Jacques Andrepont stealthily slipped into the midst of a crowd. They’d just announced the grand opening of the new gaming store, and Jacques saw it as the perfect opportunity. Pushing past all kinds of people, he made his way to the trading cards. Everyone was distracted, and no one would mind if he just ‘liberated’ one pack. He stuffed it and his hand quickly into his deep jacket pocket and casually made his way back to the door. Upon returning to his house, his sister Aimee came up to him.

            “Hi Jacques, what’ve you been doing? Auguste was looking everywhere for you!”

            “It’s none of your business Aimee! Now go play with your stupid dolls or something.” Jacques didn’t feel like dealing with her. She always had to know what he was doing! Clearly, she was too young to understand privacy.

            Aimee’s eyes started tearing up, and she ran out of the room shouting, “Auguste, Jacques is being mean again!”

            Oh great, thought Jacques, here we go again. Auguste was only a year older than him, but with his parents being out a lot, the command had naturally fallen on him. Auguste entered, he was agitated.

            “Really Jacques! Why did you have to hurt Aimee’s feelings?”

Jacques rolled his eyes. “I’m eighteen Auguste. I can do what I want.”

            “Okay, then think about it, is this really what you want?” he countered.

            Jacques extremely limited patience was wearing thin. “Maybe it is! Why should you care?!”

            “What is this really about?” Auguste looked straight into his brother’s eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

            “I DON’T HAVE TO TELL YOU ANYTHING!!!” As he was yelling, Jacques pulled his hand out of his pocket and waved his fist at Auguste. The stolen trading card pack slid out and fell to the floor. Auguste stooped down and grabbed it.

            “So, this is it? You’re so mad because you’ve been stealing again, right?”

            Jacques looked down at his ruddy shoes. He knew he’d lost. “I’m going to my room.”

            He stumbled down the hall, almost running into his sister Cecile. Auguste was too noble to give him back the card pack. It was likely he was on his way to return it right then. Jacques moped in his room for an hour before his parents got home. He knew Auguste had told them what’d happened. They were probably discussing what to do about it. Jacques heard footsteps approaching his room. His mind was racing. Would they try sympathy or go with aggression? He did his best to hide his panicked expression before they entered. It was his mother. She slid the pocket door all the way open and sat down next to him on his bed.

            “Hello Jacques,” she looked him straight in the eyes, but he looked away. Her eyes held back tears for her young son. “I didn’t come here to yell at you. I will only ask you this one question; what is the meaning of life?”

            Jacques hadn’t been expecting that. Why on earth would she be asking him that question? His puzzled expression seemed to give her the reaction she’d expected. She got up and left, closing his door behind her. After a while Jacques concluded that he didn’t care. That night, as he laid in bed fast asleep, he had a dream. Jacques was not the sort to remember if he dreamed anything, but this dream pricked, through sleep, into his very consciousness. He was taken through different lives and religions and in each circumstance saw what they faced. A question kept drifting sharply into his mind. What is the meaning of their lives? He awoke sweating in the morning. His dream had been so vivid. Jacques was distant the next day. He’d decided to ignore his dream, but it still followed him.

            In bed again, Jacques was slightly anxious. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go through that again. Another dream came to him, but this time it showed elderly and unhealthy people. There was another question. It was intertwined with the first and yet the force of it made Jacques shudder in his sleep. What happens when you die? Upon waking, Jacques felt exhausted. It was as if he’d just fought in a war all night. That afternoon, he had an unexpected visit. His childhood friend, Marcel, knocked on his door.

            “Come in if you must.” Jacques called, not realizing who it was.

            Marcel entered the small room, “Quite a welcome for an old friend.”

            “Marcel! I didn’t know you’d be in town. I thought you were too busy.”

            “I’m never too busy for a friend. I brought you something.” Jacques noticed the cut paper in Marcel’s left hand.

            “Hey, you should come to church with me again.” Marcel looked hopeful, as if Jacques might finally agree.

            “No thanks! Church is for lost people. I know exactly where I stand.”

            Marcel looked at him in disbelief. “We’re all lost without Jesus.”

            “I’m not lost, you dimwit!” Jacques yelled at his only friend.

            You could tell by his demeanor, that Marcel was sad. There was no anger, only pain. “Well, in that case, I think it’s time for me to go. God bless you.”

 

            He exited, leaving the paper on the bed. Jacques liked to pretend that he didn’t care, but he knew he’d messed up big time. Marcel had been the only friend who’d stuck with him, and now Jacques feared that he’d lost him. I’m such a jerk, what’s wrong with me? he thought to himself. Then he noticed Marcel’s gift. It was just a cutout from an old newspaper. It read:

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

​

 

 

 

 

​

 

             Jacques didn’t know how to feel about that scrap of newspaper. It claimed to hold the answer he’d been looking for, but was it true? For the next week, he fought with himself. A part of him really wanted to believe, but it would be humiliating to fix everything and apologize to everyone. Anger rose up inside him, with himself and with God. He seemed to be winning and losing, not sure which was which. His mom entered his room. Her eyes were rimmed red.

            “Jacques, it’s… Marcel. He’s…” she sighed, tears running down her face, “He was in an accident.”

              Jacques could barely hide his own tears. Was it too late to make up to him?

              The four Andreponts ran out to their car, leaving Cecile with Aimee. The half hour trip seemed to take ages. Jacques’ mind was racing. The questions from his dreams kept themselves front and center. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper scrap. He’d decided to take it with him. Now he stared at it, wishing he could make time rewind. He regretted being so mean to his friend. Marcel’s paper piece was right; the only reason he didn’t believe is that he didn’t want to give himself up.

              Jacques was tired of resisting Jesus. Right there in his car, he gave his life to Christ. He felt light, as if a burden was lifted from him. Surrendering yourself to Jesus doesn’t make you bound, it makes you free, he realized. As they got to Marcel’s hospital room, Jacques was hopeful. Jesus, he said quietly, if you can hear me, spare Marcel please!

             “Marcel!” Jacques laid eyes on his friend.

             “Jacques,” Marcel sounded weary.

             “I’m so sorry, I was a jerk to you. I was bitter because I was struggling against Jesus. I’m done fighting, I’ve given myself to Him. I’m going to make amends, starting with you. Don’t die Marcel, please!” Jacques exclaimed. Then he cried. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since he was ten. Now he let it out, truly and from the heart.

             Marcel’s weak lips curled upwards in a smile and there was a new light in his eyes. “I’ll be okay Jacques. I don’t think Jesus is done with me yet and he’s just starting with you.”

             From that moment forward, Jacques knew he’d made the right decision. He wanted to reach everyone with the joyous freedom of Christ. He would never go back to where he used to be, he was a new man.