Times and Seasons

by Beverly LaHaye

  David looked skeptical. “Maybe you’re jumping the gun, Steve. I don’t mean to downplay your faith or anything, but you know I don’t share it. And even if you’re right, and God could help, I don’t know if he’d really want you taking their dad’s place.”

  They came to a red light, and Steve looked over at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Sometimes fathers get mad at their kids. They say things they don’t mean. Sometimes they mean things they don’t mean. Later, anyway.”

  Steve tried to think that over, but he found it hard to fathom. He’d never gotten that mad at Tracy, not mad enough to tell her that she had disgraced him and made him ashamed. But then again, Tracy had never sold drugs or stolen a car or vandalized a school.

  “Like when Daniel crashed the car,” David said. “I was so mad at him I could have bitten his head off. I yelled at him, said some things that I meant at the time, but now I wish I hadn’t said them.”

  “Well, don’t you think after the number of weeks Mark’s been in jail, that Jerry would have had a chance to feel some remorse and come around to make up with his son?”

  “Yeah, you would think,” David said, “but don’t jump to conclusions. That won’t help.”

  “And what conclusion would I be jumping to?” Steve asked.

  “The conclusion that his dad doesn’t love him.”

  “That’s not my conclusion,” Steve said. “I think it’s Mark’s. And what else is he supposed to think?”

  A horn behind them honked, and Steve realized the light was green. He stepped on the accelerator.

  “I know it’s a natural conclusion,” David said, “but the truth is that Mark needs his dad, and you’d be making a mistake to try to push him away.”

  “Hey, I haven’t pushed him away,” Steve said, trying not to sound as aggravated as he felt. “I’ve tried to pull him in. He’s the one pushing away.”

  “That may be,” David said. “And maybe I’m way out of line. But I’m speaking as a kid who grew up without a dad.”

  The anger in Steve’s heart faded. David had never shared that with him before. It made all the difference in what he was trying to say. Steve tried to hear it without letting his pride get in the way. “How old were you when you lost him?”

  “He left when I was eight,” David said. He swallowed and looked out the window, letting the silence play between them.

  Finally, David spoke again. “Mark needs him. Even if he’s not what he hopes he is, and even if he doesn’t respond the way Mark wants him to. Even if he’s a bona fide jerk, Mark needs him. That’s all there is to it. You can try to replace him, you can be there all you want, but when it comes right down to it, that relationship with his real dad is vital. If there’s any way to salvage it, do it.”

  Steve clutched the steering wheel harder as he navigated his way up the mountain toward Cathy’s home. “Well, then, I’m not sure what my role is supposed to be as a stepfather. I want to be everything that I’m supposed to be, but how do I know when I’m overstepping my bounds?”

  “If you start coming between Mark and his dad, or enabling Jerry to stay out of the picture,” David said, “then you’ve overstepped your bounds. Your role as Cathy’s husband will be to help her love her kids the best way she can. Just don’t get in her way when you think she’s doing it wrong. Don’t try to control the way she loves them. I’ve seen too many blended families that have messed up that way. The stepparent gets in the way of the birth parent, interrupts the love relationship between the parent and the child—maybe disapproves of it somehow—and the next thing you know, the parent is full of resentment and confusion, and the kid is a mess. On the other hand, you can let the kids set the tone. When they need you, be there.”

  Steve let the silence fall between them as David’s words sank into his mind. “That’s good advice, David,” he said finally. “I’ll try to follow it.”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Steve had a lot to think about as he pulled into Cedar Circle.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Two

  Dear Mark,

  I know it’s not like me to spend my time writing my kid brother when I could be out living it up with the Nicaraguan hunks, but the truth is I haven’t met any. And even if I did, there wouldn’t be time. Sylvia works me day and night, and I fall into bed exhausted. But like Mom said that day when we worked so hard at the fair to raise money for Joseph’s heart, it’s a good kind of tired.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’re going through, and in some ways we’re both in the same boat. I’m kind of stuck here, even if I decide I want to come home, and most of my time is structured for me. The thing is, I know that some day I’m going to look back, and it’s going to be one of the best years of my life. Maybe you can’t say the same thing, but who knows? I’ve been seeing God do some pretty amazing things.

  There’s this kid named Chico who came to Dr. Harry first because he had pneumonia and some kind of horrible rash on his legs. He was one of nine kids in his family, and none of them got much to eat. You could tell by their ribs—you could count every one just by looking. And he had crusty stuff under his nose, all raw and dirty. It made me just want to gather him up and take him inside and give him a bath. But his mother was with him, and I didn’t want to insult her.

  Dr. Harry got him going on antibiotics—a miracle of God, believe me—and then Sylvia started feeding him. His mother brought him back every day to Dr. Harry for two weeks, and every time he’d get his dose of medication, Dr. Harry would send him over to us and we would feed him. He’s well now, and he comes around every day asking if there’s anything he can do to help us. He couldn’t be more than seven years old. But Sylvia told him about Jesus, and he understood. She thinks telling him about Jesus is more important than filling his belly or making him well. When I first got here, I didn’t think so. I thought we needed to do everything we could to get these people well and keep them from being hungry. But they’re hungrier for God than anything I’ve ever seen. One of the men came back the other day after Dr. Harry had treated him and told us he wanted to be a pastor because there weren’t enough churches around here. Dr. Harry was so happy he cried. Sylvia set to work right away finding someone to train him to pastor a church.

  I felt kind of bad because I should know a lot more about the Bible than I do. But I guess I’m taking it one day at a time and learning just like these people are. Sylvia surprises me every day by leaning on God when we’re almost out of supplies, and all of a sudden somebody will show up with some cash or some supplies. Then we have enough for one more day.

  She says if she ever sells the house, she’ll be set, but it doesn’t look like the house is selling. I know Mom will be happy about that. But she wouldn’t if she understood where the money was going to go.

  Well, I hope all’s well with you, and that you’re not getting into any fights or getting yourself into any more trouble. Give Mom a hug for me when you see her. I’ll send you pictures of little Chico as soon as I have time to take some.

  Love, Annie

  Mark folded the letter back neatly and put it in its envelope. He leaned against the table at the center of the room in Building A and thought about his sister down in Nicaragua, working with orphans and hungry children and not getting very much back. He’d never seen Annie that way before, and he had trouble imagining it now. It could only be considered a God thing, he thought. Annie on the mission field.

  He looked around him at the inmates going about their own business in their free time. Steve had said that this, too, was a mission field, that God could use him here. But he doubted that. God couldn’t use him anywhere, not with his heart the way it was.

  He reached into his locker and pulled out his Bible, got the letters out that Steve had sent him, and went over them again. The story about King David being a man after God’s own heart, after he’d killed a man so he could steal his wife, really puzzled him. He turned back to it and
studied it again, trying to figure out exactly how God’s forgiveness had come. Was that whole story some great myth, or was it reality that applied to his life today? Could a repentant man really get the approval of God? Could someone weak and spoiled and tainted like him really ever become a man after God’s own heart?

  He envied Annie for knowing who she was. She had said that some day she’d look back on this year as one of the best of her life. What would he look back and remember?

  The pensive thoughts stirred up his soul, disturbing him, but there was no comfort to be found. Not when he rejected the comfort that his mother and stepfather-to-be offered him. He wondered what advice his own father would give. He supposed he would never know.

  He stuffed the letter back into his Bible and returned it to his locker. Then, mentally, he tried to compose a list of questions he wanted to ask Steve the next time he saw him. A few things he wanted to clear up in his mind.

  He just wanted things to make sense.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Three

  Tory was late for Spencer’s T-ball game because it had taken her so long to prepare Hannah before she took her out in the hot sun. She had put a bonnet on her to keep the sun out of her eyes and a cool little sunsuit with brand-new sandals that matched. She brought Hannah in her stroller with the sun shield up and pulled a lawn chair up next to the bleachers.

  Spencer saw her coming and yelled, “Hey, Mommy!” from the dugout. She laughed and waved, wondering how she could have stayed away for so long.

  Hannah grew fussy, so Tory pulled her out and set her up on her lap. Barry, who was standing at the fence next to the dugout, tore himself away from the field and came over to give Tory and Hannah a kiss.

  “How’s my girl?” he said, and lifted Hannah from Tory’s lap.

  Tory glanced around at the others on the bleachers. Everyone’s eyes were on their children on the field. Two young children, around the ages of three and four, sat spooning up dirt. It reminded her of Spencer not so long ago.

  Barry gave the baby back. “Has Spencer batted yet?” Tory asked.

  “No, he’s up next,” Barry said. “You made it just in time.”

  She looked past him to her son, coming out to practice his swing next to the dugout.

  “Mommy, look at me!” he shouted and demonstrated his prowess with the bat.

  She clapped for him. She looked around and saw Brittany at the snow-cone stand. It was probably her second one of the night, and she had only been here half an hour.

  “Look at the baby!” She heard the little four-year-old in the dirt and told herself not to get defensive. Little children loved babies. They weren’t staring at Hannah because she had Down’s Syndrome.

  The children got up and came running over to see Hannah. Hannah kicked her feet and shook her arms, delighted to have people around her. The little boy reached out to touch her with his dirty hands, and Tory resisted the urge to push him away.

  Spencer walked over to the fence, forgetting the game. “That’s my sister,” he said proudly.

  The boy turned around. “How come her tongue’s hangin’ out?”

  Tory recognized the fulfillment of her worst fears, as some of the parents turned to look. The mother of the child looked more horrified than Tory. “Jonathan!”

  The child ignored her and kept standing there. Tory tagged Hannah’s tongue, and the baby pulled it in. But it only stayed for a second, and her mouth fell open again.

  “It came back out,” the kid said. “Does she have a stoppedup nose?”

  Tory started to answer, but Spencer did it for her. “No, her nose ain’t stopped up,” Spencer said. “Her chin just doesn’t work so good.”

  Tory wanted to tell Spencer to leave it alone, that he didn’t have to defend his sister.

  But Spencer didn’t mind. “See, she’s special,” he said, leaning on the fence. “Not just anybody could get a baby like that.”

  “Why not?” the little boy asked, his eyes wide with fascination.

  “‘Cause,” Spencer said. “God gave her to us because he knew she would need a lot of help. Doesn’t she, Mom?”

  Tory managed to smile. “That’s right, Spence.”

  “But we take good care of her,” he said, swinging his bat as he spoke. “And one day she’ll keep that tongue in.” He made a face at his sister. She recognized her brother and started kicking harder.

  “I can’t take you now, Hannah,” he said. “I’ve got to bat.” He turned back to the field and saw that it was almost his turn. Without another word, he headed back to his place. Tory looked up and met Barry’s eyes. He gave her a wink.

  She relaxed back in her lawn chair as Hannah kicked her arms and legs and watched her brother hit a double.

  She couldn’t express the pride that she felt in her little boy, but not because he’d been a good hitter. He was the best PR person Hannah could have had. Tory knew that, as long as he was around, Hannah was going to be just fine.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Four

  Mark woke up at two A.M. and stared at the ceiling. He knew better than to get up. The guards didn’t look favorably on people wandering the floor in the middle of the night. They usually assumed you were trying to steal something.

  He’d seen it happen a couple of times before. They’d put them in disciplinary for a week, and it only took one time in isolation for Mark to know he didn’t want to go there again. These kids that he lived with now weren’t his top choice in companions, but they were better than nothing. And in isolation, that was exactly what you got. Nothing.

  A faint glow from the guard’s station lit up the room. No wonder he couldn’t sleep, he thought. Back home, he used to close his door and turn out the light and sleep in the pitch black. But there wasn’t such a thing here, any more than there was privacy or choice. He just lay there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He knew it by heart. He could have reproduced it himself if he’d been given the proper tools. He knew where every little hole was placed, every crack in the plaster, every place where the paint was thinning.

  He thought about his father, who still hadn’t been to see him. Mark had written him a couple of letters but hadn’t mailed them. He figured his dad wouldn’t open them anyway. He’d really blown it with him. He couldn’t believe what a fool he’d been.

  He wondered if anything would change when he got out of here. Would his dad act like nothing had ever happened and pick up where they’d left off? Or would he hold it against him for the rest of his life, passing the grudge down to his grandchildren? Would Mark forever be the black sheep of the family?

  He started to cry, something he hadn’t done in a while, and he covered his face, trying to muffle the sounds that would give him away in case anyone else lay awake tonight.

  He thought back over the way things had worked out since he’d been in here. If God was trying to get his attention, he had certainly succeeded. Mark had been to every chapel since the first week he’d been here and had worked at every Bible study that Steve had sent him.

  He could tell from the way that God kept getting in his face that he hadn’t given up on Mark. He had been there, knocking and knocking on the door. Steve had shown him a verse that said that Jesus stood at the door and knocked, and if anyone opened it, he would come in with them and dine with them. Mark figured that was pretty cool. Thinking about somebody as powerful as God wanting to sit down with him over a burger. That was pretty friendly. Not just anybody would do it, not with a kid who’d messed up so badly and wound up in jail.

  His heart melted at the thought of God standing on the horizon, scanning it as he waited for his child to come home. His problem before had always been that he’d assigned his dad’s face to that father on the horizon, and he couldn’t picture it, not since his father had forgotten about him and left him in here to rot. But the Bible said that God would never leave or forsake him. If that was the case, then God was nothing like his dad. He wouldn’t disappoint Mark, and he wouldn’
t just decide not to show up when Mark needed him. He wouldn’t turn his back on Mark or hold onto his anger, refusing to forgive.

  For the first time in his life, Mark got it. He understood about that father running to meet his son, kissing his face, bringing out a robe to put on him so that others could see him as royalty, putting a ring on his finger, restoring him in good standing to the family. He felt like that boy standing among the pigs, wishing he had what they were eating to fill his empty belly.

  And then he remembered what Annie had said about their bellies not being the hungriest part. It was true with him. He had all he needed to eat, but his soul was so empty.

  He began to weep harder, and as he did, he looked up at that ceiling again as if somewhere behind the tile he could see God’s eyes on him, weeping and waiting with his arms spread wide. He pictured God running toward him, and his own feet falling into a trot, hurrying toward his home.

  “I’m sorry, God,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have been so stupid. If I had just done what you wanted…” He wept and felt his Father throwing his arms around him, lifting him off the ground, swinging him around, kissing his face and weeping with joy. He felt the love in that royal cloak being thrown around his shoulders, felt the authority and the inheritance of that ring as it slipped upon his finger. For the first time in his life he understood the love of Christ, that profound fill-up-your-heart kind of love that didn’t go away or turn its back. It was the kind of love that would enable someone to lay his life down for someone else. The kind of love that could turn Mark into something useful, even in prison. The kind of love that could make this the best year of his life, just like Annie’s, if he gave his life over to God.

  “I’m yours, Jesus,” he whispered into the night. “I’m yours a hundred percent. Do whatever you want with me. I just want to do what you say. I want to keep wearing the robe and the ring on my finger. I want to change. Please help me to change.”