Chapter 1 The day I almost died was the day I found new life. I woke up in the hospital room, bewildered as to why I was there. The room was dark. A curtain was drawn partially on the side in front of my bed and I couldn’t see the door. How did I get here? Staring up into the darkness, I suddenly became aware of pain in my body — a low, throbbing pain in my head. I shut my eyes again and tried to concentrate. The last thing I remembered was driving very fast along the winding road to a friend’s house. It was raining, but I knew the road so well — I’d driven it many times — that I didn’t bother to slow down. I was on my way to celebrate college graduation with some friends. I tried to think harder, but I didn’t remember anything after that.
Hours later, when I reawakened, daylight was shining into the room from behind the thin beige curtains that covered the large window to my right. My head still hurt, and, for the first time, I felt the bandage on it. I could hear the beeping sounds of hospital machinery and the sounds of feet and wheels in the hall just outside my room. There was a covered dish on the small table to my right, but I wasn’t hungry, so I let it be. I wished someone would come tell me what was wrong with me. As if on cue, the door opened and rapid footsteps
approached my bedside. A hand appeared and yanked back the curtain around my bed. “Dude, what happened to you?” Leon said looking down at me, the long, lightning-bolt shaped scar on the left side of his face stood out stark brown against his tanned skin. “I’m hoping you can tell me,” I said. “The last thing I remember was driving. And aren’t you supposed to be in Indonesia right now?” “Our flight got canceled. We had to reschedule for later today.” Leon waved his hand dismissively. “Which is good, because you were in a car accident.” “Oh, man,” I said. “My car.” I had a black, custommade Spyder Porsche. “It’s a total loss,” Leon said. “It’s a miracle you got out alive.” My heart sank. I loved that car. “Besides, you have bigger problems to worry about than a car,” Leon said his tone growing more serious. My brow furrowed. “Like a concussion?” I said. “No. Another vehicle was involved in the accident. The two adults are alive and they’re gonna be okay. But, their little girl…” Leon shook his head. “She’s in a coma… they say she suffered severe trauma.” “Oh, man…” I shook my head. “I hope she doesn’t die.” “I gotta ask you something else, Jaidon,” Leon said. “What?”
“If you had died last night, what would have happened to you?” I shrugged. “I’d just be dead, I guess.” I was still thinking about the little girl in a coma. “That’s not what I mean,” Leon said. “What would have happened to you? Where would you have gone?” I could see where he was going with this. All through my graduate years of study at the University of Maryland he kept trying to talk to me about spiritual stuff. I knew all that he was about to say now: I’m a sinner destined for eternal punishment and separation from God. But, God loves me and he sent his son, Jesus Christ, to save me. If I wanted to be cleansed of my sin and be sure that I would go to Heaven when I died, I had to believe in Jesus Christ for salvation. “You nearly died, man,” Leon said. “You could be dead right now.” He snapped his finger. “Gone. Out of here. What then? Something happens after that — Heaven, Hell. You don’t just cease to exist.” I was quiet for a moment before answering. “I see what you mean.”
Chapter 2 Right there in that hospital room, Leon led me in what he called “the sinner’s prayer.” It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I wasn’t sure if I felt any different or anything, but I didn’t say anything to Leon about that. I was still thinking about the girl in a coma. Leon left as the nurse came in to check my vitals. She told me I needed to eat to regain my strength. So, I ate the lukewarm breakfast of lumpy eggs, hard grits, bacon, and orange juice while watching the local TV news. I was scooping up the last of the grits when I saw my black Spyder Porsche appear on the screen. Leon was right: it was a mangled mess. But I didn’t care about it anymore. My eyes were on the silver minivan the front of which had been crushed; the hood was bent up and the windshield was shattered. I was amazed that anyone had come out alive. “Last night a horrific accident took place just outside Baltimore,” the reporter was saying. “Four people were involved, one of them a child who is in a coma at Sinai Hospital. The three adults — the driver of the Porsche and the mother and father of the child who were in the minivan — are also hospitalized. They are expected to survive.” I prayed my first serious prayer just then. “God,” I said. “Please help that little girl survive. Let her come out of that coma. I’ll do anything you want me to do if you let her live.” I said “Amen” afterward because I’d heard Leon do that more than once. I didn’t know what “Amen” meant. Just as I finished the breakfast, the hospital room door
swung open and a police officer came in. My throat tightened. The officer’s stomach bulged so much that it looked like the buttons on his shirt would burst off any moment. He was followed by a tall man in a suit with a clipboard. “Jaidon York?” the tall man asked looking at his clipboard. I nodded. He flashed a badge. “I’m Investigator Thomas Lourdes with the Baltimore Police Department.” He glanced at the TV screen. “I assume you know why we’re here.” I nodded again. He sat down in the chair with a sigh as the policeman stood quietly behind him. “Mr. York, you want to tell me what happened last night?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I remember.” Mr. Lourdes nodded. “Go ahead.” “Yesterday, I graduated with my Masters in Business Administration from the University of Maryland,” I said. “After the ceremony, I was headed up to a friend’s house up north of here. We were going to have a little celebration — pizza, ice cream — you know.” “Had you been up there before?” asked Mr. Lourdes. “Yes, sir,” I said. “Several times. So, I was driving. I was about halfway there. I don’t remember anything else. I woke up here.” The investigator nodded. “Had you been drinking
before you began driving?” “No, sir. I don’t drink.” “Were you sleep deprived?” I shrugged. That’s relative, I thought. “Not anymore than any other graduate student,” I said. “But I had gotten up earlier than usual yesterday.” “Were you driving over the speed limit?” “Honestly, I can’t remember what the speed limit was. I don’t think there are any signs on that road.” If there was a speed limit, I probably wasn’t paying attention to it. “I have a weakness for fast cars,” I admitted. “I can tell,” the investigator said flipping over a paper on his clipboard. “You also own a Saleen S7 and a Hennessey Venom.” I gulped. “Yes, sir.” Then I quickly added, “The Hennessey was a gift from my father.” “Mm-hmm,” the investigator said. “Mr. York, our CSI team has found that the skid marks on the road indicate that you were driving outside of the right lane. Do you think that’s an accurate statement?” That sounded accurate to me, and I knew that would probably make me responsible for the accident. If the little girl died, I could be charged with vehicular manslaughter. “I’m afraid so,” I said. “But the road is narrow and navigating those curves is tricky.” “Especially if you are driving very fast,” the investigator said.
I swallowed hard. “Yes, especially if…” The investigator looked over his notes. “Well, Mr. York, it looks like that’s all we need from you right now.” He took out his business card and placed it on the small table beside my bedside. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else from you. My contact information is on my card.” “Thank you,” I said.
Chapter 3 I was released from the hospital the following day. The nurse gave me some painkillers to ease my headaches from the concussion I had suffered, but I’m sure my constant worrying about the girl in the coma didn’t help. The other thing I worried about was the decision I made in the hospital room. It still sounded a bit strange to think it to myself: I am a Christian. Laying in bed late Saturday morning, I said it aloud: “I am a Christian now.” I looked around the bedroom of my penthouse almost expecting something to happen. Nothing happened. The white walls with the black and white photographs of my favorite NASCAR drivers — Dale Earnhardt, Richard Petty, and Ned Jarrett — stared back at me. I got out of bed, took two painkillers, and walked into the living room. I sat down on the long, white couch and stared out of the two huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. From the twelfth floor of the Ritz-Carlton Residences, I could see the azure waters of the inner harbor of Baltimore. I was still thinking about this new thing of being a Christian. I had never been a really religious person. I remember my grandfather praying when I was a kid and my parents let me spend the Christmas holiday with them on their farm in Massachusetts. But that was about it. My parents weren’t religious either. So, I was pretty much lost. I picked up the phone to call Leon. I wanted to know what I was supposed to do next. I called him twice, and he picked up on the last ring sounding groggy.
“Hello.” “Leon,” I said. “You still sleeping? It’s almost ten o’ clock.” “It’s eleven o’clock at night here, man.” “Oh, right,” I said. “You’re in Indonesia now. I can call you back at another time.” “Nah, right now’s fine. What’s up?” “I need to ask you something about this being a Christian thing. What’s next?” “Next, you need to start attending church,” Leon said. “That way you’ll be around other believers and you’ll start learning more about the decision you made. I should have told you that when I was there. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay,” I said. “You had a lot on your mind. So, which church?” I continued. “I know there are a lot of them.” “Right. I recommend City of Fellowship Bible Church. It’s in south Baltimore,” Leon said. “You should get in touch with Manley Reeves. He and his sister go there and he’ll be glad to show you the ropes.” “Okay, cool,” I said. “Talk to you later.”
Manley Reeves worked for the ROTC program at the University of Maryland. He had tried to recruit me when I first started attending there, but I already had a job lined up with Wegel & Co. Marketing Services when I graduated. (My dad co-founded the $500 million company nearly thirty years ago.) Even though I turned Manley down, we remained
good friends throughout my time in college. “Jaidon,” he said when he picked up the phone. “I didn’t get to congratulate you on your graduation, so congratulations!” “Thank you,” I said. “I have some other good news too.” I briefly told him about my decision to become a Christian. “Man, that’s great,” he said. “I always knew you would come around. God answers prayer.” I wondered if God would answer my prayer about saving the life of the girl who was in a coma from the car accident. I told Manley what Leon told me about attending church with him. “Tell you what,” Manley said, “the Saturday evening service starts at eight. I’ll come out to your place and pick you up around seven-thirty. We can ride together.” “Okay, I’ll be ready,” I said.
So that was that. I was going to go to church as a Christian that evening.
Chapter 4 I’d never been to a real church service before. The last time I was even in a church was a couple of years ago when some of my college buddies and I were volunteering for the Obama campaign. It was five of us. We were wearing our blue shirts with the slogan “Forward” emblazoned on them, and we were going door-to-door in a middle class neighborhood asking people if they were registered to vote and if we could put an Obama campaign sign in their yard. It started to rain unexpectedly, and we ran back to the corner where our van was supposed to be waiting for us. Unfortunately, the driver had evidently decided to take off. So, we were standing in a church parking lot — us and our stacks of campaign fliers and brochures getting wet. There were about half a dozen cars parked around the church. After about five minutes, another car drove up and an elderly white man got out. “Y’all kids getting wet,” he shouted over to us. “We’re waiting for our ride,” I told him. “Come on and wait inside,” he said. So we followed him into a relatively small sanctuary — fifteen pews on either side of the aisle with six tall, opaque glass windows set evenly along each wall. There were about a dozen people sitting in the choir box, rehearsing songs that sounded strange to me at the time. I’m not sure whether the meaning of the words was lost on me, or whether I was just
distracted by the blond girl with the smile like sunshine who came down from the choir box to offer us drinks. (Of course, I said yes.) I learned her name was Elizabeth Wesson. I would have tried to talk to her, but she was wearing a “Women for Romney” t-shirt. Not sure we would have gotten along too well.
I pondered that memory as I waited in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Residences for Manley to arrive. The late evening sky was a deep and troubled blue — like a bruise — the same color as the dark blue suit that I was wearing. It was the only thing I had that looked acceptable for church attendance. I didn’t want to stand out — just look, listen, and learn. Manley pulled into the turnabout and honked once. “Good evening,” he said as I got into his Jeep. “Good evening.” I looked over at him in surprise. He was wearing fatigue shorts and a polo shirt. He looked at me and evidently knew what I was thinking. “You don’t have to dress up to go to church,” he said. “God doesn’t care about your clothes. It’s your heart that counts.” “Uh-huh.” I guessed I would be the one who stood out.
About fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of City of Fellowship Bible Church south of Baltimore. The night was hot and muggy. The parking lot was full. I was surprised to see this many people going to church on a
Saturday. Usually, I’d be firing up my Xbox to play Need for Speed: Most Wanted this time of the week. Inside, the sanctuary was dimly lit. Most of the people sitting in the movie theater-style seats were dressed casually like Manley and they were pretty much in our age group too. I saw very few who looked like they were over the age of forty. We sat down in the middle closer to the back. The stage resembled a theater with thick red curtains on either side. People chatted or looked at their phones. About five minutes after we sat down, a drummer with burnt red hair and thick sideburns came on stage and tapped his drumsticks together. He was joined by a guitarist dressed in faded jeans and sandals, and two female singers who held microphones. This was interesting; I had been expecting a pipe organ, a piano, and a choir. Look, listen, and learn, I reminded myself. The quartet started singing songs I was totally unfamiliar with. Others in the audience started singing as well. Even Manley tapped his fingers and sang along although he wasn’t much of a singer, so he kept his voice low. Thankfully, the words to these songs were displayed on screens on either side of the stage. Besides textbooks, I didn’t do much casual reading, but I could tell that the words on the screen were filled with passion and meaning. So while the rest sang or hummed along, I sat riveted and let the words burn in my mind.
He is jealous for me, Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful You are And how great Your affections are for me And oh, how He loves us, oh Oh, how He loves us, how He loves us all
Water you turned into wine, opened the eyes of the blind There’s no one like you, none like You! Into the darkness you shine, out of the ashes we rise There’s no one like you none like You! Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other. Our God is Healer, Awesome in Power, Our God! Our God!
Chapter 5 I was enjoying the music so much that I didn’t want the songs to end. I could tell that the words meant something to the people around me. A chill ran through my chest as I realized that they now meant something to me as well. When the quartet left the stage, a man whom I assumed was the pastor walked out carrying a stool. One of the video guys, wearing headphones and dressed in a black t-shirt, black slacks, and black shoes, ran onto the stage, set down a small accent table, put a Bible on top of it, and ran off. The pastor-guy looked to be in his late thirties. He had short, black hair which was plastered down on top of his head making him look like one of those Roman guys from Gladiator. He wore John Lennon-style glasses. Dressed in black slacks, a plaid dress shirt, and sneakers, he was dressed just as casual as the congregation. His name flashed beneath his image on the big screen — Pastor Johnny Dunmore. “Evening, everybody,” he said as he set the stool down beside the accent table and sat down. “Good to be here tonight.” A murmur of response rippled through the crowd. Pastor Johnny picked up the Bible and flipped through it before setting it back down. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “There won’t be a sermon tonight,” he said. Pausing and swallowing hard, he continued. “We’re all family here, you know, and I just want to talk to you from my heart tonight.” He looked around slowly at the crowd. He seemed
to be making eye contact with certain attendees. “Those of you who have been following my blog for a while know that I’ve been on a bit of a spiritual journey — asking the big questions about God, about faith, about the meaning of life, about why evil exists. All that stuff.” He paused again and swallowed hard. I made a mental note to look up this guy’s blog. “Well, tonight, I’ve reached the end of that journey,” Pastor Johnny continued. “And I know some of you might disagree with the conclusion I’ve come to. And that’s okay. We’re a family and, in families, people often have disagreements with each other, but they still love each other. And, that’s precisely the reason why I’m sharing this with you first — because we’re a family, and we love each other. No matter what happens after tonight, we will still be bound by our love for each other and the steps on this journey called life that we have shared together.” Manley fidgeted beside me. He seemed uncomfortable with this line of talk. I wished the pastor would get on with whatever he was going to say. “Even though, at this point, our steps may diverge, we will still always be connected in some way.” Pastor Johnny took another deep breath as a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. And then, his lips trembling, he said the last thing I expected to hear. “Like I said, I’ve reached the end of a spiritual journey, and I have come to the conclusion that I no longer believe in God.” A low but clearly audible gasp emanated from the crowd around me — as if everybody had been holding their
breath and suddenly released it at the same time. Stunned, I jerked forward in my seat. My throat tightened and I coughed to clear it. I looked around to see what reaction everybody else was having. Most just sat still staring at the stage — an expression between surprise and dismay on their faces. Beside me, Manley touched his fingers to his forehead. His lips moved; I guess he was praying. Very slowly, a man to the far right of the auditorium got up and walked out shaking his head. Two others quickly followed him. Pastor Johnny began to speak again. “I know, I know. This is shocking for most of you — all of you.” He held out his hands palms down, like he was trying to calm a rowdy crowd. “But I feel like I just can’t go on teaching and preaching stuff that I don’t believe. I’ve already submitted a letter to the elders of this church regarding my decision. I’ll post the same letter on my blog tonight so you all can read it.” At that, a murmur ran through the crowd. “If you want me to stay on as your pastor — as your guide on our collective spiritual journey — I will. But that is totally up to you and the elders.” More murmurs, this time louder, ran through the crowd. From the tone and facial expressions of some of the people, they were ready to march onto the stage and throw the pastor out. Pastor Johnny picked up the Bible and opened it again. “In closing,” he said, “I want to leave you with these words from Jesus Christ: ‘and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.'” He closed the Bible and looked up at the crowd. “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen — friends, after months and weeks of searching and wondering and thinking, I have found my truth and I am free.”
Chapter 6 “Man, that is jacked up,” I said as Manley and I got back into his Jeep. Across the parking lot, other church members were gathering in groups of twos and threes talking about what they had just witnessed. I kept hearing things like: “I can’t believe this,” or “This must be some kind of joke,” or “He must be crazy to think he can still be our pastor; I hope the elders get rid of him.” A very few people said, “Well, at least he was honest.” Manley kept shaking his head and muttering to himself. “I’m really sorry you had to hear that,” he said finally. “Trust me, that is not what goes on during a typical church service.” I hoped not. I was still trying to figure out how to frame what I had just witnessed. But, it just didn’t fit. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Sure, I’d heard of atheists before. I’d met some of them who were members of the Secular Student Alliance at the University of Maryland. But I’d never imagined that someone who believed in God — much less a pastor — would say he just didn’t believe anymore. That sounded impossible to me. The songs that I heard at the beginning of the service kept replaying in my mind. Snatches of the lyrics filtered in and out of my thoughts. I couldn’t deny what I felt while listening to them. They at least made some sense of what I had experienced. Manley was silent as he drove.
“I need a Bible,” I said remembering the verses that Leon had shared with me multiple times. “Just download the YouVersion app,” Manley said stirring out of his own thoughts. I got my iPhone out and typed in Uversion in the app store. Nothing came up. Manley looked over. “Y-O-Uversion,” he said. I typed it in and tapped the download button. Half a minute later it popped up on my home screen — right beside the Playboy app. That is not a good look at all, I thought. I knew that if I was a changed man, I had to change my ways. I tapped the Playboy app and deleted it. Then I tapped the YouVersion app and it opened up. “What’s with all these versions?” I asked. “The Bible is a book written over thousands of years in languages other than English,” Manley said. “The different versions make the Bible’s original text available for us to read and understand in our own language. They basically all say the same thing. Some have more modern language to make it easier to grasp. I read the NIV.” “I’m guessing this King James version has nothing to do with Lebron, right?” “Right,” Manley laughed. “That’s the Bible your grandmother probably has — the one with the thee’s and thou’s in it.” I tapped the NIV version and read the first thing that came up: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. It was a surprisingly simple line — straightforward
and to the point. God created the heavens and the earth. It was a sentence that sounded as though it didn’t expect to be argued with. I thought about Pastor Johnny again. Clearly, something had gone wrong with him. “So… what’s going to happen to Pastor Johnny what’shis-name now?” I asked mostly to get Manley to talk about it. He shrugged and ran his fingers through his militarystyle crew cut. “Look, I know there’s a lot of questions going through your head. There’s a lot of questions going through a lot of church member’s heads. All I know is, God is real. I know that from personal experience.” He jabbed his thumb at me as he navigated a turn in the road. “You know it from what He’s doing in your heart. What happened to Johnny, er, Pastor Johnny — ” He threw up one hand and let it fall on the steering wheel causing a low beep to sound from the horn. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. It’s inexplicable to me. I just hope it doesn’t hurt the faith of other people — people like you — and make them start questioning what they believe.” I nodded. “There’s a lot we can talk about regarding this, but I’m starving,” Manley said. “Let’s get something to eat and then we can go to my apartment and talk it over. Abigail will want to know as well.” “Cool,” I said. “Um, who’s Abigail?” “My sister. She’s been staying with me since our mom moved into a nursing home.” “I thought your sister was named Delilah?”
“Yeah, legally. But she goes by Abigail now.” “Why’d she change her name?” “Because,” Manley said like it was obvious, “Delilah is a villain in the Bible.” He motioned toward the iPhone in my hand. “She’s always hated that name anyway. A few months ago, she just started telling everyone to call her Abigail.” “Right. I better get started reading this then,” I said. The first chapter of Genesis still stared back at me from the phone screen. Manley chuckled. “She says no parent in their right mind would name their daughter Delilah.” “Kind of like that Judas guy,” I said. I couldn’t remember exactly what he (or Delilah, for that matter) had done wrong, but I recalled it was pretty awful. “Yeah,” Manley agreed. “Nobody names their kid Judas.”
Chapter 7 After we stopped at Arby’s we drove to Manley’s apartment. He lived in a crowded neighborhood. The businesses and apartment buildings were so close together you couldn’t stick a pencil between the buildings. On some blocks, the buildings were actually connected. We drove past small, locally-owned restaurants, a theater, a bookstore, and a museum. Even though it was late at night, a few people were still out on the sidewalk. After parking on the side of the street, we walked up two flights of stairs to Manley’s apartment. Abigail opened the door after Manley knocked. She was short, dark-eyed, and had the same dark hair as her brother. “Hi, Delilah,” I said. She put her hand on her hip. “It’s Abigail now.” “I told him,” Manley said. “I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not,” I said. “People don’t just change their names, you know.” “Well, I did.” “Okay, fine. Abigail it is.” I held the Arby’s bag up. “Peace offering?” “Only if there’s a cheese melt in there,” she said taking the bag. “There’s three,” I said. The living room we were standing in was small and compact. The white carpet was coffee-stained, and
overstuffed velvet blue couches dominated the room. Abigail waved us into the kitchen which was also tiny. There was an island table for four and wrap-around counters. The tiled floor was a gold flower pattern. The light fixture in the ceiling cast a yellow glow over the room. “How was church tonight?” Abigail asked as she sat down on one of the stools at the island. “You don’t want to know,” Manley said taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. “But I already know,” Abigail said waving her phone. “The love of money…” She shook her head. “What?” I asked. “You’re saying Pastor Johnny is doing this for money?” Manley said. “Why?” Abigail nodded. “He’s going to star — if you can call it that — in a new reality show called Life After God.” She tapped a few buttons on her phone screen and slid it to the middle of the island. “See here. It says, ‘Oxygen’s new religion-focused reality docu-drama will chronicle the lives of four average Americans who make the decision to leave organized religion and pursue spirituality without structure — or no spirituality at all. The show will focus on the lives of a Baltimore pastor, Johnny Dunmore, who plans to reveal to his church that he no longer believes in God; a Florida college student, Tamela Walbrind, who abandons her faith after her college studies led her to question her beliefs; a millionaire Wall Street broker, Jacob Lehman, who left his Amish community to pursue worldly success; and Georgia school teacher, Sharmon Sharpe, who was branded an
apostate by his Imam and barred from attending his mosque after undergoing a sex change operation.'” “Quite a cast,” Manley said. “You guys really think he’s doing this for money?” I asked. “I’m just saying it’s convenient timing,” Abigail said. “Johnny’s been pastoring for twenty-four years. Maybe he had a real crisis of faith or something, but you don’t just give up on something you believe in like that.” She snapped her fingers. “He said he was writing about it on his blog,” I said. “I guess you’re going to say someone should have seen it coming,” Manley said. He shrugged. “We’ll see what Pastor Taylor says tomorrow.” I nodded, yawning. “Whatever the case, as you can imagine, this was not what I was expecting to hear my first time at church. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” “Don’t,” said Manley. “Don’t what?” “Don’t try to wrap your head around it,” Abigail said. “You can’t. And here’s something else you should know: This Christianity thing does not mean your life suddenly, magically gets better. Everything that you see about Christianity today — churches, Bibles, missionaries, Christian TV — all of that came through a lot of, excuse the cliche, blood and sweat and tears. There have always been people who turn away from the faith. Pastor Johnny isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. So don’t dwell on it. Our church
will come through this just as churches have done for hundreds of years.” “Okay,” I said. Manley nodded. “She’s right. And, you’re going to face your own personal troubles too. Jesus said, in this world you will have trouble. You’ll get Heaven when you get there, but not here. So, I know how you feel about Johnny. To be honest, I feel the same way. But don’t let it discourage you. It’s just one problem. There will be more to come.” Sitting there, I knew they were right. I remembered the car accident which I hadn’t thought about for several hours. That was trouble for sure and it wasn’t going away. I figured I should get in touch with a lawyer and find out if there had been any changes in the little girl’s condition.
Chapter 8 Pastor Thomas Taylor had awakened two hours earlier than usual on Sunday morning to attend a hastily-called meeting of the elders at City of Fellowship Bible Church. At the meeting, there had been sound disapproval of Johnny Dunmore’s revelation at the Saturday night service. Thomas was glad the internet campus pastor had had the good sense not to replay the service throughout the night and early morning on the church’s website. An older recording was playing instead. But, still, one time was more than enough to get the social media chatter going, and no matter what people said, all publicity was not good publicity. Thomas rubbed his fingers across the receding hairline that he was trying to maintain and reached for the cup of coffee on his desk. It was his second cup that morning. Normally, he only had one. A knock sounded on his office door. “Sir, Johnny is here to see you,” his secretary said. “Let him in,” Thomas said. The door opened and Johnny Dunmore walked in. Thomas looked at him. “Have a seat.” He thought about commenting on the new pair of glasses Johnny was wearing, but decided there was no time for small talk or pleasantries. “Not quite the, uh, warm reception I’m used to,” Johnny said as he sat down slowly on the other side of the desk. “I suppose that has something to do with my… inconvenient truth last night.” He adjusted his glasses on his
face “Obviously,” said Pastor Taylor. “The elders and I have decided to release you from your duties here.” “I expected that,” Johnny said. “You came highly recommended to us,” Thomas continued. “Although we cannot see how you came to such a decision as the one you announced last night, we thought you would at least show us the decency of coming to us first and —” “But I knew what would have happened then,” Johnny interrupted. “Excuse me?” said Thomas. “Well, you would have never let me honestly share what I have come to feel is true with the church family — and I still do believe that they are my family.” “Your feelings are dangerous to the church family,” Thomas said. He jabbed his finger toward the door of his office. “There are many young believers out there. Your feelings are dangerous to their faith. How do we look — bringing them into the church and then you get up there spouting your atheistic nonsense. How confusing is that for them?” “It’s no more confusing than much of what is in the Bible,” Johnny said. “And, besides, they should know the truth. As we like to say, the truth sets us free. It did me.” He tried to smile, but he only came off looking pained. Thomas shook his head and slammed his palms on the desktop, rising from his seat.
“Haven’t you ever doubted God?” Johnny said looking up at him. “Haven’t you ever wondered if all this — all that we say we believe, all that we preach — is really true? Honestly, we don’t know anything. We have dogma and doctrine based on a book and our belief in a superman in the sky. How flimsy is that?” He paused for a moment. “Haven’t you ever doubted?” “No,” said Thomas sharply. “I think you’re lying,” said Johnny. “I didn’t bring you in here to argue with you,” said Thomas. “I’ve made myself perfectly clear. You are released from your duties. You’re fired. Now leave.” Johnny frowned. “What about severance?” “The elders decided against that,” Thomas said. “Get out of this building, off this property, and I never want to see you here again.” Johnny stood up and turned toward the door. “Well, if I’m ever in the neighborhood, I’m sure you won’t mind if I stop by to say hi,… friend.” “No!” Thomas nearly shouted. “Don’t ever come back here. You’ve done enough damage already.” Johnny turned toward the office door and placed his hand on the knob. “I wish you the best. I’m sure you do the same for me.” “Actually, I don’t,” said Thomas. Johnny turned back around. “What?” “You know what the Bible says about that: ‘If there
come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid him God speed: For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.’” ............ It was early morning, about half an hour before Sunday’s first service, as Johnny walked back to the gray Toyota Highlander with the heavily tinted windows parked in the corner of the large parking lot. A couple dozen cars were parked across the lot, but the majority of the church’s attendees had yet to arrive. In front of the three-story, curved steel and glass building, parking attendants were donning their orange and yellow vests. Johnny walked quickly and with his head down. He didn’t want to risk being noticed by the early arrivals. They would see his face again soon enough. He opened the passenger side door of the Highlander and got in. A television producer was sitting in the driver’s seat with a laptop resting against the steering wheel. A video technician sat in the second row. The third row of seats had been taken out to make room for satellite equipment. Johnny carefully took off the pair of glasses he had been wearing and handed them back to the technician. “You got all that?” he asked as he put on his regular pair of roundframed glasses. “Yeah, we did,” said the producer motioning to his laptop screen where the video of Pastor Taylor sitting at his desk talking was playing. “You did well with the hidden camera for a first-timer.”
Chapter 9 Early Monday morning, I dressed in a navy blue suit and headed to the Wegel & Company headquarters on the fifteenth floor of the Transamerica tower in Baltimore’s central business district. I parked my white Saleen S7 well away from other cars on the third floor of the parking garage and headed up to the company offices. I had started as junior business developer several months ago, and now that I had graduated with my MBA, I would be moving up to senior business developer in a few weeks when the person in that position stepped down. Basically, my job was to market the marketing company — attract new business, develop longterm relationships, and position the company to reach new markets. But I wasn’t there for work that day. I was there to meet with the lawyer my dad had hired for me while I was in the hospital. Even though my father, Michael York, was officially retired and bore the title “president emeritus”, he still showed up for work each day. He kept the same office at the end of a long, quiet hall away from the constant phone ringing and chatter of the rest of the business. I knocked on his door. My mother, Doneese, met me in the entrance. She was a short, plump, graying woman of Cambodian descent. “Jaidon!” she said giving me a hug. “You need to keep in touch better. We didn’t know you were in the hospital until after you had left.” I smiled at her gentle scolding. “I would say I’ll do better next time, but I don’t plan on being in the hospital
again any time soon.” Dad was sitting at his desk reviewing what looked like a profit and loss sheet. He, too, was short, but not as plump, and his brown head was devoid of hair. “Where were you on Saturday night? We went by your place, but you weren’t there,” he said. “I was at church,” I said without thinking. “Hmph,” my dad said making a mark on the paper. “Well, I guess a brush with death does cause one to become temporarily religious.” He muttered something else that I couldn’t make out. “I came to see the lawyer,” I said. “Mr. Sonos? Is that his name?” “Sonos, yes. He’s on the second floor of this building — Kirkland, Sonos, and Austin, LLP.” “Okay. Thanks, Dad.” ............ A few minutes later, I sat in Turner Sonos’ office. “The truth is,” I told him, “I probably was driving faster than I should have been. I wasn’t expecting to meet anybody on that road that late at night.” “Probability is not certainty,” Mr. Sonos said. “If you admit to that, that family will sue you for every penny in your bank account.” Sonos was a big man who seemed unable to sit still. Just in the ten minutes I had spent in his office, he had changed position five times — first sitting in the leather executive’s chair behind his desk, then sitting on the edge of
his desk, then standing in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back, then pacing in front of his desk, and now standing behind his seat with his hands on its back. “Maybe they deserve every penny in my bank account,” I said. “Their daughter is in a coma. If she never wakes up — if she dies — what then?” “You’ll lose not only everything in your bank account, but everything you own paying medical fees, damages, compensation, and you could even lose your freedom.” He leaned back against a tall shelf filled with thick, black law books. “Look, Mr. York, you can fight this. You can prove that you are not responsible for what happened to their daughter. I have consulted with a vehicular accident reconstructionist and she said the police report indicates that you were braking at the time of impact. Of course, we need to get a second and third opinion, but an analysis like that presented by an expert witness can stand up in court.” “Or maybe we can avoid a legal battle altogether,” I said. “What?” said Mr. Sonos. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “I’ve seen these kind of cases before. They’re going to sue. I’m telling you.” “Hear me out. I have an idea,” I said. “Which hospital is the girl in?” He shuffled through the papers in a folder on his desk. “Sinai,” he said. “What are you thinking?” “Right.” I remembered hearing the name on the news report. I got up and turned toward the office door. “We have
some people to visit. And, as my lawyer, you’re going with me.” “What? This is insane. You can’t do this,” Mr. Sonos said. But as I looked back, he pulled his suit jacket down from a peg on the wall and followed me out the door.
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