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Wilson hoped his mother wouldn’t be home when he pulled into her driveway. He took his time driving over from the car rental company. He sat in the rental for a few minutes, trying to decide if he could face her after all he’d done. Feelings of shame washed over him, while his level of frustration continued to rise. He knew what his father would think about his behavior.
He waited a few moments more before making his way to the front porch. Wilson could hear the melodic sounds of a mass choir filling the air. It’s too early for this, he thought. Opening the door, he asked, “Hey Mom, you in here?”
As he ventured further into the house, the sounds of the gospel choir began to soothe his rough edges. Wilson could feel waves of peace seeping into his soul. He tried to shake off the sense of harmony infiltrating his mind.
Wilson looked for his mother in the kitchen.
She wasn’t in there.
While searching for her, he wondered, what is it that God wanted from him?
He cringed, feeling like a pawn in a chess game. A sharp pain wrenched in his chest. He stopped walking and gripped the wall.
Am I having a heart attack?
By the time Wilson made it to the den, he was sweating bucket loads of water. He almost cried out to God, but then he remembered that God didn’t love him.
Wilson rubbed his hand across his chest, hoping the moment would pass. He took small steps as a voice whispered, “All you need is a drink.”
He reached down for his phone. Wilson had promised Shayla that he’d call her whenever he felt the urge to drink.
Whenever he drank, he couldn’t think straight. Samuel was right—he’d never be able to find Natasha while intoxicated.
Wilson tried to shake off the pain residing in his chest.
Inside the den, he found his mother down on her knees praying.
A part of him wanted to rush in and snatch her off her knees. Why couldn’t she see that God had abandoned their family a long time ago?
“Be strong, be courageous- I’ll never leave you nor forsake you.” The voice was soft but sure. Wilson knew this was the Holy Spirit.
Wilson called out to his mother.
She continued praying as if she hadn’t heard him.
He shoved aside the last memory of when he tried to pray. Wilson stepped into the room, his eyes on his mother.
He had to give it to her—she was always praying. She was always trusting and believing in something she couldn’t see, taste or feel. Wilson closed his eyes, the image of her in this position triggered a childhood memory—it was of both his parents kneeling down together in prayer. Why now?
Involuntarily, his feet took him to his mother's side. Wilson’s heart rate increased, and small beads of perspiration broke out all over his body.
Tears streamed down his mother’s face. Wilson heard her call his name and his knees shook. His heart pounded in his chest as nervous energy coursed through his veins.
She reached up and grabbed his hand, tugging at it.
Wilson shut his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. He fought to remember all the times God failed him.
The images were slipping away. He tried to hold on to feelings of embarrassment, anger, shame and disappointment, but something warm and pure began to take their place.
Tears formed, dripping down his face. He somehow found the strength to surrender by falling to his knees.
Instantaneously, her hands were all over his head, his face, his back, and his chest. Every place she touched felt warm. Where there was sorrow, joy sprouted. Where there was anger, peace formed. Wilson felt an unexpected jolt of clear-mindedness. He no longer felt heavy or bleak.
When Wilson lifted his head, he saw his mother sitting on the edge of the couch, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “Gina and I hung were out most of the night hanging posters and flyers in the area.” She sniffled. “I miss Natasha every single day.”
He sat on the floor by her knees. “I do, too.”
“I’m depending on God to see us through.” She twisted the napkin tighter. She looked exhausted. Large bags were under her eyes, and her hair looked a darker shade of gray.
Wilson slid closer to his mother. “I promised Daddy that I’d take care of ya’ll.” He laid his head on her lap. “I’m going to find her.”
She placed her hand on his head and whispered, “Some trust in horses, some trust in chariots, but I will trust in the name of the Lord.”
Wilson lifted his head. “Ma, stop it.” He placed his hand on top of hers. “Can’t you see God ain’t listening to you? He ain’t listening to me. He ain’t listening to that old jack-leg preacher smashing people’s heads in, trying to make them fall out in the so-called Spirit. He ain’t hearing none of us because He don’t care about us.” The words rushed out of his mouth. Wilson crumpled inside when he looked into her face.
“Boy, I know you’ve lost your mind.” She pushed the side of his head. “I raised you and your sisters to maintain your trust and confidence in God, no matter what happens.”
“Mamma, we haven’t trusted in God since Daddy died.”
“Wilson so what, your daddy died? I was his wife, and it didn’t stop me. Tell me how you let it stop you.” She grimaced at him. “I loved that man; took care of that man, was honored to carry his babies, and made love to him most nights. His death may have slowed me down, but it didn’t kill me. I didn’t lose my faith or my praise.” Using her finger to lift his chin she stared for a moment before adding, “It’s a shame you lost yours.”
Wilson watched her walk toward the doorway of the den. “You are your father’s son.” She chuckled. “So alike in so many ways. The same God that changed him, can change you.”
Wilson’s chest tightened until it felt constricted. He wondered if he could tell her one of his biggest fears was dying in the street like his father. “I’m sorry ma, but ...”
She interrupted him by saying, “Go home, Wilson.”
He did as she requested. Wilson didn’t blame his mother for maintaining her faith after all she experienced, but he wasn’t going to waste time on a God who allowed bad things to happen to good men like his dad. With his mother, it was always God this and God that. She was always spewing God as a comforter, but this wasn’t Wilson’s experience. God never comforted him. His mother was always saying that God will fix it.
Wilson felt he should fix it—He was the one who messed it up. The thing that made him the angriest was how his mother was so quick to suck up everything those church folks said to her.
In the days after his sister first went missing, he’d heard them in the sanctuary praying. At first, he felt drawn there—the warmth, openness, and the love seemed to radiate throughout the room. Wilson found it fascinating.
Shayla would be on the altar with his mother, crying, praying, and saying something about covering him and Gina. That was all well and fine when he thought that God was going to send his sister back, but she was still missing.
If God was all-knowing, then why hadn’t He told him where to find Natasha.