THE RETREIVAL SYSTEM (dad's death)

THE RETREIVAL SYSTEM

Well, another day. The place was humming with activity, work, work, work. I had no assignment yet. Let me rephrase that, not having checked my in box I felt free to lean back in my chair and relax while sipping a wonderful locally made apple nectar. Ignorance is bliss.

Boss approached, slipped some paper into my in box that I now noticed was a third full, and gave me a casual look over. I had been busted. No words were exchanged but I still felt my cheeks tint to a convicting shade of pink. Boss was good at that, silently convicting people. It’s difficult working for the omniscient.

Apparently I was on pick up duty today. I read the first assignment, logged all the details to my magnificent memory and reached for my hat of choice for the day, an Oktoberfest Green Velour Tyrolean with a snazzy feather stuck in the braided hat band then I slipped on my loafers, loafers seemed appropriate as I'd gotten caught loafing.  Since my wardrobe is limited to a white robe I like to accessorize to express my individuality. I don’t do ordinary well.

As I got ready to stand I sensed the tension mount in the office. Coworkers started to protect their work spaces, fanning out their wings to cover loose paperwork and anything else not nailed down. I scowled at them, ever since I had caused a mini sized whirlwind a few weeks ago that rearranged everything in the office from filing cabinets to water cooler and everything in between they had isolated my work space to the farthest regions of the cloud. Come on, it’s not my fault I have such tremendously big and awesome wings! It is what it is. Definitely not my fault, I’m just the clay, not the potter. They had at the time plotted to trim my best asset to a more tolerable size and hung a pair of scissors by my desk as a reminder that the possibility of being downsized still existed.

I pulled my wings in close and slowly made my way through the wispy office walls, stunned with my own nimbleness. I didn't disturb anything, not one thing.  Work place bullying, that's what it is, I mused to myself. They're so jealous of my wings it hurts.

Before I made my trip downwards I headed to the heavenly scented activity room to invite a woman named Tessie to accompany me since she was a part of the details. I found her sitting in her more immediate family's section, chatting it up with ancestors she had just met mixed with those she had known and lost and refound. Reunions up here are a wonderful and a continuous event.  Once Tessie had passed all the admissions procedures; entering one of the pearly gates, passing Peter’s inspection to see if she was registered in the book of life, meeting Him  and receiving her crowns,  thousands of souls had lined up for miles for a meet and greet. She was their kin after all. All the way down to that first pair of humans…what were their names again?

I signaled Tessie over to my side and explained what was expected of her. She was never to leave my side and most importantly she wasn’t to interact in any way with those we would encounter down there, it was absolutely forbidden.

“But why am I going back?” Tessie asked, nervously fearing a mistake had been made and she was being returned to her earthly package.

“We have a pickup, someone you know.” I explained as I guided her to the takeoff platform.

“Oh, but it’s too soon,” she exclaimed.” I just got here; no one I know is ready to leave there yet, was there an accident of some sort?"

“Don’t bother yourself with the whys or where fore’s, It’s just time for someone you know.”

It was never easy to explain the time differences here since forever has no clocks, calendars sundials, or deadlines, actually we didn’t have anything dead up here. Suffice it to say she was wrong. Her father had said the exact same thing as she just did when he had been permitted to accompany her Retriever, that’s what we’re called on pick up duty, because we fetch. If you don’t get it now, you will later.

On the takeoff platform I gave Tessie a slight nudge with my wings holding back most of my enormous potential.  I didn’t want her to over shoot our destination and end up on the wrong planet, or in the wrong time zone. Being a good Retriever takes all kinds of talent and specialized training. So many little details.

The trip down was awesome and it could be hazardous, but not fatal, that risk was now long gone, sorry, once deceased always deceased; I didn’t say dead! Countless other Retrievers filled the air, together with their pickups and tag-alongs. Two lanes existed, one for coming and one for going, the incoming lane being more congested and wider. These lanes were filled with the lucky ones, the blessed, the redeemed. The not so fortunate, the damned, didn’t get a Retriever but were gathered somewhere else in a huge net and tossed into a horrible dark…I shuddered. The thought was too hideous even for me to complete.  Thinking about it even momentarily caused my large wings to quiver knocking some of the passing souls off their trail creating a domino effect and earning me glares from their Retrievers. Big wings, overcrowded air space, things happen, it’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for large wings.

Down on earth I pinpointed the exact location of my assignment without any difficulty, one of three area hospitals. Having been assigned to him since birth I had kept close tabs on him. I had visited him once in this same Emergency room years ago to provide comfort, wearing a cowboy hat and synthetic ostrich boots,  (after all he lived in Fort Worth near the Stock Yards), and now I was here to  visit him again, only this time to provide transportation home.  Many other Retrievers and tag-alongs were present for similar duties throughout the hospital and surrounding parameters.  Unfortunately, I winced; I also spotted some large nets. Shudder.

Tessie followed me into the curtain lined cubicle and curiously peered down at the man on the stretcher. He was older than she remembered his skin more fragile and bruised, his eyes were sunken and had that faraway look that comes on people when they are ready to shed the dirt and chemicals that make them human.  Yes time had changed him but she still knew him. Will, the man she had married and shared children with; the man that had cared for her through her life altering illness. Life altering, not life ending.

Tessie leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek leaving the scent of heaven in the air around him.

“What’s that smell?” Will asked his daughter who was sitting next to him.

“I don’t smell anything,” Daughter responded as she inhaled the air and looked into the eyes of the hospital personal caring for her dad. They shrugged, oblivious to any scents. They didn’t smell anything either. “’What do you think you smell?”

“Perfume.”  Will answered.

Tessie looked at me sheepishly, afraid she had stepped over the boundaries by interacting with Will.

“It’s okay, he’s almost one of us and his senses for our realm are getting sharper as he releases his hold on this world.”

“Are those my feet?" Will asked peering at the two dirty appendages sticking out from the flimsy white hospital sheet. He had been well cared for by Daughter yet having several pets around his house that constantly hid his slippers he could hardly keep his feet immaculate. He knew we were here. He was ashamed of his feet and didn’t want his bride of 30 years to see them.

“Yes dad, here let me clean them.” Daughter said as she washed his feet and pulled the sheets over them. Daughter then looked around the room. I know what she’s looking for, Tessie and me. This was part of the assignment, Daughter had prayed for years for this moment, to be near her dad when his time came so she could get a glimpse of her mom but to see into the other world was only allowed for those whose spirits were peeling away from their bodies.

Will’s time was near. He had been admitted to a private room and Daughter had gone home to get some sleep after being told that his condition was stable and the current treatment plan was going to be effective. According to the attending doctors he would recover from this relapse. Doctors, what do they know? Tessie and I accompanied Will to his room where we stayed all night providing succor. His body was weak and his spirit was ready to be liberated but we had to wait for his daughter’s return. She had prayed to be present at this moment for years and it was HIS plan to honor that request.  Details.

Daughter went to Sunday school the following morning and returned to the hospital at 11:00. She had time to open his blinds, chide him for lying in the dark, fluff his pillows and offer him a glass of water he requested. Then she sat next to him. Then….

Will laid his head on the pillow closed his eyes and slowly stopped breathing as Daughter watched, holding his hand.   A nurse entered the room and called a code blue. Daughter stopped her explaining he was a no DNR  (Do Not Resuscitate) as tears rolled down her cheeks. Once again she looked around for us, actually unknowingly meeting Tessie’s eyes. Tessie inhaled deeply. Her Daughter’s eyes held so much pain. Pain was something she couldn’t identify with anymore. It was a long past and faded memory.

Will sprang to his feet and stared at us. Surprised didn’t begin to define his reactions and I never would get used to the ecstasy expressed when the first day of forever was triumphantly realized. He reached for Tessie, swooped her into a massive hug then he jumped around the room flexing body parts that hadn’t moved in years while swirling Tessie around. Will’s Whooping and hollering mixed with Daughter’s wailing and moaning, total contradictions.   As she held Will’s inert physical  hand Daughter was deeply regretting the meaning of DNR, wishing she could reverse her decision as she looked around the room for signs of us. Not allowed, I reminded myself again, but she had been allowed the satisfaction of knowing we had been present when Dad smelled heaven. God sometimes answers in a small still voice, not in earthquakes or fires.

“Dad I love you,” Daughter wailed looking upwards. Engulfing her with my wings, which now didn't seem big enough,  I leaned over close to her ear and whispered, “He knows.” She didn’t hear as much as sensed my presence, yet the tears still poured forth. Will and Tessie couldn’t comprehend Daughter’s agony. Those emotions were deleted options in their new bodies celestial.

A rejuvenated Will, Tessie and I hit the air waves at 11:30 on Sunday, the day Christians revere as resurrection day, with several other Retrievers and their assignments. No baggage to hinder us. All necessities would be provided free of charge up stairs. Tonight people on earth would see heavenly phenomena they would explain away as shooting stars and comet showers.

Back in the office after I finished writing up and filing my report Boss ambled past my desk with another assignment. This time he found me honestly working, earning me a wink.

I picked up my new assignment and smiled. I logged all the details to my magnificent memory grabbed another flashy hat, slipped on some sandals and went in search of my next tag-along. I found him in the banquet hall with all the other souls waving palm leaves and glorifying the King.

Once I signaled him over to me I explained what was expected of him. He was never to leave my side and most importantly he wasn’t to interact in any way with those we would encounter  down there, it was absolutely forbidden.

“Oh, but it’s too soon,” Will exclaimed.” I just got here; no one I know is ready to leave there yet, was there an accident of some sort!”

No, Daughter had been waiting for this day for thirty earth years. Time just stands still up here for us in eternity.

1 kings 19:12

Math 8:12

Luke 16:22

Heb. 1:13-17

Rev. 7:9-17

Rev. 21:4

 Rev 21:27

When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

  

ancestors

  I looked intensely into the eyes of strangers in my stack of old black and white photos hoping to read the minds of the subjects.  These were photographs of people long gone. Long gone before I was born, heck, most had been gone before my parents were even born.  Yet here was proof that they had once lived, had breathed,  and had at one time stood or sat in front of a camera to preserve their images. These strangers were related to me,  making them relative strangers,  without their existence I wouldn’t be here, or at the least would be a very different person.

My Aunt Dot had given the pictures to me, when she had downsized her possessions to move to a retirement center because I was presently diving into the family history, trying to lengthen the family tree. I had started off with a seed, then a trunk, now I had a few branches. The search had begun because my dad wanted to find out about his great grandfather John, a civil war veteran who had fought for the north and died in 1876. Though we don’t have a picture of him Dad had had his sword once.  I remember it used to be kept in the hall closet, now it’s in my brother’s possession. However, I have the picture of my Great Great Granddad John’s, wife, Abigail, who died in 1910.

Dad and I had left Texas in the late 1990’s for a week and gone to their burial site in New England. Though the graveyard was well kept, Dad had surmised that no one had visited these particular relatives’ graves in decades. Some of their adult children were buried near them in unmarked graves because of financial limitations. How sad.  Once gone it’s not long before you’re forgotten. I was actually surprised the cemetery was still alive, excuse the pun. I had expected it to be some frowzy plot off the freeway run over with weeds and wild trees reserved for civil war burials but it was a tidy, growing necropolis. It had taken quite a bit of time to locate dear departed Grandparents John and  Abigail Pierce and family.

I looked again into the eyes of my great grandmother, Estelle.  I had some of her jewelry given to me by my aunt. I had worn one of her  simple diamond rings when dad and I had gone cemetery hopping up north. She was buried near her husband, Willard Pierce, who my dad was named after, son of the afore mentioned John  and some other relatives I had never met but whose pictures were part of my acquired stack of photos.  It was really erie to see my very much alive dad standing next to a tombstone with his name on it and date of death in 1935. Dad had hinted I take grandma Estelle’s diamond ring and bury it in the top soil over her grave so she could have it back. I ignored him as though he hadn’t uttered a word hoping he had been joking, but not convinced that was the case.

Then there was the picture of of a man I knew as—get  ready for this—my  grandma Pierce’s mother’s husband’s father, or Great Great Grand Daddy Thompson. It was an old faded photo taken in Belfast Ireland of a man wearing a leprechaun styled hat, a fringe of hair (that I imagined was red) outlining  his jaw, long sideburns and a very serious expression as though smiling would hurt more than child birth. The back of the photo discloses the name and address of the studio that captured his image on paper, or cardboard or whatever. I googled them to see if I could order more copies but they no longer exist. Imagine that. Business must not have been very good.

The reason I had gathered my dearly but not recently departed  family of strangers together on this day was so I could take them to the post office’s coping machine to reproduce them for my cousin, who I’ve never met face to face but have shared many phone calls comparing our genealogical research efforts. 

Once inside the post office I was badly shaken when I discovered Grand Daddy Thompson wasn’t with us anymore,(yes I know he’s been  dead for decades,  I mean his picture was gone!) I retraced my steps, several times, in my search for him. I even asked the postal workers , a few hours into the search, if he had come into their custody some how by a good Samaritan who might have found him lying around the parking lot, but no such luck. I had lost Great, Great grand daddy Thompson. After years and I do  mean years of being safely kept in the family archives he was now a missing person, er, a missing flat cardboard representation anyway . I only had my unreliable memory to remember him by and God only knew how long that would last.

I punished myself emotionally to the point of physical illness, over and over again for having been so undependable, afraid to ever face my aunt again. My Aunt Dot, by the way was now in the company of Grandmas Estelle and Abigail, and Grandpas John and Thompson , but as formidable as she was in life I still feared her reaction in the hereafter.  Was she sitting next to Great, Great Grand Daddy shaking her head and tsking me, saying “I know I should have know better, She’d loose her head if it wasn’t attached?”  I couldn’t even bring myself to disclose the truth to my father for dread of seeing  the disappointment in his eyes.

I emphatically believe in hauntings now because I was haunted for months with unprofitable notions on where the picture might have slipped, like for example into some odd crevice, or under some piece of furniture, or stuck behind one of the other pictures waiting to pop up and yell BOO.

Months later after I reconciled myself to the obvious, Grand Daddy Thompson was MIA, I had to make another rare stop at the post office, my first visit since my lamentable loss. Standing in line waiting to get to the service desk I occupied myself with mindless daydreaming to divert memories of my deplorable ineptitude preserving the family’s memorabilia given to me in sacred trust.

I looked at the line still ahead of me, at the clerks at work at the desk, and then my eyes drifted upwards to the shelves on the wall behind the workers. Without warning my right arm shot up, my index finger pointed out stiff and straight and a bellow erupted from my lips, “That’s my Grand Daddy Thompson!”

 I stood spell bound for a second hoping no one had noticed me. Not realistic, no way in hell had that eruption slipped by unnoticed, (excuse my language but that phrase captures the moment better than anything). Transactions halted while everyone present in the range of my vocalization stopped chattering and centered their attention on me, some even pulled young children closer for fear I might be dangerous. I slowly lowered my arm and tried to look just as curious as they were about who had screamed out like that. Nope. They knew it had been me.

Taking a deep breath and trying to recoup some dignity I explained that I had been looking for that picture for months. I was waved on to the head of the line where one of the clerks explained that and old lady had found the picture lying in the parking lot months ago on her way back to her car. When she brought it back in a week later one of the clerks remembered a panicky middle aged woman inquiring about so he and placed it on public display hoping she (I) would return to claim it. I explained the middle aged woman must have been my mother. Yeah, that was a flat out lie alright, since she also was with my Aunt Dot.

I was so unquestionably relieved to be reunited with Grand Daddy Thompson I forgot my business with the post office and rushed home to rejoin him with his family. 

Now what was the purpose of this story? Glad you asked. It struck me that someday in the future I dream of being in another line far, far away in different dimension. A line of people, uncountable in number,  now conquerors, flowing through a dozen gigantic pearl entrances all streaming towards a radiant figure greater than any super hero, sportsman or celebrity we’ve ever known, seated in an enormous throne grander than any  earthly king’s that has ever lived.  Another man I had been searching  for, but  who had actually found me when I was lost. A man whose picture I didn't possess but who  I would recognize without problem. At that time I will shoot out my right arm, point my index finger and bellow, “That’s Jesus, my Lord and Savior!” without being noticed by anyone else because we’ll all be unified in our outbursts of praise and gratitude.  And then, probably after fleeting millennia spent praising our Redeemer, I would hook up with the souls that had belonged to the pictures my Aunt Dot had entrusted to my care. And no, I would no longer be fearful of my Aunt’s formidableness. (I hope)

gaurdians, INC

Guardians, INC. (last sent)

 

We were in the debriefing room getting our assignments. There were too many of us to count but six of us would be receiving individual instructions. Twelve more would be getting another set of orders. This job was coming close on the heels of several other similar bittersweet incidents. It would be a rough night for a lot of people. Parents can't be everywhere, so we're on call for them twenty-four/ seven. We're Guardians, Incorporated. We've been specially selected to care for the young and we have excellent references. Our training is without reproach, our instructor has been in the people business for...let's just say a long time. No one really knows for sure how long. 

We watched our surveillance camera as it tracked Man on his exploits. He had several malevolents trailing him that he was unaware of but dictated his every move. They were hideous looking outcasts, from our kingdom. Man had allowed them to enter into his life to torture him endlessly, it had been his choice. Several of our group were attempting to make contact with Man but he had us totally tuned out. They were sitting on his shoulder, yelling in his ear, trying to dissuade him, unsuccessfully. He was too far-gone to the wrong side. We couldn't interfere with free will. It was out of our hands. 

Man entered a building and crept down the hallway, looking one way then the other. He was looking for a full room. He didn't want to waste his time doing an insignificant job. Finally. He busted in a door and unsuspecting faces turned to alarm when they realized their predicament. Screaming. There was lots of screaming and chaos. Chairs and desks toppled over. A window broke as someone attempted to escape. This was our cue to rush in behind him. He raised his weapon and started firing. Bodies fell and blood flowed. The scene was awful. We were able to miraculously deflect a few bullets, push a few heads lower than the missiles, and encourage a few to play dead. The Boss was in charge of who lived and died. His ways were unquestionable. This physical scene was nothing compared to what was about to go down! 

Then Man turned the weapon on himself and we didn't attempt to intercede here. As he hit the floor those that had been his pseudo-friends broke out in raucous laughter. Man had successfully played the role they created for him and was no longer useful to them.

He slowly rose from were he fell, disembodied. Not peacefully but writhing in agony. No pity was offered him as one of my team members secured a chain to his ankle attached to a heavy weight and transported him to the nearest ocean. He was unceremoniously dumped into the midst of the water. He sunk, rather quickly, to the ocean's bottom where he joined others of his ilk. They were treacherous destroyers of youth and innocence. Man spewed forth profanities and curse's all the way down. His voice was buried amid all the wailing of the other miserable souls. They would stay here till that "Day" dawned. On that day, they'd go from the ocean to the fire. Their fate was sealed. Our leader had no sympathy for this type of evil and he had strict orders for eliminating trash of this kind. As good-hearted as my friends and I were this punishment gave us the greatest of delight. We have zero tolerance for sin. We had tried our darnedest to dissuade Man before things reached this magnitude. His wicked cohorts prevented us from reaching through to him. We felt no self-reproach. You either listen to us or not. It is your choice. We're simply messengers of the Greatest. 

The small torsos lying on the floor began to shed their spirits, that sat up and looked about, confused but at peace. They patted their chests and felt no pain, much to their surprise. My friends and I went rapidly to their sides. 

"Shh, it's alright. We're here for you." We announced as we reached for their petite hands. One little body wasn't totally motionless, his chest heaving slowly, up and down. His guardian laid her hand gently on his forehead. His tense little body relaxed. He wouldn't be ready to follow his friends soon but she made sure he'd feel no pain. They would join us shortly. Several other little bodies writhed in agony. They would mend eventually. Their angels would stay by their sides as long as they were needed. 

Slowly, those of us with young souls to care for began to rise, guiding our charges upward. We went through the roof and towards their homes. We wafted by mothers hanging up clothes, and fathers sitting in offices. They had no idea how their lives had been changed. We allowed the parents a brief glimpse of their children. We allowed a reflection in the window, or an image in the clouds. A brief insight into their children's eternal fate, before the news reached them about the horror that had just been committed on their families. Several of our numbers stayed behind with the parents. It was their task to provide comfort and support in the bereavement process that was about to begin. The higher into the heavens we rose, the smaller our team became as we were dispatched to where we would be the most beneficial. To the house of a grandmother, stepfather, neighbor, school friend. Wherever we heard an agonizing cry, or felt a heart break.  

We proceeded on past several planets and galaxies. We left the sight of the big bang millions of miles behind us. In seconds, earth's time, we were home with our new inhabitants. We were far from the prying eyes of the mightiest telescope. We entered the conference room surrounded by cheers. The young spirits were excited and joyous of all the attention. No separation anxiety, no fears, just pure bliss. But the conference room wasn't our final destination. We kept traveling onward to the throne room; it was here our dependents would stay. They would stay at the feet of Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior, till they could be reunited with their families. Actually, family was already present since all genes were shared, down to Adam and Eve. Jesus never refused children from his presence on earth, so he would surely keep them safe in this royal haven. Never would they know a moment without love and joy though they'll be there ten thousand years and counting.

 

Math 10:28                                                                            

Math 18:2-10

2 Corin. 4:16-18

define necessity

My early morning bike ride was refreshing but don’t picture me as an avid cycler with special designated cycle shorts, tops or shoes, my only cycle paraphilia were a helmet and water bottle.  Scruffy, my best four legged bud, who trotted alongside my front tire stopped every so often to smell the scenery while I just enjoyed the visual aspects of the route. It wasn’t totally a beatific panorama as I pedaled through an area under a bridge that was home to the temporarily unemployed.  Old fashioned metal trash cans being used for heat and cooking were surrounded by ragged looking denizens singing “Deck the Hall with Boughs of Holly” while they warmed partially gloved hands or coffee pots or meals scavenged from other trash cans . My bike ride had immunized me from  the cold.

Most of the people avoided eye contact with me until they noticed the hitchhiker on my shoulder, Rocky, a squirrel that had adopted my family as his own after my daughter, Cindy,  had rescued him from drowning in our pool last summer. Rocky would periodically jump gracefully to the ground to forage for nuts, return to my bike, deposit the treats in my front basket and reoccupy his spot on my shoulder.

I cruised into my driveway less invigorated than I had started, but feeling the benefits of a good aerobic workout.  Let’s see, the odometer said, 20 minutes and two and half miles. Come on, I had to have done more than that.  Darn thing must be broken. Scruffy danced around my bike and scrutinized me as if to say, “Is that all you’ve got?”

The front yard was dotted with erstwhile squirrels rummaging for their winter larder, squirrels that shunned Rocky for sleeping with the enemy; yes they could tell he reeked of dog whenever they approached him.  Rocky however, touched by the Christmas spirit,  tossed them offerings from his bounty of nuts which they accepted before making a quick retreat. Do I hear a thank you?  Nope, not a squeak, I felt sorry for Rocky who looked crestfallen, sharing his food with those ungrateful—never mind. No matter, I knew Rocky was well cared for; every time I pulled a book off the bookshelf nuts tumbled out on to the floor, along with cereal nuggets and other tidbits.

Before I went into the house I checked my mailbox. It was loaded with sales brochures, magazines and Christmas cards, cards loaded with gift certificates. What ever happened to Christmas shopping and present openings?
Jenny, the little girl from the rent house next door popped up unexpectedly at my elbow wearing a thread bear coat and slightly blue lips. My daughter had volunteered to baby sit Jenny this afternoon while her mom went Christmas shopping.

“What are those?” she asked looking at the profusion of plastic cards in my hand.

“Gift cards for department stores, I must have been a good girl this year for Santa to be so nice to me.”I said as I watched my words become visible puffs of hot air.

“Oh. I must not have been very good this year, mommy warned me not to expect too much for Christmas. But that’s okay she said as long as we have each other we’re doing okay.”

Boy that dampened my Christmas spirit. Telling that to a little girl, what was her mother thinking? I knew they were having hard times but sheesh.  I glanced over at Jenny’s house, the windows were covered with newspapers in place of curtains and an old car sat in the drive way that her mommy was attempting to start. I crossed my fingers and poof the engine turned over and off went Mommy on her errand waving to me as she passed. I grabbed my mail and dropped some on the sidewalk that blew off beyond my reach, I was too exhausted to chase down store flyers.

I escorted Jenny up to Cindy’s headquarters where we found her on Facebook. Someone had posted a split postcard on her Facebook wall showing a little black African child lying on the ground, half dressed and fully starved next to a picture of some elegant living room with an ornate Christmas tree surrounded by a king’s booty of toys and extravagant Christmas gifts with the caption “Define Necessity”.  How heartbreaking. Who could be so cruel to post that at Christmas time?  What a way to weaken Christmas spirits.

I admonished Cindy to get off that mood reducing site and participate in some human to human interaction with Jenny then left to surf the web for ways to cash in my cornucopia of gift certificates.

After an hours search I came up with, to my own incredulity, nothing. I crossed off dishes;  I already had too many for a family of three and no space for more, jewelry; had some I still hadn’t worn, hats; had two dresser  tops loaded with them, purses; same thing and I never took the time to switch them out;  what a  waste. Clothes, now you think you’d never have too many clothes, well wrong, mine closets were so packed I couldn’t squeeze anything else into them. Electronic gadgets? I had all the updated ones already. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening, not to an avid shopper.

Scruffy pranced in with the intention of redecorating my room with a mouth full of papers he planned on tearing up before his third midafternoon nap. I snatched the papers from him extinguishing his exuberance.

“Live with it Scruffy old boy, if you need a chew toy use one of your plastic thingies that’s littering the floor.”

Hey, what is this? It was catalog from World Vision. Give a gift. Change a life.  Hmm, must have been in the mail I dropped earlier.  I leafed through the pages  to see opportunities to provide animals, wells, school  supplies, music lessons , immunizations, job training, Mongolian gers (look it up!) or other homes for vulnerable children/orphans or families. You could pay for a complete package or any portion thereof.

Let’s see, someone could build a health clinic for $39,000 or stock it for $1,000 or equip a health care worker for $50; or they could buy five ducks and two chickens for $55. The caption said, “Just $55 can feed families year round.”  At the back of the catalog were items to buy so you could actually have something tangible for your donated dollars.

I looked out the window and saw Jenny’s mother as she entered her house with bags stuffed with—who knew what but I could tell the bags came from Good Will, an organization that recycles other people’s junk/extras. Jenny’s mother had to buy second hand gifts, how sad. Oh, well, at least there would be something under the tree, if she had one. I don't know; did she?

 Define Necessity. Where did that thought come from? A light went off in my head; finally I knew what to do with my gift certificates. I grabbed my coat and car keys, told Cindy I was off and raced to my sedan before I changed my mind, I can be unpredictable.

When I returned home with bags and bags of stuff I informed Cindy, who had already sent Jenny home, she and I had and errand to execute and of course Scruffy followed us bringing Rocky along with him. Those two were so inseparable.

I pulled my car under the bridge I had bicycled through previously and parked; much to Cindy’s discomfort.

“Mom, what are we doing? This isn’t safe here.”

“We are going to “Deck the halls with boughs of Holly,” I said as I grabbed some bags.

“Have you been taking your medicine?” Cindy asked, “Or are you smoking and not sharing?” Not to start any rumors, we don’t smoke at my house, not anything. I just gave Cindy the look, you know, the look of disapproval.

I got out of the car and greeted some of the folks that had been cordial to me this morning and showed them the bags while explaining my intentions.  The information I shared spread like fire and Cindy and I became encircled with eager helpers much to Cindy’s whispered vocalizations to remain inconspicuous.

Decorations went up around the bridge and shrubbery brightening the area with Christmas joviality while we all sang Christmas carols, mostly off key and consumed nutritious treats that I had also provided. Rocky was only half way handy as he placed loops of tinsel and garlands on the hard to reach branches, then pulled them away again, we couldn’t get him to understand the ornamentations were supposed to stay where he put them. Scruffy did his own thing, looking for free hands to scratch his ear, belly or any other accessible body part that he proffered.

Cindy and I then distributed individual sacks filled with socks, hats, gloves and other personal care Items purchased at the nearby dollar store. At the end of our time under the bridge Cindy had loosened up a little, just a little. But she kept one eye on the car and the other eye on my keys at all times.

Christmas morning, at last.  I reached high in my kitchen cabinet for a bowl to fix pancakes only to have dozens of nuts cascade down onto my head and roll over the floor upsetting Rocky who had felt they had been securely hidden. He chittered at me wrathfully while he attempted to re-gather his cache.

“Now listen here young man, this is still my kitchen,” I said as I swatted him with a broom and swept the nuts outside where  vagrant squirrels emerged to help gather the pecans. Rocky shrugged in acquiescence then ran up the broomstick handle to my shoulder; he didn’t feel like taking on the world this morning, not if he was expecting to get some pancakes thick with pecan syrup and butter.  Hmm hmm.

“Honey, this is great what you did,” My husband said as he sat down at the table with his Christmas gift; a card that held cut up snippets of a catalog. Snippets of animals that had been purchased in his name to provide income and food for some distant families we’d never see.

“Yea,’’ Cindy added following her dad to the kitchen table. “I love my present also, but I bet the rest of the family will feel cheated.” She was probably correct on that account. My extended family was very avarice.  But who cares, it was my money and I could do what I wanted to with it, right?  That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

The back door resonated with excited knocking.

“I wonder who that can be,” I said, loudly as I looked through the window into Jenny’s upturned face.

“It’s me, open up please!”  Jenny said excitedly.

Jenny’s mom, carrying Jenny’s coat, just caught up with Jenny as I opened the door.

“She’s been up all night waiting for your lights to come on,” Mrs. Cramer said.  “I’m sorry; I tried to get her to wait awhile.”

“He came last night! He really came, and he had some of his reindeers with him, only they looked like horses to me with antlers on, he said that was to disguise them so people wouldn’t know it was him!” Jenny said as she jumped up and down while her mom tried frantically to get the coat on a moving object.

“Who came Jenny?” I asked, a puzzled expression on my face as I grinned at Mrs. Cramer.

“Santa of course,” Jenny practically screamed at me like I was completely void of brain cells. “And he was real nice, even though I was too scared to come out from behind mommy. And he gave me lots of presents, a doll and a doll carriage and doll clothes and he gave me this brand new coat that no one else has ever worn and some shoes and.. and ..and …{breathe, Jenny, breathe} and he even brought mommy some curtains for the living room and a set of dishes that doesn’t have a missing piece. You should have seen her cry.” The words just poured out of Jenny’s little mouth and tumbled all over the place. “I must have been real good this year after all. Did he come here? What did you get for Christmas?” Jenny asked  when she finally ran out of steam.

“Well Jenny, I got a big smile,” I said feeling warmed by Jenny’s exhilaration.  Happiness didn’t get any better than this. I was still a pretty good shopper after all; I just discovered it didn’t have to be all about me.

Once I invited Jenny and her mother to stay for Christmas breakfast I took Jenny’s brand new never before worn coat to the hall closet where I hung it next to the rented Santa suit my wonderful husband adorned himself in last night to bring joy to a little girl at Christmas for the first time in six years. When I shut the door I could hear nuts fall from the upper shelf and bounce off the closet floor.

Deck the hall with boughs of holly,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

'Tis the season to be jolly,

Fa la la la la la la la la. 

Don we now our gay apparel

Troll the ancient Christmas carol,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

See the blazing yule before us

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Strike the harp and join the chorus.

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Follow me in merry measure,

While I tell of Christmas treasure,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Fast away the old year passes,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Hail the new, ye lads and lasses!

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Sing we joyous all together,

Heedless of the wind and weather,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

EASTER PLANNING

Easter Planning

 Because I’ve been let down before I tried to not get too excited about the Church’s upcoming plans for Easter and it paid off, I was right, I was working that day. Phooey. Church must be for the retired. No, that can’t be true either because the retired members use cruise vacations and visiting grandchildren as a reason for availability conflicts.  I would have thought the Easter festivities would be on Easter, (makes sense to me), not the day before.  My work schedule leaves me two available full weekends to do fun stuff and my church never gets it correct, they continuously arrange things on my unavailable Saturdays. They must hack my work schedule to plan this; it can’t possibly be totally accidental. I wish I wasn’t so paranoid, but at least I’m in touch with my emotions.

 As I fidgeted with the ring on my left hand I realized the only options open to me were making cash donations and being part of the pre festivity activities. These were workable alternatives, but darn, I really wanted to be a part of the actual revelry, not a behind the scenes worker.  Oh well, I opened my pocket book and made a contribution, (a hefty contribution, pat on the back), to the planning committee and signed my name down, in big letters, for volunteer assignments, (if they analyzed my penmanship I wonder what my signature revealed about my current attitude.)

 With half a heart, I took some posters/flyers and thumbtacks with me from the planning committee to distribute around my neighborhood. They would probably sit on my car’s back seat for days before I got motivated to nail them to phone poles. And again, I was right. Three days before Easter Eve I leashed my dog Scruffy and trekked up and down my street and fifteen thousand others nailing signs on anything that was made of wood. Each time a sign went up I got to admire my ring. It was a simple ring, that a friend gave me when I joined the church but it made me feel, well­­—­religious. It was my seal of church membership.

 Scruffy, I discovered years ago, was a fantastic kid magnet. Kids of all sizes continuously approached me and begged to pet him and when I assented some of the younger ones would back away in fear after their first attempt to touch him. Why bother to ask if they were scared? It was obvious the only injury they would sustain from Scruffy would be abrasions from his tongue. I used the dog petting opportunities to invite the youngsters to the church Easter festivities, advising them to consult their parents. Parents who I suspected would have other plans for their days off or no intention of exposing their youngsters to fiction as I’d already heard from some out spoken adults, in front of their young and impressionable progeny.

 “Thanks, but my parents made me go to church when I was a kid and I promised myself I would let my kids make up their own minds about church.” One lady with several youngsters fawning over Scruffy, politely informed me after I extended a cordial invitation to her.

 Each time I was subjected to that and similar comments I fingered my ring and launched a silent prayer upwards. That ring really made me feel connected with the Eternal One.

 I headed home with one final poster in my possession. Where to put this one—hmmm.  Scruffy strained at his end of the retractable leash pulling me to—the duck pond. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I should have kept several flyers for this location, it was primo. Today it was packed with families of all sizes throwing bread into the waters for the resident overstuffed fowl, or fishing off the embankments.  Darn it, should I retrace my steps and retrieve a few extra posters/flyers? Oh, heck, no. It was getting late and I had other things to do. Volunteer work should be easy, not exhausting. The church should be appreciative I posted as many announcements as I had.

  My poster hanging duties officially done I rested on a bench by the pond so Scruffy could have a front row seat for duck viewing/antagonizing and as expected Scruffy took full advantage of his retractable leash to sashay along the border of water and land yapping ferociously at the winged targets and upsetting a fisherman, who by the looks of his empty bucket already flunked the right to be called a fisherman. He gave me some dirty looks, obviously displeased that Scruffy was further hindering his objectives. It’s not our fault, buddy, you were here long enough to catch something before we got here.

 Oh, well, time to move on, I thought, as I waved my hand politely at the fisherman, just at the right angle so he could see my ring, and disappointed he didn’t.

 A battered old car was parked on the street obscured behind the park’s sign with the back door held opened by a tatty looking dude.  A semi pristine little girl was leaning in talking to someone blocked from my vision.  Something seemed wrong about this picture, and for some reason Scruffy’s interest was piqued at whatever interaction was taking place because he used all of his thirteen pounds to pull me towards the beat up car. Man, I really needed to work out with weights more, this was humiliating, the only explanation; Scruffy had to have gained some extra pounds.

 “Hey,” I said casually as I peeked harmlessly into the car’s backseat where a young boy sat with a box on his lap.

  “Hey,” Tatty Looking Dude echoed shifting on his feet. Did he look guilty of something?

  “What’cha got there?” I asked.

  “I was just showing your daughter some puppies,” Tatty Looking Dude answered.

  “Oh, she’s cute but she’s not mine,” I responded as Scruffy underwent a transformation from cuddly pooch to intimidating canine, exhibiting his fangs; it wasn’t like Scruffy not to see a friend in every stranger.  Again, something here was muddled.

 The little girl, in her effort to get closer to the adorable puppies, was now half kneeling on the back seat when someone called her name,” Come on Lindy, time to go.” It was fisherman.

  Tatty Looking Dude lowered his head, slammed the car’s back door shut, hopped behind the drivers’ wheel and spun off; he disappeared faster than my paychecks.  Well, if that doesn’t mean something, I thought, as I memorized the license plate.  I now stood alone on the corner of what might have been a crime scene.

 I heard Little Girl endeavoring to convince daddy of the necessity of puppy ownership as she skipped off arm in arm with him past my poster, unaware that she had probably almost become a victim in a crowded park.  I glanced at Scruffy, what had he sensed? It seems Fisherman had lowered his guard while fishing and, I hypothesized, almost lost his daughter in a very public arena.  I called the local police department with a description of the car and felt foolish as I gave my gut feelings about my suspicions but I deeply believed that doing nothing was silent complicity. The police probably thought I was nut who’d seen too many Sherlock Holmes movies.

 I gave Scruffy’s ear a good scratching. He was the one truly responsible for rescuing Little Girl, after all, the duck pond was his brainchild.

 The next goal for the Easter festivities involved me spending my Friday off filling colored plastic eggs with Easter tokens and candy.  Tokens and candy I had helped acquire, remember my hefty contribution? I sure did.

 On Saturday morning, the one I’d be absent from, there would be several stations depicting the last night and days of Jesus.  At each station the kids, after an appropriate scripture reading, would receive an egg containing a symbol of the event portrayed. For example,  at the last supper the egg held a picture of a loaf of bread; the garden of Gethsemane, some praying hand stickers; the trial,  little leather strips;  the crucification, little match stick crosses; the resurrection , little pebbles (remember the stone rolled away from the tomb?) and so forth .

 There would be eight stations in all, with an estimated 400 eggs needing 400 symbols, not to count the eggs that would be filled with candy. This was another splendid day off doing something I wouldn’t be a partaker of, not in the fun or publically visible sense. Well, at least I got to meet some of the other church members, some of who, by the way, verbally admired my simple ring.  

 It wasn’t until I went to bed Friday night that I noticed a grave personal loss. My ring was gone. My ring. After a thorough house, car and driveway search I had to admit to myself I had lost it at church. I’ll bet anything it had slipped off into one of those darn eggs. Great, I had made a heftier contribution than I initially realized , not financially, but in terms of my connection to God. I went to sleep morning my loss.

 Sunday morning, Easter, I went to church and got to hear second hand about all the excitement I had missed; after inquiring, of course,  whether anyone had found my ring; negatorio.  The cake walk, hot dog stand, bounce houses, crowds of children who had discovered the Easter story didn’t contain mention of bunny rabbits, and general all out fellowshipping;  I had missed it all, along with my ring. Silver lining to black cloud: I didn’t miss the cleanup detail, on that I lucked out.

  My heart and soul weren’t tightly connected during the Easter sermon, since my bare ring finger felt light, my attachment to God had been weakened. I had lost my God-dar. I fidgeted throughout the entire service, rubbing my bare finger. My daughter kept nudging me, the way I did her when she lost focus at church services. I think she enjoyed payback.

 The alter call that heralded the end of the service finally came and a young family answered the call to church membership following baptism. Something about the man seemed— recognizable. It was Fisherman, all cleaned up with his daughter and wife. Well, I’ll be. He raised his hand to brush some hair back from his eyes and there on his pinky finger was, of all things, my ring.  Well now I knew where it was and I was going to get it back.

 As I inched forward in the welcoming line to greet the new prospects I heard Fisherman tell the pastor that he had never visualized himself  back in a church building let alone requesting baptism but yesterday his daughter had come to our Easter festivities and returned home with some plastic eggs she had shared with him.

 “In one egg was some candy and this ring, I took it as a sign.”  Fisherman explained flashing my ring at the pastor. My ring, my fish shaped ring, my Ichthys. “It was my mother’s favorite Christian symbol, bless her sainted heart; it was like she was calling me back to church from the grave, so here I am.”

 Geez, how can I ask for my ring back after a story like that? It’ll be hard but—who am I kidding?  Apparently I didn’t have to be present yesterday to be used by God to bring someone to the cross. Hey, I’m feeling the presence of God again, my God-dar is returning.  All I had to do was let go and let God. I looked up and winked. “God it’s okay, he can have the ring, I don’t think I need it anymore.”

 At home as my family and I sat down to our Easter Repast I heard a blurb on the news regarding a potential kidnapping. Apparently some unidentified concerned citizen had alerted local police to the possibility of a predator signaling out young children. Several squad cars put the alleged predator under surveillance for a few days and managed to apprehend him in the middle of attempted child abduction, using puppies as an enticement. Evidently God, through me, and Scruffy, had saved several people this week.  The newscaster showed an interview with the little girl and her family where they profusely thanked the concerned citizen and hoped she/he  would come forward for a more intimate gift of gratitude.

“Wow,” Cindy, my daughter, exclaimed as she passed the mashed potatoes, “That family has a lot to be thankful for. Do you think the concerned citizen will come forward?”

 “Na,” my husband answered, “People that do things like that don’t want to be in the spot light. Remember the bible says ,’ But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly’ whoever made that call will get what they deserve from God  himself.”

 I nodded in one accord with my husband. I wasn’t about to come forward and explain it was my dog’s insight that had saved one little girl and raised my “danger Will Robinson” antennae.

 I glanced down at Scruffy to offer him a well-deserved slice of lamb to notice he was fixated on the TV. Could he actually understand what was going on? His tail was arcing on the floor, a seriously content dog expression plastered on his face while both ears twitched in an unsynchronized fashion. Odd. 

Beside him knelt two presences unseen to human eyes, angels assigned to this particular family, the same angles who had tugged on Scruffy’s leash to assist him in pulling his owner to the right spot at the right time. The same angels that had slipped a ring off a finger into an Easter egg to remedy a mother’s concern.  The same angels were scratching Scruffy’s ears thanking him for his willingness to respond to their input.  No, for Scruffy it didn’t get any better than this.

MATH 6:6        

MATH 4:18-20

1 CORINTHIANS 3:6

2 CORINTHIANS 6:1