Deacon had been saying. That he had to have faith that God would work everything out...for good.
The verse came to his mind, the one from his childhood, where God works everything out for his good. He couldn’t remember the exact words, but the lesson was there. That’s what it was that Deacon was saying.
“In order for God to work that out for my good, I have to learn the lesson he wanted me to learn.”
“That’s right. God can do it anyway, but our lives become better as we become better. Wiser. More accepting of the things we can’t change, and more willing to admit that maybe we don’t know as much as we thought we did.”
All that was true, but he still didn’t understand what lesson God might have for him.
He figured...why not? Why not ask?
After all, he was just as likely to come to the wrong conclusion as the right one himself.
He knew he hadn’t been handling Shane’s death well.
But he had never even dreamed of thinking about being thankful for it.
He could see, easily, that it was better to look at it and see how he could learn from it. How he could make his own life better. Wasn’t that a better legacy for Shane than wallowing in alcohol?
Shane would say so.
He’d known it. Of course, he’d known it. But maybe he just needed to have it framed in the right way in order for him to be inspired to take the first step.
Or maybe it was because he knew his life was going be changing, and he wasn’t going to have any choices about taking any steps. So he wanted to take the right ones.
He waited for Deacon to slap the bag down and walk back over before he said, “I don’t disagree with anything that you’re saying. In fact, it makes a lot of sense. So much sense that I feel like I should have thought of it myself, although I hadn’t been thinking anything of the kind.” He hooked a thumb in his belt loop and wrapped the other around his neck. “But I just want to say that while I agree with what you’re saying, I’d rather you tell me what to do. Just say, ‘This is what you need to do.’ Because your theory makes sense, but I don’t know how to apply that.”
It wasn’t the best explanation he’d ever had, but he didn’t know how to say it. Basically, he just needed to know what to do. He didn’t have to understand. He just wanted to do the very best for Liam that he could.
Deacon grunted, and the smile on his face irritated Preston just a little. He’d been serious. And Deacon was laughing?
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself. I say that to God all the time. Just tell me what to do. Don’t give me this book full of archaic words and tell me somehow I’m supposed to figure out principles and abstract ideas and somehow use it for everything from raising my kids to knowing who to vote for to having a romantic relationship with my wife.”
Deacon grunted again, and Preston found himself smiling. It did seem kind of crazy that one book would contain all of that.
“But, you know, the same principles pretty much apply to everything. Sure, they don’t tell me that if my wife’s been up all night with the baby, she’d appreciate me cooking supper and doing the dishes, and it doesn’t tell me that my kids need me to take them fishing, and it doesn’t tell me which politician is lying the least.” They both chuckled. “But the principles are still the same. And the biggest one, beyond loving God—because that’s what makes you want to be a better person, right?—is treating other people how you want to be treated. It’s simple.”
“So that’s how I raise my son?” It seemed like raising a kid would be a little harder than that.
“To start. It’s a start. With kids, I’ve found the best thing you can do for them is to be who you want them to be, because they’re gonna look at you and imitate you anyway. It’s just the way kids are.”
Preston nodded. He remembered following his dad around and putting his feet in his dad’s footsteps, imitating his dad’s hand motions. He found himself saying things his dad said, and probably his facial expressions were similar as well. He wasn’t exactly like his dad, but he saw how Liam would probably