How to Win a Crown

Daniel’s Song

By Hope Ellen Rapson


Tempted in Babylon

A new name required,

He would not be one,

Caving into desire.



In that world’s kingdom,

He would stand with three,

Loyal to the One

Who made them free.



He worked with rich and proud,

Choosing integrity,

Neither cocky, nor cowed,

But with humility.



Among all who lie or cheat,

He knelt to praise, and pray,

The Holy God Complete,

His King, his Rock, his Stay.



Threats of loss, fire, or lions

Did not his heart control.

His body lived for God,

The One who owned his soul.



So may I bear salvation’s seal,

Whenever I stand or kneel,

I live for this alone--- to reveal,

The Holy God who’s real.

The Childhood Suffering of Charles Dickens

 

Christopher Hibbert's biography examines the early writing of Charles Dickens and demonstrates the ways that Dickens's early life and experiences informed the plots and characters in his famous works.

What follows is an excerpt from an essay written by J. H. Plumb that appeared in Horizon Magazine, Autumn 1967.

Which Age of Anxiety?

Most of Dickens's heroes begin their lives cut off from other people. Insecure, obliged to make their way in a strange, discordant, threatening world, they try to become accepted by it and become a part of it, to understand it and to understand themselves, and in the meantime they share the sense of deprivation that made Paul Dombey live with "an aching void in his young heart, and all outside so cold, and bare, and strange."

    Even Samuel Pickwick feels compelled to conclude that "we are all the victims of circumstances, and I the greatest." For though his adventures are comic, the world in which they take place is essentially a menacing, savage world where only the fittest will survive and the unprotected, the simple, and the good will be treated with indifference if not with cruelty. It is a world in which men live secret lives, in which, as Sairey Gamp says in Martin Chuzzlewit, "we never know wot's hidden in each other's hearts; and if we had glass winders there, we'd need keep the shutters up, some on us, I do assure you!"

    The disquieting sese of being watched in this world, of being spied upon and caught out by gleaming eyes, eager eyes, spying eyes, eyes that stare, which constantly and disturbingly appear, and of being choked or suffocated in a stifling room, or lost in a labyrinth of streets, as in Oliver Twist; the images of crumbling riverside house that totter suddenly into ruin as the houses of Tom-all-Alone's do in Bleak House and the Clennam's house does in Little Dorrit; the desire to escape from the imprisoning city back to the countryside of innocent childhood, as shown in the Old Curiosity Shop; the fascination with dirty, muddled, crowded, fungus-ridden interiors; the concern with money; the plots that time and again revolve around a family mystery and the dread of its revelation; and of course, the difficulties of the relationships between parents and their children, which are investigated in novel after novel - all these ideas and symbols and themes that repeatedly occur in Dickens's writing can be interpreted in the light of the traumatic experiences and sufferings of these few months of his thirteen year."

Alice C. Linsley

When Dickens was age 13, his parents sent him to work at Warren's Blacking, 30, Hungerford Stairs, Strand. There he worked 12-hour days, earning six shillings a week to support his family. He felt abandoned, discouraged about having to leave his school, and stunned by the turn of events.

Warren's warehouse was filthy, ramshackle, and rat-infested. The floors and staircase were rotten and the lighting poor. The work was repetitive and boring. Charles felt the distance between himself, as son of a gentleman, and the other boys who worked there. He was forever conscious of what he called "a space between us" a distance accentuated by his more polished conduct and manners. Though Dickens only spent about 6 months at Warren's Blacking, his misery during that time shaped his future writing.

Charles' feelings about that time of his life are expressed on his novel David Copperfield:

"I had no advice, no counsel, no encouragement, no consolation, no assistance, no support, of any kind, from anyone, that I can call to mind, as I hope to go to heaven!"

Dickens's novels are crowded with orphans, prisons, dirt and poverty. These are symbols of the emotions the young Dickens felt, and they helped to produce one of the most prolific and enduring British writers the world has known.

Related reading: Charles Dickens on English Churches

A Timely Taste of Spain

 

Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo

Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo (1864 – 1936) was a Spanish essayist, novelist, poet, playwright, philosopher, professor of Greek, and later rector at the University of Salamanca. He was prolific in many genres, including poetry, essays, and drama, but he is best remembered for his philosophical treatise The Tragic Sense of Life (1912). 

His novels include Paz en la guerra (Peace in War) (1897), Niebla (Mist) (1914), Vida de Don Quijote y Sancho (1914), and Abel Sánchez (1917).

If you would like to become familiar with some of Unamuno's thought, I recommend the book Essays, Paradoxes, Soliloquies.

Unamuno's works often are poetic, and they ring with sincere apologies for the tragic sense of life. Yet they retain hope, even as Quijote's hope for triumph over his foes never left him. Quijote's dying words to Sancho Panza were "Bring me my sword."

Because Unamuno's thought leaves wiggle room to explore, his readers may freely wander unexplored paths and discover unfamiliar literary places. We are allowed to live with uncomfortable contradictions. This space is shrinking in our polarized world. Our time is not unlike the eve of the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939). All the more reason to become familiar with the thought of Miguel de Unamuno!

In October 1936 Unamuno denounced General Francisco Franco’s Falangists. This resulted in his removal as rector of Salamanca University. He was placed under house arrest, and he died of a heart attack two months later.

Related reading: Love the Work of Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo

Learn to Write by Writing

 

Dr. Alice C. Linsley

Writing is not for faint hearts, shallow minds, or the nihilist whose thoughts trail into oblivion. This work is not for the eternal pessimist whose disparagement of life brings ultimate deafness.

Writing thoughtfully is a prolonged endeavor that requires charting one's inner frontiers. To the north are my hopes of a better life and a bright aspiration to put away grievance and fear. I know that place by inner sight; the smells and moods. I have scouted the land, marked it and breathed in its freshness. An old oak, with a thick and twisted trunk, stands sentinel on the slope. Because I am acquainted with this place I am able to bring my readers here through carefully chosen words.

The best writing is thoughtful, reflective and focused on things that matter. At best, it also entertains. If we write only to entertain, we continue the cycle of shallow writing. Writers must write with the brain and spend more time in creative reflection.

In the end, writing is a craft that must be developed by writing. There is no way around it. You must write to develop your skill and your individual style.

C. S. Lewis wrote, "Write about what really interests you, whether it is real things or imaginary things, and nothing else. (Notice this means that if you are interested only in writing you will never be a writer, because you will have nothing to write about . . .)”

Ray Bradbury has this to say: "You can’t learn to write in college. It’s a very bad place for writers because the teachers always think they know more than you do—and they don’t. They have prejudices. They may like Henry James, but what if you don’t want to write like Henry James? They may like John Irving, for instance, who’s the bore of all time. A lot of the people whose work they’ve taught in the schools for the last thirty years, I can’t understand why people read them and why they are taught. The library, on the other hand, has no biases. The information is all there for you to interpret. You don’t have someone telling you what to think. You discover it for yourself." -from a 2010 interview with Sam Weller, published in The Paris Review.

Write because you love it. Don't burden yourself with worries about being published. Kurt Vonnegut recalls an experience from his youth that taught him to embrace writing for the enjoyment rather than the achievement.

“When I was 15, I spent a month working on an archeological dig. I was talking to one of the archeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of “getting to know you” questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater, I’m in choir, I play the violin and piano, I used to take art classes.

And he went WOW. That’s amazing! And I said, “Oh no, but I’m not any good at ANY of them.”
And he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: "I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them."

And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them.”

Related reading: Write What You Know; Pen-Pecked Dreamers; Ray Bradbury's Greatest Writing Tips

Limit the Exotic. Write What You Know.

Dr. Alice C. Linsley

Most fiction writers tell stories that reflect their life experiences. They tap into what they know. John Updike's novels and stories express his familiarity with Protestant, small-town, middle-class American life with an overlay of sophistication. He wrote for The New Yorker for years and enjoyed and immensely successful writing career. Yet success brought trouble at times and strained his relationships. Shortly after his marriage to Mary, stories about the Maples began to appear in The New Yorker. They portrayed an attractive couple in their mid20's, their four children, a move from New York to a town north of Boston, the couple's quarrels and reconciliation and eventual no-fault divorce in Massachusetts. Updike and Mary divorced in 1976.

Updike admitted, “All the Maple stories were fairly close to the bone.” While discussing an episode in one of them, he recalled, “I had a fever” — and then he corrected himself: “I mean, the hero had a fever.”

Fannie Hurst's novels portray her experiences in New York City during the "roaring Twenties" and express her frustration as an ambitious woman who wanted to shake things up. Her most famous novel Back Street told the story of a woman who dedicated her life to a married man she passionately loved, only to lose him to his family in the end. This novel reflects personal experience. While she was married, Hurst had an affair with Arctic explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson during the 1920s and 1930s. 

Her novel Lonely Parade portrayed three successful career women who she intended should be happy, but happiness eluded them.

Hurst’s books are largely ignored today, though they were prescribed reading in some colleges through the 1980s. In the end, her flashy, unconventional lifestyle is not one to which most readers can relate. That danger always exists for the fiction writer.

Good fiction requires tapping into real life experiences. Grapple with the reality that is your own. Write what you know! Be aware also that your readers must be able to relate to your characters and their situations. 

Related reading: Wendell Berry: The Writer's Obligation

Americans Need to Improve Adolescent Literature

 

Dr. Alice C. Linsley

American students once read good stories in literature textbooks. The stories were selected for their literary merit, but today many of the stories are banal and uninspiring. They are not chosen for literary merit as much as for their political correctness. 

The mediocre quality of American literature textbooks is due to the adoption process used in over 20 states, including Texas, Florida, and California. These three states purchase enormous qualities of textbooks. The books are selected by state committees rather than by literature teachers who must then try to teach their students how to write while reading inferior examples. This sad state of affairs suggests that the main concern of public education is to form young minds along the currents of contemporary culture.

Some stories in the literature texts receive a more favorable response than others. These demonstrate a balance between weird or exotic and familiar. They open before the students experiences and worlds that they have never imagined yet the characters are like them or like people they know in school. 

Many of our best readers are students who read to escape the bullies, the mundane, and the boredom of their daily routines. This is one of the reasons they return to classics like The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia. They want to read about worlds where young people are challenged, where they can be heroes, and where dangers and challenges develop strength and character.

What makes a good story? It should have memorable characters and it should entertain, but most importantly, it should have a positive impact on the character of the reader.

Related reading: Wendell Berry: The Writer's Obligation; The Challenges Writing Teachers Face; Read Well if You Would Write Well

Losing Baggage @ the GSP

This is a cooperative short story written by B.W. Kay, S. J. Clydeson, and Hope Ellen Rapson. They are members of Scribes and Scrolls, the Christian Writers Group of Edwards Road Baptist Church, Greenville, South Carolina.

Losing Baggage @ the GSP

After a frantic drive through driving rain, and a mild altercation with the parking attendant, Coach Jay finally made it into the Greenville-Spartanburg terminal. Catching his breath, he thanked God for his safe arrival adding, “Whatever this day brings may your Name be praised.” He gazed up at the arrivals/departures board; all he saw was delayed or canceled flights. Oh, for crying out loud, he muttered to himself, a phrase he learned from his dad. After going through TSA, Jay plopped down in the nearest seat he could find, looked around, and prayed, Lord, don’t let my heart be troubled. 

Immediately his mind went back to when he and Katie, his wife of fifty years, had driven an hour to the Indianapolis Airport just to people watch. Doing the same, he saw a lady with her support Doxie cradled in her arms while pulling a large suitcase. He overheard two attractive young Hispanic women, who could have been mistaken as twins, fussing with each other while putting on their embossed boots outside the security check. 

When Jay noticed a young couple with toddler twins, his eyes teared. He and Katie had twin boys a year after they were married. They had lost one to SIDS. With this sad, lingering memory, Jay decided it might be best for him to distract himself by walking.

Jay only had one small suitcase for a five-day visit; he was an experienced packer from his time in the military. However, after thirty minutes of carrying his bag around, he decided to go somewhere out of the hustle and bustle to find some comfort. 

As Jay walked by The Asian Grill, the aroma of searing teriyaki chicken and fried rice stopped him in his tracks, but there weren’t any open tables, so he marched on. He really just needed some strong java.

Arriving at the Flatwood Grill, he spied an isolated open table, ordered large black Americano, and seated himself in that quiet spot. Jay started thinking of all the years God had been with him. In quiet reflection, he thought his greatest times were when he was a high basketball school coach to his recent retirement celebration. A smile spread across his face as he recalled all his former players that had come to pay tribute to him. Filled with emotion, he prayed the prayer of David from 1 Chronicles 17, “Who am I, O LORD God, that you have brought me thus far?’ 

His sentimental feelings had everything to do with the purpose of this trip.

*************************************************

One week. That was all he wanted. Josh had just spent days with an aging parent in the hospital. He had spent the whole month dealing with nurses and more nurses, feeling like he would never get to see the doctor in charge of his mom’s case. 

He tried to make sense of what was going on with her, both for his own sake, and so that he could explain it to the seemingly endless retinue of friends, pastor, and family members whom he barely ever spoke to except at times like this. He had spent hours engaged in group texts and phone calls speaking with people who it seemed could never be positive, and always had a sad report of “Dear, old so and so” who suffered from the same affliction and, of course, died from it. His church, who Josh turned to for comfort and prayers, just repeated the same kinds of tiresome stories. This was his mother! Not, “Dear, old-so-and-so.”

Going home didn’t seem to offer much respite either. His seven-year marriage to Molly was reasonably happy, and they were both committed to their two little towhead girls. Yet the unspoken tension between them over the situation with his mom had led to a dwindling bank account. This was compounded partly by a low paying gig, and hospital bills related to a procedure he had recently undergone, ironically due to stress.

Josh was tired of everyone’s glib advice “to turn everything over to God.” It wasn’t that easy. He had grown up going to church, listening to his pastors, and trying to do all that they said. He worked at building a “relationship with God” through reading the Bible and living a moral life. He even tried to encourage others by posting Bible verses on social media. The rub came when he prayed. Nothing seemed to go past the ceiling of his self-styled study, and what bounced back always left him with a sense of loathing and condemnation. Whether he was condemning himself or whether it was God, Josh didn’t know, but he had ceased to care.

One week. That was all he wanted. One week away to clear his head and get away from everyone who depended on him, from anyone with a “Dear, old-so-and-so,” and most of all, to get away from the God he couldn’t reach.

Josh heaved his frazzled six-foot frame down in the worn swivel chair at his dusty desk, pulled out his phone and credit card, and ordered a one-way plane ticket to Medford, Oregon. From there he would be able to get to the Redwood National Forest. If Josh could just get lost among the natural beauty maybe that would quiet his soul. Whatever he did on this trip, it had to be a break from the rat race of hospital visits and dull ruts of home life. He needed a place to think and relax, and maybe just have “fun.”

************************************************

“Did you remember to arrange for flowers to be sent?”

“Of course, I did…I thought black orchids and red poppies were the perfect pick.”

“You didn’t!”

“No, I went with your choice of white lilies with yellow daffodils as an accent. Where is your sense of humor! I know what’s appropriate for a funeral bouquet, little sister!”

“Well, don’t scare me like that, Espy; you have never shown ‘appropriateness’ to the family for a long time. I can’t tell when you are serious or not.”

“Oh, give me a break, Tess," Espy retorted. "Lighten up!"

Esperanza and Teressa Fernandez shouldered their bright colored bulging carry-ons and headed toward the TSA line to get to Gate 6 and their flight to Atlanta. Their destination was ultimately San Francisco and the reading of their estranged father’s will.

As they pulled on their embossed goatskin boots, the loudspeaker crackled and a monotone voice announced, “Attention all passengers. Due to extreme and dangerous weather conditions currently centered in the Atlanta area, all flights have been delayed for at least one hour. Please check the monitors for estimated new departure times.”

“Blast it!” Tess moaned. “We are going to miss our connection, and probably lose our luggage.”

Espy slicked her long black hair behind her ears, carefully avoiding her sterling silver hoops. 

"Not likely," she replied. "Even the connecting flights will be grounded. Let’s find some place more comfortable to wait than the gate, a place where we can have a salad, plus I need a beer or a joint or something even stronger…” 

She ignored Tess’s disdainful look.

Entering the Flatwood Grill, Tess immediately claimed a clean table between two men, lay down her things, and rifled through her purse. Espy sauntered to the counter and ordered two taco salads, a sweet tea with lemon, and a beer. She scanned the area, catching the eye of an attractive brown-haired man sitting alone left of the table where Tess was now rapidly punching numbers into her I-Phone. She smiled; he smiled back but quickly turning back to his sandwich, he missed her returning wink.

“Well, now. I just might have to introduce myself!” Espy declared to herself. Plotting that possibility, Espy didn’t notice the ketch-up smothered French Fries on the floor. Swoosh! She barely caught herself, the tray, both salads crashed to the floor, and sweet tea and beer doused her sister and their table.

Tess jumped to her feet. “Espy, really! I am soaked and now I smell like you! Really, drama just follows you everywhere you go!”

Simultaneously, two gentlemen appeared with friendly smiles and a handful of napkins.

The older one, Jay, coming from the right, motioned to the counter for help, and Josh asked Espy, “Are you okay?”

Espy just leaned on the table looking at the salad on her boots and laughed. “What a perfect ending to this week! One I don’t want to repeat in my next life!”

Josh, picking up the tray and lemon slice, remarked, “Sounds familiar! Come to think of it, I rather not repeat my whole month!” 

Jay supervised the floor clean up, and Tess went to the restroom check out the damage.

Once order was restored, Jay invited all three to join him as his larger clean table, pulling up extra chairs. “I already re-ordered your lunches, ladies, so you have to let me be your host.” He addressed Josh with “What can I get you, sir?”

“A beer would be great!” Josh replied with a quick look at Espy.

“Got it! Everyone, make yourselves comfortable.”

“So…” Josh hesitated, covering his left hand with his right. “Are you ladies caught in this flight delay, too?”

Tess just nodded, but Espy coyly countered, “Just like you, I’m guessing?”

“You guessed right,” Josh quietly responded, “and waiting anytime, anywhere drives me nuts.”

“I would have used a stronger word!” Espy whispered sarcastically, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

Observant Tess rolled her eyes commenting, “Seriously? Sometimes…” 

Then catching herself, she said, “Yes, my sister and I stuck are as well. I’m Tess and this is Espy.”

“My name is Josh, just Josh.”

Returning the older man added, “Well, I’m Jay. We might as well make the best of this situation. What better way than to talk? I know we just met, but that’s the fun of it.” Handing Josh his beer, he smiled and sat down.

“Oh, what do you think we’ve been doing? Texting?” quipped Espy, focusing her attention on Josh, who whose hands he moved beneath the table.

“I am not much for small talk,” commented Josh with a warming smile.

Jay settled in his chair, and said, “We’ve all got our own stories, and I’m sure they are all interesting. Getting to know you would not be small talk. We are all worth getting to know.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tess laughed, throwing a dark look toward Espy, “but I’m up for it! I can’t think of a better way to spend an unexpected delay in my life.”

Espy said, “This could be interesting…an old guy, a religious prude, a beer-drinker, and (with a wink toward Josh) a handsome mystery man?”

Jay chuckled. “Well, I am the ‘oldest,’ but I don’t feel particularly ‘old.’  Looking at Espy, he asked, “Why don’t you start, since I can see you’re a talker. What are your interests? Where are you traveling?”

“Well, since you put it that way… I’m unmarried, and like men. My sister and I are attending our cheating father’s funeral in Sacramento, so we can ‘dutifully’ find out if the miserable man left his only daughters anything. We’re staying with his last wife…Rosa, who likes to claim to be our stepmother but….”

Tess interrupted. “What Espy means to say is that our father left our mother when we were in our early teen years, and it’s not been an easy situation. I’m Tess. This is the first trip I have ever taken with my sister; she and Dad did not get along. Being the baby, Daddy favored me.”

Espy sneered, “You just want to believe that. He only favored himself and, if you were honest with yourself… Oh, well! Like ‘your daddy’ always said, ‘If Tess went right, Espy would go left!”’

The waitress arrived with the cilantro loaded taco salads and two jars of salsa. Tess chose the medium green, applied it, and declared, “Well, you can see that neither Espy, nor I are sheep. She goes her way, and I go mine.”

Espy shook her head and opened the red salsa. Slowly applying it to her salad, she looked flirtatiously at Josh and asked, “And you, my mystery man, what’s your story?”

Josh realized that under the table, he was twisting his wedding ring around and hadn’t even touched his beer. This woman’s dark eyes were alluring!

He smiled shyly.  “I really don’t know exactly where I’m going, except away. I'm just looking for a change…the Redwoods, Yosemite, somewhere new and different, an adventure, I guess.” 

Jay nodded in Josh's direction, sensing the younger man's tension. He told them: “After thirty years of coaching boys’ high school basketball, most people call me 'Coach.' I retired this past Friday, at the young age of 70, and I am making an important trip to Manteca, California to see my 94-year-old uncle. I am his favorite nephew and honored to bear his name.”

“Congratulations on your career and retirement, Coach,” chimed in Tess. “I guess I don’t have much to tell…”

“She doesn’t want to tell you how many religious groups she has joined looking for a father-figure since our father died to us when he moved out to live with a younger woman,” interrupted Espy, dabbing her full red lips.

“Well, I relate to that," Jay said. "I lost my father when I was 25. He was only 55. My world seemed to go wildly out of control. You see, even with the firm foundation I had grown up in, my focus was only on myself, not where it ought to have been.”

Tess queried, “What’s this 'firm foundation' that you’re talking about? I was raised in church and in catechism learned to be a moral person, go to confession, and attend mass, and I still do sometimes, but I have also tried some other faith practices…like Mormonism, Buddhism, Transcendentalism…even some modern Wicca. None of it ever feels firm or foundational.”

“Yeah, and I find all that religious stuff to be a real bore. If any good came out of our father running off, it was that our mother didn’t make us go to church anymore. It freed me to have a lot more fun!” 

Espy leaned meaningfully toward Josh and their eyes locked.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Josh stood up. “Excuse me. Nature calls.”

Espy watched him leave, and having lost interest in the conversation, ate the rest of her salad.

Coach returned to Tess saying, “Before I answer your question let me ask you something. If you really love someone, what would you do to keep that love?”

Tess cocked her head and answered, “I guess I would try to please them as long as they pleased me.”

Espy laughed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you when you ask me why you can’t find a guy. Isn’t there a song? ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It?”’

Returning to his seat, Josh reported that the delays had been extended another hour. The group groaned.

Coach continued, “Tess, there are many ways of defining love. From a very early age, the verse in the Bible where Jesus states that we should love God first and others as He loves us was ingrained in my heart and mind. Earlier when I had mentioned that I lost that focus, I was referring to a period in life of self-pity, grief, and alcohol abuse, among other harmful things. It wasn’t until my uncle gave me this advice: “A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small package.” It made me see myself through God’s eyes and I haven’t been the same since. Love is not a god, but God is love. He revealed that by sending His only Son to take the punishment for our sins and rose from the dead to give us a new start on life starting here and continuing past the grave. I asked the Lord to forgive me and open the package of my heart and life. 

I am making this trip to thank my aging uncle for his loving commitment to me and for sharing of all this with me when I so needed it…Achoo!” Coach sneezed again. He commented, “Either my allergies are acting up, or I’ve been talking too much. I’m getting hoarse, so I better just shut up.” Pulling a tissue from his jeans jacket pocket, he blew his nose, and settled back in his chair intently looking at the countenance of his fellow sojourners, wondering if he had gone too far.

The ladies finished their salads silently, and Josh bowed his head, spun his wedding band nervously one last time under the table, and then quickly guzzled down his beer making sure to use his right hand.

Abruptly, Espy stood and announced, “Well, I’m going to freshen up; Tess would you like to join me?”

“Sure, I need to stretch my legs.”

Josh stood and said, “I’m going to get another drink; would you like something, Coach?”

“Another black coffee? Here’s some money that should cover it.”

“No, I’ve got this.” Josh smiled and headed to the counter.

Coach prayed, "Lord, you have said your sheep will recognize you voice and follow; call them now. You are the Great Shepherd."

Once everyone reassembled, Coach noticed that Espy was no longer wearing white slacks, but a short leopard-print skirt. Thanking Josh for the coffee, he asked Tess and Espy if he might get them anything else.

Tess smiled and exclaimed, “Well, since I already smell like beer anyway, I might as well have one.’”

Espy giggled and ordered, “Coffee with two sugars and cream.”

Laughing, Coach left the three to talk among themselves; he felt prompted to let them process what he had said without being present. They seemed to be doing that as he brought the drinks back towards the table. With a big grin, he faked a stumble to startle the sisters. As they gasped, he laughed, “Just reminding you of what brought us together!”

Tess teased, “That was mean!”

Espy scrunched up her face and made fake wail, “I can see it now; I will never live that story down.”

Josh chuckled, “Thanks, Espy, for being a delightful klutz. All this has been better than stewing alone in my own thoughts.”

Pretending to pout, Espy responded, “Oh, Josh, you really know how to charm a girl.”

Laughter broke out among the four as a loud squelch came over the PA system.

“Departures will resume in thirty minutes; please check the board for your flight information.”

Coach stood. “Well, ladies it has been an absolute delight spending time with you. My prayer is that you will find some resolution to your feelings and relationship with your father as you attend his funeral and that your personal stories forward will be filled with comfort and peace that only the Heavenly Father can give. God bless you!”

The rest stood up to gather their things, and Tess feeling a little awkward asked Coach if she could give him a hug.

“Of course, you may,” Coach said with a grandfatherly voice.

As she did, Tess softly whispered, “Thank you for being such a nice person to spend this time with and for all your words of wisdom. I plan to check out what you said with my different spiritual advisors when I get home. I will certainly light a candle for you the next time I go to mass.”

Out of the corner of his eye Coach saw Espy giving a Josh a lingering hug, while handing him something that Josh immediately put in his pocket. She then turned toward Coach and, with an impish grin, said, “Thank you, “Preach,” oh, I mean “Coach,” for not baptizing me with beer! Perhaps the visit with your Uncle Jay will be as meaningful as you think it will be.”

With a grin Coach replied, “Thanks, Espy. I hope your father gives you a bigger package than you expect.”

As the two ladies headed left, Jay and Josh went right. Walking a few feet in front of Coach, Josh stopped to throw something into the trash receptacle. Coach paused and inquired, “Are you okay? Did you lose something?”

“No, nothing lost, but I have decided to refund my ticket and go home to my family. This whole idea of me getting away to find myself was just me feeling sorry for myself. Man, how selfish can I be… a pretty small package, I guess. Your testimony made me see things more clearly, and when Espy gave me her phone number…well, that was a deciding moment. I hope your trip goes well. Coach, would it be possible for us to get together and talk some more when you get back?’

“Absolutely!” Coach exclaimed with joy. “Here is my contact card.”

Above the coach’s name, number, and addresses, Josh read Matthew 25:33: “And He will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left.”



END