The Inexplicable Molly
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Inexplicable Molly" by Scott Dalgarno
"Seeing Is Believing" by Argile Smith
"The Eyes of the Heart Enlightened" by David O. Bales
"Worth the Wait" by John S. Smylie
What's Up This Week
This week's edition of of StoryShare offers material for both the sixth Sunday of Easter and the Ascension of the Lord. In our featured story, Scott Dalgarno spins a gripping tale of a beloved pet and an unusual memento of his memory -- and how it provided a man with an unexpected haven in the midst of a crumbling relationship. Argile Smith shares an amusing vignette that reminds us that visions aren't delusional... more often than we like to admit, they're revealed in God's time to be realities. Then David Bales gives us a fresh perspective on God's love with view from a very different culture. Finally, John Smylie reflects on a trip to Costa Rica to illustrate that, like Jesus' disciples who were left behind as he ascended to heaven, the wonders awaiting us in heaven if we are patient will be far greater than we can imagine.
* * * * * * * * *
The Inexplicable Molly
Scott Dalgarno
"My peace I leave you. My peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Nether let them be afraid."
John 14:27
Few believed it, but any time Larry set his face (or his Volvo) to go home his dog Molly would drop whatever she was chewing and attend fully to the front door. Larry's wife Lynn knew this to be true. She was the one to make the connection. They tested it several times with cell phones, and there was no doubt. The dog, a modest-sized lab mix, had this sixth sense when it came to Larry. Lynn, not so much -- but Larry, definitely. Molly was Larry's from tail to jowl.
If Larry had had that sense for Lynn's movements, he too might have camped out in the entryway when she was headed home -- but he didn't, and five years into the marriage Lynn spent less and less time at home anyway. So when Molly, at only seven, started sleeping more and more, Larry felt loss engulfing him. Their vet said that Molly had some sort of blood disorder -- said she could live a year or maybe a month, she didn't know. Molly was gone in two weeks, and Larry took that to be his sweet dog's way of being good to him. Larry was sick every day of the hound's final journey. Mercifully, she just slept away.
When Larry began to suspect that Lynn was doing more than merely working late at the city attorney's office, he began to wish that he himself could maybe sleep away too. The rift between husband and wife had been growing for years. It was glacial. Not in coldness, but in speed, or the lack of it. They were friendly enough... but only friendly, like a grown brother and sister.
The night Molly died they both held vigil there at her tattered cushion. The dog that had been sleeping for days woke briefly at midnight and licked their hands and faces. Oddly, it was Lynn who wept inconsolably -- she who had at first been so against getting a dog. "Animals," she had said in disgust, "they just tie you down." That night Molly's devotion to Larry, to them both, touched Lynn at a very deep level.
One Monday night after a weekend spent at the beach with a particularly surly Lynn, Larry went to his home office and hacked into his wife's e-mail account. There he found an abundance of "letters." He wasn't surprised to find them, but still, it was a shock to know for certain that his wife was in love with another man. There they were, declarations of love to a college beau of Lynn's who lived across the country. There were musings about a potential rendezvous, but no evidence that anything had ever been carried through. Lynn's letters to Dave sounded so like those she'd written Larry a decade before. But while theirs had been so full of appreciations, these were full of a clunky kind of mushiness that sounded more like those of high-schoolers trying out something new and over both their heads. The notes just seemed at bottom to be so, so... sad, Larry thought. But now, at 40, he didn't trust his own judgment when it came to his wife's heart. He sighed deeply. And a tiny sob surprised him, choking him briefly.
With the letters was one long voice-mail message. It was kept in a file named, inexplicably, "Molly." With earphones, Larry listened to this long affectionate ramble between the two about California politics, Dave's problem marriage, and finally, Lynn's sadness about her own infertility. Then, behind Lynn's sad musings, there it was -- the unmistakable sound of Molly crying, as was her habit, for dinner, or a treat, or a walk... whatever she was hoping Lynn might give her just then. Larry was thunderstruck. The dear dog's voice was just so... so human; plaintive and sweet at the same time. Larry was shocked to note how deeply it had touched him. How ironic it was, he thought, to be so moved when he had at first merely been appalled by what he had found.
He had been angry at Lynn of course, bitterly so, and also ashamed at himself for stooping so low as to snoop in his wife's private correspondence. But to hear Molly's cry providing a musical soundtrack to their all-too-common tragedy, it made the whole thing surreal, and also somehow bearable. Yes, bearable. Larry couldn't quite explain it, but the cooing and crying of Molly -- it was such a comfort to him. It brought him a kind of peace. It was like being swept into the eye of a great storm; the storm of his mid-life. Larry didn't know if this "discovery" would be something Lynn would welcome as a release from an affair of the heart that was perhaps growing more awkward than nurturing, or if it meant instead the end of their marriage. He didn't even know, right then, what he wanted. All he knew was that here was a visitation from another place... maybe a better place. It was clearly a place not of this world -- a place that offered him a pure, palpable, and very welcome peace.
Scott Dalgarno is pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Ashland, Oregon. He is also an adjunct professor at Southern Oregon University, where he teaches Film and Ethics. His poetry, essays, and stories have appeared in numerous publications, including The Christian Century, America: The National Catholic Weekly, The Antioch Review, and Alive Now.
Seeing Is Believing
Argile Smith
Acts 16:9-15; Revelation 21:10, 22--22:5
Suzanne had been told to expect some of the residents in the nursing home to say some strange things. After all, her instructor shared with her during the orientation period, a good number of the people living there had some years on them, and they had a tendency to be a little delusional at times. Assigned to the nursing home in order to meet her internship requirement, Suzanne took seriously what her instructor had said because she wanted to do well. Her grade for the internship would be an important component in the successful completion of her nursing degree.
Not long after Suzanne set out to see the residents assigned to her, she met Clara, an octogenarian who greeted everyone with a warm smile and a positive attitude. When Suzanne walked into her room, Clara commented on the beauty of the early spring day and recounted her pleasant memories of springtimes past. She then assured Suzanne that she absolutely loved being able to have a first-floor room with such a good view of the courtyard in the center of the facility.
Clara commented on the lovely trees outside, but Suzanne didn't pay much attention to what she said. She just went on filling in Clara's chart with necessary details about her blood pressure and pulse rate. In a moment, Clara began to talk about some children dressed in such beautiful spring outfits walking through the courtyard. Again, Suzanne ignored what Clara said. She reasoned that children wouldn't be in the nursing home courtyard at that time of the day -- they would be in school. Barely acknowledging Clara's observation, Suzanne went on with her work.
What Clara said next, however, startled Suzanne. Clara began to describe in somewhat vivid detail a huge pink Easter bunny that was accompanying the children in the courtyard. She went on to add that the big bunny must have been six feet tall, with a big blue nose and long, fluffy ears. Clara also said that the bunny carried a giant Easter basket.
Not wanting to rile up her patient but also trying not to reinforce her patient's delusional activity, Suzanne commented very little on Clara's apparition. Instead, she finished her work, said good-bye, and made a note on her chart that the doctor should re-check the patient's medicine.
Not long after she returned to the nurse's desk, Suzanne heard a commotion in the corridor. She walked toward the commotion in order to get a better look at what was going on down the hall. At about that time, the double doors to her wing opened wide and a small crowd of exuberant children appeared. All of them were dressed in brightly colored t-shirts, with a prominent "Happy Easter" message emblazoned on the front of each shirt.
Suzanne gasped when she beheld the person dressed in the huge Easter bunny costume walking through the door. The bunny was pink, except for the blue nose, and the ears were fluffy and slender, just as Clara described. With a large basked filled with goodies in hand, the bunny escorted the children from room to room, wishing each resident a very Happy Easter.
By now Suzanne was completely embarrassed. What she had considered to be a delusion turned out to be reality. She returned to the desk, recovered Clara's chart, and erased her previous recommendation. Then she returned to Clara's room and told her that the Easter bunny would be visiting her soon.
Visions can have a way of being realities in due time.
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He has been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi, and has also served as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network.
The Eyes of the Heart Enlightened
David O. Bales
Ephesians 1:15-23
"Why did you sleep?" the man of the family asked the boy. "All the villagers' cattle could stray -- and our cow among them." He glared at the boy, who didn't answer. "These babies need milk. We took you in and gave you milk as a child. You pay us back by endangering all cows of the village."
When the boy was caught that first time he was sentenced to weeding the garden with the girls for a week -- a terrible dishonor. He would never again lie down to sleep while herding the cattle. But he found a position to sit where he could sleep yet appear to be alert. By sitting on something higher than the bare ground and drooping his head to his chest, from a distance his napping passed undetected. If he were to sleep any other way, an adult from the village or another shepherd would discover him and tell the family.
The boy stood now and stretched after a few heartbeats of very warm sleep. He counted the cattle through the distortion of the desert air. Nine, ten, eleven... one wandered toward the brush. The boy set out in a steady jog to circle it and haze it back. Eleven cows, one for each family. Here on the edge of the Ethiopian desert, few villages were larger. The boy knew two other villages: one was three days east into the desert, the other two days west into the striped hills.
As he ran to chase back the cow he thought about the banter in the village. Everyone was talking about them. They would come from the sky and then walk to the village. If only children spoke of such, he could disregard the news -- but even the adults he lived with agreed. For twelve days the village spoke of their coming more than it complained of the extreme heat. They're coming tomorrow.
The boy shooed and switched the cattle farther for their afternoon grazing. Fortunately, here he could sit in the partial shade of a bush. He liked to get a little shade everyday, especially now in the oppressive heat; but the cows always moved farther than he wanted them. If he stood right beside them, they still insisted on one step farther.
They never stayed where he led. He, however... he must follow his precise orders everyday. No step further of freedom for him. Someone told him the direction and distance. The cattle had more choice than he did; and when he brought the cattle home at night, people were glad only to see their cow.
He'd herded cows since his sixth summer. During his eleventh summer he was doing the same thing and living in the same borrowed home. Nothing changed. Certainly nothing got better. One thing was different today -- because the desert had received one of its rare rainfalls, the boy found a puddle a handwidth across that the cows hadn't spied. He looked into its muddy water and saw the outline of his head and shoulders. Three, perhaps four years ago he'd seen his outline in a puddle. He didn't remember his head seeming as large. He could ask the woman in the family if he'd grown much in three years, but she'd probably do as usual when he talked: sigh, turn away, and begin to scrape out a pot or to make bread.
The next day the boy again took the cattle where he was told. Again he sat and pretended to watch them. He closed his eyes. They'll arrive today. They've left their giant village and entered a room that flies. They're coming to teach about Jesus. The boy gladly anticipated their arrival. When the village gathered to dance and sing he felt less alone.
By the time the boy drove the cattle to the village that evening, groups of people were gathered on the field next to the village. He left each cow at its hut, then strode quickly toward a loud group of children crowded around two light-skinned men. One man stepped forward to a girl, and the interpreter pointed to the light-skinned man, "Look at him. Look." Soon they bent down together to look at something the boy couldn't see and the children around screamed, "You. You. That's you." The girl laughed, trying to stop her giggling with both hands, scuffing her feet and stirring up puffs of dust. The next child said, "Me! Me!"
The boy didn't know why the uproar in the center of the crowd. He stood on tiptoes at the edge of the group. The lighter-skinned men wore hats with bills in front and shirts with long sleeves clinging with sweat. One light-skinned man looked over the other children to him and said something. The boy didn't understand. The light-faced man gestured with a cupped hand. The interpreter said to the boy, "Come. Come." The other children moved to let him by. A light-faced man raised the small, shiny box near his face and seemed to aim at the boy. The boy heard a click. The man turned the box around and held it down to the boy. "Look," the interpreter said. "Look here."
The boy looked at a tiny picture of a boy's face. He didn't know why the man was holding it to him or who the boy was in this vividly clear picture. He cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. The girl beside him laughed and screamed with delight, "That's you, Lema. That's you, Lema."
Lema looked at the girl beside him who was saying his name. Then Lema looked at the interpreter holding the shiny picture box. The man said, "Lema?" He pointed to the picture. "Lema, that's you. God made you, Lema, and Jesus knows your name and what you look like. And Jesus loves you, Lema, as though you were the only person in the world to love."
David O. Bales is a retired Presbyterian minister and a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. He is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace and is a contributing author to Sermons on the Second Readings (Series II, Cycle A).
Worth the Wait
John S. Smylie
Luke 24:44-53
On a recent trip to Costa Rica, I was getting a bit antsy to go on a road trip. A road trip in Costa Rica proves to be quite a challenge because of the condition of the roads. Distances there are not great, especially compared to the western U.S., where a 200-mile drive to a Costco is a seasonal occurrence for some folks -- but the roads were like no other roads I've ever seen or experienced before. Ruts and potholes, rocks and riverbeds, narrow bridges and erosion are the norm, and the fast-forming, deep, and wide puddles could swallow up a small dog when the torrential rains begin.
Upon our arrival and after a three-hour drive (which in the U.S. would have taken a little over an hour), we made a tentative plan to stay put in the small community of Nosara on the Pacific Ocean. It was a surfer's dream destination, though none of us were surfers when we arrived (that would be another story). After a week, I was ready for a road trip, and I offered my wife and son an opportunity to come with me. They asked if I would postpone the trip until the next morning so we could get an earlier start and perhaps find a place to eat breakfast where we would experience some local color.
Jesus, on the other hand, would not wait. His time had come to make that most incredible journey from earth to heaven. "Jesus, won't you wait another day? Can we go with you?" It had to be very difficult for those first followers to stay behind as their friend and risen Lord told them to wait while he departed on a new and great adventure. Now it does say that those first disciples returned to Jerusalem with great joy, but I can't help but believe that other feelings accompanied them as well: joy for their risen and ascended Lord, wonder for themselves, and anticipation about their own final journey now made more clear and more hopeful having witnessed their Lord's ascension to heaven.
Staying behind while others engage in a great adventure is a discipline of faith. Waiting is not easy work, and it seems to me our waiting needs to be filled with more than time -- more than just sitting around indulging ourselves in pleasures like watching TV, listening to good music, or reading a good book. Waiting for those first disciples meant seeking directions from above. It meant believing that God would do something to make clear to them what their next task, their next work, would be. Waiting for the Lord's word and direction may be an invitation to learn greater patience, confidence, and trust that God is real and powerful and that God cares about how we live our lives.
Our Lord asks his disciples to wait -- to stay in Jerusalem so they can grow and become more like him -- more formed in his image, more confirmed to his will. The first group failed to wait and watch with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. This group would have an opportunity to do better. And they did do better; they obediently waited and were blessed with God's abiding presence in the Holy Spirit.
I am glad Jill and Ian asked me to wait for them, and we were able to go together on a Costa Rican road trip. A highlight included crossing a river inhabited by fish and alligators, where tropical birds cooled their feet and sipped the fresh water, and we spotted over 50 monkeys climbing above us through the canopy -- monkeys who screamed at us whenever the wheels of our 4 x 4 plowed through the gently flowing, shallow river water. After leaving the river we soon found an oceanfront local restaurant in another town and enjoyed a plate full of fresh fruit -- watermelon, mango, pineapple, and other delights. We ate eggs and sipped on locally grown coffee.
That was in Costa Rica! Imagine the journey we will have when our Lord tells us to wait no longer, and we have the opportunity to make that final journey with him to heaven as we join in his ascension from earth to heaven. The only logical conclusion to the word becoming flesh on earth is for flesh to be joined with divinity in heaven through our Lord Jesus Christ. I suspect heaven is even more wonderful and adventuresome than Costa Rica. Joining our Lord's ascension journey will lead us to unimaginable wonders, not the least of which is to share the wonder of heaven with the one who knew us and loved us before we were in our mother's womb.
John S. Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, May 13, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"The Inexplicable Molly" by Scott Dalgarno
"Seeing Is Believing" by Argile Smith
"The Eyes of the Heart Enlightened" by David O. Bales
"Worth the Wait" by John S. Smylie
What's Up This Week
This week's edition of of StoryShare offers material for both the sixth Sunday of Easter and the Ascension of the Lord. In our featured story, Scott Dalgarno spins a gripping tale of a beloved pet and an unusual memento of his memory -- and how it provided a man with an unexpected haven in the midst of a crumbling relationship. Argile Smith shares an amusing vignette that reminds us that visions aren't delusional... more often than we like to admit, they're revealed in God's time to be realities. Then David Bales gives us a fresh perspective on God's love with view from a very different culture. Finally, John Smylie reflects on a trip to Costa Rica to illustrate that, like Jesus' disciples who were left behind as he ascended to heaven, the wonders awaiting us in heaven if we are patient will be far greater than we can imagine.
* * * * * * * * *
The Inexplicable Molly
Scott Dalgarno
"My peace I leave you. My peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Nether let them be afraid."
John 14:27
Few believed it, but any time Larry set his face (or his Volvo) to go home his dog Molly would drop whatever she was chewing and attend fully to the front door. Larry's wife Lynn knew this to be true. She was the one to make the connection. They tested it several times with cell phones, and there was no doubt. The dog, a modest-sized lab mix, had this sixth sense when it came to Larry. Lynn, not so much -- but Larry, definitely. Molly was Larry's from tail to jowl.
If Larry had had that sense for Lynn's movements, he too might have camped out in the entryway when she was headed home -- but he didn't, and five years into the marriage Lynn spent less and less time at home anyway. So when Molly, at only seven, started sleeping more and more, Larry felt loss engulfing him. Their vet said that Molly had some sort of blood disorder -- said she could live a year or maybe a month, she didn't know. Molly was gone in two weeks, and Larry took that to be his sweet dog's way of being good to him. Larry was sick every day of the hound's final journey. Mercifully, she just slept away.
When Larry began to suspect that Lynn was doing more than merely working late at the city attorney's office, he began to wish that he himself could maybe sleep away too. The rift between husband and wife had been growing for years. It was glacial. Not in coldness, but in speed, or the lack of it. They were friendly enough... but only friendly, like a grown brother and sister.
The night Molly died they both held vigil there at her tattered cushion. The dog that had been sleeping for days woke briefly at midnight and licked their hands and faces. Oddly, it was Lynn who wept inconsolably -- she who had at first been so against getting a dog. "Animals," she had said in disgust, "they just tie you down." That night Molly's devotion to Larry, to them both, touched Lynn at a very deep level.
One Monday night after a weekend spent at the beach with a particularly surly Lynn, Larry went to his home office and hacked into his wife's e-mail account. There he found an abundance of "letters." He wasn't surprised to find them, but still, it was a shock to know for certain that his wife was in love with another man. There they were, declarations of love to a college beau of Lynn's who lived across the country. There were musings about a potential rendezvous, but no evidence that anything had ever been carried through. Lynn's letters to Dave sounded so like those she'd written Larry a decade before. But while theirs had been so full of appreciations, these were full of a clunky kind of mushiness that sounded more like those of high-schoolers trying out something new and over both their heads. The notes just seemed at bottom to be so, so... sad, Larry thought. But now, at 40, he didn't trust his own judgment when it came to his wife's heart. He sighed deeply. And a tiny sob surprised him, choking him briefly.
With the letters was one long voice-mail message. It was kept in a file named, inexplicably, "Molly." With earphones, Larry listened to this long affectionate ramble between the two about California politics, Dave's problem marriage, and finally, Lynn's sadness about her own infertility. Then, behind Lynn's sad musings, there it was -- the unmistakable sound of Molly crying, as was her habit, for dinner, or a treat, or a walk... whatever she was hoping Lynn might give her just then. Larry was thunderstruck. The dear dog's voice was just so... so human; plaintive and sweet at the same time. Larry was shocked to note how deeply it had touched him. How ironic it was, he thought, to be so moved when he had at first merely been appalled by what he had found.
He had been angry at Lynn of course, bitterly so, and also ashamed at himself for stooping so low as to snoop in his wife's private correspondence. But to hear Molly's cry providing a musical soundtrack to their all-too-common tragedy, it made the whole thing surreal, and also somehow bearable. Yes, bearable. Larry couldn't quite explain it, but the cooing and crying of Molly -- it was such a comfort to him. It brought him a kind of peace. It was like being swept into the eye of a great storm; the storm of his mid-life. Larry didn't know if this "discovery" would be something Lynn would welcome as a release from an affair of the heart that was perhaps growing more awkward than nurturing, or if it meant instead the end of their marriage. He didn't even know, right then, what he wanted. All he knew was that here was a visitation from another place... maybe a better place. It was clearly a place not of this world -- a place that offered him a pure, palpable, and very welcome peace.
Scott Dalgarno is pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Ashland, Oregon. He is also an adjunct professor at Southern Oregon University, where he teaches Film and Ethics. His poetry, essays, and stories have appeared in numerous publications, including The Christian Century, America: The National Catholic Weekly, The Antioch Review, and Alive Now.
Seeing Is Believing
Argile Smith
Acts 16:9-15; Revelation 21:10, 22--22:5
Suzanne had been told to expect some of the residents in the nursing home to say some strange things. After all, her instructor shared with her during the orientation period, a good number of the people living there had some years on them, and they had a tendency to be a little delusional at times. Assigned to the nursing home in order to meet her internship requirement, Suzanne took seriously what her instructor had said because she wanted to do well. Her grade for the internship would be an important component in the successful completion of her nursing degree.
Not long after Suzanne set out to see the residents assigned to her, she met Clara, an octogenarian who greeted everyone with a warm smile and a positive attitude. When Suzanne walked into her room, Clara commented on the beauty of the early spring day and recounted her pleasant memories of springtimes past. She then assured Suzanne that she absolutely loved being able to have a first-floor room with such a good view of the courtyard in the center of the facility.
Clara commented on the lovely trees outside, but Suzanne didn't pay much attention to what she said. She just went on filling in Clara's chart with necessary details about her blood pressure and pulse rate. In a moment, Clara began to talk about some children dressed in such beautiful spring outfits walking through the courtyard. Again, Suzanne ignored what Clara said. She reasoned that children wouldn't be in the nursing home courtyard at that time of the day -- they would be in school. Barely acknowledging Clara's observation, Suzanne went on with her work.
What Clara said next, however, startled Suzanne. Clara began to describe in somewhat vivid detail a huge pink Easter bunny that was accompanying the children in the courtyard. She went on to add that the big bunny must have been six feet tall, with a big blue nose and long, fluffy ears. Clara also said that the bunny carried a giant Easter basket.
Not wanting to rile up her patient but also trying not to reinforce her patient's delusional activity, Suzanne commented very little on Clara's apparition. Instead, she finished her work, said good-bye, and made a note on her chart that the doctor should re-check the patient's medicine.
Not long after she returned to the nurse's desk, Suzanne heard a commotion in the corridor. She walked toward the commotion in order to get a better look at what was going on down the hall. At about that time, the double doors to her wing opened wide and a small crowd of exuberant children appeared. All of them were dressed in brightly colored t-shirts, with a prominent "Happy Easter" message emblazoned on the front of each shirt.
Suzanne gasped when she beheld the person dressed in the huge Easter bunny costume walking through the door. The bunny was pink, except for the blue nose, and the ears were fluffy and slender, just as Clara described. With a large basked filled with goodies in hand, the bunny escorted the children from room to room, wishing each resident a very Happy Easter.
By now Suzanne was completely embarrassed. What she had considered to be a delusion turned out to be reality. She returned to the desk, recovered Clara's chart, and erased her previous recommendation. Then she returned to Clara's room and told her that the Easter bunny would be visiting her soon.
Visions can have a way of being realities in due time.
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He has been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi, and has also served as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network.
The Eyes of the Heart Enlightened
David O. Bales
Ephesians 1:15-23
"Why did you sleep?" the man of the family asked the boy. "All the villagers' cattle could stray -- and our cow among them." He glared at the boy, who didn't answer. "These babies need milk. We took you in and gave you milk as a child. You pay us back by endangering all cows of the village."
When the boy was caught that first time he was sentenced to weeding the garden with the girls for a week -- a terrible dishonor. He would never again lie down to sleep while herding the cattle. But he found a position to sit where he could sleep yet appear to be alert. By sitting on something higher than the bare ground and drooping his head to his chest, from a distance his napping passed undetected. If he were to sleep any other way, an adult from the village or another shepherd would discover him and tell the family.
The boy stood now and stretched after a few heartbeats of very warm sleep. He counted the cattle through the distortion of the desert air. Nine, ten, eleven... one wandered toward the brush. The boy set out in a steady jog to circle it and haze it back. Eleven cows, one for each family. Here on the edge of the Ethiopian desert, few villages were larger. The boy knew two other villages: one was three days east into the desert, the other two days west into the striped hills.
As he ran to chase back the cow he thought about the banter in the village. Everyone was talking about them. They would come from the sky and then walk to the village. If only children spoke of such, he could disregard the news -- but even the adults he lived with agreed. For twelve days the village spoke of their coming more than it complained of the extreme heat. They're coming tomorrow.
The boy shooed and switched the cattle farther for their afternoon grazing. Fortunately, here he could sit in the partial shade of a bush. He liked to get a little shade everyday, especially now in the oppressive heat; but the cows always moved farther than he wanted them. If he stood right beside them, they still insisted on one step farther.
They never stayed where he led. He, however... he must follow his precise orders everyday. No step further of freedom for him. Someone told him the direction and distance. The cattle had more choice than he did; and when he brought the cattle home at night, people were glad only to see their cow.
He'd herded cows since his sixth summer. During his eleventh summer he was doing the same thing and living in the same borrowed home. Nothing changed. Certainly nothing got better. One thing was different today -- because the desert had received one of its rare rainfalls, the boy found a puddle a handwidth across that the cows hadn't spied. He looked into its muddy water and saw the outline of his head and shoulders. Three, perhaps four years ago he'd seen his outline in a puddle. He didn't remember his head seeming as large. He could ask the woman in the family if he'd grown much in three years, but she'd probably do as usual when he talked: sigh, turn away, and begin to scrape out a pot or to make bread.
The next day the boy again took the cattle where he was told. Again he sat and pretended to watch them. He closed his eyes. They'll arrive today. They've left their giant village and entered a room that flies. They're coming to teach about Jesus. The boy gladly anticipated their arrival. When the village gathered to dance and sing he felt less alone.
By the time the boy drove the cattle to the village that evening, groups of people were gathered on the field next to the village. He left each cow at its hut, then strode quickly toward a loud group of children crowded around two light-skinned men. One man stepped forward to a girl, and the interpreter pointed to the light-skinned man, "Look at him. Look." Soon they bent down together to look at something the boy couldn't see and the children around screamed, "You. You. That's you." The girl laughed, trying to stop her giggling with both hands, scuffing her feet and stirring up puffs of dust. The next child said, "Me! Me!"
The boy didn't know why the uproar in the center of the crowd. He stood on tiptoes at the edge of the group. The lighter-skinned men wore hats with bills in front and shirts with long sleeves clinging with sweat. One light-skinned man looked over the other children to him and said something. The boy didn't understand. The light-faced man gestured with a cupped hand. The interpreter said to the boy, "Come. Come." The other children moved to let him by. A light-faced man raised the small, shiny box near his face and seemed to aim at the boy. The boy heard a click. The man turned the box around and held it down to the boy. "Look," the interpreter said. "Look here."
The boy looked at a tiny picture of a boy's face. He didn't know why the man was holding it to him or who the boy was in this vividly clear picture. He cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. The girl beside him laughed and screamed with delight, "That's you, Lema. That's you, Lema."
Lema looked at the girl beside him who was saying his name. Then Lema looked at the interpreter holding the shiny picture box. The man said, "Lema?" He pointed to the picture. "Lema, that's you. God made you, Lema, and Jesus knows your name and what you look like. And Jesus loves you, Lema, as though you were the only person in the world to love."
David O. Bales is a retired Presbyterian minister and a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. He is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace and is a contributing author to Sermons on the Second Readings (Series II, Cycle A).
Worth the Wait
John S. Smylie
Luke 24:44-53
On a recent trip to Costa Rica, I was getting a bit antsy to go on a road trip. A road trip in Costa Rica proves to be quite a challenge because of the condition of the roads. Distances there are not great, especially compared to the western U.S., where a 200-mile drive to a Costco is a seasonal occurrence for some folks -- but the roads were like no other roads I've ever seen or experienced before. Ruts and potholes, rocks and riverbeds, narrow bridges and erosion are the norm, and the fast-forming, deep, and wide puddles could swallow up a small dog when the torrential rains begin.
Upon our arrival and after a three-hour drive (which in the U.S. would have taken a little over an hour), we made a tentative plan to stay put in the small community of Nosara on the Pacific Ocean. It was a surfer's dream destination, though none of us were surfers when we arrived (that would be another story). After a week, I was ready for a road trip, and I offered my wife and son an opportunity to come with me. They asked if I would postpone the trip until the next morning so we could get an earlier start and perhaps find a place to eat breakfast where we would experience some local color.
Jesus, on the other hand, would not wait. His time had come to make that most incredible journey from earth to heaven. "Jesus, won't you wait another day? Can we go with you?" It had to be very difficult for those first followers to stay behind as their friend and risen Lord told them to wait while he departed on a new and great adventure. Now it does say that those first disciples returned to Jerusalem with great joy, but I can't help but believe that other feelings accompanied them as well: joy for their risen and ascended Lord, wonder for themselves, and anticipation about their own final journey now made more clear and more hopeful having witnessed their Lord's ascension to heaven.
Staying behind while others engage in a great adventure is a discipline of faith. Waiting is not easy work, and it seems to me our waiting needs to be filled with more than time -- more than just sitting around indulging ourselves in pleasures like watching TV, listening to good music, or reading a good book. Waiting for those first disciples meant seeking directions from above. It meant believing that God would do something to make clear to them what their next task, their next work, would be. Waiting for the Lord's word and direction may be an invitation to learn greater patience, confidence, and trust that God is real and powerful and that God cares about how we live our lives.
Our Lord asks his disciples to wait -- to stay in Jerusalem so they can grow and become more like him -- more formed in his image, more confirmed to his will. The first group failed to wait and watch with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. This group would have an opportunity to do better. And they did do better; they obediently waited and were blessed with God's abiding presence in the Holy Spirit.
I am glad Jill and Ian asked me to wait for them, and we were able to go together on a Costa Rican road trip. A highlight included crossing a river inhabited by fish and alligators, where tropical birds cooled their feet and sipped the fresh water, and we spotted over 50 monkeys climbing above us through the canopy -- monkeys who screamed at us whenever the wheels of our 4 x 4 plowed through the gently flowing, shallow river water. After leaving the river we soon found an oceanfront local restaurant in another town and enjoyed a plate full of fresh fruit -- watermelon, mango, pineapple, and other delights. We ate eggs and sipped on locally grown coffee.
That was in Costa Rica! Imagine the journey we will have when our Lord tells us to wait no longer, and we have the opportunity to make that final journey with him to heaven as we join in his ascension from earth to heaven. The only logical conclusion to the word becoming flesh on earth is for flesh to be joined with divinity in heaven through our Lord Jesus Christ. I suspect heaven is even more wonderful and adventuresome than Costa Rica. Joining our Lord's ascension journey will lead us to unimaginable wonders, not the least of which is to share the wonder of heaven with the one who knew us and loved us before we were in our mother's womb.
John S. Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, May 13, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
