From The Dead

by John Herrick

  More like Dr. Dale didn’t want a distraction to return to L.A., Jesse thought, but at this point, Jesse didn’t care. He wanted nothing Jada had to offer. “What a guy.”

  “I showed the letter to him. He doesn’t think you should fool around with this. He said it had to do with your blood, like the tests didn’t look right, according to what the letter said. He thinks you should call them or get some tests done right away.”

  Jesse’s mind filled with images of his recent—and more frequent—symptoms. “I’m sure it’s no big deal.” No way would he let Jada have the satisfaction of handing him medical advice.

  “All right, here’s the thing.” Jada lowered her voice as if the CIA had bugged her apartment. “I’m not supposed to tell you this; I was supposed to convince you based on the letter. Dale swore me to secrecy because he could be in deep shit for doing this. But like I said, that letter concerned him, so after he got the hospital to waive the charges, he got access to your record somehow and checked it out.” In her pause, Jesse could picture her spying over each shoulder to decide whether to listen to the tiny angel fairy or the tiny devil one. “They’re convinced you’ve got some disease. A disease named after a bear, he told me.”

  “You mean Baer’s Disease?”

  “That’s it. Seriously, get it checked out.”

  Jesse gritted his teeth and chose to cast it to the back of his mind. After all, wasn’t Jada the embodiment of exaggeration? A paper cut could send the woman into a rant. And besides, his symptoms were commonplace. Plus, when he and Dale talked outside Jesse’s apartment a while back, Dale had said he doubted Jesse’s status was severe. Dale had mentioned it could mean minor changes in Jesse’s diet and daily activity. Jesse knew Jada well enough to take her perception of the threat—however overblown—and dial it down a few degrees.

  To change the subject, he said, “So I take it you and Dr. Dale are one happy couple?”

  “Shit, Jesse. Apparently he’s had second thoughts about his marriage. He’s been fucking around on me. Moved out of the apartment three weeks ago.”

  What goes around, Jesse thought.

  “Anyway, I’m finally out of traffic, ready to pull up to Barry’s office. Gotta go. But listen to what I said before, about the tests.”

  Jesse started to say good-bye but didn’t get the chance to complete the gesture; Jada, who saw no reason to waste time with such a formality, clipped the conversation to an end with a disconnection.

  CHAPTER 49

  The basketball clanged against the rim before it ricocheted and landed in Jesse’s expectant hands.

  “Next time!” Chuck said, a failed attempt at dignity after his own failed shot.

  “Don’t worry, there won’t be one,” Jesse prodded. With an eye on his opponent, he dribbled the ball casually along the edge of Chuck’s driveway. One month since Jada’s phone call, and Jesse felt fine. Not even a nosebleed in the last few weeks.

  Chuck began to perspire despite the early October refrigeration. He unzipped his green windbreaker halfway and, hands on knees, prepared himself for Jesse’s approach. The score was 15-6 with Chuck on the losing end.

  Jesse switched hands and teased his father with a nod of haughtiness. “I figured you would’ve gotten better after a decade.”

  “I’m a preacher. I believe in miracles.”

  Jesse rounded his dad, managed to keep the ball in his own possession, and sprinted up the driveway with Chuck close behind. When Jesse leaped to make his two-point attempt, a mischievous Chuck tapped Jesse’s elbow and the ball rolled out of his hands. Chuck grabbed the ball and made his way to the basket.

  “Hey, whatever, old man!” Jesse shouted, his arms outspread in humorous dispute. “I haven’t read the rule book line by line, but I think your maneuver qualifies as a foul!”

  Out of breath, Chuck feigned an air of innocence. “What’d I do?”

  Jesse grabbed the ball to take a penalty shot. “I’m gonna make a shot here, so take good notes.” And with that, he sank the ball in a perfect swish through the net. His nose cold, Jesse stuck his hands in his pockets and allowed the ball to roll into the grass. He’d gotten used to the cooler climate, albeit a slow transition for him.

  They laughed for a moment and allowed their hearts to return to their regular paces. Before them, their breath clouded in the evening air.

  Chuck gave his son a playful slap on the back. He stalled another moment and then softened his voice. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to live your life between glass walls as a minister’s kid,” he said. “After you left, I couldn’t help but think I’d caused it.” Chuck watched as Jesse, quiet but attentive, focused on a passing car. “I regret we weren’t closer in touch all these years. And I don’t know all the details going on in your heart …” Chuck lowered his head and examined a crack in the pavement. “But I want you to know I’m sorry for anything I did to drive you away.” Chuck’s eyes grew moist, and Jesse could tell Chuck held more emotions inside. “I’m so glad to have you home.”

  Jesse scrutinized the same pavement crack. “You didn’t cause it, despite all I’ve said. It was me: I had to figure out who I was, and I couldn’t do it in someone else’s shadow. That’s the best way to describe it.” Jesse picked up the ball and gave it a halfhearted shot, then forgot about retrieving it. “Life’s gotten clearer, though. Coming home was a positive thing.”

  They headed over to the front porch and sat on the step, side by side.

  “I agree,” Chuck said at last. “People seem to place expectations on you to live your life the way I have and follow the career I have.” He tilted his head so it was eye level with his son. “I want you to know I’ve never expected you to be anything you’re not designed to be. You need to be the man God created you to be and follow whatever burns inside your heart.”

  Jesse exhaled and watched his breath disperse before him. “I feel like I’ve really let you down. I know I always acted like I didn’t care what you thought about me—and maybe even made a few comments to that effect, huh?”

  His dad chuckled. “Yeah, a few.”

  “But the truth is …” Jesse stopped, bit his lip. “I really did care what you thought. And that’s what made it so frustrating: that tug-of-war inside my bones.”

  “I think you turned out fine.”

  Jesse snorted. “My life’s a mess. Los Angeles was supposed to be my cure-all, but I blew it. All I did was run away, and now, eleven years later, the inevitable still haunts me. I let down so many people when I left.”

  Chuck had a glint in his eye. With a nudge to his son’s shoulder, he smiled. “Your heart is open. That’s what counts. And as for coming to terms with the past—well, that’s a process. Often it’s not about the destination, but the journey—the growth that occurs along the way.”

  “I guess I figured if I just showed up again, my issues would disappear and everything would get sewn together overnight. Naive, huh?”

  Chuck peered up at the dark sky. “What you have right now is a chance to retrace your steps, to start fresh. Rock bottom? Yes. But at rock bottom, circumstances can only get better, as long as you don’t give up. You have a fresh opportunity; how high you climb and what you do with this opportunity—well, it’s up to you.” Chuck paused. “So you have another decision on your hands. You made the decision to come home; now you face the decision of how you want to spend the rest of your life. No, you don’t know what’s up ahead, and you’ll take risks based on what you can’t see, but that’s why we take life step by step.”

  They sat there for a while until Chuck responded to his son’s silence.

  “Is anything else going on?”

  Jesse wavered, then admitted, “When I got to be a teenager, I was angry at God and angry at you. I looked at you and saw a hypocrite: How could you be a preacher for the God who took your wife, and then expect me to follow suit with your beliefs? I resented you for that.”

  Expressionless, Chuck listened and nodded. “I don’t have answers t
o all the ‘why’ questions. There’s so much I’ll never understand this side of heaven. It’s part of the walk of faith.” As they delved deeper in conversation, Chuck’s grimace revealed an ache for his son and the pain Jesse harbored. “This world isn’t perfect,” Chuck said. “It’s not heaven, so it has some flaws. The horrible things that happen here don’t always make sense, but they go with the territory. I don’t blame God for your mom’s death; the way I see it, that’s just part of this fallen world, where we have weakness, disease, and so forth.

  “I’ll say this about God, though: I wasn’t even a Christian when your mom died, but the love I felt during the ordeal—God’s love—stretched beyond words. And I’ve sensed that love countless times. As I’ve gotten to know God better—not as a minister, but as an average Christian—I’ve gotten to know His nature. And I’ve come to the conclusion that the God who loves me, who loves my kids, who loved your mom—He’s a good God. He blessed me with that amazing woman for years, and He’s given her a home in heaven where there’s no more bleeding, no more suffering, no more pain. At this moment, she sees things that I can’t even begin to imagine. And she gets to see God face-to-face. The beauty that must radiate from His presence! One day, I’ll be there, too. But not yet.” Chuck tapped his fingers together, then continued. “So the way I see it, despite her suffering while she gave birth, she had a victory in the end. I could only wish I had it as good as your mom has it right now.”

  Jesse, his lip in a quiver, contemplated what his father said. He sensed a yielding inside, a sense that life would come together indeed.

  Jesse nodded, but said nothing.

  And he knew his father understood.

  The past was past. Healing had arrived.

  CHAPTER 50

  That Wednesday evening, Jesse fought slight nausea as he wound through the streets of Hudson. But he knew it wasn’t an aftermath of the tacos he’d eaten for dinner; no, it was psychosomatic, a nervousness that surrounded what he was about to do.

  Though he found the church parking lot packed when he pulled in for the 7:30 service, he managed to locate an empty spot in the far corner. Jesse checked his watch—a few minutes late as planned. He didn’t want to be noticed when he walked in.

  As Jesse zipped his coat, he made his way past aisles of cars. Most of the license plates he passed contained a tag for Summit County, Hudson’s location; but because Hudson sat close to the county’s northern border, many members arrived from Cleveland’s Cuyahoga County and other communities to the northeast and northwest. Few families seemed to travel from areas to the south, as you headed toward Akron.

  Jesse snorted under his breath. He couldn’t believe he’d actually come here tonight. A year ago, he never would have pictured himself entering this building again. For that matter, he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church building while he’d lived out west. So, in spite of all the time he spent here as a kid—regardless of its second-home status to him back then—tonight he fought a queasy stomach and felt like an outsider. But beyond his abdominal butterflies, he found himself unemotional.

  Random snow flurries, Lake Erie’s finest, circled through the dark air, and Jesse tasted the flakes that melted on his lips. He inhaled the scent of smoking chimneys, where nearby households gave their fireplaces a test run for the season. And he continued to press ahead, determined not to run the other way. He and God had an appointment.

  As he reached the church building, Jesse heard the sounds of beating drums and a bass guitar, whose vibrations raced in invisible currents beneath his feet. And when he opened the lobby door, the volume level doubled in his ears. He detected an air of excitement in the atmosphere, to such an extent it seemed all but tangible.

  Jesse entered the auditorium, where the music could be heard at its fullest through the large amplifiers. The room was dim, like a concert setting. Toward the front, bright lights focused on the platform, where a band and singers led worship for over one thousand attendees. Not a single suit could be found in the building. Though he’d arrived feeling like an outcast, now Jesse felt invited. A party had begun and they had expected him.

  He headed to the aisle on his far right and counted rows. While he didn’t want anyone to notice him, he also didn’t want to sit alone. As promised, Eden had saved him a seat in the tenth row from the back, at the end of the row. And as the people around him sang, no one seemed to notice him or whisper. Because the church membership had expanded during his years away, he didn’t recognize half of the faces.

  Her eyes closed, hands at rest upon her heart, Eden swayed to the up-tempo music and sang along. Jesse gave her a side hug to let her know he’d arrived. When she opened her eyes, she beamed a smile and mouthed hello. And then, once again, she closed her eyes to enter back into worship. Eden, focused on the one she’d come to sing to, lifted her hands in praise. She didn’t make a big deal of Jesse’s arrival. For that he was grateful.

  Jesse removed his coat and set it on his seat as the band moved into another energetic song. Like the church’s members, the band represented a broad age range. A twentysomething guy played lead guitar; a man in his sixties worked his way around the drum set. Jesse remembered the drummer from long ago, back when he had darker hair—a former hippie who had struggled through a heroin addiction prior to his Christian conversion. “I never imagined myself in a church,” the man had said on one occasion. “After an addiction like that one, I’m thankful just to be alive: I’m proof-positive that God loves everyone.”

  In the semi-darkness, Jesse observed the sea of individuals around him, some of whom lifted their hands or clapped in worship, while others rejoiced with bursts of gladness. On a spontaneous occasion, he saw someone shout for joy or leap up and down a few times in reverence. Jesse found the twofold activity fascinating: Assembled as a group, these people worshipped together in song; yet each experienced an intimate, one-on-one worship connection with God. Each part came together as a whole.

  Chuck’s perspective on worship time, which came prior to his preaching segment, was that each church member should have the freedom to approach God from where they are. For some church environments, that might mean classical hymns and solemn rituals. But Chuck’s church, like the preacher himself, had always been a place of expressive worship. And early on, Chuck had taken hits from critics who misinterpreted this worship style as irreverence. But Chuck believed God took interest in hearts rather than red tape, and often pointed to David in ancient Israel, who, although a distinguished king, had danced and rejoiced through public streets in an expression of worship.

  Jesse recalled many moments of worship like tonight’s. And as it turned out, these fervent acts—the lifted hands and leaps of praise—were expressions of gratitude to God. Over the years, many of these people, like the drummer, had told their stories of deliverance. Some testified to how God had comforted them after a loss or delivered them from a drug addiction. Many had a simpler story: They had begun a normal day and by evening had given their lives to the Lord after a casual conversation with a friend.

  Testimonies of recoveries and healings abounded here. For some, their answered prayers came by way of an instant miracle, while for others the road had proven long and arduous—but victorious in the end. And now, as these memories poured back into Jesse’s mind, he realized these imperfect people were similar to him—shortcomings, struggles and all.

  So here he stood tonight.

  The lights dimmed further and the band segued into a softer, more intimate song. The claps and shouts ceased as more hands lifted. On the platform, the lead singer leaned closer to the microphone during the keyboard-driven song—a song of gratitude, a song of love. A sense of reverent passion seemed to fill the auditorium.

  Jesse felt broken on the inside, like a piece of pottery shattered on a concrete floor, fragile. An acute awareness of past regrets and desperation, a heart’s cry, welled up within him. In the darkness of the room, unnoticed by others, Jesse closed his eyes and lifted his hands as thoug
h he and God were the only ones in the room. Though he couldn’t bring himself to sing, Jesse listened. His heartbeat accelerated. Tears trickled down his face. And Jesse soaked himself in the lyrics of hope; the chords washed over him and massaged his heart like the touch of a finger—God’s finger. Jesse felt a cleansing occur, followed by an acceptance, as the enormous, soothing arms of God wrapped around him.

  How long had it been since he’d felt so protected?

  The band lulled into an instrumental interlude as Chuck, dressed in jeans, approached the platform. The preacher stood there for a while. He observed the people engaged in worship, who whispered praise to God, the same God who had whispered comfort to Chuck himself. In reverence, the preacher waited for the proper words. At last, in a tender voice, he spoke through a microphone as the band continued to play behind him at a softer volume.

  “Whether you’re visiting tonight and don’t know God, or whether you’ve been here numerous times before,” the preacher said, “I want to tell you we serve a good God here. We serve a God who loves us unconditionally—no qualifiers, no performance measurements. And that’s an assurance for each person in this room. He loves you so much, He gave his one and only Son, Jesus, to set you free. The Bible says that without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sins. So when Jesus was nailed to a cross two thousand years ago, your sins were nailed there with Him—He shed His blood to cover those sins. And He would have done it if you were the only person on earth.” Chuck paused a moment, then continued, “Jesus rose from the dead and is alive to this day. So whatever you’re going through in your life, God sees your situation. He wants you to invite Him into those circumstances. Whoever calls on the Lord will not be disappointed. He acknowledges you, and He delights when you acknowledge Him. People speak of the passion of the Christ; well, I have some news for you: You are His passion, His deep desire. If people knew how beautiful the living Jesus is, how unique He is—they would want Him.”