The Caleb Collection Read online

  “Of course that’s the point; I’ve been saying that for weeks. But you can’t ignore what he does. How many people do you know who can do what he does?”

  Jason looked at her, surprised at her defensiveness. “So suddenly we’ve flipped sides on this?”

  “No. I’ll give anything for his safety. But I’ve also been coming to the realization that what Caleb does is part of who he is. We can’t just separate the two. Why does his power bother you so much?”

  It was a good question and he couldn’t answer. His own son’s death entered into the picture somehow, but thinking of it gave him a headache.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t,” he said.

  They sat staring out to the wind for a few minutes, he with his right arm on the glass tabletop, she with her left. The waves washed back and forth far below.

  She faced him without speaking; he could feel her eyes on him. But a heaviness had settled on him and he just looked forward.

  It was his son, wasn’t it? Caleb’s powers angered him because what seemed so effortless for the boy had been withheld from his son. They’d done everything they knew to do; they had begged God and made fools of themselves and in the end a fool of Stephen. And then he’d died.

  He swallowed.

  Her hand touched his. A light, cool pressure on the top of his fingers. But it made him immediately warm.

  “It’s okay, Jason. I know how it feels, believe me. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  Jason looked at her. She was speaking of her burns. Caleb’s power had been withheld from her as well. He had assumed that she ignored it with a stiff upper lip, but now he knew differently.

  She was holding his hand. He had touched her in the restaurant; he’d touched her feet on the couch. But this was the first time she had touched him. He glanced down and saw her fingers resting gracefully on his own. The rumpled flesh began at her wrists and then disappeared under a light windbreaker.

  Jason lifted his head and stared into her eyes. They were blue, like the sea; they were tender like her hand. But they were swimming with fear as well.

  He tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure how it came off. “I know.”

  She looked away. Her fingers moved, and he grasped her hand to stop her from withdrawing. Now it was she who was swallowing.

  “I know it’s hard,” he said. “Maybe you should ask him.”

  The muscles in her jaw flexed.

  Poor, dear Leiah, you’re so wounded. And have I told you that I think I might be falling in love with you?

  Goodness! What was he thinking?

  She looked back at him and her eyes were misted. “I’m afraid,” she said.

  Afraid of what? Of loving me or of asking the boy?

  The door opened and Heidi stuck her head out. “He’ll see you now.”

  Jason released her hand and cleared his throat. His mind was jumping rail, he thought. Going places it had no business going.

  Dr. Paul Thompson sat in a wheelchair by a large picture window overlooking the bay when the nurse ushered Nikolous and company into the room. A liquid oxygen tank stood beside the bed to their right, and an IV pole suspended a bag of solution over the electric bed’s elevated head. The smell of alcohol hung lightly in the air. The large suite was the quarters of a dying man.

  But to look at the tall man slumped in the chair, there was no sense of death at all.

  Thompson’s hair was white and his face was pale, but the brightness of his baby blues and the infectious curve of his lips had him glowing nonetheless. His flesh hung loose on a large frame. A nasal tube rested on his lap and snaked to a portable tank on the back of the chair.

  Caleb stood beside the evangelical heavy hitter with his back to them, drawing imaginary lines on the window.

  “Good morning,” Thompson beamed. He coughed once, but the smile did not leave his face. “Jason and Leiah, I presume. And you must be Father Nikolous.”

  “Yes,” they each answered with a nod.

  It struck Jason then that Dr. Thompson wasn’t standing. He was not healed. So what had they been doing for the last hour?

  “So you’re the people responsible for Caleb?”

  “Yes,” Nikolous said. A frown had found his face. “So are we . . . successful?” he asked.

  Right to the point.

  Thompson folded his hands and looked up at the Greek. “Successful?”

  “Has the boy attempted . . . anything?”

  “Well no, I wouldn’t say that. We’ve been talking, haven’t we, Caleb?”

  The boy looked over from his drawing and nodded with a smile.

  “Talking,” Nikolous said. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. No problem.” Thompson looked at the Greek, inviting him to pursue the matter. But Nikolous was flummoxed. There was tension in the air, and Thompson seemed to relish it.

  “He can’t do it?” Nikolous asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Please, Doctor. I brought the boy here to heal you as requested by your associates. Surely you are aware of the boy’s power. And I will say that private sessions do not come cheap.”

  For a few seconds Thompson just looked at the Greek, smiling. Then he turned to the boy. “Caleb, how would you like a chocolate shake?”

  Caleb turned without responding.

  “Have you ever had a chocolate shake?”

  “No.”

  “Well, well, you are in for a treat. Heidi—”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,” Nikolous objected.

  “No? And why not?”

  “We are monitoring every—”

  “Lighten up, Nikolous,” Jason interrupted. “A shake isn’t going to ruin your precious money machine. He’s a boy, for heaven’s sake. Let him have a snack.”

  Nikolous glanced at the three of them, obviously outnumbered. He finally nodded.

  “Wonderful!” Thompson said. “Go on, Caleb. You have to try a chocolate shake. Heidi will make one for you. And if you ask the right way, you might be able to talk her into a banana split.”

  Nikolous looked as though he might object again, but he thought better of it. Heidi led Caleb from the room and shut the door.

  They stood in a semicircle around Thompson, who motioned to several armchairs beside him. “Please, join me. I don’t want to be the only one seated in comfort.”

  They each took a chair, and Thompson wheeled around to face them, coughing again. Jason liked this man. He carried himself with the kind of gentle authority you might expect from a leader.

  Thompson studied them for a moment and then turned to face the blue sky beyond the window.

  “It’s always amazed me how so many of my fellow humans manage to live their entire lives without ever seeing the vacation by the sea.”

  He faced them. “That was how C. S. Lewis put it, and I can hardly do better. He compared us to children busily making mud pies in the slums, unaware that just beyond the horizon there waited a stunning vacation by the sea. But the children never go to this paradise by the sea, because they either don’t know about it, or they don’t believe it’s possible.”

  Nikolous shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure it was made clear, but I do have an appointment—”

  “Do you know what the mud pies represent, Father?”

  The Greek didn’t respond.

  “The mud pies are this world. The vacation by the sea is the kingdom of God. I have lived seventy years among the mud pies with only glimpses of the kingdom. Now I ask you, why would I want to postpone my vacation by the sea?”

  The audacity of his perspective hit Jason like a hammer to the chest. But Thompson was smiling and a twinkle flashed through his eyes.

  “Why would I put off for one day what I have eagerly awaited my whole life?” He faced the window again, and a mist covered his eyes. “All of creation groans for the day I will soon face, my friends. The doctor tells me that I may have a couple months, and I can hardly stand the wait.”

  He chuckled. “Two m
onths seems rather long, don’t you think? Although I’m sure my heavenly Father knows what he’s doing. I feel like my work is done; perhaps I’m wrong.”

  Nikolous just stared at Thompson with round eyes. Leiah was smiling in awe. And Jason was thinking that the old man had lost his marbles.

  Thompson faced them. “I knew the instant that I saw Caleb that he could ask the Father for my health, and his request would be honored—God has given him that unique gift. And I’m sure my associates mean well; I don’t blame them. It’s not every day that a Caleb walks our streets. But I simply can’t. You understand.”

  “So Caleb didn’t pray for you?” Leiah asked.

  “I asked him not to. And he agreed.”

  “So what did you talk about for an hour?”

  “Mostly about how fortunate I was.”

  “That’s it?” Jason asked. “You spent an hour talking about how lucky you were to be dying?”

  “No, not dying, son. Living.”

  Leiah cut in. “So you think that Caleb’s power really does come from God?”

  Thompson coughed raggedly. “Excuse me. Contrary to what some of my colleagues in high places might think, I have no doubt.”

  Jason checked his earlier attraction to the man. He wasn’t sounding reasonable. “You can’t just say that without hearing the arguments,” he said. “Everyone sees what they want to see through their own bias. And you’re different?”

  “I may be confined to this chair, my friend. But neither my eyes nor my ears have failed me yet. As you might guess, my schedule is not very full these days; I’ve followed Caleb like a hawk and I’ve heard every argument cast. More importantly I’ve just spent an hour with the boy, and I really don’t see the great mystery that surrounds him.”

  “And you say that his power comes from God?” Leiah asked again.

  “It isn’t his power. He will tell you that. It’s the power of the Holy Spirit.”

  “Which comes from God?”

  “Yes. And which is God himself.”

  Leiah might be enamored with the old man, but Jason wasn’t ready to let him off the hook.

  “The scientific community is saying that his power’s from his mind, and they have documented cases of other psychokinesis.”

  “Yes, they do say that, don’t they? And do they have cases of man parting the Red Sea? Or multiplying a loaf of bread to feed five thousand? Or knocking five thousand men and women from their feet with a song? Really, it stretches the imagination, don’t you think?”

  “No more than saying that the parting of the Red Sea and the feeding of the five thousand and knocking people over comes from some spirit. Both explanations are completely immeasurable. What makes you think one’s better than the other?”

  “I’ve experienced one,” Thompson said with a raised brow. “The other’s only hearsay.”

  “You’ve knocked people over too?”

  “No. That I haven’t. But I’ve felt the power of God’s Spirit in other ways just as real.”

  Nikolous looked at his watch. Leiah stared at Jason, but he ignored her for the moment. He wanted to make a point here.

  “Okay, if you don’t mind, Dr. Thompson. I don’t mean to be argumentative, but even within Christian circles, there’s no consensus that Caleb’s power comes from God. One says that God is a gentleman and would never create such confusion, and the next says that men of God take the world by force. One says that God only works miracles that lead people to Christ—which incidentally hasn’t happened—and the next says that God’s sovereign; he’ll do whatever he likes. These are theologians, for heaven’s sake, and they can’t even begin to agree!”

  “People may not have come to Christ yet, but the boy’s ministry isn’t over. I think there’s much more to come. There is a purpose here, my friend, and in the end the reconciliation of man to God will make the rest of this look like child’s play, no pun intended. You seriously can’t think that Caleb is simply a pawn being used for man’s whim! He is no more being manipulated by his circumstances than Christ was manipulated by Pilate at his trial. It all has a greater purpose. You’ll see that one day, if you look for it.”

  Thompson closed his eyes and sighed. “And to be honest, I don’t understand the bickering among the denominations myself. I suspect they all would do well to take a deep breath.” He opened his eyes and stared directly at Jason.

  “Good people often make mistakes, Jason. But if my brothers would spend a few hours with Caleb, they would have to rethink their positions. Who can know the mind of the Lord? You know he’s always confounded the wise. He had a fish swallow Jonah—you don’t think he could have arrested the man’s attention in a more conventional way? He spoke through a donkey, and he wrote on a wall. Sounds a little like showing off to me, but I suppose it’s his right. He turned water into wine and cursed a fig tree. Tell me how these are any different than knocking people over? Just because God doesn’t part a Red Sea every year, doesn’t mean that he never did or can’t again.”

  “They’re not different. And I’m not sure God did any of those things.”

  A silence settled in the room.

  “This is all fine and well,” Nikolous said, “but we do have to be leaving.”

  Leiah ignored him and spoke. “Actually, I think the one question we all have more than any other is why? If this is God, then why don’t we see the miraculous more often? Can’t all Christians access this Holy Spirit?”

  “Please. The miraculous is much more common than you might think. Travel through the churches in South America and the Far East as I have, and you’ll find it run of the mill.”

  “Then why not here, in America?”

  “It is common here in America, as well. But the Spirit of God doesn’t frequent places where he is not eagerly sought. Like the pearl of great price Jesus talked about—if you want it, you seek it. And you must remember that the Holy Spirit’s greatest power is not necessarily miraculous as you think of it.”

  Leiah had a raised brow, and Jason thought she wasn’t buying his simplistic explanation.

  “Miraculous or not, walking in the Spirit means stepping into the kingdom of God, and most Christians aren’t willing to walk there. They enter the kingdom at their rebirth but they take few steps.” Dr. Thompson grinned and faced them. “At least that’s the way Caleb puts it, and I think I like his perspective. Those who do walk in the kingdom have far more power than you would ever guess. It might not be the straightening of bent spines; you may not even see it here among the mud pies, but believe me, the power of the Spirit-filled man is quite stunning. Whoever said that a straightened hand was more dramatic than a healed heart anyway? Caleb may be a vessel of God’s spectacular power, but he’s not as unique as you think. Not at all. You’re just not seeing the rest of it with your eyes—the fruits of the Spirit, the power of love, the color of peace. What you need is to have your eyes opened.”

  “That’s a cop-out,” Jason said. “If you can’t explain it, you just throw it off to the unseen. But meanwhile here in the real world people are dying by the bucket load, and I don’t see how any rational man can see that and believe that some good God just stands by to watch it all.”

  “Some would say that I am suffering, Jason.”

  Jason blinked. And what did that mean?

  “Maybe we have it all backward. Maybe the suffering in this world pales beside the glory of the next. Maybe it even defines it in some ways. I can’t speak for everyone, and I certainly don’t know the mind of the Lord, but for me this suffering is a temporary distraction. I would gladly give my life for a few moments with him.”

  “Wonderful. I’m glad for you. But my son wasn’t ready to go spend a few moments with your God.” A wave of heat washed over Jason’s head. He had come to the crux of the matter, hadn’t he?

  Thompson just looked at him, reading him. Jason glanced at Leiah, who was staring off to the ocean.

  Thompson broke the silence with a coughing fit.

  “Ex
cuse me. I should really hook my tubes up soon.” He picked up the translucent tube on his lap. “Heidi tells me they make me look like an alien,” he said with a grin. “Which is fine, because I’m headed out soon enough.”

  He wheeled around and rolled toward his bed.

  “You know, Jason, your problem is that you’ve never seen into the kingdom.” He spun his chair around. “I’ve known a lot of people in my days. Pastors, evangelists, devout men of God. But I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as pure as Caleb. He’s as innocent as they come in this world. And he knows the reality of the kingdom of God like he knows his hands each have five fingers. Jesus said that if you have as much faith as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain move, and it will move. Caleb is simple enough to believe it. And he’s pure enough to do it. His theology may not come in the nice neat boxes we love in the church, but then again, he’s just a ten-year-old boy. You certainly can’t fault his heart. I’m not even sure you can fault his mind.”

  He spun back around and wheeled to an over-the-bed table.

  “Maybe he can help you open your eyes,” he said, lifting a bottle of pills from the table.

  It was Leiah who asked, “How?”

  A mischievous glint swept Thompson’s face. “By entering the kingdom, of course. By surrendering yourself to God’s forgiveness. You know you need to be forgiven, don’t you, Leiah?”

  Jason felt his chest constrict. He wanted to yell at the old man in that moment, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Thompson spoke after a moment. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Take Caleb to the Coastview Fellowship in Huntington Beach. I believe their service begins at ten. Or take him to any church where the people are seeking the touch of God. I think you might see some things.”

  “We’ve seen plenty already,” Jason said.

  “You’ve seen a few acts of God’s power. But you haven’t begun to see the power of the healed heart. Not with the eyes of faith, you haven’t. Whoever said that a straightened hand was more spectacular than a healed heart?”

  It was the second time he’d asked the question.