The sun was just coming up when Marcus pulled his truck into his dad’s driveway. This would be the only stop he would make this Thanksgiving morning. In past years he would stop at Grandpa Sam’s and pick him up too. But not this year. Deep sigh.
His dad jumped in the pickup and they drove to Mrs. Hampel’s place out in Mixon just off FM 177. They did something like this every year. It was Grandpa Sam’s idea. The men of the church would find someone who needed work done around their place and make that their Thanksgiving Day service project. Mrs. Hampel’s old house needed painting and she had an barn that was in bad shape. The guys had spent a few Saturdays getting all the materials together. Now they drove out to Mixon and met six other guys from the church. All the ladders and cans of paint and brushes and lumber and nail guns were ready. They worked six straight hours and got the place fixed up the best they could. Mrs. Hampel thanked them profusely. They reminded her of Acts 2:44. They were just taking care of a sister who had a need. That’s what Christians do.
They got home a little after 12:30 and got cleaned up. Lauren and her mom and Marcus’s mom had spent all morning getting Thanksgiving dinner ready and visiting in the kitchen. The smell of turkey and pumpkin pie and dressing greeted the rest of the aunts and uncles and cousins as they came in around 1:00.
Most of them were Christians and so “they received their food with glad and generous hearts.” They watched the first half of the football game after dinner. At halftime they got out Monopoly. Four sets of Monopoly. They had four games going at the same time. Card tables full of Boardwalk and Community Chest and Get Out of Jail Free Cards and plastic green houses and tiny silver thimbles. A Redding Thanksgiving tradition. Just fun. When the third quarter started, they postponed their Monopoly games and everyone had dessert. Then the guys watched the rest of the game and the ladies cleaned up.
When the football game was over they finished Monopoly. The winner of each game got a prize: the privilege of being the first to give thanks. Since there was one winner from each of the monopoly games, the four winners took turns in order of their age—the oldest first on down to the youngest—then the rest took turns, all of them saying what they were thankful for. Here is what some of them had to say…
Lauren’s brother, Eddie…“I thank God that I still have a job.”
Marcus’s mom, Abigail…“I thank God for Ruth and Lauren. They have been a great blessing to our family.”
Marcus’s dad, David…“I thank God for the years we had with Sam. We miss him. But I know we’ll be with him again soon.”
Lauren’s mom, Ruth…“I thank God for blessing my daughter with a godly husband. I love you, Marcus.”
Lauren…“I thank God for David and Marcus. They love Abigail and me like Christ loved the church.”
Marcus…“I thank God for loving me and saving me through his son Jesus Christ.”
Hugs all around.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Marcus Redding Has An Idea
Marcus had been at work with Ron all morning and Ron hadn’t said anything. They usually talked about the Cowboys game or Ron’s projects he was working on at home. But this morning Ron was quiet.
So when Marcus got the next set of orders from the office he went up to Ron. “Do you want route 3 or route 5?” Ron looked stoic and said, “Doesn’t matter.” Marcus tucked the orders in a clipboard and set them on the back of his forklift. “What’s wrong?” Ron looked up, taken aback at the direct question. He hesitated, then finally said, “They’re going to put my mom in hospice.”
“Oh, Ron, man…I’m sorry.” Marcus knew about the tension between Ron and his family. His mom and his sister lived in Arlington. Ron’s dad had died when he was in high school. From age 16 to 21 Ron and Marcus lived the same life. Both suffered a tragedy in high school, both hit the bottle, now both of them were trying to get back on track. Faith was the difference between them. Marcus was back on track. Sober. Reconciled with his family. Married to a wonderful wife. Reading the Bible. Praying. Regular at worship services. Making friends with people in his church family.
Ron did not have faith. He resented Christians because of how folks from his parents' church didn’t help his mom when his dad died (or so he thought.) He did not attend any church services. He didn’t pray. He wasn’t interested in the Bible. He had a girlfriend, but nothing deep. He had reconciled some with his sister, but not with his mom, who resented him for abandoning the family after his dad died. But he had been dry for a while. He carried a one-year chip on his key ring. And he had a good heart. Just a lot of baggage. A lot of guilt. A lot of unacknowledged, unconfessed, un-repented-of sin.
“I’m sorry too,” Ron finally said. They were close enough that Marcus thought he could be bold. “Go talk to her.” Ron shook his head, “What would I say? It wouldn’t change anything.” Marcus challenged him, “How do you know? Remember my accident? Years later I went to Bruce’s parents and talked to them. Said I was sorry. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But they forgave me. And hugged me and we cried and all that. You’ve got to try.” Ron wasn’t on board, “Yeah, well, my mom is not like Bruce’s mom. She’d cuss me right out of hospice.” Marcus didn’t back down, “You’ve got two choices. You can either try to reconcile with her or you can live the rest of your life with guilt and wonder what if.”
Just then a truck backed up to the loading dock and set its air brakes. The sound interrupted their conversation. Ron found the out he was looking for, “I’ve got to unload this truck.” And he walked off. Marcus watched him open the back door of the truck. Then an idea hit him.
He jumped on the forklift and drove it around the corner. He got out his cell phone and called Lauren. He asked her if they had anything going on tonight. They didn’t. He told her about Ron’s mom and his idea. She told him to go for it, just call her on her cell phone.
Marcus didn’t say anything to Ron the rest of the day. At 5:25 Marcus clocked out and ran to the parking lot and got in his truck. He pulled it up to the warehouse, popped open the passenger side door, and waited. When Ron opened the door to leave Marcus hollered and motioned at him, “Jump in! Let’s go see your mom!”
Ron was stunned. “What are you talking about?” Marcus revved the engine. “I’ll drive you to Arlington! Come on! Jump in!” Ron stood in the doorway. His shoulders fell. Closed his eyes. Then looked back up. “What are you doing Marcus?” Marcus hollered again, “We’ll stop by Sonic on the way out.” He pounded on the passenger seat. “Come on!”
Ron heard a voice from behind him, “Get in the truck.” Ron turned around and saw six of the other guys that worked in the warehouse. They stood side by side. All looking straight at him. These were guys with scars. Guys with tattoos. Guys with rough beards. Guys with round circles in their back pockets courtesy of Copenhagen. Guys who were divorced two or three times. Guys who fight among themselves. Guys who might not have always done the right thing, but they knew the right thing when they saw it.
One by one they said, “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.”
Ron looked back at Marcus. Marcus revved the engine. Ron didn’t walk. He ran to the truck and jumped in.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
So when Marcus got the next set of orders from the office he went up to Ron. “Do you want route 3 or route 5?” Ron looked stoic and said, “Doesn’t matter.” Marcus tucked the orders in a clipboard and set them on the back of his forklift. “What’s wrong?” Ron looked up, taken aback at the direct question. He hesitated, then finally said, “They’re going to put my mom in hospice.”
“Oh, Ron, man…I’m sorry.” Marcus knew about the tension between Ron and his family. His mom and his sister lived in Arlington. Ron’s dad had died when he was in high school. From age 16 to 21 Ron and Marcus lived the same life. Both suffered a tragedy in high school, both hit the bottle, now both of them were trying to get back on track. Faith was the difference between them. Marcus was back on track. Sober. Reconciled with his family. Married to a wonderful wife. Reading the Bible. Praying. Regular at worship services. Making friends with people in his church family.
Ron did not have faith. He resented Christians because of how folks from his parents' church didn’t help his mom when his dad died (or so he thought.) He did not attend any church services. He didn’t pray. He wasn’t interested in the Bible. He had a girlfriend, but nothing deep. He had reconciled some with his sister, but not with his mom, who resented him for abandoning the family after his dad died. But he had been dry for a while. He carried a one-year chip on his key ring. And he had a good heart. Just a lot of baggage. A lot of guilt. A lot of unacknowledged, unconfessed, un-repented-of sin.
“I’m sorry too,” Ron finally said. They were close enough that Marcus thought he could be bold. “Go talk to her.” Ron shook his head, “What would I say? It wouldn’t change anything.” Marcus challenged him, “How do you know? Remember my accident? Years later I went to Bruce’s parents and talked to them. Said I was sorry. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But they forgave me. And hugged me and we cried and all that. You’ve got to try.” Ron wasn’t on board, “Yeah, well, my mom is not like Bruce’s mom. She’d cuss me right out of hospice.” Marcus didn’t back down, “You’ve got two choices. You can either try to reconcile with her or you can live the rest of your life with guilt and wonder what if.”
Just then a truck backed up to the loading dock and set its air brakes. The sound interrupted their conversation. Ron found the out he was looking for, “I’ve got to unload this truck.” And he walked off. Marcus watched him open the back door of the truck. Then an idea hit him.
He jumped on the forklift and drove it around the corner. He got out his cell phone and called Lauren. He asked her if they had anything going on tonight. They didn’t. He told her about Ron’s mom and his idea. She told him to go for it, just call her on her cell phone.
Marcus didn’t say anything to Ron the rest of the day. At 5:25 Marcus clocked out and ran to the parking lot and got in his truck. He pulled it up to the warehouse, popped open the passenger side door, and waited. When Ron opened the door to leave Marcus hollered and motioned at him, “Jump in! Let’s go see your mom!”
Ron was stunned. “What are you talking about?” Marcus revved the engine. “I’ll drive you to Arlington! Come on! Jump in!” Ron stood in the doorway. His shoulders fell. Closed his eyes. Then looked back up. “What are you doing Marcus?” Marcus hollered again, “We’ll stop by Sonic on the way out.” He pounded on the passenger seat. “Come on!”
Ron heard a voice from behind him, “Get in the truck.” Ron turned around and saw six of the other guys that worked in the warehouse. They stood side by side. All looking straight at him. These were guys with scars. Guys with tattoos. Guys with rough beards. Guys with round circles in their back pockets courtesy of Copenhagen. Guys who were divorced two or three times. Guys who fight among themselves. Guys who might not have always done the right thing, but they knew the right thing when they saw it.
One by one they said, “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.” “Get in the truck.”
Ron looked back at Marcus. Marcus revved the engine. Ron didn’t walk. He ran to the truck and jumped in.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Marcus Redding Has Insomnia
What good was it doing to lie here looking up at the ceiling? The bed creaked as he got up. Lauren stirred. He went out to the couch and turned on the TV. But what was on at two in the morning? He clicked on PBS and saw they had a Sesame Street 40th anniversary show. His mind went back to Grandpa Sam. When he was a little kid, even before he went to school, sometimes he would stay the night with Grandpa Sam. In the morning he would let him watch one show, usually Sesame Street.
Marcus left the TV on and walked over to the kitchen table where Lauren left her laptop. He opened it up and clicked on the folder named “Pictures.” Then he clicked on another folder named “Marcus Family.” About three hundred picture files came up. Lauren had spent months scanning pictures from the albums Marcus’s mom had made. She tagged the pictures according to year and event and who was in them. So all Marcus had to do was type “Grandpa Sam” in the search field and there were all his memories.
He scrolled through the slide show. Marcus as a skinny school-age kid: fishing with Grandpa Sam, Christmas at Grandpa Sam’s place, on Grandpa Sam’s lap reading the Bible, arm wrestling, playing in the snow, a trip to Yellowstone. All of a sudden Marcus was not a skinny kid anymore, the next pictures were from their wedding, Grandpa Sam dressed in a tuxedo. But where were all the pictures from about age 16 until he turned 21? There were no pictures for about five years.
It didn’t matter. Marcus had plenty of memories from that time of his life. That’s why he couldn’t sleep. Ever since Grandpa Sam passed away those memories haunted him even more, so that every night when he fell asleep—if he could fall asleep—he had nightmares. The other night he dreamed about a former girlfriend. He stopped by her apartment to see her. He found her there with another guy. Marcus went back to his truck and got a baseball bat. He stormed the apartment and started swinging away while the girlfriend screamed for him to stop. Then he woke up. The worst part about this nightmare was that it really happened. So that made the insomnia worse. Even if he did fall asleep he could only expect these horrible reminders of the dark years.
Looking at these pictures helped him diagnose the cause of his insomnia: regret. And regret caused pain. And he wanted this pain to go away. He went to the fridge. There used to be beer in his fridge. Not anymore. But it would be pretty easy to get in his truck and drive about 20 minutes and he could medicate his insomnia/regret/pain with alcohol. It crossed his mind. He knew from experience this medicine worked temporarily, but the side effects were awful.
So he stood in front of the open fridge, suddenly caught in a battle between the Spirit and the flesh. Then he heard Lauren open the bedroom door. He watched her walk down the hall. She didn’t say anything. He stood there while she closed the door of the fridge, then put on a pot of coffee, then walked over to the table and noticed the pictures on the screen. She looked up at Marcus. He was still standing there facing the now closed fridge. She looked back down and clicked and typed a little then went to the living room. She turned off the TV and turned on their old CD player. She slipped in a CD of spiritual songs and turned the volume to “7.” The lyrics of “Wonderful, Merciful Savior” quietly filled the little apartment. She went to the couch and lay down. The smell of coffee and the sound of the song brought Marcus to his senses. And the battle was over for now. He heard Lauren mumble from the couch, “Look at the computer.” He angled the screen so he could see it. She had called up Ephesians 5:18-20 “And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with all your heart, giving thanks always and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
The coffee was ready. He poured a cup and walked over to the couch. According to the clock on the front of the CD player it was 2:37 a.m. She sat up. He sat down on one side. She laid her head back down on his lap. He sipped coffee and listened to the music while she fell back asleep.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Marcus left the TV on and walked over to the kitchen table where Lauren left her laptop. He opened it up and clicked on the folder named “Pictures.” Then he clicked on another folder named “Marcus Family.” About three hundred picture files came up. Lauren had spent months scanning pictures from the albums Marcus’s mom had made. She tagged the pictures according to year and event and who was in them. So all Marcus had to do was type “Grandpa Sam” in the search field and there were all his memories.
He scrolled through the slide show. Marcus as a skinny school-age kid: fishing with Grandpa Sam, Christmas at Grandpa Sam’s place, on Grandpa Sam’s lap reading the Bible, arm wrestling, playing in the snow, a trip to Yellowstone. All of a sudden Marcus was not a skinny kid anymore, the next pictures were from their wedding, Grandpa Sam dressed in a tuxedo. But where were all the pictures from about age 16 until he turned 21? There were no pictures for about five years.
It didn’t matter. Marcus had plenty of memories from that time of his life. That’s why he couldn’t sleep. Ever since Grandpa Sam passed away those memories haunted him even more, so that every night when he fell asleep—if he could fall asleep—he had nightmares. The other night he dreamed about a former girlfriend. He stopped by her apartment to see her. He found her there with another guy. Marcus went back to his truck and got a baseball bat. He stormed the apartment and started swinging away while the girlfriend screamed for him to stop. Then he woke up. The worst part about this nightmare was that it really happened. So that made the insomnia worse. Even if he did fall asleep he could only expect these horrible reminders of the dark years.
Looking at these pictures helped him diagnose the cause of his insomnia: regret. And regret caused pain. And he wanted this pain to go away. He went to the fridge. There used to be beer in his fridge. Not anymore. But it would be pretty easy to get in his truck and drive about 20 minutes and he could medicate his insomnia/regret/pain with alcohol. It crossed his mind. He knew from experience this medicine worked temporarily, but the side effects were awful.
So he stood in front of the open fridge, suddenly caught in a battle between the Spirit and the flesh. Then he heard Lauren open the bedroom door. He watched her walk down the hall. She didn’t say anything. He stood there while she closed the door of the fridge, then put on a pot of coffee, then walked over to the table and noticed the pictures on the screen. She looked up at Marcus. He was still standing there facing the now closed fridge. She looked back down and clicked and typed a little then went to the living room. She turned off the TV and turned on their old CD player. She slipped in a CD of spiritual songs and turned the volume to “7.” The lyrics of “Wonderful, Merciful Savior” quietly filled the little apartment. She went to the couch and lay down. The smell of coffee and the sound of the song brought Marcus to his senses. And the battle was over for now. He heard Lauren mumble from the couch, “Look at the computer.” He angled the screen so he could see it. She had called up Ephesians 5:18-20 “And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with all your heart, giving thanks always and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
The coffee was ready. He poured a cup and walked over to the couch. According to the clock on the front of the CD player it was 2:37 a.m. She sat up. He sat down on one side. She laid her head back down on his lap. He sipped coffee and listened to the music while she fell back asleep.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
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