When Corey opened his eyes, the animals were gone. He still held Shem’s staff, and he was still at the bottom of a very deep well. The wind grew stronger, blowing big gusts down over him. Heavy drops of water splattered over his face and arms.
The flood was coming to wipe everything away, and the worst part was that Corey wouldn’t get out alive.
He was trapped.
The heavy beams of wood that formed the grate still covered the cistern, keeping Corey in like a prisoner held against his will.
The rain felt like it was falling harder now, soaking Corey’s clothes and hair. The dirt walls were slowly melting into mud. Helplessness fell over Corey, mixed with the rain. Now, stuck in this dark place, all he wanted was to be free. Here in the well, all Corey could think about was the end…when the floods came and he would surely drown.
Right now the fear of the Florida move seemed ridiculous. Corey was ashamed of himself that he ever once complained. Right now, practically buried in the earth, Corey couldn’t help but admit his selfishness.
“Lord Jesus, forgive me.”
Abandoned.
Alone.
Afraid.
“Please help me, Jesus.”
Corey’s mind went haywire, overloading with a mixture of panic and selfish pride. He was scared and didn’t want to die, but he didn’t believe that his life could actually be almost over. His parents always told him he was special. They always made him feel like a king. Except, the truth was, here in this wherever-he-was place—this bizarre dreamscape—Corey was nothing. He always thought bad things happened to other people. Now the bad things were all his.
“Jesus, help me.”
But Corey needed a miracle, and none seemed to be coming. Lying there in the muddy water, hopelessly trapped at the bottom of a nondescript well, Corey doubted. He doubted that God was there with him. He doubted and felt terrible for it.
“God, forgive me.”
More rain.
More doubting.
More shame.
The shame made Corey think about a story his New York grandpa always told. It was the best story he had ever heard his grandfather share. There was something about it that made Corey know that God really did forgive sins and selfishness.
When Opa, Corey’s great-grandfather in New York, first came to America as a young man, he had sailed across the Atlantic with other immigrants from Germany. Arriving at Ellis Island and seeing the Statue of Liberty filled Grandpa with awe. He admitted to Corey that he’d been scared to move halfway around the world to the United States, but he had hope that moving meant having a new chance for a better life.
Needing money, Opa landed a job as a short-order cook at Vinnie’s, a hole-in-the-wall diner on Manhattan’s Lower West Side. Opa flipped hamburgers and crafted BLTs for Wall Street suits who lived in a constant state of hustle. The silver order wheel was always filled with slips: hash browns, eggs, bacon, sausage, grilled cheese, fried bologna. It was grueling work standing over a hot stove all day, but Opa believed in doing his best even in hard times.
There was never a day when he messed up an order. All those days. All those customers. All those orders. Not a single mistake.
Until the afternoon that John Ride came back.
Opa knew the man by heart. The two had met during Grandpa’s first days at the diner. John Ride was big. Tall and strong. He looked like he could rip a phone book in half with his bare hands. That was way back in the days before phones became smart.
The mistake happened when Opa grabbed the next batch of tickets off the wheel and read them. The diner was packed with the typical lunch crowd. Private conversations mingled with waitresses calling out special requests to Opa behind the counter. He kept looking at the towering form of John Ride. Great-grandpa set the tickets down and started preparing three hamburger patties for the grill. The problem was the tickets were for three ham sandwiches.
Opa never thought he’d see Mr. Ride again. At their first meeting, Mr. Ride had sat at the counter. He ordered coffee, no cream or sugar. No food.
This second encounter, Mr. Ride ordered the exact same thing. Coffee. No cream or sugar. Opa heard his voice over the cacophony of diner sounds. “Is Henry here?” The waitress said, “Of course, honey. Hold your horses while I go get him.”
Opa had no choice but to face his past and greet Mr. Ride. After all those years.
He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out of the kitchen.
“Henry,” the giant customer said. “It’s been a while.”
Great-grandpa knew he had to apologize for the past. His past. His past shame was being offered a chance to seek forgiveness.
“John…I’m so sorry.” Opa looked at the floor between them. “Please forgive me.”
The big man pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and put it on the counter next to his coffee cup. “Henry, by God’s grace, I forgave you a long time ago. Today, I came back to show you I mean it.” Ride pushed the envelope across the bar. “Take it.”
Out of respect, Opa took the envelope.
“Open it, Henry.” Mr. Ride took a sip of his coffee. He had the smile of parents who are watching their child open a big gift on Christmas morning.
Opa opened the envelope. Inside he found ten one-hundred-dollar bills and a note: Jesus loves you, Henry. He is NOT ashamed of you. John 3:16
Opa lost the fight to hold back his tears. He used the greasy apron to wipe his wet face. When he dropped the apron, Ride was gone.
That night Opa went home holding on to the envelope like it was something sacred. He fell to his knees and asked Jesus to forgive his heart problem. He asked Jesus in. To take over. Right then he promised his Savior that he would use every penny of that money for good.
Corey recalled that story every time he felt like he had made one too many mistakes to be forgiven. Sitting in the well, armed only with Shem’s staff and no way out, Corey asked Jesus to forgive his complaining and ungrateful heart. He knew Jesus did. He knew Jesus erased the shame Corey felt from his own selfishness.
He felt the rain. It kept coming, just like the truth found in Opa’s story. Corey remembered asking him what he did wrong.
He answered, “Corey, I am ashamed of myself. That first time John Ride ate at Vinnie’s, he left his wallet on the counter. I took it to hold on to so no one would steal it. I counted the money in it. Sixty dollars, which is about a thousand dollars today. Days passed, and Ride never came back asking for the wallet. I knew I should just hold on to it, but I didn’t. Money was tight, and I needed to pay my rent. I was behind so I used all of Ride’s money.
“The very next day after I spent the money, Ride came in the diner looking for his wallet! He asked for me personally. I lied and told him I never saw it. He looked at me long and hard, even gave a faint smile—like he knew I had his money—thanked me, and just walked out.”
Corey also remembered how his great-grandfather kept the promise. He converted the thousand dollars that Ride brought back in the envelope into ten-dollar bills and gave it all away to the homeless. Opa kept track of the hundred names he gave the money to and prayed over them. He broke up the blessing and multiplied it.
Here in the well, Corey couldn’t find the blessing. He was at the end where blessings aren’t found.