Mark’s age but by the time he reached them, he was huffing and puffing like an old man.
“You okay?” his father asked, concern written on his features as he laid his hand on Ian’s shoulders.
“I had to round up the twins for Mum. They ran off for the woods so I had to give chase,” the teen said in some sort of diluted British accent. “This cold air’s got me. That’s all, Dad. I’ll be right as rain once I get inside.” He turned toward Mark. “So, hi. I’m Ian…but I guess you figured that out by now. And you are?”
“Mark Boyer.”
“Hello, Mark. Come along, then. Meet the rest of us. Prepare yourself for a treat. We’re the absolute best Chester County has to offer. Our moderator…”
“Your son seems like a nice kid,” Adam said after the two moved on and Ian’s slightly halting conversation faded.
Jim Dillon smiled as he watched the boys make their way toward the smaller building. “Ian’s a great kid. He isn’t supposed to exert himself in the cold but it’s hard to keep him down. These frigid temperaturesaren’t too good for his asthma. So, you decided to give our congregation a try,” he continued, looking back to Adam once more.
Adam wanted to put a quick end to Pastor Dillon thinking he’d found a new, dedicated member for his flock. “Mark’s mother and I were divorced. Apparently, she and her husband took him to church, so I thought I should, too. They were killed recently, and Mark’s with me. He’s not meeting other kids since I brought him east. I thought a church might be a place he’d meet some nice kids.”
Grinning broadly as if enjoying a private joke, Jim Dillon reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve heard slimmer excuses. I don’t care why you came and, believe me, neither does the Lord,” he assured Adam. “Hope you enjoy the service.”
Adam was still wondering what the pastor had meant when he noticed an approaching couple surrounded by a horde of children. Jim Dillon smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
Considering the distraction a reprieve, Adam beat a hasty retreat and took a seat at the back of the sanctuary. He looked around the structure, once again admiring the imagination it had taken to envision carving a church from an old barn. Then, before he knew it, a band began playing an upbeat tune much like the ones that had been played at Beth’s wedding. He shook his head. A barn and a rock band. Who’d have thought of this as a church setting?
Jim Dillon made a few announcements, cracked a couple of pretty amusing jokes, and then asked everyone to open to Matthew 6:26 “Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” he began. Interspersed with the dry wit Adam assumed was a trademark, Jim Dillon endeavored to convince his congregation that God cared about them and could certainly be counted on for help because He was as indulgent as any good father.
That, Adam thought as he looked from smiling person to smiling person, was probably fine for these people to believe. God had obviously given them good lives. And judging from the peaceful, happy expressions on the faces he saw, they hadn’t seen the side of life he had or had their safe comfortable lives turned inside out and upside down as often as he had. He doubted there was a man there who had ever come home one day to find his wife and child gone without a warning.
Maybe he’d been blind not to have seen how unhappy military life was making Mallory. Maybe he’d been wrong not to take notice of her restlessness when he returned home after missions. Maybe, because he had missed the signs, he’d even deserved the end to his marriage. But he didn’t think he had deserved the way she’d done it.
He’d come home on a stretcher, seriously considering retirement lest his son grow up without a father—lest his wife have to raise Mark alone. Then he’d
“You okay?” his father asked, concern written on his features as he laid his hand on Ian’s shoulders.
“I had to round up the twins for Mum. They ran off for the woods so I had to give chase,” the teen said in some sort of diluted British accent. “This cold air’s got me. That’s all, Dad. I’ll be right as rain once I get inside.” He turned toward Mark. “So, hi. I’m Ian…but I guess you figured that out by now. And you are?”
“Mark Boyer.”
“Hello, Mark. Come along, then. Meet the rest of us. Prepare yourself for a treat. We’re the absolute best Chester County has to offer. Our moderator…”
“Your son seems like a nice kid,” Adam said after the two moved on and Ian’s slightly halting conversation faded.
Jim Dillon smiled as he watched the boys make their way toward the smaller building. “Ian’s a great kid. He isn’t supposed to exert himself in the cold but it’s hard to keep him down. These frigid temperaturesaren’t too good for his asthma. So, you decided to give our congregation a try,” he continued, looking back to Adam once more.
Adam wanted to put a quick end to Pastor Dillon thinking he’d found a new, dedicated member for his flock. “Mark’s mother and I were divorced. Apparently, she and her husband took him to church, so I thought I should, too. They were killed recently, and Mark’s with me. He’s not meeting other kids since I brought him east. I thought a church might be a place he’d meet some nice kids.”
Grinning broadly as if enjoying a private joke, Jim Dillon reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve heard slimmer excuses. I don’t care why you came and, believe me, neither does the Lord,” he assured Adam. “Hope you enjoy the service.”
Adam was still wondering what the pastor had meant when he noticed an approaching couple surrounded by a horde of children. Jim Dillon smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
Considering the distraction a reprieve, Adam beat a hasty retreat and took a seat at the back of the sanctuary. He looked around the structure, once again admiring the imagination it had taken to envision carving a church from an old barn. Then, before he knew it, a band began playing an upbeat tune much like the ones that had been played at Beth’s wedding. He shook his head. A barn and a rock band. Who’d have thought of this as a church setting?
Jim Dillon made a few announcements, cracked a couple of pretty amusing jokes, and then asked everyone to open to Matthew 6:26 “Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” he began. Interspersed with the dry wit Adam assumed was a trademark, Jim Dillon endeavored to convince his congregation that God cared about them and could certainly be counted on for help because He was as indulgent as any good father.
That, Adam thought as he looked from smiling person to smiling person, was probably fine for these people to believe. God had obviously given them good lives. And judging from the peaceful, happy expressions on the faces he saw, they hadn’t seen the side of life he had or had their safe comfortable lives turned inside out and upside down as often as he had. He doubted there was a man there who had ever come home one day to find his wife and child gone without a warning.
Maybe he’d been blind not to have seen how unhappy military life was making Mallory. Maybe he’d been wrong not to take notice of her restlessness when he returned home after missions. Maybe, because he had missed the signs, he’d even deserved the end to his marriage. But he didn’t think he had deserved the way she’d done it.
He’d come home on a stretcher, seriously considering retirement lest his son grow up without a father—lest his wife have to raise Mark alone. Then he’d
Similar Books
