Log Cabin King Read online

What could I say? I just bowed my head and let him talk on and on.

  "Son, I love you and grieve with you. Have you found any answers in your Bible?"

  "I’ve been reading a lot to find out what you said about marriage, but now I can’t concentrate on it."

  "Will you be coming to prayer meeting Wednesday night?"

  "Yes, I’m ashamed of missing lately."

  "There’s a special reason that you need to be there."

  "What is it?"

  "You’ll see, but read your Bible and pray a lot before then. Would you be willing to stay all night? I believe you could stretch out on my sofa. Come on in, let’s fix a snack."

  Deep in my heart I wanted to pick up this sorrow-struck man-child and rock him in my rocking chair, but all I could do was to feed him a few cookies and pat him on the shoulder once or twice.

  I went on to bed, but I heard him pacing around, then tossing and turning on the sofa.

  At daylight, I got up as usual and he was asleep, down on the floor, stretched out full length with my Bible open beside him.

  I tiptoed around, trying to let him sleep, and went out the back door, wondering if Sister Sara could let me eat breakfast down there. The air was clear and crisp. God’s world was harmonious and pretty. That bunch of blue asters must bring joy to His heart. Oh, Jesus, how soon will it be ‘til You can come back and straighten everything out!

  Sara had just gotten the kids off to school and didn’t mind a bit if I had a couple of biscuits and some lukewarm gravy.

  "Sister, honey," I asked, "how is Buford coming along? Is he really changed?"

  "Dicey, it’s just like the Bible promises—all things are new. It’s the answer to all my prayers for him. It was worth the wait. Of course, all his old friends are doing all they can to pull him down, but they go away shaking their heads. Say, Dicey, Buford’s been asking for Ira. He’s got a real interest in the house and has some kind of secret he wants to tell him. Where is Ira?"

  "Oh, Sara—the poor little thing is asleep on my front room floor. He’s heartbroken! He loves the little girl that pals around with his sister. They go to that youth group in town and it turns out that all the worst we ever heard is true. Ira was down there himself."

  "Dicey, I’m so sorry. My girls have been hearing more about it on the school bus. Everybody knows but the pastor and the parents. I don’t know how it goes on right there in the church!"

  "Well, Ira found out that Drema is in it like the rest. He’s full of hate for the other guy and for her father, and disgusted and mad at her. He needs much prayer. Will you help me pray for him ‘til Wednesday night? I’d like to fast some too."

  "Sure Dicey, let’s help him to receive the Spirit. How much he needs that forgiving power! Oh, here comes Buford now."

  "Why, hello there, Sister. Glad to see you this morning. Have another biscuit. Aw, come on, you’ll never get as fat as I am. Isn’t Jesus good to us? He feeds us ‘til we’re packed down and running over!" he laughed.

  "Buford, seriously, tell me something. Are you still thirsty? You know what I mean."

  "Sister—it’s a wonderful thing—I never knew what a sweet drink a glass of water could be. I drink all I can hold and then walk a straight line. Say, that makes me think of Brother Ira. Where is that boy? I’ve got something I want to show him."

  "Well, come on up to the house, Buford. Let’s wake him up, if you have some good news. He’s in miserable condition. Thank you for the breakfast, Sara. See you later, honey."

  On the way up to my house, Buford laughed all the way. He told me one funny thing after another. I nearly gagged when he told me how little Buddy’s goat had fallen down in the toilet hole last week. The child was terrified and squalled his head off. The big brothers got together and tipped the whole outhouse backward ‘til the goat sloshed its way out. Sara had yelled, "Kill it, and bury it." But the boys headed it off to the creek and held it down under the water while they scrubbed it with a bottle of Sister’s shampoo!

  We got to the house and made enough noise to wake the dead. By the time we got inside, Ira was sitting on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

  Buford clapped him on the back and punched around on him like a big bear cub. "Listen son, I’ve been waiting and waiting to show you something. Dicey, you make this man some coffee while I walk him up to his house."

  I was mystified, but obedient. I didn’t want to run sideways against this overgrown bull.

  The two men made their way through the wet weeds and headed for a big old brush pile that had been there for years. I could see Buford pointing and then pulling. They both began moving that brush. It took them about fifteen minutes to come to whatever it was, then they both leaned over, looking down at the ground, looking so happy and satisfied. If curiosity would kill an old woman, I’d be a goner. Then, to beat it all, they put the brush back on the spot.

  As they came in the house, Ira was saying, "Well, I guess I never thought about it Buford, I just got my water from Dicey or from the creek. It never crossed my mind that my house had no water supply...and that well’s not more than eighty feet from the house. Wow, that will save me a lot of work, or else a lot of money."

  "Why son," Buford beamed, "your little old woman will have it made. She can just step out the back to get her a nice clean bucket of fresh well water."

  "Oh," Ira groaned, "I may never have a woman...but I guess I’ll still have plenty of water."

  The men drank their coffee and discussed the weaknesses of the weaker sex very cautiously. They could see I was standing mighty close to a big iron skillet. Buford told a few more funny stories and I actually saw Ira laugh a time or two. Buford gave him a few more bear hugs and cuffs on the shoulders and went off down the road, singing an old hymn all out of tune.

  "Granny, is that all that’s left?"

  "What do you mean, Ira?"

  "Buford’s Dad—is that all that is left of his strength and work? His house is gone, his barn is gone, his life is going. Is that hole in the ground, his well, is that all? Is that what will happen to me and all my hard work?"

  "Yep."

  "Wow, now I see what eternal life is for. These things here surely don’t last long, do they?"

  "Nope."

  "And that’s why you want to see people saved, more than anything else?"

  "Yep."

  "Makes sense. Thanks for the coffee, Granny. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do."

  Chapter 13

  It was Wednesday evening about 5:00 P.M. when I saw her walking past the house. Her eyes looked too red. She glanced over at my house, but she couldn’t see me.

  I watched her go on up to Ira’s. She began to walk slower and slower, and seemed to hesitate to knock at his door.

  As soon as he answered, I saw him step out in the yard—holding himself stiffly and tall. His head was bowed. He took her by the arm and led her over my way.

  I was amazed at his wisdom. If she had gone into his house with him alone, a naughty girl could have used that against him. It turned out that he brought her here because he was afraid of his own anger.

  They sat down and she twisted her handkerchief and looked at me and at him. I could tell that she wanted to be alone with him, so I went in the kitchen and rattled pots and pans for a while. By the time I brought in some hot chocolate and stale doughnuts, I could see that the talk was over. Ira sat in stony silence. She was popping her knuckles one by one. After politely eating their snack, they both left, going their separate ways.

  At 6:30, Ira came by for me and we started out to prayer meeting. I was much quieter than usual. I was still reminding Jesus of my Special Request. Ira didn’t want to tell me anything, and I didn’t ask. How much I felt for him, churning with emotions too big to handle.

  There were just a few at church, but I’ve learned that the number never does matter. One of the real old ladies had sung a special song to the Lord. At our church, it
never did matter if you were any good at singing or not. You just sang if you felt it in your heart. The Lord was never the author of paid choirs, I’m sure. (Some of our dearest singers make an awful racket.)

  A brother was singing a long song with the guitar when Brother Tommy suddenly stopped the service. "The Lord has shown me that there is someone here who needs to receive the Holy Spirit tonight. Do you know who you are?"

  Silence.

  "Is there one here who believes that Jesus has saved him but he or she is having lots of trouble and needs power to love and to help others to be saved?"

  Silence.

  "Is there someone who needs the love of God in his heart so that he can forgive someone?"

  I had my eyes closed, but I could feel Ira squirming beside me.

  "Is there someone here who is shy and tied in knots and wants to be released? Do not be afraid. Doesn’t it make sense that if God wants you to live like Him that you would need His Spirit inside you? That’s His plan. You open the door, and His Spirit will come in."

  Silence.

  "Are you afraid you will look or sound foolish? Many of us here have had to cross that bridge. We just got so hungry for more of God that we felt it was worth it to risk our pride. Come on. We are all pulling for you. You who are sitting near the back all crowd up around the front seats and those who desire the Spirit come on up here to me."

  As we shuffled around, Ira went up to Tommy and kneeled down in front of him. My heart leaped with joy. He was the only one.

  Tommy called several of the men to come lay hands on Ira’s head while the rest of us prayed.

  Tommy was instructing Ira. "Now, just thank Jesus. He has promised to baptize you with His Spirit and He will. If you feel any strange things or hear or see any strange things in your mind, just try to say them on out. Let your mouth and your mind become His property. Let Him move them in His way."

  In a minute or two, Tommy kneeled down by Ira and listened carefully. He smiled with satisfaction. Ira’s mouth was moving slowly, like in baby words, and his face was aglow.

  "Brother Ira, is there someone you need to forgive? Picture their faces and we will help you to pray for your enemies."

  In a moment, Ira flung his arms upward, threw his head back, and poured out a flood of strange words. He laughed and clapped and talked—all with eyes shut and much holiness.

  What a relief for me! Now, he could figure out all his problems.

  On the way back home, Ira said very little ‘til the others went into their homes and we went on alone.

  "Granny, I want you to know why Drema came today. She’s pregnant and she’s scared and she doesn’t know anyone else to tell. After tonight my heart is filled with love for her, John, and her Dad. I was just about to choke on my hatred, and now it is completely gone. Oh, thank you, thank you, Jesus."

  "What do you think you will do?"

  "I don’t know...I’ll ask the Lord to show me. He seems to have helped me get the job, and I believe He’s helped me with the house, and now there’s the well. But He hasn’t shown me anything about whether I am to marry or not. Oh, poor Drema. How lost and scared and lonely she must feel! I wonder if John will be wanting to take care of her? He’s so spoiled and selfish."

  "Ira, Drema would love to hear from you that she can be completely forgiven."

  "Would she? Oh, I wish she would come to our church. I’ll see if she and Debbie would visit again. Maybe they wouldn’t be so proud this time."

  "Can you invite them?"

  "I could try, but I want to try something else. I’m just going to ask my Heavenly Father to arrange it, if it is His will. I’ll pray for them like you have prayed for me. And thank you, Granny, for caring. Now, don’t be surprised if you hear me shouting over there," he laughed, as he left me at my gate.

  And so...while we waited to see the answer...he picked up the work on the house, and I could hear him banging away over there at night, singing at the top of his lungs.

  Chapter 14

  The praying was painful and slow. Oh, how I wanted to do something. But Ira had a good plan. At least it couldn’t cause any further damage.

  He came in to visit one evening with some news. "Say, Granny, guess who was at work today?" he said with a grin.

  "A new miner—a red hat?" I asked.

  "Yep, but you’ll never guess who."

  "O.K., you might as well tell me."

  "My worst enemy. The one I saw with Drema. John Deal."

  "Oh, my. What did you do?"

  "I couldn’t believe my own self. I just went over and put my arm around him. The boss put him under my care, for his training. We’ve worked and talked together all day."

  "Hallelujah, what a victory!"

  "He’s a pitiful case when you hear the whole story. His Mom brought him home to the grandparents when he was six months old. They adopted him and loved him all they could, but then the old man died. John got big enough to find out that he could do as he pleased around his grandmother, and he had this deep and awful thought about, ‘Why did my Mother give me away?’ In a way, he feels like there must be something awfully awful about him. He’s self-centered and lonely, but he is handsome and he has real nice manners. Everybody likes him at first—until they hear how his grandmother got her black eye."

  "How was he with his work?"

  "He was weak and sat around a lot. I won’t tell on him, though. He needs a chance to build up his strength. I showed him how to pump water and...."

  "Did he say anything about Drema?"

  "No. Ouch, did it ever hurt to hear him talk about girls—as if he had too many to count. I choked when I realized that she was probably just one of a bunch. Well, see you later. I’ve got to work on the chimney."

  Three nights later, Ira came in after nine o’clock. I guess he had been at home or in town, doing his laundry. When he got out of his car, there was another man with him. They went in the house and the lights were on until midnight.

  I heard them leave early the next morning together.

  I wondered about it all day, for Ira isn’t the type to need a lot of company. That evening, here they came after they had washed up and eaten their supper.

  "Sister Dicey, I’d like for you to meet my new buddy, John."

  I looked into the boy’s blue eyes. "Wonder of wonders," I thought to myself. "Glad to meet you, son," I said to him sincerely.

  "John says he’d like to come along to the service with us tonight. He has decided to stay at my house awhile. You know I really need some help with that chimney. Have you got an extra bed or mattress?"

  "Why, I sure do. It’s really a rollaway. Back there in the closet, and I just happen to have some homemade doughnuts. Are they ever greasy...but they’re good for you skinny boys."

  I hunted up some extra sheets and pillows while they moved all the stuff I had piled on top of the rollaway.

  We started out in Ira’s car for church. My! I sure was getting lazy.

  It was months before I ever heard how Ira had brought John home that first night. Seems he picked up a hitchhiker—a very drunk John, who was terrified for fear he would go home and fight with his grandmother. Ira had suggested that he come on up ‘til he got sober. And he never seemed to get him on back home.

  Chapter 15

  The chimney was on my side, and I could see it getting higher and higher. They brought in the blocks from the remains of an old burned-down farmhouse at the mouth of the hollow. My, those stones were heavy and still sooty on the inside. But they were squared, roughly, and there was a long mantle stone and a big hearth stone. It was a pretty smart move, in my opinion, since Ira had the station wagon anyway.

  They dug their big square pit and filled in two layers of big rocks first, then started up the sides where the logs had been cut out and braced for the chimney to come up through.

  Ira was very mature. He worked on it an hour every ev
ening after work and half-days on Saturday, when the weather was good. John fooled around a lot, but he was a real help when the stones needed hoisting up from the ground with the pulley.

  I believe those boys lived on French Fries and Bologna sandwiches, but they seemed in good spirits. They splashed in the creek lots of evenings, just for fun—and dirt removal.

  John had been coming to church regularly. At first, he sat on the back row, checking out the girls, but now he was sitting near the middle and listening a lot. Ira and I were totally surprised when, one night, John began to weep. He couldn’t quit. He sobbed and sobbed. Sister Shelva was in the middle of her special song when he got up and went to the altar. He laid his head over on the carpeting and sobbed on. Brother Tommy went right on with the service. He preached a good sermon while John cried softly the whole time.

  That night I made popcorn and fixed up some soda pop while they talked.

  John was saying, "Suddenly, I could see it all. Here I’ve felt sorry for myself all my life. But did I ever feel sorry for Jesus? I could see Him hanging there, looking me right in the eyes. They were making fun of Him and spitting at Him and He didn’t have any friends. He said, ‘My God, My God, Why have you forsaken Me?’ I didn’t know He had been forsaken too. I thought it was just me."

  He began crying again, and was still wiping at his eyes when they went home.

  Ira told me he cried for three days at work, and he could hear him crying in his sleep at night. John has never been the same person since. He acts like a man who knows that he has a real Friend. He acts like he’s become a somebody instead of a nobody. You could watch him work as if he now had his heart in it.

  He never seemed to be afraid anymore. He said that Somebody Big really loved him. He started using his money better and bought a good car.

  He was so happy that he began bringing other guys to church with him. They seemed to be fellows who were in pretty bad shape—restless, nervous, shy, sickly. He evidently gathered them off the streets and at work. Every week he had three or four—some of the same and some different.

  We were all surprised to see him come in one night with two women...or were they girls? They had on lots of eye make-up and one was pregnant. Their hair was all done up fancy, but I began to think that maybe I had seen them before, somewhere… Could these two silent, artificial females be the same two kiddish girls that sat on the back row about six months ago in that scornful giggly scene? Was it Ira’s sister...and Drema?