BRAD AND TREVOR WALKED OUT OF THE TRUCK STOP a little before midnight. The September night was still warm, more like summer than early autumn.
“You sure you want to drive, Brad?”
“I’m sure. I’m good for another hour or two at least.”
“Well, I’m beat. I’m getting in the back and grabbing some shut-eye. You’re sure you’re good? ’Cause we can find a motel if you want.”
Brad gave his friend a shove on the arm, repeating, “I’m sure I’m good.”
What he didn’t tell Trevor was that he’d felt compelled throughout the day to be in prayer. He’d prayed in spurts between conversations in the daylight hours, but it would be easier with Trevor asleep in the backseat.
Since God hadn’t told him exactly who or what needed to be covered in prayer, Brad worked his way through a familiar list—praying for his dad’s health; praying that Penny would finally get over her anger, that she would finally forgive him for leaving Idaho; praying for his trip home for Thanksgiving; praying for Trevor to know the Messiah, that his heart would be healed and he would experience new life.
He’s so close, Lord. And I keep feeling like something’s going to happen when we get to Kings Meadow in a couple of months, that You’ve prepared something special for him there. I don’t know what it is, but I believe that something’s going to happen.
As he continued to pray, miles and miles of highway rolled away, the moonless night and the rural landscape as dark as pitch. Sometimes it felt like only he and God existed in all the universe, just the two of them, talking about life and love. He felt his heart well up with joy, with praise, with a sense of anticipation unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
He didn’t even know when his eyes began to grow heavy.
Jesus.