The Impressionist (11 page)

“We’re a team. You and me and the Lord. ‘A threefold cord is not quickly broken,’ Ecclesiastes 4:12. We’re going to make it.”

“You’re an incredible woman, Christina,” Jim Ed said, gently kissing her lips.

It was a defining moment for him.

Jim Ed’s powerful story left me feeling moved with respect for him and a longing for a life partner like he had with Christina. My eyes were opened to what could be between me and Paige. It would take God’s help, a miracle perhaps, but it was now something I knew I wanted and was willing to fight for.

Following the incident, Jim Ed laid low for a while because he knew the cops were watching him. Fortunately, he started his job in Jackson less than two weeks later and he never saw Lewis again. That is, until nearly a half century later. Lewis tracked Jim Ed down using the Internet and asked if they could meet. At first Jim Ed didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He had no desire to reopen old wounds, but Christina convinced Jim Ed it was the right thing to do, that it was what Christ would do. The two men met one afternoon at the very park where he and Adam were now.

Jim Ed was not prepared for what he saw—a man who had lived an entire life filled with regret, eaten alive by bitterness and guilt. Lewis was thin and frail and wheelchair-bound. His skin had a yellowish-pale tint, and he couldn’t breathe without the aid of an oxygen tank. His daughter, Lydia, who had
accompanied him, pushed his wheelchair to the bench and then waited in a rental car while he and Jim Ed talked. What got Jim Ed the most, though, were Lewis’ eyes—eyes filled with absolute terror. Lewis was a dying man who was extremely afraid.

“Mr. Porter,” Lewis said, his entire body trembling as he sucked in prolonged breaths of oxygen between sentences. “I don’t know how to say this, but I am sincerely sorry for what happened that day. I was young and foolish. I’ve prayed thousands of times for God’s forgiveness over the years,” he continued, “but it would mean so much if somehow you could find it in your heart to forgive me. I’m a dying man who wants to make things right so I can have a bit of peace before I go.”

After all those years of putting the incident behind him and moving on with his life, Jim Ed felt the anger beginning to rise up inside him again. Just seeing Lewis’ face, even though it was now withered and creased, brought the past fully and painfully into the present. “It’s not me that you need to be asking for forgiveness, but God and Willie. He’s the one you murdered in cold blood. And you got away with it!”

“I’ve been to Willie’s grave countless times,” Lewis responded. “I’ve asked him to forgive me over and over. I’ve asked God for forgiveness so many times…but can never get any peace in my heart. That’s why I’ve come to you. You would know what Willie would do. Would he forgive me? I need to know. Can you forgive me? Maybe if you can, then I’ll believe that Willie can and God can.”

“You talk about making things right,” said Jim Ed. “Well what about Willie, Lewis? He didn’t have a chance to make things right or to have a bit of peace before he went. He didn’t even have time to pray to God like you did.” Jim Ed raised his voice and
spoke forcefully. “But I can assure you of this; Willie is in Heaven, and he is at peace!” He wagged his finger in Lewis’ face. “And to tell you the truth, I don’t know what Willie would do. Do you realize how much pain you caused? The dreams you snuffed out? If you are so set on making things right, I’ll drive you to the police station and you can turn yourself in! How about that?” Tears were streaming down Lewis’ face. “I’ll tell you something else I bet you didn’t know. I came within a trigger’s breath of killing you.” Lewis looked up at Jim Ed somewhat taken aback. “Yes, that’s right. Don’t look so surprised. I got my pistol; put it in my truck, and after Willie’s funeral drove out to your old place with the full intention of putting a bullet through your skull.”

“Why didn’t you?” Lewis struggled. “You should have. It would have saved me a lot of misery. Believe me, not a day goes by that I don’t relive what I did. Sometimes I lay awake all night long as the scene from that day replays over and over in my mind like a broken record that I can’t turn off! If I could go back and make things right I would. I was wrong. We were wrong. No one deserved to be treated like that.”

“You know why I didn’t kill you that day?” said Jim Ed. “Because I realized that if I would have shot you, I would have ended up just like you, eaten alive with bitterness and guilt my whole life, only to end up old and pathetic, full of regret, just like you are now! You know what? You got exactly what you deserved—a life of misery!” After he said that, Jim Ed turned and walked away.

“No!” Lewis cried out through a rasping cough. “Please,” he coughed again, “don’t leave!”

Jim Ed could hear him wheezing for breath and when he turned around, he noticed that Lewis’ breathing tube had fallen
out and was lying on the ground. Lewis was leaning forward in his wheelchair clawing frantically for it but couldn’t reach it. Jim Ed walked over to him, picked it up, and handed it to him. Lewis shoved it back into his nostrils and sucked in a long extended gasp of oxygen.

“Listen to me, please,” he said, grabbing hold of Jim Ed’s arm. Sweat had beaded up on his brow and his whole body was shaking. “Everything happened so fast that day. You’ve got to believe me. I picked up that hubcap without even thinking. I never intended to kill him! His death was an accident! An accident, I tell you! If I’ d been thinking right, I never would’ve done it!” Lewis clutched his breathing tube so it would not dislodge, and coughed again. “Have you ever been overtaken by rage, Mr. Porter? If you have, then you know how crazy a person can get in a matter of seconds. You just go mad and do stupid things.”

Lewis’ words caused Jim Ed to stiffen up. Yes, he knew all too well that rage he was talking about. It had dominated so many years of his life, and Jim Ed also knew that under the right circumstances it could have been him instead of Lewis pleading for forgiveness. The only reason it was not was because of grace. It wasn’t that Jim Ed was somehow a better man, but grace, pure and simple—the grace of God and of loving people surrounding him, encouraging him, praying for him—the grace of God’s light shining upon him and the grace to recognize the truth before acting out. Something shifted in Jim Ed. He felt a measure of grace to release his anger and choose to forgive.

Jim Ed’s eyes, now compassionate and warm, fell square onto Lewis’. “I forgive you,” he said. “And I know God will forgive you too. The Bible says, ‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious and does not treat us as our sins deserve. He knows how
we are formed. He remembers that we are dust.’ Christ died for you too, Lewis.” The moment those words came out of Jim Ed’s mouth, Lewis exhaled as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from his back. “I believe Willie forgives you too,” Jim Ed said, knowing in his soul it was true, that Willie would have, or had already, forgiven him.

Tears still trickling down his face; with a wobbly hand, Lewis took Jim Ed’s and squeezed. “Thank you,” he said. “You will never know how much this means.”

“I think I have an idea,” said Jim Ed.

“I’m not sure how much time I have left on this earth, Mr. Porter,” Lewis said, “a year, a month, perhaps only a few days, but I’m going to make the most of it. I want to find out what God would have of me and then do it.”

“Just love the people God puts in your life, Lewis. Love them with the same grace that God has shown you.” Jim Ed’s words were few as he pushed Lewis toward his car. Lydia met them halfway. Jim Ed continued with them to the car, where they said a very stiff goodbye and Lewis was on his way. He died almost one month later.

“But what about justice?” I blurted out. “Lewis got away with murder, or at the least manslaughter! Shouldn’t he be held responsible?”

“Yes, he should have. Forgiveness doesn’t mean sweeping offenses under a rug and forgetting, nor does it means there will be no consequences,” said Jim Ed, sitting back down on his stool. “It’s a choice to release and let go. I’m not saying that justice is not important and should not be pursued. Thank God for justice and law. If there were no consequences to wrongdoing, then society would be even more chaotic. Yes, justice and sufficient punishment are essential. And it’s important to grieve fully and feel the anger. However, people can get to the point where the anger and bitterness and the need for justice is enslaving and will destroy them and their relationships. Forgiveness, on the other hand, has little to do with justice and is as much for the person doing the forgiving as it is for the one needing forgiveness. Forgiveness is not only for murder, but everyday relationships.”

“I’m not sure I totally agree. I mean, if somebody hurt my wife or kids I’d have a hard time forgiving. I’d want to kill them the way you wanted to kill Lewis, and I wouldn’t be sorry either.”

“If you feel that strongly, then you need to fight for them, Adam.”

“Okay, that was tricky.”

“No tricks. Just the Holy Spirit doing His thing, breathing life into dead spirits so they’re no longer numb but passionate.” He lifted his Saints cap and wiped his forehead. “Get back into the fight, Adam.”

“That’s what I want, Jim Ed,” I said, “but what if I do this and Paige doesn’t want to come back?”

“Sometimes you can’t make things right or fix the mistakes you’ve made. I’ve learned too that you can’t control other people. You can’t control Paige’s response. Stop keeping score.”

The old painter’s words were making me fidgety. I nervously pulled at the collar of my sweatshirt. He removed his glasses again and rubbed his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Remember I said that responding to God’s light on the day when I was going to Lewis’ was a defining moment for me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve discovered that life has many defining moments, places where we have to make choices of how we are going to respond—what voices we are going to listen to. Today is a defining moment for you, Adam, whether you are going to begin walking in the light and forgiveness. Are you going to get back into the fight, or are you simply going to continue on the same path getting the same results?”

Jim Ed stopped his painting and started cleaning his brush and palette.

“I guess that means you’re finished?” I said, admittedly a little disappointed. I really didn’t want our meeting to end. The sun had moved into the early afternoon position and I couldn’t believe all that had transpired, how differently I felt from when we began.

“Yep, that should do it,” he said, standing up from his stool. “You ready to take a look?”

“Can’t wait,” I said, stretching out my arms and legs.

“Close your eyes and grab my hand,” he said. “I want you to get the full affect.”

Feeling self-conscious, I closed my eyes while Jim Ed took my hand and guided me in front of the easel. Like a little kid presenting a beloved parent with some love-filled, handmade project, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he beamed, “Open your eyes.”

Looking down at the work of art before me, I blinked my eyes bewildered, and somewhat confused. Eric was right, the painting was nothing at all like I’d imagined. Wild, rough, and uneven, Jim Ed’s masterpiece had numerous watercolor splotches and every square inch of the paper had paint on it. A jumble of colors, the images had borders that were non-distinct, blending into one another. At first glance it looked like a chaotic, elementary, finger painting. In the very center of the paper was my face. Jim Ed had done a good job capturing my likeness although it was still abstract, without fine detail.

Yet, there was something else even more bizarre about the painting. In addition to the image of my face located in the center of the paper, there were two smaller images of me. One over my left shoulder was an image of my face that was grayish and eerie, half-me, half-dragon, vicious, with scales and black, angry eyes. Over my right shoulder was another face of me yet it was in complete contrast to the dark one. Brilliant, bold, and peaceful, it was half-me and half-lion with striking eyes and a radiant, golden mane.

“So, what cha think?” Jim Ed asked, looking down with his hands on his waist.

“I…I…don’t know quite what to say,” I replied. “It’s…”

“Different?”

“Exactly,” I said. “I mean, it’s certainly engaging and colorful. You’re obviously gifted. But it’s also dark and disturbing—not at all what I had pictured in my mind. I wasn’t expecting three faces, nor for it to be so abstract.”

“What’d you expect?” Jim Ed said grinning large and wide.

“I don’t know,” I said, “something more…what’s the right word? Ummm…”

“Conventional?”

“Yeah, conventional.”

“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?’”