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“Rev. Stone, I need your opinion about something,”
“Sure, Tom.”
Thomas Stepforth Sr., at last and reluctantly alone in the hotel he had taken for the night in Washington D.C., called the man providing him and his wife marriage counseling. He told him all that had happened over the weekend, but focused on what he had seen and heard about the life his wife had lived in D.C. beyond the blog that she wrote … about her being devoted to the Black community and the young people there, and the good work she was participating in.
“The thing is – and we've talked about this many times – I want Velma to come home! I was glad when the house burned down in a way, because it was an obstacle to her coming … but then I found out she has now gotten deep roots here … and I met the people she has been serving at the different community centers, and especially the young people the age of our own grandchildren, and … I see a work here that is being done and that I can contribute to … but at the same time I need Velma home, and for this separation to be over! I need it, Rev. Stone! I feel like I am being torn into pieces here!”
“I don't see why. Buy another house in Washington. What is that for you – an hour's commute from here when you can charter a jet?”
“Well, yes.”
“The other part of this is as follows: you want to make things so that you can pretend it never happened – that your marriage didn't fail, that Velma never left, that you haven't been apart for ten years, and so forth. God is just patiently showing you that you have to give that up. Give it up. No good can happen to those who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, and to pretend that all the bad and all the good that has come of these last ten years never happened would be to attempt to suppress the truth in unrighteousness. I have been waiting for an opportunity to tell you that, and it has come, for you see it for yourself. You see it. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
The question echoed in Thomas Stepforth's head, in and out of his dreams, all night long, as he wrestled with his pride.
At about dawn, Mr. Stepforth woke up with his father's voice in his head.
“Son, spilled milk gon' stay spilled, but when I give you another cup, jus' remember and reckon how on not to knock it over.”
Theodore Stepforth had taught his son well, and given him a foundation for how to walk with God, the Father, through life … Theodore's son knelt down before the Lord and wept heavily, finally accepting that the past could not be changed and that there was no point in pretending that the greatest loss of his life had never happened. Yet this allowed him to thank God for a second chance, in which he could learn to be interested in all the things that his lack of interest had caused him to overlook about his entire family, and to ask for continued help in not slipping back into old habits.
Mr. Stepforth stepped forth into the morning sun with a new attitude … the struggle for a future to efface the past was over inside of him. That was settled as impossible. Now, the future could be whatever God intended it to be with him and his soon-not-to-be-ex-wife … and he suspected that him making it over this hurdle in his mind and heart would smooth the way for their reconciliation to be complete.
Again, the voice of Theodore Stepforth came to mind:
“Son, reckon on this. I'm drivin'. You ain't drivin'. So, you complainin' 'bout when we gon' get dere only gon' to lead to one of two results. Both ain't what you want. You gon' distract me, and we gon' go off dis here road, so we ain't gon' get dere. You gon' get me mad 'nuff for not obeyin' dat I's gon' turn 'round, drive all de way back to de house, tan your hide, leave you with Mama, and start over – so you ain't gon' get dere. What you want, son? Keep talkin'.”
Little Tom Stepforth was a genius. He had shut his mouth … and, soon enough, his father had driven them right where they were going.
“See? All dat talkin' back and poutin' and such – wain't [the Stepforth parsing of “wasn't”] none of it necessary no how. If you start out with me, we gettin' dere, son, barrin' accidents and such, we gettin' dere.”
“I get it, Paw … at last I get what you were trying to teach me, about life, and about God the Father … and Father, I get it. I still pout and kick and talk back way too much, but I am learning, I am. Thank You for Your patience with me.”