Standing Strong
West Brothers, Volume 4
Theresa Linden
Published by Silver Fire Publishing, 2017.
Also by Theresa Linden
Armor of God
Belt of Truth
Breastplate of Righteousness
Chasing Liberty trilogy
Bound to Find Freedom
Chasing Liberty
Testing Liberty
Fight for Liberty
West Brothers
Roland West, Loner
Life-Changing Love
Battle for His Soul
Standing Strong
Roland West, Outcast
Standalone
Anyone But Him
Tortured Soul
Watch for more at Theresa Linden’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also By Theresa Linden
PRAISE FOR STANDING STRONG
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
Scripture References
Bibliography
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Further Reading: Roland West, Outcast
About the Author
About the Publisher
PRAISE FOR STANDING STRONG
“Another chapter in Theresa Linden’s masterfully-developed series for teens that will resonate with everyone who has struggled to find his place in the world, been tempted to take the easy way out, or doubted the work of God’s hand in his life.”
~Carolyn Astfalk, author of coming-of-age romance Rightfully Ours
“THERESA LINDEN IS AN amazing talent in Catholic teen fiction. The ease with which she draws the reader into each scene, with outstanding descriptions and her ability to capture the heart and soul of the tough Jarret West, make Standing Strong her most powerful and gripping book yet.”
~Leslea Wahl, author of award-winning YA fiction, The Perfect Blindside
“IT'S NOT EASY TO REINVENT yourself while you're still in high school, Jarret West discovers as he seeks a way to turn his life around after an intense spiritual experience. His twin brother couldn't be more different: Keefe contemplates joining the Franciscan friars. Theresa Linden recounts twin spiritual quests in her newest novel, Standing Strong.”
~Barb Szyszkiewicz, editor at CatholicMom.com
“LINDEN IS A MASTER at getting inside the heads of today's teenagers, and her own deep faith and love of God shine through and inspire on every page. After reading Standing Strong, your own spiritual life cannot but be strengthened, making you also want to stand strong for God. Highly recommended!”
~Susan Peek, author of St. Magnus, The Last Viking
“Standing Strong is a beautiful testament to how God works—in the whispers, in the quiet moments, in the gentle guidance of our hearts. It's a reminder that Jesus is with us in ways we may never understand, and that, if we allow it, the Holy Spirit will give us the strength to stand strong for God!”
~Lisa Mayer, author of The Aletheian Journeys Series
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2017 by Theresa A. Linden
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from The Revised Standard Version of the Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1965, 1966 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
http://theresalinden.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017909653
ISBN-13: 978-0-9976747-2-9
First Edition Silver Fire Publishing, October 2017
Cover: Theresa Linden
Editor: Lisa Mayer
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my teenage boys, Joseph, Justin, and Cisco. You might not always feel the presence of God but know that He is with you and He has a plan for your life that will give you far greater happiness than you can ever imagine. Trust and surrender.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful for the assistance I have received from several talented authors: Carolyn Astfalk, Virginia Bliss, Susan Peek, and my editor Lisa Mayer. These authors have helped me to grow as a writer and have encouraged and supported me through this project. I also wish to express my gratitude to Barb Szyszkiewicz for reading an advanced copy of this story even with all her new obligations. Last but not least, I will always be thankful for the love and support of my husband and three boys; I wouldn’t be able to write my stories without them.
“Be strong and of good courage...
for it is the Lord your God who goes with you;
He will not fail you or forsake you.”
~Deuteronomy 31:6
“Do not be conformed to this world
but be transformed by the renewal of your mind,
that you may prove what is the will of God,
what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
~Romans 12:2
CHAPTER 1
Heart racing out of control, seventeen-year-old Jarret West swung open the door to the confessional with a sweaty hand and stumbled out. Eyes to the floor but not really seeing, he staggered to the front of the quiet church and slid into a pew. He lowered the kneeler, dropped to his knees, and slumped over. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Too exhausted to care, he let it trace a path to the neckline of his shirt.
“Hail Mary, full of grace...” He moved his lips as he prayed his penance, his voice less than a whisper. The weight of the sins of his past had lifted as Father had spoken the words of absolution, transporting him to the clouds. The effect was similar to the first time he’d confessed them, back in Arizona, after piling up more sins than he should’ve for a kid his age.
Now he couldn’t think straight. But he had to. He needed to plan.
Jarret opened his eyes and caught sight of his hands trembling, dangling over the pew in front of him. He clasped them together and lifted his gaze to the tabernacle. His teary eyes and the spotlight shining on the tabernacle’s gold finish made a starburst.
“I know You’re in there. Won’t You speak to me?” he whispered, hoping vainly for a reply, a feeling, a holy thought popping into his mind. Anything.
Whispers cam
e from the back of the church. And footfalls. Someone coming down the aisle to do their penance, no doubt.
Not wanting to meet up with anyone he knew, he pushed himself up and dashed out the side door of the church. The air cooled his sweaty neck and invigorated him a bit. Squinting against the setting sun, he jogged around the church and glimpsed his red Chrysler 300 on the far side of the parish parking lot. Sun drenched the old blacktop with faded parking stripes. He counted several cars but no people.
As he hustled across it, he dug his keys from his pocket. He pressed “unlock” on the key fob several times, though the headlights had flashed at his first touch, telling him he’d unlocked it. He yanked the car door open. A pungent odor assaulted him.
Irritation and foul thoughts threatening to disrupt his calm, he collapsed into the seat and shoved the key into the ignition. He peeled out of the parking lot with a hand to the window controls, lowering all four windows.
Doggone thing still reeks of Limburger cheese.
He’d discovered the smell three weeks ago, the day he, Papa, and his younger brother, Roland, had returned from Arizona. He’d offered to pick up pizza for their live-in maid and caretaker, Nanny. He’d opened his car for the first time in weeks and gagged. Breathing through their shirts, he and his twin brother, Keefe, dug through the car until they found the source of the smell: a huge block of spoiled Limburger cheese under a seat.
Immediately suspecting Roland’s friend Peter, Jarret’s anger had propelled him toward the house. Peter was always messing with Jarret, taunting him, and Jarret was tired of him getting away with it. To his irritation, Keefe had stopped him in his tracks and told him to let it go. It took a massive amount of self-control, but he did let it go. At least for that moment. Keefe sprayed air freshener in the car, and they rode with the windows down. The next day, Jarret paid to have the interior cleaned and detailed.
Doggone thing still reeked, especially when closed up for more than an hour.
Jarret turned onto a main road. He hadn’t seen Peter since. He’d just confessed indulging in feelings of hate and revenge—and visualizing his fist removing the smug smile from Peter’s face—along with everything he’d confessed to the priest in Arizona. That had been his first real confession in years, probably since he’d made his first confession in grade school. Back when Mama was still alive. “Once you’ve sincerely confessed,” Father Carston, their white-haired, forty-something parish priest, had said today, “it’s forgiven. You can let it go. And work on forgiving yourself and others.”
Easier said than done. But he’d only confessed it all again because he figured if Father Carston was going to be his spiritual director, he should know the real Jarret.
Spiritual director... Jarret shook his head and sighed. Had he lost his mind? The priest in Arizona told him he should get one. Jarret had been going to Mass on Sundays since then, but he’d put off finding a spiritual director. Until today.
Squinting at the sunlight that reflected off the road, Jarret took a deep breath and exhaled. He willed himself to relax, to come down from the emotional state his confession had left him in.
In the canyon in southern Arizona, he’d promised himself he’d make up for his sins, especially for the way he’d treated his younger brother, Roland. He didn’t feel the commitment as zealously now. But he still intended to do it. Having a spiritual director would help. And not seeking revenge on Peter was a good first step. He’d work on actual forgiveness later.
Please, God, don’t let us cross paths for a while.
Jarret sped past the high school and toward the outskirts of town. On one side of the road, puffy white clouds floated in a blue sky over distant hills. Well-spaced houses sat back far from the road with a few clusters of trees, granite outcroppings, and long stretches of grassy land. Peaceful surroundings that didn’t overwhelm the senses. A long drive might help him pull himself together.
Hot wind blew through the open car windows, ruffling Jarret’s shirt and bringing in fresh air. He pulled the band from his ponytail and let his hair go wild, curly dark locks slapping his face and neck.
Jarret zoned out, thinking of nothing for a while, just pressing the pedal to the metal and steering the Chrysler 300 around curves. The road wound a lot more out this way, twisting and turning like his mood. As he drove further, the landscape developed character: more hills and evergreen trees, a log cabin or ranch here and there.
Warm wind on his face, hair flapping around his head, noonday sun in his eyes...
Fifteen or twenty minutes from town, Jarret realized with a hint of pride that he’d put himself back together. He tried to think of what road he’d cross next, so he could turn around. But without warning, his heart betrayed him.
Emotions erupted, stinging and rattling him to the core. The grace of forgiveness and a clean soul sent his spirit soaring to the clouds, but the weight of his weakness dragged him back down. How would he find the strength, the power to remain on the right path?
Anguish brought tears to his eyes and blurred his vision. He stepped on the brakes and eased the Chrysler off the road, to the only section of grass he could find that would accommodate his car. Skinny evergreens lined the road, most growing close together. A granite outcropping, low on one side and high on the other, like a split-level house, rose up a stone’s throw away. He wouldn’t ordinarily park so close to a road, but his emotional state left him no choice.
Jarret glanced over his shoulder, fortunately having enough sense to check for cars, then he jumped out of the Chrysler and dashed to the split-level outcropping. Anguish driving him onward, he staggered around behind it to where he couldn’t be seen from the road. Shrinking and helpless against a wave of emotion, he rested a hand on the warm granite and fell to his knees.
“Jesus,” he whispered, collapsing to wild grass and hard-packed earth. How could he return to his old life, to school and his friends, and stay on the right path? What would keep him from picking up his old ways? Weak and alone, he longed to experience Jesus’ presence again, the way he had in the canyon. But he didn’t deserve it, so he didn’t dare ask.
The canyon... He tried to call it to mind: the dark, the fear, the chill in the air and in his soul, the exhaustion from having poured out his sins, then the Lord drawing near. His wounded hands. His burning heart.
The memory, fuzzy around the edges, drifted to a distant corner of his mind.
“No.” Jarret dug his fingers into clumps of weeds and grass. The memory slipped even further, resisting his efforts to reclaim it. Would he lose it forever?
“Where do I go from here?”
CHAPTER 2
“God enriches the soul which empties itself of everything.”
~Saint Pio of Pietrelcina
Keefe leaned his weight into the dresser and pushed, struggling to slide it across the hardwood floor. He’d managed to pull it away from the wall on one side, but now he needed to keep it at an angle so he could maneuver it around his bed. He’d put t-shirts under the feet, thinking it would move more easily across the hardwood floor. Didn’t seem to help. Maybe he should rest and wait for Jarret to get home. Meanwhile, he could take care of that email he’d been putting off.
Turning his head, he glimpsed his laptop out of the corner of his eye. No. He wasn’t ready for that.
Keefe renewed his efforts and shoved again, grunting as he slid the dresser several feet. He probably should’ve removed the drawers, but he hadn’t wanted to make extra work. It had taken long enough to clear all his new books off the top.
Not new. Old. But new to him. He’d spent the last few weeks searching for anything on St. Francis of Assisi that he could get his hands on. His favorite was the 2000-page Omnibus of Sources. The readings really spoke to him, took him back in time to the little town of Assisi and the sandaled, brown-robed saint.
Sweat dripped down his back, between his shoulder blades. Halfway to the adjacent wall, he stopped pushing, scratched his back furiously, and wiped his sweaty hands o
n his sweatpants. Then he lifted the hem of his rock-band t-shirt and wiped his face. If Jarret were home, this would go much quicker. It had taken him half an hour to box up all the junk on the old entertainment center. Then another ten minutes to move the awkward thing out into the hallway. Moving one of the two armchairs out hadn’t taken much time, but boxing up his old toys and moving his desk had. He’d be glad to finish.
As Keefe leaned into the dresser again, Papa’s bedroom door creaked open.
Papa clomped out into the hallway. For years, the distinctive sound of his old cowboy boots had served as a warning when he and Jarret had been up to no good.
“What’cha doing in here?” His father stopped in the doorway, rested a shoulder on the doorframe, and adjusted his Stetson.
Keefe wiped his forehead with his arm. “Oh, just rearranging. Getting rid of a few things.” They both looked at the clutter of boxes and furniture in the hallway. “Can I borrow the car to drop that stuff at the thrift shop?”
Papa’s brows drew together. Squinting at the pile, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Naw. Let’s hold onto it. You boys are nearly grown. You might want it when you move out.”
“Uh...” Keefe wasn’t going to want it when he moved out. He wasn’t going to want anything. The desire to give it all away grew inside him daily. He wanted to be like St. Francis. But he couldn’t tell Papa that. Papa had grown up in a tiny ranch house. They’d never had money to spare. He’d struggled to make college happen. Then he struggled to find work as an archeologist. Years later, his determination and hard work paid off. But it had turned around only after a series of fortunate events that had little to do with hard work or determination and everything to do with the generosity and blessings of God. Papa was a poor man in a rich man’s house, a cowboy in a mansion. He wouldn’t want to go back.
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