Chapter 1

David Padgett's success haunted him.  A deep-seated fear gripped his heart.  He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a bottomless chasm.  One step in the wrong direction and he would plunge into a darkness so deep he could never recover.  A sense of loneliness and despair besieged him.

Last night Jeff Berry phoned from New York.  "I gotta tell you David, I've been your agent for a long time.  However, this book, eeww,  it's your best work so far.  Are you ready for this?  Love Unlimited has sold 50,000 advance copies."  David

smiled at Jeff's exhilaration.  "You mark my words; you're headed for the best seller list again."

Sighing, David rose from his antique desk and contemplated his office. The opulent oak planking gleamed, reflecting the rich leather couch and chairs.  He turned off the Bose, this

morning, even Beethoven sounded tinny.

His heart cold, indifferent to the plight of the world. His eyes

roved the photos and commendations by Ronald Reagan, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, Pope John Paul, and others lining the walls of his office.  Reading their words of praise always cheered him up.  He turned to gaze out the full glass wall.  His ghostly reflection stared back at him.  A man of 50, plastic

surgery gave him the appearance of the late thirties.  The gray hair at the temples betrayed him.

The PR Department recommended he leave a touch of silver.  They said it gave him an air of distinction.  Self- consciously, he smoothed his hair and stood ramrod straight, he brushed imaginary dust from his Kiton's suit. He smoothed his silk Jacquard tie. Then he relaxed, letting his shoulders droop, no cameras around, at least he hoped not.

David's third- story office afforded him a view of Grace Tabernacle's 150-acre estate, the tranquil village of Grafton, and the White River meandering in the distance.

 An exquisite red June sunrise betrayed the promise of a perfect late spring day. A light mist rose lazily from the lake. Dew on the grass shone like a billion gems. 

"My acres of diamonds," David whispered, "is filled with fool's gold."

He returned to his desk, and opened his scheduling book.  The day was full of meetings, and production filming. Global

Outreach, now in 80 countries, internet, and broadband.  The website generated thousands of hits each day, repeating his sermons, promoting his books.  The order department kept busy shipping his books, CD's and sermon notes.

David slammed the book closed, when  was the last time Anne and he were able to take a vacation.  Not a trip with a speaking engagement sandwiched in, but some time away from everything. He was the envy of every minister in the world, yet he would gladly trade places with the pastor of a

little country church in a heartbeat. 

The wall to ceiling bookcase concealed the door to David's

secret room; the door was undetectable. David, Anne, and Robert were only people privy to this room.       

Shoving his chair back, David jumped to his feet.  Walking to the built in bookcase he selected a copy of The Purpose Driven Life personally signed by Rick Warren, one of over a

thousand books he owned, many of its volumes autographed by their authors.  Running his fingers over the custom leather

cover, he held the book up to his nose.

He loved the smell of fine leather. As in high school, he still could lose himself in a book. It was easier for him to become mesmerized by the characters in a novel, rather than to deal with real people in real life.Today, the books and his office held no joy for him.

"Well Rick, didn't you ever want to just walk away?"  He murmured. He thought about calling the author and rejected the idea.

David had labored for two years to convince the city leaders that Grace Tabernacle would be an asset, not an eyesore.  Grafton's oak lined streets, stately homes, and manicured lawns seemed to have jumped from the pages of Ideal Magazine. The crime rate in Grafton was among the lowest in the state, a great contrast to Indianapolis.

Mothers felt safe letting their children meet and play in the park with their friends. Unafraid couples still strolled hand in hand on the streets at night.

Resisting Wal-Mart and other big chains, the residents

cherished their downtown. Individuals, not corporations, owned the pharmacy, hardware, and grocery stores.  On Friday and Saturday nights, the old Grand Theater did a thriving business.  The Grafton High Lions boasted three state championships within the past 10 years.  In contrast to most cities,

Grafton's business district closed on Sundays; the owners joked it would not do any good to open their stores. Everyone, including themselves, would be attending services at Grace Tabernacle. A fact David hoped would someday be

true.

The small pitiful church building at the far end of the property seemed out of place.  The

white clapboard structure contrasted with the manicured lawns, calm lake, and formal gardens.  One of the many walking paths led members by the tiny building.

In his mind, David saw the plaque beside the path in front of the church.

`Grace Tabernacle built by the two hands

of our beloved pastor Dr. David Padgett.

From his humble beginning

he built a worldwide ministry.

Erected by Youth Aglow.

  The inside of the building was just as plain. Wooden pews purchased from an abandoned Methodist church. The pulpit made out of plywood.  The maintenance crew touched up the paint every spring and repaired any damage caused by age or weather.  As they built other church buildings to house the growing congregation, David wanted to have the small church torn down.  The people protested, saying they wanted to remember Grace Tabernacle's beginning.  David smiled, remembering how happy he and Anne were back then.  

              Their first Christmas in Grafton, he and Anne exchanged cards, foregoing gifts so Bobby could have Christmas.  The next spring he laid the foundation of the church.  With the last of his mother's inheritance money spent, he took a job as a sacker at John's Super Value.  Anne stood behind his decision, working three days a week at the Hair Place Beauty Shop.

              He shivered reflecting on the hours he spent working the streets.  Each morning at 8:30 he was out of the house and knocking on doors.  Even in the worst blizzard in 20 years, he made five calls before he froze out.  All winter and into the spring and summer, he continued until he had visited every home or business in Grafton and the surrounding countryside.  Finishing each morning by 11:45, he rushed home for a quick bite and to rest awhile.  At 2:00 p.m., he was sacking groceries in the Super Value, and back home by 9 p.m.  Exhausted, he spent an hour with Anne and then dropped into bed to start all over again the next day. 

              The first Sunday morning, he arrived at 9:15 to welcome his congregation. Nevertheless, that first Lord's Day, and every Sunday after for 45 weeks he preached only to his wife and son.  Each time he made a point; Anne smiled and nodded her head.  Bobby squirmed in the pew while his mother tried in vain to keep him quiet. 

              More Monday mornings than he could count, David quit the ministry.  Before the end of the week, Anne would persuade him to try one more time.  On the 46th week, halfway through the service, Ed Harden and his wife Ada walked in.  David stopped preaching and stepped down from the pulpit to welcome them.

  "Sorry for being late preacher," Ed said, "but the hogs got out just as we was a leavin."  David shook Ed and Ada's hands.  Returning to the pulpit, he started the sermon from the beginning.  Ten years ago, Ed sold the hog farm to take over as head grounds keeper at Grace Tabernacle.  Today, at age 25 years old, Robert's office rivaled David's as Executive Associate Pastor.  Bobby, now called Robert was poised to take over if David retired or died.  Seven days a week, 'Global Outreach' carried David's messages throughout the world.  Each Sunday three shifts of attendants ushered 22,000 people in and out of the giant sanctuary.  By the end of the day, David could repeat his sermon in his sleep, which is what Anne complained he sometimes did. Letters and emails flowed in from all over the world.. David however rarely saw any of the correspondence. Each letter or email was poured over and answered by a team, hidden from the public, in a small back room.

              Time after time, his books had topped the New York Times Best Sellers List, selling eight million copies, making his name a household word.  The publisher offered his latest book, gift- boxed and autographed for a hundred dollars, though David never saw one of them.

Every day, calls from ministries or corporations flooded the receptionist's desk. Jenny Macklin ran her station like a battleship.  She knew how to handle the small ministries.  "Preacher David's fee is $40,000 a day plus expenses," she said smiling. "Please hold, I'll connect you with our finance department.  They will discuss financial arrangements and his schedule with you."  Invariably, they would mumble something about having to call back.  Jenny would hit the disconnect button like a general launching a nuclear strike.

  Didn't think so," she said gleefully. Without missing a beat, she would punch the button for the next caller.  "Grace Tabernacle, how may I help you?" she said, her voice pleasant with a small southern twang.  Jenny made you feel as if you were the most important person in the world.  Sometimes David stood at the receptionist's desk, marveling at her efficiency. 

  Monthly, he flew to different states ranging from Maine to California. His seminars on success were in high demand.  The attendees, mainly from Fortune 500 corporations, who paid hundreds of dollars for the privilege.  At each seminar, security turned away pastors from small churches.  They came, hoping to be allowed in, explaining they didn't have the money to pay the entire fee.  At the last meeting, one man broke through, running into the building.  A security officer grabbed the man from behind.  David watched from a balcony as he manhandled the pastor out the glass doors of the Hilton.

   "Please let me in, I just want to learn how to reach more people for Christ." His pleas were of no avail.  The seminar went on without him.  The man reminded David of himself 20 years ago.  He sighed.  For all he had accomplished, the  happiness he preached evaded him. 

  At one time, he considered himself the most fortunate man in the world.  Graduating from Taylor University, he arrived in Grafton with a small inheritance from his mother's estate and a big dream.  After a week of searching, he found a dilapidated house on 25 acres at the edge of town, not quite country, and not quite city. He managed to purchase the house and land on contract.  He worked on the shack for weeks, sometimes with little sleep.  After two months, the house was livable; he brought Anne and Bobby to Grafton, and began building the church.  For months, he labored on the building at night, visiting house to house during each morning and working at the Super Value each afternoon and evening.  David remembered the night his life changed forever.

  Tired from sacking groceries, he walked out to the unfinished church, staring at the bare 2x4s.  In the tiny Sunday school room, a small voice spoke inside him.  "It'll never happen.  Ten years from now, you'll still be at the Super Value during the day and the ministry at night."   He dropped his hammer, walked back across the overgrown field to his home.  He entered the living room; he sank down into the easy chair he had rescued from the dump. The smell of the apple pie Anne was baking wafted from the kitchen.  She didn't say a word; instead she brought him a cup of coffee, a piece of pie, and the Indianapolis Star.

   Reading the newspaper, he saw the answer to his prayers.  It was a large ad for a business seminar with billionaire Tibb Russell in the ballroom at the Holiday Inn, the next Saturday from 9-3.  Russell fought his way up from poverty with stocks, bonds, and insurance. The fee was $200 in advance or $250 at the door.  David calculated their savings; he could just barely make the fee.

   "Anne, look at this," he said, calling her in from the kitchen.  Coming up behind David, she looked over his shoulder.

              "This is just what I need," he said, tapping the newspaper with his finger. 

  "Yes, it looks good, but dear." she said, laying her head on his shoulder.  "But you're a pastor, not a salesman." 

  "I am a salesman, Anne, my product is the best remedy known to man, the gospel of Jesus Christ." 

  Still unconvinced, Anne said, "Honey, I don't think this is right, but if you do, I'll help you all I can."

           "I love you," he said.   Jumping up he took her in his arms and kissed her.  "I'm sure this is just what I need to build a healthy, vital church."

              At 8:00 Saturday morning, David stood in a line extending down the hall from the ballroom in the Holiday Inn.  With 75 men and women before him, he listened to the executive's conversations.  They discussed difficult customers, sales figures, and government regulations.  David felt like a duck out of water.  They moved at a snail's pace in the direction of the registration table, finally it was his turn.  An attractive blonde woman in a blue business suit filled out a new form.

              "Name, please" she said, without looking up.

   "Rev, ah, David Padgett," he said, thinking quickly.  He wasn't sure he wanted to reveal he was a minister.

              "The business you represent?" she asked, giving him a professional smile.  He hesitated.  All of these men and women were here to increase their sales.  He wanted to learn how to lead more souls to Christ.  Her smile brightened.

   "It's perfectly acceptable if you don't wish the name of your business to appear on your tag.  I will only print it on my forms if you prefer.  However, I do require its listing for my records."

  David's cheeks burned.  he bent over and whispered, "Grace Tabernacle."

   "Excuse me?" she said, her smile fading.

  "Grace Tabernacle Church," he said slightly louder.

   Handing him a blank nametag she said rather briskly, "Have a nice day."