A Candle
In the Dark
by
Lisa Engle Escobar
With a contribution from
Christian Escobar
* * * * *
A Candle in the Dark
Copyright 2004, 2010, Lisa Engle Escobar
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form without permission in writing from the author. Excerpts may be quoted for reviews.
Smashwords Edition - January 2010
Editors: Shannon K. Downey, Suzanne Hawley
Cover design: Shrinidi Iyengar
Interior design: Paul McNeese, OPA Author Services
Photography: Catherine M. Servant, John Paul Toor
Published by Malaga Press
16132 Malaga Lane, Suite F
Huntington Beach, California 92647-3991
All inquiries should be made to Malaga Press.
E-mail: lisaann6760@yahoo.com
* * * * *
Dedication
To my son, Christian
In Miguel's memory
* * * * *
Introduction
~ A Remembrance ~
MY FIRST HOME-the place of my earliest memories-is an historic, colonial-style structure located in the friendly, colorful town of Madison, Georgia. Dating from pre-Civil War days, it has been lovingly restored and turned into a quaint Bed and Breakfast.
The Madison that I know today is built on a legend. During the Civil War, at a moment of panic for the South-Atlanta had just been razed, burned to the ground-a detachment of General Sherman's army had moved dangerously close to our small town. Miraculously, though, Senator Joshua Hill went out as an ambassador, reminding Sherman's local commander of a gentleman's agreement that Hill and Sherman had made some time previously to spare the town of Madison from any harm. Because of Senator Hill's intervention, many lovely Victorian and Antebellum structures are still standing today-untouched by the ravages of war. Ours was one of them.
The rooms of our house on Old Post Road were vast-and chilly in the winter, especially Mom and Dad's bedroom. Even space heaters added to the house's antiquated gas-heating system failed to keep us warm. Often on Sunday evenings in wintertime, we'd bundle up with sweaters, hats and, if necessary, coats and scarves. Sipping hot chocolate, we'd sit bunched together watching "The Wonderful World of Disney" while eating chocolate donuts.
Besides Mom, Dad, and the four of us sisters, the cavernous house was home to two flying bats. One practically owned the upstairs high-ceilinged master bedroom and the adjoining hallway while the other kept us on the lookout everywhere else. They patrolled at will, always unexpected; and their flights became our greatest frights as little girls.
Outside was a rich lawn, always spring-green and dotted with trees and gardenia bushes that filled the air with a sweet, complex scent. Mother used to place a single, paper-white flower in each of our rooms from time to time, adding a distinctly feminine fragrance to the whole house. At the end of our driveway we girls got to write our names in the freshly poured cement. Not our initials, but full names-Terri Engle, Laura Engle, Lisa Engle, and Sandi Engle. The year was 1965. I was five years old.
Daddy worked at a cordage mill and Mama was a kindergarten teacher. Kindergarten classes were held inside our big home, and I got to go there for the better part of two years. I was supposed to call my own mother "Miss Barbara," but calling Mama by her first name was hard to do, given that respect for my parents was as primary a lesson as finger painting or learning our ABC's.
~
IN 1966, WHEN I WAS SIX, we moved to a new house on Park Lane. Although moving can often be hard on a small child, all the familiar sights and comforts remained intact. There were, however, a few major differences.
Our house on Park Lane was a five bedroom, split-level home. It was painted a crisp white, with charcoal-gray shutters-and best of all-it was brand new!
In many respects it was an improvement over the historic relic on Old Post Road. There was new carpeting, new fixtures, and everything was in working order. We especially welcomed the less-than-frigid winters provided by the updated, twentieth-century heating system.
Mother moved her kindergarten to a different location, which was quite nearby. I was glad everything was still in Madison, especially her kindergarten and our old home.
~
MAMA AND DADDY WORKED HARD while we were growing up, especially Daddy.
As a boy, Daddy made his first money cutting grass for neighbors at fifty cents an hour. He also earned some side money from his parents, though it didn't come easily. At intervals throughout the year, two to three tons of furnace coal were dropped off in the back alley of his home. Single-handedly, Dad would shovel it into a wheelbarrow and dump it into a shoot that led to the basement.
At age seventeen, he and a buddy worked on a vegetable truck. This moneymaking operation saw the two teenagers energetically jumping off the truck at the head of each block of houses. Practically running door-to-door, they went about selling corn, beans, squash, tomatoes, watermelons and other fresh produce while the farmer-driving the truck-leisurely filled each order along the way.
During the summer following his graduation from high school, Dad worked at a downtown theater, first as an usher, then a doorman. Later, he was put in charge of the popcorn and candy department. In this job he got to wear a tall white chef's hat, which he loved. He could also sneak into the back of the theater to watch the movie once it started, and, perhaps best of all, he was permitted to eat all the popcorn he could hold!
While still in his first year of college, Dad landed a job working at Louisville's nicest department store, Stewart's. Not only did he package dishes; he enjoyed meeting lots of girls, but not one special enough to be our mom! That would come later.
Throughout the following summer, Dad worked at a soft drink company. He inspected bottles as they came through the line, and loaded and unloaded trucks with cases of soda.
As a college sophomore, Daddy became a part-time copy boy for the Louisville Courier Journal. His job consisted of tearing typewritten pages of news off the Teletype machines and delivering these stories to the staff of news copywriters.
Word was out that the paper's sports editor needed a sports writer. Dad approached the editor and asked for the position. He was given one chance, one game, to prove himself before he officially became the sports writer for this thriving newspaper. Dad rose to the challenge, proving that he had what it took to manage the demands of a regular column. A few months later, he made the enormous leap from part-time copy boy to a full-fledged staff writer. It was there that Dad was discovered for having a gift in writing.
As part of his job he reported on his college basketball team. He interviewed coaches before and after games, and enjoyed special seating at every game. He became a pro at writing actual play-by-play game accounts. Because Dad had always been-and still is -an avid sports fan, his work at the Courier Journal has remained his favorite job.
After he finished college, Dad was promoted to the newspaper's Accounting Department.
He stayed closely connected with friends of his alma mater, Bellarmine College, and with the girls he knew from neighboring Ursuline College. The Ursuline girls would often invite guys and grads from Bellarmine College over for parties. Guys traditionally brought beer and mixes for drinks while the girls prepared snacks and food galore.
On one of these occasions, the party turned into a piano playing and group singing session prompted by a certain young Ursuline freshmen named Barbara. A talented pianist, she could play all types of music and had memorized numbers of songs not even up for count.
That night she played love song medleys from the 50's era, and earlier: "Stardust," "Always," "Unforgettable," and many more. My dad, Bob, was impressed.
Between songs he asked Barbara if he could fix her a drink. She graciously accepted. Dad returned with a bourbon and beer boilermaker. It was the most distasteful drink Barbara ever had! Still, she gave the appearance of appreciating his kind gesture. She was finding she liked him. He liked her, too.
By the end of the evening, as snow began to fall outside, Dad asked to drive her home. They left the party together.
~
WHEN THEY FIRST MET, EACH WAS INVOLVED, seeing someone else. For a while they continued dating their respective partners, keeping their feelings for each other hidden. But three months later, as the New Year approached, they decided independently to open up about their feelings and admitted-each to the other-that they cared for one another more than the people they were dating. Once having leaped this initial hurdle, they broke their New Year's Eve dates to go out together.
Knowing their holy obligation to attend Mass on New Year's Day, they headed for service at 5:00 A.M. By going to Mass early they wouldn't have to wake up to be there hours later! After spending nearly a dozen evenings together, neither wanted their happy times to end.
Only six months after my parents met, Dad joined the armed forces. He enlisted in the Navy, and the military wasted no time in sending him overseas. Mom missed him so much while he was away, and just three days after he returned from his first tour in the Mediterranean, they were married. Dad went on to spend the remainder of his two year commitment back in the Mediterranean, working in the Air Intelligence Department.
As soon as Dad completed his two years of service, we girls began to arrive almost immediately-and at close intervals-Terri first, then Laura in less than a year's time, followed by me fifteen months later, and finally by Sandi, two years after that. It would have been hard to do all that procreative work any faster!
When we were still very small girls, Mama and Daddy gave us large burlap sacks to take to the cotton field across the road from where we lived. With these bags, we would stow away our picked cotton. At the end of the day, the kindly farmer would weigh our sacks and pay us several cents a pound for all the cotton we had gathered. On some days we might have cried over a bee sting or mosquito bites. But we had real money in our hands, so on balance we were four happy sisters, indeed.
Just after my eleventh birthday, I began babysitting an adorable six-month-old baby girl named Beth. My pay soared from seventy-five cents to a dollar an hour, sometimes a dollar and a half! I must have done a good job as my reputation soon spread. By age twelve, I was taking care of small children three or four evenings a week. During the summertime, I actually went along on vacations with families I worked for. I got to visit wonderful coastlines like Jekyll Island and St. Simon's. Babysitting at beach resorts hardly felt like work! And best of all, Mom gave me the freedom to spend or save the money I made.
Some time around our thirteenth birthdays, each of us girls found ourselves working at the Peach Shed-a huge, open, wooden warehouse located a couple miles from home. Alongside a rutted road, it featured a storeroom that reeked with the stench of rotten peaches that we could smell long before we could see the building.
Our job was to grade peaches, pulling them off rolling graders and tossing them onto belts according to condition. It wasn't long before all of us Engle girls were sweating our summers away at Madison's long-established Peach Shed. When the machines broke down, as they often did, we'd have peach fights throwing the mushy ones at each other and carrying that distinctive odor home with us.
Throughout our high school years, each of us had played musical instruments in the band. During concert season (spring) we competed in band festivals and during marching season (fall and winter) three of us sisters were flag twirlers in the color guard. I was sure to miss the fun we shared in band and the color guard section with all the school pep rallies, summer trips and half time performances at football games.
Throughout high school, our home had been the meeting place for friends, fun parties and more than enough guys whose mishaps-like throwing a football through the wall-we blamed on our dog, Dandy. We all loved Dandy, so he never got the heat. Once a stray in our neighborhood, he became our very own family dog.
I remember the time when we three older sisters went to a Prom with three brothers. They were star football players, and we were in high heaven!
Those were the good old days.
~
THERE WAS A CERTAIN POPLAR TREE outside my bedroom window that I had planted as a young girl. Legend has it that I first planted the young tree upside-down, roots facing the sky. As time went on though, this tree came to signify our growing years, as it grew with us four Engle girls-year after year-until one day, a decade had passed. The tree stood straight and tall, towering higher than my second story window.
In the same way, we had all grown and changed. We were all raised now, or so it seemed.
By 1977, I had reached my senior year of high school. Dad was still working at the cordage mill and Mom had completed twelve years of teaching kindergarten. Things were a bit calmer on the home front. Terri, who was then nineteen, and Laura, eighteen, had finished high school and moved on to their respective colleges. Laura had chosen Georgia Southern in Statesboro, and Terri was attending Georgia College in Milledgeville. Now only Sandi and I were left at home.
In the summer of that year, I was hired for my first real job at a brand new McDonalds that had just sprouted off Interstate 20. Sandi applied shortly thereafter. Together we became known as the best drive-thru window team in the area. There was still some fun left in us.
But things were different for us now. The pace had slowed. There was more time for reflection, and one striking fact came into focus. I could see that my parents were still in love-even after all these years-and after all that we girls had demanded of them. I knew, too, that they loved us and cared about our lives.
As for me, now seventeen, a time for difficult decisions was fast approaching.
~
YEARS EARLIER, IN 1954, DAD HAD GRADUATED in the very first graduating class of Bellarmine College. Quite naturally, he felt we should go there, too. But Terri, Laura, and Sandi had set their sights on other schools. I was the only Engle girl open to the idea. Here I was at life's biggest juncture-imagining what life would be like in a city five hundred miles away...
One thing, and one thing only, was certain. Soon I would be leaving all that was, behind... including that small, spectacular Georgia town born out of grace, elegance and charm.
Yes, here I was-a high school senior-suddenly realizing that the future was catching up with me . . . my future was up to me . . . my future was TOMORROW.
* * * * *
Chapter One
~ Just a Girl ~
TOMORROW WAS THE BIG DAY. For a moment I wondered if tomorrow would ever come.
Tonight, enthusiastic students of Morgan County High School would gather to share their school spirit with the townspeople. A bonfire celebration marked by the upbeat sounds of our small but much loved marching band was about to take place. It was the opening of homecoming festivities, and I was one of twelve nominees for homecoming queen.
Since my nomination, secret ceremonies replayed over and over in my mind. I thought of treasured trophies of past family pageantries, especially mine. Like gold stars, they were prominently displayed on our burnished and refined, Southern oak mantel. I recalled rapturous moments delighting in the recognition that these marble and silver-plated statuettes had brought. I knew still there must be more to life than my small structured hands had held. But whatever that was, my heart had barely begun its search.
Somehow as high school days had worn on, I had grown less bubbly. I'd begun to feel rather subdued. It was as though a sense of resignation gave true recognition that home and friendships were about to turn a corner. One day, and one day soon, they would be changed forever.
I was aware of the inevitable-that high school days were nearing their end. All week long, nostalgic memories had washed over me as I headed into the excitement of one last homecoming. It would be more special this year than any other.
Mama and Daddy were proud, very proud, and in a more spirited way, so were my three sisters. So much so, they coaxed me into a spontaneous, comical rehearsal of a princess walk. Unwilling to face my lofty wave alone, I persuaded Daddy for this exaggerated show. I knew precisely how to set the stage.
I began by saying what any good Southern daughter would say, "Daddy, I am honored to have you as my escort. You are the most charming and wonderful man in the state of Georgia!"
That got him out of his lounger and onto his feet.
Daddy was a first-rate runner with trophies that outshone mine on the "mantel of glory." He ran with an air of stateliness, and was as graceful as a gazelle when he crossed the finish line in a race. But somehow at the bottom of stairs, his shoelaces seemed to be tied together. All of his former glory flew right out the window!
"No, Daddy," I demonstrated. "Step forward with your right foot, and then with your left. Here, you be me and I'll be you. Pick up the hem of your gown, like so. Step down, daintily now. Gee, maybe homecoming attendant would be a better choice for you!"
Everyone laughed. Daddy flashed his Jimmy Carter smile, stomped my socked foot, and twirled around in his 'pretty dress.' Mama and my sisters were practically rolling on the floor with laughter. It was almost impossible to avoid falling prey to the comic genius of Dad's unintended clumsiness. We practiced our pre-princess walk until we had gotten a few serious practices in. By midnight I was satisfied with our performance.
Before my three sisters headed to bed that night, they each gave me a hug and wished me luck. The oldest, Terri, promised to make me laugh whether I won or lost. She was just home from college. Laura, also home from college, gave me an extra big hug for good measure. Sandi, the youngest, was the last of sisters standing there. Her natural sweetness emanated as she smiled and told me what a beautiful princess I was going to be. I was left with Mama and Daddy looking down on me lovingly.
"Well," Mama spoke first, "tomorrow's the big day! Our little miss might be the homecoming queen."
"No, Mama, I don't think so. But it's an honor to be in the court."
"Sure is," said Daddy.
I gave them each a hug and bid them sweet dreams, like always, before hurrying upstairs. At the top of the stairway, I turned around and said in a somewhat crackling voice, "I love you, Mama. I love you, Daddy." To me it was important that I tell them separately.
"And we love you, Lisa," they said with the kind of perfect unison that only years of togetherness can bring.
In our home, the lines of communication were always open. Life and love flowed through the same channel. Although I loved my parents dearly, for some reason these words were becoming harder to say. It was easier to share a warm hug or a brisk kiss than it was to express my love for them. To allow my parents to know me-the woman I was growing into-felt so uncharacteristic for a still very young girl. Could it be maturity that was responsible for the subtle change in the atmosphere between us? Around them, I was still the same little girl I had always been. No, maturity wasn't the reason.
I turned a corner before reaching my bedroom. The curtains were open, just as I had left them. I glanced out the window and noticed the poplar tree-the one that, as a small child, I had planted. There it stood, bathed in a soft, moonlit glow. Not a leaf was stirring. It was as though time were standing still.
~
THE FOLLOWING DAYBREAK, soft radiance from the morning sun peeking through my window's semi-sheer curtains half-awakened me. Because I had already washed my blonde silken hair twice, shaved my legs, polished my nails and showered the rest of me from head to toe the night before, I was free to luxuriate in a few extra minutes of beauty sleep.
My body was not fooled. I lay in anticipation of the parade, the dance, the football game, the crowning of the queen . . . and all that would happen in the night to come.
Seemingly in a dream-like state, a short-lived image fluttered through my mind. An ethereal sense of tranquility passed over me. It was almost as though I were being held in a man's arms. I envisioned the one I longed to be held by, but it was an intimacy all too unlikely to come true. Surely, I must have been dreaming for the day's arrival had dawned all too soon.
Suddenly aware I had been drifting for some time, I scrambled out of bed making it as usual. Presentable on the surface, but with the sheet and blanket still crumpled underneath, I wished for this day that Mama wouldn't notice my untidy bed and unkempt room as she had every other day. Couldn't just for today a homecoming nominee escape such monotonous chores?
~
EXCITEMENT AND LAUGHTER filled the hallways at school. Even though the humdrum routine of lectures and exams took precedence as usual inside the classrooms, outside, students' spirits were high. This was the day we had long awaited.
By the end of sixth period I sat glued, riveted to the clock right up to the last few minutes of the school day. If only I could manage to bear the weight of my discontentment until the final bell sounded!
When the bell finally did ring, I looked up to see Sandi waiting for me.
"Let's get out of here," she said continuing, "I felt like this day would never end."
"Me, too. Gotta stop at my locker first."
"You excited about tonight?" Sandi asked.
"I guess so. I know I'm not going to win, though."
"Hey, you might be surprised, Lisa. A lot of people like you."
"Oh, no, not me. I think I know who's going to be crowned."
"Who?"
"Connie Sheppard. With a body like hers, she's got it in the bag."
"So, you think this is a beauty contest?"
"All the guys will vote for her, and the girls' votes will be divided up among the others."
"Hmmm, guess you've got a point there."
Sandi wandered down the hallway while I stopped at my locker.
"What are you wearing for the parade?" she asked.
"My black dress, you know, the one with flowers embroidered around the top."
"What about shoes?"
"High-top suede boots."
"Why are you wearing black, Lisa? You're skinny enough as it is!"
"I'm not skinny. I wish I were your size, why, I could wear practically anything. You're perfect. At five-feet four, a couple more inches-you could be a model! You've got the world at your feet, Sandi, and you don't even know it. Just look at your figure, and those slender legs!"
"Is that why everyone calls me 'bird legs'?"
"That's not what they're meaning."
"And, you've got the darlingest boyfriend in the world!"
"Is 'darlingest' a word, Lisa?"
"Well, you know what I mean. Tracy is so masculine, and what a ball player! Do you know how lucky you are?"
"Yeah, sometimes, I guess."
"You and Tracy have something special. I feel terrible for saying this, but sometimes I feel so . . . so envious. I just wonder if it will ever happen to me."
Tears came to my eyes though I tried to hold them back. My own jealousy had stopped me in my tracks. Sandi stood still a few minutes, waiting for me.
"No, no, Lisa. It's going to happen, really. I just found someone sooner, that's all. It will happen-in time-I promise. You wait and see."
"Thanks for saying that. I guess you're right . . . maybe someday. Come on! Let's hurry home. I don't have much time to get ready. I'll do the makeup. I need your help in fixing my hair. The parade starts pretty soon!" As I wiped away the tears, we hugged. Sandi and I jogged towards our ride. We soon found ourselves home.
~
ALONE, I STOOD STARING INTO THE MIRROR, contemplating my transformation. I thought about my life, where I had come from and where I would be going. Here I was, about to step off into a world of unknowns. Where would I live? What new faces would I be looking into? Homecoming was a sure sign that graduation was near. Just this morning I had promised myself that I wouldn't dwell on that. Didn't I have enough work in front of me?
The mission was to glow, emitting gleam, perhaps a touch of glitter, but never gaudy. I carefully adorned my eyes with touches of beige. Then the eyeliner, oh yes, the ever-challenging eyeliner. It must be perfect the first time for if not, the telltale smudge would surely remain. With the stillness of a surgeon, I painted the right lid with a slight curve upward. Holding my breath, I did the same to the left. Yes, the patient would live! Ah, the rest was a breeze. Swirl on the mascara. Not too much blush. Line those lips. A little lipstick-perfection!
Though I wasn't the radiant model adorning the glossy pages of fashion magazines, I had managed to bring a bit of beauty into some of my natural features-large, hazel-green eyes, wide, full lips and high cheekbones. There was but one feature I treasured most ~ my long, golden blonde hair. Tonight the look was straight and glossy with just enough wave to soften my face. Feeling a sense of satisfaction at the reflection staring back at me, I hurried out the door. The parade was about to begin.
~
FROM THE MOMENT I ARRIVED at the parking lot, waving hands beckoned me aboard. I sat high atop a raised stage with three other homecoming nominees. Shortly after being seated, I accepted a fragrant bouquet of flowers handed me. A cool film of perspiration covered my body. Suddenly, a dreadful daze captured me.
Restlessly, I began searching through the faces I saw, one by one. Who was I looking for? Was it him? The man I had envisioned while half-dreaming just this morning? Had he dreamed of me as I had of him? I gazed into the crowd, taking in the masses of people, yet seeing no one.
As the float was being pulled into position, I knew the drill. I was to wave my hand regally, turn my head from side to side, and smile enchantingly to the hundreds of townspeople who were now gathering along Madison's beloved Main Street. I could see the merchants of the small town square pulling their shades and locking their doors, rushing to secure a good vantage point for the parade. Like living legends of the past, there were alumni. Arm in arm with their spouses, they were trailed by little ones of all sizes. I could feel the excitement building, but at the same time an overpowering sense of insecurity was paralyzing me.
"No, no!" I thought to myself, "this can't be happening." An overwhelming sense of fear gripped from within. With all the strength I could muster, I tried fervently to gather my tumultuous thoughts and restrain the knot of my chaotic emotions. I could not allow fretting to cloud the most important and memorable day of my life. For today was to be a joyful day. Unable to slow my fearful thoughts, and with nowhere to turn, I thought of Jesus. Wasn't it He who had said I could call upon His name for strength? From some deep well of grace taught early on in my girlhood, I uttered a prayer that went something like this:
Jesus, I don't know if you are here, but if you're anywhere near, please hear my prayer. I need your peace. Would you send some my way?
~
SECONDS LATER it dawned on me that I had forgotten to say Amen. So two Amen's I spoke, this time aloud.
I had once heard that 'Amen' meant to agree. Was Jesus agreeing with me? Had He heard the plea of my heart, pounding loud with fear? From the moment that whispered prayer passed my lips, the internal war with my emotions quieted. In its place, a calming peace resided.
I had been so willful lately, so forgetful of Jesus' love for me. With all the comings and goings of life, I had left Him behind. But He had not left me. It was as it was when I was a child-when I felt swallowed up by the world-all I had to do was reach out to Him. He would be there to take hold of my hand then, just as He had today.
In gratitude of His grace, my confidence returned. My eyes shone brightly, and with a smile wide and real, I waved enthusiastically to people I knew and loved. The parade flowed through town in perfect formation with flag twirlers twirling banners of color, majorettes stepping high and the marching band blaring from behind. An array of decorative floats closely followed.
People shouted and cheered as if this were the most enthralling occasion they had ever been to. For me, at that moment, it was. No longer was I looking for a man in the crowd to give me a firm place to stand. I was looking for the love in my heart, and that was enough.
~
THE ORANGE AND PINK OF SUNSET faded as a deeper, midnight blue began to envelop the skies. I watched as massive crowds hastened to fill the empty stands to capacity. When every possible sitting spot and all potential standing spaces were taken, I compared my watch with the official time clock. The time had come. I would join the other girls in the transformation from regular high school girls to dazzling princesses. Members of the court would slip into flowing evening attire.
I made my exit quickly but quietly to avoid drawing attention from the crowd. When I was reasonably sure I was far enough away from curious eyes, merrily I scurried following the muddy path that first led downhill then up an embankment to a grassy plateau. As our dressing room came in sight, I slowed from a dead run.
Our changing room was filled to overflowing with racks of laced eveningwear and dyed-to-match satin shoes. Though the full-length gown I'd been given to wear had once belonged to my oldest sister, Terri, tonight I regarded it as being my very own.
While one friend zipped up the full, back-length zipper and adjoined the small dainty hooks, another wrapped snugly around my waist a long flowing belt. Did I look as heavenly as I felt in the creamy, ivory creation trimmed with shimmering sleeves of embroidered lace? For at that moment I appeared, if only to myself, like that of an angel. Unspoiled, fresh and glowing . . . a likeness to that of a bride . . .
The lower cut than usual neckline, though still well mannered in a Southern sort of way, revealed that I was growing into womanhood. How could I ever repay Terri for her generosity, for giving me the chance at this loveliness?
But what would happen when the magic of this night wore off?
I kept my eyes on Jesus' peace to avoid spoiling the light-hearted evening. Wasn't it enough to be standing on the brink of womanhood, to have a family who loved me, and a God who would always be there?
Yes, and more than yes! I was blessed beyond measure.
~
IT WAS HALFTIME at the football game with our cross-county rival. All twelve homecoming nominees and their escorts were introduced. As I stepped off the float toward the center of the football field, right on cue, Daddy was there to meet me. So handsomely dressed in his beige suit, he held his position ready to escort me to the decorated platform. I walked bravely, boldly in the coldness that night, but the spirit of the evening was warm indeed.
After arriving to our assigned places, the time came for the queen to be announced. This could be the chance of a lifetime-to be crowned queen in my final year at Morgan County High. As the announcer was about to call the name of the new reigning queen, I knew with an ego-shattering clarity that the crown would not be placed upon my head this night. My wish to see the ornamented diadem shining from the mantel of glory would never be.
The girl with the body, Connie, did not win, however, as we all thought she would. It was Diana Mitchell who wore the coveted crown home.
An especially close friend of mine since childhood, Lissa Blackwell, was first runner-up. She was thrilled, as I was for her.
I recalled in first grade when she and I were scolded for doing something supposedly naughty. Wanting to exchange our middle names, we determinedly wrote each other's on all our classroom assignments. Somehow, in showing a liking of Lissa's middle name (Elaine) and in her favoring my own (Ann)-it sparked the beginning of a bond lasting right through twelve years of school together.
With the homecoming ball mere minutes away, my friends and I needed to make a quick get-away. Treated to an evening of a lifetime, the queen's court were honored guests at the ball. I kissed Mama and Daddy goodbye. Off I went for a night of friendship and dreams.
~
AS THE NIGHT GREW CHILLY, so did I. I entered the damp, cool building that was partially darkened except for quick, pulsating multi-colored flashes of light that accentuated the rhythms and beats of live music. I gazed at these flickering lights and mused at how closely they resembled the split seconds of my life. From a little girl to a young woman-all in one striking instance-or so it was beginning to seem.
When the band erupted into the seventies anthem, Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird, swarms of people poured through the doors. Amidst the sharpened guitar chords and drumming vibrations alternated trivial small talk from the clamoring crowd. I flitted about aimlessly through the countless numbers, scooping up my gown as I mixed with life-long friends. It was as though all my previous cares and fears had vanished upon seeing the brightness of their smiles.
At one stop, as if by magic, there he was. Tall, blonde and lean with broad shoulders and an easy, confident stride. Color, movement and light formed a blur behind him. Still I could see the man of my dreams standing before me, startling my body to near numbness. Despite the noise and distractions all around me, not a movement he made went unnoticed.
There had been past proms and winter formals when we were a couple, he and I. Hearing songs, namely of the past, made me feel as though I were slipping backward through time. I recalled the ones we had danced to. I was flooded with memories of the smiles, the laughter, and the hugs we shared-hugs that once led to deep and tender kisses. I stood in watch, as he stood alone.
The band segued into some softer music. So sweet and mellow were the lyrics and sounds of A Whiter Shade of Pale. Held captive in my mind were the scenes of places I had been, the friends I had known... But mostly there were scanned images, images of him.
I stood at a standstill. I could feel my heart beating. I was falling hard and fast, though our time had passed.
With his eyes meeting mine, we came together for a single dance. He took me in his arms as he had so many times before. Now estranged, no longer did his eyes look deep into mine.
I wished for the song to have lasted forever. I wished for our lips to meet. I walked away feeling guilty, tormented that I had longed for more. After what seemed like a few short hours, I found myself only minutes away from curfew. I left the dance, this time without him. He had left my heart alone.
Vivid memories of that night lingered. I cherished the memoirs-the pictures, wilted roses and letters-hidden in safekeeping. I held Bobby's image to the light, as though it were a prism, brilliant and unchangeable by the growing distance of time. Yet a day came when remembering only served to deepen the wound. Like a castaway, I felt thrust aside, rejected by the one I longed to give my heart to. One night I burst forth a blur of bitter tears. With only the hollow sound of my own voice searching for answers, I poured out my grief:
~ Young Love ~
Dream after dream have i had of you,
day after day, and night after night . . .
you've clouded my waking, too.
Hours and hours spent
wondering why
a freshly born
rosebud ~
our love ~
so soon
had to
die.
i offered you a yellow rose ~
my heart, my beauty ~
a gracious spirit, my throne.
Someone else must have
caught your eye, or
another distraction,
what, I'll never know
who, or why.
But i know you,
the bitter and sweet,
and oh how beautiful
when we first did meet.
You, my angel light ~
first love ~
it was you
who turned
to go.
Always you will be my thorn,
dropped petal ~ sweet love ~
an ever-present memory.
Yours, a love which was
. . . never to be mine,
unrequited, left behind,
i fell in love, young love ~
like early spring ~
too fragile to last.
And so it died
with the past.
i was much
too young
to realize,
i was
falling ~
much too hard ~
and much too fast.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
~ Tragedy Strikes ~
LOVE HAD LEFT ME COLD and bitter as the realization of past dreams became more and more of a long lost fantasy. During that obscure, dismal winter, life became a series of one misfortune followed by another. I recall vividly one tragic event that became a profound turning point in my life, one that would affect my future like no other.
I remember the day well-Ash Wednesday, a cool, brisk day in February 1978. Nothing particularly special was happening, just the normal hustle and bustle of a typical high school day as a senior. In between classes, we girls clustered together to compare class notes, see who would be attending the next school conference, or conjure up a plan to deter the next class from commencing. When possible, we arranged babysitting schedules, teaming up if parents would consent. The days were always busy with seemingly endless band practices, club meetings and lengthy tennis matches. Social matters took precedence over studies. That was a given.
A cloudy Wednesday afternoon ended with nearly everyone marveling at the predicted snowy weather forecast. Perhaps once a year in our small, quaint old-fashioned town, snowfall would stop time. With no snowplows or salt machinery, it was too slick for buses to pass on country roads so, of course, school was dismissed. I was mesmerized by the possibility.
We girls left school looking to the heavens for manna and praying for blankets of fine snow to cover the ground. If ever we were blessed with more than an inch, we'd haul out Mom's cookie sheets and start baking. Then, after hot chocolate and warm sugar cookies, we would gaily slip and slide on homemade sleds seeking out the neighbors' yards with the steepest slopes. For us Georgians used to hot, sticky, molasses-type weather, snow was a gift from God treated as a treasure from on high.
Before nightfall, a few flurries did appear. In spite of the weather, Mother appeared upstairs to remind Sandi and me to begin getting ready for Mass. It was Ash Wednesday, a Holy Day for us Catholics. Holy Days traditionally held a sacred meaning in our home. As Mother stood in the hallway, I could hear Sandi's pleas.
"Oh, Mama, I can't go to church! I haven't felt well all day. Pleeeeaaaase let me stay home." Mama wouldn't hear of it, but Sandi persisted.
Both Mom and I knew the reason Sandi wanted to stay behind. Eagerly she awaited those windows of opportunities to talk on the phone or spend time with Tracy. Although he remained less than a year short of legal driving age, he'd secretly drive Alesia's car.
Alesia was Tracy's sister and a close friend of mine. Time and time again he'd barter some deal for her car. Without his parents knowing, Tracy would ensue every back road to reach our home. Living out in the country, Tracy had driving experience!
Still wanting Sandi to come to church with us, I concluded it was time to take a stance. I approached her, first to listen, then to coax her into joining us. With Terri and Laura off to their respective colleges, we were a smaller family left at home. We were family, though, and that I loved.
Admittedly, I had my share of times failing to make the right decision. There was no denying that. Still, something inside of me knew right from wrong, good from bad. Some unknown principle within always whispered, "Lisa, you know what is good, just and pure." And indeed I did. The choice of following the path I knew to be right or going my own way proved to be an ongoing battle. At too many junctures, I had chosen to ignore that small, still voice.
This Holy Day seemed a perfect moment to inspire someone to choose the good, to make a right decision. Who better than my own sister! Being two years older, I aspired to be her role model, a person of wise judgment and a voice of reason. After all, we had grown especially close that year being the only siblings left at home. I fumbled around, reaching for some sisterly words of wisdom. Somehow, with a voice of conviction, the words found their own flow:
"Sandi, you know that if no one knows you're pretending to be sick, God knows. Please come to church with us. It'll be fun if we all go-as a family. Besides, Mom and Dad said they'd take us to Long John Silver's. Mmmmm . . . fried fish, hush puppies, slaw and sweet tea . . . sounds great, huh? We really should get going while we still have time to eat before church starts."
Sandi smiled, but not right away.
"Okay, okay, I'll go. Tell Mama I'm getting ready."
On such a day as this, fish substituted for meat designating Ash Wednesday as a day of sacrifice. Both Ash Wednesday and Good Friday were Holy Days when our family joined with members of our parish, reflecting on the life and death of Jesus.
Despite the weather, we made it to dinner and church on time. Receiving our ashes was a somber event. The priest's words "from dust you are born, to dust you shall return" were spoken as he marked the sign of the cross, leaving remnants of ashes across our foreheads. It was hard not to think about life and death. With death remaining a mystery, I was thankful to be alive.
~
ONLY A LIGHT SHEET OF SNOW had fallen, making sparse tracks along the thirty miles of road we traveled as we made our way home from Mass.
I detected an eerie silence, almost a hush, as we turned into Park Lane, a street normally busy with happenings. The time was 9:30.
A cold, moonless night-we found it odd that our friends, Roy and Mildred, were sitting in their car, still running and parked in our driveway. Startled that nearby neighbors would be waiting outside our home so late, Daddy pulled over.
I noticed their windows were fogged, perhaps from the heater. I wondered how long they had been there.
Roy rolled the window down. "Got to talk to you folks."
The curiosity of their presence struck, no doubt, a different chord in each of us. Roy was a highway patrol officer, but above all, he was our friend. His approach was serious though, raising our concerns.
Daddy parked the car. Roy and Mildred followed us as we lingered along the walkway leading into the house.
Mama, Daddy, Sandi and I gathered in the dining room while Roy and Mildred stood beside us. By then, my heart was beating like a drum.
For a moment there was quiet. Mildred broke the silence.
"Something very bad has happened . . . it's Tracy!"
The urgency in her voice prepared us for decidedly woeful news. What could she have meant? We braced ourselves, but not for what we were about to hear. Nothing could have done that. Her forehead frowned and her lips were tightly pursed though they quivered as she tried to speak.
We listened as Mildred began to talk, the words caught in her throat . . .
"Tracy's been killed!"
By the time Mildred reached the end of her sparse words, her voice trailed off in a sob. I was sure I had not heard her right. Nothing could be wrong with Tracy. Sandi had spoken with him only minutes before we left. He couldn't have been better. Why wouldn't he have been?
In disbelief, I turned to Mama for some assurance that these unbelievable words were not true. I saw her cheeks turn into a shade of sheet-white. I knew the unfathomable was true! Tracy was dead.
Fear swept through every disheartened one of us. Trauma had hit hard. I felt the blood drain from my face, and with great trepidation, I turned to look at Sandi. Each of us drawn into our own pain, we refrained from consoling one other. The shock was too great.
I numbly stood to my feet, making my way to the bathroom where I tried to revive myself with cold water from the faucet. When I returned to the living room, Sandi motioned for me to come over. Somehow she had found her voice and turned to Mildred to ask.
"How did it happen?"
"His brother, the twelve-year old, was cleaning the father's gun. Accidentally, it went off."
Sensitive to the moment, Mildred did not immediately give details. Hearing that Tracy was dead left us in despair too deep to grasp.
"Oh my God!" I cried over and over again, "Please, not Tracy!" I pleaded with everything in me.
I felt as though I had entered a world of merciless anguish. Appearing too distraught to speak, Sandi sat quietly for the most part, her pretty face buried in her hands as she wiped away tears from her cheeks.
Inwardly, I could feel myself rebelling against God. Over and over I defied Him for allowing this crushing twist of fate. Petitioning and pleading for understanding, I asked God "why?" I wondered if the nightmare would ever end.
Feeling the weight of guilt that was mine alone, I felt the uttering silence of my eyes begging hers, "I'm sorry, Sandi, oh, so sorry. Please forgive me."
For, it was I who beseeched her to attend Mass that fateful night. I had believed with all of my heart and good intentions that my guidance was right. Only reluctantly had Sandi decided to come to church with us, the 'right' thing to do. How could we have known the heartbreaking consequences that would follow? I only knew now that I was the guilty one.
I was sure that if my sister had stayed home, this tragedy would never have happened. Tracy would either have been in the privacy of his room talking to Sandi on the phone or he would have driven over to see her, like so many times before. Either way, he was sure to have escaped this wicked fate-but now it was too late.
Still wiping her eyes, Sandi pulled her now, matted with tears and wilting blonde hair back away from her face. Looking at her utter despondency, it occurred to me that, for her sake, I must remain strong. Although Tracy's death was a loss to us all, the personal hardship was Sandi's to bear. She needed the love of family and friends to comfort her, and the strength of others to endure.
Of what use was my anger at God? I would deal with that some day. Some other day...
Sandi must have sensed my burden of guilt. Pleas for forgiveness flooded my eyes. Our combined sorrows, like sharpened swords, pierced our souls even deeper. As she offered a gentle embrace, I felt her heavy heart answer the unspoken.
"I still love you," she seemed to say.
She never reproached me for any wrongdoing, neither in words, nor by implication. Although our love was tenderly rekindled by her willingness to forgive, a dark cloud overshadowed me for many months, as did that grave, marked indelibly by a picture of Tracy's face. The loss of a friend never hurt so deeply.
Later that night, I learned from Alesia that Tracy and their youngest brother, Ken, were watching television. Ken had decided to clean one of their family-owned guns. Not knowing there was a deadly bullet lodged in its secret chamber, tragically it went off-striking Tracy-in the head.
He was killed instantly. Young Ken was devastated.
~
FROM PICTURES TO KEEPSAKES TO LETTERS, reminders of Tracy filled Sandi's room. That night she stayed in mine, though we barely slept at all.
The following morning Sandi asked if I could bring home some belongings from their lockers. Of course I would.
Too, I promised her a devotional on his behalf.
No, we never forgot young Tracy... his dark, stylish hair, faint, but perceptive moustache, strong body build, and his eyes of deep brown encompassed by a thick row of eyelashes. His winning personality and laughable sense of humor had left a certain impression on all of us teenagers that fateful year.
~
IT SEEMED THAT THE LINGERING DARKNESS, the hardened earth of winter, would not give way to the soft blossoms of spring. There were still more struggles than there was sunshine. With violent storms erupting in every direction, who would notice the distanced raindrops falling on me? I found myself bitter with grief, doubting God and all of His promises. Unbearable guilt spiraled me downward into a pit of despondency-so black-so bleak-that not a ray of light could shine through. Isolated from others, I was surrounded by darkness. In my aloneness I felt safe.
I knew life could not be lived in hiding. Yet the shrouded veil that encircled my heart had turned into a wintry cloak. Layered. Non-penetrable. With a covering so thick, it prevented me from feeling most anything at all. Anything-except pain.
Face to face with utter despair, I could see two futures separated by choice... choices of how I could live my life. I could remain in seclusion, deadened to feelings and those longing to be close. Or I could live in painful mourning, infecting everyone whose path I crossed.
There was light in neither. Darkness abounded. My heart had to break out of the affliction before I dwindled into nothingness.
~
SANDI WAS OFTEN SEEN SMILING her effervescent grin-a smile I'd forgotten she had. I admired her for her ability to stand strong in the midst of trying circumstances. Her strength to withstand was clearly a virtue I lacked. I was convinced by her apparent joy that she was no longer taken by grief. Most certainly she had encountered something-some deeper understanding that I knew was missing from my life.
Where had she found this rock on which to stand? Where had her strength, this renewed sentiment for life come from? I could only wonder.
One night, very late, Sandi shared an ember of love with me. She revealed that she had been mercifully touched by a grace, an under girding-so precious, so strong-that she could no longer feel sad. Love had taken her pain and given her double the measure back, in joy.
My sister explained that the love that filled her was God's love. The same God I had reprimanded in vengeance and rebuked with hostility. The same God I blamed, and turned away from.
Upon hearing her talk about what God had done, my heart began to soften. Gradually, the searing flames of my anger began to cool, to give way to the life-giving waters of Jesus' love.
That same night Sandi shared with me how an unexpected servant who lived "way down yonder in the sticks," as country folks would say, had led her to God.
I asked to meet her.
~
WITH DIRECTIONS IN HAND, I set out on a drive through the backwoods of Georgia, a sojourn from which I would not return the same.
She had eyes filled with light, and serenity that fit her like a garment. Together we prayed for Jesus to be the Lord of my life, to forgive me of my sins and to allow me to know Him. The moment I opened my eyes, it was as though a veil had been shrouding my vision . . . all of my life. I felt Jesus' Spirit for the first time.
I searched deep within the sparkling eyes of this dear woman, who was clasping my hands so tightly with a grasp like that of electricity. She carried a tremendous faith and love for God's Word. She trusted in the fulfillment of each and every promise bound within its gilded pages. Though just one of millions of people, infinitesimal speck in scope, it was she who had been chosen to bless my life.
Still clasping my hands tightly in her modest country home, she offered the most radiant smile. Too, she confessed that she was a bit nervous having led me to Jesus sharing that I was one of a few souls for whom she had prayed for salvation.
She had no earthly idea of the gift granted her. Just as God had chosen to save me, He had chosen to use her as a special vessel. How miraculous God is to manifest Himself through the hearts of His people!
From that moment of salvation, maturity took on a new spiritual implication. For me, it meant coming into perfection with Jesus, and He in turn bringing His perfection within me. Though I was familiar with the mosaic stained glass, the sacred book pocketed in the back of each pew, and prayers I'd often prayed, it was on this day-August 8, 1978-six months to the day since Tracy had left this earth, that I encountered the life of Jesus.
I chose to serve Him in truth and in love. Once again, there were two paths. Different paths. One was brown and withered, trampled by the cares of self-concern; the other, green and well nourished, abounding in the ways of God. I expected a relatively smoother road ahead. Little did I know my painful trials had just begun.
But this time, I would not walk alone. Jesus would be there with me for every breath I would take and for every beat of my heart. For it was there He would remain-closest to my heart.
With so much to learn, there was time yet. For now I would rest, basking in the arms of my beloved.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
~ New Horizons ~
YEARS WOULD PASS before the manifestation of becoming the Lord's child would reveal itself to me. I could not yet comprehend the magnitude of the gift Jesus had granted. Choosing to accept God's gift of salvation-already paid for with His precious blood-was the most important decision I would ever make, for I had given Jesus the keys to the final destiny of my soul. I was told this was true, but because it all seemed so simple, I could scarcely believe it. Yet the events that followed made it all too clear. Yes, Jesus and I were in for the ride of our lives. All I had to do was hold on fast and trust Him to know the way.
Allowing Him to mold me into His image was challenging for a then eighteen-year-old girl whose awareness of spiritual truths was lacking. Because I was so eager to be all that God wanted, it never occurred to me that change was a continuous process. On this pathway there was no need to rush, for He had already gone before me.
I knew with Jesus in my heart, I would pursue the faith, the calling ~ like sun to the vine ~ beckoning me to reach ever higher. I only needed to believe in Him, trusting in His faithful promises.
~
JUST DAYS FOLLOWING MY SURRENDER to Christ, I found myself at home on the provincial campus of Bellarmine College. Amidst this time of soul-searching, Mama and Daddy had driven me to Louisville, Kentucky for the exciting start of my freshman year. Majoring in Sociology and Theology was sure to be a pedestal from which my simple faith could grow into a fuller knowledge.
If I had not been so thrilled to begin a new chapter in my life, I would have been teary-eyed watching my parents drive away. Instead, there I was wandering about the moderately sized, green and cultivated, charming campus, looking forward to whatever was in store for me.