Wayward Paths and Golden Handcuffs

by S.J. Thomason

  About fifteen minutes later, the door opened. Catherine stepped out in what appeared to be a bright neon green jump suit. She ran down the driveway and turned down the walkway heading away from him.

  “Perfect,” Braedon thought. “I can follow her from behind.” He jogged slowly behind her and searched for an opportunity in which he could bump into her in the least of obvious ways. Of course he didn’t want her to think he was stalking her. Far from it. He was merely injecting a bit of wind into what was supposed to be a whirlwind of a relationship.

  She turned down a road and headed south and he followed her, maintaining a distance just far enough to be sure that she couldn’t hear his footsteps. He couldn’t hear hers. She moved ahead of him and passed by a couple of side roads before turning down the third. He turned down the first side road and sprinted to the next cross road. Then he turned right in an effort to catch up to her.

  Success.

  “Catherine, Wow. Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a puff of breath as he stopped in the walkway in front of her.

  “Well, hello Braedon. Nice to see you. What brings you out here in this early morning hour?” She started jogging in place.

  “Just thought I’d catch a jog. I don’t live far from here you know. I’m just east of Bay-to-Bay.

  “Oh. That’s convenient.”

  “Would you be comfortable with the idea of jogging together?” He asked.

  “Sure, why not? So, how have you been?” She said as started jogging again. “C’mon, I gotta keep moving.” He jogged quickly to catch up to her and stay by her side.

  “Good. Things have been slow at work so I’ve been able to catch up on some old business and finish a few projects around the house this past week. How about you?”

  “Busier than ever. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. Maybe we can see each other again for dinner soon.”

  “I’d like that. How about Friday?”

  “No, I can’t do Friday. Corporate dinner.”

  “Saturday,” Braedon asked with a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “Boy, I wish. Saturday is booked too. Maybe the following weekend.”

  “How about a night during the week?”

  “I can’t promise that. Things have been too busy at the office to plan a dinner.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Sure, maybe lunch.”

  “When?”

  “Braedon, I’m sorry. I don’t have my calendar on me and will need to check it. I’ll let you know. I’ll text you.”

  “Okay, Catherine. I understand. I’d just like to move this relationship along. Seems like we’re lagging and that’s not my style.”

  “Your style?”

  “Well, you know.”

  “Sure,” Catherine responded. “Well, I better head back home. Nice to see you again.” She turned around and headed back towards her house.

  “Hmm. I hope I didn’t seem desperate,” he thought as he started feeling a bit regretful for going jogging at all.

  Chapter 17

  Squeezing a Camel through a Needle

  A few weeks later on Friday evening, Nick was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a hot dog and a bag of potato chips when his mom arrived home. It had been another great day at the summer camp and he wanted to tell his mom all about it. Plus he was looking forward to a fun night. Bob and Tanner were going to join him for a night out on the town.

  His mom told him that morning that she’d be going to the doctor’s in the afternoon to get the results of a second test following a routine colonoscopy. When she walked into the kitchen, he noticed that nothing seemed routine about her appearance. Instead, she exuded despondence and humility.

  “Nick,” she uttered as she walked to the table and sat down in the chair next to him, “I have cancer…and a morbid prognosis.”

  The words shook Nick’s world. Time stopped. He zoned off as he recollected the joy he’d found with his mom as a small child. She’d always protected him from his dad’s harsh words and was his hero in life. Cancer. Morbid prognosis. Cancer. The words replayed over and over in his mind as he struggled to grasp their meaning and impact on his life.

  Things felt surreal. The kitchen seemed to be swirling and twirling and he felt sick to his stomach. Soon tears splashed out of Nick’s eyes as he looked into his mom’s red eyes. He drew a deep breath and stood up to hug her. She met his hug and they stood wrapped in one another’s arms for a long while.

  Taking another deep breath, he said, “How bad is it Mom? Do you have to go through chemo?

  “It’s not good Nick. Not good at all. Stage four. It’s aggressive and it’s in several of my organs, including my liver. He said that I need to get my affairs in order and that I only have a few months left. I’m hoping that the cancer center in Pinellas has a breakthrough treatment. Otherwise it’s chemo.” She trailed off and whimpered as she went to the kitchen counter and grabbed a tissue.

  “Mom, I don’t want to lose you. I need you. We need each other.”

  His words made her cry harder, which crushed him.

  They soon moved into the family room where they sat down on a couch. Nick reached out and held her hand and they sat in silence. Second passed. Then minutes. At least fifteen minutes passed before she stood up.

  Choking back her tears, she said, “I need to make a few calls. I’m not going to report to work tomorrow. I’ll be taking a leave of absence. I don’t know if I’ll be going back any time soon, or at all. They’ll need to find a temporary replacement. Or a permanent one.” She walked into her home office with her shoulders slumped. Nick had never seen her in such a state.

  He fell to the floor and prayed as thoughts of his mom’s cancer diagnosis flooded his mind.

  “Jesus, please don’t take my mom. Please. I love her. Please don’t take her away. She’s not ready,” he said as tears poured out of his eyes.

  He got back onto the couch and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he prayed again.

  A few minutes later, his mom walked out of her office and sat down beside him. His thoughts turned to her salvation.

  “Mom, this may sound like a funny question. But what’s in your will? Is anything going to charity?”

  “Everything goes to you Nick: the house, the car, the yacht, the savings. It’s all yours.”

  “Mom,” Nick said, “I don’t want everything. I’ll need money to finish college, but I don’t want anything beyond that. I want you to give the rest to the church.”

  “What?” She scoffed, “why would I do that? I don’t go to church. I want you to use the money, and to share it with your family one day. I want you to live the life I’ve worked so hard for you to live.”

  “I don’t want that life. If you give me the money, I’ll donate what I don’t need for college to help others. I’ll donate to the church. But I’d rather it come from you. I want Jesus to know that you helped the church. Mom, I want you to end up in Heaven,” Nick said.

  “Nick, I’ll end up in Heaven. I’ve been a good person,” she said.

  Nick thought about Jesus’ words, which indicated that it would be easier to squeeze a camel through a needle than to get a rich man into Heaven. His eyes welled up in tears again. Over the next hour, neither said much, as he reflected on the situation and their lives and fates in silence.

  An hour later, he thought to text his friends, telling them that he wouldn’t be able to make it out that night. “Got some very bad news today,” he wrote, “Maybe another time.”

  “I’ve gotta pray alone,” he thought. “She might freak out if she knows what I’m saying.”

  His mom was still sitting in silence on the couch when he announced, “Mom, I’m going to take a shower.” He got up from the couch and left the family room and headed up to his room. But he couldn’t take a shower since that required some energy and he was drained. Plunking down on his bed, he prayed once again.

 
***

  Later that night, Nick found himself deep in prayer. He was lying on his bed, under his covers with his eyes closed as he concentrated on what he’d determined would be his most important prayer to the Lord.

  “Jesus, thank you for the many blessings you’ve given me. Most especially, thank you for giving me the mother you chose for me. She’s always helped me and encouraged me and directed me along almost all of the right paths. She’s instilled a strong work ethic and good moral principles. I know she doesn’t believe in you right now, but if you give her a little more time, I’ll convince her. Just give me the right words to say.” Nick took a deep breath and tried to empty his mind of any random thoughts.

  A picture of Jesus came to mind. It was a picture that had been painted by an artistic child prodigy named Akiane at the age of eight based on a vision she’d had in which she was with Jesus in Heaven. The picture became a sensation when the little boy who inspired the book “Heaven Is For Real” endorsed it based on his own supernatural experience in Heaven with Jesus. Nick found the picture on the internet and it was now etched in his mind. Jesus’ thick mane of brown, wavy hair and emerald eyes were vivid and central to the picture, which if brought to life would light up the world.

  Nick prayed and felt his body become lighter as it freed itself of his fear and pain. A peaceful feeling overcame him and he realized that he was in a state that he knew he’d been pursuing all of his life. He’d struggled to capture the same feeling while drinking beers, but that buzz was dwarfed by the inner sense of peace he was experiencing in the present moment. Airy and free, he felt relaxed and still as he relished his new meditational state, which soon put him to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  Imagine Yourself as a House

  Rejection. It was something Braedon had never experienced in his love life, yet Catherine had succeeded in blowing him off. The church. Also something he hadn’t experienced. He hadn’t been to church in years, but something made him want to go to church that Sunday morning. Was it the rejection or maybe just guilt? Or could it have been a response to his daughter’s question to him about going to church? He didn’t know. His mind was too clouded to figure out the answers to those questions and his body felt like a hollow shell, devoid of any meaningful purpose.

  He’d always lusted for power and money and control over his life and had spent the past few decades focusing on his body, building and shaping it into his castle, so impressive and beautiful that any woman he’d ever wanted practically fell at his feet. They fought over him when he was young. Fought. Tricia, who was extremely beautiful when younger, won that battle and he stayed faithful to her for many years, until he met Catherine. Catherine was a widow in her forties and should have been an easy target, but she rejected him and shattered the castle and broke him. Why? What did he do wrong?

  He sat himself in a seat in front of the choir and quietly waited for the service to begin. Braedon Ramsey didn’t know what to expect, barely recalling the last time he’d stepped into a church. Probably someone’s wedding.

  But something inside of him nagged at him. He felt the need to do something different in his life and his wife’s influence led him to the church. Being in the church that morning just seemed right. He’d started to have second thoughts about the way he’d been treating their marriage and felt guilty and mean for devising evil ways to make her disappear in his mind.

  He couldn’t hurt her; she was the mother to his children and she was kind and sweet. And he’d been unkind to her and abusive, but that was all about to end. Things were going to change for the better. He pictured her on their wedding day with her big warm smile.

  “You know. She really doesn’t even need make-up; her complexion is perfect. And she isn’t really fat. Just a little heavier than I’d like.”

  The choir and the singers filed in and positioned themselves in the choir stands. No sign of Tricia. Yet.

  She’d taken the kids to an earlier service and he expected to see her in the choir of the current service, but he didn’t. Maybe she was teaching one of the Sunday school classes. He didn’t know. His kids often went to back-to-back Sunday school classes to accommodate both her teaching and choir duties in the church, which extended over two services at 9 and 11 a.m.

  He hadn’t spoken to Catherine since that early morning jog, save for a few text messages the following week. She had mentioned work, but little else. He realized that she was blowing him off when she stopped returning his text messages at the end of the week. It was shocking, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe he needed to focus on his own family.

  He turned his attention to the choir, sans Tricia. “Maybe she’s teaching the Sunday school class now. That must be it. I must have mixed up her schedule.”

  The singers stood up and began singing songs of joy and praise, uplifting the congregation surrounding him. Braedon was impressed. He didn’t expect to see people excited in the church. This church was different from the somber one he recalled from his childhood and he liked this church much better. It made him feel good. The words of the song, “How Great is Our God,” from Chris Tomlin streamed across a flat screen television.

  After the songs ended, the pastor stepped up to the stage in a crisply ironed greyish button-down shirt and a darker pair of dress pants. He welcomed newcomers and thanked the church members. Then he started his sermon, which was about gaining God’s favor.

  “God favors those who are humble, broken, and contrite in spirit and he even says that brokenness should be a regular condition. This concept is explained well by C.S. Lewis in his book Mere Christianity, which I’ll paraphrase for you from my memory.”

  He paused and looked over the congregation, catching Braedon’s eyes. “Imagine yourself as a house. God helps you to fix its drains, repair its cracks, and refurbish its appliances. You needed this help, so you’re not surprised. But imagine your surprise when God starts knocking down walls, putting in new kitchens and baths, and adding bedrooms and room additions. It hurts abominably and you wonder what on earth he’s up to. You thought you were going to be a decent little cottage. But he had plans for a palace, one in which He plans to live himself. You see, he wants you to be perfect, just as he is perfect, and humble and kind, just as he is humble and kind.”

  “Jesus wanted his early disciples to be perfect too, and they encountered numerous challenges along their pathway to God. Early Christian teachings were considered blasphemous to Jews, Romans, Greeks, and others practicing other religions, so many early Christians were stoned and martyred in brutal ways. Saul’s story from the Book of Acts provides one example. Saul started off as a Christian persecutor and the Bible tells us that he witnessed the stoning of the first Christian martyr, Stephen, who was a man full of God’s grace and power. While Stephen was being stoned by his persecutors, he looked up to Heaven and ‘saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God’ (Acts 6:8; Acts 7:56).”

  “Next, the Bible tells us that Saul was travelling down a road to Damascus with plans to identify and murder Christians who were following the Way. He was struck down by a light from Heaven as he heard a voice say, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The voice said, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting’ (Acts 9: 4-6). Saul was blinded for three days at which time he fasted. When his sight was restored by God, he became one of the Lord’s greatest disciples, going on to write half of the books of the New Testament. Saul became known by his Roman name, Paul, and traveled to many countries, spreading God’s message. He endured numerous beatings, snake bites, floggings, shipwrecks, and eventually a beheading, yet never feared, for he knew his efforts to spread the good news of Jesus Christ weren’t in vain.”

  “Paul’s experiences were similar to Jesus’ other disciples’ experiences; most encountered brutal persecutions and deaths. Yet they willingly accepted their fates because they had witnessed Jesus’ death, resurrection, a
nd ascension into Heaven. They had also received the power of the Holy Spirit soon after his ascension. Had the apostles not seen Jesus after his death, they would have undoubtedly remained huddled up in their homes in hiding, which is where they retreated in fear for three days when Jesus was crucified.”

  “Fellow Christians, these passages tell us that Heaven is real, and worth it, worth brutal earthly fates fighting for Jesus. Paul’s experiences also suggest that God forgives and accepts even some of the worst sinners, so long as they repent and devote their lives to him and accept Jesus as their Savior.”

  “Let us pray.”

  The church prayed along with the pastor who soon ended the service. Then its attendees strolled out of the church and into the parking lot.

  Braedon waited in line for the pastor who was shaking hands with the churchgoers in front of one of the three sets of double doors. The other churchgoers appeared warm, yet unfamiliar, which surprised Braedon since he’d spent most of his life in Orange Bay. He scanned the crowd again and this time spotted the son. “What was his name?” The son looked like a young version of him with dark hair, gelled and styled, a tall muscular frame, and a confident stride. Good looking kid. The son looked at him before walking away.

  “As if he didn’t see me.”

  His attention turned to the pastor. As he studied him, he determined that that he was a kind man, full of knowledge and wit. His dark brown hair was sprinkled with grey and generously framed his chunky round face and weak chin. Standing just under six feet tall, he was broad shouldered and a little stocky with a belly that gripped the bottom of his shirt just over his belt. After a handful of attendees shook the pastor’s hand, it was Braedon’s turn, so he grabbed the pastor’s hand tightly and thanked him. The pastor looked at him warmly and said, “Thank you for coming! God bless you.”

  “Your sermon today helped me and I just want to say thanks.”

  The pastor said, “Braedon, God worked through me today to get to you.”

  Tears came into Braedon’s eyes. “How did you know my name?”