c. 2026 Rod Ice
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(1-26)
Parker Redman had been born into a family that was deeply rooted in traditions associated with both Church of Christ and Disciples of Christ congregations. Throughout his childhood, there was safety in adhering to the principles of that upbringing. He learned quickly and eagerly in Sunday School, and at his sire’s knee. Phrases such as, ‘Where the Bible speaks, we speak. Where the Bible is silent, we are silent’ became part of his philosophical makeup. He knew well that, ‘Faith without works is dead.’ And that, ‘God helps those that help themselves.’ Though these platitudes were unfamiliar to some who did not share his origin, he had studied and absorbed the scriptural basis for each of these admonitions. Yet upon stumbling along the way, not in belief, but in conduct, he had become an exile. Cut off from the foundation of his own birth, and reason for being. That left him feeling much like an orphan. One that had become stained and shunned, to the point of no return.
The gospel of grace and forgiveness that he had taken as righteous truth, impossibly changed to articles of damnation, which were read at his improvised trial.
As a teenager, mocked and cursed by fellow parishioners who honored his own father as a champion of the light, he fell away. Deep into a crevasse of darkness, where only the crude ethos of a fighter could make him whole. He learned, by necessity, to do battle with his wits and sometimes, his bare hands. This newfound competence drove him farther from the home base he had once enjoyed. But it made survival possible.
In middle years, after much wandering, he had attempted a rapprochement of sorts. Marrying, raising children who were not directly his own, and returning to regular worship services. Yet this outreach stalled when he was confronted by a well-intentioned brother from the flock. Questions were raised about his character. About his relationship timeline. About his tattoos and motorcycle, and oddball friends. Finally, a challenge was issued. To explain why he had not gone before church elders, to beg for permission to participate in their meetings. This struck him with the force of a lightning bolt. He reacted directly, with an intellectual response instead of a physical one. And gave an explanation born of theology, not anger.
He spoke honestly and with patience, while standing in the parking lot outside of their sanctuary.
“The scriptures talk about Christ making intercession for us, with the Holy Father, when we pray. And also, about him adding us as believers, when we receive him, and follow. It has been said that the only unforgivable sin is a refusal to accept that truth into our hearts. Additionally, that everyone has fallen short of the glory, and that ‘If a man says he is without sin, he makes God a liar, and the truth is not in him.’ This, I hold as a bedrock statement. To be perfect, as a kindred member of the spiritual community once observed to me, literally means to be complete. That happens only through divine intervention. It is not a matter of earning points on a scorecard...”
The yield of this unplanned encounter, was a complete excommunication. Something he did not seek or desire. At home, he made a confession to his wife. One that would eventually bring the end of their marriage bonds, as well.
“I do not think that I can go there again, to worship...”
Soon, Parker fell back on habits acquired as a mechanism of self-defense. As before, his family environment was constituted by other outcasts and bikers, and malcontents of an artistic variety. He rejoined a lower strata of the prevailing social order. Where judgment over appearances and alliances did not exist. He went back to laboring as a mechanic. And surrendered his comfortable, suburban home for a flat situated right downtown, in a seedy, gritty neighborhood which was populated by those of a downtrodden nature.
There, amid the wreckage of failed hopes and dreams, he once again felt a sense of belonging.
While on a restless tour of back roads in West Virginia, in modern times, these memories echoed with meaning. He was now quite far removed from everything that had gone before. Wives, children and career aspirations had become nearly mythical in his recollections. Talismans of a bygone age, which he rarely revisited in memory.
He headed around the regional perimeter at a breakneck speed, pausing occasionally at colorful locales that lay in bordering territories. Until the change in fall foliage signaled that winter was not too distant. Then, he turned with humility to a familiar path taken for refuge. One toward his cousin, and the Mountaineer embrace of Grafton. A seasonal spot for hibernation would be needed, if he were to exist with the sun hidden behind cascades of winter snow. With his father now gone to eternal rest, and an order of eviction being enforced by New York, he literally had nowhere else to land.
Bodean was rebuilding a section of their porch steps, when he reached the hilltop shanty. A belly-laugh and teasing rebuke made him sure that his choice to rekindle their familial connection had been wise, indeed.
“Yeahhhhh, I damn well figured y’all might end up back on my doorstep, Feesh! I know how ya roll! We been cousins in good standin’ fer a long, long time. That counts fer somethin’ mighty strong, I reckon. Don’t forget that I tried ta talk ya out of leavin’ in the first place. Though I know ya gotta do things on yer own schedule. I won’t gripe about that. But if yer ready ta plunk down here fer a spell, then its got ta come with a promise. Y’all have ta put yer heart into bein’ here, this can’t go sideways the first time there’s a problem. Understand? I’ll put my ass on the line fer ya, but don’t make me look foolish. Don’t make me sorry that I took ya in, okay?”
His close relation nodded and offered a fist bump to seal this oath.
“I need a hole-in-the-wall, at least until spring. It’ll let me rebuild the Shovelhead hawg, and save up a few dollars. That’s all I need, a little grubsteak. A hand-up, not a handout. I know nothing comes for free. I’ll help pull the wagon. And I’ll be mighty grateful. Count on it!”
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