Jimmy by Robert Whitlow Page A

restoration process and explained that his work transforming the broken-down car was like the work God wanted to do in their lives too.
    â€œDo the air conditioners in Studebakers break a lot?” one of the students asked.
    â€œIt’s not my Studebaker,” he replied. “It’s my wife’s new Ford.”
    Mr. Morton saw Max’s eye, and the baseball story, without reference to eating the steak, was repeated one last time. Mr. Morton placed his large black Bible on the flimsy wooden stand.
    â€œBesides Max’s eye, do we have any prayer requests?”
    There were always lots. Jimmy tried to listen closely to what the students mentioned so he could tell Mama about the requests. He raised his hand.
    â€œWhat is it, Jimmy?” Mr. Morton asked.
    â€œDo we have any prayer answers?” he asked.
    Several children laughed, but Mr. Morton didn’t.
    â€œThat’s a good question. Who can remember a prayer request from last week and tell us about an answer?”
    There was silence for several seconds. Jimmy waited and then raised his hand again.
    â€œI do,” he said.
    â€œWhat is it?” Mr. Morton asked.
    â€œMy grandpa didn’t have another heart attack.”
    Praying for Grandpa’s heart was one of Jimmy’s regular requests. Mama told him each day of Grandpa’s life was a gift from God.
    â€œThat’s an answer,” Mr. Morton replied.
    The teacher waited a few more seconds and then opened the lesson book.
    â€œI have one,” Denise said hesitantly.
    Tears rushed into the young girl’s eyes. She reached into her purse for a tissue. Everyone in the class grew still.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she stammered. “But you know that my older brother left home a year ago, and we haven’t heard from him in ten months. Last night he called and talked to my parents. He’s coming home this week.”
    Jimmy had heard Mama talk about Denise’s brother, Sam, who developed a serious drug problem during his senior year in high school and ran away from home. The public humiliation in the family of a physician sent shock waves through the small town.
    Denise sniffled. “He’s been in a drug-treatment center for four weeks after he got saved at a church in New Orleans. My dad is leaving tomorrow to pick him up.”
    One of Denise’s friends came over and put her arm around Denise’s shoulders. Jimmy wasn’t sure why Denise was crying. Mama had told him there were good tears and sad tears, but he had trouble knowing the difference. Denise looked up at Mr. Morton and continued.
    â€œLast night my dad read the story about the prodigal son, and our whole family prayed for Sam.”
    Mr. Morton opened his Bible. “Let’s read that passage right now.”
    It was a different Sunday school class. After the children listened to the story, they mentioned the names of family members who needed to come home to Jesus. Mr. Morton wrote the names on a board at the front of the room.
    When the flow of names stopped, Mr. Morton spoke.
    â€œI’d like to tell you how I came to believe in Jesus.”
    The children grew quiet. Jimmy had heard many adults give testimonies, especially at Sunday night meetings before someone was baptized. Sometimes he didn’t understand the sins described by them, but Mama wouldn’t explain.
    â€œI grew up in Florida,” Mr. Morton began. “My father died when I was twelve years old. My mother and I didn’t go to church, but a man who worked with her invited me to go deep-sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico with him, his two sons, and three of their friends. We caught a bunch of fish. None of them were very big, but we didn’t care as long as we had something on the line to reel in.”
    â€œHow far out did you go?” Max asked.
    â€œAbout ten miles. We weren’t trying to land any game fish, just something for boys to catch.”
    The thought of being in a