New York, 1990

Like a leaky faucet with a slow deliberate drip, beads of sweat collected on the back of the minister’s neck creating a wet soiled ring on his overly starched collar. His once GQ looks had all but vanished, leaving a mock-version of his meticulously polished former self.

“What if Moses had ignored that burning bush? He could have very well kept walking,” he said. “Do you acknowledge God when he reaches out to you? He can speak through a bush, a flood, or a beggar on the street. Do you walk away? Do you disregard the Lord’s plea?”

The minister’s tone grew anxious as he stared into the eyes of his flock, searching for someone among the desolate collection of onlookers who might connect with what he was saying. Instead he saw a parishioner fervently glancing at his watch, caught another in the middle of a yawn, and noticed his five year old son sprawled out asleep on the pew next to his mother.

“Jesus walked with the poor and the derelicts not the rich. I gave up everything I had to walk like Jesus. Money and riches of the earth will not matter in the end. When I go, I want to be able to say it is well with my soul. I am at peace with myself knowing I did as God asked.”

And what a large sacrifice for God he felt it had been - walking away from the money-making entertainment world, all the booze and drugs anyone could ever imagine, as well as a live-in male lover and all the trappings of that lifestyle. But his beautiful wife holding her mirror image in his young daughter made all the changes he had endured worth it. He knew he had made the right choice.

Or was there ever really a choice in any of it?

At times his former life would nag at him like a jealous mistress making him question how he ever came to be standing in front of this congregation; declaring unending peace and attempting survival in a constant uphill crusade.

(excerpt from Well With My Soul)
© ggallen 2009