He broke down, and the silence stretched through the room.

“James, when you were younger, did I ever tell you the story of my first cat, Freddy, and how I lost my arm?” Pastor Barrow settled in his seat a little, readying himself to tell the story.

James chuckled. “No. I don’t think so.”

The pastor smiled. “Well, listen carefully. When I was a boy about five years of age, I desperately wanted a little dog, and I picked one out, my mum and I, and we brought it home. But, my dad just about blew a gasket. He stormed at us, ‘I don’t want to be walking around this house and step in piles of dog poop.’ And he ordered us to return the dog immediately. And I was devastated. I was heartbroken.

“And then, about a week later, my mum showed up with a little kitten. She’d convinced my dad that that did not pose the same sanitation problems. Now, he was not thrilled with this, but he was a man of occasional reason”—the pastor let out a chuckle—“and a bit of common sense. And I think he also understood that this would teach me a sense of responsibility, by looking after the little thing.

“Anyway, I got my dear, precious little Freddy, and I was thrilled. And less than three months later, he died. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers in illustration. “I was so brokenhearted, and do you know what I came up with through all this?”

“What?” James asked.

“There cannot be a God; and if perhaps there was, He was a mean old man—even meaner than my dad. And my dad could cut through granite with his temper and his tongue!”

James waited a beat to hear the rest of the story, but Pastor Barrow just sat there smiling as if waiting for James to catch on.

“Obviously you found your way back,” James prompted.

The pastor nodded slowly, knowingly. “Yes, I did. As you will, too, James. Have patience. Have faith. God has not forsaken you.”

James smiled at his childhood mentor. His heart beat steady, and the throbbing in his head had gone. Having the opportunity to talk things out really did make a difference. He’d known that as a counselor, but he’d never before had to do it for himself. Just talking with a colleague, who understood on both a personal and a professional level, had helped. His outlook, while not completely restored, had definitely improved. He opened his mouth to thank the pastor, but then remembered something. He eyed Pastor Barrow quizzically. “Wait. Wait a minute; what did that have to do with losing your arm?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I just wanted to make sure that you were listening.”

~*~

A smile still curled the edges of James’s mouth as he drove across the frozen road into town. Dusk had set in early, and the dim, grey light coaxed bleak thoughts. Pastor Barrow’s words ran through his mind. God has not forsaken you. Maybe that was true, but it sure felt as though He had. And again, what about Travis? Had God forsaken him, too? A man so innocent of mind, yet now seemingly guilty of unspeakable violence. James had sinned greatly in his life, if not in deed, then in thought. It was logical that God would turn away from that. But Travis? Travis—until the fire, evidently—hadn’t had a bad thought or done a bad thing to anyone. How could God have let him go?