“Don’t get mushy on me. I have absolutely loved my time at DMI. It has been a dream job.”
“Why not let the dream continue?” he said, filled with lightheartedness.
“Let’s not go there. We’re going to church, and let’s pray that the Lord helps all of us, because Lord knows we all need help.”
She was right. Don had watched his family implode, not so much financially or physically, but certainly emotionally and spiritually. It wasn’t too long ago when he’d battled his relationship with the Lord, calling into question why God continually allowed Joel to get the best of everything set before them. For a long time Don saw himself as the second son, not with top billing in their father’s presence, as Joel had. He hadn’t realized the depth of the loss he felt when his father moved out, creating another family and replacing him with Joel. Because of Sherry and her son, Don grew up without a father in the house.
Without any conscious knowledge or warning, the grief had transformed into resentment and bitterness, spreading like a virus. Once he discovered his true feelings, the blame was squarely directed at God, Dave Mitchell, and Sherry. South Africa had given him the distance and solitude to search his heart, find out what really mattered, cleanse his spirit, and heal his soul. God met him where he was. His faith said that if God could deliver him from the ravaged remains of his childhood, He could do the same for Tamara, Mother, and even Joel. Discord wasn’t going to be the Mitchell legacy. He was certain.
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Don exited the highway and traveled a few blocks off Outer Drive to Greater Faith Chapel. “Ready?”
“Always,” Abigail responded as they got out of the car and went inside the church.
“I hope we get a chance to see Mother Emma Walker again. She had a strong message of direction and encouragement for me. I could use one today.” Last time he was at the church, she’d shared a prophecy that basically told him some battles were destined if they led a person to fulfilling the purpose for which God created them. There was no way around challenges and adversity if a person was to fulfill their destiny. She didn’t say it in quite the same way as Don recalled, but where her phrasing fell short, her wisdom more than compensated. He hoped to see her today.
“Greetings in the name of Jesus,” a young lady said, approaching them. “Are you visitors?”
“Yes we are,” Abigail said.
“Well, double welcome to you.”
“We’ve been here before, though,” Don said as a man approached. He looked familiar.
“Then welcome back. We’re glad to have you. We pray you enjoy the service and leave here stuffed with the spirit. We call it the hallelujah buffet. Eat as much as your soul can hold,” the man said, roaring with laughter, and the small group around them erupted into laughter as well.
Another gentleman interjected. “I remember meeting you several months ago—Mr. Mitchell and Ms. Gerard? Am I right?”
“You are right,” Don said, pausing because he didn’t know the man’s name. He extended his hand to shake anyway.
“I’m Pastor Clyde Daniels. It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”
“Likewise,” Don said, totally embarrassed to realize that he was speaking to the pastor. Even though he’d only met him briefly five months ago, during a tumultuous time in his life, Don should have remembered the head guy.
“I know Mother Walker will want to see you.”
“Is she here?” Don asked, sounding more eager than he wanted to.
“She’s here, all right. Mother Walker doesn’t miss a day in the house of the Lord.” The crowd around Don, Abigail, and the pastor was growing. They erupted in laughter again.
Someone else chimed in: “I know you’re right.”
“She’s here at times when I have to miss. Yes, indeed,” Pastor Daniels said, rolling back on his heels. “She’s a true godly woman.” A series of people echoed his sentiment.
Like the Red Sea parting before Moses, the crowd began to fan out in slow motion. There she was, a petite woman no taller than five feet, moving slowly toward him. Don shortened the distance and went to her. He extended his hand.
“Oh, son, Big Mama doesn’t shake no hands. I’m going to give you a great big old hug, that’s what I’m going to do.” Don bent down without hesitation. The warmth in her hug was special, filled with sincerity. If being in her presence was this satisfying, he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to stand before God. “It’s good to see you again, son.”
“Good to see you, Mother Walker.” Around her, he was humbled. He didn’t feel like the thirty-four-year-old CEO of two companies. He was a spiritual baby under her and gladly accepted the pecking order. When she came into the vestibule, even the pastor stood to the side.
“Well, hello, Abigail,” Mother Walker said. They hugged and greeted each other. “Sho is good to have the two of you here with us today. Where is that brother of yours?”
“Oh, uh, he’s at home, I guess.”
“How about you?” she asked Don. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
Don wasn’t sure why she was asking.
“I have a word for him.” Chatter in the vestibule halted with the quickness of a finger snap. Chitchat converted to silence sprinkled with prayer.
“The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is the God of his father. The one that called him into being. The one that gave him the ability to think, to create, to be. That God has not changed. He has not forsaken him. He has not left him.” She stopped with her eyelids closed. Don didn’t know if he was supposed to respond. Not sure, he waited for direction. Abigail and Mother Walker had their eyes shut. After what felt like a minute or two Mother Walker held Don’s hand, keeping her eyes closed. “Your brother has come to a fork in the road. He can go this way. He can go that way.” She paused again. Nobody seemed to mind. She clearly set the pace in the vestibule. “One road is hardship. One is peace. Whichever way he go is gonna take a heap of help from the Lord.”
Don wasn’t completely following. Besides, the message was for Joel. Was he required to remember and convey the message in its entirety to him?
Abigail interrupted. “What does that mean?” Don scanned the crowd to gauge the reaction, glad it wasn’t him interrupting, although he had the same question.
“Sometimes we get ourselves in holes we can’t find our way out of. We keep digging and digging, thinking we’re getting somewhere. Most of the time we’re digging a bigger hole—don’t have to be deeper, could be wider. We can’t get out until we stop, look around,” Mother Walker said, letting her gaze roll around the room, “and see that we’re in a hole. To get out you need God. To stay in the hole and survive you need God.” Her analogy was starting to make sense for Don. “Sometimes God allows us to get into a world of trouble so that we have to go to Him, no matter which road we take,” she said. “I believe those are some of the most blessed people.”
“Why do you say so, Mother?” Pastor Daniels asked.
“’Cause they have to seek God. Sometimes when we have a heap of choices, we don’t always end up going the right way. When you don’t have a choice, it’s better.” Mother Walker patted Don on his forearm. “You be sure and give your brother that word, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said before thinking again. He didn’t know if or when Joel would surface. Maybe God was telling him to reach out to Joel? He’d attempted several times before, to no avail. Instantly he heard words boldly playing in his mind: Forgiveness is endless. So should be your attempts at reconciliation. Whatever hinders you, set it aside for the cause of Christ.
“We better move into the sanctuary. It’s five after eleven,” Mother Walker said.
“I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to disrupt the service.”
“Noooo,” Pastor Daniels said. “This is God’s house. We’re here to serve Him. We come prepared to have church decently and in order but when Papa shows up, we let Him have His way. Time is for
man because we’re temporal beings. God is eternal. Any time the Holy Spirit arrives, it’s the right time.” Amen rang throughout the church as the congregation flocked into the sanctuary. Mother Walker had gone ahead.
“That was a good message for Joel. It’s too bad she didn’t have one for you. I know you were hoping to get a word of encouragement,” Abigail said.
“I did,” he said, and left the response at that. He’d gotten a double dose of encouragement when he came only hoping for a single. God had Don in church on the precise day when He intended for Mother Emma Walker to share the message. God knew Joel wasn’t going to be there so He sent someone to get the word for him. Don had to accept his purpose. If God was going to use him as a vessel to reconcile the Mitchell clan, then he was going to have to completely forgo pride, convenience, and personal desires. There were going to be times when he’d have to reach out to Joel and Tamara with unconditional love regardless of how many times they backstabbed him.
“Are you okay?” Abigail asked, maybe because he was walking slowly.
“I’m fine, just thinking.” So many times he’d viewed himself as the second-class son who had to deal with adversity over and over. Realizing the gravity of his purpose, he began to understand that each challenge, hurt, and wrongful act committed against him was sanctioned by the Lord to strengthen his faith and to force him to understand the essence of forgiveness. Going to Robbins Island in South Africa and hearing about Nelson Mandela wasn’t accidental. He needed to hear about the healing strength of forgiveness through a man who compelled his comrades to forgive, despite the inhumane treatment they suffered during apartheid. Embracing the hope of a future and being able to move forward depended on burying the pains of the past.
Not a single step or act was random; each was completely orchestrated in God’s plan. Don had longed for reconciliation with his family, everyone, including Sherry. Now it was time to convert rhetoric into action. He and Abigail took a seat on one of the pews in the center of the church. Don began praying for guidance as he prepared to take on the most important challenge of his life, allowing God to use him as a tool of restoration in the Mitchell family. Forgiving and forgetting the hurts were his weapons, and he was to use them fearlessly.
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Don pocketed his pride and blocked his own opposition. He went directly to Joel’s house after dropping off Abigail. Joel had to listen. Don prayed along the way, believing he could reach a point of compromise with his brother. He didn’t know how the conversation would flow and went ahead anyway. Three raps on the door and the housekeeper was standing before him. “Yes, sir, how may I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Don Mitchell. I came by to see my brother. Is he here by any chance?”
There was awkwardness. Only two visits to Joel’s house in three years didn’t facilitate family bonding. “Come in, please. I’ll check to see if he’s available.” The housekeeper directed him to the room located off the foyer. “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Don waited about five minutes and Joel entered the room. “I didn’t realize DMI made house calls. What brings you by my house on a Sunday?”
“Mother Emma Walker.”
“Who is that?”
“Do you remember the church lady from Greater Faith Chapel, the one they call Big Mama?”
“Oh yeah, her. She’s good people. What about her?”
“I saw her at the church today, and she was asking about you.”
“Really,” Joel responded, standing near the door. He didn’t seem relaxed enough to sit. Don wasn’t deterred. Joel’s comfort wasn’t required for Don to complete his mission. “That’s an interesting old lady,” Joel said. “She’s kind of eccentric if you ask me, but I like her. I’m not saying I agree with everything she says, but she’s somebody I wouldn’t mind having on my squad in the heat of a battle.”
“Kind of like Shaq, it’s better to have him playing on your basketball team than having to play against him in the post on another team.”
“Yeah,” Joel said, giving a slight chuckle, the window of connection Don was praying to get.
“Well, you must have left an impression on her. She was insistent that I relay this word of prophecy to you.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear it or not.”
Don could relate. Mother Walker seemed to have a direct line to the Lord. She had good old-fashioned wisdom tempered with the Holy Spirit. When a person like that says “Thus said the Lord,” somebody better pay attention. The downside was that once she gave the message, the intended receiver was then accountable. Sometimes ignorance was safer. So yes, Don could relate to how Joel was probably feeling. “I have to tell you so the next time I see her, my conscience will be clear,” he said, hoping to get another chuckle from Joel. It didn’t come, but Joel strolled to a chair, which was just as good.
“Do what you have to do. Lay it on me.”
The stage was set for a huge revelation. Maybe he oversold the setup, because his message was only a few lines, paraphrased. Had Don known she was giving him an assignment, he would have brought paper and pen. Since he hadn’t, he’d recall what he could, asking God to fill in the gaps. He didn’t want Joel to lose a morsel of the message on his account. “She told me to tell you God hasn’t changed. He has not forsaken you. He has not left you.” Joel listened without interruption. “She said you’re at a fork in the road, and you’re going to need God to make your decision.” He could have continued with the extra clarification Mother Walker gave Abigail about Joel’s decisions continuously digging him a larger hole. Don opted to avoid confrontation and go with the condensed version. God would get part two to Joel if it was vital. He was certain.
“What does that mean? That’s one thing about Mother Walker, she talks in parables and riddles when I’m looking for a straight answer.”
Again, Don could have told Joel some answers only come through fasting and praying, or hearing from God directly. He would hold his comment. He had checked his pride and any seeds of confrontation at the door. Don was prepared to reach Joel by any means necessary. “I told you what she told me. My job is finished. The interpretation is on you, my brother.”
“‘Brother,’” Joel said. “That’s not a term we use too often, not really at all.”
Don realized this seemingly coincidental encounter with Joel had been perfectly orchestrated. Suddenly he was nervous, not sure what to say to capitalize on the moment with Joel. Stop overanalyzing and speak was the plea coming from within him, so he did. “There are many things in life that can be changed and some that can’t. How you and I treat one another is one I believe can be changed.”
“How so, big brother?”
“Let’s start with setting aside our history. I know you have issues with me about Dad, and I’ve had my issues with you about him.”
“I wouldn’t call it an issue. You were his legitimate son according to popular belief. Your mother was married to him first. I’ve never had the same respect as his son,” Joel said, leaning forward and letting his elbows rest on his knees and his chin sit on his clasped fingers.
“That’s ironic, because I saw you as the favored son. You got to live your entire childhood with him. I grew up with visits, and they’re not the same as day-in-and-day-out contact.”
“Sounds like we’re both messed up.”
“Seems so,” Don said, feeling his way through the quagmire of their relationship. It was so mangled. He wasn’t seeking full restoration in one visit and would settle for establishing a solid foundation with layers of reconciliation to follow. “Where do we go from here?”
“You tell me, big brother. When I was a kid, I used to dream about having a family. Technically I have three brothers and a sister, but it’s always felt like I don’t have any siblings. None of you reached out to me as a child and I dreamed that you would. I watched you and Tamara play together when you’d come for your visits. I d
on’t remember much about Sam. I do have memories of Andre from the time he lived with us, not many though. Honestly, you’re the only one I really remember, and that’s limited.”
“We were kids trying to deal with the loss of our father.”
“He wasn’t dead.”
“At the time he might as well have been. He wasn’t home with us, and we were mad at you, and him, and your mother.”
“That’s mostly what I remember about Andre, how mad he was. He and my mother fought all the time,” Joel said, peering down at his hands.
Andre was a topic Don wasn’t going to broach; it was too toxic. To understand Andre’s pain, they’d have to go all the way back to his adoption into the Mitchell family after his natural parents died. His emotional collapse was years in the making. The divorce, and what Andre saw as Dave’s abandonment, had pushed him closer to the edge. Dad’s attempts at reconciliation were discarded by Mother, but Andre was the one who felt the brunt of the pain. The fact that Mother initiated the divorce, after Dad’s affair with Sherry, didn’t seem to make a difference either in the end. Blame was almost exclusively directed at Dad and Sherry. Unfortunately, Andre’s issues spilled beyond his anger toward their father and Sherry. Tamara was the ultimate victim of his rage. Don couldn’t discuss Andre with Joel and switched to another topic. “What’s done is done. I’m looking at today. What can we do to make this work for us?”
There was a time when Joel truly longed to have Don as a bona fide brother in both name and deed. Fast-forward to age twenty-six and the desire wasn’t as critical. He’d survived without the love of his siblings. He wasn’t opposed to forming a relationship so long as he was treated as an equal, regardless of age, birth order, mother, or position in DMI. His requirement was definite. Joel pulled his hands apart and let them clasp together again. “What do you suggest?”
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