Faithfulness
Written by Emma McCoy
4 minute read
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Hey everyone! Welcome back to a fun and fictional blog series for the next chunk of time. In this series, I’ll be writing fictional short stories following various familiar characters as they try to walk along the faithful path.
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The point of these short stories is to illustrate our big idea: Jesus grows our hope through uncommon friends. But in order to get to this big idea, we first need some scaffolding. Think of these stories like handholds as we’re climbing toward our big idea. A lot of the time, stories that demonstrate an idea are more helpful than just talking about it, so that’s where the fiction comes in. And the handhold (also called an outcome, or learning target) I’m focusing on in this series is this:
We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
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We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
You can listen to this story narrated like an audiobook on your favorite podcast app!
Faithfulness
A story about the kind of friend who just keeps showing up, no matter what.
Gabriel climbed the front steps, ignoring the twinge in his knee, and knocked on the door. Every day he had to wake up and acknowledge the pain that came with getting old, but not let it win. After a few moments, Alan’s nephew answered.
“Hey there, Gabe!” he said, going in for a hug.
“Hi, Trevor,” he replied. The boy was growing out his dreadlocks—apparently it was a really popular hairstyle with other college kids. He quite liked Trevor, who was bright and friendly, and helped Gabriel with his computer problems. Kids these days were born with a keyboard in their hands.
“Uncle Alan’s almost ready,” Trevor said, just as Alan came up behind him, winding a scarf around his neck. Some grey was starting to spot in the man’s short hair. It made Gabriel feel even older. Where had the years gone?
“Are you driving?” Alan asked. “Or do you want me to?”
“By all means, you drive,” Gabriel chuckled. “Have you seen these roads? Let’s take your truck.”
“My truck,” Trevor called back.
“The one you’re borrowing?” Alan responded to the closed door. He shook his head. “That kid.”
“You love him.”
“He does make it more interesting around the house.”
For all Gabriel’s protesting, the roads weren’t bad. The city salted every night, and they’d had a few days above freezing. Dirty snowbanks, shoved to the sidewalks, acted like grey walls. It was a bit of a drive to the high schooler’s Bible study, and the warmth in the truck relaxed him. He stared out the window in comfortable silence, watching a few half-hearted snowflakes drift by.
As they tended to do, his thoughts drifted toward Derrick, his best friend of nearly sixty years. Had it already been five years since he died? It felt like yesterday, so close at hand he could still taste the shock and sorrow in his throat. But it had also been an age without him, countless days and little stories piled up that had gone untold. That was one of the worst parts of grief, he’d decided: that as days passed, he had more, not less, to tell Derrick. There was so much to catch him up on, and they wouldn’t get caught up this side of heaven.
Alan turned into the parking lot. He considered the man beside him. Five years ago they’d been friendly, but not close. He wouldn’t have guessed that Alan would’ve shown up on that terrible day he’d gotten the news and sat with him. He’d thought Alan would be too timid for it. No, not timid, exactly. More that it wouldn’t have occurred to him. But Alan, quiet Alan, had depths Gabriel was still discovering—Sunday after Sunday, years of small groups and volunteering and mentoring and showing up even when it was freezing or nobody else wanted to.
“Here we are,” Alan said, rolling his neck. He got out and walked around the truck. The old church building was glowing with life, and he could hear teenagers who’d gotten there early, even through the windows. Alan was as important to this group as he was, even though he was technically the leader. There was something about Alan the kids liked, and they opened up to him. Even after a full day of teaching public school, he was still here.
Alan opened his door. “You ready?”
Gabriel looked at him, in his worn black jacket and lumpy scarf Trevor had knitted for him. “I appreciate you, my friend,” he said. “I am always astounded by your faithfulness.”
Alan colored and looked at the ground briefly. “It’s fine,” he said. “I just…I want to be here.”
“Yes,” Gabriel replied, taking the outstretched hand and stepping down, “but not everyone does.”
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About the author
Spring Church member, Emma McCoy (M.A.), has two poetry books: This Voice Has an Echo (2024) and In Case I Live Forever (2022). She’s been published in places like Across the Margin, Stirring Literary, and Thimble Mag. She reads for Chestnut Review and Whale Road Review. She’s probably working on her novel right now. Catch her on Substack: https://poetrybyemma.substack.com/