The Pastor's Son

by Rebecca Joanne

  Mara shook his hand softly. “You, too. Um, are you guys?”

  She pointed between us before Adam wrapped his arm back around me.

  “Yeah. I guess you could say we are.”

  Phil nodded. “Well, it’s about time my sister found someone she wanted to bring here. I never even thought about bringing someone else out here until I met Mara.”

  “How did you two meet?” Adam asked.

  They both looked at one another with love etched across their faces as my heart skipped a beat. I loved their love story.

  It was one for the ages.

  “Well, let’s just say she was my damsel in distress and didn’t mind having a man hang around for a while.”

  Mara snickered. “I certainly wasn’t in distress. Maybe trying to find my way through life again, but I most definitely wasn’t in distress.”

  “Says the woman who couldn't go out and get groceries.”

  Mara rolled her eyes, and it made me giggle. My hand gravitated up and settled against Adam’s heart, bringing comfort to me as it beat steadily against my palm. Phil reached down toward his fiancee for a small kiss. And the love that passed between the two of them made me sigh.

  “It’s good to see you here, you know,” Phil said.

  I nodded. “It’s been a while.”

  “Mom would’ve whooped your behind for it.”

  I giggled. “Come here. Stand with me.”

  I held my free hand out to my brother, and he took it in stride. With Adam holding me and me holding Phil, he brought Mara to his side. We stood there at the graveside of my parents as thunder crashed closer, rattling the ground and streaking lightning across the sky while the snow-tundra around us became tinted with gray.

  A reflection of that day’s entire mood.

  “Mom. Dad,” Phil began, “you should see the smile on this girl’s face. I don’t know what the heck this man’s done to her. But I support it.”

  I squeezed my brother’s hand. “And you should see Mara. She’s gorgeous. She also doesn’t take his--.”

  “Language,” Phil warned.

  I snickered. “She doesn’t let him trample all over her. She’s strong. And she’s protective. Take it from me, you guys, she’d do anything to keep Phil safe. He’s in good hands.”

  Adam piped up. “And so is your daughter. Even if my life depends on it.”

  I rested myself against Adam as Phil squeezed my hand back. I closed my eyes and listened to the thunder roll as the wind kicked up around us. I felt Adam sigh as he raised his face toward the heavens. I felt my brother scoot closer to me. So close that Mara wrapped her hand around his back and clasped my forearm.

  Then, the four of us stood there. Huddled together, like one massive family.

  While we spoke to our dead.

  “Kendall?” Adam asked.

  I swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

  “Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  I gazed up into his face as Mara gasped softly. And when his eyes found mine, I saw them sparkling. Not just with tears, but with wonder.

  “Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?” he asked again.

  I giggled breathlessly. “You want to do this? Tonight?”

  Phil let go of my hand. “Hey, make it a double date, and we’re there with you. I got some questions for you, anyway. Gotta vet the man that wants my sister. That’s my right.”

  Mara murmured. “Calm down. Can’t you see she’s happy?”

  Adam smiled down at me. “Yes. I want to do this. Tonight.”

  I nodded. “Then, yeah. I--I’d love to get dinner with you tonight. If you’re feeling up for it.”

  Phil clapped his hands. “All right! Drinks are on me. First question: what do you do for a living, Adam?”

  He held my stare. “I’m between jobs right now.”

  “Well, not a good start. But, you can still pick it up in the back half. Come on. We’re gonna need some bourbon for this conversation.”

  As we turned, walking back to the borrowed vehicle at my parent’s graveside, I peered back over my shoulder. I looked one more time upon their tombstones before I felt my mother’s comforting embrace within the rays of sunshine that poured over our bodies. I heard my father’s commanding voice in the booming thunder still creeping its way toward us. Saying the same thing. Over and over. Each time the thunder boomed, and the sun shone down through the clouds.

  We’re proud of you, Kendall. So very, very proud.

  And as I gazed up into the face of my future, he looked back down at me, with kind eyes, a soft smile, and a strong arm holding me tightly as we made our way back to the car.

  “What are you in the mood to eat?” Adam asked.

  I smiled. “Whatever you want, I’m game for.”

  Phil barked with laughter. “Good luck ever getting her to tell you what she actually wants to eat. Mara’s the same da--.”

  “Language,” I warned playfully.

  My brother chuckled. “We wouldn’t have them any other way, though. Would we?”

  Adam winked down at me. “No, we wouldn’t.”

  I could definitely get used to it.

  Chapter Twenty Three: Adam

  I shoved my shoulder into the frozen door before I stumbled into the foyer of the sanctuary. The eerie silence of the place covered my ears as the wind blew the door open. Snow poured onto the carpet. Tumbleweeds that looked like snow fluttered to the carpet. I pressed my back against the door, fighting the wind that howled outside.

  After finally getting it closed, I sighed.

  Even though it was two in the morning, I couldn't sleep. Even with Dell down the hallway in the guest bedroom, my mind wouldn’t let darkness sweep me under. I felt a chokehold around my neck that I couldn't shake. I felt emotions I still hadn’t dealt with roiling in my gut. My body felt neglected. My mind felt exhausted. So, I let my instincts guide me.

  All the way to my father’s office.

  I’ve put this off long enough.

  Even though the place was supposed to be closed for another two weeks because of the snow holding the entire town hostage, I fiddled with my father’s keys. I had conquered the mountain. I had conquered the funeral. I had conquered the house.

  Now, it was time to conquer that building.

  I stared down at my father’s old, worn key. A key he had used for the past two or so decades that he had worked here. I slid my hand over the ridges of the golden key. Their edges, blunted by sheer use. My father’s dedication to the place was written all over that key. The evidence of his dedication to the congregation echoed off the empty walls of the hallways that ran through the small church.

  It felt weird, being there without him.

  You can do this.

  I slid the key into the lock and turned it. And as if it had been itching to be opened the entire time, the door almost slammed open. The smell of my father rushed up my nose, knocking my head back, and causing my heart to surge with delight. For a split second, I thought he was in there. Studying. Readying. While the rest of the world was freaking out.

  “Dad, how in the world did you--?”

  But, when I lifted my head, I saw that the darkened room was empty.

  Naked.

  Barren, except for the smell of his cologne.

  “Oh, Dad,” I whispered.

  He’d never sit in that office again. He’d never stand in that pulpit again. He’d never walk through those doors, or raise his hands for a benediction, or beat me over the head with his Bible verses ever again. It was almost too much. I felt my brain already caving to the anxiety.

  Just go. You can do this another time. You need to sleep.

  No. What I needed was to stop holding myself back.

  So, I peered over my shoulder.

  I gazed back into the sanctuary and took in the expanse of that reverent pulpit. His pulpit. The pulpit my father had commanded my entire life. The church was, literally, my o
wn. And I had to figure out what to do with it. Who to place in that pulpit in two weeks. How to guide the church through the roughest transition it would surely face since my father erected the place.

  I mean, my father purchased the place. Well, the ground it stood on. He had it built. He oversaw its production. He even had a hand in creating its internal layout. The church had been my father’s personal project as well as his career. And the love and care he took with the place was felt within the memories of its walls. They boasted of hope. Of joy. Of hard times to come, and the strength he provided along the way.

  There was only one thing these walls had never seen. One thing these walls had never witnessed. One thing these walls didn’t know.

  “Loneliness,” I murmured.

  The church would never understand the definition because of my father.

  Maybe because of you.

  I found my way over to my father’s desk, and I found his Bible opened. My lower lip quivered as I reached down, splaying my hand across the worn, delicate pages. It felt cold beneath my touch. Almost like ice. And I knew I had to take it with me. I couldn't simply leave it there, alone.

  What a desecration to my father’s memory, for that book to be alone.

  I reached over and pulled the golden string attached to his old desk lamp. The light came on as a soft buzzing filled the room. My father always did enjoy some sort of background noise. And I didn't know how. That kind of thing drove me crazy. I chuckled softly to myself as I blinked back tears, trying to find the strength to look down.

  But, when I did, the tears only flowed greater. They dripped softly against the pages of his opened Bible.

  “Of course, it would be this one,” I murmured.

  You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people's feet.

  “Matthew 5:13,” I whispered.

  I read that verse again. Over and over. I heard it in my father’s voice as it filled me from my toes to my nose. I let out a tearful chuckle as I raised my head. As I rolled my shoulders back like my father would ask me to do during times of stress or trouble. And as I kept repeating that verse over and over in my head, my tearful chuckles turned to laughter.

  It filled me with a peace only God could have afforded me.

  Suddenly, something came over me. I scooped up my father’s Bible and made my way out of the office. A hard left took me straight into the sanctuary, where I climbed the steps I thought were so monumental as a child. I eased my way into the pulpit. I placed my father’s Bible against the glistening wooden surface. As I drew in a deep breath, I closed my eyes.

  Letting the words flow forth.

  “If salt has lost its taste, how does it become salty again? That’s the biggest question Matthew has for us in this verse. What good is unsalted salt to us? What good is an unlit light, or unsung songs?”

  I drew in a deep, settling breath as I opened my eyes. I stared out into the darkened sanctuary as a peace blanketed me. My fingers gripped the pulpit. They curled against the edge, rooting me to my spot. And as I scanned the back rows, drinking it all in, I could’ve sworn I saw my father’s figure sitting in the back pew of the sanctuary.

  “Dad?” I whispered.

  You’ve got this, son.

  His voice echoed off the corner of my mind, and I nodded.

  Then, I continued with the words swirling around inside my head.

  “Salt has many uses in today’s world. Salt can purify and clean. It can preserve or create thirst. But, too much salt kills. And that’s an important distinction. If you use too much salt, it dehydrates. It withers. It kills things off that would have otherwise been nourished by the right amount of salt. What happens, though, when there is too little salt? Sure, it doesn’t kill. But, it doesn’t do anything else, either. And the point of this verse isn’t to point out a lack of salt, but the need for balance.”

  I searched for the shadow of my father in the back pew, but I saw nothing. No outline. No movement. No presence. I didn’t let it deter me, though. I didn’t let the silence overwhelm me.

  And the more I talked, the easier it became.

  “Matthew 5 is the Sermon on the Mount. But, within that sermon, Jesus addresses many things. The beatitudes. The fulfillment of law. The taking of life. The sin of adultery. He even addresses divorce and loving one’s enemy. But, the small moment he chooses to focus on salt and light is some of the most powerful texts in all of Matthew. Specifically, because of this idea of balance and purpose. Light has a purpose. Salt has a purpose. And in specific doses, it can do very specific things. Too much, and it’s harmful. Too little, and it does nothing. But, just the right amount holds a cataclysm of options that bring about good and steadfast endings. Which are you going to be? Which one will you choose? Are you the light that chooses to hide under a bowl? Are you a salt shaker, creating a thirst for God in those around you? Or, are you too blinding? Too salty? Deterring, and killing off, anything in your path?”

  As I drew one last breath, a slow clap rose from the end of the sanctuary filling me both with joy and with dread. My eyes whipped up, and I gazed down the aisle, watching as the shadowy figure approached me. It was too slender to be Dad. Too short to be any of the men I knew from town.

  When the figure emerged into the only shred of moonlight that poured through the stained glass windows of the small church, I saw her.

  Dell.

  With a proud smile on her face.

  “You look good up there, Adam.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  She kept walking up the aisle. “Your father would’ve been proud, you know.”

  With every step she took, I couldn't help but wonder what she’d look like in a beautiful white wedding dress. Processing up that same aisle, with me standing next to an officiant.

  “You know, at this point? I think it’s more pertinent to make God proud,” I said.

  She stopped in front of the pulpit. “So, what does that mean for you, then?”

  I sighed. “It means I need to take some time off.”

  “Oh?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Process everything that has happened. Deal with it. Get through it. Screw my head on straight.”

  “Then what?”

  I shrugged. “Then, this time next week, I need to start planning my sermon.”

  Her smile took over her face as she charged up the steps to the pulpit. I whipped around, watching as she flung herself at me. With her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, I blanketed her back with my embrace, pulling her close as she giggled against my shoulder. Whispering how happy she was for me.

  Standing in that pulpit with her in my arms, I felt grounded. I felt rooted. I felt grief, and happiness, and anticipation for the future. I felt so many things in such a brief time, but for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t feel them overwhelm me. They simply existed. Not to drag me under, but, to remind me that we are only human, in the end.

  And that everything happens exactly when God intends it to.

  “Come on. Let’s get back home,” I murmured.

  Dell raised her head from my shoulder. “I’m thinking a movie and some snacks. What about you?”

  I grinned. “Depends on the snacks.”

  “And the movie.”

  I paused. “Very good point.”

  She giggled, and I couldn't resist. In front of God, and my father, and the lingering presence of those who would sit in the congregation in two weeks, I captured her lips. I slid my hand up her back, fingering the ends of her soft tendrils. Reminding myself of exactly what my father’s passing had brought into my life.

  Funny, how just the right amount of anything could end in such speechless beauty.

  Her lips parted from mine. “Come on, handsome. Let’s get out of here.”

  I scooped her into my arms. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “Adam!” she squealed.

&
nbsp; I chuckled. “Never had a man carry you down an aisle before?”

  “Uh, never. I can say that with full and complete confidence.”

  I walked down the steps. “Well, get used to it. Because I enjoy feeling you in my arms.”

  “Don’t wanna let go of me, huh?”

  As I peeked down at her cheeky little grin, I felt the rest of my life slip firmly into place.

  “Never, Dell. Not if I can help it.”

  In that moment, I’d never felt more conviction and more truth behind my words. I’d never felt more confident in my life than when I held Kendall in my arms. From now until the end of my days, I knew I’d never want for, or need, another person in my life so long as I had her.

  This was the woman I wanted in my life for the rest of it.

  And as she gazed up at me, I saw my future reflected in her glorious stare.

  A future I couldn’t wait to start.

  Epilogue: Kendall - Two Weeks Later

  “I want to do something a little different this Sunday morning. So, I hope you’ve had your coffee,” Adam said.

  I smiled as a few chuckles trickled across the sanctuary.

  “What most people don’t realize is that salt has a lot of different uses. Uses that we don’t even think of when reading a passage like this one. When Jesus is speaking about being the ‘salt of the earth’ here in Matthew 5:13, he means it in a much broader capacity than we understand. So, who wants to go first? Who wants to blurt out a purpose for salt?”

  I peeked behind me at the crowded church and no one said a word.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t do me like that. Miss Maybel!”

  I heard people turning to face the woman as I held back a smile.

  “Me?” she asked.

  Adam nodded. “Yes, Miss Maybel. You. What do you use salt for?”

  I turned around, watching her shake her head. “Uh, well. I use it to flavor my food, Pastor Adam.”

  “Wonderful! It’s a flavor enhancer. Who else?”

  No one else piped up, so I did. “It helps dissolve ice.”

  He pointed at me. “Beautiful example, Kendall. It dissolves ice. What else?”

  Ralph cleared his throat. “I, uh, use it in my ice cream making. Depending on the kind of salt, it can also help keep things cold. Or, help make it cold. Whatever it does.”