“There’s Sara’s home,” shouted Jose.
He pointed toward a two-story yellow stucco house at the end of a court. It seemed unharmed except for some tile roof and stone chimney damage. A tall grassy knoll in back of the house looked like it had protected the house from the blast’s most destructive effects.
Jose opened the white front door and went inside while Boomer inspected a heap of tile and stone which had fallen off the house’s roof onto the concrete driveway. What caught his eye was the rear wheel of a pink bicycle sticking out from under it. On closer inspection, he saw a small arm blackened by contusions. He removed stone and roof material off the dead cyclist, a young dark-haired girl.
Before he could warn Jose, the young athlete saw her.
“Maria!” he screamed.
Jose jumped off the porch and ran to his dead sister. He held her in his arms, wiping the grime and blood from her face with his purple football jersey. But no amount of cleansing would ever bring life back into her cold body.
“Coach, what are we going to do? We can’t go back to mama and tell her she’s dead… we just can’t! Coach, do something. Help!”
Jose buried his head into the girl’s blood-caked hair and rocked back and forth as he wept.
Boomer wrestled with hopelessness and despair as he knelt next to her body. And like many Christians confronted with similar situations, he felt powerless and alone. He could not contain his agony.
“Oh God! Where are You in the midst of this awful hell? Can’t You help us? Lord, do something!”
From deep inside, Boomer heard a still small voice.
“Boomer, you do something,” the voice said.
“Lord is that You? If it is, I don’t have any miracle powers. And besides, I don’t believe in that healing stuff. But, if You are still in the healing business, do something?” Boomer replied.
A second time the inner voice spoke to Boomer.
“I’m still in the healing business, but I’m not walking on earth anymore. It’s up to you to lay hands on her and pray for her healing, not Me. If you do your job then it’s up to Me to do Mine. But if you don’t do your job, she is going to be dead for a long time because My hands are tied by your unbelief. So, what’s your answer?”
Precious seconds ticked off as he looked down at the lifeless body. Boomer Smith, former Navy Seal, football coach, man’s man, six-foot five-inches tall and two hundred sixty-five pounds, was usually a man of action, but something held him back. His unbelief created too wide a chasm to leap across. Years of dependence upon his own and other people’s abilities had hardened him against the possibility of God performing miracles. A battle raged within Boomer’s mind.
Finally, Boomer did the one thing he knew to do. He rushed to God’s throne of grace.
“Lord, I want to believe You. So, help me with my unbelief and give me the grace to be Your healing hands.”
He shoved Jose to one side and laid his right hand on Maria’s head.
“In the name of Jesus, Maria come back to life,” he prayed.
Immediately, the corpse stirred. Breath came back into her body as her lungs moved in and out. Coldness departed and warmth returned. She moved her arms and hands. Her eyes fluttered and then opened.
“Hi, Jose, I just met Jesus,” whispered the twelve-year old girl. “He said you and a man named Boomer would come for me.”
Boomer wept and raised his hands to worship the Healer.
An excerpt from my upcoming full-length novel, The Day LA Died.
(Continued in Part 4)
