I flipped open my cell phone to check the time: 4:20pm. Vinny’s was quiet and deserted for a change with me as the only customer and a few workers behind the counter chatting lightly. It was merely 5 minutes past the appointment time, but I couldn’t help fighting the anxiety within; I was worrying if K would not show and if she did show. It had been 2 years since we saw each other last, but that was not in the least why I had this dilemma. The truth was: my dear friend had just suffered one of the biggest losses in life and I was to face her first time after that.
10 minutes passed. I saw another car pulling up and sure enough K arrived. She stepped out, cell phone in action as she closed the car door and walked in. Her hair groomed and make-up light, she looked like any average woman who was meeting up with friends for a dinner. She spotted me and let out a beautiful smile. From outside, we were merely 2 friends reuniting after a long break with our happy greeting. “How are you?” “You look great!” There was no reason to believe anything otherwise, anything as remote as 2 mothers grieving for the death of a child.
There we were finally, nearly 1 month after the tragic accident when her 20-year-old son drowned at the Outer Bank. Our eyes looked at each other’s face and saw what hid beneath unsuspected by others. Suddenly, the fear of what to say or expect departed from me as our hearts spoke silently to each other the language only mothers would understand. When the real words did come, they filled in not only the blanks of the questions but also that hole of my heart. My ear listened to a simple story of a boy and his last camping trip with his brother and friends, and yet my eyes saw something exquisite beyond all expectation. The tragedy turned into this fairy tale with the most envious, happiest ending as I pictured this young man helplessly lost after 20 years of Sunday schools and Christian camps found his way home. I pictured his anguish as he burst open his parents’ room at 1am with his Bible in hands to start the inquiry of the faith that was taught to him. It did not make sense! How frustrated he must have been to discover his life turning from a period to a question mark and how escalated he must have been when God reversed that question only days later back to the assuring period, and then an exclamation mark!
Vinny’s was slowly filling up at 5pm. Soon enough, we were surrounded by a roomful of diners. And yet we were not there in that crowed, noisy restaurant. My tearful eyes now saw nothing but that young man and his joy at the Subway Station with his family when he disclosed his peace with God first time of his life. I imagined his excitement as he exchanged texting with his friends on the discovery of God’s word first time of his life. I wondered too if he, before the wave carried him away, saw the beauty of this world from the boundless sky to the endless sea first time of his life.
Oh, why wouldn’t these silly tears stop! And the pain too! I was fighting hopelessly with not only my tears but also the frustration. How could you feel anything but happy for that most blessed boy? In as short as a couple of weeks after being saved and safe, he lived to the fullest of anyone’s life time. I knew then that I might have cried for my brave friend there, but I cried more for the shameful realization of my envy. Would I trade my decades of drudgery and failure with his weeks of liberation and elation! What hit me to the core was the question that turned him back to God, which had been my own all these months: Am I saved? If I am, what of these unfruitful life, discontentment and misery? He was convicted finally of the contradicting sins and shames after 20 years of carrying the name of “Christian”, while I, nearly double of the time in God’s long suffering love, came face to face with the same confrontation less the excuse.
Two and half hours later with our dinner barely touched and many tears shed, the two friends finally wrapped up and bid our farewell. My eyes were all swollen from all that crying – I knew I must have made such a scene there at the restaurant, but that was the last in my mind on my way home. I felt this kinship with this young man there in that car as I shared not only his crimes but also the ultimate pardon from the same Judge. How I wished I had been there with him – that night before, when he and his friends laid down on the sandy beach looking at the starry sky and heaved with the deepest sigh the joyful exclamation: “This is the best trip of my life!” I was wondering as perfect as he felt then, he never would have known how true that statement was – only that it was in fact better than “best”, beyond all standards or envy. My young friend is home now, and thanks to him, so am I.
10 minutes passed. I saw another car pulling up and sure enough K arrived. She stepped out, cell phone in action as she closed the car door and walked in. Her hair groomed and make-up light, she looked like any average woman who was meeting up with friends for a dinner. She spotted me and let out a beautiful smile. From outside, we were merely 2 friends reuniting after a long break with our happy greeting. “How are you?” “You look great!” There was no reason to believe anything otherwise, anything as remote as 2 mothers grieving for the death of a child.
There we were finally, nearly 1 month after the tragic accident when her 20-year-old son drowned at the Outer Bank. Our eyes looked at each other’s face and saw what hid beneath unsuspected by others. Suddenly, the fear of what to say or expect departed from me as our hearts spoke silently to each other the language only mothers would understand. When the real words did come, they filled in not only the blanks of the questions but also that hole of my heart. My ear listened to a simple story of a boy and his last camping trip with his brother and friends, and yet my eyes saw something exquisite beyond all expectation. The tragedy turned into this fairy tale with the most envious, happiest ending as I pictured this young man helplessly lost after 20 years of Sunday schools and Christian camps found his way home. I pictured his anguish as he burst open his parents’ room at 1am with his Bible in hands to start the inquiry of the faith that was taught to him. It did not make sense! How frustrated he must have been to discover his life turning from a period to a question mark and how escalated he must have been when God reversed that question only days later back to the assuring period, and then an exclamation mark!
Vinny’s was slowly filling up at 5pm. Soon enough, we were surrounded by a roomful of diners. And yet we were not there in that crowed, noisy restaurant. My tearful eyes now saw nothing but that young man and his joy at the Subway Station with his family when he disclosed his peace with God first time of his life. I imagined his excitement as he exchanged texting with his friends on the discovery of God’s word first time of his life. I wondered too if he, before the wave carried him away, saw the beauty of this world from the boundless sky to the endless sea first time of his life.
Oh, why wouldn’t these silly tears stop! And the pain too! I was fighting hopelessly with not only my tears but also the frustration. How could you feel anything but happy for that most blessed boy? In as short as a couple of weeks after being saved and safe, he lived to the fullest of anyone’s life time. I knew then that I might have cried for my brave friend there, but I cried more for the shameful realization of my envy. Would I trade my decades of drudgery and failure with his weeks of liberation and elation! What hit me to the core was the question that turned him back to God, which had been my own all these months: Am I saved? If I am, what of these unfruitful life, discontentment and misery? He was convicted finally of the contradicting sins and shames after 20 years of carrying the name of “Christian”, while I, nearly double of the time in God’s long suffering love, came face to face with the same confrontation less the excuse.
Two and half hours later with our dinner barely touched and many tears shed, the two friends finally wrapped up and bid our farewell. My eyes were all swollen from all that crying – I knew I must have made such a scene there at the restaurant, but that was the last in my mind on my way home. I felt this kinship with this young man there in that car as I shared not only his crimes but also the ultimate pardon from the same Judge. How I wished I had been there with him – that night before, when he and his friends laid down on the sandy beach looking at the starry sky and heaved with the deepest sigh the joyful exclamation: “This is the best trip of my life!” I was wondering as perfect as he felt then, he never would have known how true that statement was – only that it was in fact better than “best”, beyond all standards or envy. My young friend is home now, and thanks to him, so am I.
No comments:
Post a Comment