The Road Not Taken

Jennings looks at the boy and guesses his age to be about 16, possibly 17, it was harder and harder these days to get a somewhat accurate idea of the ages of the people he sees. Last week he had seen a woman that at first glance had believed to be in her forties. However after delivering the message, an outspoken woman in his church, Mrs. Howard, had come up introducing her niece, visiting for a couple of weeks from Oklahoma. Her name had been Joan or Jean, or some such name, it wasn't the name that had stuck with him it was the fact that she was still a young niece simply visiting her aunt and Jennings had thought she was a woman in her forties, foretelling what the young woman had already been through. The hardships only seem to be getting worse this year and it was only, April, he couldn't imagine what it would be like in another month or so when summer hit the city, Chicago's weather was harsh on its people even at the best of times in the summer months. What with the ever increasing amount of people showing up each night looking for food and shelter at his church. He wasn't sure how much more would be added to those seeking the church's help before the year was out, but he didn't think the numbers would decrease or slow down anytime soon.

Returning his attention to the boy sitting next to him, he also knew he couldn't just ignore what he had seen him do, Jennings position and convictions were too strong. As he considered the options in his head he wasn't too sure he liked any of them, but Jennings knew something needed to be done.

The boy was beginning to fidget and was ducking the looks Jennings was giving him, as if he was hoping he would be allowed to let everything go and walk out the door as if nothing had happened.

“What's your name son?” he asked him. Ready at last to get the conversation started. It had to start somewhere for it to have a conclusion.

“George...sir.” His head bobs down even further to escape Jennings focus, but then almost thinks better of it and begins to sit up a little straighter. His upbringing most likely reminding him to sit up straight, not to slouch in front of your elders. The act causes his pants to ride up his ankles even further than they had already been, and his faded, worn shirt to ride up as well. Jennings suddenly sees himself in this young man, well lets just say many years ago now. Times were hard then as well for his parents in the farming business, and he would more than likely get his older brother's cast offs that he had out grown and have to wear them until they fell apart or just wouldn't fit him anymore no matter how hard he tried to make them.

“George, George what? Do you have a last name, son? Tell me about your Ma and Pa.” He at least wants to know a bit of his backstory before making a decision. Compassion has moved his heart countless times before, but he isn't sure the outcome will be the same today.

“George Jones, sir. My Ma is, well she's dead sir, a year ago now. My Pa, well he's deciding if he wants to join up in the Union like other men he knows have been doing so, his work laid him off three months ago so he's been trying to find something. Mostly though he just sleeps and then when he gets up he heads out to find out what the men are doing for the day and what they're talking about. I know he's trying to find a job, but well, you know sir, its been rough for everyone.” George once again looks down at the floor and begins to scruff the floor with his very well used shoes.

Jennings shifts on the pew so that he is facing George a little more head on. He isn't sure just yet which way he wants the issue to go, it would seem that he has the ability to make things stay the same for this boy or that he could make them much worse and those aren't choices he is content with. He wants another option, he wants to be able to do something more than what it appears is possible.

George is once again sitting up straighter and now beginning to look around him more since he has the time to do so. His glances keep taking him back to the stained glass windows high above their heads and the colors splashed on to the ground below with the sun shining bright through them. Most of the church is just as any other Protestant church in Chicago, sturdy, well built, tall ceilings and rows of pews for every Sunday's service to be filled. The stained glass windows though, marks Jennings's church a little more remarkable and memorable. The colors fill the sanctuary every day and flood over the pews offering color to a day that has become more and more weary.

“George Jones, I am Minister Jennings, or you can call me Robert if you wish. I see you keep looking at the windows and the colors on the ground, do they fascinate you? You know I make sure to spend time in here everyday, especially with how little color there seems to be these days in the world, makes me remember that there is still One who is in charge and has not forgotten us down here.”

“You really think that... sir? That God still sees us even with so many people losing their jobs,” Jennings can clearly hear the change of tone with a touch of anger in George's voice and isn't surprised. The conversations, before and after his services have become more bitter in emphasis and language, he has been slowly trying to work his sermons into a direction that can help, but the people have been hard set in their reactions towards anger.

“My Ma got sick and we couldn't afford her medicine the doc said she needed so she died. She died when I still needed her and now my Pa is losing himself and everything else to his drinking, because I just don't think he cares about me anymore, or anything for that matter. But you still believe God does?” George couldn't seem to help it as he sat up straighter this time and leaned forward towards Minister Jennings. It was as if he wanted Jennings to be God, so that he could begin to question the way things were going in his life and in the world and to get answers.

“Yes George, I do. I know it doesn't appear that there is a God who cares right now, but remember man has always had free will since the fall in the garden of Eden. Once mankind chose not to listen to God and we have always been allowed to choose what we wanted to do. Some might say that the state of the world is due to the choices that men have made. I know that is hard to think about given the state of your world right now. That things might not have had to be this way, especially thinking about your own Ma and Pa, but yes I think God is still in charge and waiting until man decides to ask him for help.”

“I don't understand how you can think that and believe that, just looking around you and the way things are and how it is that nothing seems to be getting any better. I really don't think anything ever will.” He lets out a long sigh and falls back against the pew with an audible thud.

“Well now let's think about for a second why you're here, why we are sitting together on this pew, if you will. When you woke up this morning did you think this would be where you would find yourself?” He watches George for any signs that he understands that Jennings knows what has taken place, and why he had asked the boy to come sit with him on the pew just a few moments ago.

George peeks at him to see if his face gives anything away, which it does not, he has already made sure to school his facial expressions to get an idea of what George wants to do, what he will say.

“No sir. When I woke up this morning I just knew that I needed to find food today, because yesterday I wasn't so lucky.”

This stopped Jennings, he should have expected that kind of a response and now he really wasn't sure on what he wanted to do. Hunger in this city has turned so many people, so many good people, into what they never would have wanted to be.

“Can't your Pa help you to get some food, didn't you find a soup kitchen, even here each evening we are doing our best to help feed the surrounding area. You could have come here.”

“I did stop by a soup kitchen over on Elm sir, but they had already run out of food, and by the time I made it over here the line was so long I knew the food would not last here either, so I didn't bother to get into the line at all. As for my Pa, well sir, he stopped worrying about if I was eating soon after my Ma died. I've been trying to figure things out for myself each day for a while now. I usually try to get one meal in me a day, I gave up trying to eat twice a day a long time ago. Once a day is what I aim for, but there have been a lot more days that I haven't eaten then I have. It's been harder, and so, well, I'm not sure what to do next, but I don't like my options truth be told sir. Now that I'm sitting here I'm waiting to see what you'll say, what it is you want and in my head I'm trying to think about where I can go to try and find a meal if you do let me go.” As he finishes speaking he pulls out a small, tattered notebook, it appears most of the pages had already been filled. He pulled out a small piece of charcoal as well, and opened up to a slightly cleaner page than the others and glancing up once again at the stained glass windows, began to sketch them onto the paper.

Jennings was astonished, in all the years of leading his congregation he has never seen anyone interested in drawing, or in the arts at all for that matter. Yet here is a young man thrown at him due to circumstances that lie deeper than first appearance, that is comfortable enough to begin sketching even in his present moment of indecisiveness. Jennings reaches out his hand without thinking and begins to grab at the notebook in his excitement.

George lets go of it without protest, attesting to the fact that he is used to losing things in his possession. Jennings can imagine someone bigger than him taking the food from his hand, and George unfortunately learning the hard way to just let it go.

“I'm sorry son, do you mind if I take a look? I truly love art and it has not been easy to find others that take enjoyment in it as well.” He begins to hand the sketchbook back giving George the right to deny him this pleasure.

“Go ahead sir, I just do it to keep my mind off of things when I find something that catches my eye that I don't want to let go of.”

Jennings notices that the young man doesn't' offer any critiquing on his own work as he would have expected for a boy looking for praise, as he turns to the first page. His gasp is quiet but audible as he flips through the next several images. George is a talented artist, and in accepting that Minister Jennings has made his choice on what to do.

“George have you ever heard of the WPA?” He's hoping that he hasn't so that he can be the one to explain everything in how this young man's life is about to change forever.

“No sir I don't believe so, is that like the Union my Pa and other men keeps talking about these days?” His body language hasn't changed much, but it will when his mind begins to understand what is about to take place in his life.

“Well son, George, the WPA is short letters for what means Works Progress Association. It is a new organization that is trying to get people up on their feet again. It's trying to create jobs to help bring back the economy, the way that people get money and spend money is a big part of why the world, your world, is the way it is right now.”

“Okay sir,” He looks a little hesitant trying to understand what that might have to do with him, and Jennings cannot wait to explain fully what this means for him.

“Just last week a member of the WPA came to see me about another matter he needed help with, a spiritual matter, and as we were finishing up talking he casually asked me if I knew anyone that was interested in art. It seems that the organization has been pushing more towards the arts as well to bring hope back into people's hearts. I had said I did not know anyone, and he told me that if I did happen to meet anyone to send them his way. Apparently WPA is ensuring certain people get into art school, and he is in charge of trying to find some as he travels around.” Jennings hands back the sketchpad to the young man, who's thinking has caught up with what Jennings has been saying and his mouth is hanging open in awe.

“Why would you do that for me sir? I don't understand at all. You know where you found me, you know why we're sitting here.” George's eyes begin to tear up just a bit as he clenches his hand around the notebook, and once again looks to the ground, this time in shame.

“Well now son, I think my answer to that is that you need remember that there is a God who still cares. Now lets go to my office so we can call my friend and find out what we need to do to start your journey on a different path.”

George slowly rises from the pew, looking around him, not sure what to do with this change in events, but slowly letting his heart begin to hope as he takes Jennings by the hand and shakes it vigorously, this time the tears flowing freely.

“Thank you. Thank you sir. You've changed my life.”

“No son, that was God that already had a plan when you woke up this morning.”