Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [180]
But this was an altogether different type of prayer. It was a genuine request, and if Chaplain Carey could be trusted, God had to answer a prayer like that. But what did answers to prayer feel like? Would God speak to his heart the way Reverend Carey said He had spoken to him?
How would he know?
62
Adamsville
Thomas had to smile when he listened to Grace’s tape. He had always loved her sweet voice, but now, with her age and her illness, it had faded to a weak instrument, though she retained the ability to stay right on key. And her sincerity came through. Thomas’s smile came also from imagining the men in the cellblock overhearing it. Poor Brady would never hear the end of it. There could not have been a sound similar to it in that place—ever.
“It would have been better if you’d sung along with me, Thomas,” Grace said.
“No, no. It’s perfect. The lyrics are paramount. I think Brady will enjoy it. I just hope it helps.”
Death Row
Brady was startled awake by the officers clanging on the cell doors for the morning count and realized he’d slept through the night for the first time since coming here. He had to shake his head and remind himself of when he’d fallen asleep.
He wasn’t surprised at his exhaustion, after having read around the clock, including all night the night before. Last night he had finally dozed off late, just before TVs had to go off, and he recalled rousing in time to hit the switch on his. Soon after that, the blackness invaded, and Brady had braced for the ugliness of the ghastly images of the murder taking over his mind. He always knew when these were coming because something, anything, might remind him of the temperature, the light, the smell, the sound . . . and off his memory would go, unharnessed.
But he woke up before the murder played itself out. And it was predawn. And the guards were making the rounds, conducting the first count.
Brady had never before been able to sleep through the horror of his memories. But this time he had prayed. That was it! When it had all begun again, Brady had desperately pleaded with God for relief from the dreadfulness just one time.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” he recalled saying. “I know it’s part of the price. But, please . . .”
And God had answered! Was it possible? That had been Brady’s second prayer since reading the New Testament and the booklet the chaplain had given him. Maybe Aunt Lois had been wrong that God heard only the prayers of true believers. Could it be that the answer to the second prayer was also an answer to the first?
Brady had asked God to reveal Himself, and then it seemed God had honored his request to be spared the horror just once. And Brady had slept. Maybe no one else would make much of it, but Brady couldn’t deny it. He believed he had communicated with God, and way better than that, God had communicated with him.
“You know you don’t need to stand for morning count,” an officer said.
“I know,” Brady said, sitting quickly on his cot. “Sorry. Good morning.”
“You say what?”
“Good morning.”
“Yeah, sure.”
As soon as the officers had moved on, Brady prayed silently once again. God, when You let me sleep, was that You revealing Yourself to me?
He wasn’t getting any audible response—nor did he expect any—but as Brady searched his heart, he believed that if God was impressing anything on him, it was something strange. It was as if God was making him think that the relief from the memories was simply what it was—an answer to a plea from a desperate man. The revealing of Himself to Brady, however, was something altogether different.
Brady’s eyes fell on the Bible and the book and the pamphlet. That’s it! If it was true that the Bible was God’s Word and His letter to mankind, as the chaplain had said, that was how He had revealed Himself to Brady.
Brady opened the Bible and The Romans Road and spread them out on his table. The other book, the one about how to begin the Christian life . . . well, Brady was going to be needing that one soon too.
He didn’t want to be in the middle