Kidnapped

I never claimed to be a genius. I was, however, a Bible-bred and raised Baptist preacher’s kid. I was outgoing, evangelistic and well versed in the Romans Road. I never met a stranger I didn’t invite to church.

“If you were to die tonight and stand before God, and He were to ask you, ‘Why should I allow you to enter my Heaven?’ what would you answer Him?” There is only one right answer to that question. Answer it incorrectly and I could unload the entire Plan in 7 minutes and 37 seconds. So don’t judge me too harshly for what happened.

It was the summer after my senior year in high school. I was at Disneyland with a group of church friends on a Saturday night. Remember the Tiki Hut? Animated fake birds drop from the ceiling and pop out of every corner totem pole singing songs and wisecracking jokes. I was seated on the front row of my section and facing me on the front row of the opposing section was a really cute guy. Every time I looked in his direction, he was looking in my direction. Each time our eyes met, we flashed increasingly brave – brazen – smiles. When my friends and I walked out, sure enough, he was waiting for me. He and his friend introduced themselves to me and my friends.

After a brief conversation, I invited them to attend our church the next evening. They said, “We’ll be there.”

And they came. I introduced them to the others in the youth group and to my parents as well. After church every Sunday night, all of us kids went to McDonalds. It was a ritual. This evening was no exception. So, naturally, we invited the new guys.

My new friends invited me to ride with them and show them the way. I was glad to hop in the middle and ride on the console of this late model silver Corvette. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I said, “Turn left.” He turned right. I laughed and explained that McDonalds was the other direction. He said he needed to go get gas. But he didn’t.

We traveled farther and farther from McDonalds and my close group of friends. I like to think that at some point, someone asked, “Where’s Joy and those new guys?” I was concerned when the two of them explained that their names were not Jeff and Brad as they had said. They pulled out their driver’s licenses and showed me their real names—not the names they had used to be introduced to my friends and parents. Turns out they were not 18 and 19 either. They were 24 and 25. I found this odd on several levels. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that I would not have a burger and fries that night.

Orange County in Southern California was part of a huge metropolis that covered many, many square miles. We drove in relative silence for a long time. For a while, I attempted mindless small talk. I even asked where we were going. Eventually, there was no traffic, no traffic lights and then, there were no streetlights. I could see only the occasional twinkling headlights or perhaps the lights from a secluded home in the sparsely populated hills.

The silence was good for praying. The time was right for praying. And praying became my main focus. I somehow remained calm as I suggested to Jeff and Brad—or Tom and Mark—or whoever they were—that I really needed to go home. They didn’t disagree. They just didn’t say anything at all.

Finally, the driver pulled the sporty Corvette over onto the gravel shoulder and stopped. No lights, No approaching headlights. No houses in sight. The driver put the car in park, turned off the headlights and leaned forward. Speaking past me to his friend, he asked, “What should we do with her?” I really didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. “Just take me home. Please, just take me home. I have to go to work tomorrow.” I continued to pray silently, praying I would not this very night stand before God answering His ultimate question…though I was certainly hoping I had the right answer. Somehow I remained calm though my heart was racing.

The guy on the passenger side got out and walked to the back of the car. Then he came back and got in again. “Let’s just take her home.”

And they did.