When dinner was over and everyone was finishing the last of their pie, Stephen's father looked at his watch and said, “Great Scott! Look at the time! We've got to go!”

      “Now?” asked Stephen's mother.

      “Yes, I've got to be at work early tomorrow.”

      They both stood up. Stephen's mother started clearing the table. “Well, at least we can help with the dishes.”

      “No,” said Stephen's grandmother, “I've got them.” She looked at Stephen and smiled. “Maybe Stephen will stay to help.”

      Stephen glanced up at her briefly, then smiled and said, “All right.”

      “Oh, Ma, I'm sorry to leave you with all of this.”

      “Don't you worry about it. Stephen and I will get it. It'll give us a chance to talk.”

      On the way to the door Stephen's father walked around the table and bent over quietly to speak into Stephen's ear. “I knew that story was a load of bull. Ask your grandma to tell you where liars go.” Then he straightened and continued toward the door. “Thanks, Lois!”

      Stephen's parents left and Stephen cleared the table. His grandmother put the leftover food away. Little was said until they actually started washing the dishes. Stephen washed and his grandmother dried and put away.

      “I can't believe it sometimes,” she said. “You're a senior now, and driving a car.” She took a plate from him. “You're all grown up.”

      “Yeah. But still a little kid to some.”

      Stephen's grandmother thought for a moment. “Stephen, I hear the things your father says to you. He's wrong you know.”

      “Oh, I don't care about that. He's just got the wrong son, that's all. He was supposed to get an athlete.” Stephen nodded to himself as he rinsed off a plate. “I must've gotten switched at birth.”

      “Oh, Stephen, don't say that.”

      “But I don't mind, really. I just feel bad because some poor athlete out there is being unappreciated by artistic parents. Huh! His dad is probably a painter.” He shook his head in exaggerated pity as he handed the plate to his grandmother. “What a tragedy.”

      “Stephen, listen,” said Stephen's grandmother, turning him gently to face her, “if your father doesn't appreciate you, then that's his failure, not yours. You were meant to be in your family, in MY family. God has a plan for you!”

      “I wish I knew what it was.” Stephen turned back to the sink, his eyes on the soapy water. “I mean, maybe dad is right. What kind of a living can an artist make?”

      “If God has gifted you, then He has a place for you as well. But we've got to seek him first. Christ must be the foundation for everything in life.”

      Stephen handed his grandmother a clean, wet dish. “I pray to Him sometimes, but I don't know if it helps.” He looked at her. His face expressed a yearning of questions long unanswered. “I mean, how can I know if I even have a gift or not? Or what I'm supposed to do? How can anyone really know?”

      Stephen's grandmother put her hand on his shoulder. “Stephen, when we are born again, our spirit is reborn into God's family. Our Heavenly Father becomes our father, personally. Then we can learn how to hear his voice. And He will love you like no other father can.”

      Stephen began washing the next plate. After a few moments he rinsed it and said, “I think what you're saying must be right, but I don't know if I'm ready.”

      “Now that you're driving you could meet with me at church.” She took the plate from him. “I would like that.”

      “I would, too,” said Stephen. He thought for a moment. “There's a girl at school that keeps asking me to go to the teen service at her church on Saturday night.”

      “A girl?” Stephen's grandmother smiled.

      “She's just a friend, Grandma,” said Stephen, returning her smile. He started washing the silverware as he thought. He took a deep breath to speak, then paused as if trying to find the right words. “She used to get in trouble a lot. She was hanging around with a bad crowd, leaving school, things like that, and other things I think, but now she says that Jesus has turned her life around.” Stephen looked up from the dishwater to his grandmother's face. “She said she knows her life matters now. She said for the first time in her life she feels really loved.”

      “Oh, Stephen! I know what she means! It's all so true. Jesus wants so badly to be a part of your life.”

      Stephen nodded. “Maybe I'll go with her this Saturday night.”

      “Do, Stephen. When you accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior, you'll never regret it.”

      Stephen finished the dishes deep in thought and his Grandmother allowed him think. He dried his hands on a towel and said, “Well, I guess I'd better be going. Thanks for having me over.”

      “It was my pleasure, Stephen.” She followed him to the door, then stopped and said, “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” She went back to the kitchen and grabbed a sack lunch out of the refrigerator, then returned to the front door. “Here's a lunch for you for school tomorrow. I made a sandwich with the roast beef. There's even a slice of pie for dessert.”

      “Thank you, Grandma,” said Stephen, visibly touched. He took the brown bag from her and felt the weight of its contents. “It's supposed to be un-cool to bring a sack lunch, but I know I'll be glad to have it.” He looked at her and smiled. “I love you, Grandma.”

      “I love you, too, Stephen.”

      They embraced briefly, and then she watched as Stephen got in his car and drove away.

      “Oh, Father, please bless Stephen, cover him with your Holy Protection, and foil the enemy's attacks against him. And please, Lord, help him to see his need for Jesus. For it's in His wonderful name I pray, Amen.” She watched until the taillights of Stephen's car were out of sight, and then she went inside. 

      As Stephen drove the car home he thought about the conversation with his grandmother. Her words about God repeated themselves in his mind. He also thought about the conversations he had had with the girl at school. He remembered the little comic book tract that he had found at the school on a bench. It also talked about Jesus and the way of salvation. He kept it on the nightstand by his bed. He decided he would read it again when he got home and felt a twinge of excitement. He also realized that he was excited about Saturday night's Teen Service. He was still smiling to himself as he pulled up to his house and parked in his usual spot on the grass. He shut off the engine, grabbed his lunch, then got out and headed for the front door.

      Inside the house Stephen's mother had already gone to bed and Stephen's father sat in front of the TV. His eyes were fixed on the screen but he saw nothing. He was thinking about Stephen and he was getting angry. Belua was speaking into his ear.

      “And now he walks in like he owns the place,” the demon said. “And when you say something to him, it's always the same sullen, monosyllabic answers. You couldn't get away with that when you were his age.” Belua looked up at Sicarius who was fitting an arrow to his bow. Sicarius nodded and looked toward the door. He raised the bow toward the door and drew back the string.

      The door opened and Stephen walked in. He noticed his father in the chair but said nothing. He shut the front door behind him and headed for the kitchen.

      “Well it's about time you showed up,” said Stephen's father. He turned in his chair to face Stephen. “Did you have a good, long talk with Grandma?”

      Stephen shook his head. “Yes, I did.” He put his lunch in the refrigerator, then turned and headed for his room.

      A wave of anger washed over Stephen's father. He stood up from his chair, clenching his fists. “Don't you walk away fr…!”

      But his words were cut short. An angel had reached out and grabbed his tongue, silencing him.

      Sicarius clenched his crooked teeth and growled. He released the arrow and it sped toward Stephen. But before it could hit, an angelic sword flashed out and shattered the arrow in mid-air. The pieces fell harmlessly at Stephen's feet.

      Stephen's father stood in front of the chair with a confused look on his face. Stephen stood watching his father, waiting patiently for him to continue. After a few moments he said, “Goodnight, Dad.”

      Still confused, Stephen's father nodded goodnight, then sat back down and turned to the TV as Stephen disappeared down the hall. 

      The four angels, two fallen and two in good standing, gathered in the center of the room. One of the two Holy Angels still brandished his sword. The other angel drew his also.

      “So, Ariel,” said Sicarius, his words dripping with contempt, “it seems our paths have crossed again.”

      “Lucky you,” said Ariel flatly.

      Sicarius snorted. “Humph! You always did love the hero role.”

      “I do what I have to do.”

      Sicarius nodded toward the second angel. “So who's your new flunky?”

      “Who wants to know?” said Ariel, his eyes fixed on the demon's piggish eyes.

      “I am Keilah,” said the second angel, “definitely NOT at your service.”

      “Hey!” snapped Belua. “Show some respect! Sicarius is one of the most accomplished assassins in the region! Maybe of all time!”

      Sicarius betrayed his annoyance with a blink and a deep sigh. Ariel picked up on it immediately.

      “Yeah!” he said, smiling suddenly. He pointed to where the arrow had fallen. “I could tell by where that last shot hit!” Both angels chuckled.

      “I know I'm impressed,” Keilah said gleefully.

      “You interfering wretches!” growled Sicarius through clenched teeth. “You act cocky now, but I know how to deal with you!” His hideous lips curled into a grin. “Yeah, I've dealt with your type before. I know how to take you down a peg or two!” He began to back away from the two angels, drawing another arrow and fitting it to his bowstring as he did so. Belua backed away with him.

      “Oh, by the way,” called Ariel, jovially, “now that the time is getting close, they're having us write down which demon we'd most like to carry to the Lake of Fire. I put down your name, Sicarius!” Both angels smiled.

      “It'll take more than you, Ariel!” growled Sicarius.

      “That's okay!” called Keilah, happily. “We do that kind of work!”

      The two demons departed. Ariel and Keilah watched after them for a few moments then put their swords away.

      “Do you think he's bluffing?” asked Keilah. “About dealing with us, I mean?”

      “No,” said Ariel. “He's got a plan, though I don't fear for us.” He thought for a moment. “No, it's others I fear for.”

      “Maybe we shouldn't have provoked him.”

      “Ahh. I needle him every chance I get. He deserves it.” He looked out again in the direction the demons had gone. “But now that we're involved he will go to take the next logical step for him.”

      “He acted like he knew you,” said Keilah.

      “We were partners once, before they fell.”

      Keilah nodded. He looked down to where his fingers were toying with grip of his sword. “Sometimes it seems frustrating only being able to react to things here.”

      “Yes, it is.” Ariel turned to face his partner. “But the time will soon come when we definitely will be pro-active instead of re-active. Then it will be a pleasure to go on the offensive.” 

      Stephen's grandmother knelt at her bedside praying. “Oh, Father, thank you for tonight. Thank you for helping me talk to Stephen. Lord, please help him to get saved. Get him to that teen service, please, Lord. He needs you. We all need you. Thank you for looking out for him, Father. Lord Jesus, please bring Stephen the Gospel in a way he can understand. I love you so much, Lord. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.”

      Stephen's grandmother remained kneeling in silence for a few moments. Then she placed her hands on the side of the bed and started to rise. Beyond her hearing there sounded the twang of a bowstring and an arrow flew swiftly toward her, imbedding itself into her right knee. She yelped in pain and dropped back to the floor.

      “There, Babbler,” said Sicarius, “that ought to keep you off your knees awhile!” He gave a hoarse, barking laugh, and then departed.

      “Oh, Lord!” Stephen's grandmother sat holding her knee for a few minutes. Then, fighting back tears, she struggled in pain to get back on the bed. Eventually she was able to position her left leg next to the bed and push herself up onto the mattress. Once settled, she sat and rubbed her knee. “Oh, Father! I don't know what happened. I felt like something just snapped in my knee!” She bowed her head and tried to concentrate as she continued to rub the knee. “Lord, I release it to you. Jesus, by your stripes I am healed. Please heal my knee, Father, in Jesus' name. I release it to you. Thank you, Lord.”

      As Stephen's grandmother sat rubbing the knee, she thought the suddenness of the pain. There had been no warning. I had always been very lucky about my knees, she thought. She also reflected on the sense of fear that had accompanied the pain and a new thought began to dawn on her. She was now praying for Stephen and that would make her a target. She shook her head and began to focus her attention on the cross. That was where Jesus had taken every kind of pain on himself, then destroyed them in the resurrection. In her mind, she released her pain to the cross and received Jesus' resurrected knee for her own. Then she stilled her mind and consciously began to relax. After a few minutes she eased herself up toward the pillow. She drew the covers up over her and switched off the light. After telling the Lord goodnight, she hummed a favorite Gospel song until she fell asleep. 

      At eight thirty the next evening, as soon as the Wednesday night service at her church had concluded, Stephen's grandmother collected her notes, her Bible, and her purse, and headed for the foyer. People had gathered in small clusters to talk and she had to wind her way around several of them as she made her way down the aisle. She was just at the back of the sanctuary when she felt someone reach out and gently grab her arm.

      “Lois, aren't you going to stop and say hi?”

      Stephen's grandmother looked up at her friend and smiled. “Hi, Ann.” The two women embraced. “I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind.”

      “Well, you've been on my mind a lot, lately. What's going on?”

      Stephen's grandmother told her friend about the conversations during and after dinner the previous evening. She also told her about Stephen's plans to go to church on Saturday night.

      “Well, that's wonderful!” said the friend.

      “Yes, and I'm excited about that. I feel that the timing must somehow be important. But as I've been committing it to prayer, now I am coming under attack.” She paused a moment. “Please pray for me. I sense the powers of darkness are on the move.”

      “Of course I'll pray for you,” said the friend. “And if it's okay with you, I'll take it to my prayer group.”

      “Oh please do. I feel like I'm the only one in the world praying for him. I feel like… there's an intensity of evil against him. I cannot fail him.”

      “We'll pray for you in this,” said the friend, taking both of Stephen's grandmother's hands in hers. “We will hold you up as you hold him up.” She smiled. “Let's pray right now for you and Stephen.”

      “And the Teen Service,” added Stephen's grandmother. Her friend nodded her agreement and the two women bowed their heads to pray.