by C. S. Lakin
“Hello, gentlemen,” Joe said, keeping his voice calm, even. “Please sit.” He gestured to his older brothers and they took seats around the oblong conference table. A few other people, clinic staff, sat at a nearby table, going over charts, having a quiet discussion. Joe sucked in a breath, turned to Ben.
“And this must be your brother, Ben.” Joe held out his hand and Ben took it, shook it. “Glad to meet you, Ben.”
“Thank you, Doctor, for seeing me.”
Joe swallowed, pushed back tears. Hearing Ben’s voice, the same but deeper, and seeing the gentleness in his face and eyes, made Joe hurt all over. Hurt from how much he missed Ben, and hurt over seeing so much pain radiating from Ben’s brave face, having seen pain like this many times over the years and knowing what a difficult time his brother must have had, what a miserable, unhappy, unfulfilled life. Until now. God’s timing, God’s perfect timing.
Reuben spoke. “Do you have any good news for us? Any chance you can find a kidney for Ben?” Joe watched as Reuben put his arm around Ben, saw in that gesture so much affection and concern, then looked in Simon’s face, Levi’s, and saw the same mirrored there. Joe had never seen his brothers so full of compassion, had never thought them capable of such emotion, but they had changed—Joe saw that now. He felt his heart soften, melt, the bottled-up resentment seep out.
“I . . .” Joe began, then stopped.
The flood was coming, a huge flood he knew he would not be able to contain. He braced himself, for he could not halt it, though he willed so with all his might. It came with hurricane force, the force of a dam bursting and water exploding in release, and all Joe could do was stand there, let him rush over him, through him, sweep him away in its power, the divine power of love and forgiveness stripping his soul bare, ripping up his anger and hurt like tearing firmly rooted trees from the earth and tossing them aside like toothpicks.
He saw Mosey’s smiling face then, all those times Mosey had lectured him and told him what God was truly able to do—more than abundantly provide everything needed in this life, not just material provision but more importantly the spiritual directing, the orchestrating of events so that true healing could take place, God’s aim not just to care for the body but the soul, the whole person. To eradicate every barricade that kept man from God, and Mosey telling him God’s plan was bigger and more encompassing than what appeared on the surface.
Joe let the tears come. He opened his arms and said to the other people in the room, “Please, everyone, leave.” Heads turned; voices murmured with raised eyebrows. Joe nodded at them as they stood and exited the conference room. He caught the strained look on his brothers’ faces.
“What . . . what’s wrong?” Ben asked. Simon and Levi both stood but Reuben stayed sitting with his arm around Ben.
He turned to Ben, spoke pointedly to him. “I’m Joseph, your brother.”
When they said nothing, their eyes glazed over, Joe repeated his words. “I’m Joseph. Your brother. I really am. I changed my name. And my face is different, I know. I . . . suffered some broken bones in an accident . . .” He didn’t want to tell Ben what had happened to him all those years ago, didn’t want to bring that up, God telling him to forget the past and focus on the future, mending relationships, not rehashing wrongs committed.
The silence grew unbearable, Joe thinking they really didn’t believe him and now he would have to prove it to them, but then, to his surprise, Reuben fell to his knees, followed by Simon and Levi, all three of them with their heads down, fearful. Again, Joe recalled his dreams, his brothers bowing, but this was not what he wanted, not at all.
“Please, get up. Levi, Simon, tell me you believe me.”
Simon shook his head. “How can it be? You were . . . dead. Where have you been all this time?”
Levi said nothing, Joe noting terror in his eyes. “Levi, don’t be alarmed. It was God who brought this about, brought me here and led me to become a doctor, in charge of one of the best kidney transplant centers in the nation. So that I could help Ben, save his life. Don’t you see?”
Reuben jumped back as Ben leapt to his feet, rushed at Joe and threw his thin arms around him.
“Joey!”
At the feel of his brother’s embrace, Joe broke and the flood consumed him. He wept with his brother, reveling in the warmth of his arms, the sweetness of the reunion of their hearts, his little brother once more his to care for, all those years of memories reclaimed, his again, never to be lost, ever again.
When they had cried for a long while, Joe pulled back, looked at his other brothers, who stood there in shock and amazement.
“Don’t be afraid,” Joe said, knowing their thoughts, “or be angry with yourselves. This was God’s plan, in order to save Ben’s life. I have Ben scheduled for a transplant—on Wednesday.”
“You do?” Reuben said. “How did you manage that? We were told Ben might have to wait years. You told us that—”
“I have the test results. I’m a perfect match for Ben, and I’m going to give him my kidney.”
“You . . .” Levi said. “Your kidney?”
Ben wrapped tight arms around Joe again. “Oh, Joey. I’ve missed you so much. I can’t believe you are here, that I’m here with you. Thank you, thank you—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Joe said, smoothing Ben’s hair as he cried, Joe sensing years of pent-up fear and despondency dissolving. How brave Ben must have been, waiting without hope. Joe felt his own compassion grow, thinking about all his patients and their waiting agonizing months and years for a kidney, hoping against hope, Joe’s thoughts now suddenly turning to his father, who must have felt similarly, waiting without hope year after year for news about his missing son, to know if he was truly dead or not.
“Reuben,” Joe said, “is Dad home right now? Can you call him?”
“Sure,” he said, pulling out his cell phone, awkwardly handing it to Joe.
Joe smiled and opened his arms wide. “I’ve missed you, Reuben.” He pulled his hesitant brother into his arms, waved a hand at Simon and Levi and they too fell into his huddle of embrace, the four of them crowded together. Joe whispered, “I forgive you. You have to believe me. What you intended for harm, God intended for good—don’t you see?”
They pulled back, all crying and wiping their faces, Joe glad to see Levi and Simon so tenderhearted.
“I’m so sorry, Joey,” Levi said, hanging his head.
Joe pulled Levi into his chest and murmured, “It’s okay, okay. It’s forgotten.”
Reuben pressed a button on his phone. “Here, it’s dialing Dad’s number.”
Joe took the phone, stepped away from his brothers, calmed his breath.
“Rube?” the voice said through the small speaker. “Is everything okay?”
The sound of his father’s voice closed up Joe’s throat. He tried to swallow, handed the phone back to Reuben.
“Hey, Dad,” Reuben said, “Are you all right? Sitting down?” Joe noted how Reuben made his voice sound upbeat. “Everything’s great. Dad, Ben is going to get a transplant this week!” He paused and Joe could hear the tinny surprise and joy of his father’s voice come across the thousands of miles of optic fiber. “And, you’re not going to believe this, but . . . Joseph’s alive. Your son, Joseph!”
Joe stood there, couldn’t stand it any longer. He took the phone from Reuben’s hand.
“Dad? Dad, it’s me—Joseph. I’m here in St. Louis, and I’m going to save Ben.”
His father said nothing but Joe could tell he was crying. A memory flashed into his mind—when he had stomped his foot and said those very words to his father soon after his mom had died. “I’m supposed to save Ben . . .”
“Joseph . . . Joseph, is it really you? This isn’t some kind of joke—”
“No, Dad, it’s me. I’m fine. I’m a doctor here at the clinic, a kidney specialist. I’m going to give Ben one of my kidneys.”
“Oh, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph . . . I never thought . . . I knew G
od had a plan, but this? You were dead! I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again—”
“Well, you will see me again, in about two weeks, after Ben’s surgery. Once he’s recovered enough, I’ll bring him home. Oh, Dad, I’ve missed you so much! Tell me, how is Dinah?”
“She’s at work, but she’ll be home in about an hour. I’ll have her call you. Oh, Joseph, I can’t believe it, can’t believe I’m talking to you.”
Joe pressed the phone against his ear and drank in his father’s voice, the one voice he had missed more than anyone’s, God reawakening his love for his father, his family, the flood having washed away all the bitterness and hurt and resentment and Joe feeling refreshed, cleansed, absolved. His brothers laid hands on him, maybe touching him to see if he was real, maybe trying to reconnect the severed ties that had once bound them together, a laying on of hands, all God’s hand, touching him, reassuring him, strengthening him. God had called him out of darkness and into his light, his plan never changed or thwarted, God’s timing perfect, as it always was, no denying.
As he listened to his father speak, he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving and praise on a beam of light and watched as it ascended to heaven, to the place where God kept all Joe’s prayers, alongside all his tears kept stored in a bottle, the prayer now a sweet incense offering meant to give rest.
June 17
A glint of light catches on the metal’s edge as he turns the lightweight blade in his hand. He squints, pauses. Underlying his thoughts, machines whirr and hum, stirring like dormant creatures waking after a winter slumber—reflective of his buried emotions, so long ignored, feelings so disconnected they too rumble incoherently.
His sense of hearing is unusually heightened. The room pulses and takes on a life of its own; a clock ticking becomes a rhythmic heartbeat, causing surges of perspiration to trickle down the sides of his neck, soaking the cotton shirt as he stands, hesitates, holds the object up to study its smooth surface, finely polished, noticeably sharp.
He’d never before considered how small and innocuous this thing felt in the palm of his hand. Yet so capable of slicing through flesh with precision, severing blood vessels, separating muscles from bone, tissue from tendons, all with the slight pressure one might use in peeling an apple.
Hardly innocuous, though. For, even a surgeon’s scalpel must tear open flesh and draw blood before it can do a healing work.
Pain precedes healing. This truth has taken a lifetime to learn.
The Great Physician cannot heal until the incision is made and what is putrid and pustulant collides with air and water until thoroughly cleansed. There is a wash of relief that follows such ablution, and the soul thus rid of a lifetime’s burden of contamination becomes keenly aware of a glorious sense of freedom.
He can taste it; he is that close.
A glance at the clock tells him it is almost time. Soon will come the culmination of his story, the point to which all the variant, divergent paths of his life have unknowingly led him. All the hurtful, agonizing moments he thought were intended for harm God actually intended for good, for the saving of life. But how could he have known? When immersed in pain, there is only pain.
But pain is also necessary for healing, he tells himself. No one can foresee the end from the beginning. You only knows it hurts. Healing, so long in coming, always receded on the horizon, dropping farther and farther back, like a wavering mirage, teasing with its promise of life-giving water. He thinks, We are all thirsting wanderers, desperate for a drop of soothing water to cool our tongues as we aimlessly traverse this earthly hell. There is no alternate route.
The highway of holiness is a toll road.
“Dr. Smith?”
Joe spun around at the nurse’s voice.
“Sir, it’s time.”
Joe nodded and the nurse left. He looked around the operating room again, as if seeing it for the first time. He set down the scalpel, knowing soon it would be his flesh a surgeon would be cutting into in just a little while. Strange to be on the other end of the knife, but Joe welcomed it, what it meant. Even as Ben now, too, was getting prepped for surgery to receive Joe’s kidney, to get a new start on life.
But before he checked in with the nurse, he wanted to visit his brother for just a moment, assure him everything would go well. No doubt Ben was feeling a bit scared right now, and Joe hoped to use his good bedside manners on his brother, manners that Mosey had helped him hone by taking him on all those little repair jobs in South- central LA. He thought with affection on Mosey, the way the old man had nursed him back to health, protecting him like a mother hen, lecturing him in love and led by God’s spirit. He and Rhonda had been talking about him just last night, Rhonda missing her grandpa, and Nadine there, telling funny stories about her dad and the way he had so stubbornly refused to move out of that neighborhood, even after Rhonda had gotten shot. How strong a faith he’d had; what an inspiration he’d been to so many.
Joe liked to think of Mosey as the burning bush God had spoken out of, a bright flame to point Joe in the direction he needed to take while he’d wandering aimlessly, without hope. He knew Mosey had prayed hard over him, and no doubt Mosey’s prayers were part of the reason Joe was here now, about to go into surgery, and about to be reunited with his father. Mosey may have claimed Joe was an angel sent by God, but Joe knew the truth. It was the other way around.
Joe chuckled, picturing Mosey arguing the point. But it didn’t matter. There were a lot of angels walking around in human form—maybe some real and others recruited. All ministering to those meant to inherit salvation. Joe thanked God for sending Mosey to deliver him, not just from his physical fall but from his spiritual one. For liberating him from his prison of hopelessness.
He feels as if he has roamed the wilderness his entire life, clueless, directionless, exhausted. Depleted not just in body but in spirit, yearning for a word that might lift him above his circumstances and whisk him away from his life. He never would have considered he was on the path he was meant to travel. Never considered that the barren desert of silence and separation would serve as balm for his soul. Or most importantly, that it would take his bones to the last place he expected: the far-off promised land—the proverbial land flowing with milk and honey. The land of reconciliation and restoration.
Never, he mumbles quietly.
July 6
With his free hand, Jake wiped sweat from his forehead. It felt good sitting at his stool in the garage, the back door open and letting in the afternoon breeze, the day not all that hot for July in LA. All morning he had been anxious, checking the clock, making the sure the flight was not delayed. All of his children had left for the airport in Reuben’s minivan to pick them up—Joseph and Ben. He would have gone too but he didn’t want to be in the airport when he finally saw Joseph, knew he would cry and make a scene, not appropriate to do in a public place. He had already cried plenty, since the day Joseph had called him and told him he was alive. And they had talked every day, sometimes twice a day since then, since the operations, Joseph giving him a detailed report on Ben’s wonderful progress from both a doctor’s and a brother’s point of view.
When Jake had mustered the courage, he asked Joseph what had happened that night, the night of his disappearance. Joseph had answered, “I don’t have any memory of it, don’t remember anything after the dinner celebration.” He knew Joseph would never lie to him but he could tell his son was holding something back, something he didn’t want to share. Maybe the memories he conjured up were too painful; maybe in time he’d tell his old man. But Jake didn’t care. All he cared about was that Joseph was alive. Joseph promised his father he’d tell him his story when he got home, how he finally went on to med school and married and about his two young sons. Jake wished Joseph was bringing his whole family home, but they were planning on coming out for Thanksgiving, and this year, for the first time in so long, Jake was eagerly looking forward to the holiday, one certainly full of thanksgiving. Until then, he’d have to be con
tent with hearing Joseph’s stories and looking at his photos, snapshots of the last fifteen years of his life Jake had no clue about.
Jake chuckled as he sat there, looking at the eagle he’d started carving decades ago and feeling pretty pleased with how it was turning out. He dug again into the wood, worked at the face a little, fashioned a few more feathers and thought of Rachel, her gentle brown eyes and sweet smile. Joseph had performed some amazing miracles as a child, but this was by far his best—rising from the dead. An astonishing miracle, so unexpected. Jake had lost all hope of ever seeing Joseph again in this world. This was the best birthday present he could ask for—Joseph coming home today, on his sixty-fifth birthday.
Now, they had the makings of a new life ahead of them, although some dark days were surely coming. Jake let out a hard breath and thought about Levi, the look in his eyes last night as he told him his decision on the back porch. Jake had almost forgotten about Shane; they had all worked hard at erasing that incident from their lives, going on twenty years now, although Jake remembered the day clear as anything, in this garage. Standing at the table, the one over there, and hearing in horror the tale Levi and Simon told of how they’d killed that boy.
Jake shivered at the memory, at the truth Levi had slapped on the porch step—that this crime needed closure, Shane’s parents needed closure, needed to know the truth. Levi had said, “Think of how you felt, all these years, never knowing what happened to Joseph, needing answers but never getting them.” Jake knew that, of all of them, Levi carried the most guilt, as he was the one who actually killed Shane. Somehow, Levi seeing Joseph alive and experiencing God’s grace and mercy had prompted him to a conclusion. That God would make good come out of his confession.