Sovereign: One Man's Journey

By Mark Hollingsworth

In the tiny town of Plainville, Jared Whitehead grew up in church and is now trying to live out his faith like a man. Influenced first by a fiery preacher who crashes in a moral scandal, then by a godly pastor who challenges his long-held convictions, Jared is forced to come to terms with what he really believes about God. But when tragedy strikes his family, his faith in his sovereign God faces the test of his lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512748864

Mark Hollingsworth

Mark Hollingsworth is a journalist, historian and author of ten books, notably Londongrad, Saudi Babylon, an acclaimed study of MI5, and biographies of Mark Thatcher and Tim Bell. He worked for Granada TV's award-winning World In Action documentary series for five years and also writes regularly for The Times, Mail on Sunday, Spectator, Guardian and the Daily Telegraph.

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Copyright © 2016 Mark Hollingsworth.

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 author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

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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.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-4885-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4887-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4886-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016910857

WestBow Press rev. date: 07/13/2016

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 1

A lison was my friend.

Not my girlfriend.

We’d been friends since kindergarten, and as high school graduation approached, I found myself noticing how much I liked being with her. I also noticed how pretty she was. I decided to take a chance and ask her what she thought if we became more than friends.

That chance never came.

We grew up in the same church, were in the same grade in school, and had many classes together. We were lab partners for chemistry and biology. I never even thought about her being my girlfriend until our senior year.

Hey, you two would make a great couple.

I heard that a lot.

I’d be taking a huge risk. She was one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had—male or female. If she was repulsed by my idea—well, there goes our friendship.

On the other hand, we were planning to go to separate colleges, so we’d probably lose touch anyway, like most high school friends do. And I’m sure if people said to me that we’d make a great couple, they’d said it to her, too. I’d never really had a girlfriend before.

I decided it was worth the risk.

Then the accident happened.

It was a Friday night. All of us seniors were just killing time until about three weeks later, when at long last we would graduate. Our senioritis (which some of us had had since we were juniors) would soon be a thing of the past.

There was a party at Clayton Fletcher’s house, which meant his parents were out of town, and underage drinking would be the main activity. I’d been there for about an hour; Alison had been there about three. She was clearly drunk when she told me she was leaving.

I have to work in the morning, she mumbled, slurring her words slightly.

She’d come to the party from work by herself. That meant she’d have to drive herself home.

I knew that wasn’t a good idea.

Let me take you, I said.

No, Jared, I’m okay, she protested. Besides, how will I get my car in the morning if we leave it here?

I’ll pick you up again and bring you back here.

No! Her eyes got big. "Then my parents will know I was drunk."

Okay … maybe Nathan can drive your car to your house tonight. After we drop you off, he’ll ride back here with me.

No, Jared! It’s too much trouble. I’ll be fine. She slung her purse over her shoulder and started walking. See ya later.

I wasn’t about to fight her for her keys. Well, I’m at least going to follow you home.

Yeah, sure, she said in midstride.

Man, I’ve never seen her like this before.

We started up our cars and headed out to Highway 41. After making a right from the Fletchers’ long driveway, we were soon going forty-five, exactly the speed limit. She swerved a little, but nothing major—certainly nothing that would cause a cop to be suspicious. I stayed a safe distance behind. She faithfully slowed down to about thirty as we approached Plainville’s only traffic light. It turned yellow, and her brake lights came on. It turned red, and she rolled peacefully to a stop. She was being very careful. Her house was only about a mile past the intersection.

Almost there.

Twelve midnight. No other cars were on the road. It was one of those warm nights when the air was as still as it could be. Not even a zephyr of wind.

The light turned green. Alison accelerated quickly, her tires spinning with a slight screech. It caught me off guard. I took my foot off the brake pedal and was about to step on the gas.

What happened next changed me forever.

The serene silence of a Plainville midnight was shattered when a black Suburban slammed into the driver’s side of Alison’s red Toyota Tercel. The two vehicles slid forty yards in a pile of twisted metal down Forestdale Road, until they hopped the curb and came to rest against the chain-link fence that bordered Potter Concrete.

I instinctively slammed my foot on the brake when the impact occurred. I threw the gear shift into park, flung open the door, and ran to the scene.

A man stumbled out the driver’s side of the Suburban, blood covering his face and forehead. He stood and leaned against the side, his door still open. As he saw me running toward him, he pushed away from the vehicle, held out his hands in a pleading manner, shaking his head slowly, mouth open. I don’t think he actually said a word.

I didn’t want to talk to him anyway. I sprinted past him, around the front of the Suburban.

Alison! Alison!

The Tercel was a mangled mess, wrapped around the front end of the SUV. I could barely see the top of her head through the shattered glass. I couldn’t see her face.

But I knew it wasn’t good.

Should I call 9-1-1? No, her parents might find out. Oh good grief, Jared, this is life and death! Who cares if her parents find out she was drinking?

I made the call.

Please hurry, I said weakly, glancing at her as I hung up.

I wanted to help, but there was no way I could even get to her, let alone pull her out.

Alison! Hang on!

It felt like forever, those feelings of anxiety, frustration, and utter helplessness. I paced around the scene, tears streaming down my face, trying in vain to get a closer look at my friend.

She’s not moving.

The ambulance arrived in three minutes, followed by a fire engine, then two Sheriff’s Department cars. I stood to the side as they worked to get her out. I don’t remember any details, just a lot of flashing lights and cutting metal and yelling and scurrying back and forth.

And then someone told me she was dead.

Chapter 2

A lison’s death changed so many lives. Her parents were never the same. She was their only child. Frank and Charlotte Sowards were two of the most faithful members of First Baptist Church of Plainville, but when their daughter died, they stopped going. Everybody understood, and we all thought they would come back after a few weeks, but they never did.

It’s been twenty-four years now.

Two weeks after the accident, Mr. and Mrs. Sowards wanted to talk to me. My mom said they weren’t mad; they just wanted to hear what happened that night. Closure, they called it. My parents went with me to their house. I told them everything I knew. They asked a few questions, and I answered the best I could. There were lots of tears from everyone as we sat in their living room.

Was Alison drunk? her mom asked.

Tell us the truth, Jared, her dad said. It’s all right.

Yes, I said stoically, staring at the floor.

She wasn’t wearing her seat belt, either, her mother said as her voice broke again. That was news to me. I guess it explained why Alison was killed, while the other driver had only minor injuries. That and the fact that a Suburban is about three times as big as a Tercel.

I should’ve made sure she was wearing it. Stupid! Please don’t ask me any more about it.

Jared, her mother said, had you ever seen Alison drinking before that night? She and her husband looked at me with wide-eyed anticipation.

Oh great. What do I say now?

Her dad had already told me to just tell the truth. I went with it again.

Yes, a few times, I admitted reluctantly.

I couldn’t look up at them. There was silence for a few seconds. It seemed like a few hours.

Her mother spoke up. How long had it been going on? Months? Years?

Um … honestly, I’ve only seen Alison drinking a few times. Maybe three. And only in the last couple of months. You know, at parties at people’s houses.

I suddenly remembered my parents were in the room.

Please don’t ask me if I’ve been drinking, too.

Well, thank you, Jared.

Wait, I interrupted. "I just want you guys to know … Alison was my friend. And … she was not a bad girl! She didn’t get in trouble at school. She had a good reputation. People respected her—her friends, her teachers, everyone. Everyone liked her. I … I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

They both thanked me, through their tears, as I realized I was now talking about my friend in the past tense. I teared up, too.

After a moment of helpless silence, Alison’s mother sobbed quietly. How can I go on? What am I going to do? She buried her head in the Kleenex in her hands. Her husband just kind of sat there beside her, not saying anything, looking lost.

The conversation turned to the fact that the driver who killed Alison was heavily intoxicated.

We’re suing him, Alison’s dad said. He seemed determined.

Oh, Frank, said her mother. I don’t know if we’re going to do that. It won’t bring her back!

Her voice went up to a crescendo, almost yelling, as she said it.

They did sue the man. He was convicted, but ended up not serving any jail time. I don’t know if there was any monetary settlement awarded, but whatever it was, it was definitely not what Mr. Sowards was hoping for.

About two years after Alison’s death, her parents divorced. I was away at college, and my mom told me on the phone one night.

It’s been hard on them since losing Alison, she said. She was their world.

I didn’t understand. Not then.

I do now.

* * *

About a year after Alison’s parents’ divorce, I got a call from my mom, this time with more troubling news.

Mrs. Sowards killed herself last night.

What? No!

It’s so sad, Jared. My mom was sobbing.

Did you—I … I thought she was doing okay.

I did, too.

Had you talked to her recently?

I called her a few weeks ago, just to say hi. I mean, since they stopped coming to church, I don’t talk to her much—I have to call her; she never calls me.

How did she seem then?

Fine. Well, as fine as she always does. She always says how hard it is, but nothing unusual, that I could tell.

I wasn’t sure if I should ask. How did she do it?

They think it was an overdose of sleeping pills. She didn’t leave a note or anything.

That’s terrible.

I know, I know. Jared, the funeral’s on Saturday. I just thought I’d let you know in case you wanted to come home for it.

Of course. I’ll be there.

As I hung up, I looked at the calendar on my dorm room wall. Thursday, February 16. My heart sank as I realized what yesterday was. Not just the day Mrs. Sowards died.

It would have been Alison’s twenty-first birthday.

Chapter 3

T he phone rang in my dorm room on Friday night.

Hello?

Can I speak to Jared Whitehead, please? came the older-sounding gentleman’s voice on the other end.

Yes, this is him.

Hi, Jared. This is Pastor Daniels from First Baptist Church in Plainville. How are you?

Oh, fine, Sir. How are you?

Why is the pastor calling me?

Just fine, Jared. Thank you. Hey, the reason I’m calling is that I heard about Mrs. Sowards’ suicide. You know, that family has been through so much in the last few years, and I just wanted to see how you’re doing with it all.

Well, it’s a lot to take, you know … I mean, I just realized that Alison’s birthday was Wednesday, the same day her mother—

My voice suddenly stopped working. I was about to cry. I didn’t see it coming. How embarrassing.

Pastor Daniels broke the silence. Aw, Jared. Man, I didn’t know that.

He was such a nice man. I hadn’t talked to him much since he came to First Baptist, about five years before, but it was obvious that his kindness truly came form his heart.

Your mom says you’re coming for the funeral tomorrow?

I cleared my throat.

Yes, Sir. Leaving out in the morning.

Are you staying for church on Sunday?

Yes, planning to.

Well, Jared, if you’re not in a big rush to get back to school, I’d like to take you to lunch right after church.

Hmm. Sounds like he means just me and him. I don’t know about that.

Well, thank you, Pastor, I really appreciate it … but, I think I really need to get back here right after church. I’ve uh … kinda got a lotta work this week.

You sure, Jared? I’m buying.

Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll have to take a rain check.

I think it was the first time I’d ever actually said that.

All right, I understand. Listen, I just hope you’re doing okay. I know you were pretty close to Alison and her family, so if you ever want to talk about anything, just let me know, okay?

Okay. Thank you, Sir.

Let me pray for you before we hang up.

All ri—oh, you mean right now?

Yes. He chuckled. Right now.

O—okay.

I guess it’s okay to pray on the phone.

He prayed and we hung up.

I took out my small suitcase, and started to pack for my four-hour drive home the next day.

* * *

Five minutes later, my phone rang again.

Hello?

Jared. I just talked to Pastor Daniels. My mom. She sounded a bit agitated.

You did?

Yes. Why can’t you have lunch with him after church on Sunday?

I got too much work to do this week.

"Lunch will take one hour, Jared. That’s not gonna put you behind."

I was confused. So he called you and told you he asked me to lunch?

"Yes, because I suggested he do it in the first place."

Why?

I called to tell him about Mrs. Sowards, and he was asking about you, how you’re doing. I told him you don’t say much, so I don’t really know, then he asked if I thought it would be a good idea if he reached out to you.

Reached out to me?

Jared, he’s such a nice man. He always asks about you. Just go out to lunch with him.

Just me and him?

Yes! What’s wrong with that?

Nothin’, I guess.

Okay, will you call him right back and tell him you’ll go?

I couldn’t think of a good reason not to. Sure. What’s his number?

Two minutes later, my lunch date with the pastor was back on.

Come to think of it, there were some things I wanted to talk to him about.

Chapter 4

I grew up in church; almost everyone in Plainville did. If you weren’t Presbyterian or Methodist, First Baptist was really your only choice, if you wanted to go to church at all. Three churches in this town of about 600—at least, that’s how many are here now—2010—up from about 500 when I was born, in 1968. This population explosion can be attributed to people having babies, and young families slowly moving away from the more populated areas, to a quieter setting. We’ve always had some who had no use for church, but they’re definitely in the minority. People belong to church because it’s accepted in our little culture, and they come to church often simply out of habit. And just because they belong to church doesn’t mean they come very often, if at all. I didn’t really think about all this until recently.

It’s just one part of my story.

I loved church when I was a kid. I remember quite fondly sitting in the back of the sanctuary, singing the hymns, following the words in the Broadman Hymnal, trying in vain to figure out what the music note symbols meant. I’d sit by myself, or with some other kids and their parents, since my mother sang in the choir, and my father didn’t come. He was one of those in Plainville who had no use for church. When I was about sixteen, I pretty much stopped going, too. I was more interested in playing baseball, or golf, or sleeping in, on Sundays.

About that time, Pastor Daniels began his tenure at First Baptist. As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t get interested either in what he was saying, or the way he was saying it (I’m not sure which). The preacher before him, Wayne Taylor, had such a compelling delivery, and seemed to have at least one thrilling story every week that had everyone’s attention. When he left the church to become an evangelist, it just wasn’t the same.

First Baptist Plainville was established in 1830. There aren’t many churches as old as that, and any that are were probably established in larger cities. But in the pre-Civil War south, the rural community of Plainville was ripe for religion. We sit on a main thoroughfare, halfway between Jonestown and Lexington, about twenty miles from each. As revivalism was sweeping the nation, an evangelist came through the area, held a series of tent meetings (about two weeks long in those days), people responded to the altar calls, knelt at the mourners’ benches, their professions of faith were followed by baptisms, and a Baptist church was born.

First Baptist has a cemetery on the property, right next to the old sanctuary. Tombstones indicate that people started being buried there in the 1870s. Several last names in the cemetery are names of people active in the church today—Stewart, Higginbotham, Thompson. They’re all fine people, people who know the value of friendship, family, and faith. I’ve known them all my life.

* * *

The day after Charlotte Sowards’ funeral, I found myself sitting across from First Baptist’s pastor, David Daniels, at Trudy’s Restaurant, a greasy spoon popular with us locals. I guessed he was about sixty-five, old school from his slicked-back grey-and-black hair to his horn-rimmed glasses. He had taken his tie off, though.

So how are you doing, Jared? he asked as we pulled our chairs up to the table.

Our server appeared out of nowhere. Can I git ch’yall somethin’ ta drank?

Oh, yes, ma’am, the pastor said, unfazed. I’ll have sweet tea.

She looked at me. How ‘bout you, Sweetie?

Uh, Coke for me, please, I said.

All right, she said as she wrote it down on her little pad. Y’all need a minute ta look at the main-yoo?

Yes, please, just give us a minute.

She scurried off just as quickly as she appeared.

Jared, sometimes things don’t seem to make sense. How have you been doing with everything that’s gone on with the Sowards?

You know, Pastor, I guess I just try not to think about it too much, but when I do … you’re right, it just doesn’t make sense. I mean, did Alison deserve to die because of what she did wrong? Lots of other kids drink and drive, and they don’t die. She didn’t even cause the accident—it was the other guy who ran the red light.

Those are good questions, Jared. Anything else you think about?

Well, her parents. I’ve known ’em all my life, and they’ve always been involved in church. Why would God take their only child? And then … I think about their divorce, and how Mrs. Sowards was just never happy again until … I don’t know. I’ve always heard that God brings good out of everything, and He has a purpose for everything. But I don’t see anything good that’s happened for the Sowards since Alison died.

Jared, do you believe in Jesus Christ?

Yes, I do. I got saved when I was eleven.

Well, have all these events caused you to have any doubts? The old man always chose his words very carefully, and spoke slowly, even when he was preaching. It was one of the things that made him kind of difficult to listen to.

Well, maybe. I just don’t understand the whole thing about how God can let such horrible things happen to people, if He really loves all of us.

Yeah, that’s a tough one. I don’t think anyone has all the answers. But … let me give you some things to think about, okay?

Okay.

"First, you have to remember this: all bad things are the result of sin. I don’t mean accidents like Alison’s are always the direct result of some sin that somebody does, but I mean all bad things are the result of sin being in the world, in general. Now, the fact that sin is in the world at all doesn’t make any sense, because sin is disobeying a God who is perfect, and good, and loving. Why would anyone want to do that? You see, it doesn’t make any sense. So we shouldn’t be surprised that the results of sin—like suffering and disease and death—don’t make any sense to us, either."

I tried to follow him. I nodded like I understood, but I really didn’t.

"That’s what faith is all about, Jared. When we can’t see the hand of God, we trust the heart of God."

That sounded like one of those bumper sticker slogans that preachers sprinkle into their sermons.

We’re not gonna understand everything, Jared. But we just have to trust our heavenly father. Let me see if I can illustrate it for you like this.

I knew enough to know that when he said illustrate, he was about to tell a