Grief buried him. Faith might save him.
When Michael Judsonâs younger brother dies in a freak shooting, everything unravelsâfaith, family, and his fragile sense of who he thought he was. What began as a normal afternoon turned into a nightmare, and now Michael stares into the eyes of a brother he couldnât save⌠and wonders if he was the one who pulled the trigger.
His Eyes is a powerful coming-of-age novel that explores the weight of guilt, the ache of grief, and the flickering light of hope. As Michael struggles through bullying, a mother slipping into drug abuse, and an estranged father who reopens old wounds, itâs an unlikely groupâhomeless wanderers, small-town believers, and one steadfast neighborâwho show him where to find comfort in the chaos.
This deeply moving story captures what it means to question everything youâve believed. Honest, heart-wrenching, and ultimately redemptive, His Eyes is for anyone whoâs ever cried out âwhy?â and waited in the silence for an answer.
Let Michaelâs story change yours.
Grief buried him. Faith might save him.
When Michael Judsonâs younger brother dies in a freak shooting, everything unravelsâfaith, family, and his fragile sense of who he thought he was. What began as a normal afternoon turned into a nightmare, and now Michael stares into the eyes of a brother he couldnât save⌠and wonders if he was the one who pulled the trigger.
His Eyes is a powerful coming-of-age novel that explores the weight of guilt, the ache of grief, and the flickering light of hope. As Michael struggles through bullying, a mother slipping into drug abuse, and an estranged father who reopens old wounds, itâs an unlikely groupâhomeless wanderers, small-town believers, and one steadfast neighborâwho show him where to find comfort in the chaos.
This deeply moving story captures what it means to question everything youâve believed. Honest, heart-wrenching, and ultimately redemptive, His Eyes is for anyone whoâs ever cried out âwhy?â and waited in the silence for an answer.
Let Michaelâs story change yours.
On the day of the snake in 1997, someone shot my little brother in the chest.
I remember his eyes. He looked up at me from the ground, and my heart broke. I expected to see fear, anger, or betrayal. But I only saw love. I canât explain. And I wonât try.
Yes, the sheriff ruled the shooting an accident. And yes, it happened a long time agoâover twenty-five years ago, to be exact.
In that moment, though, no one could determine who pulled the trigger. That didnât seem to matter then. While he lay there, only one thing matteredâthe look we held between us. A look I still see when I close my eyes.
During the following weeks, that day haunted us all, tested my limits, and pushed my mother into a downward spiral. The accident also forged treasured lifelong relationships.
Of course, I couldnât appreciate those as a sixteen-year-old kid, growing up alongside my twelve-year-old brother, Jacob. Now Iâm . . . well, letâs just say Iâm much older. And not a day goes by that I donât think how that gunshot changed all our lives.
These days folks call me MikeâMike Judson. But in my heart, I still hear voices from long ago calling me Michael. Deep down inside, tenth-grade Michael still stands in my front yard holding a hot gun, wondering what happened. After all these years, I can finally tell the story of the weeks surrounding the accident. My life would never be the same.
When my mother died last year, a discovery shook me to my core. She kept a journal during the weeks following the accident. The old leather journal stayed hidden in the same bedside table drawer that I retrieved the gun from. Iâve included her journal entries within my story to help you understand her struggle.
I often recall the day of the snakeâSaturday, April 12, 1997. That day remains etched in my memory in high definition.
Easter came early that year and brought warm weather. After months of winter in our new town, we couldnât wait to be outside in the sunshine.
We played our weekly baseball game in the cul-de-sac. I pitched to Jacob, my sixth-grade brother. A middle schoolerâneed I say more? My best friend, Lucas, played catcher. If we hit the ball carefully up the hill, it rolled right back down the street to us. Mr. Charlie, our retired next-door neighbor, puttered around in his front yard and poked fun when we swung and missed. Mom kneeled in the pine straw and planted spring flowers on the berm between our yards.
Then Mom screamed.
We dropped our bat and gloves when she leaped to her feet. My heart rate accelerated to warp speed. Mom pointed toward the magnolia tree in the middle of the berm. Her other hand half-covered her face.
She screamed again, took a step toward the tree, then cowered backward two steps, waving her hands in fear. âThereâs a snake on the tree. The thing is huge. It might be poisonous.â
A few feet from Mom, the reptile had slinked from beneath the pine straw and glided up the magnolia. It slithered toward the bird nest we discovered the week before, ten feet up the tree.
Jacob and I sprinted to Mom, with Lucas right behind. Mr. Charlie trotted into his garage, hurried out carrying a rake, and hustled to the tree. We stopped alongside Mom and stared at the light gray snake with dark blotches along its body.
Mr. Charlie whistled and used the rake to point. âThatâs a rat snake right there. Heâs not poisonous. Heâs trying to get a hold of those robin eggs.â Charlie ducked when a bird swooped close to his head. He chuckled. âThat mama bird is not happy. Watch what she does.â
The mama bird screeched and dove to fend off the snake. Undeterred, the snake continued tracking its prey.
Lucasâs eyes grew big as those bird eggs. He shuddered. âYep, thatâs a rat snake. Iâve seen âem on our farm. They come after my chicken eggs. That one there is the biggest Iâve ever seen.â
âWow,â Jacob said, âthat snake is scary big, longer than me. That bad boyâs gotta be over five feet long.â He glanced at me with a horrified look.
I held out my hand palm down and motioned for him not to worry. But worry overcame me too.
Mom hated snakes more than she loved birds. And boy, did she love birds. She thrust both hands toward Mr. Charlie and pleaded, âQuick, knock it down with your rake before it gets to the eggs. When itâs on the ground, weâll stomp it to death.â
Charlie arched a brow, sighed, and stepped up to the tree. He crouched in attack mode and held the rake like a weapon. His hands shook.
Mom stepped behind him to shield herself.
I had a better idea. I mean, I was the big brother and the man of the house since Mom and Dad divorced. Mom depended on me to protect her and guard our home. And I wanted to save Jacob from having snake nightmares.
I whispered to Lucas and Jacob, âCome on,â then turned to Mom and stuck out my chest. âItâs okay. Weâre gonna get that snake.â I ran toward the house with the other two following close.
âMichael, where are you going?â Mom shouted. âI need your help. Get back out here right now.â
Mr. Charlie pulled the rake down and yelled at our backs, âYou boys afraid of a little old rat snake?â
But we were gone. I ran straight into the house to Momâs bedside table and opened the drawer. Pushing tubes of facial cream, old keychains, and a box of tissues out of the way, I saw the glint of steel in the back corner.
I grabbed her .22 Magnum revolver and shielded it from Jacob and Lucasâs view, then turned it over in my hand. Dad always said, âDonât pick up a gun unless you intend to use it.â I hesitated a split second and held out the gun like a prize trophy.
Lucas and Jacob caught their breath and looked at each other. Their mouths hung open in awe, impressed. That made me proud.
I fished around until we found the box of bullets hidden in an old sock. We grinned at each other and raced back to the tree. I felt like a superhero. âHere you go, Mom.â I held out the gun. âShoot that nasty snake.â
She gasped. âYouâre not supposed to know where I hide my gun. What in the world are you thinking?â She stepped back, shaking her head.
âCome on, Mom.â I raised my voice above the screeches of the mama bird. âYouâre not gonna let that evil snake eat your birds, are you?â
She stared at the pistolâher mouth turned down in thought. The concern on her face melted into resolve when she looked back at me. âOkay, youâre right. Give me the gun.â Mom took it and gulped. I handed her a bullet. With shaking hands, she flipped open the cylinder and shoved bullets into the chambers one by one.
A bullet slipped through her nervous hands, and I bent to find it in the straw. She checked the snakeâs progress. âJust leave the bullet there. Give me another one.â We finished loading the gun.
Shaking his bald head, Mr. Charlie stepped toward Mom, his face lined with concern. âNow, Susan, donât you think the gun might be overkill? Snakes eat bird eggs . . . this is how nature works. Maybe we should just walk away.â
Mom would not take her eyes off the snake. âNot on my watch. Not if I can save my birds. Rake that snake down into the pine straw so I can shoot him.â She flashed Mr. Charlie an impatient look. âPlease?â
He sighed. âOkay, but that snakeâs going to be a moving target. And when it hits the ground, it might come at us. I hope you can handle that gun.â
Jacob glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged and turned my attention back to the snake.
It slithered to within inches of the nest. Mr. Charlie raised the rake, took a deep breath, and jabbed at the snake. It clung to the tree and hissed. He tried again with the same result. On the third jab, he dislodged it from the tree. The huge rat snake tumbled, twisting in slow motion. All five of us sprang backward at the same time.
The snake hit the pine straw and headed straight for Jacob. He squealed with fear. Mom stepped forward and pointed the gun an inch above the menacing snake head. She fired twice in rapid succession.
The sharp sound of the gun startled me.
The snake lay in the pine straw under the tree. Momâs point-blank shot had pierced his head.
We all cheered. Mom flashed a look of satisfaction, and I smiled.
Then the snake writhed, its body convulsing in a seizure.
Jacob pointed, screaming, âHeâs still alive! Give me the gun. Give me the gun.â He lunged for the pistol.
Mom jerked the gun away. âNo, Jacob. Let go.â They struggled for control in a desperate tug-o-war.
Jacob shouted again, âBut the snakeâs still alive!â
I jumped in and clutched the gun too. âStop it, Jacob.â
The three of us yanked back and forth.
Mom screeched, âStop, youâre gonnaââ
The blast from the gun stunned us. We stopped tussling.
I stared at the gun in our hands. Jacobâs hands fell away. Momâs hands flew up to cover her mouth. I still held the gun by the barrel.
The heat from the gunshot stung my hands. I gasped and tossed the gun into the flowers Mom had just planted. My hands felt dirty. I wiped them on my jeans.
Mr. Charlie turned away and muttered, âOh God.â
Lucas whispered, âYou shot Jacob.â
Mom shrieked, âJacob! No!â
Thatâs when I saw the wound in his chest.
He trembled. His body sagged, crumpled, and fell. Blood trickled from his mouth, along with a whimper.
But his eyes. They looked straight into my soul.
I really enjoyed Mark Powers' novel which is an uplifting tale to guide and reassure those readers who, having experienced a tragedy of their own, may need to have their faith bolstered and re-centred. But if you're not of a religious bent, don't be put off by its references to God as Powers' mentions of faith are gentle and part of the story. This is not a didactic story, preaching at you - this is a tale of people, doing right by others and looking out for those in need, using the strength that they receive from God's word to act as a spur.
The book concerns itself with Michael and his mum and their survival of the shooting of Jacob, Michael's younger brother. It is a tragic accident but the ramifications of Jacob's loss run deep and both Michael and his mum are, quite rightly, shaken by what happens.
The story is told from Michael's viewpoint in the main although diary extracts written by Mum are interspersed throughout and show her struggle more poignantly, as she tries desperately to come to terms with her loss.
Michael is a character of strength who, despite his part in the accident, the fact her's being bullied at school and his constant worrying about his mum, shows himself to be a boy growing into a man, his circumstances requiring him to be mature and the crutch that his mother needs to survive.
God's light and the message that "You're never alone" is the backbone of the book, which provides comfort to Michael as he comes to terms with where his life has taken him. But more than that, it is not the love of God that is overtly pushed onto you in this book; it is how His love is shown through the goodness of heart in everyday folk. This is shown most prominently in the interlude that Michael and his friend, Lucas have with an homeless man called Strike.
This story was a real heart-warmer with good core values accentuated at the centre of it, which in the times that we are currently living in, acts as a modern parable of how humans should treat each other - with compassion and understanding and faith as a salve, not a weapon.
A good read.