The Impressionist Part 8

"Now, Adam, do you really think I could ever do conventional? I'm an impressionist." Jim Ed let out a jovial laugh and slapped me on the back. "Let me explain the painting to you. It tells a story."

"Please do," I said. "I'm definitely curious. I was thinking more like, 'What is this?'"

"Like I told you, whenever I paint someone, I try to draw from more than just their exterior. I attempt to capture what their energy and soul are conveying to me."

"My soul was conveying to you that hideous dragon-like thing?" I was bracing for "Oh yes, that's you all right. You're a monster."

"Yep," said Jim Ed. "That's part of it, but it was also conveying to me the courage and spirit of the lion, the David in you that is struggling to come out and have a voice."

With my arms crossed over my chest, I was intently listening and studying my portrait thinking, Okay, it could be worse, when Jim Ed's cell phone dinged again. After checking the message's source, he handed the Blackberry to me. It was Josh.

"Where are you? I've been waiting forever! I'm going out with friends."

"Is Mom home?" I typed and pressed Send, then waited.

A few seconds later I got a reply. "No."

"Keep going," I said, handing the phone back to Jim Ed. "I need to hear what you have to say. A few more minutes won't make any difference."

"I believe G.o.d wants you to hear this too," Jim Ed continued. "I see this dark dragon inside of you, Adam. It's scary and loud and tries to control you. It's your flesh, your old nature. Sometimes it's so overwhelming that you feel paralyzed and want to give up on life and living. You're weary of doing the same things that you hate, over and over again. It's a cycle that reproduces itself and you don't know why. Inside you are tormented." He placed his arm on my shoulder and squeezed. "But I want to tell you something. Even though that dragon is powerful, even though it's loud and demanding, you don't have to let it rule you. You can slay it."

As Jim Ed spoke, something stirred inside me...hope, a fight that I hadn't felt for years. Something s.h.i.+fted. I wanted to slay the dragon. If there was going to be a fight, I was all in and was willing to go down swinging.

Jim Ed reached down and patted his old Bible. "You slay the dragon within you by using this-the Sword of Truth. The Word of G.o.d is the Light. It is your sword." I must have shown a look of slight hesitation, because he said, "Hear me out, Adam. This is important. It's going to change the way you see. The dragon, the enemy, is a deceiver. He likes to work in the dark, whisper lies in our ears like, 'You act like me. You look like me. You smell like me. G.o.d doesn't really love you. He's disappointed in you.' The enemy is real. He's bent on destroying you and everything you stand for. You have to know the truth, know your true ident.i.ty in Christ because when you mess up over and over again, that dragon will pop up its ugly head and start screaming, 'You don't belong to Christ. You're not even saved! Just give up on G.o.d and everything else. There's no use fighting the fight.'

"But you can never give up the fight, Adam! The Bible says the kingdom suffers violence and the violent take it by force. If you're going to have a life, you have to fight for it. If you are going to have a family, you have to fight for it, and that fight starts by knowing the truth about yourself and about your enemy!"

Jim Ed s.h.i.+fted his attention to the lion face on the paper. "Now, you see this lion over here?" He said pointing, "This is what I see you becoming-what your inner man wants to become, finding true success and lasting contentment. So much of your ident.i.ty has been wrapped up in performance. You've lost yourself, lost your voice. But don't be thinking it's too late for change and having a different life. That's another deception of the dragon. It's never too late until they put you in the grave. If anyone should know, it's me. The important thing in life is not how you start, but how you finish. Finish strong Adam, finish strong."

"I want to."

"Then never give up the fight! Fight for truth. The truth will set you free.

"The dragon within you feeds on deception. Deception is what hinders a person from letting go, walking in love, and receiving G.o.d's ever-flowing grace. As long as the dragon can keep you deceived, it can keep you in the dark, holding on to those ugly, self-defeating behaviors. It prevents us from trusting anyone. Keeps us from having the intimate relations.h.i.+ps G.o.d created us to have. We were made in the image of perfect intimacy and our hearts long for this. But when you truly know who you are, that His spirit is in you, you recognize that certain self-defeating, even sinful, actions are not consistent with who you really are.

"Every time I've fallen short, Adam, it's been because I've taken my eyes off of who I am in Christ Jesus. Your ident.i.ty is the key to outwardly becoming the masterpiece G.o.d created you to be. It's understanding that your spirit-man is already a masterpiece, Christ in you. Those who compromise are men and women who've become shortsighted or blinded by the enemy's deceptions and have forgotten who they are."

I stepped back, looked up into the sky, trying to absorb everything. Storm clouds appeared to be forming in the distance. I wondered if Paige was home now. "Looks like it's going to rain later," I said. "I might need to start heading on back soon."

"We could talk while we walk to the parking lot, if you don't mind," said Jim Ed. "My truck's there."

"That'll work."

At that, Jim Ed took my watercolor portrait, carefully rolled it up, slid it into one of his cylinders and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. "This is going to be a reminder to me-no more excuses."

"Thank you for allowing me the privilege of painting you." After saying that, he began putting away his paints then folded his easel and stool.

"I'm the one privileged."

Jim Ed took the handle of his cart and began to walk.

"Here, let me take that," I said gripping the cart to pull for him. He seemed spent.

"Thank you," he said. "Believe it or not, painting takes a lot out of me. I just don't have the energy that I used too."

The cart was surprisingly lightweight and we walked around the lake toward the parking lot as Jim Ed continued.

"Remember I said earlier that when you are secure in G.o.d and living in desperate dependence on Him, not in your own power or self-effort, the supernatural happens?"

I c.o.c.ked my head. "Yeah."

"You receive healing from those past broken relations.h.i.+ps and allow G.o.d to show you how to give your heart to the things that really matter. G.o.d's not broken, Adam."

"I want that," I said, letting out a deep, long sigh. "I've been sabotaging my relations.h.i.+p with my wife and my son, Jim Ed, going numb to protect myself."

"Kind of like Paige has done," he said.

23.

"Fall is Paige's favorite time of the year," I said as we walked along noticing the beauty of the changing leaves. "Mine too. We used to like hiking through the woods taking in the beauty of nature."

"Leaves become their brightest right before they die, you know," he said. Some teenagers playing Frisbee sailed their disc our way, almost hitting the cart. It skidded to our feet. Jim Ed slowly bent down, holding his back with his hand and picked up the Frisbee and sailed it back wobbly to the kids.

At the parking lot, we walked to an extraordinarily clean, silver pickup truck with a matching camper sh.e.l.l. It could have been fifteen years old, but looked brand-new-definitely the kind of vehicle you wanted to buy secondhand. Jim Ed dropped down the tailgate and pulled out a ramp with rollers. Then he pulled down a cable that was connected to a small motor and hooked it to the cart. He turned on the little motor and it pulled the cart right into the back of the truck.

"I could have just put the cart up in there for you," I said.

"I know, but then you wouldn't have seen my contraption," he said. "It was my idea you know. As I got older, it became harder for me to lift stuff up in the truck so I developed this little baby."

"Clever," I said.

After closing the tailgate, Jim Ed shuffled to the driver's side door, opened it and slid in. Lowering the window, he rested his elbow in the opening. I tapped the cylinder holding my portrait in my hands. "Thanks for this, Jim Ed," I said. "I know I'm going to look at it and think about the things you've said."

He held out his hand and grasped mine, looked up at me, perhaps like a grandfather would. "G.o.d bless you, Adam Camp," he said. "It was nice meeting you. I pray you and Paige work it out and I pray Josh comes around."

"What do I do now?" I blurted out.

"Oh, I think you know," he said with a twinkle in his eye. Straightening his hat, he placed the key in the ignition, and cranked the engine. "See you later," he said giving me a quick military salute, while putting the truck into reverse.

I stood watching as the truck backed out of the parking spot and then began creeping forward. Standing there, holding the cylinder, listening to the gravel crunch under the truck's tires, I felt an unusual love for this man rising up in me. "Jim Ed, wait!" I shouted out, running toward his truck before he made it to the end of the parking lot. The old painter heard my shouts and stopped.

"Yes, Adam?"

"You can't...I mean, can we talk again sometime soon? Go for a walk or something? I know I'm going to need your help! There's so much I don't know, that I want to know, that I need to know. I feel like I've known you all my life and that you have more to teach me. Is there any way we could spend a little more time together, you know, be friends?"

Jim Ed looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. "Like Jonathan and David?"

"Exactly!"

"I would be honored, Adam." "That would be awesome," I said. "Can you write down your cell phone number for me and I'll give you a call sometime?"

He fumbled around for something to write on. Finally turning over an old gas receipt he scribbled down his number, folded the paper, and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll call soon."

Jim Ed tipped his New Orleans Saints cap once more and was off. My eyes followed his truck down the boulevard until it finally turned at a nearby intersection and disappeared into the early afternoon traffic. I glanced at the number and then stuffed the paper inside my jeans pocket.

24.

With each step I took back through the neighborhood, the storm clouds grew closer causing me to hoof it, but it wasn't the storm on the outside I was worried about. It was the storm brewing inside me. The overwhelming peace I'd felt in the presence of Jim Ed was dwindling fast as the seriousness of my situation pounced back on me. "I can't believe you actually fell for that heap of c.r.a.p!" the voice in my head jabbed. "Really, an old eccentric painter? You're as crazy as he is. Nothing's going to change, Adam. You're not going to change. Get real. Paige is leaving you."

A wave of nausea nearly knocked me over as the word D-I-V-O-R-C-E hovered in my mind's eye. It was a subject we'd never really brought up unless it was happening to someone else. Surely it wouldn't happen to us-not to me. Panting for air, my chest tightened as panic a.s.saulted me. I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees and took in several deep breaths before moving on.

After turning the corner onto Sycamore Street, our house came into view and I noticed the garage door was open and the white Camry was gone. Josh's faded Honda Civic was in the driveway. Paige is gone, I thought. It's been a couple hours, I guess I'm not surprised she didn't stick around for me. Josh must have been picked up by his friends. Good! The Civic's getting impounded! The last thing we needed was a DUI or an accident on his record. He already had enough black marks to overcome.

A loud silence echoed through the house as I walked in. Normally, the quiet would've been a welcomed break, but now it just made everything seem hollow and empty. In the kitchen, I noticed the dishtowel Paige had been holding was still crumpled up on the table and the dishes were in the sink unfinished. Knowing her like I do it took a lot for her to walk away from unfinished dishes. She must have left right after me. I made my way straight to the master bedroom to get my iPhone off the dresser.

The door to the hall bathroom was cracked and the shower was running. Josh was home after all. Disregarding the fact that he had slept half the day and was just now getting showered, I stuck my head in. "I'm home," I said. No response. "I'm home," I said one more time. Still silence except for the trickling of water. Fine, ignore me. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed into Josh's bedroom, swiped up his keys, and continued to my room. It was an act that I knew would be equivalent to declaring War III but needed to be done.

Laying the canister holding Jim Ed's portrait on my bedroom dresser, I picked up my iPhone. There were only two messages, both from work. "Adam, we need you to come in this afternoon if at all possible. If not today, then early tomorrow. We found a problem with your report that needs to be resolved before we can issue on Monday. It's urgent!" The second message was a duplicate.

Problem with my report? I sighed, rolling my eyes. Well, there's the crisis.

"I'll be in tomorrow early to resolve," I typed and pressed Send. After that, I pulled up Paige's name and pressed call. I needed to talk to her, not text. I wanted her to hear my voice. Six or seven rings later, her voice message picked up. "This is Paige. I'm unable to talk right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you. Thanks!"

"Paige, please, I need to talk to you. I said things I shouldn't have. Please listen. I'm sorry. I love you."

Within a minute I received a two word text. "Need s.p.a.ce."

"How long?" I texted back while clanking around the room. Then I saw that she had packed some clothes.

"Don't know," she sent. "I've got some things to think through."

"What am I supposed to do about Josh?" I sent.

"You're his father. Handle it. I can't deal right now."

Now she wants me to handle it. I shook my head and plopped down on the bed. That figures. But if something goes wrong, guess who'll get the blame.

The sound of rummaging through the kitchen cabinets meant Josh was done with his shower and looking for food. Our house was nice, but still small enough for everyone to know everybody else's business, which in this case was in my favor.

Sitting on the bed waiting, antic.i.p.ating the inevitable, I did not want to have this conversation with him. Paige, where are you when I need you? She helped balance me when dealing with Josh. The thought of her leaving was tearing me up. Another pain jabbed me in the chest. Paige, Josh, work-it was all closing in on me.

The pantry door closed loudly, then I heard Josh making his way back to his room like a large rodent where he closed his door securely, shutting me out and ignoring my presence. It occurred to me then that he probably had his headphones in the whole time and didn't even know I was home.

Pus.h.i.+ng myself off the bed, I trudged to Josh's room. At the door, I vacillated between knocking it open and waiting it out a little longer. Just a few hours earlier I had wanted to put him in the ER. Now, I was numb again and rationalized that putting it off as long as possible was the way to go.

In the living room, I kicked back in my Lazy Boy chair with the remote. I just needed to chill for a while. The Vikings and Bears were playing in an important game with the Playoffs on the line. I'd planned on watching, but my life had taken a drastic turn. It's amazing how quickly things can spin out of control. 6:09 was left on the clock in the fourth quarter and the Vikings were on the Bears' eleven yard line about to score. The quarterback dropped back to pa.s.s and...and...the Bear's defensive coordinator had dialed up a blitz. The quarterback was going down. No! Wait! He scrambled out of the sack and found a man open at the goal line! Touch- "Dad! Where are my keys?" Josh yelled out. "They were here when I went to take my shower!"

Okay, maybe he did know I was home.

I turned the TV volume up. "The touchdown is under review," the announcer said. "It appears the receiver stepped out of bounds on the one-foot line."

"Dad! I said 'Where are my keys?!'"

I pushed the off b.u.t.ton on the remote and looked up. Josh now was standing in the living room in blue jeans with no s.h.i.+rt on, his long, wet hair shooting off in a thousand directions like he'd been drying it with a towel. Tall and lanky, at seventeen he'd gone through a recent growth spurt. I was six feet even. He was at least that tall, though I had about forty pounds on him.

"I have them," I said. "We have some things to talk about. I think you know what."

Josh rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said.

"You don't think this is serious," I said, allowing my voice to elevate. "What's that on your arm?"

"Nothing," he said folding his arms over his chest.

I stood and marched over to him yanking his arms apart to reveal the words carved into his flesh, "NO PAIN" and "DIE." Red and freshly scabbing wounds; my stomach lurched as I inwardly groaned for my son and the damage he was inflicting upon himself. Why would someone do that to themselves? I thought.

"When did you do that?" I demanded.

"What does it matter? You weren't here anyway," he said, jerking his arms away from my grasp and flinging them in the air in protest. When he did, his fist smacked me in the mouth, busting my lip causing it to bleed. I think it shocked him because he braced himself for the retaliation. Though unintentional, the act tore at my self-control. "You're high!" I shouted clutching the back of one of his triceps, pulling him to me. "Let me see your eyes!"

"I'm not high," he yelled, pus.h.i.+ng back away. "I need my keys. I've got to get out of here!"

"You're not going anywhere, punk! You shouldn't be driving in your condition and the car's in my name. I'm paying the insurance on it! It belongs to me. We are going to talk."

"Talking doesn't mean nuthin," he spat. "There's nothing to talk about."

"You can't keep using, Jos.h.!.+ Don't you understand? It's ruining your life. You're blowing it! You need serious help."

"I don't care."