The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  “Take your paycheck, Dylan. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “What do you mean I ‘don’t owe you anything’? I want to pay you back.”

  “True forgiveness is releasing someone from a debt. When Jesus died for the sins of the world, he paid for them all and wiped the slate clean. All we have to do is accept the gift of forgiveness.”

  Hesitating, Dylan slowly took the envelope, while choking back the overwhelming urge that suddenly overtook him to weep.

  “Dylan, ever since I hired you, I have been praying for you.” Pastor Jacobson spoke again in the same loving tone. “Many of the people here have also been doing the same. Would you be willing to come to the Sunday service to meet some of them? You don't have to do anything except show up.”

  Dylan had no reason to decline, other than his foolish pride or his fear of the unknown, so with much trepidation, he said, “Sure, Pastor, I’ll be there.”

  After leaving the church, Dylan hurried to the bank before it closed, and then walked to the store’s service desk to make arrangements with the electric company.

  By Monday, he'd have power.

  NINE

  The backlash of heat made for a stifling breeze as the temperature peaked to near ninety. The church doors stood open wide like a mother’s arms welcoming her children to her soothing bosom. Excited voices emitted from the foyer as people gathered inside for the service.

  Dylan strode up the sidewalk as he’d done in the past while on his way into work every day, but this time was different. This time his mind convicted him of what type of man he was and insisted that he didn’t belong here. He contemplated why the thoughts came to him just now, and why he felt uneasy about going inside. There was no outward sign to fuel his uncertainty. No thunder clouds were poised above to throw down a lightening bolt. No one stood at the door pointing a finger, commanding that he go away. No one looked at him with sideward glances while whispering why a man like he would come to this sacred place. He reminded himself that he had a right to be here because the pastor had invited him, but something inside said otherwise.

  He pushed the thoughts from his mind and calmed himself by breathing deeply before stepping through the entryway. When he walked into the foyer, Doug Baker approached him with his wife and small daughter in tow. He shook Dylan’s hand, and said, “Good morning, Dylan. Glad to see you made it. This is my wife Linda and our daughter Beth.” Doug patted the top of the little girl’s head. “Beth just turned three years-old yesterday.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Dylan nodded, as he shook Linda’s hand and then stooped down to address the little girl, “and happy birthday to you.”

  Beth’s eyes twinkled above her dimpled cheeks, as she giggled, “Thank you.”

  When Dylan stood up, an elderly man approached with his hand extended. “Walt Jenkins here and this is my better half Thelma. We're happy that you could join us today.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be here.” And as Dylan said it, he realized he meant it. Something deep inside of him told him it was true. It was a good place to be even though he felt unworthy in the midst of these gracious people. But even though he felt that way, Dylan continued along, and met at least a dozen men and women by the time he found a seat in the back. He watched the steady stream of people flow down the aisles and into the pews, and he couldn’t help but notice the evident love in their lives. There were great big smiles and pats on the backs as they happily greeted one another. One man sat with his arm around a woman, while other couples were holding hands. An elderly man tousled a young boy's hair and another bowed to a small girl, as the children were acknowledged with kindness and concern in a way that he’d never witnessed before.

  Dylan stuck a finger inside of his collar then yanked his necktie loose a notch. No one else was wearing a tie and he felt out of place with one on. He fanned himself with the bulletin, as a bead of sweat trickled from his temple and slid down the side of his face. Was it really that hot or was it just him? He rose from the pew and walked to the drinking fountain and wet his hand to cool his face. He touched his sleeve to his brow and turned around and when he did, he almost stumbled over the little Baker girl.

  She looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and asked, “May I please have a drink of water?”

  Dylan reached up to pull a Dixie cup down from the dispenser, but Beth shook her head, no. She smiled an impish grin and pointed to the spout instead, as though he should instinctively know that it’s much more fun for little girls to drink from fountain spouts, rather than paper cups. She was obviously too short to reach it herself, so Dylan wiped his hands on the back of his slacks and picked her up, being careful not to wrinkle her perfectly pressed cotton dress or crush her little crinolines. Dylan tilted her forward, and she slurped a few times, and then he stood her back down on the floor.

  Beth smiled up at him with shining eyes and water dripping from her chin. She wiped her mouth with the hem of her dress, and said, “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Dylan.” And as she scampered off to the auditorium, she turned her little head around and warbled over her shoulder, “I like your neck handle.”

  Neck handle? His tie? He smiled at the remark and at her sweet innocence. The small child tugged at his heartstrings and pulled up the past, reminding him of tiny hands and skipping feet in a life that would never be. A poignant pain stole over him and filled his heart with sorrow as he walked back to the sanctuary.

  He sat back down in the place where he’d been, and contemplated his life, so full of regrets and emptiness and events that could not be undone. His first instincts were right; he didn’t deserve to be here, not with these people anyway. Not after the way he’s lived his life in comparison to theirs, because if they knew what he was really like deep inside his soul, they would shut him out or find some other way to exclude him from their presence. And if that were too rude for these fine people, they may pretend, instead, not to see him, like so many others have done in his past.

  A hymn began to softly play and it drew Dylan from his reverie. And as the beautiful music filled the room, a sense of awe welled-up in his eyes and soul, and it turned his feelings of inferiority into an intense longing for the faith and peace these people possessed. They were nothing at all like he’d thought they would be, or what he’d momentarily imagined just now, because rather than shutting him out or excluding him, they did nothing but draw him in with cords of love and treat him with respect and kindness. Other than his mother, he’d never met anyone like Pastor Jacobson or Denise or Doug and Linda, and now after seeing the others, like any of them. They were loving and kind and caring and humble. They were the closest thing he’d seen to Jesus during his turbulent life.

  The announcements were made and the church grew silent when the minister prayed. And then he began to speak. “As many of you know, Doug Baker is a contractor here in Chautauqua County. He scours the area looking for old homes that no one else would want to buy.”

  A soft laughter came from the listeners.

  “The house may be dilapidated or in complete shambles, but Doug knows his business, because the first thing he looks at is the foundation. If the supporting structure is solid and level, he knows that the remainder of the house can be repaired. But if the foundation is crumbling, uneven or cracked, no matter how well the house is rebuilt, it will eventually shift or fall when pressures or storms take their toll on them.

  “Amen!” someone agreed.

  “You may be trying to fix things up, but the walls of your life keep tumbling down because you’re building on a sandy base rather than the solid Rock.”

  Dylan sat mesmerized. He felt like Pastor Jacobson was speaking directly to him. His life was a wreck and he sure couldn’t fix it. God knows he'd tried enough times.

  Pastor Jacobson held up his Bible. The cover was tattered and frayed and the pages were worn from wear. “This is the foundation! These are the building instructions! Everything you need to live a successful life here and now, and everythi
ng you need to prepare for life hereafter is found in this book. If you follow these directions, you will never lack for guidance, or power, or love in your life.”

  The minister paused for a moment and set his Bible on the podium. His glistening eyes looked over his flock with tenderness and compassion. “I realize that in an audience of this size there may be those who don’t believe what I’m saying is true. And to you I say with a sincere heart of love: If you’re right and the Bible is false, and I’m wrong in following its teachings, I have lost nothing at the end of my life. But if I’m right about this Book, and you’re mistaken by not believing, you have lost everything.”

  The pastor’s voice cracked with emotion as though his heart was aflame in pain. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and quickly rubbed it under his nose, and then continued, “If you give your life to Jesus Christ, you will never be the same again. If would like to know more about this incredible gift of God, please meet me at the altar, and I will pray with you.”

  Dylan felt as though a butterfly had flown into his chest, and as the captive creature fluttered its gentle wings, it lightly tickled his soul and persuaded him to go, but he was afraid. He could hear his own breath flow in-and-out in quick little puffs as though winded. He could feel his heart beat in his chest and the adrenaline surge through his veins. And in that instant he was keenly aware of all that he’d ever done wrong and all that he’d desired to do right in his life, but fell short of the mark in the process. He wanted new life, eternal life, and forgiveness from sin, but he was afraid of what he would lose by committing his life to Christ. His pride, what was left of it. Some friends, what were left of them, and his fun, which really wasn’t fun anymore with all of its guilt-ridden residue. He really had nothing to lose at all, and everything to gain by believing. Because if he opened his heart to release the bad, it would also be open to receive the good that God desired to give him.

  The congregation stood to sing the closing hymn, “Have You Any Room for Jesus?” The words tugged at Dylan’s heartstrings, and upon hearing the chorus, “Swing your heart’s door widely open,” something inside of him shifted. It was as though he was holding the reins of a horse-drawn sleigh while driving it down the wrong trails all his life. And in his mind’s eye, he knew that in order to change direction, he not only needed to invite Jesus into his life, but he also needed to release the reins and give them to Christ to control. All of this came to him at once and demanded his full attention. The weight of the decision bore down on him like a woman in labor where there could be neither waiting nor delay any longer.

  A gentle voice softly whispered within, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation, as the song continued, “Bid him enter while you may.” Others were making their way to the altar, as women dabbed their eyes and men honked into handkerchiefs. Dylan inched his way to the end of the pew and looked down the aisle. It looked longer than usual, even though he'd walked it many times before while working there every day. He took a deep breath and took a step out and when he did, it was as though something lifted him up and carried him the rest of the way, because the next thing he knew, he was at the altar. Dylan knelt down and when he bowed his head, he prayed within his heart, Lord, I’m tired of going my own way. Please forgive me for all of my sins, and come into my heart and save me.

  Dylan felt Pastor Jacobson gently place his hand upon his head, and he heard him softly pray, as joyous weeping sounded behind him. And when he lifted his head, he knew that his life—and his afterlife would never be the same.

  TEN

  It didn’t seem like a week had passed since Dylan walked out of the church a new man. He thought it ironic that the place that he cleans and repairs became the place of his own cleansing and mending. Buoyancy lightened his steps as the whole world took on a new light. He’d never felt so alive and free, nor thought his vision so crystal clear. The beauty of nature seemed to jump out at him like a blind man given a new set of eyes. He wanted to drink in the world that he’d missed for so long. He wanted to grab strangers on the street and tell them, “I’ve been forgiven! Jesus forgave me! Me, of all people!” He wanted to straighten out all the crooked places in his life and then get in touch with Lorraine.

  Until now, it’d been one-step-forward and two-steps-backwards in his quest to get his life on track. Now, he wanted to break all the ties that would drag him back into his old lifestyle, so he thought it most logical to start with Sam. He would tell his newfound friend about his newfound faith in hopes that he would listen with interest, and then he would explain the reason why he would not see him anymore.

  A church bell chimed six times in the distance when Dylan walked into the bar. He spotted Sam walking toward the back door, and he raised his arm to call him. “Hey, Sam, I need to talk to you.”

  Sam turned. “Whatda ya want? My mother-in-law busted her hip, and I’m driving my wife to the hospital to see her.”

  “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  “I won’t be long,” he waved. “Sit down and have a beer.”

  “That’s okay. I'll catch you later.”

  Dylan walked downtown to buy a submarine sandwich at the convenience store, and as he was leaving, he felt a sense of awe when a familiar looking note on a bulletin board caught his eye: HELP WANTED: Custodian to care for local church, cleaning, painting and maintenance. Apply in person. Green Valley Christian Church, 375 Main Street, Fredonia, NY.

  As Dylan walked to the park, he couldn’t help but wonder if the pastor deliberately sought out the downtrodden. The destitute. The desperate lepers of society. By now he was sure that someone from the church would have stepped up to fill the job, but that wasn’t how Pastor Jacobson operated. Seeking the lost seemed to be his mission in life, and then, when he found his prospects, he held them in high esteem until they reached out to the ever-seeking hand of the Lord, who drew them into His tender fold.

  Dylan sat on a bench and unwrapped the sub, feeling blessed to know such a man and blessed that God in His strategy worked through the minister. Dylan straddled his knees and lunged forward to meet his sandwich before stray bits of shredded lettuce fell onto the sidewalk. The evening was cool and quiet. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as a young couple strolled by, while talking softly between themselves. Birds perched and bathed near the cherubim fountain as two young boys tossed a ball back and forth.

  Life was good and he almost missed it. Now, if only he could share it with Lorraine. He assumed that she had moved back home, like her mother had suggested, which if true would make his pursuit more difficult. Although he compared the challenge to removing a cub from a tiger’s cage, the Crawford’s wouldn’t stop him this time. Things were going well now and he was more determined than ever to win her back.

  Dylan ate the last bite of his sandwich and then wadded the wrapper into a tight ball before slam-dunking it into the trash barrel, all the while smiling in admiration at his own athletic prowess. He didn’t think such simple pleasures would ever be his again, but here he was enjoying himself with a new lease on life.

  He felt invincible.

  Sam should be back by now, Dylan thought as he walked into the bar and scanned the room, but Sam was nowhere in sight. It was still early and things were quiet, almost half the stools and tables were empty. The jukebox played low while the few customers who sat at tables talked among themselves. Dylan walked to the bar and pulled out a stool then ordered a Coke from the bartender. A few moments later, he tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and watched a young couple slow dance.

  Over an hour had passed when he walked by the jukebox and paused to glance at the songs inside. When he returned from the men’s room and sat back down, he spun his coaster with his glass, checked the clock up on the wall, and then ordered another soda.

  You don’t belong here. A soft inner-light suddenly warned from within. Dylan turned and looked up at the signs then glanced down at the bar and then shifted on his stool, thinking he’d imagined the
cautionary voice. More seats were taken now. More people were laughing and drinking and talking.

  “C’mon, Sam. Where are you?” he whispered under his breath. He swirled the ice cubes in his glass and bought a pack of cigarettes.

  You don’t belong here. The gentle glow pleaded again.

  Someone cursed across the room.

  Jesus mingled with sinners, Dylan rationalized.

  The volume rose on the jukebox. The drums thumped a heavy beat. A screech of laughter split the air. A glass smashed to the floor.

  You don’t belong here. The faint radiance cautioned again.

  But Jesus knew people with bad reputations. Yeah, he was okay. He was here on a mission, like Jesus. Jesus even drank wine. Sure, a little wine wouldn't hurt.

  The soft light slowly dimmed then faded like the closing of an eye.

  Dylan hailed the bartender, leaned forward and almost whispered his request. “I'd like a glass of Lambrusco, please.” He suddenly felt sad, but he didn’t know why, so he listened for the gentle nudging, but it was gone.

  The bartender returned and set the rosy-colored glass in front of him. Dylan didn’t pick it up at first. He wanted to be sure he’d keep his bearings, and then, when all his promises were made, he swirled the sparkling drink in the glass and savored the sweet, tart smell before touching it to his lips.

  It excited him. He sipped slowly. It went down smoothly and made his body tingle. He propped an elbow on the bar and watched customers, and then counted bottles along the mirrored wall. A half-hour passed before he finished his drink. And where was that Sam, anyway? The crowd grew larger, louder, good thing he had a seat. Dylan held his glass up and shook the ice at the bartender. “Another, please,” he made sure he was polite.

  The bartender placed the drink on a coaster then wiped his cloth over the surface in one large swoop, while scooping Dylan’s money up with his other hand. The wine warmed Dylan inside as it radiated throughout his body. He felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Loose. Relaxed. Unattached. He liked the feeling of being free where life seemed smooth and easy. He scanned the barroom and then stood up to feed a quarter into the jukebox, and then sat back down after making a selection.