“Would you like some coffee?”
I squeezed her hand and gave my head a slight nod.
After she left, I turned my attention back to my game of solitaire. Not that I cared that much about the game. It was a mindless diversion. Something I didn’t have to think about, but that would—or so I thought—keep my mind off my troubles.
Truth is, it wasn’t helping much. If anything it allowed me to wallow in my self-pity all the more. About five minutes had passed when Hannah came in, carrying my stainless steel travel mug, full of steaming coffee. She was dressed in pink pajamas, and her hair was still damp from her bath.
Skeeter trailed after her.
“Here, Daddy.” She held the mug out to me.
I wheeled my desk chair around to face her. “Thanks, sweetie.”
I was about to turn back to my computer when I noticed that she and Skeeter still stood there.
“Was there something else?”
Her voice was quiet, almost shy. “Can I show you the trick I taught Skeeter?”
I smiled. Jayne had set me up. “Sure. Let’s see it.”
Hannah had a cube of Colby cheese in her other hand. She turned and faced Skeeter, holding the cheese in front of the little dog. She instantly had the dog’s full attention. Her face grew serious as she held up one finger. “Skeeter, sit.”
Over the next few minutes, the little dog jumped, bounced, rolled, barked, and did everything imaginable except sit. Hannah finally gave up in frustration and handed Skeeter the cheese.
Deflated, Hannah looked at me and said, “He did it before. He really did.”
“I believe you. Come here.” I held out my arms. Hannah sat on my lap and put her head on my shoulder. She smelled of perfumed soap and shampoo.
I could have sat there all night.
For those brief moments, all troubles were forgotten as I reveled in the presence of my little girl.
Out of the blue, she posed a question to me. “Does Skeeter miss Mr. Otis?”
“I’m sure he does, sweetie. When I was over at Mr. Otis’s apartment, Skeeter kept jumping into Mr. Otis’s recliner and hunkering down. I think he wonders where his friend went.”
“Can we keep him?”
I kissed the top of her head. “No. The church doesn’t allow animals in their house.”
“It’s not fair. Can’t you make them change their mind?”
No, I thought. Seems like I can’t influence them about anything anymore.
“I wish I could, honey.”
“Can’t we move somewhere else?”
“And where would we move?”
“Somewhere that would let us keep Skeeter.”
“I’d have to change jobs for that.”
She gave me a look that said, “Well, could that happen?”
Little did she know how close she was to getting her wish—about my changing jobs, that is.
I kissed her once more. “You’d better start getting ready for bed. School tomorrow.”
“Yuck.” She frowned and stood up. “Come on, Skeeter,” she said in a huffy voice. Both girl and dog went from my office with, psychologically speaking, their tails between their legs.
A few seconds later, Jayne reappeared at my door. A conspiratorial grin spread across her face.
I waggled a finger at her and tried to hide my smile. “You set me up.”
“I thought you needed a Hannah fix. Now, why don’t you go talk to Brandon?”
“How’s he been doing today?”
Jayne shook her head. “Quieter than usual. He’s hurting, but he’s keeping it bottled up.” She came over and kissed me. “Like someone else I know.”
“And what makes you think he’s going to open up to me? Particularly after last night.”
“You won’t know till you try.” She kissed my forehead. “Go talk to him.”
I sighed, dragged myself out of the office chair, and went up the stairs one slow step at a time, as though I were climbing a mountain. Why do I find it so difficult to talk to my son?
I stood in the hallway outside Brandon’s room. I knew Jayne was right. I needed to talk to him, to try to draw him out and help him deal with his grief. But I had been such a jerk the night before, now I didn’t have a clue how or where to begin.
Give me a hundred angry deacons and I’m fine. But when it comes to one sullen teenage boy, I’m tongue-tied.
I knocked on his door.
No answer.
I knew he was in there. I could hear the explosions coming from his video game.
I knocked again—a little harder.
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
My mouth went dry.
“Just wanted to tell you good night.”
“Okay.”
I walked down the hallway toward my bedroom.
I’ll talk to him tomorrow.
Chapter 10
Monday, October 16
Dawn broke cold, rainy, and drizzly. I sat on the front porch drinking a cup of coffee, listening to the rain, and trying to read my Bible. At least my eyes were moving over the page. But my Monday morning mood did not allow for focus on spiritual things.
Sometimes pastors call them blue Mondays. This one felt like a black one. I kept going over the Sunday service in my head, trying to figure out how my sermon could have offended so many people. Maybe I transferred to the congregation my own guilt about not being more attentive to Otis. Maybe I expected too much of them. How could they really know how Otis felt? It’s just that we were not a very diverse group at Incarnation, and I wondered if lower-income people felt unwelcome. In the midst of us, Otis died of loneliness. But I had spoken from my heart and been as honest as I could. I had never been a particularly confrontational person, and maybe that’s what shook up so many people.
As I sat on the porch swing, the drizzle increased to a steady rainfall.
There haven’t been many times when I had no idea what to do or where to go next, but today was one of those times. I went for broke yesterday, challenged people to a different view of the Christian life, but it seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.
My “He who has ears to hear, let him hear!” words came—unwelcome—back into my mind.
What does a shepherd do when the sheep won’t follow him anymore?
Maybe it’s time to hand them over to a different shepherd.
I would have sat there on the porch and brooded all day if Jayne hadn’t come out to sit with me. She brought my travel mug filled with steaming coffee. Jayne was keenly aware of my moods and always knew when I needed a kick in the pants to get moving.
“So are you going to sit here all day?” she asked. “I think that’s what you did yesterday,” she added.
I sipped the hot coffee, surveyed the rain as it dripped off the roof, and glanced at her before answering, “Looks like it.”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“You’re going to drive the kids to school today.”
I took a deep breath and let it out, as if she had just asked me to perform a gargantuan task. “Can’t you do it?”
Jayne nodded. “Of course I can. But you are doing it today.”
“Why?”
“Because you still need to talk to Brandon. You can’t keep putting it off.”
“It takes all of fifteen minutes to drive both of the kids to school, and Hannah is with us for half that time. You expect me to get Brandon to open up about Otis’s death in seven minutes? I’m not that good a counselor.”
“You don’t need to get him to open up in seven minutes.” She tilted her chin in a way she knows makes my knees buckle. “All you need to do is show him that you care, that you understand that he’s hurting, too.”
I shook my head. “Seems like every week he gets harder to talk to. It’s like I don’t even know what to say to him anymore.”
“All the more reason to try.” Jayne dropped the car keys into my lap. “Talk to your so
n.” She turned and went back into the house.
I sighed, took the keys, and called through our screen door. “Come on, kids, time to go to school.”
Hannah bolted out the door before I finished my sentence. She wore a Red Riding Hood raincoat and practically bounced her way out to the minivan.
Brandon was another matter. I waited before calling again. No need to get the morning started off on even worse footing. But after a couple of minutes passed, I called again. “Brandon, we’re going to be late.”
Brandon strolled down the hall, as if he were trying to go as slowly as possible. He wore holey jeans and a ratty T-shirt. His hair was a mess, and he had earbuds in his ears with a cord leading down to an iPhone.
Based on his expression, his mood appeared worse than my own.
He walked past me and out the front door.
“Brandon,” I called. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
He turned around and looked at me. “What?”
I gestured toward the rain, which had now become heavier.
He looked at me as if to say, “Yeah? So, what?”
“You’re going to get soaked.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head dismissively then walked through the rain to the van.
This is going to be a fun fifteen minutes. I took another sip of coffee and followed him.
The first half of the drive actually was fun. Hannah’s school was closer, so we dropped her off first. She sat up in the front with me while Brandon sat as far back in the van as he could. Hannah talked the whole time, mostly about Skeeter and the different tricks she planned to teach him when she got home from school.
After I watched Hannah run up the sidewalk to Dean Rusk Middle School, I adjusted my rearview mirror so that I could see Brandon. His head rested against the window, and his eyes were closed. Though not asleep, he was certainly absorbed by whatever blasted from his iPhone. How could I possibly engage in a conversation with him when I felt more like a chauffeur than a dad?
I called over my shoulder, “Brandon.”
No response.
I yelled a little louder. “Brandon!”
Then I noticed his noise-canceling earbuds still jammed in his ears. If his music was cranked up as loud as he usually had it, I could yell all day and he’d never hear me.
I was about to put the van into PARK, lean back, and try to get his attention when a horn sounded. Behind me, a line of cars with frustrated parents and bouncing kids stretched half a block.
Wouldn’t have been able to talk about much in five minutes anyway. I sighed and pulled back out into traffic.
When we were stopped at a red light a block away from the high school, Brandon miraculously regained consciousness.
“I’ll get out here,” he said as he lurched for the door handle.
I looked into the rearview mirror. “What?”
Brandon’s hand was already on the side-door handle. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“It’s pouring. You’ll get soaked.”
He shrugged and stepped out into the downpour. “I’ll be okay.”
“Brandon,” I called after him, but he slid the door shut before I could say another word. As I watched him turn and walk down the block toward the school, I called out above the rush of raindrops, “I love you, son.”
From dropping Brandon off at the high school, I drove on to the church. Like many pastors, I normally take Mondays off. Sundays can be so physically and emotionally draining I’m not of much use to anybody the next day. On those occasions when I’ve tried to work, I’ve been like an author in the grips of terminal writer’s block. I stare at a blank computer screen for several hours, allegedly working on next week’s sermon. But by noon, I’ve rarely even been able to decide on a topic or text. So I’ve usually decided that I might as well stay home and vegetate on Mondays.
Today was different. I still felt like vegging, but I needed to process what had happened yesterday, to try to figure out what I had done wrong. I needed to come up with a plan B, since plan A didn’t motivate anyone.
And the church was the best place to do that. It was the one place I could be sure I wouldn’t be disturbed. Everyone knew I didn’t keep office hours on Mondays, so if people needed me, they called the parsonage land line or my cell phone. But they never dropped by the church.
I could ignore the phones and leave the building locked and dark. It would be my private retreat today. At least, that’s what I thought.
But the whole complexion of the day changed when I pulled into the parking lot and saw Clifton Stoner’s black Cadillac Escalade sitting there.
I groaned and almost decided to drive back home. But I realized that Clifton wouldn’t be at the church unless he’d already learned from Jayne that I wasn’t at home. If I went home, he’d just follow me there sooner or later.
I pulled into my parking place, said a quick prayer, and entered the church.
Chapter 11
Down the hallway, I could see light coming from my office.
The lion waited to pounce.
I wasn’t up to a confrontation this morning, particularly with Clifton Stoner. But since Clifton had not left me the option of avoiding him, I headed for my office, steeling myself for the onslaught I knew was coming.
One final quick prayer and I opened the door.
My day brightened instantly.
Flora Stoner—not Clifton—waited for me. A wave of relief swept over me, kind of like when a police officer pulls you over and you’re afraid you’ve been caught speeding, only to learn that a brake light isn’t working. Flora didn’t remind me of a police officer, but she did bring back wonderful memories of my first-grade teacher who seemed to care about me despite my rebellious attitude about attending school.
I guess that was appropriate, as she’d spent more than thirty years as an elementary school teacher. And even now she volunteered at the high school. Kind and gracious, with just a hint of command in her, Flora Stoner earned respect, even from the toughest teenagers.
She sat at my desk writing a note on a legal pad as I entered the office.
“Flora, aren’t you supposed to be at the high school?”
She looked up from her note. “Oh good, I can tell you in person.”
“Tell me what?”
“Sit down, Stephen.” I knew this was serious. Her formality with my name got my attention.
In what felt like a strange reversal of roles, I sat down in one of the brown leather armchairs that faced my desk. Now I really did feel like I was sitting in front of my first-grade teacher. Thankfully, she got up and moved to the other armchair, across from me.
Flora leaned forward in the chair, gave me a stern look. “You stand firm!”
When she saw my puzzled expression, she continued.
“What you said yesterday. Your challenge that we need to be Jesus to the world around us. Don’t let anybody pressure you into backing away from that. No matter what they do, you stick to your guns.”
I gave her a weak smile. “Do you know something I don’t?”
She started to wave the question off but then answered, “Clifton and some other board members have been talking. They’re planning some sort of response to your challenge yesterday, and it’s not a positive one. I’m not sure what they’re going to do, but don’t you let them intimidate you.
“You have the right idea, and you need to keep pressing forward. If we all had the courage to incarnate Jesus to the world around us, there’s no telling what we could do.”
I smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but other than Jayne, you’re the only one I seem to have persuaded.”
Flora shook her head. “Not so. There are others. You’ll see. They just need time to process it. And they need an example.” She pointed at me. “That’s you. But if you give up, we’ll all just go back to being Sunday Christians and coasting through this life.”
I nodded. Flora Stoner was a difficult person to argue with.
> “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anybody can ask.” She stood up. “Now, I’d better get over to the high school. I don’t want to get in trouble for being late,” she ended with a wink.
“You’re a volunteer.” I grinned. “What are they going to do? Dock your pay?”
She held up a finger. “Still, we must set a good example.”
I took her hand. “Thank you.”
She put on her stern teacher look again. “Just hang in there, young man.”
“You make me feel better already.” I cocked my head. “It’s been a long time since anyone has called me ‘young man.’”
Flora laughed. “Compared to Clifton and me, you and Jayne are practically children.”
We walked down the dark hallway toward the exit. “Well, this child has two of his own to care for, and one of them is a full-blown teenager.” My voice revealed my frustration.
As we went outside, the rain had stopped, so I continued with Flora over to her car. “Do you get to see Brandon much? Is he doing okay?” I scuffed the pavement with my shoe, hands deep in my pockets. “I mean, is he getting along? Does he have friends? Switching from homeschooling to public high school has been a big change for all of us.”
Flora nodded and patted my hand. “He’s doing just fine. Relax.” Her keyless entry beeped.
I chuckled as I held the door open for her. “Easy for you to say. Your kids are all grown.”
From the driver’s seat of her Escalade, she gave me her most confidence-inspiring look. “And as you can see, we survived the teenage years. You will, too.”
I closed her door and waved as she drove off.
The storm clouds had parted, and bright sunlight radiated from behind them.
Maybe it was turning out to be a nice day after all.
Chapter 12
I hate confrontations.
A few of my pastor friends seem to live for the moments they can take on troublemakers in their churches. That’s never been my style. In my opinion, my clergy friends have often been too confrontational for their own good. I know at least two who have lost their positions because of it. On the other hand, I suppose they would respond that I’m too nonconfrontational for my own good.
In His Place: A Modern-Day Challenge for Readers of In His Steps Page 5
