Marcus Redding: The Lost Episode

Everything was a blur. He was 18 years old and lost. He was barely able to hold down a job, working for Gladebrook Sheetrock during the week and doing his best to imitate the prodigal son on the weekend.

The guilt over Bruce's accident had simmered for a while, then boiled over. Insomnia made it worse. Nightmares made it intolerable. Every time he heard a car come to a screeching halt he would have flashbacks. He grew farther apart from his family. He couldn't even talk to them. Wouldn't answer his dad's phone calls. He was too ashamed. They were good people. He used to be one of them. Not anymore. His tolerance for alcohol increased and his tolerance for people decreased. His temper could be set off with a word or a look or for no reason at all. He was on a downward spiral and he knew it. He felt like he deserved it.

But he wanted peace. That's what he would tell people. Not that they asked. But if anyone annoyed him it was, "Leave me alone. I just want peace." If his boss rebuked him for coming to work hung over, Marcus would say, "Leave me alone. I just want peace." Some guy would set him off and he would throw punches and yell, "Leave me alone. I just want peace." Satan had that kind of hold on him, crying out for peace in the middle of a fight he had started himself.

He really did want peace. He would come home and do Google searches for the word "peace." He kept scrolling down and scrolling down, looking for an answer, until he came across the word "halcyon." He liked history and legends. He read more, "The legendary bird is usually identified with the kingfisher that was also said to nest on the sea and was believed to be able to calm the sea for the seven days before and seven days after the winter solstice." He latched on to the idea. In the back of his mind he could almost hear a scripture that started with "Come to me..." but he pushed it away.

The next day was Labor Day. Since he didn't have to work, he went to get (another) tattoo. He had been saving his left forearm for a good one. He showed the guy a sketch of a stylized kingfisher. He sat for a few hours and forked over a few hundred dollars and now he had a symbol of his spiritual longing permanently engraved on his body.

On the way home from the tattoo place he stopped to get gas in his truck. An old man pulled up to the pump across from him. It wasn't his grandfather, but it looked like him. The man noticed Marcus was looking at him and just said, "Hello, son." Marcus nodded. And now he was thinking of Grandpa Sam and looking down at the nozzle in his gas tank so he wouldn't have to look at the man and be reminded of his saint of a grandfather. He finished filling up the tank and took the receipt and threw it away and jumped up into his truck. He started to pull away but somehow he lost all his energy. He could barely move his arms. He eased over by the side of the gas station and took the keys out of the ignition. A wave hit him. A wave of grief, guilt, and anger. He laid himself down in the cab of his truck and cried for a long time. Then he fell asleep.

When he woke up the sun was going down. His arm hurt where he got the tattoo. He sat up in the truck and remembered where he was. He went into the gas station to get an energy drink. When he came out of the store he looked over at the gas pumps and saw the same old man was still there, looking at him. Had he watched Marcus all this time? Marcus tried not to look at him but the man kept watching him. Marcus stopped and said, "Do I know you?"

The old man called out, "Matthew 8:26" and got in his Oldsmobile and drove off.

Marcus Redding Goes Home

He had his cell phone on silent—the nature of the place required it—but he could feel it buzzing on his belt. A text message from Lauren read “Phil 3:13-14.” He knew the scripture. He wouldn’t leave Bruce’s memory behind but he had resolved to move on. This would be his last visit to his best friend’s grave.

He put his cell phone back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked down at his tattooed arms, at the green grass, at the granite stone. He knelt down and brushed away some dry leaves and plucked the grass that was growing over the edges. Then he placed his right hand flat on the stone and, like he had planned, recited 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14. He spoke to the stone. He spoke to the memory of his friend. He spoke to himself. After he finished, he took one more deep breath, stood up, and walked away. He sent a text message to Lauren, “I’m coming home.”

He got home at about nine in the morning and Lauren met him at the door, Micah in her arms. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and handed Micah to him. He hugged his little son, now six months old, and then hugged Lauren. She held him for a while then said, “Let’s eat and go.”

They were heading into Athens to hike the trail at the arboretum. They planned on coming back mid-afternoon and doing some things around the house. Marcus was making Lauren a rocking chair and Lauren had to cook for the potluck at church tomorrow. And they had to be ready for the Bible study they were hosting at six o’clock that night.

When they got to the arboretum Marcus hoisted the baby-carrying backpack onto his back. Lauren got Micah all settled in the pack, grabbed her camera, laced up her boots, and they were off. They meandered through the flower beds and down across the bridge into the woods. It was warm but not hot as they walked in the shade. Lauren reached over and took off Micah’s little hat. He was looking all around, happy as he could be, riding around on his daddy’s back. Marcus was quieter than usual, understandable since this was the anniversary of the accident, but Lauren didn’t want him to close in on himself. So she asked him the question she always asked to get the conversation going, “What’s been on your mind lately?” Marcus kept looking straight ahead, “You mean besides the obvious?” Lauren said, “Besides the obvious.”

Marcus said, “Justin and Mr. Johnson. I’m just excited for the opportunity. I mean, they are, what fifty years apart, and they both need Jesus, and they are both willing to listen. That’s pretty good.” Marcus seemed to come alive as he talked about it, “I’ve been thinking of different approaches. I think Mr. Johnson has more of a background than Justin, and I think I can be blunt with Mr. Johnson, but Justin is more sensitive. I’ve got those two evangelism studies that I got from John with those illustrations. I’m thinking I’ll just take them through those. What do you think?”

As they walked through the woods they talked about teaching people the gospel and the conversation turned to church and then the early days when they first met. They talked about living in their first apartment and moving to the ranch. Then they talked about ranch dressing and the casserole Lauren was making for the potluck. They talked about how to get Micah eating solid food. (Micah was asleep by now.) They talked about how fast Micah was growing up. They talked about taking pictures of him along the way. They talked about his upcoming doctor appointment and homeschool and saving money and finances and the economy.

Marcus began to feel the weight of the backpack and he checked the clock on his cell phone. “Lauren, it’s one o’clock already.” She looked up at him, “Time flies.” Marcus smiled at her and said, “Let’s make the most of it.”

They turned back, walked out of the woods, got in his truck, and headed home.

More about Marcus Redding's journey of faith...someday.