he didn’t know where to find groceries or gasoline or everyday stuff like toothpaste and toilet paper, he went out in search of convenient shopping options.
To his relief, he located a supercenter where he could buy everything from car tires to canned soup. And only ten miles from his apartment—a reasonable distance. He browsed the aisles for over an hour, filling his shopping cart with what he considered necessary.
Now back in his apartment, he put everything away. The little freezer section of his refrigerator was stuffed full of microwaveable dinners and cartons of off-brand butter brickle ice cream, his favorite flavor. And his cupboards held boxes of cereal, snack cakes, cans of ravioli and macaroni in meat sauce, and little plastic cups of pudding. He’d need to buy things like bread, milk, and lunch meats more frequently, but he had staples to last for at least a month.
As he closed the cabinet door, he remembered Rachel telling him he really needed to learn how to cook. But why bother? Ready-made meals were so convenient. Besides, if he learned to cook, he’d need more pots and pans and fancy things like spatulas and mixers. He shuddered. Not today. Not even this summer. Maybe next winter, when he’d be cooped up more. Or maybe not. Canned pasta wasn’t that bad. A whole lot better than some of the stuff he ate before the state took him away from his mom. The one sandwich he’d never eat again, no matter how hungry he got, was oily canned tuna on stale white bread.
He left the kitchen area and scuffed barefoot across the carpet to his sofa. He settled at the end closest to the lamp table, where he’d stacked his Bible and several study books Brother Kraft had given him for perusal. Most recently, Brother Kraft had been teaching the youth from the book of Proverbs—sound material, for sure. Jase had contemplated continuing where the man left off, but Brother Kraft had made up his own curriculum. Jase didn’t have the seasoned minister’s ability, so he’d borrowed some books from the preacher’s shelves. He liked the one focused on John’s gospel the best. Lots of meat, lots of solid doctrine, lots of looks at Jesus. Didn’t they all need that?
He flopped the book open across his lap and began reading. Studying. Looking for nuggets that spoke to him because if they spoke to him, he’d be passionate about sharing them with the kids. But he couldn’t seem to focus. His mind wandered backward to his college years. Sometimes being poor had its benefits. And, as Brother Tony had pointed out way back then, maintaining a good high school GPA paid off, too. Trinity College had offered him enough in scholarships and grants to cover all but a small balance, which he’d been able to pay, thanks to his part-time job at the town’s bowling alley.
He’d chosen a major in communication management and a minor in religious studies, coursework Brother Tony had recommended because Jase had expressed the desire to know God at a deeper level and to share His love with others in a meaningful way. He’d done well in college—even graduated summa cum laude. Not bad for a foster-system kid. He stared across the room, his focus inward. Back then, he’d been so single minded in purpose, so determined to do well. To succeed. To prove to his foster parents and his church family and even his social worker that the time and effort they’d poured into him hadn’t been in vain.
So had he done it for God, for them, or for himself?
The question jolted him, and the book slipped to the floor. Grunting in aggravation, he leaned forward and snatched it up. It had landed facedown, crimping several pages. He tried to smooth them flat with the heel of his hand, but the creases remained. He scowled so hard his forehead hurt. Partly because he’d damaged Brother Kraft’s book, partly because he didn’t like the uneasy feeling his internal query had raised.
When he and Rachel had committed themselves to ministry, he’d been so certain his chosen degrees had been God’s means of preparing him. Why couldn’t he recapture that certainty now? Did he really even belong in this town, bearing the title Brother Jase and being a spiritual leader? Brother Tony thought he did. Brother Kraft and his wife seemed to think so.
He pushed himself upright, as slow as an arthritic ninety-year-old might move, and trudged to his bedroom. He