He started to walk away, but I could not let him go. Perhaps I should have prayed about it or thought about it or just waited to say something. But that’s not what I did.
“Hey, I’m your brother,” I called after him. “I’m not just some person your parents hired to look after you while they’re gone. I came here because Dad said you wanted me to come.”
Brady swung around. The nonchalance was gone. He was mad. “Well, I’m real sorry you feel that you’re wasting your time with me. I’m sure I can stay with a friend until my parents return. If you want to go on back to your Amish people and your Amish life and your Amish girlfriend, no one’s stopping you.”
He turned from me and I followed him.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not wasting my time here. I just want to know what you’re so angry about.”
“Who says I’m angry about anything?” he said as he continued on toward the stairs, Frisco following him.
I went after them.
“Who says? Well, let’s see. You’ve been distant with me since the first day I got here. You barely talk to me, you don’t want to do anything with me, you resent my asking you any questions. What else am I supposed to think? Did you tell Dad you wanted me to come?”
There on the stairs, poised between the floors, Brady’s gaze met mine. He was two steps ahead, looking down on me as if I were a grubby beggar pleading for money.
“I did,” he finally said. “My mistake.”
With that, he turned and continued up the stairs to his room, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.
TWENTY
Sleep eluded me after I went to bed and turned out the light. I prayed for the better part of the hours I spent tossing and turning, asking God to show me what had come between my brother and me.
I felt God’s peace and presence calming me and encouraging me, but the lightning bolt of clarity I pleaded for didn’t come. I awoke late, at least for me, and had no new insights on why Brady was acting the way he was.
Frisco was scratching on the other side of Brady’s door when I walked out into the hallway. I opened the door as quietly as I could to let the dog out, but I couldn’t help but peek inside. My brother was soundly asleep, his face turned the other way. I closed the door softly and Frisco and I went downstairs.
I hoped that Brady would get up before I left for church so that I could at least tell him good morning. But when it came time to leave, his bedroom door was still closed and there was no sound coming from behind it.
Lark was in a happy mood when I came for her, and she talked the whole way, for which I was thankful. She also didn’t insist on driving, which meant I had the distraction of the road to keep me from dwelling too much on my predicament with my brother.
Her church looked more like an auditorium for a play than a place to meet with God, but as I settled into the strange environment, I began to see that the people around me definitely were happy to be there and eager to worship. Everyone sat wherever they wanted and laughed and talked before the service began, as if they were at a social event. But when the service started, the social atmosphere grew more worshipful. The music was loud, which I didn’t mind, but it seemed to be aimed at sounding good to the listener instead of pleasing to God. At least that’s how it came across to me. The songs were also incredibly short, with lights to change the mood for each one and animated projections of the lyrics on the giant screens on either side of the stage. I couldn’t sing any of the songs, and I had a hard time concentrating on God with such contemporary-sounding phrases that often seemed like words we were speaking to each other about God instead of to God.
But the pastor’s message, taken from Psalm 103, was thoughtful and inspiring. After the message, another pastor came on stage and the screens began to detail how many ministry and growth opportunities were available. Homeless outreach, life groups, couples night, financial freedom classes, recovery support groups, midweek Bible studies, an upcoming trip to Haiti, and more. I thought of my list.
Opportunities for service and involvement abound.
The question was whether everything else was as loud and frenetic as the worship hour had been. By the end of the service, in fact, I felt an odd fatigue. I longed for just a quiet moment without any kind of directed appeal to my senses, just to refocus on God and God alone.
But there was no quiet moment. As we walked back out to the main foyer, conversations and laughter erupted all around us. Lark saw some people she knew from her life group, the meaning of which I hadn’t quite figured out yet, and we stopped so that she could introduce me to them.
I was glad she didn’t say, “This is Tyler Anderson. He’s Amish.” She just told them I was someone visiting family in Newport Beach and that I lived in Pennsylvania. Her friends were kind and seemed genuinely interested in me. They even invited me to their midweek get-together that coming Wednesday night. As we walked back to the car, Lark asked me what I thought of the service.