The New Pastor
She watched the snow coming down from the window before her. The blanket over her lap kept her legs warm. With both hands she gripped the wheels of her chair and spun away from the wintery scene on the lawn.
With a skill gained in the past two years she quickly rolled across the room and into the hall. She heard her mother’s voice in the dining room, talking with the new pastor at her church. She listened, confined to her chair, for her mother to indulge the reverend with her daughter’s pitiful plight.
She lifted the blanket and looked at her lap. Her legs had lost much of their muscle tone. Even through the heavy fabric of her jeans it was noticeable.
“My daughter, Karen, skied competitively in college.” She heard her mother say. Always centered on the glory years. Now, two years later, she was a paraplegic.
“She was amazing on the slopes.” Her mother continued bragging in the dining room. “Her coaches said she should consider trying out for the Olympics.”
Karen wondered about the new pastor. She hadn’t been to her mother’s church, or any church since the accident. In the past two years any time spent with God produced nothing but anger.
“He doesn’t love us,” she told her mother a few weeks after the accident, “or at least He doesn’t love me.”
“The accident was awful,” She hears her mother say. “She hasn’t walked since. Doctor said she is lucky. She maintained the use of her upper body. Over time she’s gotten more and more used to her situation.”
‘Situation,’ that’s what her mother called it, a ‘Situation’. It was life with a pair of useless legs and a chair which labeled her as unfortunate, handicapped, less of a person.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter,” Karen heard the pastor say.
“She’s not really on good terms with God… or Jesus right now,” her mother responded.
Karen rolled her chair a little closer to the dining room. She could see the back of the pastor’s head. He had dark hair, much younger than the previous one. Good ole Pastor Gillum, had been old when he arrived at their church and nearly twenty years older when he left.
“That’s too bad,” the pastor said, “Jesus can bring such healing to the spirit, especially when we are struggling to understand His plan for our lives. It’s a shame that sometimes a traumatic change in life can cause us to question our faith… and lose it.”
“I pray daily that she finds her way back.”
“Maybe I could talk to her.”
The sound of the rolling chair preempted her mother’s response. Karen moved smoothly across the kitchen’s tile floor. Her mother looked up from her cup of hot tea. The pastor turned slightly in his chair.
He was young, a bit young to be the pastor of her mother’s church.
“She’d have to have ears willing to listen,” Karen said and immediately wished she held her tongue.
“Karen, honey,” her mother responded, ignoring the harsh tone of her daughter’s voice, “this is Pastor Jameson. He has been with the church for a month now. I was finally able to get him to stop by for tea.” There was a pause after her mother’s introduction, then continuing she added. “Would you like to join us?”
Without answering Karen gripped the wheels of her chair and rolled up to the table. Her mother rose from her seat to fix her daughter a hot cup of tea.
“So you’re the new Pastor,” she stated, studying the young man’s face. His eyes seemed to possess an honest openness. “You seem kind of young to be…”
“This is my first time holding the reigns of a church by myself,” he responded. “I love the community spirit that I feel here. Did you know there aren’t many communities where all the various denominations are able to work together… as one?”
Karen had never been aware of the unity in her small town. When she was in high school she simply concerned herself with her immediate group of friends. Sometimes even to the point of shutting others out.
“I spent a year in a larger town. It boasted a large Catholic Church and a vibrant Baptist church. The parish I was assisting in was rather small, full of good people, but small in comparison to the others.”
“What made you come here?” Karen asked.
“The Holy Spirit.”
“And you’re going to tell me that the Holy Spirit told you I was in need of guidance?”
“Not really,” Pastor Jameson said, “I felt the need to have a cup of hot tea with your mother. I am making a point of visiting all the members of my church. I thought I might be able to sit with two members right here, in this home.”
“My father isn’t home.”
“I met him already. He’s one of the trusties at the church… remember.” His eyes beamed and his smile was warm, inviting. Karen understood how the parishioners at her mother’s church might take to the new preacher.
“I’m not a member anymore… if you’re insinuating that I am.” Her statement flowed from her mouth with limited conviction.
“You, your mother and father are on the list.”
“Doesn’t mean much to me, God and I haven’t been on good terms in a while.”
“I find that sometimes we are not on good terms with God. It is totally us, our relationship toward God. We turn our backs… He never turns His.”
She looked at the blanket covering her lap, realizing that her hands were folded in place, tightly. She wanted to crawl into the plaid pattern, lock herself in her room, before her frosted window and be strong, not vulnerable.
“There is strength in weakness. There are people you might touch from a wheel chair who you could never have reached from a pair of skies,” Pastor Jameson continued. “I don’t have the wisdom to say why bad things happen, but I do believe, that in each instance, we need to seek the positive thread… there always is one… and He will lead us there.”
She felt the tear running down her cheek. The sensation wasn’t foreign, she shed a lot of emotion in the past two years. She placed her hands on the table in front of her and struggled to find an appropriate response. He was looking into her, not at her. His eyes sincere, even if his words seemed sharp… or were they. Maybe she had become a stone, maybe she had always been that way, concerned with herself and no one else, a rock without feeling. This new pastor was the chisel… and God’s word was the hammer.
He broke the silence as she wiped the moist tear
from her cheek. “He seeks the spirit, not the body. When you see yourself in the manner He sees
you… you are glorified in ways you cannot imagine… not broken or handicapped,
not weak or crippled. When you are ready
to turn back, you will see that He has never turned away from you.”
Comments
Post a Comment