Stories from Heaven's Library -- Vol. 23
For Young & Old
Copyright 1997 by Aurora Productions, Inc. -- DFO
Featuring:
The Shadow in the Barn
The Job
THE SHADOW IN THE BARN
Ohio, 1923
Young Joe O'Connor was up bright and early for his morning chores. The sun could scarcely be seen as Joe quietly crept out of the house and headed into the fresh morning air that filled the Ohio countryside. Joe never expected the strange events that were to take place on this ordinary summer day.
Joe lived on a farm with Dad, Mom, sister Bethy, and his beloved dog, Sayward. Joe had lived on this farm all his life, and though he enjoyed it, it was rather quiet. Rarely did anything adventurous happen. In fact, now that I think about it, I can't remember anything out of the ordinary ever happening! Yes, Joe longed for adventure, something exciting, something different from his daily chores and school.
I'm 13 years old, and I'm tired of all these chores. I wish I lived in the city like Tom does. He hardly has to do anything, and he gets to go to school with all the other city kids. I always have to do my studies with Bethy, but she's so much younger than I am. She's seven, and I'm 13! And Tom has got all these nice modern toys, while all I have to play with is Sayward and my sister, Bethy. Gee, what fun. Joe sarcastically thought to himself as he walked to the barn, on his way to milk Dolly, their only cow.
Joe often compared himself with Tom. Tom was a friend in town that Joe would see on one of those rare shopping days in town. The O'Connor farm lay deep in the countryside, and since most of the O'Connors' livelihood came from the farm itself, they did not go into town all that often. But whenever Joe's father would make the long trip, Joe would beg to go along. He loved to play "kick the can" with Tom and the town boys, as well as look at all the nice things in the shops. But what Joe liked most of all was that life in the town seemed far more adventurous and busy than life back at home. Farm life, in Joe's opinion, was mundane*, too quiet, and often plain old boring.
Every time Joe would come back from town, Mom could tell that he was feeling down. She knew all too well what it was about, and she would tell him, "Joe, you should count your blessings. You have many things that others don't have, and you should be thankful for them."
Joe would try to count his blessings, but he wouldn't get very far. Let's see. I have Dad and Mom, Bethy, Sayward, and the farm. But everyone has that, Joe thought. Why, everyone I know has a family, a dog and a house.
Joe opened the barn doors and smiled. At least I get to milk Dolly today--that's something different for a change. Joe's father had left on business to another city, and he would not be back till the end of the week. Joe now had to be the man of the house and take charge of his father's chores. He had passed some of his household chores to his younger sister, Bethy. Many city people could not believe, when Joe introduced himself, that he was only 13. He was well built and tall for his age, and more than able to take on the running of the farm when his father was away.
As Joe quietly milked Dolly, he noticed that things didn't seem quite right. The barn was still--too still. He looked around, but saw nothing unusual. The first rays of the rising sun pierced through some cracks in the wood, shining like spotlights through the dust that Dolly kicked up with the scraping of her hoofs. Joe continued milking, but he couldn't shake that feeling of imminent* danger. Suddenly he heard a noise! Joe leapt to his feet and backed to the door. "What's that?! Who's there?!" Joe shouted, nervously looking around.
From behind a stall, a figure stepped out. Joe could not see who it was because the looming shadows in the barn hid his face, but Joe could clearly see a gun in the man's hand!
"Don't move or say a word or I will blow your head off!" the man ordered sternly.
Joe stood in the doorway, frozen in fright. He couldn't have moved or said a word even if he wanted to. The man slowly came closer to Joe, who was still not able to move or say a word.
The man now lowered his voice to a more friendly level. "Calm down, now. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you as long as you do as I say." The man continued talking softly, in an effort to avoid frightening Joe any more, because he knew that could be dangerous for him.
The man stared at Joe for a few seconds, which seemed like forever to Joe, and then said, "I need you to get me a blanket, some food, and a pen. Can you do that for me? And don't let anyone know what you are doing. Don't tell anyone that you have seen me, or else " the man paused, and pointed his gun to where Dolly stood. "Do as I say, and no one will have to get hurt!" the man reiterated. "Y y yes sir! Yes, sir!" was all Joe could stammer out.
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other here. Now, stay calm, and everything's gonna be all right. You feel okay now?"
"Yes, yes I do!" Joe replied, still visibly shaken.
"Look, kid. Why don't you just stay here a few more minutes so you can calm down, and then you can go." Joe swallowed a lump in his throat, nodded his head, and keeping his eyes fixed on the figure in front of him, slowly sat down on a crate to try and collect his thoughts.
As soon as Joe got ahold of himself, he ran back to the house.
"Oh, there you are, Joe. You're just in time for breakfast. Have you finished milking Dolly?"
"Well I uh I haven't finished yet, I "
"Oh, don't worry about it, Joe. It can take awhile sometimes. You can finish after breakfast," Mom said, trying not to embarrass Joe. "Let's eat now. We have a long day ahead of us, and there are many things to be done." With that, Joe sat down next to Bethy, Mom said grace* and they began to eat.
Joe didn't know what to do. He wanted to tell Mom, but he didn't know what she would do then. And if the man found out he had told Joe didn't even want to think about it. The man had said that if he didn't tell anyone, nobody would get hurt. Maybe that was the safest thing after all.
Oh, I'm supposed to get him some food, Joe suddenly remembered. Every time Mom would get up for something, Joe would snatch some food, as inconspicuously as possible; first a muffin, then a biscuit, then an apple, and on and on he went. Bethy couldn't help but notice him, but she didn't think it was anything unusual. She often saw Joe sneak food and give it to Sayward under the table. This time, Joe wasn't passing the food to Sayward, but setting it in the napkin on his lap, but Bethy didn't notice this.
After excusing himself from breakfast, Joe went quickly to his room and grabbed a blanket. What else did he say? Oh yes, a pen! Joe could understand him asking for a blanket and food, but couldn't help wondering what the pen would be for. Joe quickly stuffed all the items in a bag, and ran back to the barn. He stopped for a few moments to catch his breath, before he opened the door and slowly walked in.
"Did you get the things I asked for?" the man asked curiously, but sternly, as he stepped forward from behind the door.
"Yes, sir. Here they are," Joe replied as he tossed the bag in the direction of the man.
"Did you tell anyone?" The man looked sternly into Joe's eyes.
"No, sir! No one, I swear," Joe replied nervously, as he eyed the gun which was still in the man's hand.
"Good!" the man said, as he opened the bag and inspected the contents.
Joe stared intently at the man. He could see him better now. He was quite slender, and had dark hair. He was wearing some kind of one-piece suit that looked a little like overalls.
Oh, my Lord, Joe thought, I wonder if he's a fugitive! But if so, wherever from? I wonder what he's done, and why he came here! Joe carefully looked the man over again, and it was then that he saw the red stain on the arm of his outfit. His free hand was clutched over his stomach.
"Is there any water around here?" The man asked.
"Over there!" Joe answered quickly, "Shall I bring you some?"
The man looked up, somewhat startled at Joe's offer. "Yes, do."
Joe quickly ran to fetch water. Within seconds he was back, and the man ripped open the top of his suit to reveal a deep wound in his stomach. He tore some more of the cloth, dipped it in the water, and winced as he started to rinse his wound with it.
"That looks bad. I think I should get you some help!" Joe said, seeing that the wound was still bleeding, and that this man was quite weak.
"No! Don't! I'll be fine," the man said sternly. "Just go about your business and leave me alone. And don't tell anyone about this, do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir. I do," Joe said more calmly this time.
Joe finished milking Dolly, and then set off to finish the rest of his chores. His mind was racing with every possible scenario of where this man had come from, what he had done, and what could have happened to him. But more than that, Joe was thinking about what he should do.
The man clearly said not to tell anyone, but I really should tell Mom. Joe went back and forth in his mind for quite some time, should he, or shouldn't he? Finally Joe remembered to pray and ask the Lord what he should do. If ever he was in a desperate situation, this was it, and he needed to know very clearly what to do.
"Dear Jesus, please help me! I don't know what to do. Please help me not be afraid. It sure seems like telling somebody would be the right thing to do, but I don't know. Lord, please lead and guide me and show me what to do."
Suddenly, Joe felt a peace all about him, and the anxiety of spirit that he was feeling was suddenly gone! He was reminded of Psalm 23, which Mom would often read to him before bed. The Lord also reminded him of the verse, "Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thy heart." He now felt strongly that he should wait a while before he told anyone about this man in the barn. It was definitely different from what he had thought he should do at first, but somehow he knew that this is what the Lord wanted him to do, and that things would work out fine.
Joe felt much better now. He was happy that he remembered to pray, and he knew that he had nothing to be afraid of--after all, the Lord was his Shepherd.
Joe walked by the barn again, and peeked in. He couldn't see the man anywhere, so he crept in to look for him. It wasn't long before he saw the man. He was lying on a haystack in one of the stalls in the back of the barn. Fast asleep, he still held a gun in his hand.
Just as Joe turned to leave, the man stirred, awoke, and shot up with his gun pointed straight at Joe.
"It's only me," said Joe, trying to remain calm. "I'm alone. How do you feel?"
"Fine," the man said, surprised at Joe's lack of fear. He lowered his gun, and relaxed back onto the hay. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and began writing something with the pen that Joe had brought him before.
Joe watched silently for a few minutes, and then introduced himself. "My name's Joe," he said calmly.
"Well, Joe, you can just call me Jim," the man answered, looking up for a moment at Joe, as if trying to figure out what he was thinking.
"Do you mind if I ask where you came from?"
"It's not where you come from; it's where you're going!" Jim answered gruffly, and turned back to writing in his notebook. Joe decided to leave him alone, and turned to walk out of the barn.
"Where are you going?" the man suddenly demanded.
"I've finished my morning chores, and I am going for lunch. Would you like me to bring you some?"
"Will you be back this afternoon?"
"Well, I need to do my schoolwork, but I could come back after that."
"Don't worry about bringing me food after lunch, but bring me something when you come this afternoon."
"Sure," Joe replied.
"And remember: don't tell anyone. Don't let anyone know I'm here!" The man toyed with the gun in his hand, pointing it loosely towards Dolly, who was now tied up to one of the stalls.
"Yes, sir," Joe replied, and with that, he left.
After lunch Joe decided to take a short rest. Lying on his bed, he thought over the events of that morning. He was amazed that the fear he had felt this morning was gone. He wondered why, out of all the places he could have gone to, Jim had ended up in their barn. He said a silent prayer for Jim, and couldn't help thinking that maybe God had a plan in bringing Jim here at this time.
After his rest and school time, Joe ran to his room and grabbed his largest shirt and pants, so that he could bring them to Jim. He was pretty sure they would fit Jim. He also took some more food for Jim. When Joe entered the barn, he could see the man peek out from behind the wooden divider with his gun in his hand.
"Oh, it's just you!" Jim said, as he heaved a sigh of relief. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"
"No, no one at all!"
"Are you sure?" Jim asked suspiciously.
"Yes, I'm very sure! How did you sleep?"
"Very good, thanks. Boy, was I plum tuckered out. A good rest was just what I needed."
"Here, I brought you some clean clothes that I thought might fit you. Try them on."
Jim looked up at Joe. "Thanks! I appreciate that."
Joe tossed the clothes over the divider, and Jim took off the blood-stained overalls he was wearing. Joe again saw the wound, and noticed that it was still bleeding. "Are you sure you're all right? You look quite pale, and your wound is still bleeding. I really think we should call a doctor. It looks serious!" Joe said.
"Oh, no no! I'll be fine, really. It looks worse than it feels," Jim said, trying to set Joe's mind at ease. He certainly did not want Joe calling a doctor. "I never liked doctors, and I definitely wouldn't like one now. I just need to get some rest, that's all. I'm sure I'll feel better. I just need a few days of rest. Trust me; don't worry about it."
Joe was still curious about where Jim had come from, but he didn't want to offend or upset Jim. Finally, after a long silence, Joe mustered up the courage to ask again. "Where did you come from, Jim?"
Jim kept on writing, as if he hadn't heard the question. Finally, without looking up, he muttered, "A long ways away, miles away."
"You ran, didn't you?"
"Yes, I ran. I ran a long ways, or at least it seemed like it. But like I said before, it's not where you came from, it's where you're going that counts!" Jim said as he slouched back into the hay.
"Do you have family?" Joe asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"Nope! I've never had what you would call a family. I grew up on the street most of my life," Jim said matter-of-factly, not wishing to elaborate on the subject.
"What was that?!" Jim suddenly whispered, cocking his gun at a sudden sound. "You said you didn't tell anyone!" Jim looked nervous.
"I didn't," Joe responded. "Stay low. I'll see who it is."
He stood up, only to see Sayward. "Whew, it's just you, Sayward," Joe said.
"Good thing!" Jim said, obviously relieved.
"Have you ever had a dog?" asked Joe, as he hugged Sayward around his neck.
"Nope, can you imagine? I never even so much as had a dog to call my own, let alone a family. Speaking of family, would anyone be missing you right now? Anybody that might come looking for you?" Jim asked nervously.
"No, don't worry. My dad's away on a trip, and Mom's busy in the house; she won't be coming out here either. The only one I'm a bit worried about is my sister Bethy. If I stay away too long, she might get suspicious and come out to find me."
"I see," said Jim, relieved to hear a rundown on what was going on around him.
"So are you feeling any better?" Joe asked again. He was still concerned for Jim, who seemed to be getting paler. His hand would also shake a bit at times, although it wasn't cold.
"Well, to tell you the truth, Joe, I'm not feeling that well. But it's nice to be in a comfortable place for a while. Thanks for the help you've been to me. You're a brave one, and kind too. Thanks a lot for all you've done!" Joe was shocked. This was the first time he had seen Jim come out from his hardened exterior. He seems like a nice man. I wonder what he was in jail for? Just as Joe was about to ask him, another voice resounded through the barn.
"Joe, Joe!" Bethy called, "Are you in here?"
Joe and Jim looked at each other, but remained silent. Bethy came closer and closer to the back of barn where she saw Sayward's tail wagging. It wasn't long before she was standing there, wide-eyed, looking at her brother and
"Who's that?!" Bethy asked, curiously looking at the man lying in the hay.
"Swear you will tell no one!" Joe instructed her sternly before Jim could say a word.
"Okay, I swear. Now who is he?" Bethy asked again.
"He's a friend of mine and he needs our help," Joe said.
Bethy looked intently at Jim, who in turn was quietly eyeing her to see what she would do.
"A friend of yours, huh? How come I've never seen him before?" She bluntly said, as she stared at Jim. Then she saw the blood on his shirt. "Joe, he's hurt!" she blurted out.
"I know!" Joe said rather quietly.
"I'll be fine soon," Jim tried to assure Bethy. "I just need a bit of rest. Don't worry, and please don't tell anyone, okay?"
"All right, all right!" Bethy agreed. "But where did you come from?"
The man sighed. "A long ways away."
"Where's your family?"
"I don't really have one."
Being the inquisitive little girl that she was, Bethy asked Jim more questions than Joe could ever have thought of. Jim answered most of them, although Joe could tell he was being evasive about many of the details Bethy asked about. Joe could tell that her questioning was making Jim rather uncomfortable, but Bethy didn't quite seem to get what was happening yet.
Suddenly Bethy asked Jim, "Are you a Christian?"
Slightly taken aback, he answered, "Well, I haven't been to church much, if that is what you mean."
"No, I mean do you believe in Jesus?" Bethy continued.
"I can't say that I do," Jim replied. "I've heard a few things about Him here and there, but I don't know much about Him."
"You don't?!" Bethy squealed, not trying to hide the fact that she was amused that she knew more about something than this grown man did. "Oh, but I do!" she boldly announced. And she began, with Joe's help, to tell Jim the story of Jesus: how He came to earth, and about all the miracles He did. They told him how Jesus had fed 5,000 people, how He had raised Lazarus from the dead, and healed the son of a desperate father who cried out to Jesus, saying, "I believe, help Thou my unbelief."
Jim listened respectfully to every word they told him as they sat there together in the barn.
"Jesus loves you!" Joe finally said, "And that's why He came to earth: so that all of us--you too--could go to Heaven!"
"You mean to tell me that Jesus came all the way down here to die, so that we could go to Heaven?"
"That's right! The Bible says, 'For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life!' If you believe in Him, you can have everlasting life! All you have to do is believe and ask Him into your heart, and He will give you the free gift of everlasting life, which means your life will never end, and you can go to Heaven! Do you believe that?"
"Well, I er I can see how that might work for you. You are such good kids. But see, I'm a bad guy. I've done some bad things which can't be forgiven." Jim answered haltingly.
"Jesus will forgive you, Jim," Joe tried to assure him, "if you ask Him to. That's what He died on the cross for, for our forgiveness."
"But there are some things that can't be forgiven. I've done terrible things. What do you think I was in jail for? Jesus won't forgive me--nobody would ever forgive me."
"Have you ever heard that story of the sinful woman?"
"No, I haven't."
"Well," Joe began, "there was a girl who had sinned, and the people came and brought her to Jesus, because the law said that she was supposed to be stoned. But when they brought her to Jesus, do you know what He did? He said, 'Any of you who haven't sinned, you throw the first stone.' And do you know what happened? Everyone left, because they all had sinned at some time or another."
"They left?" Jim asked, his eyes wide with astonishment. "So what did Jesus do then?"
"Well that's the best part!" Joe continued. "Jesus asked the girl, 'Where are your accusers? Has anyone condemned you?' She looked around, and saw that everyone had gone. 'No sir, no one,' she told Him. Then Jesus said, 'I don't condemn you either; go and sin no more!' It doesn't matter how bad you've been. Jesus is waiting to forgive your sins too!"
Joe was shocked. He had never thought of himself as a preacher, but all these stories and illustrations were suddenly flowing out of his mouth. He couldn't even remember when the last time was that he had heard any of these stories, but right now, when he needed them, they just came right out from his heart.
"But my sins are worse." Jim continued, trying to persuade them. "I know I can't be forgiven for them. I mean, why would He forgive me?"
"Because He loves you!" Bethy answered. "That's why He died for you. He died for everyone, and it doesn't matter what you have or haven't done."
Joe remembered another story. "Do you know that when Jesus was being crucified, there were two other guys who were being crucified on either side of Him? They were bad men, condemned to die for the bad things they had done. When they were on the cross, one of the men said, 'Lord, forgive me. Have mercy on me! I believe in You. Please forgive me for my sins!' And do you know what Jesus told this bad man? 'Your sins are forgiven. This day you will be with Me in paradise!'
"He was a bad man, but Jesus forgave him and gave him eternal life. If Jesus could forgive him, I'm sure He can forgive you. Why don't you give Him a try? You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. You told me yourself that it's not where you come from that counts--only where you are going! Where are you going, Jim? Wouldn't you like to know? You can be sure that you are going to Heaven if you believe and ask Jesus to come into your heart."
Jim looked straight into Joe's eyes. He was surprised at the boldness, the conviction with which Joe had spoken, and he wanted to give Jesus a try. "Yes, Joe, I believe. I want to believe! I want to have eternal life! I want to go to paradise, too, and be forgiven!"
"Just repeat this little prayer with me, Jim," Joe said. With that, they all bowed their heads as Jim asked Jesus to come into his heart, to forgive him for his sins, and to take him to Heaven.
When he came to the end of the prayer, Jim added, with tears in his eyes, "I I believe. Please help my unbelief!"
Joe and Bethy hugged Jim, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"Thank you, thank you!" He said with a smile.
Just then they heard Mom call, "Supper time!"
"We'd better be going now. Shall I see if I can bring you some supper?" Joe asked.
"No thanks, I'll be fine for the evening. Thank you!"
"Okay, we'll see you tomorrow then."
Both Joe and Bethy felt happy. They were glad that they had been able to witness to Jim and help him get to Heaven. As they both entered the house, suddenly the Lord gave Joe a check that now was the time to tell Mom about Jim.
"Mom?" Joe began nervously.
"Yes dear?"
"There is something I need to tell you about "
"What is it, dear?"
"Well, you see, there is this man in the barn. I found him sleeping there this morning, and he's been there all day. He's a friendly man, Mom, and he received Jesus today. But he's hurt, he's hurt badly, and I think he may be in some kind of trouble!"
"WHAT?! A man hurt in trouble? Wh why didn't you tell me anything? How, what, I mean, who is he?!" Mom stammered as she got up from the table.
Joe told all that he knew as fast as he could. Mom looked nervously out of the window towards the barn. At first she had looked scared, but as Joe explained more, she calmed down. "Will you come take a look at him?" Joe asked.
"Of course. But I'm bringing the shotgun--just in case."
"Oh Mom, it's okay. We've been helping him and he's a nice man."
"Well, just the same." Mom said, as she marched out the door towards the barn.
"No, Mom, wait. Let me go in first. I need to tell him, or else he may get nervous. Please, Mom, trust me."
Mom grabbed the gun and the lantern and they all headed out to the barn. Joe went in first.
"Jim, it's me, Joe. I brought my mom to look at your wounds. Please, let her take a look. It'll be alright."
Jim lay on the stack of hay, looking paler than ever. "You what?" he muttered feebly, "I thought I told you not to tell anyone!"
"I'm sorry, Jim. But I'm worried about you. Please, just let her take a look. She only wants to help you."
"I guess so," Jim said in a feeble voice. At that moment, Mom entered the barn.
"Let me see your wounds," Mom said with a tone of authority in her voice. Jim opened his shirt. Mom told Bethy to get a pail of water and a piece of cloth.
Jim looked at Mom. "Thank you, Ma'am, for helping me!" That was all he seemed to be able to mutter. Bethy soon appeared with some water and a cloth, and Mom wiped the man's wounds. He had two gun wounds; one on his arm didn't look so bad. It was just a surface scratch. The other, Mom couldn't tell how bad it was, but it definitely wasn't getting any better. It was still bleeding, and looked like it had been for awhile. Jim was getting weaker and weaker.
Mom tried to rinse the wound the best she could, and stop the bleeding. "I'm not a nurse, Jim," Mom told him. "I only know the basics, but this wound looks pretty serious. I fear well, I don't know but if we don't get help soon I fear it might be fatal. How long have you been like this?"
"About a day and a half, maybe two," was the reply.
"There's nothing more I can do, Jim. You're going to need help. I'm going to have to get you some help!" Mom said nervously.
"I know, I know," Jim said calmly. "I'm just glad I'm here. I figured it was only a matter of time, anyway. I know I'm dying. But I have something to look forward to now. I'd be thankful if I could just die here, surrounded by my only friends, with no more fear. Please, don't call anyone! They'll only take me away."
"At least let me phone the doctor!" Mom said. She ran to the house, and returned only minutes later.
Mom, Joe, and Bethy knelt by Jim's side. All they could do now was wait, and hope for the best.
"I'm not afraid of dying anymore; I know my time has come. Please, don't be sad. I would have died anyway. Now I can die happy and free."
Tears began to well up in Joe and Bethy's eyes.
"Mom, please, can you sing something, like you always do when we're sick?" Bethy asked.
"I would love that," Jim said.
Mom started singing How Firm a Foundation, and then Joe asked her to sing Amazing Grace. Mom had never sounded so beautiful as that night, when she sang with all her heart, the tears streaming down her face as well. She barely knew Jim, but she felt a love and tenderness for him as she sang these words from the depths of her heart.
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see "
Jim lay there. He had broken out into a cold sweat, but he seemed to be clinging to every word.
"Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come.
T'was grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me Home "
And so they sat there in the barn, talking and singing about Jesus, holding Jim's hand, and Mom still tending to his wounds and covering him with more blankets, trying to keep him warm. Jim quietly passed away as they were singing.
* * *
The next day, the police came by and explained who Jim was, where he had escaped from, and how they had been looking for him. "It's amazing," the sheriff said. "We've been looking for him for two days now, but I never imagined that he could have gotten this far."
"I'm surprised he made it here at all," said the doctor. "I mean, from the condition of his wounds, he should have been dead long ago!"
After they had left, and taken Jim's body with them, Joe sauntered back into the barn, and found the blanket and bag that he had given to Jim the day before. It was then that he noticed Jim's notebook inside the bag. Curious as to what Jim could have been writing, he opened it. It appeared to be a letter to someone he knew. I wonder who this is to? Joe wondered, as he tried to decipher the writing.
Dear Chuck Warner,
I don't know if you'll ever get this letter, but I'm writing it in the hopes that it will make me feel better. I know you tried to tell me about God and all, but I never listened to you. I remember one of the last things you ever told me, that one day when I would be so desperate, and have nobody to turn to, that I would regret not having listened to you.
I regret it now, Chuck, because I'm on the brink of death, and I don't know where I'm going. I know you will understand. I'm scared, and you're the only one I feel I can turn to now. You know, even though you were behind bars like the rest of us, you were always different. You never complained. No matter how mean we all were to you, you stayed kind and thoughtful. I'm sorry now, for the way I mistreated you. Please, I pray that you can forgive me. If you can pray one of those prayers for me, Chuck, when you get this letter, and ask your God to help me I know He will.
I'm all alone, Chuck
With that, the letter ended. Joe's eyes filled with tears, and he was barely able to decipher the last scribble at the bottom of the page. Joe could tell it had taken Jim a lot of effort to write it--whatever it was. But he finally deciphered the words.
"Forgiven. No Fear. Thank You!"
That evening, Mom, Joe and Bethy sat around the fireplace, talking about the amazing events that had taken place right there on their farm.
"I wonder why, out of all the places he could have gone to, he came here," Bethy wondered aloud.
"I think the Lord knew that Jim needed Jesus, and a family to be with before he died. I think the Lord brought him to you, so that you could bring him to the Lord." Mom replied.
"I needed Jim too," Joe whispered. "I never really appreciated all I have. I always thought that everyone had what I have, but Jim helped me see all my blessings. He never had a family. He never even had a dog. I'm so thankful now, and I'm glad that the Lord brought him to us first! Did you hear what the doctor said about his wounds and running that far? I mean, I'm sure it was the Lord Who helped him to make it all the way here!"
"I'm sure it was!" Mom agreed.
* * *
Joe is an old man now. He has children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Joe often tells them the story of Jim, and how the Lord brought them together to help each other. He smiles when he thinks of how happy his dear friend must be up in Heaven, and how he will be seeing Jim again when he passes on to his reward.
A Word from Jim:
I thank God every day for His mercy, which is from everlasting to everlasting. My heart is full of gratitude for the Lord's tender mercy on me, and for bringing me to the O'Connor family before I died. You see, it's really much better if you receive Jesus while you are on Earth; it's definitely the easier road to take.
I thank God for the O'Connor family.--For Joe, and his faith to trust in the Lord even though he didn't understand completely, and though not telling anyone was contrary to his natural reasoning. For Bethy, her sweetness and tender care, and her faith to witness to me. For Mrs. O'Connor, the kindest, gentlest woman I ever knew. And Mr. O'Connor, who though I didn't meet him while I was on Earth, I knew he must have been a wonderful man from the way he raised his children. Now we are good friends.
After Joe found my letter, he went to visit the prison where I had been, and was able to leave the letter for my dear friend, Chuck. I call him my friend now, because I know it was largely due to his prayers that I stayed alive as long as I did, and that the Lord led me to the O'Connor family, who in turn led me to Him.
Are you faithful to help and witness to those you come in contact with? Are you faithful to listen to the Lord and follow what He shows you to do, even if you don't understand it completely? Are you faithful to help those in need, to care for them physically as well as spiritually?
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me" (Matthew 25:31-40).
THE JOB
Tweeet! Coach Barnstien's whistle rounded up his players.
"Boys, you looked good out there today. Let's take one more lap around the field and then we can hit the showers! By the way, has anyone seen Rodrigo?"
A certain restlessness in the crowd showed that no one was happy to hear that question. One hand was raised in the back. It was Rodrigo's best friend, Carlos.
"Meet me at my office after showers," Barnstien said.
The coach thrust his hand into the middle of the sweating circle of young men. Everyone took up the cue and laid their hands on top of each other. The stack bobbed up and down as the chant began softly and then rose in intensity. "FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!" they all exploded as one.
The Bolts were one of the best professional teams of the last season. They had won the League pennant*, but lost the World Series by one game. Now they were in spring training, with the opening game coming up next month.
One of the reasons for their success was the brilliant performance of their star pitcher, Rodrigo Fernandez, affectionately called "The Rod." He could really deliver a pitch. His fast ball was nearly impossible to hit--as the many men he struck out last year could attest to.
As the coach and his assistant walked off the field together, they were at a loss as to what to do with their temperamental star. "He hasn't showed up for the last five practices. I don't care if he is our best player. If he thinks just because he makes five million dollars a year, he can slack off, he's wrong! It demoralizes the whole team."
Phil Compton, the assistant coach, nodded his agreement. The players confided in Phil even more than in the coach, and he knew this was true.
"Yeah, he's been acting like a prima donna* ever since he won the Most Valuable Player of the Year Award last year," he added.
By the time they walked into the office, Carlos was already standing there.
"You said you know where Fernandez has been?"
"Yeah, I should have told you before," he paused for a minute and then blurted out, "He needs help, Coach."
"What do mean, help?" Coach queried. "What's been taking his time?"
"It's pool, Coach."
"Ah, has our fisherman fallen in love with a mermaid?" Phil chuckled at his own joke.
Rodrigo's fame with women was widely known. He had a proclivity* for romance that could not be denied, and now that he was rich his money had a way of drawing bees to the honey.
"I'm afraid it's not that innocent, Phil. He's been hanging out at Fabian's Pool Hall on 22nd Street. He's become quite a pool shark, Coach, and he gambles most of his money away," Carlos confessed.
"Let's go pay Mr. Rod a visit right now. I want to find out what's going on."
* * *
Standing outside the pool hall, a great clamor could be heard from within. As they walked in, the smoky room and dim lighting contrasted dramatically with the emerald green pool tables that stood like islands in a sea of black. There was Rod, hunkered over the table sizing up his next shot, then chalking his cue stick. A crowd of people stood around the celebrity.
"Who wants to bet me $500 I'll make this next shot?" There was a moment of silence and restless moving. "Come on, seven ball in the corner pocket. Who'll take me on?"
Coach and Phil stood, watching from the fringes of the crowd. As Coach edged towards the light, their eyes met. Rod challenged him, "How about you, Coach? Wanna bet I can make this shot? How about backwards?"
"No thanks, Rod. I'm a working man."
"So am I, Coach. Can't you see, I'm working the crowds right now?"
"Rod, we need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?"
Rod put down his cue stick, shrugged his shoulders, and followed Coach outside.
On the street Rod turned to Coach. "Why did you have to interrupt me? I was doing fine until you came along. I'm just trying to cut my losses."
"How much tonight?"
"Two grand*."
"That's tough. But what are you doing down here anyway? Why didn't you show up for practice?"
"Hey, Coach, give me a break," Rod retorted.
"We're trying to build a team here, Rod. You're one of our key players. If you don't show up, it wears down the morale of the whole team."
"They'll do fine," he shrugged.
"And what about you? How are you doing, huh?"
"Don't worry, Coach. I'm doing just fine! And as for that practice thing, hey, I don't need to practice."
"Yeah? And what makes you think that?"
"I've got experience."
"Well, yes, you do, Rod. You're the best man on our team. But how long do you think you can stay on top? If you want to keep your edge you've got to practice. So from now on you'd better start showing up and joining in with the team or "
"Or what, Coach? Are you threatening me?" Rod interrupted him.
"Or you'll have to find a new team to play on."
"Don't forget: We have a contract!"
"Read the fine print, Rod--providing you keep your part of the bargain, and that includes coming to practice when you're supposed to."
"Okay Coach, you win. I'll be there."
Coach and Phil left Rod alone on the street. Rod's thoughts flashed back to that last game--the one that had cost them the series.
Rod had given his usual great performance. The crowds cheered wildly for their hero. "Rod! Rod! Rod!!" they had chanted. Rod's chest swelled with pride even as he was remembering that moment. He loved to hear his name. Yes, this was his destiny all right. Some girls had waved a placard in the stands: "ROD--WE WANT YOUR BOD!" He noted where they were sitting. Later, he had thought to himself.
Despite his brilliant pitching, his team had lost the season three games to four. It was close, he thought, but I delivered.
The locker room had a gloomy air about it after the game that day. Everyone was disheartened. Rod remembered the argument he had had with Coach afterwards.
"You pitched a good game, Rod. But how come you didn't follow my signals?"
"You don't think I was going to let Megranzki walk, do you?"
"And he ended up hitting a home run instead. That was the point we needed," Coach replied.
"Look, I struck him out on the next inning, didn't I?"
Rod snapped out of this retake of that fateful game, and continued his walk home.
Too bad we lost that one, he thought to himself, and by just one point, too. Still, it wasn't exactly my fault. We'll get 'em next year.
The next day Rod reluctantly joined the rest of his team doing their exercises. After the usual warm-ups, Coach blew the whistle to gather everyone together.
"Okay, boys. We set up a bit of an obstacle course to help your coordination and your timing. You start by climbing that wall and heaving yourself over the top. Then down over the other side. You'll see where to go after that. Just follow the marked course. Your times will be written down, and as an added incentive, the person with the best time gets an extra day off."
Right, Rod confidently thought as he watched some of his teammates starting to struggle over the wall that had been set up. This one is in the bag.
When it came his turn, Rod nimbly climbed the rope to the top of the first barrier. I'm sure that was faster than most, he thought to himself as his hands gripped the top of the wall, and pulled himself up. As he was heaving himself over the top, his shoe got twisted in the rope. In a split second of anxiety, he lost his balance and went plummeting over the other side into the turf. He landed with his full weight on his right arm.
"Rod! Hey, Rod! Are you all right?" Coach yelled.
Rod winced from the pain as he tried to sit up. "I think I'm a bit messed up," he managed to get out. The pain was excruciating.
"Sit tight, don't move. We'll get help."
Several people ran to get help while the rest of the team huddled around their fallen comrade. Soon an ambulance drove onto the field. The paramedics loaded him onto a stretcher and placed him inside the ambulance to take him to the hospital.
To relieve the pain during the ride, he was given a shot of Novocain*. Not too long after, however, Rod passed out.
Suddenly Rod found himself climbing a mountain.
Strange, he thought, the sun is shining so bright today. He wore a heavy fur coat that made climbing this steep mountain all the more difficult. He felt hot and thirsty.
Just then, he saw a mountain pool. He stooped to get a drink from its sparkling waters and was shocked when he saw his own reflection in the clear water.
His face was covered in white make-up, his eyelids with heavy black, and his lips in bright red. He looked just like a kabuki* actor or a clown. He tried furiously to wash the make-up off of his face, but it only smeared into an even uglier mess. It seemed to be deeply ingrained in the pores of his skin, and the oil in the make-up refused to be washed off with the water.
Just then he noticed the sandaled feet of a man next to him. As he looked up, however, he realized that this was no ordinary man.
"It looks like you could use some help, Rod."
"How do you know my name?" Rod asked suspiciously.
"You're famous, remember?" the stranger answered with a chuckle. "Here," the man offered, "let me put on some of this cold cream to take that mask off."
Lovingly, the stranger knelt down and applied a cool cream to Rod's face. He then easily wiped Rod's make-up off with some tissues.
Rod couldn't help but be fascinated by this man's eyes. They seemed to be endless, full of love and understanding--eyes that had known the deepest sorrow, and the greatest of all joys.
"There, that looks better," the kind stranger said.
"Thanks," Rod replied, "thanks a lot."
"Where are you headed?"
"I'm trying to get to the other side of this mountain."
"Look, I happen to be going there myself. Why don't you come along with me?"
Rod nodded.
As they walked on together they talked about everything: baseball, girls, and pool. Somehow this "stranger" knew all his secrets, but he remained kind and soft-spoken. Soon the path narrowed, and they came to a steep and rocky ravine. The coat Rod was wearing felt heavier and hotter than ever, and what was more, he could not squeeze through the tight opening between the rocks.
"Hmm, I think we need to do something here," the stranger said kindly.
"You got an idea?" Rod asked.
"It looks like you're going to have to get rid of that coat. Besides, it's only weighing you down."
Rod looked at his thick coat, and decided the stranger was right. But as he opened it, he noticed that he was wearing nothing underneath.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Rod protested. "This coat, it's all I've got!"
"Come on, Rod. I'm the only one here. Trust me you don't need it!"
Rod looked around, and realized that the stranger was right. Reluctantly, he shed his coat. To his surprise, instead of feeling the cold, he felt a gentle warmth envelop his body, as a feeling of complete freedom came over him. Suddenly he started floating upwards, over the rock, and then he landed on the other side of the ravine. The stranger was there waiting for him.
"Wow, that was great! Can we do that again?"
"Sure, but right now I have a job for you to do. Here, let me give you this." The man handed him a new cloak.
"This is a new garment for you, Rod. It's a lot lighter than your old coat, and I think you'll find that it will suit all your purposes. I call it the garment of humility."
* * *
At that moment, Rod woke up and found himself in a hospital bed. His arm was in a cast, and besides feeling a little dazed, he seemed to be fine. He closed his eyes again. As he lay in his bed, he couldn't stop thinking about the puzzling dream he had just had, and what it all meant. Who was the man he had seen, and what was the job he had spoken of?
His thoughts were interrupted by the doctor, who walked into the room at that moment, with Coach by his side.
"Ah, I see the patient is awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Fernandez?" the doctor inquired.
"Okay I guess," Rod somewhat groggily replied. "What's this thing doing on my arm, Doc?"
The doctor's face took on a more stern expression. "Mr. Fernandez, I have some good news and some bad news for you. I'll tell you the good news first. Your humerus bone has been fractured in three places."
"My what?"
"Your upper arm, Rod," Coach answered.
"And that's supposed to be the good news?"
"The good news is that with proper care and therapy you should be able to use your arm again in 10 weeks."
"I see. So what's the bad news?" Rod asked.
The doctor hesitated for a moment. "I'm afraid you won't be able to pitch again."
Rod's eyes widened, as he stared at the doctor in disbelief. After a few moments of silence, he stuttered, "But Doc. I mean there must be something you can do, some kind of operation or something. Baseball is my life. I've just got to pitch again."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fernandez, but there's nothing more we can do." the doctor said, and then dismissed himself, leaving Coach and Rod alone in the room. Coach looked intently into Rod's eyes, but he was already somewhere else, and didn't seem to notice anybody or anything else around him. He slunk back down onto the bed, and stared emptily into the air, so Coach thought it best to leave the room as well, and give Rod time to get over his shock.
And so Rod lay alone in his hospital bed, thinking about all that had just transpired. What next? What will I do with my life? Oh God, how did I ever let this happen?
A thought popped into Rod's mind, familiar words that seemed to ring in his ear. "I have a job for you to do."
The man the job! Rod suddenly remembered in astonishment. I wonder if that dream has something to do with all this
Strangely enough, after awhile Rod was not as disappointed as he thought he would be about not being able to pitch again. He still had a long, painful road to recovery ahead of him, but his arm was healing well. He had time now--time to think about himself, his life, and where he was going.
Sitting in a hospital waiting room before his therapy, he glanced over at some magazines on the table in front of him. He picked up a Time magazine, but his mind kept wandering right off the page.
Then he noticed a book on the table. Its plain cover contrasted sharply with the colorful magazines that nearly covered it. Picking it up, he discovered that it was a small Bible. Curious as to how it had gotten there, he picked it up and pocketed the book. Just at that moment, his therapist came out and called him into his office.
Later that night, as he lay on the comfortable couch in the living room of his richly furnished apartment, he began to read this book. He used to think that this was a book that old ladies cried over, although he had never read much of it himself. But that was all to change. Page after page, as he randomly flipped through the old book, adventure after intriguing adventure caught his interest.
This Joshua guy makes Rambo look like a wimp, he thought with a chuckle. Then he glided into a world of romance such as he never knew existed as he perused the Song of Solomon. I may have known many women, but definitely not like this! The voice of God spoke to him with thunder in the book of Job; he heard the still small voice in the story of Elijah. (1 Ki.19:12).
Every day he read more, taking in the symphonic rhapsody* of the Psalms, the wisdom of a knowing father in Proverbs, the stupendous miracles of Daniel, and the life of the mysterious Stranger of the Gospels. Then he understood. This Son of God was the same Man, the Stranger who had walked and talked with him in his dream. Still, the answer to his question eluded him; what was it that he was meant to do? What could he do now with his arm working on half power?
As the days passed, his arm--and his spirit--gained strength. His days were filled with therapy sessions, thinking, resting, and reading--and praying that he would find the job that he was supposed to do.
A few nights later, when Rod had nothing to do, he wandered through the town, and soon found himself "nowhere"--the worst part of town. Refrigerator boxes covered in plastic sheeting housed men with hungry, beady eyes that peeped out at him from time to time. As he walked by a dimly lit alley, he could see the outlines of four boys who appeared to be attacking someone.
"Hey! Stop that!" he yelled down the alleyway, "or I'll call the cops!"
The attackers scurried off into the shadows, and Rod ran over to find a young boy, crouched on his knees, and holding his hands against his stomach. Rod knelt down and helped the boy up.
"Are you all right? What happened to you, son?"
"I wouldn't join their gang or pay them any money, so they began beating on me."
"Don't worry, kid, you're going to be okay. Here, let me help you home. Where do you live? " Rod asked, as he lifted him up.
"Just over there, sir." The boy stared for a moment, and then blurted out, "You're the Rod, aren't you?--From the Bolts! I've seen you on TV. You're the best pitcher there is, right?"
"Yeah, well, I used to be."
"Used to be?" the young boy asked, with a puzzled look on his face.
"Yeah, before I messed up my arm. I'm afraid I won't be doing much pitching anymore."
Soon they reached a run-down apartment house that the boy said was his home. There was graffiti all over the walls; half of the windows were shattered. Some dark figures huddled in the hallway bent over a pipe they were passing around.
"I know it's not much," the boy said, noticing Rod's obvious and unpleasant surprise, "but it's home to me."
Rod knocked on apartment number nine. The boy's mother came to the door with her hair up in rollers, wearing her worn and faded pink bathrobe. The TV played loudly in the background.
"Billy, where have you been, boy? I've been worried about you."
Rod explained the whole situation to the boy's mother, who thanked him profusely.
"Well, I must say, Mr. Fernandez, you truly are an angel. Lord knows we don't see the likes of you often in these parts. This neighborhood has gone from bad to worse with the dope dealers on every corner and the gangs running things like they were the police. I tell you, a person can be thankful just to stay alive. Well, I won't trouble you anymore about it. You've probably got some fine palatial mansion to go home to, so I'll let you be. Thanks again for saving my boy, Billy."
"Thank you, sir. I'll never forget you," Billy said.
"And you either." Rod replied. "You take care now."
Rod continued his long walk home. The click of his heels echoed against the tall tenement buildings. The silence of the night was broken by a police siren in the distance.
What was it this time? Another shooting? Rod looked around and hoped he would make it home safely. As he looked around, he suddenly noticed a deserted courtyard with the markings of a baseball field. Trash was strewn around everywhere. Some mattress springs rolled over one of the bases marked with chalk on the cracked pavement. Discarded cans and bottles lay littered at the foot of the fence. Rod sighed in disgust as he turned his back on this ugly scene to continue his trek home.
But something caught his eye in a window next to the field. Curiously, he walked closer. A faded sign hung above a window. Baker Community Youth Center, Rod read, and then he glanced down at a piece of paper taped to the inside of the large, dirty window. In the dim light, he could barely make out the message: "Wanted--Baseball Coach."
A strange feeling welled up inside of him, and he couldn't shake it loose. Somehow he felt that he was supposed to apply for this job. But, I'm a major league star. Why should I stoop to coach a bunch of street kids in this no-good neighborhood? he wondered, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. Suddenly, he heard that still, small voice in his heart again: "I have a job for you to do the garment of humility "
The garment of humility! His eyes suddenly lit up. So that's what He meant!
Even though the streets were dark, and the light of the moon never penetrated this smoggy, neon-lit city, Rod felt as though the floodlights of a stadium had turned on in his heart. He knew that this was it--the job he had been looking for! Maybe he could no longer play as a professional, or hear the crowds cheer his name in the grandstands, but he could use his talent and ability--his gifts and his training--to make a difference in the lives of boys like Billy.
As he continued on his way home, he knew what he would be doing the next day--he had found the job that he was supposed to do.
* * *
And so it was that Rodrigo strolled into that same courtyard the next day, to the surprise and delight of both teachers and children, who instantly recognized one of their favorite heroes. From that day on, Rod was never the same. He did what he could, not only to teach these less fortunate children what he knew about baseball, but to teach them about the ups and downs of life, and that, no matter how difficult life may sometimes seem, there is always a way to rise above the difficulties, to press on, and to find that purpose in life and living--that singular destiny God has chosen for each one of His dear children.
Definitions included throughout booklet:
* mundane: ordinary; commonplace
* imminent: about to occur
* grace: a short prayer of blessing or thanksgiving said before or after a meal
* pennant: a flag that symbolizes the championship of a league, especially a professional baseball league
* prima donna: a temperamental, conceited person, one who thinks of himself as the prime and only important character of the show
* proclivity: natural inclination; a tendency towards
* grand: a thousand dollars
* Novocain: anesthetic that causes the loss of feeling without the loss of consciousness
* kabuki: popular Japanese drama in which elaborately costumed performers enact tragedies and comedies
* rhapsody: a literary work written in an impassioned or exalted style
[End]
Copyright (c) 1998 by Aurora Productions