Depart from Me

By Tom Schulte

Miguel was born into a low-income family that became entrapped in human trafficking. The death of his parents thrust Miguel into a series of foster homes, eventually placing him in an unsavory foster home situation. Fortunately, a teacher inspired Miguel to better himself until he became a highly successful married man with two children and was a greatly respected deacon in his church. Miguel faced common challenges when he lost his job, and his wife died prematurely. Along the way, Miguel had numerous opportunities to submit his trust to the Lordship of Jesus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781664297302

Tom Schulte

Tom Schulte first experienced Jesus on June 24, 1975. Like so many of that time, he became angry at the church for their spiritual failures, prior to his conversion. Tom worked as an engineer for over forty years before retiring. During that time, he held numerous roles, includig project development, environmental, research, and supervision. Tese experiences gave him insight into many human dynamics. He has also volunteered in jail and prison roles, worked with addicts, and nearly every aspect in his church. He is married without children bur with numerous pets. Tom feels compelled to write, discussing subjects ranging from the purpose of life to Christian devotionals. One of his major life objectives is to help as many people gain as much fruit in eternity as possible.

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Copyright © 2023 Tom Schulte.

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.

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.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9729-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9730-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023906482

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/14/2023

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 Birth

Chapter 2 College

Chapter 3 Marsha

Chapter 4 Newlyweds.

Chapter 5 The Road to Success

Chapter 6 Homeowners

Chapter 7 Jack’s decision

Chapter 8 Finding their way

Chapter 9 Empty Nest

Chapter 10 Fraud

Chapter 11 Reaching for the stars

Chapter 12 Married

Chapter 13 Separation

Chapter 14 Fired

Chapter 15 Nomination

Chapter 16 Revival

Chapter 17 Baptism

Chapter 18 Election

Chapter 19 Deacon meeting

Chapter 20 The Deacon

Chapter 21 Church Management

Chapter 22 Buzzard’s Last Try

Epilogue

Other books by this same author

Spiritual Ambitions – How rich do you want to be in Eternity?

The Last Leaf – What do you tell your grandson on the day you die

Twenty-two shells

Life is serious. This book is

dedicated to those who don’t understand life’s seriousness. My, as well as everyone else’s, greatest tragedy, is not realizing and taking advantage of our spiritual windows. Then, before we know it, our lives have passed. I pray that every reader, regardless of their spiritual status, will ask the Lord for open eyes so that you might see Him, either for the first time or in a new and fresh way.

Preface

Too often, I have sensed the sorrow that comes from thinking a friend, acquaintance, colleague, or neighbor rejects what Jesus did for them on the Cross. I don’t know if they eventually changed, but early in my Christian walk, I sensed what happens to someone who rejects what Jesus did. I also believe that mere English is insufficient to describe the judgment, the presence of the glorified Jesus, and even Hell itself. This book is my best attempt.

Acknowledgment

It is impossible to mention everyone by name that contributed to this work. However, several deserve special mention, including my long-suffering wife and special friends that have encouraged me when I become discouraged. Perhaps the most important is John, who has since relocated to eternity. John started my spiritual journey, praying through my unbelievable rebellion, hostility, and rejection to eventually lead me to my relationship with Jesus. I have used much of what he taught in developing this work.

Prologue

Depart from me. His scream failed to drown the words as he fell into intense darkness and horror. A fear unlike any he could imagine came with the blackness. The fear was a physical, almost living presence so strong that it smothered his screams until only he heard them. The horror was a tangible, living presence wrapping its claws deeply into his soul like a thick, suffocating blanket. Equal to the fear, darkness, and horror was all-consuming loneliness. His thirst increased as he fell until he became completely desiccated. The stench assaulted his awareness, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Every physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual sense became heightened, forcing him to experience the horror dominating every cell in intense agony perfectly. He roughly landed on what appeared to be a hot, stone-like plateau, surrounded by tall rocky walls covered with insect-like creatures. Somehow, he sensed horrible beings and people in great agony through the darkness, even though he couldn’t see or communicate with them. Each creature radiated intense, concentrated hatred, which he returned. A flickering, faintly discernable red glow emitted from a distant pit filled with fire, which he knew was where he would soon spend eternity. His mind only remembered the words, Depart from me, crowding out even his name and everything else from his past. Somehow, he knew he was forever alone among the damned. Worse of all was knowing that his heightened senses would never stop detecting every nuance of the darkness, fear, horror, hatred, pain, and aloneness.

Chapter 1

BIRTH

Y ears earlier:

The day after Miguel’s birth into a poor South Texas family, the local hospital discharged Mom and the child as indigents to return to their government-subsidized housing. Miguel’s common-law parents lived in this hot, dusty town, scratching a living as part-time day laborers in a citrus orchard. Miguel Hammer took off work to be with his wife during his firstborn’s arrival.

We must call you ‘Mom’ from now on.

And you are ‘Dad,’ of course. Isn’t this child precious?

He is. Dad watched his wife cuddle the child. How will I feed yet another mouth?

I lost a full day’s pay today. They tell me we can find work in the Wisconsin sugar beet fields and pick cherries in Michigan afterward. Then, we can move on to tomatoes in Ohio, and maybe we’ll make enough to get by. Rest for a few days. I Hope I keep my orchard job until we leave.

Can our old car make the trip?

It must. I’ll stop by the recruiter after I work tomorrow. We’ll leave next week. At least I’ll have steady work and regular pay, unlike the orchard.

Mom didn’t want to move but knew she must follow her husband. Her mother had warned her that their men roamed the country, looking for work, unable to live in one place long. Consequently, she had to trust God.

Dad, the word sounded foreign. We must dedicate Miguel before we go.

Whatever.

Mom couldn’t remember being happier than her first days with her new child. He mostly ate, slept, and squirmed, but the child changed her. On Sunday, she walked to a nearby church to dedicate her son. Dad’s hangover kept him in bed.

Mom wasn’t particularly religious but wanted the best for Miguel. She boldly carried him into the church about an hour before the service and found the Pastor.

Pastor, I want to dedicate my son.

Very good. We can do this. When do you want to do it? How old is he? Normally, I like to visit with the parents for a few minutes beforehand. The secretary can make an appointment.

We must do it today. We’re leaving for Wisconsin soon.

Oh. The pastor wasn’t sure what to do next. Well, we can do it today if you want. Will any other family members be present?

The shame of her absent husband filled Mom as she stared at the floor. No. Only me. My husband is…sick.

Kindness filled the pastor’s face and voice. That’s okay. We’ll still do it. God loves you and your son. What is his name?

Miguel. We named him after his father.

Before the offering, the pastor called Mom to the front. She carefully walked forward, averting her eyes, mentally comparing the women’s nice clothes to her threadbare dress, ratty sandals, and barely combed hair. She shook her hair determinedly as the pastor hugged her shoulders and began. "Friends, our neighbor has a new child she wants to dedicate to the Lord. Unfortunately, they must leave tomorrow, but we’re dedicating little Miguel to the Lord today. May I hold him?

"Just as Hannah dedicated little Samuel to the Lord, this mother wants to dedicate Miguel to the Lord. I always tell parents about the tremendous responsibility of raising a child and teaching him how to grow up along with spiritual things. You can’t teach him to pray if you don’t pray, read the Bible if you don’t, or act in a Godly way if you don’t. Children learn by watching. You are also bringing yourself when you bring Miguel for dedication. Pray for yourself when you pray for Miguel, and you must pray for him often. God loves both of you and will give you the love, patience, and everything else you need to raise Miguel to please God.

Let us pray. Father, we bring little Miguel to you for your blessing. Let him grow up and bless his parents. Give him an easy childhood that keeps him from the world’s temptations. At an early age, draw him into your kingdom and adopt him as yours. Be with his parents, help them make good decisions, and most importantly, trust in you. Thank you, Lord Jesus.

The next day the young family piled their meager personal belongings into their beat-up car and began their trip to Wisconsin. The recruiter gave them directions on how to get there and who to talk to when they arrive. Dad hid his lack of confidence behind bravado but privately worried about having enough gas money. Mom worried about Miguel, whom the car gently rocked to sleep.

The early spring air brought the pleasant scents of freshly farmed fields through their windows, promising Miguel’s family the hope of better times. They drove until almost into Arkansas when they stopped at a highway rest stop. They ate the tortillas and cold, re-fried beans Mom had packed and then refilled their thermos from the water fountain. Finally, dad moved the car to a far corner where the tiny family snuggled in for much-needed rest.

At about midnight, a state trooper used his baton to knock on the driver’s side window. Dad rolled it down and squinted up at the imposing officer.

You folks okay in there?

Yes, sir. We’re tired and need a short rest before continuing. So we’ll be on our way soon, sir.

Be careful, and don’t fall asleep while driving. And with that, the officer walked back to his cruiser. Miguel’s dad relaxed once the cruiser re-entered the highway.

Early the following day, they continued. Mom nursed little Miguel as they drove, finding great comfort in feeding her child.

They made their way north, stopping at rest stops and gas stations until they crossed the Wisconsin border. Dad used his last money to buy what he hoped was enough fuel to get him to his destination. Unfortunately, as they pulled into the street, a car ran a red light and hit their vehicle. Fortunately, no one was injured, but Dad jumped out and ran to the other driver, ready for war.

The man carefully exited his car and silently listened to Dad’s ranting before inspecting the damage. It was immediately evident that neither car could leave on its own. The impact blew all four tires on both vehicles and caused fluids to leak from the engine compartments. A policeman arrived and immediately separated the two men, taking statements and asking for their driver’s licenses and proof of insurance. The other man promptly provided his documentation, but all Dad had was his license. The policeman wrote both men a ticket, the local man for running the stoplight and Dad for not having insurance. Dad was livid, hardly able to contain his anger.

Mom carefully walked to the policeman and asked, Señor, please, may I speak to you?

The officer turned and looked at the frail woman holding her newborn infant.

Señor, we are poor people heading to Wisconsin to look for farm work. We have no money and now no car. We have no place to stay. Can you help us? Is there someplace we could go for a little time? My baby is tiny.

The officer thought a minute before replying, Wait here.

Mom heard him talking on his radio, then on his cell phone. Finally, after a few minutes, he returned. There is a shelter not too far from here. They have room for you to stay there. But, unfortunately, I’ll have to call a wrecker for your car.

Please, Mr. Policeman. Everything we own is in our car. It’s not much, but it is all we have. Can we push it next to the curb? Maybe then no one will steal our things? Mom looked especially pitiful as she begged. The baby’s torn, thin blanket almost touched the ground.

The officer looked at Miguel. I think so.

Thank you, Mr. Policeman. We can walk to the shelter, yes?

No, I don’t think so. It’s too far. I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll take you. Get what you need.

Mom and dad pulled out their paperwork, especially citizenship documentation and the directions to their contact, a change of clothes, and then got into the cruiser. The officer drove them to the shelter and introduced them to the priest in charge. After explaining the simple shelter rules, he assigned their beds.

The next day Dad called his contact and told him what had happened. Several hours later, a man strode into the shelter, calling Dad’s name. Before they left, they thanked the priest and God. Then they returned to their car and transferred their possessions into his van.

I know a salvage yard not far from here. You might get a little for scrap value. And now they had no car as they stoically continued to the sugar beet fields.

It was dark when they arrived at the labor camp. Their driver, who stayed silent the entire trip, escorted them to four men playing cards under a single light bulb hung by a cord wrapped around a tree limb. The almost-dead tree was the sole one in the camp.

Each man carefully guarded the money on the table by keeping their knives within easy reach while frequently taking swigs from a cheap whiskey bottle. One large man, who hadn’t shaved in over a week, took his swig before slamming the bottle onto the table and looking at Dad. Mom knew to wait in the background.

Ah, I am so glad you made it. You were fortunate I could send my associate for you, sí? You must be tired. You can stay in that cabin over there. We’ll discuss wages and how to pay for your taxi ride in the morning. His laugh ran shivers up and down Mom’s back.

Their shack had one light bulb and a packed dirt floor. Dad dumped their clothes in a corner before the adults collapsed on the bug-infested floor, trying to get a little sleep. Mom hugged tiny Miguel, whispering soothing sounds until everyone fell asleep. There was a small, rickety table with a propane stove but no cooking utensils. An almost worn-out mini-refrigerator sat in the corner, struggling to run, sounding like every wheeze would be its last gasp of life.

Dad found the boss under the tree on the following day’s first light, who laid out the employment terms. Beet work is piece work. That means the harder you work, the more you make. I expect you to work very hard. I take a percentage for getting you to and from the fields, finding the fields that need work, and expecting both of you to work. You owe your taxi driver a day’s lost wages. I provide housing. We start at daylight and work until about six P.M. I expect my people to stay the season, and I do not tolerate whining and sniveling. Lazy people either learn to work or, he paused, we explain the facts to them. He slapped his knife strapped to his belt, chuckling a deep, threatening laugh.

Oh, yes. I do all the talking to the health department or any other busybodies that snoop around.

All the workers went to a single water hand pump and filled a bucket with ice-cold water. They carried the water, a towel, and a soap bar to two small rooms with concrete floors, where the used wash water ran onto the grass. Mom and Dad couldn’t clean themselves because they had no bucket or soap. A pit toilet behind the washroom completed the little camp. Each worker carried their toilet paper to the pit toilet, except Mom and Dad, who pulled several weeds.

I hope we can buy toilet paper soon. These weeds are scratchy, thought Mom.

Dad, these people won’t even say hello. They are not very friendly.

Mom, I think they are terrified. Do you notice how they never look up and never smile? They also stay inside when not working. I am not sure what we have gotten ourselves into.

After their first day, they walked into the local town, which was not much more than a gas station, bar, liquor store, grocery store, and police station. It had one barely working stoplight, which needed paint, with one of the yellow bulbs burned out. Every home needed paint, and several porches had broken supports. Junk, especially beer cans, littered the overgrown yards, and several lawns had cars on blocks.

What a horrible place. Dad, we need to leave as soon as we can. They walked into the grocery and bought beans, rice, flour, oil, soap, toilet paper, a bucket, and a pot.

"Mom, that is all