Empire's End by Jerry Jenkins, James S. MacDonald

in my presence seemed to have abated. How I prayed her Stephanos and Stephen the Martyr were two entirely different people. If they were not, how would I ever bring myself to tell her?
    Few outside the Sanhedrin knew my role in that stoning.
    I had known nothing of Stephen beyond what I considered his blasphemy. I could not have told you whether he was married or had a family, and now I hoped that he had not.
Hoped
was not even the word for it. Had anyone been in the crowd to support him that day, I would have known of it. Even fellow members of The Way had fled when it became obvious what was to become of him. Of course they had their own loved ones to think of.
    Now as I hiked across the Arabian sands again, I had to wonder whether it was possible God would meet me at the same place in the wilderness every day and teach me the unsearchable riches of His Son, yet not tell me that He might have sent me nearly a thousand miles to sleep within feet of the widow of the very martyr I had put to death.
    It couldn’t be!
    And I didn’t dare ask. It seemed so obvious He would tell me. Surely this woman’s husband was only coincidentally named the same and from the same region. Surely.
    Facedown before the Lord on the plateau, I emptied myself of all distractions save that one—which I found impossible. I wanted to ask, nay, I wanted to demand. But who was I to question the creator God? The woman who had immediately enchanted me with her shyness and grace—then her beauty and elegance—until that very morning had done all she could to avoid me. Now, captivated as I had been, I knew I should be evading her, just when she finally seemed to be softening.
    The nightmare had been such a close call. I would have to watch every word I said while awake, and hope I didn’t blurt out anything again in mysleep. What would she and her father think? What would Corydon make of it? I could not shun him! That would be entirely unfair and impossible to explain.
    Again, I worked to put it all out of my mind and concentrate on what God had for me that day. I was amazed at my capacity to be diverted from the import of such a privilege. Would anyone else be able to think of anything but the prospect of communing with God? Yet here I was worrying about a slight possibility and its ramifications, just when the Lord Himself was to speak to me.
    I lay before Him, face buried in the crook of my arm, vainly trying to rid myself of anything but openness to His voice, and I was miserable. All because of an old man’s utterance of one word, one name: Stephanos.
    I was desperate not to do anything to cause the Lord’s silence again, but this was not the result of anything I had said or done. I was powerless to control my response to it. The more I tried to separate myself from the bonds of it, the tighter they wrapped themselves around my spirit until I thought I would go mad.
    But God knew. He had formed my innermost parts. I need to tell Him, ask Him, nothing. Whatever I needed, He would give me. All He asked of me was to be a vessel willing to be filled. And I was.
    Jesus spoke to my heart:
This is the will of God for you, your sanctification. You are to abstain from sexual immorality. Maintain yourself sanctified and honorable, not in lust or passion like those who do not know My Father. He is the avenger, and He calls you to holiness
.
    Was this instruction for my calling? I had not lusted after this woman. I had just met her and hardly knew her. I had merely been intrigued by her. But I would accept this counsel from the Lord no matter how it was intended. It was doubtful He had led me so miraculously to this place forsome purpose other than to teach me about Himself, especially if He had a specific calling for me. Apostle to the Gentiles. I couldn’t deny He had been preparing me for this since my birth.
    Now concerning those who die trusting in Me, there is no need to sorrow as others who have no hope. For if you