death pact

Death Pact

 

 

The four of us held hands around the table. We had just made a monumental resolution together; we were going to our death in the morning as a team. None of us were pleased with our present lives and agreed it was time for a change. We were ready to go on to the next level, to leave our wretched lives behind and start over on the other side, on a higher plane.

 

"So, it's settled, right?" I asked.

 

We all nodded our heads, tears flowing down our cheeks as relieve flooded our souls. I pushed the box of Kleenex to the table's center and watched as white tissue absorbed the facial moisture. We closed our “Basic Instructions before Leaving Earth” books that had been our guide in this fantastic resolve. We had researched our decision extensively; we were not making an impulsive move.

 

"Well, let’s go home and do what has to be done." No sense in letting grass grow under our feet, it would grow better over us!

 

I grabbed my purse and walked out the door arm in arm with my three new best friends. We had so much in common; we lived the same lifestyle, one not worthy of applause. In fact, one of the three had been my accessory in crime. She would divert attention from the back door at the theater so I could slip in without buying a movie ticket. Who would get hurt by that? They still had to show the movie for four people or forty. One of the others was a journalist who specialized in slander, hey- who wants to read the truth?  She always posted a retraction but the original articles were more widely read than the small print in the back pages. And friend number four had a problem with lust. She couldn't tolerate others having what she wanted, so, she would help herself to what wasn't nailed down, it's called kleptomania by the specialists.

 

At home I called my daughter at college and informed her of my intentions, not wanting her to receive second hand news. Things like this were better to handle with a little preparation time.

 

"Mom, you're crazy, No way will you do that." Then she laughed at me. I invited her to come to observe and she laughed harder.

 

"Yea, right, like I'm going to waste a perfectly good morning just made for sleeping late." Oh, well, I tried. Maybe in time....

 

I then dialed the numbers of some of my closest friends.  After explaining to them my regrets about the “good times” we’d shared, I requested their presence at my euthanasia party in the morning; I even offered them the choice to participate. One after another they attempted to persuade me to reconsider, not the least bit convinced that dying would be for the best. They were only concerned that they would lose me. They tried to convince me I was a good person, no human would execute me for my life style, and no court of law on earth would convict me for what I now viewed as criminal acts. They didn’t get it, for me being good wasn’t good enough, I was a perfectionist. I wanted to be better and couldn’t so death was my only option. I requested all to attend, even be evolved, all declined. They wanted to cling to their sad lives not wanting to chance taking the final plunge with me or witness my demise. Well, the four of us would show them we were serious. This was no laughing matter, no joke. It was for all time; a permanent end to a pathetic existence.

 

My last chore consisted of writing a note to my slave driver boss informing him he would no longer have me as a mindless servant. After signing my resignation I held it over a match, watching the flames ascend upwards. Odd, they were going in the wrong direction to reach the recipient. Oh well, I'm sure he'll get the news soon enough.

 

The morning trip was on me, I went to three houses to collect my fellow death seekers. No one had wavered from their steadfast determination.

 

"This is the last the world will see of us!" we exclaimed, practically in unison. The drive to our destination was quiet as we reflected on our past.  A flock of doves flew in front of us, slowed, followed us then returned to the lead position. Were they escorting us?

 

A small crowd had gathered at our chosen spot, they would be accomplices, encouraging us to the end. I scanned the group to see if any of my family and friends had had a change of heart and come. Nope, I‘d be exiting this life alone, well somewhat alone. We got out of the car and were accosted with hugs and tears. So much crying, would it ever end?  A table abundantly burdened with food had been set up under the trees for the celebration that would follow our deaths. Morbid? Maybe not.

 

After a small pre-funeral ceremony we stepped into the river one at a time, dressed in filthy rags; after all we deserved nothing more than what we were worth. The cold water sent horrific sensations up to my brain. I nearly ran back to shore but refused to embarrass myself, I planned to die today so die I would. Deeper and deeper I went, the water covered my face, soaked my hair, and buried me under its current. Hands held me down. I was gone, buried in a watery grave! I saw my life float past me. Somewhere deep below the earth I heard a loud roar of defeat that faded under the sound of ovation that rang out above me in the heavens. Death was painless.... at least for me. Two men lifted me up and deposited me on the ground next to my three comrades. I gasped and choked. My lungs expanded and filled with air. I felt warmth from a ray of sunlight that chose to light on my head. As I gazed up I swore it resembled a tongue of fire. My eyes popped open wider as a rushing wind assaulted my nostrils engorging my pulmonary system. I felt the urge to speak to angels. Everything about me seemed to glow in newness, though I’d been here before it all looked fresh, different. Hope-full.

 

Our four dead bodies jumped to their feet and praised the Lord!  More hugging, more crying. A oneness of purpose infused the gathering as we tearfully rejoiced. Our old lives were gone; we were reborn into the family of God, no longer slaves to sin but heirs of righteousness. We changed into clean, dry garments as new creations ready to follow our Lord. We were now in the witness protection program, witnesses of God’s grace and protected by his Holy Spirit as promised in our guide books, “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth” commonly referred to as "The Bible."

 

 

Isaiah 64:6

Acts 2:1-4

Rom 6:1-14

Rom 6:15-23

2 Cor 5:17

Col  1:1-17

Col 3:1-17

 

mary, letter of explanation

Letter of explanation

I don’t' know what made me do the things I did. I always heard voices telling me , "Go ahead do it, it'll be fun." And the voices never agreed on what to do. Conflict upon conflict crowded my mind. I never kept friends for long. Mostly because they dropped me after they found I slept with their husbands. The last guy I slept with was the last. We just finished having a good time when the door flew open and there stood his wife. She ran screaming from the room. Seconds latter if not sooner the room was filled with neighbors. I barely had time to wrap a sheet around me before I was hauled outside. Sharp things pelted me. Beer bottles were breaking beside me. People were slapping and kicking me.

This was it. The end. I wouldn't walk away from this. No one was going to call for help. Suddenly calm. More calm. My heart was pounding so hard that’s all I could hear in my ears. I peeked out of the sheet I had pulled over my head, feet were walking away. They had stopped tormenting me. Timidly I lowered the sheet and looked around.

A group of men were sitting a ways off watching me. One of them walked over and handed me his long coat. "Try not to get into anymore trouble, okay?" He helped me to my feet and left.

I got up and raced home, showered and dressed. I felt something different. I didn't feel anything. Something was different, I always felt something. The voices were gone. This was strange. No one ordering me around.

I sat and drank some tea and reflected on things... for a long time. The sun set and rose again several times. I didn't go to work at the bar. I didn't feel like stripping for a living anymore. The desire to shock people had left with the voices.

A few days passed and I eventually stepped out of my house, no one recognized me as I had washed the goop off my face and was wearing a modest outfit. Strolling no where in particular I noticed an assembly in the park. There he was. The guy who gave me his coat. He must be some kind of story teller, an actor or something. I couldn't get close enough to ask him where he was staying since he was performing. Off to the side were some of the guys I recognized from that horrible night. I approached them to get his address. They politely gave me directions and told me when I could find him at home.

I couldn't get there fast enough with his coat. I really wanted to thank him for helping me. I didn't know the right way to thank him though because I usually expressed thanks physically and some how I didn't think that would go over big this time. I actually didn't even feel drawn to have sex with him or any of his buddies for that matter. When I arrived where he was staying there was another group of people. Man, was this guy ever alone? Such is the life of performers. Women and men were spilling out of the house having a good time. They wouldn't want me around. They were out of my league. They seemed like nice people. I never mixed well with nice people. I'm the girl every one's mother warns about. Then I saw
him coming down the street. He was limping. His feet looked sore. I got to him first and offered him my shoulder to lean on the rest of the way home. He quietly accepted my offer. When we got there I took off his shoes and noticed a blister on his big toe. I inquired of his friends where the bathroom was and went for a wash rag and some water to clean his foot. Damn, I'd forgotten a towel to dry his foot with. I didn't want to leave him again so I undid my braid and used my long hair pulling it between his clean pedal digits. It tickled his feet and we shared a comfortable laugh. He was really easy to be with. I had some perfume in my purse so I scented his feet with it for fun.

A long and wonderful relationship started between us. Since I was now out of work I followed him in his story telling trips and helped cook for the entourage. He hadn't been on the road long. His was a new act. It was a combination family counseling, medical treatment, entertainment show. We were cleaner than Walt Disney and no comparison to the Hare Krishna’s. There were a lot of men and women devoted to him. We were a mixed bag of nuts but completely family. The people I thought were upper class clean cuts were from the same dysfunctional ,maladjusted drug pushing, alcoholic back ground as me. I loved him the most. But strangely nothing sexual ever entered my mind. I'm guessing it didn't enter his either because he never made a pass at me. For the first time since I'd been on my own I was treated respectfully and I was beginning to like it. And what's more I had female friends. We shared makeup tricks and intimacies that I never got to share with anyone else before. We all had weird backgrounds, lots of excess baggage we dumped somewhere and actually walked away from.

Some of the established acts resented my new friend's apparent success. They had seniority with their acts and didn't like the throngs leaning towards his stage. His gimmicks and tricks really attracted attention. One day a group of jealous, murderous felons grabbed him and tortured him before they killed him. The law closed it's eyes to the event. No one wanted to take the blame or point a finger. He didn't even have a descent funeral. Someone just took his body and dumped it in a hole. I went with some friends to see that justice was done on his behalf and put him to rest properly. We looked all over for him. He was no where to be found. I got frantic. Life wasn't fair. He was such a quiet calm man. He hadn't looked for trouble, he just loved telling peaceful stories, stories that gave you that feel good about yourself feeling.

Suddenly we saw an explosion. I say saw because we didn't hear anything, just saw a bright light that covered half the horizon, then we felt the earth move, we fell to our knees and covered our heads. After a few seconds we regained our footing and hurried in that direction. As we got close two men ran past us, I remembered seeing them in the mob that killed my friend. The front of their pants were wet and they were babbling incoherently about ghosts and zombies, their faces were severely contorted. We weren't sure we wanted to investigate the explosion anymore and started to retreat when a young man walked up to us.

"We're looking for a body, have you seen it?" I asked him.

Then he said my name. It was him. He was radiant, not a sign of the beating he'd received was left on his body, except for a few scars on his hands and feet. We all fell at his feet and kissed him. Pulling us up one by one he told us to go tell his staff where they could find him.

As per his instructions we gathered on his favorite mountain to meet him. He gave us some instructions and encouraging words and told us he wasn't staying here anymore. We all wanted to go with him. We could start over also. He didn't have to go by himself, his enemies were our enemies. As we were begging him to take us with him his head looked taller, looking down we noticed his feet were not on the ground anymore. The more we looked the higher off the ground his feet rose till we were looking at the bottom of his shoes. We all stepped back. Was this an other one of his wonderful acts, if so it superseded them all. Higher and higher he went till we saw him no more. The silence was deafening. No one wanted to admit what they saw. There were hundreds of us yet none of us believed our own eyes.

A voice attached to a white willowy figure informed us. "Close your mouths and go home, He'll come back again in the same fashion, keep your eyes open for him." The wispy figure dissolved into the air and we stumbled home filled with awe and a deeper love for mankind than I can ever explain.

We all broke up and went in different directions to spread the story of Jesus, our best friend and now our savior. My name? Mary Magdalene. And no, I never slept with him or any of his followers for that matter. Leave my name out of that gossip mill.

demons

When dad met mom he was a mess. She was his reason for changing. He reinvented
himself into something desirable and went after her full steam. Eventually he
convinced her into marriage and they produced three off spring, I'm one of
them. Ultimately his old personality resurfaced. He had failed to replace the
old habits with new ones that would stick. Apparently his love for mom was not
sufficient for permanent alteration. His demons came back and brought numerous
acquaintances,(demons don't have friends). He resumed gambling, drinking,
sexual explorations on the web, spending over his income and even though it
wasn't mentioned I wonder about pedophilia. Mom must have also because she
sent him packing one night after he came to my room to give me a nighttime hug
after a drinking excursion.

He moved into a private, quaint cardboard box with other deviants and
misplaced humanity near the old cemetery. The cemetery went back years and
hadn't been used for decades so the living homeless moved in. I would go down
there an watch him from a distance. I was afraid of him, he wore barely no
clothes and got into tons of scrapes with his fellow rejects. I would spy on
him as he cut and beat himself till he bled or got worn out. He was a
terrifying sight but he was still my dad and part of me loved him dearly. Mom
and I prayed for him every night. I am beginning to doubt that God is
listening, however.

One late afternoon as I was hiding in the bushes a group of tired looking
hobos approached the homeless camp. They looked like they had been walking for
a while, their feet and clothes were dusty and they needed a good bath but
they actually appeared decent. Good upbringing shines through even hard
times. They asked a few of the people if it was alright for them to bunk down
there for the night. Most of the residences ignored them, and a few grumbled
acquiesce. The group pulled out tents and camping gear and set up housekeeping
on the periphery.

After some time they had a campfire going and food stewing. The aroma spread all the way to me. My salivary glands started watering. Some of the old timers gathered around the new fire. The new comers invited the onlookers to join them. Soon there was laughing and talking and partying, but without alcohol. Oddly there seemed enough food for all who came and they did keep coming. I couldn't see the size of the pot through all the people but I couldn't imagine it feeding so many. Some of the old timers brought food to
add to the menu. No one was sent away.

I was tempted to approach but feared my dad who was by himself and between me and the goings on. He had a scowl on his face that was intimidating. He was shaking and sweat was pouring from him.
Withdrawals? Without warning he ran to the assembly with a sharp knife, cursing profanities. One of the new hobos stood up and palm upward motioned for all to be calm. The old timers were afraid of dad, they had seen him hurt too many so they cowered in a huddle. The brave man walked towards dad slowly
and calmly. His hands up to show no aggression or bad will. Dad stopped short right in front of him and fell to his knees crying. I inched forward in the bushes, amazed

Dad started talking first, “I’m so sorry, I know who you are but these voices in my head are screaming at me to kill you!"
"How many voices do you hear?"
"Thousands, I can't distinguish them!"
"They are leaving you now!" the stranger proclaimed raising his eyes to heaven and pointing at a flock of
crows. Sparks flew at the crows that got agitated and soared upwards. Butting heads and knocking some out they tangled up in each other and fell down into a barbed wire fence getting trapped where they would stay till they died.

All was silent except for the cawing crows. The company around the campfire were all eyes and ears. No one talked. The friends of the newcomer didn't looked surprised. They could predict the next few moments of conversation, yea, they could recite it verbatim if they wanted to, but they just watched and smiled.

Dad stopped crying and hugged the man's feet and ankles. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, I'm your humble servant. I intend to follow you forever and care for you."

"Nonsense. You have a family that needs you. Go to them now. Caring for them will show your
appreciation for what I've done."

Who told him about dad and us? None of the old-timers would know. Dad was after all not very
social or outgoing. The newcomer did something else that astonished me. He looked over in my direction at the bushes I was hiding in.
“Come get your dad and bring him home!" I slipped out of cover and hesitantly approached. The man's eyes were soft and gentle.
Dad stood up astounded and resuming his role as daddy asked, "What are you doing out at night over here? This is no place for you."
"Nor for you, come home with me." I extended my hands and brought dad home.

It didn't take any convincing for mom to let him in. Standing at the open door, staring into the dusk she seemed oddly prepared for his return, with a bath drawn and his clothes over the bed. She knew he'd be back tonight! She had been sitting with her bible open when a fantastic premonition hit that urged her to be ready for something dramatic.

Dad demons were replaced with good spirits after this event. He volunteered at the homeless shelter and starting teaching Sunday school and did so with authority, as one with a personal knowledge of the
savior. His old boss rehired him and mom got to quit work stay home and care for us and the next three additions that appeared. What a wonderful life I have now, far better than Jimmy Stewart's! (except for the extra babysitting I'm drafted for!)

the encounter

The Encounter
by collette mcfarland
09/12/06




He came in and took a booth in the back. I had my eyes on Him waiting to see if anyone would join Him. He wasn't a regular. I don't think I'd ever seen Him around town. After my third drink I sauntered over, my legs somewhat unsteady. He would do till some better prospects arrived.

"This seat taken?"

"No, please." Standing he pulled out a chair for me. Unusual.

"Alone?" I asked

"My friends and I are passing through. They're out grocery shopping." He answered. "Would you mind buying me a drink?"

Oh, brother. A dead beat. "Men are supposed to buy mine." But I motioned for the waitress.”

What will you have?"

"Just a coke, please."

At least I won't be out much, I thought, as I ordered his drink and a refill for me. He passed his hand over my glass, "Sorry, I thought I saw something on it." He explained.

He had the saddest expression as he observed the customers around us.

"So many hurting people." He said, more to himself than me.

"This is where they come all right. Alcohol is a great pain killer." I drained the last drop of my drink and ran my tongue around the rim, seductively. He didn't pick up on it. I ran my fingers down my cleavage.

"So big boy, what do you do for a living?"

"I work with my dad. We have a restoration business."

His eyes looked into mine so deeply I felt my soul being stripped. I didn't mind exposing nude flesh, but my heart? Then it started, words just spilled over themselves to fall on the table. It didn't take long to fill him in on my whole life. My marriage, divorce, marriage, divorce, ad infinitum. Things I'd never told a living soul, and things I hadn't even admitted to myself. I didn't have a clue as to what caused the hinges on my jaw to flap wildly; I'm not the talkative type. It just seemed as if nothing about me was a secret to this man. I buttoned up my blouse, inconspicuously, one button at a time, and pulled my skirt down lower to cover my knees.

People started coming in for happy hour. As they passed our table their ears would bend and before long they became part and parcel of the conversation. So many recitals of hurt and agony slopped out of broken vessels. So many "let me tell you about this" stories. He just sat and listened, and let tears slide down his cheek. Then He shared truths that caused us to see things differently. Somehow all the mistakes that led me down this road seemed reversible.

Chairs scrapped across the floor as our group expanded. Then tables were pushed together to add more entries to our cluster. Adulterers, drunks, gamblers, liars, thieves, and druggies, and dozens of them were patrons of mine. We all met on common ground and nothing offended this clean-cut young man. No topic was off bounds, no language was corrected, but over time foul words evaporated and were replaced with acceptable substitutes. Alcohol flowed freely, yet no one seemed to get intoxicated. It was as though we were drinking water. In fact the more I drank the more sober I became. Someone told the manager to turn off the jukebox. None of us wanted to be distracted from this man's wisdom. It wasn't long before God became the central topic. Odd none of us took to our feet and ran, we weren't after all the church going types, more like church burners. It seemed so natural to discuss God in this bar. Never once was religion brought up, however. He made God sound like a personal friend of ours who, who'd known us from before the cradle.

"God is a spirit. He is wherever we are. He doesn't want to hear from us for just an hour on Sundays". He explained. "He loves it when he's talked about, or to, anywhere, bars included." He sounded like he and God were on first name basis.

Eventually some more strangers showed up. His friends, I guessed. One came up to him and whispered in his ear, "Sir, you don't need to be seen with these riff raff. That's a whore you're next too!"

"Look again. I think you're mistaken." He replied, firmly, laying His hand on mine. He wouldn't argue in my presence. That was obvious. So gallant. I felt esteemed. My reputation hadn't been defended in years, if ever.

"We're done shopping. Let's go eat." another friend of His suggested, meekly.

"I've already eaten." He responded. His friends glanced at each other. Only pretzels and peanuts were on display. Surely this wasn't enough to satisfy Him after the long day of work.

We all got to our feet to beg Him to stay when He was finally ready to continue his journey. He promised this wouldn't be His last contact with us, and he was sending a friend to guide us. We all escorted him to the door like a parade. It was hard to believe we'd only known Him for hours. Some of us slipped money into His hand. Only the proprietor seemed relieved He was on his way.

I went to my car, keys ready, and I looked at the gaudy neon sign in the parking lot. Jacob's Well: Drinks and Strippers. I would never be seen here again. No part of me. Ever. I wasn't even going home to my latest shack up. He wouldn't miss me me until the rent was due. I was going home to my family, to beg their forgiveness. He never did reveal his name. I did notice initials on His shirt, though. J.C. Wonder what they stood for. For me they stood for, "Just Cured!" One thing I know for sure. He was definitely in the restoration business. Restoring souls and lives. And hope.

John 4:1-26
Math 9:11
2 Cor. 5:17
John 16:7

covers

by collette mcfarland
07/22/06


Look at all the covers. How can I tell what I want to read. I know I want
something short, something with romance and a good plot,lots of action. There
are so many books to choose from. I pick one up. There's a man that looks like
Fabian on the cover leaning over a girl that looks like the girl next -door's
ugly third cousin twice removed. He thinks he's God's gift to woman and she
thinks he's her birthday present. The story makes her out to be some insecure
female not worthy of his attentions. Like he's the type that would have a
relationship with a wall flower! Give me a break! He would be dating some other
empty headed well contoured body with a face designed by her plastic surgeon !
It's a harlequin romance, all these stories are the same. Boy meets girl, girl
is intimated, hates, or is otherwise not interested in afore mentioned boy.
Pursuit, run , fall , capture , tame. Now how often does that happen in real
live. Guess that's why it's called FICTION! The book is too long and phony to
keep my interest.

Here's another book. A house with a face on it. The face looks evil. Story plot
is about demon's possessing a house. Too much inside this book for me. I'll
sleep with the lights on and sprinkle holy water around my bed and on my pillow
and wake up to the aroma of mildew. I like a good fright but this book will take
to long to read so the nightmare will last for several weeks.(At my reading
speed). Besides it's been made into a movie. I could rent the move cheaper and
watch it in an afternoon and forget about it by bedtime.

The cover of another book draws my attention. Guns, violence, drugs, sex,
espionage are all promised on the book jacket. These books are usually to hard
to follow. You never can figure out the plot or whose who. Too many charactors.
Here's another book. No picture on the cover. I pick it up and look to see how
thick it is. It seems too large. I might loose interest in the story. Then I
flip through the pages to see how large the print is and if there are any
pictures. There is no indication on the back cover about the contents. Only the
title is on the front cover and spine and it's not in English, the title is
some greek name. It looks like it's filled with many short stories though. It's
divided in sections. I could read it in parts. The captions on some of the
pages lead me to believe it's got a wide variety of tales about sex, lots of
sex! Men sleeping with married women, men looking for wives, women sleeping
with ex father in laws, brothers killing brothers,rape, wars, peace,
dysfunctional families, loyal daughter-in -laws (that part must be the fictional
stuff)...unwed pregnancies. Oops, I see some nightmare stories in here too.

This book is wild. It has every thing I need in small doses. I can read it
slowly chapter by chapter and not loose track. It will cover my need for
romance, violence and love. I examine the stack of books I picked this one up
from. It's an enormous pile and it's in the back of the store. Does anyone buy
this book? Maybe it's not such a good idea for me to get one. No one else seems
interested in it. In fact they are staring at me just for holding it.
Well I've never been swayed by popular opinion. I think I'll buy it and give it a try. I
can always bring it back for a refund. I believe I've heard of a movie by the
same name before, I don't think it was a great success. Not many movie theaters
presented it. Well I'm off to give it a try. I'm not expecting much though.

At the register the cashier informend me,"This is a great book."

"It doesn't look like many people have bought it."

"This is our second shipment this week."

"Have you've read it?"

"Oh yeah, several times. It had a good ending for me."

"Don't tell me how it ends!" "It doesn't end the same for everyone."

"How's that?"

"Read it and see for yourself."

After I replaced my credit card in my wallet and headed for the door the cashier called after me,"Enjoy your new Bible!"

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!