Fallen

The parson had finished his inventory of the available lawn mowers at the Home Depot. A purchase had to be made to equip the two transitional houses his church supported for the summer. Having made a selection and determined that if he bought them one at a time he could transport them one at a time in his Honda, he went in search of a cart on which to load them.

Near the door, he looked this way and that for one of those flat carts. None were to be seen. As he turned to head back inside he was hailed.

“Hey, Parson, how are you?”

The parson looked toward the sound to see Woody Howard walking in the large doors with his father. The parson greeted both with enthusiasm. The parson had known Woody’s father for some time, off and on. Woody and he had become acquainted almost two years ago when Woody, his wife, and two children began to show up at the soup kitchen. Woody and his wife were unemployed. Woody had been laid off from his job. His wife had just gotten out of rehab. They were trying to get things together and provide for the children. The timing was terrible. The recession had just hit the area hard.

The parson remembered how his heart had gone out to them that first night they visited the church soup kitchen. While the parents tried to be sophisticated and disguise their reasons for being there, nothing could cover up the obvious hunger of the children. The parson put feelers out on their behalf. There were not a lot of jobs available. He found one for Woody working on a chicken farm. It wasn’t glorious work and the pay wasn’t great, but the farmer was willing to give him a new beginning. A job was found for the wife doing custodial work at a nearby facility.

They continued to visit the soup kitchen regularly for a while. Then their visits became more irregular and then they didn’t come at all. The parson knew Woody had left the chicken farm job for a better one in a local mill. One of the mill supervisors had informed the parson Woody was a good worker and was secure in his job.

As they talked in the doorway of the Home Depot, the parson sensed Woody was on edge. He bounced from one foot to another and he kept wringing his hands. Finally, it came tumbling out.

“How’s your wife?” the parson asked.

The tears started flowing in a torrent. “She’s gone. She fell off the wagon. I was taking a shower one night after supper and she left; she just told the kids she’d be back later and she left. I didn’t see her for two days. It’s the meth, Parson. She’s on meth again. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Can you pray with me, Parson? I mean, I’m going to church regular. I don’t know. Do you think the devil just got to her? I haven’t seen her now for two weeks and the last time I did she was stoned.  I’m so confused, Parson.”

The parson looked around. He guided Woody to a recess where some boxes were stacked. And there he prayed with a broken man, a Christian man, who had pulled himself up from the depths of despair only to have it the fruits of his labor kicked from beneath him. And as he prayed he remembered the depth of those beautiful cobalt blue eyes of Woody’s wife and the promise he saw in them. And he remembered the laughter of those children clinging to their mother’s coat that first night at the kitchen. And, as Woody cried, the parson cried.

Comments

[MMP]

and maybe God cried too

[Larry]

I wouldn't have your job for anything in the world. The things you see, the faces,the hardships most of us just go through life never noticing. Takes a special person. God Bless You