Faith and an Iron Biscuit

A man does something unthinkable.

Word Count-1439

Faith and an Iron Biscuit

          The man watched as horses rounded the last turn in the race. He couldn't believe his horse was in the lead. Iron Biscuit at twenty-to-one odds would be an exciting win. It would almost get him out of trouble, almost. A group of horses surged forward on the straightaway toward the finish line. Iron Biscuit was still in the lead. Matt's heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as he clutched the ticket tighter in his hand.
          As the stunning beasts thundered closer, Iron Biscuit seemed to falter. Another horse, black and beautiful, drew even with Iron Biscuit, their heads bobbing in a primal contest. The black horse was like a shadow that had broken free from its home now flew down the track as if blown by an invisible wind. His horse, still running hard, dropped back another length and was soon fighting for third. All of Matt's hopes and dreams for this race were falling by the wayside, each stride a blow to his heart, to his mind, to his soul.
          The finish line loomed. The first three horses crossed without Iron Biscuit; she had fallen back, now running with the straglers of the group. Iron Biscuit crossed the finish line with no fanfare, no notice. Matt stared at his ticket, willing it to transform, make him whole. He hoped it would undo the damage, but the numbers didn't lie. With a bitter sigh, he tore the ticket in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground like dead leaves.
          The animal had betrayed him, or so it felt. He ignored the fact that Iron Biscuit's reputation was for starting fast but never finishing strong. In a flash of frustration, Matt tried to kick the pile of discarded tickets littering the ground, but his foot struck the asphalt instead. He stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to regain his footing and composure without drawing too much attention.
          "Great," he muttered, glancing around as the crowd surged past, their faces alight with either joy or disappointment. "Just great."
          "What am I going to do now?" Matt said to himself, casually glancing at his watch.
          He was late. His next appointment was soon and the length of the drive was not on his side. He located his car in the parking garage and got in, buttoning his shirt and attaching his priest's collar. Again, the thought of the money he had lost on a sure bet gnawed at his mind. The collar felt tight, constricting, as if it knew his secret shame. He inhaled, willing the small, familiar ritual to steady him, to remind him who he was supposed to be. The parking structure was cool and shadowed, a stark contrast from the chaotic noise of the track. For a moment, he let his forehead rest against the steering wheel, seeking the clarity that had eluded him all afternoon.
          The sting of the lost bet lingered, churning in his stomach as he drove to the restaurant for a meeting with a woman from his congregation. When he arrived at the eatery, he entered with a heavy heart. He was going to have to confess to this member of his parish that the money that was colleced for her sick husband had been lost at the race track. Even worse, it was lost by her priest. This was something he dreaded more than life itself but it had to be done. To hold back this information could and would crush a family. It would all but destroy what was left of the trust his parish had in him. He had to do it.
          Matt entered the restaurant with pure dread clouding his vision. He soon saw Donna, the lady from his church, sitting at a table near the front door. He walked to the table and stopped.
          "Hello, Mrs. Carrington. How are you doing today?"
          "I'm fine, Pastor Matt. Just fine."
          "Okay, Donna. I'm sorry I'm late. My earlier appointment ran over. How is your husband doing today?"
          "He is now bedridden," she said, beginning to cry softly. "The doctor says he will never walk again. I don't know what to do."
          Matt felt bad for so many reasons, the money, this poor woman's husband, and for telling a half truth about why he was late. His mind was on fast forward, shuffling through feelings, and duties to his flock. It all boiled down to breaking the trust of this woman, his parish, his God. He knew he had a gambling problem but he kept thinking that one big win and his problem would be solved. He wanted to blurt out the truth, the raw facts of what he had done. But he realized that could be the worst thing he could do for this poor lady.
          Matt turned to face Donna, "There's something we need to discuss."
          It was then Matt noticed an older man walking toward the table. He heard Donna's sharp intake of breath. She was no longer smiling and she looked as though she could vomit at any moment. She started to say something but stopped.The man continued toward their table and slid into a chair next to Donna.
          "Hello," he said to Donna. "I thought you might need this." He handed her a cell phone and then turned to face Matt, stuck his hand out to shake his, "Hi, I'm Dennis, Donna's husband."
          Matt smiled and thought "He doesn't look sick at all." He then introduced himself. It seemed, he thought, that he wasn't the only one that was living with a lie.
          He left the restaurant without confessing to Donna Carrington and walked to his car. When he heard footsteps on the concrete behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Carrington following him.
          "Pastor. Pastor Matt," she called.
          Matt paused with his car door open and looked at her, "Yes," he said.
          "I know its not enough but I wanted to apologize to you. It was a small lie that spiralled out of control."
          "Save your apologies. I'm not in the right frame of mind to hear them. Sorry, I just can't."
          Before he knew it he was on his way to the parish. With the hum of the engine and the landscape flowing by he felt somewhat better about going back to the church but the feeling was short lived. Every turn of the wheels toward the parish brought a new wave of anxiety, about the meeting, about the money, about what he would say if anyone found out.
          "Faith," he whispered, as if the single word could anchor him through the storm inside. "I just need a little faith."
          As he drove, the weight of his actions pressed down on him, but he knew he had to face the consequences. When he arrived at the parish, he took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, feeling the cool evening air on his face. The church stood before him, a symbol of hope and redemption. With each step toward the entrance, he felt a sense of resolve building within him.
          "God be with me and help me increase my faith."
          He pulled one of the large, wooden doors open and entered the church. Once past the doors he stopped and listened to the echoing thunder the door made when it closed. The familiar scent of incense and the soft glow of candlelight greeted him. He walked down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the quiet sanctuary. At the altar, he knelt and bowed his head, seeking forgiveness and asking for strength. The words of his confession came slowly at first, but then poured out in a rush, as if unburdening his soul.
          When he finished, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but he was ready to face it with faith and determination. As he stood up and turned to leave, he saw Donna standing at the back of the church, her eyes filled with understanding and compassion. She walked toward him, and without a word, they embraced, finding solace in each other's presence.
          "I'm sorry, Donna, I . . ."
          She stopped him with a wave of her hand, "I heard your confession all you need to do now is help me with mine."
          Together, they would find a way to make things right. And in that moment, Matt realized that redemption was not just about seeking forgiveness, but also about having the courage to look to your faith to move forward, and practicing that forgivness that God gives so freely.

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