Like the previous morning, the bright blue expanse of water appeared in the distance, yet this time it seemed nearer. The dawn’s warmth and splendor persisted in an unnatural way as I tried to shepherd my heart.
I was emotionally perplexed. A few years back, I’d learned that suppressing difficult emotions and proceeding as if nothing had occurred—akin to the adage “just rub some dirt on it and keep playing”—was not beneficial. This stoic posture had done nothing for me but deaden my emotions and stifle my tears when I really needed to grieve, such as after the death of my parents.
This morning the problem was trying to sort through all I was feeling. I felt accused by Harrison, betrayed by Mike, and grieved about Fred’s cancer diagnosis. Additionally, I was worried about the upcoming meeting with Mike and its potential impact on my job, especially since our savings was not substantial.
As had been the case each morning, as I rested on the packages, I reflected on a section of Scripture. This morning it was Psalm 42. The psalmist wrote that his soul was in despair and disturbed within, or, in another translation, sad and discouraged. [1]
This captured my emotions: sadness and discouragement.
After a bit of time, I heard, “I’m here.”
Instinctively, I yelled, “Why? Why Fred? How can his cancer be considered good in any way?” I guess I was also angry.
A silence followed, then a question, “What do you mean by good?”
Caught off guard, I had no answer.
I had arranged to have lunch with Jill around noon but had some time to spare until then. So, I decided to give Sammy a call.
“Hello,” Sammy answered.
“Sammy, It’s Bobby. How’s your car running. Any more leaks?”
“Mr. Bobby. I was going to call you today.”
“Please, just call me Bobby.”
“I’ll try, but it’s a hard habit to break. The car’s running smoothly. In fact, Milly made some fried chicken, collards, and macaroni and cheese for you and your wife in appreciation for all your help.”
“She didn’t have to do that,” I replied. “Just being with you helped me more than you know, but certainly I won’t turn down a meal from her. You told me what a great cook she is. Do you want me to come by and get it?”
“Smart man,” Sammy chuckled. “It won’t be ready until around noon. Would you and your wife like to join us for a meal then?”
“That would be great,” I responded. “Jill doesn’t get off for lunch until then. Would it be alright if I came over now, and she could join us at your place later?”
Sammy was thrilled at the idea. I called Jill and gave her the address and she agreed to meet me there.
The prospect of seeing Sammy again brought joy to my heart. En route, I noticed a package beside me addressed to Sammy, Milly and Alton. I wasn’t sure who Alton was, but I heard, “Allow them to serve you and learn from them.” Strange delivery instructions indeed.
Sammy and Milly resided on a quaint family farm located on the town’s west side, a short drive from Jill’s office. The property boasted a single-story house, a barn, and a pond. As I pulled up, Sammy was waiting by his truck. The sincere smile that spread across his face when he saw me comforted my weary soul.
The smell of country cooking wafting from the house as Sammy showed me around. He nimbly maneuvered on his artificial leg, as he showed me chickens, pigs, goats, a nice sized vegetable garden, and a small grove of peach trees.
“Are the chickens just for eggs?” I asked.
“No, we eat them too,” he smiled, nodding toward the house.
Wandering the farm with Sammy, my thoughts were flooded with childhood memories. Growing up near my grandfather on his small farm, I was whisked back to simpler times, before life’s hardships had dimmed the light of youthful joy.
Jill drove up just as Milly popped her head out of the front door and called us in for lunch.
The meal was exceptional: the chicken was perfectly crunchy, the macaroni delightfully cheesy, and the collards were richly savory. Our feast included buttery cornbread, lemony sweet tea, and homemade peach cobbler for dessert, crafted from their own harvest.
The joy they both exhibited was remarkable, despite facing persecution and discrimination due to their skin color. Being with them filled our hearts with gladness. I wished we could have stayed longer, but knew we had to leave soon.
Standing up, I asked, “Sammy mentioned your large family the other day, does anyone else live with you?”
“Yes,” Milly responded. “Our grandson Alton stays with us. His mother passed away at his birth.”
“We almost lost him too,” Sammy chimed in. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied.
“Come on,” Sammy motioned for us to follow him.
In a room at the end of the hall, a middle-aged man was seated in a rocking chair, gazing through the window at the weeping willow tree beside the pond. Under it, a pig and a goat appeared to be playing chase.
“Hey bud,” Sammy said. “I want you to meet some new friends of ours.”
Alton turned to us and smiled. During our brief time with him, we saw a man whose entire life was enveloped in love and joy, embodying the essence of childlike faith.
Later, Sammy conveyed that the umbilical cord had restricted oxygen to his brain at birth. He was unable to communicate verbally. However, it was undeniable how deeply he loved his grandparents; and us.
“Alton is a constant source of joy,” Sammy told me as I got in my car. Brushing away a tear, he said, “He embodies love and grace. People often pity us because they think Alton is a burden. It’s been a tough journey. We think about his mother daily. Yet, we believe our loving Father entrusted Alton to us for our good. Our time with Alton has strengthened our faith in Jesus Christ in ways we never thought possible. What we can’t do, God can.
I almost shouted, “Amen!” Probably should have.
I was strangely peaceful, as I drove to meet Mike. What Sammy said about life with Alton being “good,” brought me back to what He’d asked me that morning. “What do you mean by good?”
I now had at least a partial answer.
Entering Mike’s office, I noticed a document at the corner of his desk that read, “Probation”.
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. 29 For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren (Romans 8:28-29 NASB)
To Be Continued
[1] Psalm 42:5 (NASB, NLT)
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Joy in the Journey is about the gladness of God’s nearness in the midst of life’s adventures.
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