by T. K. Chapin
Getting into the back seat, I looked over at Ted as he sat next to me. “Sherman. Don’t you think that we could knock on doors and get people to support us and help stop—”
“Let me stop you right there. I don’t think this city cares about anything other than having fun and doing whatever they want. People all over this country have turned a blind eye away from what the government is doing, and they only focus on themselves.”
“This isn’t political, Sherman,” I retorted.
“Yeah it is! Everything is political. Don’t you get that? Have you looked at the city budget? We might be getting cut, but the special programs for the down and out are getting a surge.”
“Really?” I asked, skeptical.
“Yeah. It’s all on the city’s website. They put it out there for anyone to read. But like I said, nobody cares about what the government is doing, even on the local level,” Ted replied.
As the fire truck rolled out of the bay doors, I shook my head. “What happened to the good old days, Taylor?” I asked, leaning up toward him and Greg in the front.
Cole looked back at me. “They’re called old for a reason. We’ll get it figured out. Don’t lose any hair over it, Alderman.”
Sitting back in my seat, I looked out my window as we flew down the street toward the fire down on the 1600 block of Garfield. The trees, cars and scenery looked like a smear across my field of vision as I thought about the looming financial troubles between the station and the city.
As we arrived at the scene, jolting me out of my thoughts, I jumped out and headed to the rear of the truck. Pushing up the flap that hid the hose, I grabbed the hose end and my hydrant wrench. Running down the road with the hose over one shoulder, I arrived at the hydrant. Wrapping the hose around it once, I shot a glance back to the truck to see Ted pulling out the slack from behind for me. I began to twist the end onto the hydrant.
After I finished hooking up the line and got the water flowing, I jogged over to the truck to grab my halligan and then to the house where Ted was arranging the hose for the frontal attack on the fire. Flame and smoke danced across the sky like a ballet recital, moving and shaping itself as it went, the smoke almost mirroring the rhythm of the fire.
Arriving at Ted’s side in front of the house, I asked, “Anyone still inside? Do we know?”
Ted nodded. “Nobody inside, we’re all clear.”
“Okay. Let’s rock this fire.” Putting my mask over my face, I walked over and picked up the end of the hose that lay in the grass.
The heat from the flames jumped from the house and warmed me through my jacket. That warmth was comforting, a feeling similar to a second home. In my earlier years at my previous station, the heat had bothered me. It wasn’t until I got used to it back about a decade ago that I found the warmth oddly comforting.
While dousing the flames outside the house, I spotted Brian climbing down a ladder from the roof after doing ventilation cuts.
The flames died down on the front side of the house and we were able to advance through the door. Stepping inside, I shoved my halligan up into the ceiling to make sure there was no looseness to it. Soot fell into my face from above. It was okay, so we proceeded. I saw flames in the kitchen to the left, so I directed the nozzle in that direction. Water streamed across the room and into the kitchen as I adjusted the pressure on the nozzle. I placed my left foot back behind me to brace myself as the water roared from the hose. Spraying back and forth across the kitchen in a swath, the smell of wet burned wood and a soon to be victory filled my nostrils.
As we were cleaning up and returning the equipment to their rightful places on the back of the truck, Cole walked over to me.
“Alderman,” he said.
“Taylor,” I said, not pausing from my task of putting the hose onto the truck.
“Are you going to come to that men’s breakfast tomorrow morning?” he asked. “It’s after we get off. At ten,” he added. The men’s breakfast was a meal that Pines Baptist put on every month to help draw in friends and family that didn’t usually participate in church services.
“Sure,” I replied. I have felt guilty going to anything outside of Sunday services since my addiction took its full form, but I couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse to not go to this one. “The wife will be out shopping. I think it’ll work.” I flashed him a forced smile.
“Great,” Cole replied. “I’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER 4
The smell of coffee filled me with joy as I opened the front door the next morning, arriving home after my first twenty-four hour shift for the week. I kicked off my boots in the living room and tossed my jacket onto the couch as I excitedly hurried into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Rick,” Susan said from the kitchen table as she read the paper. She had a cup of coffee, her reading glasses and a piece of toast that was half-eaten sitting on a plate.
After pouring my cup of coffee, I joined Susan at the table. Taking a seat, I said, “I have a men’s breakfast at Pines Baptist that I’m going to head to in a bit.”
She smiled warmly at me as she replied, “That’s neat, dear.” At my nod, she closed the newspaper and handed it across the table to me. Her eyes looked down to a notepad that I presumed was her shopping list. Glancing up, she asked, “Was there anything special you needed at the store?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Have fun at the breakfast, and I will see you later.” She ripped the paper from the notepad and folded it in half twice. Getting up, she went to the island in the kitchen and slipped the list into her purse that sat on the counter.
She left the kitchen and went into the living room. I flipped open the paper and found the sports section. I shifted my eyes over to the window beside me as I heard a bird squawk outside. Looking out the nook’s window toward the guest house in the backyard, I couldn’t see a bird anywhere in sight. Instead, I saw an old walker belonging to Susan’s mother leaning against the far eastern side of the house. I recalled her mother living out there during her last days. She stayed with us until she passed. It felt like forever, but it was only for four months. Susan had spent a great deal of time out in that guest house with her mother. The memory of that time dissipated from my mind, losing focus and bringing me back to the reality of the guest house. Brown boxes pushed up against the dirty glass windows inside. Boxes, boxes and more boxes. There were more boxes in that house than any one person should have. It had been six years since her mother died, and since that day the house’s only purpose has been an oversized storage unit for Susan’s shopping addiction.
“Rick, what did I tell you about these boots? You need to keep them by the doorway!” Susan shouted from the living room.
Turning in my chair to face her, I said, “Why’s it matter? They aren’t dirty.”
With the boots in hand, she hurried her steps across the living room and up to me. She showed me the dirt that was clumped onto the bottom. “I love you, but that’s not clean. Some got onto the carpet, Rick! You know how I hate that.”
“Sorry,” I replied, turning back to take another drink of my coffee.
The phone suddenly rang on the wall. Susan flashed me another grumpy look and went over to answer it. She set the boots down on the floor in the kitchen and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she said.
I picked up the newspaper in front of me and began reading the sports section again. After a few moments, Susan turned to me.
“Rick,” she said, pulling me away from the paper.
“Yes?”
“Beth wants to know if she and the kids can come down for dinner this evening.” Our daughter Beth lived east of Spokane, out in Coeur d'Alene with her husband and our three grandkids.
“Of course,” I replied, smiling. Ever since she, Jonathan and the kids moved out to Coeur d'Alene, we hadn’t been able to see them as much as we did when they lived in Spokane. Standing up, I left the kitchen and went upstairs to shower.
When I came bac
k down, it was nine thirty and Susan was still on the phone. Stopping in at the kitchen to look for my keys, I kissed Susan on the cheek. “I gotta get going to that breakfast if I don’t want to be late, let Beth know I’m excited to see her. Have you seen my keys?”
She nodded and covered the phone. “Sorry about earlier when I lost my temper. Your keys are over on the counter next to the fridge.”
“I understand, I’ll be sure to keep them by the door. Love you,” I replied, “. . . and thank you.” I walked over and grabbed them before I headed out the door to leave.
Pulling into the parking lot of Pines Baptist, I saw Micah and Kane strolling across the pavement, heading toward the front entrance. They weren’t aware of my vehicle pulling in, so as I drove past them I honked a little. They both leapt up at least a foot in the air, and Kane shot a look back like he wanted to kill me. Then his face softened into a smile as he saw that it was me.
He waved as I pulled up alongside the both of them. Rolling down my window, I said, “Hey. You here for the free food too?”
Micah grinned. “Good food, good people. Nowhere else I’d rather be this fine morning.”
I nodded.
“You back in church, Alderman?” Kane asked.
Shaking my head, I said, “Our pastor was out sick. It’s been a few weeks now since I’ve been.”
“Go visit him,” Kane added.
I laughed. “I don’t want to get sick!” I replied. “At my age, I’m one bad sickness from ending up in a hospital.”
“Oh, come on.” Micah laughed. “We’re not that old. I’m only a couple of years behind you.”
“Yeah . . . well, have you gone to seen him?” I asked.
“He’s not my pastor. I didn’t even know he was ill,” Micah replied.
Nodding, I looked behind me as a car was waiting for me to move. “I’ll see you two in there,” I said, rolling my window back up. I spotted Cole up by the entrance of the church as I pulled into a parking spot.
Once inside, I got my plate of food and made my way to the table with the rest of the guys from the station. Sitting down with a mountain of hash browns, four sausages, two strips of bacon and a couple of eggs, I saw Micah give me a funny look.
“You’re so worried about your health that you won’t go see your pastor, but you’re eating all that?” he said with one eyebrow lowered.
“Yeah. It doesn’t make much sense. But it is what it is.” I laughed. Looking over at Kane, I said, “You ever going to start back up with poker night?”
Shaking his head as he finished his bite of toast, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “No. I don’t think so, man.”
Cole added, “He’s pretty busy with his girl, Kristen.”
Kane laughed. “That’s partially it. But I’ve also started helping out a ton with the Youth Group at Valley Baptist. Eats up a lot of my time.”
Nodding, I replied, “I see.”
“Top of the mornin’ to ya’ll,” a man in a white dress shirt and jeans said as he patted Cole’s shoulder and greeted our table. I couldn’t recall if it was the pastor or not. I hadn’t been to Pines all that often. He shook Cole’s hand and smiled at the rest of us. “Glad ya could come down for breakfast. We’re gonna have a guest speaker here in a few minutes.”
“Pastor Holland, Good morning,” Cole said. “What’s the topic for this morning?”
“Blind faith,” he replied, keeping that smile front and center on his face.
One of my eyebrows shot up and the pastor caught it. He looked at me “I see your skepticism, but maybe you’ll enjoy it. I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said while extending his hand.
“Rick. Rick Alderman,” I replied, accepting the handshake.
“Rick. You’ll enjoy it.” He smiled again. He was smiling so much that I wondered if he ever stopped—even when he went to sleep at night.
Cole nodded at the pastor and then looked over at me. “Blind faith is required time and time again in life. It’s a reoccurring theme in all avenues across our lives.”
“I agree,” Micah said, nodding as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Life is often unpredictable, and it’s our faith and trust that God is in control that gets us through.”
Someone from a nearby table called out to the pastor. He said his goodbyes and went on to the next table. I noticed he kept on smiling as he went.
I grunted a little with a laugh as I said, “There ain’t nothing blind about my faith.” I pointed down at the table, pushing my index finger against it. “I know what I know because I know it’s true.”
Micah set his fork down and looked at me. He was sitting next to Cole and Kane. “Come on, Alderman. You haven’t ever felt your faith and trust was blinded?”
I shook my head. “Maybe in the beginning I was a little blind . . . but I’ve been in church for thirty-five years; ain’t nothing I don’t know.”
Micah’s eyebrows furrowed, but he remained quiet as he picked up his fork and continued eating. Everybody else stayed pretty quiet at the table. The only sound at our table was the sound of our silverware clanking against our plates.
“Those blueberry pancakes were something else, weren’t they?” A loud voice on the microphone interrupted my thoughts as we turned to see who was speaking. Standing on the stage was a happy man, seeming even happier to get everyone in the room’s attention on him. “They were delicious. And now that our tummies are full, I should introduce myself. I’m Jacob Brighton, but my friends call me Jake . . . so you can call me Jake.”
Rolling my eyes as I directed my attention back to my plate of food, I continued eating as I listened to him.
“Today I want to talk to you about blind faith. What is blind faith? Faith in the Scriptures isn’t blind. It’s tested and true. Right?” He held up his Bible for a moment in the air as he turned on one foot, showing it to everyone in the room.
“But I’ve got a secret to share with you. There’s something you might not know.” He paused his words to draw the focus of the crowd. I even turned and looked at him. He continued, “A blind faith is not only encouraged, but needed in times of uncertainty. When you woke up this morning, you knew you were coming down to Pines Baptist to eat some breakfast, right? Well, I hope you knew . . . or maybe you’re like Jeffery over here, whom I met this morning.” He pointed over to a table. “He got a wakeup call from his brother-in-law, asking if he’d like to come along. He didn’t wake up knowing he was coming here. But chances are that you did.” He walked the stage as he paused again.
He said, “You got in that car, turned the key over and drove down here. Or you got a ride, or whatever way you came today. And that act of coming here took a form of blind faith. Your car didn’t break down. You didn’t get in a wreck.”
Oh jeez, I thought to myself. This guy is being a bit ridiculous. That’s not blind faith.
“We are putting our faith in something whenever we make these countless decisions in life. Blind faith doesn’t have to be like Abraham in the Bible when God told him to leave everything he knew to follow him or when asked to sacrifice his son. It can be small or big. For instance,”—he looked back at our table and pointed—“If you’re like the guys in the back from the fire department, blind faith is running into a burning building. That’s faith and trust in God to protect them. It’s blind because you don’t know the outcome.”
Leaning over my plate, I whispered to Kane, “We train for that, it’s not blind faith. We trust God to protect us, but we’re not blind. I don’t like the analogy he’s using.”
Kane lowered an eyebrow at me and whispered back, “Hush, man. I’m trying to listen.”
Leaning back in my seat, I crossed my arms and kicked out my feet beneath the table. My skepticism and coldness was growing for the speaker.
“In the Bible . . .” he began to say. Suddenly my ears perked up. Talk was cheap and easily found, but when someone started talking Scripture, that’s when I begin to listen. I had little tolerance for stories like
driving a car to communicate a point. With his Bible open, he continued, “In Matthew 9 we find a ruler who is asking Jesus to lay hands on a deceased daughter. Blind faith. In Chapter 9 we also find a woman with such a strong faith that she believes just touching the edge of His garment will heal her. Blind faith.”
I knew the stories by heart, but I couldn’t help but snicker under my breath a little at the connections this guy was trying to make. It was cute for a twenty-something-year old kid to get up and talk in front of all of us men, but the connection wasn’t there in my mind. I could tell he caught my laughter, but he didn’t address it on the spot. He continued the talk with us until arriving at his final conclusion.
“I believe blind faith will find us all at different points in our lives. Sometimes it’s evident, other times not right away.” He looked me in the eye, and then he continued his gaze across the room. “Let us pray.”
After the prayer and breakfast was over and everyone was getting up from their seats, Jacob approached me.
“Hi . . . ?” he said, extending a hand as he waited for a reply.
“Rick Alderman,” I replied, shaking his hand.
Jacob cleared his throat and said, “Hi, Rick. I noticed that you laughed while I was teaching . . . which is fine with me. But, could you explain why? I’m kind of curious.”
Shaking my head, I put my hand up and tried to shoo him and the awkward situation I had found myself in away. “No, it’s nothing.” I tried to leave the table since all my other buddies had already left.
He caught my arm in a non-aggressive way to stop me. “Please?” he asked. “I’m new at this. I can handle constructive criticism well, and it’ll help me for the future . . . if you don’t mind?”
I pursed my lips together to form a thin line. Then, I looked at my watch. I had a few moments to spare for the young man.
“Okay. Well, those people and stories you referenced . . . I don’t think they really had blind faith. They already were interacting with Jesus. They were trusting in what they already knew to be true.”
