Contains the song “I Miss The Way” by Michael W. Smith in its entirety
and a portion of “At The Foot Of The Cross” by Ray Boltz  

He moved through the airport crowds, wearily dragging his luggage behind him.

His eyes moved across the people, searching intently for a familiar face.

At this point, anyone would do.

He turned in a full circle, looking all around.

Then someone called his name.

His gaze moved to his right, a smile lightening his features as she walked quickly to him.

“There you are!”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely to him for a while.

“Hi, Mom.”

He released her and grasped his luggage, following her out into the parking lot, vaguely aware as she chattered to him about her morning.

Only when they were seated in the car did she give him a careful once-over.

Her hand came up, her fingers tracing over the lines and creases in his face.

“Are you okay?”

He sighed, resting his head back against the seat.

“Hopefully, I’ll be better soon.”

She gave him another long look, then started the car and headed for home.

Not another word was said until they pulled into the driveway.

“Welcome home, son.”

Those were the most beautiful words he’d heard in a long time.

As he stared at the house, remembering the family he’d left behind, they echoed in his head.

For once in his life, he could safely say that there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

Home.

----------------------------------------

He pulled to a stop in front of the large brick building and cut the engine, letting his hands rest on the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield.

Why had he come here?

He’d set out for a drive, just to clear his mind, and the car had seemed to steer itself this way.

He shook his head, sighing.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

His gaze traveled over the building, the trees, the parking lot.

It was all so familiar, yet he felt so distanced from all of it.

His eyes landed on the front porch, moving immediately to the entrance doors.

It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d walked through those double doors, since he’d heard those bells chiming.

He wondered if Miss Tina still played the piano, if Mr. Jones was still directing the choir.

He wondered if it had changed at all since he’d been there last, or if he would even recognize the place.

He wondered if, after so many years, he could actually get out of the car and walk up to the doors.

It whispered at the back of his mind … more of a feeling than words.

Encouragement, strength … courage.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and got out of the car, shivering in the cool air, moving slowly toward the front doors.

He paused, looking up at the steeple towering overhead.

As a child, he’d always loved the sight of that steeple against blue skies.

But today … today was gray, cloudy.

His eyes turned back toward the doors and he took a deep breath, steeling himself before picking up his pace again.

He hadn’t expected to go in, hadn’t planned it at all, but when the door opened at his tug, he felt a pull, as if a hand was drawing him in.

Stepping into the lobby, his ears picked up on the faint sound of a vacuum running somewhere towards the back of the building.

Turning to the left, he moved down the stairs, wondering if the class rooms were still the same.

He walked down the hallway, reaching out to open one of the doors on the right.

His eyes ran over the table in the middle of the room, the bookcase with its tattered pop-up story books and Play-Doh, the familiar mural painted on the wall.

He walked closer, his eyes searching for a familiar shape.

Ah, there it was.  About four feet off the ground, in blue paint, was his handprint.

Kneeling down, he gave a small smile, running his fingertips across the impression of his small hand before turning to look back at the toddler-sized table.

He’d learned so much at this little table.  Jonah, Noah, Moses, Jesus … he could still tell the stories, but the details were foggy.

The clarity was lost with the childhood that he’d left behind.

He sighed, straightened and left the room, moving a little further down the hallway and stepping through another doorway.

This one was painted in bright neon colors – obviously touched up since the last time he’d seen it.

There were inspirational posters on the walls and a CD player in the corner, a stack of CDs lying next to it.

The shelves along one wall held a television and DVD player, several movies lined up in a row next to them.

He could remember coming into this room, laughing with other kids his age.

Within these four walls, he’d learned how to pray, how to lead others, how to show the world that there was so much more, if they only reached out to take it.

A burning feeling entered the back of his throat and he stepped out into the hallway, moving back toward the stairs.

He stopped at the water fountain, seeking relief, smiling when he saw the detached steps underneath the machine.

How many times had he used those very steps to reach the water’s stream as a child?

He wiped the droplets from his chin and turned, making his way back upstairs.

He paused in the middle of the lobby, looking around at the pictures on the walls.

He stepped to the left, remembering faces and names as his eyes touched each frame, his shoulders dropping when he realized that they were memorials to people that he’d once known well.

He smiled as certain memories leaped out at him.

Ms. Betty Thomas

She’d been such a sweet lady, always ready to give a hug when she thought you needed it – which was pretty much all the time.

Mr. Calvin Patterson

He’d been their youth leader, taking them on camping trips and to amusement parks, encouraging them to have fun … but to be responsible and respectful while doing it. 

Both of them had lifted him up, made him feel secure in his talent, in his purpose.

He bit his lip as his eyes traveled over the man who’d led him in so many ways.

He’d always thought the man was invincible – a big, burly man who’d seemed a giant, ready to fight off evil for any of the young adults around him.

David had taken the time out to help him work through problems, no matter how large, small or trivial they may have been.

He’d taught him how to walk the walk and talk the talk.

A shiver went down his spine and he stepped away from the pictures to look through the swinging doors, into the sanctuary.

Sanctuary.

The word leaped out at him and he shook his head, stepping into the large room, his eyes moving slowly over the benches and walls.

The carpet had been changed and the benches had been re-covered, the walls painted, the light fixtures and sound system updated . . . but it was still the same place he’d once known.

He moved down the aisle, stopping about four rows from the front to slide into the left bench.

He sat, his arms resting on the bench in front of him, thinking about the time he’d spent in this place, in this seat.

A place where he’d felt at home, among friends, his family around him.

A place where he’d learned how it felt to sing for a higher purpose.

Then opportunities had risen … and he’d slipped away from it, lost his grip.

He looked down, his gaze falling on an old song book lying in the floor.

Leaning down, he picked it up and opened it, flipping through pages and pages of songs that had one been second nature to him.

He closed the hymnal and slid it into the book holder in front of him, hesitating before picking up the book in the middle space.

His fingers ran over the cover, trembling at the thought of opening it, of reading the words inside.

He looked up quickly when the door next to the piano opened and he heard someone coming into the sanctuary.

“It’s okay, Julie.”  The female voice was full of laughter as she called back into the room.  “I’m just going to run over some music for Sunday right quick.”

He watched as the young woman moved slowly through the door, her hands grasping the hand-holds on the metal supports that helped her walk, the braces on her legs clinking together with each step she took.

She settled herself carefully on the piano bench, and as she was removing the supports from her arms, he recognized her.

Her name was Lindsay, and his clearest memory of her was from several years ago, seeing her in the Youth Choir, singing her heart out with the others.

He’d sung a solo that morning and he could still picture her coming up to him after the service, looking determinedly up at him.

“Mom says that when you sing, the angels cry and God knows that someone is praising Him.”  She reached out and took his hand.  “Someday, I’m going to sing just like you.  I want to make the angels cry.  And I want God to know that I love Him.”

He swallowed hard at the memory of her words, of the way she’d looked at him as though he could do anything.

Even back then, when she was eleven – or was it twelve? – she’d had a startlingly mature, determined look to accompany her words, her blue eyes having an extreme look of stubbornness in them.

What would she think of him now?

Keeping silent, he listened as she started playing some slow hymns, her brow furrowing in concentration as she worked to get the chords just right.

Lindsay. 

He hadn’t heard anything about her – or even thought of her, for that matter – in a number of years.

He couldn’t remember the details of that phone call he’d received while they were on the road.

Something about a car wreck.

And her brother.

But he just couldn’t clarify it.

How many years had it been?

It felt like it had been a lifetime.

There was only one thing that he was sure of, and a surge of guilt hit him as he thought of how he’d hung up the phone and turned away, not even dwelling on the thought of the pain that she – the little girl who had looked up to him for so many years – was enduring.

His eyes landed on the metal supports leaning against the wall next to her.

She’d always had a lot of fight in her, but it must have taken everything she had to get herself on her feet again.

The music turned into a happy, upbeat song, and she smiled as she sang along quietly with the melody, her eyes closing and her body swaying with the beat.

Another chill shivered down his spine as her voice carried softly around the room.

Well, obviously she didn’t sing just like him.

But her voice alone made him want to hit his knees.

He sat up straight, holding himself in check as the fast song ended and she began playing a slow, haunting melody.

Her eyes remained closed, her voice picking up strength, carrying loud and clear around the room, reverberating through him.

Once a true believer
Once there was a fire in your soul
You were the epitome of blessed faith astir
With thirst for holiness
And hunger for the Word

Now you move in other circles
To the beat of different drums
And I see only glimpses of the one you used to be
The inspiration that you were to me

I miss the way His love would dance within your eyes
I miss the way His heart was the soul of your life
And somewhere in the saddest part of Heaven's room
Our Father sheds a tear for you
He's missing you, too

He turned his attention to the podium the pastor used, his eyes skimming over the raised altar at the front of the church.

Once, he’d fallen upon that altar, tears streaming down his cheeks as he finally gave himself over to the One who was calling for him, wanting his life, his service.

He’d given his life over freely that morning.

But he’d tried to take it back, tried to live it for himself.

The first mistake of many from over the years.

Some are calling you a prodigal
Some aren't calling you at all
But far away Someone is calling you back home
Do you hear it anymore out there on your own?

I miss the way His love would dance within your eyes
I miss the way His heart was the soul of your life
And somewhere in the saddest part of Heaven's room
Our Father sheds a tear for you

His skin was crawling, his eyes burning, his gut twisting as her words bombarded him.

How long had it been since he’d prayed just for the sake of praying?

How long had it been since he’d sang for Someone other than the people right in front of him, for anything other than the paycheck and the glory?

His fingers trailed over the cover of the book lying next to him.

It’d been years since he’d even thought to open the cover, to read the Words of Life.

He shook his head as thoughts, memories and images ricocheted around in his mind.

His career … places he’d been … things he’d done … words he’d said …  songs he’d sung … people he’d come to know …

The person he’d become.

All wrong.

Too many wrongs to be totally forgiven.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep his body from trembling, fighting to keep the tears inside as she played the interlude.

And somewhere in the saddest part of Heaven's room
Our Father sheds a tear for you
He's missing you, too

Once a true believer 

He was on his feet before he knew it, moving out into the aisle and walking quickly to the front, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Never noticing that the music had stopped abruptly, he fell to his knees, practically lying down across the altar as he cried, too out of control to make words.

His eyes closed and he covered his face with his hands, muffling the sound of his sobs.

He tried his best to get his breathing under control, but the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

After several minutes, he finally calmed down, his sobs no longer choking him.

A metallic clinking noise broke through his misery and his eyes opened, focusing to see her trying to sit beside him.

She was having trouble, her supports making it difficult to lower herself that far.

“Lindsay … be careful, honey.” 

His wavering voice caught her attention and she looked at him, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders as she gave him a small smile.

“You look like you need a friend.  Can I sit with you for a while?”

He nodded, reaching up to help her down, careful of the braces on her legs.

“You know, He’ll listen if you talk to Him.”

He shook his head, more tears streaming from his eyes.

“I don’t think I remember how.  Even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to say.”

She smiled.  “It’s like riding a bike.  You never forget.”  She paused.  “Besides, sometimes you don’t have to say anything.  He knows what you mean.”

He was still on his knees as he looked up at her.

“It’s been so long … and I’ve done so much … I’m afraid He won’t forgive me.”

“He forgives everyone.  Especially one of His own.”

“I’m not His.”

“Yes, you are.  You’ve been His for as long as I can remember.”  She tilted her head as she studied him.  “You just made a few wrong turns along the way.”

“I don’t deserve for Him to take me back.”

“None of us do.  That’s the wonderful thing about God . . . He knows exactly what we deserve and what we don’t.  He just wants us regardless.”

“You don’t understand …”

“Of course I do.  Maybe I don’t know everything about your situation, but I know that nothing is too big for Him.”

Her eyes came to rest on her legs and she fidgeted with one of the brackets.

“When I lost Travis … when I was in that hospital bed with compound fractures in my lower spine and legs … I couldn’t understand why He would allow something like that to happen to me.  What had I done to deserve that accident?” 

She shook her head, bringing her eyes back up to him.

“After I underwent spinal fusion surgery, they put pins my legs.  If you figure in the head injury and the post-op infections, I wound up staying in the hospital for three months to recover.  It would take time and eventually the bones would heal, but they probably wouldn’t ever be strong enough to handle normal function.  The nerves and muscles around my spine and upper legs had been severely damaged … I’d probably never be able to feel my legs again, let alone move them.  The doctors released me with very little hope of ever getting out of that wheelchair – and everyday I blamed God for it.  I cursed Him, dared Him to take me, too.  I couldn’t walk, so why should I live?”

Her voice trailed off and she paused, gathering her thoughts.

“I’d been home for four months when I overdosed.  I was just about to turn seventeen and I’d hit rock bottom – depressed over my brother, stuck in a wheelchair, and unable to feel my legs, let alone move them.  I thought it couldn’t get worse, so why not end it myself?”

He watched as her eyes became watery, a single tear falling down her cheek.

“Thankfully, my parents found me in time and got me to the hospital.  While they were pumping my stomach, He came to me.  Told me that it wasn’t my time – He wouldn’t take me yet.  I asked Him why … and He said that I hadn’t met my purpose yet.  He had something specific He wanted me to do – a message He wanted me to spread.”  She took a deep breath.  “I started seeing a psychiatrist as soon as they released me.  I needed to get my life back together and the first step was to get myself right – mentally and spiritually.”

She looked down, her fingers beginning to twist one of the bolts holding the brace on her right leg in place.

“I was finally able to come to terms with Travis’ death.  I still mourned for him – I still miss him today – but my mind and heart finally accepted that he was gone.  I started allowing visitors to see me.  I reconnected with my friends … all the people that I thought would never understand me again.  I started coming back to church on Sunday mornings.  Tutors came to the house and I graduated on time, even if it was as a home-schooled student.  Life started to have a vague resemblance to what it was before the accident.  Eventually, it didn’t bother me so much anymore.  I was alive and that was enough.”

The first bolt dropped to the ground and she began working on another

“Three years after my overdose, I started to regain the feeling in my legs.  Mom had gotten me a part-time job doing data entry at an office in her building.  I was sitting at the computer, typing away and suddenly my right thigh started to throb.  It scared me so badly that it didn’t even sink in that it wasn’t just the pain … I’d actually felt it.  They put me through dozens of tests and X-rays ... and just couldn’t figure out how the nerves and muscles had healed so completely, how they had reconnected and strengthened to that level.  My legs … my legs had healed as well, but they still weren’t anywhere near strong enough to hold my weight.  They started me on a type of calcium therapy, hoping that it would add to the bone density.  I also started muscular therapy.  I couldn’t move my legs on my own yet, but the therapists worked them for me, building the muscles so that I’d be ready for whatever would happen next.”

The second bolt dropped and she looked up at him, a grin lighting up her face.

“It’s impossible to describe how excited I was the first time I moved my toes on my own.  And that was just the beginning.  I kept up with the muscular therapy for over a year.  They started strapping me up so that I was in a standing position and working it out that way, training my muscles to be in different positions.  The calcium therapy was working and they scheduled the surgery to have these corrective braces put on, to make the weight transition easier on the bones and to prevent them from bowing as I progressed through the sessions.  By the time the braces were on and I was used to handling them, I was able to bend at the waist and knees, flex my feet and raise my legs on my own.”

She continued to work on the bolts as she spoke.

“I became totally dedicated to my recovery.  If I was going to spread a message, I was going to be able to walk when I did it.  It was a slow process, but each step was a victory.  Standing up and out of the chair on my own.  Standing for longer periods of time.  I started with baby steps and began walking further and further.”

Her eyes softened in memory.

“On my twenty-second birthday, I got out of the car and came inside this church on my own.  Granted, the braces and supports took quite a bit of the weight, but I was still walking on my own.  For the first time in nearly six years, I was out of the chair and I was mobile.  I could feel again.  I could move again.  It was a major victory for me.”

She dropped the last bolt to the ground, looking down as she worked on the frame of the brace.

“Nine years ago, I was broken, recovering from the accident, imprisoned in a wheelchair.  Three years ago, I walked into this building.  Today, I’ve almost reached my finish line.  I’ve continued the calcium treatments and they’ve worked wonders over the past year.”

Each side of the frame clattered as she worked it off and it fell to the ground.

She looked over at him.  “Do you mind helping me up?”

His eyes widened.  “Lindsay … you shouldn’t …”

“If I don’t show you this, my entire story has absolutely no merit.”  She took in his furrowed brow, his worried eyes, and smiled.  “It’s okay.  I know what I’m doing.”

He studied her, his tension turning into a smile when he saw her determination.

Rising to his feet, he let out a soft laugh.  “You haven’t changed a bit – just as stubborn as always.”

Silently, she held out her hands to him and he grasped them, pulling her up to stand in front of him.

Keeping one hand on his shoulder for balance, she slowly put all of her weight on her right leg, lifting her left foot from the ground for a few moments before lowering it again.

“Sometimes stubbornness is required to make it through.”  She grinned.  “My right leg has regained full strength and my left leg is well on its way to being at the same level.  If all goes well, the braces will be removed after a few more months of therapy.  These monsters …”  She motioned toward the supports lying on the ground.  “Will be ancient history.  I’ll probably have to use a cane, but that’s a fair price to pay.”

He helped her to sit back down and watched as she put the brace back together, twisting the bolts into place.

“Sometimes, we get into situations that we feel like we can’t get out of.  We feel so trapped by what surrounds us that we give up before we really start trying to fight.  We get so weighted down by whatever it is that’s holding us, draining us, that we lose all hope of ever feeling whole again, of being strong again.”  She watched as he nodded, staring at the ground.  “But that’s just our human nature talking.”

He swallowed and raised his head, his eyes meeting hers as she continued.

“Our God is an awesome God.  He has the power to uplift, save, heal and strengthen.  He’ll guide you through whatever it is you’re dealing with and He’ll stick beside you afterward to help you clean up the mess it leaves behind.”  She smiled.  “No matter what it is that has you so torn to pieces … He’s more than willing to take care of it for you.  All you have to do is lay it on Him.”

He sent a doubtful look her way.  “But you …”

“I am by no means a special case.  I’m just living proof that He can work miracles if you give Him the chance.”  Her hand moved down and she flicked the metal of one brace with a grin.  “If He has the power to get me out of that wheelchair and back on my feet again, then just think of the wonders that He could do for you.”

He lowered his head into his hands, sighing as he listened.

“I can remember a time when you found happiness in singing for Him.  When you sang, you became the embodiment of joyful worship and everyone here could feel the Spirit moving.”  She brought her hand up to rest on his shoulder.  “Do you want to feel Him again?  Do you want that joy again?”

“Yes.”  His response was muffled, then his head came up, meeting her gaze dead-on.  “Yes, I want to feel that again.  I want to turn back the clock and do everything over again.  I want to go back to when I felt closer to Him.”

“Well, we can’t turn the clock back, but we can start fresh, on a new slate.”  She smiled.  “How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful.”  He took a deep breath.  “Will you pray with me?”

“Of course I will.”

He turned, getting on his knees at the altar, eyes closed, forehead resting against his clasped hands.

“Dear Heavenly Father …”

She bowed her head with him, prayed silently with him, her hand resting on his shoulder as the words flowed from him.

“Thank You for bringing me here, Lord, for reminding me of everything that I’d left behind, that I’d strayed from.  Thank You for sending Lindsay to share her story with me, to act as my guide back to You.  Thank You so much for the miracles You’ve performed in her life … ”

He prayed on and on, asking for forgiveness and strength, understanding and guidance, the feel of her hand showing him that he wasn’t alone, giving him enough courage to finally let everything go.

His words became watery, pleading, until he finally felt as though his soul had been emptied, his conscience cleared.

“In Jesus’ holy name I pray, Amen.”

He raised up, wiping at his eyes with a smile.

She returned the grin.  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It feels awesome.”

Her head tilted as she studied him.  “Do you remember the song you used to sing that always made everyone feel like shouting?”

He nodded.

“It always gave me shivers when I heard it.  I’ve got an old taped sermon that has it on it … it’s gotten me through some pretty rough times.”

He came up from his knees, sitting beside her once again.  “I haven’t thought about that song in ages.  I don’t even know if I remember all the words.”

“You sound so young on that tape … I’d love to hear you sing it again.  Even if it’s just that last part.”

He ran his fingers through his hair.  “I’ll give it a shot.”

His eyes closed and he took a deep breath.

Then he began singing.

Now I’m standing in Your presence
And I cannot take my eyes from You
You have risen, I’m forgiven
Precious Savior, oh, I worship You
And I’m not looking back
I’ve heard Your voice
And I’m staying here
I’ve made my choice
‘Cuz now it’s real, now I kneel
At the foot of the cross

Keep me near the cross
Near the cross
May I never stray so far
That I cannot see
What flowed down for me
At the foot of the cross

He finished, eyes still closed, head tilted back so that he looked toward the ceiling.

Her hand came up and she ruffled his hair with a grin.

“Just what I thought … you’re still making the angels cry.”

He smiled, leaning over to hug her.

“And that’s what I’m going to keep trying to do.”

“Good.”

They both looked up when the door next to the piano opened once again, allowing Julie to poke her head through.

“Hey, Linz … are you ready to go?”  Her brows knitted when she didn’t see her right away.  “Linz?”

“Down here, Julie.”

The second woman moved over to see the two of them sitting on the altar, her eyes widening.

“Oh, sorry.  I didn’t know you had company.”

Lindsay smiled at her friend.  “That’s okay …”

He spoke up.  “Yeah, we had just finished talking.”

“Okay.”  Her eyes came back to Lindsay.  “Do you need me to help you to the car?”

He stood, then bent to help her stand again.  “I’ve got her.”

Julie’s gaze moved back and forth between the two of them.  “Linz?”

Lindsay suddenly lurched to one side and he quickly reached out, balancing her.

Leaning against him as he helped strap the supports back in place, she looked up to see the questioning look on her friend’s face.  “It’s okay, Jules.  I’ll be right there.”

Julie gave him a quick once-over as he concentrated on adjusting the strap around Lindsay’s left arm. 

She grinned, winked and gave her a thumbs-up.   “All right.  Take your time.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes, then shook her head at her friend, mouthing ‘no’.

Julie continued to grin, turning back to the door as he finished with the strap and looked up.

They watched as she left, then turned back to each other.

He cleared his throat.  “Well, that was …”

“Interesting.”  She finished for him, a smile warming her face.  “Julie tends to be the slightest bit protective.”

“You think?”  His eyes widened sarcastically and she laughed.

“Sometimes she makes me feel like I’ve got two mothers – but that’s all right.”

She began moving toward the door and he followed behind her, helping her up the stairs and through the doorway that led into the rear rooms.

Slowly, they made their way out the back door and to Julie’s car, where he watched as she removed the supports and propped herself against the car door.

She studied him for a minute.  “If you’re still in town … come on Sunday morning.  I know everyone will be ecstatic to see you again.”

“If I’m here, I will.”  He smiled, moving forward to hug her once more.  “It was good to see you, Lindsay.”

“It was good to see you, too.” 

Her arms tightened briefly around him, then she pulled back with a grin.

“Welcome home, stranger.”

----------------------------------------

Two days later, he was back in the airport, waiting patiently to board his plane.

But he wasn’t the same man who’d walked through this very building four days ago.

He was a changed person.

He was revived, rejuvenated.

He had a completely new handle on life.

For the first time in ages, he felt as if he were in control, as if he had everything in check.

Everything felt right.

Now he was leaving, heading out to rejoin the group.

Once he got back to work, he knew things would be different.

He’d probably come across some difficult times.

But he felt prepared, ready to face them head-on.

He was ready to take on whatever the world threw at him.

The boarding call for his flight rang over the P.A. system and he stood, gathering his things and moving over to join the line of passengers.

He’d come home to find himself, to piece himself back together in any way he could.

In one afternoon, he’d become whole again.

He knew he was attempting to leave behind a lot of emotional baggage, trying his best to separate himself from it completely.

But with God’s help and the support of his family and friends, he knew he’d make it through.

He handed his boarding pass to the clerk for processing, then proceeded down the ramp to find his seat.

“No matter where you go, He’s always going to be right there with you.  You’re never going to be alone.”

Never alone.

He liked the sound of that.