“If God Doesn’t Help Me I’ll Be Dead Tonight.”

I remember his panicky eyes.

His whole body was trembling.

The meeting was about to start. The man had asked to talk to one of the ministers.

I shook his hand and felt him grab hold to keep from collapsing.

“If God doesn't help me I’ll be dead tonight.”

I knew this was serious. “You came to the right place—God will meet you here tonight.”

“I don’t know if He’ll want to help me. He knows what I did to my neighbors eleven-year-old daughter.

“If I’m alive tomorrow I must face her father and the police.

“I used to serve God. I knew it was wrong, but I looked God in the eye and did it anyway.”

He collapsed against me.

I found him a seat near the altar by an altar worker. “You are doing the right thing,” I encouraged him. “Just open your heart to God during this service and I’ll meet you at the altar after the altar call."

But at the end of the service I couldn’t find him or the altar worker.

“Oh, no he’s gone—He didn’t make it.”

I wept as I pushed through the crowd to find him. Then I saw him making his way to me—he was calm and had his arms open to embrace me.

“You were right. God took me back. I know it will be hard tomorrow, but I can do it because He’ll be there to help me.”

The peace in his heart--that peace that passes understanding--was deep enough to conquer his fear of prison.