Free Miracles by Terri Blackstock Page A

woman with a little girl and Mrs. Beautral’s husband. Did you know she had a husband?”
    She was looking at him, as if mentally fitting him for a straitjacket. “No.”
    â€œWell, she does, and he had gallbladder surgery, and now he’s a Christian.”
    â€œBecause of his gall bladder surgery?”
    â€œNo, because of our visit. Kate, you’re not listening!”
    She got up and backed away. “Sam, you’re scaring me.”
    â€œI’m scaring me ,” he said, sitting up. “Kate, I was in the grocery store, and I heard all these voices at the same time. But their mouths weren’t moving. I was hearing their souls. Just what the Holy Spirit hears.”
    â€œNow I know this is a fantasy,” she cut in. “You haven’t been to the grocery store in years.”
    â€œI went to buy Tylenol. Kate, I’m telling you, I hear things people don’t even know they’re feeling.”
    She turned and headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting the thermometer.”
    â€œKate!” He followed her into the kitchen, and as she rummaged through a drawer looking for it, he heard her voice.
    â€œI wish I could have a broken heart again.”
    â€œAha!” he shouted. “You just said you wished you could have a broken heart. I heard you!” His face twisted as he realized the words made no sense. “Why do you want a broken heart?”
    She stopped riffling through the drawer and looked up at him. “I didn’t say anything about a broken heart.”
    â€œYou did!” he said. “You did say it. You said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could have a broken heart again.’”
    Dumbfounded, she closed the drawer and moved across the island from him. “When you say you heard that, what do you mean?”
    â€œIn your voice,” he said. “I heard it, Kate. It must be in there somewhere, in your soul, even if you don’t know it. Even if you wouldn’t say it out loud.”
    Her eyes changed, and her mouth rounded in surprise. “It is.”
    â€œSee? I told you. What . . . what do you mean, you want a broken heart?”
    She seemed to struggle for words that she’d never uttered before. “I’ve been feeling like . . . like I’m not sensitive to the Holy Spirit anymore. Like I’ve gotten jaded. Like my zeal has faded. I keep thinking that I need God to break my heart so I can get back in tune with him. You know, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn.’ I haven’t mourned for Christ in a very long time.”
    â€œYes!” he shouted, jumping. Startled, she backed farther away and grabbed a spatula, as if that would protect her. “Honey, I know just how you feel!”
    â€œAnd you heard that?” she asked, obviously terrified. “In my voice?”
    â€œI thought it was a curse,” he said as tears came to his eyes. He crossed the room and, ignoring the spatula, took her shoulders. “Until I introduced Janie to Christ. And then I came home wiped out, like I’d just recited the Sermon on the Mount to five thousand people. I told one person how to know Jesus and I think I’m Elijah.”
    The shock was beginning to fade, and she looked fully at him now. “You really led someone to Christ?”
    â€œYes! Can you believe it? Me! ”
    â€œI’ve never done that,” she said.
    â€œGo with me tonight,” he said. “to the game. The guys are picking me up at six, but I’ll call them and tell them I’ll just meet them there. John isn’t using his ticket, so we’ll run by and get his, and you can use it.”
    â€œYou want me at the game?” She touched his forehead again. “You never take me to the game. It’s guys’ night out.”
    â€œI want you to come and see. I’ll hear the voices. You can help me. Maybe I’ll be less of a wimp when you’re with