Divestiture - Second Installment

At around eight-thirty sunlight was beginning to penetrate the window blinds. John had constantly argued in favor of getting wooden blinds or heavy curtains, but Kelly loved being woken by the sun. He rolled over and covered his face to block the light, but by now he was awake enough that the sound from the television kept him awake. As he sat up to reach for the remote control it occurred to him that the sound had probably been influencing his dreams throughout the night. An early local church service was on. He tried to watch, but an unrest grew within him, until he finally turned it off and went into the kitchen.

Besides, he was hungry. He quickly made coffee and eggs and ran outside to get the newspaper. There was very little in it that truly interested him, but still read every word on every page. He then walked into the living room and began searching through his collection of films. At length he though better of it and sat down in his study, busying himself with paperwork.

He had not missed a Sunday in church for 8 years, nor had he ever worked on paperwork for 6 hours straight in the 5 years since he had started A Priori Publishing. On this day time meant nothing, and work was now the most precious thing to him.

At around four o'clock, however, he stood up to stretch and looked down at what he had done. It occurred to him that he was now left with little to do while at his office for the next few days. It was probably time to stop for the day. 'Besides,' he told himself, 'I need fresh air.' There was no need for subsequent deliberation; he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

The man arrived at the mall dressed as a teenager might be: a t-shirt, jean shorts, and sandals. This deviation from his casual wear of choice, a business-casual look, did not reflect the natural apathy for appearance felt by a man on a day off, but rather demonstrated an intentional apathy, an apathy which acted as a means to blissful avoidance of truth.

John loitered in various stores and tried a Chinese dish he had never had in the food court. For once the large crowds did not bother him. In fact, he cherished them. In most faces there was contentment. Most of those who surrounded him had likely not experienced agony as he had. He could become lost in that sea of faces and the collective contentment could wash away his sorrows.

One face, however, was terribly distressed. The woman, appearing to be in her late twenties, seemed to be frantically searching for something or someone. As she came near his table he called to her.

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

She stopped and quickly blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm looking for my son."

"I can help you look for him." She eyed him suspiciously. "Oh, I'm sorry, I know how that must have sounded." From his wallet he produced a business card. "Here. To hold me accountable."

Still taken aback, she replied, "Alright. My son is about this tall, with green eyes and dirty blonde hair. His name is Dylan. If you find him, meet me at the top of that escalator." She quickly ran off. John left the remainder of his meal on the table and headed for the escalator. As he descended to the lower floor he saw her rushing into a small toy store.

'Perhaps,' he though, 'but a young boy loves exploration.' Behind and to the left of the escalator was a gift store. Upon entering he looked to the right into a maze of displays of electronic gadgets of all sorts. Sure enough, a young boy, fitting the height that the woman had indicated, and with dirty blonde hair, was there, playing, in the midst of so many highly functional devices, with a Newton's Cradle. None of the other adults seemed to be attending to him.

John ran back outside of the store and looked around. He spotted her heading in his direction, but not exactly in his direction, and a bi-directional river of shoppers flowed between them. He waved his arms back and forth, but to no avail. 'What was her name?' She hadn't told him. Panicking, he drew a sharp breath.

"Hey!"

Most nearby turned toward him, but few stopped, and none remained in place for more than a few seconds. Fortunately she noticed him and ran up to him. "I think I found him. In here." They both entered the store and he pointed out the boy he had seen. She sighed and quickly moved toward her son, embracing him.

"Dylan!"

"Mommy!"

"Don't you ever run off on me like that again!"

"I'm sorry!" he cried.

"It's ok, honey. You scared Mommy. Thank you so much, sir."

"It's John. John Peterson."

"I know. I saw it on your card. Rachel Miller." They shook hands. He was momentarily surprised and impressed at the firmness of her grip. "Is there any way I can repay you?"

"That's alright, ma'am. No need for that."

Somewhere inside John a feeling of guilt had slowly grown. He had missed church; he had basically ignored God completely that day. Perhaps this was his chance to make things right.

"Actually, I'd like to invite you to my church next Sunday."

Rachel smiled. "Dylan and I already have a church."

John's chest quickly deflated of that grand sense of purpose. "Oh. Well, then, it was good to meet you, and I'm sorry it wasn't under different circumstances. Glad I got to help, though."

"If you'd like, we can join you for a Sunday." This took a lot for Rachel to say, as will be evident later. "Where do you go?"

"Cornerstone Baptist. It's on Mopac, just north of Steck."

Rachel nodded. "And what time?"

"Ten-thirty."

"Alright, we'll be there. Thanks again. I cannot tell you how thankful I am. God bless you, John." With that she turned and led Dylan up the escalator. John went home immediately, making up for lost time in prayer along the way.