She studied him quietly for a moment, and the compassion he saw settle into her expression dissipated some of his irritation.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Things have been just so...bad, not just for us, Jim, but everyone. Rust has been real bad last couple of crops. Then this fire. The Pearces, it’s funny, well not funny, but they came here five years ago from England—England no less—took over the Parker farm, and showed us a spirit like, I don’t know, they just so loved being here and farming and working the land. The Pearce boy, he was maybe twelve and actually wanted to grow up to be a farmer like his dad. And that’s rare these days! His daughter was a few years older, really pretty. She fit right in with the other kids in town. Real pretty gal. Such a shame. Just makes no sense.”

Mary got quiet for a moment, and time stretched across the cab of the truck as James tried to envision this family who had come all the way from…England?…and been accepted only to be struck down.

He marveled that they’d come to America, even when rust threatened the crops. No wonder people loved them. He remembered his father and others keeping diligent watch for the disease in their fields. The rust colored fungus was called the “polio” of the wheat crops, spreading like wildfire if not controlled quickly. Mr. Pearce must have really loved the land to come into a community knowing they’d had a fatal crop disease affecting their ability to sell their wheat. That took dedication. Dedication fostered hope. James had lost dedication to the One who’d influenced his life the most, he couldn’t bring hope to his own family, much less the whole town. As despair anchored in his heart, a glimmer of realization dared to spark.

Maybe he had returned to Kipling to rekindle hope for this town, and for himself—to rekindle hope in God. Was that what God was trying to say to this lost flock?

But how could God use him, a broken vessel the Lord no longer acknowledged, to bring peace to an entire town? It just didn’t seem possible. Guilt, anger, fear, doubt…it all cluttered James’s heart, extinguishing the glimmer. He was no one. He couldn’t be great; he’d not even lived up to the potential people saw in him as a teenager. He was middle-aged now, what could they possibly expect from a has-been preacher who couldn’t even hang on to his faith?

“He was real hard working, Mr. Pearce, and a good Christian.” Mary’s voice pulled James out of his thoughts. “He was a little tough on his kids, especially the daughter—real strict with her—but he genuinely seemed to embrace the opportunity of being here. Started to lift everyone’s spirits...Then...” His sister’s voice trailed off even as it captured his attention.

The silence returned.

James couldn’t fathom the depth of influence this Pearce family had had on the whole of Kipling, but regardless of his inadequate understanding, he could see clearly the pain carved in the lines on his sister’s face. He wanted to reach out to her, physically, emotionally, spiritually, but his own brokenness arrested any action or words. His heart was void. Until he could find healing and guidance for himself, how could he hope to help his family, this town? Guilt at his own faithlessness settled deeper.