by Leisha Kelly
More folks had come in, and I scarcely even noticed until one little old sister bumped against my foot when she come to shake my hand. I knew I’d been thinking past where I was sitting, not even noticing the other folks around me till now. My brothers woulda thought I was off in the clouds again, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Mr. Hammond, how nice to have you back.”
“Thank you.” I felt kinda trembly. I don’t know why. I wondered if everybody knew already about their pastor’s passing. Prob’ly so. You could tell it in the faces. An’ I felt driven up front. Seemed crazy. But nothing had started. Mr. Willings wasn’t even there yet. I felt driven to not just stay and pray in my seat. I needed to go to the altar, but what would these folks think?
Despite my doubts, I went up front, praying in my head while people started settling in behind me.
Lord, help. I don’t know what you want of me. Help these folks. They’s sheep without a shepherd, at least till the decision ’bout Mr. Willings is made, and even then, they’ll be missing the man they prob’ly all loved pretty dear.
I pictured how I’d felt after Mama and Mrs. Graham died so close together. Lost, like there was nothing left to hold the world together. The first disciples must have felt that way and even more when the Lord was crucified. All the hope they had in this life and the life to come was hung in the balance.
The world is full a’ grief, questions, and pain. But you didn’t make it this way, God, I know. Sin made it this way, and you made the answer to sin. Plant your answer in me like a livin’ seed. Let it take off and grow and vine out and touch everybody around me. Plant your answer in these people too, so they can see clear to your peace and rejoice in all you’ve done for them.
I could see it in my mind. Folks growing in a loving understanding of Jesus, their hearts big enough to take in everybody and every situation they met. If people was to live with Jesus working alive in ’em every day, if they was to live like Jesus would live, the world would be a different place. There wouldn’t a’ been no war. There wouldn’t be nobody hungry as long as somebody else had bread.
For a few minutes I was still vaguely aware of movement and voices behind me, but I lost track of that and I lost track of where I was.
I could tell people these things—I could tell people if they lived like Jesus the world would be different, at least their own world, right around them. With the devil like a roaring lion, there was bound to be trials just like Jesus predicted. But they’d never be the hopeless kind ’cause they’d be wrapped in God’s purpose and peace.
Was this a call? Was me kneeling down here in the front of this church knowing what I could do to make even my own world better, was that the Lord calling me up to present his will? Was I supposed to preach it? Live it out in the open? Or both?
I remembered the day Sarah’s Uncle Edward hit me with his car. The pain of that break in my leg was so bad I couldn’t hardly think, but there was a funny kind of peace despite it all, because I knew I’d been doing right. I’d been telling him about Jesus, even though he was an ornery rascal. I’d been washing his car for him, because I wanted to show him that Jesus and his children do things for folks outta love.
My pa didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand a bit of what I was thinking back then, and I really didn’t understand it all either. But Jesus had put some kind of knowing on my heart of how important it was for me to try livin’ like him, even when it got hard. I wouldn’t never say I’d done well at it. Maybe I never would. Prob’ly nobody truly could ’cept Jesus himself, but that weren’t the point. I was just s’posed to try, as much as the early disciples did. They preached and they gave, they worked, loved, and traveled all for Jesus’s sake and died because they wouldn’t give it up.
They even had wives, some of them. So it said in 1 Corinthians. But it didn’t say what the wives thought about it all. What would Sarah think if I laid everything aside the way they did?
She’d fit right in to the Lord’s service here. I could imagine her hugging on the dear sister that had lost her husband and these folks that was without their pastor. I could see her making friends with Hannah Haywood and letting her use all the gooseberries she wanted off our bush, even picking and stemmin’ ’em for her besides. I could see her singing in the church, belonging even better than me, because the only thing really peculiar about Sarah was her choice of me for a beau.
She was perfect for this place, or anywhere else we could choose to go. Pretty, smart, and kind, she was like an angel out of heaven. Lord, she’s part of the way you’re equipping me, ain’t that right? You got your plan for her too. I can’t hardly wait till we’re married.
Suddenly the Ensleys come to mind, and I prayed for them. Then I prayed for the Platten family and other poor folks I didn’t even know. I prayed for people I’d met on the trip and people I’d met since coming up here. I prayed for the teachers and students at the deaf school and for my nephew Albert, just starting out with his education adventure.
I prayed for Sam, that he’d be real blessed for caring about me, even if the caring did step over into frustration for me sometimes. I prayed for the rest of my brothers because they were the same way and sometimes worse. I prayed for Willy, off in the service, and Rorey, who’d left everything familiar, including church, to go gallivantin’ in the city with Eugene Turrey. I prayed for Robert and Rachel and the folks they ministered to, and other ministers brave enough for missions overseas. I prayed for President Truman and other leaders because it was the right thing to do.
I don’t know when I’d ever had praying come over me like that. I was on my knees so long I couldn’t even feel my right leg no more. I couldn’t usually stay down on both knees very long on account a’ that leg, but this time I did. I heard singing. I heard footsteps. Finally, I turned myself to sit, knowing it’d be a minute ’fore I got the feeling back enough to get on my feet.
The church was almost empty. Mr. Willings sat in the front pew, just watching me, his eyes glistening tears that give his whole face a shine.
Where did everybody go? Did they leave on account of me? I didn’t know what kind a’ service they had for midweek—regular preaching, or Bible study, or what. Had I put myself in the way?
I almost couldn’t breathe, just looking at him, but he didn’t say nothing to me.
“Sir—sir, did I do somethin’ wrong?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, son. There’s no wrong about praying.”
“I mean, right here. Now. Maybe I shoulda stayed an’ done my prayin’ back in my room. I didn’t mean to stop the service.”
He smiled, just a little. “You didn’t stop anything. It went right on. Maybe the best we’ve ever had too.”
I felt so strange and weak that I didn’t think I could’ve stood even if my leg was ready. I’d missed it? The service had not only started but got all the way through, and I hadn’t even noticed? Lord God, my brothers were right! There was something about me almost half outta my mind or something. Why didn’t I hear ’em? How could it happen?
“I . . . I’m sorry. I must a’ been a awful distraction up here.”
“No, Franklin. You were no distraction.”
He didn’t say nothing else, only rose to his feet. I tried to rise too, but I couldn’t get my knee workin’ good yet. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said again, my heart pumping something thunderous. “I’m gonna hafta sit a minute, till the tingles clears up an’ I can work the knee a little better. But then I’ll clear out—”
“Franklin, did you hear me say you’ve done nothing wrong?”
I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what was coming over me, but I started shaking. I started crying, and I couldn’t get myself to stop. “I—I jus’ wanna do what’s right. I wanna help, an’ I come in here like a fool an’ lose my head jus’ like always! They’re all gonna think I’m crazy, just like my brothers figure. I can’t do nothin’, I can’t be nowhere very long ’fore it comes clear what a crazy thing I am—”
“Mr. Willings, I’m sorry. But I guess if you’re wantin’ me to keep speakin’ to your folks here, you might as well know how I am. I just . . . I just can’t be like other folks. I never could. I wouldn’t never mean to do what I done, settin’ myself up here in front of everybody like a fool. I didn’t know the service started yet. I woulda stopped—I promise you I would’ve, if I’d a’ just known. I’d a’ gotten myself back there to that back row where I belong—”
“Son, was the Lord talking to you up here?”
His question made me feel all the more shaky. “I don’t know. I can imagine it was like that. I know he was dealing with my heart.”
“Then you belonged where you were, don’t you think?”
“But the service . . . and the people—”
“You didn’t hinder anything. It seemed to be what they needed. Nobody really had the heart for a service as usual tonight. Sometimes it’s hard to step into the same routine in the face of the grief that shakes us. We were served better following your example. Did you know you weren’t alone at the altar?”
I shook my head.
“We prayed. Almost the entire service time. It was just what we needed. More than one person told me that. We’ll be all right, as a church. Nobody was troubled by what you did.”
I closed my eyes. The tears were less, but they wouldn’t quit completely. I still felt ashamed, but at the same time I knew it was right. And God had broke me open a little bit. I guess maybe he wanted Mr. Willings to be able to see inside.
“Do you know it’s all right not to be like other people?” he asked me.
I stared down at my work boots. “Sometimes I know that. Other times I don’t handle it very well. I guess you can see that.”
“May I ask how the Lord was dealing with your heart?”
“About teachin’. With words, but by example too. About livin’ like he lived, and lettin’ him live in us. I had a powerful need for prayin’ too. I don’t know that I ever felt it so powerful before.”
He looked forward across the empty pews. He sighed. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Them words almost set me to shaking again. “You ain’t talkin’ ’bout me, are you? Bein’ given? And your pastor bein’ taken away?”
He looked at me. “I don’t mean that you belong to us here. That’s for you and the Lord to decide. But you’ve been a gift. You’ve been a blessing.”
I shook my head. “Nah. You all have blessed me, makin’ me think there’s some reason for my craziness. There ain’t no sense doin’ what I’m doin’. I’m two hundred miles from home. My brother don’t need me here no more. I oughta go back. How come I can’t?”
He smiled again. “You don’t want to. Or the Lord doesn’t want it. That’s between you and him.”
“No wonder my brothers think I need t’ be watched over half the time. I don’t even know what I’m doin’.”
“It appears to me that you know better than you give yourself credit for. There’s no shame in being set apart.”
I bowed my head. “You don’t know all a’ what I mean, Mr. Willings. This ain’t the first time I’ve lost track a’ what’s goin’ on around me. Sometimes I put things together in my head in such ways I forget what else is goin’ on.”
I glanced up to him, and he was watching me patiently. But I knew I wasn’t finished. Maybe the Lord wanted me to lay myself open in front of him. “That—that ain’t all either. I know I ain’t ignorant. At least I wanna think I’m not, but there’s somethin’ else you oughta know. I don’t carry no Bible. Ain’t no use ’cause I can’t read it yet. Maybe there’s somethin’ wrong with the way I think, ’cause I know I see all right.”
I looked down, quaking a little over the reaction this would bring. Who ever heard of a man of God who didn’t read the Word? And now the banker knew, and Mr. Willings knew. All of Camp Point’d know before long, and maybe things would be just like back home. Maybe I was kidding myself about making things work here. Maybe I was bein’ a fool. But I couldn’t hide something that important from Mr. Willings when he placed such confidence in me. It wouldn’t be right.
“You couldn’t read the notes I gave you?”
I shook my head.
“What about the history books you were telling me about?”
“I didn’t lie, if that’s what you mean, sir. My—my fiancée and her mother, they read ’em to me, at different times. I’d like to get hold a’ some more.”
“Bible too?”
“Yes, sir. I-I wish I could read it for myself. I work at it. But they done the readin’. An’ I listened good, to the preacher back home too.”
He was quiet. I couldn’t tell if he was angry that I hadn’t been more honest before. Maybe he wondered how I could be such a fool as to try to buy property up here in his town. Maybe he’d repent for asking me to speak here, I didn’t know. None of it would surprise me. Maybe I deserved it all. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I shoulda told you sooner. You got a right to know what you let behind the pulpit.”
He looked at me pretty oddly. “Why do you put it that way? What I let? Like you’re more creature than man?”
Something about that stabbed deep. I felt a shooting strangeness inside me. “I’m—I’m nothing much, sir, and I guess you oughta know. I’m off in the clouds, peculiar and absentminded, not much good for nothin’ sometimes—”
“Is that you talking, or your brothers?”
Suddenly it was hard, fighting up against tears again. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s my pa.”
“It’s not the Lord. Of that I’m confident.”
“I oughta go. Maybe I can get my leg under me now.”
“Franklin—Brother Hammond—do you remember 1 Corinthians, chapter one?”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“Can you quote it? Right toward the end of the chapter? Verse 26 or 27. ‘But God hath chosen . . .’ ”
He stopped, like he was waiting. And I felt the quivering inside me again. Lord, what are you doing with me tonight?
I remembered the Scripture he was talking about, even though he hadn’t quoted very far. I knew what came next. “God hath chosen the foolish things a’ the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things a’ the world to confound the things that are mighty . . .”
I looked up at Mr. Willings.
He nodded. “Can you go on?”
I swallowed hard. “And base things a’ the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: that no flesh should glory in his presence . . .”
Mr. Willings seemed to be almost shining again—just a touch of dampness on his cheeks reflecting the golden light of the church lamps. “I think you were just confessing to me how you feel foolish and weak, even despised, maybe by your own heart sometimes. I would say then, that according to the Scriptures, you are ideally qualified in God’s eyes. Undoubtedly chosen.”
I smiled, just a little, and then I could feel it spreading all over my insides. It prob’ly wasn’t right to laugh, but I did, a tiny bit.
“Don’t you suppose that God made you exactly the way you are on purpose?” he asked me. “He knew what he wanted to use in this day and time. You’re a remarkable young man, and he’s planted the Scriptures in your heart where they can’t be set aside on a shelf.”
I nodded. Lord, thank you. “He—he’s called me. Just like you said. I don’t know for what all, I just know he wants to use me, an’ I wanna be used.”
“That’s the beginning, son. You’re right where he wants you.”
He shook my hand but kept hold, and I realized he was thinking
to help me up. “How about a bowl of chili?” he offered. “Neighbor of mine made it. Won’t take long to heat up.”
I struggled to my feet, the leg still tingly, my knee feeling weak. But inside I felt like I was soaring, like something was broke free. “That’ll be real good,” I answered. “Thank you.”
23
Sarah
It was strange when January ended and February began with Frank still not home. Now I knew he wouldn’t be, not till a visit at Easter. He got the loan and closed on the store building. Lizbeth was so flabbergasted that she never said much about it except that she was proud of him.
He moved into the back of the store and got a little countertop electric burner so he could cook. He had a telephone put in too, despite the expense, because it would help the business and make things more convenient for us to reach him. He also got a post office box. That seemed so final. He’d really moved.
And I would be moving too. It seemed everything I did now was to prepare me for the day, even the mundane, everyday things. While gathering eggs, I would think of the big yard Frank had described to me and wonder if we’d have chickens of our own. Stirring a pot on the stove, I stopped to consider how much less we’d need when it was just the two of us.
I sewed tea towels for us now, and embroidered pillowcases to put on the bed we would eventually have. Some days I spent hours on my wedding dress, but other days I couldn’t seem to work on it at all as I sifted through my nervousness and mixed-up feelings.
The big dog Dad called Horse became a comfort during those times. He would come to me whenever I was outside and stay as close as he could, as though he were charged with it as a duty. I petted him and told him my troubles, confessing the weaknesses I told nobody else but God.
“I still haven’t told Frank about Donald,” I admitted one day. “I haven’t wanted to bother him with such a stupid thing when he’s working so hard. Do you think I’m right about that? At least Donald’s been leaving me alone, so I guess it isn’t an issue anymore.”
