All that the Father gives ME will come to ME, and the one who comes to ME I will by no means cast out. John 6:37
A smaller boat than the one they’d seen earlier in the day was idling just beyond the cove, partly hidden by overcast trees whose branches swept to the shore. Asia threw a glance around again, but she only saw water in front, bushes behind, and blackness around. She tried not to allow the darkness to get in her.
Then she almost tripped as she sucked in a sharp breath. Wait a minute. When she’d thought about praying earlier, she hadn’t done it. She’d thought she could navigate things on her own.
What was going on? She was not a prayerful person. She didn’t consider herself a Christian by any standards. Yes, members of her family were Christians. But she just observed them and didn’t practice the Christian faith.
But now, with the number of times she had prayed since coming to Mexico, she had changed. Things were different. And her life would never be the same.
It was one thing to believe in God when there was no trouble and everybody seemed okay.
That faith was good. But it was untested.
Now, having been stuck in difficult situations several times and having called on God—and having Him hear and unequivocally answer her—she knew God had merit. She knew the Christian faith had merit. And she knew she had a decision to make. It was time for her to decide whom she’d serve.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to face that decision yet. But she was getting more comfortable with God—talking to Him, relating with Him—and she didn’t feel any pressure from Him. Which was surprising, even shocking.
Because she thought God would demand her allegiance for His interventions and miracles for her. She was beginning to learn that God was more generous than she believed He was. He gave freely without asking for anything, even if He knew she knew what she needed to do.
He was going to give her the room and the freedom to choose. And, considering everything she’d gone through, experienced, and come to learn these last days, this was the most priceless. That God was not forcing faith on her but giving her room to choose faith.
The closer they got to the boat, the more she wondered if she could pray just one last time. Was it too late? Or was there still time? Either way, not praying didn’t help her—at all—the last time she didn’t. She might as well pray.
So as the bow lulled closer, and freedom felt farther, and darkness felt closer, and help felt distant, she uttered one more prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, I know I’ve prayed a lot the past couple of days. I’ve asked for things I didn’t know I was ever going to ask You for. But this one more time, please help me and this girl. Please get us out of this situation. You are the God who helps us when no help is around. You are the God who makes a way out of impossible situations. And You are the God who helps the helpless. Please save us, Jesus. Amen.”
“What did you say?” the man with a gun behind asked. His gun had lowered, now casting a shadow pointing toward the ground. Could she make a move? Would it endanger them if she failed? Could she tackle him?
Asia opened her mouth and turned her head to answer, but something glittered from a distance, then slammed into the man’s head. She pushed the girl in front of her down to the ground. The man fell sideways, dead from a bullet to the head, and his blood trickled into the beach sand.
Asia covered the girl’s mouth even as she began screaming. Then she pulled the girl to her feet and started running back the way they had come, each step powered by hope.
But the girl faltered.
“Come on!” She ordered the girl whose feet seemed to be crumbling beneath her. “If you don’t move, we both die. He’s not alone. People on that boat might start shooting if they see or hear anything wrong.”
The warning silenced the girl.
Asia ran like her life depended on it, her feet sinking into the sand. The ground beneath her gave way with each step, the very terrain conspiring against her as she trudged slower than she wanted it to. She held onto the girl tightly, not willing to lose her and unwilling to let her go.
If she could save one person from this nightmare of human trafficking and slavery, she’d do it with all her might and with the last breath left in her, however hard.
They ran until they reached the bushes. “Keep your head down. They could know something is wrong by now. Don’t look back.”
Again, the girl complied.
A man inched out from the bushes with his weapon aimed but didn’t shoot, and Asia stopped. He’d likely killed their captor. They stared at each other, but she could barely see him as the darkness had overtaken the landscape and the sunset was complete. No moonlight offered further illumination. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Identify yourself.”
“Asia.” Her lungs burned, her heart thundered, and her feet kept tapping, ready to run in another direction if he was someone they couldn’t trust. Every part of her ached. Sand filled her shoes and ground against her blistered feet, and salty sweat stung cuts and scrapes from her fall and her headlong rush through the brush. She wanted food, water, and a shower—desperately.
“Follow me. Keep your head down.”
“Who are you?” She used a hand to stop the girl who was already advancing. She was going to be sure of who this man was before she went with him. This was not a time to trust a man whom she couldn’t see clearly physically and whose identification she couldn’t verify.
He grabbed a radio clipped to his belt and spoke into it. “I’ve got the package.”
“Asia?” Ramirez’s voice vibrated from the radio, asking the man.
“Affirmative.”
“Thank God. Get her out of there, man. Quick.”
“Copy that.” He turned to Asia, waving his gun toward the bushes. “Are you convinced now?”
She grabbed the girl’s hand, and they ran behind the man just as the whistle of a bullet whipped past her head and another slammed its thuuunk into a tree ahead.
“Jesus!” She kept her head low and kept gripping the girl as the three ran forward, the man leading them returning fire in the boat’s direction. The wider the distance between them and the boat, the less tightness gripped her chest.
Thankfully, soon, the bushes closed around them, shielding them away from the shore. As they plunged through thick bushes, all Asia did was follow the man and not look back. But she kept her ears trained behind her.
They ran forever, and Asia struggled to keep lifting her feet so she didn’t stumble. Tripping would slow them down, and they could not afford it. She kept holding tightly to the girl behind her, refusing to let her go.
She couldn’t let her fall.
She wouldn’t let her die.
But something else happened inside her heart.
Tears welled up her eyes, sweat trickled down her face, and leaves slapped their wetness on her skin. Her mind replayed everything that happened by the boat.
The prayer.
The man’s gun pointed downward.
The bullet hitting him.
She shook her head.
Asia was sure.
This was not ordinary. It was over for them. It was hopeless.
It was too late.
But God intervened—even in a situation where it was too late.
And God had delivered them.
She had no doubt.
Asia managed to keep her trembling lips from screaming out loud.
God was real.
God heard her.
God answered her yet again. For the umpteenth time. In impossible situations.
Jesus and her had a conversation waiting when she got back home. The topic?
Would she accept Jesus and give Him a chance—even when He didn’t pressure her for one?
She swallowed hard.
Trust had not been one of her core strengths.
But she’d trusted God in adversity more than once in forty-eight hours.
It was time to trust Him for life.