The thirty-minute transport over to Rick’s condo dragged into an eternity of restless waiting. Ordinary scenery flashed by in a blur, but focusing was impossible—the buildings that she’d seen so many times before on this very same train were foreign and unfamiliar. She checked her watch, but the hands had been motionless since the last time she’d checked it. She tapped the watch’s face with her finger, held it up to her ear.
Suddenly, the train ground to a halt, and Regan jumped out of her seat and raced out of the el station, a jittery thoroughbred finally released from the gate. She sprinted the few blocks, ignoring the painful stitch in her side brought on by physical exertion that had long since left her daily routine.
She dashed up the front steps to Rick’s townhouse and rang the doorbell. On the top step, she hopped like a boxer warming up, ready for the bell, and after a few seconds had ticked by without someone swinging the door open for her, she rang it again. Followed up by a pounding with her fist.
Where was he? Was Luke here?
She tried to remember what Rick had been babbling about in the cracked-up phone call, but it was all confusion—nothing made sense.
She tried the doorbell one more time, holding her breath in anticipation of someone—Luke!—hearing her and opening the door. But when it didn’t happen she slumped down on the step, dropped her head in her hands and prayed for help. She didn’t recognize it as a prayer at first, but the more she spoke her deepest thoughts with a silent voice inside her head, a part of her began to realize that that’s exactly what it was.
Help me. Help my son. Keep him safe. Lead me back to him.
Regan closed her eyes and straightened her spine, reclining her head back until her face pointed skyward. God, Jesus, help me find my son.
It was only the second genuine, intentional prayer she ever remembered saying in her whole life. She’d listened to others pray several times, sitting quietly in validation of another’s words, but this—this was her own dispatch. A fervent message straight from her heart directed at the Father, whom she knew was listening.
As winter’s remnant birds chirped in a nearby tree, she waited for what would come next—a flash of light? A big booming voice? A thunderstorm?
But the response was nothing that illustrious. It wasn’t that obvious. In fact, she probably would have missed it altogether if she weren’t sitting so quietly on the chilly front step of an empty house, on an unusually peaceful city street, tuned in to the silent voice within her head.
Quietly, slowly, the panic in her heart started to subside. The fear that had clutched her whole being, squeezing tightly, painfully, was starting to diminish. She breathed a little easier and it wasn’t quite so hard to bring a full supply of fresh air into her lungs. She stood and felt a new resolve wash through her.
She was Luke’s mother. He needed her, she needed him. And she would find him. No matter what it took.
Heading back to the el station, Regan boarded the train that would take her to her apartment. She needed to be smart about this. Where would Luke be? She stared unseeingly out the train window, running their conversation from this morning over in her mind. Early evening had arrived, the sunlight gone for the day.
Suddenly, she shrieked in her seat, causing a chain reaction of feminine shrieks from the next few seats in line behind her. Evening had come. Luke had plans for this evening—the Youth Rally! He was on the planning committee, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Of course! That’s where he was.
Relief overflowed the chambers of her heart and she laughed out loud, overjoyed that she’d figured out the mystery. She rode the next few stops impatiently, wishing there was a way to snap her fingers and zoom herself across town, to the front door of Josh’s church, where she knew she would find her son, right where he was supposed to be, having spent the day, as young teenagers do, demonstrating their independence, testing their boundaries, much to their parents’ dismay.
She knew she’d be the topic of many a table’s dinner conversation tonight—first with the scream, then the laugh—but she didn’t care. She was going to find Luke, and that’s all that mattered.
At the stop closest to the church, she ran off the train, down the stairs and onto the street, and fairly skipped the couple blocks to the huge wooden door. She swung the door open and raced into the foyer. She heard voices, hundreds of them, and felt a blaze of joy that so many kids had shown up at the event that Josh and Luke and the others had worked so hard to put together. It would be a challenge to find Luke in this madhouse, but she figured the registration table was a good place to start.
She pushed her way through the throng of teenagers to the back of the sanctuary, where a row of wooden tables was set up, manned by several members of the Youth Group. She made her way over to the closest worker, a pretty girl with long red hair, and asked if she’d seen Luke.
“No!” The voice was stressed, and no wonder—there must have been fifty or more kids in line for their packets, and the girl was trying to service the line single-handedly. Regan ducked under the table so she was behind it with the redhead, and called, “Form two lines, please! I can help you register here!”
The girl shot her a grateful smile and they began to handle the crowd together, getting the kids their nametags and packets so they could meander over to the refreshment table before the praise and worship began, led by Josh on the big stage.
Once the immediate crowd had thinned, Regan looked back at the girl and asked, “So, where’s Luke? Is he working another area of the Rally?”
The girl shook her head. “He never showed up! He, Brad, Josh and I were supposed to come at six to set up. But it was just Brad and me. And then all these kids started coming and it’s been a madhouse! I’m so glad you showed up when you did.”
Regan felt a stab in her air pipe. “Luke isn’t here? And Josh isn’t here either?”
With the mingled voices of several hundred teens creating a solid wall of confused sound, she was surprised that the girl had caught her strangled words, but she responded, shaking her head.
“No. I can’t imagine why he’s not here by now. He loves this Rally and we do it every year.”
Just then, a din rose above the clamor—loud enough to overpower the already deafening noise created by hundreds of teenagers conversing with each other, all battling to be heard. The new ruckus detonated the air and ripped through the large sanctuary with high-pitched shrieks. Regan popped her head up, and unable to see above the kids crowding near her, she quickly jumped up onto a folding chair. She reached down to help the redhead up too, then the next step was the tabletop itself.
They both stepped up onto the table and from there, they finally had the vantage point they needed to find out exactly what was…
A small, round object catapulted through the air, projecting directly toward Regan. She ducked, but the little ball hit her in the shoulder. Fortunately, it didn’t cut her, push her off the table, or cause any pain whatsoever—it just bounced harmlessly onto the table near her feet.
“What was that?” the redheaded girl asked her.
Regan shrugged and leaned down to retrieve it. Small, purple, squooshy … “It’s a grape!”
But by then, the grape was the least of their worries. As Regan straightened, food of all imaginable types flew through the air, accompanied by screams of pleasure and outrage. A frosted brownie soared through the air, covering an impressive distance across the sanctuary, landing ultimately face-down on one of the pews. Taco chips torpedoed across the room as if fired from a machine gun. A peeled banana took flight and glided gracefully up, up, up, until gravity took hold and pulled it downward, plopping onto the well-sprayed hair of a teenaged girl, who let out a shrill scream, grabbed her head and ran for the door.
“Food fight!” yelled Luke’s friend, Brad, who appeared out of nowhere, running by the registration table. On his way by, he eyed their refuge, the table, recognized it as a safe haven, and scrambled up to stand with her and the redhead.
Once in place, he registered Regan’s face and recognition dawned. “Hey, Mrs. S! Look at this madhouse. Pretty cool, huh?” A huge grin covered his face. Regan may have been flabbergasted at how this pandemonium had started and how to stop it, but Brad was loving every minute of it.
“Brad! You’ve got to do something! You’ve got to stop them!” The redhead didn’t think this was nearly as funny as Brad did, evidently.
“Jessica, what do you want me to do? There’s one of me, and like, two hundred of them!”
Jessica was close to tears. “But they’re trashing the place! They’re ruining the pews and wood floors!”
Brad checked his enthusiasm and reached over to Jessica and patted her arm. “Take it easy, Jess. They’re just bored. Josh isn’t here, and they came just to hear him speak.”
Regan remembered the conversations she’d had with Josh—the real-life stories of Jesus that he shared with the kids from the massive stage in front of the altar—how many teenagers were touched by his message every year. Although she’d never attended the event before, she could imagine the power that Josh was able to instill, and the kids craved the knowledge that God was with them, in their own adolescent lives filled with temptations and the threat of danger.
Scanning the mayhem of teens gone wild, it suddenly dawned on Regan that she was the only adult here. That fact in itself called for her to take some sort of action. Plus, Josh and Luke, wherever they were, would be counting on her to get their event under control before something disastrous happened. But how could she possibly persuade this large a group to calm down and wait patiently for the Man of the Hour—the pastor with an affinity for kids and a message about the Lord they were all anxious to hear?
“Hey! Over here! You guys!” She yelled as loud as she could, and jumped up and down on the table, waving her arms over her head.
“They can’t hear you,” Jessica wailed, tears threatening to mar her perfectly mascara coated eyelashes.
“You need a mike!” Brad said. “Up there—on the stage.”
A wave of apprehension took an unpleasant dive into Regan’s stomach. Get up on stage? Talk into a mike to a huge crowd? Not to mention, this crowd—why would several hundred rowdy kids throwing food listen to her, even if her voice was magnified? On the other hand, it was the best plan they had at the moment, so she gingerly stepped from the tabletop down to the chair, and then hopped to the floor. She held her palm up, first to Jessica, then to Brad, and they each gave her a fortifying high-five before she jogged around the perimeter of the room toward the big makeshift stage set up in front of the altar.
Biting back her fear of public speaking, she marched up onto the stage and picked up the mike. “Excuse me,” she started, tentatively, then decided on a different tack.
“Hey! Listen up, now!” She was just the slightest bit heartened when she saw some teenaged heads swivel her way, pausing in their pursuit to get every kernel of food from the refreshments table catapulted into the air, and then consequently, plopped onto some inappropriate surface around the sanctuary.
But it wasn’t enough of them, yet.
“Kids! Stop what you’re doing, right…now!” She planted on her angry mom face and stood, her feet planted firmly apart on the stage, one hand on her hip, the other holding the mike up to her mouth. “Stop throwing food. Give me your attention, now!”
It was working. She stifled the urge to smile and relax her stance to do a little happy dance up there. Think Drill Instructor. The din was reducing, slowly but surely. Regan kept making short, brisk requests into the mike, and one by one, each kid in the room turned her way, drawn by her magnified voice and her firm words.
When she had achieved relative quiet, she announced, “The food fight portion of our program is now over.”
The sound of laughter rose in the room, and Regan allowed herself a small smile. “Now, I know why you’re here. You want to hear Pastor Josh speak to you about Jesus.” Scattered applause broke out. “You’re here tonight to hear about the power that Jesus can bring to your lives, am I right?”
Halfhearted cheers sounded from around the big room, followed by a few piercing whistles.
“Well, you’re going to have to be patient, because Pastor Josh isn’t here quite yet.”
If the previous responses were lukewarm, then this one definitely confirmed something for Regan: they were listening to what she was saying. And they weren’t happy.
Murmurs of discontent rose to the ceiling and she feared the commencement of flying food again. “Hold on, hold on. It won’t be long now. He’s on his way. Pastor Josh will be here soon.”
But even as she said it, she thought a silent prayer, please let it be so, Lord. Let him walk in here now, Luke in tow. Let them both be safe.
Lying to two hundred teenaged Christians at a Youth Rally. Is that a strike against her, in her budding relationship with God? She pushed that thought out of her mind and looked out over the milling crowd. A few were heading for the door—if Josh weren’t here, she supposed they had no reason to stay.
“Stop them!” She looked down from the stage and locked desperate gazes with Brad. “Mrs. S, tell them to stay!”
She had, she had. They must not believe her. Or think that she was worth staying for. It was Josh or nothing. It was Josh’s message they wanted. Josh’s spiritual leadership. His way of communicating with them—letting them know that in their everyday crazy city lives, God could be a meaningful partner.
What did she have to tell them? She had less experience with this than they did. She couldn’t provide any meaning whatsoever. She couldn’t …
But it wasn’t just up to her. Someone else had a huge stake in whether these kids stayed and received a message, or left—back onto the streets of Chicago, heading who knew where, now with a free Saturday night on their hands. Someone else had a stake—not just Josh, not just Luke, or Brad or Jessica. That knowledge had never been clear to her before. But it was now.
And so, standing on that makeshift stage, looking out over hundreds of food-splattered, disheveled teenagers, thirsty for the Word of God, hungry for the application of His meaning in their lives, she squeezed her eyes tight and raised the microphone to her mouth.
“Lord, come fill this place. Open our ears and our minds and our hearts to hear Your message, regardless of the deliverer.” Her eyes still closed, she heard something. Or rather, the lack of something. Peace settled in the big room, and the conversations and milling around subsided.
“Help us to hear Your words, and let them penetrate our souls. Let them do powerful things to our minds, and in our lives.”
By now, it was so silent in the big room that a single grape plopping on the floor would have been heard by all. But there was no food flying through the air. All that was here were two hundred teens, listening, not just to her voice, but for that still, small voice in their own hearts.
“Amen.” And with that final word, Regan looked out at the enraptured teens. A sliver of panic slid down her throat, gripping her heart. What on earth was she doing? She’d never in her life said a prayer in front of anyone before—what had possessed her to say one in front of so many people? Now what?
Her gaze darted frantically to the door at the back of the sanctuary. Maybe God had answered her prayer, and Josh and Luke would be standing there—Josh ready to take over his regularly scheduled Rally message. Ready to minister to this huge group of young believers.
But, no. No one stood by the door except an optimistic-looking Jessica, her red hair bouncing around her shoulders, a hopeful smile on her face.
It’s up to me.
Whether the thought was sent to her from God, or just a realization on her own part, she had no idea, but it was a stark reality. No one else was here, and these kids needed nourishment. Spiritual nourishment.
“Raise your hand if you love Jesus.” She had no idea why she said it, but as the hands darted up in the air, she knew she was committed. She was going to speak to this crowd of teenagers about a subject she knew virtually nothing about. But they were ready to listen, judging from the sight in front of her—several hundred arms uplifted, palms outstretched, some waving in the air in their enthusiasm.
Now, what would she say?
Regan took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop shaking. To her surprise, when she held her hand out in front of her, it was still. Solid, calm—not a single shake to be found.
She took another cleansing breath and found that there, too, everything was fine. No fear constricting her throat making it impossible to breathe or talk. There was nothing stopping her from giving this group of kids the powerful message they came to hear.
Oh, except that she had no idea what she was going to say.
“You’re here because you want to hear about Jesus.”
A roar rose from the crowd and applause broke out across the room.
“Okay—you got me. I’m not Pastor Josh. I’m not nearly as eloquent as him, and I don’t know half as much about the subject as he does. But you know what? I’m willing to give it a try if you’re willing to listen.” Her heart rushed as more applause made its way up to her.
“Great! So it’s a deal, then? You’ll listen to me and you won’t throw any of those cherry tomatoes from the vegetable tray at me?”
Unison laughter floated upward. The kids wandered to the pews and began to sit, settling in for her testimonial.
Okay Lord, this is Your show. Just tell me what to say.
Regan cleared her throat and jumped in. “When I was your age, it would never have occurred to me to spend a Saturday evening the way you are tonight. A large part of that was my fault. But I’d say some of that was my parents’ fault.”
Murmurs from the kids combined and created a swarm of sound.
Regan held her hand up. “Hey, my parents were good folks! Still are. We talk and they’re there for me—I’m not saying this to blame them for anything. Except for one thing. They didn’t take me to church. They didn’t introduce me to God. They gave me no reason to think there was a certain someone up there who cared. About me.”
Like a candidate running for office, Regan stood up on the stage, addressing the crowd, and when she’d made a point that resonated with the group, they clapped. They hooted and whistled. She waited for their applause to dim before she went on.
“So I thank you for being here. And I know Pastor Josh would thank you for being here. And I thank your parents for raising you in the type of family that would encourage you to be here.”
Hoots, whistles, and an occasional shout of “Praise the Lord!” drifted up to her, giving her the courage to continue.
“It’s pretty ironic that I’m up here talking to you tonight. First of all, I’ve always been scared to death of speaking in front of groups. Small groups, let alone all of you!”
Laughter.
“But also, I’m so new to my faith in God, and my relationship with Him. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t care, or didn’t want to know Him. I just didn’t think about it one way or another. But in the last few weeks, all that’s changed.”
A comfortable silence fell over the kids and Regan knew she was going to be fine. She did have a message that these kids needed to hear, and with God’s help, she was going to share it. So, she spoke freely, and the more she articulated, the more she realized just how much Josh had taught her in the time they’d spent together. He was the one who introduced her to God, so that she could pursue her own relationship with Him. And it wasn’t until she did, that she began to realize just what was missing in her life.
“Do you ever feel like it’s all up to you? That everything in your life is yours alone to figure out, to work through? Okay, I can see that some of you feel that way. I’ve always felt that. And it never dawned on me that it didn’t have to be that way. That God didn’t want us to feel that way.
“But God is a gentleman. He doesn’t force his way, uninvited, into our day-to-day lives. He waits until we’re ready for Him. And you know what? If we have our heads in the sand—like I have, most my life—and don’t know that we’re ready for Him, He sends us something else—a person, a situation—which makes us realize that we need to rely on Him.
“God sent one of those people into my life. One of His messengers. One of His soldiers. Someone who really has it on the ball with God, and probably knows exactly what to do, all the time. Do you know someone like that?”
An enthusiastic cheer rose, and it warmed Regan’s heart to know they were listening, absorbing.
“Maybe you are someone like that!”
More cheers.
“Well, I’m glad you guys are out there, because you are like divine cattle prods for people like me. Okay, cattle prod is a little too harsh an image. But you’re … okay! You’re the tag that sticks out of the back of our t-shirts. You know what I’m talking about? You’re always there, at the back of our minds, niggling at us, driving us just a little bit crazy until we just have to do something—we tuck the tag in. And we go on with our lives, and before you know it—guess what? You’re back!”
The kids laughed and Regan found she had to laugh, too. She was having fun up there. She never would’ve believed that on the night she was searching desperately for her lost son, she would be standing on a stage in front of two hundred teens, talking about her new faith in Jesus.
Luke. At the thought of him, she waited for a wave of dread to wash over her. She waited for the urge to drop the microphone and jump off the stage—run for the door like a madwoman, and unleash on the streets, ready to resume her search into every far corner.
But it didn’t happen.
A feeling deep within her assured her that Luke was fine. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be—he still needed to be found—but he was going to be okay. In fact, they were all going to be okay.
“God sent one of his people into my life and I learned so much from him. But I needed to forge ahead on my own. I needed to take what this god-sent messenger taught me, and find my own way. So, I started reading the Bible. Did you know—there’s a lot of good stuff in there!”
More laughter.
“And I started helping other people. People who are like me, but haven’t been handed nearly as many advantages as I have. People who are down on their luck, but just need a little bit of help. So, I’ve become the tag on the back of their shirt! Because as I’m handing them a cup of soup, or listening to them talk, I share a little tidbit about God. And what a difference He can make in their lives, just like He’s done for me.
“It’s called a testimony. Books have been written, full of testimonials—people’s messages about God. Real-life stories. I have a bunch of them that I could recommend if you’re interested. But I think it’s important that those of us who have found Him—who have welcomed Him into our lives, and allowed Him to make a difference—we need to tell others about Him, too.
“If you’ve told someone else about God today—someone who didn’t know about Him before—raise your hand.”
She darted her glance around the room, and was surprised when not a single person’s hand rose. “Okay—how about in the last week?”
About a dozen hands rose timidly in the air this time. “Great! That’s wonderful. But I know—you’re in high school. It’s not cool to talk about Him to your non-Christian friends, am I right?”
She nodded when the murmur started again. “It’s okay—He’s not giving up on you. Look how long He waited to get me up here, sharing my testimony! He’ll get you up here yet.”
Just then, an idea struck. “In fact, who wants a chance? Who wants to come up here and tell us what Jesus means to you?”
She saw a bunch of smiles, and some ducked heads, kids hoping beyond hope that she didn’t start randomly calling on them.
“It’s strictly voluntary. But listen to that voice deep within you. Is something compelling you to get up here and share? That’s God’s voice. He wants you to share with anyone who will listen what He has done in your life.”
But she didn’t have to cajole them anymore. A line was forming near the stairs of the stage—a solid line of teens who knew about God and were compelled to share what they knew. She made her way over to the first girl and helped her up on the stage. She handed over the mike, and then took over the role of helping speakers up onto the stage and safely down again—because there wasn’t a shortage of them.
They shared their stories—each one in their own way, their own style. Some of the stories were intense and compelling, and others were joyful and heartwarming. But in each and every one, the kids knew. Their faith had led them through some tough times. If she’d been able to capture each testimonial, she’d have enough to fill a best-selling volume, a sequel to the book she’d read for her review series.
As she stood in the background off-stage, her heart swelled with the power of the testimonials each teen was sharing, the strangest thing happened. Emerging through the hundreds of young people was an elderly gentleman, riding in a wheelchair pushed by a younger woman in nurse’s scrubs. He looked so out of place amidst the masses of youth that she focused on him and smiled, curious as to why on earth he was here. Amazingly, it seemed they were seeking her out, because the nurse waved and pushed the man determinedly through the slowly opening path in her direction.
Once he made it to her, he held a shaky, wrinkled hand out and she immediately took it in hers. “I’m very pleased with what you’ve done tonight.”
Regan laughed. “I guess you missed the food fight then, huh?”
The old man chuckled, resulting in a short bout of coughing. “Kids will be kids. But the important thing is, the Youth Rally is a success, and all these kids are hearing the words they need to hear.” He looked around. “Where’s Josh?”
Regan smirked. “Good question.”
The old man nodded approvingly. “I approve of his recruitment and delegation skills. He chose just the right person to carry on such an important event.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Young lady, you’re a very strong role model for the youth of this church, of this city.” He smiled at her. “Carry on.”
He nodded to his nurse, who began to turn his chair around, when Regan heard him say, “Get my attorney on the phone, will you, dear? We have some adjustments to make.”
Regan shook her head—it was a night for mystery—that was for sure. But in gazing back at the stage, she knew she couldn’t dwell on the old gentleman very long. She had work to do—the line was dwindling and she needed to wrap this thing up soon.
When the last teenager had left the stage, Regan took the mike one last time and said, “Will you all pray with me?” Instantly, the crowd bowed their heads, anxious to follow her in speaking to the Lord.
“God, thank You for these fantastic kids. They came here tonight to hear about You, to learn about You, to connect with You. Thank You for opening all of our hearts to let that happen. Please be with those of us that aren’t here tonight—keep them safe, and assure their loved ones that they’re okay. We thank You for this chance to get together and praise You. Continue in our hearts as we make our way out of this place, and back into our normal lives. Amen.”
The shouted Amen! was so loud and enthusiastic as the whole room joined her, it jolted Regan out of the peaceful trance that her prayer had caused within her. She looked out over the heads of the teens and grinned. They were a great bunch. Forget the food fight—forget the rowdiness of earlier. They were here for all the right reasons. She hoped beyond hope that she had helped them get what they came here for.
Afterward, she had a hard time making her way down from the stage because kids were climbing the stairs, anxious to tell her what they thought of her message. Teen after teen approached her, told her how much her words had meant to them. How they’d hit home. How it was just the right message for them to hear at this point in their faith journey.
It was a new feeling for Regan. Sure, she’d been praised before for a job well done. She’d been complimented on a particularly good review she’d published. But this—this was way over and beyond the good feeling she’d gotten from writing a good book review. When she stopped to think about it, it was staggering. Is it possible that God had orchestrated this whole thing? He was the One who had brought these kids together. He had placed her up on this stage and given her the words to deliver straight from her heart. And those words had hit the mark—they were meaningful.
“Amazing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She’d said it on reflex, a reflection of what she was thinking inside her head. The voice itself didn’t register until she pulled herself away from her thoughts and focused on the man in front of her.
It was Josh.
“Modesty isn’t one of your strong suits, I guess,” he said, a grin lighting up that gorgeous face and making his eyes twinkle.
She hesitated. The last time she’d talked to him, she’d hurt him—she was sure of that. But she’d done it for his own good. At least, she thought she had. Only, now when she thought about how she’d broken up with Josh because her own faith was lacking, it didn’t make that much sense anymore. In fact, in light of tonight’s events, it seemed just plain crazy.
She laughed. “But it is amazing, Josh! It was one of the most amazing nights of my life. You weren’t here, and the kids were getting restless—there was a food fight! The place is a mess! But they wanted to hear you speak, and I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, I just knew, as sure as I knew anything in my life. I had to get up there and speak to them. A few weeks ago, I never would have done it—never in my wildest dreams would I ever get up on a stage in front of two hundred kids and talk about Jesus!”
“But you did it.”
“I did! I just talked—I didn’t have anything prepared. I just spoke what came to mind. And they liked it, Josh. It meant something to them. It was great.”
Josh reached out and wrapped his hand around her forearm, squeezed. The gesture sent a warm sensation diving into her stomach. “It was great. You were great.”
She stared, her surprise causing her mouth to drop open. “You heard?”
His hand dropped and she found that she missed his touch. “I got here just after you started. I slipped in the back so I wouldn’t disturb you. But I shouldn’t have worried. You did a wonderful job.”
Regan’s head was swirling. It was all too much. Josh was here, and far from mad at her, he was happy and supportive. The power of what she’d done tonight—the reception from the kids—now, Josh’s revelation that he was there and had heard her share her message of faith.
But the one big missing component was Luke. Her time to dwell on the successes of the night was over. Now she had to get back to business.
“Josh,” she said, an urgent tone dominating her voice, “Luke is missing. I’ve been looking for him all afternoon. I need to find him.”