The Pastor's Son

by Rebecca Joanne

  I nodded. “Then, an angel appeared.”

  She sighed. “Then, the angel appeared. And that angel promised Hagar that she would have many descendants from her son, Ishmael. That he would be a ‘wild ass of a man.’”

  I watched her eyes well with tears, and I had to swallow down my own.

  “God promised Hagar, through that angel, that even though she saw captivity her entire life, her son wouldn't experience the same. That he’d be a wild donkey--roaming freely across the lands--and in a constant struggle against men he encountered. For many of us, that sounds terrible. Who wants to be in constant struggle with people? But, to have the option to struggle against someone meant freedom. It meant the freedom to be able to stand up for oneself. To roam the lands without chains to another family.”

  She sat up on her knees and locked her stare with mine.

  “Adam, God promised a blossoming first-time mother that her son wouldn't see the same abuse and captivity and slavery she had seen and endured her entire life. God promised a helpless mother that her son would have better than her. Always. And after being promised the one thing Hagar knew she’d never have for the rest of her days, she returned home. Knowing and rejoicing in the fact that her son would be free. God didn’t send her back with promises of relief or happiness. He sent her back with something better. Something greater, and stronger, than herself. And what mother wouldn't want the promise of better for their own child?”

  I smiled through my tears. “Yeah. It’s a beautiful story.”

  She fell weak against the cushions. “It’s that dual kind of love I adore so much that draws me to that story. It showcases the love God has for his people in the direst of circumstances as well as the love a mother has for her child. God didn’t willingly send her back to Abraham and Sarah. He gave her a choice. He made her a promise that her suffering would be worth it because of the future her son was meant for. And that was enough for her. Hagar was selfless, and God was everlasting in His promise. It’s beautiful to me, Adam. To love with passion, and grace, and humility, even in the direst of circumstances.”

  I watched her wipe at her tears as she sniffled again. But it wasn’t the helpless sound it had been before.

  Almost as if retelling the story out loud had filled her with strength.

  “It’s the only story in the entire Bible that still gives me hope,” she said as she wrapped her arms across her chest. “It’s the only story that keeps me looking to the future. That reminds me that maybe--just maybe--God still has a promise for me even though I ran away. Even though I turned my back and hiked up this mountain and never came back down.”

  Her gaze fell to her feet as everything slowly fell into place. Making me more entranced with her than ever before.

  “That story gives me hope that one day, even my running away from Him can be forgiven and exchanged for the promise of something more than what I’ve been handed.”

  The sinner on the mountain. The woman who ran from God and refused to come back.

  Suddenly, it all made sense.

  “When you’re ready, Dell, He’ll be there. Waiting for you at the bottom of this mountain. Just like he was waiting for Hagar at the edge of those woods,” I said.

  She stared hard at the fire. “I sincerely hope you’re right, Adam. Because I don’t have any more cards to play.”

  And in the pit of my gut, I felt confident as the words came tumbling forth.

  “I know I’m right. And when you’re ready to trust again, He’ll be there.”

  When you’re ready, beautiful, we’ll all be here.

  Chapter Twelve: Kendall

  The smell of smoke filled my nostrils as darkness hung heavily outside. I shivered from the cold, wrapping my arms around myself to block out the icy feeling in my veins. I drew in a deep breath as I gazed out my window, peering down at the lake. With its snow-covered water and frozen foundation, I found myself being pulled toward it.

  I felt it calling me, deep within the pit of my gut.

  I didn't know how to explain it. It just--spoke to me. A voice in the back of my mind clawed at my brain as I reached for my coat. The conversation with Adam hung heavily in my mind. It pushed away my ability to sleep and haunted me with truths I kept covered from the rest of the world. I didn't like that. I didn’t enjoy feeling exposed. I didn’t like the raw feeling of pain that gripped my heart as his voice tumbled around in my mind.

  But you are responsible for how you react to them. And what you cling to, after the fact.

  Your favorite Bible story. Do you have one?

  I know I’m right. And when you’re ready to trust again, He’ll be there.

  I slipped my arms through my coat and pulled on my snow boots. I wrapped a soft scarf around my neck, feeling the fuzzies tickle my nostrils. I piled my hair underneath a hat as the wind whipped around outside. And even though the snow had stopped falling, that didn’t mean the bitter chill of winter had ceased to exist.

  “God, give me strength,” I whispered.

  I opened the front door and quickly slipped outside. I shut it behind me and sighed as the wind whipped against my face. I felt my nose already reddening as my cheeks started to hurt. I shoved my hand into my coat, pulling out gloves for me to quickly slip on. My bare toes wiggled against the snow boots. My flimsy pajama pants cried out for help as the wind rippled them like a war-torn flag. But, as my gaze settled on the lake again, the clouds parted away from the sky. Falling to the side, for the first time in days, exposing the full moon as the snow glowed beneath it.

  With every step I took, I remembered back to that moment. That moment a week and a half ago, when I first saw Adam. With his hands outstretched to the sky, and his voice echoing off the rafters of his own grief, he called out to God. With anguish in his voice and despair in his heart, he had been brave enough to call out to the one thing he knew might help him.

  It made me wonder if he ever found the peace he had been searching for.

  Guess it can’t hurt to try.

  My feet sank into the snow almost up to my knees. My legs steeled themselves against the cold as I trudged onward, carving a deep and vulnerable path down to that lake. I held onto tree branches that snapped with my weight. I skidded down the hillside, dancing over rocks to try and keep my speed to a minimum. My arms flailed. My scarf tightened around my neck. I wrapped my arms around the trunk of a tree to keep myself from tumbling head over feet. Until finally, I came to the side of Adam’s car, buried up to the bottom of the door with snow.

  “All right. Still in one piece,” I whispered.

  I steadied myself against the car until I walked around to the front of it. The snow had stacked so much that I didn’t know where the land stopped, and the frozen water began. So, I ran my hands across the hood of the car. My arms fell numb as the frozen water penetrated my sweater. I crawled up to the windshield and leaned against it, shivering as my toes curled. Every hair on my body stood on end. My fingertips and toes grew numb as frozen water vapor fell from my lips. Every breath I took hurt. It felt like my lungs were freezing over, ready to completely give out.

  Come on, Kendall. You can do this.

  With the wind smacking me in the face, and my entire body quaking from the cold, I closed my eyes. I curled my lips over my teeth and squeezed them shut as my legs pulled up. I planted the heels of my boots against the hood of the car, gazing up at the sky. Looking up at that full moon and watching as it hung there, like a magician’s trick at a magic show.

  “God? Can you hear me?”

  I waited for a response, but I got nothing.

  Idiot. He’s not going to actually talk back.

  “No burning bushes in this cold,” I murmured.

  Still, I pressed on.

  “Well, I hope you can. Because I really need to believe you can.”

  I drew in another painful breath as I took in the endless expanse of stars above my head.

  “I don’t know how to start this or what to say. So, I guess I’l
l just hop into it. I, uh, I need--.”

  Do I even have a right to ask?

  I drew in a sharp breath through my nose. “I need guidance, God. I-I-I--need mercy. On--on my heart that hurts… so much. All the time.”

  I blinked as tears threatened to streak my face.

  “Just hurt. All the time. Hurt and pain. And I want it to go away. I want to be done with it, God.”

  Then, I slowly felt my soul unfurl.

  “I also want you to look after Phil and his fiancée, Mara. I know she’s still wary of things after everything she’s been through. Give her strength. I mean, give them both strength. But just--.”

  Breathe, Kendall. Breathe.

  I sighed. “Keep them strong because I know how much they love one another. I see it in their faces whenever they look at each other. And I want you to give Adam some peace. He’s been through a lot, and I know he could use the rest. Especially now that he’s stuck up here with me instead of down there burying his father.”

  I felt tears streaking my face as I sniffled.

  “And--if I may?--can you--?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue. The prayer for myself. My question. My want. My need, in that time of confusion. But, I couldn't spit it out.

  Why can’t I spit it out?

  “Lord, bring Kendall the peace she’s seeking up on this mountain you’ve provided for her.”

  I shot up from the windshield of the car as Adam’s voice hit my ears.

  “Give her the hope You’ve always given me. Show her how strong she is in everyone else’s eyes. Lend her the ability to see in the mirror what I’ve seen every day since she took me in.”

  I watched him walk up to my side before he held out his hand. And without thinking, I slipped mine into his.

  “And Lord? Touch her heart. Heal her wounds. Guide her through whatever life has thrown at her and give her the strength to let go. Bring her the comfort and the solace she thought this mountain would give her. In your Holy and precious name.”

  I sniffled as we spoke in unison. “Amen.”

  I ogled his stare as he lifted his free hand. He brushed away a tear dripping down my cheek as I drew in a broken breath. He was here. Out here, with me. Holding my hand. Praying for me.

  Adam.

  “Couldn't sleep either, huh?” he asked.

  I released the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “No. Not one bit.”

  He nodded. “Well. It never hurts to pray in those moments. One of the best things we can do with the time we’re given.”

  My focus gravitated back to the snow-covered world as his hand held mine tightly. The snow had ceased to fall, leaving a pristine, mysterious world that left me breathless with its beauty. The dull blue of the moonlight made the snow almost twinkle, as if the snowflakes were laughing. Or dancing. Or alive. The soft indentation of the lake sat untouched. The snow, even upon the frozen waters, reminded me of a time when life wasn’t as hard. When my heart wasn’t as scared. When my soul wasn’t as burdened. I closed my eyes as a warmth wrapped around me. Blocking out the wind that kicked up and blew snow against my exposed ear.

  Then, my chest jumped.

  “I gotcha. You’re all right,” Adam murmured.

  I struggled to breathe as a knot formed in my throat.

  “You’re safe with me,” he whispered.

  And as his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, my head fell to his shoulder.

  All the while, tears that held my unending sorrow effortlessly fell for the first time in years.

  Chapter Thirteen: Adam

  Kendall shivered against me. “I’m still so cold.”

  I picked up another piece of wood. “That’s what you get for going out into that kind of snow in pajama pants.”

  She shot me a look. “Not helping.”

  I tossed the log into the fire. “It’s true, though, right?”

  She rolled her eyes as a chuckle fell from my lips. But it didn’t stop her from curling against me. As I looked down at the top of her head, I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close to try and warm her up. It was clear neither of us were getting to sleep that night. Something had us both awake.

  So, I figured why not take advantage of the time together?

  “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” I asked.

  She sniffled. “Is my nose running? It feels like it’s running?”

  “You’re short. I can’t see your nose up here?”

  She tilted her head back. “Can you see my boogers better?”

  I barked with laughter. “Actually, you’ve got a pretty nice-looking one in there.”

  “Wait. I do? Seriously?”

  My head fell back with laughter as she scrambled to wipe her nose. And when she realized I was bluffing, she playfully swatted at my thigh.

  “Not funny, Adam.”

  I pulled her close. “Maybe a bit funny, Dell.”

  Her head laid against my shoulder. “No one’s ever given me a nickname before.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Nah, not really. It’s honestly kind of nice.”

  I settled my cheek against the top of her head and listened to the fire crackle. The heat grew, finally calming Dell’s shivering. I nuzzled against her softly. The pull to kiss the top of her head was strong. But, I kept it in check.

  Because the last thing I wanted to do was offend her in her own house.

  “I think my favorite memories are of my mother and me,” she said softly.

  I nodded. “Mine, too.”

  “We used to make breakfast in the kitchen all the time together. Especially for my father’s birthday. Their tradition was to always make one another breakfast in bed. And every time my father’s birthday came around, Mom and I concocted something bigger and grander for breakfast than the time before.”

  “That sounds phenomenal. I’ve never had breakfast in bed.”

  She giggled. “Well, marry a woman who likes to cook. She’ll bring it to you in bed, then. If you ask nicely.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  I felt her stiffen against my body. “What are you asking?”

  “Just a playful question. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “Kind of hard not to, given the subject matter.”

  “Okay. Then, what was your favorite thing to cook with your mother?”

  She relaxed a bit. “Waffles.”

  “Waffles?”

  “Yep. Waffles. My mother had this professional waffle maker. You know, where you pour the batter and then flip it? She’d make all sorts of concoctions. Like, peanut butter waffles. And chocolate blueberry waffles. My father’s favorite was her cinnamon pecan waffles. With fresh Canadian maple syrup.”

  I licked my lips. “That would taste so good right about now.”

  “That waffle maker is one of the few things my mother owned that I brought with me up here after she died.”

  “How often do you use it?”

  She paused. “I haven’t. Not since her passing, anyway.”

  A silent pause fell between us before Dell drew in a curt breath.

  “What about you?”

  I looked down at her. “What about me?”

  She looked up at me. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?”

  I grinned. “Oh, that’s easy.”

  “Really now? Then, let me at it. What's your favorite one?”

  “The time your brother and I sprayed shaving cream all over the youth room at the church.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “You two did what?”

  I chuckled. “It’s a heck of a story. Want to hear it?”

  She turned to face me. “Of course, I want to hear this. Everyone in this town thinks Phil is such an upstanding guy. And while he’s a great person, he was a mischievous little jerk as a teenager. I’d like to finally have proof of that.”

  “Well, it’s a doozy of a story. He and I were bored in church one afternoon, so we decided to explore around a little bit. We cou
ldn’t have been more than thirteen or so at the time, and we were running up and down the steps of the church. You know, from the basement to the main floor. Well, Maybel--of all people--stuck her head out of the Sunday School door and told us to ‘quiet down.' Otherwise, we’d make Jesus cry’.”

  She laughed with fervor. “My word, I’m pretty sure every interesting story people in this town have showcased either Maybel or Myrtle in some way.”

  I snickered. “Don’t I know it. I’ve got plenty of memories of getting into trouble because of those two. They’re relentless.”

  “And the biggest gossips in town.”

  “See? You can preach the truth just fine.”

  I snorted. “Thanks for that.”

  She bopped my nose with her finger. “So. When does the shaving cream come into the picture?”

  I wiggled my nose at her. “Not too long after Maybel shushed us. We started laughing to ourselves and skittering on our tiptoes to try and get into things. And we found the donation box for the drive the church was doing at the time. You know, to support all the shelters a couple of towns over.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, yeah. We did.”

  “You stole the shaving cream from the shelter boxes?”

  “What!? We were teenage boys. We see a box full of shaving cream, what are we supposed to do with it?”

  “Nothing! Especially if it’s not yours!”

  I laughed. “Well, we didn’t take that advice. Instead, we each carried an armful of shaving cream into the downstairs youth room and covered everything we could.”

  She paused. “Wait a second. Is that why the pool table had to be replaced down there?”

  “Yep. That was us.”