the family reunion

Family Reunion
by collette mcfarland
07/14/06
For Sale

Family reunion

 I sat behind him holding on for dear life. The wind blowing in our faces splattering our masks with bugs. The ride has been hard and arduous. Sitting on a motorcycle for days is anything but delightful for me right now. I used to

enjoy it but my recent weight gain, centrally located,  has made it uncomfortable.

 We are on our way to meet Joe's family at a reunion in a little farming town in the heart of Arkansas. The

first since our marriage. I've not met most of his relatives and the one's I do know are not singing my praises. They cautioned Joe to reconsider marrying me.  I'm too young to be faithful, having gotten myself in the family way, and by their theory, not by Joe. I have excess baggage, I have mental disorders, illusions of grandeur.  You name it, they've said it. No one in the band is on my side. My Joe though thinks I’m worth the trouble. He's heard the same voices as me, seen the same visions of the future that I’ve had.

 “We’re almost there, “Joe assured me, patting my hands that were wrapped around his waist. 

 I can't wait to see his ancestral home as it has been in his family for centuries. His relatives have had numerous difficulties keeping hold of the home since farming has suffered over the years with droughts and other various problems. 

The night was thick around us, our lone headlight lighting the way along the narrow back roads, trees and open fields whizzing past. We swerved several times to avoid deer and stray cattle that stepped out from the darkness. I was pretty sure we'd survive the trip whole as the lord of the universe was with us.

 Joe asked me once if I wanted to stop for the night and continue on the next day but I knew he was anxious about getting me to a soft bed. I didn't want to add to his worries about me. I promised him I'd be okay. Even I can tell lies.

Every muscle in my frame hurt, my head ached, and I was chilled despite the leather jacket Joe loaned me. He will be a fantastic husband and father some day. I laid my head on his shoulder, grateful he was in this with me. God found

the perfect husband for me.

 Joe nudged me, I don't know how but I must have dozed off? Up ahead were some wooden structures that had the glorious appearance of a farming residence! We ere here. Happy anticipation and ugly dread welled up in me simultaneously. I was looking forward to a hot shower and a goose down filled mattress. But I

surely wasn't looking forward to the freezing stares and back biting that would surface in the family. Joe had offered to come alone but we both knew we'd be running for our entire lives so we decided to face the jury early, together and

unified. Family support should be expected, not begged for. My parents have disowned me saying I disgraced them, They had reasoned with me and Joe when we announced our intentions to marry someday, promising an elaborate wedding if we waited three years till I was eighteen but instead we eloped, giving an illogical explanation. 

 Now they abhorred Joe for sweeping me off so secretively, where once they had admired and respected his integrity, even though they thought he was way to old for me at thirty. My friend's parents restricted them from associating with

me. I wasn't a nice girl anymore. Being an honor student and god fearing girl once, at the synagogue as often as the doors opened, I had now slipped into immorality. I was an outcast to everyone I knew. I had only one cousin that

believed the story of my pregnancy. One cousin out of dozens wasn’t saying much, and this one was

something of a clairvoyant;  my family thought her incredibly unreliable since she was up in years and dealing with a husband who’d recently lost his voice about the time she became pregnant herself, as much to her shock as the community’s . So Joe and I had to start out married life under the burden of heavy disapproval and would probably have  to do a lot of unwanted traveling to protect our secret. 

 Joe parked in the driveway and helped me off the rear. Lights were on in the house but no cars were outside. It looked deserted. Joe went to the door, discovered it was locked, and found the note. Everyone had gone down the

road to his uncle’s, he was  invited to join them and he could bring "that woman" with him. Me, that woman.   His gaze swept over me measuring my exhaustion and he opted to stay here till they returned, we had ridden enough for now. 

  "Let's go in the barn and rest." he suggested, getting our gear out of the storage unit. I followed him on heavily swollen ankles, my body feeling restless.

 In the barn, lying on a mattress of straw, I became alarmed. I was in pain so severe I can't describe it. All my muscles bunched up and tried to squeeze the life from me, literally. Joe's eyes widened in trepidation.  

"I'm going for help!" he stated. 

 "No, don't leave, I'm scared!" I yelled, grabbing his arm, breaking skin with my nails.  

 It was too early for this. My doctor advised against this trip warning that I had two more weeks to count down if I was careful. I never knew such pain was possible, I had conned myself into thinking I would be spared

this misery, that giving birth would be as heavenly as the conception. I was convinced Joe was going to faint but something got into him and he took over the situation, fully in control.

 He laid some horse blankets down on the hay and eased me onto them. My construction worker husband, never exposed to human child birth in his life, acted experienced as he helped deliver our baby. "A boy", Joe confirmed, though

we already knew that, even without sonograms. A son all covered in blood an goop. He didn’t look a thing like I expected. His face all red and scrunched up with crying. If this was considered a miracle he looked like a mess to me.

He even peed on me as he lay on my abdomen where Joe placed him before he   severed the umbilical cord. Joe must have done some heavy reading of first aide material! Or being raised by farmers had served a good purpose. Our baby would be told repeatedly that he had been born on the same family land as had generations before him. Finally something positive to say to him as he grew up. Hopefully it would improve the reputation of Arkansas, not much good has ever

come out of this state. We weren't big fans of Clinton. Sorry. I was criticized but he avoided impeachment, give me a break! 

 I lay there in the straw and equine blankets, sweaty, bloody and depleted of all physical reserve. There was a explosion of lightning outside over the hills, or was it a falling meteorite? The lightning was followed by hundreds of

falling stars. Were the heavens collapsing? Would the fields burst into flame?  And then a choir broke into song somewhere in the distance. It sounded close and was comforting. I held my son close and marveling at him we fell asleep

together serenaded by the music.

Soon afterwards people started trickling home. I could hear slow footsteps approach the barn. Joe opened the door and saw his family shuffling about in the light that fell from the lantern he was holding. They looked oddly

uncomfortable, afraid to approach a relative they had known for years. Joe went out to explain to them what had taken place, but he was astonished to discover they already were informed of the event. They had received an announcement from an invisible choir. It shook them up so badly some of the group had wet spots on their overalls. They were real hesitant to admit they might have made a mistake about cutting me down. They were begging Joe for forgiveness and wanted a pledge we wouldn't call down a curse on their heads. My Joe, always the honorable man, informed them there was nothing to forgive and to not be ridiculous, he had gone through the same agonizing reflections as they had

months earlier and had time to come to terms with circumstances. He too, had had visitations from unseen sources, family insanity must be hereditary, he joked. They laughed nervously. 

  Everyone entered slowly and reverently, awestruck by the miracle of birth considering, as farmers, they were well saturated with the phenomenon. They wanted to get me on my feet and into a clean bed.  Joe's old eccentric, widowed Aunt Anna supported me, as his even older cousin Simeon, lifted the babe into his arms, proclaiming he was now ready for death,. Odd thing to say, I thought, while holding a newborn. 

 I could almost feel the warm shower I was about to receive and taste a hearty country meal melting in my mouth before I climbed under homemade quilts. All anxiety flowed out of me, I even forgot the pain I had just under gone. It’s a

wonder the human race has continued. If it had been up to me the world would be childless.  

 Crossing the driveway to the house I heard one of Joe's brothers comment on the sky. "Where did that star come from? I've never seen one so bright!"

math 1:18-2:12

luke 2:25-38

the tornado

Looking at the Weather Channel now I can’t believe how drastically things have changed! Just last week we were having a triple digit heat wave that lasted for forever (Okay, maybe just a few months). I’m sure it was God’s way of proving that our country was going to hell in a hand basket, therefore showing us what to expect when the hand basket finally landed in ….. that very hot place, I can’t say that word twice.


The Weather Channel, and so apparently was I, was following a string of colorful storms sweeping across the state, storms that carried hail, high winds and tornados. We had gone from one extreme to the other. We were either in danger of random fire outbreaks from dried out grass being ignited by a careless barbecue or cigarette butt, or having our homes carried to another state, or to the other side of the rainbow by twirling tunnels of angry 100 to 200 per mile winds. On the bright side, the rains were helping extinguish large areas of grass fires. On the bad side, lightening was starting more tree and house fires.


Watching the parade of storms I was in a state of hypnosis that was preventing me from continuing my house wide search for donate-able items for our church garage sale that was to benefit the needy, those that had lost homes from the recent fires. So far I had a neat pile of surplus blankets, cookware, clothes, towels and knick knacks.


My hypnotic trance was broken by my cell phone. It was my daughter Cindy who I had dropped off at a friend’s skating party earlier this morning. If I was to make and educated guess I’d say the party was breaking up due to bizarre and dangerous weather conditions. And I was right. Cindy was requesting permission to go home with a friend, a sixteen year old who had just gotten her driver’s license. And of course she didn’t know what my response would be, since I’d only told her a hundred times, I think it’s a scientific fact that unwanted information doesn’t reach the teen age brain in that low a frequency. There will be no riding with her girlfriends till they are all thirty years old and have a spotless driving history, then she has to get permission from her husband. Yes, I was serious about that! I might even include they must be parents themselves with children on board to worry about, making them even more cautious drivers.


I grabbed my car keys while instructing, in very clear, concise and clipped tones, for Cindy to stay put until I got there. Once I opened the front door I motioned for my best friend Scruffy to join me on my trip. Scruffy, a very cowardly little terrier that hated rain because it was dangerously close to bathing looked past me into the street where large amounts of fluid was pouring down from heaven. Turning his nose into the air he hopped on to the sofa and buried himself into the pillows. He wasn’t going anywhere….until a crack of thunder erupted and the lights went out, suddenly the thought of being in an empty unairconditioned, dark house had less allure. Scruffy was out of the door in Nano seconds before I could shut it and lock him in. I’ll deal with the power outage later; my first concern right now was Cindy.


Scruffy, in the back seat, had hit the power window button and starting barking erratically into the rain filled air. “Look, either you stay or you come with me, but leave the windows up!” I ordered with mild irritation.


Hearing a very loud crack of thunder I hit the gas pedal and took off. Had the County really been praying for rain just yesterday? All the evaporated pools and lakes were returning indiscriminately of where they had originated from, and with a vengeance. We all know what goes up, must come down. I glanced out the rear view mirror for what might be the last look of my house while Scruffy assumed his normal watch dog position; he was squeezed under the passenger seat where I could hear his relaxed breathing, it actually sounded twice as loud.


Along the way cars were pulling off the road or hiding under bridges. Not a great idea as bridges can collapse or become dangerous wind tunnels. Other people were seeking shelter in buildings or ditches, yet I fearlessly still had my foot to the gas pedal. Fools go where angels dare to dread. Up ahead where the water was door handle deep on the road was a line of cars, backed up and turning around. Cars further up were floating around, some still occupied. The sky was dark and treacherous looking.


A car with a big black man struggling out of his window came to rest next to me where the ditch had become a turbulent river. Our eyes met. Oh hell, I mean darn, I had to stop to render aide. What else can you do when eye contact is made? Note to self: never look people in the eye when the world is disintegrating around you.


With some effort while the car bobbed about as it was wedged between some bushes I managed to help the stranger disembark and get to dry ground, I mean get to the wet rain splashed pseudo safety of the slightly more elevated road. Lightning struck, thunder cracked and his car freed itself and floated a few more feet before sinking deeper in to the trench. Water washed over the hood then rose higher.


I was energetically thanked with extreme handshaking as the stranger explained he was trying to get to his baby boy who was home alone and petrified of thunderstorms, the concern he had for his son made him make a few miscalculations on the safety of trying to cross the newly forming river.


As he was thanking me profusely I noticed something no one wants to see. A whirling tunnel was descending from the dark sky behind him. Sirens started to blare, people started to scream and run for meager cover, others started to video the funnel with their cell phones. Idiots! I jumped into my car followed by the dark stranger. Who invited him in?


“God help us!” I wailed. There was nowhere to go. Ahead was blocked with jammed traffic (and the dark ugly funnel), behind was blocked with more cars, and sideways was flooded. I was doomed. This was it, the final page of my life. “Dear God, forgive me!” I cried earnestly hoping to be freed from any sin I might have committed unknowingly. Meanwhile Scruffy who had found his mettle had jumped up into Stranger’s lap and was licking his face and wagging his tail vivaciously. Dumb dog, he doesn’t know we’re goners, well what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…much.
The funnel approached at 200 miles per hour, wind howled while debris and hail smacked the car. Well, at least this time I won’t have to make out an insurance claim; there is a bright side to dying, I won’t be the one in charge of paperwork.


Up we went, spinning and flying, the tornado bringing us closer to heaven. I could almost see Jesus now, in the clouds he promised he’d return in! I was amazed I saw anything at all since my eyes were squeezed closed and my hands were gripping the steering wheel as though I could control our destination, hope lives on. I could hear Scruffy barking joyfully. What a weird little dog, terrified of being in an empty house but enjoying the heck out of our ride to death… er..eternal life.


Something furry ran across my lap onto my shoulder and leaped towards Stranger and Scruffy, not wanting to know what it was but presuming it was angels’ wings I kept my eyes closed.


There was a sudden jolt, then silence (would you experience a jolt landing on a heavenly cloud?) My eyes were still closed; hands were still gripping the steering wheel. Wasn’t there supposed to be music? A bright light? The sound of Munchkins singing “The Wicked Witch is Dead”?


But instead I heard, “Is this a squirrel?” What a mood breaker. Never mind thanking God we were still alive Stranger was more impressed with the unexpected presence of a squirrel.


Slowly opening my eyes I discovered we were still on terra firma, not celestial clouds, and Stranger was enjoying the tongue licking of Scruffy and Rocky.(Sorry, you must read the story “How Squirrelly” to learn how Rocky and Scruffy met!) How did he get here? Oh my gosh, that is why Scruffy opened the window, he let Rocky in the car when we left home, and now both naturally timid and suspicious natured animals were frolicking all over Stranger like lost friends reunited!


“That’s Scruffy’s pet,” I responded which caused Rocky to chatter loudly. “I’m sorry, I mean he’s Scruffy’s friend.” I amended apologetically, gently shaking my head and testing my arms and legs while wondering if I was in shock since I was making polite introductions after being transported by a tornado. If I wasn’t in shock, I should be. Rocky was so sensitive, Scruffy knew he was a pet and it didn’t bother him at all, he still treated the rest of us mere mortals like his equals.


The next thing I noticed was we were in a field miles from where we had started this road…air…trip and I didn’t recognize anything, not one wind modified weed, tree, bush, or the bull staring at us while continuing to chew on his hay, (he must be used to cars landing in his field), but Stranger did appreciate our location. ”Hey, this is close to my home, thanks for the ride.” He said just as my cell phone broke the minimally shared captivation of the near death experience.


It was my daughter, Cindy, informing me she was hitching a ride with some guy to his house right before the call was dropped therefore she didn’t hear me yell to not get in any car with a strange boy. The call may have gone dead but she was still able to text an address. I was unable after several attempts to renew contact with her by phone.


“Hey, your daughter will be alright, and so will my baby boy” Stranger assured me placing a black hand on my white one.


I started the engine and headed out of the field to the road listening to Stranger’s directions to his house that was situated in a dubious neighborhood while inwardly fuming with my daughter’s possible lethal decision.


I let Stranger out in his motorcycle occupied driveway after prying Scruffy and Rocky off him (it sure was odd how they had taken to him). Then I backed out onto the street and inserted the address Cindy texted me into my GPS which immediately began messing up. It has always been unreliable and it was staying true to form. It kept saying, “Your destination is on your right.” I cruised the car a few shabby houses up to the corner street signs and strangely enough, my GPS was right! Looking backwards I saw Stranger’s front door open and he came running out, waving me down. You’ve got to be kidding; my daughter must be in his house! And to proof it Stranger’s baby boy, all six feet four and 250 pounds of him came out on the porch next followed by my diminutive light weight female offspring. Talk about coincidences. This was so surreal.


Finally rejoined with Cindy in the weather damaged car and heading home through various and odd streets I was able to light into my disobedient daughter, how many times had I told her not to get into cars with strangers. She started to explain how everyone had evacuated the skating rink when the news reached them of an approaching tornado and with bravado explained how she had not gotten into anyone’s car, Baby Boy had a motorcycle. Oh, I agreed that was different not! Then I was put on the witness stand by the junior prosecuting attorney in training about Stranger in my car. No need to explain the difference there, it was obviously because I was THE MOM, only I could break the rules I made.


We were now on the same road as the skating rink, only I didn’t see any building. I looked harder by squinting, (how does narrowing one’s eyes makes things larger?). Nope, still no building. I pulled into the parking space of an empty lot. The building that had been there this morning had vanished; nothing was left but the foundation. Cindy and I exchanged horrified looks. If Cindy had stayed, on my orders, she would be …..Oh, dreadful thought. Once again the silence was broken by a cell phone; Cindy’s. It was lying on the ground where she had gotten onto Baby Boy’s cycle and dropped it when he took off, seconds ahead of destruction, no wonder she didn't answer when I kept calling back. Seriously? A whole concrete building had been swept away but Cindy’s cell phone had remained where it had fallen, go figure!


The caller was Cindy's dad, my husband, checking on our safety since he'd been hearing the weather reports in his motel room where he was at on business. We assured him all was fine, no need to give him all the gory details just yet, like the fact we were both nearly killed, or more precisely, miraculously saved. Or that we would need to be talking to the car insurance people again after all. Paper work, yuk.


Back at home I saw the result of the crack of thunder that had bid us farewell hours earlier. Rocky's tree was lying across the back yard. It was now our prospective fire wood for the winter. Rocky exited the car and solemnly approached his home. If a squirrel could cry I'm sure that's what he was doing as he surveyed the damage. Scruffy placed a consoling paw on Rocky's shoulder, then he ran into the house and retrieved his old doggy bed from the church donation pile and laid it at Rocky's disposal, he even nudged Rocky into it to test it out. The thought suddenly occurred to me that Scruffy might have saved Rocky's life by inviting him on our excursion. What would our world be like without Rocky? I carried the doggy bed into the kitchen, Rocky could consider our home his, why not, he spent most of his time here anyway, chasing Scruffy in an out of the doggy door. Rocky looked up at me with eyes brimming with emotion and snuggled up with Scruffy, and yes, I still consider this an bizarre friendship.


Exhausted from our quiet uneventfull day together Cindy and I called it a night. The electricity had been restored while we were gone so I fell asleep watching a DVD, and old classic called the Wizard of Oz, what a fitting choice! Forget the news; I didn’t want to know any more about the weather.


The next morning I wandered into the kitchen for some good hot Java and Rocky met me at the table, I mean on the table, with an “I’m hungry, what’s for breakfast?” expression.


“Oh no little guy, I only promised you a roof over your head; you do your own grocery shopping.” I announced scooping him up and hugging him before tossing his furry squealing butt gingerly outdoors. I’m pretty sure the little hoarder had nuts all over the back yard.


A rumpled Cindy came down and turned on the TV before pouring herself some orange juice. The news broadcast was about a poverty stricken neighborhood that had been visited by a tornado last night. Stranger’s and Baby Boy’s neighborhood.
“Oh, mom, how sad, but they didn’t have much anyway. Their house was practically empty.” Cindy commented.


I frowned, sadly. “Hey, I have an idea…”


Not too long after my idea hit me we were in the car and on our way back to Stranger’s district. Thank heavens I had their address on my GPS.
As I passed the area where I met Stranger struggling in his car I narrated the story to Cindy.


“Shouldn’t his car still be here?” Cindy queried, scanning the spot I pointed out.
Hmmm. “Maybe they already came and got it,” I postulated, doubtful though, other cars that were more easily accessible now that the waters had receded were still trapped in their resting places.


In Stranger’s territory chaos reigned. Rubble was everywhere. Intact families (thank heavens I heard there had been no casualties) were staggering through the streets searching for salvageables. The Red Cross already had a station set up to care for newly dispossessed home owners and was providing food, medical attention and comfort. Police and utility companies were on hand to prevent looting and manmade disasters. Extended family and friends were showing up to offer support and relocate people to a safer location.


I got as close to Stranger’s house as possible and advisable only…there was no house. Oh no! I ejected myself from the car and scanned the vacant lot. There was even no foundation left …or ….no driveway?


Somebody walked by and I asked them about Stranger and his son.


“Lady, there was never a house there,” came the disheartened replied from a man who believed his immediate problems were bigger than my serious delusions.


I turned to face the caravan behind me, my church buddies and their donations of supplies and money. I felt ….crazy, which wasn’t hard to substantiate …but Cindy was my evidence. She could corroborate my story….or not. As it turned out every one had disembarked from their cars and were already rendering assistance and comfort. No need for me to make any explanations, I had described to them an opportunity to aid in an emergency and they had responded.


Meanwhile sitting weightlessly on top of the Red Cross’ temporary tent station sat several dozen battle weary denizens of heaven munching on donuts and drinking punch, and sharing war stores. They’d had a busy twenty four hours protecting their earthy assignments. Among the heavenly soldiers were Stranger and Baby Boy, in their true forms, the two guardian angels assigned to Cindy and her mom and who were fast and solid friends of Scruffy and Rocky. No wonder Scruffy’s and Rocky’s courage had come alive when stranger entered the car, they didn’t have to rely on faith, sight unseen like mere mortals do, they had known full well the car had just picked up a sure thing!

god is that real

GOD IS THAT REAL

Twenty five years ago on Christmas Eve 1986 my mother entered eternal life. That phrase is hard to conceive through anything but faith; faith and the subtle signs that surrounded that occassion.

One day as I was at what would shortly be her deathbed she, though she had a trach, (a tube inserted in her neck, below her chin) was able to convey to me that her father, dead since 1942, was in the corner of her ICU cubicle. I didn’t see him or feel his presence so I was certain she was hallucinating due to high levels of pain meds, what else would any reasonable person assume. (Yes, at times even I could be reasonable!)

Then, just a few short weeks later, after her funeral when we received her cremated earthly remains, a day before the new year of 1987, dad placed the box entitled Theresa Maria Pierce on his bedroom dresser. After he turned off the lights, tucked himself in to the bed he and mom had shared for thirty years and closed his eyes music filled the room. Dad had to hunt down the source of the music which was a new year’s card tucked under layers of bed sheets in the same dresser mom was resting in peace on top of! The card was years old and had apparently resided there since it had been received, quietly and unknown to dad. It was closed! Those cards only play when opened. Dad had to destroy the card to make it quit its serenade of “Have A Happy New Year”. “Have a happy New Year”, what a perfect song to play at the precise time. Could there be any room for a coincidence there? Someone, or something, was trying to communicate with Dad that everything was alright! That things were under control.

Well, needless to say those little events had an impact on me that I never got over. Never. They brought unquestionable reassurance to me that Mom was home, home with her family and the risen Lord. And that just possibly her father had come to reassure her that things would be alright while she lay dying, and to be her escort to heaven, just in case it’s possible to get lost heading straight up: Mom never could follow directions. (Don’t say it, I know I can’t follow directions either, obviously I come by it naturally).

It wasn’t long, in eternal terms, after mom left us that dad became sick…sicker. He had had heart issues for years, now at 66 he had head and cancer. After a lengthy surgery of 12 hours to remove most of his tongue and neck lymph nodes he entered twenty years of a foodless existence, nourished only by a feeding tube, never to taste his favorite dishes again forcing me to eat foods in his sight so he could live vicariously through me (sometimes this was done without much coaxing, really I should have fought harder!)

Now fast forward through twenty years of health issues for my dad. Congestive heart failure, feeding tube difficulties, broken hips, hands, shoulders, unexpected falls, depression, death of other family members, loss of friends and honored pets, COPD etc.…etc. I was at dad’s house constantly monitoring him for any setbacks that needed to be rewound and set forward. I was perpetually being praised for being such a devoted and loyal daughter continuously helping him to dodge the bullet but I always threw the credit back where it belonged; with God. I couldn’t keep him alive by myself! I couldn’t keep him alive at all, that wasn’t in my power.

My constant prayers over the years were; one, that he get back in church so he could receive communion again; two, that he live till the rapture, or; three, that if it wasn’t in the cards for him to live to the rapture for me to present when he died so I could see my mom come for him; and four, that he die peacefully, painlessly.

Two years ago, thanks to my son joining Dad’s old church, Dad started going to all the Friday night casual contemporary church services he felt up to attending. Taking into account dad never left the house after 5:30 if he could avoid it (even though he seldom went to bed before midnight) this appeared to be prayer number one getting its due consideration. Here he received communion by people who didn’t care he couldn’t swallow the body and blood of Christ (all he could do was touch the sacraments to his lips), worshipped regularly with his family and met the wonderful pastor who would perform his funeral service which was a considerable load off my mind. It was reassuring to know that his service would be performed by someone that actually knew him and not some random stranger.

Now we’re up to the emergency room where he arrived by ambulance after what appeared to be a stroke but turned out to be seizures precipitated by low sodium secondary to dehydration caused by a faulty feeding tube. His first concern is not that he gave me the scare of my live (again) but that he smelled something inexplicable to him. I asked what it smelled like and he told me “perfume”. That didn’t seem odd considering the bevy of young, gorgeous nurse/models gathered about him arranging tubes and lines necessary for medical care. However none of them fessed up to being scented by anything but soap, even the male nurses denied wearing after shave. I looked about the room for signs of something terrestrial; you know …pale wispy apparitions floating in the air or fluttering their wings. I saw, felt or smelled nothing. Dad’s next point of interest was the appearance of his dirty feet sticking out from the light sheet tossed over him. His feet were always dirty, he frequently reminded me of Pig Pen, the Charlie Brown character who had dirt hovering continuously over him. I washed his feet for him; as it turned out, for the last time. He needed to look presentable if mom was around, he shouldn’t feel ashamed of his feet, and he wanted to look his best for her after twenty five years of separation. I hoped this wasn’t prayer number three being answered. I preferred to believe it was just a comforting visit.

I went home that night bolstered by the doctor’s report that everything dad had was treatable; he just needed to be admitted so he could get stabilized, rehydrated. And why should I worry, mom was there to keep him company.

I called Dad’s nurses the next morning before my feet hit the floor. “Everything was fine”, they said. He had been up for some time talking to them and responding appropriately to whatever was going on. On the basis of this information I decided to go to Sunday school before heading to the hospital.

I arrived in the hospital parking lot in time to meet my kids leaving. They passed on the message that dad didn’t want his reading glasses or any of the books they had brought over for him because he wasn’t coming home to the house he shared with them again. Well, you can just imagine how many times I’ve fought that battle with Dad before, I could handle it again. Just let him divulge that information to me, I’d kick that damn old self-pity ass off of him one more time!

I was in his room for less than thirty minutes fluffing his pillows, opening the blinds, straightening his bedside table, chattering about nothing in particular waiting for him to discuss dying. He never brought the subject up. He did however ask for some ice water to rinse out his dry mouth which I handed him along with the requisite empty cup to spit in. He didn’t spit, nor did he sputter convulsively like he did when he accidently swallowed anything. What he did do was lay his head down on the pillow and close his eyes. I watched him fall asleep, slowly and peacefully. Painlessly. I watched his lips turn dusky, then blue. What prayer number was that?
Dad died on Sunday at 11:30. Sunday, the day Christians worship as the time Jesus rose from the dead was now the day my dad rose from his death bed. Every Sunday at 11:30 I’ll remember this moment.

Of course when the nurses discovered what was happening they rushed into the room calling all kinds of codes and I had to inform them that dad was a DNR. The words choked me because I wanted to bring him back to tell him one more time how much I loved him. One more time? I never told him. Not in words, and neither had he ever told me; not in words, he spoke with jewelry, my favorite language. I wanted to bring him back to see if he really meant that he wanted to die; I wanted to give him a chance to revoke his living will. But I didn’t because I was afraid he’d get mad at me for not following his directions.(I mentioned once I don’t follow directions well, didn’t ?)

I found myself on my knees holding his hands, calling out to him to come back. Crying. Sobbing. Did I say painlessly? Well it was painless for him. I had to make phone calls. Pass on information. I chose Facebook as a quick one size fits all solution. I could hear dad’s comments on that. He hated my cell phone and it’s intrusion into human lives, not to mention all the gadgets on it that had frequently diverted my attention from him.

I took his glasses and Lifeline necklace off, placing the necklace around my own neck where it would stay for a few weeks and waited hours for the funeral home to come for his body. This is the first trip in years that dad made without me or his walker.

I finally, miraculously, made it safely home to his house to greet the minister who came to pay his condolences. Then there was the gathering of mementos I wanted before they got lost in the shuffle, his bible and current guidepost devotional, a pair of praying hands he had made in crafts class, together with a prayer bracelet, some devotional books and war souvenirs…er …metals.

The next morning my daughter in law called to tell me her daily quiet time had been about the good and faithful servant and that she was certain that God’s first words to dad when he arrived at the Throne of Grace were, “Well done my good and faithful servant,” because of all he had done for her, the rest of his family and friends and all the charities he had sponsored. I liked that sentiment so much I included it in Dad’s obituary along with some sentiments my sister in law had made about dad being a trooper and always in good spirits regardless of his health issues.

Then there were the pictures I found of dad I had taken at the Christian arts museum in front of a life size replication of the Lord’s last supper. There dad stood with his walker, right in front of Jesus and his disciples as they ate, looking like he was at the actual event. I placed that picture in my kitchen table’s center piece to help remind me that Dad was now in a better place. (By the way, that expression doesn’t always bring the comfort it’s intended to bring.) I posted the picture in Facebook with the subtitle, “Attention, this just in, Dad’s eating at a banquet in heaven.” Another Facebook encounter that would have made dad grimace!

The next four days to his funeral were muddled. Talk about taking one day at a time, I had difficulties taking one second at a time. It’s hard to feel and act brave when you just want to crawl in a hole and cry till you make a pond big enough to drown in. The only way I could get to sleep at night was by reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over and ……zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,

On the morning of Dad’s funeral, looking for some serenity, I reached for his Senior’s Devotional Bible that was still sitting on my end table. Not knowing where I wanted to go I let the book fall open on its own. Now hold on to your rose colored glasses, the passage that greeted me was entitled, “Well Done, Faithful Servant!” Right there on page 1196 in large hard to miss red letters. Yep, the same theme my daughter in law inspired for his obituary. I was being spoken to by God himself. I was being compelled to accept that dad had run a good long fight and now it was his turn to enjoy life; real life, life that included eating (again after twenty years of abstinence ) at the King’s table.

A few days later, while I was still mourning the loss of my dear old dad, one of his Navy buddies called and related a war story about him during WW11. Apparently dad, at the age of nineteen or so, and another comrade were in the ship hold of LST-999 moving some ammunition around when an enormous garbage pail sized bomb went off in their faces blowing them across the room (or whatever the bottom compartment of a large LST is referred to as). He and that other man should have been killed per the opinion of dad’s buddy but both survived and spent only a week on a hospital ship before returning to their duties. Dad’s live could have ended before it had begun, he could have been just another war casuality! I could have been born to someone else and never known my dad. That notion reminded me of the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life,” where Jimmy Stewart played George Bailey, a man given a chance to see how life would have been different without him. God had given dad and extra sixty five or so years to become a Faithful Servant and improve the lives of many people.

So let’s recap. Dad could have left this earth sixty five years ago, and I’d never have known him, and of my four prayers, three were answered. Now, wait a minute, prayers two and three were either/or prepositions so really they were all answered! When I related this story complete with all its little coincidences to a friend at work his gloriously enthusiastic response was, “Wow, God is that real!” How right he was. I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to Dad’s live. Oh wait, I did!


Oh, ready for one more fluke? Dad’s cremated remains rest above the remains of …hold on to your chair…a George Bailey! What a way to confirm to my distressed soul that dad has entered a new wonderful life! How many happenstances does it take to convince people that God is that real!

SCRUFFY TO THE RESCUE

SCRUFFY TO THE RESCUE

I watched in horror. I knew what was coming but there was no reasonably human way I could prevent what was certain to be a severe tragedy. Jenny, the little girl who had moved in across the street (with her overly protective and antisocial mother) a few weeks ago, was running towards said street after her errant kitten and it was obvious she wasn't going to stop and look both ways! I was frozen, unable to turn my eyes from the oncoming car whose unsuspecting driver was about to face a lifetime of regrets. The driver couldn't possible see little Jenny through the cars parked on the curb and there was no way I could warn her even though I flailed my arms at her through my second story window! Now if she were a good driver she’d be looking at the street and not at my second story window.

Suddenly I saw a blur of white race from my front yard. The white blur "flew" across the street towards the wayward kitten, grabbed it by its collar then (with deliberate attempt to rescue) collided into Jenny knocking her off her feet onto her... sit down area, just in time for the car to careen past, nearly slamming into the refrigerator on Mr. Lacky's drive way, pull out of a tailspin and brake. Cindy, my daughter, loped across our front lawn as the lady driver jumped out of her car and they both reached the stunned and crying Jenny at the same time as her mother.
Mother, unaware of Jenny's near fatal accident, but completely aware that our dog Scruffy, the white blur, had tackled her darling Jenny, turned on Cindy with vehemence, "Keep that flea motel away from my daughter! Haven’t you and your mother gotten the message yet to just leave us alone!”

Thank heavens I raised my daughter to be polite to her elders; otherwise she would have said something worse than, "My dog doesn't have fleas! My fleas have a dog and don't you dare hurt one of them!"

I arrived breathlessly on the scene (we really need to get a single story house) and scolded Mother for yelling at "my" daughter. "Hey, if Cindy hadn't let Scruffy out in time your daughter would be road kill now. Come on Cindy, let's go home." With that I scooped up my brindle terrier, which had appeared as a white blur due to his angel wings Halloween costume, and paraded my family back home, away from Miss Appreciation (note sarcasm, please.)

"Mom, I didn't let Scruffy out," Cindy corrected me on the short hike back home. I barely heard her because my mind was wondering why Scruffy didn't feel wet from our recently watered lawn that he just traversed on his rescue mission. Really, his undercarriage should have been soaking wet, after all when we let him out to do his business on rainy days he's in need of a serious wipe down, yet he was perfectly dry right now, how odd. I ran my hand under his wings and over the halo to make sure they were really fake, and then shook my head in unbelief of my gullible-ness! In the background I could hear Lady Driver, relieved Scruffy had shot in front of her moving vehicle before she had struck Jenny, giving Jenny's mother the riot act and I experienced a sinful elation that Mother was under attack.

Once back home Cindy and I, no longer in a pleasant frame of mind loaded our car trunk with candy, whistled for Scruffy who was barking at the bushes by our door, (he was always barking at something we couldn’t see!) and headed off to Church. Yes, church. We do go to church, hard to believe since we were so nice to Miss. Appreciation; well, she yelled at us first!

It was trunk or treat night, an event sponsored by churches to provide a safe place for children to collect candy and party on Halloween. The parking lot was filled with cars stuffed with sweets and from past experiences we learned we’d run out of candy before we ran out of treators, so we had jump houses, air filled slides, a hot dog stand and other carnival like attractions. Most of the church family dressed as bible dudes. Just put on a robe, fake beard and carry a staff and you could be anyone of the prophets, judges or apostles, take off the beard and you could be anyone of their wives! For some women, you could probably still keep the beard! {Snicker} We could tell who the visitors were; they dressed any style they wished from the movies Saw, Freddy, Edward Scissor hands and other oddities I couldn’t recognize and hoped I’d never meet in my dreams or on a dark street.

After we found a place to park Cindy jumped out with Scruffy who pranced about proudly displaying his wings. Oh-oh, three Dobermans (fittingly called devil-mans in my family because that’s how then "five year old" Cindy officially named them) appeared in red suits complete with pointed tails and horns to circle around Scruffy. Scruffy, standing his ground, let them circle him like a wagon train, keeping his eyes fixed on each of them as they passed, then suddenly he reared back and out came….yip yip, yap yap, and the Dobermans ran off, tails between  their legs, dived under their owners’ suburban and covered their eyes with their paws. Typical bullies, one sign of resistance and they become shivering putty. “Hey, don’t let your dog hurt ours!” the owners, friends of ours, warned, good naturedly.

Cindy, dressed like Hanna Montana, said, “Gee Mom, it's a shame you didn't wear a costume."

Grabbing my black umbrella, scarf and hat I explained, "What do you mean, I have a costume."

"Huh?" Cindy responded scrutinizing me.

"Look, I'm Mary Poppins!" I explained, opening the umbrella and affecting a severe nanny expression.

"Who's Mary Poppins, is she the Mary that “popped in” on Jesus at the grave?" Great, there goes the generation gap again! I'm off to Blockbusters tomorrow to rent some old Walt Disney movies to give my kid a basic education on the classics of my childhood.

“Never mind. You tend to the car duty while I report to the hot dog station.” I left Cindy sitting by our car’s trunk doling out candy, from a specially marked bag, to a little girl Cindy baby sat occasionally whose little black schnauzer had twelve legs. Yes I can count and no I wasn’t drinking, and yes the prescription on my glasses has been updated! Emilie’s little dog was wearing a spider leg vest Velcro-ed to his torso! I overheard Cindy squeal in simulated fright threatening to stomp on the spider and heard Emilie giggle, “No Cindy, that’s my dog Buster, don’t you recognize him?”

I had just finished serving a gentleman wearing a black skeleton body suit with multiple facial piercings (that I think he was trying to conceal with a skeleton painted face) and two red horns glued to his forehead when I noticed Jenny’s mother, Miss Appreciation, grabbing young trick or treaters, distracting me from judgmentally asking this diner if he was a Satan impersonator or the genuine article, after all, this was Satan’s night to howl. I also wanted to suggest removing some facial jewelry if he expected to ever get a decent job. That’s just my opinion for what it’s worth!

Miss Appreciation was twisting and turning every child she approached crying out Jenny’s name. Now I didn’t know her very well but this was odd behavior even for her seeing she has kept to herself since she blessed our neighborhood with her presence, turning down every block party invitation and closing the door on the welcoming wagon when we brought over a basket with goodies and shopping coupons for local stores. This innovative mingling conduct of hers was just out of the blue, and it was scaring the kids!

Ooops, now she spotted me and was racing over, where can I hide? I thought about crawling under the hot dog stand.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, have you seen Jenny?” Miss appreciation asked. Was she actually speaking to me? On her own volition? And as if we were BFFs? (that’s text messaging for best friends forever). It went through my mind to specifically name a very deep, dark and murky lake she could jump in but the seriousness of the situation penetrated my filter-less mind. Jenny, sweet little Jenny was missing, not to mention I was on a church parking lot.

“Hold on, calm down and tell me what happened,” I instructed as I firmly placed my hands on Miss Appreciation’s shoulders; oh so close to her neck!

Between gulps of air Miss. Appreciation explained how she had moved here to hide from her abusive ex-husband who despite a restraining order kept showing up somehow, how she had quit her job to work at home so she could take care of five year Jenny, who had just recently been diagnosed with diabetes, and who now, regardless of all her efforts had wandered off into the dark night. All the while Miss. Appreciation talked I was dodging flying moisture.

“Okay, let’s just retrace your steps. We’ll find her,” I said.

We passed my car where Scruffy, and several church members and strangers joined us in our trek back home; we were only a few blocks away. Scruffy, with his ears pointed like antennae’s, trotted ahead of us sniffing every square inch of ground, and looking over his shoulder to ascertain we hadn’t strayed. We on the other hand could only use our senses of sight and sound to hunt Jenny down, peering into the dark shadows of non-participating porches and scanning the faces of passing children.

Suddenly Scruffy halted, and he halted very suddenly! His tail (and wings) started wagging while he circled a spot on Mr. Lackey’s drive way sniffing…sniffing…sniffing. Then he scuttled up Mr. Lackey’s steps and barked at a closed door that Mr. Lackey opened, holding a big plastic pumpkin filled with treats.

“Oh, Scruffy, I have a special bowl for your kind!” Mr. Lackey stepped back to retrieve his pet friendly candy bowl, filled with milk bones and bacon strips. I should have known that food would distract Scruffy from the search!

“Scruffy, we have no time for this!” I called from the drive way just before Scruffy brushed past Mr. Lackey successfully accomplishing a home invasion. Mr. Lackey laughed good naturedly when Scruffy returned to the front door with something in his mouth.

“Scruffy, give that back,” I commanded.

“What a minute, that’s Jenney’s bracelet!” Miss appreciation said, hope and fear rising in her chest simultaneously, “Where’d you get that?” I could hear the concealed accusation in her question, she had concluded that Jenney was on the other side of this door and was prepared to fight like a she bear!

Mr. Lackey reached for the bracelet from Scruffy, "How'd you get that boy? That was on top of a very tall dresser?" Turning it over in his octogenarian hands he explained to us humans," I found this in my driveway. I was going to give it to my grandson for his daughters when he came to pick up my old refrigerator."

Refrigerator. There was a refrigerator in the drive way earlier, a refrigerator the lady driver nearly collided into when she swerved to miss Scruffy crossing the street, in the self-same spot where Scruffy did his little sniffing jig a few seconds ago. "Mr. Lackey, that refrigerator, it wasn't sealed shut!"

"Oh yes it was!"

"Not when I saw it!"

"I put it out then came in to get duct tape to wrap it with. Oh," He paused. "When I got in here Chatty Cathy, my sister called, but I got out there soon enough and....What?" Our eyes were popping out of our heads as though we had a goiter problem. An unsecured refrigerator, a missing child... I prayed two and two didn’t equal four! "Mr. Lackey does your grandson have a cell phone?

"Yes he does, the number is here somewhere...." I put a gentle guiding hand on his shoulders and shoved him towards his phone. "Quick call him and tell him stop wherever he is and open the refrigerator."

Within minutes we discovered that Grandson was just blocks away...he had stopped with his kids at our Church's trunk or treat!

Miss appreciation and I raced back, Scruffy in the lead, wings flapping whimsically to the side, his halo sliding backwards in the wind.

There it was in the parking lot, a pickup with a refrigerator standing up right in the trunk in the process of being unwrapped from layers of duct tape by half a dozen people swearing (yes at church, but not with bad words!) they heard a cat meowing.

Finally the door popped open and out bolted a kitten, and there on the floor was Jenny, unconscious. A heartbeat was detected but no respirations so rescue breathing was initiated by Skeleton man, an off duty paramedic whose facial piercings where glued on! I’m learning a lot about being judgmental tonight!

The little chest started to rise and fall on its own, and eyes fluttered open followed by a collective gasp of praise and thanksgiving. Then Jenny said to her mother, “ Mom, I didn’t talk to any stangers like you said, I hid in here when I saw them coming.”

"Oh Jenny, what have I done!" Mother wailed, holding Jenny’s little living body close to her chest.

“Mommy, where’s Mittens?” The kitten! Oh dear, I’d hate for Jenny to lose her little play pal after all this!

From behind us we heard something that sounded like “womlph; womlph”. Turning we saw Scruffy with a mouth full of fur trying to get our attention. Attached to the fur in his mouth was a little black kitten with four white paws attempting to free itself once again from its angelic captor. And slowly approaching Scruffy once again were the three Dobermans, eyeing the bonus dangling from his mouth. Scruffy looked at me with the expression, “I could use a little help here!”


Several other church members and I accompanied Miss Appreciation (a name now minus the negative connotation!) to the hospital. While we waited for Jenny to receive a clean bill of health Mom got an education on our neighborhood and church community. She discovered, to her shame that she didn’t have to go the journey through life alone, that we had a neighborhood watch providing a deterrent to her husband’s unlawful visits, that Cindy was comfortable with diabetic children because Emily, who she gave the candy from the special bag, was diabetic. And that Jenny would have built in grandparents in the Lackey’s, being retired they kept a vigilant eye on the neighborhood kids, tonight not withstanding!

Back home, alone and tired in my kitchen I prepared myself a soothing cup of tea and reached to pull the blinds shut over the kitchen window when…..no, that must have been a shadow. I squenched my eyes shut and reopened them. Yea, it had to have been a shadow; the window was too high up for me to have seen Scruffy pass by…twice. Those wings didn’t come with batteries or a remote control….did they…..nah! I pulled the blinds and headed to bed, leaving the tea on the counter, I really didn’t want to go outside and investigate, that dog could be too spooky sometimes..

In the back yard, Scruffy was indeed dangling feet from the ground, being passed between the two guardian angles that had been assigned to Cindy and her mom at their births. The same two angels that had opened the front door for Scruffy earlier and flew him hastily and dryly across the wet yard, the same angels that had “pushed” the bracelet off Mr. Lackey’s dresser for Scruffy to grab. Suddenly a third angel came to light, Jenny’s, holding a coffee cup and cream cheese slathered bagel, he had apparently taken a little unscheduled coffee break but was now back on the job. The two angels proceeded to give him a scolding for leaving his post!

 “Hey, she was sleeping like a baby when I left and still is!” he protested.

 “Well she woke up in between!” The two exhausted angels cried in unison.

Just goes to show that even angels need someone to cover their back!

*****dog in angel costume from fetchdog.com *********

SOME DAY IN THE FUTURE

The country has been uneasy for some time, long before our ruler attended an inspection of the National Cathedral and disappeared from the public’s sight. No, he didn’t disappear magically like in a plume of smoke; but upon exiting the cathedral- pale, lips drawn into a pencil thin line, tightly clutching what appeared to be a very old document- he refused to give any comments to the outstretched microphones, (this in itself was extremely worrisome as he was magnetically drawn to media attention); he just went home to the house we tax payers provided for him and hasn’t been heard from or seen since. No interviews with journalists, reporters or foreign dignitaries, nothing. No explanation, nada, zilch. He even pulled his next in charge and several others into the void with him! Then slowly law enforcement and military officials were invited in on the one way admission ticket. Who is running the land right now! Well, that’s a rhetorical question as we weren’t sure of that status before the mysterious sequestering of public figures. It certainly wasn’t the people since their voices ceased to matter elections ago!

Rumors were flying, some founded on eyewitness accounts, of seeing major religious figures entering the capital gates with armed escorts. They were never seen leaving. Had the devil's triangle migrated from off the coast of Florida? Was there an underground rail road taking passengers to …..Canada….Mars? What was going on in there? The blinds were pulled; the regular public tours were cancelled. We were desperate to know. The rumors of missing religious personages intensified on Sunday simply because pulpits were filled with substitutes; substitutes who gave no inkling of where the official ministers were because even they didn’t know! More speculations surfaced, and boy, can the paranoid come up with some doosies! My personal favorite was the theory of a high stake national chess game. Just shake your head and roll your eyes like I did on that conjecture. Nothing more said on that!

Without fear of retaliation crime increased, subtle crimes, crimes that would only be considered prohibited in a theocracy, not a democracy like we had (I say that with my tongue in my cheek.) Church attendance dropped (if you could tell that was possible), mostly because after nights of sexual carousing blended with alcohol and drug usage society’s party goers had no zest for Sunday mornings. However activities increased in abhorrent organizations, organizations that espoused hatred for non members, non members being anyone who didn’t support their views, people with small brains and smaller hearts that made the Grinch look like the Messiah filled the membership roles. Al Qaeda, the Ku Klux Klan, Neo Nazis’, White Supremacy, Black Panthers to name a few, all these groups enjoyed a free reign of terror. People either joined the groups because they honestly shared the beliefs or because they didn’t but were afraid of reprisals for not joining. This also led to many joining conflicting groups just to be on the "safe" side.

On top of all this the land intensified its personal rebellion. Yes the land. Where once lush green fertile soil lay there was now sand and rocks, irrigation ditches were parched cracked wrinkles on the surface of the ground visible from satellites circling the globe, ponds were sunken holes crawling with scaly reptiles and snakes looking for moisture. Where no water flowed or grass or foliage grew, cattle, hogs and sheep starved, dropping to the ground with desiccated lips, bloating in the sun. Goats and cows fortunate to survive stopped producing milk. A relentless fiery sun that aided the dehydration process emitted ungodly heat causing spontaneous fires that couldn’t be doused; remember water was now a scarce commodity, in fact ocean front properties were now miles from the coast! Farms were boarding up their windows. Ranchers sold out, or were repossessed. Newspapers stopped photographing images of ma and pa kettle being evicted because it was a daily occurrence and no one could muster up any sympathy. Grocery stores were closing for lack of inventory. Food banks closed. It was a dreary awful picture. Bleak. Scary. Apocolyptic. And weirdly, above all other things, bees had gone into hiding. It was a bodiless mass extinction. Bees. Gone. Who’d have thought anyone would care? Some theorized, (again shake your head and roll your eyes) that the rapture had occurred, starting with the smallest species and was working its way up!

Then one day finally word came out of the capital! We all stopped what we were doing (basically learning new survival techniques and preparing funeral plans) to listen to the news broadcast that preempted every channel on network T.V, cable, internet podcasts, Pandora. You name it, it was interrupted! No target audience would be missed. Instructions were given for every citizen in the country to tune in for coverage of the national Leader’s upcoming speech latter in the day at a time when everyone should be home from work and school. Businesses that ran at night were advised to close for the night if they could. Businesses that had to stay open for the public were advised to have their televisions on and time allowed for employees to view the national announcement. Something big was coming. And with such a buildup it didn’t fail to pique the interest of all.

That night I gathered with my friends at church, the same church we had been meeting at for years to pray for our county and its leaders. We had a large screen HDL set up on stage so we could collectively view the telecast and support each other with more prayer in case of emergency. Our membership numbers had taken a beating (literally and metaphorically!) over the years. One of the main reasons for the nose dive were the church burning hate groups that targeted Christians, the other reason for our decline was the contagious communicable apathy that had spread over the “now” generation.

Suddenly,there he was on screen, the most powerful man on earth, the leader of the free country; or so we assumed; he was passably recognizable, but not presentable. He wasn’t wearing a suit, just a crumpled slack and crinkled faded white shirt with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He must have been going for the gaunt look as his chin and upper lip were unevenly unshaven. And his eyes? They looked….sad…no haunted. Was this the result of a weeklong high stake national chess game? I’m glad I play solitaire. This wasn’t the man the nation had elected; the nation, not us, not us Christians, we didn’t vote for the man and warned those who did there would be consequences. Of course no one listened. The Christian voice stopped meaning things decades ago.

Mr. Leader was accompanied by all the country’s missing: ministers, senators, congressman, lawyers, evangelists, mayors, governors, and military officers appearing just as unkempt. The broadcast started with an explanation of some books and documents that had been discovered in the national archives in the National Cathedral that had been destined for recycling. Mr. Leader then began to read them. We were flabbergasted. We knew what he was reading. We read what he was reading every Sunday. Oh, not the same passage every Sunday, but from the same book. He was reading from the Bible! On public airwaves! On every possible airwave! He was going to piss some people off big time, mostly the majority of his amoral constituents, the ones that voted to remove every cross, Christmas tree, nativity scene and copy of the Ten Commandments from public property. He then read from our earliest beginnings as a nation where the bible had served as text book and counselor for many of our elected officials. He recited how many state constitutions had placed among qualifications for office a belief in Jesus as lord! State constitutions! He then read passages that previous National leaders had placed their hands on when they were sworn into office.

Then Mr. Leader went on to .....we couldn’t believe what we were hearing....explain that according to what he had read, and confirmed by consulting experts, (he nodded towards the evangelists and ministers) the country’s woes had been brought on slowly by ....(some members in the pews sucked in their breaths)...our gradually wandering from ....GOD! There he said it! The breath holders exploded sending a wave of air that almost toppled the big screen TV off the stage! Mr. Leader said “God” out loud with millions of witnesses who would conceivably be voting him out of office next election. I was beginning to see him differently…and warily. This could be a trick; it had to be given his record and that of the country’s. Was this an elaborate smoke screen for some oncoming deception that Leader was capable of?

Mr. Leader went on to outline changes he expected to enforce over time, starting immediately, actually starting days ago when he and those present with him went into a state of fasting and supplications. Amendments were going to be put into effect that restored “public” prayer in schools (even though any Christian student could bow their head and pray at will) and replacement of the Ten Commandments in federal buildings. Those in my group that had sucked their breaths in earlier now simply passed out. The list of changes went on and ended with, “And if anyone doesn’t like these changes they can kiss my….Bible. There are other places they can live, like the Antarctica, plenty of room for expansion there.” There was nothing fuzzy about Mr. Leader’s opinions this time. No need for some narrator to follow the speech with a commentary on what took place; everything that had been said was clear and solid. For once there was no ambiguity.

There now would be zero tolerance for hate groups and their “freedom of speech” rights would be denied because it was usually supplemented with violence and that would be against the law. Imagine that, violence against the law. What about that sounds insane? Mr. Leader explained we were going to follow the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have them do to you. And, he reasoned, if hate groups burn and destroy others property, they must approve that as acceptable behavior when directed towards them so all their facilities were to be razed by the military! Boy, was he doing some tree shaking, now let's see where the nuts fall!

Church attendance increased that Sunday as shell shocked individuals coerced their family and friends to come and seek answers. People who had joined several hate groups to be on the safe side were now sitting in church pews. And no, they didn’t just add church membership to their list of activities to hedge their bets. They were seeing firsthand the result of a praying remnant. The remnant of true solid Christians who had been praying for national recovery the last few years had been blessed with a national revival of epic proportions. Be careful for what you pray for! Church buildings were no longer less than half filled, they were now finding it necessary to erect large screen TV’s in the parking lots to catch the overflow, or offer several sermons daily. Daily, not weekly!

And the land’s rebellion? Rain visited us after that speech. I mean "right" after the speech. The heavens opened and water fell from the skies saturating the parched land, caressing the soil, cooling the air. Uncontrollable forest and prairie fires were doused, rescuing hundreds of homes. Grass and crops sprung up. Flowers and colorful bushes dotted the countryside. Beasts of the field were watered and fed. Cows started producing milk, the bees came back on the scene, and honey flowed from tree stumps and caves, making us once again a land flowing with milk and honey!

Leviticus 20:24
Deut. 28
2 kings 23
Ester 8:11
Ester 9:1-15

the message; part 2

Jim and Mike were still sitting gracefully in their chairs, although the back of the chairs were resting on the floor with the legs at a right angle to the ground. I had just informed them of an assignment Boss had commissioned them for and their little hearts couldn’t take the excitement; i.e., they passed out from sheer joy. We were in the break room when I passed on Boss’s message so they were laying unconscious in front of all our friends, friends they had just updated on what a charming job I had done on doing my recently concluded assignment.

I put down my coffee cup, reached for the vase on the table, pulled out the Lilies of The Valley, Boss’s favorite flower, leaned towards my two pals and unceremoniously tossed the clear, wet fluid on Mike and Jim’s faces. Oh, that felt so good, being able to help revive my friends! There was some sputtering followed by the typical comments like, “What happened? Where am I? What’s going on?” Then the two fallen angels leaped to their feet in an attempt to regain their dignity. That wasn’t pulled off successfully, by the way. The room started to resonate with some chuckling, snickering, and then full blown laughter. Even Jim and Mike couldn’t help but find the humor in the situation. After all, we weren’t programmed for anger.

“That was a good one,” Mike stated. “You really got even.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “Good one.”

“What a minute, I was serious.” I responded. Blood drained from the two faces again; well that’s how it looked, because technically we don’t have blood. They were hoping I was pulling a trick on them, but the message I delivered to them from Boss had been genuine. They really had been assigned to tell some guy name Joseph that his fiancé was expecting, and not with his child. Of course I had helped Boss chose which lucky souls would be selected for this honor. After all, Mike and Jim had volunteered to assist me in fulfilling my task; I thought it only fair they get to reap some of the extended glory.
“What did you have to do with this?” Jim asked

“Boss asked for my thoughts on who should do this job and I couldn’t help but think of my two best friends,” I answered.

“Next time don’t be so friendly,” Mike advised.

An overhead page summoned my two pals to Boss’s office. It was time for them, according to Boss, to spring into action and carry the message downward.

I cheerfully volunteered to go with them for back up, after all, hadn’t they done the same for me? And at least this time we knew where we were going, (we had gotten slightly off course, hitting the wrong continent when we went down to locate my project, Mary). But hey, at least we’d gotten the right planet, the one in the center of Boss’s universe, or so thought the self centered inhabitants.

We arrived at Joe’s house just in time to see Mary’s parents leaving, looking like they’d been beaten with a shame-stick. They had come to inform Joe’s parents that they were sending Mary away for a while, several months in fact, to see her cousin, Elizabeth. Sending her away, what did that sound like? Well, to Joe’s parents it sounded like the end of an engagement, one that had been pre arranged according to centuries of customs. After all, parents don’t send teenage girls away for a few months unless…..Well that kind of thing just wasn’t discussed in decent families, especially since the penalty was stoning, (that didn’t mean partying with marijuana, it meant death by rocks!)

We hung around waiting for Joe to come home from work impatient to intercept him before his parents hit him with the news. When he eventually showed up he was tired and sweaty after a day of chopping wood, sawing and sanding lumber. Boy did he smell like a hard worker, he’d make a wonderful husband and father, if of course we, I mean Jim and Mike, accomplished their mission, but one whiff of Joe was all it took for Mike and Jim to conclude he needed time to freshen up before he received company! There was time to wait for him to rinse the day’s bouquet of labor down the drain with some Dove soap.

We waited outside Joe’s bathroom window, hiding in the bushes like common…well, angels… enjoying his baritone voice singing “Come oh Emanuel” in the shower; If he only knew how soon that request would be answered! The water stopped when the song ended. Jim levitated up to the second floor window to peek on Joe’s progress. Bad timing, Joe, toweling off his hair, had just glanced up to the window in time to see Jim’s face appear, and then quickly disappear.

Before Joe had time to react his dad knocked on the bedroom door, softly, hesitantly. He after all was not looking forward to the conversation that needed to happen. The conversation that would rip his son’s heart open.

“Joe, we need to talk,” Dad explained. Oh come on, that sounded so harsh, we thought, eavesdropping like good….well angels, but what other opening was there for a topic like this.
“What’s up, I’m off to Mary’s for Shabbat dinner.”

Dad paled, his wife, Mom, was just behind him gripping her crisp apron, using the end of it to wipe her face, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Hey, what happened, you look like someone died,” We heard Joe ask. Not yet, we thought.

The three of us, dressed in trench coats to hide our wings, squatting behind bushes with our ears pressed firmly against the outside wall, nonchalantly listened to Joe get the scoop on Mary's parents visit. Mom let Dad do all the talking, well, all the lucid talking, as she paced back and forth wringing her not-so-crisp-anymore apron and repeating over and over, "Oh, dear, how could this happen?... such a sweet child....who would have guessed....such a respected family...tsk,..tsk...."

Joe was stunned. Stunned? What an understatement. And what’s more, he wouldn't believe a word of it. There was some mistake, his parents were jumping to the wrong conclusions he verbalized adamantly and loudly and insistently. Good boy, stand up for your woman, we encouraged just before we caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure across the street smoking, and without a cigarette! Now I knew why Boss sent two guys for this mission. One would be needed to fend off the opposition. Opposition was wearing a hat to conceal what we knew were two twisted and ugly horns placed above one ugly face! (A face made repulsive by having lost its chance to gaze on Boss’s continence for millennia.) Hey, we all need our camouflage gear. Thank heavens I came along for backup, these two would need help.

We crossed the street to do some friendly intimidation.

“Hey, I’m here for your team this time,” Opposition declared, not that we would ever believe him. “God’s law says that guy has the right to make this woman a public example and I’m just going to be his support system.”

Enough said, we thought, we can’t let this guy near Joe, not tonight, not while his resistance is down.

Jim and I moved in on Opposition while Mike abrupty took off at Olympian speed in the opposite direction. Coward, I thought hardly believing what I was seeing. I had to revise my opinion when I realized that Mike was hurrying after Joe who, against his parent’s guidance, was running to Mary’s house.

Opposition took off after Mike, Jim took off after Opposition and I took off after them all. Joe would have to be deaf, or deeply distracted, to not hear all the footsteps pounding after him. We all rounded a corner and stopped. We had lost Joe. No, there he was, I recognized Mary’s house. Her parents, still in the grip of shame, wouldn’t open the door for Joe, despite his persistence. He finally turned, beaten and forlorn; convinced something was awfully out of kilter, to make his way…where? Anywhere but home, not to face his parents, not to face their pity.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, head hung low, Joe headed down town, probably to dig up some friends, or find solace in a quiet hangout. Opposition was hot on his heels, ready to influence him to follow the law. We chased after Opposition, and Jim got the lead just as Joe disappeared down an alley.

We got to the alley entrance in time to see Joe spring up from behind a trash can and swing a large board into Opposition’s midsection, knocking the hot air out of him; foul, sulfur smelling hot air. Whew. Being so close behind Opposition, Jim was next; Joe gripped him by the coat collar and squashed him to a wall, bunching Jim’s wings up inside the coat making him look hunchbacked, like the magnificent hunch backed whales in the ocean. Oh, wait a minute, that’s hump backed, oh well, same difference.

“What are you guys doing following me?” Joe questioned Jim, recognizing him as the face in his bathroom window.

“We’re here to tell you that Mary is expecting-” Whoosh, a fist landed below Jim’s diaphragm.
“How would you know Mary’s expecting unless you had something to do with it?” No way could poor Jim answer that one, not with his stomach in his mouth. Ouch, that had to have hurt, I thought, from a safe distance mind you, hey, I was just a tag along, I didn’t need to get in the fracas, besides, I had just had my wings groomed and there was no need to ruffle them!

Arriving last Mike assessed the situation and pounced on top of Joe with such force he melded into his frame. Once filled with the spirit, (of Mike) Joe fell to the ground unconscience, like a typical holy roller slain in the spirit, thereby releasing Jim who was now able to nurse his tummy ache.

“I’ll get his attention,” Mike announced getting miffed with his assignment’s attitude. Mike, vaporizing, jumped into Joe’s head and explained the situation with Mary, {that she was with child by the Holy Spirit and Joe shouldn’t be ashamed to take her as wife}, demonstrating something of an attitude himself. He was tired of this human’s present state of mind; after all Joe had the reputation of being faithful, so show some faith, huh. Exiting Joe’s cranium from both ears like a plume of cloud vapor, Mike indicated he was ready to go, but first we carried Joe home and laid him to rest in a swing on his porch. Opposition we left gasping for breath in the alley lying in refuse, a suitable place for his kind.

Back at headquarters Boss requested Jim and Mike’s presence in his office, and then closed the doors, insisting on no interruptions. Oh, Oh. Behind closed doors Boss informed them their mission had been victorious. Joe had chosen the best recourse, chased Mary down, pleaded with her to fulfill their marriage vows and they were at this moment on their way to Joe’s ancestral home for a national census. (Time passes at a different speed up here.) However, Boss proposed some courses for the two of them, as successful as their mission was he had some misgivings over the unorthodox methods they had employed.

When Jim and Mike finally made it to the break room they found half the staff standing and floating around the bulletin board enjoying a good laugh.

“Let us see,” Mike quipped trying to jostle his way to the front while getting pushed back by dozens of wings that were heaving with amusement. Jim managed to hover up over the crowd and moaned when he glimpsed the objects of everyone’s delight. I had done a good job after all; I had thought the alley would be too dark to get just what I wanted but no; the pictures of Jim had come out just right, pressed against the wall with the wind knocked out of his sail by a human. Oh yeah, by the look on his face I still claim that punch had to have hurt! And the piqued expression on Mike’s face just before he nosedived into Joe’s brain to do dream therapy was absolutely side-splitting. Of course everyone really relished the photo of Opposition getting slam banged. Joe would be a good protector.

“Oh, why’d you do that,” Mike and Jim asked in unison, smothering their own giggles, unable to deny the comical element involved in their efforts.

“Hey, someone had to record our trip for the baby album, after all, we were a part of history, or should I say His Story?”

Without warning our choir director broke into the lounge looking so jumpy you’d think he was having a baby, “Hey guys, I need a thousand or more volunteers, we’ve got orders to sing to some shepherds in a field watching sheep!”

Isaiah 7:13-17
math. 1:25
Luke 1:39-56
luke 2: 8-20
john 1:32-34
John 19:34
gal. 4:4-7

The african mission trip

We were all thunderstruck as we passed the village that was lower than the road. Dark corrugated tin roofs sitting on top of unpainted chipped and cracked walls closely packed together. So close that pigs nosing about between the houses looking for edible garbage didn’t have room to turn around. People in colorful, uncoordinated outfits with baskets on their heads squeezed past the swine on their way to their daily chores. In the center of the village was an indoor mall, ha, got you! The shopping area did however sport plenty of umbrellas for protection from the unsympathetic sun while people sold their wares; bananas, scarves, flowers, whatever; the poor selling to the poorer. The average income was a dollar a day on a good day. On the other side of the road was a field, well most of where we looked was dirt field with scattered trees, where children were playing. They seemed to be having fun but how could that be possible?

A few water puddles were pointed out to us by the guide that had been appointed by our sponsor, Mannaworldwide.com., an organization dedicated to stamping out hunger on planet earth named after the miracle of manna God provided to feed the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness. Puddles that were enormous problems, breeding sites for mosquitoes, the dreaded carriers of Malaria, that horrific disease we had to be vaccinated against before we could step foot off the plane, well, before we could even get on the plane.

I was not looking forward to seeing the clinic we were here to volunteer at, or the school house either. If the houses looked like this what would everything else look like? OMG, what about our hotel! Cringing, I hoped this week would pass fast. What had I been thinking to use my vacation time to come to this God forsaken land, to help these God forsaken people? Well, next year would be different, Hawaii, here I come.

The clinic didn’t look so bad after all, though it was crowded with people milling about and sitting on the floors in the hallways. They had heard we were coming, what’s more they had heard what we were bringing with us. Hope. We were bringing them gold. Gold in the form of bed nets, nets that cost ten American dollars, ten days wages for them,(remember, that was only if they were having a good day) ten days of wages that went on food for their families. The nets were medicated and effectually killed malaria carrying pests for up to at least five years (the mosquitoes died and stayed dead but the medication lasted five years!) and we were here to distribute them, among other things.

We carried our cargo of nets and medical supplies down the hall behind the guide who greeted all patients cheerfully, touching their foreheads or proffered hands, while some just tugged on the cuff of his pants in the prospect of receiving something.
“Wow, there must be whole families here!” I exclaimed.


“Whole families?” Guide questioned in an unfamiliar accent. “Here in Africa that doesn’t exit. There is no family here that hasn’t lost someone to malaria or hunger. That lady over there, for example, has lost seven children and her husband yet she comes here to volunteer in hopes of sparing others that sorrow.”

I looked at the lady of about eighty and shook my head sadly, commenting on her age and aloneness.

“Dear, she’s only thirty two,” Guide explained.

“You’re kidding!” said I, followed by a silent, YIKES!

“Excuse me,” Guide asked, walking up to a young mother holding her baby, a baby that had just stopped crying.

Guide, setting his cane against the wall, lifted baby to his arms and cradled him lovingly, whispering in his ears softly and tenderly till I saw the frail little chest heave one last time. Eventually, Guide handed Baby back down to Mother, who accepted the still body with resignation. This wasn’t an isolated event, one baby dies every thirty seconds in Africa from malaria, who would she get sympathy from? Guide rested his hand on her shoulder and she in turn placed her’s on top and I could see her yoke of pain lighten slightly as she felt his empathy. The nets and medication came too late for her.

“You’ll see him again.” Guide assured Mom. I admired the sound of conviction I picked up in his word, they reeked with boldness. What else could he say? With no reason to stay at the clinic now, Mom shuffled off to bury her dead.

Okay, let’s deliver the nets and get out of here. I can’t take anymore of this, I was starting to sniffle!

Finally Guide took us to the school, the first of many we would visit on this trip sponsored by Mannaworldwide.com. It was a spick and span building, with tidy rooms, chalkboards and miniature desks and chairs. It almost looked like my first grade classroom, before computers and air conditioning. I’ll not tell you how old I am, so just forget it! Here things lost its comparison to American schools because one wall was decorated in colorful homemade crosses, they would be contraband in the states!

Before we entered the edifice the participants, in pristine uniforms, had swarmed out to welcome us in song with dancing and swaying, hand clapping and arms raised to the heavens. All happy faces and the only way to distinguish the girls from the boys were by the dresses (the dresses were on the girls), because all heads were clean shaven, apparently for easy upkeep and to be cool, no, not the way we in America think of being cool.

I hinted that some of the dresses and pants could be taken in a seam or two, but Guide explained that the parents couldn’t afford clothes every year so they bought clothes that would last a while on purpose. There I went with my American opinions again. This isn’t America, fool!

Guide made his way into the building past children who clamored fruitfully for his attention, it was obvious he was well loved here. One little barefooted girl from the village, a toddler in a cute little pink vest on top of a yellow blouse, adhered to his leg with one arm while she clung to a plastic green cross with her other hand. She had a grip on Guide that was permanent.

The next days were spent making balloon animals and hats, (once the balloons popped the kids still played with the colorful ruptured latex for hours), painting faces with flowers and crosses and doling out toys bequeathed by benefactors back home that couldn’t travel here for one reason or another. I was amazed at how many toys I had to give instructions on, including a jump rope. Here kids used their imagination to occupy them, when they had time for play.

And of course we spent time with our main objective; to share the love of Jesus.
After singing a rousing rendition of “Jesus loves me this I know”, led by Guide, I asked one little girl if she knew Jesus and her wide eyed response was, “Oh yes, my sisters and mom are with him now and some day he’ll come for me!” I had to blink back tears at such a strong faith. And we came here to teach them! They experienced Jesus daily!

The kids looked all the world to me like any of the kids found in American schools; America is not the gold standard for comparison; it’s just my only reference point having been the victim of travel deficiency. They sat at neat little desks with colorful chairs and paid attention or got distracted, fidgeted or sat still, answered questions or tried to blend into the wood work. They hammed it up for the camera, flexing muscles, jostling for prominent positions, laughing, or just blatantly staring at the aperture. Yep they were all American, er, African kids!

I noticed at lunch time some of the kids didn’t eat their whole meal, meals provided by mannaworldwide.com at the feeding centers. I mentioned to Guide that I guess they weren’t starving as bad as the American press made out. Guide looked at me like I was speaking Martian, that’s spoken on the planet Mars, a place far from the realities of this world, “They have brothers and sisters at home that their parents can’t afford the yearly dollar tuition to send to school, so they ration their lunches out to bring home.” Gulp; boy did I feel foolish. I actually had surmised that the heavily curried food was more than they could tolerate along with me. I hate curry! But then again if in America they might not like hot dogs….Nah, everyone loves hot dogs! I’m just glad I brought a generous supply of energy bars for myself; they were the main item on my breakfast, lunch and dinner menu.

Remember when said I couldn’t wait for this week to be over? Well, I’m eating those words now as we all hug goodbye. The faces we painted crosses on this morning smiled at us from under their balloon topped noggins as we all hugged and cried. One little girl whispered in my ear, “We pray for you,” in broken English. Pray for us! They had nothing yet they prayed for us! Sometimes there are just no words that can express human emotions.

Thank heavens we all brought cameras, between the dozen or so of us we had thousands of pictures to share on Face Book to relive this week over and over and use to enlist more volunteers for the next mission trip.

On the ride back to our pick up point Guide filled us in on the various organizations that have been helpful to this part of the globe, Manna worldwide, Imagine no Malaria, Heifer International. He was more than a tour guide he was inspirational speaker. He casually mentioned how only twenty five dollars a month would supply one child with two uniforms, school tuition and supplies, meals, medication, and nets for a year. He wouldn’t know till we got home but our church group picked up the bill for one of the schools we had visited for a year!

At headquarters Guide pulled into the parking lot, turned around in his seat to hand each of us an envelope with our names beautifully embossed on them with instructions to not open till he was gone.

Then he disembarked and headed off down the road. Inside the building the receptionist received us with her mouth wide open. “Where have you guys been, we thought you stole the van!” she exclaimed, explaining that everyone had been looking for us for a week. That was ridiculous we said explaining we had met the guide here as scheduled and he took us on the rounds of schools and clinics we were to visit. The receptionist calmly enlightened us on the fact that our guide had been late that morning and found the van gone! That couldn’t be we argued, he just dropped us off. We all ran to the door to catch him so he could collaborate our story but the long dirt road was empty, there was no way he could have gotten out of sight so soon.

"Look!" I exclaimed,"Here's his cane!" I squealled as if that was all the proof we needed for his existence.

"That is a shepherd's staff," explained the receptionist, coolly.

I pursed my lips together tightly, self control is not my forte, but I actually filtered my thoughts and avoided saying, but not thinking, Hey lady, I'm from Fort Worth,you know, cattle town, give me a cattle prod and I'll show you how that works!

One of the service men who had come out to examine the van to see what we had stolen or hawked approached us. Scratching his head he announced, "The milage hasn't changed and the tank is still full, it doesn't even look like the van left our lot!"

Our leader asked, "Why would we come from America and steal a van to drive around unfamiliar territory delivering malaria nets and medicines, visit school kids for a week and bring said van back unharmed if we were thieves!"

The receptionist couldn't respond, she needed time to come up with a plausable explanation.

We stared at each other in disbelieve. I was still holding my envelope and well, he was gone now so I could open it. Inside was a gift card with gold lettering that read, “Redeemable for one Gold Crown, recipient must be present to collect, pick up at Pearly Gate #2 on Admission to Heaven, signed Jesus”

photos by Kim and David Hayes

www.imaginenomalaria.org
http://mannaworldwide.com
http://www.heifer.org/

Exo 16:15
Psalm23
Math. 9:37
Math 19:14
John 6:31
1 corinthians 9:25
1 corinthians 13:3
James 2:14-26


How MANNA is unique:
1. MANNA was founded and continues to serve children because we have each experienced the love of Jesus Christ and desire to bring that same peace to the entire world.
2. MANNA serves people regardless of their race, gender, religion, or ethnicity!
3. MANNA is committed to always maintain less than a 10% overhead.
4. MANNA partners with veteran Christian workers to provide resources to help them care for the poor.
5. MANNA leads more than 100 trips each year for supporters to see how their generosity has been used.
6. MANNA Directors do not receive salaries and must raise their own funds to cover personal expenses.




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