Charlie's Dream

“Tears may flow in the night, but joy comes in the morning." ~ Psalm 30:5

Eldon, the twenty-something cook at a dingy all-night diner could almost set his watch by Charlie’s arrival.  After his shift, the nearly retired night watchman would always stop in for breakfast, just before a trace of daybreak wafts the narrow streets.   They left Charlie to guard the property when they closed the factory down.  Now all he worries about is boredom.

His routine was predictable – same greeting, same booth, same order: coffee and a piece of homemade apple pie.  After serving him, Eldon always took a break to join his friend for trip down memory lane.  The booth became his stage.  Soon Charlie would regale his friend with the glories of his past; drawing Eldon into each story, making him hang on every word.

Eldon liked hearing of Charlie’s adventures, but his favorite was always the one about his long lost love.  The loneliness in his face quickly gave way to hope and anticipation, as Charlie would amuse his pal with the fantasy of Carla’s return.

Eldon knew that old Charlie was born in this town and had never traveled outside its borders.  He’d never had a girlfriend.  Carla’s character was fictitious, the fabrication of a lonesome man desperately coping with broken dreams and a sheltered life.  But Charlie enjoyed the attention as he recreated his imaginary liaison.

When Charlie didn’t come one today, Eldon got worried.  He raced down the block just in time to see the coroner’s office carting his favorite customer from the place he’d stood guard for more than 40 years.  Old Charlie stories would be buried with his name.

Later that week, he joined two others at the gravesite – a Pastor and a woman he did not know.  “If you’re a relative,” Eldon began.  “He left the world a better place.”

“Is that old Charlie?” she asked.  Eldon nodded his head “Yes!”

That’s when she said “My name is Carla, I guess you’d call us friends . . . from another life.”

(Several weeks later)

Flakes of paint littered a floor covered with dust and the remains of unlucky insects.  Eldon looked up from the empty walls of his cavernous security office.  The scent of Charlie's stale cigars still lingered.  He still had a hard time waiting for the night to pass, but it was thought of Carla’s return that made the darkness manageable.  Reality . . . it’s just a word, he thought to himself.

Sometimes we mask emptiness with fantasy.  But for those who believe, nights become shorter when we dream the joy of a sunrise.  It’s the thought of eternal life that makes living on earth so bearable.  It’s the hope of success that makes failure so tolerable.  And it’s the love of Christ that conquers all.

Lord who gives me strength.  Thank You for strengthening me and for filling my every need.  Thank You for loving me more than I can comprehend.  I know that my burdens will be lighter because I trust in You with all my heart.  Amen

A Flash of Crimson

“Forgive them not just seven times, but seventy-seven times!” ~ Matthew 18:22

That’s all Anna recalled about driving to work that day, when another car swerved into her lane, hitting Anna’s sedan head-on.  With her left leg pinned between the dashboard and the front seat, Anna drifted in and out of consciousness for almost an hour before firefighters rescued her.

Her injuries were extensive: her spleen, appendix, and two-thirds of her colon had to be removed. Besides nearly losing her left foot, the crash shattered her left arm and punctured a lung.

She learned weeks later that the 33-year-old who’d caused the accident had had a blood-alcohol level well beyond the legal limit.  The driver’s lack of insurance left Anna saddled with huge medical bills.  Then after recuperating for nearly a year, her employer ‘laid her off.’

Anna gradually tumbled deeper into emotional darkness.  The rage she gripped for the drunk driver who’d ruined her life followed her like a black shadow.

The night before the court appearance when she’d confront the woman who caused the accident, Anna had a dream; more like a vision.  She remembered thinking she was going to die.  Pain seared through her legs again; her chest felt like it would explode. 

Then a figure approached.  Not human, but human form.  It wasn’t reflecting light, but emitting it, actually glowing from within.  Anna was strangely reassured by its presence.  A soft whisper echoed over and over: “Let it go Anna . . . let it go.”

She woke abruptly, breathing heavily, like she’d had been crying. 

Two years had passed since the accident - the day she almost died.  Over time the pain boiled away; her body healed itself.  But her anger had intensified.  Anna knew she needed one last thing to close the door on that day, that accident, that time she’d faced death.

In the courtroom the next day, Anna approached the public defender.  “Please let your client know that I forgive her.  I wasn’t in control of her actions that morning,” she said.  “But I’m entirely in control of how I respond from this day forward.  So I chose forgiveness over hatred.”

We’ve all been hurt by another person at some time or another.  And while this pain is normal, sometimes that pain lingers for too long.  We relive the pain over and over, and have a hard time letting go.  Trapped in a cycle of bitterness, we miss out on the beauty of life as it happens.

Forgiveness doesn’t come easy.  But, when we continue to place blame, we’re the ones who suffer most.  When we choose to forgive, the Lord sets our hearts free from the anger, resentment and hurt that imprisoned us. 

Dear Lord, help me forgive when everything inside me tells me not to.  Help me let go when my heart is breaking.  Give me the inner strength to heal and not to break, to comfort and not to destroy, to repay good for evil and love for hatred.  Amen

Too Late

“No one should separate a couple that God joined together.” ~ Mark 19:9

Bruce held his wife’s hand and uttered words no spouse wants to hear: “I want a divorce.”  Not outwardly annoyed by this, she simply asked, “Why?”

“I’m in love with someone else,” he said with a deep sense of guilt as warm tears poured from her eyes.  She stumbled to the guest room and sobbed.

The next morning Jayne presented two divorce conditions: she wanted a month's notice before filing during which time they’d continue to live normally.  She wasn’t ready to burden young Jason with their wrecked marriage.  

And one thing more.  Recalling how Bruce had carried her into the bridal suite on their wedding night, she asked that he do it again . . . every day for a month.

An odd request, thought Bruce.  But he accepted and clumsily carried Jayne from the bedroom to the front door.  Their son Jason clapped at the noble gesture.  Bruce put her down gently and without speaking, drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both seemed more relaxed.   Bruce realized that he hadn't looked at his wife carefully for a long time.  She wasn’t young anymore; marriage had taken its toll and he wondered how much was his fault.

As time marched on, Bruce felt a sense of intimacy returning.  This woman, who’d given ten years of her life to him, suddenly became easier to carry. 

One morning, he found her fretting about what to wear.  None of her dresses fit anymore; she’d been losing weight dramatically.   Subconsciously, he reached out and caressed her hair just as Jason walked in.  “Dad,” he said, It's time to carry mom now.  Seeing his Dad carrying his Mom had become an essential part of the young boy’s life.  

So he lifted Jayne, her arms wrapping around his neck fondly and naturally - just like on their wedding day . . . when he’d promised to love her until death parted them.

At a floral shop on the way to work, Bruce bought a stunning flower bouquet.   On the card he wrote, “Jayne, I'll carry you forever!”

He returned home and with flowers in hand, raced up the stairs.  Jayne lay motionless on the bed. 

Cancer had been eating away at her for months.  Today it dealt its final blow.  Knowing the end was near, she’d wanted to save Bruce from any negative reaction from their son.  At least in Jason’s eyes, Bruce was a loving husband.

Over the course of time, many marriages dissolve into the humdrum of routine.  Couples grow apart as work schedules, family commitments, and financial concerns transform what were loving relationships into little more than business arrangements.   Find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy.

Lord, the small details of our lives are what really matter in relationships - not the property, the money, or the achievements.  Help me find time to be my spouse's friend and do those little things that create greater intimacy.  Amen

Fixing the Flag

“Happy is the nation whose God is the Lord.” ~ Psalm 33:12

In 2003, Liza and her Mom sat anxiously in the hospital’s waiting room, surrounded by dozens of desperate family members.  Every few minutes a Surgeon entered through large swinging doors.  Everyone could tell instantly if the news was good or bad.

Liza, a five year old girl with eyes that sparkled with hope and certainty, seemed the only audible voice an otherwise hushed room.  Despite appeals from her Mom to “Shhhhh, don’t bother these people,” Liza would smile and shake the raven-colored braids off her shoulders to make them fall behind her neck again.  Then she’d continue talking to anyone who would listen in a way that created a hopeful diversion from the day’s tension.

She spoke about her Daddy.  Occasionally, shed glance down at the picture of him that she held in her hands.  In the picture, she held a tiny bird with a splint on its wing.  “That’s Floppy,” she smiled.  “My Daddy made the splint so the wing would heal and Floppy could fly away.”

 “And did Floppy fly away after his wing healed?” someone asked.

“Sure he did!” she answered.  It was strange, but inspiring, to listen to the certainty in Liza’s voice, as if to say, ”Duh . . . my Daddy can fix anything!”

“Are you here to see him?” another asked.  “Oh no, we’re here to see his friend,” Mom interrupted.  “He’s still in Iraq.  The friend we’re seeing was badly injured.  He has no family.  So we are here,” she said in a voice radiating compassion and understanding.  “It’s the least we could do.”

Liza had amassed quite an audience by now.  She told of the special bunk beds her Daddy made from a picture in a catalog, and the broken bicycle made new because he could fix anything.

She even told of a special doll that’d been ruined when she left it outside in the rain.  “He fixed it better than new,” she beamed. 

Mom winked at the tale signaling that her ruined doll had been secretly replaced by a new one.  But Liza didn’t know.  To her, “Daddy fixed it,” and that was enough.

“Know what else?” she asked, her emerald eyes gripping every visitor.  “When the naughty men crashed those airplanes into those buildings on 9-11, I asked Daddy if he could fix the great big flag that was dirty and had holes in it from the explosion.  That’s why he’s in Iraq.”

The room got deathly quiet.

“I get letters from Daddy all the time,” she continued, her pride building with every word.  Every time he adds a P.S. that says, “I’ll be home soon, Liza.  I’m busy fixing the flag.”

Mom looked lovingly into her daughter’s eyes noting the absolute certainty in that promise her

Daddy had made.  

Protect and guide our soldiers, dear Lord.  Strengthen them in their trials; give them courage to face the perils they face.  Grant them a sense of Your abiding presence wherever they may sleep tonight.  Amen

  

Ruptured Duck

“In a world filled with sin, hatred, and evil, war is inevitable." ~ Romans 3: 10-18

Harold sat pensively by the window.  It’s July 4^th and for most Americans, firing up their grills and watching fireworks are about as meaningful as this holiday will get.  Most won’t really consider the sacrifices that paid for this Independence Day.

Harold remembers the war and all of its horror.  He still hears the thunder of bombs exploding around him, the deathly quiet, the blood curdling screams.  He’s tried to forget but his mind won't let him.  Some friends came home, others didn’t; but none were unchanged.

He never considered himself a hero.  No, not a bit.  He simply went where his country asked him to go.  Harold went because he’d been raised in a God-fearing family who believed in brotherhood and freedom with all their hearts.  He was raised to believe with every fiber of being, that God truly inspired America’s leaders, guiding their every decision. 

So how could he ignore Uncle Sam’s call for help . . . without hesitation?  To him, he didn’t do anything special.  He just went where his country told him to go, that’s all!”

Now, he strains to hear the music they play as they march down the street in the annual parade, forgetting that the city ended the parade years ago.  The people in charge didn't think that wars should be honored any more.

He marched down that street the year he returned home from France.  Soldiers were heroes then.  Adults cheered and children waved little flags.  Times were different.

Wherever you went people smiled and shook your hand if they noticed the small “Ruptured Duck” you wore on your lapel.  Civilian soldiers wore them proudly back then. 

His “Duck” now rests in the drawer by the nightstand.  He stopped wearing it the day someone pointed at it and asked what it was.  There just weren't enough words to explain it.

Not many flags on the street today.  Back then, flags hung everywhere.  Americans were proud of “Old Glory” and treasured what she stood for.  It wasn't something hidden in a garage, or the attic.  Nobody would have ever considered burning it – or God-forbid, stomping on it. 

No, the old days are gone now.  Gone like the days when it was patriotic to serve, patriotic to vote, and patriotic to help a neighbor in need.

Still at 72, he’ll always honor those men and women whose names are written on that granite wall, or who can’t fight for themselves anymore.  He’ll always stand up for what’s right and for those who can’t protect themselves.  He’ll never forget his comrades in arms and will always, to the last day on the soil they fought for - be grateful for Independence Day.

Father, we the people in the land of the free and the home of the brave desperately need You.  We beg for Your guidance and wisdom for our leaders.  Please protect us from our enemies, both within and without.  Amen