by Rachel Whitaker based on Acts 20:6-12

“Andy, have you heard the news?” my friend Yute yelled, running down the street.

“No, what?”

“Paul’s coming. His ship arrives in Troas this afternoon.”

“Awesome!” I called back. “How long will he be here?”

“A week,” Yute said. “He’ll be speaking all over town. Sunday night we’re having a big church get-together as a farewell. And you know what that means.”

“Potluck!” I yelped. “We’ll have the best food east of Rome. I can almost taste Miss Julia’s roasted chicken.”

“And don’t forget Mrs. Pomona’s lentil stew,” Yute added.

I closed my eyes, pretending to inhale the delicious aromas. Suddenly, I had an idea.

“We should invite Justin,” I said. “Maybe if he heard Paul preach, the stuff we’ve been telling him about Jesus would make sense.”

“Good idea,” Yute said.

“I don’t know if I can come to any meetings,” Justin said, straightening a pile of woven blankets. “I have to help my father in the shop.”

“You’ve got to hear Paul,” I said. “He’s had an amazing life and tells the best stories.”

Justin looked doubtful.

“At least come to the meeting on Sunday,” Yute said. “It’s at night. The market will be closed. Plus, there’ll be lots of food.”

Justin grinned. “OK, you got me. I’ll try to make it.”

My family arrived at the Augustus’ house early Sunday evening. Our church meets at their home because they have a huge room on the third floor. But the room was already crowded, and more people were constantly arriving.

“Justin’s here,” Yute called to me, coming up the stairs.

“Great!” I said. “The meeting’s about to start.”

“Aren’t we going to eat first?” Justin asked.

“No, Paul’s going to speak,” I said. “Let’s find a place to sit.”

The three of us settled against the back wall near an open window. My mom and dad squeezed past us to the far side of the room.

“I don’t want to hear any noise coming from back here during the meeting,” Mom said.

“We’ll pay attention, Mom,” I promised. “You know I love listening to Paul.”

We did pay attention — for the first couple of hours. Paul told exciting stories of traveling the world and preaching about Jesus. Then people started asking questions, and he did his best to answer.

I hope we eat soon, I thought. The smell of lentil stew filled the room, and my stomach growled.

Justin poked me. “Andy, what time do you think it is?”

“Must be at least 10,” I whispered.

“I’m going to sit up on the window ledge,” Yute whispered. “It’s kind of stuffy in here.”

Yute jumped up on the sill, dangling his legs beside me.

“Don’t fall off,” I said, playfully jabbing him.

Soon my mind wandered. The oil lamps scattered around the room flickered hypnotically, and the smoke numbed my brain. I leaned my head against the wall and tried to keep my eyes open.

As I started to drift off, Yute’s legs flew up, almost hitting me in the face. I jerked around in time to see him topple backward off the window ledge.

“Yute!” I screamed. I ran down the stairs.

He lay in a crumpled heap on the stone-paved courtyard.

“Yute!” I yelled, running toward him.

I dropped to my knees and grabbed his shoulders. “Eutychus, can you hear me?!”

“Don’t move him.” I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and turned to see one of the men who was traveling with Paul.

“My name is Luke,” he said. “I’m a doctor. Let me see what I can do.”

I backed away as Luke knelt beside my friend. By that time the entire church streamed into the courtyard.

Yute’s mom worked her way toward us. Luke stood up and took her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Your son is dead.”

She stifled a wail. Just then Paul appeared at her side. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t despair.”

He huddled over my friend, clasping Yute in a bear hug. Yute’s head sagged backward.

Paul’s lips moved. Clearly he was talking to God.

“Don’t worry,” Paul said, smiling. “He’s alive!”

Yute’s eyes flickered open, and he stared around in confusion.

“You fell out of the window,” Paul said. “But you’re fine now.”

He helped Yute to his feet and dusted him off. Everyone crowded around, talking at once.

Paul raised his hand for silence. “I think . . .” he paused dramatically, “I think it’s time to eat!”

“Were you really dead?” Justin asked, munching on a huge piece of bread slathered with goat cheese.

“I don’t know,” Yute said hesitantly. “The last thing I remember is sitting on the window ledge and feeling tired. I guess I fell asleep.”

“He was dead,” I said. “Luke said so. He’s a doctor.”

“You were . . . dead,” Justin repeated, staring at Yute.

“It’s just like what I keep telling you about Jesus!” I burst out. “Jesus was dead, but He came back to life!”

Justin chewed in silence and swallowed, still staring at Yute. “I need to think more about this Jesus,” he said finally.

Yute’s face broke into a grin.

“Great!” he said. “I’ve been dying to hear you say that!”

	Q: Where do rich cooks live? A: Beverly Grills. Jesse S., 10, California Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe