Free Blessed Child by Ted Dekker

the boy did snap as Leiah suggested? He’d certainly never seen a ten-year-old looking like Caleb did now. “I beg you, good sir. I beg you—”
    â€œOkay, Caleb.” He held out his hand for the boy to settle down. “Okay, we’ll take you to a church. Maybe we can find one open tonight.”
    The boy stilled for a moment and then he began to pace frantically, four feet one way and four feet back. His eyes were searching the floor desperately.
    Jason stood, frightened by the behavior now. “Okay, Caleb, settle down. Please settle down. We’ll get Leiah and go to the church, okay?”
    The boy stopped midstride and spun to him, his eyes round with relief. He rushed forward, grabbed Jason’s right hand, and began to kiss it. “I thank you; I thank you,” he said.
    Jason felt his chest constrict at the sight. Dear Caleb, I’m so sorry. He placed a hand on the boy’s head and pulled him close. He wanted to say something, but his throat was aching and he couldn’t speak.
    The boy wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist and held tight. Then he broke away and pulled Jason by the hand. “We will go now?”
    â€œWell, I do have to get dressed, boy. I can’t very well fetch our dear nurse in my underwear, can I?”
    He dressed quickly and led Caleb to the guesthouse. Leiah responded on their third attempt to raise her. She stood in her blue tunic, her dark hair messy and her eyes squinting.
    â€œThe boy insists we go to church,” Jason said, smiling.
    â€œNow?”
    â€œYes, trust me. Now. He doesn’t seem interested in accepting no for an answer.”
    â€œGoodness, I haven’t been to a church in a dozen years.” She hesitated. “Well, give me a minute to throw myself together here.” She shut the door without waiting for a response.
    â€œThere you go, Caleb. Church it is.”
    It occurred to Jason then that the Greek Orthodox church which ran the orphanage would probably be having their Sunday Mass soon. Church services usually started at ten or eleven, didn’t they? He had attended the Greater Life Community Church on the east side of Pasadena for three months leading up to his son’s death seven years ago. It would take an army of angels to drag him back into that sanctuary again.
    Fifteen minutes later Jason piloted his white Ford Bronco down the Hollywood freeway toward the valley. According to the yellow pages, liturgy began at ten-thirty Sundays at Holy Ascension Greek Orthodox Church in Burbank—the church responsible for Caleb’s future. Their large color-splashed ad included a small picture of Father Nikolous, dressed in white-and-gold robes with a towering white headpiece that reminded Jason of pictures of the pope.
    Leiah had managed to wash and dry her new clothes before turning in, and she wore them now, white turtleneck and all. Jason thought about offering her some of his clothes, but quickly decided that he could hardly do it without embarrassing her. He wasn’t sure that jeans were standard fare in Orthodox services, but hers were clean and they fit well.
    Caleb sat in the rear, face pressed against the window, gawking at the mix of metal and concrete flying by. It was the first time he’d seen a Western city by daylight, Jason thought. Speeds within the monastery hadn’t exceeded walking or the occasional run. It was a slow life with enough time to hear your own breathing and consider its source. Watching a mouse scamper across the room would qualify as a highlight. Now the boy was confronted with eight lanes of lumbering trucks and flashing cars, roaring at breakneck speeds. It would be akin to stepping into a Jetsons cartoon and watching futuristic cars hover by.
    Leiah sat in the front passenger seat, looking back at the boy with furrowed brow. “You ever bring a Third-World refugee to the States?” Jason asked.
    â€œNo. You?”
    â€œNo. At least