Fishtail Redman, Chapter 28: Thaw

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

With a seasonal thaw awakening the natural beauty of West Virginia, Parker Redman felt motivated to visit Grafton again. And liberate his Shovelhead chopper from its hibernation in the hillside garage. His old yearning to be free and perpetually in motion had returned. It overwhelmed his sense of accomplishment at speaking before the revival crowd in Morgantown. And enhanced the joy he felt for being alive, and protected by the grace of a loving God.

 

Because he had rebuilt the Harley-Davidson motor, while it sat in his cousin’s repair shed, the beast came to life without much prodding. He let it idle for a couple of minutes, then closed the rollup door, secured his few possessions, and headed toward the Mountaineer Travel Plaza. At such an early time in the afternoon, he reckoned on seeing Krista Pearl at her workplace, and possibly sharing a break outside. The weather cooperated perfectly for this jaunt over open roads between his erstwhile hideout, and the intended destination. But upon reaching the parking lot, he discovered that an unanticipated roadblock was present. Reverend J. Fortrell Hageschutte had gathered a small group from his Taylor County Nazarene Worship Center, to publicly lobby for Christ among truckers and travelers who passed through the convenience depot. A goal that seemed very admirable.

 

Parker chose a distant spot in the parking area. One in a far corner, by a stand of trees. He did not want to be a nuisance, or hinder the effort to evangelize patrons and generate goodwill for the church. But the exhaust rattle of his V-twin hoss was unmistakable, even against loud bursts of diesel clatter from big-rigs on the move. Before long, many attentive eyes had turned in his direction. Fingers were pointed, and heads bobbed with indignation. Then, a delegation began to march toward his secluded space.

 

The notable clergyman called out even before finishing this short walk. He appeared to be somewhat irritated at being upstaged during his own event.

 

“You there! I remember your visit to our Sunday service, some time ago. Parishioners from my flock say that you spoke at a faith rally in Morgantown, recently. Is that correct? It doesn’t seem possible!”

 

The shaggy biker nodded to affirm this juicy tidbit of gossip.

 

“Yes, that’s right. I got an unexpected invite from Exiles for the Almighty to participate...”

 

Hageschutte huffed phlegm and coughed wildly.

 

“EXILES? I’VE HEARD OF THOSE PEOPLE! THEY REJECT ANY DENOMINATIONAL AUTHORITY, OR OFFICIAL HIERARCHY! HOW DOES A BUNCH LIKE THAT KEEP ORDER? IT SEEMS UNNATURAL TO ME! SUCH A GROUP MUST BE TOUGH TO LEAD!”

 

Parker shrugged, while stripping off his leather jacket.

 

“I don’t know much about their history, brother. But the premise is familiar. I grew up in a fellowship with a similar philosophy. The old-line, Church of Christ. They wanted to ‘speak where the Bible speaks, and be silent where the Bible is silent.’ I think that is a worthwhile approach...”

 

The reverend had reddened visibly. He shook his right fist toward the horizon.

 

“I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER, SIR! YOU ARE FILTHY, COVERED WITH INK, GREASE, AND MOTOR OIL, AND REEK OF GASOLINE AND GRIT! TO THINK OF YOU AT A TENT REVIVAL IS QUITE UNBELIEVABLE, REALLY. PREACHING TO GOD’S PEOPLE? FROM THE HOLY WORD? I CAN’T IMAGINE SUCH A DISGUSTING SPECTACLE! SOMEONE LIKE YOU DID NOT DESERVE TO BE IN THAT POSITION! YOU DID NOT EARN IT! YOU HAVE NOT LIVED A LIFE FIT TO BE PUT UP AS AN EXAMPLE TO THE FAITHFUL! YOU ARE SOILED AND STAINED! SOMEONE LIKE YOU CANNOT SERVE AS A WITNESS FOR THE LORD!”

 

The recovering misanthrope did not disagree with this description. Instead, he sought to confirm what had been said.

 

“You nearly hit the bullseye there. Everything you said was true. Except for your final conclusion...”

 

Hageschutte was confused.

 

“You admit your guilt? Out here in the open, you admit your unworthiness? Doesn’t that make a mockery of your silly attempts to preach the gospel? And what do you mean, I struck close to the target’s center? What do you mean by pretending to follow these sacred traditions?’

 

Parker took out his copy of the Bible for Bikers, from a saddlebag on his iron steed. Carefully and patiently, he began to read a passage, aloud.

 

1 Corinthians 15:1-11. “Now, brothers and sisters I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain. For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, and then the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born. For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them – yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me. Whether, then, it is I or they, this is what we preach, and this is what you believed.”

 

The Nazarene theologian had become even more befuddled. He stammered and spit while trying to understand.

 

“WHAT IS YOUR POINT IN READING THAT SCRIPTURE? WHAT IS YOUR POINT, MAN?”

 

The tattooed drifter closed his book, and realized that a group of worshipers and travelers had gathered around the perimeter where they stood.

 

“What was Paul saying here, to the people at Corinth? He spoke about the death, burial, and resurrection, about God’s grace, and just as importantly, about his own unworthiness. Was that necessary? Did he need to confess his status as one who had done harm to followers of Jesus? I believe that it deepened his credibility. Because he saw himself as a humbled servant. Nothing more. A component of the faith. A grain of sand, in the vast continuum of creation. If someone like him could carry the word to others, someone who had been violent and evil to believers in God, then I think, anyone may turn from their sins and accept the grace of our Heavenly Father...”

 

Hageschutte went wide-eyed and numb. His defiant tone disappeared.

 

“Yes... yes... I suppose you are right. I hesitate to admit it, but you are correct, Mr. Redman. You are not what I expected, at all. Not who I thought you to be. Not who you appeared to be. With that in mind, I ask your forgiveness. Now, shall we pray together, before I leave?”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 27: Calling

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

By the time of their revival meeting in Morgantown, spring conditions had begun to flourish. This buoyed everyone with a sense of nature being reborn, and the possibilities for a spiritual renewal. Many speakers were scheduled to address the gathering, each from a different denomination or fellowship assembly. But when Shepherd Narvel Adkins stood at the pulpit, in their grand outdoor tent, there was a moment of confusion. Instead of opening with a prayer, and a lesson from the scriptures, he turned to a member of his entourage.

 

“Friends, you’ve heard me preach from the gospel on many occasions. I dare say that my name is known all around this part of West Virginia, and beyond. But today, I’ve got something else in mind. I’d like you to hear from someone who we have called a brother for only a short while. I ask you to judge him on his heart, and not necessarily any outward appearances. He is the son of a Christian pastor from the old school. I think that you’ll find his take on the Holy Word to be unique, and insightful...”

 

Parker Redman took his place at the microphone, with a tone of humility and reflection. His tattooed, muscular arms were outstretched in a gesture of inclusion and fellowship.

 

“We’ve heard some good preaching today. And I’ve got to admit that maybe, I feel a little out of place being here with many of the other participants. Because, brothers and sisters, I want to admit to you, a truth that cannot be denied. I am a humbled sinner, like the penitent thief on the cross beside Jesus. I am stained and dirty, but I believe, reclaimed by grace. It is that gift of love from God that I want to speak about here and now.”

 

The crowd seemed puzzled at first. Then, a lone voice shouted from the masses.

 

“Amen, Feeshtail! Amen, Amen!”

 

The repentant biker was surprised by this exhortation. But upon scanning the crowd, he saw someone who seemed familiar. A former patron of the Stumble Inn and Coal Bucket taverns.

 

With a gentle inflection of his voice, the lesson continued.

 

“Now, I don’t mean to cast aspersions on anyone. I don’t mean to judge. Because we know that our Father in Heaven is the final adjudicator. He alone will look into our hearts, and determine what we have done on this earth. But I want to proclaim the truth as it is written in this book. Good news for all of mankind...”

 

He held up the Bible for Bikers edition from Cousin Bodean’s garage. Greasy fingerprints were visible on its tattered cover.

 

“Whoever made this volume available to people like me gave us a great blessing. Because, you see, there are folks outside of the mainstream, separate and apart from the realm of everyday people. And they... and we... need to hear the gospel just like anyone else. We need to hear about the kingdom. We need to hear about grace. Because without that grace, we are lost...”

 

More people in attendance began to raise their acclamation, vocally.

 

“AMEN, BROTHER. FEESH! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Parker paused for a moment, then continued his straightforward sermon.

 

“In Acts, Chapter 2, it talks about the day of Pentecost, and those present being filled with the Holy Spirit. Now, I want to relate a story to you which is in keeping with that important event. Years ago, I was attending a Methodist service in Ohio. Their clergyman carried a glass of water out to us, but spilled it as he approached the lectern. Everyone was silent for a moment, because we thought that he had goofed on his demonstration. Perhaps made a mistake in what he wanted to portray, visually. Yet after regaining his footing, he asked everyone, ‘What made the water spill?’ That question had us whispering and wondering. Some simply observed that he took a step in the wrong direction. Or that his legs were stiff because of the weather. Even that he might not have paid enough attention to an incline at the front of their dais. But then, he laughed loudly, raised his refreshment, and exclaimed something so plain and profound that I have remembered it until this day. ‘The reason water spilled was because of its presence in the glass! When life bumps into us, or we stumble, and our souls are full of the spirit, what we spill will be some of that for others to receive!’”

 

The audience was visibly stunned. A moment of introspection passed, as this example was processed mentally, and reviewed. Then, a cheer of joy echoed across the big tent, and along the university concourse.

 

“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Parker held up his Bible as a symbol of light and salvation.

 

“I have spent years spilling out other things, when life bumped into me. Anger, doubt, rebellion, and in the end, sorrow. Because I never found happiness in rejecting the way of my bloodline. But even more importantly, I never found happiness in refusing the grace of our Heavenly Father...”

 

The reaction to this confession was immediate.

 

“AMEN!”

 

The unconventional scholar then underpinned his remarks with a passage from his garage manuscript.

 

Galatians 5:13-18, “You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other. So I say, walk by the Spiri, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law.”

 

With his head bowed in prayer, Parker concluded these remarks.

 

“Father, we know that to be filled with the Holy Spirit is to receive your message. And to claim the victory, through your grace. I ask for strength and guidance in these things, but most of all, I give to you my failings, my weaknesses, my scars and wounds, my dissension and darkness. Make me a new creation, in your image. Heal me, heal all of us, bring us to the point of an awakening for the gospel truths. Let us serve you in righteousness. We are your children. You are our Father in Heaven. Amen!”

 

A hymn of invitation was sung, as their revival finished for that day. Members who huddled under the canvas tent began to stream forward, toward the pulpit. Some sought a laying-on-of-hands, and restoration by evangelists who were present. Others were seeking a baptism for the first time. One declared that he was ready to take up this cause, and preach from the Bible on his own, in rough, urban areas where regular churches did not usually appear.

 

Shepherd Narvel stood silently, with members of the Exiles collective. They were overwhelmed with emotion, yet sure of what had transpired. A new era had begun in the shadow of their beloved university.

 

Now, it was their challenge to sustain that flame of faith, for the future.

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 26: Revival

  

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

After interacting with members of Exiles for the Almighty over several weeks, Parker Redman had become accustomed to sitting with the group during Bible studies and worship services. But eventually, he seemed to have outgrown this limited level of participation. Shepherd Narvel Adkins realized that he was becoming frustrated while trying to figure out the direction that his wandering path would take. So, when a moment arrived when they could both speak privately, in his church office, a bit of divine inspiration seemed to take hold.

 

The two men were dissimilar in almost every way, except for their Christian faith.

 

Narvel had always been something of a university nerd, growing up with librarians, teachers and professors constantly in his personal orbit. He had the quiet manner of a scholar at work. With the look of someone who hoped to remain busy, and anonymous, at the same time. Parker might have ended up with similar characteristics, yet jettisoned those habits to embrace rebellion and an outlaw lifestyle. That choice placed him outside of polite society, and squarely in the midst of chaos and dissent. He could never be clean again, at least in the terms set by mainstream religious pundits who shunned him as outlier. But at the core of his being, a spark of belief still flickered.

 

While sorting through postal mail on his desk, the spiritual leader paused to ponder an announcement of a revival meeting to be held at the beginning of spring.

 

“This notice interests me, friend. Does it also appeal to you? It is something sponsored by an ecumenical council here in Morgantown. We have been invited to attend, for the very first time. I dare say that our little collective has rarely been noticed by any of the other gospel affiliates in this area. We haven’t registered on their radar, until now. I think it would be a great opportunity for us to contribute to the greater conversation. What is your opinion?”

 

Parker scanned the flier while taking a seat across from his counterpart’s workspace.

 

“Would you... would we... be truly welcome? Do you accept this invite as being genuine?”

 

The unconventional clergyman nodded and reclined in his chair.

 

“I have to take it as such, brother. This is an olive branch, extended for us. If we decline, it might signal that we embrace division instead of fellowship. That is not a message I would choose to send. I prefer to view this as an opportunity. For everyone here, but I think especially for you.”

 

His prodigal protégé frowned and sputtered.

 

“For me? How is that?”

 

Narvel sighed heavily before folding his hands.

 

“We need someone to address this meeting who has a bigger perspective than mine. I’ve spent a lifetime here in the shadow of WVU, with the same institutions, the same bloodlines, the same biases and prejudices. I know the terrain very well. But this is a chance to speak courageously on behalf of the Lord. I could give the kind of input they expect. They know me well. Yet from you, the zeal of glory would be unmistakable, and authentic. Like a peal of thunder from the heavens!”

 

The solitary biker reddened with embarrassment.

 

“You’re giving me too much credit, I think. My hands are dirty, and my soul is stained...”

 

His friend with the modified priest’s collar smiled intently.

 

“Yes, that’s it. That is it, right there! That is why I used the word ‘authentic.’ Christ was beloved by tax collectors and prostitutes who received his call to repent, and followed him. While some who thought themselves to be faithful questioned his identity as the Son of God. Do you think that was an accident? People who assume some measure of importance for themselves often think that they are safe from harm. And in no need of change, in no need of a spiritual revelation. But for those on the fringes, those who are not pretty or polished, or looked upon with respect, there is a clearer path to the truth. They have nothing else to get in the way! No self-importance or pretentiousness, or arrogance. Just a naked and bold need for redemption!”

 

Parker felt a chill run over his skin. He had not expected to be given such a challenge.

 

“I feel... unworthy. I am unclean. I am a sinner and a backslider. Surely not someone to preach the holy message, here or anywhere...”

 

Shepherd Narvel took his ally by the shoulders. His tone became dramatic, and stern.

 

“THAT IS THE POINT, MY BROTHER! YOU HAVE HUMBLED YOURSELF! THAT IS THE FIRST STEP TOWARD SALVATION. KEEP GOING NOW, KEEP STRIVING, KEEP FIGHTING, KEEP PRAYING!”

 

The motorcycle drifter lowered his head. His belly ached with uncertainty.

 

“My father used to reflect on a lesson from Evangelist Walter Scott, in the pulpit. The ‘Five Finger Exercise.’ Faith, repentance, baptism, remission of sins, gift of the Holy Spirit. Which some repeat now as faith, repentance, confession, baptism, and living a Christian life. That was a simple method of describing the plan. Even as a child, it struck me with meaning. I did that for a time, was baptized and even spoke on Wednesday nights occasionally. I would give a short, 15-minute sermon as part of our Bible study. But my fingers got broken, in bar fights and riding back roads across the Ohio Valley and beyond. I couldn’t do that thing anymore...”

 

His benefactor shook him as if to awaken some inner spirit that had too long been dormant.

 

“Yes, yes, yes! That’s the message you need to proclaim. That someone who fell far from the tree of life, may still return by grace. Grace is the component there, brother! Not a scorecard filled with points tallied in a game. Not with chips won on a gambling table. Not with silver and gold plundered from the wealthy. Not with riches earned through common labor, or market investments. Grace is the glorious gift! A gift you have received, I think. Maybe not with full understanding at first, but now, that call to duty is being revealed. Hear it and believe! Hear it and respond! This is the will of a loving creator at work!”

 

Parker realized that no one had called him Fishtail in many weeks. That nickname was fading into the past, along with all of his doubt, scorn, and shame. What remained was unfamiliar in the mirror. Yet adorned with a glow of possibilities, and hope.

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 25: Exiles

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Exiles for the Almighty proved to be a perfect landing spot for Parker Redman. Membership in the student group gave him a place where the free and uninhibited expression of his spiritual views was not only possible, but also encouraged. Moreover, as a member of this theological community, he gained support while attempting to survive until the arrival of spring. He took a one-room apartment in the warehouse complex, which was both affordable and convenient. Paying for the space involved doing volunteer work that helped the combine to thrive. It was a fair exchange of physical labor for a measure of belonging. Something that he had not experienced in many years.

 

Eventually, he reached the point of living a full month, while sober. Another milestone that stood out as rare and welcome.

 

As days and weeks passed, he sat quietly while listening to Shepherd Narvel Adkins, and other members of the group. His intention was to learn and grow, while reflecting on personal experiences. But during a Wednesday night Bible study, one of these introspective moments turned into something more dramatic, and revealing.

 

Their faith partner read aloud from the scriptures, to illustrate a point about fellowship, through Christ.

 

2 Corinthians 6:1-13, “As God’s co-workers we urge you not to receive God’s grace in vain. For he says, ‘In the time of my favor I heard you, and in the day of salvation I helped you.’ I tell you, now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation. We put no stumbling block in anyone’s path, so that our ministry will not be discredited. Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love; in truthful speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report; genuine, yet regarded as impostors; known, yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything. We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians, and opened wide our hearts to you. We are not withholding our affection from you, but you are withholding yours from us. As a fair exchange – I speak as to my children – open wide your hearts also.”

 

Whispers buzzed around the perimeter of their circle.

 

“Amen, brother! Amen, Amen, Amen!”

 

Shepherd Adkins let his gaze roam around the room.

 

“The message is clear in this passage: ‘Do not receive God’s grace in vain!’ What does that mean to you, friends? How does that resonate in your hearts?”

 

Parker felt a tickle in his throat. He could not stay quiet.

 

“It reminds me of when one of my nephews was at a Bible college. He studied those ancient texts and also, the languages used. But upon coming home, he confessed that it was sometimes, strangely easier to be a Christian in the secular world, than with his fellow classmates, and teachers. That struck me as odd, and later, as profoundly sad. Because I expected that believers would encourage and uplift each other, naturally. My father would preach from the pulpit about stones in a tumbler, polishing each other. That was an example he used to illustrate the process. A result of active fellowship, when it is pursued with love...”

 

Their guide nodded and exclaimed with agreement.

 

“Yes indeed, each one of us, according to our ability. It is part of the mission to strengthen those who are weak, and protect those who are falling away. Judgment is reserved for God, when the appointed time arrives. But he also has given us a clear path to salvation. We need to rejoice in that gift, the blood shed for our sins. Our steadfast faith should serve to aid our brothers and sisters, not hinder them in any way. As it says here, ‘Open wide your hearts.’”

 

Once more, the biker newcomer felt moved to speak.

 

“Judgment is also important to consider in this context. My late sister used to observe that she was glad to be judged by God and not by man. Think about that for a moment – as mortal beings, we may make errors, even when seeking the grace of Jesus. And to inherit that grace, it is useful to remember that we are told all men have fallen short of the glory. Not a few, or even some, but all. It is so written. If we puff up ourselves, as some do in the name of our creator, it tarnishes the glow of truth. That is why we are taught to be humble servants. In the eyes of God, equal in worth. All children of the Holy Father.”

 

Those gathered in the circle were stunned. The pitch of their visitor’s voice had risen to a commanding point of scholarship that provided a sharp contrast to his rugged appearance.

 

Adkins nodded again.

 

“Amen, brother. Amen, Amen!”

 

After their study had concluded, Parker met the community shepherd in his office by the warehouse sanctuary. The two men sat facing each other, in mismatched chairs from a thrift store. Then, a continuation of the lesson ensued.

 

Parker opened his duffel bag, and took out the Bible for Bikers.

 

“This manuscript has seemed to follow me over the past several months. At first, I wondered why they would publish such a thing. Could there really be enough interest among those of us who ride? Yet as time has progressed, maybe it is beginning to make more sense...”

 

 

His faith partner smiled and reached overhead, for a shelf of books atop a metal desk that served as a centerpiece for their office.

 

“You mean, like this one?”

 

His edition of the volume was in better shape, physically. Not dog-eared, or stained with grease and motor oil. But the illustration on its front cover was no different.

 

“I can’t remember where this came from, to be honest. Probably as a present from someone who studied here at WVU. We have archivists and collectors in the programs. They enjoy doing historical research. You know, cataloging our assets. I’ve got an unofficial position on the library staff, for what that’s worth. It all comes back to the message. This word was given for everyone. There are no exceptions, only unbelievers who languish in the darkness. With our help, and enough time, I hope to light candles in the midst of that void. That is my cause and I hope, it will be yours as we go forward together, in fellowship.”

 

The erstwhile misanthrope bowed his head, while trembling.

 

“Amen, friend. Amen.”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 24: Restart

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Relocating to Morgantown put Parker Redman in a precarious situation. He was removed from the conflict his presence had caused around Grafton, yet now was in a place where he knew nothing. He had no allies, contacts, relatives, or history with the metropolitan area. Only the name of Krista’s cousin, written on a piece of scrap paper. Because he had spent years wandering the American landscape, this hardship did not cause him to worry about staying on track. He had no clear path to tread, so moving in any direction seemed proper. But more perplexing, perhaps, were the dreams and visions he had been experiencing. Some voice from afar was calling out to him, with a purpose still mysterious and undefined.

 

Solving that riddle was his first order of business.

 

He decided that attempting to visit his friend’s relative, without being announced beforehand, would be unwise. The young woman was certain to question any stranger on her doorstep, particularly one covered with motorcycle tattoos, battle scars, and road rash. He needed an introduction of some kind, which hadn’t been discussed in depth during their trip. That would take place at a fortuitous time, he felt certain. But until then, he chose to stay anonymous.

 

A local phone book offered clues that would be more directly useful, for the moment. In its pages were listings of churches, other neo-religious groups, and student affiliates. There, he was able to scan through names and locations, for something that seemed friendly. Below many lines of text that represented mainstream parishes and faith communities, he found a spiritual center run by believers who had grown unhappy with regular, Christian denominations.

 

“Exiles for the Almighty – A collective dedicated to promoting Bible teachings in a non-judgmental fashion. We strive to follow Jesus as he lived and ministered to his people. No politics, no put-downs, no scorn for those who are struggling. Just the love described in 1 Corinthians 13, and elsewhere within the word...”

 

Parker jotted down the street address on his note paper. It would be his first attempt to make connections in the shadow of West Virginia University.

 

On Sunday morning, he arrived for their worship service, expecting some sort of typical arrangement. Perhaps songs, prayers, and a message delivered at some point within that framework. In addition to a communion ritual, depending on their chosen habits. But when he entered the crude, warehouse sanctuary, everyone was seated in a large circle, on the bare, concrete floor.

 

Members were quick to note his entry, and offered a welcome chant, in response.

 

“JESUS IS LORD! JESUS IS LORD! JESUS! JESUS! JESUS!”

 

Brother Narvel Adkins stood up to address the crowd. Yet his attention immediately shifted to the newcomer in their midst.

 

“Friend, let me welcome y’all to God’s house! This might not look like such a place, but I believe that he dwells in the hearts of everyone here. That’s the requirement for a spot to serve as his ground zero. In other houses of worship, ya might hear names like ‘reverend’ or ‘pastor’ being thrown around. Fancy titles that carry distinction, and dignity for those that hold them in person. But I prefer to be thought of as a common shepherd. I am simply a guide, and nothing more. No better than anybody else in this little confab of ours. I humble myself before Christ, and hope to serve him in an appropriate manner. That is my only desire. Accolades and honors mean nothing in this world. Giving the glory to him, means everything. So, I preach his word, as it is written! And seek righteousness in his name!”

 

The others in attendance raised their voices to give acclamation.

 

“AMEN, SHEPHERD! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Parker was slightly embarrassed when the community leader invited him to speak. He had not expected to participate so soon. Observation and study had been his goals.

 

“Y’all are only a stranger here, but once. Therefore, tell us about yerself, friend. What brought ya here, this morning? What fills yer heart with fire?”

 

The shaggy biker got to his feet, and adopted a stance with both hands clasped together, behind his back. One he had learned as a youngster, serving at the Lord’s table.

 

“Well, to be honest, I spend most of the year riding around on an iron hoss. I like to be in motion, or as they say, to be in the wind. But this winter has presented a challenge. My Harley chopper is in a garage, owned by a cousin. I haven’t ridden in a few months. That puts me in a hard place. I don’t like being stalled. For a month or two, I worked on the motor, rebuilding everything. Getting my cycle ready for spring. But there was a missing link in there. And I’ve been having flashbacks of a sort. You see, I grew up as the son of an old, country evangelist. Someone who lived his faith every day. And no matter how hard I’ve tried to run from that legacy, to hide from it, to escape from it – those teachings are still in my head, rattling around like spare change in the pocket of my leather jacket. I need to make peace with that way of living. Moreover, I need to make peace with myself...”

 

Adkins nodded with an expression of understanding. Then, bowed his head.

 

“Friend, I think y’all need to make peace with God the Father. Do that, and those cares and concerns will fall into line.”

 

The obedient flock repeated their chant of reverence.

 

“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Parker had turned pale. His voice became hoarse, yet remained persistent.

 

“I’ve offered my testimony a couple of times, in the last few weeks. I hope as an exercise in witnessing for the faith, not to draw attention to myself. Maybe none of you have lived as I have lived. Or perhaps, your journey has included some of the same pitfalls, the same mistakes, the same sorrow over feeling like an orphan. While knowing, of course, that I did it all to myself...”

 

The shepherd of exiles opened his Bible and began to read, in a soft but deliberate tone.

 

John 14: 1-4, “’Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?’ Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.’”

 

Silence took hold. Then, there was a final appeal to heaven.

 

“There it is, the way is narrow, but clear. He is the way. If you have received him, then there is no reason for fear or sorrow, friend. Believe and rejoice!”

 

A final burst of emotion echoed as their unconventional service concluded.

 

“AMEN!”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 23: Morgantown

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Secluded at the garage venue in Grafton, Parker Redman could simply wait out the winter season, and then flee on his Harley-Davidson chopper. A blissful event set to occur when roads around the area were clear, and mountain vistas became more inviting. But for those in his small social circle, this intermediate period was not so comfortable. Chattering comments about his public interpretations of holy scripture were growing louder. His testimonials had attracted interest from some on the fringes of society, who were thought to be beyond the grace of a loving creator. Yet for many in the theological mainstream, he represented a heresy founded on bad impulses. His tongue was considered to be too loose. And his view of old traditions, not respectful enough for the liking of those exalted as leaders within local church communities.

 

Prayer services persisted at the travel plaza where Krista Pearl was employed. Also, in town, at various locations where concerned citizens gathered to ponder issues in an open forum. Then, there were more intrusive visits, at the home of Bodean and Angelette. With the eventual result being that hiding out below his cousin’s abode no longer provided enough anonymity to be safe. He had been toughened up like an old piece of leather, over years spent living by his wits, from the hand-stitched seat of his motorcycle. But for the few relatives and friends who were affected, this situation had aroused too much conflict.

 

Finally, his part-time companion from the truck-stop offered a suggestion that resonated with value. Her yellow Jeep appeared in the driveway on a morning when sunshine and warmer temperatures had the bounty of snow starting to recede.

 

“Feesh, I’m gettin’ flak from the boss at work. He don’t like all this controversy. Now, I’ve got a good record so far as my job performance, and attendance. But I could use a breather from hearin’ about yer friendship with me. Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not kickin’ ya to the curb. Consider it as a kind-hearted suggestion. I’ve got a cousin goin’ to school at WVU, the atmosphere in that part of West Virginia is different. There are folks from all over gettin’ themselves educated. And the church scene is more diverse as well. If y’all really want to jump back into that lane, it’d be a good place to start. Out here, people are too set in their ways. Meanwhile, that scooter of yers will be just fine sittin’ in this shed...”

 

Parker raised his eyebrows. Her plea felt like a kiss-off. Yet he knew that what she said was undeniably correct.

 

“You want me to hitchhike to Morgantown?”

 

His adviser nodded and softened her facial expression.

 

“Not hike, I’ll give ya a ride. Load up yer duffel bag. Make sure to pack that special book, I reckon it’ll come to good use hangin’ out with the students and faculty. They’ll all have plenty of questions about Papa Podmore, and yer childhood experiences. See, somebody like yerself has... how do they say it... street cred. Real credibility to talk about hard times and the need to be saved from a life of sin. Y’all might be surprised who’ll come to listen!”

 

The lonely biker hung his head with regret.

 

“Not that I ever planned it that way, of course...”

 

Krista threw her arms around his ribcage. She had turned red, and felt tears in her eyes.

 

“I know yer like a damn dog, always findin’ a way to survive. Y’all have run through blind alleys before. It’ll be good to know ya are somewhere more hospitable. Not that folks here ain’t kind to strangers, but I think ya are too used to livin’ in the fast lane. Why duke it out with these hard-headed, sticks-in-the-mud? Let ‘em have their glory. Go find the treasure yer daddy had in mind. That’ll mean more than anything at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, in this hillside shack. Which I know is where y’all will land if ya don’t break outta this stale routine.”

 

Her insightful remark chilled him with its authenticity. He could not argue the point.

 

They left for the university enclave, a few hours later. He always traveled light, so fitting his few possessions into her cramped 4x4 was not a challenge. It teetered along the route toward Clarksburg, and then headed north. Wind gusts were picking up throughout the morning. But bursts of solar warmth made both of them feel invigorated. Upon reaching the student dorms, there were bulletin boards and posters advertising private rooms that still remained available.

 

Parker took the rucksack in hand, and got out before his benefactor had a chance to express her gratitude for their partnership. She was slightly miffed by his quick exit.

 

“Dang it Feeshtail, ain’t ya gonna kiss me goodbye, or nothin’? I figured y’all might at least show some gratitude!”

 

He was stoic at their moment of separation. Though silently, he wished that they might have stayed together, under different circumstances.

 

“I’m obliged to you, ma’am. But I hope this won’t really be goodbye. Call it a detour, maybe. There’s something in my head, it’s been banging around for weeks and months now. Whatever it is, that vibe won’t leave me alone. I’ve got to follow the lead, wherever it takes me. So, you have my thanks for the ride, and for being a friend when I needed one. I won’t forget that, trust me. I don’t get close with too many people...”

 

Before she could lodge a complaint, he had disappeared. For the moment, their irregular courtship had ended.

 

Krista sat on her sofa that night, sipping from a tumbler of sweet tea. The television flashed fleeting images in the background, but she paid little attention. Her home had returned to its quiet state of isolation. An empty nest, vacant and emotionally cold. Not the sort of environment she would have chosen, if given options.

 

After finishing her beverage, she said a short prayer, before going to sleep.

 

“Take care of that man, Lord! Let him do good fer a change. Let him be worthy of yer grace. Let him shine with yer holy word. And if it’s yer will... bring him back to me, again!”

“Wonder”

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

I always wonder

When words bang around the bone circumference, inside my head

From wall-to-wall, intense and noisy

How it does not upset my balance

With a bout of vertigo

I stay on course, safe and steady

Already versed in such pleasant distractions

A childhood effect which I recall with pride

My fingers used to go numb

Sitting at an Underwood portable, still on my father’s desk

A single bulb glowing in the corner

I liked to steal his chair, late at night

And pretend to type

Eventually, this playful pondering became an obsession

Gibberish and nonsense turned to timely thoughts

I would peer at the blank pages

Intent on making them come alive

And in the process, revealing myself as a budding wordsmith

A confessor, speaking truth

At least within the conscious confines of a naïve kid who had much to learn

I made grammatical errors and spelling flubs

Failings that were polished and put right

With enough practice

And precision

Pencil marks and ink-white

A dictionary at the ready, to check for clues

Arms arched, and hands akimbo

Untrained and unaware

That I lacked the usual skills associated with such pursuits

Had I known better, surrender might have stalled this quest

But I did not face such a test

I kept tapping keys

With an encyclopedia volume, held between my knees