December, 2020 - CityofAgapeCityofAgape

I Knew You’d Be Here

Something tells me that I am not the only one who is unhardened and maybe a tad more than elated to see 2020 go by the wayside and usher in a new year with promise, resolution, and perhaps even a little amnesia. I write this with a healthy amount of caution because, as some of you may already be thinking, 2021 could be worse, while others, siding with the more-or-less optimistic stoics among us, would be counter-offering a glib, “how could it be?!” Whatever the case may be, we can all agree that new opportunities await all of us just as they have every year, and now is the time to learn from the more immediate past and project going forward whether or not the new year is going to be better than the last one.

Let me suggest one possible positive starting point to begin 2021: is there anything already significant about the upcoming year that we could find so as to set the stage for good things to celebrate rather than ruminate? We would seek these out to somehow counteract the events over which we have no control with items that, whether it is a great or terrible year, will come and go whether we like it or not, with of course the normal caveat about dying or some other unforeseen cataclysmic occurrence. I found one.

Sometime within the first few days of our new adventure, I will have outlived my grandfather. The rationale of this observation has nothing to do with competition and everything to do with admiration which should be made noticeably clear in a few lines. To declare without embarrassment that I will have been blessed by this landmark in 2021 only serves to remind and challenge me to live up to the standards and nobility that he left my family over forty-five years ago when he died. If there was anyone in my world who could make you feel as if you were the only one in the room, it was Grandpa. I am very happy to discover in sharing this intent to write about him with my other relatives, mostly cousins, that I was not the only one who felt this way or to this day still remember the intense joy and expression of pure delight when we walked into his home, expressing as he would with some little nickname he had for each one of us. Mine was “Little Googy,” which I have come to discover is an Australian term of endearment spoken to children when they are about to be fed their morning egg.

Of all the memories amassed during high school, of all the choices and decisions that a young man makes during that tumultuous season of human development, I am most happy of the one I made, almost intuitively, to begin to ask my Grandpa about as many memories he had to share whenever we went to visit. Had these days been accompanied with clever and smart phones that could have recorded and photographed any given moments of time, my rendition of those short but meaningful conversations may have been very different today. Still, I am grateful for what we had and for what I remember, even more than forty years ago.

One memory that always comes back to my heart, especially around these times of Thanksgiving and Christmas, is the very tender account my Grandpa telling me about a little lamb he was once given. I can’t remember why or how he came across a baby lamb, but I do remember what happened after a few months. My Grandpa has created a little pen to the side of their home into a makeshift corral and every day went out to feed the animal and to make sure that it was protected and safe from any wild animals that may have been passing through. Over the next couple of months, the lamb grew pretty large and by this time had already had a name. Then came Thanksgiving. As a father of a family of six mouths to feed, he had one obligation and it will not take an exceedingly long stretch of the imagination to figure out what happened next. The last element of this memory that I remember is what my father told me years later after my Grandpa died. He said that he could remember approaching the table quite hungry and as he was enjoying one of his favorite meals with his brothers and sister, he looked up and saw his father walking up and down the dining room with just a piece of bread and some coffee. He just couldn’t eat the main course that day, understandably.

I think it was early in my Senior Year of high school that I had what was probably the last conversation I would have with Grandpa just weeks before he died. Our nation was still swelling from the divisive nature of the Vietnam War/Conflict and as a young man nearing the age of the draft, I had some important questions for him concerning the nature of battle and war itself knowing the time of life that he had lived and observed. “Why do we have war, Grandpa?” was something along those lines that I recall placing before him outside his home, probably near the same area of his make-shift lamb pen. I wish I could say that I could restate the exact words he used, but what I do remember was that he said that war really did not create valor or heroism, rather, it revealed it in the most unobvious of places.

Then he went on to share a most profound detail that he was told by those, older than him, returning from World War II. It involved a situation involving two buddies from Texas who fought side by side in the trenches of France. Apparently, the two had become separated in the fierce battles in the trenches in southern France. When the gunfire had ceased for a few merciful minutes, the one could hear the other crying out clearly wounded and even perhaps dying and began to implore his commanding officer for permission to crawl over to reach his friend, to offer comfort and encouragement and to help him in any way possible. The officer in charge, however, refused to let him leave the trench but before he knew it, the young soldier was already over the top, ignoring the smell of gunpowder in the air, the concussion of incoming rounds, and the frenetic pounding of his heart deep within his chest. Miraculously, he made it to his friend hoisting him on his back and then repeated the amazing rescue effort only to discover that when they both returned to the safe area of their platoon, it was too late. His friend was gone. And even in the face of remarkable love translated into pristine bravery, the officer in charge chided the young soldier and cynically asked if it had been “worth the risk.” Without hesitation, he quickly and with tears in his eyes, gently responded, “It truly was worth it, sir. My buddy’s last words made it more than worth it. He looked up at me before he died and said, ‘I knew you would come.’” Not too much longer after that priceless conversation, my Grandpa leaped into eternity waiting for all of us, but not without leaving us all at least a few morsels of wisdom to propel us forward into the trenches of life. I remember recalling that story as they carried his body to the cemetery with all my family watching with a heaviness caused by the realization that things would probably not be the same anymore, and they were right.

Amazingly, some thirty years later, I found myself presented with a situation which made me think of these elements of life and love and loyalty from yet another unique perspective. I guess you could say that I have been blessed with both a sense of loyalty and reciprocally loyal friends, so when one of them called me to tell me that his older brother was found dead in his living room, a man I knew and considered a friend, and then quickly ended the conversation to start planning the funeral, I knew what I was going to do. It was the week of Thanksgiving and I had not spoken with my friend who lived in the Midwest and I remember answering my mom who asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving. I answered, “I’ll be in Iowa.” Calling on favors from everyone from Omaha to Sioux City, I arranged the flight, a car, and a place to stay, including a ride to the funeral home where I knew the family would be gathering. I can still see the scene in my mind’s eye. I was sitting alone in the back of the chapel watching as my friend and his grieving family filed in to pay the last respects, many of them who only saw the body of my friend’s brother laying in state, tears and sad shouts emanating throughout those brief shocking, terrible moments. And that’s when it happened. My friend casually or maybe instinctively looked back toward the last pew of the chapel and spotted me. He slowly sauntered toward me, approached, and said those immortal words, “I knew you’d come.”

Grateful to my ever-smiling and constant welcoming Grandpa, I am ever-so-thankful to my Sweet Jesus who has never left my side no matter how dark it has been, or rather how dark it appeared to be. Therefore, I’d like to share with you what I have learned going forward:

The fear of death is more dreaded than death itself. Fear is the enemy, and we cannot negotiate with it. I choose to live in freedom. The only failure is losing God and that is not going to happen.
Because I choose to envision the sheer magnitude of my dreams and blessings, I can appreciate and accept the intensity of my life’s battles. As long as there is breath in my body, I will never give up.
Problems are messages. I realize now that until I fully receive and grasp the messages, they are poised to repeat themselves.

I know very well how valuable time is and how wonderful it is when it is spent doing good things and spending it with great people. Thank you, Grandpa. I know you did all you could for all of us and genuinely believe that you are at peace now. To all who are reading this, I wish you peace in this brave new year.

There is no doubt there are many among our readership who call themselves “dog lovers.” I mention this as a sort of disclaimer because as we begin to launch another brave new, and a conceivably better world in 2021, I want to close with the last line from an awesome book and movie simply entitled, “A Dog’s Purpose.” After taking some of us on an emotional roller-coaster, the ending reveals what the title suggests. The purpose of those wonderful canine companions is simple. “Be Here Now.” What a great way to preface the new year! Just be here, wherever you are, whatever the circumstance, whatever the scenario. Then, just maybe, you’ll hear the words that everyone should hear at least once in their lives: “I knew you would come.”

“Love is Love no matter how old you are, and I knew if I gave you enough time, you’d come back to me.” ~Nicholas Sparks

Meet Carl, Christmas Class of 2020

senior man in graduation robe shouting for joy with arms up in air

She had always wanted to be a nurse and why she chose the height of the COVID-19 pandemic to graduate and start work will remain a mystery only to be unveiled hopefully in her lifetime. But maybe she won’t have to wait too long to unravel that personal enigma.

Carl was her very first patient on the floor and no one could have asked for a more cooperative, compliant, and friendly man who, with his lovely wife, were so good to her.

She came to work on this mid-December week just a little perturbed because of the wreck on the freeway, more rude drivers, and the fact that her stomach was growling louder than a den of bears about to wake from hibernation caused by the unavoidable lack of time for breakfast. She rushed into the breakroom where most of the other nurses gathered and tried to start that first cup of cinnamon spice coffee that always seemed to jumpstart the morning for her while she shot a glance over to the bulletin board where people posted cars for sale, apartments for rent, and other sundry items including newspaper clippings featuring obituaries of the famous and not-so-famous, among them, at times, some of the former patients on their floor. Her eyes panned the selections and with a little shock in a gentle gasp, she spotted the obituary for her friend and patient Carl:

“The Angels came on December 1, 2020 to escort Carl to the Gates of Heaven to be with his Lord and Savior. He will be remembered for always having a smile on his face and looking for ways to make people laugh. He never met a stranger and is loved by everyone who met him.”

“‘Yup,’ she thought, that’s right on. I wonder how his wife is doing.” Her thoughts catapulted her back just ten days earlier when, on her day off, with a few other nurse friends who were involved with hospice, decided to drop by the RV Community Park to visit with Carl and his wife. She remembered the scene quite well and recalled how everything was decorated for Christmas especially the comfortable and well illuminated bedroom where Carl lay with Christmas lights and decorations everywhere. There was literally no corner without something flashing, glowing, or shouting, “Merry Christmas!” She recalled a comment she heard in reference to how one of her teachers loved this season and made it clear by the way he adorned every nook and cranny with festive adornment: “If Santa Clause had a house, this is what it would look like!” She also recalled that one white Christmas tree strewn with red lights and all-red ornaments that looked like a giant peppermint cane. Carl was profoundly and keenly proud of the ornament that lay atop the tree: a large, red bulb with his and his wife’s name on it with the name JESUS in large glittered- applique right in the middle of them.

She also recalled one of her last conversations with Carl. She remembered how he was afraid to die understandably as anyone would have some trepidation about what the next few seconds will present after we take our last breath. For some strange reason, at least in her thinking, Carl was actually doubting his welcome into Paradise. Was there something he needed to reveal, confess, or otherwise release from his heart before it was time to go? From what he told her and the others, which was clearly corroborated by his family and closest friends, Carl had lived a very full, generous, and happy life. Perhaps he was just scared of the unknown and so the kind nurse said what instinctively came into her heart: “The good news is, Carl, is that you passed everything. You passed! Did you hear me? All you have to do now is wait for graduation. Just think of it!” He seemed to find great solace in those words and never asked about it again.

A few days later, she went to see him on a windy, sunny, Sunday afternoon and it was clear that the end was near. “What day is it?’ he asked her. “It’s Sunday, Carl,” she responded. “Can you read some Scripture for me? What is the Gospel for today?” he implored.

The young nurse scrambled with her phone and remembered how her parish priest had published the readings for each day of the year and she quickly found the ones for Sunday. She read slowly and deliberately from the Gospel according to St. Matthew:

“Jesus told this parable to his disciples: ‘A man going on a journey called in his servants and entrusted his possessions to them. To one he gave five talents; to another, two; to a third, one– to each according to his ability. Then he went away. Immediately the one who received five talents went and traded with them, and made another five. Likewise, the one who received two made another two. But the man who received one went off and dug a hole in the ground and buried his master’s money. After a long time the master of those servants came back and settled accounts with them. The one who had received five talents came forward bringing the additional five. He said, ‘Master, you gave me five talents. See, I have made five more.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities. Come, share your master’s joy.’”

It would be the last sermon Carl would ever hear on this earth. He motioned to his wife that he wanted to sit up one last time and with the help of the other visiting nurses, he did, ever so delicately and gingerly to give his wife one last hug before lowering himself with their help back down into his bed where he took a nap and never woke up again. He had understood and had finally graduated into Eternal Life.

At his wake service, the kind nurses and the staff at his wife’s workplace put together a different kind of eulogy. They wanted everyone to hear/read the last sermon Carl had so passionately requested concerning the five talents distributed to all by God. Here is what they dispersed:

Talent One

EYES – the gift of sight.
Think of the ability to see and comprehend the world around us and God’s presence in it.

Talent Two

EARS – the gift of listening.
Think of the ability to remain quiet in front of a sunrise or sunset, a friend who is telling us about their day and life, and before God in prayer.

Talent Three

NOSE – the gift of smell.
Think of the ability to appreciate the fragrance of this created world and be soothed by the texture of nature’s aroma.

Talent Four

MOUTH – the gift of speech.
Think of the ability to communicate and heal with words that are formed in your mind and expressed with your heart.

Talent Five

TOUCH – our effect on others.
Think of how wonderful it is to be held, to accept the congratulatory handshake or the firm and reassuring pat on the back. Good touches warm the heart.

Before everyone went their separate ways, Carl’s wife of forty-five years unexpectedly and uncharacteristically stood up to say a few closing words. She explained that none of us can bury these talents any more than we can hide from the expectations that are thrust upon us. The lessons are irrefutable. Success, especially when reflected upon at the end of one’s life, is a product of our work. God always gives us everything we need to do what He has called us to do. In the mystery of this awesome human life, we are not all created equally with the same gifts and talents. None of us can render judgment on another. We work for the Master, not our own selfish purposes, and because of that fundamental and critical reason, we will all be held accountable.

“Merry Christmas, everybody! “she called out with tears in her eyes. “It’s time to finish the masterpiece!”

Carl had in fact graduated and it was time to celebrate into silent nights of comfort and joy.

The Guest Bedroom

Driving through the lush hill country outside of San Antonio was both refreshing and nostalgic. It had been to this very beautiful part of their beloved State of Texas where they used to take those long drives when they first met over forty years ago and where they had embarked on one of the most memorable and exciting honeymoons ever recorded. This was not because of anything sensual or particularly steamy, but because one simple act on the part of complete strangers, a typical Texan thunderstorm with hurricane force winds, and a surprise that had in fact shaped their married life together, and, by extension, their children and at least their approach to marriage itself with grandchildren to hear the story over and over again.

Large clusters of sprawling bluebonnets blanketed the country side over a particular rolling hill and the couple decided that they would pull over for just a bit, take a few pictures, pop open their YETI of fresh hot coffee they just purchased at a nearby truck stop and make a moment of this afternoon. It was more than hard to say or to even think that they had been married for generation and now celebrating their fortieth anniversary with many happy and insightful lessons of life and love.

It had not always been happy. Within the first ten years of the married life, they had lost a baby in childbirth, he was abruptly fired from a lucrative job, losing their dream home months later, and she her parents within weeks of each other to a heart attack and then subsequently a broken heart. However, time after time, as they held on to each other through the dark valleys of tears and disappointments, they always seemed to have found the sunshine of hopeful rays glowing all around them always remembering that “this too shall pass.”

It was that certain time in the afternoon when the sun made its last blazing attempt to warm the air right before that coolness of evening began to soothe the land when he turned to ask an insightful question with a clearly warm and tender response from his spouse of forty years: “What is the greatest thing you’ve learned from our marriage?”

“That’s easy!’ she quickly retorted. “No one has ever become poor by giving.”

Her husband smiled and added, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And there were many good reasons why he said that and they both knew why. Perhaps the sequence of events from their very first night as a married couple had something to do with it. You see, it was a typical, happy, and otherwise ordinary wedding and reception for them in the summer of 1980. The only concern the families had about the wedding had nothing to do with the bride and groom but the weather. There was a Category 2 Hurricane brewing in the Gulf of Mexico and although there was some talk as they neared the date of postponing the vows or even exchanging their vows privately and coming back for the reception after the storms season had passed. However, the decision was made to go full-speed ahead and proceed, which is exactly what they did. At first it seemed like the best decision made since the two would be travelling soon after the wedding reception sight up into the hill country for a nice, romantic getaway before getting back to work and starting their lives.

But you know the old, wise saying: “We make plans and God laughs,” and He must have been chuckling quite a bit that night because the storm surged unexpectedly three hours before the wedding was to begin. Although the wedding and the reception following might have to be rushed a little bit, it would still go on and no one none the sadder for it.

Dark clouds amassed in the distance even while the afternoon sun shone quite bright on the other side of the Texas landscape. There may have been a few who noticed the disparity of weather conditions, and if they did, they kept their observations to themselves. So much happiness filled those afternoon hours that no one seemed to notice the wind picking up, the temperatures dropping a little, or the distinct flashes of lightning that were about to add to the music of the nuptials. By the time the last toasts were made in the reception hall, there were raindrops dotting all the cars in the parking lot. The best man, a long-time childhood friend of the groom, and still to this day, by the way, came to whisper to his buddy in a serious but impending voice, “You need to get going, “ and he was definitely right.

Then with groom in tux and bride in a simply elegant long flowing wedding dress, they both waved everyone good bye and drove off, safely but with some urgency, into the night to start their long-awaited honeymoon and their dream life together.

Perhaps the quickness and the unseasonably severe, massively earthbound storm would be a metaphor for their lives together, not because of the fierceness of the rain but the resilience of the newlyweds. They were about to face their first crisis in marriage, and they were going to confront it head-on, together. Apparently, another outer band of the huge storm system wrapped its way ahead of them leaving the roads drenched, and the low-lying areas nearly flooded. The young groom had not been very schooled in driving in conditions like this so he may have been a bit too impetuous. There was too much stalling, too much water, too much gunning the engine and there was excessive fuel injected into the combustion chamber and that’s when it happened: the carburetor flooded and ignition was just not going to take place, at least for the rest of the night which was looking more and more ominous as they both sat in the car staring out the window wondering what was going to be their next step in this very unusual and unexpected turn of honeymoon events. Their car had stalled about a thirty-minute walk to a distant farmhouse that appeared to brandish a front porch light glowing and at least one other light shining from the house.

“Look,” the anxious groom firmly told his listless bride, “you stay here, and I’ll walk up to that house and see if I can get some help.”

His bride’s answer was quick and decisive. “Absolutely not!” she retorted. “I’m now your wife, so looks like we’re in this together!” (What do you say to that, and on your honeymoon?)

Still in their traditional marriage attire, hand in hand, shivering a bit, they walked toward the farmhouse stumbling a bit on the caliche ground under their feet. They reached the door of the farmhouse and knocked a couple of times hearing what they thought sounded like a radio or something in the background.

“Knock harder,” she insisted. He complied, hesitatingly. It worked. They both heard stirring from within then a tall, slender figure coming toward the window then to the door. Apparently unlocked, he just pulled his side of the door open and then clapped eyes on the couple. What a sight that must have been! There they were: two young people, a man in a crisp, tailored suit that had apparently begun to shrink on him making him look like a malnourished penguin, and his bride wearing a laced, satin gleaming wedding dress, equally drenched with mascara running down her tired, sporting a worried face with mud dotting up and down her skirt presenting more of a picture of a Halloween costume than a bridal gown.

The farmer tried to fight back laughter as he called out to his own bride probably of more than forty years, “Martha, you gotta come see this!” Within seconds, the queen of the farm emerged dressed in blue gingham house dress with over-sized night slippers that looked quite comfortable with her pepper-gray hair pulled up into a cute bun atop her head. “Yep, “ she said, “looks like we got us a pair of real winners right here!” and with that, all four of them burst into a relieving laughter dispelling whatever awkwardness might have accrued as the newlyweds were ushered into the home to explain this tale-telling scene and how they arrived, late-night, inundated, and all dressed up with apparently somewhere to go.

With a couple of cups of savory brewed hot coffee warming their bodies and soon after their car was towed close to the farmhouse thanks to a trusted tractor parked and ready to go, the next event was set to be pivotal. “Well, Martha,” began the seasoned farmer, “looks like our friends here aren’t going anywhere soon, and it is their honeymoon. What do you say, we invite them to stay in the guest bedroom?” His wife, with a small gleam in her eye and great compassion in her heart, nodded definitive approval. Soon two newly purchased suitcases were ushered into a genuinely quaint, well-decorated, ranch-stylish bedroom with pictures of memories lived most likely at that same location. Soon the house grew dark and hosts and guests retired for the evening after what easily could be described as a most remarkable day.

Even before the roosters began their morning wake-up, organic “arise and shine” alarm routines, the newlyweds arose and began ever-so-quietly collecting their belongings and began to carefully make their way to their vehicle so as not to disturb the famers after what was probably a very long night, pleasant as it was, but tiring nonetheless. The young groom placed a crisp fifty-dollar bill on top of the dresser as a way of giving thanks and penned a quick note of sincere musings. They remembered the location of the front door and the living room where they were first introduced to these fine and generous souls and that’s when they realized how truly generous they were. The farmer’s wife was sprawled out on the long, soft but somewhat uneven couch which most likely had seen the life of several generations of parents and children while her husband was neatly sandwiched between cushions atop the recliner which barely unfolded completely. That was when they realized the grand, heart-warming truth: there was no guest bedroom. The newlyweds had slept in the old couple’s own bedroom, a fruit of their lovely generous spirits clearly forged from a lifetime of giving and loving and sharing. The bride dropped her purse, woke up the self-giving couple which lit the fire of a good cry, a great laugh, and all the wonderful emotions found in between. After a wonderfully refreshing glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, homemade, no doubt, they said their good byes and then over the years, whenever the couple was in the area, passing by on their way to which ever event brought them through the hill country, they would stop for a friendly, inspiring visit. Their oldest son had the rich opportunity of meeting the farmers a couple of times, taking pictures, and listening to their shared marvelous story up until the time that they moved on to their eternal reward.

Now, nearly a generation later, the recipients of the kindest gestures of all were moving into that same time of life of their new-found friends they met years before. And, as if by perfect happenstance and on some divine cue, their oldest called them wondering how they were doing on the “anniversary tour.” When his parents told him where they were, he laughed. “Did you guys get stuck again?” he joked. “No, Son,” his dad remarked. “It’s all good.”

Some days I feel like I have lived a couple of lives since I was born but that may be part misperception and perhaps part arrogance. Regardless of the source, however, this is what I’ve learned. The pain of each chapter of our lives is soon forgotten by the joy and the hope of new beginnings. Deep pain and sorrow as harsh as they are, almost bring a kind of euphoria and ecstatic feeling when they are finally relieved if even for just a moment. Imagine that multiplied one billion times when we finally get to leave this planet and walk into heaven with thunderous applause from all the angels and saints screaming, “You made It! You made it!” Then there will be that one singular sound of one Man clapping –who happens to have holes in His hands, applauding your entrance into your eternal home precisely because you understood what it meant to be generous with your soul that could only grow when it is shared in love. Caro Vanni

If this story has moved you in some way to consider the larger picture, and if the Christmas Spirit has taken a hold of a part of your soul, please be open to making a donation to CityofAgape Charitable Foundation so that we might be able to provide more Bibles to waiting people across the country.

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