CHAPTER 5: “FORK IN THE ROAD”
Every year the fifth grade class at Heritage Hall would go to Camp Goddard. Rupert's absence would leave the boy with anxiety; though he didn't even know what it was called, let alone able to spell it. It was Friday afternoon; and the long week was almost over. Rupert would be home soon; and, when that happened the dynamic would shift again. “Just a little longer” Jimmy thought to himself as he practiced the piano in the garage with a tempo clearly expressing his disinterest.
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU”
MARA BELLOWED FROM HER POST IN THE LIVING ROOM. HE WASN’T PLAYING THE PIANO “LOUD ENOUGH” FOR HER TO HEAR HIM
Mara (“Bitterness”) had moved the smooth black upright piano from the living room to the garage so she wouldn’t be bothered by his practicing when she watched her shows. After school she wanted nothing but to work on her needlepoint projects. Yet she still wanted to be able to HEAR him practicing. If she couldn’t hear the boy practicing loud enough she would yell at him; threatening him.
She had told the boy that if he didn’t like the piano he could quit the lessons. Yet when little Jimmy expressed disinterest because he couldn’t read the sheet music (giving him great frustration on top of everything else occurring in the house) he was told
“Well that’s just too bad. I’ve already paid for the lessons for the year. YOU are doing this. There is NO discussion.”
This was no different than his adoption. No discussion. No input from the boy. Only what SHE WANTED. That week itself was a blur to the boy as he tried desperately to recall its events. The boy’s mind would refuse to yield its hidden memories. “Why are there gaps in my memory?” The boy closed his eyes. He would begin reading about the key reasons for memory gaps in victims of abuse and sexual assault. Instead of being about to write a coherent narrative the boy’s memory was like a shattered mirror. It was hard to admit that these things happened to him. Writing about it made it seem more concrete; but, for many years he had pushed it down trying desperately to forget so he could function.
WHY CAN I NOT RECALL ANYTHING FROM THAT WEEK?
WHAT IS MY MIND TRYING TO FORGET?
He would take a break and chat with a friend on Facebook (Anthony); a younger boy in his mid twenties, whom he had “met” in an online chatroom where others were asking questions about Messianic Judaism. Jonathan took an interest in this other boy who lived just a few hours away. He wanted to offer mercy; to help the other boy to see what had taken Jonathan literally decades to understand. He wanted to bless this person he didn’t really know.
This younger boy was an Orthodox Christian and the two would develop a friendship based upon the Bible’s text. They would talk about the differences in textual traditions (an area of Jonathan’s own study). He would carefully explain how Judaism is often portrayed in one particular way; but, our study of its own “writings” compared to the Old Testament itself helps us to see the difference between what the Bible defines as Judaism vs. what Modern day Judaism defines about itself. They are not the same.
THEY ARE NOT THE SAME
Jonathan didn’t despise those who were Jewish; he was in fact Jewish himself. Not much mind you; a measly three percent according to the genetic testing on his birthfather’s side; but, more than enough to have earned himself a trip to Chelmno, Belzek, Sobibor, Treblinka, Majdanek, or Auschwitz-Birkeneau had he resided in WWII Germany. Why?
The boy had watched a film “Conspiracy” (2001) about the Wannsee Conference which details “The Final Solution” to be implemented by the Nazis. Within the film a question is asked about those who were NOT “ethnically Jewish” but had adopted the Feasts of Adonai; and, the keeping of the weekly Sabbaths according to the Hebrew Tradition.
The Nazi’s hated the Jew’s rejection of The Christ. They felt it was their DUTY to rid the world of HIS people who were blinded by the deceit of those who had abandoned the Covenant of Life and Peace.
"If they are going to act like Jews we shall treat them like Jews."
The line stuck out like a sore thumb to the boy now a grown man. Since 2009 James had ceased celebrating Christmas and Easter; something that brought the ire of his wife’s family. They would learn to hate him for it; without even a good reason. Just that his “faith” was different from theirs; and, challenged their own belief system with hard questions they couldn’t answer. After a very long period of intense study the boy had come to some conclusions about this man people call “Jesus.”
“Jesus Christ is THE SAME yesterday; and, today; and, forever.”
HEBREWS 13:8
The boy had contemplated for years upon what this book says about Jesus. He wanted to believe. But, the boy had doubts. Many of them.
The child had been fervently trying to understand this last chapter (Revelation) since that day his family would bury his adopted grandfather Jack. Jack would in his own physical brokenness LOVE the boy in a way that was CLEAR to him.
Jack and his wife Imogene would introduce the boy to paint by number paintings, model cars, the typewriter, and their church (St. Luke's Methodist Church in downtown Oklahoma City) where the boy would make a valuable connection which would last decades. First he would meet Scott Smith a youth minister whom Jimmy would come to love. There he would also meet four other people who would be part of his life into adulthood. Maybe not as much as he would like; but, they would treat him like family.
There he would meet his friends Kody; Stephanie; and, the Gibson brothers Jason and Trent.
Jonathan rummaged through the drawers with photographs he had not had the energy put up. The last three months he had learned a new depth of loneliness. The new apartment was itself barren of pictures. He stopped. Freezing as he stared at the photograph. Holding it he sat down. The moment would break the boy as tears flooded his eyes. He closed them silently remembering how Jack had difficulty getting his wheelchair through the gate. His body shook as he sobbed even harder. The man refused to be thwarted. He had intentions of making a memory that day. A memory the boy would hold onto; and, cherish.
Even though it had been four decades he still felt an agonizing grief deep in his soul that longed to hear his voice; and even more importantly to see his face; and, hug this man who taught him along with his friend KIRK that we grieve most for those whom we love when they are gone.
It had been forty years since the boy had helped Jack shave for the last time in the hospital room. Forty years since he had heard his grandfather tell him "I love you" smiling at the boy filling his heart with what he knew was REAL.
Jonathan's birth father Edward would allow him to stay with them the week Rupert passed away. If it hadn't been for the boy's birth father (and this small measure of mercy) he would have been an absolute wreck.
James only had one photograph of himself playing with his birthfather. ONLY ONE. Edward would NEVER understand how deeply the boy grieved. He literally couldn't. For some reason he lacked the necessary elements of a father Jonathan desperately needed. He could manage to have a good relationship with his sister Katrina; but, not with the boy.
Since moving back home to Oklahoma City his birth father had managed to make the boy feel like nothing more than a name upon a list. He cared more about his wife family from Colombia alienating the boy even further; making the boy feel like even more of an outsider. He felt like he imagined an orphan would feel.
A supernatural event the day of Jack’s burial would place the boy on a path of discovery to understand not only life; but death itself. A discovery of not only himself, but of THE BEING who spoke to him in the darkness. For many years he would think it was just a dream. A dream he kept close to himself; refusing to speak of it for fear others would think him insane; or, a liar. He hated being called a liar; more than anything.
It triggered the boy reminding him of the slap that sent him running to his room instead of the protection he needed. As an adult he would face hard undeniable facts about this event etched into the very fabric of his own heart’s flesh. Facts he couldn’t dismiss.
The boy would ruminate on the passage he had read. JESUS IS THE SAME. The same. This man would think; believe; and, act JUST AS HE DID when he was walking the earth with His disciples. He didn’t metamorphosize. What He valued BEFORE His own death He would STILL value after his resurrection by the power of the Creator.
Jonathan (“James”) just wanted the TRUTH about this man; this being who can allegedly heal the sick; bring sight to the blind; voice to the mute; hearing to the deaf; stability to the unstable; and, raise the very dead who stink after having been in the grave for four days. Surely this man; this being whom he imagined was filled with empathy for the broken could heal what was broken within himself.
"If only I could just touch the hem of his garment" the boy thought.
Would He judge the boy something to be discarded as his own birth parents had? Or would this man be merciful choosing instead to heal the boy who felt like a leper. A boy who was on the outside of the camp. A boy outside of his own family.
When the boy as an adult would watch The Chosen the healing scenes would grip his own heart as Jonathan Roomie would portray these moments of incredulity. Miracles that would alter the paths of those whom He healed. The Leper. The Paralytic.
“YOUR FAITH IS BEAUTIFUL”
He would consider not just what most Christians believed about him; but, what the Written Torah itself (Deut. 18) would disclose to the boy about “The Prophet Like Unto Moses” the very one rejected by His own people. The boy himself had a deep intimate understanding of what rejection felt like. How deeply the pain of the sting would cut.
“Is THAT what he feels like? DOES HE WEEP AS I DO ?” the boy thought.
Jonathan would adopt the Hebrew Feasts; and, the Sabbath which Jesus himself kept all throughout his life. His own birth mother who once comforted him in the early morning waking him with her soft voice would outright reject him for this. Though he tried to share with her what he was learning; she would choose to exert control to manipulate what he discussed with her. She didn’t want to hear ANY of it. Not his study of Daniel; nor his study the book of Revelation; nor his detailed study of Islam; and, how it would play a role in end times.
She most especially didn’t want anything to do with anything “Jewish.”
He would spend ten years in Covina California where he would take his family with him to Simchat Yeshua. A Messianic Jewish Congregation where he could study Judaism without the worry of offending someone over Jesus.
There he would encounter a much different perspective about this man than anyone had EVER suggested to him. He would study. Like his life depended upon it. Because it did. Although the boy could clearly see the fingertips of Messiah all throughout the Feasts themselves; the boy still had challenges with the way the Rabbis rendered the New Moon. Their method didn't match the creation week pattern. He would choose to write about it.
He would choose as an adult to write many things.
Jonathan’s (“James’s”) study of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam since college helped him to see things others couldn’t. Not because they weren’t intelligent. Not because he alone was privy to some “secret” knowledge; but, simply because when one reads what others do not; when one studies what others DO NOT; that individual is able to see what those who DO NOT simply CAN’T. The exposure makes the difference.
Today the "exposure" little Jonathan would receive wouldn't be that of instruction; or a biblical lesson. No. Instead the boy would be severely traumatized. This woman who didn't really love him (at all) would give unintended training about weakness; and, vulnerability that would later drive him to strengthen his body. An act that would someday propel him towards graduation as a United States Marine.
Todays exposure would be a DEATH THREAT that came at the business end of the fork Mara wielded in her hand. Her eyes flashed as she screamed at him like a seething dragon who had discovered an intruder intent upon steeling its gold. She burst into the garage with such speed and intensity that it rattled the third grader; frightening him as she grabbed him off the piano bench launching him into the corner of the garage next to his father tools.
The fork pressed hard into the boys neck into his Juglar vein. Her breath was hot and stunk of tuna fish sandwiches. As she screamed little pieces of whatever she had eaten peppered the boys glasses.
He would NEVER forget this encounter as long as he lived. And he would HATE her for it. This despicable act would someday fuel his HATE his birthmother whom he had ONCE DEEPLY LOVED calling her "mama bear."
THEA HAD CHOSEN HIS PRISON. SHE HAD DONE THIS.
MAYBE NOT DIRECTLY. BUT EVERYTHING THAT WOULD BEFALL THE BOY CAME AS A DIRECT RESULT OF HER CHOICE TO DELIVER HIM INTO THE HANDS OF ANOTHER. HER PERSISTANCE IN LABELING THE BOY A LIAR AND HER STAUNCH REFUSAL TO HELP HIM ENSURED THE BOND THEY ONCE SHARED TO BE BROKEN FOREVER.
His own private Chateau D'if that offered no escape. As an adult the child would deeply identify with the character portrayed in Alexander Dumas book made into a film "The Count of Monte Cristo" about a man wrongfully imprisoned for fourteen years. His own prison term would last from age two until he was eighteen; and, fled home escaping with his friend into the United States Marine Corps. He hadn't realized it until his therapist asked him
"Was that your first opportunity to escape the home?"
Rupert's orange Ford Pinto pulled into their circular drive outside the garage; its engine sputtering then shutting off. Mara looked up; something in her eyes changed. What was it?
"You had better get your ass to your room and don't come out. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night. MOVE IT " She Screaming in the boy's face.
The boy complied running swiftly down the hallway into his room shutting the door. He would hide in his closet crying in the darkness.
"PLEASE GOD" The boy begged. "PLEASE HELP ME."
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