Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  The pastor paused for a moment, noting the fidget factor had once more dropped very low, and all eyes were open and focused on him. He also noticed the large crowd had caused many of the regular attendees to sit in different locations from their usual spots. Over the years, entire families typically sat in very nearly the same pew location—Sunday after Sunday, year after year. That location became almost reserved for them; it was simply understood that is was their pew. The newcomers, on this day, naturally knew nothing of that established protocol and simply sat wherever they pleased. The Reese family, for example, were not in their usual seats in the first row on the left—a location they’d occupied for nearly seven years—but were now in the second row on the right. In noticing the new and unusual location of the Reese family, the Pastor also noted with interest that Chelsea, who usually had a high fidget factor, was now leaning forward and seemed to be paying attention to one of his sermons for the first time he could recall. Looking directly at Chelsea for the moment, the pastor continued:

  “And that’s always what it comes down to in the end—faith—the transforming power of faith. You see, it is faith that turns fear and anxiety into joy—faith that God is not irrelevant and is still alive, working in our lives. It is faith that God is still active, even at this moment, right here in Cottonwood. It is faith that even though your car or truck may not start and your life is inconvenienced, this trial we’ve been sent will have a benefit. It is faith that God is still working in what often times seems like a dark, hopeless, and seemingly crazy world we live.”

  Mayor Gilmore and his wife, who normally sat in the first row on the right, were now sitting in the fourth row on the left. On most Sundays, his fidget factor was among the highest in the entire congregation, and often he couldn’t remember a word of what the sermon had been about, only five minutes after the service was over. Now he was leaning forward in his pew, eyes fixed and steady on the pastor as the sermon continued:

  “In the story of the resurrection as told in the book of John, do you recall when Mary Magdalene was weeping by Jesus’ tomb? She was sad and depressed because she thought someone had stolen the body. She was actually feeling sorry for herself, not for Jesus. This person who had come into her life—this Messiah who had given her hope—had been crucified, which was bad enough in her mind, but now Mary thought his body had been stolen! So, there she was at the tomb, sad and distressed, when an angel appeared to her and asked her why she was crying. She hadn’t understood yet that Jesus had risen, and so she was, in truth, feeling sorry for her own self. And this is the key to a lack of faith—it’s about selfishness. Feeling sorry for yourself and thinking only of yourself makes you cling to this world and be fearful and anxious. You fear that you won’t get something or someone in your life, and that fear, that clinging to something or someone is selfish, and it prevents you from having faith and believing in something beyond your own self. It is selfishness that keeps us from having true faith, and what is needed to find that faith—is to stop thinking of your own self. That is the central message of the resurrection and of our Messiah—to stop thinking of yourself! In doing so, something miraculous happens. In finding faith, your sadness, fear, and anxiety are transformed into joy.”

  Pastor Harrison was now hitting the home stretch. He observed the fidget factor had dropped precipitously to near zero—the lowest he’d seen in years.

  “So, as you reflect and cope with your own personal problems, whether they are related to the current crisis here in Cottonwood or the myriad of other problems that life throws at us, there are three important things I hope you keep in mind. First, God has not given up on us—on any of us. God never puts up a ‘for sale’ sign and moves on from our lives. This present trial should be a cause for joy, as Cottonwood has been sent a trial, and that proves that God is still working here. God knows we can handle this and in the long run will prove a wise and just reason. Second, if you are anxious about things, then stop thinking only about yourself. Tens of millions of people will go to sleep tonight around the world with an empty stomach. I fail to see one person among you who is even close to having such a problem. Your selfishness is unjustified. When you think of others before yourself, it’s amazing how your problems become insignificant. And finally, once you stop thinking only of yourself, you can allow the transforming power of faith to turn your fear and anxiety into joy. There is, indeed, a plan at work here in Cottonwood. We may not see it clearly now, but through faith and unselfishness it will unfold and make its true magnificence known to us. Amen.”

  With that, Pastor Harrison finished his sermon. While another hymn was sung, he realized he had been so in touch with his own delivery at the end of the sermon, he’d failed to pay attention to the congregation’s fidget factor. By tradition, the giving of applause after a sermon was not considered in good taste for the First Methodist Church of Cottonwood; however, for moments like this, the pastor wished the rules could be broken only, of course, so that he might accurately measure how well he’d connected with the audience. He’d now have to wait to see how people responded as he greeted them during their exit from the church.

  Toward the end of the service after the offering had been taken, Pastor Harrison stood once more at the pulpit speaking solemnly and said, “At this time, I’d like to ask that we all offer a special prayer for a very dear friend of Cottonwood. Though some of you are only visiting our town and don’t know Carl Taylor, I can assure you that a more giving and humble man you’ll not find. In looking out over our congregation today, he is noticeably absent and has—so I’ve been informed—gone missing from Cottonwood. Lord, we say a prayer now for the safety and welfare of your humble servant, Carl Taylor. We trust you are watching over him, wherever he may be, and are keeping him from all harm. We have faith in your divine wisdom and mercy, Lord, and know that even in this troubling event, your plan is unfolding, though hidden it may be. Amen.”

  At the end of the prayer, the service concluded, and the pastor hurried to the back of the church, standing in the foyer just inside the front doors. He warmly shook hands with nearly everyone as they exited, shaking more hands than he had ever shaken on a Sunday morning. In the glowing faces of the people, some familiar and some new, he sensed he had made the connection he’d hoped for. This feeling was reinforced by the consistent, and he thought genuine, comments they made to him, such as “wonderful sermon, Pastor,” or “great message this morning.” He felt quite assured that the final fidget factor had, indeed, reached an historic low.

  As the crowd thinned, the Reese family, who had been near the front of the church, had moved up in line to be one of the few in the dwindling crowd to greet the pastor. Typically, it was Amanda who was in front on Sundays, but Chelsea now led the trio.

  “I really enjoyed your sermon today, Pastor,” said Chelsea, shaking the pastor’s hand firmly.

  “Thank you, Chelsea, I’m glad you liked it,” replied the pastor. “I hope it struck a chord with you.”

  Chelsea continued on, and at their turn, Amanda and Dr. Reese each smiled politely, shaking the pastor’s hand before rejoining their daughter who had moved outside to the flagstone landing in front of the church. It was a large enough area to hold several dozen people, and it led to a flight of stone steps that ended down at the sidewalk on Main Street. It was customary for a certain amount of socializing to occur after Sunday services, and on warm summer mornings, the flagstone landing outside the church was always the chosen location.

  As she exited, Amanda immediately spotted the judge and Gayle Reynolds near the stairs and led her family directly over to them.

  “Good Morning, Reynolds,” said Amanda.

  “Good morning to the Reese family,” responded the judge as Gayle Reynolds smiled for her hello.

  “A packed house today, eh?” asked Amanda.

  “Yes, and wonderful to see,” replied the judge. “I’m sure the pastor is pleased.”

  “Probably a record offering, I’d imagine,” said Dr. R
eese. “The baskets looked pretty full to me as they passed by.”

  “I’m sure that while the pastor is grateful for a large offering,” interjected Gayle, “he’s more pleased in having the opportunity to share his message with so many people.”

  “Of course,” replied Dr. Reese, then looking quickly over to his wife.

  Amanda wasn’t interested in the church service. She was hungry for what she craved the most, and she knew the judge, by his position in town, often had potentially more of it than most. It was seed she hoped to gather from him, if she could shake the tree the right way. She usually found his trunk solid and unmoving, but over the years, she’d also learned that though few seeds ever fell from him, when they did fall, they were large and worth the effort.

  “Well, with the traffic crisis and all the other things happening, I thought his sermon was quite appropriate,” said Amanda, looking at the judge.

  “Yes, I thought it was very comforting,” interjected Gayle.

  Even though Gayle was one of the social elite, Amanda had never received even the tiniest of seed from her, despite years of persistence. If Gayle Reynolds were a tree, to Amanda she’d be a stone tree—causing bent beaks and forever remaining unmoved in the constant wind of gossip. Even more frustrating to Amanda, Gayle often crossed her branches to protect her husband, whom she had come to realize, though he was usually wise and careful as a judge ought to be, had sometimes unwittingly let seeds fall to hungry birds with batting eyelids and the curves of womanly youth.

  “So nice of him to say a prayer for Old Blind Carl, I thought,” said Amanda, not taking her eyes off the judge.

  “Yes, heaven knows we’re all concerned about him,” said the judge. “The sheriff has been working round the clock trying to find him.”

  Gayle opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get the first word out, Chelsea spoke up. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, causing the Reynolds to politely smile and nod their heads. Amanda half-smiled and stared as Dr. Reese put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  “He probably is fine,” said the doctor, also smiling and then looking at the Reynolds.

  “I’m serious,” said Chelsea sharply, turning and looking at her father, causing him to drop his hand from her shoulder and drop his smile as well. “I know everyone thinks something awful has happened to him. We all know about the big search along the river yesterday—but nothing was found. He wasn’t there, because he’s not dead.”

  Gayle smiled at Chelsea. “I love your faith, dear. That’s just what the pastor was talking about today.”

  “That’s the part I liked best about the sermon,” replied Chelsea, “about how faith can turn doubt and anxiety into joy.”

  Amanda was uneasy, looking for the opportunity to wedge back into the conversation, nudging it back to a direction where something useful to her could fall to the ground.

  “It was an excellent sermon, Chelse,” Amanda said, looking at her daughter, “and we’re glad you’re staying positive. The sheriff is only doing what he’d do in any case like this. He’s got to respond to the evidence and facts he’s been given.” Amanda then turned to the judge, adding, “Isn’t that right, Judge?”

  The judge paused for a moment. “Well, yes,” he said, “that’s exactly how the law works. You’ve got to follow the trail of evidence, and in this case that evidence does seem to—”

  “Tell us to have faith,” interjected Gayle with a smile to her husband.

  Chelsea smiled at Gayle for a moment and then looked at the judge. “Did you know I had Old Blind Carl’s cane for a while, just after he went missing?”

  The judge paused for a moment, glanced at his wife, and then said to Chelsea, “Well, yes, I had heard that his cane was found. So was it you who found it?”

  “No, it was given to me by someone,” replied Chelsea before glancing at her mother and then turning back to the judge. Amanda had a pleased looked on her face, like a mother bird watching a baby learning how to hunt—even if unknowingly.

  “Interesting,” said the judge. “And who was it that gave it to you?”

  Before Chelsea could answer, Gayle cleared her throat loudly. “Richard,” she said, “this isn’t court. That’s none of our business.”

  “It was Matthew Duncan that gave it to her,” offered Amanda immediately. “You must remember him, right Judge?”

  “Of course, I remember him,” replied the judge.

  “You knew he was back in town?”

  The judge glanced at his wife and then back to Amanda. “Oh, yes,” he said, nodding his head, “I was aware of that.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” blurted out Chelsea excitedly, “I mean, that he gave me the cane. He told us Old Blind Carl had given it to him, and I believe that.”

  “Calm down, honey,” said Dr. Reese, putting his hand once more on his daughter’s shoulder. “No one has accused anyone of anything, as far as we know.”

  There were a few moments of silence. Around them, the several other small groups of people who had gathered in front of the church had begun to scatter.

  “Well, I think it’s time to head home,” said Gayle, finally breaking the brief silence. “It looks like a great day for working in the yard.” She looked at Chelsea. “You keep up your faith, dear. Old Blind Carl could come walking up the street any moment.”

  Chelsea smiled, nodding in reply, but said nothing. The two families descended the stairs to the street and parted, heading in opposite directions on Main Street. The Reese family walked in silence, with Chelsea thinking of her experience with the cane and wondering where both Old Blind Carl and Matthew Duncan were, at that very moment. Amanda Reese was scouring the information from the just concluded conversation to see if there might be some useful seed to pull from the chaff. Dr. Reese was wondering how the night had gone at the Home, encouraged by the fact that he at least hadn’t received any phone calls during the night.

  The Reynolds walked arm in arm. Once they were certain to be out of earshot of the Reeses, the judge said, “I feel terribly sorry for Chelsea. How will she feel when she finds out Matthew’s been arrested?”

  “Chelsea has always been a positive young girl. She’s got a strong spirit; she’ll be fine. It’s Diane and Rebecca I’m concerned for. You didn’t tell me it was Matthew that had given Chelsea the cane. What kind of man did you marry to our Rebecca?”

  The judge shook his head and paused a moment. “I’m not sure what kind of man he is yet. I’ve always prided myself on being a good judge of character. It’s helped me through all my years on the bench. Maybe I’m getting too old…” His voice trailed off.

  Gayle held his arm more tightly and looked over to catch his eyes in hers. “That’s nonsense, my dear. I won’t have you talking that way. I have faith that there’s more to this story than we know. All I know for sure is that when I get home, I’m going to put a coffee cake in the oven and call Diane. She’s going to need us.”

  The two continued toward their home, remaining arm in arm, with both of them feeling a growing unease that contrasted oddly with the new traffic-free silence of their beloved Cottonwood. Springing forth from the silence and mixing with their unease was some subtle flavoring, like the slightest ingredient that might be detected among the bold sugar, cinnamon, and yeast of a coffee cake, which somehow completes the creation. This mysterious ingredient inside the silence—though seemingly out of place when mixed with their worry—was comforting and brought wholeness to the moment, reminding each of them of seasons past and the freshness of their youth.

  Fifty-One

  A Ride Home

  Rebecca had not slept at all during the night shift at the Home, and though several of the other staff members took brief naps when they could, many of them had been awake for more than 24 hours. After giving her report to the incoming day shift, it was time for Rebecca to leave for her own home. She was both eager for sleep and to find out where her new husband was. A call home in the morning was still met wi
th her answering machine. She left a quick message: “I’m leaving work now—and I’m praying you’re home when I get there!”

  Unless she wanted to walk, her only ride home was with the same man who had driven her to work the day before. She met Eddie and his golf cart at the bottom of the stairs in front of the Home, and as she climbed in next to him, she noticed he didn’t flash his usual loaded smile but stared straight ahead, holding the small steering wheel loosely with both hands. She immediately sensed something was not right, and that feeling was jolted to a certainty as Eddie immediately accelerated the cart forward as she took her seat, jerking her backward and forcing her to grab onto a handhold to keep her balance.

  They entered the highway and headed south, and though the cart could only travel at a relatively low speed, enough cool morning air washed across her face that Rebecca felt invigorated enough to attempt a conversation with her obviously moody driver.

  “Good morning, Eddie,” she said, looking for some reaction.