Flowers Before The Rain: Wounds, Loss & Unexpected Grace

“When I was a boy, my dad would measure my worth by how little I stayed out of trouble and out of his hair. He’d tell folks I was a good kid. What he really meant was I didn’t require much attention.”

“And as you got older?” I asked.

He tugged at the hem of his pearl-snap shirt, trying to cover the bit of hairy skin exposed as he sat a little too far back in his chair. The chair creaked under the weight of its occupant, but the sound seemed to concern me alone. He didn’t appear to fear that the chair might give way. He didn’t seem to fear much of anything or anyone.

“In high school, trouble found me in the same place I escaped to as a boy: in my mind. My mind festered a lot. I figured I hated my dad, or at the least, disliked him strongly. Dad wasn’t like the others in the town I grew up in. He was successful, smart, respected, tough. No one got one over on Mr. Malley. No one.”

“Except you?” I asked.

He eyeballed me, mouth twitching as if he were weighing a harsh reply.

“What I got from my dad ain’t none of your business, lady. You understand? I’m not looking for wife or mama. I’ve had both.”

“Understood. I’ll leave. Just thought you were wanting to talk, that’s all.” I got up and started to walk past him.

“Let’s just say my dad found out a few things and ignored the rest. What he did know was enough to put me into a special school.”

I turned and saw the man looking at me over his shoulder.

“I know I’m a little rough,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re not like what I’m used to. You smell like flowers in the field right before the rain.”

I returned to the seat across from him. He smelled like a dusty attic on a humid day. “Tell me about this school,” I said.

“Not much to tell. It was in a different town just far enough away that he didn’t know that I had gotten a girl pregnant. She carried the baby full-term and gave it to a church couple who wanted a child. I didn’t have a say in the matter. Don’t even know the gender.”

“And the mother… your girlfriend, did you keep in touch with her?”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend, and I’d hardly call her a mother. Then again, I wasn’t ready to be a father in any sort. I barely graduated high school. The week I came home, my dad passed away from a heart attack, right there in the same chair I saw him tell me not to come home until I graduated.”

“I’m so sorry. Was he proud of you for graduating?” I asked.

“Don’t know. He asked if I did, and I showed him my diploma. The only thing he said was, ‘Now let’s just hope you can finally support yourself.’”

“And your mom?” I asked.

“Everything was rules with her. She knew scripture better than most pastors; she was a hard woman. Things were better for a bit after Dad died because people knew we had a little money and were nice to us in our grief.”

“And in time? What happened?” I asked.

“The money ran out because Mom had never worked a day outside the home, and her grief turned into bitterness that ate itself into a cancer that killed her.”

“And you?” I asked.

“Well, you’re looking at me, ain’t ya? I did alright. Sold the house and dad’s pickup. Bought me a nicer pickup and a smaller place on a few acres outside of town. Started working maintenance at the public schools. Ended up being supervisor. About ready to retire in a year or so.”

“What happened to your wife?” I asked.

“That woman took my hard heart and softened it, something I thought was impossible. She was seven months pregnant with our first child. She kept telling me she was scared to be a mom; she thought she wouldn’t do it right. She was so nervous,” he said with a slight smile.

He leaned forward to steady his voice. “She wanted us to start going to church, saying God could help us be good parents. I told her to go and listen for both of us. I woke up on a Sunday morning to find the police telling me she had been killed by a man who swerved over into her lane. Never liked Sundays since. Never much cared for God since then, either.”

“Why did you come in here tonight?” I asked.

“I thought this was a bar. I wanted a beer,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Not sure what this place is exactly, who you are, or why I’ve been talking to you. I hadn’t talked to no one like this in a long time… a very long time.”

“You want another beer?” I asked, standing once again.

“No, I don’t think I do. You can do something for me, though,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“After hearing all that about me for the last half hour or more, you can tell me why you sat there and listened.”

“Because even if you don’t like God right now, He still loves you. I listened because God tugged upon me to stop and see you, and that required more than me just handing you a drink.”

The chair creaked as he pushed himself up, arthritis bending his tall frame. He pulled a worn leather wallet from his back pocket and drew out a curved, tired-edged photo.

“Right here. This is my greatest success. Her. She saw me too. Her name was Lilly Rose Malley.” His voice lowered. “She swore we were having a girl and had already picked out her name: Evelyn.”

“Lilly is beautiful,” I said. “And Evelyn is a lovely name.”

He cleared his throat and worked the picture back into the wallet. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, you know. Talking to you got me thinking about doing better by her, even if she isn’t here… she’s here.” He paused. “I’m still so angry about things I’m not even sure I know how to resolve. Not even sure if God can help me at this point,” he said.

“I think He’s already started… right now… right here,” I said.

He walked out the door, looking different than when he came in. Same clothes, same size, but a different man in a way I cannot fully explain. I don’t know if he made it to church the next day or the week after. I may never see him again. But I thank God that I was listening to Him so I could be there for him.

May we never underestimate the power of undivided attention and God’s leadings. We don’t have to understand the impact. We only have to be willing to follow.

Provided by Dallas Express