by Bart Tuma
“In a way, the Bible is God’s operating manual for man. God states how man should live not to cramp his style, but so that man might live to the fullest. Man has free will and can do whatever he or she wants. Unfortunately, bad decisions can kill you inside and out. Just as the motor will seize up if not greased and oiled, a person will seize up inside if they ignore God and go their own way.”
“But this manual is so big and so complicated,” Erik said. “I’ve tried reading the Bible before and there’s some weird stuff in it. People killing people and having affairs and all sorts of stuff that just doesn’t make sense.”
“You’ve read the Bible before. You read it as a book. Now read it as your guide,” John encouraged. “Start with the words of Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. The Bible is God’s word and the words of Jesus and his disciples. Read those words and see how simple Christ’s message really is. Don’t dwell on any one verse, but read the Gospel and see how God’s plan is to save and protect his children.
At the same time, don’t quit asking questions of people you can trust. You’ll need to rely on His word and His servants. See, there is a true living God, but there is also a true enemy who would like to fill your mind with doubts and lead you away from the faith if he could. So find the Bible and people who know Christ when you get confused.”
“But, there is one thought I can’t seem to get past,” Erik steeled himself to ask his most painful question. “How can the God that created the universe, who made the stars and the oceans, care enough to come to me? I’m a nobody. My parents didn’t even want me. Why would Jesus? I haven’t done anything to earn His love.”
John’s answer was firm. “First, I’m not sure about your parents, but I do know about Jesus. Jesus does love you. It shows how much he loves you by calling to you even if you don’t deserve it. It says in the Bible that He called you by name. He doesn’t just love all mankind. He loves you and who you are. His love is not determined by what you’ve done, but by the depth of His love for you. He created you and has one hope for you. He hopes that you’ll be His child. He wants to love and be with you and help you as you turn to His arms. That is the greatness of our God and the depth of His love for you.”
They both sat in silence. The sound of a crowded restaurant continued around them; a waitress scolded the cook for forgetting to put hash browns with the eggs, a lady’s high pitch laugh told everyone the joke was great, and John and Erik listened.
John said, “What about your parents? It’s none of my business, but you said you couldn’t measure up to your dad, and I don’t understand what you meant, that your parents didn’t want you.”
“My mom left when I was three and my dad died in a car crash when I was eleven.”
Once again the sound of the restaurant became obvious and neither Erik nor John spoke. Erik surprised himself by bluntly stating the facts. Suddenly the conversation had gone from the love of God to the reality of Erik’s life. It took time for either of them to speak. Erik knew John wanted him to continue, but Erik couldn’t find the right words.
“I’m sorry. I was too busy giving my sermon that I forgot about you,” were the only words John could muster.
“Not much to ask about. As I said, I live with my aunt and uncle, Henry and Mary Cooper. Not much excitement there. They’ve gone to Fairfield Community for years. You probably know them if you go to church.” Erik saw John nod in acknowledgement.
“Yes, I know them. They’re great people. I don’t go to Fairfield Community, but to New Life Center, but that’s not important. What is important is you.”
“My mom left dad and me before I could remember. I was about three. It took me years to find out what happened. People don’t seem to want to trust me with the truth. My good Christian Aunt Mary even lied to me. That happens a lot. I guess people think they’re doing me a favor by not telling me the whole story. I don’t know why they do it, but they’re lying.
My Aunt told me my mom had to go away ‘cause she was sick. The only thing my mom was sick of was me. She left me and my dad and I guess she didn’t like the farm. I don’t know where she went or where she’s at now. I quit wondering about her years ago. If she didn’t care about me, why should I care about her?
“It’s not just my aunt who’s lied to me. I can’t really think of anyone who hasn’t lied. My mom did by leaving. My dad never told me the truth, and the list goes on. It’s like they think I’m a basket case or something, and think they should hide everything. There’re no secrets in Fairfield; we all know that, but they try to keep things from me anyway. “
“Why didn’t your dad tell you about your mom?” John asked.
“I don’t know. He was never much of a talker. Just like me, but you won’t know that by the way I’m going on today. I think dad was probably embarrassed. Probably felt guilty that he wasn’t a good enough husband to keep a wife. He never said much of anything to me. I loved—love him a lot, but he took it hard when mom left, and he never had much to say to me.” Erik’s mind went back thirteen years, and as he sat at that counter, it seemed as if his dad was still there with him.
In the midst of the Glacier Inn that carried the smell of frying bacon and large quantities of strong, brewing coffee, Erik could almost smell the distinct smell of his dad. When he smelled that mixture of shaving lotion and hard work, or anything else that replicated it, it seemed as if his dad was with him again. At that moment his dad seemed so close Erik forgot about the restaurant and even John. There was nothing in that café that would have generated that smell, but Erik sensed it anyway as he spoke of his memories.
“Mom didn’t leave dad ‘cause he was a bad man or wasn’t good to her. From what the gossips in Fairfield tell me, he was very good to her. Dad wasn’t a bad man. You know what a man is like when they’ve lived too long in Fairfield. I can only hope I don’t become like that.
“My uncle is the same way. A man goes through enough droughts and enough blizzards, they become like everyone else. They work hard, get dragged down by the work, drink hard, and try to forget. Dad tried to be a good father to me, but with trying to run a farm and trying to forget a wife who left him, he didn’t have much time for me.”
Erik remembered back to the two of them living in a farmhouse that carried the signs of two bachelors. The house was rarely clean, and his dad made sure they never got visitors, he didn’t want them to see the mess. The door to his parent’s room was always locked. One day when Erik was left alone he found an old key in the medicine chest. He tried it in the door, and it worked, and he walked into the room for the first time he could remember.
The room still carried the touch of a woman; a small, empty jewelry box, some small figurines that she probably didn’t have room to pack, and even three simple dresses in the closest. It was obvious to Erik that his dad had locked the room the day his mom left and had never opened it again.
To Erik the room carried a sense of emptiness, almost a haunted feeling. There was little talk between Erik and his dad. Erik didn’t blame his dad. He knew all too well that to survive on a farm, the farmer had to put in 16-hour days, especially during seeding and harvest. There was no room for frivolity or play. It was work. It was hard work, and the end of the day meant only escaping to a coma-like state in a recliner in front of the TV to make it to the next day. There was no time or energy to relate to a young boy. This wasn’t Jimmie’s fault. It was his lot. To some degree Erik might have realized that fact, but still he needed some touch of some type. Being twenty-two miles from town and other people, Erik’s dad was his only human touch, but there was little response.
John interrupted Erik’s silent withdrawal. “You said you loved your dad. There must have been some good times on the farm,”
I’m not sure that I would exactly say ‘good times.’ I tried. As early as six I started to do chores on the farm. Dad told me to do them, but it gave me a chance to be with him so it was fun, at first. He had me feed the chickens and gather the few eggs they pro
duced. I made sure the water tank was full for the few cows and I held the light when dad worked on the farm equipment late into the night. When Dad told me to do something, I didn’t walk. I ran. If dad needed a socket wrench that was in the shop 300 yards from the barn, I’d run to the shop. I knew dad would yell at me if I didn’t run, even at the age of six. But I also ran to please dad. Sometimes, not often, it worked.
“Some of my best memories were of doing something right for my dad. It made me feel like I was part of his life and just like him. I would do anything to just see him nod his head in approval. A “thank you” or “good job” wasn’t necessary and wouldn’t be coming. But a nod: a nod was enough.
“But I made mistakes. I remember when dad wanted me to gather the eggs. I was lost in my own little world and didn’t look in all the usual places around the farmyard where the chickens laid their eggs. I was too busy hiding in my own dream world to think of the chores. When I came back to the house the basket was half full.
“‘That basket isn’t very full. Did you look everywhere?’ my dad asked.
“‘Yeah, I guess the chickens just aren’t lying. Maybe a coyote made them nervous.’ I lied. Just like other people lie to me, I lied; I panicked and lied to my dad to hide my mistake.
“‘Did you check the feed stalls and the straw pile by the barn?’ Dad knew I was lying. He probably could see it in my face. I’m a terrible liar.
“‘Yeah, I checked. Just no eggs today,’ I found it easier to lie the second time.
“‘Well, I’ll go check myself.’ Dad called my bluff.
“The only thing I could think to do was to circle around and check those places before my dad got there. Sure enough, there were eggs in the horse stall, and I quickly scooped straw over them to hide my error.
“Unfortunately, dad walked in right when I was covering the eggs. He saw what I’d done and lost control. I felt the sting of his words and of a horse bridle that hung nearby which was used as a whip. I know I deserved it, but it hurt. The only thing I could do was try to make it up to dad, and try hard, try to please him. It was only the two of us, so when he was mad, it followed me.”
John said gently, “There must have been some good times. What about them?”
“I remember going to the Blackfoot Indian reservation and fishing at the beaver dams. Have you ever been up there?”
“No, I hate to admit it, but I’m not much of a fisherman. I’m too busy with everything else to learn.” John replied.
The beaver dams Erik talked about were at the foot of the Rockies. The Cooper’s farm, although carrying none of the life of the Rockies, was only fifty miles from their ridges. Unfortunately, these ridges also robbed the clouds of all their moisture before they reached the Cooper’s farm. The Rockies were in sharp contrast to the dreariness of the Plains. The Rockies held color and coolness and the smell of life. The pines swayed to the breezes and the sound of their rustling limbs brought a smile to Erik, as they had to his dad.
“The beaver dams are great. By getting away from the dirt, dad and I could even talk next to the bend in the stream where the biggest brook trout lay. The talk was never about anything important, but it was great.”
“‘Hey, first fish of the day doesn’t have to clean the rest,’ dad would cry out to me. We wouldn’t fish next to each other, but close enough to still communicate.
“‘Fine, the most fish doesn’t have to clean the stove when we’re done.’ I’d yell back.
“The rules were always the same, but we always said them. It was kinda like a secret club’s password. Dad would even take the time to teach me the finer points of bait fishing.
“‘Put it right at the top of the bend and let it float down until it stops in the still water next to that branch. The trout will be lying right next to that log. They use it as protection and to hide from the insects they are going after,’ he’d tell me.
“I knew how to fish, but it was great to have dad teach me. It seemed like he knew I was there. On the farm I was just another hired hand, if he even knew I was there.”
Erik quickly added, “He wasn’t a bad man. That is just you way men become when they live around here.”
John’s lived here. He knows what its like. I’m not sure why I keep making excuses for dad, Erik reasoned to himself.
“So it sounds to me like he was a pretty good dad in a bad situation; trying to raise you by himself and trying to make his farm work.” John said.
“No, he wasn’t bad. He wasn’t in an easy place. We were only leasing the land so he was stuck with the seed and equipment bills in the bad years, and in the good years a good part of the profit went to pay the lease.
“He did have one problem. Same problem a lot of people have around here. He was a drunk. Not a constant drunk. It didn’t happen every day, but when it did, it was bad. I was told he only started drinking when mom left, but that wasn’t the only cause. Dad’s only escape was at the B&M Bar, and the only way he would be comfortable with the other men was to drink a beer. Actually, it was after several beers.
“His biggest problem was me. What do you do with a kid too young to work, but old enough to get into trouble? Sometimes he’d take me into town if he had to pick up parts or something. It was an easy ride as I never had to worry about talking since dad never had anything to say and it was nice to go to town. The only bad part was when it got later in the day. I’d watch every clock I could see since I knew after three Dad would have to stop at the B&M bar ‘cause he’d need his beer.
“’I have to talk to George about buying some more laying hens,’ or some other excuse he’d make up. ‘I”’ll just be a second so just hand tight.’
“I knew he didn’t need any chickens and I’d have a long wait until he came back. In the summer it was boring, but in the winter it was torture. Dad would take the keys and my legs were too short to push the clutch and gas anyway. So I sat in the cold that was so bad I couldn’t feel my feet after a while.
“Twice I went into the bar to get Dad, but I quickly learned it didn’t do any good. First time he was sitting by himself on a bar stool at the big oak bar that was taller than me. All he did was yell at me and call me names and everyone looked at me like a stray dog. The second time the cold got to me so bad I didn’t think I had a choice. Dad was leaning on the bar almost falling off his stool. I tapped him on the shoulder, but he wouldn’t even turn and look. The bartender told him I was there but all Dad said was, ‘I don’t have any kid.’ I never went back in after that. I’d curl up in a ball as best as I could and wait.
“The drinking finally caught up with him. One day when I was eleven I came home from school on the bus. There was a note on the table along with the dirty dishes saying he had to run some errands in town. He wasn’t home when I went to bed, which wasn’t unusual, but it was unusual when uncle Henry showed up later next to my bed, tapping my shoulder.
“I remember a lot of things about dad, but I can’t remember the words my uncle told me. I knew what he was saying, but I can never remember the exact words. Dad had driven home late at night. His Buick had hit the ditch and flipped straight into a telephone pole. He had died immediately, they said. They didn’t say anything about him being drunk, but everyone knew.”
Erik lifted his eyes from looking straight into the coffee cup to looking straight into John’s eyes, wishing he had some answers.
“I should have never asked about your parents,” were John’s first words. “You should be excited about your new life with Christ, and I’ve changed the subject to what people can do wrong. I shouldn’t have done that.
“The reason I asked is, what happens in our life is important. We aren’t just looking up at heaven and not affected by what’s happening here. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you’ve faced and I’m sorry for asking about something that was none of my business.”
“That’s fine. I would rather tell you the story than have someone tell it wrong, and make up more lies. I know there’re plenty of l
ies out there about what happened. You may as well hear the truth.”
“But this isn’t the time,” John’s voice rose with conviction, “to be pulled back to the past. The greatest day in you life just happened, and that’s all that’s important. I can’t fathom how much hurt you must have lived with. But a new life has opened its door within you. Your heavenly Father isn’t too busy or too pre-occupied to simply sit with you and hear all you want to say.
“He loves you Erik. He loves you more than you know. I don’t know about your parents. Sometimes people get distracted and forget what’s important, but Christ; Christ wants to be with you. The Bible says God is our Abba Father. That means He is the most intimate Father possible.”
“I thought I came here to get breakfast, and I had a lot of questions in my head. I didn’t even ask the question that matters; yet, you just answered it. You said to keep it simple. What you said about God being my Father is simply what I needed to know. Is this how God works? Does He bring you to a place where you went to by accident, and then He answers you?”
“Yeah, Erik, I think you’re right. God has a way in leading us so He can show He’s watching after us.”
Erik suddenly realized the restaurant wasn’t as busy as it had been.
“John, I probably made you late for church.”
“I can go to church any Sunday. I don’t as often have a chance to meet a new friend and be excited with him.”
Erik thought of his own responsibilities. “The first thing I need to do is check in with my aunt before she sends out the search teams. After that I need to get cleaned up. Hey, this is my day off. I was going to relax and now look at me.” Erik picked up his check, and was ready to leave.
“Sorry, I’ve got that.” John pulled the check out of Erik’s hand. “Don’t make me a liar, too. I said I’d buy you breakfast. I have something else for you, too.”
