The Lost Truth

by T. K. Chapin

  “Does he know?” I asked. “That you’re his father?”

  He shook his head. “No. He thinks this other guy is his dad.”

  “Is the mom going to tell him the truth?” I asked.

  “She wants to, but she also has to tell her husband that he’s not his son.” Turning back around to his pole, he looked back at the water. “I’m mad at her, don’t get me wrong. But that’s got to be hard.”

  “That’s rough. Why’d she tell you now?”

  “Guilt.”

  Nodding, I turned my head back to the water. I thought about my bird dying and shook my head. I was distraught over a bird. Janice was right. And I had ruined my life by my own poor choices over an incident in a trailer park that happened years ago. Yet I sit beside a man who just found out he’s had a son for a decade without knowing. I could feel my problems begin to shrink and become insignificant next to his. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  He let out a long, drawn out breath. “Pray. The whole thing has been good for me in one aspect—my relationship with the Lord.”

  “Before or after you stuck your tongue down that chick’s throat?”

  He shook his head in disgrace. “After. I don’t go to the bar anymore. Pretty much work at the car lot and study the Bible now. Just got to trust God to work it out.”

  “What about your sign in the grocery store? To marry my sister, man?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what that was . . . I think I made it a bigger deal than it really was. It did open my eyes to the fragility of life, though. I’ll give it that much credit. But since I found out about this kid . . . I’ve been relying on God to get me through this storm. It’s my main focus right now. Focusing on God is something I’ve never done before. It’s becoming a big part of who I am.”

  I had been to more church services than I could count and more Bible studies than I could name, but never did I feel as much conviction as I did in that moment on the boat with Paul in the middle of Bear Lake. Relying on God to get him through this storm. It was as if God Himself orchestrated this moment. Like a prick of a needle, my soul stirred within me. This man, who had every reason to blame God for his misfortune, wasn’t mad at Him. He was instead drawing closer.

  He turned his head and looked at me again. “Oh, hey. Sorry about your bird, by the way.”

  I shook my head with a little bit of a laugh in my tone. “No. Don’t worry about it, dude. It’s a bird.”

  He nodded for a moment. “Yeah, but I’m sure Cindy was devastated by it. By the way, where is she?”

  Pain swirled within me, compounding my conviction into a deeper sense. “She left back to Ocean Shores with her mother.”

  “What?” Startled by the statement, he jerked his body toward me. “Why?”

  Paul was open about his struggle, so I felt inclined to share. “She caught me downing whiskey in my truck and . . . let’s just say it probably didn’t stir up some great memories for her.”

  He shook his head. “Dude. My father died a drunk. You know how they found him?”

  I raised my eyebrows, intrigued for him to continue.

  “Face-down in a ditch with his britches around his ankles. Nobody knows why he was there or why his pants were down, but it’s a sad way to go regardless. Don’t let the drink rule you. I’m not trying to tell you how to do life, but I know from seeing my own father’s mistakes that it’s not a good way.”

  “I know.” Sorrow swept me in the moment. It felt like God brought me out on this lake and in this boat for a purpose. Thank you. My prayer echoed through my mind and up toward heaven as conviction brought perspective.

  CHAPTER 18

  Arriving back at the house that afternoon from fishing, I proceeded to call Katie as I headed to the back yard.

  She didn’t answer.

  As I came up to the shed’s doors, I grabbed the handles and opened them with absolute confidence in my decision.

  Taking the first bottle of whiskey out of the case, I shook my head as I tossed it between my hands. “This ends today.” Removing the cap, I went over to the field and emptied the container out. Once done, I headed back for another.

  As I was pouring out bottle after bottle, I felt a little unease begin to creep in as I saw the bottle count dwindle. Strengthen me. My prayers didn’t feel awkward at all, even though it had been a while. Similar to talking to an old friend I hadn’t seen in years, my prayers felt natural and a continuation of where God and I left off. While I still had a lot of issues to work through with my relationship with Him, I knew I was heading in the right direction for the first time in a long time. It befuddled me that a mere conversation with Paul, in the middle of Bear Lake, with someone whom I used to dislike, could have such an impact on my life. I had come to a conclusion on the ride home that the only reasonable explanation was the prick that my soul felt was divinely inspired. The conviction that overtook me as I sat on the still and calm waters of Bear Lake was far too strong to ignore. Why it hadn’t come sooner, I don’t know, but what I did know was that God wasn’t surprised, even if I was.

  As the last bottle of the case emptied out, my unease began to grow to a point that I wasn’t able to control anymore. With a burning urge to unhinge and lick the dirt that was now saturated with whiskey like a dog returning to its vomit, I headed into the house and into the living room.

  Pulling my box of belongings up onto the coffee table, I placed my hands on the corners and smoothed my thumbs across the old Nike shoe box that once housed a pair of my favorite sneakers years ago in high school. Are you really ready to go back? The quiet voice of doubt whispered into my mind. Doubt was lurking in the nearby shadows and was waiting to lay hold of me. I knew the enemy often had a way of whispering insecurities into the heart. He’d been doing it for years to me. Replying to the voice with action, I pulled the lid off. My old, faithful Bible sat beside the pocket watch that my father had given me. I had seen the Bible in the box quite a few times in recent years, but this time, when my eyes beheld my battered and dusted comrade, it felt similar to seeing an old friend from a different part of my life.

  Lifting the Bible out of the box with a smile on my face and joy in my heart, I pulled it onto my lap and sat back onto the couch. Smoothing my fingers across the cover, my mind flashed through decades of memories in an instant. Going to church as a child, getting married as an adult, and finally the bus ministry. The memories rapidly fired one after another, bits and pieces of joy and happiness and then settling in on the most painful and devastating memory of my life—the trailer park.

  I could feel my insides twist, my heart pound, and my breath become shallow as my eyes fell on a blood-stained corner of the Bible. An urge to toss the Bible back in the box surfaced, but I pushed against it. Help me. I smoothed my thumb across the dried blood and thought of Missy. She was just a child. A whisper of pain echoed through my mind.

  Opening the Bible, I could swear I saw dust fly up from the pages as I flipped through them. It had been too long. Knowing I needed wisdom, I stopped in Proverbs. I landed in chapter twelve. Verse two caught my eyes.

  Good people obtain favor from the Lord, but he condemns those who devise wicked schemes. Proverbs 12:2

  My heart waxed hot with anger as I thought about all the good I had done for the Lord, yet that wicked man in the trailer park who had his way with Missy walked free for years. It doesn’t make sense. Looking over at the clock on the wall, I saw it was a quarter past four. Knowing my anger was waxing hotter with every second that ticked by, I called down to the church.

  John answered.

  “Can I come down there?” My tone was sharp but respectful. I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone for fear he’d hang up on me.

  “Sure. I was about to leave, but I can stay a minute.”

  “Great. Be there in five.”

  Hanging up with the pastor, I grabbed my Bible and headed down to the church. As I drove, my anger grew as that day in the trailer park flashed thro
ugh my mind.

  It was Sunday morning, and Missy hadn’t come out to the bus stop. Concerned, since she hadn’t missed a Sunday since she started three months back, Pastor John pulled the bus into the trailer park and over to where Missy lived. I hopped off and approached the door of her trailer. When nobody answered, I peeked in the window and could see a man hitting Missy across the face as she cried. Her blonde hair was matted, and she was wearing her favorite little pink dress she wore almost every Sunday.

  Pushing myself out of the memory, I arrived at the church. Grabbing my Bible from the seat beside me, I jumped out of the truck and slammed the door. Storming up to the church’s entrance, I pounded on the doors. Dropping my hand to my side as I saw John approach, I could feel my hand tremble as my heart pounded like a hammer striking a forge.

  Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and let me inside.

  “I thought the church was open to anyone,” I said sharply as I walked past him and made a beeline for his office.

  He hurried to catch up to me after locking it. “We had a break-in last week. Been paranoid.”

  My thoughts didn’t register the comment as we arrived into his office. As he shut the door, I placed my Bible on the desk and opened it to Proverbs 12 and turned it around for him as he took a seat. “Verse two,” I said, pointing to the twelfth chapter. I took a seat.

  My hands shook like they did the day that I waited for the test results on the cancer scare that Gail had early in our marriage almost fifteen years ago. I didn’t know if I was more scared of John having an answer that made sense or him not having an answer at all.

  He pulled his reading glasses out of the front pocket of his dress shirt and put them on. He began to look at the passage of Scripture. In a slow drawl, he began to read the passage out loud. “Good people obtain favor from the Lord, but he condemns those who devise wicked schemes.” Taking off his glasses, he folded them up and placed them back in his pocket. Leaning back in his chair, he narrowed his look on me for a moment without a word. Then, he spoke. “What’s good mean to you, Clay?”

  Adjusting in my seat, I began to think out loud. “In this Scripture, I’d say, maybe it’s someone who generally does good? In their life?”

  He nodded, but stayed silent.

  Leaning forward, I laid my arms on his desk and pressed my finger against the pages of the Bible. “You know me. You’ve seen me live my entire life, and I’ve been good, John. I’m a good person. Before that day, I tithed, went to church, did everything I could possibly do for the Lord!”

  “Mmmhmm . . . and?”

  A memory surfaced to my mind.

  He pointed the gun at me, then glanced over at his brother, Peter, dead on the ground and then stood up. Walking over to Missy, he raised the gun to her.

  The gun fired.

  My eyelids squeezed shut as a deafening ringing echoed through my skull.

  Then the screams came. They echoed from every direction. The bus, the surrounding neighbors in the trailer park, and even John as Missy fell to the cold ground.

  Shaking my head as I came out of the memory, I said, “John, she’s dead! Okay? She’s dead. And God let it happen. If I’m a good person like this Scripture says . . .” My voice quaked as I continued. “I should have had favor that day. But I didn’t! Lance did! And he got away!” The pain within me reached up and clamped my throat shut as tears welled in my eyes. Sitting back in my chair, I shook my head and wiped my cheeks. “She’s dead, John. It doesn’t matter if they caught Lance! She’s not coming back, and if I would have just . . . just stayed on that bus and told you to turn around, she’d be alive.” My tone was hopeless. My regret was bountiful. “I shouldn’t have knocked on that door.”

  John took a moment, letting the room fill with silence until it became more than uncomfortable. Sitting forward at his desk, he leaned in. In a tone that was both sincere and forthright, he said two words to me. “Filthy rags.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. He was speaking of Isaiah 64:6 which states, ‘all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.’ Conviction swept over my heart and mind. My chin dipped to my chest as repentance took hold of me.

  “Don’t lose heart, brother,” John said. “Any goodness we have within ourselves comes from God, Clay. You know that. It’s not what we do. As for Missy being killed that day . . . think about all the pain and heartache she won’t ever have to go through again.”

  My words fell over each other as I replied. “She was just a kid, John.” Sobbing, I continued, “I don’t know how to be okay with her dying like that.”

  “You don’t have to be okay with it. All you have to do is understand that God can comfort you in your pain and He is in control. He never says to get over it or deal with it. You see, life is full of things that don’t make any sense.” His eyes fell to my Bible on his desk. He choked up as he continued. “Suzzie’s staying at her sister’s right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen with our marriage. I could lose my position at the church, and most importantly, I could lose her . . .” He let out a sigh. “But we have the Bible to help us make it through these difficult times, Clay. God will provide us with peace, love and joy in the midst of our pain.”

  “Wow. I had no idea you guys were struggling.” John was right. The Scriptures never once tell us to deal with it or to just get over it, but it does say over and over that God is the great Comforter, the Physician, and to cast our cares on Him.

  A knock came from the door, interrupting our discussion. It opened a moment later, causing me to turn in my seat and look.

  It was Katie.

  “Oops.” She closed the door.

  “Katie,” John called out. “Come back in here.” As she opened the door again, John continued. “Katie and I were going to go grab a bite to eat and catch up. That’s the reason I was about to leave when you called.” John looked at her. “She didn’t answer, though, when I called to postpone. Thus, why she’s here.”

  “You don’t have to explain,” I said, raising a hand.

  Katie pulled her cellphone out of her purse and said, “Oh. It’s silenced. I see your call now.” She looked over at me a second and then broke eye contact to look back at John. “I’ll be outside waiting.”

  As she shut the door on her way out, John looked at me, tilting his head. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “What about you two? What’s going on there?” I responded.

  He shook his head. “It’s not that way at all. I can promise you that. But I’ll ask again, what’s going on between the two of you?”

  “She left my house yesterday in a fuss and never answered when I called her today. Even tried a couple of times.”

  John looked past me at the door. “You two like each other?”

  I laughed. “I don’t know, man. She’s just helping with my leg. Remember?”

  “How is your leg, by the way?”

  I nodded. “A lot better.” Standing up, I reached across his desk and shook his hand, then grabbed my Bible from the desk. “I’ll let you get going. Thanks for seeing me on short notice. You helped more than you’ll ever know. Sorry about Suzzie, by the way.”

  “No problem, Clay. And thanks. I hope she comes back and God can restore our marriage.”

  Turning, I opened the door.

  “Clay?” John said.

  Glancing back at him, I lifted my chin.

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Thanks,” I replied with a smile.

  Heading out to my truck in the parking lot, I attempted to process everything that John had revealed to me through the Scripture. I made eye contact with Katie as she sat in her car, but she broke eye contact with me quickly.

  I realized in that moment that there were lots of damaged relationships in my life. Repairing, healing and regaining the trust of those I cared about was going to take time. Katie might have helped me with my leg, but we also shared an intimate moment beneath the stars and a kiss that I know neither of us had forgotten ab
out. She was special, and I had no clue how to go about repairing the brokenness that was between us.

  CHAPTER 19

  Later that night, I spoke with Janice about getting a job around Suncrest. She recommended I turn in an application at the grocery store up the road. She said she’d put in a good word with her buddy, Alan, even though he had an issue with me ever since high school when I stole his girlfriend, Alice McCallister, right before the senior prom.

  Janice came through, and over the next few months, I worked at the grocery store stocking shelves. It wasn’t my S and E job, but it was a job nonetheless, and I was thankful for it.

  One evening, while I was stocking cans of soup in aisle seven, I had an unexpected visitor show up. It was John.

  “How’s the chicken noodle soup?” he asked, picking up a can from the shelf.

  Letting go of the box’s flap I had just opened, I stood upright. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Just figured I’d stop by since you didn’t show up yesterday at church. Was starting to get a little worried.”

  I smiled. “You don’t have to worry.” Bending over, I picked up a few cans from the box and began placing them on the shelves.

  He smiled and set the can back down.

  “I was just sick with a cough. I meant to text you. Guess I forgot.”

  He nodded. “How’s outpatient treatment going with Joe?”

  “Good. The medication he gave me is helping with the withdrawals.”

  “Good. Any word from Katie yet?”

  “I stopped trying to call her weeks ago, John. It’s been months since I’ve seen her.” Continuing to stack more cans of soup, I said, “I’m just focusing on God and catching up on all the back child support for Cindy.”