S Book 2: The Compass Series

By Stephen Santos

The journey toward freedom is rarely a paved road or well-maintained trail. In the struggle to find our way, we learn to use the tools we need to help us on the journey. As Bridget's life unravels, she is joined by two companions--fear and pain. These two crippling emotions direct her way. When she tries to take control of her life circumstances, the quickest path out of her pain ultimately imprisons her. As she faces her guilt she finds that no prison can hold back the freeing power of love. S, the second book of The Compass Series, will both clarify past events and point the way toward what is to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Santos
• Release date: Jul 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370899715

Stephen Santos

Stephen, his wife and five children moved from Pennsylvania where he was born and raised, to Northern California, where he wrote this series. He and his family currently resides in North Carolina. He has done everything from carpentry to writing and recording music; from teaching children who did not have a stable home-life to washing the dishes at his own home; and from leading his kids on adventures in the woods to loving his neighbors, whoever they may be. He has been on a journey for years now, discovering that it is not about the "What" we do in life. It is about the "How" we do whatever has been given us to do. He finds great joy in sharing his own story with others; the one where he was led out of religion by Love. And to this end he writes books, he writes songs, he swings a hammer, he serves and loves his family, he encourages those around him, he prays for broken hearts and broken bodies. But more important and precious to him than any of that, he walks and talks with his friend Jesus about all of it. He has become convinced that if he does everything while walking with Jesus, he will truly have the privilege and blessing of The Abundant Life.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A smile of release spreads across my face as I sit back in my seat and lean my head against the headrest. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Windows down. White center lines flashing past me like the memories of my life story. The soothing sounds of the radio mixed with the background of air flowing in and out of my car windows. It feels like a dance, and my heart is ready for a good dance session.

I left home 15 hours ago, pulled over for a short nap at a rest stop and am now officially five hours away from the new start I’ve been waiting for since I was six years old.

My mind turns back to that night, and off my tongue rolls these words like a poem,

"Six years old.

Six years old is too young.

Too young to lose everything."

It’s funny that I’ve avoided talking about it for all these years, and now in the seclusion of my car as I’m about to start new, start fresh, this is what flows out of me.

It is the pain that shaped me to my very core. My parents had dropped me off at my friend Rachel’s house to spend the night, so they could go out on a date.

We ate pizza for dinner and then ran up the stairs to Rachel’s room to play with her new toy horses. After a little while I heard a knock at the front door and then some talking. The other woman’s voice sounded like my Aunt Abbey, so I peeked out the door of Rachel’s bedroom and down the stairs. It was my Aunt Abbey. I was surprised to see her there. I could tell she was crying, and as she talked, both she and Rachel’s mom seemed to become more upset. Rachel’s mom called up the stairs for me to come down. Something inside of me told me that this was the last moment I would feel the way I did. That everything in life would change the moment I reached the bottom of those steps. I had the thought of just staying up there in that bedroom and playing. Staying carefree to all of life’s troubles, that I didn’t realize could exist, would have been a better choice than what I was about to walk into.

I remember in that moment my thoughts being drawn to my parents and all of the love I had experienced with them. You know, a lot of people don’t have any years that they can remember in their life with loving parents. I think that even those people have this dream somewhere inside of them that it’s actually possible to have people truly love them. For some, it’s buried deeply under the rubble of pain and tragedy, but inevitably it is still there. It’s like instinct for us as humans, as if it was built into our DNA.

My dad was such a good man. So loving to me. I always had a place in his heart and his arms. I remember being so upset at times, but he could always get me to laugh in the midst of my anger or sadness. He would take me on dates, and for the night I was a princess. In fact, whenever I was with him I knew I was a princess. Some of it was his confidence in me, but most of it was the confidence he carried about life and himself. He didn’t have any fear about what others thought, and during those foundational years he instilled that in me.

My mom was more soft spoken, but when she truly believed something was in your best interest she was more than happy to share it with you in multiple ways. There was this time she was trying to encourage me to clean my room, but I was refusing. I was only four years old, but I had the will of a child much older and I was determined to hold my ground. Well, she convinced Aunt Abbey to dress up in a disguise and then told me that the room judges were on their way and that the cleanest room on the street would win a trip to the water park. I ran to the window, looked down the street and saw this lady dressed in all white walking towards our house. The disguise fooled me, and I started cleaning up quickly. I won that trip, but I found out the next week about their trick. I knew to be on the look out from that time on. My mom was a little sneaky, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was because she loved me so dearly. I don’t remember being very rebellious in those years. I had my moments, but I was so led by love, that I wanted to be in connection with them all the time, and I didn’t want my bad decisions to cause a division between us. I just wanted to be close to them.

I was shaken out of my fond memories by Rachel’s mom now trying to holler up the stairs in the midst of her crying. Bridget, um, can you please come down.

I remember one last thought passing through my mind. I am so thankful for my parents.

I ran down the stairs not sure what I was walking into, but pretty sure it wasn’t good.

Hi Aunt Abbey, what are you doing here?

Bridget, can you get your things together? We need to get going. I’ll tell you what’s going on in the car, she said through sobs.

Sure, Aunt Abbey. I think I knew that it was best to just follow her lead on this one, even though I felt like five more minutes of waiting would cause me to explode. I ran upstairs, hugged Rachel, and grabbed my things.

Staring out the window when receiving bad news seems like the most natural response you can have. It was raining as we drove toward the hospital. She explained all that had taken place. The accident, and the miracle that they were still alive. But that the doctors were unsure as to what would happen.

We arrived at the hospital and I completely forgot to pull my hood up. As I stepped out into the pouring rain, for some reason, I didn’t mind. In a strange way it was comforting as my tears and the rain from above commingled down my cheeks. It felt like somehow I wasn’t alone in this tragedy.

When you find yourself walking down the hallway of a hospital in a situation like this, your steps never seem to be quick enough. You don’t know if waiting for the elevator for those two minutes is the difference between saying goodbye or not being there in time, and every doctor or nurse you see walking toward you makes you wonder if they are carrying your bad news.

Aunt Abbey was holding my hand so tightly. I glanced up at her. I knew this was just as painful for her as it was for me. My dad was like a father to her also. And my mom, well, they were best friends. I pulled her hand down so that she turned toward me and I held out my arms for her to pick me up. I was a child, and I knew at that moment I needed to be held like a child. It is crazy to think back on those moments and what was going on in my mind. I was only six and yet I was doing these things without realizing exactly why. It is as if human instinct brilliantly shows up and takes over, directing you even when your brain doesn’t seem to have the ability to process an overload like this one.

A nurse saw us and seemed to know who we were. She walked to us and graciously directed us to room 2911. I buried my head in Aunt Abbey’s shoulder as we stepped into the room. As we neared the side of the bed, I turned to see my mother lying there; she seemed at peace, but I knew things weren’t the same. This whole thing was life altering, not just for me, but for her as well.

Aunt Abbey followed the nurse to the door and had a conversation with her that I was unable to hear. She hung her head then walked back to the side of the bed.

I was too enthralled with my mom to take the time to see if Aunt Abbey was okay. I leaned over the side of the bed and kissed her cheek. I love you Mommy, I said whimpering. She smiled. I knew then that she would make it. I just knew it.

I glanced around the room, then blurted out, Daddy? I took off running. I just had to find him. As I reached the door, I heard Aunt Abbey call, Bridget, wait.

I stopped at the door and turned to see her shaking her head as she placed it in her hands. Bridget, come here sweetie.

No, I’m going to see Daddy. I have to see him, I said as I began to fall apart.

Bridget, I’m so sorry.

There are no proper ways of doing things in these moments. As humans we don’t have the ability to handle these things, our souls are just not wired for them. I fell to the ground. I don’t remember walking again till the day of his funeral. They must have taken turns carrying me around. When you are so broken by tragedy, it’s impossible to recover to what you were. You simply find a way of existing that is different, and limping along, you find ways of living within the painful realities, until your callouses are thick enough or your wounds are uncovered and miraculously healed.

Chapter 2

I look down to find my favorite track and field t-shirt soaked from my tears. Written across the shirt is the name ‘Warriors’. I don’t feel like much of a warrior. Maybe a wounded warrior, I say out loud as I let out a laugh. After that tragic day, I became known as the child who lost her father. My wound became my identity. I was handed pity wherever I went and from whoever heard my story.

I think some people relish pity. It makes them feel like people care about them. I would’ve traded all the pity in the world just to have my life be normal again.

Things were not just different because I no longer had a father by my side, my mom was forever changed. She would never walk again in her lifetime. And because of the impact to her chest, her voice was never able to be heard above a whisper. Although this made things difficult, I was grateful for her whispers. I remember pushing her wheelchair out onto our back deck, and helping her into our hammock to look at the stars. I would lay next to her and she would tell me all about Daddy. We would both cry as she told stories that I never knew. She would always end those times by saying, Bridget, you have a good father, you may not be able to see him, but his love for you will carry you through what his presence is not able to. And then she would ask me