Granitude: Hacking into Passion and Truth

By Dave Phillips

Josh Hanes commits an inexcusable transgression against his dads generation and society in general. An apology cannot wholly undo it. Jail time or a citation would have been an easier debt to repay. One small blunder sends nineteen year old Josh to the edge of isolation, rejection, heart ache, and loss.

Stuck in a vacuum between being a high school football hero, painful career choices, and whether its too late for college sends Josh on an unforgettable journey of self-discovery. Wounded relationships with parents, friends, and his high school sweetheart are sutured into healing bonds by an amazing spirit of grace, compassion, and truth through an unlikely messenger.

Devotional Notes for Reflection and Group Discussion are included at the end of the book.

Definition of the title word, granitude, is included at the end of the book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490842448

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 Dave Phillips.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-4245-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-4246-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-4244-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911424

WestBow Press rev. date: 7/16/2014

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

In memory of my mother, Janice Smith,

the creative dreamer in me

And in memory of my father, Don Phillips, the buckle-down worker in me

Acknowledgments

A few names and likenesses of real people are depicted in this book. I borrowed the essences of who they are as individuals in my real world for the story; however, there is nothing intentionally biographical about any of them. This is a work of fiction.

I wish to thank the Downs family—Max, Leona, Mona, and Lisa—for allowing me to include them in my story. They are fictionalized in their participation in my story, but they are as genuine in the fruits of the Spirit in the real world as I portray them in this work. Pastor Max reviewed and assisted with scriptural references. Leona reviewed the whole manuscript and offered valuable editing suggestions. Mona and Lisa were obvious real-life inspirations for their roles weaved into the story, youth, and music ministry.

A special thanks to my mother-in-law, Betty Martin, for allowing me to include her in my story. Her spiritual leadership has been a rock our whole family has leaned on.

I am grateful for the amazing encouragement and expert literary advise J.D. Long dispensed along my writing journey. I am blessed to call him my friend.

Stacey Alysia Hamilton offered critical feedback and edits. Her honest approach to calling out the blemishes in my story helped make it better.

John R. Riggs, author of the Garth Ryland series, inspired a skinny kid in his creative writing class forty years ago and continues to inspire me today.

Thanks to Valarie Clark for her support and encouragement in our writers’ group.

Thanks to Al May for his preview of a nearly polished manuscript and for staying contagiously positive as always.

I also wish to thank Bonnie Pribush and Tandy Shuck of Leadership Johnson County and Franklin College, Indiana. Their leadership program gave me deepened self-awareness and helped me rediscover my passion.

My family has been the most supportive of all.

My son, Wyatt, provided valuable insights into how a young man sees the modern world—from making the gaming dialogue better to sharing his understanding of other young men unlike himself. Dad, a kid like that would never say that!

My daughter, Amelia, reviewed my early draft and helped with last minute polishing. Her edits and suggestions were spot on. Ideas she offered early in the writing process were instrumental in the overall story development.

I am grateful to my lovely wife, Connie, for loving me for thirty-four years and for her patience while I check off the write-a-novel box on my list. This has been more than a shallow speed bump in our lives. She is amazing, beautiful, and supportive. I am the luckiest man in the world to call her my wife.

Finally, I thank God for tapping me on the shoulder and saying, Let me help you with that.

Of Granite

Etched in stone,

We expire alone.

Carve more the day,

We know The Way.

chapter one

Josh Hanes is not getting up! crackled the stadium speakers. He’s one stride short of the goal line. The announcer paused. "Folks, he’s going to need some help … okay, the coach and trainer are jogging over to help.

That was a tremendous hit Hanes took by Southpoint’s all-conference tackle Phil Hernandez. But he might have been hurt more by big number twenty-three, Shawn Warfield. Warfield, tipping the scales at three hundred and twenty pounds, was first on the pileup after Hernandez dropped him. There seems to be no movement from Josh. He really had his bell rung, folks.

Josh heard the announcer and the voices around him. A few teammates were on their knees asking if he was okay.

He didn’t know if he was okay. He took a hard bounce on his stomach and chin, with arms outstretched for the goal line. His neck and shoulders hurt. His chin was sore. His chest swelled as slowly as senile memory foam, straining to breathe after the fat kid climbed off of his back. Tiny electric stars darted past his forehead, like a current of wind-driven snowflakes breaking around the windshield of his car. The world was out of focus until he heard her voice.

Josh, oh, honey! It’s me, honey—Cindy. Josh, can you hear me?

Her perfume gave him strength, a reason to gather himself. She was there by his face, on the ground with him, coming into focus. The stars yielded to her angelic face. She was more perfect than he remembered. Maybe he’d never looked up at her from that angle. Her sandy hair fell like soft waterfalls to the ground, framing her pretty, tan face. Her eyes were China blue, her nose and cheeks thin. She had a permanent dimple a thumb’s width from the corner of her smile. She was the best-looking girl in school.

Cindy reached down and kissed him high on his cheek. His helmet was gone. He was lying facedown on a sunny ocean beach with his beautiful girlfriend.

He lifted his head. His neck and chin still hurt from leaning over on the table. His arms tingled from pillow duty. He’d been so soundly asleep that his fogged brain thought he was somewhere else, like waking up in a hotel bed and, for a moment, thinking you’re home. The table he leaned away from was blond, just like his student desk at home. He was in the library basement. A second table was lined up with his end-to-end between two rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves in the partial basement. A hint of old dust filled the air. The shelves contained various brown-covered books stacked lying down, as if they were too old to stand up. Other books with faded amber, crimson, and olive covers stood upright just fine. A mixture of daylight from a window well and fluorescent tubes brightened the room. He faintly heard his own breathing. He was all alone.

The table was clean except for a hardback book lying facedown at arm’s length to his right. He sniffed, rolled his head back, and yawned. He reached for the ceiling, rolling his wrists, clenching and stretching his fingers in turn. His butt and legs felt as wooden as the chair he was sitting on.

He pushed to his feet and fished his cell phone from his pocket. He noticed a missed call from Cindy and a text message.

Her text read, Don’t text back. Dad didn’t ground me … YET! Sorry he was such a butt … you ok? Miss you. Love you! I’ll call sometime don’t call me!

The message drove him nuts. He really wanted to be with Cindy. This whole situation was making him crazy. He couldn’t take the risk of calling or texting. He would have to wait for her to call again. He punched up vibrate mode on his phone, regretting the earlier move to go all silent.

Cindy’s text triggered his memory of the blowup with her dad that morning. He shrunk back into the chair and stared across the shiny library table. The scene replayed in his mind, indelible, like a DVD movie.

*   *   *

Really! You just walked out! Didn’t tell management? You just left? Is your middle name Loser? demanded Shag, Cindy’s dad. His head was a purple cabbage, with boiling blue eyes. His neck swelled with bulging red veins.

Josh said nothing.

Cindy’s dad wasn’t a known hothead, but he was clearly upset when Josh showed up late that morning to wring a bit of sympathy from Cindy.

You have the gall to show up here asking for my daughter after walking out on a perfectly good job? You irresponsible little punk! Shag flailed his right arm, alternately shaking and pointing.

Josh didn’t know what gall meant, but it sounded enough like ball to make him think Shag meant balls. Didn’t matter. The words didn’t matter. Josh had just experienced his first real dressing-down in his young life. An uncomfortable cocktail of embarrassment and tension wrapped him up. Cindy’s dad had paralyzed him. His knees were weak.

Cindy appeared halfway down the staircase and sat down, clutching a banister spindle. Josh stole a glance at her, but her dad was his whole life at that moment. Josh needed to run away, as he’d done with his job only an hour before. Somehow running away from a lecture about running away was not physically possible. He trembled like a prisoner in chains, ready for the next lashing.

Instead, only a lung full of scold away from turning physical, Shag relaxed his shoulders. His eyes softened with a hint of compassion. Josh relaxed his fists at his side with the slight reprieve. It was a new flavor of embarrassment for Josh, laced with empathy, making him feel awkward.

Josh didn’t want to tangle with Cindy’s dad in front of her. He would lose, whatever the outcome. Besides, at more than double Josh’s age, Shag was stocky and intimidating. He’d been a hotshot catcher in school. Professional baseball scouts had been spotted at a few of his high school games. His talent was catching uncatchable pop fouls behind the plate. His real name was Jim Hester, but they called him Shag because he was like a behind-the-base fielder. The Pittsburgh Pirates invited him to tryouts the summer after graduation, but his throw to second base was three-hundredths of a second too slow for the pros. Several colleges called, but Shag was more interested in getting a job and a car. He was not convinced that four years of college would shave three-hundredths off his throw to second. Besides, working that hard for three-hundredths of a second took the fun out of baseball. Shag was still a celebrity of sorts for those who remembered the fancy pro scouts thirty years earlier. He had a fun nickname and a rep. It didn’t take much to be large in a small town.

Shag measured his words. Look, Josh, I like you. I think you’re basically a good kid, but you’re gonna have to buckle down and learn how to work. How to value a job. How to be responsible. And how to have enough respect for the company who gives you a paycheck that you give them proper notice when you’re going to quit! Then he was angry all over again. Like a hot-water faucet, he warmed up as he poured it on. Compassion turned to ire in his eyes.

You’re grounded from seeing Cindy! You’re grounded from all forms of communication with her. I’ll check her cell phone records. If I even suspect you two are texting or talking—through Facebook, tweeter, whatever—it will be a permanent grounding!

Shag was old school and not likely sharp enough electronically to cover all possible ways teenagers talked if they wanted to. However, Josh had enough crazy love for Cindy that he was not about to risk challenging Shag.

And one more thing—Shag moved into Josh’s space with a pointed finger—you need to push reset on your whole approach to life. Shag poked him once, hard in the chest, rattling him against the storm door. You’ve gone off the rails, young man. My daughter will not date a loser. Now get out of here.

*   *   *

Josh’s tingling legs broke his trance. His heart raced as much from the flashback as with the real Shag encounter. He needed a break from the benign basement. He shoved away from the table, rounded the shelves on his left, and yanked open the stairway door.

Upstairs he caught the librarian’s eye. She was a little plain, with a thin frame and long, shiny black hair. She was busy checking in returned books behind the counter.

Excuse me, I kinda knocked off down there. Do you know how long I’ve been here?

You came in about two hours ago.

She held his gaze, conspicuously propping a book against the counter’s edge.

Josh said nothing.

Can I help you find something?

Josh wondered whether librarians were trained to say that, but it sounded more like she picked it up at her fast-food gig.

No, thank you. I’m good, he said politely. Josh always said no to supersize.

Josh turned to look around. There was a row of computers with a few people checking Facebook, job searching, and doing whatever you do on a library computer. He stepped a few feet away from the counter and leaned against the on-hold bookcase behind the librarian, watching the computer people. There was a guy about Shag’s age, clicking around his screen. He had thick shoulders and a thinning crown like Shag.

Josh grew tense and began to script, in his mind, all the comebacks he should have had for Shag. He should have grabbed that finger in his fist and wrenched it back, putting Shag on his knees. "I’ll show you how to reset!" He should have pushed Shag aside and rescued Cindy from her perch on the stairs.

Then he strained to bring Cindy into focus. He harbored only fond memories of his sweetheart. How much of the blowup did she witness? Did she think he was a loser? Was she smiling? Probably not, but that smiling pretty face was all he could conjure. Was she disappointed in him? How could she not be? The two most important men in her life had just faced off, and he had backed down. At least her dad was a man.

The librarian approached Josh again. Are you sure I can’t help you find something?

Josh snapped out of it. He had been staring at the backs of the computer people. A few of them gave him a quick glare.

No, I’m good.

Josh took a swig from the water cooler and headed back to the basement staircase at the east end of the library. Moving his bones, the cool water in his throat, the push back from the heavy oak door—all served to quiet the Shag memories. The stairs leading to the basement were straight and square, unlike his life that seemed to be spiraling down. He needed more thinking time.

He circled the long blond tables a few times and then sat down. It was his nest, his thinking spot, somewhat too familiar to him now. He rested his heavy head in his hands, ten fingers spread over his face, like two fielder’s mitts. How would his mom and dad react? Would anyone have sympathy for him? Maybe one of his friends. Randy was cool; they hung out a lot. He glanced around to confirm he was alone in the basement.

Josh touched the Randy icon on his phone and held it to his cheek, leaning forward on his elbows.

Randy answered, Hey, what’s goin’ on?

Ahh, nothin’. I just quit my job.

Really! That’s crazy, dude. What did they say?

I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, but Cindy’s dad was furious.

I didn’t mean your folks. What did Cooper’s say?

I didn’t tell ’em.

I was in there early this morning and you were working, said you got off at four. I don’t get it. What do you mean you didn’t tell ’em?

It was a stupid job. I just got in my car and left.

Loser.

That’s what Cindy’s dad said. Josh then tried to refocus the conversation. What’s up with you?

Oh, I’m power washing the deck for Mom. Lucky you called when I was refilling the gas tank on the power washer, or I wouldn’t have heard the phone.

*   *   *

Randy was on summer break after his first year of college. He didn’t have to get a job because he was taking two online classes. Josh only knew that Randy wanted to be a lawyer. A fall and spring had elapsed since high school, and they were already becoming different people. Josh didn’t have much in common with Randy except their high school glory days—like the old Springsteen song. They were both starters on the football team. Randy was left guard and came in only on defense. Josh played both sides of the ball and did a lot of running. He was wide receiver on offense and cornerback on defense.

There was an awkward moment of phone silence. Josh felt a tinge of inferiority. Training to be a lawyer sounded better than walking out on a job at the local hardware store.

What’s next? Randy asked. You wanna come over? You can take a turn with the power washer. Randy withdrew his proposition before Josh could answer. On second thought, my dad is working from home today. He thinks you’re working too. I told him I saw you this morning, and he seemed pleased that you’re ‘making something of yourself.’

Oh.

He might start grilling you about why you’re here and get all worked up if he knew you walked away, Randy said. How bad was it with Shag?

He grounded me from any contact with Cindy.

How long?

Until I stop being a loser, I guess. He basically said I should start over, like a video game or something. Except he said ‘reset,’ like I’m a Shop-Vac or something.

Like the time your Madden froze up when you were up three touchdowns with twenty seconds to go? That was brutal, dude!

Yeah, something like that, Josh smugly replied.

Let’s meet later, after you’re supposed to be off work, Randy said.

Josh’s phone started clicking in his ear. Hey, Randy, Cindy’s calling. That’s great. Same place? Four thirty? Josh didn’t wait on a reply. He knew they would text later. He clicked over to Cindy.

Cindy? He cocked his head and stared up at the light of the window, holding the phone tight against his ear, straining for her voice.

What happened at work? Cindy asked with whispered intensity. Are you okay?

Josh was on the spot. He needed a good answer and didn’t have one. He felt the skin on the back of his right hand twitching and moving, as if it were crawling. He leaned away from the table, switched the phone to his left cheek, and held his right hand up for a look. Nothing there, skin wasn’t actually moving. Must be nerves, he thought.

I’m okay, Josh said sorrowfully. His attempt to induce sympathy in Cindy made him sad for himself in that moment.

But what happened at work? Cindy asked again.

Right hand—skin still crawling. Josh felt the Shag shackles and chains again. He dropped his eyes to the library table. He was becoming attached to it. It was just him and the table. Alone. He felt his chest wilt.

Can you talk? Josh asked.

I’m at the mall with Mom. She knows I’m talking to you. She said I could have one call—five minutes—no texting. Said she would fix it with Dad if he finds out. Why did you quit your job? Where are you now?

I’m at the library, in the basement.

Josh paused. He knew she wanted to know more about the job, about him being a quitter. He wondered if she would stay with a quitter, a loser. He had been a winner. He was a bigger football star than Randy, after all. In back-to-back plays in the county title game, Josh made an interception to end Southpoint’s drive and caught the winning pass after they took possession. There were no pro scouts in the crowd, but it was still a big deal, a glorious memory for those who witnessed it. Josh was fast and athletic. In the spring, he ran the 110-meter hurdles and qualified for the state track meet his junior and senior years. He had jumps. He was only five feet ten inches but could dunk a regulation basketball. He grew up playing basketball but was an early cut in the eighth grade. He gave up on basketball in high school because he didn’t want to get cut again.

He never forgot the anguish of getting cut from the eighth-grade team. He had that same raw feeling in his gut as he struggled to deal with Cindy. He felt as if he was about to be cut from her team.

You’re not a library guy. What are you doing in the library basement? Cindy asked. I’ve never even been down there.

I’m just doing some thinking, Josh said as he reached for the book on the table and turned it over. It was a copy of How to Think like Leonardo da Vinci by Michael J. Gelb. He did not remember taking that book from a shelf. I’m rethinking my whole life, he answered.

Really? She hesitated. Does that life include me? There was noticeable dare in her voice, as if she was really saying, You better not be screwing this up, or I’m out of here. Tell me what happened at work.

That job sucks. They had me counting plastic plumbing fittings; couplings, ells, tees. It was inventory time. It sucks. I was bored. And old man Cooper kept walking behind me in the aisle asking if I was done—said I needed to hurry up and move onto the galvanized fittings before break. He’s a jerk. I was just too stressed. I had to get outta there.

"You’ve only been there three weeks! Did you forget that Shayla Cooper is my best friend? Did you forget that she talked to her dad about hiring you? You walked out without saying anything? Really?"

Well, it wasn’t like I was doing anything important. I’m sure Bobby is counting plastic couplings, at nineteen cents apiece, just fine. His ear was wetting the phone with his sweat.

"What am I supposed to do about Shayla? Do you realize what you’ve done? I can’t call her. What am I supposed to say when she asks me why you walked out on your job? Tell me! she pleaded. Cindy sounded a little like Shag—angry. Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I’m dating a loser’? Tell me!"

Josh didn’t know this Cindy. She had started out soft and sympathetic but worked herself into a lather. He didn’t know what to say or do. He’d screwed up.

Sorry, he said gently.

Well, I gotta go. Get a message through Randy if you want to talk, and maybe I’ll call you, but not for a couple of weeks. I need to do some thinking of my own.

Sorry, he said again. Love you.

*   *   *

Cindy had already taken the phone from her ear when he said those last words. It was rare they talked on the phone. They were always texting, dozens of messages every day. After punching End, she stared at the button, considering how it might relate to their relationship. She looked up and scanned the mall for her mom. It was slower than a weekday should be. The mall seemed somehow dim with fewer people milling around. Her mom