by Irene Hannon
Frank frowned. “How do you know he doesn’t have a car?”
“He told me. The day I ran into him at the garden.” She frowned. “Dad, did you know that Scott turned everything over to me when he went to prison? Every dime?”
“Yes. It was the least he could do after ruining your life,” Frank replied coldly. “We discussed it at the time.”
Twin furrows creased Jess’s brow. “I guess I didn’t pay much attention. Money was the last thing on my mind. I always just assumed he kept something in reserve for when he got out. But he didn’t. You should see how he lives.”
Frank’s frown of disapproval deepened. “How do you know how he lives?”
Jess felt hot color creep up her neck. She was getting in deeper and deeper. “I…I gave him a ride home from the garden. It was raining.” She turned to her mother, hoping for an ally. “Mom, it’s a terrible neighborhood. Run-down and dangerous looking.”
Clare shook her head. “I don’t know what to say, Jess,” she replied helplessly. “I thought you hated Scott. But now…well, your attitude seems almost…sympathetic.”
“Frankly, I don’t know how I feel anymore,” she admitted with a sigh. “He’s changed so much. For the better. I can see it in his eyes. There’s a remarkable humbleness and peace about him. And kindness. Look what he just did for you, Dad.”
“He probably had an ulterior motive,” her father replied brusquely. “Maybe he thought it was a way to get to you.”
“That’s a pretty cynical attitude.”
“I’d call it cautious,” he countered stubbornly. “Why else would he do me a favor, except to build up brownie points with you? I’ve made it pretty clear to him how I feel. So have you—at least, until recently. So what’s his motivation?”
Love. He’s doing it because he still loves me.
The thought came unbidden, and left Jess momentarily stunned—and speechless.
Suddenly Frank’s eyes narrowed. “You know, if his living conditions are as bad as you say, maybe he’s having second thoughts about turning all his assets over to you. Maybe he’s after money.”
The comment jolted Jess back to reality and she stared at him, appalled. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Dad!”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” he persisted, his voice laced with derision.
“But how can you think that?” Jess demanded in dismay. “Scott made some bad mistakes, but he was never a bad man. Or mercenary. Or dishonest.”
Her father’s eyes grew cold. “No. He was just a murderer.”
The bitterness in her father’s voice was so venomous that Jess actually flinched. She knew her father hated Scott. But surely his hatred hadn’t always been this virulent. Or had she simply been so caught up in her own pain that she’d never fully grasped the intensity of his feelings?
“Frank…those are pretty harsh words,” Clare said in gentle reproach.
He turned to her. “Are you getting soft, too? That man killed your granddaughter, for God’s sake! And almost ruined your daughter’s life.”
Clare flushed. “I know. But…well, he didn’t do it on purpose, Frank. And he did go to prison.”
“I suppose that makes up for everything,” he replied sarcastically.
“No. But what would?”
Her mother’s quiet, insightful question silenced her father for a moment, and Jess took the opportunity to reach for her purse and stand up. “I need to get home.”
Frank nodded stiffly. “I’ll get the car.”
“Maybe I should take a cab, Dad.”
Frank sighed and raked his fingers through his thick head of gray hair. “No. I’ll drive you. No sense letting this thing disrupt the family. But I have a bad feeling about this, Jess. I think reestablishing contact with Scott is a mistake. You’re opening the door to a lot of things that are best left buried.”
She sighed. “That’s the trouble, Dad. I’m beginning to realize that burying problems doesn’t make them go away. And that maybe it’s time I dealt with them.”
Jess entered the dimly lit auditorium and made her way inconspicuously along the back wall, scanning the last few rows of the seemingly packed house for an empty seat. She’d had no idea that religious retreats were such a big draw, she thought incredulously. Then again, perhaps the theme was responsible for the crowd. Maybe a lot of people were seeking guidance on how to cope with adversity.
Though Jess hadn’t planned to attend the event, something had compelled her to keep the flyer. Then, when she’d returned from vacation, she’d dug it out of the drawer where she had carelessly tossed it. Now that she had begun to pray for the courage and strength to forgive, it seemed like a good idea to hear what Scott had to say. Not that she intended to make her presence known. This was simply a fact-finding mission. A chance to hear his story from the anonymity of a darkened auditorium. An opportunity to view the situation from a different perspective and perhaps gain some insight that would help her understand her feelings.
So far, perspective and insight had eluded her, she acknowledged. Every time she’d seen Scott since his release, she’d been so busy trying to control her turbulent emotions, so focused on carrying on a rational conversation that she hadn’t really been able to focus on him. She needed an opportunity to study him unobserved and unselfconsciously so that she could get a better handle on who he was now, this man who was still her husband and whom she had once known intimately, but who had changed in some dramatic, fundamental way. That’s what tonight’s outing was all about. She’d planned it down to the minute: arrive just in time for Scott’s remarks, which were the last item on the agenda, sit in the back, then slip out unnoticed as soon as his talk ended.
Well, she’d arrived at the right time. But the sitting part didn’t look too promising. However, just when she was about to give up she came upon a single empty seat in the last row. With a sigh of relief and a murmured apology, she edged past a couple of people and sank into the chair just as a sandy-haired, fiftyish minister with a kind face stepped to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Reverend Keith Young,” he said in a pleasant, well-modulated voice. “Let me add my own words of welcome on behalf of all the sponsoring churches, and thank you for your support of this wonderful event.
“For the last few hours, a number of highly respected Bible scholars have talked to us about the guidance offered in Scripture for dealing with adversity. And we’ve heard a number of amazing first-person stories about the healing and transforming power of faith. While all of the stories are inspiring, we’ve saved perhaps the most dramatic story until last.
“I met our next speaker, Scott Mitchell, about three years ago when he was in prison serving time for vehicular manslaughter. Scott had been involved in a drunk-driving accident in which two people were killed—a judge and his own four-year-old daughter.”
A hushed murmur ran through the crowd, and the minister waited for it to subside before continuing.
“That night changed Scott’s life forever. Today he has agreed to share with you his remarkable journey from grief and despair to redemption and hope. Please give Scott a warm welcome.”
As the audience applauded, Scott rose from a seat in the front row and made his way to the slightly elevated platform, where the two men shook hands warmly. Then the minister placed his left hand on Scott’s shoulder and said something quietly. Scott nodded, and as Reverend Young returned to his seat, Scott set the Bible he was carrying on the podium and reached for the microphone.
For a long moment he simply looked out over the group in silence, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Once upon a time, in a different world, when I was a different man, I used to stand up in front of large groups of people all the time to give presentations on advertising campaigns and focus groups and consumer preferences,” he said quietly. His voice was calm and in control, but Jess heard the husky undertones, a clear sign to anyone who knew
him well that his emotions were close to the surface. Curiously, it wasn’t a tone she had ever heard him use in public. He’d always been guarded about exposing his feelings to anyone except close family. Had he changed in that regard, too? she wondered, intrigued.
“In those days, I wore expensive suits and drove an expensive car and drank expensive liquor,” he continued. “I traveled first class, ate in the best restaurants, mingled with the right people. Everyone thought I had it all. Including me. But my wife, Jess, knew better.”
At the mention of her name, Jess drew in a sharp breath, and her heart began to thump painfully.
“Jess saw right through all the ‘stuff’ I grew to value so highly. She recognized it for what it was—a distraction from what really counted. Namely love. And friendship. And family. And simple pleasures. And faith. She tried to help me see that, too, because she recognized that our diverging values were causing problems in our marriage. But instead of listening, I started drinking. Not enough to be an alcoholic, but too much at times. Especially one particular time. The night my world ended.”
Scott paused, and Jess saw his Adam’s apple bob convulsively. The stark pain on his face was a window to the torment his soul had endured, and her throat constricted with emotion as memories of that night came swirling back to her as well, out of the dark recesses of her mind to which she’d banished them.
Scott moved to a stool in the center of the stage and perched on the edge, resting one foot on a rung. He drew a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was slightly unsteady.
“For the next few minutes I’d like to tell you what happened to me after that night. But I have to be honest with you. I didn’t want to come here today. I’m not a man who has always been especially good at opening up to people and sharing my feelings. However, Reverend Young can be persuasive. He convinced me that maybe someone might be able to find in what I have to say a ray of hope that will give them the courage to carry on. And once he convinced me of that, I couldn’t say no. Because I know how empty life can be without hope. So I’ll give it my best.”
And for the next forty-five minutes he did exactly that. He spoke of the horrors of the accident, in which he escaped unscathed while his wife suffered a concussion and two people died, including his beloved Elizabeth. He spoke of the surreal cemetery scene, choking up as he talked about kneeling beside the small white coffin as his world crashed in around him. He spoke briefly of the trial, how he went through the motions numbly, still in a state of shock.
He spoke at length about prison…of the suffocating feeling that accompanied the loss of freedom…of the degradation of being treated like a number instead of a person…of the long, empty days marked by rigid, repetitive routine. He spoke in a ragged voice of the pain and anguish and grief that struck fiercely once the numbness wore off. And he spoke of the crushing guilt that squeezed the life from his soul. Of the aching void left in his heart after the death of his wife’s love. Of the hopelessness and despair and emptiness that drove him to such depths of depression that at times he felt suicidal. Of how he would lie in his dark cell at night, tears running down his face, praying for God to simply end his agony.
“I wanted to die,” Scott said, his voice choked and raw with emotion. “I’d lost my daughter. My wife. My freedom. My self-respect. My identity. I was as low as you could get. And that’s when Reverend Young came into my life.”
He stood again and moved to the edge of the stage, closer to the audience, taking a moment to compose himself. “My faith had never been especially strong,” he continued. “Certainly not strong enough to withstand the nightmare my life had become. I couldn’t fathom how a loving God would wreak such havoc on me and on the people I loved. I’d gone through a brief anger phase, but by the time I met Reverend Young I was at a point where I just didn’t care anymore. About anything. So he had his work cut out for him. Because anger is actually a lot easier to deal with than apathy.
“He didn’t give up, though. Week after week, sometimes twice a week, he’d show up. At first we didn’t even talk about religion. But gradually he began to work that into the conversation. And one day he gave me this.” Scott reached for the well-thumbed Bible and held it up. “He had marked a passage he thought I might find helpful, and even though I told him I wasn’t interested, he left the book with me. Since time hangs heavy on your hands in prison, I ended up paging through it one day simply out of desperation for something to do. And the passage he had marked seemed to speak directly to me.”
Scott opened the book and read. “‘Only in God be at rest, my soul, for from Him comes my hope.”’
He paused for a moment, then closed the book and looked out at the audience. “Reverend Young, in his wisdom, had pointed me to the two things I needed most desperately—rest and hope. Guilt and self-recrimination are terrible burdens that can eat away at you like a cancer and rob life of all peace and hope. But with Reverend Young’s help, I eventually came to experience the healing power of God’s forgiveness. To understand that He always stands ready to absolve us if we truly repent. And that He never deserts us. For as He told us, He is with us always, even to the end of time. And as He also promised, all things are possible with Him.
“I stand before you tonight as a living testament to the healing power of God’s forgiveness and hope,” Scott said with quiet sincerity. “I didn’t reach this place overnight. It was a long, hard struggle, and I’m sure there were times when Reverend Young was ready to give up on me.” He directed a brief smile toward the minister. “But I can tell you that the rewards are great for those who persevere, who seek the Lord with an open mind and open heart, and who are willing to put their trust in Him and listen to His words.
“When Reverend Young asked me to speak today, I told him that I wasn’t sure I was the best choice. That I’d made a lot of mistakes and that I’m not where I want to be yet. I guess you could say my life is in a reconstruction phase at this point. When I left prison, I had two goals. One was to make faith the center of my life, and that has been easy. The other, however, has been much more difficult. And that’s to win back the love of my wife.”
As he paused to draw a deep breath, Jess suddenly felt as if all the air had been squeezed out of her own lungs.
“I realize that’s an ambitious goal,” Scott continued. “But I’m working on it. I’ve put my trust in the Lord, and I’m following the advice in Proverbs, which tells us, ‘In his mind a man plans his course, but the Lord directs his steps.’ Well, I know what my plan is. I love my wife with a passion and intensity that has grown rather than diminished through our years of separation, and I can’t even imagine the rest of my life without her. So I trust that the Lord will guide me as I seek my goal.
“You know, a very wise man once told me that even on the coldest, darkest days of winter it’s important to remember that spring always comes. I believe that with all my heart. And with the Lord’s help, I have great faith that my life will once again bloom and bear fruit. Thank you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the auditorium was filled with thunderous applause as the audience rose to its feet in a resounding ovation. Jess followed suit, reaching up to self-consciously brush away the tears that were streaming down her face. But when she glanced around, she realized that she wasn’t alone in her reaction. With his humble manner, painfully honest revelations and inspiring message of hope, Scott had clearly touched many hearts in this room. Including hers.
But beyond that, Scott’s talk had also surprised her. Knowing how guarded he usually was when it came to talking about his feelings, she’d assumed that his presentation today would be a relatively straightforward account of his life in prison and a fairly sedate faith witness. Instead, he had spoken from the heart, exposing his deepest feelings and baring his soul to this room of strangers. Because of his willingness to share so openly, he’d connected with the audience at the deepest of levels, and in so doing had made every person in the room experience his pain and des
olation in an almost tangible way. Likewise, his faith witness had been inspiring, offering hope that even the bleakest situation can be overcome through trust in the Lord.
Like everyone else in the audience, Jess had been deeply impressed and profoundly moved. But unlike them, she was suddenly afraid. Because if her previous encounters with Scott had shaken the foundations of the wall between them, tonight’s revealing testimonial had knocked a gaping hole in it, opening a passage directly to her heart. And as the protective barrier she had erected between them crumbled, she felt increasingly exposed and vulnerable. It was risky business, this notion of reconnecting and forgiving, Jess realized, and she prayed that she had the strength to see it through.
When the applause at last died down and people once more took their seats, Reverend Young moved back to the podium. He paused to embrace Scott, and the warmth between the two men was unmistakable. Another first, Jess noted. Scott had always avoided public displays of affection, but he seemed totally comfortable with them now.
As the minister began to speak, Jess knew it was time to leave. She didn’t want to run the risk of encountering Scott until she’d had time to sort through her turbulent emotions. With a murmured apology, she edged past several people and headed toward the exit, determined to make a hasty retreat. However, her step faltered when a ladies’-room sign caught her eye. She glanced uncertainly toward the stage, where Reverend Young seemed to be in the midst of his concluding remarks. Surely there would be time for a quick visit, she thought, changing directions.
But Jess had miscalculated. When she pushed the door open less than four minutes later the audience was on its feet, and quite a few people were already passing the ladies’ room on their way to the exit. The minister must have wrapped up his remarks in record time, she realized in dismay.
Jess glanced toward the front of the auditorium. She could see the top of Scott’s head above the crowd as he moved toward the exit. Not good, she realized in panic, quickly stepping back.
