Help Her
* * *
It is said that life is measured in seconds and in years, but seldom in minutes or hours. In a way this is true; we remember seconds, ticking away. They are with us always, one and then another. As each one passes there is another to take its place, and we live in those seconds, on and on and on.
Until it is years that have passed.
Eric Camden thought about that, these days.
He was older. Seconds had passed and become years and now he wondered where they had gone. He had been a boy, chafing under a strict father, rebelling by stepping away from military service, from tradition, when he became a man.
God had called him, and Eric Camden had answered.
He wondered where those years were now. What was there to show for them?
The party, where all those people who you had helped were gathered, where Lucy told you she was going to become a minister, was going to be like you?
Was that wise of her? There was the gratitude, but gratitude by itself was ephemeral.
What is your legacy, Eric Camden?
He didn't know. Some might argue that it was his children, but he wondered if this was as true as they claimed. Matt was away, in New York, in school. A doctor, he would be someday. Eric could be proud of him.
Mary? A career. Where are you, Mary? Why do I never hear from you? Was it that bad, the things I did for you, the way I tried to raise you, the person I wanted you to be? Do you still go to church, Mary?
Lucy? Simon? Ruthie? Sam and David? Where am I, in all this? Where is Eric Camden? Do I have dreams?
You are a minister. You do God's work.
He thought back to when that had been enough. He thought back to when Lou had been an ally, not someone to suspect. He thought back to when he had thought more about his sermon than the latest budget.
Christ had ministered without a budget, without even a church to speak in. And he had changed the world.
#
Eric was sore, just now, as he sat at his desk and worked. He seemed to be sore a lot lately and he wondered if he ought to push up the date for his next physical.
And when, with your schedule, will you have time for that?
We need you, Eric, the congregation always seemed to say. You are our leader, our patriarch. It is only through you that we can feel God, can know his grace. We are alone, we are lost, without you. Help me, help us.
Eric sighed, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. The budget numbers were all starting to look the same.
That was the moment that Edward Shaw knocked on his open door.
Eric looked up.
"Ed."
"Eric. You have a minute?"
They had not spoken since Christmas and Eric took a moment to look the man over. There was a fatigue in Edward that he had not seen before, like he hadn't slept well, the lines on his face seeming longer than they had been.
"Sure," Eric said. "Come on in."
Edward nodded, stepped into the office, sat down in the chair opposite the desk.
"How've you been?" he asked.
"Not bad," Eric answered. "You?"
"All right."
They each read the lie in the other.
Eric leaned forward now, rested his elbows on the desk.
"What can I do for you, Ed?"
Edward didn't answer right away. Instead he looked around the office, at the walls, the books on the shelves, the lamp beside Eric's desk. Finally his gaze returned to Eric.
"I understand that you do counseling," he said.
Eric nodded.
"I understand that you're good at it. That's what people say."
Eric remembered the party, the waves of gratitude.
"I try," he said.
"You do it in a Christian way?" Edward asked.
"Yes. What's this about, Ed?"
Edward sighed. "I need your help, Eric."
This, coming from Edward Shaw, struck Eric as odd. Shaw had never seemed like the sort of man who needed help, or who would ask for it; he was the epitome of the Christian father, a man in control of his life and his family, confident. Yes, he was also extreme, hardened. His were the stern views of Christ and God held by many, even many in Eric's own congregation.
Even by Eric himself, sometimes.
God the father. God the leader. A world where everyone knew their place, sanctioned by the divine.
Sometimes. But not always.
"How so?" he asked.
"Ellen."
"Ellen?"
"She's been tempted, Eric. I've tried to stop it, tried to protect her. I've tried to give her the life God wants her to have. But --"
His voice cut off abruptly, the pain in it almost palpable.
Eric watched him closely. Edward blinked, wiped at his eyes. He spoke again.
"I have it under control, the temptation," he said. "She's safe from Satan for now. But I'm afraid, Eric, that he has pulled her away from Christ, and I don't know how to bring her back. I have her pray every day, all the time, but it's like she's drifting away."
Eric thought of Mary again, suddenly. Mary, drifting away from him. He had tried to hold her, to restrict her, to keep her close and under control. He had even enlisted his father, his stern, harsh, judgmental father, to help. And for nothing.
He knew the look on Edward's face all to well.
"I'll talk to her, if you like," he said. "I'll do my best."
Edward nodded, a moment's relief washing over his features. They talked a little more, then, about Ellen. Trouble with pornography, with keeping secrets. Finally they set up an appointment. As he rose to leave Edward shook Eric's hand strongly.
"Thank you, Eric," he said. "I lost one daughter to sin. I'm not going to lose another, even if I have to go to hell to get her back."
* * *
It is said that life is measured in seconds and in years, but seldom in minutes or hours. In a way this is true; we remember seconds, ticking away. They are with us always, one and then another. As each one passes there is another to take its place, and we live in those seconds, on and on and on.
Until it is years that have passed.
Eric Camden thought about that, these days.
He was older. Seconds had passed and become years and now he wondered where they had gone. He had been a boy, chafing under a strict father, rebelling by stepping away from military service, from tradition, when he became a man.
God had called him, and Eric Camden had answered.
He wondered where those years were now. What was there to show for them?
The party, where all those people who you had helped were gathered, where Lucy told you she was going to become a minister, was going to be like you?
Was that wise of her? There was the gratitude, but gratitude by itself was ephemeral.
What is your legacy, Eric Camden?
He didn't know. Some might argue that it was his children, but he wondered if this was as true as they claimed. Matt was away, in New York, in school. A doctor, he would be someday. Eric could be proud of him.
Mary? A career. Where are you, Mary? Why do I never hear from you? Was it that bad, the things I did for you, the way I tried to raise you, the person I wanted you to be? Do you still go to church, Mary?
Lucy? Simon? Ruthie? Sam and David? Where am I, in all this? Where is Eric Camden? Do I have dreams?
You are a minister. You do God's work.
He thought back to when that had been enough. He thought back to when Lou had been an ally, not someone to suspect. He thought back to when he had thought more about his sermon than the latest budget.
Christ had ministered without a budget, without even a church to speak in. And he had changed the world.
#
Eric was sore, just now, as he sat at his desk and worked. He seemed to be sore a lot lately and he wondered if he ought to push up the date for his next physical.
And when, with your schedule, will you have time for that?
We need you, Eric, the congregation always seemed to say. You are our leader, our patriarch. It is only through you that we can feel God, can know his grace. We are alone, we are lost, without you. Help me, help us.
Eric sighed, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. The budget numbers were all starting to look the same.
That was the moment that Edward Shaw knocked on his open door.
Eric looked up.
"Ed."
"Eric. You have a minute?"
They had not spoken since Christmas and Eric took a moment to look the man over. There was a fatigue in Edward that he had not seen before, like he hadn't slept well, the lines on his face seeming longer than they had been.
"Sure," Eric said. "Come on in."
Edward nodded, stepped into the office, sat down in the chair opposite the desk.
"How've you been?" he asked.
"Not bad," Eric answered. "You?"
"All right."
They each read the lie in the other.
Eric leaned forward now, rested his elbows on the desk.
"What can I do for you, Ed?"
Edward didn't answer right away. Instead he looked around the office, at the walls, the books on the shelves, the lamp beside Eric's desk. Finally his gaze returned to Eric.
"I understand that you do counseling," he said.
Eric nodded.
"I understand that you're good at it. That's what people say."
Eric remembered the party, the waves of gratitude.
"I try," he said.
"You do it in a Christian way?" Edward asked.
"Yes. What's this about, Ed?"
Edward sighed. "I need your help, Eric."
This, coming from Edward Shaw, struck Eric as odd. Shaw had never seemed like the sort of man who needed help, or who would ask for it; he was the epitome of the Christian father, a man in control of his life and his family, confident. Yes, he was also extreme, hardened. His were the stern views of Christ and God held by many, even many in Eric's own congregation.
Even by Eric himself, sometimes.
God the father. God the leader. A world where everyone knew their place, sanctioned by the divine.
Sometimes. But not always.
"How so?" he asked.
"Ellen."
"Ellen?"
"She's been tempted, Eric. I've tried to stop it, tried to protect her. I've tried to give her the life God wants her to have. But --"
His voice cut off abruptly, the pain in it almost palpable.
Eric watched him closely. Edward blinked, wiped at his eyes. He spoke again.
"I have it under control, the temptation," he said. "She's safe from Satan for now. But I'm afraid, Eric, that he has pulled her away from Christ, and I don't know how to bring her back. I have her pray every day, all the time, but it's like she's drifting away."
Eric thought of Mary again, suddenly. Mary, drifting away from him. He had tried to hold her, to restrict her, to keep her close and under control. He had even enlisted his father, his stern, harsh, judgmental father, to help. And for nothing.
He knew the look on Edward's face all to well.
"I'll talk to her, if you like," he said. "I'll do my best."
Edward nodded, a moment's relief washing over his features. They talked a little more, then, about Ellen. Trouble with pornography, with keeping secrets. Finally they set up an appointment. As he rose to leave Edward shook Eric's hand strongly.
"Thank you, Eric," he said. "I lost one daughter to sin. I'm not going to lose another, even if I have to go to hell to get her back."