Garment of praise, p.24
Garment of Praise, page 24
He couldn’t be sure he was making much progress with Trisha, the way she hung on to Abram, but he would bide his time.
Sometimes he missed Rachel in a vague way, but he consoled himself by thinking they hadn’t known each other all that long. He wished her well, hoped she really was still in remission.
He was not enjoying his logging that spring, either.
For some unknown reason, the mud and the whining of saws got on his nerves, made him jumpy, touchy. He swore at his father, made a crude gesture at Jason. He pushed all the wrong buttons for both men, until one day Jason told Isaac if he didn’t straighten that kid out he was leaving, and he could look for another driver.
Isaac and Susan were having their own worries about Titus, the way he seemed to become steadily more arrogant, in your face. He’d taken to going away on Saturday evenings without telling either of his parents what he was up to, and got into endless arguments with Sharon.
Isaac put his head in his hands, said he was tired of praying.
Susan saw the dejected slump of his shoulders, her big powerful man reduced to this aging, discouraged bulk who seemed stripped of his usual power, his zest for living. A tender pity welled up in her, and she sat beside him on the couch, put her head on his back, her arms around him, and murmured words of encouragement. He took her into his arms and told her she was the best woman a man could ask for, and this was the truth.
Susan’s father improved, was pronounced cancer free, was told he was one of the most fortunate ones, catching the disease in its early stages. Susan sang songs of praise all that week after learning the good news.
Rose called, screeched and shouted, sighed and exclaimed. Kay had had her first date. Oh, he was hesslich (very) cute. All the other girls would have taken him, but who did he pick? Her Kay. Kay was pretty, and she had such a good attitude, such a fun-loving personality. They were for real the cutest couple.
Susan duly congratulated her sister, laughed and exclaimed with her, and did not judge. Sisterhood was very different with two thousand miles between them, and love was a constant buffer for any ill thoughts.
“If you had a phone I’d send a picture, but you guys are so old-fashioned, living in the boonies,” she crowed.
“Oh, come on, Rose. We’re just fine without all that.”
Kate was not doing well, her hope of Levi’s return morphing into the reality that was sure to come. Her love turned into a terrible resentment, a thirst for revenge as she worked her long hours, her oldest daughter responsible for the care of her siblings.
This was hard for Susan. She could hear the bitterness, her voice caustic with hatred, an alarming turn of events. Who could have known this was possible?
Sweet Kate, so patient in the face of the worst barriers on her journey through life. Who could possibly judge her? She was, after all, merely a human being, in flesh and blood, prone to exhaustion and self-pity. Lonely, her responsibilities Herculean, surely the family and friends around her could lend an understanding ear.
There were days when the family drama wiped the slate of worries about Titus clean. He, too, was only human, and who could possibly place blame? Rachel, however, was a saint. To Susan’s way of thinking, she had done it exactly right. She had set him free, allowing him time to figure everything out, which he was doing, whether he was aware of it or not.
The heart of summer increased the aura of unhappiness in Titus, so testy some days it was all Isaac could do to keep him on the job. On one particularly miserable day, after coming close to pinching Jason between a tree and the skidder, Isaac lost every ounce of patience, yelled and hopped, threatened to fire him, throwing every caution to the wind. He didn’t care if he lost everything he’d gained in five years. He was done. Done tiptoeing around Titus, treating him like a fine china treasure, done worrying, praying, losing sleep, his wide-open eyes trained on the ceiling.
When Titus stalked off after giving him a venomous glare, he realized with frightening clarity that he didn’t care. All Isaac remembered afterward was the garbled thinking, a mish-mash of thoughts, and a deep longing for help.
Take him, Lord. I’m done.
He felt like a failure as he told Susan, watching her face for signs of alarm, but she only nodded her head, then shook it sideways, saying perhaps now was the time for tough love.
Titus pouted for days, tried to harness his family to his cumbersome sledge of control, and was confused when no one seemed to care.
The discomfort of his unnamed weight grew as the summer wore on. He found a thick cloud of depression pressing him into his pillow upon awakening, his morning ritual doing little to dispel it. Wake up, brush teeth, wash face, comb hair, go downstairs.
What was the point?
He was on thin ice, he thought. Shaky ground. But he couldn’t see why. He still went to church every two weeks, sat in with the row of young men, dressed in the same Sunday attire as everyone else, hoped he’d blend in without causing attention. He knew one thing, as he camouflaged the misery of his mind—his heart didn’t come close to the goodness of his peers.
Then one day, out of nowhere, the thought of having committed the unpardonable sin struck him with the slicing of a sword.
He didn’t know what that sin was, but he was absolutely certain that sometime in his life, he had done it. He broke out in a cold sweat. His chainsaw shook in his hand. He felt as if he were going on a dark journey, devoid of light. The importance of keeping this certain sin to himself overrode the desire to beg his father to explain what was happening to him. He distracted himself with a stack of old Zane Grey novels, then moved on to other westerns.
He trained colts for a neighboring ranch on Saturdays, went to the singings, and lost all hope of Trisha when she became engaged to Abram. She was married that summer, a ceremony he chose not to attend.
He thought of going to Lancaster to find a new girl to think about, but didn’t want the responsibility of bringing her to Wyoming. Then he gave up on girls completely, told himself they were all stupid. He lived with the burr of his own guilt riding shotgun in his heart.
He’d reached a compromise of sorts with his father, working long, hard hours but remaining separated, a wall of hurt and unwanted negativity between them. He asked him one day about the unpardonable sin, hoping it was in a nonchalant manner, not in the burning, anxious way he felt in his heart.
“That’s a tough one, Titus. Every single sin you can think of is washed away, so I’m not sure there is one. For someone sorry for their sins, the blood of Jesus covers anything. Sometimes I wonder if the only unforgivable sin is simply not believing in the power of the blood.”
That was jarring. He didn’t know if he really believed that.
He gave his father a wild-eyed look, then bent to the job of de-limbing a fallen log.
How could anyone ever believe all that Bible stuff for real? Did you have to know for sure, or did you merely go through life hoping it had happened in case you weren’t good enough to get to Heaven by yourself, which, according to the ministers, no one was?
And still his load of guilt increased.
He remembered, then, the liquid gold sensation in his spine, back when he was with Rachel. That was something akin to peace, which he certainly had lost and wanted back, but had no idea how to acquire it.
He was increasingly curious about her, wondering what had become of her, but without any sense of urgency. Just a vague thought.
Then Sharon began dating a young man who lived only two miles away, an acquaintance from school, but one four years her senior. He’d been in eighth grade when she was in fourth, a spindly child with eyes like forget-me-nots and a stepmother from Pennsylvania. He had always been kind to her, throwing the ball too high so the first baseman couldn’t reach and she’d be safe. Once, he’d given her a roll of Smarties candy when she scraped a knee. Danny Mast.
Isaac and Susan were thrilled, of course. The parents became best friends, enjoying neighborhood picnics together. It was perfect. But then, Sharon was blessed, had always been.
The good girl. He was the troublemaker.
He took to going on long hunts, hunting for any wild animal in season. Dressed in camouflage, he missed Darlene. She’d written a few times, with glowing reports of the husband, her life as a wife in the community, the acceptance so wonderful.
He thought of her solid form scrambling over rocks and down ravines, the great shot she’d been, tagging elk and mule deer along with the best of them. He wondered sometimes if he would have actually gone out into the great wide world and left his Amish heritage if she hadn’t taken charge.
They were rough years. Rough for Amish standards.
As he sat on a grassy hillside, a forest behind him, binoculars to his eyes, he thought perhaps one of the few happy times in his life was the days spent with Rachel. But then, he couldn’t blame himself, could he?
There was a herd of whitetails. A buck, that back one.
Adrenaline pumped in his veins, the old thrill of the hunt. Darlene would have a fit. They weren’t two hundred yards away.
Whitetail season wasn’t in yet, so he could only watch as they moved away with all the grace of a dancer.
He realized how much he still loved nature, how the rugged beauty around him spoke volumes. If all else failed, when the turmoil in his chest became too uncomfortable to tolerate, there was always the wide open sky, the jutting Bighorns vying for position, the endless array of fractured ravines, golden cliffs with the deep green pines, decorating it all like fine fabric.
He had no dreams of a young woman to share his life, no prospects of asking someone in all of Wyoming to be his friend and partner. He threw himself into his work, argued with his father on many occasions, then pouted for a day or so until it all blew over. Duane and Millie were married and had a little boy. Titus went to visit, answered Duane’s dozens of probing questions, and was still uncertain about his place in the larger picture of life.
THE SUMMER AFTER Sharon was married, he decided the emptiness in him was the absence of faith. His doubts about God were turning him into a bitter, anxious, and reclusive human being, with nothing to keep him anchored to the Amish lifestyle. He asked to join the church, without Susan or Isaac knowing anything about it.
He was as unsure of God as he had ever been, but was positive there was an important element of his well-being missing. So he went to talk to the only one he imagined would care enough to help him out, Ezra Glick, one of the middle-aged ministers whose origins were from Holmes County, Ohio.
No longer a young, scared teenager, but a man in his own right, he simply rode his black horse over to his small, well-kept ranch and fired questions he knew were difficult to answer.
It was a warm summer evening, the chirping of birds in the Douglas firs creating a sense of peace.
Ezra was a short man, Titus towering over him, but he was wide of shoulder, sturdy and weathered, his blue eyes crinkling with good humor and kindness. Children played in the golden evening light, their sounds reminding him of his own home.
They spoke of logging, the weather, and cows.
Finally, Ezra gave him a piercing look.
“So, what is the real reason for your visit?”
Titus sat on a lawn chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. For a long moment, he could not find the words he needed to explain himself. Finally, he took a long, cleansing breath, slowly shook his head, then lifted his face and slid back in his chair.
“I think the best way to describe it is, I have this sense of something being unexplainably wrong.”
Ezra tugged at his graying beard, then leaned back and crossed his hands over his stomach, elbows propped on the arms of his chair. Titus noticed the crisscrossing blue veins bulging on the backs of his hands.
“Wrong?” he queried.
“Yeah. Like, something is off. Zig-zagging when it should be straight.”
Ezra nodded.
“Well, Titus, you have a bit of age now. Older than most when they join.”
“I realize that.”
“But you finally feel that you’re ready to trust Christ?”
Titus hesitated, then asked, “Does He exist for sure?”
Ezra sat up, his blue eyes alight, his voice edged with disbelief.
“Really, Titus?”
“Yes. Really. How does anyone know any of the stuff you preach is even true?”
His heartbeat increased, his nostrils dilated, his breathing became labored. When he spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness, edged with the power of his doubts. He became agitated, squirmed in his chair, picked at the cuticles of his thumb.
Quietly, Ezra spoke. “We don’t.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We don’t know.”
Ezra watched the young man opposite, saw the tension in the thick shoulders, the lines of bitterness circling the fine, chiseled mouth.
His eyes crackled with sarcasm, his tone mocking, his handsome face twisted into a venomous version of what could have been. Ezra felt a shiver of real fear in the pit of his stomach and sent a quick plea for God’s help.
“So, you just get up and preach this nonsense and admit you don’t know whether you know it or not.”
“Exactly.”
“What? Come on.”
“Our faith in God, in His Son, is far above that.”
“Explain, please.”
“Do you read your Bible?”
“Sometimes. Plus, we hear that stuff over and over every two weeks. It gets old.”
To Titus’s surprise, Ezra chuckled.
“Well, Titus, you have one thing going for you, and that’s your complete honesty. You sure don’t beat around the bush.”
Titus made no comment.
“However, if you feel an emptiness inside, and you know you need something, then I think, in spite of everything, you’re on the right track. If you want to begin instruction, we’ll do all we can to help you.”
“I thought a person is supposed to be born again first, and that bit of language takes me for a loop every time. What is it even supposed to mean?”
“Well, Nicodemus …”
“Don’t mention that guy. What was he doing being a member of the Sanhedrin if he didn’t know anything?”
And Ezra squinted his eyes, surprised by Titus’s knowledge. He knew he was a smart boy. Too smart, in fact, to accept things at face value.
Ezra inhaled, exhaled slowly, called out a child’s name, beckoning the girl over. When she came to stand beside him, he reached out to put his arm around her, and asked her to see if Mom had some iced tea in the fridge.
“Thirsty, Titus?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Alright, if you want me to continue, I will.” He spoke then of the wealthy ruler’s quest for truth, and the need for him to see the changing heart, the true transformation from the inside after accepting Christ.
“I don’t get it. That part is too hard.”
“You know what, Titus? You don’t have to get it. Not right now. Not anytime soon. The important part is the fact you’ve come to see me, knowing there’s an emptiness inside. That’s taking one big step on a journey that will continue for the rest of your life.”
Titus watched as the child brought a tray containing two tall glasses of tea, ice cubes clinking against the frosted glass.
He smiled at her as he took one, and she smiled back, in only the way a small child will do.
“Thanks, Karen,” her father said.
They drank their tea in silence. Ezra sighed.
“My mother died when I was a child,” Titus offered quietly.
“I know. That happens.”
“But it happened to me.”
“Are you any different than any of the thousands of children who have lost their mother in the past, and no doubt the thousands who will lose them in the future? It is sad, and no doubt, even more so than I can imagine, but life isn’t all about you. What about your Dad, and Sharon? They were no different.”
“Yes, they were. Sharon was … was very young, and my dad didn’t love my mother the way I did. It was hard for me.”
“I’m sure it was. But I find it hard to believe about your father.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Titus, why do I feel the need to defend myself with every sentence?”
“I don’t know. Guess it’s your job.”
“No, you’re blaming me for things that don’t apply to me at all.”
“What? Come on.”
“Yes. Troubled people blame others, creating a bubble of righteousness that is as deceiving as a venomous snake. Of course your father loved his first wife. I watched him suffer through the cancer with her. He gave his life for her if ever a man did. She had the best doctors, the best hospitals. He stopped at nothing. He sat in church soaking his handkerchief, this big, loud man reduced to a waterfall of tears. Don’t accuse your father of not caring, as it simply isn’t true.”
“If he suffered, he recovered awful fast. He married that next year, and he shouldn’t have.”
“It was longer than that, Titus.”
“He shouldn’t have married again.”
“But he did.”
Confused, Titus searched Ezra’s face, found the blue eyes piercing, the kindness still there, but an edge of truth that frightened him, somehow. Instantly, the old rebellion leaped into action.
“Mom died, okay? How could he love anyone else? Then, I lost Trisha, the only girl I ever wanted.”
His voice rang like cold, hard steel, but he felt the beginning of a shudder, a shakiness inside, blinked, set his mouth in a firm line.
“Yes. Yes, you did. So that was your father’s fault, too?”
“He started it. If he wouldn’t be so loud and confident and full of himself, I would have had the nerve to ask Trisha. He takes away every ounce of my own confidence, makes me feel small and insignificant, like a horrible little worm.”
He was sobbing now, his big frame shuddering as the dry, animal sounds came from his throat.
The words came between bouts of raw pain, the unleashing of years of pent-up emotion, kept in check by a large helping of pride and refusal to accept any responsibility. The story of Rachel capped a pouring of inner demons unlike anything Ezra had ever experienced.
