Jimmy by Robert Whitlow Page B

boat ten miles from shore made Jimmy’s stomach uneasy. He wanted to hear the story but wished it had happened on land.
    Mr. Morton continued. “When we took a break from fishing, he asked us all to sit down in the back of the boat while he told how Jesus had changed his life. His story was so much like mine—no father in the house, feeling different from other boys, not enough money to buy the things a child wanted—that I felt like I was looking in the mirror. But then he said everything changed when he asked Jesus to forgive his sins and take control of his life. The anger left, the bitterness went away, and he felt love on the inside. I’d never realized all that was wrong with me until he mentioned his own feelings. When he asked if anyone wanted to pray and ask Jesus to come into his heart, I raised my hand.”
    Mr. Morton opened his Bible and read a story about fishing. Jimmy knew Jesus’ disciples liked to go fishing. He’d seen the pictures in Bible storybooks. The disciples used nets instead of hooks, which seemed like an impossible way to catch fish. It was hard enough to convince a big carp to latch on to a hook carefully prepared with Grandpa’s secret mix, much less sneak up on a bunch of fish with a big black net. Fishermen in Piney Grove lied about the fish they caught all the time, but Jimmy knew the fishing stories in the Holy Bible had to be true; otherwise they wouldn’t be included in the book. Mr. Morton finished and closed his Bible.
    â€œThat day the man who took me fishing caught more than fish; he caught me.”
    Denise raised her hand. “Is that why you’re teaching our class?”
    Mr. Morton smiled. “I can’t think of a better reason.”
    The bell signaling the end of the Sunday school hour chimed.
    â€œOne other thing before we have our closing prayer,” Mr. Morton said. “Does anybody want to guess the kind of car the man who prayed with me drove?”
    â€œA Studebaker!” several students cried out.
    After Sunday school, Jimmy walked downstairs and peeked into the fellowship hall. He couldn’t see Mama or Daddy. The missionary, a small, thin woman with short gray hair, stood at the front of the room praying. Jimmy stepped back against the wall, and in a few seconds the people from the class poured into the hallway. Everyone
who attended the First Baptist Church knew Jimmy. Several smiled and spoke to him as they passed by. Others patted him on the head. Mama and Daddy came out toward the back of the crowd. Jimmy held out his hand to Mama, who took it in hers. He still liked to hold Mama’s hand, especially when a lot of people were around. Mama’s hand always felt cool and inviting.
    â€œHow was your class?” she asked.
    â€œGood. Did you know Denise’s brother is coming home?” he asked.
    â€œYes, her mother told me,” Mama said.
    â€œShe started crying when she talked about it. Were those good tears?”
    â€œYes. Her brother’s life has totally turned around.”
    They continued down the hallway. Jimmy glanced up at Daddy.
    â€œDid the woman talk about eating worms?”
    â€œIt was worse than I’d expected,” Daddy answered in a serious voice. “She described these squirmy green critters that came wrapped up in a banana leaf. They had a little bit of fuzz on them, and I bet they tickled her throat when—”
    â€œEnough, Lee,” Mama interrupted.
    They went outside. The prickly heat of the day was just beginning to simmer around the edges. The sidewalk was filled with families in their Sunday best. Low-cut bushes kept everyone in line as they flowed toward the broad steps leading to the sanctuary. Children weren’t allowed to run around between Sunday school and church, so each family formed its own cluster. Jimmy looked for Grandma’s gray head but didn’t see her. Grandpa only came to church at Christmas and Easter.
    The