On the right hand side of this page you can find a link to the Kindle addition, also available in paperback at the CreateSpace store. It Takes a God
If you are an Amazon junkie, the paperback will also be available there in about two weeks.
If you haven't had a chance to read any of the Goode stories of faith, below is an excerpt from one of my favorite stories, and the first in the series, "The Wooden Box".
I hope you will take a journey with me, it is a journey of faith. Your guide on this journey is a family called The Goodes.
Excerpt from "The Wooden Box"
Funny thing was, even when Old Jacob was wrong about the weather or the fishing, nobody seemed to remember, and the next time they happened to be walking down the dock, they would ask him another question, and wait for his reply, “Yep.”
When he asked me if I needed a hand getting up it was probably the most words I had ever heard from him. But something for Old Jacob must have been different that day, because for the next two hours he talked to me.
“You yanked on that line too damn hard. She barely had a chance to swallow your hook, so she gave it back to you”, he said with a chuckle.
“You were watching me?”
“I got nothing better to do today. I saw that school come in just before you did; you got a good water-eye. So I figured I would see how good you’ve gotten with that spey, Jimmy.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know your Daddy, he brags about you quite often.”
My Dad brags about me! That was a surprise to hear. Another thought began to settle in. Old Jacob saw me yank the line too hard, which meant he probably saw me crying too. He knew my Dad. I didn’t know what he would be telling my Dad, but I was sure it wouldn’t lead to more bragging.
I guess my thoughts must have been written all over my face, because Old Jacob reached out his weathered hand and wiped it across my cheeks,
“You got some sea spray on there; better get it off before we get that hook out, or it’s likely to burn.”
“Can you get it out? I think it sunk in pretty deep.”
“It did and I can. Hope it didn’t find bone. You need to sit still; it got pretty close to your eye. If you were a quarter inch shorter you’d be walking around like a patch-eyed pirate.”
“I guess I’m pretty lucky then.”
“It ain’t luck Jimmy. It’s grace. The problem with luck is it comes in two flavors, good and bad. Grace only comes one way, from God. Now sit still and let me work this hook back out into the daylight.”
I sat still just like Old Jacob told me to. I could feel his breath on my cheeks as he got close enough to see what he was doing. I could smell coffee and cigarettes. The tips of his fingers, hard and rough, lightly touched the skin around the puncture. Even with the care Jacob used the pain was pretty bad. Tears welled up almost right away, but Old Jacob didn’t say a thing, his fingers just kept moving around, looking for the pathway that the hook would follow out. I wondered how many hooks he had removed in his life.
“This is probably going hurt”, he said.
“I know.”
“You should turn your mind to something.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Do you know God?”
“Huh?”
“You just sit there and stay quiet, and don’t move. I don’t want to leave you with too big a scar; you Momma might be upset at me. I’ll tell you about God.”
For the next hour Old Jacob’s hands worked with a gentleness that only comes from years of experience, slowly removing the hook from my cheek. And the whole time, speaking in a voice that was just as gentle, he told this eight year old boy the story of Jesus.
He spoke about Abraham and Moses, about Joshua and the Promised Land. He told me about a boy named David who became a king. He said that God promised the people another king, a king even greater than David. He said that God made his promises through prophets, men like Isaiah and Jeremiah.
His soothing voice seemed to be numbing the pain in my cheek. I could feel him pulling and manipulating the hook, but the pain remained tempered by the story he told and the cadence of this old fisherman’s voice.
He continued, telling the story of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus. When he talked about John the Baptist his voice changed, I think John the Baptist may have been his favorite. He told me that people followed Jesus everywhere he went and about the miracles he performed for them.
Old Jacob spoke about the Apostles; he told me many of them were fishermen! Peter was my favorite, especially when he jumped out of the boat right into the sea! He told me how much the disciples loved Jesus; that they knew he was the one promised by God.
Then he spoke about the men who hated Jesus. He said they arrested him, they spat on him and they beat him with their fists and with whips.
Old Jacob stopped talking for a few minutes. I looked up, trying not to move my head, like he had instructed me. I saw tears in this old man’s eyes, just starting to fall. He saw me looking at him and just said “hush.” He didn’t try to hide the tears or wipe them away. When he continued his voice had changed again, I had to strain to hear him tell me the rest of the story.
“They nailed Jesus to a tree shaped like a cross and then lifted him up between two thieves. Jesus hung there, looking down on his family and friends. His mom was there, watching her son die. There were soldiers and crowds that yelled and cursed at Jesus. Then Jesus asked God to forgive them. Can you believe that, forgive them? It was the middle of the day but it got dark as Nome in the winter. I think it got dark ‘cause for just a short while God turned his back on mankind for what they were doing to his only son.”
Jacob paused, “The he died.”
I’ve been sitting in pews on Sunday mornings for more than seventy years. I’ve outlived a number of pastors and have seen quite a few others come and go. In all that time, with all those preachers, I never once heard the gospel story told the way Old Jacob told it to me that day.
Neither of us said anything for few minutes. The only sound was the wind and waves breaking on the rocks down below. My mind was still very young and I hadn’t understood everything the old fisherman had told me, but I wasn’t too young to know that he had told this story many times.
Jacob said, “Hold out your hand.”
He placed the fly, that only moments before had been stuck in my cheek, in the palm of my small hand. I looked at it like I had never seen it before, but I had. I had tied it myself the night before. As a matter of fact I had watched it up close until Jacob had removed it with the care of a surgeon.
“Thank you.”
“Yep.”
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