“So, how was your time with Kurt last Friday? Anything you want us to pray for?” Pastor Ken asked, leaning in the doorway of my small office Monday morning. Behind him, I knew that both Jana and Beth had stopped what they were doing so they’d be sure to hear my reply.
“He’s just fine.” I think I smiled as I wrangled the words from inside, but I’m not sure.
“It’s not very often in today’s world that you get to see a real-life prodigal make such a complete turnaround. Although, I have to admit, I’ve always thought Kurt had the hand of God on him in a special way. Even back when I first came here, it was so apparent he was gifted with leadership. The other kids all looked up to him, listened to him.”
I cringed when I thought of it. Nick was the one with God’s hand on him. Kurt’s leadership had very little to do with being led by the Spirit. I managed a grin, on the outside anyway, and said, “Yeah, leadership if you mean putting shaving cream on the junior high director’s car, letting a live king snake loose in the girls’ tent at Lake San Antonio, and other equally divine measures.”
He laughed. “Hey, I didn’t say that God made him a perfect adult at the age of fourteen. But leadership is leadership. Besides, he never did anything mean; it was all harmless childhood pranks.”
“Try explaining that one to Rufus Milner. Remember the allergic reaction he had to the stink bomb the boys set off in the Sunday school wing?”
“Well, it wasn’t deliberate. Even Rufus knows that. Of course, he was mad enough that he chose to overlook that part for a while, but he eventually got over it. I think even he would laugh about it now. And I know he would be so happy to hear how Kurt is getting a fresh start, just like the prodigal.”
I wondered what Ken would think if he knew about the bat. And the fact that I’d burned it. And the fact that I still wasn’t saying anything, even though another boy was locked in jail right now. As happy as he was about Kurt’s change, would he think it was a reasonable thing to do? No, that was a lie, I didn’t wonder. I knew it was on the far side of the line he would not be willing to step over.
The rest of the day I spent working and hiding in my office. It amazed me how much you could accomplish when you skipped talking with people. I was just thinking I might get through the day without further complications when an Outlook reminder popped up on my calendar. My phone call with Reisha Cinders was in fifteen minutes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I said the words aloud, although there was no one in my office to hear them.
If I had remembered this at all, I would have come up with some excuse and cancelled it several days ago. Now it was too late. I had no choice but to go through with it, even though the last thing I felt like was being called a role model for anything. Still, it was something I had been called to do.
Called to do.
This thought slapped me back into the reality of what I’d done. Usually before a conference, or any kind of appearance, I spent a great deal of time in prayer about it, asking for the right words when I spoke, the right answers for people’s questions, for God to be glorified. Today, not only had I forgotten all about this engagement, but it had never even occurred to me to pray about it.
“God, please use this show for your glory.” It was the only thing I could come up with, although I doubted very much He was listening to me at this point. There was no time to sit and ponder this; it was time to make the call.
A few minutes later, I was on a national radio talk show, talking about grief. At one point Reisha Cinders said, “I understand that the man who killed your son had been arrested several times before for violent crimes, yet he was once again out on parole and free to hurt again. Do you feel that our legal system has gotten too soft on criminals?”
This was the reason she had me on the show, I knew that; but how was I supposed to answer this question? The entire country would expect me to feel that our justice system had indeed been too soft on Nick’s killer, but the entire country had no idea what I’d burned in my fireplace. “Well, I … I mean, of course I wish that Lonnie Vandever and the others had never been released from prison the last time, had not been free to attack my son. But I don’t want to start a nationwide policy based on one particular case. I think each case should be judged on its own merit, and each defendant, as well.” By the time I finished giving the answer, a fine sweat had broken across my forehead. I didn’t want to talk about these kinds of issues anymore, so I took the offensive. “I find that God has been sufficient for my grief, and I believe that focusing on what might have been works against that healing.”
“Hmm. I suppose you have a point there. Don’t you agree, though, that our government needs to do what it can to protect our citizens?”
“Definitely.” I thought of Detective Thompson and his gut feelings. “But at the same time, we need to remember that the government can make mistakes. The system needs to work for everyone. The police aren’t perfect.”
Silence filled the airwaves for at least ten seconds. This might not sound like a long time, but when you were on a live national broadcast, it seemed eternal.
“Why don’t we talk about processing grief. You teach seminars on this, correct?”
I exhaled my relief. Reisha Cinders wasn’t going to risk any more answers that didn’t promote her agenda, so she was going to change the subject. I was all for it.
By the time I finally hung up the phone, I had a stomachache that no amount of antacid could control.