Kennedy Stern Christian Suspense Complete Box Set (Books 1-9)

Turbulence-2-5

“As long as there’s another EpiPen ready in that kit, we should be golden.”

Tracy relayed the news to the captain on the phone, and the doctor returned to first class without another word. Grandma Lucy sat down next to the patient and struck up a conversation with his son. They had to repeat themselves several times, but they must have been communicating somewhat effectively because at one point they both laughed. A few minutes later, Grandma Lucy pulled a travel-size Bible from the pocket of her sweater and handed it to him. After a few more exchanges, she stood up with much more agility than Kennedy expected from someone her age.

“So he’s all right?” Kennedy asked.

“Just fine,” Grandma Lucy answered as she sat down by her with a subdued groan. “Hallelujah, praise the Lord. He’s going to be just fine.”

BO Dude leaned across the aisle and asked, “What’s that mask they got on his face?”

“Some extra oxygen,” Grandma Lucy explained, her eyes still lifted heavenward in rapture.

“Fabulous,” he grumbled. “Who’s great idea was it to put them both by a tank of explosive gas?” He turned around to shoot Ray an angry glare and muttered, “Told you we should have taken him down when we had the chance.”

“You have nothing to fear from a nice gentleman like Mr. Wahidi.” Grandma Lucy was probably two-hundred pounds lighter than the Seahawks fan, but she looked down at him as if he’d been half her size. “He’s very polite and has just emigrated to the US.”

“Stinking refugees,” BO Dude hissed, tossing a few more colorful epithets into his salad mix of insults.

“Not a refugee,” Grandma Lucy corrected, “an emigre, invited here by the United States government. I believe his son said he’s a scientist.”

The Seahawks fan let out a disgusted scoff but thankfully didn’t say any more.

A few minutes later, Tracy walked back carrying a plate of cheesecake bites. “These are from first class, but the crew and I wanted to offer them to you to thank you for your help.”

Grandma Lucy didn’t take the pastries. “You better save these for that doctor. He’s the one who did the real assisting, not me.”

The flight attendant lowered her voice. “He’s already in first class.” She smiled and set the snacks on Grandma Lucy’s tray table.

“Well, there’s more than enough.” Grandma Lucy handed out the desserts, one for Kennedy, two for Willow and Ray, and the last for BO Dude.

“Don’t you want some?” Kennedy asked.

Grandma Lucy dipped her finger into Kennedy’s strawberry swirl topping. “You don’t mind if I share a little with you, right?”

Kennedy stared as Grandma Lucy licked her finger with a delighted smile. No longer hungry, she insisted Grandma Lucy finish the whole thing.

“How do you know that language they were speaking?” Kennedy asked when the desserts were gone.

Grandma Lucy reclined her chair and stretched her legs out beneath the empty seat in front of her.

“I did some mission work in Afghanistan in the seventies. I went over there to teach English, but God opened so many doors for me to share the gospel, too. All in all, I spent two years there, and I knew the language pretty well by the time I came back. I got more practice in Washington once Russia invaded Afghanistan, and I started a ministry assisting refugees, helping them get housing in the States, fill out job applications, learn English. It was a full-time job even though it was just volunteer work. And God kept opening doors to lead people to Christ. I had to quit after my daughter died. I moved in with my son-in-law to help raise the children.”

“That’s terrible. What happened?”

Grandma Lucy lowered her head into her oversized purse and dug around. “Killed by a drunk driver. Left behind two kids, a boy and a girl. Ian’s the one I told you about, the one I just visited. Poor guy. Broke his little heart.”

Kennedy tried to fathom the horror of losing a parent in such a terrible tragedy. “How old was he?”

“Just five. You know, I think that’s part of the reason why he turned his back on God. It was a horrible thing to happen, and him being so young.” She shook her head and started digging through her carry-on bag. “Oh. Here it is.” She pulled out a handkerchief with cowboys printed on it in bright reds and blues. “Don’t mind me,” she said as she draped the cloth over her entire face. “It’s time for my nap, and if I do say so myself, I think I deserve a good long one.”

Kennedy didn’t answer. She was tired as well. Grandma Lucy adjusted once or twice in her seat and then grew perfectly still. Kennedy glanced over at Willow and Ray, who were still absorbed in their movie. Oh, well. Kennedy would have plenty of time to spend with her roommate in Alaska. It wasn’t as if she’d miss out on an hour of talk time on the plane.

She picked up her Gladys Aylward biography and by the time Grandma Lucy’s slow, rhythmic snoring reached her ears, she had finished the book.

CHAPTER 6T minus 36 minutes

Kennedy didn’t know what to do to pass the time. Grandma Lucy was asleep. Willow and Ray were in the middle of their movie. She would have never guessed it, but traveling to Willow’s home in Alaska was just as exhausting of an ordeal as getting to her parents’ home in Yanji, China. After they reached Anchorage, they’d book a hotel for the night before Willow’s dad picked them up for the four-hour drive to Glennallen. All in all, it would be more than twenty-four hours from the time they left campus until they arrived at Willow’s home. She hoped she wouldn’t be too tired.

Something Grandma Lucy said now sat like curdled milk in Kennedy’s gut. Why hadn’t she witnessed to Willow? Was she just waiting for the perfect time? Knowing her roommate, she doubted that would ever come. So what was she supposed to do — risk alienating her only real friend on campus to share a message she was certain Willow didn’t want to hear, or stay quiet and do her best to ignore the fact that her roommate might die without ever learning the good news of salvation?

It was supposed to be easy. From the time she was seven or eight, Kennedy’s dad taught her the four spiritual laws, the ABCs of salvation, the Romans Road of witnessing. And what good had it ever done her? She just wasn’t the type to butt her way into random conversations and ask, “Do you know what it means to be saved?” She’d had the sinner’s prayer memorized for a decade, but for what purpose? She’d never shared it with anyone, certainly never prayed it with anyone since that night when she was five and climbed up on her dad’s lap and told him she wanted to become a Christian. She’d already said the prayer a dozen times or more in Sunday school by then, but she knew it was a way to get her dad to let her stay up late. He’d made such a big deal of her so-called conversion, giving her a brand new Bible with her spiritual birthday imprinted inside, taking her out for donuts to celebrate before church the next day, beaming proudly when he told Mrs. Lindgren about the choice she’d just made. Kennedy remembered wearing an itchy dress and squirming uncomfortably because she’d raised her hand to pray the prayer in Sunday school so many different times by then and didn’t want her teacher to ruin her dad’s enthusiasm by letting out their little secret.

And so Kennedy had been “converted,” even though she couldn’t remember a single moment in her childhood when she hadn’t understood that Jesus died in order to forgive her sins. If she hadn’t wanted to get out of an early bedtime that night fourteen years ago, she’d be just the same Christian she was today, right? So what was the big deal?

Well, maybe God was speaking to her heart about Willow. Isn’t that how Hudson Taylor knew he was supposed to go to China, how David Livingstone knew he was called to Africa? When she read about the experiences of these missionaries, she always expected The Call to feel exciting. Invigorating. The conviction that God was right beside her, that he had a fabulous plan for her life, that he was going to do incredible things through her. She didn’t think her mission assignment from the Lord would come in the form of nagging self-doubt and guilt.

She sighed. Well, if God wanted her to tell Willow about him, she’d do it, right? Isn’t that what it meant to be obedient to Christ no matter what the cost? And if Willow threw a fit, well, God would just have to take care of the details, wouldn’t he? What was the worst that could happen? It’s not like Willow would uninvite her to her home and leave her stranded in Anchorage over Christmas.

Kennedy stared at the picture of Gladys Aylward on the back of her book. Such a quiet-looking, unassuming woman. Kind of like Grandma Lucy, who still snored comfortably next to her. Grandma Lucy certainly wouldn’t be afraid of sharing the gospel with someone like Willow. But she also had less to lose. Grandma Lucy wouldn’t have to see Willow every day for the rest of the semester, wouldn’t have to live in the same dorm until summer break.

Maybe it was easier to share the gospel with people you didn’t know. Maybe that’s why those pamphlet pushers did what they did, why certain sects sent their congregants out ringing doorbells. If you get laughed at and have the door slammed in your face, are you that much worse off for it other than a little bit of a bruised ego?

Maybe Kennedy could bargain with God. If not Willow, what about the dozen students she knew by name or sight but didn’t have to live with for the rest of her sophomore year? What about the girl in organic chem lab who was always burning herself on the Bunsen burner, or the leader of that campus singing group Willow auditioned for? The upperclassman had been ruder than Ebenezer Scrooge himself when he said her roommate didn’t have the kind of stage presence they were looking for. If anyone at Harvard needed the gospel, it was him.

Yeah, God. Send me there instead.

She hoped the guilt would let up, but of course it didn’t. She searched her memory for a Bible verse that would let her off the hook. God loves a cheerful giver? If Kennedy wasn’t feeling very cheerful about giving herself a mouthful of humble pie, she shouldn’t bother until her heart was in a better place, right? Or what about that verse where Jesus said he knew his sheep and his sheep knew him. If Willow was destined to be part of God’s family, wouldn’t God find a way to save her without any help?

Then again, isn’t that exactly what the veteran pastor said to Hudson Taylor about his passion to carry the gospel to the Chinese interior? “When God pleases to convert the heathen, he’ll do it without the help of people like you and me.” Kennedy had been incensed when she read the minister’s cavalier response, appalled that Christians in the 1800s could have resorted to such ugly, calloused excuses. But was Kennedy doing anything better? If God wanted Willow saved, he’d do it with or without Kennedy’s help. Isn’t that what she’d just told herself? Well, what if she was wrong?

She didn’t know how it all worked out, didn’t know what the Bible meant when it said that God chose some for salvation in some passages but in other passages talked about him willing that none should perish. Those were theological matters people like her dad or Dominic could discuss until they were hoarse with laryngitis, and it probably wouldn’t make a hair’s width of difference in Kennedy’s day-to-day life.

But what if there weren’t just people destined to salvation and people doomed to perish? What if there were regular, average individuals who would ask Jesus to forgive their sins if they had the right information, except nobody told them the actual path to heaven? She thought about a verse they read at a home-based Bible study Dominic invited her to a few weeks ago. After announcing woe on certain cities, Jesus declared if the miracles that had been performed there had been performed in Sodom and Gomorrah, they would have repented. It came from somewhere in Matthew, although Kennedy could only guess what chapter. But it was clear that there were some cities that would have repented if they’d been given a decent enough chance. And if that could be said of cities, couldn’t that be said of individuals as well?