When I Needed You Most

I’ve always said that I grew up with only half of my heart. The other half was crushed in a car accident.

“David, you said that you could never hear a response, no matter how many times you asked. Why do you think that is?”

I just sat there, with my fingers interlocked and my head facing the floor. I looked at her shoes, they were a nice navy blue. My focus shifted to the floor. The incisions in the floor perfectly aligned, to the point where you couldn’t notice a mistake even staring at it. I looked at my shoes. They were a dark brown, but you could still see the stains from all of my tears. 

“I understand if you don’t want to talk, but you have to let me know that,” she continued. 

“I’m fine,” I mutter. “You know what’s not fine, though? How I knocked thousands and thousands of times on his door but no one answered.” I pointed up at the sky. 

“I asked thousands and thousands of times yet nothing changed. Everyone who said this was supposed to work lied to me. That’s what’s not fine.” I picked up my keys and walked out the door.

“David-” she cut herself off. 

“He answers all your prayers, they said.” I whispered to myself while walking down the stairs. “There is nothing he can’t do. Nothing you ask him is out of his reach.” If everything is possible for him, then tell me why chooses not to do some things.

I swung open my car door and sat down. I let out a sigh, closed the door, and started the car. I’m going back, to get the truth. If they could be at that level of authority and be wrong, they better be able to tell me why it didn’t work.

“You know, God, everyone says that your goodness is for everyone, but you seem to just forget about me. What did I do to lose your love? What could a five year old have done so wrong that you just took something that precious away from them? You know what, I’m done asking.”

I parked in the lot, and turned off the car. Stepping out, I thought, “this is the last time I will ever step foot in a church.” Walking up the steps, my heart began to beat. Bum, bum. 

Bum, bum. 

Bum, bum.

Before walking in, I just stood and looked at the door. All of its intricacies. The designs on the wood, the intricacies in the artwork, and the dark brown coating covering the whole thing. I swung open the door, and walked in.

“Ah, David! It’s been so long, I haven't seen you in a while. How have-” Bishop Bartholomew began to greet me. 

“You lied to me.” I cut him off. I was done listening to this picture perfect nonsense. Almost a year ago, he crushed me.

“Well, what can we learn from Eutychus’ story? One takeaway is that some things that look like the end are lies of the enemy. He might try and persuade us that what we believe in is a lost cause. But if our faith is strong enough, anything is possible for God. Let’s not forget Matthew 17:20, can we all open that up in our Bibles?

Matthew 17:20 says, “You don’t have enough faith,” Jesus told them. “I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move. Nothing would be impossible.”

If you would just believe, you will see the dead raised.”

After that sermon, I raced to the cemetery. I knew the route by heart, as I had come every year to celebrate my father’s birthday. As I reached his grave, I fell on my knees and cried out to God. I was there for hours, but it felt like years. I don’t even know what I was expecting to happen, maybe a knock on his coffin, maybe a cough because he needed fresh air, something, anything! But nothing came, and all that it did was make me feel like an idiot.

“You told me that if I would just believe, I would see the dead raised. Yeah, well I didn’t. Maybe there was some magic spell I missed before I left, but considering this is a church I would guess not. So tell me, huh?” My voice became shaky. “Why is my dad still laying down in that grave, and why is my mother forgetting more and more of who I am, day after day?” I paused, regaining my composure.

“You said all I had to do was believe, and I did. I believed for hours and hours, but then hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks, and then I realized that nothing was going to happen.”

“Well, my doctrine has refined ever since, but-” the bishop began to reply.

“That’s not my question!” I cut him off again, “Why did what you say not work, and why has God not answered my prayers for 24 whole years?”

“Well, sometimes we can be irrational, and we might end up-”

“Irrational?” I was thrown into a fit of rage. Calling me irrational after all that I had gone through awakened something inside of me. “You want me to tell you what's irrational? Believing that praying to a magical figure in a beautiful palace is actually going to produce a result.”

The bishop went silent.

“Coming here was a terrible idea anyways. I hope I never see you, or God for that matter, ever again. Have the day you deserve.” And with that, I stormed out.

“DAVID!” he called. I stopped and turned to look at him. My face erupting with hatred and bitterness, it pained me to see him any longer.

“I have made my mistakes in the past,” he continued, “ and I am not going to try and save my own skin when I have clearly hurt you. But my one piece of advice to you is, be careful what you wish for.”

I continued out. I walked down the steps, my mind swirling in 1000 different directions. “Be careful what you wish for, yeah I’ll be careful. How about, be careful what you say to people, because you don’t know how it’s going to impact their life.”

Walking out to my car, every step became so painful. My heart was aching from a lack of closure, while my mind was working overtime thinking of all the ways he was wrong and I was right. I should have asked for more, one side of me thought. But even though I never wanted to admit it, I knew I needed to move on.

In my car, I sat still. I opened the glove compartment and fiddled around until I found what I was looking for. I blew off the dust on this sacred artifact, and just looked at it. My only remaining photo of my dad was passed down to me by my mother, but now she has no idea who he even is. “I love you dad, and I know you’re smiling down at me from Heaven.” I whispered, “In your giant house of yours, make sure you save me a room.” 

After getting home and entering my room, I dove onto my bed. I needed answers, but I had now gotten used to the fact that answers weren’t coming. And as my eyes began to close, I grabbed my one stuffed animal, the only tangible memory of my dad, and held him tight. 

Dreams can be… surreal. You wake up believing their deception for a good minute, but then something snaps you back into reality. But, dreams are also superficial. They don’t know what you don’t tell them. Whether or not this was a dream, I’m unsure.

Sitting down at my desk, I bounced a pencil off my head. These lyrics weren’t coming together as they should’ve. It’d been a long day, and I was in no mood for imperfection. But, just as I almost gave up, a faint, “David” echoed across the room. Whirling my head around, I saw him. Standing at 6 ft. tall, built, with a warm face, my father’s shadow stretched across my bed. Running to him, I gave him the biggest hug a man can give. We talked for hours, and hours, but neither of us became weary. He answered everything he could, and I wrote every answer I could down on a piece of paper. And after the moon shone so bright that you could see its reflection on my window, my father left.

The next day, Sunday, I woke up… disappointed. It was a surreal experience if I do say so myself, but it wasn’t real. In dreams, you feel like you're floating, because all of your worries and stresses are beneath you. But when you wake up, you fall down into your body. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and turned on the television.

“I have to buy more cereal,” I said, as I threw out the box. A tiny paper fell out, and I picked it up. At the bottom of these boxes there’s always a little joke or riddle. This slip read, “If you can’t prove something, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, that just means that you need to keep looking for evidence. Signed, J.W.” My father’s name is Jacob (Jake) Woods, and I am David Woods.

For a good 5 minutes, I just stood there. There was no way this was a coincidence, right? I ran back to my room, and looked through my desk for any more slips. At last I found one, and just as I had hoped, no one had signed it. This wasn’t a coincidence, this wasn’t a dream, it was a vision or something. But that doesn’t matter, because it was real.

In dreams, you feel like you’re floating. But when you realize that your dream is your reality, you feel like you’re flying.

“You know what?” I said to myself. I went back to my living room, flashed off the TV, and finished up the cereal. I went into my room and got out my best suit and shoes. After freshening up and getting ready, I walked out to my car and began to drive. I turned on the radio, and the songs began to play. The only one I recognized was Amazing Grace by Judy Collins, because we used to sing it every single Sunday. 

“Without the liar, I don’t think I ever would have found the truth.” I repeated that to myself, because it sounded wise, and I liked the thought of being wise.

I pulled into the parking lot and stepped out. Like nothing had happened at all, I was back at the place I promised to never return to. I walked up the steps again, but my heartbeat didn’t speed up. I looked at the door, but I was more concerned at what lay within than the intricacies outside. Opening the door, I took my seat 3 rows before the back. Bishop Bartholomew was making his way onstage, but as he scanned the crowd, he made eye contact with me.

Even if it was only for a second, I saw him pause. He paused and smiled, and I smiled back. As he took the stage, he prepared his notes and began speaking.

“I had a very hard time discerning what to speak on today,” he began, “I couldn’t exactly hear clearly from God. But yesterday, the topic came to me like a flash of lightning. Today, I am going to be speaking on the power of your words. While we may not realize it, our words make a difference in the lives of others, and can stay with them for the longest spans of time. Now, can we all open up to…”

That was the most I had ever paid attention in a sermon. 

Because of the magical figure who I thought hated me, I have everything I need. I guess Bishop Bartholomew was right, be careful what you wish for.