The Journey . . .
By Mark E. Hundley Copyright 2006 by Mark E. Hundley
A puddle . . . That's all it was! Just a puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. Little did I know that striding into that dark patch of liquid in the pre-dawn hours of a typical Saturday morning would alter my life so much -- so completely! I still wonder at times whether I dreamed the entire experience or . . . Let me explain!
Running is something I have done most of my life. As a young child running was part of my play -- a natural extension of my curiosity about the world around me. With each year added to my lifespan, running evolved into a kind of companion for me -- an alter ego of sorts. In grade school, I quite inadvertently discovered that running could add status and stature as well. Up until the time I participated in my first "footrace" running had just been, well running!
That first race on the playground in Plainview , TX
"Me? Fast?" I really hadn't given it any thought before. That day ushered in years of running -- on the football field; on the baseball diamond; on the basketball court; on the track -- and on the street. I loved running because I was good at it! I was in charge of ME! It wasn't so bad for my ego either. Coaches loved my speed; my parents marveled at my skill; my friends wanted to hang with me because of it; and well, the girls loved it too! I felt just plain special. Over the years, I collected ribbons, medals, trophies and ink to certify that I was one running dude!
Now don't go looking in the record books for my name because you won't find it! As with any physical gift, it is never exclusively given to one person. There are always others gifted in the same way that are just a little faster, just a little better and my days of domination quickly faded in high school. Privately -- away and apart from the hoopla -- running provided a sense of wholeness at a spiritual level that I wasn't able to comprehend or articulate as a child and teen. I just knew that I felt good about life -- about ME when I ran. Not until years later in adulthood when life become more complicated was I truly able to grasp the power afforded me by the ability to run!
Jogging replaced sprints; spikes gave way to street flats; 5K and 10K t-shirts substituted for medals and ribbons; personal accomplishment supplanted public accolades. I ran all the way through college in the years when jogging was earning its "legs" as a viable form of exercise. I ran all the way through 12.5 years of marriage -- for health; for recreation; for stress relief. I ran for those reasons until the day I couldn't for just those reasons anymore -- until the day running meant living!
January 24, 1989, changed MANY things about my life -- the least of which was my running regimen. New Year's Day 1989, my wife Christy and I had committed to running the White Rock Marathon the following December -- we had even begun training. That morning changed everything! A mere two hours after Christy left our house for work, I found myself in an emergency waiting room hearing unfathomable words from a physician -- Christy was . . . Dead!
The injuries inflicted on her body in a car accident earlier that morning were inconsistent with survival. I suddenly found myself as the single father of a seven year-old daughter -- desperate, bewildered and numb! What would I do?
One thing I DID do that literally saved my life was . . . run! I discovered that regardless of the weather -- rain, snow or heat -- I could run and cry and no one would know whether tears or sweat streamed down my cheeks. I trained for and ran two marathons over the next two years raising money for a memorial scholarship. I ran for health. I ran for therapy. I ran for sanity.
Several years later the Journey of Hope Grief Support Center came into existence and . . . well . . . I ran! I ran to raise awareness and funds for this precious organization. With each race, people responded by giving to the cause! The excitement and sense of accomplishment drove me to continue -- until it didn't anymore. Until I began hearing from my body that 5:00 am was just too early; that multiple miles per week were damaging my joints (by the way, my feet and legs told me this and I have since learned to question their truthfulness); that there are always others out there who could take my place and do what I do.
Frankly, I wanted to listen. I was looking for a reason -- ANY reason to scale back or quit. I almost did too -- then came my encounter with that danged old puddle!
As I stepped out on the porch for my pre-run stretch that Saturday morning, a full moon hovered overhead while stars flashed indecipherable message in an HD clear cobalt sky. The mid-40's temperature chilled my limbs causing goose bumps to explode all over my exposed skin. I shivered, half tempted to return to the warmth of my bed. Refusing to give in, however, I turned up the volume on the mp3 player instead, allowing Brooks and Dunn's That's What It's All About to jump-start my sluggish engine. Looking back, I guess I should have considered that the words to that song foreshadowed something unexpected on the path before me, but hindsight is always 20/20. I took off for yet another run in the still, early morning hours.
Rounding the corner heading down the familiar sidewalk along-side the street, the moonlight and corner street light seemed to suddenly battle for the direction in which to send my silhouette. In a crossfire of conflicted shadow casting, my "shade" seemed to both move forward and backward at the same time. Fascinated by this playful optical illusion, I could have sworn that the part of my shadow that lurched ahead actually freed itself from the invisible moorings around my feet and sprinted away in the distance.
"Must be seeing things," I recall saying to myself as I continued to run downhill. Still, a twinge of uncertainty nipped at the heels of my imagination. Had something or someone actually run ahead of me? "Nah, just mind tricks!" Still . . .
I continued to run allowing the words of the song to take my mind off the strangely unsettling visual anomaly just encountered. Ahead of me in the middle of the sidewalk lay a familiar sight -- a puddle! I was used to puddles on this route since the sprinklers often left them as calling cards, reminding of the dutiful fulfillment of their appointed task of ensuring the continuation of the landscape. Hearkening back to my childhood, I realized I had a choice about how to approach the obstacle in front of me. Would I run around; jump over; or just plow through hoping to dodge the chilled splatter droplets as I did so? Decision made! I would plow through on this fine morning, thank you!
What happened next was well . . . just plain weird! As I prepared to plant my foot in the middle of the puddle, words from the song seemed to send everything into slow motion. B & D were singing "It's a moment frozen there in time when the reasons all begin to rhyme . . ." (McEwan & Wiseman) and my foot came down on what should have been water with solid concrete underneath. Instead, I found myself sinking into and through the dark liquid. I clutched in vain at the sidewalk as it disappeared above my head. As I tumbled into nothingness, the song continued -- "where love's a little bigger and you finally start figuring out. That's what it's all about!" (McEwan & Wiseman).
I braced myself for the inevitable crash of body to ground, but instead I seemed to float as if buoyed by a parachute. After a few moments, my feet gently touched down on a solid surface. As I "landed," the music abruptly ceased, the once brilliant moonlight was consumed by pitch black and deafening silence engulfed me.
I sat down not wanting to make things worse than they already were. Nothing made sense. I didn't know where I was. Ultimately, I decided that I must have slipped in the water, hit my head and was in la la land! Surely, my mind would clear soon and I could be on my way. "Man, am I going back to bed as soon as I can get up from here," I remember saying. If only it had been that simple.
As I sat still, I reached for the back of my head expecting to encounter a sore, protruding goose-egg created by my foolish attempt to go through the puddle; however, my fingers found no bump whatsoever. Things were getting stranger by the second!
I recall thinking that I must surely have landed flat on my back and would be covered with water from the puddle. Nope! Dry as a bone. I had no idea what was going on, then it hit me! I was dreaming! That's what it was -- a dream! I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I could just enjoy this twisted experience knowing that I would wake up soon. I sat still and closed my eyes.
"You OK?" The voice in front of me broke my silent reverie.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just wiped out in my dream. That's all," I responded with eyes still closed thinking that a new character had been added to my flight of fantasy.
My new companion spoke again. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you arrived safely -- no sprained ankle or broken bones or anything like that."
"Broken bones," I chuckled to myself! Now that would take the cake! Breaking a bone in a dream!
As if my yet unseen companion read my mind, he responded, "Oh, this is no dream, my friend. You are very much awake and this place is very real!
I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable -- a little scared too! Where in the heck was I? What had happened?
"Go ahead," my companion spoke again. "Open your eyes. You have miles to run before you sleep again."
But I didn't want to open my eyes. And I certainly didn't want to think about running -- what -- miles he had said? I just wanted to continue believing that I was dreaming.
"We don't have much time," he spoke again. "Please open your eyes!"
As I reluctantly responded, I noticed that pre-dawn light had filtered into the area in which I was sitting, casting a grayish lavender hue, nudging the suffocating darkness away.
"Here, let me help you up! You've gotta get going!"
For the first time, I looked up into the face of my companion -- only there wasn't really a face so to speak. Perhaps he was still in the shadows because his silhouette was all that I could make out. I reached up to grasp his outstretched hand. Although I felt the warmth of skin on skin, it was as if I were taking the hand of a shadow -- a substantive shadow, mind you -- but a shadow nonetheless.
As I stood by my companion, I noticed that he was dressed in the same manner as I -- running shoes, shorts, sleeveless shirt and cap. He could have been a carbon copy of me. Whoa! What a thought! Shadow? Carbon copy? The entire scene from earlier came roaring back and I froze.
Once again my companion appeared to read my mind. "We are similar, you and I. We share the same passion for helping people -- the same dedication to make a difference. Don't worry. I am not a figment of your vivid imagination! I am real and have been assigned to coach you on your journey through this Place of Passage. I want to help you answer the questions that have been dogging you lately."
Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather! I was completely undone! Before I could form the words of questions spinning through my brain, a kind of "understanding" infiltrated my thinking and I knew -- I just knew that the Place of Passage was a "place between places" -- a place visited often but rarely recognized -- a place of answers; a place of questions; a place of discovery; a place of purpose. I also knew that I had appointments to keep. I don't know how -- I just knew.
I turned to look into the face of my "coach" only to have my breath taken away. Although his form still hid in the shadows, his eyes seemed to capture and reflect the miniature explosions of light set off by all the stars of the Universe! When he smiled back at my amazement, it was as if the essence of the blue-white moon projected from his face into the lavender mist in front of me revealing an archway with a wooden gate separating me from the other side. Etched into the top of the archway were words that beckoned me forward.
My companion said, "Read and follow."
As I gazed up at the inscription, the reason for my presence in that place became crystal clear.
"Since you are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, put aside all that weighs you down and entangles you and run with endurance the race that is set before you . . . keeping your eyes on the finish line. Strengthen your arms and knees. Make level paths for your feet so that others will be healed by your efforts." (Hebrews 12:1 - 3, 12 paraphrased)
"You have far to go and much to learn," Coach said. "Are you ready?"
"Looks like I don't have much choice," I responded feeling a bit put upon.
"You know, you asked for this journey -- this is of your own making," he said. "Your serious deliberations about why you are running caused you to come to this place."
Having quickly learned that the weird was common occurrence there, I decided not to quibble. He was right -- I guess. I had created that opportunity for personal exploration -- although maybe not in the manner in which it was taking place. Discovering the purpose of my running at this stage of my life was more important that perhaps anything I had done in quite some time -- and I was ready at least I hoped that I was.
As I moved toward the gate, Coach touched my shoulder and I stopped. He said, "Here. You'll need this in order to navigate what lies ahead."
With that, he opened the palm of my right hand and placed a small, oblong, slightly teardrop-shaped disc, then gently closed my fingers around it. As he did so, the gate opened before me.
"I'll see you down the road," he said as I walked through and began instinctively jogging down the misty path.
Still working to wrap my mind around my walk on the weird side, the air around me suddenly filled with almost palpable electricity! I half-way expected to feel lightning course through me with the next step. Instead, my ears were assaulted by a humming sound -- a sound much like that of a thousand active beehives -- and it grew in intensity with each step. Seeking the source of the noise, I slowed a bit and an amazing sound transition occurred. With the decreasing speed of each step, the once indecipherable humming became more familiar -- like voices all speaking at once. I caught bits and pieces of words spoken by yet invisible people that seemed to emanate from every direction in the mist -- words tinged with emotion and urgency; some even desperate and pleading in nature. Finally, I ceased running altogether.
As I slowed to a stop, the source of the sound abruptly materialized! There in the mist were hundreds, perhaps thousands of people stationed alongside the path on which I was jogging. They were seated in a vast stadium towering above the path at 45-degree angles on both sides, extending upward beyond my line of sight. I would likely have remained motionless forever; however, my enchantment with the scene vanished when I realized that all gazes and therefore all words projected in my direction. I felt ill at ease and wanted to disappear into the ground. Then, the words from the inscription began to sink in -- "surrounded by such a great could of witnesses" -- and things began to fall in place. Those folks were there to cheer me on -- to offer encouragement on my journey! "How cool," I thought! I started running again and the intensity of their cheers immediately increased. I was pumped -- ready to take on the world!
The cheers gradually faded as the stadium receded behind me and I found myself striding down an isolated and unfamiliar path through what appeared to be a park of some sort. The tangerine tinged clouds overhead told me that full sunrise was imminent. As I approached a clearing, I was accosted by an overwhelming sense of fear, panic and uncertainty. My pace slowed so that I could determine the source of such feelings. From out of the shadows created by a copse of trees, I saw perhaps twenty or so "people" emerge, making their way toward the path on which I ran. I say "people" because they looked rather ethereal in nature -- I could almost see through them as they moved in unison. What captured my attention most was the look on their faces -- fear, panic and uncertainty etched every feature.
I was trapped! No knowing what would happen next, I sprinted forward in an effort to escape my own fears as much as those who approached -- to no avail! An older woman moved with uncanny speed and planted herself squarely in front of me. The others vanished. I stopped quickly to avoid running into her and then she touched me. My vision spun wildly and then she said, "Please! I need your help!"
What happened next can only be described as a type of mental connection between the two of us. Without words, Belle (the name of the grandmother who had stopped me) allowed me to see what had happened to her.
It seems that Belle was the sole caregiver for her two grandchildren ages 8 and 10. Their mother, Belle's daughter, was a drug addict and had abandoned them on Belle's doorstep when they were just one and three -- abandoned them and then disappeared. No one knew the identity of their father so Belle -- widowed herself ten years earlier -- had adopted the kids and was raising them on her own. She was doing a wonderful job too until the day she suffered a heart attack and died while they were in school.
Understandably, Belle was worried for their future -- their well-being. The children were now wards of the state and would soon become a part of the foster care system. That worry accounted for the sense of fear, panic and uncertainty I experienced earlier. The more I "listened" to her story, the more I realized that those feelings were actually being channeled from the children through Belle to me. When that realization sank in, my heart shuddered with pain. I remember looking into Belle's clear blue eyes asking, "What do you want me to do?"
She spoke directly to me. "I need you to tell their story. I need you to do everything you can to let the authorities know that those two require special care -- especially in dealing with my death. I was all they had! I was it!"
As I pondered that gravity of the situation, she spoke again.
"I need you to do this not just for them, but for all the other children who find themselves in similar circumstances. The people given charge of orphans need to know how to help children mourn so that they can heal properly and grow to be healthy adults -- Please!"
I remember feeling helpless and impotent as I responded to her. "I . . . I'll do my best, Bell
Belle reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "I know you will, son. I know you will." Her smile penetrated the cloak of helplessness that had draped itself over my heart and I felt optimistic once again -- like I could do something after all.
"Now run along," she said. "You have many more miles ahead of you." With that, she walked back into the shadows smiling back at me over her shoulder as she disappeared.
With a spring in my step not present prior to that incident, I turned and jogged down the path, around a corner and emerged through a thin veil of fog into a heavily wooded area. To my surprise, the woods were weighted down with ice and a light dusting of snow. A narrow, winding path snaked through the tall trees before me. Although I should have been cold, I was completely unaffected.
I continued to run enjoying the scenic beauty. After a few minutes, I topped a small hill and saw something at the base of one of the trees up ahead. As I approached, I was compelled to investigate. There on one rather large tree was nailed an intricately woven metal cross. I stopped and knelt before the tree and noticed that a small rock lay on the ground just below the cross. I brushed the snow from the face of the rock and discovered that it bore an inscription. It said, "In loving memory of Brian." Just above the inscribed stone, the tree revealed a deep gouge -- a scar that had permanently damaged its rugged surface.
As I focused on the words wondering who Brian was and what had happened to cause someone to create such a touching memorial, I was seized by feelings of extreme sadness and concern. So engrossed by the feelings associated with his loving memorial, I was almost unaware that a slight breeze stirred the limbs of the tree in front of me. Not until the tinkling sound of the wind chime above wrested my attention from the memorial did I realize that I was not alone. Just to the right of the tree I saw a pair of sneakers and faded jeans. Startled by the presence of another person, I rose abruptly and stared into the face of a young man -- perhaps 18 or so years of age. He nodded to me and I was immediately aware that the young man was Brian.
"Hello, Brian," I said.
Brian did not speak, but reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. As if part of the action, I was transported to the backseat of a car in which Brian was a passenger riding "shotgun" in front. Neither Brian nor the driver was aware of my presence. I observed both Brian and his companion being teenagers -- typical young men out for a drive. The gist of the conversation revealed that they were on their way back to a friend's house following an outing at the local burger joint. It was winter and the roads were covered with a fine powder of light snow. I could tell that the speed of the car was approaching a dangerous level for such conditions and that the conversation in which the two were engaged caused them to not notice. I was powerless to do anything about the situation.
Suddenly, the tires spun out on a slick patch of ice concealed by the snow and the car began spinning wildly. Once, twice, three times the car careened between the street curbs. Without warning, the vehicle jumped the curb nearest the median and slammed into a tree on the passenger side -- Brian's side -- of the car! Although I was impervious to the physical impact, I felt as if my spirit were being sucked from my body!
I knew what had happened to Brian. The inevitability of the ensuing crash had caused me to close my eyes. Brian gently squeezed my should and I opened them once again. There was more he wanted me to see.
What came next were visions of a series of visitations to that tree by many, many people -- friends, acquaintances and . . . family. I watched as the memorial evolved into what lay at the foot of the tree at which we stood. Four years had come and gone since the accident had unalterably changed the lives of so many. My heart ached for each person that participated in countless pilgrimages to that memorial. I wanted to somehow ease the pain -- tell them that things could eventually get better.
I looked into the hazel eyes of a young man so very full of promise -- so intent on making a difference in the world. There before me stood a young man released from life far sooner than intended -- a young man who had a message for me!
"What do you want me to do, Brian?" I asked sincerely. "What do you want me to do?"
Simply stated he said, "Help them believe!"
"Believe? Believe what Brian? I don't understand," I responded.
"Please help my family to believe in themselves -- in each other. Help them hold on to the parts of their faith that actually make sense -- those things that give meaning to life. Help them believe in their abilities to negotiate the obstacles ahead of them. Help them believe that they have the power to navigate through uncharted waters and be OK. Help them believe so they can help others believe as well."
I knew the meaning of his words. When the unthinkable had happened in my life, all my beliefs were thrown into the air. I struggled to nail down those beliefs that truly helped me go through life altered by loss.
Once again, I realized that the feelings of sadness and concern that I sensed were actually coming form Brian's family. They were working hard to reconcile themselves to the tragedy and create meaning through their mourning. His parents carried heavy hearts, both for Brian's loss and also for the pain experienced by his brothers and friends.
"Help them believe," he said. "Help them believe!"
I ducked my head and responded, "I'll do my best, Brian. I'll do my best."
With that, I felt Brian release my shoulder. When I looked up, he was gone. The slight breeze once again stirred the wind chime to life and I smiled at the courage and character Brian left behind in our encounter. I would carry those with me on my journey.
I resumed my trek through the woods on the winding path lost in contemplation. Topping a hill I found myself on a rather steep downward slope filled with loose rocks. I slowed in order to maneuver the trail. Ahead of me was a tree laden with a very thick blanket of snow that threatened to fall and block my path. About the time I reached the branch, the snow blanket released and I found myself diving through the cascade. I barely made it through untouched. When I rolled to a stop, I looked up and found myself on a service road next to a busy interstate highway in New Mexico
This was a familiar stretch of I-40 just west of Santa Rosa Sangre de Cristo Mountains
I felt someone gently take my hand in hers -- I knew it was a woman because of the smooth softness of her skin. Immediately, the invisible constriction released and my breathing returned to normal. I opened my eyes and found myself face-to-face with a very attractive young woman about 32 years of age. Instinctively, I knew that her name was Angela. I sought to prepare myself for her story. As quickly as the wind had whipped sand and grass into action, her story played out in holographic form before me.
It seems that mere months ago -- nine to be exact -- Angela went in for her yearly exam and discovered rapidly growing uterine cancer. The news of her illness took her entire family by surprise; yet, the aggressive nature of the cancer was even more shocking! Despite all efforts from the best doctors available, Angela succumbed to the ravages of this terrible disease, leaving behind a boy age 9 and a girl age 7 as well as her wonderful husband of 12 years -- Malcolm. Her story -- his story -- was so parallel to mine that I was briefly lost in my own memories until she squeezed my hand, once again bringing me back to that moment.
The confusion I felt must have been evident because her eyes told me that I would soon understand the purpose of this stop. Her gaze moved out toward the Interstate and mine followed. Somehow, she directed my focus to a single car speeding west toward Albuquerque
Malcolm appeared wound tighter than a drum -- clinging so desperately to the steering wheel that his knuckles bulged white through his skin. His countenance projected unchecked anxiety and panic. His heart pounded, sounding as if horses raced through his chest cavity. His breathing as rapid as if he had just participated in a 100-meter sprint. I got the distinct impression that he was on the run -- that he was intent on getting away from someone or something as quickly as he possibly could.
I turned to look in the back seat at the children and my heart sank. I had seen those expressions before -- fear, uncertainty, desperation and longing. So much for young lives to take in and make sense of when everything that was happening was senseless. Then a strange thing occurred. I watched as a round, clear tube exited Malcolm's chest and began floating backward over the seat toward the children. As it neared them, it split into two smaller tubes and entered their respective chests near where their hearts would be. I got the distinct impression that this was some sort of emotional umbilical cord. Then it hit me! All the emotions -- the anxiety, the panic, the desperation, the paralyzing fear -- that controlled Malcolm's actions flowed directly to the children.
Without any of them making a sound, I heard the substance of recent conversations exchanged among them.
"Daddy, what are we going to do? How will we make it without Mommy?"
Malcolm did the best he knew by responding, "We'll get over this someday! We'll forget about the pain. We just WILL! You'll see!"
However, he knew that what he was saying was not true and so did the children; yet, they worked as hard as they knew how pretending that everything would be just like Malcolm said.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself standing next to Angela once again and I knew why she wanted me to see her family. "Angela, how can I possibly help you -- help them?
For the first time since she stopped me, Angela spoke in soft, melodic tones. "You must keep on running and telling fathers that their children need them to be fathers. Tell them that they need to stop speeding through life hoping to outrun the pain. Help them understand that they must embrace the pain of loss as well as the uncertainty of the future."
She looked deeply into my eyes and continued. "You must tell them about the importance of creating personal stability so that they can guide their children to live stably as they grow. You must tell them to slow down; to feel; to pay attention to their struggles so that they can pay attention to those of their children as well! You must teach them to take side roads and exits to scenic routes in life. Teach them to slow down and live. Life on this side is ever so brief. Please teach them to live as fully and completely as possible. Please!"
Once again, I felt small and incapable; yet I could not resist her sincerity. "I will do all that I can, Angela -- all that I can!"
As if she sensed my doubt, she said, "You must learn to doubt your doubts and trust your inner strength to guide your steps."
I nodded and turned once again to look out at the Interstate. "Doubt my doubts, huh?"
Another gust of wind whipped dust in my face and I turned to deflect the assault. Angela was gone.
I stood for a moment reflecting on what had happened, and then started out once again toward the mountains. The air was growing warmer and I stopped under the shade of an overpass. Placing my hands on my knees, I bent over, closed my eyes and rested briefly.
A sudden blast of cooler air followed by a distant rumble wrested me from my brief respite. To my surprise, I found myself surrounded by darkness! The only light available came from distant lightening. The intermittent flashes revealed snapshot-like glimpses of a location that was familiar - -red dirt, scrubby mesquite trees dotting rugged terrain, rock-strewn yet empty stream beds that could be filled with roaring water should a sudden downpour occur. That was it! I was in the Palo Duro Canyon!
Growing up in the Panhandle of Texas, I was used to rapidly developing thunderstorms sweeping the plains, so the onslaught of flashing light followed by rumbling peels of thunder were completely familiar. Visiting the Palo Duro Canyon
The terrain proved as precarious as I remembered from recent runs through the Canyon. Although I knew that I must continue running, I longed for the assistance of a flashlight -- anything to reveal what lay ahead of me. Stumble-sliding over the trail, uncertainty gripped my heart like a vise. Paralyzing fear filled my veins threatening cessation of movement on my part. Without warning, deafening thunder and blinding light simultaneously erupted just over the hill in front of me. So violent was the blast that the ground literally shook beneath my feet, freezing me in my tracks! What happened next was . . . well . . . nearly indescribable!
A tsunami-like surge of invisible force rushed over the hill and struck me square in the chest causing me to stagger backward. Before I could regain my balance, the force field reversed, re-entered from my back and threw me to the ground. I pushed myself to my knees and felt of my chest -- sure that my heart had been torn free from my body. I breathed a sigh of relief to discover that I was in one piece. The storm in which I found myself was stranger than any I had ever experienced! I was terrified!
Before I could stand again, I heard a voice off to my right. "Hey, buddy! Over hear!"
I looked in the direction of the voice and spied a shadowy figure crouched under a rock overhang. He held a small flashlight and I rapidly crawled to safety beneath the ledge. As I scooted next to my new companion, I discovered that he was clothed in an Army uniform -- complete with helmet, rifle and gear. Then it hit me! War! Not a thunderstorm!
Charles was his name -- he was a Captain in the Army. The blast shat shook me only moments prior to that had actually removed Charles from the battle -- permanently -- and thrust him into the "Place of Passage" without warning. When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he knew and needed no further explanation.
Charles reached into his pocket and retrieved a photograph. The glow of the flashlight revealed four smiling faces -- that of Charles, his wife Anna and their two lovely daughters -- a moment frozen in time when all was well with their world. I reached for the picture to get a closer look. The moment my fingers touched the paper, a sense of regret and despair gripped my heart. I looked into Charles's eyes. Anna and the girls would soon find out that he would not be coming home again -- at least not in the manner in which he had promised. I choked back tears -- tears for them; tears for all the other families of soldiers who had received similar news or would in the days to come.
The picture suddenly became a small viewing screen -- a screen on which I witnessed the devastation and heartbreak that engulfed Anna and the girls when the news was delivered. The physical, emotional, mental, spiritual and relational pain inflicted by that single explosion half-way around the world shook that family to the core of its foundation. They would need comfort, guidance and protection -- all gifts that Charles desperately wished to give. They would require love, understanding and support -- all necessities that others would need to provide. Their road to reconciliation would be as tough and treacherous as the one on which I traveled -- even more so!
Charles took back the photograph and the vision dimmed. As the scene faded, I remember seeing family and friends gathering around Anna and the girls and I felt heartened. I looked at him and started to speak, but was only able to say, "What . . ." before sobs choked the rest of my question.
Charles spoke in a deep baritone voice that immediately soothed my frayed emotions. "You are already on the road, my friend, doing what must be done. Please continue to tell our story and the stories of countless other like us! For it is only in telling the stories that families will be helped -- that awareness will be raised -- that support will be given. It is only in telling the stories that my family will be helped. I am depending on you to carry out this mission!"
"But I am only one," I recall saying feeling completely overwhelmed.
"The journey of a million miles is taken on step at a time," he responded. "Others will join you -- in fact they are as we speak. You are not alone in this quest! Persevere, my friend. Persevere!"
I was exhausted! I closed my eyes for what seemed only a moment, but much more time passed. I was awakened by the sound of a hawk soaring overhead. When I opened my eyes, Charles was gone and the sky bore the telltale signs that daybreak approached. I stood, stretched and made my way back to the trail. Feeling revived, I commenced running up hill. At the exact moment I reached the top, the sun broke above the horizon sending a blinding ray of light into my eyes. I raised my hand as a shield and ducked my head. Coming to a stop to regain vision, I looked up to find myself on the barren, windswept plains outside a city off in the distance.
Once again, that internal guidance system prodded me to run -- to move toward the city limits ahead of me. This time, there was no path, no trail to follow. I simply ran in the direction my heart commanded. Eventually, I found myself on the outskirts of Lubbock , TX
After standing a the gate a moment, I entered and began walking through the memorials inscribed with sentimental words for loved ones interred there. Rounding the expanse of a rather large cedar tree, I came upon a young boy sitting on a bench in the middle of the memorial park. As I approached, he stood and turned to face me as if I were expected. A big smile filled his features as he saw me walking toward him. There was something strangely familiar about this little boy -- something that moved me to tears before I was ever close enough to see him clearly.
When we were but twenty or so feet apart, he broke and ran toward me with his arms wide open. Instinctively, I knelt to receive his embrace. He crashed into me and we tumbled backward to the ground. He held tightly to my neck and I heard him say, "I am so glad you are here! I am so glad! I have waited so long for this!"
I was really confused then! He let go and we got up off the ground. I continued to kneel in front of that little guy and held him at arms length to determine if I knew him or not. Her certainly seemed to know me.
As I looked at him, it was almost as if I were staring at myself at about age three. Although there were distinct similarities, he was definitely not me! I studied and studied his features and then the dawn began to break. He knew the moment recognition occurred and flashed a big, toothy grin. " Sydney
He threw his arms around my neck once again and I began to weep. Sydney -- my brother who never was! The blessed addition to our family back in 1956 that was never added. The one about whom our family rarely spoke after the day he was stillborn. All my life, I had wondered about Sydney
I picked him up and we sat together on the bench and just looked at one another for a long time. Finally, Sydney
The experience of adulthood had given meaning to all those conflicting and confusing feelings from the past. Looking back, I can see how that event initiated life-long reverberations of grief for all of my family -- parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. So much possibility unfulfilled. So many hopes dashed. So many dreams erased. So much happiness buried. More than 50 years have passed and I still feel the sting of that day.
I closed my eyes allowing the scene to disappear and then looked down again into Sydney
Sydney
Sitting there on that bench, I thought about all the challenges that Sydney
Sydney
"See ya, Big Bro!" He shouted out as I began the next leg of my journey.
"See ya, Syd!" I yelled back as tears welled in my eyes making it difficult to see. I stopped one last time to wave to him. As we waved, he simply dematerialized before my eyes, disappearing from sight . . . but not from my heart.
I continued to run east completely lost in thought and totally unaware of what was building behind me. When the air suddenly carried a hint of fine mist that smelled of dirt, I knew what was coming! I turned to see a great wall of red roiling toward me, perhaps thirty feet high. It was on me before I could react. I simply rolled into a ball, covering my eyes, nose and mouth and waited. The sand storm swept over me like a giant wave in the ocean. The stinging sand peppered my skin leaving me feeling as if a million mosquitoes had attacked at once.
The onslaught was over as quickly as it began. As the wind died down, I opened my eyes to discover yet another locale -- the path on which I started this strange journey. I found myself a quarter mile or so from the mega stadium that stretched far into the heavens filled with people cheering words of encouragement. Perhaps my journey was ended and I could return home. Perhaps I could . . .
From behind me, I heard the voice of a woman. "Girl on your left!"
I stopped and moved to the side a step or two. Riding up behind me was a woman with a million dollar smile. She was so radiant that her countenance literally glowed. She rolled to a stop in front of me and took off her helmet.
" Beverly
"Pretty cool, isn't it? I had no idea! No idea whatsoever!"
I needed no explanation or introduction. Bev was one of the most inspirational people I knew. She was a trooper in every sense of the word! Her life was a living testimonial to the power of hope; the power of belief; the power of healing! To so man she will always be THE beacon in the darkness!
She looked at me and said, "We are similar, you and I. We share the same passion for helping people -- the same dedication to make a difference. That's why I ran and biked and swam -- to make a difference; to help others experience the hope in healing."
"Bev, you are such an inspiration and so very missed by everyone -- especially your family!" I said.
"I really left too soon -- much sooner than I had intended. I left so much undone! I want so much for them all to heal -- to grow in hope and personal peace."
Then she looked at me and said, "It will take you and many others like you to carry on the race -- to help my family -- to tell others about the power of hope and healing. Please continue on no matter what! Please!"
No way I could resist that request! "Of course, Beverly
She smiled at me with that classic smile, donned her helmet once again and rode on ahead. I could hear the roar of the crowd increase several decibels as she pumped through the finish line! It was amazing!
"Now what?" I remember saying to myself. "Now what?"
No sooner than the words escaped my lips than I found myself back at the beginning place -- still, quiet, peaceful. Light from an unknown source above filtered down casting a clearly defined shadow on the floor. As I looked down the shadow detached from my feet once again. Coach was standing in front of me.
"You OK?"
I looked back into those strange, explosively powerful eyes and simply nodded. He reached out and patted me on the shoulder squeezing it affectionately as he did so. My head was spinning; my heart racing; my emotions spent.
"I thought you said you'd see me down the road! Where'd you go, man?"
"Oh, I was with you the entire way -- step-for-step," he responded.
"But I didn't see you, how . . ."
He interrupted, "Seeing me or not has nothing to do with my real presence with you the whole trip. I was there -- and always will be."
"I guess it's time for me to get back to . . . well, where I came from?" I asked half-way hoping that he would say no.
"Yes. It is time. I just want to make sure that you have the answers you seek. Do you?" He asked.
I think he knew the answer even before he asked. Of course I did! I had more than enough answers.
He just smiled and looked upward. As he did, a transparent oblong circle opened above me revealing the full moon once again. A breeze from above caused the transparent surface to ripple and I realized that I was looking up through my puddle!
Dumbfounded, I started to speak once again to Coach, but he stopped me. Instead, he said, "Run with endurance the race that is set before you!"
As quickly as I had fallen into that strange underworld, I found myself on the surface once again; foot planted firmly in the middle of the puddle and chilled water droplets peppering my legs! "What in the world . . . ?"
I stopped so quickly that I almost slid down. I walked back over to the puddle and timidly touched my toe to the surface and pushed down. Yep! Solid as concrete! I wondered out loud if I was losing it. Not sure what to make of what had just occurred; I turned back toward the house and walked slowly working to make sense of my jaunt into the strange.
Back at home, I sat for a long time in the silence of the study, unsure of what to believe. I was just about to chalk the whole experience to a vivid imagination, when I became aware that my right hand was balled into a tight fist -- so tight that it threatened to cramp. I pried each finger open individually and to my surprise, discovered a small oblong, slightly teardrop shaped silver disc -- the same disc that Coach had placed there prior to my journey. I turned it over and discovered a spiral similar to what a coiled snake might look like -- tightly curled in the center extending outward. Instinctively, I knew its meaning -- the continuity of life; the expansion of spiritual understanding; growth and power.
It had happened after all. I decided right then and there to never question the reality of the experience, but to act upon the lessons learned. I took that special disc, placed it on a leather cord and wear it every day to remind me that I have a race set before me that must be completed.
You know, the journey of a million miles is taken one step at a time. Won't you join me on this journey?
Works Cited
McEwan, Steve & Wiseman, Craig, Writers: That's What It's All About, BMI/ASCAP. Performed by Brooks and Dunn: "The Greatest Hits Collection II" 2004. Arista Records & BMG, Nashville , TN.
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