Free Deadline by Randy Alcorn

coffee straight on his lap. Later Janet talked to Sue and learned the skin on his thigh had been badly burned, and he was in pain for days afterward. But he didn’t let the girl see that, didn’t even tell Jake or Doc. Jake watched carefully as they were leaving. Finney put down a five dollar bill. The lunch had come to maybe nineteen dollars and he’d left a five-dollar tip. It was his way of saying, “Everything’s okay, don’t worry about it. Sorry you had to go through the embarrassment.”
    Jake realized, as he looked at Finney’s weak body, that he’d spent his life watching him, studying him. And Doc too. Part of Jake’s success as a journalist came from his ability to observe, to capture the essence of a man in details and incidents others didn’t notice or thought inconsequential. He could write a book on these two guys.
    Then there was the other side of Finney, the troubling, infuriating side. His self-assured manner about his beliefs. His clearly defined concept of right and wrong that sent such a judgmental message. Some were offended when they learned 10 percent of profits from his software business went back into the four crisis pregnancy centers in the area. Planned Parenthood and National Organization of Women cooperated in boycotting his business. But Finney wouldn’t back down. Some people admired him for it. Doc thought he was a fool. Jake argued he was just being stubborn. “Why not just back down gracefully and cut your losses, so you’ll have more to give to any cause you want?” But Finney wouldn’t listen.
    During that flap Ryan Dennard, Jake’s columnist colleague at the Tribune , labeled Finney “a right-wing fundamentalist preacher in a business suit.” It was one thing to have your beliefs at church, it was another to bring them into your business and community. That was forcing your religion on others.
    Jake once told Finney, “I know you’re sincere, but you’ve got to think of image and perceptions. If you want to sell people on your values, you’ve got to tone it down! Otherwise you’ll be painted with the same brush as David Koresh or any other religious nut. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
    Still, Jake knew that while most people covered up and explained away their shortcomings, and blamed them on others, Finney admitted his and worked hard to change them. You could disagree with Finney—and half the time Jake did—but if you knew him, you couldn’t dismiss him.
    Finnegan Douglas Keels. No one called him Finnegan but his mom. He was born to be Finney. And he would die Finney. O God, please don’t let him die.
    This man lying there was and yet somehow was not the same Finney Jake grew up with, the Finney he knew in Nam. It had been four years after the war that the new Finney had emerged. After the army Finney went to his grandparents’ home in Indiana, where his mom had moved. Two years later he married Sue. He and Sue and baby daughter Jenny moved back to Oregon to be near his buddies and start a business. Doc was half way through medical school, Jake was getting his master’s degree and working part-time at a newspaper. Finney saved up his money and opened his office products store, a forerunner to the computer software business he’d turned into a gold mine. The three old friends worked hard and played hard. The familiar chemistry hadn’t lost its magic. Their wives became almost as close as the men, their young children played and grew together.
    Then came the change—Finney’s conversion. Doc wanted nothing to do with this zealous and dogmatic new Finney, and at times Jake shared the sentiment. But Finney wouldn’t let go of his friendships. Jake discovered the new Finney had all the qualities that made the old Finney so special. He had the same wit, the same humor and something else. A kindness and sensitivity. The big heart that was even bigger. A confidence. A sense of faith and trust. A peace. And a purpose.
    When Jake’s dad died,