Edward the media guy, cowered under his desk in the media booth, wondering if the terrorists knew he was there. His Coca-Cola belly (he called it that so church members wouldn’t be privy to his alcoholism) was rising and lowering so rapidly he feared he was going to start hyperventilating.

Edward thought of his grandmother and the game she used to play with him whenever he had a panic attack.

‘Come here, Eddie,’ she would say. ‘Sit on my lap.’

He always loved sitting on her lap. That alone had the healing effect of a thousand balms.

‘We have a game to play.’ She always smiled after saying that. ‘Do you want to play the game?’

He always nodded, yes. ‘Okay, tell me what you’re afraid of.’

The terrorists.

‘Now, come on. Is that really scary enough to make you panic?’

Yes!

‘Well, guess what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna make your problem disappear. Do you know how I’m gonna do that?’

How?

‘I’m gonna ask Jesus to intervene.

But, you’re dead.

‘I’ll always pray for you, Eddie.’