James shook his head and scrubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “All right. Look, Dad, first of all, I became a minister. I didn’t run way from you or anybody else. I had a calling, and it wasn’t as sudden as you make it out to be. You know that.”

“Fine.”

The lone word was meant to placate, not affirm, and James’s temper rose a notch. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “I didn’t come here looking for answers or your sympathy.”

“Son, every seed you’ve planted, everything you’ve put in the ground—including your mother—hasn’t yielded a single thing. And that’s not my fault; it’s not your mother’s fault; and it certainly isn’t God’s fault.

“My question for you is simple. Do you ever plan on finishing anything?” His father leaned over the ashtray, took a final drag off the cigarette and then ground the butt into the cut glass.

James willed his waning anger to remain burning strong as his dad’s words seeped in. Was it true? Was he really a quitter? He stared at his dad for a moment and then shook his head, shook off the man’s unjust criticism, shook off his own self-doubt. He wasn’t a quitter! Sure he’d moved on a few times, but that wasn’t because he’d given up so much as he’d realized where he was, what he was doing at the time just wasn’t right.

Like shutting the door to God? James willed his conscience to be quiet, to let him think through the implications of his earthly father’s words. Is that how Dad saw him? A failure who ran like a scared rabbit every time something crossed his path that he couldn’t control? His mind went back to Dad’s words about planting…had any seed he’d planted even grown? He’d been so full of conviction at the beginning of his calling. He was certain that his exhortations hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. In the early days, people had come to his church, been baptized, married, and had even specified that he officiate at their funerals. He’d led his flock from birth to death, all in the name of the Lord.

Letting out a puff of frustration, he turned and left his father in the dim glow of the musty living room.

As he hit the front door, muffled voices from the TV filtered down the hall.

James huddled into his coat as he stepped into the snowy night. Moments ago, he’d wallowed in the security of familiar routine, now he had to control the anger that rose. His thoughts were a jumble of memories and frustration, of loss, pain, and now, guilt. Had James abandoned them, had he run away to keep from facing troubles? His father thought the reverent, upstanding minister he’d become, the man who tended his flock with care and patience, was in reality a coward hiding beneath the collar and the cross. The revelation stunned James. He’d known his father didn’t seem to approve of his calling, but he’d never realized how deep Glen Moore’s disappointment ran.