Helping with the Pain

*Part 2 of a serial story of a Christian with a problem.

“I haven’t prayed in months,” Grant said, with a sigh of resignation. He felt like an alcoholic admitting that he has a little bottle of gin hidden in his nightstand.

Steve didn’t wince or nod or make any noticeable change in his expression, and something about that steadiness made Grant think for a second and then give a more complete answer.

“I guess that’s not really right. I pray on the way home from church, because I want our two girls to believe.”

“Have you seen God do anything in response to those prayers?” Steve’s voice was measured and deep and warm. It seemed crazy for Grant to be thinking that this was exactly what he’d needed, that he was already feeling a little bit freer, but it was true. This man he’d just met was somehow taking some of the load off him. Grant redirected his thoughts, though. He wanted to answer Steve honestly.

“Maybe. Yes, I think so.”

Steve smiled. “Do you have any pictures of them?” Grant nodded and retrieved his black IPhone from the front right pocket of his jeans, and a few seconds later he’d pulled up a picture of his two daughters smiling on their front porch, Melody’s left hand resting gently on her little sister’s left shoulder. That picture had been from Melody’s first day of school this year. Grant left the phone there on the table and watched Steve as he looked down at it. Had a man ever asked Grant to see a picture of his kids before? He knew the answer before he’d even fully asked himself the question.

“She’s eight,” Steve guessed, lightly tapping Melody in the picture and looking up at Grant. He was still smiling. “And she’s…” He looked again at the picture, grinning back at the image of Harmony, and then ventured his guess. “Five?”

Grant was impressed. He nodded. “She just turned five over the summer. Melody is the eight-year-old. Harmony is the younger.” Grant picked up his phone and put it back in his pocket. Before he did, he noticed a text from Dana, but he didn’t want to read it. Not right now.

Based on the first few words, he knew what it said.

“They’re beautiful,” Steve said. “Any other regular prayers you have?”

Grant truly considered for a moment. He wasn’t happy with the answer he arrived at, but he wasn’t going to lie to a man like this. He took a sip of his coffee, winced because it was too hot, and then said, “No.”

“Why do you think that is?” Steve drew out the “why.” He had a deep voice, too, so the word felt underlined and in bold font to Grant.

He shrugged, and gave a bemused sort of smirk that he normally hated seeing on other people. He hadn’t realized he’d done it, though, because he was too busy looking at Steve. The man’s face stayed steady, and his eyes remained fixed on Grant’s, and something about that made it easier for Grant to stop worrying about how he came across or what might happen next. He was just convinced that sitting right across from him was a man who could guide him out of the pain.

“I’m exhausted.”

Grant took the lid off his coffee so it could cool, and watched the steam billow out and up into the late afternoon air of the the “Better Notes” coffee shop.

“I could see that from your form,” Steve said, referring to the online Google form Grant had filled out after reaching out to the counseling group. “But I’m wondering why you don’t pray more when you’re exhausted.”

If anyone else in Grant’s life had said that right then, he’d have gotten defensive. His wife Dana would certainly have meant something more barbed if she had said it. And the two other men in their small group were both weird, and it would have been off-putting coming from either of them. Grant had a good pastor, but he didn’t know him well enough to conceive of him saying something of that nature to him. The thing was, though, Grant didn’t get defensive now, with this man asking. And before he’d had time to really wonder why that was, Steve had smiled and then tapped the table a few times with the palm of his right hand.

“I’ve been there, too, Grant. Or at least I think I have.”

Grant’s face tightened up a bit, and he squinted. He didn’t have much of an idea of what Steve was talking about.

“You looked at our web site, right?”

Grant nodded.

“Do we still have my testimony on the home page?”

Grant thought for a second. He remembered the white background, the spare design (only a picture of Steve and the other two counselors standing outdoors in a park or something, all giving warm smiles into the camera with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders). Grant didn’t recall any videos of Steve anywhere or any written story from him on the site.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Steve looked thoughtful for a second. “I’ll have to talk to our admin person about that. But that’s probably better for our purposes. It gives me a chance to tell you myself. I’ve been a Christian since my sophomore year of high school, Grant. But sixteen years ago, as a man of thirty-six with a wife and four kids, I tried to kill myself.”

Grant felt all the blood leave his face, and his hands suddenly felt like he’d shoved them into a bucket of ice water, all cold and tingly. For the first time since he’d come into the coffee shop and seen Steve in person, he regretted the fact that he was here. Something inside him was warning him that he was about to be manipulated. But then the warning died away as Steve continued.

“I knew it was wrong,” he said matter-of-factly, and Grant had the odd sensation of being able to imagine thirty-six-year-old Steve’s inner voice telling himself that in just that tone of voice. “I knew it would do irreparable damage to my wife Linda and our three boys and one daughter. But I’d reached the end of what I could handle. I couldn’t wake up and face those thoughts anymore.”

Steve let that memory sit there and cool for a minute, and then he pulled an individually wrapped mint Lifesaver out of the pocket of his slacks, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. After about ten seconds of silence, Grant spoke. It wasn’t merely from discomfort at the quiet, though he was certainly uncomfortable. Hearing a near-stranger’s attempted suicide story was weird. Scary, actually. Because of the nightmare. He also genuinely wanted to know something.

“Why didn’t it work?”

“It did,” said Steve, the words slurred a bit because of the Lifesaver on his tongue. “But not the way you’re thinking.”

Part 3 coming soon.