Shadows Over Truth

Write a story that includes the line “I can’t undo it” or “I can’t fix it”.

Shadows Over the Truth

As I pulled the top off the zwieback, I wondered why they didn’t call it a “roll”. The only differences were being made with cream, a small ball on top of a larger ball, and the attached tradition. A roll by any other name and all that.

I guess my parents were Christians. We went to church, but they never talked about what they believed.

Traditions in my community centered around twelve families moving for religious freedom. A miniature replica of the original church displayed the arrangement of pews and a wood burning stove. Someone wrote a play about how our ancestors came to America. A museum records the history with antique equipment and furnishings. And my family had twice monthly gatherings—without any children my age.

At Christmas, the church sang Nun Ist Sie Erscheinen, die Himmlesche Sonne. For whatever the reason, I never learned my parents’ low German. No one in my class at school knew the language either. I can understand singing the song for the old people. I didn’t understand why it wasn’t sung again in English.

I patiently waited for the end of my high school senior year so that I could escape.

When I went to college, I found that I had lived a sheltered life. My parents didn’t smoke. It was a surprise to me when I came out of a bowling alley smelling like an ash tray. In high school, the air in the bathroom wasn’t blue with smoke from cigarettes because my classmates didn’t smoke. Without peer pressure, I had no desire to smoke.

My parents didn’t drink either. I had to choose whether I would or not. When I went to a function at the college, I saw a drunk woman dancing. Her eyes were rolling in her head, and she was dancing like she didn’t have a bone in her body. I thought, That’s good enough for me. I make a fool of myself as is without beer helping me. I still don’t drink.

Living on a farm and having parents who didn’t want to associate with the “Englisha leid”, I didn’t meet many people from outside my hometown and local grocery store. It seemed odd when I saw homeless people on the street. And I had to see several drug addicts before I could identify one.

I admit it. Growing up in school, I didn’t have many friends. It wasn’t all their fault. I was not disciplined so I was a whiner, complainer, and not very friendly.

That’s why I appreciated the friendship of my college roommate, Irene Meadow. We weren’t twins by any stretch of the imagination. Irene wore dresses and had long blond hair. I wore blue jeans and a t-shirt and had short brown hair. She used makeup. I thought it was a waste of money. Outgoing best described Irene, but not me.

One day, I told Irene about my algebra class. She stopped to turn to me and listened.

“My Mom never helped me with math. She said, ‘An ‘x’ is an ‘x’. How can it be a number?’” Irene laughed at the statement.

“I can help,” said Irene. “I’m good at algebra. I had that class last year. What’s your problem?”

“When I explained my thinking to my teacher, Mr. Pennington, he yelled at me because I didn’t understand. He said I should be able to remember the order. I know I should do parenthesis, but there is an exponent. I can never remember what the order is for doing calculations.”

“Parenthesis, exponents, multiplication and division, then add and subtract. I’ll do your problem too, and we’ll compare answers.”

Our answers came out the same.

Irene sacrificed for me a lot. Took me to work when it was snowing. Paid meals for me. Retrieved my homework when I was sick.

One Sunday morning, Irene asked me, “Where do you go to church?”

“I don’t go anywhere. I didn’t get much out of my home church. I tried some other denominations. They all seemed about the same.”

“Why don’t you come and see what we have at my church, It’s a Baptist church.”

I said, “Sure. Why not?”

Every person there must have shook my hand and welcomed me. I came from a large church, but the singing here was way more enthusiastic. The preacher’s points and subpoints were easy to follow. My home church never had altar calls. I felt unrest at the altar call, but I was determined not to go.

On the way back to the dorm room, Irene asked, “What’d you think?”

“It’s way better than any other church I’ve been to.”

Irene took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you saved?”

“Well. Yes. I have repented, and believed Jesus died and rose again.”

“That’s the plan of salvation all right. But do you know Jesus as your personal Savior?”

“What’s to know? I’ve been baptized.”

“But you’ll keep coming to church with me?”

“Sure.”

I enjoyed the Baptist church. Besides telling Bible stories, the preacher gave personal examples and related it to modern life. Again, I felt unrest at the altar call. Again, I was determined not to go. But I did want to talk to Irene.

At the dorm room, I was the one to take a deep breath this time. “Irene, I want to know more about your personal relationship with Jesus.”

Irene smiled and took my hand. “I read the Bible, talk to him, and confess my sins every day. I reaffirm what the Bible teaches. All men have sinned, and God’s punishment is hell.”

Sounds familiar, I thought.

“Jesus took the punishment for us when He died on the cross.”

I began to have images in my head that His wounds should have been mine. Tears formed in my eyes.

Continuing, Irene said, “You know the plan of salvation. Why don’t you renew your repentance, and belief that Jesus died and rose again?”

“I’m having trouble believing.”

“Feelings are fickle. You have to believe the Bible rather than your feelings. The Bible hasn’t changed for thousands of years, nor will it ever. You can trust it.”

Irene showed me the verses that backed up what she was saying. I prayed a brief prayer renewing my confessions and my belief in Jesus. I had peace like I never felt before.

“Do you want to be baptized? It will be by immersion,” said Irene.

“I was baptized by sprinkling. Isn’t that good enough?”

“Baptizing won’t save you, but it is your testimony to the world. Immersion is a more complete statement about your death to sin and new life to Jesus.”

The next week I was baptized by immersion.

*****

It was near the end of the semester. I hated the thought of going home to my parents.

The preacher’s next sermon was about God not forgiving us unless we do. That struck a nerve with me.

“Irene, have you ever had to forgive someone?” I asked.

Irene held her lips tight and looked down before looking up to speak. “I had a boyfriend who cheated on me. I forgave him, even though he didn’t admit to doing anything wrong. I dropped him like a hot potato.”

I let out a sigh, and didn’t look at Irene.

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“It’s the end of the semester,” said Irene. It’s your chance to go home. And make things right with them.”

“But it’s so hard!”

“Corrie ten Boom in the Hiding Place said it best. When a concentration guard wanted forgiveness, she told God, ‘I can hold out my arm, but you’ll have to do the rest.’ When she did, forgiveness flooded her.”

I sat on my bed. “I suppose I’ll have to talk to my parents.” Irene just nodded.

***** At my parents’ home *****

I hadn’t gone home throughout the semester. My Mom smiled broadly at seeing me. We weren’t a hugging family, so she didn’t hug me, though she did offer some cheese and zwieback. She informed me about the news of all my relation, none of whom had ever shown any interest in me. My Dad didn’t say or do anything.

“Mom. Dad. I want to talk to you. First, I want to thank you for the verses I had to memorize, being taken to church so much, and the Bible the church gave me for memorizing the books of the Bible.

“Dad, you were supposed to be the head of the family. But you relegated all spiritual training to Mom.

Mom. I forgive you for not spending time with me to explain about marriage and anything related to that. Your once a day, fifteen-minute devotion from Daily Bread wasn’t enough for me.”

“I can’t undo it,” said Mom. “I was doing my best.”

“I know you were. I forgive you… Dad, it’s been really rough forgiving you for not setting the example of what God the Father is like. But with Jesus’ help, I’ll be able to forgive you.”

He partially opened his lips in shock. Then said, “I set a good example. I worked hard to provide food, clothing, and shelter for you. I took you to church every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. We prayed on our knees every night.”

“I know you did. I appreciate and thank you for the hard work and meeting my needs. Yes, we prayed. In silence. I had no idea what or how you prayed. As far as going to church goes, I remember being five years old. I twisted your wristwatch band to get your attention. You slept rather than hold me on your lap. I forgive you for that and not spending time with me. And not even speaking to me for weeks on end. I must forgive you for not telling me about what Jesus means to you.” I think I stunned him into silence.

“I ask both of you to forgive me for ignoring you.”

I shook hands with my father, and said, “I forgive you”. He seemed a stranger to me, and figured he wouldn’t want a hug.

I braced myself to hug my mother, who returned the hug.

From all this, I learned to take time and effort to build relationships, whether with people or Jesus.