S
arah Johnson had one prayer for her son, Robbie: That one day soon he would find a friend. Sarah and her husband, Karl, had recently moved from Rhode Island to the Pacific Northwest, a transfer necessary for his work as a computer systems analyst.
But in the process, Robbie lost every friend he’d ever had.
Robbie wasn’t like other boys. He couldn’t run or talk or think like the rest of them because Robbie had Down’s Syndrome. Back in Rhode Island, he’d attended a regular public grade school where he took instruction in a special-education classroom. At that school, the other students were familiar with him, and as a group they’d taken a liking to him. He was invited to birthday parties, and at school functions he was always surrounded by other children.
“I have lots of friends,” Robbie would tell Sarah. “Friends are God’s way of telling you he loves you.”
“Yes,” Sarah would agree. “God definitely loves you, Robbie.”
Robbie would beam and all would be right with the world.
But ever since the move, Robbie had been quiet and sullen. After school, Sarah or Karl would ask him about his day, and he’d stare at the ground, lost in thought for a moment. Then he’d look up and say, “It was bad. No friends.”
They’d lived in their new location for three months, and they were four weeks into the school year, when Sarah and Karl had a meeting with Robbie’s teacher.
“I’d like to find out more about Robbie.” The teacher had a stack of Robbie’s papers on the desk, but she kept her hands folded on top of them. “He seems very lonely, but he isn’t trying to connect with the kids in class.”
Sarah and Karl were quiet for a moment. Finally Karl spoke up. “I think he’s missing his friends back in Rhode Island.” Karl managed a smile. “He was quite popular back there.”
The teacher nodded, a look of empathy on her face. “Then perhaps it’s time to get Robbie involved in something extracurricular. Music lessons, maybe. Or a drawing class. Children with Down’s Syndrome typically enjoy exploring their artistic side.”
Sarah tried to picture Robbie finding interest in piano or drawing. Robbie was an active child, one who but for a single chromosome would’ve been the fastest runner in class, the one most likely to star on the football field one day. Sports ran innately through him, but so far life had offered him no way to express that desire.
“Robbie’s an active boy.” Karl spoke for both of them. “Art classes are fine, but he needs to connect with kids on a physical level.”
The teacher gave another thoughtful nod and promised to look for such opportunities. “In the meantime, let’s keep hoping he’ll open up with his classmates. That would give him a wonderful support structure.”
That night, Robbie came home from school and found Sarah in the living room. “I wanna run track. Please, can I, Mom?”
Sarah’s heart sank. Robbie couldn’t possibly run with the school’s track team. Even if they were only fifth graders and not very fast, Robbie wouldn’t have a chance at keeping up. Even more, the school would most likely not let him. She reached her hand out for Robbie’s and bit her lip.
God, give me the words here.
When her voice felt steady enough to speak, she narrowed her eyes at Robbie. “Son, I’m not sure that track is the best thing for you.”
“But I could make friends running.” He turned and took four hurried, cloddish steps. “See, Mom. I can run. Really, I can.”
Sarah sighed. “We’ll see, Robbie. I’ll talk to your dad tonight.”
After Robbie was in bed, Sarah told Karl about their son’s intentions. “He wants to be on the school team, Karl. We can’t have that; he’ll be the laughingstock of the school. Not only that, the other runners at the meet will have a problem running against someone with a disability.”
Karl anchored his elbow on top of the table and rested his head against his open hand. “I don’t know; might be worth looking into.” He shrugged. “Could be good for him.”
Sarah didn’t see how. The boy needed friends, not critics. A group of track-star kids wasn’t bound to have any need for someone slow and lumbering like Robbie. Still, the next morning Sarah called the office to check out the track program, and she learned that Robbie would be welcome.
“We would place him in his own category, for disabled kids,” the school secretary explained. “Unless other kids with similar disabilities join track, he’d take first place every time.”
First place every time? Running races by himself? Sarah wasn’t sure Robbie would appreciate that, but at least he’d be on the team. She talked it over with Robbie and Karl that night.
“You might be the only special boy on the team.” Karl tried to convey the picture to Robbie. “Would you care if you’re the only one running your race?”
Robbie angled his head and looked at the ceiling, as if the decision required extra thought. He shifted his gaze back to Karl. “Would I be on the team?”
“Yes.” Karl gave him a crooked smile. “You’d be on the team.”
“Okay, then.” Robbie raised up his hand and flashed a victory sign. “Let’s do it.”
The first week of practice was Robbie’s best at the new school. Every day he came home a bit more excited about the chance to run in a race, the opportunity to be part of a team. Sarah and Karl wanted to watch practice, to see how the other kids were accepting Robbie, but they resisted. He would have to survive without their support if he was going to survive at all.
Track season opened with its first meet the following Friday. Sarah and Karl took seats in the stands and waited for Robbie’s race. His coach had explained that his event would be among the first set, so he wouldn’t have too long to wait before feeling like he was part of the action.
Still, Sarah was nervous. She found her son in a crowd of kids stretching with one of the coaches and tried to determine if the other athletes were including him. After a few minutes she saw one of the girls slide closer to him. Robbie had been stretching over the wrong leg, and she corrected him.
“Karl, watch.” Sarah pointed at the scene, her voice a whisper.
“I see it.” He grinned.
At that moment, Robbie nodded and flashed the girl a smile that was visible across the field. Sarah felt her heart soar. It was working; Robbie really was making friends on the team. Still, it would be impossible to tell if the track team was a good place for Robbie until after his race.
Twenty minutes later, the announcer called for runners to report for the Special-100. Again, a nervous fluttering rose up in Sarah’s stomach.
Please, God. Let him feel good about this. Help him look past the fact that he’s the only one in the race.
“What’s that?” Karl leaned closer and pointed to the starting line. A race was getting ready to start, and Robbie’s event would be immediately afterward. He was stretching some fifteen yards beyond the starting line, the way he should. But four other runners were stretching, too.
“Strange.” Sarah squinted at the students and saw they were in conversation with Robbie. The race in progress finished up, and Sarah watched Robbie take his place at the starting line.
On either side of him, the four other runners lined up, too.
“I thought . . .” Karl’s statement hung in the air.
The starting gun sounded, and the runners were off. Robbie led the way, pumping and plodding down the track, face down at times for all his intensity. And behind him, never closer than a few yards, the other runners jogged along, their faces serious, but relaxed, as if this was a run they had worked all week for.
Watching Robbie run a hundred yards would’ve been painful if it weren’t for the other runners. Instead, Sarah felt as if she were caught up in a dream. Robbie was running a race with other able-bodied children—and winning. He crossed the finish line with both arms raised, and instantly the trailing runners enveloped him in a group hug. One of them took Robbie’s hand and pumped it in the air in a victory dance.
Sarah put her fingers over her mouth and blinked back tears. What had happened out there? She looked at Karl and saw him clench his jaw. He cleared his throat and his chin quivered some. “That . . .” He waited until he had more control. “That was amazing.”
A few minutes later, Robbie was still on the field when one of the other boys who had run with him wandered up into the stands. Sarah couldn’t resist, so she waved him over.
“Hi.” She nodded at the boy. “I’m Robbie’s mother.”
The boy stopped and smiled. “Hi.”
“So . . .” Sarah searched for the words. “How come you and those other kids ran with Robbie?”
“Oh, that.” A knowing look flashed in the boy’s eyes. “Coach told us we were all special. The kids who worked hardest got to run with Robbie.”
Sarah’s throat grew thick as she let the boy’s words sink into her heart. She reached for Karl’s hand and squeezed it, her sign to him that she couldn’t speak.
Karl slid closer to the edge of the bench. “Did the coach tell you to let Robbie win?”
“No. Not at all.” The boy looked serious, as though the answer was obvious. “We were pacing him.” He paused. “You know, cheering him on.”
“Oh.” Karl was silent for a moment, his grip tightening on Sarah’s hand. “Thanks. I’m sure . . . I’m sure that meant a lot to Robbie.”
The season continued, and each week the same thing happened. The coach would select the four best performers from the week and allow them the privilege of running in the special race with Robbie. Always they stayed a few feet behind him, pacing him, cheering him on. And always Robbie took first place, fist raised in the air, a victory smile spread across his face.
Sarah asked Robbie often about running track, and whether he was enjoying being a part of the team. Robbie’s answer was always an emphatic yes. “I have friends, Mom. A whole team of friends.”
Finally it was the last meet of the season. Fifteen minutes after the start, the coach found Sarah and Karl in the stands. The man had been so kind, such an answer to their prayers that Robbie have a friend, and several times through the season they’d thanked him.
Now he ran up to them, his eyes wide. “We want Robbie to run in the 400 relay; is that okay with you?”
Sarah blinked, confused. “The four-hundred? You mean for special kids?”
“No.” The coach grinned, and his eyes grew soft. “The four-hundred relay. The last event in the race.”
“But, coach . . .” Karl bit his lip. “Your team hasn’t lost that event all year.”
“Exactly.” The coach looked from Sarah and Karl back to the field where Robbie was waiting, probably for the thumbs-up. The coach glanced at them again. “The other school forfeited that event. We need to run it for the points, but it’s an automatic win.” He smiled. “As long as we complete the race, we take an automatic first in the event and go to districts.”
Sarah and Karl gave their blessing, and two hours later, after Robbie had completed his special run, he lined up with the other athletes for the 400.
“Looks like he’s got the first leg,” Karl whispered to her.
Before the race started, Sarah prayed.
God, this is as close as Robbie will ever get to fitting in with able-bodied kids. Please . . . let it be a good experience.
The gun sounded and Robbie was off, his feet pumping harder than before. In his hand was the baton and with each stride he stretched out. From the other three spots around the track, his teammates cupped their hands around their mouths and cheered hard for him. Then, fifty yards into his section of the relay, Robbie tripped and flew forward, hands outstretched. He skidded along the rough track surface and then settled to a stop, motionless.
Sarah was on her feet, stifling a gasp. Her fingers covered her mouth, and in a quiet whisper she leaned close to Karl. “Is he okay?”
Karl only shook his head and leaned forward. “Finish the race, Robbie. Come on. The team needs a finish here.”
That’s when they noticed something happening. From the three spots along the track where the other three runners were waiting, each of them began running toward Robbie. Together they helped him to his feet, and one of them found the baton in the grass where it had fallen. Only then did Sarah see Robbie’s injuries. His knees and upper legs were badly scraped and bleeding; the same with his hands and arms.
“Karl!” She started to stand up. “He can’t keep going.”
Karl held his hand out in front of her, forcing her to stay seated. “Wait. It’s okay, Sarah. Let’s see what’s going to happen.”
When it was obvious to his teammates that Robbie couldn’t keep running, two of the boys made a chair with their arms, and together, carrying Robbie, all four runners trudged to the next station. When they reached it, Robbie handed his baton to one of the boys carrying him.
At that point, the fans began rising to their feet, cheering and clapping on the team as they trudged on, all three able-bodied runners shoulder to shoulder, Robbie carried in the middle.
A hundred yards later the baton was handed to the next boy helping to carry Robbie. And just before the last hundred yards, that boy handed the baton to their fourth teammate.
When they crossed the finish line, all four runners raised their hands and then formed a group hug, jumping and pumping their fists in the air.
Sarah and Karl watched them from their place in the stands, surrounded by people who understood exactly what they’d just seen. The runners on the field were more than winners. They were a team, and more than that, they were friends.
Sarah and Karl had prayed for the miracle of acceptance for their son. That prayer was answered a hundred-fold.
T
he church meeting was set to begin in ten minutes, and still Adam Murphy couldn’t believe he was there. He had promised himself he’d never be back, never step foot in a church again. Yet here he was, not by force, but because of the love of one very special friend.
And all because of an event so amazing and unbelievable, it could be nothing but a miracle.
The pianist played something slow and meaningful in the distance, and Adam glanced over his shoulder as someone entered the sanctuary. It was him—the man who had shown friendship when Adam deserved nothing but judgment and disdain. That man was Will Fredericks. Now Will shuffled in through the back door, spotted him, and smiled. In his slow and painful way, Will made the walk to the place where Adam was sitting.
“You came.” Adam slid over and patted the place beside him.
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Will sat down and gave Adam a hug. “I feel like God’s got another miracle up his sleeve.”
Adam wasn’t sure what Will meant by that, and he didn’t ask. Instead he stared at the roughly hewn cross up on the stage. And slowly, gradually, the yesterdays began to fall away until he was back there again, the summer of his twenty-fifth year.
The year his life changed forever.
Back then, Adam had felt like the happiest man in the world. After a rough childhood and teenage years fraught with drug abuse and petty theft, at age twenty-two Adam moved across the country to Portland, Oregon, and took an apartment in a low-rent district. Two days later he met Will Fredericks.
Will was in his late seventies, a retired police officer still in love with his wife of fifty-five years. Will and Wanda took a liking to Adam from the beginning, asking him to church service and inviting him to their home for Sunday dinners. Adam had no trouble accepting the dinner offer, but going to church was another thing.
“God wouldn’t know what to do with a guy like me.” The corners of Adam’s mouth would lift in a half-hearted grin. “He’s a lot more comfortable with people like you and Wanda.”
Still, Will continued to ask. Three months after his move to Portland, Adam took fresh stock of his life and realized how far he’d come. He had a job, he was free of drugs, and he had a best friend—Will Fredericks. The two would meet in the afternoon, when Adam was finished with his job at a local auto shop. Sometimes they’d talk about current events, other days they would play checkers or share some of Wanda’s famous lemonade.
Summer was coming, and Will suggested Adam attend a downtown festival on the waterfront. A nationally-known evangelist was speaking that day, and Adam felt drawn to the message.
“No matter who you are . . . no matter where you’ve been or what you’ve done, God isn’t surprised. He already knows.” The man smiled, and something about the sparkle in his eyes reminded Adam of his friend, Will. “Here’s the best part—God loves you anyway. He loves you and he’s waiting even now for you to turn around and come to him.”
Adam moved closer and closer to the front of the crowd, caught up in the message. When it was over, he realized he’d been standing next to a blonde, blue-eyed young woman about his age. Adam smiled at her. “Great stuff, huh?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, shy. “I can’t wait to hear what he says tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure.” The girl giggled. “He’s here all weekend.”
Adam glanced back at the small crowd of people gathered around the speaker. “I guess I didn’t know.”
“I heard him last year. He’s great every time he talks.”
The brief conversation was about to end; Adam could sense it. He hesitated, but only for the blink of an eye. Then he stuck his hand out. “I’m Adam Murphy.”
“Hi.” Another shy smile. “I’m Brenda Gellen.”
Adam motioned toward the water. “Wanna take a walk?”
“Sure.”
They talked for an hour near the river’s edge. Adam told her about his past and how he’d cleaned up his life.
“But sometimes I still feel empty.”
Brenda listened to Adam’s story, nodding and paying attention during parts when he expected her to be judgmental or critical. When he was finished talking, she told him about herself. Brenda was in her second year at Portland Community College. She wanted to be a nurse and was deeply involved in her church.
She looked at the water, and her eyes caught the reflection. “My dad’s the pastor.”
“Really?” Adam felt his eyes grow wide. Her dad was a pastor? He resisted the urge to back up, to run. He’d never spent this much time with a church girl, let alone one whose father was a minister.
“Mm-hmm.” Her head fell back and she let out a light laugh. “Don’t worry. He’s not that bad.”
Adam relaxed some. So what if her dad worked at church? She was the only girl he’d talked with since coming to the Northwest, and the glow in her eyes took his breath away. The conversation continued. “What’s the name of your church?”
Brenda told him, and Adam could only stare at her, stunned. It was the same church Will and Wanda attended, the church they’d wanted him to visit for so long.
Adam and Brenda talked through the afternoon and attended the evening session with the speaker before saying good-bye. Adam wanted to ask her for her number, a way to see her again. But she seemed suddenly in a hurry, and they parted without a plan. That Saturday he visited Will and Wanda and told them about the girl.
“Oh, yes. Brenda. She’s a beautiful girl.” Will nodded. Then his eyes lit up. “I guess that means you’ll have to come with us tomorrow.”
Adam couldn’t argue the point. The next day, dressed in his best jeans and T-shirt, he went to church. After the service he found Brenda outside chatting with a group of girls. She pulled herself away, and this time Adam didn’t hesitate.
“I forgot something last time we were together.”
“You did?” Her smile told him she knew what he was getting at.
“Yes. Can I have your number?”
Brenda hesitated, but only for a moment.
Their first date was that weekend, and they never looked back. But Adam refused to allow his relationship with her to be anything more than casual until he had a better understanding of God and everything a life with him meant. He attended Bible studies and one-on-one meetings with Will, and six months into his newly found faith, Brenda’s father baptized Adam after a Sunday church service.
Will was the first to find him when it was over. “I’m so happy for you.” He winked. “How’s that empty feeling?”
Adam smiled and the warmth of it went all the way through him. “It’s gone.” He hugged Will. “Thanks for praying for me, Will. Everything’s different.” He thought of Brenda. “Everything.”
He and Brenda grew more serious over the next year, and at the two-year anniversary of their first meeting, Adam asked her to marry him. That week he wrote something in his journal that he looked at often: “I never knew I could feel like this, so complete and whole, so sure that everything is happening just as it should. I have the woman of my dreams at my side, and my best friend, Will Fredericks. Life couldn’t be better.”
For a long while things actually did get better.
Two years after Adam and Brenda married, Brenda learned she was going to have a baby. They celebrated by sharing dinner with Will and Wanda, and when the meal was over, Will pulled Adam aside in the living room. “Nothing in life beats having a baby.” He pointed to the Bible on the end table. “Teach ’em the Good Word and everything’ll turn out alright.”
Adam appreciated the advice, and by the time Brenda was six months pregnant, they had a parenting plan. Will and Wanda were chosen as the baby’s godparents. By then, Adam and Brenda were meeting at the older couple’s house once a week for Bible study, and the friendship between Adam and Will was stronger than ever.
“He’s so many things to me,” Adam explained to Brenda once. “Father, mentor, counselor.” Adam paused. “But most of all, he’s my friend. The best friend I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad.” Brenda slipped her arms around his neck. “Friends like that are a gift from God.”
At the time, neither Adam nor Brenda knew just how true those words would become.
Brenda’s pregnancy went well for the next two months, but then, four weeks before her due date, she began to bleed. Adam rushed her to the hospital, and at first the good news came in a steady stream.
Doctors stabilized Brenda and delivered their baby, a boy who would be named William—after Adam’s friend—and whom they would call Billy. Because of Brenda’s emergency C-section, Adam wasn’t allowed into the delivery room, but he was able to see little Billy a few minutes after he was born.
Adam touched the child’s velvet-soft hand and prayed.
God, thank you for this miracle child. He’s beautiful, and forever he will be a reminder to me of your faithfulness. Now, please . . . please let Brenda get better quickly because she needs to be here with us, enjoying this moment. And God, please let this child grow up to know you and—
“Mr. Murphy?” The voice came from the doorway, breathless and panicked.
Adam turned around, and immediately he knew something was wrong. At the door was one of the doctors, his face pale and taut. With everything in him, Adam didn’t want to ask, but he had no choice. He took three steps toward the man. “Is it Brenda?”
“Yes.” The doctor’s words were fast, anxious. “She started bleeding again. She’s asking for you.”
The next hour was a blur.
Adam followed the doctor to Brenda’s hospital room, and there he found his wife awake, but almost too weak to talk. The doctors allowed him only a few seconds, so he took her hand, his eyes flashing from her to the doctors. What was this? What was happening? And why the serious overtones? They could stop bleeding, couldn’t they? Wasn’t that why she was at the hospital, so they could control the situation?
“Brenda, hang in there.” Adam’s heart raced as he said the words. “Will called the church. Everyone’s praying.”
The doctor touched Adam’s elbow. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to leave. The situation is critical.”
Adam squeezed Brenda’s fingers and blew her a kiss. She only stared at him, a look of peace and knowing and fear all at once. Adam went to the waiting room and found Will, Brenda’s parents, and a handful of church friends.
Will was on his feet first. “What is it, Adam?”
For a moment Adam couldn’t speak. “She’s . . . she’s worse.” He swallowed and leaned against the nearest wall. “Pray, please. Everyone.”
And they did pray. For hours they prayed until finally the doctor returned. As soon as he walked into the room, Adam knew.
“I’m sorry.” The doctor stared at the floor for a few seconds. “We did everything we could, but we lost her.”
His words marked the beginning of a nightmare as dark as it was endless. From the beginning, Brenda’s mother stepped in, offering to help care for the baby. After the second week Adam made a decision.
He took Billy to Brenda’s parents’ house and knocked on the door.
Brenda’s mother answered. “Why, Adam . . . come in.”
The couple had struggled much since Brenda’s death, but they at least had a peace. A peace Adam no longer knew anything about. Adam handed Billy to Brenda’s mother. “I can’t take care of him. Would you . . .” Adam let his eyes fall to his newborn son. “Would you take him? I’ll visit as often as I can but . . .” Tears choked his voice. Without Brenda, he had no idea how to get through a single day, let alone care for a baby. “I can’t do it.”
Brenda’s mother took the baby, her mouth open, unspeaking. After a moment she nodded, and with her free hand she pulled Adam into a hug. “Get some help, Adam. Will would meet with you every day. You know that.”
“I know.” Adam stepped backwards a few feet. “I can’t . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t believe in a God who would . . .”
Neither of them said anything for a while. Then Brenda’s mother wiped at the tears on her cheek and kissed Adam’s forehead. “You need a few days, but you’ll be back, Adam. God won’t let you go that easily. Will’s praying for you, and so am I.”
Adam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “Thank you.” He took Billy’s tiny fingers and held them against his cheek for a long moment. “Take care of him, okay?”
Then, without looking back, Adam turned and left.
Brenda’s mother had been wrong about the timing, though. Adam stayed gone far longer than a few days. Though Will called and came by to see him, Adam couldn’t pull himself from one undeniable truth: He’d prayed for Brenda, but still God had allowed her to die.
From the beginning he stopped attending the Bible study at Will and Wanda’s house. And after a few months he packed his things into the back of his pickup truck and a U-haul and moved north to Seattle. He left without saying good-bye to Brenda’s parents, Will and Wanda, or even little Billy.
Another year passed, and Adam had trouble finding work. He couldn’t concentrate through an entire eight-hour shift, couldn’t focus on fixing radiators and tuning engines with the love of his life dead and buried. Worse, Billy was growing up without his daddy, but Adam felt too overcome with grief to change the situation.
At the beginning of his second year in Seattle, Adam was evicted from his apartment for non- payment. He was out of money, out of options, and desperate for answers. More than once, he’d take a meal at the downtown mission where someone would talk to him about God or church. Always the idea made him sick with anger. He would not believe in a God who could take Brenda, could not fathom stepping foot in a church, and wouldn’t stand for anyone to talk to him about prayer.
Instead, he wanted only to die, to find a way to join Brenda.
That week, he made a plan. He would scrounge up enough money to buy a gun, go back to Portland, and say good-bye to Billy. Then he’d hold up a store and wait until someone shot him. It was a desperate idea, but Adam couldn’t think of any other way.
He still had his pickup, so he drove south on Interstate-5 until he reached Vancouver, Washington—just ten miles north of Portland. He had only a few miles before he ran out of gas. He pulled off at a rest stop and searched his entire car—his wallet, glove box, floorboards, even underneath the seats—but all he found was forty-three cents.