New Heart Church by Jim Barringer
Chapter Six
Saturday dawned bright and clear; it couldn’t have been a more beautiful day. The cool temperatures of earlier in the week had gone, and the weather reports were calling for a high in the sixties. At around nine, we stood outside my Tahoe, which Danny had asked me to drive. I had attempted to protest that there wasn’t enough gas in it, but he had waved me off, insisting on paying for it, and I hadn’t argued. There was one change from earlier in the week; Jarrius wasn’t going to be able to join us, having something he had to attend to before noon.
Elizabeth, Abbie, and I made small talk as we waited for Danny. “How did you get started guitaring?” Abbie asked.
“I was in high school and wanted to be in a band,” I explained. “You have to understand the town where I grew up; there was absolutely nothing to do. A lot of my kids were into drugs, not because they really liked it but because it was the only interesting thing happening on the weekends. I wasn’t really into all that, I was more of a loner –”
“I have a hard time picturing you as a loner,” Abbie interjected playfully, layering on the sarcasm.
“Most people do; it really comes as a shock to them,” I said, playing along. “Anyway, music was more my thing, listening and writing, and I wanted to be in a band. I picked up a bass because my friends were starting a band and didn’t have a bass player, taught myself how to make noise with it, and transitioned to guitar the next year. And look at me now.”
“How cool is that,” Abbie marveled. “I’ve always wanted to play.”
“It’s easy to learn.”
We were cut off by Danny bursting out the front door with a plastic bag in his hands. “Alright, guys. I made us some sandwiches, and packed a few chips as well. Anyone have a backpack?”
“I do,” I volunteered.
“Want to carry some bottled waters?” he asked. “We’ll want them when we’re out hiking.”
“Yeah, sure. Load me up.”
In a matter of minutes we were headed west, further west than I’d ever been in my life. I was amazed how quickly, once we were out of Fort Worth, all signs of civilization disappeared except for a road, and all we could see in either direction was scrub brush and almost-desert.
After a turnoff that took us through a few small towns, we turned in to Lake Mineral Wells State Park. Danny directed me on a winding road that took us to what appeared to be the back corner of the park, near the campgrounds.
“This isn’t the back of the park,” Danny corrected me when I asked him. “The park itself goes back a long ways past here. There’s about a thirteen-mile loop we could walk, if we wanted to, that would bring us out on the far side of the park. But we’re going for something a little less ambitious today.”
“My feet thank you in advance,” Abbie told him.
“I’m sure they’ll be complaining regardless when they see what I have in store for them,” Danny grinned deviously. “Actually, it’s not too harsh. We’re going to go about two and a half miles out to the primitive campground. I’m thinking about camping there next time I come, and I want to see what it’s like.”
“Sounds decent,” I agreed. “Let’s hit the trail.”
Elizabeth led, with Danny behind her, Abbie third, and me bringing up the rear. I was struck, as I walked, by the incredible beauty of the place. Thinking back on it, I’d lived in beautiful places all my life. Indiana was world-renowned for the stunning change of color in the fall, when the trees abandoned green in favor of a million shades of orange, yellow, and red. I could almost see, in my mind’s eye, the late fall sun pouring through the trees into our backyard, where I played in the leaves. I didn’t even know whether that event had ever happened or whether I just dreamed it, but it seemed as clear as day to me. Lost in thought, I tripped over a branch and barely caught myself before I went down.
“Do you walk often?” Abbie teased.
“It’s a new thing for me,” I replied, wobbling my knees and taking a few exaggerated, hesitant steps. “Can’t for the life of me see what it might be good for.”
Laughter filled the woods, bouncing off the trees and coming back at us from every direction. “Actually,” I told her, “you just caught me daydreaming.”
“About what?” She glanced back at me, curious.
“Keep your eyes on the trail,” I cautioned.
“Thanks, dad.”
“You’re welcome, Amy.”
“Ohhhhh, you…”
“Amy?” Elizabeth asked, perplexed.
“He keeps calling me Amy Grant,” Abbie protested.
Danny and Elizabeth burst into laughter. “That’s terrible, Eli,” Danny chuckled.
“Seriously, though, what were you daydreaming about?” Abbie demanded.
“Just about the beauty of this place, you know? About all the beauty I should see in life, but seem to miss. It’s like I’m so busy thinking about other things that I don’t appreciate what’s right in front of me.”
“Truer words have rarely been spoken,” Danny affirmed, testing his footing on a place where the trail sloped down.
“You got it?” I asked, wanting to make sure he didn’t trip.
“I’m fine. Keep talking.”
“Well, that’s pretty much all I was thinking. Just about beauty.”
“It’s a beautiful world,” Elizabeth agreed. “All the colors, the shapes, the blue of the sky. God’s really an artist.”
“Thank goodness he’s a better one than Picasso,” I shrugged.
Abbie giggled. “You’re too funny.”
“Well, I’m serious. If I had arms coming out of my ears I’d be a little upset.”
We lapsed into silence after that, content to just walk and enjoy the weather. The overhanging trees shaded us from the sun; it was probably under sixty degrees in the forest. I was perfectly comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, breathing in the cool air and sighing gently.
Walking quietly was, of course, something I was quite comfortable with, but I was surprised that the other three didn’t feel the need to fill the time with banter, or even continue the earlier conversation about beauty. To me, it seemed as if there was something that one of them wanted to say, but for whatever reason hadn’t.
Gradually the trail wound away from the lake and into an odd savannah of grass, runty trees, and abundant small cactus plants. Danny still led, confidently. Nobody spoke; it was almost as if there was an unspoken agreement not to spoil the beauty around us with the clumsy sound of human words.
Abruptly the trail made its way back into woods and over a small wooden bridge, and we were at the primitive campsite, a small circle of dirt patches. No grills, no benches, no parking spots; this was the closest people could get to being back in the stone age, except for whatever gear they brought with them. Danny led us into one of the clearings, and we sat in a circle, waiting for Danny to extract our lunches from his backpack.
I passed out bottled waters from my own bag, looking up through the canopy of leaves to where the blue sky hung above us. “What do you think of this place?” Danny asked me.
“It’s nice,” I nodded, looking around at the trees and rocky dirt. “Lot different than Indiana, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t really get why you hate that place so much,” Elizabeth said.
I shrugged, unwrapping my sandwich. “I don’t know. I just didn’t like being there. The winters were long and brutal; we couldn’t go outside. Even during the summer I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Yeah, but why?” she pressed.
“I’m not sure I can say. I just didn’t like being there.”
Silence descended on us once again as we made short work of our sandwiches. Finally Abbie turned to me. “What do you want most in life?”
“What is it with you people and your deep, philosophical questions out of nowhere?” It came off harsher than I wanted; I wasn’t angry
“I don’t think it’s out of nowhere at all,” Abbie retorted, defensively. “It’s the kind of thing everybody should have thought about, and everybody should have an answer ready whenever the question comes up. How are you going to be happy in life if you don’t even know what you want?”
“Who says you have to want something? Why can’t you just be happy with whatever life gives you?”
“Are you happy with what life has given you?”
I looked down and mumbled, “Not really.”
“Have you ever been happy with what life has given you?”
“Maybe.”
“Obviously not, since you just finished explaining why you hate Indiana so much. I’m guessing you probably didn’t have very many friends there, nothing to make it worthwhile for you to stay. So now you’re here, and you’re living life the exact same way you always have, the way that made you miserable in the first place, and it’s going to keep making you miserable unless something changes.”
There was anger in her words, but it seemed like it wasn’t directed at me. I didn’t know how to respond, so I kept staring at the dirt, waiting to hear what she would say next. She was right. I knew she was right, just as I had known Stanley was right the night before. I just didn’t know what that meant for me.
“Do you think we’re happy with life?” Danny asked me gently.
“You sure seem like it.”
“So what’s different between us and you?”
“You have a job, for starters.”
“Is getting a job going to magically make you happy?”
I hesitated. “No.”
“Then let me ask you again. What’s the difference? Why are we happy and you’re not?”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that your faith has something to do with it.”
“More than something. Everything.” Danny waved his arm at the trees over our heads. “Where do you suppose all this came from?”
“God, I guess. I have no problem with that.”
“Yeah, but why did he create it?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Unless you believe that God does random things for no reason, then he must have had a reason when he created the universe, and again when he created us as individuals. If he had a reason for creating us, then that means he created us with a certain purpose. If we’re not living out that purpose, then we’re going to feel in our hearts like something is wrong, and we’re not going to be happy.”
I wanted to argue with Danny, but the words just wouldn’t come out. I was thinking about Wednesday night, about his testimony, about all the crazy things that had happened in his life – and now, at the end of them, he was happy. What did that mean?
“Fine,” I said. “For the sake of argument, why don’t you tell me what this purpose is.”
“The purpose is to worship him, and to love each other,” Elizabeth said instantly – not like she was reciting a memorized answer, but like she was simply putting into words something she already had deep in her heart.
“And that’s what makes you happy?” It sounded a bit boring to me, to be honest.
“Not totally,” she admitted. “But it makes me satisfied. It makes me feel like I’m being who I’m supposed to be.”
“You can see the proof of it,” Danny observed. “Look at the way we’ve treated you since you moved in.”
“I’ve noticed. It feels good to be treated that way. But you’re also the only people I’ve ever met who have done it, and I’ve met a lot of Christians.”
Danny put the plastic bag from his sandwich back in his backpack. “That’s a discussion for another day. There are a lot of Christians who don’t really live the way we do, but that doesn’t diminish the truth of what we’re saying. I bet if you were to ask them, they’d feel like there was something missing in their lives too, because they’re not doing what they’re supposed to do.”
“Maybe.” It was possible they had a point. I did have to admit that the four of them – Danny, Elizabeth, Stanley, Abbie – certainly looked like they were satisfied with their lives. Whether or not they were right, they obviously believed they were, and it really made a difference that even I, unspiritual as I was, could see clearly.
We spent about an hour scouting out the primitive campground for a future camping trip, then headed back to the Tahoe. We walked in silence again, just as we had on the way out, and in a matter of a few hours we were back at the truck, which seemed to be leaning back a little.
I circled around to the driver’s side, and sure enough, the rear tire was flat. Discouraged, I dropped my backpack onto the ground, and set about retrieving the spare. Danny chipped in, helping me jack up the car, wrestle the lug nuts off the flat, and hoist the spare onto the axle.
I said nothing as I changed the tire, but my mind was spinning. That would be another hundred or hundred and fifty dollars down the drain. I couldn’t keep hemorrhaging money this way, but things kept happening, and I kept losing money.
Silently I got behind the driver’s seat and pointed the truck back toward Fort Worth.