Through Fire to Faith: One Man's Journey from Fear and Fault to Genuine Faith

By Robert Bailor

The odyssey of Michael takes him from tortured soul to bold believer. It is a story of heart-wrenching psychological turmoil and spiritual transformation. Michael lives out the joys and conflicts of a person coming to an understanding of the full meaning of genuine faith. Michaels astonishing heroics as he rescues a little girl from a burning building sets up a captivating narrative. Through Fire to Faith follows Michaels internal struggles from happy times with his wife and daughter to the vicious attack in a park, to his descent into active alcoholism, to the tragic accident that rips his family from him, to the story of his healing and conversion at the caring hands of his beloved Emilee and others along his way, and to his final dramatic battle with his internal demons. Michaels personal journey is a story that anyone who is searching for the power of mercy and the reality of faith can identify with and take to heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546255314

Robert Bailor

ROBERT (BOB) BAILOR is a Philosophy Professor with a particular interest in meaning of life issues. He is also a retired Licensed Mental Health Therapist and Licensed Chemical Dependency Counselor. Bob has published two non-fiction books in philosophy (Passion, Longing and God and A Month of Wonders), one non-fiction book in addiction counseling (Chemical Addiction & Family Members) and a fictionalized self-help book on aging (Getting Older). His first three novels are a trilogy about one person’s spiritual journey from agnostic to genuine believer (Through Fire to Faith, Through Horror to Hope, and Through Loss to Love). Bob’s fourth novel (Murder in the Time of COVID) is a murder mystery set in the time of the COVID pandemic demonstrating the courage, intelligence and integrity of law enforcement personnel. AND THREE MORE BIBLE STORIES THAT NEVER HAPPENED...but maybe could have is the last in a trilogy of fictional bible stories meant for believers and nonbelievers alike. Bob’s books are available at his website: robert bailor.com and at authorhouse.com. Bob has also published numerous articles in philosophy and counseling, and he has presented talks at various professional conferences on teaching philosophy, spirituality, and advancing professional counseling skills. Bob lives in Westerville, OH with his wife, Mary Rose. They have three grown children and four grandchildren.

Book preview

© 2018 Robert Bailor. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. However, this is not to imply that the existence of spiritual references and references to C.S. Lewis are also fictitious.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/05/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5532-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5533-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5531-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018909776

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Part One The Fire

Part Two Before The Fire To The Fracture

Part Three From The Fracture To The Funeral

Part Four From The Funeral To Forgiveness

Part Five From Forgiveness To The Fire

Part Six From The Fire To Faith

Works Cited

Acknowledgements

Other Books By Robert W. Bailor

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all those who have struggled with the truthfulness of religious faith. Its purpose is to suggest that spirituality is the life blood of human existence since the life of each person is meant for transformation and fulfillment with and in a loving, merciful God.

Part One

********

THE FIRE

42059.png

They said it was a gas leak. Not under the house but just beside it. The explosion shook the whole neighborhood, and people began rushing out of their homes to see what happened. The white two-story house across the street from Michael was filling with smoke. The flames began to lick the outside until they lapped into the first floor front room. From there they crept up the stairs and into the bedrooms on the south side.

Just before the flames crawled into their bedroom, Ted and Becky Martin ran from their bed, scooped up their 2-year-old twin boys and ran down the stairs. Almost blinded by smoke, they groped for the front door and bolted out into their front yard. Then Becky screamed in panic.

Katie. Where’s Katie? she yelled. Katie was not with the rest of the family because 4-year-old Katie was now a big girl. She slept by herself in her Peter Pan bedroom on the far north end of the house.

I have to go back in! cried Becky as she handed off the twins to a firefighter standing nearby. Ted grabbed Becky’s arm just as she began to rush toward the inferno. He pulled her to him, imprisoning her in his arms.

No, Sweetheart. No! You can’t go back. The house is gone. Katie’s gone. I don’t want you gone too.

Let me go! Let me go! she protested, and she tried to free herself, swinging her arms at him as best she could until she was simply exhausted with despair. Then Becky collapsed into his chest and fell silent, whimpering like a child. All she could muster was a slow, almost silent lullaby to her missing little girl. In fact the whole scene took on a silence and a calmness that overcomes when there is nothing more to do but watch and wait and cry.

The firefighters had arrived, and they were going about their assigned tasks. But to Ted and Becky they seemed to be moving in slow motion. In fact the whole scene seemed surreal, like a nightmare they found themselves trapped in. So maybe, just maybe, when it was all over they could tuck their children into bed once again with a kiss and a prayer for their safekeeping.

But it was not a dark dream to the bystanders. They saw the firefighters rushing about getting the hoses attached, turning the water on, and propping up their ladders. The battalion chief barked orders through a loud speaker. He was also on a cell phone with the utility company to make sure the gas was shut off completely.

He noticed the child safety sticker in the window where Katie slept and her Bless Said Mommy statue on the nightstand by the window.

There. That’s where she is. Get her! he ordered, and several firefighters rushed to the window with ladders in hand.

The flames grew stronger and brighter and cast an orange glow on the trees and grass and houses nearby like a giant campfire in the wilderness. But this glow was not at all warm and inviting. It was like a dragon’s breath that licked whatever it touched with the force of death and destruction. And then there was a loud crashing sound as the south end of the house collapsed on itself spewing smoke and ash and embers into the night air. The fire was heading directly toward Katie’s bedroom, and the firefighters knew it. So they climbed their ladders up to the window, no matter the heat or the smoke. But when they reached the window they could not see Katie. The room was dark and smoke was seeping into it. Flames began to nip at the ladders from below, so the firefighters were forced to retreat.

A bystander wearing a baggy blue bathrobe approached the battalion chief screaming, You can’t just give up! Little Katie’s in there. Do something!

The captain turned to her and said with sad resignation, There’s nothing more we can do. This is a total loss. It’s just too dangerous to continue a rescue. To get too close is to go up with it. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry, so sorry, Ma'am.

Then the woman, seeing that she was getting nowhere with the chief, began to yell as loud as she could, Someone help! There’s a child in there. Help! Help! Somebody help!

Michael was one of the bystanders, and he too sensed how dangerous the situation was. He saw the devastation and overheard the panic and despair of Becky who was crying uncontrollably in her husband’s arms. He understood that the firefighters could do nothing more. And he heard a voice, not a sounded voice, but an internal voice like a summons calling him to do it himself. Michael tried not to pay attention to the summons, so he turned away from the fire so that the voice would go away. But as he turned from the blaze trying to close his heart and his mind, the call became only more intense and sharper and clearer. "Do it yourself," it said, although not in words, but in the way a tension builds till a person can no longer endure it.

"Why me? I’m not ready yet. Please, not now," he struggled with himself. Then without explanation it seemed as if an abyss opened separating him from the scene before him. He knew full well what it meant—choose! He felt himself in the grips of a vertigo and he seemed to lean toward the blackness before him.

There he stayed for a few seconds of indecision and doubt, seconds that seemed like an eternity. Michael felt stripped of reasoning, stripped of excuses, stripped of self-concern. He was naked before his choice and the call and the way his heart ached for this family.

Then a sense of serenity came over him, and Michael knew what he had to do. He turned toward the heat and the smoke and the people so overcome by hopelessness and fear. Quietly but intently he looked up to the night sky and whispered, As you will. Then he ran straight toward the burning building.

As Michael got closer he could feel the heat and could clearly sense the danger he was rushing into. A firefighter forcefully grabbed him by the arm, but Michael pushed him aside. The firefighter yelled, Are you crazy? Don’t go in there. You won’t make it. But Michael intently pressed forward. Before he entered the blaze he found a hose that had been turned off but was still leaking water. He ripped off his shirt and soaked it in the water, wrapped the wet shirt around his face like a scarf, and stepped into the fire.

When Michael entered the house, he felt surrounded as if he had entered a furnace. A word came to him, and Michael, struggling to breathe, began saying it out loud. Shadrach. Shadrach. I am Shadrach, and the flames will not harm me.

The first thing he saw was a strange triple stairway. There were carpeted wooden stairs going up on the right and the left sides, and there was a spiral steel staircase in the middle more appropriate for a lighthouse. The two side staircases reached the second-floor; the middle spiral staircase led nowhere. It was just for show, but it reached almost as high up.

Michael dared not use the wooden stairs for they were already glowing and crumbling. So Michael stepped onto the steel staircase and ran up as fast as he could until he was about a foot or so away from the second-floor hallway. He would have to jump from the staircase to the railing running the length of the hallway.

What if I miss? he feared. Yet he was intent upon getting to Katie’s room that was just to the right of the staircase. He fought with himself whether he should leap, and at first his fear of falling paralyzed him even though the hallway was filling with smoke and the chance to make the jump was slipping away more and more each second. He knew he had to jump even if he missed and went down into the fiery debris below.

Michael looked at the hallway. He looked at the wooden railing. And then he saw, at least he thought he saw, a woman standing behind the hallway railing with her hand out as if to hoist him up to the railing. She had such a kind face and such a soft smile. He reached for her hand and sprung up to the railing barely grasping the lower end of two of its wooden spindles. But he held on, then hand-walked himself up to the top of the railing. With a sudden burst of energy, Michael pulled himself up and over and found himself standing squarely on the second-floor hallway. But he was alone.

Michael turned to his right where a closed door read Never Never Land. Michael’s throat clutched but he took his shirt from around his mouth and used it to open the door, but he saw no one inside. At least there didn’t seem to be anyone there. After shutting the door to seal the room and wrapping his shirt again around his mouth and nose, he called out in desperation, Katie, Katie, where are you, Sweetheart. Peter Pan’s here.

A tiny weepy voice called out, I’m here, Peter, in the closet. Come here. I’m scared.

Michael swung open the closet door and found Katie with black smudge marks mixed with tears all over her face. She was sitting deep in the closet clutching the statue that once stood on her nightstand. Katie looked like a mother holding her child close to her body to protect it against the chaos outside the closet. Then Michael reached out his hand to her just like the lady in the hallway did to him. Katie touched her finger tips to his, and Michael stretched until he had full grasp of her tiny hand. He pulled her to him and pressed her little body to his chest.

Quickly Michael tore his shirt in two, wrapped part around Katie’s face and the rest around his. She was crying and scared and didn’t know what to think. Then Katie became alarmed and shouted, You’re not Peter Pan!

Michael panicked because he realized this was the only chance he had to save Katie, so he quickly answered, No, Katie, I’m not Peter. I’m Michael. Remember me? Peter had to go, but he told me to get you out of here right now.

But you’re all grown up.

Sweetheart, only Peter never grows up. But I’m big so I can take you out of here. Grab hold of me. That’s it. Michael pressed Katie closer to his chest. She put one arm tightly around his neck while she held tightly to the Bless Said Mommy statue. It was then that the door to the hallway ominously began to darken and soon was consumed by the fiery beast raging in the hallway.

Michael saw this and realized that their time was very short and there was no escape into the hallway and down the staircase. There was only one way out, the window. He tried to open it with his spare hand, but it was stuck as the heat glued it to its frame.

Let me have the statue, Honey, Michael implored, and even though Katie did not want to, she let go of the statue and hugged Michael with all her might. Michael hit the window with the statue and shards of glass exploded out into the night air. But they made no sound as they fell, because the firefighters, figuring Michael had gone to Katie’s room to save her, had deployed a deep red airbag to catch them below the window. And as the glass panes flew into a thousand pieces and the two appeared at the open window, the firefighters gathered around the airbag to remove the glass shards and guide the jumpers.

Although the situation on the ground seemed ready for a safe escape, the situation in the room became dire as the open window caused the fire and smoke to rush into the room as if a giant bellows had formed in the hallway. So there was no time to think. Michael had to act.

He quickly said to Katie, I can fly, you know. All I have to do is sprinkle some fairy dust on you and you can fly too. Katie looked up at Michael with a look of complete awe and belief. Michael gave the statue back to the little girl, acted as if he were sprinkling magic dust on her head, then said with complete confidence, Now you can fly. Katie smiled, and before she could say anything, Michael put her in the crook of his arms. And as she held on to the statue tightly, Michael reached as far as he could out of the window, and seeing the firefighters and the airbag below, dropped Katie into the night air as his throat tightened and his heart seemed to stop. In that moment of letting go, he could not speak. He could not think. He could not even breathe. He just believed that there would be hands to catch Katie just as there was a hand to pull him up from the staircase.

Michael leaned as far as he could out of the window, cutting his left arm on a shard of glass that was still stuck in the window frame. But he did not focus on the pain or the blood or even his own peril. He watched as Katie hit the airbag on her back, bounced upward as if on a trampoline, then rolled over to the side where her mother and father pulled her to them and held on tight.

Now it was Michael’s turn to throw himself out of the window. And he was clearly aware of the danger he was in. The room was now black with smoke. The flames were lapping underneath the door and the dragon’s breath soon would devour all the room’s contents, including him. He knocked out the rest of the window with the nightstand, but he hesitated. He knew he should jump. He knew that if he didn’t jump the fire would turn him into a flaming pillar where he stood, and he knew that the airbag and the folks on the ground would be there to be sure he was safe and well. But he was frozen to his spot. Michael could not get his legs to mount the window frame, sit down, then push off. He was terrified, even though he had gone through so much already. He heard the shouts from the people below. He heard their words of encouragement and their insistence that he jump NOW. But he could not move. It was as if he had turned to stone.

Jump! Jump! the crowd yelled. Katie and her family were joining the chorus along with the bystanders. It’s OK, Michael. We’ve got you. For God’s sake, jump!

"For God’s sake…" The words pierced his consciousness. For God’s sake. No, not for God’s sake. For my sake, and into God’s hands. God surely doesn’t want what I’ve gone through to end right here, right now, like this. There is more I have to do. There is more I have to be. Let go and let God!

At that very moment the flames burst through the bedroom door and raced toward Michael like a red-orange fiery cobra.

Into your hands, Michael shouted, and in one ninja-like move he placed himself on the window sill in a sitting position with