My wife and I were stopped at a red light when I noticed a woman holding a sign. She had a portable microphone and was speaking into it at a fairly rapid pace, obviously trying to say everything she needed to say before the light turned green. We were pretty far away and the only word I could make out on the sign was “JESUS.” My first thought was that she was a street evangelist, but I was a little confused because of what she was wearing. I asked my wife, “Is she wearing short shorts?”

“Yes, I think she is.”

“That’s a strange choice of clothing for sharing the gospel.”

I then asked, “I wonder why she’s doing this on Sunday morning when most everyone is on the way to church?”

My wife shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know.”

We were both still trying to make sense of it when the light turned green. It soon became obvious that she wasn’t there to share the good news of the gospel of Christ. As we approached the intersection we heard her yelling obscenities and I could see all the words on the sign. It read, “JESUS WAS A CRIMINAL.”

I wasn’t expecting to see that and instantly heard myself saying out loud, “Yes, he became a criminal for your sins!”

Then, I said, “It was criminal what they did to him!”

That took place this past Sunday. It’s Friday now and I’ve thought about that woman a lot throughout the week. Why did she have such a hatred for Jesus? I know the answer to that question. I’ve been involved in my fair share of street evangelism and it isn’t unusual to come across someone who hates Jesus. In fact, the bible tells us to expect it:

“For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” Romans 8:7-8 ESV

It shouldn’t surprise us when people are openly hostile to God. As Christians, we should recognize that it is going to happen. The question is, how should we respond? The bible tells us what to do:

Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? But even if you should suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God's will, than for doing evil. 1 Peter 3:13-17 ESV

The fear of man is the biggest hurdle Christians have to face when sharing their faith. This scripture addresses that by saying “have no fear of them, nor be troubled...” Easy words to read, but not so easy to apply. If it scares you to death to share your faith, then join the club, but the bible doesn’t give us the choice to remain silent. This passage tells us to be prepared to make a defense for the hope that is in us. Not only that, it says to do it with gentleness and respect. That can be difficult to do, especially when someone is in your face shouting obscenities about Christ.

So, what should I have done after passing that woman with the sign? Should I have pulled over, walked back and tried to have a gentle and respectful conversation? My gut is telling me that wouldn’t have worked, but maybe it would have. I honestly don’t know what I should have done; the moment came and went before I even knew what happened. The best thing I can do at this point is to be prepared for when another opportunity arises and trust God to guide me and give me the words to say. In the end, he is the one who changes hearts, not me.

My mom passed away in 2022 at the age of 83. Up until that point I kept a garden on a fairly regular basis. I really enjoy gardening (at least I used to). There is something about turning the soil and watching vegetable plants grow and produce that I have always found greatly appealing, but after she died I lost interest. You see, she loved gardening too. Not so much vegetables, but she was always outside doing something in the yard. I can still see her wearing her floppy garden hat, siting in a chair with her arms elbow deep in a bag of potting soil. I miss seeing that. I really do. I guess that’s why my heart just wasn’t into growing anything. This year, however, I decided it was time to try gardening again. Back in January, I started some tomato seeds inside the house. I chose an heirloom variety called Amish Paste and another paste tomato called Roma. I’ll show some pictures on how they are coming along, but before that I’d like to share what happened shortly after I put the plants in the ground.

I can’t remember the exact day, but sometime in early April I was walking in my little garden plot, checking out the growing tomato plants, when I was suddenly overwhelmed with grief. It has been four years since my mom died, but the pain was just as raw as the day we lost her. We’ve all heard that grief comes in waves, but this felt like I had been knocked down by a giant tsunami. It hit me quickly and without warning and before I knew what was happening I found myself standing among the tomato plants sobbing over the loss of my mother. It only lasted for a few minutes, but by the time my tears had dried something really wonderful had happened. The grief that I had been carrying around for four long years magically changed from something deep and painful to a sweet fondness that I can’t really explain. Of course I still miss her, but not the way I used to. Maybe that sounds strange, but I believe anyone who has ever lost someone close to them understands what I am talking about. I’m sure I will never be able to comprehend what happened that day, but I’m thankful that I decided to start gardening again. I could have never imagined it would help me move past the loss of my mother.

In February, I dug trenches, filled them with compost, made the rows and covered them with fabric. The long row is for the Amish Paste tomatoes and the bed with two rows is for the Roma Tomatoes. I enclosed the Roma bed with landscape timbers and added a thick layer of mulch to keep out the relentless Florida weeds. In the background of the second picture you can see the trimmed back Muscadine grape vine that is running up the fence. We had an unusually cold winter this year, so the grass was still brown from multiple frosts.

On March 21st, I transplanted the tomatoes and added a drip watering system. The grass is starting to come back too.

In April, I removed the fabric from the Amish Paste and replaced it with mulch because it was tearing up and added strings that I plan to use for holding the tomato plants up. The Amish Paste are indeterminate, meaning they will continue to grow and produce as long as I can keep them healthy and happy. The Romas are determinate, meaning they will produce a crop and then call it quits. It’s not that visible, but I put cages around the Romas. I scattered in a few marigolds because they are a good companion plant to tomatoes, but I mainly did it because I like them. There are two potted zinnias sitting in the Roma bed that will also be going in the ground.

The last three pictures of the tomatoes were taken on May 14th. The Amish Paste are growing up the strings nicely and some of them are about 5 feet tall. The Romas are doing great too. Both are loaded with tomatoes and I expect to be harvesting soon. You can see the Muscadine grape vine coming to life and if you look closely you can see four Chaste trees in full bloom.

My mom probably wouldn’t approve, but I had to end with a picture of her wearing one of her garden hats. In this picture we were at a u-pick blueberry farm near our home. I miss her a lot, but now instead of feeling sad when I see plants, flowers and vegetables growing I feel happiness because I know it was something that made her happy.

Are you old enough to remember the TV series Starsky & Hutch? The red and white Ford Gran Torino from the series was my dream car at the time.

The closest that I ever came to owning something like that was a 1975 Mercury Montego (the Montego is Mercury's version of the Gran Torino). I’d like to say it looked like that sporty car above, but in reality it was big, green and quite ugly. Mine even had four doors. I don’t have a picture of it, but this is a better representation.

On the way to work one morning it stalled halfway down our dirt lane and wouldn’t start up again. This had happened before, so I knew it was going to take two people to get it going. I walked back to the house, got my wife out of bed and we both took an early morning stroll back to the car. I popped the hood, pulled off the air breather and sprayed some carburetor cleaner into the carburetor. It seems I have a really bad habit of creating workarounds when a car is broke rather than actually fixing the problem. While I was leaning over the engine, hand on the carburetor, I told my wife to try and start it up. It was dark outside and the thick canopy of oak trees made it seem even darker. She turned the key and watched me, straining to see through the bottom crack of the raised hood.

Suddenly, it backfired and an unexpected fireball quickly engulfed my upper body. I immediately jumped back and started frantically patting everywhere I could reach. My wife recounts that all she saw was a bright flash of light and then me running around like a crazy man. Thankfully, I came out of it with only some hair loss on my arms and a ringing in my ears that persisted for a couple of hours. True to form, I never got the carburetor fixed, but I did tell the guy who bought it from me about the issue.

We used to have a big family meal at my mom’s house every Sunday after church. She was an incredible cook and always went out of her way to prepare a wonderful meal. One Sunday, my mom took two frozen loaves of yeast bread out of the freezer to let them thaw and rise while we were at church. The pan was sitting on the edge of the counter and when we got home they had not only risen, but the dough was hanging halfway to the floor. It took a little bit of creative maneuvering, but we managed to scoop it all up and place it back into the pan. It was just two big piles of dough at this point, but it went into the oven anyway. While the bread was cooking the table was set, the glasses were filled with ice and the final meal preparations were completed.

I was in the dining room when the bread came out of the oven. Almost immediately, the kitchen was filled with howls of laughter. I walked in to see what was going on and found my mom, wife and sister-in-law gathered around the pan of bread, laughing hysterically. It didn’t take long to figure it out. The oven had somehow magically transformed the piles of dough into connecting loaves that looked amazingly like two golden brown, perfectly formed, Dolly Parton sized… well, I’m sure you get the point. We all got a good chuckle out of it and there were giggles and smirks still going on as we sat down to eat.

I still remember the scene. There were eleven of us seated around the table and there, right in the middle, looking like some kind of pornographic center piece, was the pan of X-rated bread. It was hard for anyone to focus on anything else, but my dad somehow managed to get everyone to calm down so that he could pray over the food. Now, my dad had a standard prayer for the dinner table. It was always the same. I never heard him change it one time while I was growing up. It usually went like this, “Good Lord, we thank you for this food, bless everybody here, in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

It’s short and to the point, but that was his prayer. Whether it was a Freudian slip of the tongue or an honest mistake may never be known, but on this particular day his prayer changed. In a slightly rushed voice he said, “Good Lord, we thank you for this food, breast everybody here… Um… I mean bless…,”

We couldn’t help it. Before he could say anything else everyone at the table broke out in uncontrollable laughter. I think I laughed more at the dinner table that day than I ever have. It was one of many good times with my family… even if it was a little obscene.

Early in our marriage my wife and I got interested in plate collecting. I don’t mean plates that you eat off of, but collector’s plates that have beautiful, artistic scenes painted on them. There used to be a magazine called Plate World that came out every other month showing all the new and upcoming plates and one particular day, recognizing that it was time for the latest edition, we decided to see if we could buy it locally. We were living in Layton, Utah, serving at Hill Air Force Base at the time. Plate World wasn’t a magazine that was carried by just anyone, so we decided to drive into Salt Lake City to see if we could find it there.

We had my young daughter and son in the car, so I would drive up to a bookstore and drop my wife off so she could check and see if they had it. We did this quite a few times unsuccessfully and were about ready to give up when we saw another bookstore. I let her out in front of the building and found a nearby parking spot to sit and wait. After a little while I saw her walking to the car extremely fast with one hand shielding the side of her face. She opened the door quickly and slid in.

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Did you find it?”

“Just get out of here!!”

It was obvious that she was upset, so I did as she demanded and pulled onto the road and away from the bookstore. It took a while, but I finally managed to get her to tell me what happened.

Upon entering the store she was greeted by a middle aged man of Indian descent, “May I help you?”

“Yes, do you carry Plate World magazine?”

To her surprise, he answered, “Yes, go down this aisle all the way to the end and take a left. You will find it on the top shelf.”

She was happy to have finally found someone that carried the elusive magazine and quickly started walking in that direction, not paying much attention to anything else around her. When she finally made it to the end of the aisle she looked where the clerk told her Plate World would be and her excitement quickly faded. There on the top shelf, in a brilliant display of glossy wonder, was a whole row of Playgirl magazines. For the first time she took a good look at her surroundings and realized she was in an adult bookstore. It wasn’t long before she was sliding into the car, yelling at me to drive away like some bank robber who was fleeing the scene of the crime.

I sat quietly and listened, trying desperately hard not to make light of the psychological trauma she had just endured, but it wasn’t long before I couldn’t help myself and broke out in hysterical, tear-filled laughter.

Needless to say, shortly thereafter we took out a subscription to Plate World magazine.

The sleeping guard never saw the rope as it went around his neck. Leaning out the window, Billy held on tightly and squeezed with every ounce of strength that he had, pushing through the searing pain that wracked his ribs. Before long, the man stopped moving and his body went limp. Duk-yoon vanished through the door and drug the lifeless guard inside. Like vultures, they went through everything he had, ending up with a long knife, a WWII cavalry rifle, complete with bayonet, and a Colt .45 pistol. Billy recognized the pistol right away as the one he was wearing when he ejected from the plane. He picked it up and looked at it wistfully. Then, he took the guard’s pants and put them on. They were too short and too tight, but it was better than running around in his underwear.

It was still dark, but they could see enough to get around. “We’ll go straight for Imugi’s hut,” said Billy. “With any luck we won’t see anyone on the way and we can get your daughter and get out of here.”

Duk-yoon led the way as they crept through the village. Just as they passed one of the other huts they surprised a soldier relieving himself behind a tree. Before the man had a chance to recover from what he was seeing Duk-yoon jammed the knife deep into his chest. The soldier’s eyes opened wide and he crumpled to the ground. Duk-yoon pulled out the knife and walked on, leaving Billy dumbfounded.

Billy whispered, “That was fast.”

Hardly out of breath, Duk-yoon answered, “For my wife!”

The shadow of Imugi’s hut came into view and they slowed their pace, moving as quietly as possible. When they were less than fifty feet away the orange glow of a cigarette caught their attention and both men stopped. From the safety of the darkened tree line they watched as one soldier, and then another, stepped in front of the hut. They talked loudly, oblivious to the eyes watching them. After a short visit the cigarette was crushed out and they walked off in opposite directions.

“They must be patrolling the camp,” whispered Billy. “We need to take them out before they find out that we’re missing.”

Without a word Duk-yoon slipped off toward the southbound soldier and Billy moved to follow the other one. Completely bored with making his rounds, the unsuspecting soldier walked along noisily, barely seeing his surroundings. He didn’t hear Billy sneak up behind him and never knew what hit him as the bayonet silently pierced his heart. Billy stood over the man’s body, slightly disturbed that he could kill someone without even thinking about it. He turned away quickly and made his way back to Imugi’s hut. Duk-yoon arrived at the same time, wiping the big knife on his pants leg.

A scream filled the air and Duk-yoon ran toward the hut with Billy right behind him. Bursting through the door, Duk-yoon found Imugi in bed and on top of his daughter. Startled, Imugi turned and swiftly moved off of Min-seo and found the pistol that he kept by the bedside, pulling the trigger just as Duk-yoon leapt toward him. Duk-yoon slumped to the floor and Imugi immediately fired toward Billy. Imugi jerked Min-seo up by the hair, placed a skinny arm around her throat and pointed the gun at her head. As Imugi screamed obscenities in Korean, Billy moved out of the shadows pointing the Colt .45. The cowardly leader placed the frightened girl between himself and the American and slowly moved toward the door. Excited voices came from outside and heavy footsteps drew close. Imugi smiled as the odds turned in his favor and he started barking out orders. Billy held his aim, refusing to back down. Just before the soldiers reached the hut Billy took the shot. Imugi flew backwards onto the floor, taking Min-seo with him.

Two soldiers rushed in and Billy turned instinctively, firing at the moving figures. Both men fell to the floor and then machine gun fire tore into the hut, striking the walls and thatched roof. Billy dove onto his stomach and then heard a shot ring out from inside the hut. He breathed a sigh of relief as he looked to see Duk-yoon on one knee, firing Imugi’s pistol into the darkness. A line of blood ran down his face where a bullet had grazed his head.

Outside the hut everything got silent. Billy stealthily crawled to the doorway and positioned himself behind one of the dead soldiers. Slowly, he peered over the lifeless body. One soldier was down and the other was crouched beside him, pointing his machine gun toward the hut, clearly confused about what he should do. Billy took aim and fired the pistol. The soldier fell backwards, but jumped up and took off running. Billy got off one more shot before he disappeared into the tree line, stumbling as he ran.

Billy heard voices and turned to see Duk-yoon helping Min-seo off of the floor. She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and joyful sobs from both of them suddenly filled the night air. Concerned that Imugi might still be alive, he walked past the tearful couple and knelt down on the floor beside him. Right in the center of his forehead was a hole where the bullet had entered into Imugi’s brain.

He thought about what had just happened. The odds were against them, but a battered and beaten, half naked American soldier and a skinny, determined Korean father had just taken on nine rogue soldiers and won. Together, they had been a deadly, two man army waging their own private insurrection against Imugi and his band of misfits. Billy wasn’t sure what else the war held for him, but he knew if he could make it through this, then he could make it through anything.

Billy opened his eyes slowly. Pain gripped every part of his body and he could feel his swollen face throbbing with every heartbeat. He tried to sit up, but a sharp sting through the ribs made him think twice about it. Out of the darkness a voice whispered, “Try to keep quiet, the guard is asleep.”

Billy tried to remember what had happened. His memories were like a vaporous cloud, hovering just out of reach. Then the voice came again, “This could be our chance to escape.”

Escape. Yes, that’s it. He was a prisoner. His mind slowly cleared and the events of the day came flooding back. A hand touched his shoulder, “I will help you up.”

As he was being helped to a sitting position Billy recognized his fellow prisoner. Before he had a chance to say anything the other man spoke, “My name is Duk-yoon and I am not your enemy.”

Sensing that he needed to explain, he painfully went through his wife’s death, his daughter’s kidnapping and how he had been following the soldiers when he saw Billy’s parachute. Then, he explained how he had found his daughter, only to be beaten and scheduled for execution. Billy listened, mostly because he lacked the strength to do anything else. He asked, “Then why did you take me to them?”

“I did not take you to them. They found us in the jungle”

Billy didn’t know if he should believe him or not, but once again he found himself in the uncomfortable position of having very limited choices. Duk-yoon continued in a hushed voice, “I was able to untie our hands and the guard is asleep. The sun will be coming up soon, so we need to act quickly. I will help you get away, but I will not leave without my daughter. ”

Billy hesitated a moment. “How many soldiers are in this camp?”

“Nine, including Imugi.”

“And just how do you plan to get past all of them?”

“I do not know, but I have to try.”

Billy thought about the situation. If he could get out of the hut he might be able to get to the jungle and away from the camp, but after that he would be lost. He needed Duk-yoon to show him the way. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ll probably regret it, but I’ll help you get your daughter. I’d much rather go out fighting than sit here and wait for death to come to me.”

In the shadowy darkness Billy saw the relieved look on the older man’s face and asked, “Do we have anything we can use for weapons?”

Duk-yoon flashed a toothy grin and held up two pieces of rope.

A shaft of moonlight penetrated the small building and gently caressed Billy’s face. He was lying on a dirty, wooden floor with his hands tied behind his back, completely naked except for his underwear. He stayed there a moment without moving, gathering his senses. Slowly, it all came back - the aircraft malfunction, the parachute, the Korean man who offered to help and then led him into a trap. He quickly pushed the thoughts aside to focus on the problem at hand. He was a prisoner. He had to escape. Every muscle in his body seemed to revolt at movement, but he managed to ease himself up so that he was sitting on his knees. His head was throbbing and every part of his body felt like it had been badly beaten.

He looked around the room. The walls were plastered with mud and the roof was thatched, made from some kind of straw material. There was an open window just to the right of the door about three feet off the floor and through it Billy saw the outline of a soldier’s head. The soldier at the window moved and the door swung open. Two soldiers with lanterns stepped in and spread around the room. Then, a sickly looking man with hair hanging down into his face walked in. The stub of a cigarette was stuck between his lips and a wreath of smoke followed slowly behind him. Billy looked straight at him, his bright, blue eyes boring deeply into the dark, black orbs of the other man. The bold stare of the American pilot caught Imugi by surprise. He studied his face. It was badly bruised, but he could still make out the square chin underneath the battered, swollen flesh, the brown hair that was cut close to his head… and the contemptuous snarl that rested firmly on his tightly pressed lips. Imugi stepped back, slightly troubled. He yelled out and someone was violently pushed through the door. Billy recognized him right away as the Korean man from earlier. His hands were tied behind his back and his shirt had been removed. His face was bloody and there were angry, red stripes all over his chest and stomach.

Duk-yoon was forced onto the floor beside Billy and Imugi began to speak, gesturing wildly with his hands and stomping his feet. To Billy, he looked like a toddler throwing a fit because someone had taken his toy away. When the outburst was over Duk-yoon translated, “He wants you to know that his name is Imugi and you have become his prisoner. He says that tomorrow morning you will be tortured and killed in front of his men. He also says if you wish to beg for mercy he will allow it now.”

Billy looked at Imugi and then at Duk-yoon. With defiance in his voice he growled, “Tell him that he’ll be begging me for mercy before it’s over.”

Duk-yoon relayed the message. The room filled with laughter and then Imugi leaned over, placing his face only inches away from Billy. The stench of cooked cabbage, cigarettes and body odor permeated from his skin and Billy had to fight the convulsion to gag. Sweat beaded up on Billy’s forehead and dripped onto the floor, but he continued to stare into Imugi’s black eyes. Finally, and unexpectedly, Imugi spit in Billy’s face.

Forgetting all the pain in his body, Billy shot forward and rammed him with his shoulder. A girlish scream filled the air and Imugi fell backwards, slamming into the
wall of the hut, but before Billy could do anything else the soldiers were on top of him. He was thrown onto the floor and heavy boots started ramming him from every direction. He could still feel the steady pounding as darkness once again enveloped him.

Duk-yoon returned from visiting a neighboring village to find his wife on the floor of their home badly wounded and barely breathing. As he sat cradling her head she told him their sixteen year old daughter had been taken by a band of rogue soldiers and whispered the leader’s name into his ear, “Imugi.” Duk-yoon only had a few minutes with his wife of twenty-three years before she silently passed into the next life. He pulled her lifeless body close to his chest and made a solemn vow that he would do everything possible to find their daughter.

That was three days ago. He had been on the trail of the soldiers ever since and knew they were close, but wasn’t sure how he would get past all the armed men to save his daughter. He was thinking about it when a loud explosion rocked the jungle and the parachute showed up in the sky. Now, as he helped the injured pilot through the trees, he pondered this strange turn of events. They had been walking for about five minutes when the silence was broken by machine gun fire and bullets tore up the ground in front of them. Seemingly out of nowhere, four soldiers appeared pointing their guns at the two men and they were quickly taken into custody.

The sun was just going down when they arrived at a small village. Two of the soldiers dragged Billy away and the other two escorted Duk-yoon toward a large, mud hut. Inside the hut, a man sitting in a crude, hand-made chair motioned one of the soldiers forward. To his right, crumpled on the floor beside the chair, was Duk-yoon’s daughter, Min-seo. Her clothes were torn and ragged, barely clinging to her body. Her raven black hair was disheveled and hanging around her face. Duk-yoon suddenly realized that he had unwittingly found a way into Imugi’s camp. Min-seo looked up as he walked in and a spark of hope registered in her eyes. He gave her a quick, stern glance and then looked away, praying that she wouldn’t say anything. Thankfully, Imugi was listening to the soldier and didn’t see the exchange. After the soldier stepped away Imugi barked out in Korean, “Why were you helping the American?”

Duk-yoon knew the lie had to be good or he was sure to lose his life, “I was not helping the American, I was bringing him to you. I thought you would like to have some fun with him.”

Imugi studied him closely. “Tell me old man, why should I believe you?”

Duk-yoon tried to speak without fear in his voice, “I only have my honor to offer. I hope that is enough.”

The edges of Imugi’s mouth turned up slightly and a perverse smile formed on his thin lips. His greasy, black hair was combed forward and it hung down over two hollow, black eyes. His face was emaciated, his cheek bones were high and his skin was somewhat pale, giving him the appearance of a skeleton with a hairpiece. He spoke callously, “I don’t believe in honor.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: While researching for this story I came across some Korean folklore that spoke about Imugi. It is not a traditional Korean name for a person. In fact, it is not a person at all. From what I can best understand, it is a serpent-like creature that has the capability of becoming a dragon after one thousand years. While it is sometimes referred to as gentle and benevolent, some traditions depict Imugi as a corrupt being that failed in its transformation to become a true dragon, becoming bitter and wicked. Traditional or not, I couldn’t resist using the name for my antagonist.

Nestled between WWII and the Viet Nam War is something sometimes referred to as “The Forgotten War”. The United States was involved in the Korean War from June of 1950 to July of 1953. It’s estimated that 36,000 Americans lost their lives during that time. It ended without a clear victory and left the peninsula of Korea divided. There have been hundreds, maybe thousands, of books written about WWII and Viet Nam, but the same can’t be said about the Korean War. Sadly, most people only know anything about it because of the popular sitcom M*A*S*H.

With that in mind, I would like to spend the next few weeks presenting a short story about a jet pilot who crashed during the Korean War. I am not a blood and guts writer, but it is a little graphic and inevitably someone will die in this story, so if that kind of thing bothers you my recommendation is to move on to something else for now. You could, however, choose to read the first installment, as it simply sets the stage for what is coming. Who knows? Maybe it will grab your attention.

1952 – SOMEWHERE OVER THE NORTHERN PENINSULA OF KOREA

Without warning all the instruments went haywire. A plume of acrid, black smoke filled the cockpit and Captain Billy Mitchell felt intense heat on his feet. He tried to make a call on his radio headset, fully aware it had been malfunctioning for the past ten minutes, but the attempt was useless. With his vision completely obscured by smoke and his lungs screaming for fresh air he reached for the ejection handles and felt his spine compress as the explosion blew him into the open sky. In a matter of seconds he was floating under a lofty, green parachute, watching helplessly as his F-86 Sabre jet slammed into the rugged terrain, erupting into a large fireball.

He did his best to steer the parachute to the right so he could put as much distance between himself and the jet as possible. Spotting an open, level area he aimed for it, hoping to avoid getting caught in the trees. As he slowly drifted down the adrenaline began to wear off and he felt the effects of the ejection taking its toll on his body. A dull pain crept up his back and a distinct, high pitched ring echoed in his ears. He desperately tried to focus on steering the parachute toward the opening, but his arms suddenly felt weak and listless. From the edges of his eyes a curtain of darkness slowly closed in, but he fought it long enough to guide himself to his target. Just before touching down he passed out and his limp body collapsed onto the ground with a sick thud.

When he woke up a blurry figure was leaning over him. He blindly swung a fist upwards, but in his weakened state the blow merely glanced off. Billy’s arms were quickly pinned to his sides and two bony knees were placed on top of them. His vision cleared up enough to see that he was being held down by an older, Korean man. A tousled mass of black hair sat on top of a perfectly round head. Dark brown skin stretched tightly across his face, making his large, brown eyes seem smaller than they actually were. He wasn’t dressed in a uniform, but had on a tattered white shirt and dark colored pants. He placed one dirty hand over Billy’s mouth, pulled the other one up to his own so that a finger was pressed to his lips, and quietly whispered, “Shhhhh.”

The man sat on top of Billy for a moment listening intently. Billy tried to listen too, but his ears were still ringing and his head ached from where he had hit the ground. When the Korean was satisfied that everything was okay he slowly pulled his knees off Billy and moved so that he was standing directly over him. Then, he extended a hand, gestured for him to get up and spoke in surprisingly good English, “We must hurry.”

Billy was confused. His mind was racing and his whole body was hurting, especially his back and head. Was this man really trying to help him? The Korean stood there, arm extended, scanning the area nervously. He gestured again for Billy to get up and then impatiently leaned over and placed an arm under his shoulders. The man had somehow managed to remove Billy from the parachute while he was still unconscious, so he was free to stand up without hindrance.

Billy realized the only choice he had was to trust him. He was too weak to fight and if the man wanted to kill him he would have already done it. Painfully, Billy stood up and the Korean moved his arm around his waist. Billy was six foot tall and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. The smaller Korean was almost a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter, but held up the injured pilot with little difficulty. As they stepped out of the opening and into the jungle, Billy couldn’t help but wonder if he was being led to his death.

My goal has been to post an article every Friday morning, but this week and next I will be preparing the message for my mother-in-law’s celebration of life. I’ve started it and have been making a little progress, but I need to put all my attention toward that endeavor. I know I don’t have a large following, but I appreciate every person who takes the time to read what I have to say. I have a short story that I plan to start posting on March 20th and I sincerely hope that you come back then. In the meantime, please be in prayer that I can pull something together that honors my mother-in-law and glorifies Jesus Christ.

My wife and I put my mother-in-law, Betty, to bed last Saturday night and she never regained consciousness. We spent the next six agonizing days watching her body fight to stay alive. We had Betty under home Hospice care, but unfortunately they completely dropped the ball when we needed them the most. We wouldn’t have made it if Betty’s sister, Jane, had not come to help us. Since she had been a Hospice nurse for twenty-five years she knew what needed to be done and stepped in to save us.

The week inched along at a snail’s pace. We spoke to her as she laid there. We prayed. We sang. We read scripture out loud. One by one, family came and let her know how much she was loved. More than once, she was told it was okay to let go, but she held on stubbornly. With every raspy breath we wondered what it was that was keeping her tied to this earth. Why was she “holding on”?

Late Thursday night it got to the point where we couldn’t get her to hold down medication, so Hospice sent someone out to assess her. Thankfully, she met the criteria for a Hospice House and two men showed up with an ambulance to take her away. As we stood holding each other in the cool evening air, we couldn’t help but wonder if we would see her alive again. When we got there on Friday morning we found her still holding on, still fighting for every breath.

My brother-in-law, Terry, and I went to lunch. The plan was to go eat and then let my wife and Jane go afterwards. When we got back to the Hospice House my wife asked Terry to call his son, Cody, who is in the Coast Guard and couldn’t be there, and have him speak to her. He called, but got no answer, so they left for lunch. Shortly after they walked out the door Cody called back. I was sitting at a little table reading something when Terry put him on speaker and held the phone up to her ear.

Now, I have to tell you that I was skeptical about the “holding on” thing. I am 100% sure that God is sovereign and in control of everything. Things happen when He says they will happen and we don’t have the luxury, or ability, to go against His will. So, imagine my surprise when…

From Terry’s phone I hear, “Hey Granny, it’s Cody. I love you.”

Then, seconds after Cody spoke, my brother-in-law called out my name. I jumped up and rushed to find that Betty was no longer with us. Terry explained that as soon as Cody said, “I love you,” she took two quick breaths and was gone.

Was she waiting to hear from him? Is it possible stay the hand of God and hold off death until we are ready to go? It is one day later and I have been pondering that question. I am not a theologian and I don’t claim to know everything about God, but I do still believe that He is sovereign and in control. I believe everything took place as He fully intended it. Why did it happen like it did? Why did she have to lie there for six days? I am not ashamed to say that I don’t know, but I find great comfort because, despite the grueling circumstances, what I see is a God who cares for His children, who recognizes their every need and extends the hand of mercy to those He loves, even when they are on death’s doorstep. I can choose to question God for what He does, or I can choose to accept it. I know what my choice is. What is yours?

I’m reminded of Romans 9:20-21:

But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?” Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use? What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction, in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory?

I recently perused my old writings and came across this entry from 10/30/2009. Some things have changed since then and some things haven’t.

Maybe you have had something like this happen to you:

The other day I knew we were planning to have tacos for dinner so I decided to stop and get a 2 liter Coke on the way home from work. Walmart is right on the way, but I hate running in there for just one item, so I stopped at CVS which is just off the main road. I rushed in and went to the soft drink aisle only to find they were completely out of Coca Cola. I didn’t really want Pepsi, but since that was all they had I picked up a bottle and headed to the front of the store.

At the checkout line a customer was pitching a fit about their passport photos. The lady behind the counter kept trying to explain the situation, but the irate customer refused to listen. This went on for about five minutes and didn’t look like it was anywhere near ending. Frustrated, I put the Pepsi back on the shelf (assuring myself that I really didn’t want Pepsi anyway) and decided to run into K-Mart which was in the same shopping center.

I walked all the way to the food aisle (not a short walk) and was happy to see plenty of Coca Cola. I quickly grabbed one and went to check out. On the way there I pulled out my wallet and was mystified to find only $2.00. I thought I had more than that, but then remembered I left my other cash at home. Unfortunately, the Coke was more than that so I wasn’t going to have enough. Sighing heavily, I walked all the way back to the food aisle (still not a short walk), put the Coke back on the shelf and once again grabbed a 2 liter of Pepsi (even though I still wanted Coke) because it was only $1.29.

By the time I got to the front of the store a line had magically formed at the only checkout lane that was open and there were seven people standing in it, two of which had full shopping carts. I didn’t even stop walking. I just placed the Pepsi on one of the eight unused checkout lanes and headed out the door.

We had sweet tea with our tacos that night... and it never tasted so good.

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

Part 3 HERE

Part 4 HERE

Part 5 HERE

Part 6 HERE

Sarah was dumbfounded after Jenny explained all that happened at the yard sale and what she had found in the cardboard box. She shook her head back and forth quickly, trying to make sense of what she heard.

“When did you say this happened?”

“This past Saturday, shortly after noon.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up, “I had to run to the grocery store on Saturday. When I left at 10:00 she was in the living room eating breakfast in front of the TV. I don’t normally leave her alone, but she takes hours to eat and I thought she would be okay. I used to take her with me, but lately that’s become too difficult. I got back around 12:30 and noticed the table and chair in the yard, but when I asked Mom about it she simply shrugged her shoulders. Now I know why she didn’t eat her breakfast.”

Sarah continued, “I’m surprised she went outside. I’m sure you noticed how dark the living room is. Lately she’s gotten paranoid and always wants the curtains drawn. It drives me crazy to have it so dark, but it’s the only way I can keep her calm.”

She glanced toward the ceiling, eyes wide open, still trying to put it all together and wondered out loud, “How in the world did she get the table, chair and all those things outside? It’s a miracle she didn’t get hurt!”

Sarah looked back at Jenny, “I didn’t know the jewelry box or anything else was missing, but I did notice the two birds weren’t where they were supposed to be. I thought Mom must have moved them. She likes to plunder and rearrange everything. There are a total of eight birds. The other six are on a shelf in the living room. If you look at the bottom you can see handwritten letters on each one.”

Jenny remembered seeing the letters when she was trying to find a manufacturer’s mark. Sarah explained, “My dad wrote one letter on each bird, I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U, and gave them to her for Valentine’s Day. He called them ‘Love Birds’. He was always doing silly, romantic things like that. They were a permanent fixture in our house and after Dad died she grew really attached to them. Strange that she would get rid of them.”

Jenny smiled at the story of the birds, “But where did the YARD SALE sign come from?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “That was my neighbor’s sign. They put it up two weeks ago and never took it down.”

“Why do you think she made up the story about having a sister?”

Sarah crossed her arms and pursed her lips together tightly. After a few seconds she said, “What I haven’t told you is that my mom has Alzheimer’s. There are a lot of things about this hateful disease I don’t understand, but just over a year ago she started making things up. She remembers events that never happened or remembers them completely differently or, even worse, doesn’t remember them at all.”

Jenny hardly knew what to say. She suddenly understood why Sarah was so emotional when they were on the porch. She struggled for the right words and then remembered the contents of the jewelry box, “What about your brother? Does he help you?”

Sarah looked surprised, “How do you know about my brother?”

“I saw his picture… in your mom’s locket. The one that’s in the jewelry box.”

Jenny pulled out the drawer and picked up the chain and locket. She opened it and showed it to Sarah. Sarah’s hand went over her mouth, “I haven’t seen that locket in years.”

She gently took it from Jenny’s hand to examine the pictures more closely. “That’s my brother, David. Pancreatic cancer took him from us two years ago. That was an awful time. We were both shattered and Mom took it especially hard. Looking back, I think that’s when I first noticed some of her memory issues. I moved in with her a few months after we lost him. I didn’t like her being alone and I never married, so it seemed like a good thing for us to live together. It’s just been the two of us ever since.”

Sarah gave a wistful look at the picture of her little brother. She kissed her finger and placed it on the image of his small face. Jenny looked at Sarah with both sadness and respect. She admired her silent strength in the face of so much adversity. She tried to compare Sarah’s life to hers, but they hardly seemed the same. Still, she had the feeling they were on slightly the same path. They were both all alone at the moment, desperately trying to hold their family together. She thought about the jewelry box and the forgotten treasures that were hidden safely inside. Jenny reached across the table, took Sarah’s hand and rested it on top of the jewelry box, “I knew there was something wrong the moment I opened this up. There are things in here that are special to you and I have no desire to keep it. I’ll gladly bring everything else back too.”

Sarah felt something stir inside that she thought was dead and gone. It seemed like a little life had come back into her soul. The two women exchanged a heartfelt glance and even though words weren’t spoken, they both knew something special had passed between them. Sarah smiled at Jenny and realized it was the first genuine smile that had crossed her face in a long time and in that moment she knew everything was going to be alright.

Sarah stood up from the table, brushed off her skirt and took a step towards Jenny, “So, would you like to meet my mom?”

Without hesitating Jenny got out of her seat, “I think I would like that very much.”

Then, the two women locked arms and headed into the dark living room… together.

The first version of this story was written in 2008. It came about because my wife and I found an old jewelry box and, just like in the story, we got to open it up and find out what was inside. Also like the story, it was full of gaudy, costume jewelry and a child’s hospital armband. My intent at the time was to write about the excitement of opening up the jewelry box and come up with a backstory to where it had come from. I used an older woman with Alzheimer’s because I wanted to make a link between forgotten treasures and forgotten memories. At that time I didn’t know anyone with the disease. Fast-forward to today. My dad passed away in 2020 with Alzheimer’s and we are currently taking care of my mother-in-law who also has it. It gave me a different perspective and when I went to repost this story I decided to change it up and somehow touch on the struggles and heartaches of the people who take care of those suffering with Alzheimer’s, or anyone else who is a caregiver, no matter what the reason. Then, my brain went into overtime and I thought I would try and bring a young woman struggling with a young family together with an older woman who was on the other end of life, struggling in a very different way. Did it work? The fact that I am sitting here trying to explain everything makes me think not, but isn’t that what those of us who write do? We question ourselves and change everything over and over, trying to make it sound just right. Anyway, I’ve babbled on long enough. If you have read this far I thank you for sticking with me. I hope to have something else out soon.

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

Part 3 HERE

Part 4 HERE

Part 5 HERE

When she got to the driveway Jenny noticed the YARD SALE sign was still by the side of the road. She drove past it and up the circular drive, parking behind a small, green car. She stepped through overgrown grass onto a short sidewalk that led up to the front entrance. When she got there she pulled open the old screen door and knocked on the wooden door behind it. A few minutes later it cracked open and a woman in her fifties with short, black hair hesitantly poked her head around the corner, “Yes? May I help you?”

She was obviously leery of the stranger on her porch, so Jenny tried to speak in a calm, reassuring voice, “Hello, my name is Jenny and I would like to talk to the older woman who lives here. I have some questions about this jewelry box.”

Jenny was holding the box in her hands and when the woman saw it she gave an audible gasp. In a whispery voice she asked, “How did you get my mother’s jewelry box?”

Confused, Jenny answered, “Her sister gave it to me!”

“What did you say?”

“I said her sister gave it to me!”

The door opened up and the woman slowly stepped onto the porch. Her shoulders were slumped slightly forward and tears had formed in her eyes. With a look on her face that Jenny could only describe as defeated the woman spoke again, “My mother doesn’t have a sister.”

Still confused, Jenny asked, “Is your mother’s name Sylvia Daniels?”

The woman stood there silently for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, she wiped the tears from her eyes and answered, “Yes, yes it is.”

She stood up straight, crossed her arms, closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and held it. As the seconds ticked by Jenny watched with awkward curiosity to see what would happen next. Finally, with air escaping from her mouth the woman quietly said, “I have to say, this has caught me by surprise.”

More silence. More awkwardness. Then, a simple question, “Would you like to come inside and talk about it over a cup of coffee?”

There was something in the woman’s shattered voice that broke Jenny’s heart. Despite the fact that she had never met her before she had the overwhelming feeling that it was alright to go with her inside the house. Besides, there were too many unanswered questions to give up now. Jenny gave a weak smile and found herself answering, “I think I would like that.”

The living room was off to the left and Jenny could see that someone was sitting in a recliner watching an old rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies. All the curtains were drawn and the room was mostly dark, but the flickering, blue light of the television revealed that it was the same woman from the yard sale. She raised her hand to wave as they walked by, but the old woman never looked their way.

They turned and walked to a small table in the kitchen. The curtains were open in this room and the sunlight revealed a quaint, little area with white, tiled floors and walls that were pale, mustard yellow. There were pictures of chickens all over the walls and chicken decorations everywhere. In fact, there were more chicken decorations in the kitchen than Jenny had ever seen in her life. As they stood beside the table the woman said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Sarah Jennings. Have a seat and I’ll pour us some coffee.”

Jenny put the jewelry box on the table and sat down. She glanced out the window and noticed a beautiful view of a flower garden. Even though it was obviously neglected everything was vibrant and green. There was a small birdbath where four or five colorful birds were enjoying their morning dip. She watched them with amusement until Sarah came back with the coffee. She sat down and pointed to the cream and sugar. Then, with a small tremor in her voice hesitantly asked, “So… how did you come into possession of my mother’s jewelry box?”

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

Part 3 HERE

Part 4 HERE

The drawer slid out easily exposing the same beautiful, gold, satin material that was under the lid. There was a small clump of balled up silver chains right in the middle of the drawer. Underneath the chains Jenny saw the back side of a light green envelope. The envelope excited her because she thought it might hold more clues about the owner of the jewelry box. She quickly moved the ball of chains, picked up the envelope and turned it over. Written in black ink across the front was the name Sylvia. She smiled to herself as she put the first name on the card together with the last name on the baby bracelet, Sylvia Daniels.

She quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It was white and across the front were the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WOMAN I LOVE in gold, embossed lettering. She opened it to find a quaint little poem. Handwritten across the bottom were the two words, “Love, John”. She was a little disappointed there wasn’t more in the card, but at least she could take a guess at the husband’s name now.

She set the card aside, picked up the silver chains that were intertwined and slowly began to pull them apart. When she was done there were really only two chains. One was about eighteen inches long and very thin. The other was thicker, but it was the locket on the end that really caught Jenny’s attention. It was silver, round, about two inches high and had the inscription “Mom” on the front. Jenny found the little button to open it up and pulled the halves apart. She was surprised to find that each side of the locket had a picture of a child. On the left was a girl about seven years old holding a small, white, stuffed bunny rabbit. She was wearing a pink dress and had black, curly hair. On the right was the picture of a boy who looked slightly younger. He was wearing a baseball uniform and held a glove and ball in his hand. His black hair was fighting to stay under the ball cap and his face displayed a big, toothy grin. Jenny smiled at the pictures and found herself wondering why anyone would want to get rid of something as precious as a mother’s locket. She put the chains aside and pulled open the last drawer in the jewelry box. To her dismay, it was completely empty. She reached inside just to make sure, but there was nothing to be found.

Jenny sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and thought about what she had learned by looking through the jewelry box. She knew a woman named Sylvia graduated from high school in 1967 and married a man named John Daniels. They had two children and at least one of them was born at Clay Memorial Hospital in 1969. Try as she might, Jenny just couldn’t make herself believe that anyone would want to get rid of the things that were inside the jewelry box. She wanted to know more about Sylvia and John Daniels and the kids pictured in the silver locket. Jenny knew she wasn’t going to rest until she got to the bottom of it and there was only one way to find the answers that she was looking for. She would have to go back and visit the old woman who had given her the jewelry box.

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

Part 3 HERE

The inside of the jewelry box was lined with gold colored, satin material and it seemed to give off a faint, iridescent glow as Jenny lifted the lid. Instead of pirate’s treasure, however, she found that the box was filled with cheap, costume jewelry. It was sectioned out very neatly with two rows of rings, a long skinny area for necklaces and three compartments that were filled with all kinds of earrings and other jewelry.

She started with the earrings, pulling each one out individually. They were all large and colorful with gaudy, fake stones. While going through them she noticed a two inch wide piece of material stretched all the way across the bottom of the lid. There was elastic sewn into the top and it formed a pocket that would stretch out so that items could be dropped inside for safe keeping. She pulled the pocket open and peeked inside. At first she didn’t see anything, but then she saw a small piece of trash. She reached her hand inside and pulled it out.

What she pulled out ended up being a small hospital armband that was only about three inches long. There was a tiny, metal clasp attached to one end and the other end had been cut, obviously done when it was removed. Sitting inside the clear plastic band was a yellowed piece of paper. Jenny looked at the paper and read the words that were typed on it out loud, “Baby Daniels, 3-29-69, Dr. Malone”.

On the back side of the band were the words Clay Memorial Hospital. Jenny held the small armband in her fingers, slowly turning it over and over while reading the words out loud each time she turned it. “So, Mrs. Daniels gave birth to a baby at Clay Memorial Hospital that was delivered by Dr. Malone in 1969.” It seemed like a logical conclusion based on the facts that had been presented, but there were so many unanswered questions. Was the baby a boy or a girl? What was the mother’s first name? Who was the dad? With questions still forming in her mind Jenny finished looking through the jewelry that was in the top of the box. There were only a couple of necklaces and a few broaches, but they all had the same gaudy look. After quickly looking through them she started with the rings. There were about twelve and she examined each one closely, silently chuckling at some of the large, colorful, plastic stones.

She finally came to one petite, gold ring that looked different than all the others. There was writing on each side and she picked it up to see if she could make out what it said. The ring was so small that she had to strain to read the writing, but eventually managed to make out the letters MHS on one side and the numbers 67 on the other. It was a high school class ring. The dates fit together, Mrs. Daniels must have graduated high school in 1967, got married shortly afterwards and then had a baby in 1969. Intrigued, she put the ring back in its place and reached to open up the first sliding drawer of the jewelry box.

Read part 1 HERE

Read part 2 HERE

After Jenny dropped the kids off at school on Wednesday her mind had a chance to shift out of high gear for the first time in days. She thought about her husband and how much she missed him. She thought about her boys and how quickly they were growing up. Then, for some reason, she thought about the old woman at the yard sale. It was then she finally remembered the cardboard box that had been riding around in her trunk since Saturday. She found herself suddenly interested in what was inside of it and as soon as she got home she took it out of the trunk and carried it to the kitchen table.

The first thing she found inside was an old popcorn maker. She picked it up, examined the discolored, yellow, plastic lid and noticed that the electric cord did not have a plug on it. Disappointed, she placed it in on the floor next to the trash can.

Next, she pulled a pack of stationary paper from the cardboard box. She removed a piece out of the fragile, plastic wrapping and found that she actually liked it. It was light blue with a pleasant looking picture of a country road winding through the hills. Across the bottom was the saying THE ROAD TO A FRIEND’S HOUSE IS NEVER LONG. She placed the paper back in the package and set it on the table.

After that were two small, white bird figurines. She picked them up looking for some kind of mark to indicate where they were made. One had the letter I and the other had the letter U on the bottom handwritten in black marker. There were no other visible marks, but she liked the way they looked, so she set them aside too.

She found some silverware and immediately placed it on the table to save while simultaneously wondering how her forks and spoons always seemed to magically disappear. Then, she pulled out some mysterious items that reminded her of things she used to see in her grandmother’s kitchen. There was a potato masher, a hand mixer and a couple other strange looking utensils that she wasn’t quite sure of.

At the bottom of the cardboard box she was delighted to find a small, blue and white crocheted blanket. She pulled it out and opened it up. She examined it closely and could tell from the wear and tear that it had been well used.

Jenny looked back in the cardboard moving box and saw one more thing. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that it was a jewelry box. She picked it up gently and placed it on the table to have a closer look. It was made out of beautiful, light colored wood and had two small handles on the sides. There were two drawers in the front which also had handles that matched the ones on the sides. On top of the box was a gold, heart-shaped piece that bore the initials SJD in fancy script lettering.

She couldn’t help but get excited about what might be inside. She placed her hands on the lid and ran her fingers around the ornate golden pieces that were attached to each corner. She felt like a pirate who had discovered a buried treasure. She stared at the jewelry box for a second or two, trying to imagine what might be inside. Then, she held her breath and slowly opened it up.

Jenny drove home in silence. Her thoughts kept going back to the image of the old woman as she slowly moved toward the house with her head hung low. There was a feeling of deep sadness there, a feeling that Jenny did not quite understand. She thought about her all the way home; the cloudy blue eyes, the deep wrinkles surrounding them, the sudden change in mood. She arrived at the house feeling melancholy and out of sorts, but there wouldn’t be much time to dwell on it.

The first thing she saw as she drove up was Troy, her 14 year old son, standing in his soccer uniform with arms folded, impatiently waiting. He ran to the car before she could hardly get the door open , “Mom, we have to be at the field in fifteen minutes. I’m going to be late for my game!”

“I thought the game was at 3:00.”

“It was, but the coach called and said there was a mistake on the schedule. It’s at 1:00 instead.”

She looked at her watch and saw that it was 12:45. She really didn’t want to start rushing around today. “Where’s your brother?”

“On the computer, where else?”

“Well, get in the car and I’ll go get him.”

She quickly made her way up the steps and into the house. Ben was in the office on the computer and looked up as she came in, “Hi Mom.”

“Hey kiddo, get your shoes on, we need to leave for Troy’s soccer game.”

“Aw Mom… do I have to go?”

“Of course you do, you know you can’t stay here by yourself.”

Ben got defensive, “Why not? I’m ten years old now!”

Even though she was trying to hurry, Jenny looked at her son and smiled, “I know you are, but I would love it if you went with me. Besides, I hear they have some really good nachos and cheese at the concession stand.”

Ben gave a deep sigh that sounded much too grown up for Jenny’s liking. He didn’t want to go, but the idea of nachos and cheese had caught his attention. Finally, in an exasperated voice he said, “Alright, I’ll get my shoes.”

They arrived at the park with only a couple of minutes to spare. Troy jumped out before the car even stopped rolling and ran to where the rest of the team had gathered on the field. Jenny watched him as he ran and then heard Ben ask, “Can we get the nachos now?”

The rest of her day proceeded in much the same fashion. Everything was rush, rush, hurry, hurry. After the game there was dinner to fix, laundry to do and Ben’s overdue science project that demanded attention. It wouldn’t have been so bad if her husband was around, but he was gone for a month of training with his new job. She was, at this point, living the life of a single mom and as all the responsibilities that come along with it quickly closed in around her the thoughts of the old woman at the yard sale were pushed to the back of her busy mind.

It seems like a completely different life, but years ago I used to write a lot. My favorite is short stories. I find it satisfying to create something that can be read in a short setting. Lately, it’s been difficult for me write like I used to. Since I have a lot of my writings saved I have decided to reach back in the archives and post one of my older short stories. I’m going to post it in seven parts. That way I can spend a little time editing it (there is always something that can be made better). I hope you will stick with me to the end.

Jenny saw the yard sale sign and took a quick glimpse at her watch to make sure she had time to stop. She pulled into the driveway and saw one table with a few items on it. ”Is that it?” she thought to herself. She had the urge to back out, but decided to go ahead and stop the car. As she walked up to the table the old woman sitting behind it looked up, nodded and then went back to her magazine.

There wasn’t much on the table worth looking at. The sad display of items included an old popcorn maker, a boxed set of silverware, two small, porcelain birds, a pack of stationary paper that had been opened up and some odd and end kitchen utensils. Jenny browsed quickly and then turned to walk away.

Just then the woman spoke up, “I’ll take thirty dollars.”

Jenny turned back around, “Excuse me?”

“Thirty dollars. I said you can have everything for thirty dollars.”

Jenny looked back at table, “No… I don’t think I’m interested. “

The woman persisted, “I’ve got another box of old things that I’ll throw in with it.”

Jenny answered again, “Sorry, I’m really not interested.”

Still pleading her case, the woman went on, “All this stuff belonged to my sister. She died a couple of months ago.”

There was a sadness in the woman’s voice that caused Jenny to soften a little, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

The woman paused for a few of seconds as if she were going to say something else. There was an awkward period of silence until she finally spoke again, this time with harshness in her voice, “Listen young lady, I’m tired of sitting here and I’m ready to go inside. I’ll give you everything on the table plus the other box for thirty dollars.”

Jenny was taken aback by the sudden mood change. She looked at the old woman, who was staring at her intently, waiting for an answer, “I’m sorry about your sister, but I really don’t need or want any of these things.”

She turned once again to walk away, but before she could take a step the woman spoke again, this time much softer, “Wait! Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. I’ll tell you what, I was getting ready to go back inside and I was going throw all this stuff away. If you want it you can have it.”

Without waiting for a response, the woman picked up a well-used moving box from behind the table, “Here’s the other things, I’ll just put it all in the same box for you. Do you think you can carry it?”

Jenny was surprised to somehow find herself saying, “Yes.”

She said good-bye to the woman, hesitantly picked up the box and carried it to the trunk of her car. As she pulled out of the driveway she looked back and saw the old woman walking slowly toward the house and she drove away thinking how strange it all seemed.