TIM E HOLDER

Recently, one of my teachers asked the question, “How many of you believe you are living out God’s design and plan for your lives?” Honestly, I wanted to say yes, but couldn’t, at least not professionally. Socially, I know I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. I’ve spent this week, looking back through my formidable amount of years and the Lord, in his good and perfect timing, helped me remember a couple of specific moments, that, if I paid better attention, or understood at an early age what a “calling” actually was, would have made a world of difference.

I remember in the third grade, I wrote something, I have no idea what, for an essay. It was just a story. But, I recently remembered reading it for the class, absolutely mortified. But, they laughed. They actually laughed. A lot. Then a couple of weeks later, another teacher from the third grade came over with one of her students and my teacher informed me I was to go with her. I knew I did something wrong and was about to get licks from the principal. I mentally went through all the things I did that week that I actually deserved licks for. What did I do to this other teacher or one of the kids in her class? But when we got to the teachers room, she stood me in front of a room full of kids I only rarely interacted with on the jungle gym, and asked me to retell the story that I so eloquently delivered in my class a while back.  Well, I totally made the first story up, so I was completely at a loss as to how I should proceed. So, I made up another story, on the spot. It was something along the lines of Paul Bunyan and his sidekick, Babe The Blue Ox. I even acted out the fight scenes with guns and fists. It was a moment. Award worthy.

I’ve always loved to read. It’s a passion. The past few years though, have been so life busy I don’t read like I used to. But, I remember when I was a kid, one of my favorite things to do was to grab the big, rolled up, thick Sunday morning edition of the newspaper, unfold it, and sit down to read the comics and Parade Magazine and the TV guide. I would sit in front of the TV with my box of Cap’n Crunch and a gallon of milk while mom tried valiantly, semi-successfully, to get everyone, including herself, dressed for church. Dad would be shaving while he mentally went through his sermon for the morning church service, many times wishing he could come up with a great object lesson for his main point.

Like I said, I love reading. I was totally engrossed in the TV guide. I read the synopsis for every episode of my favorite shows and looked specifically for what horror movie would be showing on the late Friday night scare fest. One thing constantly puzzled me while reading all these little snapshots of what the shows were going to be about, almost exclusively confined to the summertime. So, I went to inquire of my father. He was, of course, shaving and I said, “Dad, I don’t understand something here.” He absentmindedly said, “what’s that?” I said, “I’m reading what this show is going to be about and it says, “Lucy has a bit too much VITAMETAVEGAMIN and embarrasses Ricky at a commercial shoot. Repeat. So, I go back and read it again and it says the same thing. “Lucy has a bit too much VITAMEATAVEGAMIN and embarrasses Ricky at a commercial shoot.” REPEAT. Dad, I’ve read it 5 times and it says the exact same thing…every…single…time!!!” I think Dad cut himself with the razor and wore toilet paper to church.

And I remember Friday nights. We were allowed to stay up a little later since it was a weekend and I would beg to watch TV longer. Dad would usually relent and tell me I could watch for a while, but I was forbidden to watch the horror movie. I was required to turn it off before the Mummy, or Dracula, or Godzilla crossed our black and white screen. He would turn the last remaining light in the house off and head down the dark hallway to bed. I knew that if I played my cards right, I could hear his heavy breathing, totally asleep in approximately 4.7 minutes.

I would get up off the couch and with all the stealth I could muster, sneak to the TV, turn it down so only I could hear it from the couch and change the channel knob to channel 2. I would crawl back up on the couch and hide up to my chin with the blanket and wait, heart pounding, for the opening credits.

I already knew what black and white monster it was going to be, since, the previous Sunday, I read the synopsis 12 times. Of course it didn’t take long before I was quivering in fear and wondering which end of the couch the werewolf was crouching next to, waiting for me to uncover one inch of flesh from the blanket, leaving me vulnerable for attack. Everyone knows that any skin or body part covered by blanket is impervious to attack or dismemberment.

I’m not sure at what point the fear would just be to much and I would fall asleep. But, it was always before the end, so I never knew that the creature from the Black Lagoon was dealt with, or that Dracula was shoved into the sun and was burned to a crisp or that it was always secondary characters that got eaten by the werewolf, never the leads, which of course, I was one of. All I know is that I slept through the movie’s climactic end, through the Native American, in full head dress, doing sign language through America The Beautiful, and finally startled awake by the weird old test pattern screen with the one piercing tone that would drone on till the station signed on the next morning.

I remember quivering, mentally making sure all body parts were covered and there was no other movement in the room as I tried to fall back into my horrified sleep. And then, there were steps. Distinct footsteps. Coming from the hallway. If I screamed, it would know I was there and my short life would be over. Of course, it wouldn’t see me, thanks to the magic of blanket. If I didn’t scream, there was always the possibility it would move right past me to the next room and eat one of my brothers. So I waited, vainly attempting to not give myself away by breathing or shaking to much. Suddenly the TV went silent and the steps moved to the edge of the couch. Blanket was thrown to the side, and there, in the darkness, I made out my dad’s form, towering above me. He was ominously quiet. He couldn’t very well yell at me without waking everyone else in the house. So he reached down and took my hand, and lifted me up off the couch and we began the 347 mile trek down the dark hallway.

Pitch black, I waited for Frankenstein to lumber out of my already dead sister’s bedroom to attack, or past the bathroom, where the sightless 4 foot tall spider would crawl out of the toilet to pull me in to its web. But, oddly enough now, I wasn’t afraid. Actually, I felt like the hero of the tale. I knew nothing would over take me. I could walk through the blackest night, the darkest ink of life as long as I held tightly to and never let go of my father’s hand.

One of my favorite quotes is from Minnie Louise Haskins. She wrote, “I said to the man at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

Isaiah 41:10 says, “So do not fear, for I am with you: do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

There will always be annoying test patterns. But, I’m more and more convinced, “If we are to be true followers of Christ, and our hope is heaven with Him, we must speak and act and show others we are already there.” Everyone is looking for a hand to hold in the dark.