In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and winding rivers, there lived a man who spent his days perched upon a weathered wooden chair on the front porch of his modest cottage. His eyes, a mirror to the vast expanse of his thoughts, gazed blankly into the distance as if searching for something just beyond the edge of his consciousness.

The man's mind was a void, a vast emptiness that seemed to swallow up any stray thought or fleeting emotion that dared to cross its threshold. He sat there, unmoving, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the bustling village around him.

Neighbors passing by would stop and exchange fleeting greetings with the man, but he hardly registered their presence. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts and memories.

Some said he was a dreamer, a man who had wandered too far into the recesses of his own mind and had lost his way back to reality. Others whispered that he was haunted by ghosts from his past, memories that clung to him like shadows in the fading light of day.

But the man paid them no mind. He remained on his chair, a silent sentinel guarding the threshold between the known and the unknown, his gaze fixed on a horizon only he could see. And there he sat, lost in the vast emptiness of his mind, a solitary figure in a world that seemed to have forgotten him.

The man earned the title "Chairman" from locals, as he never moved. Not even a muscle.

Sometimes, insensitive people walk up to him and pour liquids on him, as if to scorn. Others slap his face.
But he doesn't move. Not even when some people clean him up from these things happening to him.
Even when the towns' news anchor came by a month later, he statically remained sat.

Until one day, a man who was clearly new to the town was carrying a bunch of Bibles in a sack on his back.

He saw the Chairman and innocently greeted him before stepping up to him, taking a Bible out the sack and asking, "You want one, sir?" while extending a Bible out to him.
For once, the Chairmans' eyes creaked slowly, with his head uncomfortably following suit, to turn and look at that Bible the man held out to him. It was a blue leather plated Bible in NKJV. A study Bible.

A bit concerned at the noises that occurred from this, the man stepped up another step onto his porch. He thought to speak Spanish before asking again. "Do you want a Bible?" He asked, this time a bit louder, as the Chairman looked old.

The old man shook subtly and rocked back and forward in the chair. He moved, and stood.

Everyone in the neighborhood that was in a house in view watched in awe, confusion, and surprise. Even some others, who were planning on doing nefarious acts to the once immobile Chairman, stopped in their tracts to watch, completely flabbergasted and defeated.

The Christian looked over his shoulder curiously, wondering why there's so many gasps. He looked forward and saw that the Bible was in the Chairman's hands, wide open.

There appeared to be tears trickling down from his weary eyes that were once dull and empty. "At...last..." the chairman croaked.

"What was that?" the Christian asked curiously, getting slightly emotional at the display.
"At last...young man..." the old man looked up at him slowly and smiled. "I had lost all that I had...my wife left me...most of my children passed on...and worst of all," he stopped to cough before continuing. "my Bible was taken from me by my grandkids."

He looked down at the ground, putting one of his hands on his head slowly as he wheezed. Then, he continued. "I told God: If You see my affliction as it said in Your Word; the Bible...send me...someone who will give me a free Bible; free of charge."

"And, at last..." he weakly lifts up that great tome, the Bible, and smiled shakily. "I have it..."

The Christian smiled and cheered, whereas the others just stared in disbelief. "Praise the Lord GOD Almighty!!!" The Christian cheered as he danced.

The old man was so happy that he cried. "Forgive me, God." The old man weakly cried, going to sit down again. "I have no more money." He coughed. "This house...will be repossessed...next week."

"Well, do you need my help?" The Christian asked as he looked through the window of the place to see a dark, dusty room. It looked like it was once a study room, but all the furniture inside was broken, beaten, and deliberately destroyed.

The old man nodded. "Yes..." He wheezed while technically hugging the Bible in his weak arms, murmuring prayers as he let his neck relax.

From that day on, the Christian, along with some others, began to help the old man regain his physical abilities, and nursed him and treated him as their own grandpa.

His name was Jecamiah. This was his story...