by C. S. Lakin
Joe enjoyed her simple enthusiasm, wondering when the last time was he felt that lively, so easy-going. His heart hurt all the time, and he was so tired of putting up pretenses, keeping distant from God. He had tried to pray, knew he desperately needed to, but every time he opened his mouth, his heart shut tight. Words would come out but his feelings were all wrong. He knew God didn’t want the pitiful offerings he had to give.
He thought about how Mosey had cornered him in church last week, saying out of the blue, “You have to forgive your brothers, Jay. God won’t forgive you until you do.” His words slapped him across the face, although Mosey meant no harm. How had Mosey known that he harbored that resentment? Was it obvious? Was this what Rhonda was implying, that he was resisting God’s leading—God trying to lead him to forgiveness? But how could he ever forgive them? It just wasn’t humanly possible.
Joe grunted and let Rhonda lead him out the building. As she walked cheerfully alongside him, he wondered how he could confide in her, tell her what was bothering him. He couldn’t think of anyone more compassionate and supportive, and she did make her living by listening to people pour out their hearts. So he would try, tell her his story and see if she could make sense of the tangled mess and give him some advice. But he had a suspicion he knew exactly what she would say to him—what he already knew and didn’t want to hear. That he had to find a place in his heart to forgive his brothers for what they had done to him. Well, there wasn’t such a place, not even a teeny corner in there for that. If God wanted him to forgive his brothers, God would have to carve out a new place in his heart. He’d have to perform some miracle makeover in his attitude.
“Jay?” Rhonda asked, stopping to look at him, there on the sidewalk.
“What?”
“God loves you, you know. He has a plan for your life.”
Joe grunted, threw back his head and chuckled.
She elbowed him gently. “I’m just saying, is all.”
2000
Higher
When dreaming I’m guided through another world
Time and time again
At sunrise I fight to stay asleep
’Cause I don’t want to leave the comfort of this place
’Cause there’s a hunger, a longing to escape
From the life I live when I’m awake
So let’s go there
Let’s make our escape
Come on, let’s go there
Let’s ask can we stay?
Can you take me higher?
To the place where blind men see
Can you take me higher?
To the place with golden streets?
Up high I feel like I’m alive for the very first time
Up high I’m strong enough to take these dreams
And make them mine
—Creed
Jay squatted next to Mosey, held out a screwdriver.
“Just hang onto the gate like so,” Mosey said, pointing where Jay needed to support the iron gate. Mosey took the screwdriver and grunted as he turned the rusty screws, tightening them down to the washers, wishing he had some of that WD-40 left in his bag.
He wiggled the gate. “There, much better.” He stood, tipped his head at Jay. “Let’s check the back gate.”
Jay dutifully followed Mosey carrying his canvas tool bag.
“You’re awfully quiet today, Jay. Look, spring is in the air and the birds are twittering. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Jay smiled but Mosey saw it didn’t reach his eyes. Been going on too long, this fugue, and that’s why he asked Jay to tag along, saying truthfully his arthritis was flared up and he could use the help, Jay too readily agreeing when the boy should be out on such a fine Saturday hanging with kids his age, shooting some hoops over at the park, but Jay didn’t let himself go like that, not even it being almost three years since Old Mosey had taken the boy in, Jay now with a new name and life, but happiness eluding him.
He’d amped up his prayers over the boy, sensing God’s spirit groaning within him, utterings he couldn’t make out but knowing it was time to have one of their talks. Mosey’s own spirit felt disturbed, and it kept him up nights, not worrying so much but feeling God had other plans for Jay, that these couple of years hiding out had served their purpose and now it was time for him to move on, seek God’s direction and set his course.
Mosey plopped down on what barely passed for a lawn. He made a mental note to come back next weekend with some of the youth group from church, get them weeding for Mrs. Barkley, now on a walker and unable to keep up with what once had been a right pretty garden. Maybe send someone over to Wal-Mart to buy one of those flats of pansies, brighten up her edging some.
He gave the back gate a wiggle but it held firm, so he eased his achy tired body down on the grass, motioned to Jay to join him.
“Ah, this is nice.”
“I can tell you’re working up to a sermon.”
“What? Me?”
Jay grinned and rolled up his sleeves. “You’re face is an open book.”
Mosey studied him. “What’s it say?”
“Probably something I don’t want to hear.”
Mosey laughed and nodded. He let the laugh die out. “You forgive those brothers of yours yet?”
“I’m trying to. Sometimes I feel I’ve let it all go, and then I’ll remember something, and all the hurt comes rushing in.”
Mosey nodded. “It takes time. You just have to keep giving it back to God. He’ll keep taking it. At some point you’ll feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Feel it gone, the hurt. And then the love will come back.”
Jay grunted. “I don’t see how.”
“Well, certainly not by any effort on your part. But God is able—”
“You’re always saying that.”
“Because it’s true. He is able. He can do more than abundantly provide all we need in this life, and that includes the ability and desire to forgive. You have to want to forgive, Jay.”
“Maybe that’s my problem.”
“I’m thinking so. But remember, God is the one in you, moving you to both will and act. Says so in Philippians.”
Jay pulled on some crabgrass. “My mom hated this stuff. Used to attack it with her trowel like it was the enemy.”
Mosey waited. He knew Jay well enough to know when the boy was gearing up to say something. He didn’t have to wait long,
“Here’s what I don’t understand, Mosey. For years I hear God telling me the way I’m to go, showing me my calling, anointing me and preparing me for a specific path. I spent my whole childhood focused on that dream, knowing I was meant to be a doctor and use my gifts and talents to that end—healing people. For a while, when I was very young I . . . God had given me a special gift, a gift of healing.”
Mosey nodded. “That’s one of the gifts to the church, mentioned in Corinthians. It’s a needed gift.”
“But then . . . I watched my mom die in front of me . . . and I couldn’t do anything to save her. “ He sucked back some tears and pressed on. “I vowed to God I would become a doctor so no one else would ever die like that, me next to them and unable to help. My dad said my dream was the result of my suffering, that God really hadn’t called me to be a doctor but that I invented it from some need, from feeling helpless.”
“What do you think?”
“I knew it was God leading me. Her death only . . . solidified that dream, gave it momentum. And I did all I could, studied hard, skipped a grade, and finally got accepted into UCLA. Everything showing me God was smoothing out my way.”
“But?” Mosey asked when he paused.
“But, then . . . you know the rest.” He turned sharply, looked Mosey deeply in the eyes, and Mosey saw pain sear Jay’s face. “If God intended for me to become a doctor, why’d he let this happen to me? Did he just suddenly change his mind? I don’t get it.”
“Of course God doesn’t change his mind.
Think about it. God called Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. But after he filled Moses in on his plans, Moses had an incident and ran away, to Midian. About forty years went by before God called him out to stand before Pharaoh. All that time Moses probably wondering if God had changed his mind. And then there was the apostle Paul. God struck him blind and gave him the gospel, told him he’d be sent out into the world to preach, but Paul ended up making tents for something like fourteen years before God told him it was time.”
Jay looked at him with a puzzled expression. Mosey continued: “See, God may call you onto a path, but then he gives you a period of seasoning, teaching you the things you need to learn before sending you out. The greatest example is of our Lord. God anointed him to his ministry, at his baptism when the Holy Ghost came down from heaven as a dove and lighted upon him, God bellowing from the heavens and saying, ‘This is my son, whom I have approved.’ Did Jesus then go out directly and start preaching the kingdom? Did he?”
Jay frowned. “No. The Spirit led him into the wilderness, where he had his faith tested—”
“Sorely tested indeed. Forty days of trials, ending up with the Devil giving him three grueling temptations, with Jesus starving and dehydrated and all this God’s doing, bringing his son to this place, this time of seasoning, before sending him out in his ministry.”
“I never thought about that before.”
Mosey nodded. “So you see, things that appear bad often lead to a greater good. Just like Pastor preached on Sunday—how our trials become our testimony. God took those Israelites out of Egypt, delivered them, but then brought them to the edge of The Red Sea, a huge ocean of water and their enemy coming up behind in all those chariots determined to kill them. It looked hopeless. It looked crazy. God delivering them only to let them be killed. But you have to remember, Jay, that it was God who put them in that situation. He had them exactly where he wanted them. And you know why? To reveal his power and intention—his intention to deliver them in a mighty way, so his name would be glorified and exalted in all the known world. Their trial served God’s purpose. He could have led them out of Egypt a different way, an easy way, all the way to some other Promised Land, but then who would get the credit? Moses? Or maybe they’d all pat each other on the back for being so clever, escaping those bad Egyptians. You see my point?
“God did not want that to happen, let men take the credit for deliverance. He was choosing a people to call out, a people for his name, and he meant to have that name declared throughout the earth. And the way he did that was by putting his people into a sore trial, then delivering them. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Jay shook his head and grinned. “I told you you were working up to a sermon.”
“I s’pose you were right. Hard to get me to step down off my soapbox once I get up on it.”
Jay stopped pulling at the crabgrass and looked sternly at Mosey. “So, when will I know when my time of trial is over, that it’s time to stop making tents and go hit the road?”
Mosey laughed, encouraged by the subtle change in Jay’s tone. “You’ll just know. He’ll make it clear. In the meantime, you wait. And trust. Know that one day your trial will become your testimony.”
Mosey added, “Besides, this is good practice.”
“What is?”
“Assisting me with my ‘operations.’ Practice surgery on a bunch of gates first before you start in on folks’ kidneys.”
Jay froze up, gave Mosey an odd look. “What did you say?”
Mosey repeated his words. “What’s brewing in that head of yours?”
“That it’s strange you mentioned kidneys.”
Mosey shrugged. “Just how I pictured you, what you would be doing in that operating room.”
Jay let out a breath. “That’s how I always pictured it too. What I always planned to specialize in, seeing that my brother Ben had so many problems with his kidneys, maybe still does. Although last I knew he was better. Still . . .”
Mosey stood, took his tool bag from Jay, brushed off his coveralls. “Well, just don’t abandon that dream, Jay. God put it in your heart and like I always say, God is able. He brought you here, took throwing you off an overpass to do it, but he has his reasons. You may be facing the Red Sea and pursued by your enemies, but always remember that God’s the one who set you here, not chance. He knows the plans he has for you and he means for you to accomplish them. Just you wait—you’ll see.”
“I’ve never been good at waiting.”
“Well, then. That just might be why God is waiting.” He waggled a finger in the air. “You know, God waits expectantly to bless us. Isaiah says, ‘Therefore will the Lord wait that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you. Blessed are all they that wait for him.’ Isn’t that something—knowing God is just looking for the chance to bless you?”
Jay chuckled but his face showed a streak of seriousness. “Well, I hope I won’t make him wait too long.”
Mosey chuckled, opened the gate and headed out to the street, turning east to walk on down to the Thompson home. They had a spigot in their yard leaking something fierce and causing a muddy mess.
Well, Mosey thought, it probably only needed a little tightening. Sometimes all you have to do is give a little tweak to set things right again. He smiled at Jay, thinking how true, how true, thank you, Jesus, then hobbled down the sidewalk, Jay following behind him, immersed in thought.
Joe walked a few steps behind Rhonda and Mosey, the granddaughter holding onto her grandfather’s arm, helping him with his steps in her usual loving manner. Rhonda’s mother, Nadine, fell in step alongside Joe, pulled on his T-shirt sleeve to draw him back out of earshot.
“I’ve been hearing rumors,” she said, a twinkle in her eye, “so you can either lay them to rest or give ’em credence.” She fanned herself as she walked, but Joe doubted it helped—not on a scorching August evening like this one, the day’s heat trapped and radiating from the concrete beneath and stucco buildings on both sides. Even nearing twilight like this, the kids were still messing with the fire hydrants, water gushing onto the sidewalk, making Joe and his group have to cross the street on their way back to Mosey’s apartment, their bellies full to overflowing with all those ribs and potato salad and cake they’d indulged in at the church potluck.
“You know what the Bible says about gossip. You shouldn’t be listening to it.” Joe teased her but knew just what she was getting at. He and Rhonda had been out on some dates—not to anyone’s surprise considering how much time they’d been spending together, at work, after work, over at Mosey’s, these last few months.
“Just how old are you anyway?”
“Nineteen—”
“Oh, Lordy!”
“But I’m much older than my years. Life’s hard knocks and all.”
She shook her head and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Just a baby.”
Joe laughed. He knew he was the main topic of most of the gossip flying around the church lately. The Pastor’s son had seen him and Rhonda kiss, not anything earth-shaking, but that six-year-old—reminding Joe a whole lot of his younger self—had run off to tell his dad about the two of them sequestered in close proximity in the corner of the parking lot.
Joe felt his cheeks get hot, thinking about that kiss, not their first but the latest, and maybe the best. Those kisses just kept getting better with time.
“Wipe that silly grin off your face, Jay, before I do it for you!” Nadine swung her pocketbook at Joe in play and he chuckled. She’d been the one encouraging the two of them, despite Joe being younger and earning a fifth of what Rhonda made, which wasn’t much anyway. But Joe was in no rush to push a relationship and neither was Rhonda. They were content to let things take their course, although Joe had to admit he was mightily smitten, had been since he’d first met her but kept that to himself, feeling it entirely inappropriate to be making eyes at his caretaker’s granddaughter—how presumptuous of him.<
br />
Nadine grew suddenly quiet and Joe followed where her attention went—across the street about a block down where some deal was going down, a few home boys wearing colors, one youth, lanky and high to the gills, pushing another, talking smack at him. Even Mosey slowed, no doubt considering turning around, making the block, and coming around to his apartment from 24th Street. Tempers always flared hot when the weather spiked, and tonight was just another night in a string of hot nights, few getting any relief from the heat, no air conditioning, so many spending time in the malls and movie theaters and markets just to cool off. Joe was grateful his staff house had air conditioning.
He and Nadine caught up to Mosey and Rhonda. They stopped and consulted, agreeing on turning around. Joe caught Rhonda’s glance, her smile cool and refreshing, like a splash of water on his hot head. She started to say something, Joe drawing close, when a loud squeal of tires made him spin around, followed by shouting.
At the first recognition of gunshot, Joe fell to the ground, pulled Nadine with him. She toppled over him and landed hard on the sidewalk and Joe worked at righting her while she tried to fix the strap of her shoe. The car sped by so fast Joe’s hair flew up around his face, the engine revving and the tires nearly riding the curb. Then, a blast of bullets sliced through the air, Joe hearing them ricocheting against the concrete walls of the building behind them, against a backdrop of screams and glass shattering. Joe yanked on Nadine and pulled her forcefully against him, cradling her with his body as best as he could.
Joe’s heartbeat careened in his ringing ears, his arms protectively covering Nadine as she huddled at his feet. He dared glance up, saw the car zoom off two blocks away, under the 10 overpass, saw people running. Through the ringing he still heard screaming, and he turned, got his bearings, looked for Mosey and Rhonda, saw across the street the lanky wired guy bleeding on the ground, a bulky gun gripped in his hand—Joe could make that out even from where he knelt. The other gang members had run off, leaving the boy lying half in the street. Joe blew out a long-held breath, sucked in hot air.
