I definitely knew what she meant. No one in my district back home went without food or shelter or medicine or clothing when the need arose. We also helped those outside of the faith—sorting canned goods for a local hunger-relief mission, rebuilding homes after disasters, things like that.
If I belonged in the non-Amish world, I would still need to be a part of a congregation of some kind. It made sense to attend Lark’s church and see what it was like to worship God without the Ausbund and the High German and the Pennsylvania Dutch.
“I’ll ask Brady anyway.”
“Do you want to drive? My mom will let me borrow her car if I must, but if you drive I won’t have to ask her.”
“Sure. What time should I come for you?”
“Around ten thirty. It’s not far but the parking lot fills up fast. And I want you to be able to get a good seat.”
Now that was a new concept. “A good seat?”
“So you can see the band and the worship leader and the pastor instead of having to watch them on the screens. It’s better when you can see the real people.”
“I’ve always believed that,” I quipped, but she didn’t get that it was a joke.
“Do you have a Bible? One that’s in English, I mean. If you don’t, it’s not that big of a deal. They put the verses on the screen, but I like bringing my Bible with me anyway.”
“Me too,” I said, trying again with the humor. “The screen alone never feels like enough for me.”
She still didn’t catch on. “So I’ll see you at ten thirty?”
“Ten thirty.”
We hung up.
Talking to Lark had lightened my mood, which both cheered and irked me. I wished I could punch in a few numbers and talk to Rachel the way I had just talked to Lark. I tossed the phone onto the couch beside me and let the TV lull me into a half stupor.
Brady showed up at ten. He seemed to have had a good time with his friends, but he didn’t elaborate and I didn’t push him. I asked him if he’d like to come to Lark’s church with me in the morning.
He kind of laughed. “I don’t think so. I have homework, and there are two football games I need to watch.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“But you go ahead.”
I let his reasons for not wanting to come fall away. I hadn’t really expected him to join me, but I sensed I should continue the conversation. It had been a long time since I had gone to church with Brady, probably the summer I was fifteen. He would have only just turned six. That suddenly seemed like a million years ago. And even though I’d always tried to be an example of my faith when I was with him, it was clear to me that he hadn’t applied any of it to himself. In the Amish culture, there was always an awareness that the younger boys looked up to the older ones. Emulated them. Wanted to be a part of their group. In church, we sat in prescribed sections—males on one side, females on the other, children with their mothers—but it was a known fact that every little boy yearned for that right of passage when he would be allowed to enter the service not with his mother but with the big boys and sit with them instead.
As such, we men were always taught to live as an example, ever mindful that younger eyes were watching. I had taken that responsibility seriously since I was sixteen or seventeen and had become part of the older crowd. Yet here I stood now, realizing with piercing clarity that the most important young eyes of all had been watching yet hadn’t been influenced by me in this way one bit. If anything, he had a blatant disrespect for everything I stood for.
I prayed, asking God to open Brady’s eyes to a closer relationship with Him—and to show me what part I could play in that. I thought it might help to get him involved in a good youth group out here, so when Brady stepped into the kitchen, I followed and asked if he’d ever been to Lark’s church before.
“No.”
“It sounds like a great place. You should try it sometime.”
Brady opened the fridge and withdrew a can of Dr Pepper. “So you guys are, like, spending a lot of time together.”
“What?”
He popped open the can, took a sip of the soda, and then turned to me. “Whatever, man. She’s pretty. She’s available.”
Words failed me for a couple seconds. “It’s not like that. Not at all.”
Brady took another drink. “Okay. Like I said, it makes no difference to me.”
“No, seriously. It’s not like that. I’m not…I have a girl back home.”
He moved past me. “Whatever.” His tone was relaxed and nonchalant. As though he really didn’t care who I saw or who I might possibly hurt in the process.
I gently reached for his arm. “There is no ‘whatever.’ I am not interested in Lark in that way. I simply want to see what her church is like. I thought you might want to see it too.”
Brady looked down at my hand on his arm and he slowly lifted it out of my grasp. “It’s none of my business what you do, Tyler. You don’t owe me any explanations.”