Philco

by Ken Mansfield

  “The bus pulled up to the edge of a wheat field on a section of the family property, the airbrakes swooshed, announcing their arrival. The band’s long-time driver of that old bus gently picked up Kathleen and carried her out of the bus and placed her in Joe’s open and waiting arms. He and Joe exchanged glances—this wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry someone off that bus. They both knew that this time was the last and there was purpose: the end of a long road.

  “Joe carried her in his arms straight from the field to the grove and across a flower-strewn threshold into the grassy center of the poplars and pines where they used to dream their dreams of special things to come. As they entered the cathedral of their youth, the Ben Jammins were singing ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.’

  “Relatives and loved ones from many miles and many years had been brought together in celebration and love as they welcomed Joseph and Kathleen home. Holding hands, they formed an inner circle within the circle of trees that were nature’s cathedral. They joined in the song. It was a circle that would never again be broken.

  “Joseph gently placed her on a velvet pillow with her back leaning on the warm rock foundation of their youth. While she watched, he picked a bouquet of wild flowers from the glen. He presented himself before her, knelt, placed the flowers in her hands, and asked her to marry him. She looked over Joseph’s shoulder and saw Pastor Stone who had brought Kathleen up in the Lord’s teaching. He was standing in front of them and the rock where they used to lie many years ago planning the day they would be married. She said, ‘Yes, of course. Everything I have ever loved surrounds me in this place.’

  “Joseph sat down beside her and leaning back, they looked into the sky through the cathedral canopy. Pastor Stone knelt before them, opened his Bible, and presented their marriage vows. He then stood up and asked them to close their eyes for the final part of the ceremony:

  ‘Joseph, do you love Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then keep her in your care.’

  ‘Kathleen, do you love Joseph?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then keep him in your heart.’

  ‘Joseph, do you love Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then surround her with your faith.’

  ‘Kathleen, do you love Joseph?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then give yourself completely.’

  “The Pastor paused before asking the third time…

  ‘Joseph, do you love Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kathleen, do you love Joseph?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then stop shaking and kiss each other!’

  “When they opened their eyes, after the world’s longest kiss, the sun had gone behind the trees casting shadows over the meadow, causing it to be bathed in a soft warm dusk. During the last part of the ceremony, dozens of women from around the county had quietly entered and circled the edges of the cathedral and then lit hundreds of candles on white cakes, giving a halo effect to the glen. A lifelong wish had just come true—this was that most beautiful moment and she knew in her heart that it was worth the wait. So many tears over so many years, and now they glistened in the candlelight as they ran down her smiling face.

  “It had been a long time since Joseph had cried tears of joy, but when he realized that practically every great musician he had ever admired and played with over the years came into the meadow through the trees singing and playing for just him and his bride, he totally lost it and began weeping with joy. He threw his head back and just listened…no one invited him to play.

  “Kathleen was home again and Joseph’s head, hands, and heart had come to rest…to a single song, a simple song, a song of life.”

  Doka chiga…Doka chiga…Doka chiga…

  Doka chiga…Doka…

  EXODUST

  [PHILCO]

  I HAD JUST BEEN LOOKING into the sky enjoying the luxuriant calm of a tree-lined, candlelit cathedral; but, I have come to discover that when I become overwhelmed with the richness of God’s beauty and the way He moves, I tend to move with Him. The music of the meadow fades into the distance…and I slide away to this other place—a faraway land both in distance and time.

  This must be the desert.

  I feel now as though I have left a magnificent dream and landed somewhere between Fresno and Istanbul. I know that where I am in this moment has to do with where I have been. Somehow I know that everything that has gone before is in me and this place…now.

  There is a slight chill in the warm air; my coat is colorful, open at the neck, and I am facing east. I hear the soft sound of muted tinkling bells and a gentle wind slapping the flaps of nomadic tents almost out of sight, off to my right. Far off in the distance and slightly to my left I can see a cluster of olive trees. The wind follows my vision to that distant grove and returns with the sweet scent of the fallen fruit as it ripens on sacred ground.

  I stand on the edge of an arid region. It is different from my homeland and very different from the luxuriant enclosure I emerged from just seconds before. There is incredible meaning to this ground, and the feet that have walked upon it have left deep impressions. Their sound is what has drawn me here and still echoes in the wind as it passes by me on its way into eternity. Firm foundations were laid upon this soil that offered little in apparent worth to so many who traveled upon its import; yet, over time its significance demands respect for its history and purpose. I am tied to this place even though I have never been here. It mysteriously pulls at a part of me I have no right to claim, other than dwelling in its existent stages. I am in a new state…of mind and location.

  It is at this point I realize we have sold ourselves into slavery. The brothers of origin that shaped our lives have betrayed us. We have dug our own pit and rejected the lessons to be learned from wallowing in its mire; but, God knows us, and He knows our hearts. He has written a beautiful song for us to sing and is patiently waiting for a ragged band to once again emerge from the deep and tune up. The music we are to make is of our own creation; but the libretto is of His design. The postlude to a long melodious journey crescendos across the sandy expanse that surrounds this moment and melds into the quietude of the morning air. The drifting ceases to be random and has gathered distant focus.

  The wind returns to my view and brings with it the melodies that were made and the lyrics written during a time I remember with both fondness and lament. As vast as the area encompassing this errant manifestation appears to be, I am curiously filled with the sensation of being released from captivity. From the cramped quarters of this reflection, scenes from another time come into focus and I sense it will only take one more step to walk away into complete freedom. It is a step of faith that will finally deliver me—a walk with God and a waiting in obedience that will allow me to bless those who were of my roots and my soul.

  I begin walking away from all the tangible items that fall within my range of vision. I head toward the only place that has no definition—a place I could not see when I was observing the obvious things before me. The longer I walk away from this point of formation the closer it appears I am coming upon somewhere special. The level of silence is turned up to ten and soon there is complete sensorial nothingness, leaving only thoughts to feed me, memories to shelter me, and forgotten regrets that once accused me. I know I am being led, and completion is somewhere in the mix of this motion.

  The journey is closing in on itself. I am here to understand how I came about, and it is here I find myself, and this is where I am. I smell beginnings here. I can taste time without end in the air. I can feel home so deeply that it raises the hair on the back of my neck. The desert evolves around me as it grows trees, canyons, rivers, and long stretches of green. I can hear the cries that brought me into the world, bouncing off the clouds, and I can smell her warmth as she gave me life. My name is being called an
d I don’t want to be late. It’s not a call for coming back…this is about deeply leaving.

  I want my mother.

  WHERE FOREVER BEGINS

  [PHILCO]

  I PREPARED TO LEAVE HER bedside after touching her for the longest time I can ever remember. She kept my hand in hers the whole time I was there. Holding it faintly yet firmly, this gentle woman looked straight into my eyes; and, with all she had left to offer, climbed into the deepest point of my soul. Then, in the same godly strength she mustered to give me birth, she let me go. With lips barely moving, I heard my mother say, “Keep me inside.”

  Her name was Marian—Marian Elizabeth.

  I had received a call from my dad that the end was near. He said I’d better come while she was still coherent. I knew this was the last time I would ever see her. It is funny how as a child I was always trying to get out of the house and away from my folks so I could do whatever I wanted. Even in my visits during later years my actual time spent were consumed primarily by revisiting the other places and old friends of my growing years instead of just sitting with my loving mom and getting to know her better.

  I came to the hospital that morning and the minutes and hours became irrelevant as we talked and remembered things—we never stopped touching each other. Through the traces of age and hard years carved in her face, I once again saw this beautiful young woman of my childhood. I literally had to be torn away from her room as visiting hours came to a close. I wanted more of this wonderful person. She became vibrant and alive in those hours we spent reliving and remembering the past. I so desperately wanted to recapture that which I had never truly grasped.

  I was amazed at how special those moments were as we relived the trials, joys, and perils of my youth and her years as a young adult. It was so fascinating looking back on experiences from this twilight perspective. Times and events that were not that much fun in their moment brought smiles and extra touches as we relived them in the warm glow of our shared memories.

  Walking away from the old weather-torn brick building that had housed our only hospital for almost a hundred years, I knew deep down I would never see her again. And, on that day, more than a half-century from the day she gave me life, she completed her trilogy as a mother; first, giving birth in a small upstairs bedroom in a backwoods tannery town nestled in a remote valley, followed by sustained prayer for decades until my salvation was secure, and then, finally and lovingly, imparting her beautiful being into my heart as she prepared for her precious peace.

  I had debated whether I should fly back to my home or stay there with her while she lingered. The doctor’s best estimate of her remaining time was somewhere between two days and two months, so I took a chance and booked my return. On the plane ride back I had a sense of becoming complete as the essence of a mother-child relationship came to fruition in my heart right where she had planted it. She was always a giver and she saved the very best for last. She went right inside of me that day and gave me forever.

  Two days later she became clear again and the nurse placed a call for her. We talked over the phone as we had when I was by her side a couple days before. We knew it would be our last conversation even though that fact was unspoken. We said goodbye on the phone, and when I hung up I cried because I wanted my mother.

  The next night my father called at three in the morning and said I needed to hurry. He didn’t think she was going to last much longer. I was packed and at the airport by 5:00 a.m. trying to get on anything with wings going in that direction. I was resigned to making up an itinerary as I went along. I got a seat on the first plane out of the airport that morning and was on my way home in a matter of minutes.

  My dad and younger brother met me at the little hometown airport. Neither said a word or raised their eyes to meet mine as we walked to the car. I knew then that I hadn’t made it in time. She left this world before her first-born made it home. We had crossed paths somewhere over Colorado.

  With this silent realization ringing in my ears, I walked away from the car and out to the edge of the field in the dry falling dusk. Looking past the small airplane and beyond the barren rolling hills around the landing strip, I could see her in my heart.

  I turned to walk back to the car and I could see my dad across the parking lot leaning against a scrawny tree waiting in its meager shade. He was staring eastward as if into a great distance. He and mom had traveled to this place from there a half a century ago to make a new life—a life now as vacant as his stare.

  We embrace and he tells me he loves me…for the first time. He takes a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and hands it to me. Looking back at the distance that once surrounded us he speaks again. “Here, son, your mom left you a note.”

  You’ve come. You knew what to do.

  Now you understand—in the deepest part of you,

  It is here where it always will be.

  It’s called home—it cries family.

  A wisp of wind brushed my cheek—a mother’s kiss goodbye.

  So, this is where forever begins.

  EVAPORATE

  [PHILCO]

  I drift back to that rutted road where this journey began;

  I am tired…

  I look around at that nothingness that has awaited my return;

  I am alone…

  I sit down on that rock and try to lean back; but,

  I am restless…

  I get back up;

  I am beckoned…

  I fall to my knees;

  I am prayer…

  I place my face into my palms;

  I am worship…

  I raise my eyes skyward;

  I am uplifted…

  I blend with the Wind;

  We are One…

  I reach for His Word;

  It is finished.

  I am back from where we used to be in our once united state as Americans, and the memories are both invigorating and soothing. We were an exciting country back then because we were made up of our dreams. It was our simplicity, naïveté, and our honest unknowing that made us elegant. Touching once again upon this place has been balm to my soul. I realize now what a gift it is to be able to remember those days and the incredible people that filled their moments.

  I am uplifted in spirit because I know our nation still has that same heart and a sound mind. We have a rhythm and flow that is rooted in that long ago and, deep down, we have the soul that does remember what we are about. We are changed, we are ever-changing, yet we’re changeless in our uniqueness—all rolled up into a diverse oneness that will see us through and see us back to who we are.

  I know now who I am…

  I am hard to see when I am leaving. Like evaporation evolving from a fluid beginning—I cling like condensation to a higher place. Eternity engulfs me and I am able to become an integral part of that which is greater than me and meld into the stories about the people who have gone before. I am also in your story, as you are in mine, and together we are in their stories as well. We are all these things because of a book that contains the greatest story ever told. These stories you have been reading here cannot compare with the stories in that book—a special book about eternity that has been prepared by a loving Father for your heart out of love.

  I am at rest, seated at the foot of the eternal throne, one hand folded over the other on my left knee. His scarred hands are folded over mine, covering them, holding them for all time. Everything dissipates around me except a warm presence that fills this space. I see the things of life that are real and imagined, past and present, good and bad. I can touch them with my heart, and His Presence surrounds it all.

  I am every man.

  I feel the sky flash by. I become aware that it is time to come back, not to what lies outside, but what remains within. I experience the sensation of breathtaking motion, and then a knowing that I am being taken to another plac
e—a final home. There is no landing but a sense of brilliant immersion…the sweetness of return. The wind is quiet now and so am I.

  This must be Heaven…

  I have returned out of ancient entering.

  I have entered into a timeless beginning.

  Birth, life, and death.

  That leaves resurrection…

  God bless America—land that I love.

  CLOSING NOTE

  There is physical beauty to this great land, the people, and their relation to where they are in it is at the heart of it all. It is within this travelogue that I found a special understanding of God and His immense wonderfulness and how He put this all together—Him, us, America, destiny, and these times.

  I confess that whenever I walk along our shores, venture into the forests, or gaze across a meadow I sometimes feel that I am among the blessed who truly understand and experience the real adventure, freedom, and romance of this wondrous place. Doctors give us pain pills, evangelists give us hope, the pusher gives us a momentary high, and mothers give us love, while the world gives us nothing. But, God gives us perfection and there is splendor in these surroundings that only the Master Creator can give. It’s perfect because it is free and unconditional like His very nature.

  So we come to these places and we find God here. The truth we often fail to realize is the God place we are seeking is actually inside us. We are, in fact, hauling that around with us when we set out in our search of it. For some odd reason we think we have found it when we go somewhere else. He is with us always. That sensation we feel at the seaside, in the pines, or in the middle of a meadow is not a matter of locality; but, for those who understand, it is a covenantal thing. We carry His grandeur within our being. We don’t have to book a ticket on the Orient Express to get to it. And, it is beautiful when we have these solitary experiences. Because we are seekers, we have discoveries. Pity the poor souls who look out across the sea and all they see is the investment in the property that it laps upon instead of one of God’s many miracles—the warm sand squeezing up between their toes.