Living Without Arms

About the Book

A clergy retreat is purposed by good intentions, not a time to tell lies on how well it goes. The exception to that is a retired minister, whose first name is not coincidentally Donald. He shouts down Oregon’s Interim Conference Minister Nathan Spark and makes it clear that “you are rubbish to be dumped in a bin and left. There is not room for both of us on this earth!” At which point, he stomps from the room. Nathan learns the rubbish remark isn’t new. His predecessor, the irrepressible Creighton Yale, heard the same rant. So Nathan decides it’s better to see about catching Redside trout out of the Deschutes River near Maupin, Oregon. As he casts, someone walks up to him and holds a fly rod but wears no wading boots. They say the normal greetings. The last thing Nathan remembers is watching Madame X’s fly floating the surface. When he awakens, he can’t see, and his hands and feet are bound. It doesn’t take long to become rubbish. It was almost a week without water or food, and he was covered in slime from his excretions. Would help arrive in a cabin with no light? When help arrives, dehydration is in control. The battle between living and death is neither academic nor metaphorical. Shit is shit. Months later, no longer reeking with the bad odor, he and his new wife, Tricia Gleason, share with Tricia’s congregation in Tillamook, Oregon, that they are pregnant. The joy lasts until the fifth month, when a sonogram reveals their infant-to-be-born has no arms. What to do? When they share with their congregation, one member stomps out about the disgrace of having an armless baby. She tirades, “God must be really furious with you. What have you done? You must be really bad!” Apprehending the culprit who put Nathan in the cabin takes time. The most pressing matter is clear: having a baby with no arms. What should they do? Read on.

About the Author