Light bathed the small side table, a picture of his family he’d kept in his old bedroom. A fishing trip up north. Jericho held a stringer of salmon spanned between his brothers.
Okay, so maybe hehadmade a mess of his room. Many piles, indeed, although to be fair, they were short piles, all of foldedclothes. Still, he could nearly hear his drill sergeant in his head. Or maybe his mother.
He scooped up the piles and found places for the clothing in the dresser. Then he turned to the closet.
He had way too much stuff. File boxes, stacked four high, filled the entire closet.
How had he left this mess with his brothers? He simply hadn’t been thinking, clearly.
Then again, failure had filled his brain, nearly deafening. Felt quieter now, although it still whispered.
He pulled one off the top and set it on his bed. Photos, all frames taken from his old bedroom. The first photo hit him like a punch.
All four of them clustered around their father on the trail around Horseshoe Lake. He must have been fourteen, Malachi about nine. A two-mile hike around the lake—it’d felt like they’d run most of the way.
And in their faces, so much of their futures. Sully, grim, wearing a bandanna over his long hair, holding a walking stick, and Hudson, hands on his hips, grinning. Mal had his hands in the air as he balanced on a log, and, of course Jericho, arms folded, serious—oh, he always took himself way too seriously—next to their father.
He never realized how much they looked alike, he and his father.
A cracked photo album lay under the frame, and he picked it up, set it on the bed. A lifetime of memories caught under yellowing and crinkled sticky paper.
He turned back to the box. A journal lay nestled amid a few worn paperbacks and he pulled it out.
Wasn’t his.
He opened it and time swept over him. His father’s scrawl filled the pages.
His prayer journal.What—how?
Except maybe ... and Jericho could imagine that his father would have gone to Jericho’s room, perhaps, to pray. Maybe even to pray for him.
Maybe he’d left the journal there and Hudson packed it up with Jericho’s things, not knowing. Now, Jericho couldn’t stop himself from paging through it.
His gaze fell on one of the passages.
Lord, I couldn’t sleep tonight. The wind’s howling through these mountains like it does when change is coming, and my thoughts are with my boys. Each one of them, Lord. You made them so uniquely, and tonight I’m thanking you for that, even while my heart is heavy with a father’s endless worry.
Jericho, away in Afghanistan. My firstborn, the family protector. I remember watching him graduate from boot camp. Such honor in that man. That need to run toward danger, to bring others to safety. Keep him safe, Lord, while he guards others. I know he longs for his own life ... help him not lose himself.
And Sully, somewhere out in the bush, following his own track. This boy you gave me, with horizons in his eyes, guide his restless spirit, Lord. He thinks I don’t understand his wandering, but I see how he longs to test himself. Teach him to lean on you.
Hudson came to me today, worried about resort finances. My steady son, carrying the weight of our legacy on his shoulders. Give him peace, Lord. Help him not to bite off too much. To see your timing. Your provision.
And Malachi, my youngest, was up late again, poring over business plans. He sees possibilities in everything, Lord. Watch over his dreams. Help him build his visions without losing sight of the purpose.
They’re all so different, Father. Sometimes I lie awake wondering if I’ve done right by them, letting them follow such different paths. But tonight, in the quiet of your presence, I see it. They are searching. But you promise that when we seek you, we’ll find you. That you are their refuge and their strength and you go with them.
They’re your sons even more than they’re mine. I trust you with their paths, even when those paths take them from me.
Give me wisdom to guide them, faith to release them, and time enough to see the men you’re shaping them to be.
Protect them, Lord, in their quests. Not just their bodies but their spirits.
Help them to trust you in all things, with their lives, their hearts, their futures.
And in your time, bring them home.
Jericho’s hand smoothed over the words and his chest knotted. He looked at the date.
