The Wanderer

The plough, made useless since the ass was sold, leaned against the tired wood shed. Reaching inside, the father withdrew an aged shovel; the head worn from rocks and hard earth. Passing the shovel to his ten year old son, he pressed back inside to reach past the last remnants of hope, five sacks of cornseed, and removed an iron hoe.

"Well boy, here's to preparing for next year."

Having no animals to alleviate the work, the father knew that they would, at best, only be able to prepare about an acre a day. Even then, preparation on the entire field would require three weeks of arduous labor leaving them hard pressed to complete it in time for the raining season. The father's eyes stayed on the horizon as faint glimpses of sunlight breached the distant line.

"Boy, uncover. We need to pray."

The son's grey weathered cap fell to his chest. His father began, "Lord, you know our task. You know our plight. We don't have need for much, but we could use some strength and time. Amen."

Arriving at their twenty acre plot the father bent to the ground and removed a handful of soil. Working the earth within his palm and between his fingers he looked towards his son and gave an approving nod. Early morning met the still sun as the boy attempted to break open earth while his father worked to create straight narrow rows for planting. As sweat beaded against the son's brow he asked his father, "Papa, when is Momma coming home?"

The father continued to work the earth attempting to hide his pain from the boy. Three years had passed since his wife left. It had been a hot summer day and all that remained of her existence, a small note: "I take leave my dear until further notice." He had never shared that with his sons. The result of her leaving placed his life in shambles. Bill surmounted, depression set in, and his soul ached from shame poured upon him by suspecting neighbors. Having avoided such questions for so long, he knew that he would eventually have to share the dilemma with his son.

"Boy, I don't believe your Momma is coming home."

Silence was the sole response. Placing his shovel once again upon the dry land, the boy watched a small tear fall from his eye, down to his hand, and trickle to the earth. For the boy it was not so much the news that was shocking, but the detachment of his father's response. Pulling back on the handle of the shovel he ran it again into the ground. With ever increasing ferocity he attacked the hardened soil in an attempt to control his growing rage. Then, with one gross pull of the handle, SNAP! The boy fell to his knees and began to scream, "WHY! WHY! WHAT DID YOU DO!"

"Boy, I myself have had no consolation but for a few words she left."

He reached into his shirt pocket and removed the worn page. Recounting the words to his son, he kneeled down beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"I know that I have hurt you boy, and I don't despise you for crying. But we have to continue or else greater problems than those of the past are going to come. You might not understand that, but I need you to pick up what remains of that shovel and do what you can with it. I'll see if I can't fix it before sup tonight."

For the weeks that followed the boy said nothing to his father. Each morning they would rise, eat, pray, and work till dusk. The father counted nothing against his boy but asked the Lord to mend their brokenness. Then, early one morning, a black car drove down the long dusty road to their house.

"Boy, stay here."

The father approached the car, his hand shielding his eyes from the unnatural light. The boy watched as the side window on the sedan rolled down and his father leaned in to talk. Then, as abruptly as the car came, it drove off leaving a trail of dust rising towards late stars. When the father returned the boy asked no questions, the father gave no words. In familiar silence they walked towards the field.

Three days after the arrival of the black car the father and son finished their preparation work. The days that followed were marked by spreading of seed and covering. As the last day closed the father stood by his son and motioned that he would begin praying, "Lord, we've done the planting. We ask now that you would do the growing."

Six weeks after planting the crop the father stood upon sun baked earth looking for any sign of rain or clouds. Following the warm spring the sun had been relentless and the sky had brought forth nothing for the field. The father contemplated what he could possibly do, but the nearest creek beds were a mile away and dry. Reaching into his pocket he removed the tattered note left by his wife, knelt to the ground and buried it under the clay. He feared all hope was lost.

That afternoon the black car returned. The boy sat in the house as his father walked outside to talk with the hidden. After a few moments the father walked in and fell to the ground. With one hand on the wooden floor, and one on his chest, he began to weep loudly. Upon seeing his father cry, the boy walked to the place where his father knelt and laid upon him. Together they wept and embraced.

"I'm sorry Papa. I'm sorry I have hurt you."

"No, my son. You have not forsaken me. You have done nothing that I would not have expected. It is I that must apologize. I have lost everything son. There is nothing more I can do. Nothing."

The boy listened but did not understand. The words were clear but their meaning remained hidden to him. Slowly their weeping ended and they rose to sit at the small table. Three empty chairs, two bowls of boiled potatoes and a small loaf of bread awaited them. They ate in silence, neither having the words to comfort the other. After they were done, the boy looked to his father and asked, "Papa, shall we pray?"

"Son, I have no more words for the Lord. But, if He listens, may He know our pain and send comfort."

Days passed in quiet and disdain. One evening, as the boy gathered a small pail of water and a potato for dinner he noticed a man approaching on the road. Noticing that the man was still a long ways off, the boy walked towards the house to tell his father. Upon hearing the news the father stepped outside to watch the stranger. Even from afar it was clear that the man was a drifter. Hard times did not rest solely on their home.

After a few minutes the man came close enough for the father to gather a better judgment. The man's clothes were tattered, his hair matted against his head, no shoes were upon his feet and his only obvious possession was a satchel hanging from his shoulder. However, despite his immediate appearance the man appeared to be in good spirits. As he came within fifteen yards of the home the father called out, "This is private property. We ain't got no work."

"No worries, sir. I'm just passing through. I was hoping that I might be able to ask you for a place to lay down before I continue in the morn. I don't need much, and I promise to be of no consequence."

The boy moved in behind his father's legs and peered out towards the man. The father let out, "How do we no you ain't trouble?"

The boy looked up to his father. "Papa, who is he?"

"Sir, all I have is my word and what is within this satchel. And I assure you sir, neither will be used against you."

The father looked down to his son hoping for some response to the man's statement. Instead, the boy stared back with equal bewilderment. "Well stranger, there's a shed in back. You may need to move some things, but it should be sufficient."

The man gave a nod and walked around the back of the house. As the sun settled upon the horizon the father and his boy sat down at the table. They bowed their heads, but before the father could pray the son asked, "Father, should we offer that man something to eat?"

The father lifted his head and looked deep into the eyes of his son. They barely had enough to feed themselves, but he considered that the boy's heart was willing, so he obliged, "Yes, son. I'll go ask him if he is hungry."

The father walked around back of the house toward the shed. He approached the shed with utmost caution, and even considered turning back and telling his son that the man had politely refused. But, rather than allowing his fear to get the better of him, he pressed on. As he moved closer to the door he heard the man say, "Daddy, I ask that you would bless this man and his son. May you give them all that they need and return more in blessing than what they have given. Speak kindly to them tonight. Amen."

Waiting a moment, the father knocked upon the door to the shed, "Sir, would you care to join us for dinner?"

The door opened and the man peered out to the father, his eyes seeming to search for the cause of such kindness.

"Yes, I would love to join you and your son. But first, may I ask, shy is it that I see a plough but no animal to work it? Why is it that you have empty sacks of seed but no corn?"

"Stranger, you are a bold man, and you ask of me hard questions. We have fallen upon hard times. The ass I sold to buy the seed this winter, and the rains have not come to grow our crops. Worse still, my debts have amounted to a point that if the crops do not come, I will be forced to forclose by the bank. But I am certain that your life has had it's own sorrows and you are not in need of bearing mine. Come, join my son and I. Let us not be troubled by this life's worries."

The two men entered the house to find the table prepared. The son sat at his usual spot and looked towards the men in hope of approval.

"Well done, son."

Taking their seats, the father looked to the man, "Would you pray for our meal?"

The man bowed his head and began, "Daddy, I thank you for these kind souls and the meal that you have given each of us. Please, give us strength from these bowls, give us grace, and bless these souls. Amen."

The three ate their meals in the ambient glow of lantern light. For a while no one said anything, they only spooned the warm food their bowls. Then, the boy looked at the man and asked, "Why do you say Daddy and not Lord?"

"Because the Lord is our Daddy. He is our perfect father. I only say that because it seems the most truthful to me."

The father contemplated the man's words for a moment and asked, "Don't you think the Lord deserves more reverence than Daddy?"

"Oh, but sir, there is great reverence in saying Daddy. Because I never had a father who loved me as well as he, it is with complete reverence that I call him Daddy."

Once again they sat in silence. The father and son thought over the man's words and the man watched the warm glow of the lantern. After a few moments the man rose from his chair and began to speak, "I thank you kind gentlemen for this meal and stay. If I might excuse myself, I would like to get some rest for the morning."

That night the father had a dream. In his dream the waters of the earth came open and poured upon the land of his home. Rains fell, creeks flowed, and the crops grew. It was a beautiful sight. In the distance he saw a silhouette approaching the homestead. The darkest cloud seemed to hang over the shadowy figure and followed as it approached. As the shadow came nearer, the house began to shake from thunder overhead. Then, an opening appeared in the lighter clouds and sunlight shone down upon the house. The shadow disappeared and the cloud moved around the house. The father awoke to hear a rapping of window panes.

Walking to the window, the father looked outside to see the familiar lights of the black car. Yet this time they were not approaching but leaving. It was as if they had already stopped and left. Waiting a moment to make sure they did not turn around, the father closed the panes and turned back to his bed.

The following morning the father woke up to the sun. It was the first time in a long while that he had slept so late. Walking into the living area he found his son seated at the table. In front of him was the satchel that the man had carried.

"Papa, what is this?"

The father walked out back to the shed and opened it only to find it empty. Returning inside he opened the satchel and found an envelope marked "RAIN". Inside the envelope was a note and money. The note read: "You have fed me and clothed me with shelter, thank you." Counting the bills, he found that the amount was sufficient to cover his debt and more.

"Papa, what is it?"

"A blessing son, a blessing."