Free John's Story by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins

“Where shall I begin?”
    It was as if God Himself said within John’s soul, “In the beginning…”
    John had long loved the beautiful simplicity of the first paragraph of Moses’ five scrolls, “In the beginning God created…” The plain assumption that God existed eternally from before time rang loud and clear from that adored text. As John continued in prayer, it came to him that fundamental to his belief in Jesus was that Christ is God, that He and the Father were one, and, thus, Jesus was also there in eternity past.
    John wished he could begin his work immediately.

SIX
    B y the wee hours of the morning, John had begun to repent of his instruction to Polycarp to fast and pray alone and considered venturing out to find the lad. His own fasting and prayer had suddenly led John to a most unusual state of mind that began with a deep, mournful view of his own sin. He had been reminded of his anger at Cerinthus, and righteous though it may have been, it triggered in John emotions and intentions he thought had been long buried with what his friend, the late Paul, referred to as “the old man.” And that “old man” did not refer to John’s age, but rather his personality and character before the Spirit of Christ took up residence in him.
    The more John pondered his anger and vitriol and the near murderous hatred he had felt for a fellow human, the lower he felt. It was as if God had thrust a lantern into his inner self and searched him for every weakness, frailty, and sin.
    John was soon at his lowest, persuaded that perhaps God was telling him he had been mistaken, that he of all men was least equipped to write the message that so burned in him. It was as if the Spirit of God was revealing that John had forfeited the privilege because of his lack of self-control. Rather than the eagerness he had at first encountered—with the setting of the sun, the departure of the church members, and the quietness of the chapel—John now faced the ugliness of his own humanity and was brought to tears.
    Is this the enemy, trying to rob me of my joy? Distracting me from a grand assignment?
    He only wished that so. Reminded of his pettiness, jealousy, pride, covetousness, John dropped into his chair, sobs invading his throat. “Do You want me broken, Lord? Is that it? For I see myself as an intruder in Your kingdom, an interloper, a foreigner. Forgive my sins and grant me peace!”
    And with that came a gentle knock on his door. Polycarp? That would be so refreshing.
    “It is I,” came the voice of Ignatius.
    John swept open the door. “Oh, welcome guest!” he said. “Please, please do come in. I cannot stand to be alone in my own presence another instant. But why are you not asleep, friend?”
    “John, you’ve been crying. What is it?”
    John told him of the events that had occurred from the end of the impromptu meeting in the courtyard, all the way through to his feeling as if his very soul had been exposed to God.
    “This is monumental, teacher. I envy the experience you and Polycarp will enjoy. But you should not be put off by the Lord’s cleansing of your heart in advance of such a task. Did you not warn me of the same when you and the other apostles commissioned me to the work of God?”
    “I did, didn’t I?”
    “Of course you did. This should be seen only as further confirmation that God is in this. I don’t want to speak for the Lord, but—”
    “That has never stopped you before.”
    “I suppose I deserve that,” Ignatius said. “I was about to question your judgment about fasting and praying all night, especially now that the Father has brought you through this ordeal to a place of peace. You do have peace, do you not?”
    “I do! It came with your knock.”
    “The way I heard you tell it, master, it came with your repentance and plea for forgiveness. It is clear God has something very special in mind for you, and He wants you wholly prepared.”
    John pointed to the chair and sat on his bed.