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"It is well with my soul!" The congregation sang after they partook in the communion service.
Arlana held up her hand when they offered her the platter of broken crackers. She hadn't taken the Lord's Supper in nearly twenty years and was definitely not going to begin now. How could one who knew better and was living with an unsaved man she wasn't married to dare to bring the morsel to her lips? Her tears flowed freely and Arlana wished she had thought to bring tissue.
When the service had come to an end, church members pushed past mother and son who stood holding hands in their midst. The church was relatively small and they would have stood out, but instead, Arlana felt out of place, quickly regretting entering the church. What had she been thinking?
She waited, watching as the last few people lingered at the exit speaking with the pastor. He had snow-white hair and seemed as though he was a nice man. If Arlana left, she might regret it. Who else might be able to help? Surely the pastor would understand and give some much-needed wisdom. She'd read on their online website they even ran a food bank from the church during the week. Could she be offered help? Her desperation was palpable.
"Hello..." The man in question stretched out his hand, shaking hers while smiling down at the child beside her.
Arlana bit her lower lip a moment before looking into the elderly man's grey eyes, "Would I be able to speak with you for a few moments? I would like to ask for your advice..."
"Sure...just wait for me in that room directly at the top of the stairs. I'll be with you in a few minutes."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
The pastor didn't acknowledge her gratitude or perhaps he hadn't heard her.
****
AZIEL WAS ANTSY, MOVING from chair to chair.
"Please sit," his mother frowned, already stressed out. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been sitting in a pastor's office. Ten years for sure, or more.
Aziel huffed and perched on the edge of the chair a second before the minister joined them.
Words, mingled with tears tumbled out as he offered her a small box of tissue. She scarcely noticed it was the no-name brand that scratched the eyes like sandpaper and was never designed to absorb her torrent of tears. She was too embarrassed to ask if they had any paper towels, the shredded gob of soggy tissue squished between her fingers.
"I knew better - was raised better than this! I backslid and now," she stifled a heart-wrenching sob, "Now we are cursed and my son has never known anything better. We just want to escape but are so stuck...What am I to do? The heavens are as brass when I pray. It has been years!"
Arlana, aware that she was holding the pastor back from his Sunday dinner, spoke as quickly as she could. If he could understand her situation, just maybe he would know what to do. He might be able to point her in the right direction.
Every decision Arlana had made had resulted in regret. In every attempt to flee, she had simply exchanged one abuser for another. For years she had held onto hope and had learned not only to endure...but to survive. It was different now. She was a mother and didn't take the responsibility lightly. Never in a million years had she wanted her child to experience her childhood and yet she was powerless to stop it. She was trapped and it was even more painful knowing her child witnessed the abuse, nightmares plaguing him. What was she to do?
Could the pastor see the desperation etched into her features - the haunting pain in her eyes, the windows of the soul?
The pastor glanced at his watch.
"Maybe there is a reason why God has closed every door and you are hammering on them with your fists. God obviously wants you to stay with him and sees what you cannot. Perhaps Jorken will be saved." The ageing pastor counselled, "Speak to him with kindness no matter what and you will see a difference."
Arlana blanched as she stood motioning for Aziel to join her as they followed the pastor out of the office and back down the stairs.
"Have a good week," he called over his shoulder before walking down a long hall.
Aziel gripped his mother's hand as they stepped out into the blinding afternoon sunshine - a sharp contrast to the dimly lit church.
Would the pastor's response have been different if he had seen the fear etched into her features, the painful haunting in her eyes? They were, as they say, the windows of the soul.
Arlana blinked back tears as she focused on her son who was tugging on her hand.
"Did you make any friends?" His face was earnest as he gazed up into hers.
"No, I didn't. Did you?"
"No, Mamma, no one said hi to me but I got to colour this...do you like it?"
Arlana looked at the picture of the Ten Commandments her son held out to her as they walked home.
"You did a lovely job and even coloured in the lines. I really like it, but it makes me sad no one said hello to you either. I don't want to come back to this church..."
Aziel didn't respond. Arlana hadn't expected him to. Unlike her childhood, he didn't go to church so her decision didn't bother him.
"It is a very long walk just to go to a church where no one cares enough to say hello."
****
ARLANA SAT CURLED UP on the couch late that night working on her novel, but her thoughts were on the church service that morning.
She regretted going, having felt completely out of place. And the pastor... So that was it. His response was not much better than her family's, "We will pray for you."
God, evidently, had blocked the windows of Heaven and turned His back on her. But why shouldn't He? She knew better. Was raised better.
There was no escaping the curse she had brought down upon not only herself but her child.
Things hadn't always been this way. Perhaps if she could retrace her steps to the point where she had lost her way. That moment when she had made wrong decisions that had forever changed the course of her life.
Where had she gone wrong?
Oh, that's right...
When I lost hope.