by JR Thompson
“Everybody in this town knows about that ministry and the trouble that seems to follow it. I feel for you. I really do.”
“So you believe there’s something to the rumors?”
“That I can’t say, ma’am. But I will pray with you if you’d like.”
After a short prayer, Victoria hugged the officer and thanked her for caring.
Following her uniformed friend’s departure, Victoria resumed her prayer. “Father, thank you so much for sending that kind lady here to pray with me. I’m more afraid now than I was before. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want our family to be thrown into another quandary. Please, God. Do something.”
After spending a couple of months snoring and drooling all over park benches, hiding out in sheds and barns, and resting beneath bridges, Titus had been a pretty happy camper when he had been afforded the opportunity to move in with the Pearsons. It may have been a dump to them, but in comparison to where he had been, it was fabulous. He wouldn’t have dared ask for more, but he had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that he was more than excited that the Pearsons had gotten a bigger place.
Finally! A bedroom all to myself, he thought, sitting on the corner of his new queen-sized bed. I can’t believe this actually happened. What are the chances?
As usual, his alone time was minimal. Brock peeked his head through the door and announced, “Titus, your presence in the living room is required for an abbreviated family assemblage.”
A family assemblage? Like a meeting? Titus scoffed. I’m not technically in the family, but if you say so.
Down the hall, he made himself comfortable in the Lazy Boy chair and quietly listened as Brock reminded the clan they owed God an enormous deal of gratitude. “Two weeks ago we cried out to the Lord, imploring Him for guidance. Observe our present state of being! God is unconditionally meritorious of our praises!”
“Amen to that!” Victoria exclaimed. “I’ve never experienced a miracle anything like this one.”
Scottie didn’t share the enthusiasm. “It was probably a coincidence,” he mumbled. “God never answers my prayers.”
Beep! Beep! Beep! The sound of a fire alarm suddenly interrupted their conversation. Brock and Victoria looked at each other with wide eyes, hoping one of the detectors simply had a low battery.
Instructing the boys to wait in the driveway in case, Brock and Victoria split up to check the residence from top to bottom.
Outside, Titus and Scottie turned to face the house. Fortunately, there wasn’t any smoke pouring from the top or seeping out around any of the windows. They could only hope that was a good sign.
“BROCK, I SMELL SMOKE!” they suddenly heard Victoria shout.
With that, Titus completely forgot about his directions to stay outside. Rushing in to see how he could help, he found Brock and Victoria in Scottie’s room, disabling the smoke detector.
“What’s going on?” Titus asked.
“Looks like Scottie left his window open and smoke from the neighbor’s fire came in and set off the alarm,” Victoria told him.
“Do us a service, and advise Scottie to rejoin us so we can conclude our discussion,” Brock added.
It took a few minutes to get everyone settled back down, but when they did Brock reminded the family he had called them together for a time of praising God.
“I still say it’s a waste of breath,” Scottie fussed.
Titus didn’t say a word. He did what came naturally to him — listened and pondered what everyone else was saying. My parents would never believe this was a coincidence, he told himself. I’m not sure what conclusion to draw. It seems miraculous, but I suppose it could have happened even if we hadn’t called upon Him. We’ll probably never know.
Titus continued listening as Brock began scolding his son, “Scottie, you must cease from your ungratefulness. The honorable Lord both delivers and seizes. He promotes and demotes. If we fail to appreciate His mercies, we shouldn’t be surprised when He stops showing them.”
“Daddy, I’m not even sure there is a God,” Scottie replied.
Uh-oh, Titus contemplated. Things are about to get heated up in here.
Victoria spoke up, “That’s probably my fault, baby. Your dad and I didn’t raise you in a Godly home — we weren’t Christians until here recently. We knew God was real, but we didn’t introduce you to Him. But I was pleading with God to bring your dad and I back together and look at us now. We prayed about finding another place to live and God provided.”
“Yeah,” Scottie stated sarcastically. “Sounds like when you convinced me Santa was bringing me gifts for being added to his nice list. You told me he knew when I was being good or bad and you brainwashed me into believing he slid down through the chimney to cram all those presents under our tree. I believed you for years and that turned out to be nothing more than a big, fat lie. Now Dad’s telling me God’s just like Santa. ‘If we fail to appreciate His mercies, we shouldn’t be surprised when He stops showing them’ sounds similar to, ‘If you’re not a nice boy, you’re gonna get coal in your stocking.”
7: The Byrd House
Moving to a new neighborhood didn’t necessarily help the Pearsons escape the chaos they had been getting more and more accustomed to in Farmington. Actually, the fun was only beginning.
“Sorry to intrude on you, Brock,” Pastor O’Malley said. “I understand you folks just moved in a couple of days ago, but there’s a family over on the west side who has been living in a motel for the last month. It’s a single mom and three children.”
O’Malley paused for a moment. Nodding toward the door, he hinted, “You’re gonna end up wasting a lot of electricity if you don’t close that door.”
Well, reprieve me, Brock thought. I can’t begin to fathom instructing somebody to seal their door. Especially somebody I’m barely even acquainted with.
Brock’s pessimism didn’t have time to fester as O’Malley jumped right back to the topic at hand. “Anyway, the mom’s been puttin’ food on the table by serving folks at a local diner and our ministry has been payin’ for their room and board until we could gather enough materials and build up a team of volunteers to get their new house built. I am aware of the fact that we’re dead in the middle of winter, but we finally have the finances in place. She already owns the property. Are you ready to begin your first project?”
Brock hesitated for a moment as he had mixed feelings. A part of him wanted to jump right in and take that bull by the horns. Another part of him screamed “No! You haven’t even secured your family in your own dwelling yet. How are you going to devote time to constructing anything?”
It was okay that he didn’t answer. O’Malley wasn’t the kind of guy to fret the smallest details. Particulars like whether or not someone was ready to get to work meant nothing to him. He went right on explaining Rachel Byrd’s situation. She and her family had been living in a property her and her husband had inherited back in 2003, several years before he passed away due to an unexpected illness. Several weeks ago Mrs. Byrd was awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of a beeping smoke alarm. She rushed to get her children outside and their single-wide trailer had burned to the ground in less than twenty minutes.
Mrs. Byrd, along with her son and two daughters, had lost all of their possessions. The only thing they had left was each other. The Byrd family, as far as Pastor O’Malley knew, were not Christian people. They didn’t go to church and never spoke of God. He had tried to bring up the subject of salvation multiple times when visiting, but every time he did Mrs. Byrd had hastily jumped to a new topic.
The longer Pastor O’Malley spoke, the tenser Brock began to feel. It’s not that he wasn’t anxious about diving into a project — he was. It had more to do with a fear of the unknown. “I would be most enthused about commencing, but I fear I lack the knowledge to begin,” Brock finally managed to spit out.
“That’s why I showed up in person. Can I come in?” O’Malley asked.
“Oh,
I offer you my sincerest apologies. I didn’t mean to keep you loitering out here on the porch indefinitely,” Brock apologized. “Things are disorderly inside though. We still have an immense amount of unpacking to do.”
Pastor O’Malley had well prepared himself for the visit. He handed Brock a large manila file folder containing the contact information of every man, woman, and teenager who had ever volunteered to work on any of his past projects. It also listed all of the companies who had either offered him discounts or had donated building supplies. That wasn’t all — he even included phone numbers and addresses for all of the churches who had faithfully supported his ministry over the years.
O’Malley had already informed his supporting churches he was stepping down and Brock was taking over. However, he advised Brock to contact each of them, either by telephone or letter to introduce himself and to ask if they would continue supporting the work under his leadership.
Pastor O’Malley recommended commencing the new building project before contacting any of the supporters. “That way,” he suggested, “those churches’ll see you’re jumpin’ right into the ministry. If you allow ‘em any reason to believe you’re gonna sit back and do nothing while they stuff money into your bank account, they’ll drop their support in a heartbeat. Gain their confidence with your actions, not with your words.”
Finally, after a thirty-minute mentoring session, O’Malley tearfully pulled out his billfold. “This is the debit card for Laborers for God. The account presently has a balance of $436,202 sitting there, waiting to be used. I stopped by the bank on my way over here to have ‘em add you as a signer on the account. They need you to affix your signature to some paperwork at your earliest convenience and then you’ll be able to use this card to acquire necessary building materials.”
Wow! Brock mused. I will have nearly half a million dollars at my fingertips. This is preposterous!
That evening, the Pearson household moseyed next door to attend the Wednesday evening prayer meeting at Central Baptist Church.
It was Brock’s first time stepping foot in the building. He was quite impressed with the size of the sanctuary — it was one of those buildings that was much larger inside than it appeared on the outside. At first glance, Brock assumed it had a capacity of seating at least six or seven hundred people.
It was twenty minutes before church time and people were already filing in. Brock couldn’t help but notice how spread out the congregation seemed to be. Each pew was long and appeared as though it could easily hold thirty adults, but for the most part, no more than six or seven people sat on each one. Exceptionally few people came by to introduce themselves and shake his hand. But that was okay. Brock already felt nervous and he truly appreciated the space he and his family were allotted.
If Victoria, Titus, or Scottie tried to converse with him, Brock didn’t notice. He was too intent on observing the finest of details. In particular, he paid attention to the number of crosses in the sanctuary. One was engraved on the end of each pew. There were sixteen windows and each one of them had a cross painted on it. The light fixtures had been aligned in such a way that they formed a cross, another one decorated the front of the pulpit, three crosses were hanging on the wall behind the main platform and the hymnals… even the hymnals had crosses on them.
When the pianist began to play, Brock glanced up at the clock, finding it hard to believe it was already time for the service to start. Pastor O’Malley led the congregation in a verse of “Amazing Grace.” For the most part, the people sang so softly they could barely be heard. Brock was afraid to sing out because he felt like he would drown out everyone else in the sanctuary. He never liked hushed churches and hoped this wasn’t an indication of the body’s level of spirituality.
“You all may be seated,” Pastor O’Malley announced.
Brock picked up his Bible and waited for the pastor to tell the church where to turn.
Pastor O’Malley had something else in mind. “At this time, I’m going to ask my new friend, Brock Pearson, to come up to the pulpit to introduce himself.”
Brock shook his head and smiled nervously. Public speaking had never been abundantly high on his bucket list.
“You might as well get used to this,” Pastor O’Malley spoke as Brock began making his way to the platform. “Missionary work requires a great deal of speaking to crowds.”
There has to be an excess of at least two hundred people here, he realized. I am incapable of performing this feat.
Mounting the platform, Brock was shocked to see Pastor O’Malley step down and have a seat among the congregants.
I lack an alternative, Brock reasoned with himself. I am being required to do this. I have to utter something. Brock opened up with, “I have not publicly articulated in the past. I’m frightened to obliteration.”
The congregation sat in silence, which only made the situation more taxing. Brock glanced at the crowd. What did Mrs. Evans used to instruct me when I was required to present book reports in middle school?... Oh, I desire her presence right now. Brock’s pulse was racing. He wanted to bolt down the aisle, out the door, and never to return. But he knew that would be quite the childish thing to do. Oh, I recollect now. Imagine all of the males wearing tutus and all of the ladies dressed like grease monkeys. I got this. Brock almost snickered when he caught a glimpse of Pastor O’Malley. Of everyone there, he would definitely be the most amusing in a pink tutu. Don’t convulse with laughter, Brock. Don’t even smile. You’ve got this… Here goes.
“As Pastor O’Malley informed you, my name is Brock Pearson, and my spouse and household just relocated next door,” he began, wondering how much or how little he was supposed to say. “We had been pursuing direction in our lives like your pastor had been hunting for the correct party to appropriate the Laborers for God ministry. I am entirely convinced God joined the two prayer petitions together, and that’s why we’re here.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m not sure what more to say, Pastor.”
Pastor O’Malley stood to his feet and the congregation applauded.
“Very well,” Pastor O’Malley voiced as he and Brock exchanged places. “I forgot to ask, do you or anyone in your household sing? We would be honored if one or all of you would belt out a special for us.”
What? Brock questioned. No way! Pleadingly, he looked to Victoria for help.
Before he knew what happened, Titus sprang up and marched confidently toward the church’s grand piano.
What is he doing? Brock questioned as the Pastor again took a seat. I can’t believe that boy’s going up there as unkempt as he is. Titus hasn’t combed his hair or even taken that gauge out of his ear. He hasn’t uttered a syllable about having any musical talent whatsoever. Again, Brock felt humiliated. He wished there was a place where he could safely hide his head.
Titus sat on the piano bench with his back perfectly erect. Brock watched as he stretched his fingers as if he were a concert pianist. This will be interesting, he told himself.
The Pearsons all gawked at each other when Titus began playing the chorus of “Come and Dine” — they couldn’t believe how eloquently he could play. Then, as if that wasn’t a big enough surprise, he burst into joyous song. “Jesus has a table spread, where the saints of God are fed, He invites his chosen people, come and dine.”
I am undecided which is more sublime, Brock thought. His playing or his vocalization. That is astounding! I find myself in a state of bewilderment! Brock began to weep and Victoria joined in with him.
“Why are you crying?” Scottie asked loudly. “He’s not that bad!”
After Titus’s special, Pastor O’Malley asked the church to spend time fellowshipping and welcoming their visitors. Person after person hugged their necks and assured the Pearsons they were glad they had come. Over and over again folks asserted they would be willing to do anything they could to help with their new endeavor.
The Pearson household felt right at home.
“Where did you acquire a voice like
that?” Brock asked when they got back to their house later that evening.
Titus smiled and shrugged his shoulders without uttering a word.
“You were fabulous,” Victoria told him.
Again Titus grinned. “Thanks.”
Show-off, Scottie scowled. You’ll do anything for attention.
“Would you mind singing something else for us?” Victoria asked.
Oh, please! Scottie thought. Haven’t we heard enough?
Titus nodded his head and bellowed out, “Glory hallelujah, I shall not be moved; Anchored in Jehovah, I shall not be moved; Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters, I shall not be moved.”
Scottie didn’t appreciate the smile on his face. As a matter of fact, he didn’t appreciate the sound of his voice either. Come to think of it, Titus dressed like an idiot. The guy was a total loser. Trying to irritate, Scottie howled like a dog gazing at a full moon.
Brock stared at Scottie and shook his head, silently telling the boy to knock it off.
While Titus continued trying to sing, Scottie hissed, “It’s not my fault he’s singing through his nose!”
Titus stopped singing, allowed the smile on his face to flip upside down, and said, “I can take a hint.”
That’s surprising, Scottie scoffed. I wasn’t so sure you were smart enough.
8: Following Noah
While Scottie was frying his brain in school and Victoria was running errands, Brock escorted Titus to the site of their first construction project. He was relieved to find it had already been cleaned up and a foundation had been poured. That’s a beginning, he told himself.
Working together, Brock and Titus measured the footer so Brock could later determine the amount of materials needed to construct a three-bedroom, one-bath home. O’Malley hadn’t given him instructions on how to build; that had been left up to Brock’s ingenuity. Trying to be a wise steward, Brock judged it fair for the two girls to share a bedroom, the boy to bunk alone, and of course for the mom to have the master bedroom.
