purposefully to her office, tossing Molly’s file on the blotter on her desk. He followed and stood in the doorway. “She’ll be fine in there,” the counselor assured him. “As you can see, Molly is all wrapped up in a book she found on the shelf.”

He glanced back into the exam room, where, sure enough, Molly was sitting in that same red chair with an open book in her lap. How long was I lost in thought? he wondered. “She hasn’t been that interested in anything since I brought her home,” he admitted, meeting the therapist’s eyes. “How’d you get her to do that?”

“It’s my job,” she said in the same no-nonsense tone he remembered from the telephone conversations that had led up to this appointment. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She gestured to an upholstered armchair facing her desk.

As comfortable as a body can get in a contraption like this, he thought, sliding onto its seat. Ethan immediately leaned forward, balanced elbows on knees, and said, “So, can you help her or not?”

Miss Majors was standing behind her chair, her pale pink-painted fingernails drumming on the wood-trimmed headrest. When she smiled, the room brightened. He was taken aback until he realized why her smile looked so different, so special. It wasn’t a flirty grin intended to knock him for a loop or a seductive smirk meant to advertise her availability, which were the types he’d grown accustomed to receiving from women of all ages. Her smile was honest, unpretentious. She was offering herself, all right…but on a caring, professional level.

Ethan found his respect for her growing, and he’d opened his mouth to compliment her when she said, “Yes, we can help her. But it’ll take time, perhaps a lot of it, to find out why she stopped talking.”

Pausing, she plopped into her chair. “And it’ll take a major time commitment from you, Mr. Burke.”

Her voice was soothing, rhythmic, like the calming sound of the Potomac lapping at the piling that supported his pier. Ethan sat back and crossed his legs, resting an ankle on his knee. “I intend to cooperate in any way I can. Tell me what to do, and it’s as good as done.”

Miss Majors wrote something in Molly’s file, then stood up and walked around to the front of her desk. Perching on one corner, she said, “I’m glad to hear that.”

His mind began to wander as she matter-of-factly outlined a course of treatment. She’s not much bigger than most of her clients, he mused. His gaze shifted from her big, green eyes to the mass of long, carrot-colored curls framing her face, making her look like a cross between Julia Roberts and Pippi Longstocking. And really, what kid wouldn’t be attracted to a woman like that?

Earlier, as she’d walked ahead of him into her office, he’d felt like a cartoon character floating along on the delectable scent of flowers and sunshine. The aroma reminded him of the hedgerow behind his childhood home…lilacs? Honeysuckle?

Ethan shifted in his chair, suddenly angry with himself. What sort of person was he, anyway, having thoughts like that about the woman who would help his little Molly escape her self-imposed prison of silence?

“If you’re agreeable, I’d like to hold all future sessions at your house,” she was saying. “At least, until we make some headway.”

It appeared she hadn’t noticed how far his mind had wandered from Molly, and after a quick prayer of thanks, he nodded.

“I think she’ll benefit from being in familiar surroundings.”

“I agree.”

Miss Majors lifted her chin a notch and tilted her head slightly as those bright eyes zeroed in on his face. “I think it’s important for you to be available for the first few sessions, if at all possible.”

“Of course, it’s possible,” he blurted out. “Nothing is more important than Molly.”

“Not even Burke Enterprises?”

He clenched his teeth. Hadn’t he just said that Molly came first? What did she mean by that crack, anyway? “Not even Burke Enterprises,” he affirmed.

She’d said it to put him to the test. He could see it in her eyes, in the way one eyebrow lifted at his response. He’d used the tactic himself plenty of times during hard business negotiations. And from the looks of her approving smile, he’d passed.

“Good,” she said matter-of-factly. She returned to the other side of her desk, sat down, and opened her daily planner. “Three times a week, an hour at a time, for starters,” she said, clicking a ballpoint pen into action. And without looking up, Miss Majors added, “Mornings are usually best for the kids.”

Most of Ethan’s business meetings were scheduled first thing in the morning. But he’d just underscored that nothing was more important than Molly, and he aimed to prove it. Reaching into his suit coat pocket, Ethan slid out his electronic calendar. “Nine o’clock?” he asked, hitting the On button.

The upward curve of her full, pink lips told Ethan she hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Burke.”

Confused, he blinked. “What? But…why?”

“For appearing inflexible.” She shrugged. “I’ve been at this long enough to know that people rarely say what they mean. Especially people like you—with plenty of money—who can hire others to do what….”

It seemed to Ethan that she hadn’t intended to be quite that open and honest. Maybe that would teach her not to judge all her wealthy clients by the abysmal behavior of a few.

“Most parents say they want to help,” she continued, “and that they understand therapy will take time, and patience, and cooperation. But what they really want is…for me to perform a miracle. Like I’m equipped with a magic wand that’ll fix everything with one quick stroke.” She gave another shrug. “It’s not an altogether fair tactic, but I’ll do anything, say anything, go to any lengths, to help my kids.”

Her kids? Was that something all the self-professed child experts said to worried parents? Half a dozen other specialists had said the same thing…and had failed to draw Molly out of her shell.

Still, there was something about Miss Majors that made Ethan believe she could no more look him in the eye and lie than leap from the roof of this three-story building and fly to the parking lot! It made him want to give her a shot, if for no other reason than that time was running out. The longer Molly remained in her wordless world, the harder it would be to coax her out of it.

“You’re the expert,” he conceded. “So even when it’s inconvenient, or difficult, I’ll make whatever changes are necessary to help Molly.”

With pen poised above her book, she smiled. “Just so we can get things started sooner rather than later, what do you think of my coming to your house at seven tomorrow evening? And when we wrap things up, we can schedule dates and times that work for all of us.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Without knowing it, she’d spared him having to cancel and reschedule tomorrow’s early-morning meetings. Ethan got to his feet and extended a hand. She stood up, too, and reached across her desk to shake it. The power of her grip surprised him, especially considering her slight frame. If her ideas about helping Molly were as solid as her handshake, things would right themselves in no time.

Ethan pulled a business card out of his pocket and plucked a pencil from a mug on her desk overflowing with writing implements. “It’s tough to find my driveway if you don’t know what to look for,” he said, sketching a small, crude map on the back of the card, “so this should make it a little easier. Just watch for a gray mailbox.”

Accepting the map, she thanked him and, nodding, watched him as he left her office and entered the exam room. He felt her eyes on him as he took the girl by the hand and led her down the hall. If he hadn’t glanced over his shoulder as he and Molly were waiting for the elevator, he’d never have seen her wiping tears from her gorgeous green eyes. The sight of it touched something in him, though he couldn’t say what, couldn’t understand why. Her reaction should have roused deep concern. After all, weren’t therapists supposed to remain aloof and unemotional if they hoped to obtain successful results?

It wasn’t like him to let go of a suspicion that quickly, that easily. He’d sealed many deals with nothing more than gut instinct to go on. So no one was more surprised than Ethan when he said a silent prayer asking God to help him figure out if he’d made the right choice for Molly—or if he simply wanted to believe he had—because something about the pretty counselor called to something desperately lonely deep within himself….

One impurity in our lives can easily pull us—and the lost people who know us—off course. If we want to be effective in reaching lost people, we must be people of integrity—fixed points of reference that people can follow and find their way to God. I want you to understand that lacking integrity is our problem, not God’s. Like true north, God is a fixed point of reference that never changes and will always be exactly where he’s supposed to be.

People, on the other hand, aren’t always trustworthy. We’re all over the place, so we have to sign contracts, put our right hand on the Bible, pay deposits, and back up our word by saying, “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” (Stick a needle in my eye? Who comes up with this stuff . . . the CIA?)

My friend Gary Mello from Orlando told me a story from his high school days. He worked on a 125-foot scallop boat, the Rodman Swift IV, that sailed out of New Bedford, Massachusetts. Hard and dangerous work, scalloping paid well, and many young men jumped at the chance to fish for scallops in the North Atlantic. The crew worked long hours, rotating shifts and manning every station during all hours of the day and night.

One evening they put out from New Bedford on an eight-hour trip that would take them past Nantucket to the scalloping grounds in the Atlantic. Early in the trip Gary was assigned to the wheelhouse and told not to touch anything but to watch the steering compass and make sure the boat stayed on course. The gyro repeater (a steering compass) had been set to a heading of 280 degrees N, so the ship was set to autopilot to its destination. A gyro repeater steers the ship to the coordinates determined and set by the captain. It’s a complicated system that works extremely well because of the dependability of the magnetic pull of true north. Gary was simply to make sure that the ship didn’t deviate off course.

“No problem,” Gary replied, as he took his seat next to the compass and prepared for a long—and boring—night.

At some point early in the evening, Gary became thirsty, so—knowing he couldn’t leave his post—he hollered to his friend Stoney to bring him a canned soft drink. Gary finished his Coke, set it next to the compass, and returned to intermittent glances at the compass and the nautical maps he had secured to figure out where the boat was heading.

Hours passed, and Gary started to grow concerned because he was sure that he was starting to see land out of the window on the starboard side.

The compass still pointed at 280 degrees N, which would be taking them away from land and far out to sea for an early-morning rendezvous with the fishing ground, so he figured he was mistaken and tried to relax. But something didn’t feel right.

Eventually his concern grew to the point that he felt compelled to leave his post and tell the captain. Into the damp darkness of the captain’s quarters, connected to the wheelhouse, Gary softly whispered, “Cap, I’m not sure we’re heading in the right direction.”

Half asleep, the captain asked if the compass still pointed to 280 degrees N.

“Yes,” Gary replied.

“Then I’m sure we’re fine. You’re probably just seeing ground fog. Don’t worry about it.”

With the captain’s reassurance, Gary made his way back to his post, convinced that if the captain wasn’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either. Several hours passed as the ship steamed toward its early-morning appointment with a multitude of mid-Atlantic scallops. And everything seemed OK until the first light of morning confirmed Gary’s worst nightmare.

Land!

In a panic he interrupted the captain’s slumber one more time. “Captain,”

Gary whispered, “I think I’m seeing land.”

“It’s just ground fog,” the captain muttered.

Convinced that something was amiss, Gary shouted, “No, I’m seeing land!”

“Impossible!” the captain grumbled as he quickly dressed and headed to the wheelhouse, where he verified Gary’s fears. The ship was not heading 280 degrees N, but south down the coast to Long Island, New York!

“Gary, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I just sat here and stared at that compass all night long like you told me to.”

“Did this compass stay on 280 degrees N all night?”

“Yes, sir. And I haven’t left the wheelhouse except to get you.”

The captain reset the compass while he searched for some reason for the deviation. It didn’t take too long to identify the source of the problem. “Gary, is this your can of soda?”

It was.

“The metal in your #@%$#@#$ soda can messed with the magnet in the compass, and it’s caused the whole #@%$#@#$ ship to deviate off course! Do you see what you did?!” the captain shouted.

The can had disrupted the magnetic field around the compass, and the Rodman Swift IV and her crew went eight hours off course. Gary learned an important lesson about compasses, magnets, navigation, and the ability of a scallop-boat captain to invent new curse words when he is extremely angry. He also learned how easily a ship can be pulled off course by something as simple as a soft drink can.

Jesus had integrity. Like true north, his life was a fixed point of reference that others could follow and find their way to God.

The apostle Mark described an encounter between Jesus and some Pharisees and Herodians (Jews who were supporters of Rome), who tried to trap Jesus in his words and find some way to accuse him of being a fraud, a false prophet, or a threat to Judaism. They began by confirming Jesus’ reputation, saying, “Teacher, we know you are a man of integrity. You aren’t swayed by men, because you pay no attention to who they are; but you teach the way of God in accordance

with the truth” (Mark 12:14).

Understanding the importance of pointing people to God—and his role as the way—Jesus, with hair still damp with the waters of baptism and with the loving words of an approving Father ringing in his ears, followed the Holy Spirit into the desert. For forty days he was tempted by the devil. His mission to find wayward people began with allowing himself to be led away—into the desert—and having his integrity confirmed through testing, testing that was essential to the success of his ministry and the key to his understanding our struggles.

If Jesus had fallen in the desert, there would have been no hope for this fallen world, so it’s a good thing that he did the good thing when tempted. In the desert and throughout his life, Jesus was “tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15), but he did not sin—an example of both the reality and power of integrity.

I believe that before we can truly help lost people find their way through the desert of temptation and back to the Father, we must, like Jesus, survive our own deserts of temptation—defining moments when we grow into more or shrink into less. Jesus’ ministry to reach lost people began with a defining moment in the wilderness when he had to choose (three times, actually) between right and wrong. Would he give in to temptation, become just another sinner, and hinder his ministry; or would he do the right thing? He chose to do the right thing.

Unlike Jesus, we are not perfect. We all sin, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be people of integrity. In the end, for people who aren’t going to die on a cross for the sins of the world, a life of integrity is not defined by a moment of weakness. We are going to make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be used by God to make a difference, if we’ll only learn from our mistakes and refuse to let them pull our lives off course and away from integrity.

Living a life of integrity is essential if we want to have a truly effective ministry. You can have integrity without a ministry, but you can’t have a ministry without integrity.

This is why God required the high priest, under the old covenant, on the Day of Atonement, to clean himself before entering God’s presence. The high priest was to bathe before putting on the sacred garments (Leviticus 16:4) and to deal with his own sins before dealing with the sins of the people. Before he shed one drop of animal blood to atone for someone else’s sin, the high priest had to shed the blood of a bull for his own sin and the sin of his household (vv. 6, 11).

God required that the high priest make his first ministry to himself and his household, because if that ministry failed, no one would care to hear what he had to say about God. The priest was God’s representative to the people, so it was essential for him to be godly and to have integrity.

This is why God led Jesus, our high priest (Hebrews 4:14), from the waters of baptism into the wilderness to prove his integrity.

This is why God wants us, his priests (1 Peter 2:5, 9; Revelation 1:6; 5:10), to be people of integrity before we begin our ministry to lost people.

It’s the purpose behind the whole log-in-the-eye story that Jesus told on that mountain near Capernaum. Trying to teach us the importance of dealing with our own integrity issues before attempting to help others with theirs, Jesus said, “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? . . . You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye” (Luke 6:41, 42).

What a hilarious picture!

What important truths for each of us to remember before we eat the first morsel of food with a lost person!

First, Jesus does want us to get specks out of other people’s eyes. Don’t miss that point.

Second—which really comes first—before we attempt to get specks out of other people’s eyes, we must first take the planks out of our own eyes. Pretty humbling. But Jesus wants our ministries to be characterized by integrity, not hypocrisy. Hypocrisy is cancerous to evangelism, rendering Jesus a joke and his message a punch line in the hearts and minds of lost people.

Integrity Produces Authenticity, Not Hypocrisy

One of my favorite Hans Christian Andersen fables describes the life of an emperor who was arguably the most famous hypocrite of all time.

The emperor loved new clothes. One day two swindlers came to his city. They made people believe they were weavers who could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined—but that the quality of the clothes was so high, the clothes would be invisible to anyone who was not very discerning or was unpardonably stupid. These charlatans worked hard but made nothing. Nonetheless, when the emperor was shown his “new outfit,” he acted impressed even though he saw nothing, and he agreed to wear the outfit in a parade through his kingdom.

As the emperor marched through the streets, everyone who saw him cried out, “Indeed, the emperor’s new suit is incomparable! What a wonderful suit!” The people didn’t want others to know they saw nothing. The universal praise continued until the emperor passed by a little child who cried out, “The emperor’s not wearing any clothes!” At this, everyone in the kingdom acknowledged the same fact and joined the child in proclaiming, “The emperor’s not wearing any clothes!” The charade was over.

Our charade must end too.

Just as sure as that delusional emperor was buck naked and needed to admit it, you and I are sinners who need to get authentic and admit both our tendency to sin and our need of salvation. We’re all sinners who fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). Let’s be authentic and admit it.

Integrity Produces Courage, Not Fear

Integrity doesn’t just manifest itself in authenticity; it also manifests itself in courage.

Telemachus, a fifth-century monk, was a man of integrity who faced his fears and in so doing saved lives and pointed lost people to God. The story is told of how Telemachus followed the crowds to the Coliseum in Rome and watched sadly as two gladiators fought to the death. Telemachus tried to get between them, shouting, “In the name of Christ, stop!” Enraged that this man was interrupting their entertainment, the crowd stoned Telemachus. When the people came to their senses and saw the monk lying dead in a pool of blood, they fell silent and left the stadium. According to tradition, because of Telemachus’s death, three days later the emperor ended the practice of gladiators fighting to the death.3

“The wicked man flees though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion” (Proverbs 28:1). Telemachus was as bold as a lion, and we should be too.

To reach this world with the saving message of Jesus Christ, we’re going to have to be courageous, and we will be . . . if we are also righteous.

Sin makes cowards of us all.

A father who smoked pot in college may be afraid to tell his son to say no to drugs.

A mother who slept with other men before marriage may feel intimidated about trying to persuade her eighteen-year-old daughter to save herself for marriage.

The pastor who struggles with an addiction to pornography may find it impossible to preach against the very monster that privately stalks him late at night while his family sleeps upstairs.

Private sin is an evil warden that Satan employs to keep us locked up, silent, and hopeless in a dungeon that reeks with fear. But private sin is also an illusion. We can’t fool God.

God searches our hearts (1 Chronicles 28:9; Psalm 7:9; Romans 8:27; Revelation 2:23) and knows the sins we struggle with. He stands ready to “forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). His forgiveness, and his forgiveness alone, makes us righteous—people with integrity who should be courageous in the face of sin…and sinners.

Integrity Produces Faithfulness, Not Perfection

Men and women with integrity are unstoppable.

You can be unstoppable.

When Nehemiah needed someone to make sure the gates in the newly rebuilt walls around Jerusalem were not opened until the right time, he called on a man named Hananiah, “because he was a man of integrity and feared God more than most men do” (Nehemiah 7:2).

When Satan wanted a man to prove human frailty, God offered him a man of integrity who would be faithful to the end, saying, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil” (Job 2:3).

These men were faithful—not perfect.

Think about King David, the man who slept with a woman who was not his wife (Bathsheba) and then had her husband killed in battle. The apostle Paul reminds us of what God thought about David: “I have found David son of Jesse a man after my own heart” (Acts 13:22). God said this not because David was perfect, but because David was faithful (Hebrews 11:32, 33). Yes, David was a sinner, but he didn’t allow himself to be defined by sin but by faithfulness. He was a man who—when confronted about his sin by the prophet Nathan—admitted he was a sinner (2 Samuel 12:13) and took significant steps to mend his character.

David’s life was not defined by a moment of weakness.

God told Solomon, David’s son, to follow his dad’s example: “If you walk before me in integrity of heart and uprightness, as David your father did, . . . I will establish your royal throne over Israel forever” (1 Kings 9:4, 5). God wanted Solomon to look at his father’s life as a point of reference. Not because David was perfect, but because he was faithful. And David was faithful because he had integrity. God wants us to be people of integrity.

Meal Prep • Walking with Integrity

1. Personal Devotions: Get your Bible, find a quiet place, and start reading the book of Luke. After reading for a while, stop and spend some time in prayer. Ask God to help you identify the areas in your life that are not as pure as they should be.

2. Find an Accountability Partner: I meet with other Christians every week for the sole purpose of ensuring that I’m growing in my faith and living the kind of life I should be living. Find a Christian—of the same gender—with whom you can meet on a regular basis and by whom you can be held accountable for living a life of integrity.

3. Church Attendance: Are you regularly meeting with a local church? If not, it’s time to get involved with one. This will put you in fellowship with other Christians and in a place where you will be exposed to biblical teaching—both of which will help you to live a life of integrity.

Why does God call us to be people of integrity? First, for our own good. And second, he doesn’t want our lives to pull off course the lives of the lost people who are following us.

Delmar, one of the elders at the church where I serve, is a man of integrity.

Delmar leads a Saturday morning Bible study at a local bar called The Fort. This gives him the opportunity to reach people with the gospel in a place where they feel comfortable. He reaches people for Jesus because his life is a fixed point that the people at The Fort can follow straight to Jesus.

Those people at The Fort don’t realize it, but they need Delmar to be a man of integrity. They need us to be people of integrity . . . fixed points of reference they can follow to find themselves . . . not lost, not heading south to Long Island . . . not even heading 280 degrees N, but heading back to where they were supposed to be all the time.

For Personal Study and Reflection: In the space below write the name of a Christian you think is a person of integrity. List three adjectives that describe this person and prove he or she is a person of integrity.

For Group Study and Discussion: Ask your group members to each bring a photo of someone they believe to be a person of integrity. As the group time begins, have people show their photos and tell why they believe the person in the photo has integrity.

1. Who first introduced you to Jesus Christ? Describe what happened.

2. As you reflect on your conversion and how God used this person to introduce you to Jesus, which of the following had the biggest impact: what the person said to you, how the person lived, or some other factor?

3. Describe a time when God gave you a chance to share your faith. What were your three biggest concerns during this evangelistic experience? Read Luke 4:1-13. In this passage Jesus was led by the Holy Spirit into the wilderness for forty days to be tempted by the devil. Satan wanted Jesus to lose his way in the wilderness, but Jesus withstood the test and became “the way” (John 14:6) for us.

4. Jesus was hungry, and then Satan tempted him to turn some stones into bread (Luke 4:3). What does this teach us about Satan? What can we do to prepare ourselves for attacks like this?

5. Satan showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world and then offered them all to Jesus (v. 6). Understanding that Satan doesn’t own anything, what does this temptation teach us about him?

6. The devil quoted Scripture to Jesus. What does this reveal about Satan? What is one thing you can do this week to learn more Scripture?

7. Jesus rebutted Satan’s attacks by quoting Scripture (vv. 4, 8, 12). What can we learn from this example about the power of God’s Word to help when we are being attacked by the devil?

8. What would have happened to Jesus’ ministry if he had given in to any of these three temptations?

9. We are all sinners (Romans 3:23) who will, at one time or another, experience a moral failure of some type. How does a moral failure that has not been dealt with impact our efforts to share our faith with lost friends? On the other hand, how does a moral failure that has been dealt with help us as we share our faith?

10. What did this time of testing reveal about Jesus’ character? How did this time of testing prepare him for his ministry to lost people? How have your times of spiritual testing prepared you to be a better evangelist?

SPIRITUALWARFARE, PRAYER, AND PROCLAMATION

Finally, my brethren . . . (Ephesians 6:10-20)

The New Testament church was birthed and commissioned to make disciples to the very ends of the earth. As soon as they began to fulfill this Great Commission, believers began to encounter spiritual warfare. Consider the following examples:

• Acts 5—Satan attacked the church from within through the prominent family of Ananias and

Sapphira.

• Acts 8—God was moved to separate, through heavy persecution, the church in Jerusalem from its Jewish comfort zone.

• Acts 13—Satan’s representative was humiliated, defeated, and blinded through the ministry of Paul.

• Acts 16—Warfare was fought over the demonized slave girl of Philippi.

• Acts 19—Warfare was waged between the Spirit of God and the evil spirits associated with some Jewish exorcists in Ephesus.

Nor did these encounters with evil end in Acts. Consider what else Paul wrote concerning spiritual warfare:

• 1 Corinthians 9:26-27—Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.

• 2 Corinthians 10:3-5—For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.

• 1 Thessalonians 5:8—But let us who are of the day be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love, as a helmet the hope of salvation.

• 1 Timothy 1:18—This charge I commit to you, son Timothy, according to the prophecies previously made concerning you, that by them you may wage the good warfare . . .

• 1 Timothy 6:12—Fight the good fight of faith . . .

• 2 Timothy 2:3-4—You therefore must endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him as a soldier.

• 2 Timothy 4:7—I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

These comments are from Paul, who, other than Jesus, is generally considered the most spirit-filled person in the New Testament. If he was so filled, why do so many passages on warfare appear? Here is the reality of his day—and ours: The greater the filling of the spirit, the more involvement in the mission of God; the more God’s mission expands, the greater the warfare. Besides Paul’s writings, other New Testament writers wrote of spiritual warfare:

• James 4:7: Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.

• 1 Peter 5:8-9: Be sober, be vigilant: because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world.

• Revelation 12:7-11: And war broke out in heaven: Michael and his angels fought with the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they did not prevail, nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer. So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast out with him. Then I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, “Now salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brethren, who accused them before our God day and night, has been cast down. And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death.”

All of this reflected the earlier teaching of Jesus recorded in Luke 14:31-33:

“Or what king, going to make war against another king, does not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? Or else, while the other is still a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for conditions of peace. So likewise, whoever of you does not forsake all that he has cannot be my disciple.”

So, in what may well have been meant to be a summary statement, toward the end of his life, Paul wrote, Finally, my brethren . . . and proceeded to prioritize the spiritual preparation for prayer and proclamation.

TODAY’S WAR NEWS FROM THE BATTLEFIELDS

My childhood years were lived during the Korean conflict. Every Saturday morning several hundred of my friends and I would pay our nine cents and crowd into the nearby theater to watch a morning full of cartoons, cowboy movies, and to-be-continued serial thrillers. Somewhere in every Saturday morning’s offerings was a feature called, “Today’s News from the Battlefields.” Since the news was from Korea and few of us knew where that was, we had little interest. We used this time for a bathroom or refreshment break.

While yesterday’s battle news was from faraway places and seemed of little interest to 10-year olds on Saturday mornings, today’s battle news is closer and of much greater interest. Curtis Vaughan wrote, “It is a great mistake to think that in the happy hour of our conversion all trouble and strife cease. In reality, that hour marks the beginning of a lifelong warfare—not a war for our salvation, to be sure, but a war in Christian service.”1.

Like Paul we are called to be ambassadors—those who represent a King in another Kingdom. The kingdom of this world is not yet the kingdom of our God. Satan is called the ruler of this world (John 12:31). As we represent our God in this earthly kingdom, we encounter Satan. While I worked on this book, I sent emails to several friends and former students presently serving in cross-cultural settings. I asked them whether in recent days they had experienced any evidences of spiritual warfare.

From a missionary friend in Mexico I received the story of a spiritual conflict. The missionary wrote: We have encountered many conflicts in the spirit over the years. It does not fail when we are moving furiously in the Lord, also automatically a close friend will turn on us and speak evil or unkindly. It sets us back, but we realize that it is Satan attacking us. We get on our knees and cry out to God to protect us and help us to love this one whom Satan is using to deter the work.

From Nigeria we learned of a Christian educator whose home was burned in an apparent attempt to kill him. While students from another world religion claimed to be the instigators of the fire, it was clearly interpreted as an attack originating in the mind of Satan.

From Haiti we learned that a witch doctor was giving missionaries much trouble and hindering the advance of the gospel. Even though she sent her children to the Christian school, the witch doctor admitted that she loved her demonic powers more than she loved God.

From Kazakhstan we learned of another witch doctor placing demonic curses on anyone—usually a Christian—who would not give her money. Every time a Christian would get near her home, she would yell at the person to leave. After many attempts by a local pastor to share, she finally listened to the gospel, trusted, and changed Masters.

From a former student who now is a missionary in Brazil we learned of a demon-possessed woman who continually disrupted open-air evangelistic meetings. After intense prayer, she ceased to be disruptive. She was neither on drugs nor alcohol, nor was she mentally ill. Often she acted normal. Other times she seemed to be possessed.

From Taiwan we learned from a missionary who often felt that an evil spirit was in the room at night while she was attempting to sleep. She wrote, “I felt the hate and evil so much I thought I was going to die. All I could do was appeal to Jesus. Every time I did so, the evil spirit left immediately.”

From a church planter in Canada we learned of a woman believed by many to be demon-possessed. Since she was married to a church member, she often attended church functions. Once during a Bible study she appeared in all black. After a few moments she left. The church planter said a sudden gloom seemed to be over the group. Since her presence had caused him to lose his place in this notes, he looked again at his Bible. All he saw was a blank page. After a momentary setback he called on someone else to read. As the person read, the print reappeared in his Bible.

While serving as interim pastor in a Houston church I personally experienced a disruption during a Sunday morning sermon. As I was concluding my sermon, two young men stood in the middle of the center section about half of the way back. Each was dressed in black. Turning their backs on each other, they walked toward the aisles on either side of their section and climbed over people as they went. When they reached the two aisles, they started toward the front of the worship center and marched in military style. Arriving at the first row simultaneously, they turned and walked toward me and then abruptly clicked the heels of their black boots and turned away. They departed the worship center through side doors. Later, as the invitation time ended and people were seated, these two young men returned to the worship center through the same side doors and repeated their steps, complete with the clicking of their heels, until they were seated again in their original seats. I discovered they were devil worshipers and had been visiting some of the youth activities. They had been observed prayerwalking (to Satan, obviously) the church facilities. Their purpose was to disrupt activities and divert the focus of those present.

Did you notice the presence of prayer and proclamation in these reports?

As reports of these incidents intensify, Ephesians 6:10-20 will help us to be better prepared for these attacks. Half of Ephesians is about grace; half is about relationships. This passage on warfare follows a teaching on the family—one of Satan’s primary targets. Spiritual warfare is not about our salvation.

We are not fighting to be saved or to inherit heaven. Spiritual warfare is about service and ministry, prayer and proclamation. Therefore, we must give attention to our preparation. Earlier in this letter Paul discussed the wonderful privileges and blessings of the one who follows Jesus. He wrote about his own calling and fellowship with other believers. He wrote about relationships—husbands and wives, parents and children, servants and masters. All of these involve degrees of difficulty. If such relationships are done well, they invite serious opposition. Thus Paul closes this letter with a discussion of spiritual warfare.

AN ONGOING PERSONAL BATTLE

Before we go further, a brief personal parenthesis may be helpful. I arrive at this subject of spiritual warfare out of an experience that began at the age of 15. As an active high-school athlete and hyperactive church youth-group member, I was on my way to a church-sponsored youth activity when the car in which I rode was hit by a speeding driver who was heavily under the influence of alcohol. My neck was broken at the second vertebra. I spent the next nine months in a hospital bed engaged in among other things, learning how to pray. Little did I know that was only a prelude to later mission—and to spiritual warfare.

Out of that experience I understood God’s call on my life to vocational ministry—to be on mission with a divine purpose, a purpose that would weigh heavily in the areas of prayer and proclamation. Also out of that experience was laid a foundation for understanding and withstanding later spiritual warfare.

In the midst of the 1999 shooting crisis at Wedgwood Baptist Church in Fort Worth, TX—my home church—I experienced an amazing revelation. I had been commissioned by the church to write a book on the shooting and its aftermath.2 As I was interviewing other people who were present the night of the shooting, I became aware of two things:

• Many of those present described the scene as one of spiritual attack. Some used the term spiritual warfare. After more than 100 interviews I concluded they were correct. Whatever else happened that night, spiritual warfare was occurring.

• Many others who were present seemed to be in denial of the tragic events. One of the counselors explained why people were having such a tough time accepting the facts. He said the human mind is like a computer. When you ask your office computer to search for a file, it hums and hums. If it finds no file, it tells you so. When we asked our minds to compute a violent shooting in our church, during which seven precious lives were taken and hundreds were traumatized, no file existed for it. So our minds just hummed and hummed and kept rejecting our request for understanding.

With this analogy I realized that my broken-neck experience at age 15 had prepared a file in my mind that would later help me understand some of the later crises I encountered. These included the shooting at our church and many other additional crises.

Allow me to describe some of the others. On a prayer journey to the former Soviet Union I was on a Russian-built Aeroflot airliner that lost power at 30,000 feet in the air. While the problem was mechanical and was corrected in a matter of a few seconds, I felt as if Satan were using the experience to gently remind me that I was on his turf.

The next experience occurred on a trip to West Africa to speak on the subject of prayer at the missionary meetings in the Gambia and Burkina Faso. Ten days before I departed, I was at the 18th hole of the Colonial Golf Tournament in Fort Worth. Seated four rows up, I jumped off the side of the bleachers. My foot caught in the metal construction; this caused me to fall head-first to the concrete below. Extending my right hand to break the fall, I sustained a broken and dislocated right shoulder, a torn rotator cuff, and nerve damage in my right arm as well as facial cuts. I received permission to make the trip to West Africa only because my doctor had no idea what riding on African roads in a Mitsubishi pickup with no shock absorbers would be like. But I made it with my right arm in a sling. You might say that trip was made on a sling and a prayer. Did Satan cause me to fall off the bleachers? I don’t know, but if not, I do know he got involved shortly thereafter.

I was on a return trip from Senegal, West Africa, having spoken on prayer to a group of missionaries, and became so ill I had to sit on the back seat of the airplane. I sat near the restroom for the 10-hour flight back to Texas. Need I say more? I felt as though Satan was saying, “You tried to encourage people who are working in my territory. I’ll get even with you.”

I took eight student-preachers to Guatemala to preach in evangelistic crusades as a part of the 50th anniversary of Southern Baptist work in that country. On the night before my return flight to the U.S. I became very ill. I wasn’t sure I could even make the flight back. I was sick throughout the flight and the remainder of the day. I lost 11 pounds in 24 hours and was almost dehydrated. Again, I felt as though Satan was paying me back for facilitating evangelistic ministry in a place in which he was strong.

During a major prayer journey to China, India, and the Islamic world, toward the end of the three-week trip I developed stomach problems. Satan? Possibly.

Before the first half of a six-month sabbatical leave to China I was discovered to have a rare form of skin cancer—morphia basil cell carcinoma—which required four surgeries in 36 days. These were completed within days of my departure for Hong Kong. In fact, a few days before my departure, while I was leading a prayer conference in a Nashville, TN, church, a local doctor removed the final stitches from my nose. Was this Satan trying to block a ministry that not only would encourage missionaries in China but would result in a prayer-walking orientation manual that would be translated into many languages and used in many parts of the world? Probably so.

During a prayer journey to Japan I began to suffer from what was later diagnosed as degenerative disk problems in my lower back. Satan loves to get involved in back problems.

During a prayer journey to Macau I experienced debilitating swelling in a joint of my left foot. Fortunately, a missionary pharmacist was able to provide me with some anti-inflammatory medication. Was Satan trying to divert my focus from ministry? I think so.

During a prayer journey to Costa Rica I experienced pain in my neck and left shoulder. On return to Fort Worth the problem was diagnosed as a degenerative disk problem in my neck. Satan really can be a pain in the neck!

During a prayer journey to Hong Kong I experienced dizzy spells in the intense heat and high humidity. Was this Satan using the weather conditions to discourage me? Maybe.

During a six-month sabbatical leave to Germany, on which I was teaching prayer and discipleship in a seminary, I incurred a hernia, had floaters and flashes in my right eye (initially thought to be a detached or torn retina), and observed a recurrence of what was feared to be the earlier skin cancer. Satan? Likely.

Less than two weeks before departure for Kosovo I injured my lower back. The next 10 days included an emergency-room visit, a doctor’s-office call, a steroid shot, and various drugs. In spite of this the doctor recommended that I not make the trip because of the back-to-back flight segments of several hours’ duration and the condition of the roads in Kosovo. The missionaries concurred that this was the best decision. Did Satan use a back problem to block this trip? I believe he did.

Three weeks before we were to leave on a trip to Italy to lead conferences on prayer and spiritual conflict, my wife was admitted to the hospital with symptoms of a heart attack. After several tests the problem was diagnosed as acid reflux, but in the process she became dehydrated and suffered an internal infection. The timing was such that we wondered whether Satan was using the episode to discourage the trip to Italy.

While I cannot prove beyond a doubt that Satan was involved in any of these circumstances, I do know that while I was attempting as a faithful disciple to be on mission for God, I experienced the kinds of attacks Satan excels in—diverting attention, distorting focus, weakening witness. In every case the ministry assignment continued, either with me or without me. The one personal cancellation was only because of doctors’ orders and then only after a brief but intense argument on my part.

Charles Kettering was an inventor of the electric cash register, electric auto ignition, spark plugs, freon, leaded gasoline, safety glass, four-wheel brakes, and automatic transmission. At his death he was a holder or co-holder of more than 140 patents. On an occasion Kettering said, “No one would ever have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in a storm.”

We must never let Satan think he can stop us in our intercessory prayer for the proclamation of the gospel, even when the storms grow intense.

What to Do When Spiritual Warfare Threatens Prayer and Proclamation

1. Acknowledge that the conflict is real and that you are personally involved in it.

2. Recognize personal battles in your life and seek to correct them.

3. Determine to never forsake your commitment to follow God’s leadership in your life regardless of Satan’s attempts to influence you otherwise.

Questions for Reflection and/or Discussion

1. What evidences do you find that inform you that you or friends you know are personally involved in spiritual warfare?

2. What personal battles do you discern in your life or in the lives of friends?

3. What can you determine to do ahead of time so you will be able to stand against Satan’s attacks?

1Curtis Vaughan, Ephesians in the Bible Study Commentary. Grand Rapids:

Zondervan Publishing House, 1977, 125.

2Dan R. Crawford, Night of Tragedy Dawning of Light. Colorado Springs: Shaw

Books, 2000.

Suburb of Columbus, Ohio

“Hey, Gabby, what are you doing?”

Even after all their years together, the sound of her husband’s voice could still make Gabrielle Phillips’s heart skip a beat. She pressed the cell phone closer to her ear. It had been such a long week without Tom at home. “I’m running into Hirscham’s to pick up a shirt for Dad’s birthday.”

“Running? You’re running?”

His overly cautious tone brought a smile to her face. “Not running, silly, although I could run, you know. I’m walking briskly. Hurrying. I have to be back at church by 1:30 for a meeting with the other directors.”

“Is everything . . . ?” His hesitancy to finish the sentence told her everything he feared. How many times had he asked the same question only to hear the worst? No wonder Tom could barely ask anymore. Only fools got too close to a fire after getting burned time and again.

But at least today she had good news.

“Everything is fine. Absolutely fine. Wonderful. Really.” Closing her eyes, Gabby whispered her thanks to God. Tom’s audible sigh and then silence made her think he might be doing the same. “Except for . . . I miss you terribly.”

“Yeah?”

“When does your flight get in? Soon, I hope. It’s supposed to storm today.”

Dressing for work this morning, she’d seen the weather report on the small television sitting on top of the dresser in their bedroom. The meteorologist hadn’t just predicted rain; he’d more like ranted about it, threatening a downpour, pointing to patches of colors ranging from alarming yellow to raging red on his Doppler 10 radar screen.

“My plane gets in around five. But I looked online. I don’t think the rain’s supposed to start till later tonight.”

“Oh? Well, good.” That concern dismissed, she thought ahead. “Pizza for dinner?”

“Should you eat pizza?”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes though no one was nearby to notice. “How about half-veggie, half-pepperoni?”

“Perfect. Just like you. Love you, Gabby.”

“I know.”

Somehow through all the pain and drama and disappointments over the years of their marriage, they had survived, shakily at times, but together just the same. And now they’d been rewarded.

So rewarded! She let out a contented sigh.

As her boots scuffed against the dry parking lot pavement, Gabby had to admit she must’ve heard the weatherman wrong. At the moment, nearly white clouds with only hints of gray streaked a blue-brushed sky, looking far too benevolent for any monstrous storm to crackle through the heavens anytime soon.

But Gabby still felt glad she’d decided not to take any chances before she’d left home this morning. No way she wanted to risk slipping and falling on a rain-slicked floor. Not with their baby growing inside her—the baby she and Tom had waited for for so long. So painfully long.

Instead, she’d tossed her black ballet flats back into the closet she shared with her husband, opting for ragged but sure-footed snow boots from the garage. Not so attractive, but luckily she worked at a historic stone church and not in some glossy corporate tower. Everyone at work dressed neatly but casually. No one at Graceview cared as much about her fashion statements as they did about her dedication as head of the church’s children’s ministries.

When Gabby reached Hirscham’s entrance, she held open the door for a young mom struggling to push a baby stroller while tugging on the hand of a squirming toddler.

Not exactly an idyllic Norman Rockwell scene, but still Gabby could feel the jealousy. Rearing. Scratching. Trying to catch hold. Wanting to seep in and creep through her like a heart-strangling vine.

But it couldn’t control her anymore. These days she refused to let it. Now hope wasn’t just some fuzzy mirage in the distance. It had become more of a reality. On days when the green monster reared, she could more easily shoo it away with a genuine smile, not a false one. With positive thoughts, not negative ones. And by counting blessings, not subtracting them.

Heading for the men’s department, Gabby already knew exactly what to get her father. Her mother had been explicit about the size, brand, and color of shirt Gabby’s dad would like from her and Tom. Even though Gabby thought a shirt sounded less than exciting, she and Tom couldn’t afford much more than a shirt anyway. Tom’s new job with a national nonprofit organization had been a step up, but they still didn’t have a lot of disposable income, especially not with all the medical bills from the past—or the present.

Besides, next year would be different. By the time her father’s birthday rolled around again, she’d already have given him a special gift. A precious one.

Something money just can’t buy!

The salesperson couldn’t have been more efficient, and package in hand, Gabby glanced at her watch. She could slow down a bit. She still had ten minutes to kill before she had to head back to Graceview.

Strolling through the store, she took in the new spring fashions. It looked as if pink might be a big color again this season. But the women’s clothes held little interest for her, so she meandered over to the baby department and stood at the edge, looking in. Did she really want to venture into that sea of heart-tugging adorability?

Then a sleeper caught her eye. A pale yellow sleeper, almost the color of the underside of a lemon peel, with the cutest fuzzy lamb embroidered on the chest. Even from a distance it tempted her, seeming to promise a high cuddle factor.

Could the sleeper really be as soft as it looked?

Inching her way over, Gabby tried not to notice the endless racks and shelves of pastels, the cotton candy pinks and hushed baby blues of the infant clothes, the girlie lavenders and boy-bold navies of the toddler outfits. Instead, keeping her eyes focused on the sleeper, she made a straight path. She just wanted to touch it and feel its softness. That was all.

She took the foot of the sleeper in her hand and rubbed it between her fingers. Exquisite. Addicting. As soft as a downy feather but not feathery at all, of course. Holding it up to her cheek, she could almost imagine she smelled the unmistakable scent of baby powder. Could almost swear she felt the weight of a tiny foot wrapped in the velvety fabric.

“Soft, isn’t it?” A salesperson appeared out of nowhere and smiled at her knowingly.

Gabby attempted to let the fabric drop from her fingers, but she couldn’t let go. “Unbelievable.”

“And they’re on sale.”

Glancing at the price tag without really seeing it, Gabby tilted her head, pretending to do a mental calculation. But really her decision—or rather indecision—had nothing to do with money. Not this time.

As she clasped the material tighter and tighter in her fingers, she already knew there’d be an aching sadness that would spread to her limbs and then, without a doubt, find her heart if she let the fabric slip from her hand. Oh, how she didn’t want to let go.

But should she? Should she really buy it?

But then . . .

It had been ten weeks. She’d almost made it through the entire first trimester. She had never, ever, carried a baby that long before. Not in all the eight years since she and Tom had tried to conceive.

Even though everything indicated the in vitro fertilization had worked, even though her belly had the slightest protrusion and her breasts felt more tender than usual, still, after so many years, so many tests, failures, and tears, it seemed too hard to believe, too good to be true.

But Gabby couldn’t go on thinking that way. This baby—their baby—was real.

The thought made her tremble with a thrilling excitement that lifted her heart sky-high.

Until the other tremors came too, clutching at her throat, bringing fear and trepidation. Sadness of remembered losses. Feelings so easy to give in to, such a familiar place to be.

Her baby couldn’t thrive in shadows and fear. A protective feeling, stronger than anything she’d ever felt before, surged through her. She needed to shove those feelings away. Her baby needed light and love. Positive thoughts and prayers. Nourishment. Gentleness. And softness.

“I-I want it,” Gabby stammered. “I want it,” she repeated, taking the sleeper, handing it to the salesperson. “I’m going to get it.”

But as she watched the salesperson wrap her precious purchase in white tissue paper, horrible thoughts struck again. What was she doing? Something wrong? Something that might possibly jinx their baby?

No, she wouldn’t let herself believe it. After all, she’d bought baby clothes ahead of time for friends before. And had anything awful ever happened to their babies?

Besides, if she’d learned anything through the trials she and Tom had endured together, it had been that there were no signs. No spells. No talismans. No right words to chant. No fairy godmother’s wand. Nothing that could create a baby.

Nothing beyond the ability of her body . . . and God’s gracious will. Every minute of every day, Gabby prayed they were one and the same.