(part 2)
The police
came to the door at dawn that Sunday to tell me that he had fallen asleep at
the wheel driving back to his campsite the night before and had gone over the
cliff. Miraculously, both of his friends
had survived, although both had been injured.
Carmon had died instantly on impact.
Each of us sought his or her way to remember. Breed, the
eldest at 19, took charge. He identified his dad at the funeral home and claimed Carmon’s personal belongings while he was there. He burned the Wranglers, tee shirt, and
underclothing - even shoes and socks - to spare my having to see them.
I don't think he kept anything after experiencing that. Tee, age 12, claimed her dad's brown felt hat and a soft flannel shirt. She slept in that shirt for years until it literally fell from her shoulders in shreds.
Tunk, age 8, asked for his dad’s watch. That watch was later stolen, along with Carmon's coin collection by a young man we had considered to be a friend.
It was as if Tunk had lost his father all over again and it broke my heart. Sess, age 16, inherited the Tonka
truck and drove it all through high school. He took a Voc Ag meats class that first semester because he thought his dad would have liked that. My father asked if he might have Carmon’s boots. He rarely wore western boots, but wanted a memento from this son by marriage. Carmon's siblings each took something by which to remember him.
The one item that haunted me was Carmon's ever present pocketknife. It had been in his pocket and had taken the full impact of the steering wheel. It was bent in two, like a hairpin.
The one item that haunted me was Carmon's ever present pocketknife. It had been in his pocket and had taken the full impact of the steering wheel. It was bent in two, like a hairpin.
©
Gebara Education, 2001. No portion of this book may be copied by any method
without the express written permission of the author
Picture of the Mogollon Rim from www.fortheloveofwisdom.com
As I wrote the sentence about Carmon's watch being stolen, I felt an emotion I thought I had laid to rest: I felt angry and vengeful. I thought I had forgiven that young man, a slave to his addictions, but I now know I had not. If I had, I wouldn't have experienced those feelings. I wouldn't have written the sentence at all. I thought of deleting it, but decided that it wasn't the sentence that needed deleting: it was the anger in my heart. I am grateful that today is Sunday so that I could take that unforgiving feeling to the Throne of Grace during the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. I placed the anger at Jesus' feet and asked for his forgiveness, both for myself and for that young man. The hymn we sang to prepare for the Sacrament has a line about how I must forgive if I want to be forgiven. I prayed for Christ's grace to forgive and to replace anger with peace. I have never stolen from a friend to get money for drugs, but I have surely fallen short of my godly potential on more occasions that I care to count. I need Jesus' grace! So I decided to let the post stand as written as a token of my sin of judging another and this comment as a token of my sorrow and repentance. That is what grace is all about in the long run: forgiving and being forgiven. I pray that I might be more at-one with Jesus Christ, that I might walk with Him as his disciple in thought, word, and deed.
ReplyDeleteP.S. It worked. I am at peace! God is good.
ReplyDelete