Austin, the son of dear friends of mine, died in 2002 at the age of 5 years old. I could not wrap my mind around the death. I love the parents dearly and I was speechless. Being 14 hours away and not learning of the death for some time after, I was just heartbroken.
Having moved back to the area, I returned to the pond where he drowned about 8 years later for another death of sorts. I was there to take part in my sister in law's baptism. My brother was reaffriming his faith, my sister in law turning to the faith. They were displaying to the world that they were dying to something old and raising to something new. It was a rare and wonderful blessing.
As the crowd gathered near the end of the day, everyone started grabbing folding chairs, leftover dishes and belongings and heading up the hill. It was getting dark.
Lights flashed madly in front of him. In the mental haze Jared drank himself into, he couldn't tell what kind of lights they were. It was only after hearing a horn that he realized he was heading directly at another car.
Some part of his mind, unfortunately none having to do with reflexes, sharpened to a blitz of color, sounds and images. This scene was almost identical to one two years earlier when he took off with his two year old son Daniel. He saw everything speed through in a slideshow of horrific memories. The WRONG WAY sign that he never paid attention to that night always seem to get bigger each time he remembered.
Jack heard the familiar clap of the mailbox lid on the front porch and walked, as he had for most of his life, to fetch the mail. “Going to get the mail honey” he called out to Eleanor, who always smiled and started the coffee. The usual array of junk mail was missing, but instead, there was a parchment envelope. Jack studied the envelope as he cautiously stepped back in.
“Anyone getting married that you know of?"
“No, I don’t think so.” Eleanor poured a second cup and started to the living room. “Why do you ask?”
“Kind of a fancy envelope here. “ Jack studied it, and found only a street number for a return address.
“1P58? Mean anything to you dear?”
“Why no, that doesn’t make any sense at all.” Eleanor continued to stir her husband’s coffee as she sat it on the coffee table in front of him.
The Glendale Bank and Trust had survived by a thread, as had Glendale itself. The residents knew they were living on borrowed time as the town evaporated before their eyes. Harold Archer tried his best to maintain a spirit of hope, and the residents all admired his staying power. He rallied the citizens to save the bank 5 years prior, and had since become the vice president of the bank. He was a stalwart in the community, and a great friend to everyone at the bank.
“Welcome to Mercy.” The dusty straggler looked up at the swaying sign of welcome with a chuckle and a squinty-eyed smile. Along the wall to the right of the town entrance-way was a massive wooden billboard dotted with countless wanted posters. Some vile looking people adorned that wall. In fact, with a second glance, the newcomer saw his own face in the group.
Dianne Lambert was awkward but likable. She didn't care much for small talk, which made relationships hard to come by. She felt alone, but not unliked. As the yearbook editor at Palomino High School, she had a lot of acquaintances. She now stood alone by the punch table at the last dance of her senior year. She enjoyed the poeple greeting her, but also the comfort of obvious social insulation.
Henry Harrison has fallen again. Fortunately it wasn't like his first fall that shattered his hip and ended him on the road toward nursing care. He had weathered that battle well. This time was different. As he sat on the edge of his bed with nothing particularly interesting to daydream about, a woman walked past his room and glanced in with a smile. She was older, near about Henry's age he supposed. It was not uncommon for people to walk past, but not like this. Henry was smitten.
On my way home, I was standing in the Cincinnati airport waiting for a short flight to Louisville. As I turned in the almost empty terminal, I was face to face with a man who was all too familiar. Standing a few feet away was Paul Patton, who was at the time the Governor of Kentucky. I recognized so easily because he always reminded me of the actor from the denture grip commercial years before.
I took a step and reached my hand out and smiled. "Governor Patton?" He smiled his trademark warm smile and then extended his hand. I continued "An honor to meet you sir."
(This is a true story but I have changed a name only to protect a person who deserves every ounce of our grace she can get.)
It was a beautiful day for rafting, and as I stood on the bank of the river, I checked my video equipment. I had traveled several hours into North Carolina from Columbia, SC. I was creating a video for Crossover Communications, headed up by my friend and former professor Bill Jones.
It was a Thursday and everything about my life had been turned on end. I was carrying burdens that few knew about, trying to be a youth and creative pastor and just physically exhausted. I decided on that afternoon to take a random trip to Virginia Beach. It was off-season and I simply wanted to be alone and watch the sunrise. I snagged a sensational deal on an oceanside room for $29. On the way, I prayed, listened to music and cleared my head.
to Katie, my great Niece who inspired the story.
Norm woke up in a room that was unfamiliar. Even his hands seemed strange. There were tubes and tape all over them. Norm wasn't well, but he felt just fine.
Norm could not remember anything except what he just woke up to see. He did not remember his name, where he lived, or even the name for a bed, which is where he found himself.
Diversity tours started with a single vision, to help people from all walks of life find common ground. There were three levels, a day trip for sightseeing, a sailing trip that required working together and finally, a somewhat dangerous rock climbing trip. Today, the trek was up the rock face and, if the crew was doing well enough, into the snowcapped mountain towering above Devil's Pass.
The warm sun cast long shadows of the small crowd around the magicians street table. To a street performer, this was the stage lights and the most magnificent hour to perform. John lifted the cards to the half-interested crowd. I always loved the difference of 2 minutes in the show on the faces of those gathered. The initial expressions on people were similar to someone listening to a vacuum cleaner salesman. The faces changed quickly to smiles, wide eyes, and hands over mouths.
Blood, flashing red lights, twisted metal, and ashen-faced images. Life has taken a tragic turn. The family scrapes for the energy to prepare for the inexplicable. The funeral director is called and begins his routine checklist of preparations. The pastor begins searching within himself, beyond his own questions, to find a reason why. It doesn't have to be THE reason, just A reason that might quench the doubts of the gathered souls. Then, he can at least say "Maybe God took your son to reach more people with His love." All the while,he is trying to hide his own deep longing for answers.
Clouds rolled overhead with bursts of rain. Jack rolled out of bed as he had countless other mornings, with a bounce off the wall, a stretch, and a rub of his eyes. He had no clue THIS was the day. His routine kept sternly in place, he showered, read the newspaper, and then walked to the porch. Always the same, lookig to his left, waving at the neighbor kids at the bus stop, then down the steps for a three block walk to work.
A strange thing happened as the sun broke through the clouds that day. On the porch where Mrs. Reynolds stood with the support of her walker every day to smoke her cigarette, there was a perfect ray of light that hit the screen door right behind her. It reflected off the puddle of water from the shower earlier and met a beam of light seeming to come straight down to the ground. In his heart, Jack felt this was a sign, yet in his mind, he tried to reason it away.
All written works on this site are copyright Jimmy Sadler.