A newly hired, grief-burdened local pastor relocates to
Asheville to revive a struggling Methodist church, only to collide with
small-town politics, scandal, and a media-fueled public crisis; his efforts to
build community and heal himself meet resistance, tragedy, and unexpected
solidarity.
How Do You Live
Without Love?
The Dying Church Series Book 1
by Anthony Bradshaw
Genre: Contemporary Fiction, Found Family
Wesley Aames shows up to New Covenant as a man who has
already lost everything—wife, daughter, and the will to keep going. Hired to
revive a sleepy Appalachian church, he finds a congregation on life support:
dwindling funds, fractious trustees, and a choir director who distrusts the new
pastor from day one.
When a teenager dies by suicide and her mother’s humiliation
explodes online, Rosa Lee becomes a magnet for cameras and contempt. Wesley,
barely a pastor and twice a stranger to mercy, steps into the storm—counseling
teens, calming old ladies, cutting the grass, answering crisis hotline
calls—trying to make faith look like rescue instead of rhetoric.
As the church’s finances and patience run out, a vote looms:
keep the earnest, flawed pastor or replace him with steadier hands. But when
the outside world shows up with microphones and accusations. Wesley’s choices
become literal life or death. Can a man who still blames himself for his
family’s deaths save strangers—and in doing so, finally forgive himself? This
is a story about grief, messy grace, and the small acts that sometimes hold a
town together.
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Wesley
walked today rather than ran. Too tired to run, he needed time for
introspection, processing, and perhaps a re-balancing of his inner psyche. He
had always prided himself on his self-control and equilibrium. Rarely did he
lose his temper or act without thought. Wesley started the play list that
featured Janiva Magness and walked the streets of Asheville with her sultry
voice soothing his savage breast.
Then
Wesley saw him. The ugliest, mangiest looking dog Wesley ever. The few spots
where he had hair were brown. One leg was missing. One ear looked chewed off
and the way he cocked his head made Wesley think the dog was blind in one eye.
“Hey there,” Wesley said. The dog took a step back. Wesley kneeled on the damp
ground. “Hey boy.”
The
dog held his ground this time. He cocked his head and watched Wesley with his
good eye. Using the universal and timeless signal between dogs and the people
they owned everywhere, Wesley clucked his tongue. The dog’s one good ear
twitched. A little.
Turning
around, Wesley took a few steps away from the three-legged, one-eyed, one-eared
dog and whistled. The dog barked. Wesley kept walking. The dog barked again.
Twice. Louder this time. Wesley turned back and looked at the dog. “Come on, if
you want to,” said Wesley with a smile. The dog barked at Wesley, and then he
trotted to where Wesley stood, looked up at him and barked. Man and dog walked
the streets of Asheville.
Back
at the parsonage, Wesley knew he would be late for work, but he did not care.
The dog needed to eat.
“As
funny as it would be to watch you eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, how
about I give you corned beef hash? It’s canned. I haven’t had time to make
fresh–but I will, I promise. Just for you. Well, and me. I’ll have some of this
as well for my breakfast. You won’t care if I heat it or not. So, let’s rough
it and eat it straight out of the can. You know, like the cavemen did.” The dog
sat back on his one good haunch and waited–like dogs do.
“Here
you go, pal.” Wesley spooned half of the can onto a paper plate. “You know,
missing a couple body parts like you do, looks like you have stories to tell.
You may be the luckiest dog alive.” Wesley kept up a constant stream of chatter
to put the dog at ease. The dog barked and moved closer. Wesley took the
opportunity, while the dog devoured his food, to check the dog’s collar and
tag.
“George.”
The
dog stopped eating, backed up, and growled.
Wesley
looked at the dog and said it again. “George.”
The
dog growled and barked. It was a different bark from any of the earlier barks.
Wesley
pointed at the collar and tag. “The tag says your name is George,” reasoned
Wesley.
George
growled and barked.
Wesley
squatted and clicked his tongue. “Come here, boy.”
He
placed a slight emphasis on the last word. George wagged his tail and inched
close enough to resume eating, which he did.
“George,”
said Wesley. “George” backed up a few feet–out of Wesley’s reach. His one good
eye darted between Wesley and the half-eaten corned beef hash.
“Come
here.” Wesley clicked his tongue.
The
dog stared at Wesley for a moment before coming close enough to eat his few
remaining bites.
“Well,
it looks like you don’t care much for your old name. I bet I can call you
anything if I feed you. How about…Lucky?”
Wesley
looked over “Lucky’s” three-legged, one-eared, and one-eyed body and just shook
his head at the irony of calling this dog “Lucky.” That sealed it. “I wonder if
you only have one nostril working?” Wesley laughed. “You oughta see the other
dog, huh? Right, Lucky?”
Wesley
kneeled and scratched behind the dog’s good ear and repeated his new name —
Lucky. Before Wesley left for work, he pulled up the picture of his family on
his cell phone and introduced the newest member of his family to the picture of
his wife and daughter.
Lucky
finished the can of cold corned beef hash and drank water from the empty can.
I’ve had several “careers.” I’ve taught robotics;
been a hospital administrator, served in the National Guard, bussed tables and
flipped burgers. Above all else, I am a husband, father, and grand-pere’. I am
a native of North Carolina and currently reside near Asheville.
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