by Steven Hunt
She didn’t wait for a reply. “What do you expect to happen when you flip a light switch?”
“For the light to come on, of course.”
“Are you able to see the transfer of electricity from the switch through the various wires to the lamp, delivering the energy to power the light?”
“Well, no, but—”
“But you still believe the light will illuminate because you have faith. If the lamp does not light, you check the bulb and make sure the lamp is plugged in, correct?”
Teddy nodded.
“And once the problem is fixed—by either replacing the bulb or seating the plug into the outlet—you expect the lamp to work. That is faith. Something you cannot see but believe is real and true.”
Her eyes—those all-knowing eyes—watched him intently.
Doubt clouded his mind. Could she really be an angel? But weren’t angels supposed to be engulfed in bright lights? She first appeared bathed in a dim light—not the bright one he imagined illuminated angels. He wasn’t convinced Christy hadn’t stashed a lantern somewhere in the boxcar for dramatic effect to imitate the aura of a heavenly presence. If this was a con game, she’d taken painstaking steps just to mislead him. But if this was a scam what was she to gain? What was her angle? He didn’t have anything anymore worth stealing.
Christy continued, “These are the simplest forms of faith—or believing that something you cannot or have not seen is real.” Her eyes followed him as he walked back and forth. “All I ask is that you have faith in me and Father. You see me so you know I am real. What you have yet to decide is who I am—and that will come in time,” she said when he stopped pacing.
How did she know that? Had she read his thoughts?
“You have not seen Father, so faith plays an important role here. This belief—good or bad—will be tied to you the rest of your life. Do not be one of those people who wait until the last second to decide. The end may come swiftly.”
She stood and walked to him. “I know you are having a tough time believing I am more than what you perceive. I read it on your face and hear the doubt in your voice. Skeptics will tell you that you are daft for believing, but everyone—including the skeptics—believe and have faith in something. They may not want to admit they believe in something, but as you can see by the simple examples I have mentioned, everyone has faith on some level. I am asking you to increase your faith to a new level. To a level greater than yourself.”
“How is that possible? I can believe, I can say I believe, but how do I increase the level of my belief? And wouldn’t it be easier to have faith in your father if he was here?”
Christy smiled. “By believing in what Father and I have planned in order to show you a greater belief, your faith will develop to a level even you cannot imagine. When you were a young boy, did you believe what your Uncle Bud preached?”
“I guess so. But I was young and impressionable.”
“Do not guess, Teddy. Did you believe it or not?”
Images of his uncle striding across the small church’s stage as he bellowed his sermons with a voice larger than twice his size drew a smile to Teddy’s lips. His uncle’s devotion had always spurred an uncontrollable glimmer in Bud’s eyes. When he got excited, Uncle Bud’s emotions went unchecked, which energized the congregation. Even at five feet, four inches, Uncle Bud looked ten feet tall to a young Teddy. “Yes, I believed. It was hard not to.”
“Then something happened between that time and now that caused your faith to become shaky. Can you pinpoint what happened and when?”
Teddy did not wish to discuss his personal problems with anyone, especially someone he’d just met—angel or not. He locked his gaze onto her caring and trusting eyes. Her eyes seemed to pull him out of the sinking feeling that had become a constant part of him, like a lifeguard rescuing a struggling swimmer. As he continued to delve into her blue eyes, the fog of doubt thinned and his thoughts became clearer.
The need to talk with someone about his failures and downfalls intensified to where he feared it would burst from within him. Always a man who had kept his problems to himself, he wasn’t even aware of the craving until Christy showed up in his boxcar. His pulse spiked and small beads of perspiration snaked down his back as the cloak of depression fought to limit Christy’s involvement. Clamping his eyes closed so he could not see her eyes, he wiped the sweat from his palms onto his pant legs. Salt from his sweat seeped into the cuts on his hands, producing new pain while acting as a slight reprieve from her charms, allowing him to forget her seemingly magical powers of persuasion for the moment.
“Teddy, if you really want my help, I need to know.” Christy didn’t give up.
Teddy rubbed his palms harder against his pant legs. He concentrated on keeping his eyes closed. If he wanted to keep his problems private, he had to keep his mind off the skyrocketing urge to share with her. Each pass over the rough cloth made his hands hurt more. It was a childish thing to do, but it worked.
“Teddy? Do you want my help?” Her voice grew stronger, more demanding.
The pain mushroomed until it became unbearable. His hunger to share intensified until it became ravenous. Giving in, Teddy sighed as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and opened his eyes.
“I need your full attention, Teddy. We do not have much time and we will need every minute. Now, tell me what happened.” Christy’s voice sounded more forceful than what a pre-teen’s voice should.
Somehow, Teddy knew she already knew his story. She just wanted him to say it. To confess it. Maybe if he talked, the cloak would go away. He tugged a hay bale from the stack, positioning it in front of her, sitting on the edge.
Time to bare all.
8
“It started around six months ago. Before then everything had been terrific. I had a loving wife, a wonderful daughter, a great business partner and friend, and our company was reaching new heights each day while breaking sales records. Not only was I on the top of the world, I was the top of the world.”
Teddy fidgeted, unable to find that comfortable place on the bale that would ease his aches and pains. “Then on June tenth, I received a telephone call that began what some call a deep depression—I don’t know exactly how deep it goes or if that’s even a relative term, but it is certainly dark. I’ll never forget that call as long as I live. The caller identified himself as the sheriff from the county where my parents live… uh, lived. He said that my mom and dad had been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver.” A baseball-sized lump formed in his throat, making swallowing difficult. He sniffed, but didn’t worry about shedding any tears since he’d been unable to cry.
Pain from the memory lingered. Never in his life had he considered himself a weak man, but this darkness proved—at least to him—his lack of strength. He’d studied the grieving process in college and knew negotiation was a stage of healing, but how many times in the past six months had he started a sentence with, “If I could only have one more day with them…” He wasn’t the first child to lose parents and he wouldn’t be the last. But they were his parents, not someone else’s. The implication of being a weak man overwhelmed him, embarrassed him. Teddy shifted his eyes away from Christy, trying to hide for a moment. He wanted to be by himself to grieve in his own way. But now was not the time. Her presence obliterated that opportunity.
He glanced at her. Her understanding eyes seemed to dissect him, listening to his deepest thoughts and emotions. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Teddy inhaled a deep breath before continuing, “Their neighbors told the deputy that they were on their way to church. They always attended the Wednesday night prayer meeting.” His chin quivered. Teddy shifted his eyes to the ceiling of the box car, trying to regain his composure. This was hard.
His voice cracked. “The sheriff said that my dad was killed instantly.” The methodical beat of the train moving along the rails filled his ears. Nothing else stirred. Christy even sat motionless. The world outside the boxca
r ceased to exist, leaving him to relive the trauma of his parents’ deaths.
“The deputy said that my mom was still alive when he arrived on the scene. She was in bad shape and covered in blood. He couldn’t distinguish if the blood was hers or Dad’s. He tried to comfort her—I’m extremely grateful for that—and told her they would do everything they could to get her out—but she waved him off. She actually waved him away! She told him since she didn’t have long she wanted to spend her last minutes on this earth holding my dad’s hand. According to the deputy there wasn’t much hope in getting her free before she died anyway, so he did what he could to make her remaining time happy. Her last words were a prayer for the drunk driver—the man who caused their deaths.” Teddy wiped his dry eyes with the heel of his hand, smearing blood and dirt on his cheeks. He didn’t know why he wiped them. His tears had been missing in action for months. Once the day arrived when his tears flowed again, they would come in waves—with whitecaps. “How could she pray for the man who killed them? What was she thinking?”
Christy hadn’t moved a muscle as she listened. She leaned forward to touch his knee. “They are in a much better place now.”
“How do you know?” he blurted. “How can you be so certain that heaven even exists? How wonderful can eternal life be when God doesn’t even protect those who follow His path? God could have saved them from that drunken driver if He wanted.” Teddy waved his hand. “I don’t want to get into that. It’s pointless.”
“It is not pointless if this is the reason you have become depressed. Your mother had a servant’s heart. To be praying for the man who was responsible for their deaths shows unconditional love. There is none greater. You should not be angry at the man. You should pray for his tormented soul. He, too, has problems if he sought comfort from a bottle.”
“Me pray for him? Are you nuts? I wouldn’t give him a sip of water if he was dying of thirst!” He glared at her. Tension built in the muscles of his face, and he was sure the prominent vein in his forehead now stood out. Jane had always teased him about that vein.
“Love,” Christy said. “Not just love for your family and friends, but love for all mankind is the greatest lesson you can learn. Love of this magnitude will plant your feet on solid ground.”
“No! I refuse.” He punched the hay bale. “He’s responsible for killing my parents and he must pay. I want him to suffer.”
With a soft voice Christy said, “Where would mankind be if Jesus had the same attitude just before He died on the cross? Do you think God would have hesitated to send His angels if Jesus had asked? How about redemption? Would there even be such a thing if Jesus had decided to not die on that cross?”
She stood, placing a tiny hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Teddy. What happened to your parents was terrible, I agree. But you need to get past this anger or it will tear you apart. Is it possible that your parents died so you may live?”
“Died so I can live? How is that possible? We were at least fifty miles from each other that night.”
“Everything is relative. Their deaths caused you to become angry—angry at the man driving while intoxicated, angry at the world. Angry at God. This anger planted a dark seed within you and gave an opening for depression to enter. With this depression everything around you seemed to take a turn for the worse. Your life became ruined in your eyes. You determined that the only way out was to escape the pain and the torment. And by escape I mean your attempt at killing yourself. Blinded by the hurt, you cannot see the beauty and the blessings around you. Because of your running, your life has become so vile that I have been sent to help. How is your life any different than the man whose car struck your parents?”
Teddy burst off the bale. “What? I can’t believe you’re actually comparing my life to his?” When she tried to touch him, he stepped away. “No! Don’t touch me!” He moved from one wall of the car to the other before saying, “Where do you get off comparing my life to his?” He spat the last word.
“Do you not think that this man is in agony after what he did? He must live the rest of his life knowing he killed two people. He will remember his mistake forever.”
“Good.”
“How can you judge? You do not know what he has been through. You do not know what drove him to drink that night.”
“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t lessen how I feel.”
“Let us try a new approach. How do you think Jane and Mandy feel about you being gone? How much do you think they miss you after only one day? Now multiply that by twenty-five years for that is how long this man will serve in prison for his mistake.”
Teddy crossed his arms over his chest. “That will not work on me. I know that my wife left me for my best friend, and all Mandy is concerned with is when she’ll get her next high.”
“So, if Mandy continues on her current path, you will not be concerned if she one day kills another human being while driving stoned?”
Just when he thought he had her line of thinking figured, she turned it around. “Of course I’ll be concerned. I don’t want Mandy to have to go through that misery.”
Christy stepped closer to him. “And this man’s Father feels the same. This man is also depressed—like you. He has had thoughts of killing himself—like you. He needs help—like you. All fathers do not want their children to suffer. So what makes you so different from him?”
Teddy hadn’t considered the man’s father. On some level he did feel sorry for the man’s family. He felt sure they hadn’t raised him to drink and drive. And they surely hadn’t asked him to kill anyone.
“I can see we have a lot of work ahead of us,” Christy said. “Your parents’ deaths were not in vain. They died to give you life. Without their dying, you still would have succumbed to depression—just not one as dark. Without their deaths, you would never have been on this train. You would have never asked Father for help, and we would have never met. And without this help you will never live the life you are capable of living.”
Prickles of sweat erupted on his head and tickled his scalp. His eyes narrowed. “That’s very interesting how you manipulated the facts to suit your agenda. If that’s the case, we can probably bend and twist all the facts of history into what we want.” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he turned away. His mind whirled around the possibility of his being in this boxcar as a result of his parents’ deaths. Not a direct correlation, but Christy’s point had its merits. He faced her again. “OK, for argument’s sake, let’s say you’re correct. How do you know that my parents gave their lives for me?”
“I know because I have faith.”
Not knowing how to counter her statement, Teddy shrugged.
“I know the deaths of your parents hurt you terribly and I am sorry. There is not anything I can do to change the past. I also suspect that their deaths were the distinguishing event that began your depression.”
Teddy snickered. “Yeah, that was the beginning. But all the other negative things that happened after their deaths contributed in their own way to make me the broken man you now see.”
Christy looked at him. Her stare prompted him to continue.
He cleared his throat. “After the…um, crash….Mandy—say, how do you know Mandy’s and Jane’s names?”
“I know many things.”
“Or someone coached you well.” When she tried to reply, he waved his hand. “Never mind.
“As I was saying, Mandy started getting into trouble at school. Stupid things like skipping class, smoking in the restroom, sassing her teachers, and such. She knew better. She wasn’t raised like that. At an early age she was taught to uphold her responsibilities and to respect others.
“We traced her trouble at school back to the same time she became rebellious at home. Not acting like herself. Never had she been disrespectful to Jane and me, but she started calling us names and yelling at us. Her room—usually pristine—became a pigsty.”
Teddy dropped his head and turned away as he said in
a whisper, “She lost her way.” Memories of his daughter laughing as she modeled her fifth birthday party dress complete with the scuffed, pink cowboy boots she wore everyday appeared in his mind’s eye. Images of her playing catch in the front yard with a glove that seemed to swallow her tiny hand, her spinning with arms extended from her sides while she tilted her head back to admire the blue sky until she became dizzy, and her running toward him on short legs while wearing her favorite canary and white dress induced a smile.
After a long moment reminiscing, he turned to Christy. “Four months ago, Mandy confessed to us that she’d gotten mixed in with the wrong crowd at school. Even though they were cheerleaders and the popular girls in school, these girls had done things that would make most people feel ashamed. I believe the police would categorize their little esoteric deeds as crimes—including some felonies that could result in prison time. They thought Mandy was too goody-goody and didn’t want her hanging around them. But, for some reason, Mandy saw them as cool. She wanted to be their friend so badly she started emulating their behavior. Smoking—and not just cigarettes—shoplifting, riding in stolen cars, tagging private property, and drinking.” Teddy dropped his head. “I hate to think what else might have happened.” He shook his head before looking at Christy.
“She started wearing dark makeup and only black clothes. She used to love wearing bright colors. More than once she sneaked out in the middle of the night to attend prescription pill parties. You know, where the kids drop and mix all the prescription pills they’d stolen in a large bowl and each kid grabs a handful—not knowing what the pills had been prescribed for—and swallow them. It didn’t take long for Mandy—my little girl—to become addicted to pain killers. She became lazy, wanting to sleep all day and stay up all night. It became a battle just to get her to shower. She didn’t care how she looked—except when she went somewhere her new friends might be. Then she had to have the right jeans, the right shirt, and, of course, the right shoes. And she started using profanity—some words I didn’t know even existed. I thank God the mixture of pills she ingested didn’t kill her. By what I understand, it’s sort of like Russian Roulette with pills.” He slumped, his chin lolling to his chest. Demanding and tasking, the emotional pain chipped at him, inch by excruciating inch.