Hiker and the Stranger

By C. E. E Young

Boaz Hikercalled Bo by his friendsenjoys the trappings of success: a large home in suburban Pennsylvania, a beautiful wife and daughter, and a job controlling other peoples money. Even so, something is missing.

Before he can figure out what it is, the world descends into darkness, and Bo begins a perilous journey in the attempt to reunite with his family. Traveling through a bizarre new world, Hiker meets prophets, priests, and pilgrimsand eventually encounters a mysterious, unnamed Stranger with tremendous powers.

His only guides are a compass of unsurpassed craftsmanship and his own moral compass. These guides will determine whether he can save his wife, his daughter, and the rest of humanity.

In this dramatic, post-apocalyptic tale of good versus evil, one good man must make the right decisions and overcome obstacles to save the world. If he doesnt, a fallen angel will rule over a dark and evil world.

Cover illustration by Billie Michael

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491709207

C. E. E Young

C.E. Young, a native of Pennsylvania, traveled west to become a hunting guide after graduating high school. He returned home to work for a local manufacturer. While attending Bloomsburg University, part-time, he discovered his passion for writing. He lives with his family in Columbia County, Pennsylvania. This is his first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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A stressed-out, burned-out, worn-out Boaz Hiker—Bo to his friends—walked through the side door of his large, impeccably maintained white farmhouse with black shutters at around one o’clock in the afternoon. It had been a long day at the office, and Bo was relieved no one else was home; he wanted the house to himself to figure out how he had just changed the world.

A gorgeous bluebird sky filled the Wednesday afternoon, but Bo hardly noticed the sky or the sunbeams shooting through the giant oak trees behind his house. He knew his wife, Ruth, a stay-at-home mom with a PhD in biblical physics (her dissertation was titled God, the Quantum Mechanic), had gone to their daughter Grace’s school, where she volunteered as a teacher’s aide. Ruth and Grace wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. Bo needed the downtime to unwind and think.

Unsettled and agitated, Bo wandered about the house and then walked out to the mailbox. Bills… fucking bills, he mumbled, shuffling through the envelopes. Materialism—that’s all that matters. Keeping up with the fucking Joneses. Bo hated the idea, although at the moment he hated just about everything, including what he referred to as that mess across the street.

Bo looked up from the mail at the new development under construction. Damn construction trucks, mucking up the road! They make it impossible to keep a vehicle clean, he grumbled to an empty street. ‘Finch Meadows.’ When all those cookie-cutter houses are built, there won’t be any more finches, ’cause the meadow will be gone! Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, I feel like that muddy old road. My God, what have they done?

Back in the house, Bo tossed the stack of mail onto the kitchen table and headed into the bedroom, where he grabbed his favorite and most comfortable pair of sweatpants. Ruth hated his little clothes pile on the floor and would always bitch about it, but Bo didn’t really care. He lay on the bed for a moment, staring at the circular patterns on the ceiling, hoping the tension would recede from his seriously stressed body. Feeling no relief, he gave up and searched out one of his favorite soft T-shirts—it was so worn, it was almost translucent. Still trying to shake the bad day off his back, Bo headed into the kitchen to the refrigerator and grabbed a Rolling Rock, a poor-man’s cocktail, as he liked to call it. He popped the top, took a long draw, and headed into the den.

Ahh, he said, letting out a good burp. Flopping onto the couch, Bo grabbed the TV remote and started channel surfing, searching for ESPN but instead finding a cheesy religious station with a guy demanding that viewers sow a thousand-dollar seed so they could get out of poverty.

What kind of shit is this guy trying to sell? Bo wondered, disgusted. And the worst part is that some dumb-ass down on his luck is gonna buy into this scam. What a shame.

Bo watched as the profusely sweating TV evangelist pranced about the stage, crying out snippets of scripture into the camera. What you sow will be returned to you tenfold! the TV preacher said repeatedly.

Somehow enthralled, Bo didn’t turn the channel. He was mesmerized by the audacity of this charlatan who claimed that the second half of the broadcast was blessed because he felt the anointing coming down from the Creator.

A special blessing will befall all of you who sow your heavenly seed this night with earthly treasures! the sweaty prophet said, pointing into the camera. If you sow one thousand dollars tonight, you’ll receive tenfold as your return. Try getting that kind of money from an investment. That’s right, brothers and sisters, tenfold; it was given to me from the Creator to share with you. So get out your credit card and pick up the phone. Our operators are waiting for your call! Just dial the 1-866 number at the bottom of your television screen, and sow your love offering to New Age Gospel and its miracle ministry.

I’ll be a son of a bitch, Bo mumbled. That’s the group Lionel Duke is affiliated with.

The preacher continued. That’s why we want you to use your credit card, so you can sow immediately! Now friends… don’t worry if you’re short on cash at this time. Remember, you’ll receive tenfold your thousand-dollar seed. And if you want more… well, I don’t have to do the math for you. So call now before the anointing is done. Believers, we only have a few minutes left in this broadcast… but it’s just been revealed to me that this anointing will continue long after the hour! So write down the number and sow your thousand-dollar seed so you can be part of this magnificent anointing and leave poverty once and for all. God bless you. We’re out of time, but our time has come!

Shaking his head at the theatrics he just witnessed, Bo changed the channel.

Too bad some dumb-ass, or smart-ass, will fall for it. Idiots like that guy give a bad name to the whole church thing. Bo studied his beer can before taking a swig. I see that bullshit, and it turns me off; people like Lionel Duke fall for it. It’s too damn bad. He clicked the remote once more and then said aloud, Ah, ESPN—about time I found it.

Bo sat impatiently watching Sports Center, hoping to catch some baseball scores from last night’s games. He particularly wanted to see how the Phillies had done. Come on, show some baseball scores! Bo barked at the TV. Man, I can’t remember the last time I went to a game. I’m just so fucking busy. God, I need a break. Bo ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Oh, come on!

Still agitated, Bo changed the channel. Good-bye ESPN. I’m moving on to something more interesting—I hope. Man, there is nothing but garbage on anymore. Bo continued to surf the channels until he hit CNBC. During a commercial break, he turned his attention to his Rolling Rock can and read the 33 creed on the back. What does the thirty-three mean? Bo asked the empty house. He turned his attention back to the TV. Here comes a talking head—a glistening, bald talking head to boot.

CNBC’s creative approach to covering the markets made it Bo’s favorite station. He was well aware that their main purpose was entertainment; news was secondary to ratings and advertising. Now, however, he sat there drinking his beer, not really paying attention to the television—or anything, for that matter, except his lingering thoughts from the bad day at the office. He stared blankly out the huge picture window but was suddenly jerked back to reality by a network breaking news interruption on the big-screen TV.

Waiting for the CNBC news anchor to break in, Bo had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach; he hoped this breaking news had nothing to do with him or his company.

Good afternoon, this is Dan Champion reporting from New York. We have word from the Vatican that Pope Benedict IV is about to make an important announcement. Reporting live from Vatican City is our Catholic Church correspondent George Jennings. George.

Thanks, Dan, and good afternoon. I have confirmation from the Vatican that at eight o’ clock, Pope Benedict will come forward to deliver a historic message. The Vatican informed the media that Pope Benedict will follow church law and give his message in Latin, the official language of the Holy See. To help interpret this significant message I have alongside me Monsignor Pio Satolli, Apostolic Nunico to the United States. Monsignor, what can we expect from Pope Benedict on this stormy Rome evening?

I’m not sure, George, but because the Holy Father is adhering to ancient church law, it must be serious and extremely profound. Here comes the Holy Father now.

From the balcony overlooking St. Peter’s Square, a seemingly shaken Pope Benedict looked out over the thousands of faithful gathered beneath him. He shuffled forlornly to the edge of the balcony and faced the gaggle of microphones and glare of lights. Bo connected with the pope’s body language. His heavy heart reached through the TV screen. This was grim news he was about to impart to his flock. As Monsignor Pio Satolli softly echoed Pope Benedict’s message in English, Bo knew there were dark days ahead, so dark.

My children! The archangels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel came to me while I was deep in prayer. The angels revealed an ancient prophecy that I must administer to at once. Michael, who came to me later in a dream, commanded me to execute this change with great urgency, as events of the utmost consequence are unfolding swiftly.

Trembling, His Holiness removed the Ring of the Fisherman from the fourth finger of his left hand, cutting its life to the vena amoris and his heart.

I was told to do this by the great angel so I can step down from the rock upon which His church was built and be free from its obligations and the responsibilities to Peter. I am to be without fear when I tell the world what was revealed to me and the terror that lurks inside the church.

The pope leaned heavily on the balcony railing for support. He stared down at his restless flock, which was continuing to grow in the center of the square. They were stunned into silence by his words, contemplating the message that had been sent by God to strike such fear into His representative on earth.

The crowd watched from the square and Bo watched from his couch as Pope Benedict’s senior cardinal walked up to him, placed his hand on the pope’s shoulder, leaned into him, and whispered in his ear.

It is time! Senior Cardinal Robin Shepherd said. I am leaving you, Your Holiness. You will never reveal me, only praise me!

Why do you bring forth your own end?

Your church has become irrelevant.

You used my church to secretly build yours.

No, to destroy yours.

As Senior Cardinal Robin Shepherd disappeared from Vatican City, the pope turned to his assembled flock below in the square. The crowd milled about as a private conversation between the pope and his remaining cardinals continued to delay the rest of his message. The television cameras captured the pope speaking forcefully into the ear of an elder cardinal.

Never! the pope hissed, I will expose him today. Now leave me. I have works to do.

With tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, the pope took a deep breath, strode up to the microphones, and continued his message. Monsignor Pio Satolli patiently delivered Pope Benedict’s message to the world.

Beginning, he began, at this very hour, I, Pope Benedict IV, will be called Micah II. May God Himself bless this name. It is with tremendous urgency and pain that I take this opportunity to speak to the Catholic Church and all of our faithful servants throughout the world.

As the pope spoke, an ominous-looking thunderstorm approached from the west. Every flash of lightning in the distance was picked up by the pope’s microphone as static or feedback. The pope’s message was being censored by nature.

"Our… [once] . . . beloved, my most trusted senior cardinal, Robin Shepherd, has… [betrayed me and] . . . resigned. He… [sarcastically] . . . apologized to me for his resignation and… [never] . . . asked the church for forgiveness. [Disgraced] . . . Mr. Shepherd asked for a papal blessing for the start of his new church in Coffeyville, Kansas, called New Age Gospel. Fellow Catholics, leaders of the world, hear me and hear me clearly: Mr. Shepherd’s New Age Gospel Church is conceived from… [Lucifer] . . . himself. Mr. Shepherd continues to be… [replaced by] . . . a very dear friend and faithful servant of God."

As the thunderstorm drew ever nearer, wind, rain, and lightning drove the people from the square. The live broadcast ended with the reporters running for cover. All alone, the pope faced the dark clouds like a soldier on the front lines, waiting for the battle to begin. The powerful wind blew the pope’s mitre off and sent it spinning onto the ground. As the rain poured down, the wind whipped a spray under the protective overhang and into the pope’s face. It felt good to the new Micah II—a cleansing. He watched the lightning flash, as white-hot bolts shot down from the heavens. Is this a sign? the pope queried the storm, his arms raised and his gown whipping about him in the wind. "Are you angry with me because I revealed the truth to fight prophecy and the end of humanity? O’ Pini di Roma, why do you lament echoes of past melodies, when I desire a prelude to the future?"

Lightning shot from the angry sky. The frazzled pope stood before the microphones and screamed to an empty square, I only wanted you to know the truth! But every time he shouted into the microphones, the only thing the pope could hear was static and feedback. Panicked, Micah II screamed time after time, I only wanted you to know the truth! I only— but static was all he heard.

Looking out from the microphones, with the brunt of the storm over the square, the pope watched as Bishop Henry—a nice young bishop, newly arrived to Rome and Vatican City—bravely chasing down his purple zucchetto in the center of the square. In between claps of thunder and lightning, the pope shouted the same words to his lone audience member, but Bishop Henry could hear none of it. The pope watched the bishop’s zucchetto blow out of sight. He saw Henry standing in the center of the square, torrential rains soaking him, winds almost knocking him off his feet, and lightning striking all around him. Henry stared directly at the pope, and their eyes locked. The bishop saw the pain in the pope’s face as he pleaded to be heard.

The storm passed, and the skies calmed. The pope motioned for the bishop to come toward the balcony. The obedient Bishop Henry approached the balcony and knelt before God’s representative, who was elevated over him. As the bishop knelt on the wet ground, the pope asked him, Bishop Henry, what did you hear, my son?

Nothing comprehensible, Holy Father, the bishop said without looking up. Only static and feedback. I’m sorry, Holy Father. Would you like me to listen again?

No, my son, the pope said with a tone of despair. And what did you hear during my message?

Praise for Cardinal Shepherd, the bishop answered. It was a beautiful farewell, Holy Father—very fitting for a man so dedicated to the church.

Bishop Henry, let me be clear, the pope said in a stern tone. You heard me praise Robin Shepherd? Nothing more?

Static and feedback then also, Holy Father, but not enough to interfere with your tremendous message, the bishop replied, trying to reassure the pope. I’m sorry, Holy Father, should I have heard more? Am I not worthy to be in your presence because I cannot discern your profound insight, understanding, or knowledge? Does my ignorance offend you, Holy Father?

Your apologies are not necessary, the pope said, smiling sadly at the young bishop. Now go and retrieve your zucchetto.

Thank you, Holy Father, the bishop said with respect and admiration. Holy Father, before I depart from the responsibility of your spirit, what was it you wanted me to hear?

The truth, the pope said before blessing the bishop. Never mind, though. It doesn’t matter now. You see, he was right.

Who was right? Bishop Henry asked. Who was right about the truth?

Someone close to all of us who whispered sweet nothings in my ear, the pope said, while smiling at the prospect of the Second Coming. Now go, and be right with God.

Thank you, Holy Father, the bishop said while walking away. Then just before he left the square, the bishop turned and looked up at the pope, calling up to him, Perhaps the thousands standing in the square today and the millions watching on television heard your message of truth.

The tired, worn-out pope nodded his approval. Micah II loosened his grip on the rail and stood as straight as his battered spirit would allow. The wind howled, and the music of the pines spoke to him.

The pope had a vision of a long, broad Way covered in balanced light of sun and moon. He listened as legions marched to the beat of a drum. With a smile on his face, the pope watched as a lone soldier stood before his king in triumph, with his naked conquest kneeling by his side.

Victory, the pope quietly said to the Pines of Rome. You bring me word of victory.

Micah turned from the rail and stepped away from the papal balcony, never looking back at the square—or Rome. As he stepped across the threshold, his new friend and cardinal greeted him. Reaching out, the two clasped their right hands. Micah drew John Saul close, right breast to right breast. Leaning forward, the pope whispered in John Saul’s ear, No one knows about the impending evil. No one knows about my cause against Robin Shepherd, because no one heard it.

He was right, John Saul said before kissing the empty finger on the pope’s hand.

All is not lost, the pope assured John. It has begun. May God be with us, and may we be in the center of His will.

CHAPTER 2

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Strange . . . almost weird, Bo thought as he turned off the television to go outside for a walk. The storm sure made them run for cover. I’ll catch the wrap-up on the evening news.

Bo reveled in his property. He and Ruth owned about forty acres, in the center of farm country in southeastern Pennsylvania. Most of the land was developed, but Bo’s land had been spared. Huge white oaks and hemlocks scattered across his woods narrated the tragic tale of development.

Beautiful, carefully tended flower beds and landscaping surrounded his beloved house. In the back, water trickled down a stone waterfall surrounded by a circular cobblestone patio. The white oaks provided shade from the hot summer sun.

Bo loved this place. He sat out on the patio in the early mornings, drinking his coffee and listening to the birds and the sounds of the forest before heading off to the rat race. Ruth loved to entertain on weekends, having friends over and cooking over the fireplace. Bo preferred to be alone with Ruth and Grace.

I deal with people all week, he would plead to Ruth. Why should I have to on weekends too?

They’re our friends, she would counter. These people actually like you for you, not for what you can do for them. And besides, Grace likes it when the other kids come over.

I know, but I still think they come for the food. Bo would smile, always giving in.

Bo loved to cook everything and anything in the fire pit, and it always tasted fantastic. When he was out back, immersed in the forty-acre wood, and cooking at the fire pit, everything seemed good. All the stress of his job disappeared, at least for the moment.

Plopping down on a comfortable chair, Bo looked out over the forest. He took a long drink from his second beer and felt the day melting off his shoulders. His thoughts turned to hiking, his favorite thing. I really need a hike, Bo said to the singing bluebirds in a nearby dogwood tree. Quickly finishing his beer, Bo crunched the can. Mr. Duke will get over it. I have to do it soon. Next Sunday—I’ll plan my trip for next Sunday.

Bo sat quietly for a time and contemplated his planned hike. After most of the afternoon had passed, he headed back into the house to start dinner so it would be ready when Ruth and Grace came home.

Bo had already forgotten about the pope and the resignation of Robin Shepherd.

CHAPTER 3

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Former cardinal Robin Shepherd had many secrets, but nothing haunted him more than his past, a source of torture and anguish he couldn’t deny or escape.

Robyn Elizabeth Shepherd was born in a small town in Pennsylvania to a prostitute named Mary on June 6, ‘69. Mary used to say, My little sixty-niner Robyn, ass-backward kid that you are.

The middle child of an Amish family, Mary Shepherd lived with her mother and father and two brothers in the center of Pennsylvania’s down country. Mary loved her parents and adored her brothers. As an Amish belle and the darling of the community, Mary could do no wrong.

Strikingly beautiful, Mary’s long black hair shined like silk in the sunlight, and her blue eyes, bright and clear, created a stunning contrast. Mary’s full red lips hid perfectly straight white teeth and properly hidden under the conservative Amish dress was a body built like a brick shithouse, as the English would say. All the Amish boys wanted her attention.

Growing up on the farm without any modern conveniences made Mary tough and self-reliant but woefully unprepared for life among the English. At age nineteen, Amish tradition allowed the young men and women to experience the pleasures of English life for an entire year. During this year they would live, work, and play outside the Amish community and its constraints. It was a test of faith and commitment to their religion and community.

Mary and several friends were eager to take advantage of their nineteenth year and couldn’t wait to experience the English life.

Early on a bright, clear Saturday morning, Mary and her friends climbed into their horse-drawn buggies and rode to the local bus stop in the center of a small nearby town. Upon arriving, they hurried inside the general store and bought their tickets, just as they saw dust rising on the road, signaling the approach of the Greyhound bus. As soon as Mary purchased her ticket and turned from the ticket window, the bus pulled up in front of the store, its brakes squealing sharply. The bus driver jumped down and quickly opened the luggage compartment on the bottom side of the bus. No one was getting off here; he was just picking up new passengers. Everyone was leaving—some for good. With the luggage properly stowed and everyone’s ticket checked, the driver smiled and hollered, All aboard!

Mary and her friends nervously took the first available seats. They all sat close to each other, unsure about their future. The bus driver closed the door, checked the rearview mirrors, and headed for the City of Brotherly Love.

Just as the bus passed the town limits, Mary realized she’d left her small red velvet bag on the ticket counter. She wanted to yell for the bus driver to stop and turn around, but she knew it was too late, because he had just rolled the sign that read Philadelphia into place.

Back at the general store, Sonny, the old ticket agent, noticed Mary’s pretty velvet bag on the counter. He loosened the string at the top of the bag and saw a gleaming object nestled inside. Reaching in, he pulled out a golden compass; it felt pleasing. As the old man admired his find, he noticed writing inscribed on the back: Sweet Mary, may this compass guide you during your nineteenth year. The needle will always point toward Jesus, your way home. Love always, Mother and Father.

Great, Sonny grumbled, a busted compass. Damn thing points to my chest, no matter which way I turn. Oh well, I’ll take it to the thrift shop and maybe some lost soul will buy it and find Jesus.

As the bus pulled onto the blacktop and rumbled toward the interstate, Mary felt butterflies in her stomach the size of bats. Looking out the window, she saw the world changing—at 65 miles per hour. She knew she’d left something important behind. For the first time in her life, she felt lost, even though she and her friends knew where they were going.

What’s wrong? Mary’s best friend, Olivia, asked.

I left a gift from my mom and dad on the counter, Mary answered,

looking wistfully out the window.

What was it? Olivia asked.

Nothing much. Just a compass to help me find my way.

Look at me, Olivia instructed. When Mary turned from the window, Olivia smiled. We’re going to Philadelphia, and we’re going to have the year of our lives! You’re not going to need a compass in Philadelphia.

Olivia, Mary said, and there was seriousness in Mary’s eyes, for some reason, I think this year will last a lifetime.

Don’t be silly. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.

I don’t know. I feel as though I’m never going to see my family again.

Don’t be ridiculous, Olivia shot back. Listen, we’re prepared. We have jobs and plenty of money saved up to get us through. In no time at all, we’ll be back on this bus, heading home, where we’ll be traditional Amish women for the rest of our lives. The bishop will arrange our marriages and tell us where to live, what to wear, how many kids to have, and how much money to give him. That’s all going to happen soon enough, so relax and enjoy yourself. Marriage and slavery are right around the corner.

Smiling, Mary let Olivia wipe her tears away. You always know what to say, don’t you?

Not always, Olivia said, hugging Mary. You’re just homesick.

Yeah, homesick, Mary said, knowing everything was prepared—except for some Amish teenagers heading into the city for the year of their lives.

CHAPTER 4

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At five o’clock that afternoon, Sonny closed up his window to head home. As he left the store, he reached into his coat pocket and felt the soft velvet bag. It reminded him not to go straight home like he always did, where his wife had dinner waiting. Instead, he’d head to the town’s only antique/thrift shop, where he hoped to catch the owner before he left for the day.

Arriving at the shop, the ticket agent saw the Closed sign hanging in the window, but he checked the door anyway. It wasn’t locked. He stepped over the threshold and hollered, Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?

A voice from the rear of the store yelled back, Is that you, Sonny?

Sure is.

What did the bus folks leave behind today?

Nothing much, Sonny answered. Just a gold compass. I think it’s broken. Probably isn’t even real gold, but why don’t you come and have a look and see if you’re interested? Mother has supper waiting, so I don’t have much time before she’ll get pissed.

I’ll be right there.

It has a nice inscription engraved on the back.

Coming out from the back room, Van, the store owner, reached for the velvet bag. Now, let me see what you have here, Sonny. Van pulled the compass from its bag and examined it. It felt good to him—comforting, even. He turned the compass, trying to get the needle to point north, but it stubbornly continued to point toward him. Damn thing won’t point north, he said. You’re right, Sonny; it’s broken.

Read the inscription on the back, Sonny suggested and then turned around in surprise when he noticed an old priest standing behind him.

Looking up, Van asked, Can I help you?

As a matter of fact, you can, the priest said. I’m Father McKenzie. I’ve just come from a convention, the Supreme Convention of the Brethren held at the seminary just outside of town. I was on my way home and had come this far when my car started giving me trouble. It quit right in front of the bus stop. May I use your phone to call a friend of mine in the area?

Of course, Van said, pulling out a black rotary phone from under the counter. A supreme priest convention? Sounds kind of odd, doesn’t it, Sonny?

Never knew they were there, Sonny answered. Certainly not a rowdy bunch.

Rowdy toward the Lord, Father McKenzie said with a smile. He dialed the number and waited for an answer.

Well, Sonny, Van went on, as if they hadn’t been interrupted, "the inscription is nice and all—the needle will always point toward Jesus, your way home—but it doesn’t do me any good. I have to sell things that work, and a compass that doesn’t point north doesn’t work. Sonny, this time I’m not interested. Sorry about that, but keep on bringing me stuff that gets left behind, okay?"

Yeah, Sonny said dejectedly.

The old priest hung up the phone and said to Van, My ride will be here in a few minutes. He smiled, somewhat embarrassed, and then said to Sonny, I apologize for eavesdropping, but I overheard you mention the broken compass. I’d like to buy it.

How much will you give me? Sonny asked, quickly checking his watch. Mother has supper waiting, and I’m already terribly late.

Well, as a man of the cloth, the inscription moved me somehow. I’ll give you five dollars.

Fair enough, Sonny said. Sold! You have yourself a broken compass. Thank you very much, Father.

You’re welcome, Father McKenzie answered. He watched Sonny go out the door and shove the bill into his front pocket. My best to Mother, and I hope you’re not in too much trouble!

Not hearing him, Sonny went home to a silent, cold supper.

Why’d you buy that broken compass? Van asked.

I’m not sure it’s broken, replied the priest. "I believe some loving parents gave it to their child as a moral compass, more spiritual than earthly."

Well, Father, the store owner said, in here I don’t have much call for spiritual. I need earthly things that work. So what are you gonna do with it?

Well, I think I’ll give it to my friend who’s helping me out. His church runs a love-offering store to raise money for the needy, and they have a spiritual orienteering course for their youth groups. It’ll be a good gift, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, I wish someone would take a love offering for this needy store owner, but I know what you’re saying, Van said as a car horn beeped outside. Looks like your ride’s here.

Thank you, the old priest said as he walked toward the door. Then he paused and turned around, saying, You know, a long time ago someone did take up a love offering for the needy. All you have to do is accept it. There is always room for spiritual things in the storeroom of the soul. I’ll pray for you and your friend.

"I’ll keep that in mind, and