| General Fiction posted March 10, 2023 |
  |
1,400 words. Sometimes you stumble into the right place.
A Fallen Man
by papa55mike
.JPG)
Samuel Kidd lies snoring on the floor in ragged blue jeans, a tattered Tennessee jacket, and his hat sits against the wall. He busted the lock off the door of this closed church around three in the morning, stumbled to the pulpit, and collapsed. Mr. Kidd will have no idea where he is or any recollection of how he got here. The last thing he'll remember will be polishing off a fifth of Jack by himself.
Daylight has finally come, and there are footsteps outside the battered door, and someone says, "Dear Lord, I hope they ain't stole anything." Coming through the open door is an older black man carrying a Remmington six-shot pump shotgun, and he's got one in the chamber.
The man strolls into the sanctuary and hears a snore behind the pulpit. He slowly glances at the heap of flesh lying there. With the barrel, he rolls the sleeping figure over on his back, filling the room with a stench of a three-day drunk.
"My goodness," the man taps the sleeping figure with the butt of his gun, saying, "Wake up, mister."
Samuel Kidd stretches and slowly opens his bloodshot eyes to find the business end of a shotgun at the tip of his nose. He's awake now! "Where am I?"
"You're in our church, mister. It seems you decided to kick in our back door and sleep a drunk off. That doesn't sit too well with me." The man studies his face and says, "Well, it is you, Mr. Kidd."
"You know me?"
"No, but I did see you preach. You had the anointing, then. But it seems you fell into a pit."
"I didn't fall in, mister. I dove in at the speed of light and still haven't hit bottom."
"Well, ain't that something," He smiles and pulls back the shotgun.
"I'd gladly pay you for the damages if you just let me go."
"No, I've been thinking, we ain't had a service in this church for over a year. The traveling Pastors always want more than we can give. So we had to shut the doors. We'll have a service today, and you're preaching the message."
"What! It's been five years since I prepared a message, must less preach."
"Well, the pulpit has a Bible, notebook, and pencils. I suggest you get started. I'll be back in a few minutes to open the church. If you're thinking about running, I hope your white ass can outrun the buckshot in these six shells because it will chase you across that field!"
Mr. Kidd meekly answers, "Yes, sir."
"From your smell, you might consider a temperance lecture."
"Thank you, I'll think about it."
Fifteen minutes later, the man reappears through the busted door carrying a pot of coffee and a plate of sausage and biscuits. "I thought you could use some coffee and a touch of breakfast for that pounding head."
Samuel Kidd sits in the front pew and slowly raises his head from his hands. Tears stream down his cheeks, saying, "I can't do this, mister. My anointing has long gone, and the Lord has left me."
"You know that's not true, Mr. Kidd. It was you that left the Lord," the man pours him a mug full of coffee and hands it to him, saying, "Maybe you should tell the truth, not only to us but to yourself."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Robert Joseph Williamson. My friends call me Bobby Joe, but you can call me Mr. Williamson."
"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you. How did I get into this mess?"
"Maybe you didn't. It could be the Lord was leading you here."
"Why?"
"Have you ever thought He was tired of seeing you waste your life," Mr. Williamson looks at his watch. "I hope you got something in mind to preach about. The congregation will be here in a few minutes."
Mr. Williamson removes the shutters to let the sunlight in through the windows. The light reveals a lovely church with eight pews, and it's finished in natural wood with a brilliant varnish. The six-foot bronze cross behind the pulpit is breathtaking.
Samuel Kidd notices Mr. Williamson and how he gracefully strides around the church. He's a big man, about six-two, two hundred pounds, graying around his temples, and dressed in a navy blue suit. He unlocks the front doors just in time.
"Hello, Bobby Joe," Mr. James Mayfeild bounces in and then hugs the stuffing out of Mr. Williamson. "So we have a preacher today?"
"Let me introduce Mr. Samuel Kidd."
"Well, he sure doesn't look like much, and what a stench."
"I'm sure he'll give us a good lesson or face breaking and entering charges."
"That should inspire him, Bobby Joe, although a few weeks in jail would dry him out a little." They both crack up until the door opens again, and more of the congregation files in.
Ten minutes later, the place is jumping! With every song came shouts of praise, tambourines rattling to the beat, and "Hallelujahs" filling the tiny church.
Mr. Williamson steps to the pulpit, saying, "And now, Mr. Samuel Kidd will deliver the message. I hope it's a good one because I've got 911 on speed dial if it ain't." The congregation cackles!
Mr. Kidd slowly rises from that uncomfortable folding chair and steps to the podium. His stomach is doing a backflip while the splitting headache he feels is about to pound through his skull. The entire group looks down the hall at the broken door and then slowly returns to Mr. Kidd, glaring! He whispers, "This is going to be a tough crowd."
Samuel looks at the floor for a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he returns his gaze to the crowd, saying, "I was asked to tell the truth here today, and that's what I'm going to do. I stand before you, a fallen man. I've left my wife, church, and Savior for a drink and a one-night stand. While attending Bible College, I had beaten my thirst and knew that one sip could start that evil again." He reaches for a drink of coffee with a trembling hand. It takes both hands to bring the cup to his mouth. "At the invite of an old friend, we went out and ordered drinks. That one drink led to another and another and another. Before the night was over, I fell into the arms of a seductress. I completely forgot who I was in Christ and never stood a chance. I started stashing bottles away in many places and thought I was hiding my drinking from everyone."
Mr. Kidd stands a little straighter, raises his head slightly, takes his left arm, and wraps it around the pulpit. He's in his preaching position now, saying, "I was only fooling myself. They all knew. But after falling behind the pulpit one Sunday and vomiting, I saw my problem had returned. It was time to run then and never look back, no matter who it hurt. My best friend became a bottle of whiskey until I stumbled in here."
Tears begin to fall from Samuel's eyes when he says, "I know I've hurt many people over the years but walking away from the Lord brought waves of pain that I tried to drown in liquor. What a waste." He wipes the tears from his face, saying, "Well, that's the best I can do. I guess you can call the law." Samuel stumbles back to that folding chair.
After a few minutes of deafening silence, Mr. Mayfield smiles at Mr. Williamson, walks behind the podium, and reaches out his hand to Samuel, saying, "That was a powerful sermon, Mr. Kidd. Thank you."
The rest of the people followed him behind the pulpit to thank Samuel for the lesson. He rises from the chair, his mind reeling, and glances at the crowd, cutting up outside. He says, "I can't believe it."
"Oh, you can believe it, Mr. Kidd," Mr. Williamson says from the front row, "You always had the gift and needed to find it again. How would you like to preach next Sunday?"
"I don't know."
"There's a room in the back you can use, but no drinking."
"It beats staying with my ex-girlfriend. She's a bigger lush than I am."
"Then we'll give it a trial, Samuel?"
"Well, stranger things have happened, Mr. Williamson."
Mr. Williamson smiles, saying, "You can call me Bobby Joe."
Samuel Kidd lies snoring on the floor in ragged blue jeans, a tattered Tennessee jacket, and his hat sits against the wall. He busted the lock off the door of this closed church around three in the morning, stumbled to the pulpit, and collapsed. Mr. Kidd will have no idea where he is or any recollection of how he got here. The last thing he'll remember will be polishing off a fifth of Jack by himself.
Daylight has finally come, and there are footsteps outside the battered door, and someone says, "Dear Lord, I hope they ain't stole anything." Coming through the open door is an older black man carrying a Remmington six-shot pump shotgun, and he's got one in the chamber.
The man strolls into the sanctuary and hears a snore behind the pulpit. He slowly glances at the heap of flesh lying there. With the barrel, he rolls the sleeping figure over on his back, filling the room with a stench of a three-day drunk.
"My goodness," the man taps the sleeping figure with the butt of his gun, saying, "Wake up, mister."
Samuel Kidd stretches and slowly opens his bloodshot eyes to find the business end of a shotgun at the tip of his nose. He's awake now! "Where am I?"
"You're in our church, mister. It seems you decided to kick in our back door and sleep a drunk off. That doesn't sit too well with me." The man studies his face and says, "Well, it is you, Mr. Kidd."
"You know me?"
"No, but I did see you preach. You had the anointing, then. But it seems you fell into a pit."
"I didn't fall in, mister. I dove in at the speed of light and still haven't hit bottom."
"Well, ain't that something," He smiles and pulls back the shotgun.
"I'd gladly pay you for the damages if you just let me go."
"No, I've been thinking, we ain't had a service in this church for over a year. The traveling Pastors always want more than we can give. So we had to shut the doors. We'll have a service today, and you're preaching the message."
"What! It's been five years since I prepared a message, must less preach."
"Well, the pulpit has a Bible, notebook, and pencils. I suggest you get started. I'll be back in a few minutes to open the church. If you're thinking about running, I hope your white ass can outrun the buckshot in these six shells because it will chase you across that field!"
Mr. Kidd meekly answers, "Yes, sir."
"From your smell, you might consider a temperance lecture."
"Thank you, I'll think about it."
Fifteen minutes later, the man reappears through the busted door carrying a pot of coffee and a plate of sausage and biscuits. "I thought you could use some coffee and a touch of breakfast for that pounding head."
Samuel Kidd sits in the front pew and slowly raises his head from his hands. Tears stream down his cheeks, saying, "I can't do this, mister. My anointing has long gone, and the Lord has left me."
"You know that's not true, Mr. Kidd. It was you that left the Lord," the man pours him a mug full of coffee and hands it to him, saying, "Maybe you should tell the truth, not only to us but to yourself."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Robert Joseph Williamson. My friends call me Bobby Joe, but you can call me Mr. Williamson."
"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you. How did I get into this mess?"
"Maybe you didn't. It could be the Lord was leading you here."
"Why?"
"Have you ever thought He was tired of seeing you waste your life," Mr. Williamson looks at his watch. "I hope you got something in mind to preach about. The congregation will be here in a few minutes."
Mr. Williamson removes the shutters to let the sunlight in through the windows. The light reveals a lovely church with eight pews, and it's finished in natural wood with a brilliant varnish. The six-foot bronze cross behind the pulpit is breathtaking.
Samuel Kidd notices Mr. Williamson and how he gracefully strides around the church. He's a big man, about six-two, two hundred pounds, graying around his temples, and dressed in a navy blue suit. He unlocks the front doors just in time.
"Hello, Bobby Joe," Mr. James Mayfeild bounces in and then hugs the stuffing out of Mr. Williamson. "So we have a preacher today?"
"Let me introduce Mr. Samuel Kidd."
"Well, he sure doesn't look like much, and what a stench."
"I'm sure he'll give us a good lesson or face breaking and entering charges."
"That should inspire him, Bobby Joe, although a few weeks in jail would dry him out a little." They both crack up until the door opens again, and more of the congregation files in.
Ten minutes later, the place is jumping! With every song came shouts of praise, tambourines rattling to the beat, and "Hallelujahs" filling the tiny church.
Mr. Williamson steps to the pulpit, saying, "And now, Mr. Samuel Kidd will deliver the message. I hope it's a good one because I've got 911 on speed dial if it ain't." The congregation cackles!
Mr. Kidd slowly rises from that uncomfortable folding chair and steps to the podium. His stomach is doing a backflip while the splitting headache he feels is about to pound through his skull. The entire group looks down the hall at the broken door and then slowly returns to Mr. Kidd, glaring! He whispers, "This is going to be a tough crowd."
Samuel looks at the floor for a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he returns his gaze to the crowd, saying, "I was asked to tell the truth here today, and that's what I'm going to do. I stand before you, a fallen man. I've left my wife, church, and Savior for a drink and a one-night stand. While attending Bible College, I had beaten my thirst and knew that one sip could start that evil again." He reaches for a drink of coffee with a trembling hand. It takes both hands to bring the cup to his mouth. "At the invite of an old friend, we went out and ordered drinks. That one drink led to another and another and another. Before the night was over, I fell into the arms of a seductress. I completely forgot who I was in Christ and never stood a chance. I started stashing bottles away in many places and thought I was hiding my drinking from everyone."
Mr. Kidd stands a little straighter, raises his head slightly, takes his left arm, and wraps it around the pulpit. He's in his preaching position now, saying, "I was only fooling myself. They all knew. But after falling behind the pulpit one Sunday and vomiting, I saw my problem had returned. It was time to run then and never look back, no matter who it hurt. My best friend became a bottle of whiskey until I stumbled in here."
Tears begin to fall from Samuel's eyes when he says, "I know I've hurt many people over the years but walking away from the Lord brought waves of pain that I tried to drown in liquor. What a waste." He wipes the tears from his face, saying, "Well, that's the best I can do. I guess you can call the law." Samuel stumbles back to that folding chair.
After a few minutes of deafening silence, Mr. Mayfield smiles at Mr. Williamson, walks behind the podium, and reaches out his hand to Samuel, saying, "That was a powerful sermon, Mr. Kidd. Thank you."
The rest of the people followed him behind the pulpit to thank Samuel for the lesson. He rises from the chair, his mind reeling, and glances at the crowd, cutting up outside. He says, "I can't believe it."
"Oh, you can believe it, Mr. Kidd," Mr. Williamson says from the front row, "You always had the gift and needed to find it again. How would you like to preach next Sunday?"
"I don't know."
"There's a room in the back you can use, but no drinking."
"It beats staying with my ex-girlfriend. She's a bigger lush than I am."
"Then we'll give it a trial, Samuel?"
"Well, stranger things have happened, Mr. Williamson."
Mr. Williamson smiles, saying, "You can call me Bobby Joe."
 Recognized |
I took the picture of that closed church six years ago, and when I drove by it the other day, sadly, I saw it's still closed.
Many thanks for stopping by to read!
Have a great day, and God bless.
mike
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Many thanks for stopping by to read!
Have a great day, and God bless.
mike
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