In His Place: A Modern-Day Challenge for Readers of In His Steps

by Harry C. Griffith

  In my heart, I believed that no matter what happened, God would somehow bring good from it. But right then, as I still awaited news about Brandon, I felt nothing but pain and uncertainty.

  Before I could offer even a lame answer to Clifton’s question, a police officer with a bullhorn called for our attention.

  “The school has been evacuated. We have a list of students and teachers who have been taken to area hospitals. Officers are posting copies of it around the perimeter.”

  I saw a Belvedere police officer with a staple gun tack a list to a tree about twenty feet away. The tree was almost instantly surrounded by people as each tried to get a look at the names.

  Chapter 14

  Three students had been killed and seven injured. The shooter, a sixteen-year-old named Tyler Wooten, had turned the gun on himself and lay in a coma at Belvedere Hospital. One adult, a school volunteer who had successfully shielded several students, had been killed: Flora Stoner.

  Immediately, I was faced with two monumental challenges—coping with Brandon and the trauma he was under from the experiences of the day and the loss of Flora Stoner. Dealing with Brandon would be especially difficult because of the wall that stood between us. And Flora’s death affected me in a multitude of ways. How could I reach Clifton in his grief, considering his animosity toward me? How would a second major death in the congregation in such a short period of time affect us all? I had to plan the memorial service to celebrate Flora’s life. But what loomed in front of me perhaps most of all was the personal loss of my staunchest supporter at a critical time in the life of the congregation.

  Prayer was the answer, and a heartfelt prayer it was. “Lord, help! I need You now as never before.”

  I finally spotted Brandon as he and several of his classmates straggled out of the school. In wonderment, they glanced around at what they had not expected to see—police and other officials all over the place but very few students and parents. Almost everyone but those who had been called to deal with the crisis had already gone.

  As I ran to Brandon and tried to give him a hug, he became stiff as a board. It was like trying to hug a tree. He quickly pulled away. Was it because of his feelings toward me, or was he embarrassed by my display of affection? Earlier, virtually all of the parents and students eagerly accepted hugs from one another. Was it the circumstances that had changed or that the relationship between my son and me had not changed?

  As we wove our way through the maze of vehicles still on the scene and headed toward our minivan a couple of blocks away, I felt as if I was trudging through an unreal world rather than a town I knew so well. How could this have happened in Belvedere, of all places? What was the world coming to?

  Looking over at Brandon, I could see that he also was trying to cope with this new reality. He walked with his head down, shaking it in disbelief from time to time. I didn’t try to say anything to him but instead grumbled what I hoped were manly, comforting sounds. Once we were in the minivan, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He simply shook his head.

  Back at the house, the scene was emotional. Both Jayne and Hannah, tears in their eyes, ran out to hug Brandon, and he seemed to accept freely their attention. Never had I felt so inadequate to deal with a situation as I did now. Feeling weak in the knees and weaker in the brain, I shepherded my little family into the house and got them seated around the living room, despite Brandon’s apparent preference to go to his bedroom. The easy way out was to deal with the situation later. Instead, I steeled myself with a determined look and said, “We need to talk about this.”

  Brandon sat on the edge of his chair, looking ready to launch himself out of the room at the first opportunity. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Jayne wrung her hands and constantly glanced around, as if to try to read the minds of the children. Hannah held Skeeter in her lap in what looked like a desperate grip, needing the love and assurance of the little dog.

  I leaned forward, my hands gripped together to keep from jumping up and bear-hugging Brandon. “Son, we were so worried.”

  As if reading my mind but placing an unfair inference to it, he jumped up, fists clenched. “It’s not my fault that we were hung up in there so long!”

  “I didn’t mean that it was your fault. It’s just that we love you. Your mom and I were afraid you had been injured. And then, when all of the other kids came out and you didn’t, I was frankly terrified.”

  Reluctantly, Brandon settled back down and began to tell us what had happened.

  “I don’t know how, but when we first heard the shooting, Mr. Crawford seemed to know that something bad was happening and we needed to get to a safe place. He rushed us—the whole class—into a room where they keep school supplies and got us crammed in there. We waited in there for what seemed forever, long after the shooting had ended. By the time he let us out, everyone else but the cops had cleared the building.”

  Jayne let out a deep, shaky breath. “Thank God for Mr. Crawford.”

  We all breathed a collective sigh of relief along with her. Yet Brandon appeared wired—fidgety and perplexed—while Hannah seemed to be bursting with unanswered questions. Was now the time to talk more about the situation? Surely it was. In a sense, this was the most traumatic thing that had happened in our life together as a family. We needed to process as much of it as we could while it was still so glaringly before us. Where to start?

  “Son, did you know this boy who did the shooting?”

  The answer had to be drawn out of Brandon. He clearly didn’t want to talk about the matter, but it was my judgment that it would be better if he did.

  “Naw,” he replied. “Mr. Crawford said his name is Tyler Wooten. I saw him around some, but he’s a year or so older than me, so we didn’t have any classes together. He seemed like a loner; never saw him with other guys around him.”

  A shockwave went through my body as I realized I knew the shooter’s mother. I’d had a nice conversation with her a couple of years ago. Not an appropriate time for me to bring that into the discussion!

  In response to Brandon’s comment, I nodded. “I guess that’s often the case with people who end up committing horrendous acts. They feel alone, that no one cares about them, and life becomes more than they can bear. It’s sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy—the more they feel that way, the more it becomes true because they drive everyone else off.”

  Hannah had a puzzled look on her face. “Was that what happened to Mr. Otis?”

  “No, honey. Mr. Otis felt lonely, but he knew people cared for him. He would never have done something to hurt others.”

  Brandon dropped back against his chair. “But Dad, how could this guy have done what he did?”

  My heart leaped at Brandon’s question. It was the first time he had shown any interest in what I thought about anything for too long.

  “It’s going to take some time to figure that one out, son. We can’t really know what’s going on with a person until we can get into their head and their life. As I said, being a loner is probably one part of the picture. What was his home life like? What resentments might he have had? Why did he have no faith, no sense of responsibility to others, no hope for the future? Those are some of the things that might tell us why he would do something like this.”

  I hoped that my answer would help Brandon take a look at his own life. I reminded myself that the teenage years are stressful—a time of transition between childhood and maturity and finding out who you really are. I could see Brandon fighting his way through this quest for identity. And of course I didn’t particularly like the way he was doing it.

  “Were a lot of people killed?” was suddenly Hannah’s wide-eyed question.

  Jayne put her arm around our daughter. “Sweetheart, a few were killed and some others were hurt.” She had more details than I did because the phone lines had been busy. “One terrible thing,” she continued, “is that Mrs. Stoner was one of the ones killed.”

  “Our Mrs. Stone
r?” was Hannah’s horrified response. Flora Stoner was not only a key figure in the church but a close friend of the family. To Hannah, Mrs. Stoner appeared indestructible. For her to have been killed seemed impossible. She immediately broke down in tears.

  In the meantime, Brandon slumped in his chair, head down and continually pulling his left foot over the carpet as though trying to smooth it down. Nervous tension. Pondering. I had no idea what might be going on in his mind. I wasn’t all that sure what was going on in mine!

  “It’s really important that both of you let us know how you are feeling and what you are thinking over the coming days. Brandon, what’s happened has been a tough deal. You may have lost friends, or they may be in the hospital. Everybody’s in shock. I know I haven’t been the father you want me to be for quite a while, and it has been a problem between us. Please, let’s put that aside. I love you and want to be the father you need. Let me know what you’re feeling and how I can help.”

  Brandon made no verbal response, just sat with his head bent and closed his eyes.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I guess,” he mumbled. I decided not to pursue it.

  I hoped the children had absorbed what we had told them. But deep down, I knew they were a long way from understanding what had happened, and Brandon was a long way from his personal need for healing. Jayne and I would have to be very loving and understanding of the children over the coming weeks and ready to talk and counsel them as needed.

  As I sat thinking about that when Jayne and I were alone, she, as always, read my thoughts. “The problem is, you two are too much alike.”

  I turned on her, my face mirroring my frustration. “What do you mean?”

  “You and Brandon. You’re both hardheaded, and you keep too much to yourselves. And neither of you likes confrontation. So you stuff things down. One of you is going to have to change…at least in your attitude toward the other. And guess what? It has to be you.” She poked me in the chest. “He’s still just a kid. He’s not going to figure this out. You’re the adult. If you truly want a breakthrough with him, and I know you do, you’re the one who has to figure out how to do it.”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t like the truth of what Jayne had said.

  “Any suggestions?” I threw out as a trial balloon.

  She thought for a while. With a sigh, she broke the silence. “Maybe you should share with him what you’re going through rather than always trying to guess what he is thinking and then getting nowhere. You’re carrying a load right now, buster, and it affects all the rest of us. Brandon may still be a child in most respects, but he is growing into a young man in other ways. He needs to start dealing with the real world rather than escaping into video games. You are the best one to help him take that step by sharing with him the decisions you face. It may scare the heck out of him for you to do so, but it could help him grow up.”

  Lord, I know why You blessed me with this woman, I said silently.

  I kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks. I’ll give it a try.”

  Chapter 15

  Dealing with Brandon was one thing; dealing with Clifton Stoner was something else altogether.

  I drove to Clifton’s house as soon as things had calmed down in our own. The Stoner home was one of the finest in Belvedere. Situated on a large and well-landscaped piece of land, white columns across the front, it was an imposing structure. Already a number of cars lined the ample parking area around the house, and I knew the owners of most of them.

  I was greeted at the door by Clifton’s daughter Carolyn, who, with her husband and children, lived in Belvedere and were members of Incarnation Church. Carolyn’s grief reflected in her red eyes as the signs of pain and disbelief etched along the frown lines on her face. She greeted me courteously and ushered me into the large living room, twice as long as wide, with big windows, an imposing fireplace, and enough chairs and couches to accommodate a crowd as large as the one gathered there that day. Most of the family and close friends were already present.

  My arrival was acknowledged by nods and a few handshakes, but they seemed somewhat perfunctory. Maybe it was the grief and solemnity of the situation, or maybe I was becoming paranoid about where I stood as pastor of Incarnation Church. In any event, being clergy in such a situation has its advantages. Instead of being forced to stand around and make awkward small talk, a pathway was cleared for me to go directly to Clifton.

  Carolyn led me to where Clifton sat on the couch with his head in his hands. I knelt in front of him. “Clifton, we are all devastated. You and your family have lost one of the finest people I’ve ever known. She was, you know, like family to us as well. We are all here for you to serve in this situation in any way we can. Jayne would have come with me, but she’s trying to help Brandon and Hannah sort through all of this. It has probably been the most traumatic day in the history of Belvedere.”

  Stoner took my hand and through sobs thanked me for being there. Here was this man of wealth, power, and prominence crying like a baby. I could no longer hold back my emotions and soon sobbed with him. We weren’t the only ones in tears among the family and friends who were gathered around the large room.

  What would be the impact of the loss of this great woman on our little community? She had mothered all of us in one way or another. The magnitude of Flora’s loss and the evidence of the great affection for her poured out in profound grief around the room. The rest of us would survive, but what about Clifton?

  And how would he deal with the injustice of it all? In helping out at the high school, Flora had been doing something she didn’t need to do. She simply loved being around children. She loved helping others, and as a former teacher, that was where she felt she wanted to be. Standing against the shooter to protect the children was also what would have been expected of this special woman, and yet what a waste! I knew people asked themselves, How could God let this happen?

  I sort of wondered that myself. But I was the one who had to preach a sermon of faith at her memorial service. I knew I would work it through. God’s ways are far beyond our capacity to understand them, and certainly God did not intend Flora to be killed. People have free will and bad things can happen to good people as a result. But still…

  I put my arm on Clifton’s back, shook his hand again, and said what comforting words I could. It was time for me to move on and let others come to him.

  Arrangements for the memorial service and dealing with the many other matters that follow sudden death would come later. For now the important thing was that Clifton Stoner was able to express his grief and to know that he was supported by family and friends who loved Flora and cared for him. For me it was a relief to know that Stoner seemed to bid me no ill will in connection with church matters—at least for now.

  I took time to talk with members of the family, assuring them that the memorial service for Flora would meet their expectations. We always did that sort of thing well at Incarnation Church. I was confident that this would be no exception; but then, it seemed to be a season of surprises.

  Chapter 16

  Events were unfolding at breakneck speed. As soon as I got home from the Stoner house, Jayne told me that the principal at the high school, Amanda Cook, had called. She was a member of Incarnation Church. Apparently she wanted me to go to the hospital to help Tyler Wooten’s mother, who coped with two major tragedies: the horrible thing her son had done and what seemed to be his impending death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

  I should, of course, have seen the danger in this new situation more clearly than I did. Politically speaking, it was a trap, though that was certainly not what Mrs. Cook, the good-hearted person that she was, intended. She knew Mrs. Wooten needed help, and her immediate reaction was to call on someone to provide it.

  If I had thought it through, I would have realized that helping Mrs. Wooten could make me very unpopular with the people in Belvedere who might hold resentments against her because of what her son had done. They would feel that
she needed no help, and providing it to her was some sort of sacrilege.

  As much as I hate to admit it, my own pride probably caused me to fail to assess the situation from the start. In view of my current misgivings about my position at Incarnation, it made me feel good that Mrs. Cook immediately thought of me as the one to help Mrs. Wooten. In retrospect I realized she may have tried to get help from other ministers first. In any event, I was the one who said yes, setting myself up for a whole new bundle of grief.

  I actually had once met Connie Wooten, a maid who cleaned rooms at the motel. It was strictly by chance. The Belvedere Ministerial Association, a couple of years earlier, had inaugurated something called Operation Christmas Basket. The idea was for the pastors to deliver baskets of food at Christmastime to those who lived in the poorer areas of town. It would give us an opportunity not only to do something thoughtful for others in need, but it would let them know that they were welcome to attend our church. I was assigned to make my deliveries at the trailer park where Mrs. Wooten lived.

  In retrospect, I’m not sure it was a very good idea. Most of the people I called on that day seemed to resent the gesture. It was probably pride on their part that made it hard to accept the gift. But that was not the case with Connie Wooten. Her trailer was near the front of the park, so she was the first one I called on. She really appreciated the basket, and we had a nice visit. When I invited her to attend Incarnation Church and left her with a brochure, she was polite but gave me a “it’ll never happen” look. But all in all, my memories of Mrs. Wooten were pleasant ones.

  Once I made the decision to go see her, the other questions began to pop into my brain. Why did I have to be the one to go see about her? Didn’t I have enough on my plate—dealing with Flora’s death, the problems I seemed to have created at church by my incarnation challenge, whether I should resign and go elsewhere, and how to break through the wall that existed between our son and myself?