Page 17 of My Vows Are Sealed

Despite my efforts to keep them back, tears leaked out of my eyes as I bit my lip to suppress my cries.

“You rebellious, disrespectful child! You will fuckinglookat me when I speak to you!”

I forced my eyelids open, and found myself looking into hard, angry, almost maniacal eyes that I almost didn’t even recognize as belonging to my father. He lowered his face until it was less than two inches from mine.

“‘Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be prolonged on the land which the Lord your God gives you,’” he spat, spraying his spittle on my face. “Disrespectful and rebellious children are not blessed with longevity. You will only be allowed to attend school and church for the next two weeks. There will be no socializing, and you willnotbe allowed to participate in the children’s program on Wednesdays. You are not permitted to speak toanyonewhen you are not in my presence. If an elder speaks to you, you may give them a respectful, concise answer, but that’s all. And if I find out that you’ve disobeyed my directives or that you’ve still been associating with sinners and Sodomites, therewillbe much more severe consequences.”

I couldn’t help it. A sob tore out of my throat as more tears streamed down my cheeks.

All I’d done was befriend two people who were nice to me and accepted them without judgment. How did this punishment fit my crime? For that matter, how was what I’d done even a crime? How did he consider that an act of rebellion?

Sometimes I wanted to do something like get drunk or go tag a building with graffiti, just to show him what rebellionreallylooked like. He accused me of being rebellious all the time, but I literally did everything he said without question. Except for not judging people who were different from me, and in that, I was obeying Jesus, not him.

“You are notallowedto cry!” he growled. “You disobeyed the Lord’s commands, and now you must accept His discipline!”

“Yes, sir,” I sniffled, wiping my eyes as I attempted to stop my tears.

“Go! Get out of my fucking sight!” he roared.

He raised his arm, and I automatically flinched away in anticipation of another blow, but when I looked again, I found him pointing in the direction of the hallway.

“What? Do you think I’m going to hit you?” he scoffed.

“You did a couple of minutes ago,” I whispered.

Thatdidearn me another slap, and I couldn’t help yelping at the sting that accompanied it.

“‘But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak,’” he growled.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

I sprinted to my bedroom and shut the door behind me, then sank down to the floor and hugged my knees as I finally allowed my tears to break free.

As usual, my father had taken the part of a Bible verse that servedhimwhile ignoring the rest of it. The entirety of that verse from James that he’d quoted was, “This you know, my beloved brethren. But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak,andslow to anger.”

Right. Slow to anger. Like that wouldeverhappen in the house of the esteemed Pastor Abraham Jones.

But I couldn’t tell anyone about his anger management issues, or how he always seemed to take it out on me and my mom. I’d tried to a few different times, but no one had ever believed me. But then, why would they when my dad always did damage control and told them that I was acting out because of my mother’s illness and made up stories to get attention?

God, I know You have a plan for everyone,I prayed.But I need Your help. Please work in my dad’s life and help him to control his temper. Please remind him of what Your Word says about how fathers should treat their children. I know You never give us more than we can handle, but I don’t know how much more I can take.

Chapter 5

Brendan

Disappear

As I watched Darla rush out of the children’s room, I felt my stomach dropping to the floor. I knew I hadn’t been imagining her flinching at the sound of her father’s voice, and I hadn’t been imagining the look of abject terror on her face either. I had no idea why in the world the head of this church thought it was acceptable to explode on his daughter like that in public, and especially in front of a bunch of kids.

Speaking of the kids who had just witnessed the exchange between Pastor Jones and his daughter, my brother got up from where he was sitting in front of the TV and walked over to me. I tried to force a smile as I lifted him onto my knee and grabbed a coloring sheet and box of crayons for him.

“Why was Darla’s dad yelling at her?” Nathan asked as he started to color the cartoon Jesus blue.

Damn it. What was I supposed to say to him about this? All he’d seen was me giving Darla a hug and then her father coming in here and yelling at her. And the last thing I wanted him to think was that it wasn’t okay to hug someone if they were upset. He was such an empathetic kid, and I didn’t want to limit any part of that.

“I don’t know, bud,” I sighed. “Sometimes people just get mad and they yell. Kind of like that kid we saw in McDonald’s today who was yelling and crying and we didn’t know why.”

“But Pastor Jones is a grown-up.”

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