"When a man turns away from human imperfections and beholds Jesus, a divine transformation takes place in his character. He fixes his eye upon Christ as on a mirror which reflects the glory of God, and by beholding he becomes changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. . . . "9
Emile La Blank coughed and vomited into
a paper cup. He shivered uncontrollably, pulling the quilt about
his shoulders, his body racked with a spasm of coughing and sneezing.
Pale, barely 98 pounds, despite his six foot frame, his eyes looked
hollow, his hair was disheveled, a three days growth of beard
covered his face, Emile La Blank was a sick man.
No matter his position on the couch, Emile
was uncomfortable. His bony frame felt every spring or wrinkle
in the fabric. Arthritic like pains and swelling in the joints
of his lower extremities made sleeping next to impossible. His
nights were agony, while his days were spent in alternate periods
of depression and misery over the incessant vomiting.
The bloody diarrhea and vomiting began several
weeks ago. The doctors offered medications, but nothing really
helped and he could not keep food on his stomach. The combination
of vomiting, diarrhea, and malnutrition were quickly wasting away
his remaining strength.
Emile shifted his weight on the couch, drank
some ice water, relaxed and tried to sleep. Depression, combined
with loneliness, overwhelmed him and he cried in frustration and
self pity. Like Job, he thought, his friends had forsaken him.
The nurse, who came twice a week, remained emotionally distant
behind her white mask and plastic gloves, bathing him, treating
his bed sores, administering antibiotics, and doing other miner
chores, then retreated, never fully present in the house. She
performed her tasks with of a perfunctory attitude. He understood
her reasons, and hated her anyway.
He was, after all, still a human being deserving
of some dignity he complained to himself. He laughed out loud
at that last comment. Dignity, he had surrendered that essential
quality months ago, now, he was forced to wear a disposal diaper
24 hours a day, just like a baby. The thought sickened him.
Emile La Blank was an angry young man. Dying
by degrees from a disease that most people dreaded, a disease
they considered as a curse from God, that evoked fear and apprehension.
Emile hated everyone and supposed they hatred him. If only he
could strike back, but whom could he vent his anger upon for he
was his own victim. Emile cursed the disease, cursed the diapers,
cursed the white masks, cursed himself, and cursed God.
Emile La Blank was not a happy man.
* * *
“You ride motorcycles,” Edith
laughed. “You of all people, I can’t imagine you on
a hog tooling down the highway in black leather and helmet.”
Amanda frowned in disapproval of her friend’s
manner of laughter and ridicule. Her habit of cupping a hand over
her mouth while snorting through her nose when she laughed made
her sound like a bunch of suckling piglets.
“Well,” Amanda replied defensively,
“I don’t ride a Harley Davidson and I haven’t been
on a motorcycle since I was twenty.”
“I hope not,” Edith laughed again.
“You don’t have the figure for a motorcycle Momma, your
too feminine.”
Amanda wasn’t sure Edith was complementing
or insulting her, so she choose to be complemented. Leaning forward,
with a conspiratorial look, she whispered, “its left over
from the days when I was a tom boy.”
The little piggy snorted.
Amanda hated this affectation in Edith,
so crude and unrefined, and she thinks I’m a motorcycle Mommy,
well, at least I’m not a sow.
Edith affected a casual attitude, tossing
her head backward, resting her hands on the chair arms while her
feet spread apart in a positively unladylike fashion. “I’m
tired of being a minister’s wife,” she confided with
a smirk. “I’m tired of being a mother, tired to two
sniveling brats following me around all day, hanging onto my skirts.
Just for once, Amanda, I’m like to kick up my heels and have
some fun.”
Amanda couldn’t conceal a look of disapproval.
Cocking her head to one side, Edith replied
to the unspoken reprimand. “Don’t you ever get tired
of being nice, being a lady, wearing skirts and heels, doing good
things. All that community service stuff you do, don’t you
get bored with it, don’t you wish, for just one day, you
could be free to be yourself.”
“I am myself,” Amanda replied,
“I enjoy helping people.”
Linda sat up abruptly, unmindful that her
pleated skirt fell between her legs, “I don’t want to
spend the rest of my life being a minister’s wife. I want
to live,” she fairly screamed in frustration.
Amanda cleared her throat while she nervously
played with her right ear ring, twisting it back and fourth, discomforted
by her friend’s self-revelations. “I would give anything
to be in your position, to be a mother. I love children.”
The pig snorted in derision. “Take
them, their all yours.”
“Edith,” Amanda said with a hint
of remonstrance in her voice, “motherhood is such a wonderful
privilege and your two boys are beautiful angels, why would you
abandon them?”
Edith yanked her skirt from between her
legs, crossed them sedately, composed her features and adopted
a beatific, angelic expression. “O Amanda, my dear,”
she said sarcastically, the dear little angels with dirty pants
and sniveling noses are the light of my life, the joy of my heart,
the hope of my old age, I shall gladly sacrifice the best years
of my life with them tied to my apron strings. The grandest work
of woman is to degrade herself to the level of children, to slave
over the sink and stove. Without hope or comfort, I shall joyfully
surrender myself, heart, soul, body, mind and fashionable apparel
so that they may grow up to confer upon their wives the vilest
slavery and servitude. And thus shall pass from generation to
generation, the enslavement of the female gender. Diapers shall
decorate my grave stone, baby food shall be my meat throughout
eternity, Mommy, Mommy shall be the sweetest perfume to my decomposing
ears. Through endless ages, I shall wipe runny noses, listen to
senseless prattle, read stupid stories of frogs and chickens,
kiss bloody fingers, and wash baby bottles. My immortal soul shall
wing its tireless flight to heaven where I shall be accorded the
glorious name “mother.” I could aspire to no higher
position in the kingdom of God.”
Snort, snort, little piggy!
Amanda cringed at the blasphemy of Edith’s
remarks.
“I thought you were a Christian,”
Amanda said. “Ever since I’ve known you, I’ve looked
up to you as a model of Christian femininity.” Amanda was
genuinely disturbed.
Sensing that she may have gone too far,
Edith modulated her voice and smiled at her friend. “Why
don’t you get married, Amanda, you would do a husband proud.”
Amanda sighed. “I’d like nothing
better then to be a mother, but I can’t have children.”
Edith nodded knowingly. “Perhaps a
doctor could help you, there are treatments.”
Amanda laughed pleasantly, “its a result
of all those years I spent as a tom boy, climbing trees, playing
cops and robbers, and riding motorcycles.”
Linda snorted then eyed her friend curiously.
“Well, you do have that tom boy like about you,” she
commented speculatively. A large women in her 40s with broad shoulders,
Amanda did have a certain masculine look but then many women were
large boned. Her hands were soft, unlike her own course roughened
ones, while her fingers were long and delicate. She had a fall
complexion and could wear bright oranges, yellows, reds or greens
while such colors on her looked positively ghoulish. Secretly,
Edith envied Amanda’s looks. Shoulder length auburn hair,
high forehead and cheek bones, a strong nose and lips, her complexion,
despite her age, remained unblemished. Slender of build, so unlike
her own matronly appearance, Edith wondered if she was on a diet.
“Do you still like to climb trees,”
Edith asked, breaking the momentarily silence?
Amanda laughed pleasantly. “In skirt
and heels?”
“But you ride motorcycles.”
“I rode motorcycles,” Amanda corrected.
“Why did you stop.”
“I don’t think you would understand,
Edith.”
Edith took offense, she was beginning to
discern an unbridgeable gulf between herself and Amanda that threatened
their relationship.
“I believe a Christian woman has a
responsibility to live for Christ, to do and say those things
that will glorify him. There’s nothing wrong with riding
a motorcycle, but I believe it tends to coarsen and degrade women,
to robe them of their God-given nobility. Motorcycles are for
men, not women.”
“Sometimes I hate being a woman,”
Edith remarked.
“O Edith,” Amanda replied, “being
a godly woman is a wonderful thing. We have a tremendous power
for good in the church and the community. People respect a woman
who respects herself and acts in a virtuous fashion.”
“Virtue,” the piggy snorted, “who’s
got virtue any more? The world holds so many attractions for the
woman who is courageous and willing to grab them. There’s
nothing in Christianity, I used to think there was, but lately,
I find it boring and devoid of interest, the world, Amanda, the
world is where the action is and I intend to grab as much as I
can before Christ returns and spoils my fun.”
Edith watched Amanda’s reactions, saw
her look of disapproval, saw her expression of sadness and reacted
with hostility.
“What do you do for fun?”
Amanda sighed. “I read the Bible.”
“That’s fun,” Edith interrupted
an incredulous expression on her face.
“Yes. I enjoy reading about and meditating
on God.”
“So what has it gotten you, a boy friend,
a husband?”
“There’s more in life then sex.”
“I agree. There’s hoarse racing,
gambling, drinking, whoring around. Amanda, don’t be a prude.
Christianity is fine for children and dull witted people, but
your intelligent, good looking,” sort of, she corrected herself.
“Lets go to Chicago, kick up our heels, and have fun. I’ll
show you what your missing.”
“I know what I’m missing and believe
me, I don’t miss it. I’ve found the real thing, I love
the Lord and he loves me. There’s nothing better then that.”
Edith snorted in disgust. “If you want
to waste your life studying the Bible, I guess that’s your
business, but I want something better.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say. She
was shocked by Edith’s revelations. “Are you going to
leave Kent, it would destroy his ministry?”
Edith relaxed while gazing past Amanda’s
head. “Not yet.”
“Think of your boys, they need a mother
who loves them.”
“I bequeath them to you,” Edith
replied.
Amanda was bewildered. “But your so
charming, Edith, you have a godly influence over the younger women
in the church and Kent is a devoted husband.”
“Hog wash,” she replied, snorting
like a pig as she glanced at her watch, then abruptly rose. “I’ve
got to be going, dear, the baby sitter can’t stay later then
6:30 tonight. She’s taking an evening class in physics at
the community collage.”
She left, disappearing into the rain while
Amanda stood at the window. Her heart was troubled while sadness
overwhelmed her. Motorcycles or the Bible, had she chosen wisely,
was Edith right, was she missing a fun-filled life of frolic and
pleasure. She shook her head, no, Edith was wrong, appearances
to the contrary, she had chosen wisely and would not repent.
Turning from the window, Amanda picked up
a picture from a lamp table and studied it. A strong, handsome
man in his twenties with broad shoulders and a lovely smile looked
back at her. Staring at the portrait for a long moment, Amanda
pressed it to her bosom and sighed deeply.
* * *
Celeste Fonteneau watched two drug dealers
exchanging heated words as she sat on the front steps of her apartment
building. This was a familiar sight in her neighborhood, but a
sight that made her cringe with fear. She had known too many class
mates who died at the hands of these men or others like them.
She fervently wished they would just go away.
Jasper sat down next to her, glancing at
the same men.
“What did you have for supper. My Momma
made hamburgers again, I hate hamburgers.”
Celeste laughed. “Mommy made me give
her my dinner. I hate ham and cheese. You know what, Jasper,”
she said, changing the subject “if she’s a Christian,
then I don’t want nothing to do with God.”
After a moment of reflection she inquired,
“Jasper, what’s God like, really like?”
Jasper shook his head. “Don’t
know, never seen him.”
“I’ve gone to church with Momma,”
she said, “but I didn’t find God there.”
“Well you can’t find him in our
neighborhood,” the little black boy said.
Celeste grimaced. “My Daddy left
us several years ago, ran off with another woman. I see him occasionally
with his arm around her but he always turns away before I can
speak to him.”
“Do you hate him.”
“Naw,” she replied. I don’t
hate him, I just don’t care. If God is like daddy, then I
won’t care about him either.”
The drug dealers disappeared into an alley,
leaving Celeste and Jasper alone with their thoughts upon the
personality of God.
“Who can I ask about God,” she
asked the boy sitting next to her?
These questions and others preoccupied the
two children well past her bedtime, but Celeste didn’t fear
her mother’s wrath, for she sat in rapt attention before
the television and would not notice her absence for another hour.
The street rapidly filled with people about
their nocturnal business while Celeste and Jasper pondered the
mysteries of the universe. As she vacantly stared at a prostitute
across the street wearing fish net stockings, an idea formed in
her mind that was so novel that it almost took her breath away.
“I know what I’ll do,” she
said suddenly, “Why not ask God what he’s like, after
all, I suppose he’s the most well informed about himself.”
Jasper thought that a splendid idea. “Maybe
he might even answer you,” he said with a wistful look on
his young face. “Its worth a try.”
* * *
The topless, baby blue, two seater gulf
cart blazed along the rutted seasonal road at a gratifying fifteen
miles an hour. Its lone occupant, a heavy set, older man with
graying hair, bounced and swayed with the bumps, a smile on his
lips and a song in his heart. Not since a boy of twelve, while
riding his three speed bicycle, had he known such speed attained
under his own power.
Branches swiped at his head as he ducked
and bobbed, while the cart careened over bumps, through mud wholes,
bounced on gravel, slid to the right and perceptibly lost speed
as the wheels of the gas powered vehicle slowed while going uphill
through a long stretch of white beach sand blown westward from
Lake Michigan by the prevailing winds that sang in the tree tops.
The tracked road stretched ahead for several
miles as he crossed an abandoned rail road bed, skidded through
gravel near a small stream, and glided along a quiet stretch of
evergreens shaded path Pausing at a junction of an East-West road,
he wondered where the nameless track wondered, vowing to explore
westward the next time he ventured this far south from the house.
Pausing, in the shade of a grove of trees,
the man allowed the cart to glide to a stop. Not bothering to
set the break, he left the cart to examine a nondescript tree.
Having finished his examination, and finding it to his satisfaction,
he seated himself on the plastic bench, fastened the seat belt
and engaged the gas petal, prepared to complete his journey home.
The motor started but the transmission refused
to engage. In spite of anything he did, the cart would not budge.
Fearful of running down the battery, he removed his foot from
the gas, allowing the motor to die while he contemplated his situation.
Five miles from home, unequipped with tools or the requisite knowledge
to make repairs, he could walk home to summon help but feared
the cart would be stolen or vandalized during his absence. As
it was late afternoon, his prospects weren’t inviting. Perhaps,
a kind Samaritan would pass his way who could repair the transmission,
but, in the remote part of the national forest, such a possibility
was poor.
Through long years of experience,
the man had learned to trust his Savior’s providential guidance
and protection. While certainly not life threatening, here was
an occasion for trust. While the birds sang in the evergreens,
the breeze blew contentedly, and an occasional inquisitive insect
buzzed past his ear, he prayed for divine assistance, vowing to
remain where he was until the Lord resolved the dilemma.
Nothing happened!
Fifteen minutes passed as he reconsidered
his options, but still nothing happened. As he remained seated,
enjoying the moment of quiet solitude, a thought penetrated his
mind, “start the cart in reverse.”
The man weighed the idea and dismissed the
thought as foolish, after all, if the cart wouldn’t start
in forward why would it start in reverse, but the thought wouldn’t
go away, but kept nagging at the corner of his mind, “start
the cart in reverse.”
Blueberries, the man thought, I must not
forget the blueberries, but he forgot the blueberries anyway.
He chuckled at his hardheaded stubbornness. Often he experienced
acute embarrassment or chagrin when refusing to head the same
still, small voice that was now urging him to start the cart in
reverse. Having purchased a quart of delicious blueberries, he
refused to head the warning voice but confidently assured himself
he had removed all of his purchases from the car before his friend
drove home. Moments later, when he discovered the blueberries
were missing, he chided himself for his foolishness.
Blueberries, yes he must remember the blueberries.
Reaching down to switch the cart into reverse, he depressed the
accelerator and was gratified when the cart suddenly plunged backward
threatening to ram a tree, he braked to avoid the collision.
Well, if all else fails, I can at lest drive
five miles in reverse, but that voice was speaking again, “now
start the cart in forward,” it commanded.
The idea, that his Lord, the master technician,
was about to answer his prayer, having finally penetrated his
thick head, the man obeyed, sending echoes of praises through
the quiet forest as the cart leaped ahead.
Settling down to enjoy the ride, his heart
alive with praises for his Lord, the man relaxed. Carefully, with
timidity, a little boy peeped out of the man’s eyes, surveyed
his surroundings, then just as quickly popped back inside his
comfortable home, content with the momentary adventure as the
cart broke free of the seasonal road which a rusted sign proclaimed
was not snow plowed by the Benzie County Road Commission. The
loving and solitary arms of the forest embraced the road for half
a mile before giving way to fields and an occasional house. Clouds
of dust swirled in the wake of the cart as the road intersected
a paved county highway. The man reluctantly crossed to the North
side guiding his cart at a leisurely pace along the grassy shoulder
until opposite his house, then, after watching and listening for
oncoming traffic to compensate for his diminished visual capacity,
he crossed the road, passed behind the garage and let his foot
slide off the gas petal. The cart sighed contentedly and fell
silent.
For a moment, he sat listening to the breeze
and several birds in a grove of trees behind the house. Bathed
by the pleasant warmth of the sun, caressed by the freshening
breeze, he missed the mountains of East Tennessee, where they
had lived for several years, but felt a sense of peace as a wonder
from a far country might experience when sighting, for the first
time, after many years absence, the fields and groves of the familiar
homestead.
Born a hundred years too late, he should
have been a small time rancher living with his wife and brood
of children, horses and donkeys on the frontier. Perhaps a shop
keeper, or school teacher, banker or feed store operator, he would
have been content with his hundred acres, heard of two dozen cattle,
chickens pecking at grubs in the farm yard, while his wife planted
flowers to beatify the harsh landscape of the Dakota territory
or Colorado mountains. Life was harsh, but not altogether unpleasant,
it had its simple pleasures and moments of enjoyment after the
crops were harvested, or the apples picked from the orchard, or
perhaps while digging potatoes or haying the field, he might pause
and give thanks to his Creator and Redeemer, but, alas, it was
the summer of 2000 and a world apart from the frontier of the
later half of the nineteenth century.
The area of Northern Michigan, he and his
wife called home, had been spared the ravages of the Southern
drought and fires. While the National Weather Service was concerned
about a possible hurricane off the Gulf Coast, Northern Michigan,
this summer, was not unbearably hot, although the previous winter
had been unseasonably wet with record snow falls and cold temperatures,
even worse then those experienced in the 1998/1999 season.
Reluctantly he pocketed the key to the gulf
cart and entered the house. Hearing his steps. Bonnie, was overjoyed
at his return. He kissed his wife who insisted on a hug as well
as a kiss.
“Have fun,” she inquired impishly.
Skipp shrugged, knowing she couldn’t
see the gesture, “it was breezy.”
Bent slightly at the shoulders from the
effects of osteoporosis and her 70 years, Bonnie smiled, “I
wish I could go with you, but I’m afraid of falling out.”
Skipp watched his wife walking unsteadily
toward her combination bedroom and parlor where she spent most
of the time. Praising the Lord, for the ten thousandth time, for
his wife and the 27 years they had spent together, he was content.
Happy times, sad times, they blended together with pleasant memories.
Bonnie found her chair, easing her small
frame into its depths with obvious difficulty and smiled at her
husband whom she had never seen.
Her upturned face invited another kiss.
Skipp obliged, noting, with joy, the smile that creased her lips
and face.
They sat together for a long companionable
moment before Skipp broke the silence.
"Do you remember how frightened
we were to live in the country?”
She laughed. “It took me a long time
to trust the Lord,” she replied, rocking gently in her favorite
dark red chair. “I was afraid of leaving the city.”
“You remember the evening when Elder
Leo drove us home after prayer meeting. We sat in front of our
apartment discussing the conviction that the Lord wanted us to
move away from the city and live in the country.”
“I was afraid, honey,” Bonnie
commented thoughtfully, “that you wanted to move us into
an uncharted wilderness without running water, or electricity
or in door plumbing. I didn’t understand the importance of
country living nor how God would take care of us.”
Skipp laughed ruefully. “We talked
about moving into the country ever since we lived in Lansing,
almost ten years earlier. I have to admit that I was also afraid.”
“We weren’t ready, honey, to trust
God, we weren’t sure we could depend upon Him to supply our
needs, after all, there aren’t any buses or taxicabs in the
country and you couldn’t walk into town.”
Skipp sighed. “The Lord brought us
a long way since that evening. Do you have any regrets?”
Bonnie remained silent for a long moment.”
I miss people, talking to friends, going places and doing things,
but I’m willing to follow the Lord wherever he may lead us.
If you want to live in the country, then that’s all right
with me.”
Skipp caught the hesitation in her voice.
A perennial hot topic with them ever since they ventured to trust
the Lord, he knew she missed the friends of her hometown who she
had known before loosing her sight nearly 37 years earlier. He
had never been able to compensate for the social deprivations
she experienced and keenly felt her sorrow over the loss of both
friends and eyesight.
“The Lord used Elder Leo to encourage
our faint hearts. He could have followed conventional wisdom and
advised us to remain in the city where visually impaired people
belong but he spoke positively about trusting the Lord, about
following our convictions.”
“I appreciate his willingness to pray
with us,” Bonnie replied, as the breeze ruffled the curtains
at the open window.
“I think that was one of the first
times we trusted the Lord.”
“I’m constantly amazed at how
fast God can answer prayer when we place our faith in him.”
Skipp smiled in remembrance. “We prayed
on Wednesday evening, asking the Lord’s guidance, and Friday
afternoon he revealed his will.”
“Didn’t Keith call you, asking
for your help building his house?”
Skipp laughed. “I think he later repented
of his rash act, I wasn’t much help to him, he’s something
of a perfectionist, and my ability to drive a nail straight into
the wood lacks something to be desired.”
“Let him try hammering nails with as
little vision as you have and he might change his mind.”
“When I first saw the house the Lord
had picked out for us, it was a mess. A dirty, brown shingled
house, hidden in a dense grove of trees with only a minimal amount
of sunlight, a yard filled with trash, it certainly didn’t
look like an inviting place to live, especially considering the
sunshine we had at our current apartment. I never thought that’s
where the Lord wanted us, but while I was helping Keith apply
tar paper to his house, the renter struggled uphill, through the
brambles, and moss covered fallen trees to inform him that he
was moving in two weeks.
“Of course my ears picked up at this
conversation; I could hardly wait to tell you the news. It wasn’t
much of a place, I hadn’t even seen the inside, but I recognized
the Lord at work. Providentially, a house materialized in the
country, not far from Chattanooga, and we just happened to know
the people who owned it.”
Bonnie grew somber. “I miss Brenna,”
she said with a tear in the corner of her eye. “She was so
alive, so filled with joy and happiness despite her handicaps.
We had such wonderful times together, singing and praying, now
she’s dead.”
“You’ll see her in heaven, it
can’t be long now, Skipp said, attempting to soothe the hurt
in her heart.”
Bonnie remained silent with her own thoughts
as she searched for a handkerchief, a frown on her face.
“Its in the waist band of your pants,”
Skipp chuckled.
She seized the handkerchief, held it up
before her sightless eyes and frowned. “If it had been a
snake, it would have bitten me.”
