"I cleaned you up as best I could. Don't have a shower here so I just did as much as I could. You gave me quite a scare passin out like you did"
Wallace was still groggy but he sat up on the edge of the cot. "Where's muh clothes?"
"Don't worry. we had to burn your old clothes. They was a lost cause.But...I sent Jon over to the Goodwill and we got you some new clothes. I hope they fit..but if they don't, here's the receipt..you can take it back and get what you need."
Wallace couldn't believe his eyes. There stood Tom holding up a suit. It was a gold and turquoise plaid and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He jumped off the cot and fell on Tom, thanking him, hugging him.
"Hey now, lets not get carried away. You put these on and get going. I can't let you stay here cause the owner wouldn't like that one bit."
Wallace understood. He watched Tom as he stepped out of the room to give him a chance to get dressed. Wallace stroked the lapel of the suit. He looked around for a stool and swa the shoes and socks and shirt that Tom had given him the day before. They were laid out all neat and clean for him. Just like in a hotel. He slipped on the socks and the shirt. He looked at the ceiling..."I don't know you very well sir...but I know you is up there and I thank you for this..."
It was awkward, but it was a prayer, pure and simple.
Wallace stepped out of the back room and headed for the front door of the recycling cneter.
"Well look at you! You look Great! Wallace if I didn't know you...I'd think you were a millionare..a successful business tycoon. It looks good on you son! Have a look see for yourself!" Tom pointed to the bathroom. Wallace went in and turned on the light. There was a man staring back at him from the mirror. A man that Wallace barely recognized. He was dressed in a loose fitting old suit, his face was clean, but there was an unhealthy yellowed pallor to his skin.
"Now Wallace, me and the boys took up a little collection. It ain't much, but it should be enough to get you a decent meal and a room for the night. Please take it. Its all we can do...but we want to do it for you."
Wallace looked at the money in Toms hand.
"Why?" he asked."Why you doin this for ol Wallace? You don't owe me a thing..."
"We're doin it because we want to and its the right thing to do. Now take it and git goin before the guys change their mind and want their money back." Tom said with a laugh.
Wallace took the money. He didn't count it..he just shoved it in his pocket. It was a good feeling. Clean clothes, money in the pocket, he had forgotten what that felt like. Tom handed him the receipt for the suit. Wallace looked at it.
1 mans suit $2.00
He put that in his pocket. Tom patted him on the back.
"We got your cart out front. Everything's still there. You can check it."
Wallace looked deep into the eyes of his friend. Such kindness, such caring. He had never experienced anything like this before. He tried to speak his heart, but it bypassed his mouth and went straight to his eyes. Tom could see it shining there. A sparkle that had been gone a long time from those old eyes. He nodded again to Wallace and watched him as he pushed his cart down the road.
Wallace heard the town clock chime 6:oo pm. He wondered what day it was. He wanted to go to the Miracle Healing Service. He pushed his cart as quicklye as he could towards the church. If he could get there on time...he knew that he would get his miracle healing. He would be free of the cough, free of the fever...free of the pain...
The sound of Angels filled his ears as he neared the church. About a block away, he stashed his cart and belongings behind an old shed. He didn't want to risk being recognized by the sweaty man and his friends. They would just throw him out and then he wouldn't get his miracle healing. He felt the dizzziness come on him again. His head spun, the sidewalk spun, everything was spinning. He stumbled down the sidewalk, pushing on towards that sweet angelic sound. There was a flash of light. He looked up and saw the man in the white suit holding the sign.
'Miracle Healing Service Tonight'
Wallace smiled at the man in the white suit. He seemed to beam a soft bright warm friendly light that shone right through Wallace. He felt a sudden surge of strength and made his way up the steps of the church.
The service was in full swing by the time Wallace found his way into the building and to the seat in the very back corner of the sanctuary. The spinning was getting better. He fought the urge to cough, pulling out his ragged dirty handkerchief and covering his mouth. Up on the platform, Wallace recognized the sweaty man. He was wearing a dark suit and tie and was standing a some kind of pedestal or sesk. Wallace didn't know what it was, he had never been in a church before. Up on the front row were the two young men that had thrown him into the street. Wallace sunk down into the pew so they wouldn't see him. As he watched, he began to realize that they wouldn't recognize anyone. They were jumpin up and down, shouting gibberish that he couldn't understand. The sweaty man was shouting gibberish too. Spit came flying out the corners of his mouth like a rabid dog.
As he looked around, Wallace noticed all the different people that were in the church. They were familiar to him. At one time or another, their paths had crossed Wallaces. Each time they either ignored, chastised, or looked down on him with disdain and contempt. Now here they were all jumpin and gibberish talkin and sayin stuff like...
"We love you Lord!" or "Praise Jesus!"
It was all a mystery to Wallace how they could be one way with him and be another with some guy they never met, never saw, or were even sure if he was real.
Wallace felt warm inside. Like he was where he was supposed to be. He looked around some more and saw the man in the white suit sitting two people down from him, smiling at Wallace. The man leaned over as if to say something. Just as he opened his mouth, the sweaty man opened his and the man in white vanished.
"Brothers and sisters, we come here tonight to recieve our miracle...our healing. But in order to receive, you have to give. Gods work costs money. Your sacrifice can help someone in need. When you sacrifice your needs for someone elses needs, God will meet yours!"
The choir and the band started in on another jumpy little song as people came up and put money in the buckets that were on the stage. Wallace saw what was happening. He felt the money burning in his pocket. He looked up at the buckets, and there was the man in the white suit, smiling, motioning for Wallace to come up. Wallace grabbed the back of the bench in front of him,pulled himself up, and headed down the aisle. The music was loud, like a party. People were jumping and dancing and patting Wallace on the back as he dropped all the money Tom had given him into the bucket.
Halfway back to his seat, the dizziness came on him again. It was all he could do to keep his balance until he made it back to his seat. He dropped heavily onto the bench and leaned over coughing. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the man in the white suit. He was saying something, but Wallace couldn't make it out. He leaned forward again and held his head.
"Lord," he said quietly, "I came here for a miracle and a healing. I am so tired. I know I have brought this on myself, but if you could just see it within yourself to forgive me and take this pain and cough away, well I know you will do it...thats why I'm here askin..."
" Come with me brother, the Lord has heard your prayer and has seen your sacrifice."
Wallace turned to see the man in the white suit. For the first time , Wallace could hear him.
The man in the white suit held out his hand and Wallace took it. They headed out the back of the church and out into the street. Wallace looked around, but no one noticed they were leaving. They were all too busy jumping and gibberishing to notice anything or anyone.
"Where we goin Mr.?" Wallace asked.
"Its time for you to meet your miracle." came the reply.
Wallace took a deep breath and paused. He took another deep breath, and then another.
No pain, no wheeze, no cough! He looked at the man in the white suit who was just smiling at Wallace.
"What do you think?" he asked Wallace.
Wallace stared at him in disbelief. He could breath. No cough, no fatigue. He jumped and shouted Hallelujah. He had received his miracle healing.
The man in the white suit put his hand on Wallaces shoulder. A warm happy sensation flowed through Wallace.
"Wallace, I want you to meet someone. Someone who has been waiting to meet you for a long time."
Wallace couldn't speak. He nodded approval and they walked arm and arm down the street. A bright white light, like he had seen shining from the man surrounded them. Wallace stopped and turned and looked at the small church. He could see that everyone had stopped their jumpin and gibberish. They were all standing around someone sitting in the back corner...right where he had been sitting. It was him. He had recieved his miracle healing all right. The Lord had sent a messenger to bring him home. He came into this world with nothing, and he had left this world with nothing...nothing but his salvation. Wallace smiled and turned back to face the man in the White suit. It was then that he realized that it wasn't the fact that he had cleaned up and was wearing that $2.00 suit that had gotten Gods attention. It was the fact that he let God clean up what was on the inside. That is what got him his salvation and his miracle.
"Is everything all right Wallace?" the man in the white suit asked with a puzzled look on his face.
"All right? I'd say that everything was pert near perfect!"
They kept walking into the light....vanishing....
The End
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
A Two dollar Suit part 4-Dave Rose
Fletch could hardly get the top off and guzzle down the last of the nasty liquid that Wallace was sharing with him. He drained it and tossed it back to Wallace.
"Thanks buddy," he said to Wallace. "I best be goin... got to get going... yep... stuff an things... I got stuff an things to do...see ya round! Lay off the sauce a while."
"By mornings light , Wallace was burning up with fever. He managed to get up and get his cart loaded back up. He started out on his rounds. By mid afternoon he found himself over by the Second Avenue Assemblies. That is where the 'Miracle and Healing Service' was gonna be. He could hear the choir practicing. He walked down the side of the church. It was an older building. No air-conditioning...so even on a rainy day, there was no air circulation unless the windows were open. Wallace found a window on the side of the building, next to where the choir was singing. He felt so tired. The wheezing in his lungs was getting worse. He was coughing up more blood...and the fever was raging. He found a spot beneath the window and just sat and listened. It was like angels singing.
"Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me..." sang the choir. Wallace felt every word of that...he felt like a wretch...he felt lost...he felt awful.
"Hey!" came a gruff authoritative voice. "Whats the idea sneaking round here...you some kinna prevert?"
"Well, no...its just that I thought, I mean...I was hoping for a chance at the miracle healing..."Wallace said meekly.
"Get out of here old man!" came the reply... "The only miracle you are gonna see is that I don't catch you and beat the living tar out of you for trespassing! Now get out of here before I call the police to come scrape you up and haul you away. Garbage! Thats all you are is GARBAGE! You get going or i'll..."
Wallace just stared in disbelief. It was the sweaty man that had hung the poster that had haunted Wallace's dreams the night before. Now this man was telling him that he wasn't welcome and that miracles can't happen for the likes of him. Maybe if Wallace sweated like the sweaty man did, mayge he could get the miracle then. He took a deep breath and held it. The sweaty man looked on in horror as Wallace's face turned beet red and then purple. It was no use though. Wallace was just too weak to sweat or protest. He grabbed on to his cart and started down to the street. A coughing fit started again and the sweaty man screamed!
"Get that diseased stinkin man out of here!"
That was when a couple of unfriendly looking young men came up behind Wallace and grabbed him and his cart and pushed them both towards the street.
"We don't let your kind round here. You stink up the place. Have a little self respect and go clean yourself up!"
Wallace started to say something to the young man who was yelling at him, but he flet a warm wet sensation on his backside. He had soiled himself. It had happened to him before.
"Oh man...he just messed himself!" the biggest fo the two young men screamed.
They threw him into the street, slammed the cart into his head. He saw stars for a moment and then another coughing spell came on him. He lay there in the street gasping for air as the three men, the two young guys and the short fat sweaty man, went back into the church. The choir started singing again..."It is Well...With my soul."
Wallace picked himself up and grabbed his cart. He had hit the lowest point he had ever been in at that moment. He couldn't tell what stung most...getting hit in the head with his own cart, or being thrown off the church property. he couldn't understand how something as sweet as the music that was coming from the window could not affect the hearts of the guys that threw him out. He shook his head. The dizziness was coming back. He was soaked to the bone with sweat and he smelled of his own waste. The fever was raging inside his body. He headed over to the recycling center. Maybe Tom could help him out. Give him a placeto get cleaned up. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a bath or a shower. Maybe if he cleaned up, got himself some decent clothes...maybe then, maybe heaven would let him into the miracle and healing service.
Tom looked up and saw Wallace struggling down the street. He laid down his clipboard and walked over to him. He got there just in time to catch Wallace as he passed out in the street.
Tom yelled to one of the guys in the center to come help him. They carried Wallace to the back of the building. There was a storage room with a cot in the corner. Tom got Wallace into the cot and sent for some water. He looked at his watch. He had promised his wife that he would take the afternoon off adn spend some time with her and their new baby.
"Wallace, you a mess buddy...we gonna fix you up!" Tom gently undressed the old man. he sent one of the guys next door to the goodwill store. Told him to get some pants. shorts, shoes and a shirt for Wallace. Tom stayed there and bathed his old friend. Wallae coughed and groaned. There was a lump on his head. Tom put some ice on it and continued washing who knows how many layers of dirt off of Wallace. The stench was overwhelming. There were a couple of times when Tom had to get out and breath in some fresh air. Wallace finally woke up after a couple of hours. His head was pounding but he felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time...clean.
"Hey Buddy, you doin better now?" It was Tom.
"Thanks buddy," he said to Wallace. "I best be goin... got to get going... yep... stuff an things... I got stuff an things to do...see ya round! Lay off the sauce a while."
"By mornings light , Wallace was burning up with fever. He managed to get up and get his cart loaded back up. He started out on his rounds. By mid afternoon he found himself over by the Second Avenue Assemblies. That is where the 'Miracle and Healing Service' was gonna be. He could hear the choir practicing. He walked down the side of the church. It was an older building. No air-conditioning...so even on a rainy day, there was no air circulation unless the windows were open. Wallace found a window on the side of the building, next to where the choir was singing. He felt so tired. The wheezing in his lungs was getting worse. He was coughing up more blood...and the fever was raging. He found a spot beneath the window and just sat and listened. It was like angels singing.
"Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me..." sang the choir. Wallace felt every word of that...he felt like a wretch...he felt lost...he felt awful.
"Hey!" came a gruff authoritative voice. "Whats the idea sneaking round here...you some kinna prevert?"
"Well, no...its just that I thought, I mean...I was hoping for a chance at the miracle healing..."Wallace said meekly.
"Get out of here old man!" came the reply... "The only miracle you are gonna see is that I don't catch you and beat the living tar out of you for trespassing! Now get out of here before I call the police to come scrape you up and haul you away. Garbage! Thats all you are is GARBAGE! You get going or i'll..."
Wallace just stared in disbelief. It was the sweaty man that had hung the poster that had haunted Wallace's dreams the night before. Now this man was telling him that he wasn't welcome and that miracles can't happen for the likes of him. Maybe if Wallace sweated like the sweaty man did, mayge he could get the miracle then. He took a deep breath and held it. The sweaty man looked on in horror as Wallace's face turned beet red and then purple. It was no use though. Wallace was just too weak to sweat or protest. He grabbed on to his cart and started down to the street. A coughing fit started again and the sweaty man screamed!
"Get that diseased stinkin man out of here!"
That was when a couple of unfriendly looking young men came up behind Wallace and grabbed him and his cart and pushed them both towards the street.
"We don't let your kind round here. You stink up the place. Have a little self respect and go clean yourself up!"
Wallace started to say something to the young man who was yelling at him, but he flet a warm wet sensation on his backside. He had soiled himself. It had happened to him before.
"Oh man...he just messed himself!" the biggest fo the two young men screamed.
They threw him into the street, slammed the cart into his head. He saw stars for a moment and then another coughing spell came on him. He lay there in the street gasping for air as the three men, the two young guys and the short fat sweaty man, went back into the church. The choir started singing again..."It is Well...With my soul."
Wallace picked himself up and grabbed his cart. He had hit the lowest point he had ever been in at that moment. He couldn't tell what stung most...getting hit in the head with his own cart, or being thrown off the church property. he couldn't understand how something as sweet as the music that was coming from the window could not affect the hearts of the guys that threw him out. He shook his head. The dizziness was coming back. He was soaked to the bone with sweat and he smelled of his own waste. The fever was raging inside his body. He headed over to the recycling center. Maybe Tom could help him out. Give him a placeto get cleaned up. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a bath or a shower. Maybe if he cleaned up, got himself some decent clothes...maybe then, maybe heaven would let him into the miracle and healing service.
Tom looked up and saw Wallace struggling down the street. He laid down his clipboard and walked over to him. He got there just in time to catch Wallace as he passed out in the street.
Tom yelled to one of the guys in the center to come help him. They carried Wallace to the back of the building. There was a storage room with a cot in the corner. Tom got Wallace into the cot and sent for some water. He looked at his watch. He had promised his wife that he would take the afternoon off adn spend some time with her and their new baby.
"Wallace, you a mess buddy...we gonna fix you up!" Tom gently undressed the old man. he sent one of the guys next door to the goodwill store. Told him to get some pants. shorts, shoes and a shirt for Wallace. Tom stayed there and bathed his old friend. Wallae coughed and groaned. There was a lump on his head. Tom put some ice on it and continued washing who knows how many layers of dirt off of Wallace. The stench was overwhelming. There were a couple of times when Tom had to get out and breath in some fresh air. Wallace finally woke up after a couple of hours. His head was pounding but he felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time...clean.
"Hey Buddy, you doin better now?" It was Tom.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
A Two Dollar Suit Part 3-Dave Rose
Muzzy's was a small dirty overpriced convenience store. With the money Tom had given him,
Wallace could get some smokes, a sandwich and a bottle of Green Lizard Aftershave. It was the worst smelling after shave he had ever smelled, but it had enough alcohol in it to chase off a cold rainy night. He might even have some money left over for breakfast. Sometimes Muzzy wuld sell him 1 or 2 single cigarettes. Besides, Wallace only need the cigarettes as a chaser for the fowl tasting after shave.
He parked his cart outside the store and went in to do his business. As he left the store, some kids were going through his cart.
"He git yer filthy paws off my stuff or I'll..."
" Or you'll what?", the biggest kid asked. He wasn't a kid...he was 17 or 18 years old but he looked 30. Street has a way of doin that to a person. Whne you don't have and you want, you take. Its take or be taken. There were two types of people out here, predators and victims. What you were, depended on just how badly you wanted. The guys with him circled Wallace.
"Whats it gonna be old man? You want some of this? HuH? Here it is..."
"Before Wallace could utter a sound, Muzzy burst out of the door with a Louisville Slugger in one hand and a phone in the other.
"You kids lookin for some trouble? I got your trouble right here!"
The kids scattered like roaches in the kitchen when the lights turned on, but not before they
turned Wallace's cart over.
"Wallace...you better get your stuff together and git out of here. i don't want no trouble around here...you get my drift?"
" Muzzy was right ...if Wallace hung around too long, those kids would be back and he knew enough to know that he wanted no part of that. He gathered up his belongings and thanked
Muzzy. Muzzy grunted at him and went back inside the store.
The clouds started rolling in shortly after that. A light mist fell and Wallace knew he better head to the overpass. He had holed up there for longer than he could remember. Most times it was okay. The concrete blocked the wind and there was a nice level spot right up in the corner, just big enough for Wallace to curl up and sleep. His routine wa always the same. First he would make sure that no one or no 'thing' had crawled up in his space. Then he would empty the cart, carry his treasures up to his shelter, and then turn the cart on its side in the tall grass
next to the overpass so that no one could see it.
It was dark by the time Wallace made it to his shelter. The rain was starting to come down now. He stowed his cart and made his way up the slope of concrete. Settling in, he pulled out the sandwich he had purchased at Muzzy's. As always, he wiped his hands on his shirt and then proceeded to tear the sandwich up into little pieces that would be easy on his gums. All but three of his teeth had rotted away or had fallen out. This way, he could eat. His gums were tender and even soft bread hurt. He choked the sandwich down as best he could, coughing in between bites. He reached over for the bottle of aftershave. At least it would ward off the chill of the rainy night and the tenderness of his gums. Each bitter swig of the liquid oozed into his brain, numbing it and him to the surroundings.
Just around two or three in the morning, the lightning and thunder started pretty heavy.
Wallace was too busy dreaming to notice. He kept seeing the sign that the sweaty man had
hung on the telephone pole. The words "Healing and Miracle Service" burned as bright as any neon sign he had ever seen. Then there was that sweet angelic voice...calling him..."Wallace....Wallace..."
Wallace heard the voice again only this time it was gruff and gravelly....it was as if.....
"Wallace, wallace, wake up man...you were talking in your sleep. You got anything left in that bottle?"
It was Fletch the mooch. Fletch never had any of his own drink, he would just find someone who had and would mooch of them.
"Aw Fletch!" Wallace said with disgust. "I was having a dream and you mussed it up!"
" I mussed it up? Sounded more like I saved you! You was talking crazy in your sleep! Saying stuff like, 'miracle healing'. Man ...you oughta be glad I came along when I did! Pass me that bottle...you don't need this anymore...you've had enough!"
Wallace looked at Fletch...then at the bottle. He knew that Fletch was right. He had had enough. Enough with the drinking...enough with sleeping under an overpass...enough with...
The coughing started again. Only this time it hurt. It hurt bad.
"Wallace...you don't sound so good. Maybe you should see a Doc or sumpin."
"No...no..." Wallace choked out. "Just give me a minute...I'll be fine. Fine as Kind."
Fletch looked at Wallace. He was sweaty, yellow and pasty looking. He had the smell about him. Fletch recognized the smell. Shorty Bigsby had it just before he passed on. It was that death smell. Like the insides had died and they was leaking out.
"Wallace...you beginning to get that same stink on ya that Shorty had. You fixin to die...so pass me that bottle and lets drink a toast to remember Shorty by. Heh? waddaya say Wallace? Wallace? Hey...you hear me?"
Wallace's eyes were glazed over. He was staring at something but Fletch couldn't see it. It was the most beautiful thing Wallace had ever seen. It was a man, a beautifully handsome man who shined with the purest white light. He was mouthing something but Wallace couldn't make it out. He held up a sign...it said 'Miracle Healing Service'.
"Fletch, you see him? There, the guy in the light with the sign...He's..."
Wallaces voice trailed off..the man had vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. He looked around...but he was nowhere to be seen.
"You're scarin me Wallace. You're beginning to act just like Shorty did before he kicked off."
Fletch kept eyeing the bottle of Green Lizard that lay over by Wallace. " You want I should take that off your hands Wallace so you don't drink no more and see stuff that isn't there?"
Wallace knew better than to believe the mock concern Fletch was showing. He knew all he was wanting the bottle of After Shave and the cheap buzz it gave you. He looked down to the bottle and back at Fletch. He blinked, shook his head and then stared back in disbelief. It was the man in the light again. He was pointing to the sign that said 'Miracle Healing Service'. Wallace picked up the bottle and threw it over to Fletch.
(There is more....who wants to know? Let me know....)
D
Wallace could get some smokes, a sandwich and a bottle of Green Lizard Aftershave. It was the worst smelling after shave he had ever smelled, but it had enough alcohol in it to chase off a cold rainy night. He might even have some money left over for breakfast. Sometimes Muzzy wuld sell him 1 or 2 single cigarettes. Besides, Wallace only need the cigarettes as a chaser for the fowl tasting after shave.
He parked his cart outside the store and went in to do his business. As he left the store, some kids were going through his cart.
"He git yer filthy paws off my stuff or I'll..."
" Or you'll what?", the biggest kid asked. He wasn't a kid...he was 17 or 18 years old but he looked 30. Street has a way of doin that to a person. Whne you don't have and you want, you take. Its take or be taken. There were two types of people out here, predators and victims. What you were, depended on just how badly you wanted. The guys with him circled Wallace.
"Whats it gonna be old man? You want some of this? HuH? Here it is..."
"Before Wallace could utter a sound, Muzzy burst out of the door with a Louisville Slugger in one hand and a phone in the other.
"You kids lookin for some trouble? I got your trouble right here!"
The kids scattered like roaches in the kitchen when the lights turned on, but not before they
turned Wallace's cart over.
"Wallace...you better get your stuff together and git out of here. i don't want no trouble around here...you get my drift?"
" Muzzy was right ...if Wallace hung around too long, those kids would be back and he knew enough to know that he wanted no part of that. He gathered up his belongings and thanked
Muzzy. Muzzy grunted at him and went back inside the store.
The clouds started rolling in shortly after that. A light mist fell and Wallace knew he better head to the overpass. He had holed up there for longer than he could remember. Most times it was okay. The concrete blocked the wind and there was a nice level spot right up in the corner, just big enough for Wallace to curl up and sleep. His routine wa always the same. First he would make sure that no one or no 'thing' had crawled up in his space. Then he would empty the cart, carry his treasures up to his shelter, and then turn the cart on its side in the tall grass
next to the overpass so that no one could see it.
It was dark by the time Wallace made it to his shelter. The rain was starting to come down now. He stowed his cart and made his way up the slope of concrete. Settling in, he pulled out the sandwich he had purchased at Muzzy's. As always, he wiped his hands on his shirt and then proceeded to tear the sandwich up into little pieces that would be easy on his gums. All but three of his teeth had rotted away or had fallen out. This way, he could eat. His gums were tender and even soft bread hurt. He choked the sandwich down as best he could, coughing in between bites. He reached over for the bottle of aftershave. At least it would ward off the chill of the rainy night and the tenderness of his gums. Each bitter swig of the liquid oozed into his brain, numbing it and him to the surroundings.
Just around two or three in the morning, the lightning and thunder started pretty heavy.
Wallace was too busy dreaming to notice. He kept seeing the sign that the sweaty man had
hung on the telephone pole. The words "Healing and Miracle Service" burned as bright as any neon sign he had ever seen. Then there was that sweet angelic voice...calling him..."Wallace....Wallace..."
Wallace heard the voice again only this time it was gruff and gravelly....it was as if.....
"Wallace, wallace, wake up man...you were talking in your sleep. You got anything left in that bottle?"
It was Fletch the mooch. Fletch never had any of his own drink, he would just find someone who had and would mooch of them.
"Aw Fletch!" Wallace said with disgust. "I was having a dream and you mussed it up!"
" I mussed it up? Sounded more like I saved you! You was talking crazy in your sleep! Saying stuff like, 'miracle healing'. Man ...you oughta be glad I came along when I did! Pass me that bottle...you don't need this anymore...you've had enough!"
Wallace looked at Fletch...then at the bottle. He knew that Fletch was right. He had had enough. Enough with the drinking...enough with sleeping under an overpass...enough with...
The coughing started again. Only this time it hurt. It hurt bad.
"Wallace...you don't sound so good. Maybe you should see a Doc or sumpin."
"No...no..." Wallace choked out. "Just give me a minute...I'll be fine. Fine as Kind."
Fletch looked at Wallace. He was sweaty, yellow and pasty looking. He had the smell about him. Fletch recognized the smell. Shorty Bigsby had it just before he passed on. It was that death smell. Like the insides had died and they was leaking out.
"Wallace...you beginning to get that same stink on ya that Shorty had. You fixin to die...so pass me that bottle and lets drink a toast to remember Shorty by. Heh? waddaya say Wallace? Wallace? Hey...you hear me?"
Wallace's eyes were glazed over. He was staring at something but Fletch couldn't see it. It was the most beautiful thing Wallace had ever seen. It was a man, a beautifully handsome man who shined with the purest white light. He was mouthing something but Wallace couldn't make it out. He held up a sign...it said 'Miracle Healing Service'.
"Fletch, you see him? There, the guy in the light with the sign...He's..."
Wallaces voice trailed off..the man had vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. He looked around...but he was nowhere to be seen.
"You're scarin me Wallace. You're beginning to act just like Shorty did before he kicked off."
Fletch kept eyeing the bottle of Green Lizard that lay over by Wallace. " You want I should take that off your hands Wallace so you don't drink no more and see stuff that isn't there?"
Wallace knew better than to believe the mock concern Fletch was showing. He knew all he was wanting the bottle of After Shave and the cheap buzz it gave you. He looked down to the bottle and back at Fletch. He blinked, shook his head and then stared back in disbelief. It was the man in the light again. He was pointing to the sign that said 'Miracle Healing Service'. Wallace picked up the bottle and threw it over to Fletch.
(There is more....who wants to know? Let me know....)
D
Monday, October 13, 2008
A Two Dollar Suit Part 2 -Dave Rose
The center was about to close by the time Wallace arrived. Tom was waiting for him with a big smile. Tom had a warm spot in his heart for Wallace. He didn't know why. Just a shell. A dirty,
smelly, whiskey soaked shell of a man...but there was something about Wallace that touched Tom. He always added a little extra change to Wallace's earnings. Earnings, that was it! Wallace scoured the streets of this town, picking up trash, junk and stuff as if it were his job. In fact...if he didn't, this town would sure be a mess. Tom figured that in the last fifteen years, Wallace had single handedly kept the streets of this little burg clean enough that it was no wonder that it had won several awards for being so environmentally correct. Whatever that meant.
"Wallace, how are you buddy?" Tom called out to the old man gasping up the slope of the parking lot with his cart. He looked bad. Worse than Tom had seen him. "Whatcha got for me
today Wallace?"
Wallace looked up at the friendly face that called him buddy. Tom was a good man with a good heart. Wallace had nothing but respect and admiration for the man who had come to call him friend over the years. Wallace was wearing a coat that Tom had given him six winters ago.
It was new then. It had kept Wallace warm on those cold winter nights under the overpass on the hightway, or when the rain drenched him unrelentingly.
"I got a few cans, not much today." Wallace managed to gasp out.
"Wallace, I do believe that you have once again surpassed the ability of this community to generate enough litter and trash to do you any good, but lets see what you have and we'll see what we can do today." Tom smiled as he grabbed the thin garbage bag from Wallace's cart.
The bag was the same one that Wallace had used for several years. He never threw anything away. Everything had a use or reuse. Tom remembered when he had wadded up the bag as if to throw it away. Wallace got upset with him and made it very plain that the bag was not some piece of trash to be tossed aside, useless and empty, but that it was a possession that had a purpose that had a purpose and it was his property. Tom remembers apologizing and offering to give him a new one. Wallace said ..." I have one...I don't want another one...it wouldn't be the same. This one knows me...knows how to work with me..why its almost broke in...its almost part of me. Now gimme back my bag!"
The scale showed 1 pound of cans...not much. That came out to about 43 cents. Wallace hung his head in recognition of the fact of disappointment. "43 cents...can't do much with that" he thought to himself.
Tom saw the look on Wallace's face. He had come to know Wallace's ways and knew that despite the fact that no one would give him the time of day...that he still was a man of pride and wouldn't accept charity. he had to convince Wallace to take that old coat six years ago. Told him
it would be a personal favor if Wallace would take it off his hands, since he lost the receipt and couldn't take it back. Wallace only accepted it on the condition that he could work it off...do something for it. Tom let him sweep the office.
"Wallace," Tom said,"someone left this old shirt, shoes and socks in their bags of cans and my dumpsters full...could you toss em for me? Maybe you'll find a dumpster over by the grocery store that has room. I just hate to clutter up the place. Could you do that for me buddy?"
Wallace knew what Tom was doing. After 15 years, he knew Tom pretty well too. Nobody left the shirt, shoes and socks there...Tom either cleaned out his closet or bought them at the Goodwill store. It really didn't matter. What mattered was that Tom was showing him respect by not just giving them to him. Honoring his sense of dignity.
"Well sir, I guess i can do that for ya...but tell me...is 43 cents fair market value these days? I know this ain't a lot of aluminum butg a hard working fellers got to eat..know what I mean?"
Tom smiled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a large wad of bills. he pealed off $5.00 and handed it to Wallace.
"Here..." Tom said, "Consider this labor and delivery fo dumpin my trash for me."
Again, with respect, Tom had seen through Wallace's pride and met his need. No questions, no 'don't spend it on drinkin' lectures...just respectfully treating him like an equal.
"Wallace, you be careful, its supposed to rain tonight...you want to..uh..you need a place to stay?"
"No thank you...I got a place. I'll be fine. god Bless ya for askin tho'! God Bless ya for askin! I better be on my way...I got stuff..you know..." his voice trailed off and another coughing fit started to seize his lungs. He pushed his cart off the lot of the recycling center and headed towards Muzzy's.
smelly, whiskey soaked shell of a man...but there was something about Wallace that touched Tom. He always added a little extra change to Wallace's earnings. Earnings, that was it! Wallace scoured the streets of this town, picking up trash, junk and stuff as if it were his job. In fact...if he didn't, this town would sure be a mess. Tom figured that in the last fifteen years, Wallace had single handedly kept the streets of this little burg clean enough that it was no wonder that it had won several awards for being so environmentally correct. Whatever that meant.
"Wallace, how are you buddy?" Tom called out to the old man gasping up the slope of the parking lot with his cart. He looked bad. Worse than Tom had seen him. "Whatcha got for me
today Wallace?"
Wallace looked up at the friendly face that called him buddy. Tom was a good man with a good heart. Wallace had nothing but respect and admiration for the man who had come to call him friend over the years. Wallace was wearing a coat that Tom had given him six winters ago.
It was new then. It had kept Wallace warm on those cold winter nights under the overpass on the hightway, or when the rain drenched him unrelentingly.
"I got a few cans, not much today." Wallace managed to gasp out.
"Wallace, I do believe that you have once again surpassed the ability of this community to generate enough litter and trash to do you any good, but lets see what you have and we'll see what we can do today." Tom smiled as he grabbed the thin garbage bag from Wallace's cart.
The bag was the same one that Wallace had used for several years. He never threw anything away. Everything had a use or reuse. Tom remembered when he had wadded up the bag as if to throw it away. Wallace got upset with him and made it very plain that the bag was not some piece of trash to be tossed aside, useless and empty, but that it was a possession that had a purpose that had a purpose and it was his property. Tom remembers apologizing and offering to give him a new one. Wallace said ..." I have one...I don't want another one...it wouldn't be the same. This one knows me...knows how to work with me..why its almost broke in...its almost part of me. Now gimme back my bag!"
The scale showed 1 pound of cans...not much. That came out to about 43 cents. Wallace hung his head in recognition of the fact of disappointment. "43 cents...can't do much with that" he thought to himself.
Tom saw the look on Wallace's face. He had come to know Wallace's ways and knew that despite the fact that no one would give him the time of day...that he still was a man of pride and wouldn't accept charity. he had to convince Wallace to take that old coat six years ago. Told him
it would be a personal favor if Wallace would take it off his hands, since he lost the receipt and couldn't take it back. Wallace only accepted it on the condition that he could work it off...do something for it. Tom let him sweep the office.
"Wallace," Tom said,"someone left this old shirt, shoes and socks in their bags of cans and my dumpsters full...could you toss em for me? Maybe you'll find a dumpster over by the grocery store that has room. I just hate to clutter up the place. Could you do that for me buddy?"
Wallace knew what Tom was doing. After 15 years, he knew Tom pretty well too. Nobody left the shirt, shoes and socks there...Tom either cleaned out his closet or bought them at the Goodwill store. It really didn't matter. What mattered was that Tom was showing him respect by not just giving them to him. Honoring his sense of dignity.
"Well sir, I guess i can do that for ya...but tell me...is 43 cents fair market value these days? I know this ain't a lot of aluminum butg a hard working fellers got to eat..know what I mean?"
Tom smiled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a large wad of bills. he pealed off $5.00 and handed it to Wallace.
"Here..." Tom said, "Consider this labor and delivery fo dumpin my trash for me."
Again, with respect, Tom had seen through Wallace's pride and met his need. No questions, no 'don't spend it on drinkin' lectures...just respectfully treating him like an equal.
"Wallace, you be careful, its supposed to rain tonight...you want to..uh..you need a place to stay?"
"No thank you...I got a place. I'll be fine. god Bless ya for askin tho'! God Bless ya for askin! I better be on my way...I got stuff..you know..." his voice trailed off and another coughing fit started to seize his lungs. He pushed his cart off the lot of the recycling center and headed towards Muzzy's.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
"Mom, What did God create me to be?" - Lesa Melchor
The phone rang this evening and my precious college bound freshman was on the phone in a panic that could only mean one of two things. He either has a paper due in the morning and thinks he'll sweet talk me into feeling needed enough to bail him out of his jam, or he is desperate for pizza money!
"Mom, I have a paper due and I've wracked my brains for several hours trying to come up with the answer to my professor's question - can you help me?" God bless the aged, for our eyesight might be fading, but our high beams are sharp and in tact! "What's the topic son, maybe I can ask you some good thought provoking questions to get you started." "Mom, what did God create me to be?" I know I am here to get a degree in Mechanical/Aerospace Engineering but I don't have a clear vision of what He created me to be. Immediately, in my mind's eye, I saw a picture of a cake adorned with a plethora of sugary delectable toppings.
"Son, sit back and let me tell you a short story that might help narrow your focus enough to find the answers you are looking for. This week as I was having a conversation with a man at my new church, I was expressing my lack of clarity and vision from God about what He created me to be. I went on and on about the talents I knew I had, the abilities that God had given me and the time I had spent utilizing those. That conversation has been rolling around in my head all week long and has even spilled over into my prayer time with God. I, like you, couldn't really put my finger on an answer solid enough to satiate my curiosity."
"Son, In life, we often times run around trying to find fulfillment in what we do - what we accomplish, what we are good at. That works for awhile until what used to work doesn't create those same good feelings any longer - they become impotent attempts at filling a hole we can't quite seem to define. We then redouble our efforts and strive harder, pray longer, give more, desperately searching for those gifts and talents we are promised that we believe will make us feel 'whole'. Heaven watches and waits until we tire ourselves of placing toppings on our cake in hopes to taste something sweet and delicious. We come up empty. Maybe we are asking the wrong questions? Maybe we are believing the wrong answers?"
"Son, my answer might sound simple to you, but it cost Him so much. God created you to be..............His son!"
"His whole purpose in reconciliation is to be your father, your friend, the one you walk and talk with each day. The God of the universe wants to know you - and be known by you. I believe that the relationship you have with him is like a cake. Enjoyable to make, moist with flavor, tested my heat, soft with texture and pleasing to taste, It's the foundation with which the toppings sit. And, after a time with just you and Him - the toppings become an outflow that will show the world who He is. "The God of the universe created you to be is son.......start there."
"Mom, that's good - you need to write that."
"Joshua, I just did."
Goodnight!
Love, Mom
"Mom, I have a paper due and I've wracked my brains for several hours trying to come up with the answer to my professor's question - can you help me?" God bless the aged, for our eyesight might be fading, but our high beams are sharp and in tact! "What's the topic son, maybe I can ask you some good thought provoking questions to get you started." "Mom, what did God create me to be?" I know I am here to get a degree in Mechanical/Aerospace Engineering but I don't have a clear vision of what He created me to be. Immediately, in my mind's eye, I saw a picture of a cake adorned with a plethora of sugary delectable toppings.
"Son, sit back and let me tell you a short story that might help narrow your focus enough to find the answers you are looking for. This week as I was having a conversation with a man at my new church, I was expressing my lack of clarity and vision from God about what He created me to be. I went on and on about the talents I knew I had, the abilities that God had given me and the time I had spent utilizing those. That conversation has been rolling around in my head all week long and has even spilled over into my prayer time with God. I, like you, couldn't really put my finger on an answer solid enough to satiate my curiosity."
"Son, In life, we often times run around trying to find fulfillment in what we do - what we accomplish, what we are good at. That works for awhile until what used to work doesn't create those same good feelings any longer - they become impotent attempts at filling a hole we can't quite seem to define. We then redouble our efforts and strive harder, pray longer, give more, desperately searching for those gifts and talents we are promised that we believe will make us feel 'whole'. Heaven watches and waits until we tire ourselves of placing toppings on our cake in hopes to taste something sweet and delicious. We come up empty. Maybe we are asking the wrong questions? Maybe we are believing the wrong answers?"
"Son, my answer might sound simple to you, but it cost Him so much. God created you to be..............His son!"
"His whole purpose in reconciliation is to be your father, your friend, the one you walk and talk with each day. The God of the universe wants to know you - and be known by you. I believe that the relationship you have with him is like a cake. Enjoyable to make, moist with flavor, tested my heat, soft with texture and pleasing to taste, It's the foundation with which the toppings sit. And, after a time with just you and Him - the toppings become an outflow that will show the world who He is. "The God of the universe created you to be is son.......start there."
"Mom, that's good - you need to write that."
"Joshua, I just did."
Goodnight!
Love, Mom
A Two Dollar Suit-Part One-Dave Rose
"Trans-for-ma"
Wallace Robert Grimmel struggled with the word.
"Trans-transfor-"
"It says Transformation Revival." The man hanging the signs said gruffly.
"My God man...look at yourself! Now get out of here. This isn't for the likes
of you!"
Wallace Grimmel looked at the man with the signs and the disgruntled look on his face. he
puzzled...he'd never seen anyonesweat so much from such little activity in all his days. He
shrugged his shoulders and turned to his shopping cart.
"Just you wait right here Mr. I got something for ya...something I know you need!" The
shopping cart was piled high with garbage bags full of treasures that Wallace collected on his
daily treks around the city. A perfectly good tennis shoe, a magazine with Britney Spears on
the cover...even an old cell phone that someone had either lost or thrown out. It didn't work
but it didn't matter to Wallace, he had a cell phone...that made him somebody.
"There it is! I knowed I had one somewhere!"
Wallace turned back to the sweaty man with the signs. In his dirt caked hand was a
filthy rag of a handkerchief that he had found rummaging for aluminum cans. It even had his
initials on it "WRG". Wasn't his though...he found it...a ladies handkerchief. It was one
of his prized possessions. Sometimes at night he would take it out, look at it, and try to
imagine what the previous owner looked like and how she had used it.
The sweaty man, disgusted with the fact that Wallace was even daring to share the same
space with him got indignant. "What am I supposed to do with that rag? Wash my car?"
The sweaty man turned back to his sign hanging duties, ignoring Wallace completely.
Wallace tried again to offer the handkerchief to the stranger.
"Its to wipe the sweat off your face. You can use it on your arms too! You're drippin
on your signs. Them costs a lot of money I bet...would hate to see them get ruined before they
all got hung up!"
The sweaty man snapped around and cut his eyes at Wallace.
"Do you think for one minute that I am gonna let that filthy rag touch my face? You are
not only dirty, smelly,and poorly dressed...you are crazy!" and with that, the sweaty man
turned, took up his posters and waddled down the block. Wallace watched him throw the
signs in the trunk of his car, walk around to the door, and fumbling with the keys in his
sweaty hands, get in the car, turn the key and grinding the gears...speed off. He shrugged
as the man ran the stop sign, narrowly missing the police car that was pulling out of the
Freezee treet. The policeman didn't look too happy as he turned on his lights and siren ,
wiped milkshake off his shirt, curse the driver, and pull out in hot pursuit of the sweaty sign
hanging man. Wallace chuckled to himself then turned his attention back to the sweat stained
sign that hung crookedly on the telephone pole.
Transformation Crusade This Week Only!
Second Avenue Assembly every night 7pm
Something on the sign caught Wallace's eye.
Healing and Miracle Service Wednesday 7pm
Wallace crinkled up his nose, fighting back a sneeze. He managed to stifle it only to
begin another coughing fit. He had been doing this for about 3 or 4 weeks. He took the
old handkerchief and held it to his mouth as another spasmodic cough began. He wiped
the blood from his mouth and stuffed the handkerchief down in his pocket. The coughing
was getting worse. Sometimes he couldn't catch his breath during those prolonged spells.
The bleeding had gotten more frequent...he rolled his eyes back to the sign and locked in
on what had caught his eye earlier...'Healing and Miracle Service.'
As he turned and pushed his cart down the block, he thought hard. Healing and Miracle
Service. Those words pierced through the alcoholic haze that he seemed to walk in
continually. Something about those words, healing and miracle. He sure could use one right
now.
As he walked , his eyes scanned the area in front of him. To some people passing by, it
would seem as if the weight and shame of the world kept him from looking up and forward
but that wasn't the case. Wallace had learned to survive these streets by finding things. Things
that people had either dropped accidently or purposefully discarded. Bottles, aluminum cans,
treasures that meant another drink, or another meal or both, depending on how lucky he was
or how careless people were with their belongings. Wallace spotted an empty can across the
street.
"The eyes of an eagle Wallace!" he said to himself as he dodged cars and angry drivers
as he wheeled his cart across the street towards his prize. The drivers seemed to speed up
deliberately sometimes. He didn't mind though. He always tipped his ball cap, bowing his
matted gray haed and waving them by. So much anger...so much stress he would think
to himself.
Wallace bent down to pick up the can when another coughing spell came on him. He
wheezed, gasped and choked as he slumped over on his cart. His head grew light and things
began to spin. He closed his eyes, reached in his pocket for the handkerchief. As dirty as
the handkerchief was, it was a comfort to him. A symbol of dignity as he covered his mouth
and caught the bloody greenish sputum that ripped its way out of his lungs and exploded
out of his mouth. Wallace shook off the dizziness. he had exactly 20 minutes to get over to
the recycling center and turn in his haul of the day. They all knew him over there. They were
amongst the few folks in this town that even acknowledged that he existed. He had been
coming to the cneter everyday it was opened for the past 15 years to trade in what few cans he
could find. He always smiled and made polite respectful conversation with Tom, the guy who
ran the place. Tom always tipped the scales in Wallaces favor when the haul was light...always
making sure Wallace walked away with enough to get some food for the night.
As Wallace stood up to head to the recycling center, he caught his reflection in the window
of the building he was next to. Staring back at him was a shell. His thin guant face, covered in
an interesting pattern of dirt and whiskers, stared back at him. Wallace had not looked at
himselffor, well, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen his face. Suffice it to say
that the man staring back at him was not what he remembered looking like. The eyes were
hollow, empty and glazed. He ran his hand across his face, the stubble of whiskers dirt and
time felt rough against his fingers. His fingers ...he looked down at his hands...they were
shaking, trembling. Wallace looked at the reflection again. The torn overcoat, the oversize
pants with holes in the knees, the misbuttoned shirt...it was hard for him to comprehend
for a moment that this was him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened
them again, the man was still there, staring back at him in the same disbelief. He wondered
how he could have gotten this bad, but the years of drinking had eroded his memory to the
point that he was doing good to remember to eat everyday. As long as he was drinking, he
seemed to survive.
(end of part one....part two will follow depending on whether anyone is interested or not. comments are welcome as always...Dave)
Wallace Robert Grimmel struggled with the word.
"Trans-transfor-"
"It says Transformation Revival." The man hanging the signs said gruffly.
"My God man...look at yourself! Now get out of here. This isn't for the likes
of you!"
Wallace Grimmel looked at the man with the signs and the disgruntled look on his face. he
puzzled...he'd never seen anyonesweat so much from such little activity in all his days. He
shrugged his shoulders and turned to his shopping cart.
"Just you wait right here Mr. I got something for ya...something I know you need!" The
shopping cart was piled high with garbage bags full of treasures that Wallace collected on his
daily treks around the city. A perfectly good tennis shoe, a magazine with Britney Spears on
the cover...even an old cell phone that someone had either lost or thrown out. It didn't work
but it didn't matter to Wallace, he had a cell phone...that made him somebody.
"There it is! I knowed I had one somewhere!"
Wallace turned back to the sweaty man with the signs. In his dirt caked hand was a
filthy rag of a handkerchief that he had found rummaging for aluminum cans. It even had his
initials on it "WRG". Wasn't his though...he found it...a ladies handkerchief. It was one
of his prized possessions. Sometimes at night he would take it out, look at it, and try to
imagine what the previous owner looked like and how she had used it.
The sweaty man, disgusted with the fact that Wallace was even daring to share the same
space with him got indignant. "What am I supposed to do with that rag? Wash my car?"
The sweaty man turned back to his sign hanging duties, ignoring Wallace completely.
Wallace tried again to offer the handkerchief to the stranger.
"Its to wipe the sweat off your face. You can use it on your arms too! You're drippin
on your signs. Them costs a lot of money I bet...would hate to see them get ruined before they
all got hung up!"
The sweaty man snapped around and cut his eyes at Wallace.
"Do you think for one minute that I am gonna let that filthy rag touch my face? You are
not only dirty, smelly,and poorly dressed...you are crazy!" and with that, the sweaty man
turned, took up his posters and waddled down the block. Wallace watched him throw the
signs in the trunk of his car, walk around to the door, and fumbling with the keys in his
sweaty hands, get in the car, turn the key and grinding the gears...speed off. He shrugged
as the man ran the stop sign, narrowly missing the police car that was pulling out of the
Freezee treet. The policeman didn't look too happy as he turned on his lights and siren ,
wiped milkshake off his shirt, curse the driver, and pull out in hot pursuit of the sweaty sign
hanging man. Wallace chuckled to himself then turned his attention back to the sweat stained
sign that hung crookedly on the telephone pole.
Transformation Crusade This Week Only!
Second Avenue Assembly every night 7pm
Something on the sign caught Wallace's eye.
Healing and Miracle Service Wednesday 7pm
Wallace crinkled up his nose, fighting back a sneeze. He managed to stifle it only to
begin another coughing fit. He had been doing this for about 3 or 4 weeks. He took the
old handkerchief and held it to his mouth as another spasmodic cough began. He wiped
the blood from his mouth and stuffed the handkerchief down in his pocket. The coughing
was getting worse. Sometimes he couldn't catch his breath during those prolonged spells.
The bleeding had gotten more frequent...he rolled his eyes back to the sign and locked in
on what had caught his eye earlier...'Healing and Miracle Service.'
As he turned and pushed his cart down the block, he thought hard. Healing and Miracle
Service. Those words pierced through the alcoholic haze that he seemed to walk in
continually. Something about those words, healing and miracle. He sure could use one right
now.
As he walked , his eyes scanned the area in front of him. To some people passing by, it
would seem as if the weight and shame of the world kept him from looking up and forward
but that wasn't the case. Wallace had learned to survive these streets by finding things. Things
that people had either dropped accidently or purposefully discarded. Bottles, aluminum cans,
treasures that meant another drink, or another meal or both, depending on how lucky he was
or how careless people were with their belongings. Wallace spotted an empty can across the
street.
"The eyes of an eagle Wallace!" he said to himself as he dodged cars and angry drivers
as he wheeled his cart across the street towards his prize. The drivers seemed to speed up
deliberately sometimes. He didn't mind though. He always tipped his ball cap, bowing his
matted gray haed and waving them by. So much anger...so much stress he would think
to himself.
Wallace bent down to pick up the can when another coughing spell came on him. He
wheezed, gasped and choked as he slumped over on his cart. His head grew light and things
began to spin. He closed his eyes, reached in his pocket for the handkerchief. As dirty as
the handkerchief was, it was a comfort to him. A symbol of dignity as he covered his mouth
and caught the bloody greenish sputum that ripped its way out of his lungs and exploded
out of his mouth. Wallace shook off the dizziness. he had exactly 20 minutes to get over to
the recycling center and turn in his haul of the day. They all knew him over there. They were
amongst the few folks in this town that even acknowledged that he existed. He had been
coming to the cneter everyday it was opened for the past 15 years to trade in what few cans he
could find. He always smiled and made polite respectful conversation with Tom, the guy who
ran the place. Tom always tipped the scales in Wallaces favor when the haul was light...always
making sure Wallace walked away with enough to get some food for the night.
As Wallace stood up to head to the recycling center, he caught his reflection in the window
of the building he was next to. Staring back at him was a shell. His thin guant face, covered in
an interesting pattern of dirt and whiskers, stared back at him. Wallace had not looked at
himselffor, well, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen his face. Suffice it to say
that the man staring back at him was not what he remembered looking like. The eyes were
hollow, empty and glazed. He ran his hand across his face, the stubble of whiskers dirt and
time felt rough against his fingers. His fingers ...he looked down at his hands...they were
shaking, trembling. Wallace looked at the reflection again. The torn overcoat, the oversize
pants with holes in the knees, the misbuttoned shirt...it was hard for him to comprehend
for a moment that this was him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened
them again, the man was still there, staring back at him in the same disbelief. He wondered
how he could have gotten this bad, but the years of drinking had eroded his memory to the
point that he was doing good to remember to eat everyday. As long as he was drinking, he
seemed to survive.
(end of part one....part two will follow depending on whether anyone is interested or not. comments are welcome as always...Dave)
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
scars (c)2008 brokendancer music/ASCAP
SCARS
David Rose
This is where somebodys words
Broke my confidence
And this is where I walked away
From a second chance
and this is where I broke the heart of
someone who believed in me
oh that’s gonna leave a mark
that everyone will see
These are my scars,
I have survived
They let me know I am alive
They remind me of the price
That was paid
By a love so pure that I’m not ashamed
This is who I am
These are my scars
Why should I be afraid
To let somebody see
the person that I’ve become
from who I used to be
yeah I know I made a mess of things
but I didn’t walk away
toe to toe like a champion
I’m standin here today
I met a man who wore the scars
Of eternity
I asked him where they came from
He said they came from me
And then he said
These are my scars
I wear them with pride
To let you know that I am alive
To remind you of the price
That was paid
My love is so pure I’m not ashamed
This is who I am
This is who I am
This is who I am
And these are my scars
David Rose
This is where somebodys words
Broke my confidence
And this is where I walked away
From a second chance
and this is where I broke the heart of
someone who believed in me
oh that’s gonna leave a mark
that everyone will see
These are my scars,
I have survived
They let me know I am alive
They remind me of the price
That was paid
By a love so pure that I’m not ashamed
This is who I am
These are my scars
Why should I be afraid
To let somebody see
the person that I’ve become
from who I used to be
yeah I know I made a mess of things
but I didn’t walk away
toe to toe like a champion
I’m standin here today
I met a man who wore the scars
Of eternity
I asked him where they came from
He said they came from me
And then he said
These are my scars
I wear them with pride
To let you know that I am alive
To remind you of the price
That was paid
My love is so pure I’m not ashamed
This is who I am
This is who I am
This is who I am
And these are my scars
Monday, October 6, 2008
His Love Broke Through - Lesa Melchor
My journey to find the taste of love has taken me down many roads paved with twists and turns that lead through valleys of despair, hopelessness and complete brokenness. That runaway roller coaster has sent me careening through seasons filled with darkness, broken dreams and shattered hopes that left me standing fists held high shaking towards the heavenly one that once held my very smile. Where had He gone? Why didn't He help me? Who is this God who sits on the sidelines watching while heaven and earth raged against me and those I loved; I was left helpless to flail through circumstances too intense to explain and too numerous to count. Waking up repeatedly to unanswered prayers that dripped like hot wax on an already scalded heart to find that life was still moving forward like a slow motion dream - still calling me forward - still calling me - still calling. Those were the days of bitter disappointment in the one I had put my trust - the one I had once loved with all my heart. I had no answers; I had no strength. Heaven waited - waited still - silent. Like the cry of a hare caught in the noose of its captor, so my imprisoned heart screamed with pain and sadness. Silently I began to die; all hope was lost. The love I had sought in various forms had proven a counterfeit, a lie that painted a glorious return on an overburdened investment. I was deceived; I had believe a lie and didn't know it. He did.
I had learned at an early age that it was quite possible to earn love through a plethora of distasteful ways. I looked closely and saw a beautiful picture being painted before me that enticed my heart and promised all the love I could contain! The long hard road through academia pushed me forward because I erroneously felt that the smarter I was, the more I would be appreciated. The diets and beauty regimes were the result of the notion that If I looked a certain way that I would enjoy the fleshly approval from those I sought it's reward. I jumped through so many hoops in the hopes to attain the love my heart so desperately craved, that I woke up lost in the maze of a game that began to play me. The more I came up empty, the more I shook my fist at the one who I felt never let life work for me - and certainly never gave me a break. He was against me; I was sure of it. He hated me; I was convinced.
In the years of god's lovingly planned very long season of brokenness, I finally emerged with a heart tender enough to hear His love. While ultimately wanting to protect me from heartache and pain, God, in His wisdom, allowed me to make choices that ultimately brought me to the end of myself. The lessons learned in those days were only evident to me as the light of truth shone brightly in those dark corners of deceptive thinking that held me an isolated prisoner of my own making. God took the light of His love and truth and exposed the deception, the lie-based belief system on which I had built my life. He never set me free from this way of life until he taught me the truth. My heavenly father began binding up my broken, misguided and deceived heart by penning a love story akin to those of my wildest dreams. He ran after me, He sought me, He pursued me with a hurricane force of passion. Thank God He never let me find happiness and solace in a life filled with lies. Thank God He quietly sat and waited and even wept as He watched me drive down every wrong road before finally realizing that He was what my heart yearned for all along.
I find myself enthralled by the beauty of His sensitivity, the sweetness of His presence, the charm of His humor, and the strength of His protective resolve. I am madly in love with His distinctly personal touches that pepper my life with surprises and mystery. I am awed by His wisdom, and humbled by His grace. As I reflect back to those wrestling days of years gone by compared to the changes that love brought, I am reminded of this simple truth. All heart strings that are touched with love must sound!
Lord, love of my life - let my life be a song, a trophy of your grace
Lesa
I had learned at an early age that it was quite possible to earn love through a plethora of distasteful ways. I looked closely and saw a beautiful picture being painted before me that enticed my heart and promised all the love I could contain! The long hard road through academia pushed me forward because I erroneously felt that the smarter I was, the more I would be appreciated. The diets and beauty regimes were the result of the notion that If I looked a certain way that I would enjoy the fleshly approval from those I sought it's reward. I jumped through so many hoops in the hopes to attain the love my heart so desperately craved, that I woke up lost in the maze of a game that began to play me. The more I came up empty, the more I shook my fist at the one who I felt never let life work for me - and certainly never gave me a break. He was against me; I was sure of it. He hated me; I was convinced.
In the years of god's lovingly planned very long season of brokenness, I finally emerged with a heart tender enough to hear His love. While ultimately wanting to protect me from heartache and pain, God, in His wisdom, allowed me to make choices that ultimately brought me to the end of myself. The lessons learned in those days were only evident to me as the light of truth shone brightly in those dark corners of deceptive thinking that held me an isolated prisoner of my own making. God took the light of His love and truth and exposed the deception, the lie-based belief system on which I had built my life. He never set me free from this way of life until he taught me the truth. My heavenly father began binding up my broken, misguided and deceived heart by penning a love story akin to those of my wildest dreams. He ran after me, He sought me, He pursued me with a hurricane force of passion. Thank God He never let me find happiness and solace in a life filled with lies. Thank God He quietly sat and waited and even wept as He watched me drive down every wrong road before finally realizing that He was what my heart yearned for all along.
I find myself enthralled by the beauty of His sensitivity, the sweetness of His presence, the charm of His humor, and the strength of His protective resolve. I am madly in love with His distinctly personal touches that pepper my life with surprises and mystery. I am awed by His wisdom, and humbled by His grace. As I reflect back to those wrestling days of years gone by compared to the changes that love brought, I am reminded of this simple truth. All heart strings that are touched with love must sound!
Lord, love of my life - let my life be a song, a trophy of your grace
Lesa
Light~ Zak Kingrea
Arlo Guthrie once said,
“You can't have a light without a dark to stick it in.”
But what if it is in this darkness that we hide? We avoid the light and those who carry it because we are afraid of what their light will illuminate about us, and who we are. If someone were to take this light and shine it on you what would they see? Would they see a woman who is scared… afraid to let anyone in, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being loved. Or would they see a man consumed with pride, who shuffles the lies like a deck of cards using one to cover another, and another, another. One by one he stacks them, knowing that they will soon come tumbling down. Terrified to breathe, terrified to be revealed….
What is it about the light, the truth that we shy away from? Why is it that we would rather sit in the musty, damp, & cold darkness, then to step in the warmth of the light? Secretly we hope that somewhere in this darkness, our fears, our lies, our regrets will all be lost, and forgotten… not knowing that in this darkness we also lose our soul.
“You can't have a light without a dark to stick it in.”
But what if it is in this darkness that we hide? We avoid the light and those who carry it because we are afraid of what their light will illuminate about us, and who we are. If someone were to take this light and shine it on you what would they see? Would they see a woman who is scared… afraid to let anyone in, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being loved. Or would they see a man consumed with pride, who shuffles the lies like a deck of cards using one to cover another, and another, another. One by one he stacks them, knowing that they will soon come tumbling down. Terrified to breathe, terrified to be revealed….
What is it about the light, the truth that we shy away from? Why is it that we would rather sit in the musty, damp, & cold darkness, then to step in the warmth of the light? Secretly we hope that somewhere in this darkness, our fears, our lies, our regrets will all be lost, and forgotten… not knowing that in this darkness we also lose our soul.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Blood - Scott Phillips
blood
my blood covers your hate
my wounds heal the pain
my scars tear the flesh
and blood pours down
in healing streams
rushing to the source of screams
temples pulsing in a vice
skulls screeching aloud
my blood races down
between the cracks
through deserts and seas
my blood covers your hate
my wounds heal your disease
your mind wanders
through halls of insanity
is this only a dream?
no, this nightmare
does not end
until the streams rain down
from the blood perfection shed
and mercy flows
onto your head
salvation comes from the dead
my blood covers your guilt
my wounds are your shame
my blood forgives
you are saved by my name
my blood covers your hate
my wounds heal the pain
my scars tear the flesh
and blood pours down
in healing streams
rushing to the source of screams
temples pulsing in a vice
skulls screeching aloud
my blood races down
between the cracks
through deserts and seas
my blood covers your hate
my wounds heal your disease
your mind wanders
through halls of insanity
is this only a dream?
no, this nightmare
does not end
until the streams rain down
from the blood perfection shed
and mercy flows
onto your head
salvation comes from the dead
my blood covers your guilt
my wounds are your shame
my blood forgives
you are saved by my name
Hanging On - Scott Phillips
hanging on
to hear your voice, oh Lord
to hear you speak
to receive your touch
your anointing
your Word
planted in my heart
i need
a touch from you
i desire
all you have for me
i want
to be closer to you
i ache
to hear your voice
for your voice has been silent
my feelings of you have been numb
my heart has had a vacant lot
with your name on it
my soul feels estranged
widowed, teary-eyed, entangled in doubt
doubt coupled with the insecurity of a dandelion
depression and fear like clouds
faith is hanging by chipped fingernails
trudging up this mountain
trees of despair surround
and hide the sun
and a robin perches
her red breast in proud stature
overlooking
and still my eyes fill with tears
throat parched and needling for a drop
waiting for a shower; a rainfall
you are still
you are silent
the trees sway and the clouds move about
but you are still
the robin sings
and the mountain is yet to be climbed
and you are still
I hold on by my chipped fingernails
waiting for my cry to be heard
now a melancholy gesture
waiting for your move
thirsting for living water
longing for your voice
your touch, your anointing
hanging onto this mountain by faith
to hear your voice, oh Lord
to hear you speak
to receive your touch
your anointing
your Word
planted in my heart
i need
a touch from you
i desire
all you have for me
i want
to be closer to you
i ache
to hear your voice
for your voice has been silent
my feelings of you have been numb
my heart has had a vacant lot
with your name on it
my soul feels estranged
widowed, teary-eyed, entangled in doubt
doubt coupled with the insecurity of a dandelion
depression and fear like clouds
faith is hanging by chipped fingernails
trudging up this mountain
trees of despair surround
and hide the sun
and a robin perches
her red breast in proud stature
overlooking
and still my eyes fill with tears
throat parched and needling for a drop
waiting for a shower; a rainfall
you are still
you are silent
the trees sway and the clouds move about
but you are still
the robin sings
and the mountain is yet to be climbed
and you are still
I hold on by my chipped fingernails
waiting for my cry to be heard
now a melancholy gesture
waiting for your move
thirsting for living water
longing for your voice
your touch, your anointing
hanging onto this mountain by faith
These Walls - Scott Phillips
These Walls
It's raining today
the skies are gray
these walls between us
just grew thicker
what began with one brick
is now a mass that separates us
the sun peers through
the clouds of gray
and sheds light on these walls
of bitterness and pride
selfishness strengthens these walls
reinforced by fear
I chip away at these walls
with a chisel of kindness
you keep adding bricks of pain
I use a hammer of love
to combat cruelty
yet these walls
remain standing
the sun beats down
sweat on my brow
my hammer dulled and broken
my chisel gnawed and rusted
these walls still stand
between us
It's raining today
the skies are gray
these walls between us
just grew thicker
what began with one brick
is now a mass that separates us
the sun peers through
the clouds of gray
and sheds light on these walls
of bitterness and pride
selfishness strengthens these walls
reinforced by fear
I chip away at these walls
with a chisel of kindness
you keep adding bricks of pain
I use a hammer of love
to combat cruelty
yet these walls
remain standing
the sun beats down
sweat on my brow
my hammer dulled and broken
my chisel gnawed and rusted
these walls still stand
between us
Grace Me - Scott Phillips (thought I'd share some poems I've written in the past)
Grace Me
How can you put up with me
When I betray you?
How can you forgive so many times?
I crucify you all over again
I spit in your face
Pour salt on your wounds
Drive the nails deeper
and the blood that splatters on my face
still forgives
grace to be loved
mercy to be forgiven
hope to face another day
How can you put up with me
When I betray you?
How can you forgive so many times?
I crucify you all over again
I spit in your face
Pour salt on your wounds
Drive the nails deeper
and the blood that splatters on my face
still forgives
grace to be loved
mercy to be forgiven
hope to face another day
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Regret~Zak
"Regret comes in all shapes and sizes. Some are small like when we do a bad thing for a good reason. Some are bigger like when you let down a friend.
Some of us escape the pain of regret by making the right choice. Some of us have little time for regret because we're looking forward to the future. Sometimes we have to fight to come to terms with the past, and sometimes we bury our regret by promising to change your own ways.
But, our biggest regrets are not for the things we did -- but, for the things we didn't do. Things we didn't say that could've save someone that we care about. Especially when we can see the dark storm that's headed their way."
Who~ Zak
"Life comes at us from out of the darkness. And at times we can struggle to find the courage to face it."
"When life comes rushing at you from our of the darkness, who will you choose to face it with? Will it be someone you trust? Will they be wise? And will their love for you help them to guide you to the light? Or will they lose their way in the darkness? Will they make noble choices? Or will that person be someone untested, someone new? Life comes rushing at you from out of the darkness, when it does -- is there someone in your life you can count on? Someone who will watch over you when you stumble and fall? And in that moment, give you the strength to face your fears alone?"
"When life comes rushing at you from our of the darkness, who will you choose to face it with? Will it be someone you trust? Will they be wise? And will their love for you help them to guide you to the light? Or will they lose their way in the darkness? Will they make noble choices? Or will that person be someone untested, someone new? Life comes rushing at you from out of the darkness, when it does -- is there someone in your life you can count on? Someone who will watch over you when you stumble and fall? And in that moment, give you the strength to face your fears alone?"
Whats that annoying sound? by Dave Rose
The buzzing was annoying. I was trying to make sense of the news and the sound just kept getting louder. They were talking about the economy...the bailout. Presidential candidates and the pundits were all pointing fingers. Gas was high, and anxiety higher. I was trying to focus, to listen but the buzzing got so loud that I turned off the tv and grabbed the paper. I thought that at least I might be able read and make sense of everything that was happening to my world, my country and most importantly, what was going to happen in my life. Everyday things just keep getting worse and worse and it seems like there is no relief. That Damned buzzing...I just can't stand it.
I ran through the house, tearing things apart looking for whatever it was that was making that horrible droning noise. It was then that I noticed the stench. The country is going to hell in a hand basket, you don't know from one day to the next whether you're going to have a job, a paycheck,whether you will be able to afford to make a payment, buy groceries, what is that smell?
I went out in the backyard and though the buzzing was as loud as ever and the smell was getting worse, there was nothing there. I went back in the house. I kept worrying about the kids and whether they were going to keep their home and whether or not my parents were going to be able to survive on a fixed income much longer and...will someone tell me what that smell and what that buzzing is? Finally I was walking by the mirror and I saw it. The source of the buzzing was flies and the stench it was the stench of my rotting faith. I felt so ashamed. I had gotten caught up in all the hype the fearmongers were spreading that I had neglected the one thing in the world that would sustain me through all the turmoil. I got down on my knees...I started weeping and praying. soon the sound of the buzzing faded and the stench was replaced with the sweet forgotten fragrance of forgiveness and strength. Forgive me Lord for not coming to you first and laying my doubts on you. Sometimes, I can be so...human.
D
I ran through the house, tearing things apart looking for whatever it was that was making that horrible droning noise. It was then that I noticed the stench. The country is going to hell in a hand basket, you don't know from one day to the next whether you're going to have a job, a paycheck,whether you will be able to afford to make a payment, buy groceries, what is that smell?
I went out in the backyard and though the buzzing was as loud as ever and the smell was getting worse, there was nothing there. I went back in the house. I kept worrying about the kids and whether they were going to keep their home and whether or not my parents were going to be able to survive on a fixed income much longer and...will someone tell me what that smell and what that buzzing is? Finally I was walking by the mirror and I saw it. The source of the buzzing was flies and the stench it was the stench of my rotting faith. I felt so ashamed. I had gotten caught up in all the hype the fearmongers were spreading that I had neglected the one thing in the world that would sustain me through all the turmoil. I got down on my knees...I started weeping and praying. soon the sound of the buzzing faded and the stench was replaced with the sweet forgotten fragrance of forgiveness and strength. Forgive me Lord for not coming to you first and laying my doubts on you. Sometimes, I can be so...human.
D
A Picture~ Zak Kingrea
We See a picture of someone, a friend, a relative, a stranger, What if what that picture told you was the only thing you knew about that person? We are told that a picture is worth a thousand words, is it? What does it say? Does it tell you they are happy? Does it tell you they are successful? Or does it tell you they are broken and need someone? Behind that smile is there, a story? A joke? A Mistake? Or is the smile just there to hide the tears? If someone snapped a photo of you today, what would it say? Would it be your best moment, your time to shine? Or your worst?
A Thousand words.... what would they be?
A Thousand words.... what would they be?
6,470,818,67(1)~ Zak Kingrea
At this moment there are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. Some are running scared. Some are coming home. Some tell lies to make it through the day. Others are just now facing the truth. Some are evil men, at war with good. And some are good, struggling with evil. Six billion people in the world. Six billion souls. And sometimes -- all you need is one.
Impact of One~ Zak Kingrea
Have you ever wondered what marks our time here? If one life can really make an impact on the world...or if the choices we make matter? I believe they do. And I believe that one man can change many lives. For better...or worse.
The Darkness~ Zak Kingrea
Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty, this hatred.How did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us? That we now send our children out into the world like we send young men to war, hoping for their safe return but knowing that some will be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows, swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name?
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