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While in line, Renee’s expression conveyed she had recognized him. She looked straight into my eyes. She’s bound to know it’s me. But I’m not ready yet, sis. Give me time...please.
A deluge of panic surged through Roland when Winston walked through the front door with his two children. Would his brother also recognize him? Delight surged across his soul that he had family nearby, but a simultaneous sadness settled in as he watched his brother with his niece and nephew. He had never seen them together. He pushed the cap’s bill above his eyes to witness their interaction and what he’d missed over the years. The photos he’d taken off their social media page and transferred to his phone proved an enormous blessing. Those happy images helped him survive each day and night while he wandered the streets aimlessly, unsure of what he was searching for. He hadn’t found it yet but trusted the Father directed the path he traversed.
They look happy. Can I have the same happiness in my life someday? Probably not, since I ran off like a thief in the night. Only You know I had a reason. I can’t tell them what I know. It would break Winston’s heart—and I’m not about to tarnish our parent’s image, which you hold dear, brother.
Little Brice’s hand wiggled out of his father’s, then the child cut loose and ran toward the serving line. “Aunt Jeanne!” He disappeared between the legs of the people standing at the counter.
Winston pulled his daughter’s hand closer, then his head bobbed and weaved, searching.
Roland gasped and jumped to his feet. Is he okay? Winston, get that little man before he gets injured.
As if on command, the line parted. A young lady appeared with his nephew in tow, leading the youngster to his dad. Her smile warmed Roland’s heart. Something happened with his knees...they would not bend or cooperate as he gazed at the beautiful young woman. Her presence had been a mere shadow in his mind when he’d so desperately slinked away from the serving line and his sister-in-law.
The last time he saw Jeanne, she’d been an awkward teen, stumbling over the least of things on the aisle—even the rose petals the flower girls had sprinkled—while she tried to keep pace with the wedding march ahead of Renee. No longer a gawky teen, her gracefulness was breathtaking. Her smile, her carriage...everything about Jeanne exuded the quiet confidence of a strong woman, and with her presence here today also witnessed her faith.
With both children in hand, Winston escorted them to a nearby table. He sat the kids in a chair, facing each other, then knelt between them. After a few words, the youngsters nodded and smiled. He wrapped his arms around them and planted kisses on their foreheads.
Although Roland had rested last night, his drained body still needed more nourishment. A second serving would give him energy, but he’d already gone through the line once and got a few portions on his plate, more than he had eaten the last three days. A loud and obnoxious growl came from his stomach, and he hoped those surrounding him didn’t hear it. But if they did, they were fully aware of the sting of hunger pangs.
While he fought with himself regarding whether to get in line or stay put, his nephew approached with a plate of food. A chuckle softly released from Roland’s lips as the child maneuvered around chairs and dodged people’s legs, his tongue wiggling halfway out on one side of his mouth.
The youngster’s steps slowed, the plate he carefully clutched tittered, and the boy stopped in front of Roland. He sucked in a breath when Brice thrust the meal toward him with a wide grin that spread cheek to cheek and displayed a gap where two front teeth once lived.
“Sir, here’th your lunch,” the boy lisped through his unfamiliar missing teeth.
Roland nodded. “Thank you, little man.” He hoped the boy would leave the plate and go, but he didn’t.
A quizzical brow rose across the child’s forehead as he searched Roland’s face. “You look like the picthure of my Uncle Roland that’th on our mantle. He’th a tholdier. I’m gonna be a tholdier one day like him. He’th brave.”
Roland glanced around the room to find his brother. This kid recognizes me. They must have my photo in the family room.
Winston stood with his daughter’s hand in his and called out. “Brice.”
“Gotta go. Bye, mithter.”
His nephew ran toward his father, and Roland’s gaze followed.
Then he saw her again. Jeanne. His heart skipped a beat. Stop it—she’s bound to be married or in some kind of relationship.
The grit from his soiled clothes had flaked off with all his vaulting up and down, and the floor around his chair looked like a dirt bowl. Images of himself in the mirror when he’d visited the restroom, sent an unbearable deep knowing of what he had become in the last year. Homeless. Useless. A bum.
Roland’s nephew darted off and jumped into his father’s arms. Little Marie bounced on her toes and spread her arms wide, wanting her dad’s attention. The sweet sight brought joy to Roland and sadness too.
Renee stood next to her husband, gently rubbing circles on his back. After two children and the tragedy in the family, his sister-in-law remained a strong, devoted woman. Her smile shone brightly. The same familiar one she’d used to comfort his dad during his illness. He recalled how she sang hymns daily until his dad took his final breath.
Roland glanced at Jeanne, whose similar smile had captivated his heart moments earlier. An adoring family scene played out as Roland watched, and a twinge rippled through him. He stood, heaved a heavy breath, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and strolled toward his family. Dare he approach them in the current state of his appearance—grizzly, dirty clothes and hair, and unkempt beard? But if not now, when? He took two steps forward, stopped, turned, and headed to the front door. He surprised even himself with his swift exit. He wasn’t ready...not yet.
Outside, Roland ran across the street and darted into an alley. He rested against the dirty wall. Safe.
Moments earlier, when he’d approached the family, a vibrant flash of pain from his past filled his mind. All he saw was his father standing there. Winston and his dad had similar features, the same build, and dark brown eyes. During his dad’s final days, his eyes grew darker and more menacing. Sometimes they haunted him in the middle of the night. He would wake in a cold sweat, shaken to the core of his being. “Why, Dad, why?” A sob-filled whisper spilled off his lips.
He watched the center’s front door in case Winston or Renee followed. After a moment, he sighed, glad they hadn’t. He squatted and buried his face in his hands. “I need Your strength. Can I tell Winston? Will this hurt in my heart ever heal? Jesus, You died for me, and I’m so grateful. Please stay with me. Guide me through this turbulent life I’ve chosen. I’d love to be with family, but how? I can’t keep this secret from them much longer.”
“Then don’t.”
Roland looked up with red, swollen eyes but could not recognize the man’s features through his blurry vision. He rubbed away the tears with the heels of his palms and then focused on the man standing in front of him.
Pastor Eli held out his hand. “Let’s talk, son.”
He nodded, accepted the kind gesture, and stood. “I’m grateful He sent you.”
Pastor Eli crossed his hands behind his back. “Want to walk for a while?”
“Sounds good.” Roland pulled a hanky from his back pocket, ran it over his face, then hitched his backpack over one shoulder.
“So, tell me, what’s going on?” The pastor held his gaze on the path while they strolled.
“It’s a long story.” Roland scuffed his boot toe on the snow-filled sidewalk.
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere, son. I’m here to listen when you’re ready, as is the Lord.”
Roland’s shoulders relaxed, Eli’s solemn voice and temperament doing what they were meant to do—comfort the flock he shepherded. With the pastor being five years older than Roland, he surmised God had instructed this man well. “Pastor, you do know me. Before I left the community, I was a church member, and I think you graduated from high school the year I became a sophomore. I’m Roland Bryson, Winston’s younger brother.” He glanced at the man to see if he acknowledged their connection.
The pastor walked on, giving Roland only a nod of recognition.
He resumed. “Things went kinda sideways when Winston left to apprentice in Hopewell with a friend of my father’s. I was around sixteen back then, a kid still. Dad said and did things—” He drew a deep breath. “Things that were not in his usual demeanor. We’d be in the shop working on a customer’s project when he’d suddenly burst into a rage. He’d call me terrible names—I won’t repeat the words. Then once...no, twice...he threw a hammer at my head. Luckily, it didn’t make contact. Afterward, he cried and asked me to forgive him, and I did. But he continued to do those things again and again. Every day, I’d pray for Dad’s healing and deliverance from the illness that took control of his mind. Just before Winston married, Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor.” He paused, and a shuddered breath escaped. “Winston and Renee moved home, and I thought everything would return to normal after his surgery...but it didn’t.” Roland’s sob-filled words halted.
Pastor Eli settled a hand on Roland’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “You’re doing fine, son.”
They came upon the entrance to Grace Serenity Garden—a prayer garden adjacent to the church’s grounds. Volunteers spent countless hours honing and chiseling Bible verses into the Texas Hill Country limestone walls for those who wished to take refuge within the garden.
“Shall we go in and have a seat?” Pastor Eli gestured toward the benches. After brushing snow off the seats, they lowered onto them.
Reliving that year sent spikes through Roland—today was the first time he had confided in anyone about the months of agony he endured at his father’s hand. Roland released a heavy sigh and continued. “The name-calling stopped, but not for long. Dad started up again, and things got worse. When he healed from the surgery, he could work again in the furniture shop several days a week. I’d keep to myself, saying nothing when he was around.” Recounting the experience caused the knots to return in his shoulders. “But then he took his grandfather’s razor strap to my back—”
“Don't feel like you need to rush.”
“Dad cried and asked forgiveness each time. Pastor, I did forgive him over and over again. I knew the man who’d been so abusive to me was not my father. The man who raised me didn’t do things like that. Still, the scars remaining on my heart and across my back run deep. Then one day, Mom stood in the shop’s doorway. She saw him, but she didn’t stop his abuse. I never understood why.” Tears trickled from Roland’s eyes as he buried his face in trembling hands. He quickly shook his head and suppressed his emotions.
“I must’ve been a bad son. For the life of me, I don’t have a clue what I did to warrant their abuse and rejection. They didn’t do this to Winston. I did everything asked of me and then some—it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough to be the son they wanted or needed.”
“You recognized the torture your father was in from the tumor. From what I’ve known about your father, I’m certain he was tormented with pain, even more with what he’d inflicted upon you and your mother. Your mother may have seen the abuse, and perhaps she also knew this wasn’t her husband...the man she’d married and to whom she’d borne two sons. Did you speak to her about what happened?”
“No. We never talked about it. When she left the shop, tears streamed down her cheeks. Hopefully, she only saw the abuse one time.”
“You may never know why she didn’t stop your father. But be assured your prayers are heard. He loves His children, Roland. Direction, not intentions, determines your destination in life. We all look for satisfaction of one sort, but when you arrive where God intends for you to be, you’ll find peace in your heart. You’ll need to forgive yourself for your actions—I’m certain the family has. Talk to Winston, son. Come clean with your feelings and why you left the family. Your brother is an understanding and forgiving man. Look for that direction. And if you’d like, you’re welcome to come home with me for a few days until you decide what’s best.”
Roland’s brow furrowed. “Better check with your wife first. She may not want a stranger in the house.” His arms spread wide. “I’m not the normal houseguest.”
Pastor Eli chuckled. “We always keep a spare room available for anyone in need. You’re more than welcome.”
“Thanks, pastor. I’ll take you up on the offer.”