Devon forced a laugh. Fifteen minutes later and they were done, and he and Rev were sitting in the kitchen. Rev grabbed two soda bottles from the fridge and twisted off the tops, set one in front of Devon.
“To cheerful labor.” Rev tapped his bottle to Devon’s.
They rested a moment in silence, then Devon found himself telling Rev about the camp and some of the books they were reading.
“Miss Helen has us talking about kids during wartime. Some of the kids said they wished we had a war now, wished they were old enough to go fight. Can you believe that?”
“Sure can,” Rev said, and Devon looked over, surprised. “It’s in our nature, the desire to prove ourselves in the face of adversity. We like to imagine how we’d handle it if the Redcoats came riding through right now, or if soldiers were gathering on the banks of the river ahead, what we’d do, how we’d manage.”
“I think most kids would flat-out run.”
Rev laughed, a big deep laugh. “I don’t doubt that, but they’d like to think they’d stand strong, face the fight head-on. And that’s not a bad thing. Adversity builds character, and there is joy in adversity, too.”
Devon thought about that. “Because we know heaven is our prize?”
“And because deep down we all know it builds character. James wrote in scripture that we should consider it a joy to face trials because we know the testing of our faith produces perseverance, and perseverance helps us be mature, complete.” Rev raised a brow, smiled at Devon. “Show me someone who’s learned how to weather a storm, and I’ll show you someone who’s come to trust in God. At the end of the day, my friend, that’s what it’s all about.”
Devon bit his lip. “So our struggles are meant to bring us closer to God?”
“In a sense, yes. You know what someone’s made of when they experience adversity. Do they crumble, or do they stand tall? I think we all know that some way or another, and I think that’s why so many kids play war, and say they wish they could go fight in one.”
Devon remembered how he’d felt last night, when Uncle T had loomed over him in the hallway. He’d crumbled. Standing tall wasn’t even an option.
And yet, here he was today. Having a soda with his pastor, talking about a camp he helped start.
“I think that’s what Miss Helen must’ve meant when she said wartime taught people to understand what was truly important. A lot of the kids thought she meant staying alive versus the silly stuff in life, but I bet she meant the spiritual stuff. Counting on God. Keeping the faith.”
“All that in one lesson. Helen Chastain is one good woman.” Rev’s smile was broad.
“Her granddaughter’s pretty great, too. She runs the newspaper.”
“You don’t say!”
“Miss Becca’s real nice. Though she doesn’t know much about God yet.”
Rev cocked his head. “Well, then, maybe that’s why God brought you two together.”
???
Devon coached himself on adversity the whole way home, even stopped at the curb twice to thumb through the Bible, reread the section in James about joy in struggle.
But he couldn’t see it. Deep down, he knew if he had another night like last night, he’d crumble again. Like that chunked-up concrete in JJ’s hiding spot. And maybe this time wouldn’t even be able to pick up the pieces.
His head was down by the time he pedaled to his street, and he almost didn’t notice until he was in his own yard, passing by Mama’s memory garden to park his bike out back.
T’s car was gone.
The house looked empty, quiet.
Closed up.
Maybe … ? His heart began to pound.
Inside, there was a note on the kitchen table.
Out of town on business. Missy’s with me so you’re on your own with Memaw. Don’t forget what we talked about. I mean it. I have proof. —T
His breath, which he realized he’d been holding off and on since he turned into his neighborhood, let out in one giant whoosh, and a flood of energy spread over him from head to toe. He stepped through the kitchen, into the living room, bathroom, his room, even Memaw’s room. No T. The house was empty save for his Memaw. He didn’t even care about the threat.
