HEAVY METAL MIRACLES

PART 2

CHAPTER 1

ARLO ALDO

A MAN’S STEPS ARE OF THE LORD; HOW THEN CAN A MAN UNDERSTAND HIS OWN WAY? (Proverbs 20:24)

            It’s a strange thing to see your name on a tombstone. But there it was, engraved into the silvery granite. Penny’s name was just to the right of mine. But neither she nor I were dead, otherwise I wouldn’t be looking at my gravestone. For the dead don’t know anything (Ecclesiastes 9:5, 10).

            Just to the left of our tombstone was Elsa’s, my former girlfriend and mother of my daughter, Ivy. Unfortunately, she was deceased. It had been ten years since Penny and I had purchased the two stones from Big Al, a former classmate of Penny’s.

            Despite the name, Big Al wasn’t shady. He was about six foot five inches, close to four hundred pounds, but as gentle as a lamb. He was well suited to deal with grieving people. As a matter of fact, he was so soothing to Penny as we discussed the engravings for Elsa’s stone, she spontaneously suggested that she and I get a stone as well.

            When it got the part about mother of Ivy, Penny whimpered. Big Al took one of her hands in his meaty paw, making it look like a little girl’s hand. He gently patted it with his other hand, and with eyes welling said, “There, there.”

            But it was a few minutes before that, when we overheard Big Al on the phone with a creditor that lit the fire in my fiery, compassionate wife. So when he said “There, there,” she responded, “How about Arlo and I get a stone in addition to Elsa’s?”

            He didn’t try to talk us out of it. Penny also hired him to clean and reengrave preexisting stones from both sides of our family, church family, and a few friends. But that was okay, we were far from hurting financially, and Big Al wasn’t the type to take a handout.

            I looked from my tombstone to my fifteen year-old daughter, Ivy. Joking with her, I said, “Did you bring me here so I would see where I’m gonna end up after driving with you?”

            “Not funny, Dad,” she said, despite giggling.

            Ivy had acquired a learner’s permit, and after practicing in a parking lot, we ventured to the open road. She asked where we should go, and I said wherever you want. I guess since it was Memorial Day, she chose to visit the cemetery where several family members were laid to rest. It also happened to be just a quarter of a mile down the country road from Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship.

            Ivy’s gaze went past me, and I watched the merriment evaporate from her face. I turned to look and there was a girl about thirty yards away sitting cross legged in front of a tombstone.

            “Do you know that girl?” I asked.

            “Yeah, she’s my lab partner in biology.”

            I glanced at the girl in time to watch her take a drag on a cigarette. She seemed pretty young to be smoking. I was glad that there was only one week of school left. Ivy was a good hearted young woman, but rather impressionable. “Do you like her?”

            Ivy shrugged her shoulder casually, running a hand through her hair. “Sure, she’s pretty quiet though. But I discovered we do have some things in common.”

            The girl stood, stepped on her cigarette and began to walk both toward and away from us as she angled to a patch of woods adjoining the cemetery. Being Memorial Day weekend there were enough people roaming around so she didn’t notice Ivy. But my daughter called out, “Hey Rory.”

            The dark haired, dark eyed girl with pale skin stopped. When she saw Ivy, her stony face lit up and she gave a little wave. Her large eyes were heavily mascaraed. She had multiple piercings in her ears, also one in her nose, one in her lip, and two in her left eyebrow. Her jeans were fashionably ripped and underneath a faded red flannel shirt that was unbuttoned, I noticed a black Marilyn Manson t-shirt.

            What did Ivy have in common with this combination goth and grunge girl? She was her polar opposite. Ivy had short blonde hair, blue eyes, a tan, an athletic build, and liked contemporary Christian music.

            I didn’t think of myself as judgmental, having spent many years playing in a dark heavy metal band. And after Eli and I both publicly renounced and repented of our former lifestyle, I had patiently and understandingly counseled many a misguided youth. But as I watched my daughter getting chummy with this girl Rory, who smoked cigarettes at fifteen or sixteen years of age, I felt my body tense. Was there anything else she smoked?

            They talked for ten or fifteen minutes, and I meandered from one grave to another reading the names and dates. But I was more interested in my daughter and her classmate as I gave many a sideways glance. Then they exchanged numbers, and I whispered to my myself, “Oh Lord, help her to be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.”

            As Ivy and I strolled toward my maroon Dodge Charger, Ivy told me in a secretive tone. “That was her mom’s grave that she was sitting in front of.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” she repeated, and then a troubled look came onto her face before she added, “She died of drug overdose when Rory was only four.”

            “Wow, that’s a shame,” I replied, and meant it.

            “Yeah, she was pretty blown away when I told her I was four when my mom died.”

            “You were almost five,” I said, and then realized I was trying to somehow distance her from what I suspected could be a dangerous relationship. “I don’t ever remember you talking about a Rory before.”

            Ivy was a freshman at a small town high school, about ten miles outside of the thriving metropolis of Cedar Rapids. So I knew almost all of her classmates.

            “Her name is actually Aurora, but she goes by Rory. After her mom died, she lived with her dad and stepmom. Her dad is career army, so she moved around a lot. They don’t get along very well, so he sent her to live with his mother about halfway through this last school year.”

            “I see,” I replied, paused, and asked, “Did I see you two exchange numbers?”

            “Ah huh.”

            “Ya know, Ivy, I don’t think…”

            Ivy giggled and interrupted. “I wondered if you were gonna freak out. She’s not as wild as she looks though.”

            “Oh yeah? Well that wasn’t fake smoke I saw coming out of her mouth. I wasn’t even smoking at fifteen.”

            “She’s sixteen.”

            “Oh, okay, why didn’t you say so?” I replied with good natured sarcasm.

            She giggled some more. I actually took this as a good sign and was grateful we had a close enough relationship to be able to talk about some hard things. Yet her bringing Rory into our lives would eventually bring some discomfort that was awkward to discuss.

            “I’ve talked to her at school about smoking, and she said she is going to quit. She also said she’s interested in coming to church. And she has listened to your music.”

            Thinking of Rory’s t-shirt, I blurted. “That’s not good.”

            Ivy giggled yet again. “Not your first band, your second.”

            She was referring to the band Eli and I called From Baal to the Bible. Our first CD we called Psalm 51. A Psalm of repentance. The group also included Eli’s son Ethan on vocals, and Ethan’s wife Amy on drums.

            “Oh, well, my bad. But I don’t know if you noticed the t-shirt she was wearing under her flannel shirt.”

            “I noticed, but I think that’s just a left over from her rebelling against her dad.”

            “Remember what I always tell you.”

            Ivy rarely behaved like a typical teenager, but she now rolled her eyes before saying. “You are either influenced, or an influencer. Be an influencer.”

            Now I would have giggled, but being a large muscular man, I chuckled instead. “That’s right!”

            “And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m trying to witness Christ’s love to her.”

            “Very good, sweetheart. Now let’s get a move on cuz your brothers and Adam have baseball games at four.”

            I was referring to her two half siblings, ten year old Jeremiah, who we called Jerry and his Irish twin, nine year old Andrew, who we called Drew. Adam was my best friend Eli’s ten year old son. Since his mother was Penny’s sister Ariel, that made Adam and Ivy cousins, although not by blood. This would become a serious factor many years later.

            When I first discovered that I was going to be a father, I didn’t know then that I already was a father. My previous longtime girlfriend didn’t want me involved in Ivy’s life the first few years of her existence. But when I first knew Penny was pregnant, I thought of Jeremiah 1:5, about God knowing a person before one was even in the womb. The last part of the verse gave me an overwhelming feeling that my child was to be a person of God, possibly a prophet to the nations. So if we had a boy, I asked Penny if we could name him Jeremiah.

            She agreed, but it was our second son, Drew, who showed signs of being a man of God early on. Jerry became somewhat rebellious as he exited preteen years, even beyond typical teen angst. And Ivy, although a well behaved girl, and excellent student, had me concerned during the years that followed befriending Rory.

            During spring break there seemed to be a rift between Ivy and her best friend Crystal. She is Eli and Ariel’s granddaughter. The spat seemed to have been over a boy. At first I thought  Ivy had a crush on him herself. But my wife said Ivy was upset that Crystal was spending more time with him instead of her. So Ivy had been in a bit of a funk ever since.

            Now after her chat with Rory, even the girl’s name sounded a little wild, Ivy seemed quite bubbly. This may sound odd, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing. Relationships are complex. Teenage friendships are often volatile, especially if troubled backgrounds are involved.

            I didn’t want to be judgmental. But I am a father, and my judgment is crucial. My fifteen year old daughter was befriending a sixteen year old girl, who was in our community because of a rift between her and her father. This division with her dad was intense enough for her to move in with her grandmother. She also smokes and wears the t-shirt of a professed satanist who rips Bibles apart on stage.

            Ivy felt like you have to meet people where they are to witness. Okay, true enough. But influence can work both ways. Penny and I would intensify our prayers. We would try to chaperone this friendship as much as possible. But Ivy was rapidly becoming a woman, and with that there would be more and more independence.

            You can’t have love without free will. But free will, combined with youth and a fallen world, is a dangerous cocktail.