by Tim Clinton
“I’m not sure I totally agree. I mean, if somebody hurt my wife or kids I’d have a hard time forgiving. I’d want to kill them the way you wanted to kill Lewis, and I wouldn’t be sorry either.”
“If you feel that strongly, then you need to fight for them, Adam.”
“Okay, that was tricky.”
“No tricks. Just the Holy Spirit doing His thing, breathing life into dead spirits so they’re no longer numb but passionate.” He lifted his Saints cap and wiped his forehead. “Get back into the fight, Adam.”
“That’s what I want, Jim Ed,” I said, “but what if I do this and Paige doesn’t want to come back?”
“Sometimes you can’t make things right or fix the mistakes you’ve made. I’ve learned too that you can’t control other people. You can’t control Paige’s response. Stop keeping score.”
The old painter’s words were making me fidgety. I nervously pulled at the collar of my sweatshirt. He removed his glasses again and rubbed his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Remember I said that responding to God’s light on the day when I was going to Lewis’ was a defining moment for me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve discovered that life has many defining moments, places where we have to make choices of how we are going to respond—what voices we are going to listen to. Today is a defining moment for you, Adam, whether you are going to begin walking in the light and forgiveness. Are you going to get back into the fight, or are you simply going to continue on the same path getting the same results?”
22
Jim Ed stopped his painting and started cleaning his brush and palette.
“I guess that means you’re finished?” I said, admittedly a little disappointed. I really didn’t want our meeting to end. The sun had moved into the early afternoon position and I couldn’t believe all that had transpired, how differently I felt from when we began.
“Yep, that should do it,” he said, standing up from his stool. “You ready to take a look?”
“Can’t wait,” I said, stretching out my arms and legs.
“Close your eyes and grab my hand,” he said. “I want you to get the full affect.”
Feeling self-conscious, I closed my eyes while Jim Ed took my hand and guided me in front of the easel. Like a little kid presenting a beloved parent with some love-filled, handmade project, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable.
“Okay,” he beamed, “Open your eyes.”
Looking down at the work of art before me, I blinked my eyes bewildered, and somewhat confused. Eric was right, the painting was nothing at all like I’d imagined. Wild, rough, and uneven, Jim Ed’s masterpiece had numerous watercolor splotches and every square inch of the paper had paint on it. A jumble of colors, the images had borders that were non-distinct, blending into one another. At first glance it looked like a chaotic, elementary, finger painting. In the very center of the paper was my face. Jim Ed had done a good job capturing my likeness although it was still abstract, without fine detail.
Yet, there was something else even more bizarre about the painting. In addition to the image of my face located in the center of the paper, there were two smaller images of me. One over my left shoulder was an image of my face that was grayish and eerie, half-me, half-dragon, vicious, with scales and black, angry eyes. Over my right shoulder was another face of me yet it was in complete contrast to the dark one. Brilliant, bold, and peaceful, it was half-me and half-lion with striking eyes and a radiant, golden mane.
“So, what cha think?” Jim Ed asked, looking down with his hands on his waist.
“I…I…don’t know quite what to say,” I replied. “It’s…”
“Different?”
“Exactly,” I said. “I mean, it’s certainly engaging and colorful. You’re obviously gifted. But it’s also dark and disturbing—not at all what I had pictured in my mind. I wasn’t expecting three faces, nor for it to be so abstract.”
“What’d you expect?” Jim Ed said grinning large and wide.
“I don’t know,” I said, “something more…what’s the right word? Ummm…”
“Conventional?”
“Yeah, conventional.”
“Now, Adam, do you really think I could ever do conventional? I’m an impressionist.” Jim Ed let out a jovial laugh and slapped me on the back. “Let me explain the painting to you. It tells a story.”
“Please do,” I said. “I’m definitely curious. I was thinking more like, ‘What is this?’”
“Like I told you, whenever I paint someone, I try to draw from more than just their exterior. I attempt to capture what their energy and soul are conveying to me.”
“My soul was conveying to you that hideous dragon-like thing?” I was bracing for “Oh yes, that’s you all right. You’re a monster.”
“Yep,” said Jim Ed. “That’s part of it, but it was also conveying to me the courage and spirit of the lion, the David in you that is struggling to come out and have a voice.”
With my arms crossed over my chest, I was intently listening and studying my portrait thinking, Okay, it could be worse, when Jim Ed’s cell phone dinged again. After checking the message’s source, he handed the Blackberry to me. It was Josh.
“Where are you? I’ve been waiting forever! I’m going out with friends.”
“Is Mom home?” I typed and pressed Send, then waited.
A few seconds later I got a reply. “No.”
“Keep going,” I said, handing the phone back to Jim Ed. “I need to hear what you have to say. A few more minutes won’t make any difference.”
“I believe God wants you to hear this too,” Jim Ed continued. “I see this dark dragon inside of you, Adam. It’s scary and loud and tries to control you. It’s your flesh, your old nature. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that you feel paralyzed and want to give up on life and living. You’re weary of doing the same things that you hate, over and over again. It’s a cycle that reproduces itself and you don’t know why. Inside you are tormented.” He placed his arm on my shoulder and squeezed. “But I want to tell you something. Even though that dragon is powerful, even though it’s loud and demanding, you don’t have to let it rule you. You can slay it.”
As Jim Ed spoke, something stirred inside me…hope, a fight that I hadn’t felt for years. Something shifted. I wanted to slay the dragon. If there was going to be a fight, I was all in and was willing to go down swinging.
Jim Ed reached down and patted his old Bible. “You slay the dragon within you by using this—the Sword of Truth. The Word of God is the Light. It is your sword.” I must have shown a look of slight hesitation, because he said, “Hear me out, Adam. This is important. It’s going to change the way you see. The dragon, the enemy, is a deceiver. He likes to work in the dark, whisper lies in our ears like, ‘You act like me. You look like me. You smell like me. God doesn’t really love you. He’s disappointed in you.’ The enemy is real. He’s bent on destroying you and everything you stand for. You have to know the truth, know your true identity in Christ because when you mess up over and over again, that dragon will pop up its ugly head and start screaming, ‘You don’t belong to Christ. You’re not even saved! Just give up on God and everything else. There’s no use fighting the fight.’
“But you can never give up the fight, Adam! The Bible says the kingdom suffers violence and the violent take it by force. If you’re going to have a life, you have to fight for it. If you are going to have a family, you have to fight for it, and that fight starts by knowing the truth about yourself and about your enemy!”
Jim Ed shifted his attention to the lion face on the paper. “Now, you see this lion over here?” He said pointing, “This is what I see you becoming—what your inner man wants to become, finding true success and lasting contentment. So much of your identity has been wrapped up in performance. You’ve lost yourself, lost your voice. But don’t be thinking it’s too late for change and having a different life. That’s another deception of the dragon. It’s never too late
until they put you in the grave. If anyone should know, it’s me. The important thing in life is not how you start, but how you finish. Finish strong Adam, finish strong.”
“I want to.”
“Then never give up the fight! Fight for truth. The truth will set you free.
“The dragon within you feeds on deception. Deception is what hinders a person from letting go, walking in love, and receiving God’s ever-flowing grace. As long as the dragon can keep you deceived, it can keep you in the dark, holding on to those ugly, self-defeating behaviors. It prevents us from trusting anyone. Keeps us from having the intimate relationships God created us to have. We were made in the image of perfect intimacy and our hearts long for this. But when you truly know who you are, that His spirit is in you, you recognize that certain self-defeating, even sinful, actions are not consistent with who you really are.
“Every time I’ve fallen short, Adam, it’s been because I’ve taken my eyes off of who I am in Christ Jesus. Your identity is the key to outwardly becoming the masterpiece God created you to be. It’s understanding that your spirit-man is already a masterpiece, Christ in you. Those who compromise are men and women who’ve become shortsighted or blinded by the enemy’s deceptions and have forgotten who they are.”
I stepped back, looked up into the sky, trying to absorb everything. Storm clouds appeared to be forming in the distance. I wondered if Paige was home now. “Looks like it’s going to rain later,” I said. “I might need to start heading on back soon.”
“We could talk while we walk to the parking lot, if you don’t mind,” said Jim Ed. “My truck’s there.”
“That’ll work.”
At that, Jim Ed took my watercolor portrait, carefully rolled it up, slid it into one of his cylinders and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said. “This is going to be a reminder to me—no more excuses.”
“Thank you for allowing me the privilege of painting you.” After saying that, he began putting away his paints then folded his easel and stool.
“I’m the one privileged.”
Jim Ed took the handle of his cart and began to walk.
“Here, let me take that,” I said gripping the cart to pull for him. He seemed spent.
“Thank you,” he said. “Believe it or not, painting takes a lot out of me. I just don’t have the energy that I used too.”
The cart was surprisingly lightweight and we walked around the lake toward the parking lot as Jim Ed continued.
“Remember I said earlier that when you are secure in God and living in desperate dependence on Him, not in your own power or self-effort, the supernatural happens?”
I cocked my head. “Yeah.”
“You receive healing from those past broken relationships and allow God to show you how to give your heart to the things that really matter. God’s not broken, Adam.”
“I want that,” I said, letting out a deep, long sigh. “I’ve been sabotaging my relationship with my wife and my son, Jim Ed, going numb to protect myself.”
“Kind of like Paige has done,” he said.
23
“Fall is Paige’s favorite time of the year,” I said as we walked along noticing the beauty of the changing leaves. “Mine too. We used to like hiking through the woods taking in the beauty of nature.”
“Leaves become their brightest right before they die, you know,” he said. Some teenagers playing Frisbee sailed their disc our way, almost hitting the cart. It skidded to our feet. Jim Ed slowly bent down, holding his back with his hand and picked up the Frisbee and sailed it back wobbly to the kids.
At the parking lot, we walked to an extraordinarily clean, silver pickup truck with a matching camper shell. It could have been fifteen years old, but looked brand-new—definitely the kind of vehicle you wanted to buy secondhand. Jim Ed dropped down the tailgate and pulled out a ramp with rollers. Then he pulled down a cable that was connected to a small motor and hooked it to the cart. He turned on the little motor and it pulled the cart right into the back of the truck.
“I could have just put the cart up in there for you,” I said.
“I know, but then you wouldn’t have seen my contraption,” he said. “It was my idea you know. As I got older, it became harder for me to lift stuff up in the truck so I developed this little baby.”
“Clever,” I said.
After closing the tailgate, Jim Ed shuffled to the driver’s side door, opened it and slid in. Lowering the window, he rested his elbow in the opening. I tapped the cylinder holding my portrait in my hands. “Thanks for this, Jim Ed,” I said. “I know I’m going to look at it and think about the things you’ve said.”
He held out his hand and grasped mine, looked up at me, perhaps like a grandfather would. “God bless you, Adam Camp,” he said. “It was nice meeting you. I pray you and Paige work it out and I pray Josh comes around.”
“What do I do now?” I blurted out.
“Oh, I think you know,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Straightening his hat, he placed the key in the ignition, and cranked the engine. “See you later,” he said giving me a quick military salute, while putting the truck into reverse.
I stood watching as the truck backed out of the parking spot and then began creeping forward. Standing there, holding the cylinder, listening to the gravel crunch under the truck’s tires, I felt an unusual love for this man rising up in me. “Jim Ed, wait!” I shouted out, running toward his truck before he made it to the end of the parking lot. The old painter heard my shouts and stopped.
“Yes, Adam?”
“You can’t…I mean, can we talk again sometime soon? Go for a walk or something? I know I’m going to need your help! There’s so much I don’t know, that I want to know, that I need to know. I feel like I’ve known you all my life and that you have more to teach me. Is there any way we could spend a little more time together, you know, be friends?”
Jim Ed looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Like Jonathan and David?”
“Exactly!”
“I would be honored, Adam.” “That would be awesome,” I said. “Can you write down your cell phone number for me and I’ll give you a call sometime?”
He fumbled around for something to write on. Finally turning over an old gas receipt he scribbled down his number, folded the paper, and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call soon.”
Jim Ed tipped his New Orleans Saints cap once more and was off. My eyes followed his truck down the boulevard until it finally turned at a nearby intersection and disappeared into the early afternoon traffic. I glanced at the number and then stuffed the paper inside my jeans pocket.
24
With each step I took back through the neighborhood, the storm clouds grew closer causing me to hoof it, but it wasn’t the storm on the outside I was worried about. It was the storm brewing inside me. The overwhelming peace I’d felt in the presence of Jim Ed was dwindling fast as the seriousness of my situation pounced back on me. “I can’t believe you actually fell for that heap of crap!” the voice in my head jabbed. “Really, an old eccentric painter? You’re as crazy as he is. Nothing’s going to change, Adam. You’re not going to change. Get real. Paige is leaving you.”
A wave of nausea nearly knocked me over as the word D-I-V-O-R-C-E hovered in my mind’s eye. It was a subject we’d never really brought up unless it was happening to someone else. Surely it wouldn’t happen to us—not to me. Panting for air, my chest tightened as panic assaulted me. I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees and took in several deep breaths before moving on.
After turning the corner onto Sycamore Street, our house came into view and I noticed the garage door was open and the white Camry was gone. Josh’s faded Honda Civic was in the driveway. Paige is gone, I thought. It’s been a couple hours, I guess I’m not surprised she didn’t stick around for me. Josh must have been picked up by his friends. Good! The Civic’s getting impounded! The last thing we needed was a DUI or an accident on his r
ecord. He already had enough black marks to overcome.
A loud silence echoed through the house as I walked in. Normally, the quiet would’ve been a welcomed break, but now it just made everything seem hollow and empty. In the kitchen, I noticed the dishtowel Paige had been holding was still crumpled up on the table and the dishes were in the sink unfinished. Knowing her like I do it took a lot for her to walk away from unfinished dishes. She must have left right after me. I made my way straight to the master bedroom to get my iPhone off the dresser.
The door to the hall bathroom was cracked and the shower was running. Josh was home after all. Disregarding the fact that he had slept half the day and was just now getting showered, I stuck my head in. “I’m home,” I said. No response. “I’m home,” I said one more time. Still silence except for the trickling of water. Fine, ignore me. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed into Josh’s bedroom, swiped up his keys, and continued to my room. It was an act that I knew would be equivalent to declaring War III but needed to be done.
Laying the canister holding Jim Ed’s portrait on my bedroom dresser, I picked up my iPhone. There were only two messages, both from work. “Adam, we need you to come in this afternoon if at all possible. If not today, then early tomorrow. We found a problem with your report that needs to be resolved before we can issue on Monday. It’s urgent!” The second message was a duplicate.