Suddenly Roland became quiet. His breathing slowed, and a new thought came
to mind. Could God be bringing punishment on me for something? What have I done wrong? I am certainly obedient. I spend hours in Bible study each day. I go door to door to bring truth to the
heathens. Why, compared to others, I am sinless!
As Roland sat on the floor in the bathroom
tenderly wiping each water-soaked page of his Bible, long ago memories came back as if
they’d happened only yesterday.
He saw himself as a six-year old in much
the same position hearing his mother screaming at him. She towered over him—her 5’ 9”, large,
overpowering body—as she threatened to get his grandfather’s razor strap and
lash him with it.
“Roland, why are you so clumsy? You’re supposed to be stringing beans. Why did you take them into the outhouse? How stupid can you get? And then you spill them! Can’t you do anything right?”
“But Mommy, I had to pee, and I was afraid
the chickens would eat them if I left them on the porch.” Roland tried to
explain, knowing his words were not heard.
Roland, the oldest of three children, lived
with his parents in an old farmhouse near the Chihuanhuan
Desert in the western most region of Texas. His father drove a produce truck that took
him all over the South and parts of the Midwest. He sometimes didn’t return home for days at a
time. Because of that, Roland and his
mother were expected to keep up the big garden and few head of livestock the
family owned. They were poor. With the canning Mrs. Fisher did during
harvest, and the chickens that roamed the yard, there was enough food, but no money for anything extra—except whiskey when Roland’s father was home.
On the rare occasions that Roland could get
away to play, he’d run to his friend, Charles, who lived in an adobe house a
couple of miles across the barren landscape.
Charles was a descendant of the Jumano Indian tribe—and just enough of an
ancestor that Roland’s father hated Charles—or anyone else not of European
descent.
One day Mr. Fisher arrived home
unexpectedly and when told where Roland had been playing, he beat his
barelegged son with a sturdy twig that left cuts and bruises on his back and
legs.
Life was hard for everyone in the family,
but the responsibility put upon the eldest was far more than his young age
could bear. By the time Roland was an
adolescent, he’d begun sneaking whiskey from his father’s bottles. It helped him forget.
Roland quit school after the 8th
grade because his mother needed him to do more work at home. When he was 15, he ran away from home, and
hitchhiked to Dallas. He lied about his age and got a job at a
service station. Caught taking money
from the till, he left town and headed to the Houston area where he heard about jobs as a
farmhand. He didn’t know about his
father’s death—a truck accident—until he returned home three years later. His mother, who had aged beyond her years,
was now mostly bedridden, but her temperament hadn’t changed. She yelled at Roland as he walked through the
door. He again was blamed for things being so bad for the family.
Roland stayed a week. He only thought a moment about leaving his
younger sister and brother, but said he’d already done his share of work and parenting. He knew he would never
return again.
A year later, Roland was arrested for theft
and an assault that nearly killed a man.
If the man hadn’t put up such a fight, Roland would never have beaten
him up he rationalized. He was convicted and spent 10 years in prison. With that experience behind bars, he
determined he’d never spend another minute in the pen. Upon release, he got a job doing auto repair
in another small town in Texas. For years he roamed from one place to
another, eventually meeting Isabelle’s family and the Lord.
For the first few years that Isabelle and
he were married, she followed the Biblical call to wives. Occasionally she put up a protest, but he
effectively reminded her of her place in the home. She kept the house clean, cooked meals, kept
his shirts white and ironed. And,
once-in-a-while, brought in a few dollars with her baking. But over the last year or so, she had turned
her head away from God. She spoke up and
often didn’t agree with Roland.
Roland got up from his place on the floor
and put his bible back on the kitchen table.
I need to calm down. I haven’t sworn for years. Good thing no one heard me! Perhaps God is telling me I should not be
yoked with an unbeliever—since Isabelle is no longer a god-fearing woman
.
To be continued...
To be continued...
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