Honoring My Father's Last Words

"Samuel, find a good Christian woman and make her your own."

Those were my father's last words as his already chilled hands were cupping my own. His eyes had locked onto mine and his seriousness echoed through his stare as he spoke them. I couldn't look away. The only action I was capable of was the tightening of my grip upon his hand. Just as quickly, he made an unnatural guttural noise as he slumped back into the hospital bed, taking his final breath.

My mother began crying. She collapsed forward, one hand clutching at his chest and the other wrapped around his body as she draped herself to his lying form. I just stared at the man I knew I would never see again.

I was six.

Being from a religious family, I was determined to follow in my father's footsteps. He had lived three lives, and all were fulfilling. First, a computer programmer by trade, he was Green Earth's best. As the name suggests, Green Earth was a company out to better the world through finding ways to stabilize the environments biggest problems. My father created analytic codes to decipher all the environments problems and then used that code to benefit the world.

Secondly, he was a family man. His family, my mother and I, always came first. He was strict, firm, and fair in his raising of me. He was also one for compassion and sympathy. There wasn't ever a man I have ever met that could hold a candle to him. My father was who I wanted to emulate most in life.

In his third life, the one that gave me the most solace with his passing, my father was a devout religious man. He was a deacon with our church, and always seemed to offer a helping hand or the soundest of wisdom to fellow parishioners. Upon his death, I knew he was taken care of when concerning the afterlife. Heaven awaited him. This also meant I knew my father will always be watching me from up on high, judging my actions, firm and fair, as he always had done. I wanted - no needed to make him proud.

And I was resolute.

His final words resonated within me... "Find a good Christian woman and make her your own."

At first, my efforts to accomplish his mission for me were primitive. Being such a young age, I started with Legos. It took me nearly a year. I used yellow blocks to form the face, hands, and feet. Black ones were used to form facial features and for a long skirt. Finally, red blocks for a long sleeved blouse.

I stared at my creation, my two and a half foot tall good Christian woman, and realized she was bald. I looked around and sighed at the options I had left for hair color. Another three months later, and she had a head of flowing green hair.

My mother had found humor in what I was doing. I had shared openly with her what my father told me and what I was trying to accomplish. She, in turn, shared openly to everyone. Some thought it was cute; others used me as a punch line. It was then I had decided my mother didn't have the same morals as my father. Her loose tongue afforded her only son to be ridiculed. She did not need to know all my actions.

Every day I stared at my good Christian woman, and felt something wasn't right. It took me quite some time to figure out that my original plan of building her with Legos was fundamentally flawed. I made a good Christian woman as my father instructed, but the woman I made couldn't do anything. She just stood in the corner with that awkward smile I had given her.

And I was resolute.

Research was the key. My father had started teaching me his livelihood at a young age and I had been fascinated with computers ever since. "We all need to be proficient in our careers, son, so we can build a happy life for not only yourself, but your family. We need to make God proud of us in all we do," he would say. So, I had begun writing code from as early as I remember. Trivial stuff really, like designing a car and having it drive off the screen or trying to help my father in making a code to determine the best ways to fight against the catastrophic effects of erosion. His worked, mine didn't. All of his mentoring set me on my way to follow in his footsteps.

Writing computer code was great but that didn't help with my current problem. I wasn't sure what I was looking for but knew if I searched long enough; the internet would give me my answer. Several years passed before I found my solution: erector sets. With erector sets, I could make my good Christian woman and with the robotics involved, it would actually be able to have motor functions.

I took my time so my mother wouldn't get suspicious. I collected sets as birthday and Christmas gifts and spent every dollar I had, well, every dollar I hadn't donated to the church anyway, and the ending result was enough erector sets to fill my closet. Careful planning was the next step. I was meticulous and detailed every step of the way. I thought about how the human body moved. Legs, arms, fingers, even how the head rotated was calculated in my construction. I also extended the height. Two and a half feet was great when I was six, but I had grown since then and therefore so must my good Christian woman. The final result was a four foot tall mechanical being with a dirty blonde wig. It also took five remote controls to govern her.

I was proud of myself, though I told no one. My mother, my friends in my youth group at church, my priest; all were kept in the dark. Everyone just assumed I was building a robot to clean my room. It had taken six years since my father's death but I had finally accomplished his goal for me. I had made my good Christian woman.

It took only a year, however, before I was forced to acknowledge that there was a multitude of errors in my thinking. Despite having functions, an erector set woman was not the answer. There were too many limitations in its abilities.

And I was resolute.

Puberty hit me with a vengeance. It seemed as if it was a test from God just to go to the bathroom in the morning. Worse was the fact that I was first amongst my friends to incur this rite of passage. I had mentioned to my group that I thought a girl in my class, Jessica Akers, was kind of cute and it brought the house down with all the laughter that ensued. They even threatened to tell our assistant youth group advisor, Megan Reed, who was only five years older than us, about my outburst. I played it off like I was joking but it was just another reason why I held all my plans close to the vest.

But staring at Jessica got my mind thinking about my good Christian woman. According to Genesis 1:28 - And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

How in the heck am I supposed to multiply and replenish the earth with a machine? I was confused. And when I was confused, I dwelled upon my father. His last words came flooding back to me, "Samuel, find a good Christian woman and make her your own."

It hit me like lightening. I sat on my bed shaking my head, "I'm an idiot." I was completely focused on the "making her my own" and didn't even consider the word "find" in that sentence. I began cackling like a mad man at my epiphany. I was going about this all wrong. I wasn't supposed to make a girl, or build one as I took it; no, I was supposed to find a girl, a Christian one, and then make her mine.

But how do you make a woman yours? Judges 14:3 - Then his father and his mother said unto him, Is there never a woman among the daughters of thy brethren, or among all my people, that thou goest to take a wife of the uncircumcised Philistines? And Samson said unto his father, Get her for me; for she pleaseth me well.

Samson asked his father to get him a woman... So to make a woman your own, you ask your father? My eyes furrowed in thought. My head steadily rose as I cast my sight upward looking for guidance. I swear I could see my father smiling at me. I shook my head, still confused before I took in the sight of my computer and I knew. Besides, God help me if I disappointed my father.

I was sitting in front of my computer attempting to decipher my problem. It wasn't easy. There just weren't a lot of reputable websites that held the answers I required. Hypnotism was a possibility but everything I read implied the subject would not do something they wouldn't normally do. Subliminal messages sounded interesting, but could be misinterpreted, and, of course, there aren't a whole lot of refutable studies on the subject. Not to mention I had no idea where to find a good Christian woman to my liking... I mean Jessica Akers didn't even belong to a church so it couldn't be her.

And as the Bible says, 2 Peter 3:9 The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.

So patience is a virtue.

And I was resolute.

As with all my endeavors into completing my father's last request of me, this took time. Six years worth of time. And life tended to carry on regardless of what I did with my spare time. In school, my grades were near the top of the class. I had been accepted to the University of Maryland on full scholarship for computer programming, though I'm actually going to nearby Holy Trinity Catholic College.

While the majority of the kids I grew up with in church dropped out, moved away, or are just too lazy to go anymore, I have grown. I am now the assistant youth group director to Megan Reed, as she replaced the withering Mrs. Garrett. It is always a pleasure to work under someone so compassionate. At twenty-three, she has developed into a fine young woman. She seemed to have combined a positive attitude with faith which allows her to teach a younger generation the word of God all the while working full time during the week as a dental hygienist.

As for my home life, I tended to stay in my room spending my time in perfecting all my knowledge on making a woman my own. I was fluent in the subjects of hypnotism, subliminal messages, and was even aware of how Stockholm Syndrome can affect one's mind. I honestly feel I was becoming an expert in the field of brain manipulation.

My mother had become less religious with age. She altogether stopped going to church and now took to staying out late every night. Through the years, we had gotten into countless arguments regarding me spending all my time in my room and not around her. I assumed it was because she wanted a close relationship with someone, to be the family she felt she lost, but I was busy. She eventually stopped asking - telling - demanding my presence and found other ways to occupy her time. I know in her heart she knows God and therefore I wasn't concerned.

Now all that was left was to find a good Christian woman.

And I was resolute.

It was two thirty in the morning. The front door closing is what aroused me from sleep, but the drunken groan followed by a hearty laugh is what got me out of bed and downstairs. It took me all of two seconds to go from sleepy to irate. My mother was on her back, her top pulled down exposing her breasts, with a scruffy, I'm going to kill all the villagers with an axe, barbarian between her legs.

I stormed into view, "What are you doing Mother?"

The brusque man paused at my intervention. My mother barely looked my way. "Keep going... guy"

"You don't even know his name? Is this what I have as a mother now? What would God say? What about father?"

My mother huffed in irritation or moaned in pleasure and then stared at me, "Listen kid, I'm not your mother. You made that very clear by not wanting anything to do with me. And God doesn't exist. That fucker took everything from me when he let your father die. Now I could be the evil mother, blah, blah, blah or I could... Oh yes, right there, ugh."

"But, this is wrong."

"Get lost kid," the brute then shoved me and I staggered back.

"But..."

"Samuel, either go to bed, get me a beer, or shut up and learn something."

I was appalled... flabbergasted... I don't even know. I felt tears begin to cascade down my cheek at what I was witnessing. My mother was a harlot. A woman misguided, led astray by the devil... living under the same roof as someone as virtuous as me. I didn't cry when my father died. It seemed pointless because I knew he was going to heaven, to have everlasting life, but I cried over this. I cried at seeing my father's wife, my mother, turned into a whore.

I ran. I ran outside in only my t-shirt, boxers, and slippers. I was unsure of what to do. I didn't want to live under the same roof as a jezebel. What if she corrupted me? But where could I go? My school friends weren't righteous. My friends from church had all gone separate paths. Without any destination, I went to the only place I'd find solace.

I arrived at church knowing no one would be there. It wasn't even unlocked. I knew it wasn't going to be, but I had hoped. Instead, I sat on a cement parking block and stared at the Holy place. My life felt like it was crumbling all around me. My head fell to my hands. What had happened? If only Father Eckhart were here to offer advice? Or Megan for that matter? Wait, she only lives a couple blocks away... Could I?

It took me all of three seconds to decide. As I stood, I looked to the Jesus hanging from the cross on the roof. "Thank you."

*

I was walking to the porch of the small one bedroom red brick home. It was quaint and perfectly functional for the person who lived here. And as God states in Hebrews 13:5 - Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

It was obvious Megan Reed made a life for herself with God in her heart.

I stood in front of a brown metal screen door which was made to look like it was wood; as if the human race isn't smart enough to realize the difference. My finger hovered over the doorbell. Though I knew my decision, I was still apprehensive about waking up my mentor.

Megan was a sight to behold... even at three in the morning. Her curly brown locks, though disheveled, framed her face and the natural glow from her skin seemed to radiate a soft affection. She had on plaid flannel pajamas that offered only hints to her nice figure. Her sleepy countenance, however, vanished at just the sight of me.

"Sam? What brings you here? Is everything all right?"

"My mom... My mom is a..." I somehow couldn't finish that sentence.

Megan wrapped her arm around my shoulder and ushered me to her living room.

The room was simple. The furniture was all matching beige which went well with the slightly darker carpeting. In the corner sat an entertainment stand with a small flat screen television and a radio on it. The walls were similarly modest with only a clock, a cross, and a few pictures of Megan with friends and family at different functions.

Megan sat down on the couch and patted the space next to her. "Do you need a glass of water?"

I shook my head and sat down next to her. Despite my inability to speak at her door, as soon as I felt cushion underneath me I started blubbering everything about my harlot mother to the woman.

"Sam, I am so sorry," Megan wrapped her arm around my shoulder, her eyes full of sympathy. She tightened her grip for a brief moment before she let me go. "Let us pray for her." She closed her eyes, cupped her hands in front of her, and lowered her head, "Heavenly Father..."

I stared vacantly at Megan. It felt as if my father was attempting to comfort me after one of my failed programs. I shook my head before I also closed my eyes, bowed my head, and clasped my hands together in reverence to God.

I must admit, I didn't hear the words of her prayer. I didn't even hear her voice. All that I was, felt. I felt comfort. I felt solace. I felt my father. I felt his wishes for me. I felt his want for me to keep on the path he had beset upon me so many years ago. I felt his need for me to stay the course regardless of outside unrighteous influences.

"Amen."

I opened my eyes and my eyebrows furrowed as I gazed at Megan while I embraced my feelings. It was as if my father was guiding me. I was Samson and Megan was my answer. Megan is what I had been searching for since I was six. She is a good Christian woman.

Now to just make her my own...

At my epiphany, my consciousness slowly crept back with reality.

"Sam?" Megan had this concerned look as it obviously appeared that I was in La-La land.

I shook my head as I came out of my trance. "Thank you, Megan." I took a deep breath with a faint smile pursing my lips, "I feel a little better." Actually, I felt much better. I found my good Christian woman... and I was determined to not let my unrighteous mother cloud my duty to make her my own.

And I was resolute.

"Good." Megan smiled as she double patted my knee before standing. "Let me get you a blanket. I can't in good Faith have you walking back home at this hour." She walked to the back of the house and quickly returned with a pillow and a navy blue with white stripes comforter in her clutches. "Here you go, Sam." She set the linens on the coffee table. "Try to get some sleep. The bathroom is down the hall on the left and if you need anything from me, my room is right across from it."

"Um, Megan?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I stay here a couple days? Just until I figure out how to approach my mother and her wanton ways?" I asked already knowing her answer. She's too compassionate to say no. A fine quality in a wife.

"I'm not going to be home... I do have to go to work in the morning."

"That's all right. I have to go to school."

Megan gave me one of her faint smiles, "Of course you can Sam. Whatever you need, I'm here to help." Her head nodded slightly as she began to walk away again.

I knew she'd say yes. "Thanks again, Megan." I grabbed the offered linens and went to fixing my makeshift bed on the couch. "Good night."

"Good night, Sam."

Sleep eluded me. I mean how could I sleep when there was a plan to be made? My father's last desire for me was right down the hall. As in all walks of life, I knew there were going to be obstacles; for instance, Megan was five years older and has been my mentor for the past few years. But once again I found guidance in the Bible. James 1:2-4 - Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

And I was resolute.

When morning came, I got up early. My mind was on overload and I had a lot to do. I did my best to look at Megan the same as I always had as I thanked her for her hospitality. I doubt I was able. She gave me a spare key and told me to call her if I needed anything. What was even better was that right before I left, she gave me a hug. I didn't want to let go, and if I thought she would fall for me right then and there, I wouldn't have. But alas, I had to make like I was leaving for school.

I walked into my house and to a sight no child should ever see: my mother passed out on the couch, her shirt pulled down to where one of her breasts was hanging out, and her skirt bunched up around her waist. To top it off, she had a string of drool that stretched from her mouth down to the carpet. Pathetic, really.

I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. If there was any doubt on whether I should proceed, it was dispelled by what I bared witnessed. I almost felt I should start with my mother, and I honestly would have if it wasn't for the fifth commandment: Honor your father and your mother. Honor my father by fulfilling his last wishes and honor my mother by not intervening in her life of being a whore. It was time for me to leave the proverbial nest and begin my life. With Megan.