Sharing a blog from Sherry

     A few years ago, I had the privilege of meeting the then pastor of the church I grew up in, St. John's United Methodist Church. Sherry Cothran Woolsey welcomed myself and our group X-ALT!, and is a dear friend, excellent singer/songwriter, insightful pastor, and as will be seen, awesome blogger as well. I've asked her permission to re post her most recent blog, and you can see much more on her website at http://www.sherrycothran.com. Enjoy!

The Songs of Bible Women & Why They Change the World

When we think about the Bible, we don’t often think of the beauty and power of songs, especially by women. They aren’t sung loudly over edgy guitar riffs or punctuated by trance inducing beats. They’re not delivered to us via Youtube by stylish singers in trendy clothes. But if we go searching for them, we find that songs are a big deal in the Bible, and though they may not make it to the top 40 Billboard charts, they are some of the most powerful tools we have for claiming a new world order. One in which the hungry are fed, the weak are made strong, the oppressed are set free and the lion lies down with the lamb. A world in which swords are turned into plow shares.

If I were to get a hook out of the songs of Hannah, Deborah and Mary it would be this: God has done the impossible again, should we be surprised?

Though there are nearly two hundred songs in the Bible, some of the most powerful ones are created by these three women.

What makes them so special?

They teach us how to sing our faith into existence by envisioning God’s action in a song, it’s classically known as praise. But the word itself is deceiving. It brings to mind joy, beauty, ease or happiness. But their songs of praise tell us a different story. Praise is hard. That’s what makes it so powerful. These women do the gritty, scrappy, world ordering work of praise in their songs, and it’s what makes them world changing.

Praise is hard because it must be uttered over and against evidence that points to the contrary. It’s much easier to believe the evidence that the world is a horrible place than to speak the good news that it is not.

To praise God in a world in which violent hate crimes seem to rule the daily news, where children become targets just for attending school, where women are sold every day into sex trafficking, even in our own backyard, is a radical act. But that’s exactly what faith is, praising God in adverse conditions. This is how the world is changed. Channeling the love of God over and against the reality in which we live. That’s exactly why it’s crucial. Because praise not only heals us, it heals the world, too.

The women of the Bible who sang God’s powerful and healing love into the world weren’t the product of warm, fuzzy, comfortable societies. They were scrappy and lived in a culture that often held them to a rigid standard of having to negotiate life as the property of men. They also lived in a time in which a woman’s worth was often measured by her ability to bear a male child, remain a virgin until married and be submissive to male authority.

But the three women whose songs changed the world, Hannah, Deborah and Mary, colored outside of these lines. Not because they were seeking attention for themselves but because God asked them to, they simply responded to a calling from on high.

Hannah, Deborah and Mary were not only prophets, but women who overcame cultural adversity to channel God’s miraculous power into flesh and bones, into peace and love. Deborah’s song tells of an impossible victory that she commands with her vision, grit and military prowess as the right arm of God on earth. Hannah’s song claims God’s miraculous power to do the impossible through a woman that the world had given up on. Mary’s song creates a new world order in which God’s love is Sovran.

Through their songs love is made possible in the world through the odd combination that women carry so well -vulnerability and strength.

The songs of women are special, because they are uttered from hearts that know of sacrifice and oppression, hearts that are well acquainted with sorrow and the impossible. Hearts that have experienced the pain of rejection. Women who didn’t settle for being the victims of an unfair system, who didn’t believe the victim narrative but rose up out of it through God’s strength to share the truthfulness of God’s mighty power with the world.

They also teach us that we can’t do important work alone, we need others to be our best selves. In a culture in which we can easily feel isolated, lonely and without nurturing love, we need to remember that their songs were not sung alone. If they had been, the outcomes could have been very different. Deborah could have gone into battle without enough of the manpower she needed. Mary could have been abandoned by her family and friends and had to face giving birth alone. Hannah would have had no sacred vessel into which she could dedicate God’s gift to her. But because they sang their songs in communities that believed in them, and believed that their words were from God, the outcome was miraculous, every time.

God has done the impossible through the songs of women, should we be surprised?

Check out some of my modern interpretations of the radical stories of the hidden women of the Bible here.

May God add a blessing to your reading of this blog.

One Last Gift To Open....

With apologies to Nikos Kazantzakis…

The Last Temptation of Santa Claus by Mark D. Mills

     Nick blinked. He stared at the contract in front to him. He blinked again.  He couldn’t believe the amount of money he was being offered, all just to use his name, or a variation of it, anyway. The figure was more than Nick had seen in his lifetime, and after a life of self-imposed poverty, of giving away so much, this money could do so much good. He looked up at the smiling man seated across the desk from him. Three piece suit, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect teeth. Maybe too perfect.

    “So, let me understand you” Nick started, “your giving me all this just to use my name? No other involvement at all?”

     “That’s right.” The man said. The man was Thomas R. Uley, and he headed up the largest global toy conglomerate in existence. Almost any toy that was conceived, created or sold at some point came through him. He took a big cigar from his desk and lit it up, breathing in deep until it was smoking to his satisfaction. “That’s right” Thomas continued. “We handle all the merchandising, marketing, logistics and delivery. You might have to make a couple of personal appearances a year, but what you can’t make, we’ll have people in place to represent you. You see, we’re not buying you, per se, but what you stand for. Toys, glorious toys, giving a sense of prosperity to every child, happiness to every girl and boy, and all to be associated with your good name. And if we make some tiny profit, well that just a reward for all that good will.”

     Nick shook his head. “But that’s not what I stand for. I stand for giving, not indulgence. I stand for emptying yourself for others, not profiting off their need. This just doesn’t seem right somehow, Mr. Uley.”

     Mr. Uley smiled even wider. “I know you don’t understand just now, but trust me, this is how the system works. You have to do things sometimes to achieve the desired end. You DO want children to be happy on Christmas Day, don’t you? Now, you can do that worldwide, all in one night. Just sign the contract, and it’s done.”

     Nick hesitated. “I don’t know…” he started.

     Thomas leaned across the desk, and looked at Nick directly in his eyes. “Nick, Nick” he said softly. “I understand your concerns, and they will be addressed. But for now, think of the good you can do. So much more than ever possible. This is really for the best, and just waiting on you.” Thomas picked up a pen, and handed it to Nick. “Just waiting on you.” he repeated.

     Nick took a deep breath, signed the contract, and closed his eyes.

     When he opened them again, the scene had changed. He was seeing many things at once, all different but somehow connected.

     Nick focused on a scene to the right, and as he moved, seemed to step into it. He found himself on a busy sidewalk, hundreds of people around him, pushing and shoving. Buildings on either side of him rose up to unbelievable heights, so high that Nick had to strain to see the tops. Someone yelled “Hey, move it bud!” Someone else “Must be some kinda retard.” “Freak, more like it”. Nick did not like the way this conversation was going, so he moved over to the side, into a doorway.

     After a minute to compose himself, Nick started looking at details around him. People were carrying multiple packages, each one large enough for several people to receive gifts, yet the faces had no trace of joy. Determination, yes, frustration, yes, even anger. But no joy. How could you give so much, and not have your heart overflow? Something must be wrong.

     Nick heard bells. Knowing that town criers rang bells to announce news, he followed the sound, in hope of some answers. When he saw the source, he stopped up short. Nick saw a man in a red, fur lined suit beside a kettle, asking people for money. He looked like a sophisticated beggar. The suit kept bothering Nick. It seemed familiar. Of course! It was his clerical robes, although it was a very poor copy. Cartoonish, even. This beggar was supposed to be him! Mr. Uley said there would be stand-ins, but nothing like this. Nick moved on quickly, holding back the urge to punch this heretic right in his jolly round belly. Just a few blocks later, another imposter on the sidewalk! This was just too much. He willed himself out of that scene (although he still wasn’t sure how) and into the next one.

     As the scene around him came into focus, Nick found himself in a family home on Christmas morning, and the scene was absolute chaos. One child was tearing into packages in a frenzy, paper flying everywhere. No sooner than one package would be opened, he would go to the next, ignoring the previous gift. And there were so many! Surely many children must live here, but no, only one. In a flash, all the packages were open. Then the child started to cry. Then started to scream at his harried parents. Apparently, after all that, it wasn’t enough! Wasn’t enough? There were enough presents for ten children, and this child wanted more! Whispering a prayer for his parents, he moved to another scene.

     Nick came into another house, another family, another child. Unlike his previous view, there was no abundance. This child was sitting at a kitchen table, a glass of water in her hands. Her mother was moving around the kitchen, trying hard to spread what little she had for her child to eat. It had been two days since her own last meal. “Mom, was I a bad girl this year?”

     “No, hon” the mom said, “You were a very good girl all year long.”

     “Then why didn’t Santa bring any presents? Doesn’t he like me?”

     The mom choked up a little. “No, he loves you very much. He’s just poor like the rest of us. Maybe he’ll make it up next year.” To herself, the mom said “Please, next year.”

     Nick’s blood was boiling by this point. In a world with so much abundance, how could there be such want? He signed on for goodwill for all, not just some. It was time to straighten this out.

     Hi willed himself into the office of Thomas R. Uley. “Well, Nick, what a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you again. What can I do for you?” he said, perfect smile in place.

     “You can release me from that contract, that’s what you can do for me” fumed Nick. “Instead of goodwill, there is greed. Instead of care, there is desperate want. I don’t stand for any of this, and I will NOT stand for any of this.”

     “Nick, Nick” that familiar soothing voice came back. “Nick, this is far too complicated for you to understand. That’s just business. Let us take care of things.”

     “But you’re not taking care of things, that’s just the problem.”

     “Let us decide what is right or wrong then.” Thomas rose, and his smile lessened just slightly. “Nick, we control what the world thinks, and does, and we do it through money. Those who have keep, those who don’t are not worth our time. You’ve been paid for your part, we have everything else. Now get out before I call security.” Thomas sat back down, pulled out a cigar from his desk, and turned around.

     Nick’s head started spinning. He felt totally helpless. He closed his eyes and screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

     The old bishop opened his eyes. He was back in his bed, in his own room, drenched in sweat, hands still clenched in tension. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and realized it was just a dream. He knew that people already recognized him as a gift giver. He knew that people’s hearts are easily turned from giving to others to receiving for themselves. But as long as people remembered why they give, remembered the Child whose birth, death and resurrection gave the greatest gift of all, it would be alright.

     Nicklaus closed his eyes, and slept.

Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you in the new year!

Silence - a poem

Silence.

A pause between words.

A rest between notes.

A reprieve while the noise of life goes on.

Silence.

The punctuation of life stories.

The time taken to step aside.

The healing between wars of life.

Silence.

Not empty and void, but rich and fertile.

Absorbing the noise around, and giving it time to be heard.

Life is experienced in noise, but understood…

In Silence.

Sacred Silence

   And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. – 1 Kings 19:11-12 (ESV)

     “Hello Darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sounds of silence. – Paul Simon

    “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear falling on my ear, the son of God discloses. And He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.” - C. Austin Miles

     I’ve just returned from a wonderful time at Camp Bluebird, a twice a year camp for cancer survivors, and the gathering place of some of my dearest friends. There are quite a few activities at camp to keep our pandemonium to a minimum, and on Friday afternoon, I attended a Journaling Workshop. One of the prompts given us had to do with silence, and this prompted the following line from me – “Life is experienced in noise, but understood in silence”. (I know, sometimes I get so deep even I don’t get it!) In this case though, the saying rang true for me, and especially true here at camp. Life is messy, and loud, and exhausting, and confusing, and frustrating, but there for one weekend is peace, silence of life’s distractions, rest. And even if understanding may not be there, the ability to deal with life is a little better at least.

     There is rest in silence. God speaks to us in the silence. He waits for us to push aside the noise and clutter, to rest and listen. He set aside the Sabbath, not because His ego needed it, but to give us the rest He knew WE needed. He begs us to rest. In Matthew 11:28 “Come to me all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

     For a lot of us, silence can be scary. We run from it, trying to avoid dealing with the issues around us, or in us. Truth is, the only way there is healing from the noise around is by going into the silence. We have to stop, rest, and let God speak. In the Quaker tradition, the common practice is to sit in a circle, and rather than having a speaker, to wait until God calls someone to speak. This would put a LOT of pastors out of business. The way I grew up, if there was silence in the Worship Service for more than 5 seconds, somebody forgot something!

     I would encourage you to try this simple exercise. Take some time to be in the silence, away from the noise of the day. Just find a nice, quiet spot, with no distractions, rest and let God speak. Even if you don’t hear Him, rest in knowing He is there. Rest in knowing He loves you completely, eternally. For some this may be difficult, often myself included. Let me give you a scripture, a prompt if you will, to help. Take Psalm 121:1-2.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

     Now don’t just keep repeating it over and over, that’s work not rest. Let the words into your heart and dwell on them. Healing will come. Amen

The Book of Naomi

Merry Christmas! What, too soon? Oh, well…

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s told in the Book of Ruth, but I really think it should be called the Book of Naomi. We don’t often think about her, but she is the one central to this story. She begins it, influences it all the way through, and ends it. So why is Naomi so important? We’ll get to that. Let’s begin.

There was a famine in Judah, so Elemelech and his wife Naomi, travel to Moab with their two sons – Mahlan and Chilion. The Bible doesn’t specify how long they were there, but at some point, Elemelech dies, their sons take wives, Ruth and Orpah (NOT Oprah!), then the sons die as well, without having children.

As it will, life got very tough on these three widows, and Naomi heard the famine was now over in Judah. She decided to return to Judah, but told her daughter-in-laws to stay, since their families were both from Moab. Orpah cried, and begged, and cried again, but eventually hugs and kisses were passed all around, and she went back to her parent’s home. Ruth, however would not leave Naomi’s side, telling her “Where you go, I’m going. Where you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” Pretty strong words. So the two travel back to their home. Bethlehem, in Judea.

Once there, Ruth decides to help her mother-in-law out by going to work and harvest in the fields. There was a Jewish law that land owners had to leave a portion of their fields available for immigrants, widows and orphans, so that they could fend for themselves. One of the fields Ruth worked in was owned by Boaz, who just happened to be a kinsman of Elemelech. When Boaz sees her, and find’s out she’s kin, he tells her don’t harvest anywhere else, just there. Go with his servant girls, and harvest with them.

This is where Naomi gets involved again.  (Just like a mother-in-law, right?) Ruth comes back and tells Naomi what happened. Naomi, knowing Boaz is a kinsman, tells Ruth to listen to Boaz, and he’ll take care of her. In the meantime, Boas has told his men to leave her alone. Not only that, but to make sure and leave extra where it would be easy to gather.

Ruth comes home the next day with even more that the first day. She was even allowed to eat with Boaz and his workers, and bring home a doggie bag for Naomi. At this point, Naomi knows there’s an attraction between Boaz and Ruth. So she tells Ruth, “Ok, tomorrow night, after he’s eaten and made merry (read drunk), go to where he’s sleeping, uncover his feet, and lay down there. When he wakes up, you just do whatever he tells you to do.” She may have been thinking a little “Bow-chica-wow-wow” would occur, since Lot’s daughters did the same thing to him to have a child. (Genesis 19: 30-38) Ruth though wasn’t quite of the same thought. More like Beyoncé’ “Betta put a ring on it”!

Being the type of man her was, Boaz thought the same way, because of how honorable Ruth had acted. He proposed to her, and as kinsman would redeem her, and the line of Elemelech would be restored. Here’s where a wrinkle came in.

You see, in Jewish law, if a man died and left no offspring, it was up to the next of kin to step in for the deceased and forward the lineage, so to speak.  (Deut. 25:5-6) The trouble was, Boaz was NOT the next of kin, so he didn’t have the right to propose. That belonged to another man in the village. So he arranged to meet the close kin the next day in the marketplace. (I love this next part!)

So, they meet up at Starbucks or someplace like the next day and Boaz says “Hey cuz! You remember Elemelech, right? Well, I found out about a parcel of land of his, but since you’re closer kin, I wanted to offer it to you first.” Well, the cuz says sure, I’ll take the land. The Boaz suddenly remembers “Oh, by the way, you also have to marry Ruth, his daughter-in-law, and have a child with her.” (Imagine dead silence here.) Well, cousin had kids of his own, and that would have interfered with their own inheritance, so he said “No thanks, cuz, all yours!” Now that’s the way to do a deal!

That’s pretty much it. Boaz marries Ruth, they have a son, Obed, Naomi gets a grandbaby, and all ends happily ever after.

So why is Naomi so important? Because of that baby boy. At the end of the story, Boaz and Ruth give Obed over to Naomi to nurse and raise. You know she loved that! It got to where the women of the village would say “Naomi has a son!” How many of you grandmothers have been accused of the same thing?? Come on, now.

Well, Obed stayed in Bethlehem and eventually had a son, Jessie. Jessie grew up and had several fine sons and daughters, including one shepherd boy, David. You begin to see the line here? David had sons, they had sons, and so on, and so on, until one upstanding son, Joseph, became the earthly father to Jesus.

Here’s where Naomi comes in. Remember that law of “kinship redeemer” in Deuteronomy? By that law, Obed became legally the offspring of Elemelech, as his own sons had died without issue. This established Obed as a citizen of Bethlehem, and a full member of the tribe of Judah. (Remember, Ruth was from Moab, and would not have had that distinction.)

So, when we say Christ was from Bethlehem - that was Naomi.

So when we say Christ was of the tribe of Judah - that was Naomi.

When the line is drawn from God to Adam to Abraham to David to Christ – that was Naomi. The lineage of the promise of God for the savior of mankind was secured by – Naomi. Not bad for the mother-in-law in the story.

So Naomi, I want to give you the recognition you deserve. You’re welcome.

Oh, and…Merry Christmas.

Colorectal Ditties

This past Sunday, June 3^rd, was cancer survivor day. I am happy to be a 10 year survivor of colorectal cancer myself. Being a survivor though is not without its own set of experiences. Often the price of living, is living with a brand new “normal”, one that others don’t see. For those times though, even when things are going really tough, I like to try and laugh at the experience. Not because it is funny in itself, but because to laugh at something takes away its power over you. Other than love, there is no greater power that humans can wield.

In that vein, the following little ditties are for those like myself that are rectally challenged. I give the artist’s names first, not so much to hear the tune, but to apologize to them for what I did to it!

(Gene Autry)

Back to the bathroom again, white porcelain is my friend.

Don’t know when it will come, when it does I have to run

Back to the bathroom again.

(Ray Stevens)

Oh yes, they call it the Streak. I feel a wet spot on my seat.

When I remove my underwear, see the lines showing there,

I know that something has seeped.

(Statler Brothers)

Counting flowers on the wall, while I’m sitting in the stall.

Playing Solitaire till one, on a Galaxy Samsung.

Downloading Stranger Things and watching Season Two

Now don’t tell me, I’ve nothing to do.

(Tennessee Ernie Ford)

You dump Sixteen Tons, what do you get? A butt that’s sore and a seat that’s wet.

You think that it’s over, you get up to go,

Then another load comes and she’s ready to blow!

(Johnny Cash/Sons of the Pioneers)

I see the toilet paper roll, it’s down to just one sheet.

And all the backup paper rolls are just beyond my reach.

I should have changed it out but I just didn’t take the time.

So I’ll sit here till my legs go numb, and I can’t feel my behind.

Yippie-Ky-Yay! Yippie-Ky-Yo!

Where is my be-hind??

Have a laugh today!

Amens

Some of you know that I occasionally will write a poem or a short story. The stories range from somewhat funny to horror (I call it taking the demons out for a stroll) or everything in between. This one falls under the unusual category, much like me! Please enjoy.

Amens by Mark D. Mills

John stood in the doorway of 317 Lockwood Street. He hesitated, took a deep, if nervous breath, and knocked. He stood there for a few seconds, wondering if he might get a pass on this one, then he heard sounds coming from inside. The door opened, and the smell of B.O., early morning beer and cigarette smoke hit John immediately, exploding on him in waves. Before John stood a huge bulk of a man; hair unkempt, face unshaven, and shirtless. The hair on his body, however, more than compensated for any immodesty. Being the type of man to use words frugally (if at all), he simply glared down at John and grunted out “What?”

“Um, yes…” said John. “My name is John Till, and I have a matter to discuss with Mrs. Mary Collen if I may. Is she in, please?”

The human barricade obviously didn’t think much of John, and less of his request. “What you want with Mary? I’m her husband, you can deal with me.” Even as he said this, John heard the implied threat. Still, he had a job to do.

“This is rather personal sir, just concerning Mrs. Collen. I’m here to make amends.”

“Amens? What are you, some kinda preacher?”

“No sir, not at all. Making amends is to try and make right something you’ve done in your past. At the very least, to apologize. May I see her, please?”

The Bulk seemed to be considering it. John thought it was more exertion than he had put out for a while. Finally, the Bulk said, “Sure, preacher, come in. But don’t try anything, or I’ll break you like a twig.” John had no doubt he could keep that threat. “Mary, some guy to see you! Get out here, now!”

From the kitchen stepped a young women carrying a small child on her hip. While still young, she was aged well beyond her years. She looked confusedly at John, then at her husband, not knowing who John was at all. The bulk was walking out of the room. “And hurry up, it’s almost lunch time.” No need to imply the threat this time, it was understood.

“Well, come on in here, Mr….?”

“John Till. No reason you should know that, Mary. I’m afraid I’ve startled you, though, and that is not my intent.”

Mary was more confused than ever. “Ok…well, come on into the living room and we’ll sit down. Oh, can I get you something to drink, Mr. Till?”

“John, please. And a glass of sweet tea would be just fine, thank you.”

Mary set the child in his bouncy chair by the couch, and went into the kitchen for the tea. John looked at the child and smiled. “I hope this helps you, little one. Maybe this will break the chain.”

Mary came back into the living room, and sat the tea in front of John. “Well, I don’t know what you want with me, but I’ll tell you right now if you’re selling something, we’re not buying so don’t waste your time.”

John smiled. He’d heard this same line now several times, and it never lost its sense of irony. “I’m not selling anything, Mary. You might say I’m giving instead. You see, I’m here to make amends for something I did that’s impacted your life. Ask forgiveness, and try to make it right.”

“I’m sorry,Mr….uh, John…I don’t know you, so I don’t know what you could have done that matters to me.”

John took a sip of his tea. There was never a problem he ever had that sweet iced tea couldn’t calm him down, and help him think. It was his elixir.

“What I did, Mary, was years ago. You see, I’m much older than I look. What happened was to your father-in-law, not the man you know, but your husband Charlie’s biological father.”

Mary started. “How would you know him? He died years ago, when Charlie was just 13.”

“Yes, committed suicide, actually. And it was my actions that drove him to it. We were in business together, until I grew to where I thought I couldn’t trust him. Truth is, I grew greedy, and I didn’t trust anyone. I got him kicked out of the company, and took over his assets. He was always a bit mean spirited, but it became more and more so, until he couldn’t even live with himself. That was the reason for his suicide, but it didn’t happen before he transferred his anger with me on the world, and especially, Charlie.”

“I know you felt pity for Charlie when you met him, and eventually even loved him. But Charlie’s hurts were not yours to heal, and his actions he must deal with on his own as well. The reason I’m here is because Charlie’s actions toward you are a result of his father’s actions toward him, and those actions are a direct result of my doing. My first question is…can you forgive me?”

Mary sat stunned. She would love to think this guy was just nuts, but he had so much detail that it frightened her a little. Best to get him out as quick as possible. “Sure, OK, I forgive you if that’s what you need. Now I really got to get to Charlie’s lunch.”

John smiled again. “That’s only half the equation to amending, Mary. Now I need to do something to make that wrong into a right. I know that you worry for yourself, but even more so for your child. Am I correct in saying that money is what keeps you here?”

This was starting to get a little too personal for Mary. “First off, that’s none of your business. Second off, you can look around here and tell there isn’t any money. So unless you’ve got a check there in your pocket, I think you better leave.”

John stood up. Everything was going as expected, and he didn’t need to be here much longer. “Mary, I don’t have a check, but I believe I have something better.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket. “The top number there is of a personal account I have set up in the Cayman’s, and the bottom number is a direct line to the bank’s director. He knows to be expecting your call. As soon as you do, that money will be transferred to a separate account in your name, to do with as you wish. If you do not call within 7 days of today’s date, it will be divided between several charities that have been chosen beforehand. Again, you may do as you wish, but I believe you would choose a better life for you and your child than my actions have caused so far.”

Mary stood and took the paper. This can’t be true, and yet, she wanted it to be. Mary asked “If I did call, how much are we looking at here? One Thousand? Fifteen Hundred?”

John started heading back to the front door. “I’m not really sure anymore. It has grown some since I set it up. I believe the last time I checked it was in the region of 8 figures, but it may have increased. Good day, Mary, and thank you for accepting my amends.”

John took a look back as he exited onto the front porch. She was still staring at the paper when John heard Charlie shout “Mary, where’s my lunch?” She looked back at the paper, stuffed it into her pants pocket, and went to the kitchen. “Coming, Charlie!”

She would call. John could feel it. And she and the child would break the cycle that had drawn them down for so long. Now there was just one stop left, and this was the hardest one of all.

John went to almost the edge of town, to an old, overgrown field. There had once been a fence surrounding the property, but it had long since fallen into disrepair, now with big gaping spaces allowing access to anyone or anything. John stepped gingerly over the fence, and walked to the middle of the field, stopping by a large willow tree. He had always loved willows. They were so beautiful, but also so sad. Kind of like himself. So many things were going through his mind. There were so many wrongs, there was so much unkindness, so much hate. All without reason. But the hate was gone now. The wrongs had been set right. There was only one thing left, and that was here. John choked up just a little, and whispered “I forgive you.”

The part of the field where John ended up was quite secluded, but if someone had been watching, they would have been surprised. The wind, very calm all day, began to softly move the branches on the willow tree. Next, the man (or was it a shadow) that had been standing there seemed to change shape, as if blowing back and forth with the wind. Then, the sun must have come in from behind a cloud, because there was now nothing there beneath the tree but a simple stone that read:

John Till

1948-2010