Page 6 of Whispered Southern Secrets

The next dayI spend the morning helping my father around the church. As we walk through the lawn, we chat with Wade and praise him again for the amazing work he does. Then as we pass through to Dad’s office, he stops to speak with the church’s security, Mrs. Betty Gail Fuller. After she’s told us—in detail—about her husband’s colonoscopy, she hands my dad a list of messages she’d already taken for him. He’s always been busy doing the Lord’s work but I severely underestimated how much he does. We thank Mrs. Betty Gail, promise to pray for her husband, and step into my father’s office. It’s a decent size room that’s filled with Bibles, Bibles in various translations, history and inspirational books, and family photos are everywhere. The room always smells of fresh pine. Dad sits in his favorite worn leather chair behind the simple wooden desk. I sit in a chairacross from him that has seen better days. It creaks under my weight, and I worry it’s going to collapse.

“Coffee?” Mrs. Betty Gail calls out.

“Yes, ma’am. That would be wonderful, Mrs. Betty Gail.” Dad calls out in his ever cheerful voice.

Dad picks up the church bulletin with the prayer list, along with his own notes he’d jotted down. He begins discussing each person with such care and devotion, and then he begins thinking of others to add.

“I can go by the sheriff’s department to visit with Declan Parker. See what families he may know of who might need some help. Some folks are too proud to ask.”

“Dad, what do you do if they don’t want your help?”

“Eh. I can usually guess who isn’t going to want to accept it. Those people I give to anonymously. Then they feel no obligation to me or the church.”

I can’t help but laugh. “If they don’t know who it came from, how are they supposed to know that we’re the ones helping.”

“The point is to give without praise or recognition. Is the reward that you made someone happy or that you get all the attention for doing something good?”

I scratch my chin. “I see your point, but don’t we want them to know the church did it and we’re here to help?”

“They’ll know they received a blessing. Maybe that’ll make their lives a little easier, fuller, happier. They might even pay it forward someday. Hopefully, they’ll give thanks to God and that will lead them through the doors of any of His houses. That is all we can hope for, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few more people pop into his head. The list is already long, but Dad doesn’t want to leave anyone out. I take his lead and think of the school kids. Adults have their problems but kids live in a confusing world and navigating through all thechanges in your body and life is a struggle we sometimes forget or downplay. “I can reach out to the principal, Lemon. Any kids needing prayers. Teachers too. Might even reach out to Coach Turner.”

My dad smiles. “Coach Turner retired. But I’m sure he’d still love a visit. That’s a great idea about our youth.” He reads back down the list from our Sunday bulletin. “Doctor Lincoln and I are going to visit some of his patients. What do you say to us going to the nursing home before dinner and singing a few hymns?” I nod, and then he continues. “Lucy from Simply southern Wedding has some dates for weddings we need to go over. The Holly Jolly Jubilee is coming up. Miss Laney is the new chairperson. Lots of prayers and support to her. I already told her we’re here ready to help in any way. We have a church committee meeting tomorrow to discuss how we can give more back to the community and the local charities.”

Give more? I’m overwhelmed as it is. My father, on the other hand, seems energized and ready to tackle the world. Bring joy and comfort to every single person in Magnolia Grove. No wonder everyone wants him to remain as the pastor. They respect and trust him. Plus, how can I ever be half the man and preacher he is?

Impostor syndrome begins creeping back to the forefront of my mind. It never leaves me, but sometimes I can shove it back. Insecurity rushes through me, taking over my thoughts. I’m worried about my past. I feel like a fraud doing this. I grew up in a Christian household, but only recently have I truly felt God’s presence. Was it really Him? Or was it my mind trying to protect me from the reality of my mom and I needed something to cling to, to give me hope? How can I preach His word when I’m still trying to understand it myself? How can I tell others of sins, when I’ve lived a sinful life?

“Stop.” The warmth of my father’s hand on my shoulder breaks through the haze of anxiety clouding my mind. I didn’t even notice him get up from his seat. “Stop it, son. You know who your worst enemy is?”

“The devil?”

“You.”

“I wasn’t too far off.” I snicker at my own joke, but my father ignores me and continues.

“You’re your hardest critic.”

“Dad.” I sigh. “Look at me. I’m no preacher. I grew up with every opportunity to become half the man you are and I wasted it. I’ve done a couple of things I’m not proud of, but I don’t regret them either.”

My dad chuckles and moves to rest his hip against the desk. He crosses his arms and looks down at me. He’s tall but not built like I am. He’s much leaner and always had a clean cut appearance. “I have no regrets about your past either.”

“You don’t even know all of it.”

“Don’t have to. I know it brought you to sitting here in my office. That or your mama’s charm, but either way it was God’s plan.”

“Mama’s charm? More like her guilt.” Thinking better of my comment, I quickly add, “Sorry, sir.”

“Not arguing with you son but charm sounds more polite. She’s still your mother no matter how hard headed she is.” He pauses and then his smile widens. “Which is part of her charm.”

He walks back around to his chair and I say something that’s been on my mind for a while. “So you agree it might not have been a divine power that led me here, but rather a stubborn as a mule southern mother.”

“Can’t it be both?” He answers with no hesitation. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. And look at all the times in the Bible that sinners, and people who seemed of little concern and werebarely mentioned were used by God to do marvelous things or to set something in motion. There’s only one in there who was without sin. One. Don’t flatter yourself, John David, you’re not the worst person to become a minister.”

“Now hold on, I didn’t say I was the worst.”

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