this rapidly. There’s always a first time. The Gibsons aren’t calling it outgrowing the disease; they’re calling it a miracle.”
The video cut to Brittan’s mom and a reporter.
“Did you do anything unusual earlier that day?”
“We went shopping. Brittan had an attack inside an antiques store. He took a short nap sitting in a chair inside the store while I bought him some baseball memorabilia, and we went home. That’s it. Four hours later his asthma was gone.”
Corin slumped back in his seat and gazed at the photo of the chair again, arms folded.
The kid sits in the chair. Boom, a few hours later he’s healed.
It was beyond odd. It was fascinating. An amazing coincidence.
But somehow he knew it was more than chance.
CHAPTER 11
P astor Mark Jefferies tossed his black leather jacket onto the back of one the two tan leather chairs in front of his cherry wood desk and checked his black hair in the mirror to the left of his office door. Not bad. Spike it up a little more. He massaged it with his fingers till it looked perfectly disheveled. Nice. He spun and strode to his desk.
Thirty-seven wasn’t too old to go for the emo look. Besides, not only did he pull it off, YouTube hits had rocketed up 17 percent per week after he adopted the new style. Plus people said it made him look thirty. Had to carry the image to carry the crowd.
And the church crowd in La Jolla loved him. Along with the five satellite churches spread through the rest of the greater San Diego area.
Rent a building, give ’em lightning in a Bible every Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and church growth was inevitable.
After he plopped into the chair in front of his desk, picked up his Bible, and kissed it, he pulled up his Facebook fan page. Sweet. Three hundred and seventy-two more followers since yesterday. Probably time to put up another post on how he loved taking his wife out on dates.
Always got strong responses to those types of posts. Then follow up with a post about boys becoming men, men becoming leaders, leaders becoming kings, kings expanding their kingdoms.
Talk about strong men, men who knew where they were going and why. It was true. They needed that kind of inspiration. Don’t tickle their ears, drown them in a Super Bowl Gatorade bucket of truth.
It wasn’t like he didn’t believe in what he served up for worldwide consumption. He did enjoy taking his wife out. And he believed what he preached. It was right and it was true. But all the better if it endeared him to his legion of fans. All the better if it ticked some people off, especially those far-left whackos who wanted to turn the world over to the democrats and love gurus. Because that gave him press and press gave him attention. People wanted a figurehead to rally around. And he was the figurehead who would lead them back to God. Maybe America was going to hell in a handbasket of intolerant tolerance, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to reweave the thing on the way down.
He shook his head. It was only six years ago when he had been preaching in his living room to his wife and three other couples. And now thousands and thousands hung on every word, every YouTube video.
Did a part of him long for those early days when the pressure of being an icon wasn’t squeezing him like when he did his scuba diving thing at 120 feet below the Pacific? Absolutely.
Had he been ready for the church to explode as fast as it had? Probably not.
But someone had to be the point of the wedge.
And if he had to become a star to accomplish what needed to be done, so be it. The end most assuredly justified the means.
A rap on his door frame startled him and his head snapped back. “What?” He looked up to see Ben Raney standing in his doorway, a stack of papers in his hands.
“Are you ready to meet?”
“It’s time already?” Mark glanced at his watch and scowled. Time was always sprinting too fast and too far ahead of him, and lately it seemed time had
The video cut to Brittan’s mom and a reporter.
“Did you do anything unusual earlier that day?”
“We went shopping. Brittan had an attack inside an antiques store. He took a short nap sitting in a chair inside the store while I bought him some baseball memorabilia, and we went home. That’s it. Four hours later his asthma was gone.”
Corin slumped back in his seat and gazed at the photo of the chair again, arms folded.
The kid sits in the chair. Boom, a few hours later he’s healed.
It was beyond odd. It was fascinating. An amazing coincidence.
But somehow he knew it was more than chance.
CHAPTER 11
P astor Mark Jefferies tossed his black leather jacket onto the back of one the two tan leather chairs in front of his cherry wood desk and checked his black hair in the mirror to the left of his office door. Not bad. Spike it up a little more. He massaged it with his fingers till it looked perfectly disheveled. Nice. He spun and strode to his desk.
Thirty-seven wasn’t too old to go for the emo look. Besides, not only did he pull it off, YouTube hits had rocketed up 17 percent per week after he adopted the new style. Plus people said it made him look thirty. Had to carry the image to carry the crowd.
And the church crowd in La Jolla loved him. Along with the five satellite churches spread through the rest of the greater San Diego area.
Rent a building, give ’em lightning in a Bible every Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and church growth was inevitable.
After he plopped into the chair in front of his desk, picked up his Bible, and kissed it, he pulled up his Facebook fan page. Sweet. Three hundred and seventy-two more followers since yesterday. Probably time to put up another post on how he loved taking his wife out on dates.
Always got strong responses to those types of posts. Then follow up with a post about boys becoming men, men becoming leaders, leaders becoming kings, kings expanding their kingdoms.
Talk about strong men, men who knew where they were going and why. It was true. They needed that kind of inspiration. Don’t tickle their ears, drown them in a Super Bowl Gatorade bucket of truth.
It wasn’t like he didn’t believe in what he served up for worldwide consumption. He did enjoy taking his wife out. And he believed what he preached. It was right and it was true. But all the better if it endeared him to his legion of fans. All the better if it ticked some people off, especially those far-left whackos who wanted to turn the world over to the democrats and love gurus. Because that gave him press and press gave him attention. People wanted a figurehead to rally around. And he was the figurehead who would lead them back to God. Maybe America was going to hell in a handbasket of intolerant tolerance, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to reweave the thing on the way down.
He shook his head. It was only six years ago when he had been preaching in his living room to his wife and three other couples. And now thousands and thousands hung on every word, every YouTube video.
Did a part of him long for those early days when the pressure of being an icon wasn’t squeezing him like when he did his scuba diving thing at 120 feet below the Pacific? Absolutely.
Had he been ready for the church to explode as fast as it had? Probably not.
But someone had to be the point of the wedge.
And if he had to become a star to accomplish what needed to be done, so be it. The end most assuredly justified the means.
A rap on his door frame startled him and his head snapped back. “What?” He looked up to see Ben Raney standing in his doorway, a stack of papers in his hands.
“Are you ready to meet?”
“It’s time already?” Mark glanced at his watch and scowled. Time was always sprinting too fast and too far ahead of him, and lately it seemed time had
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