House of Worship

Nick grew up fast, propped up on musty pillows to drive the battered old pick up truck at the age of 8. His father, needed help baling hay, thus showed him how to steer the slow moving truck. Too short to see over the sun cracked dashboard, the boy simply trusted his father, who would holler at him, telling him when to use the brake. His duty was to simply hold the wheel firm and straight, guiding the truck down an incline of farm land while his father walked behind. “Do not stop until I TELL YOU TO”.

Jumping up and down on the dusty, springy truck seat, Nick was able to peek through the steering wheel and look out past the confines of the hot truck onto the beauty of the fields. As the afternoon went by one such peek revealed a very deep ditch in the distance. The boy tightened his grip, listening for the command to use the brake. The minutes passed, the truck slowly inched forward. Craning his neck around to look out the dirty back window, he could see his red faced father rhythmically throwing the hay on the truck. The boy waited, his knuckles turning white. His heart began to pound as his intense waiting turned to fear with the ditch quickly approaching. In the boys’ imagination, the ditch soon became a ravine that would swallow up the truck. He started to sweat and feared for his life, but he would not stop. “You idiot. Why can’t you do anything right?”.

Finally, with the danger 10 feet in front of him, his father barked for him to stop. The boy felt an enormous sense of victory in having enough courage to hold out long enough before he used the brake. He also felt a huge sense of relief at narrowly escaping the berating that would have occurred if he would have allowed the truck to drive into the ditch or the rage his father would have had if he had stopped the truck without permission. Later, listening to the soothing night noises of cicadas and crickets chirping before he drifted off to sleep, he wondered why his father always acted so unfairly and angrily.

On Sunday evenings during the summer, for as long as he could remember, his parents had been meeting with other adults for Bible study. It was a glorious time for Nick and his brothers. He felt immense freedom as they horsed around together outside the small country church with other children from the neighboring farms. On this warm breezy night they were playing hide and seek, his favorite game. He loved that excited feeling he had when he found a secret hiding spot and he always tried to find a different place each time they played, if only just to prove to himself that he could feel safe and secure in his world. It was thrilling for him to know his brothers were so close at hand, but still unable to find him.

But, on this night, he picked a spot that was not to be his refuge. He cried out in pain as he scrambled under a gnarly honey locust tree in an attempt to be lost in the thick underbrush. Turning his head quickly to one side to peer through the foliage he was stunned by the thorny limb of the locust tree, which pricked his left eye. The pain was immediate, as was his reaction to not let his brothers and friends see him cry. Barely able to see out of his injured eye, he clumsily found his way out of the underbrush, slyly avoiding his playmates as his eyes welled up with tears.

Nick cautiously opened the creaky door and silently slipped inside the old clapboard church, knowing that this building was sacred and that one should dare not interrupt the adults when they were talking about such important things as God, love, faith and family. One look from his father said it all. “Be quiet. Don’t embarrass me.” His mother patted him gingerly on the leg with a look of concern that quickly turned expressionless. The other adults pretended not to notice, as they caught the tension in his parents demeanor. The young boy reached for his mother, who sat calmly on the hard oak pew. His solid, sweaty little body was tired and in need of the comfort of his mother, but he knew deep in his soul that he would not receive any, as he did not deserve it. He rubbed his eyes, but that did not help the piercing pain in his left eye, or the ache in his heart. He simply needed to feel her arms around him, to give him a sign that she was there to help him. That was not to be. He whimpered timidly, struggling with all his might to hold back the falling tears. As he reached across the pew towards her, that inner voice spoke to him, making him choke back quiet tears as he took a deep breath of air. “Boys don’t cry!”

All his mother was able to do was to sit, stoic and composed, near her suffering son, unable to offer even the merest hint of solace as that would have upset her husband. She had learned years before that it was to her children’s advantage that she did not show overly tender emotion towards them. Thus, it was easier for her to cope with the distress of her son in order to allay the anger of her husband that would surely ensue if a scene were made over their injured son, in this public place. “What are you? A baby? Get up, you’re not hurt!”

He remained quiet and still. For an hour he sat and waited, praying that they could go home soon and get relief from the thorn that he felt in his watering, swollen eye. With each agonizing minute his young mind retreated to the bleak place that he visited often, that murky area where he questioned his survival and where he chewed over his many mistakes, pondering how to do better for his mother and searching for ways to make his father prouder of him. He always tried to behave in ways to prove to his parents that he loved and respected them. He sensed his mother’s nervousness when his sullen father came in for meals, so he would jump up from his chair to help her. He obeyed his father’s commands and criticisms while they worked together at chores. He did not talk back when he was slapped in the ears for spilling the coal bucket, nor did he whimper when feeling the hard work boot in his side while daydreaming during the milking.

On that sweltering summer night, with the impassioned voices of the Bible study dimly droning in his head, he came to a decision about an idea that had been simmering in the back of his puzzled, innocent mind for a long time. He was very confused about so much. He was taught to pray for his needs and to give thanks before meals, but he had a hard time understanding the importance of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. How could he believe in the Father when the Father did not believe in the Son. And where was the Holy Ghost when he needed him most. He was brought up to trust and believe in God, and that the good Lord loved all, which did bring Nick comfort when he was feeling gloomy. His own heart was overflowing with goodness, but on that night he resolved to never show love. He no longer thought about his throbbing eye. Instead, he searched for a solution to ease the ache of his tender, troubled heart. He realized at that moment how he could protect himself. He vowed to hold in his emotions, never allowing anyone to know when he was feeling hurt, hungry, tired, sad or even happy. Showing his true self was too painful and just wrong. That night, for the last time in his young life, he prayed. He prayed for forgiveness.

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