I open the door to our empty house, drop my backpack on the floor, and head to the kitchen cabinet. "It's Ramen noodles for supper again tonight." I can't quit thinking about the assembly we had at school today.

I peel back the paper, add the veggies and water then put it in the microwave.

What a notion, to embrace the pain like it's the best friend you'll ever have - a high school sweetheart you can trust. Who do those people think they are? All because they have letters after their name and wrote an article in a lame magazine. They felt the need to tell this crap to the sophomores at Milan High. I had the privilege of listening to them spout nonsense for two hours about hugging your pain and releasing it to the wind.

"Right!"

Pain is nothing like that at all - it's an evil taskmaster bent on destroying any glimpse of hope that remains in your life. It loves to drag every failure under your nose to get a good whiff of the filth it left behind. It was never my filth that infected every pore of my life. I can blame that on my psychotic, drunken father. He loved to destroy every speck of decency he saw in our lives.

The microwave beeps and I take out the steaming bowl of noodles and stir in the beefy flavor packet.

Since his death, three months ago, mama has been saying, "You can't blame your father, Taylor. It was the way his parents raised him. They all started drinking at an early age. Your father told me he started drinking at eight years old. That's when he had his first sip of moonshine. Jim was an alcoholic by the time he was a teenager and hid it so well. It's also why he only lived to be forty-two. I've never seen anybody so determined to drink himself to death."

Now, mama spends all of her time working second shift, and I barely see her. It's like she's hiding from me in a blanket of shame. Blaming herself for thinking she could change him.

My beef noodles got cold as I sat there alone in the kitchen thinking about the disaster that is my life. I say to myself. "I'm glad he's dead, and hope he rots in continual pain. I've seen him torture mama, too many times."

The evil memories fill my mind again. Dad once put a gun to mama's head and threatened to pull the trigger over some scrambled eggs. For some reason, he needed to slap mama around about every third day. Mama stood there and took it. I think she was afraid he'd start on me if she didn't. I wanted to kill him so many times. That hatred for him still thrives inside of me!

I better get started on my homework and throw the cold noodles away.

With all my books scattered on the coffee table, I turn on Sportscenter and lean back on the couch. My eyes are so heavy. It's been so hard to sleep at night. I smile at the Corona commercial then drift away.

That's when I hear a voice beside me, saying, "Taylor, a friend is here."

My eyes creep open, and I see a man sitting beside me. He looks like a hippie with long dark hair, a full beard, and dressed in a white robe. Something inside of me happens when I look into his blue eyes. "Who are you?"

"My name doesn't matter. What matters is your future."

"Right now, I don't see a future for me."

"That's why I'm here, son. To tell you of the plans I have for your future. A plan to prosper you and your mother. All you have to do is believe in me, and you'll have hope for tomorrow."

"How can you give me hope for tomorrow?"

"By getting that hate out of your soul. You are so full of bitterness, and that will make you a captive of sin."

"I'm not a captive to sin!"

"Hating someone is a sin. I don't want to see you filled with hate, and never enjoying a moment of your life."

"Do you know what I've been through?"

"Yes, I know what your father did to this family. He was so tragically lost. Taylor, you only know what he did in this house. I've kept so much from you. I want you to understand something. Alcoholism and bitterness, they're a curse to everyone it touches. The scars they leave behind are hidden but powerful. Bitterness is a deadly vine that will choke you to death, but I want to give you a rich life, full of joy."

"I don't understand. How can you give me a life of joy?"

"It starts with a simple prayer and giving me your pain. You are crucial to the Father and Me. We don't want to lose you. Every life counts."

"I've never prayed before. It wasn't at the top of our family's to-do list."

"It's easy, and I'll show you how. Give me your hands, please."

I slowly put my hands in his, and there's a warm feeling beginning to flow through my body. A love I can't describe.

"Repeat after me. Dear Heavenly Father. I thank You for sending Your Son to save me."

"Dear Heavenly Father. I thank You for sending Your Son to save me."

"I give You my hatred and bitterness towards my father. In Jesus` name. Amen."

"I give You my hatred and bitterness towards my father. In Jesus` name. Amen." My body feels lighter. A tremendous weight disappears off my shoulders. The pain is gone.

"Please, tell your mother that you forgive her. She carries twice the burden you did, and desperately needs your forgiveness and love."

"I will. You never told me Your name."

"Some people call me the King of Kings, the Lilly of the Valley, but I want you to call me your friend. My name is Jesus. Your mother is coming home to check on you, remember what I said."

"Okay."

My eyes flutter when I hear the door open. I must have been dreaming, but it was too vivid to be a dream.

Mama hollers, "Taylor."

"In here, mama." She comes into the living room, and I see what Jesus was saying. The pain is etched deeply on her face, her eyes are full of tears, but she won't look directly at me. My hatred kept me from seeing her agony.

"I came home to get my jacket, Taylor. It will be chilly when I get off work tonight. Wake me before you go to school, son."

"Mama, please sit down. I have to tell you something."

With great concern on her face, she sits down beside me. "What's a matter, Taylor?"

"Nothing mama, I want you to know that I forgive you for everything that happened - even though it wasn't your fault. I love you, mama, with all of my heart."

For the first time since dad's death, mama looks me in the eye.

"Oh, Taylor. I love you, too." She pulls me into her arms, and we both begin to weep. Letting all of that pain go.

I don't see, Jesus, but I feel his arms around us.