Short Stories

Martin's First Prayer

by Anne O'Donnell
10/10/20
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Martin refused to blink as the faces peered through the bars, staring at the torn skin on his forearm and the bruises sending blood down his cheeks. I don’t belong here and they know it, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If only he had paid more attention to the unspoken words, he could have avoided this mess. Not wanting to admit his weakness, he tilted his chin up, as if to communicate to the anxious onlookers that he was going to beat the accusations and get his reputation back in good standing.

His mind wandered back to the night a few weeks ago as he sat on the front porch with his Bible, trying to decipher its meaning and then tossing it aside. Aunt May had urged him to crack it open once in a while to let the words settle in. She knew Martin needed some sense knocked into his brain and had all but given up praying for his attention to fixate on something stable and life-giving. Wanting to comply with this kind-hearted woman who raised him, Martin struggled to make sense of its content but let his imagination run wild, veering away from the stories and imagining his own scenarios, all of which had bad endings. Why did his mind always go in the wrong direction?

Martin knew he made the mistake of befriending Mr. Carlson, the brewery owner down on 64^th St. Something shady hung over his demeanor, but Martin couldn’t put his finger on it. Eager to earn big bucks, he threw caution to the wind and agreed to make deliveries without asking questions. Mr. Carlson promised a sweet return for obliging to his rules, as long as Martin kept quiet and never overstepped the boundaries. Why should he probe? I’m just driving a truck, he reasoned, no one will suspect anything.

The bell rang, stirring Martin out of his stupor, and the door opened. Officer Anton took him by the arm without any consideration for the intense throbbing and thought it a waste of time to stop the bleeding. Martin began to grit his teeth, trying with all his might to keep the anger and pain at bay. He wished he were smarter, maybe then he would have seen through the lies. All that scuffling at the back end of the truck tipped him off that something was up to no good. He convinced himself that next time, if there was a next time, he’d wise up and not get so pushed around.

No one forced him to agree with Mr. Carlson’s devious and conniving tactics, and now Martin regretted embarrassing himself by his bad choice to listen to the strangers at the truck stop who had coaxed him to take a different route.

Regret ignited inside Martin, and for the first time, he asked God to intervene and force these belligerent cops to have a little bit of decency towards a young kid just trying to make a living. If Aunt May were privy to all this bargaining and bartering with God, what would she say? Somewhere underneath the layers if indignation lay the truth; Martin had his chance to know God but refused because of his pursuit to prove to himself and the world he was equipped just fine to decide his fate.

But now the stakes were too high to ignore the damages done - the truck destroyed, lives lost, drugs confiscated, and not a soul in the building willing to stand up for his integrity. He had driven right into the problem without an ounce of proof that someone had set him up. Only God as a witness could secure his freedom.

Time stood still as bail was set and the trial date scheduled. Martin once again closed his eyes and pleaded with God to release him from a punishment for a crime he did not commit. Mr. Carlson deserves to be put away, not me. Word had gotten out about his drug ring, and the thugs at the depot knew the routine. How could I have been so stupid?

Six weeks later Martin received a call from his lawyer, stating a witness had stepped forward clearing the offense off his record and setting him free. Not having been accustomed to happy endings, Martin fell to his knees and wept, how could a God I have ignored most of my life have any interest in saving me from myself?

Praying for the first time, he turned his attention to the only One who could turn this tragedy into a triumph. Forgive me for my foolishness. I promise to not let you down again. I don’t know you but I want to change things around. Could you please help me God? Could we do this together? Could you show me how to make things right?

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in. Revelation 3:20