Read And the Shofar Blew Online
Authors: Francine Rivers
And the Shofar Blew (50 page)
Paul felt an urgency to leave, but he didn’t want to rush Eunice. He’d been rushing her for years, pushing her, prodding her in the hope of getting her to do what he wanted.
Help me break that habit, God.
She was still pale, still skeptical, though she was doing what she’d always done before, stepping out in faith, trusting that God would catch her in the free fall.
So he was surprised when she suggested they should go back to Centerville together and as soon as possible.
He wanted to give her a way out of what he knew he would be facing. Why should she have to stand with him before the lions? He stopped on the sidewalk and faced her. “I want you to do what you need to do, Eunice. If you need to stay and rest and think things through some more, I’ll come back.”
She didn’t answer quickly. “We’re paying for two rental cars and two motel rooms. Where’s the sense in that?”
He didn’t suggest they stay in the same room together. Her body language told him very clearly that she wasn’t ready for him to touch her hand, let alone sleep in the same bed. They didn’t talk about it, not yet, but he wondered if it would ever be the same between them. She would need time, maybe a long time. And he would wait. He intended to woo her, not just in the ways he had in the early days of their courtship, with flowers and love letters, soft music and dimmed lights, but with the right decisions. Walking the walk, one step at a time. Keeping faith with her, safeguarding their marriage.
“You’re sure you want to go back with me?”
“As sure as I’ll ever be.”
Paul prayed that with time and tender care, Eunice would feel more confident of his repentance.
Samuel looked up from the newspaper he was reading and saw Paul Hudson walking across the Vine Hill courtyard toward him. Samuel’s heart started to pound with dread. Why would Paul come here unless there was bad news about Eunice? He folded the newspaper with shaking hands, placing it on the table. Gripping his cane, he tried to rise. “Eunice. What’s happened to . . . ?”
Paul’s face softened. “Eunice is at home, Samuel. She said to tell you she would be by later this afternoon for a long visit.”
Samuel sank into his chair. “Thank God.” Still, it wasn’t like her to stay away. Something was wrong. He’d called Reka Wilson, but she’d cried, said she didn’t know anything, and hung up. He could see now by the grim expression on Paul’s face that he had something to say. Paul didn’t take the seat on the opposite side of the glass table, but the one closest to Samuel. He looked more ill at ease than Samuel had ever seen him.
“I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness, Samuel.”
Samuel couldn’t have been more surprised had Publishers Clearing House arrived with a check for a million dollars. But a wave of warmth spread through him, like life coming back into his old dead limbs.
Paul looked up into Samuel’s eyes for the first time in years. “I’ve wronged you more times than I can count. You called me to pastor Centerville, and I came thinking I had all the answers. You offered me friendship and I gave you grief. You tried to mentor me and I fought every attempt you made to bring me back on the path.” Paul sat like a man strapped in an electric chair, but he was willingly dying to self. “I was so blind with arrogance and ambition, I didn’t care what methods I used to get my way.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.” His voice hoarsened. “More sorry than words can say. From day one, I’ve had my own agenda, Samuel. I thought I was building a church for the Lord.” His voice became raspy. “But I ended up building my own self-es-teem and leading my followers straight to the gates of hell.”
Samuel never expected to hear such a speech from Paul Hudson. All he had ever hoped for was the boy’s repentance before the Lord. He had figured it would be too much to hope for that to happen in his lifetime. He was just an old man who had been a thorn in Paul’s side. “How did the Lord get ahold of you?”
Paul told him everything.
Samuel chuckled. “Leave it to the Lord to use a jackrabbit.” And then the humor left him as insight came. Paul Hudson had been like that poor jack-rabbit making a dash for safety. He had been running for most his life, trying to get out of the way of the drivers bearing down on him with expectations and demands. Some were just looking for a chance to run him down and crush him beneath the wheels of “progress.”
Oh, Jesus, precious Savior, I never thought You’d turn him around in my lifetime.
Forgive me. Thank You! Oh, God, thank You! Here he is. The boy has
come out of the wilderness and crossed over the divide to faith in You. He’s finally
listening to Your Holy Spirit.
Samuel wept.
Paul wept, too. “I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, Samuel.”
The tears kept coming, streaming down Samuel’s withered cheek. Tears of joy, tears of hope fulfilled.
Paul’s shoulders sagged. He clasped his hands over his bowed head and continued to weep. “I’ve used every blessing God gave me for my own purposes. I have no right to ask you to forgive me, not after the way I’ve treated you all these years.”
“I forgave you, Paul, a long, long time ago. So did Abby. She told me to keep praying for you the day she died.”
Paul raised his head and stared at him.
Samuel smiled. “Just see to it that you treat me better in the future!”
Nodding, Paul closed his eyes and released his breath. “I promise.” A man reprieved and pardoned. When Paul opened his eyes again, Samuel was struck by the tenderness in them. He wasn’t looking through Samuel to the appointment beyond, but was here, in the moment, unhurried and thankful.
Oh, Abby, I wish you were here to see Paul Hudson now. We weren’t wrong
about him after all. The boy sits, humbled and repentant. Only God could
manage this miracle. Only the Holy Spirit.
Samuel leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing the ache in his hip. “What will you do about Valley New Life Center?”
“I’m going to confess my sins to the congregation Sunday morning and step down from leadership.”
Oh.
Paul meant to waste no time. “Maybe they’ll listen to you. The world seems less safe these days. Some are awakening to the fact that they aren’t in control of their lives.” He considered. “But don’t be too quick to walk away, Paul. Who will guide them in the days ahead?”
“I’m unfit for the pastorate.”
“Peter denied Christ three times, and yet, the Lord used him mightily.”
“Peter didn’t manipulate people to get where he wanted to go. He didn’t commit adultery with another man’s wife.”
It was a few seconds before Samuel got his breath back.
“I’m going to need prayer, Samuel. All I can get. If you’re willing. It’ll help me knowing you’re praying for me.” He smiled. “ ‘The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.’ ”
“What specifically are you asking for?”
“That fear won’t get the upper hand. That I won’t weaken. That I’ll hear and speak the words the Lord wants me to speak. I’ve been a people pleaser all my life. Now, I want to be a God pleaser.”
Samuel nodded. “I have prayed for you for years, Paul.” He leaned forward and held out his hand. “The only difference now is I will be praying
with
you.”
Paul spent another hour with Samuel. Samuel told him about Stephen Decker’s home group, and Paul didn’t have to wonder why. He felt convicted. He’d done his best to destroy Decker’s reputation when the contractor refused to compromise his principles. They’d been friends in the beginning, then adversaries, later enemies. Maybe he could make amends, with Samuel as mediator. Maybe.
On the way home, Paul stopped by Reka Wilson’s house. Her car was parked in the driveway. He rang the doorbell and waited. He heard someone approaching, then silence. He wondered if Reka was looking out at him through the peephole. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t answer her door. He rang the bell again and waited. No answer. He walked slowly back to his car and wrote a brief, heartfelt note.
I’m ashamed for the position I put you in, Reka. You played a part in bringing me to my senses. You’ve always been a true and loyal friend. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday. May God bless you for all your years of faithful service to Him. And to me. Paul Hudson
He tucked it into her door.
On the way home, he wondered if he’d live long enough to make amends to all the people he’d hurt.
Samuel Mason’s old DeSoto was parked in front of the house. Timothy was home.
Cold with fear and shame, Paul pulled into the garage. He closed the door and sat for a long time in silence, hands still gripping the wheel. He could imagine what his son would have to say. Paul felt sick—deep-down, gutter-soul sick—over what he’d done to his son. He’d followed in his father’s footsteps, pushing, bullying, expecting more and more. Instead of running away as Paul had, Timothy had rebelled. He’d stood up and called his father a hypocrite. And been exiled for it. Paul had been relieved, even thankful that Timothy wasn’t around to embarrass him anymore. Worse, Timothy had sensed something was wrong with his parents’ marriage the last time he was home.
Whatever Timothy had to say, he’d listen. He’d let his son vent. If Timothy wanted to take a punch, so be it.
After a brief prayer, Paul got out of his car and went into the house. He heard voices in the family room. Timothy hadn’t come alone. He’d brought his grandmother with him. His mother glanced up when he entered the room. Eunice looked away and wiped her cheeks.
Timothy stood. “Dad.” He said the word respectfully, as though acknowledging his authority. And then he held out his hand. It struck Paul that his son knew more about grace at nineteen than he did at forty-four. He took Timothy’s hand and gripped it tightly. His throat was too tight to speak.
His son wasn’t a boy anymore. He had a look of maturity about him despite the jeans and T-shirt and shoulder-length hair. It wasn’t the broader shoulders and arms or the deeply tanned skin that hard work in the sun had brought on. It was in his carriage, his expression.
Eunice looked up, her eyes glassy with tears, her cheeks pale. “Your son has something to tell you.” She made a soft choking sound and fled the room.
“Why don’t you go and see if she’s okay, Grams?”
Paul’s mother rose without a word and left them alone in the room.
“Can we sit?” Timothy said.
“Sure. Of course.”
They sat facing one another like strangers.
Paul waited. All the years he’d cajoled, managed, and manipulated people and he didn’t have a clue how to talk with his own son. His own father had never been able to talk with him unless he was giving orders. Even during those last years when Paul had thought they were close, Paul realized his father had been working him, pointing him down a path Paul had never intended to go. Still, he couldn’t blame his father. Paul knew he was accountable for his own sins and would be paying for them on Judgment Day if Jesus hadn’t already paid the price on the cross. He was redeemed. It was time to live a redeemed life.
His stomach was tight with tension. What was it his son had to say to him?
“Did your grandmother tell you about . . . ?” He didn’t know how to say it—or if he should.
“I know, Dad. It was the blonde, wasn’t it? The one who kissed you on the way out of church.”
Paul felt the heat fill his cheeks. “Yes.”
“She was a piece of work. I had to leave. I knew if I didn’t, I’d cause trouble. It was all I could do not to beat your head in.” Tim gave a sardonic smile. “I didn’t dare because I knew Mom would want to know why. She didn’t have a clue what was going on, and if I told her, she still wouldn’t have approved of patricide.”
“Your mother’s always believed the best about people.”
“She’s not naïve anymore.”
Paul winced, knowing the fault of her lost innocence could be laid at his feet. He had used her sweetness against her, talking his way around every question she’d ever raised. “You wouldn’t have gotten through to me if you’d used a baseball bat, Tim. I was running with a head full of pride.”
Tim tilted his head and studied him. “Mom said you flew back East and tracked her down. I guess that means you’re going to try to patch things up.”