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Where Did You Look?

“Hello!” the old man called out. “Who’s there?”

“Can you tell me where I can find God, Sir?” the youth asked.

“I was just talking with him and heard you calling. I can help, but tell me first, where have you looked?”

The youth turned to the old man with a puzzled frown. 

“Where? Everywhere,” he replied and threw up his hands. “For a long time. I hoped I’d find Him here. I’ve visited other churches but, well, I don’t think He’s in a lot of them. They have no consideration for newcomers. And none of those churches come close to what I’m thinking of.”

“So, you’re just like them, eh?” the old man said, and smiled.  The youth looked at him doubtfully.

“No. Not me. They weren’t very friendly either. Nobody came to talk to me.”

“Did you reach out a hand, did you talk?”

“No. I told you, no one was interested, and anyway, I just wanted to find God.

“What did you look at while you were there?” the old man asked.

“Oh, I flicked through the Bible and hymn book and I checked to see what people were wearing to see if I sort of fit, and I looked around the church at the windows and watched what they did with their kids, and I saw them talk and laugh loudly before the service. I figured they should be sort of quiet and humble and make their kids behave.”

“Did you enjoy the choirs?”

“No.” the youth sighed. “Most of them were two-bit and not very good. The songs were repetitious and made me rather annoyed. And some people shout and raise their hands through the singing.”  He made a face and crossed his eyes. “That makes me annoyed too.”

“Hmmm.” The old man sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to look at the boy. “What is your name?”

“Sheridan”, he said quietly.

“I see. ‘The Seeker’. How appropriate. Come, I’ll take you to Him. But it will take time.”

“I have all the time in the world. Lead on.”

***********

The rusty churchyard gate creaked pleasantly as Sheridan followed the elderly minister through it into an ancient apple orchard. Branches drooped heavily to the ground, the air sweet with the smell of ripe fruit and alive with the buzzing of bees feasting on over-ripe apples.

“How old are you, son?” the pastor asked.

“I’m seventeen,” the boy grudgingly admitted.

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Yeah, but I don’t live with them.  I’m on my own. They’re…that is…my br…when my mom…” He stopped in confusion.

The old man stopped walking and held out his hand. “I’m Pastor Lehrer”.  He dipped his head genially and smiled, taking Sheridan’s hand into his own.  “We shall begin your journey, but it may not be finished in one day. Tell me more about yourself as we walk.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Sheridan said, looking quickly away. He turned and began to walk but the Pastor touched his arm.

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a flat rock in the orchard fence line.  “We’ll start over there.”

Sheridan’s hands beat a noisy tattoo on his thighs as they walked and he hitched his shoulder as if listening to music. He was unaware that Pastor Lehrer studied him quietly as they walked. Just before they reached the flat rock he picked two apples, holding one out to Sheridan.

“Come on.  I’ll bet you can’t remember the last time you ran over the rocks in a fence line.” Sheridan looked at him curiously, squirting juice as he bit into the apple.

“Go ahead,” the Pastor urged.  “Explore a bit if you like. I’ll wait here. I need to think.” He drew his knees up to his chest and bit into his own apple, nodding in appreciation as he chewed.

With a doubtful look behind him, Sheridan set off, jumping lightly from one rock to the next. Pastor Lehrer smiled as he watched then nodded as Sheridan stopped halfway around the field, disappearing on the far side of three huge boulders. He too jumped down from his perch and walked toward the boy.

As he walked, Pastor Lehrer slowly counted.  He got to three before a head popped up over the boulders.

“Hey! Pastor! Over here!” Sheridan’s voice bounced from low to high in his excitement. The pastor jogged to join him, certain of what he would find. The boy’s head had disappeared again, but his voice squeezed excitedly through the cracks.

“You little rascal. Get back here.  Ow!”

“You found the kittens, then?” Pastor Lehrer asked. Sheridan’s head popped up over the rocks once again. 

“Did you know they were here?”

“Yep. Percy came and got me a few weeks ago.”

“Percy?”

“The mamma kitty. She’s pretty proud of her brood.”

“I’ll say.  She doesn’t even hiss or try to scratch or anything.”  He dragged a piece of grass for the kittens to chase.  “Look at them. They’re crawling out of the wall! They think they’re mighty hunters.”

“I come here every day and play with them,” the pastor confessed. “I can’t resist baby kittens.”  His eyes twinkled as he watched a cow approach the unsuspecting boy, eying his apple. She nudged him gently from behind.

“What the he….?” Sheridan clamped a hand over his mouth, looking sheepish.  “Sorry Pastor.” He jumped up on the rocks in fright, the kittens scampering into the nooks and crannies of the stone wall.

“It’s okay. Lena just wants to say hello. She’s interested in your apple.”  He held his own apple core out on his hand and scratched the cow between her ears then on her nose as she noisily chewed her treat.  Her long tongue snaked out to lick his pants.

“Hey, you spitsy thing!  Keep your saliva to yourself!” Pastor Lehrer pushed her away gently, turning her around and slapping her on the rump.  “Go find some grass to eat and leave my pants alone.”

Sheridan watched uncertainly from his perch on the rock wall, a kitten on each shoulder and one clinging to his pants. The cow looked at him lazily then cleaned her nose.

“Oh! Gross!”

“Not so pretty but how else do you think she’s going to do it?  She can’t use Kleenex and her hooves just don’t do the trick.

“Yeah, but her tongue?”

“Cats and dogs use their tongues.”

“That’s different.” Sheridan turned his attention to the kittens. Pastor Lehrer climbed up on the rock and joined the happy melee. At last Percy called and the kittens settled for dinner.  Sheridan watched, fascinated.

“You’ve never seen kittens this close before, have you?” the pastor said.

“Nope. It’s kind of neat. My mom used to love animals.  We had….” He stopped in confusion.

Pastor Lehrer looked at him silently for a moment.

“Well, we’d best move on,” he said quietly.  Sheridan finished his tour around the field on the rocks of the fence, jumping down lightly when he came to the gate.

“That was fun. I’ve never done that before.”
“You’re not a farm kid, are you?”

“Nope. It’s kind of neat.”

Sheridan stopped in his tracks as they entered the next field. Pots, pails and other paraphernalia littered the ground around a cluster of hives. The air vibrated with the sound of the bees.

“Whoa! I don’t like bees.” He turned to go back to the orchard, but the pastor turned him around. 

“Just watch. They’re not interested in you.”
“What happened? Why’s all this stuff here?”

“Terry’s taken the honey off the hive. His pots are full, these need cleaning and the bees know how to do it. They get to keep what’s left on all the pails and tools.  They know exactly what to do with it.  It’s called intuition. By tomorrow those things will be licked clean of every last drop of honey and between that and a bucket of sugar water they’ll be ready for winter.”

Sheridan stared fascinated, as the bees crawled over every millimetre of space, flying busily back and forth to the hives.

“Cool.” He thought for a moment. “God?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm.” Pastor Sheridan walked on, skirting the hives and turned down a narrow trail which wound out of sight under huge basswood trees. Neatly clipped grass gave evidence that the hungry cows often travelled that way.

“So. Do you believe there really is a God, are you seriously looking, or are you just jumping over all the same old ropes everybody else does? You’re using the same tired old language.” Pastor Lehrer glanced sideways at Sheridan. The boys’ face clouded. He shrugged, his hands once again beating a tattoo on his thighs.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve heard enough people talk about God so I thought I’d see if there really is one.”

“Do you need Him?” the pastor prodded.

Sheridan hesitated for a brief moment. “Nah. Just curious.” The tattoo became more strident.

“What do you know about Him?”

“Nothing. I don’t even know if there is such a thing as ‘God”. I just want to know if there is one, that’s all.” His voice sounded defensive.

The pastor picked a piece of grass and chewed on it thoughtfully, waiting a few minutes before speaking. He spit it neatly into the fence row.

“What do you believe about creation?”

“I don’t know. The Big Bang sounds good to me.  Evolution too.  I expect they both happened at the same time—you know, the earth was made and the amoeba crawled out of the water and started evolving into stuff.” He grinned mischievously.

“Interesting theory. What school did you learn that in?” Pastor Lehrer said, comically raising an eyebrow and grinning in return, then sobered. “So, how is it that one amoeba, which has no brain may I add, was smart enough to decide when to be a tree, and when to be a bird or animal?  And how on earth did it ever figure out how to become a human?  And then of course…..”
“Whoa!  I don’t know.  I’ve never paid attention.  I don’t really care. The earth’s here and that’s all that matters. What’s it got to do with God?”

“Did you like the kittens?” Sheridan nodded, looking puzzled.

 “How could they evolve from something that had the ability to become a tree or a flower?”

 Sheridan  looked suspiciously at the pastor. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No.  But think about it.  Kittens are soft, cuddly and funny.  They love to climb and chase things and when they’re tired they grab a quick drink and snuggle up to their mother. Until they are weaned, their mother cleans them with her tongue.  Cows on the other hand, are not cute or cuddly and they don’t like to move fast.  They’re happiest when they’re eating or chewing their cuds.  Their lot in life is to provide milk for people. And somehow they, and all their kind, figured out how to use their tongues to keep clean without ever having to use their hooves, which would be pretty impossible and probably painful, I might also add.”

He stopped and looked at Sheridan.  “And then, of course, there are the bees, which make honey, a process totally different from the production of milk.  And,” he said with a flourish, “there’s the crocodile and the tubeworm, and the oyster which makes beautiful pearls because it has an itch, and… they’re all different. And not one of them looks like this blade of grass I’ve been chewing on, or any one of these different species of trees that border this trail.”

“So what are you saying?” Sheridan asked. “Is this about Intelligent Design? Like is it a God thing?”

The pastor grinned and walked on. “What do you think?”

“I don’t want to get into that.  My dad says…” He stopped, snatching a blade of grass and chewing furiously. “I..I’ve heard enough. I..I..I have to go now.”

“Oh now, now. Not so fast. I was just thinking. My little great-grandson is coming over tomorrow night and we’re going to go camping.”  He shivered and hitched his jacket tightly around his shoulders. “That is if we don’t freeze.  I think we may be in for a big treat.”

“No, no. Thank you.  I.. my fo…dad’ll…no. I can’t. I have to go.”

“But you said you were not in a hurry and had plenty of time.  Come on.  Humour an old man.  I can use the help. Michael is a very busy boy.”  He turned to face Sheridan, appraising him with brilliant blue eyes.

Sheridan wavered, tempted. “No. Really.  I don’t….I don’t have a tent or sleeping bags and I can’t bring any food because I don’t know what campers eat and…”

Pastor Lehrer held up a hand. “I’ll take care of that. I really could use some help entertaining Michael. I’m not so fast on my feet anymore. You’ll like him.” He reached over and punched Sheridan lightly in the shoulder with a knuckle.

“Come on.  When will you ever have the chance to go camping with an old man and a boy again? I won’t take no for an answer.”

Sheridan turned away then nodded curtly. “Okay. I’ll come along. Just this once. I’m not much good at babysitting but I’ll give it a try. Besides, I’ve never camped before. What time tomorrow?”

*******

Brilliant stars twinkled off and on lighting every corner of the sky. Smoke from the campfire curled lazily heavenward. Sheridan took a deep breath into his jacket savouring the fragrance of wood smoke in every fibre. Sleepily Michael reached for one more marshmallow.

 Early the following afternoon they had climbed the hill beside the old abandoned gravel pit, and made camp in a hollow out in the open. An uproarious game of capture the flag had preceded supper, and Sheridan and Michael watched sadly from ‘jail’ as Pastor Lehrer prepared the evening meal.  With great ceremony, he had released them, handing them the flag to carry before them to the campfire, waiting expectantly for them to touch their noses to the log beside the fire as a signal of defeat. Then all joined hands for the blessing. Sheridan had listened silently to the words, standing a few moments deep in thought.  Hot stew and corn bread quickly revived his high spirits and he joined in telling jokes and stories to entertain the little boy.

Now as the fire blazed brightly, he shivered as the sound of howling wolves filled the crisp air. He looked uncertainly at Pastor Lehrer.

They won’t bother us,” he said quietly.  “They’ve got easier prey. Besides, we are protected.”

Sheridan lifted a questioning eyebrow. “God?”  The pastor nodded and smiled.

“Grandpa.”  Michael had been sitting quietly beside the fire for the last few minutes, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames.

“Can we visit Uncle Tim tomorrow?”

“Sure Michael. Why don’t we bring Sheridan to meet him?”

Michael nodded. “Yep. I’ll bet he likes him too.”

Sheridan looked questioningly at the pastor, who simply smiled and made a funny face.

“You’ll see.”

Half an hour later Michael was tucked snugly into a warm sleeping bag close beside his grandfather’s air mattress. Sheridan could hear the Bible story and song the pastor shared with his little great-grandson. He eavesdropped unashamedly to the story of Jesus healing the centurion’s daughter, his heart aching as he heard the six-year olds’ clear voice singing “Jesus Loves Me.”  He moved away so they would have privacy for prayers.

Sadly he stared into the flames wishing he could have what Michael had. Hurt, anger, fear and frustration washed over him. His eyes squeezed tightly shut and he rocked more and more quickly as the memory of shouts and voices rang in his ears.

The fragrance of bubbling coffee roused him from his reverie. The pastor stood beside him, two mugs ready to be filled.

“Here,” Pastor Lehrer said.  “Fill this and come with me.  We won’t be going far, but there’s something I want to show you.”

Sheridan followed the pastor out into the field, away from the fire. They paused and stared at the myriad of stars spilling over the Milky Way. The pastor pointed out several constellations in the heavens.

“What do you think? Did these just evolve?”

“Umm. No. That is, there are magnetic fields up there which draw things into them, aren’t there? Or is this some more about your Intelligent Design? Or God?

The pastor took a sip from his mug. “You think about it.” Then he turned and Sheridan followed him toward the brow of the hill. At first he stumbled, spilling hot coffee over his hand, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he hurried after the crunching footsteps ahead.

“This is the final show of the day,” the pastor said, pointing with his mug.  “Look.”

Ripples of green flickered across the northern sky.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Northern lights.”

“Here? This isn’t north.”

“We get to enjoy them anyway. Just watch.”

They sat together, silently, sipping their drinks, wrapped in their own thoughts. As Sheridan watched, the fingers of colour swirled higher and higher into the sky until they joined directly overhead. He stared in amazement as he realized they were surrounded by the spectacle.

“It’s like sitting inside an over-turned cup,” he whispered.  “I’m tinier than an ant. Awesome.”

“Spectacular. This display must be just for you,” the pastor said softly. “I haven’t seen them this beautiful in years. He is so good.”

For a long time they watched the brilliant wavering display until at last the colours faded. Sheridan breathed on cold fingers, happy to return to what was left of the fire, anticipating a good rest in a warm sleeping bag. Neither spoke a word as they made their preparations for bed. There was much to think about.

Sheridan fell asleep to the sound of the pastor’s voice reading from the Bible. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help….” For the first time in many months he was asleep in peaceful slumber.

******

Clinking dishes and the smell of bacon roused Sheridan the following morning.  Michael and his great-grandfather were putting the finishing touches on their breakfast as he poked his head outside.

“Brekkie in five,” Michael said cheerfully. “And then after that we’re going to visit Uncle Tim.”

“Mmm. I’m not ready to leave,” Sheridan said taking in the panorama before him.  He stepped outside and knelt beside the rivulet of cold water running just outside their campsite, careful not to step in poison ivy.

“At least I know what poison ivy is. I sure hope there wasn’t any where we were last night,” he said.

“No.  It’s all over here beside the stream.  I made sure of that.”

They took their time, laughing, joking and teasing as they shared their meal and cleanup chores. Time flew. Hitching his load onto his shoulders, Sheridan looked back regretfully then followed the old man and the boy down the hill, his backpack heavy on his shoulders.

They stopped outside the church, dropping off bags and other supplies for later pickup, then Michael took Sheridan by the hand.

“Come on,” he said.  “We’re going to say good morning to my Uncle Tim.”

Sheridan allowed himself to be led, amazed at the feel of the little hand so trustingly in his.  His brother would rather…. He shook his head, unwilling to follow that train of thought. His curiosity grew as he walked with Michael, Pastor Sheridan close behind.

“Where are you taking me?” he said in a deep voice and strange accent, pretending to be an alien.

“Just follow me, mister.” Michael responded, pretending to look stern. “We’ll be right there. Close your eyes.” They were approaching a hedge on the east side of the old church. Just before he squeezed his eyes shut, Sheridan caught a glimpse of gravestones.

Michael guided him carefully around rocks and over roots, sometimes taking Sheridan’s hand in both of his to keep him safe. At last he stopped.

“Sheridan, meet my Uncle Tim.” His voice was soft.

Carefully Sheridan opened his eyes.  Michael was seated on a mound beside a small gravestone. Carved on the stone was the name: Timothy Reuben Lehrer—Playing happily with his Lord.  The date showed that Timothy had lived only five short days.

Tears sprang unbidden to Sheridan’s eyes. He turned to the pastor. “Oh. I’m so sorry. He died so little.  I..I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say hello, Tim. That’s what I say, ‘cept I say Uncle Tim.  He would have been my uncle but Jesus wanted him in heaven.  See. Here’s his name. Timothy Reuben Lehrer. He was named after my great-great-grandfather. It’s my middle name too. We’d have gone fishing together probably if he’d lived.”

Michael rose and carefully dusted off his knees.  He reached up and took a bunch of goldenrod and wild asters from his great-grandfathers’ hand and carefully laid them on the tiny grave.

“Uncle Tim loves flowers,” he said solemnly.  “At least we think he does.”

He stepped carefully around the grave and laid his hand lovingly on the headstone which rested beside it.

“And here’s Great-Grandma.” Carefully he laid the rest of the flowers beside her headstone. The final date on her stone matched that of her tiny son.

“Oh God!” Sheridan groaned.

“It’s okay, Sheridan. God’s looking after Grandma too.  She was still young and pretty when she died, you know. She and Uncle Tim are picking flowers and tending gardens and playing games in heaven now.  Someday we’ll all be together, but hopefully not until after I grow up and be an old man. Isn’t that right Grandpa?”

Pastor Lehrer took his little hand in his own. “That’s right boy. It’s something we can both look forward to.”

They walked slowly back to the church.  Tears streamed down Sheridan’s face. He wasn’t sure why he was so moved. Life was so cruel, so unjust. He sat on the bench in the garden as Michael ran to meet his mother. There was so much to think about. Pastor Lehrer joined him when they were gone.

“How can you stand it?” Sheridan cried out.  “That is just so sad.”

“It was, but now it isn’t. I have my two other children.” He sat down stiffly on the bench beside Sheridan. “There’s not much to tell. The doctor had said she was fragile and shouldn’t have any more children but she loved babies and was determined to have just one more. It cost her her life.”

“And yours,” Sheridan said in a moment of insight.

The pastor sighed.  “Yes. Almost.”

“Were you mad at God?”

“How could I not be?  She was the dearest person I knew, the mother of my children. I cried, I shouted, I looked everywhere for help and solace. I wasn’t sure God was listening. I began to question if He even existed. And I couldn’t forgive myself for letting it happen.”

“Then I remembered two things.  The first one is this: Before we were born, God knew us and He knows the number of our days.  He also has a purpose for us.  My wife gave me eight happy years and two perfect children.  That was her purpose.  And she lived out the full number of her days. The Bible also says: Be still and know that I am God.  So I was silent finally. And He healed my broken heart.”

“You mean silent like last night?”

Pastor Lehrer nodded. “When you’re silent, you hear what’s going on inside your own head.  It helps you sort out why you’re angry.  Once you know that, you can begin to figure out what to do about it—like sitting it on a chair and knocking it off, far, far away. Then it can’t scare you anymore.  It can’t own you.”

“So how was that God? I don’t understand.”

“You see, Sheridan, God doesn’t shout to us. We shout at Him. We blame Him when things go wrong, but when we stop shouting, we can feel Him near and we know He is taking care of us because of love.”

“But you said you couldn’t forgive yourself.”

“No, I couldn’t.  It takes two to make a baby and I should have protected her from herself.  But I didn’t. Only when I stopped to listen did I understand that I was only half to blame. We were both old and wise enough to listen to doctors. It wasn’t all my fault.  We were both guilty but I was left behind and I carried the guilt because I thought I had to. I forgot all about the other two, I am sad to say. They spent a lot of time with my mom while I searched and shouted.”

“Did you hate them because they were healthy and Tim wasn’t?”

“I resented them, yes, and my mother felt it, so she took them in to protect them from me.”

“But you’re a good person. You love God.”

Pastor Lehrer smiled sadly.  “I do now, but I wasn’t very nice then at all.”

“So what did God tell you when you stopped shouting?” Sheridan’s voice was tense, his fingers drumming incessantly on the side of his knees.

“He reminded me that I have a purpose, that He had a plan for me. At that time, my purpose was to keep my wife’s memory alive to my other two children and to bring them up to know God.”

“Did they want to come back to you?”

“Praise the Lord, they did.” Because of my mother. She helped them through it all.”

“But how could they trust you?”

“They couldn’t, for a long time. They couldn’t forgive me, in spite of what my mother told them. I don’t blame them. I was not a nice person.”

“So how did it change?”

“Well, I forgave myself. I was no longer angry at my wife and I forgave her too. I hadn’t even known that I needed to forgive her. Listening in the silence shows you lots of things. After that, I got down on my knees and asked that I be forgiven. It was a slow process but it happens when we are ready,”

Pastor Lehrer stood up and began to walk down a different trail. Sheridan followed him around the corner of the church and stood for a moment drinking in the beauty of the Serenity Garden. He hurried to catch up with the Pastor who was disappearing around a bend in a forest trail leading out of the Garden. The old minister had stopped beside a scurrying brook, watching the wild gyrations of a piece of grass he had thrown in further up the stream.  It rose up on rocks then disappeared only to surface a little way further downstream and drift lazily in a shallow pool.

“Last lesson for now,” the pastor said. “See that piece of grass?”

Sheridan nodded.

“That’s us. We can pick up that piece of grass and start it over at the top, but it won’t be riding down the same water.  That’s gone. Just like the days of our life. All the years from birth to today are yesterday, and like yesterday they are gone. They are water under the bridge of life. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, to quote some wise person. There is nothing you can do about yesterday—you can’t get it back. I have given you much to think about. Go, think, be silent. You will find God.”

“When I’m with you, I feel that He is close.” Sheridan said shyly. “I’m not so sure when I’m on my own or with my friends.”

“You have a purpose, son. Your brother and sisters need you. And so does your mother.” Sheridan looked at him in surprise.

“Her mental health is fragile and she’s in an institution now isn’t she? I remember reading about your family in the newspaper.”

Sheridan opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You have a distinctive name. I noted it at the time. And your father is in prison because of it all.  He needs you too. Sometimes the child has to be stronger than the adult.”

Sheridan looked at him, his eyes angry and troubled.

“Start with yourself, boy. Put all your hurt on a chair and blast it away piece by piece. Get help. There are lots of doctors who can guide you. I am here. I will pray.” He put his hand on Sheridan’s shoulder.

“Forgive yourself. God knows you, He wants you and He has a purpose for you. This little stream is a good silent place to start.” The pastor turned to leave, then twisted to look at Sheridan.

“Looking within yourself is the second hardest thing you will ever do. Forgiving is the hardest.  God be with you, boy. You have lots to think about for now. We have the rest of your life to make it happen.”

As Pastor Lehrer stepped away, Sheridan’s head was already bowed. “God bless you, boy,” he whispered. “God be with you.”

The End