Never Too Far (part 2)

(You can find the first part of this story here.)

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What am I going to do now?

Peter sat alone in his darkened office, his head in his hands. He’d left the curtains drawn and the light off. Someone would be less likely to try to find him that way.

The curtains of his soul were drawn as well. How could he face anyone now? How could he talk about love when he’d so miserably failed? How was he going to stand before his congregation and preach on faith tomorrow?

If only he could make last night disappear, go back and do it all over again. He would have stayed. He wouldn’t have run. He would have stuck to the end, and even if he weren’t alive now, it would be better than the state he was in.

But now…

It was hard to believe it was real. It had seemed like a dream. If only it had been a nightmare. If only he could make it disappear. If only he could disappear.

He looked up. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. He could do that. Maybe this was a sign he wasn’t cut out to be a preacher after all. Maybe he should’ve stuck to overseeing assembly lines rather than working with peoples’ hearts and lives.

It wasn’t too late to go back. The factory could always use a foreman—at least, when he’d left, they’d been in high demand. “You’re welcome to come back, Peter,” his boss had told him the day he resigned. “Just call and we’ll find a spot for you.”

Working in a factory sounded appealing right now. He picked up the phone and was about to dial his former boss’s number when there was a knock on the door.

He sighed. No use hiding. “Come in.”

His wife, Isabelle, swept in with the graceful gait Peter had always loved. She flipped the light on. “I thought I might find you here.” Her lips lifted in a soft smile. 

“You know me all too well, my dear.”

“I do.” She dipped her head slightly, then lifted it again to meet his gaze. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh? I don’t remember having anyone on the schedule.” 

She said nothing, only lifted her eyebrows and looked in the direction of his calendar. Shifting his gaze to follow hers, Peter saw that there was an appointment penciled in. 

Darron, 1:00

He gave a wry smile. “You’re right, Belle. Okay, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “Send him in.”

“Of course.” She exited the room with as much grace as she had entered.

A few seconds later, Darron peeked in, smiling shyly. “Hello, Pastor Peter.”

Peter grimaced. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to handle being called that again. But he quickly wiped the wince off his face and gave a warm smile. “Good to see you, Darron.”

“I don’t want to bother you if now’s not a good time,” Darron continued. “I could come later.”

“No, it’s fine. Sit down, please, and tell me what’s on your mind.” It had to be a lot better than what Peter had on his.

Darron sat down and started in. “I’ve come to ask your counsel on something…”

Peter nodded and looked at him intently, but even as Darron spoke, Peter’s mind was drifting. He found himself planning what he’d say to his former boss when he called, and how he’d explain this to Isabelle, and what he’d say to his congregation tomorrow, and if he was going to preach or if he would just give a brief resignation speech instead. Of course, he didn’t want this to seem too sudden. They’d be suspicious that something was wrong, and they’d ask why. As far as he knew, no one from the church knew what had happened last night, and he planned to keep it that way. Better to carry a secret shame than to let it be brought to the light.

Just then, he realized that Darron had stopped talking and was staring at him expectantly. Oh no.

He laughed nervously. “Darron, my mind drifted a little. Would you please say that again?”

A hurt look crossed Darron’s eyes. “What was the last thing you heard me say?”

Peter pressed his lips together for a second. “I…” He stopped. There was no easy way out, was there? Once again, he was trapped.

Take a different path this time. The way is narrow that leads to life. 

The nudge came from deep inside, and Peter knew it was from God. Even though he’d failed last night, that didn’t mean he had to now.

He took a deep breath. “Darron, I need to confess something to you. It’s something I’m not proud of, and I haven’t told anyone yet, but you should know.”

Lowering his eyes, Darron spoke softly. “I already know.”

Peter reeled as though he’d been struck. What? “But—how?”

Darron looked up. “I was the one who called the police. I was watching from a window across the street.”

Pieces started clicking together in Peter’s mind. That explained some things. Yet it also raised some questions. “But why didn’t you—” He stopped. He didn’t have a right to ask, seeing how he’d failed.

“I was too afraid to go down myself, and when I saw you, I figured you could handle it.”

Peter nodded, in too much shock for forming many words. He knows. He saw. And yet…

The questions that burned deepest rose to the surface. “Then why didn’t you cancel your appointment? Why did you still come to talk to me?” His voice cracked. “Why would you still want to listen to me?” 

At that moment, Peter felt vulnerable. It had been a long time since he’d opened up his heart to someone that way. How would Darron respond?

Darron’s eyes widened slightly, and he was quiet a few moments. He traced his fingers along the edge of his sleeve, as if gathering courage for what he was about to say. “Because… because I wanted you to know that this doesn’t have to be the end for you.” His voice was thick with conviction and compassion. “I believe God still wants to use you in my life and the lives of others. And I think I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

Tears welled up, and Peter didn’t try to wipe them away. “I don’t know what to say. This means so much, hearing that from you. I didn’t think anyone would ever…” His voice trailed off, words choked in the current of emotion.

“I would forgive you.” Darron leaned over and rested his hands on Peter’s. “But it’s not mine to forgive.”

Peter nodded. “I know.”

—

A few hours later, there was another knock on the door. Peter started. Who could it be? Glancing at his calendar, he saw it was blank.

He took a deep breath. “Come in.”

The door opened, and in walked a familiar figure. That loping gait, those scuffed leather shoes—there was no denying it was him. 

Patrick.

Aside from a bandage on his neck, he looked not much different from last night. Peter’s face burned as the events ran through his mind one more time. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Patrick’s eyes. 

If Patrick sensed Peter’s discomfort, he didn’t show it. He came in as though nothing was out of the ordinary and he was dropping in as old friends do. In one hand he held a crackly paper sack that emitted a familiar aroma. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said, setting the sack on Peter’s desk and pulling out two roast beef sandwiches.

All Peter could manage to say was “Thank you.” He motioned for Patrick to take a seat, and the two ate in silence. 

When they had finished, Patrick spoke once more. “Peter,” he began, his voice soft and low, “I meant what I said last night.”

Peter’s eyes misted at the memory of the only thing Patrick had said the night before. The words echoed in his mind: I love you, Peter! 

But wait. Patrick had used the past tense. Peter hardly dared to ask, but he knew he had to. “Do you still mean it now?” 

For the first time in the conversation, he allowed himself to meet Patrick’s gaze. 

The look in his eyes was more than Peter could bear. 

There was hurt, and there was determination, and there was certainty. But over all that, stronger than everything, there was love.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t still mean it?” 

Peter studied the lines in the wood grain of his desk. He couldn’t speak.

“Look at me.” Pushing back his chair, Patrick crossed the space in between them and knelt in front of him. Peter slowly raised his eyes.

“I still love you, Peter.” Reaching into the sack he’d brought, Patrick pulled out a bowl, some paper towels, and a bottle of water. He looked up at Peter. “Is it okay if I wash your feet?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No way! You can’t do that for me, not after last night. I should wash yours!”

Patrick’s eyes were tender. “I’ll only do it if you let me. I still love you, Peter, and I’m trying to show it the best I know how. The question is, will you let me love you?” 

Peter’s mind flashed back to a long-buried memory of the time they had visited a Mennonite church, not realizing that it was a foot-washing service. It had been one of the most moving services either of them had seen, a special memory only the two of them shared.

His heart broke. “Yes.”

Patrick nodded, and he gently slipped off Peter’s shoes and socks and began washing his feet, pouring the bottled water over them and wiping them with the paper towels. The feet of failure washed by the hands of grace. Peter sobbed like a little child.

But Patrick wasn’t done yet. After he’d dried his hands, he reached for the sack again. “There’s still more in the bag.” He smiled. 

Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “What more could you possibly have for me? That bag seems bottomless!”

“Just one more thing.” Patrick fished a small object out of the bag, tucking it into his palm before Peter could make out what it was. Joy sparkled in his eyes. “Remember how we used to talk about starting a mission center someday?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I was able to buy a nearby building a few days ago, and that’s what I’m hoping to do with it.” Patrick paused. “But I can’t stay to oversee it. I just learned that my mother’s not doing too well, and I need to go see her. So…” He opened his hand and placed the object in Peter’s palm. “That’s where you come in.”

Peter glanced down. A silver key rested in his hand. 

“I want you to oversee it,” Patrick explained. “You always were the administrator type. I think you’re the perfect fit for the task.” He met Peter’s eyes with a firm gaze. “God’s not finished with you, Peter. There’s still work for you to do.”