Well, here we are at last (apologies for it being later than noon) the final installment of Time – A Short Story. I have enjoyed working through this and I hope I have delivered a a story that is both thought provoking and emotional. If this is your first visit and you have not read the first two parts follow the links below, then buckle up for Part III. Part I and Part II

TIME

Part III

By the time he decided to get something to eat, he realized he was still sitting on the floor reading from her Bible. He struggled to get to his feet. His legs were stiff from the four hours he spent on the floor.

He carried her bible to the kitchen, continuing to read. It was a New Living Translation – not that he knew much about different versions. He heard discussions about how difficult the bible was to read but he did not see that in this. It was plain English and easy to understand – the words and the concepts which he struggled with all seemed to be getting clear.

Her copy was worn. She didn’t just read it – she devoured it. There were highlights, circles, arrows notes and cross references. She wrote comments, quotes and questions in the margins. If she bought it with clean margins, she got her money’s worth in usable space.

She filled it all.

He read as he ate and when he finished he took his place in the living room with his favorite pillow and continued reading.

He read “The Book of James,” “First and Second Timothy” and something called “Philippians.”  He found himself re-reading this book several times. Each time paying particular attention to the third chapter and the 13^th verse, “No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead…”

What was this guy saying? How do you forget the past? What is there for him to look forward? She was gone, never coming back. There was nothing in the future for him.

And yet.

He noticed he could not control himself as tears streamed from his eyes.

His stomach turned but he maintained control this time, though not without effort.

He threw the book across the room.

He didn’t know how long he sat crying but he found himself waking, hours later around the house, aimless.

Just walking.

He calmed down but there was still intense anger. The idea of moving forward without her made his skin crawl, the nerve of this book. As he stood over the book, looking down on the worn pages he saw something familiar. A note scribble in her hand writing. He noticed it again in the margin. Something not seen anywhere else in the book. He thumbed through most of the pages but in the entire book he had not noticed this one word.

Yet, there it was in the margin. Alongside the notes she made, the scriptures she highlighted and underlined. There it was.

His name.

He sunk into the couch staring at those familiar letters. Letters known his whole life. How many times had he written them and never noticed the curves, the slants or the way they fit together to make his name.

She turned them from simple letters into art.

He never loved her more than he right now.

Tears.

Once he regained his composure, he looked closer at the page where he saw his name. She had it written as a part of scripture. He read it, recognizing it from somewhere. He read the numbers out loud and remembered he heard it on television.  John 3:16. Of course, it is in almost every football game he ever watched.

It says, “For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.”

Along the margins she’d written it out with his name inserted.

Instead of “world”, it was his name.

Instead of “everyone”, I was his name.

He read it 100 times. Wiping the tears each time he read his name. He read it aloud. He whispered it. Over and over. Then, without meaning to, made a substitution, “For God so loves me that he gave his only Son, so that if I believe in him I will not perish but have eternal life.”

The tears flowed freely but he still did not understand why.

Further down the page, he noticed a note. No, not a note, more of a prayer, about him.

She was asking God to help him, to give him some kind of vision, for understanding.

She closed the prayer by saying, “I pray that you help him see the truth.”

He was trying so hard to comprehend what he was reading that he was gripping the page of the Bible as though he was holding on to life itself.

When had she written this? How long had she been praying for him? Could he ever ask her? Would he ever see her, talk to her again?

She was gone, dead.

She died in the accident on the road. He held her head as she…

No, she held his.

Wait, is that right?

 Confusion was starting to set in.

It had been long ago, right?

A chill coursed through him. He felt cold.

The emotions were too many. There are so many questions.

Dropping the book he grasped his head with his hands. Then he lifted his face to the sky – hoping to see God opening the heavens for him.

Hoping to see God.

He wanted to speak, to say something but he was not sure what. His lip began to quiver.

A siren echoed through his head; must be from down the road.

Looking down from the sky, he noticed something in his open palms.

 “Is that blood?”

 Another siren screamed. Closer this time.

“Lord” he said.  “You know I have never given much thought to religion or church but I…”

A pain, sudden and deep, burst through his head.

Everything was going black.

He felt heavy.

“God, please, forgive…”

Before he could say another word, another pulse of pain ran through him.

He knew this was not right.

“Lord, I be…”

A light flashed in his face, then darkness. Sirens from every direction. People screaming.

Chaos, breaking out all around him and he was part of it but separate.

Through the pain he realized he was lying in the street.

The blood on his hands, was his own.

He was dying.

“Hang on honey. The paramedics are almost here” said a voice he had not heard in far too long.

“Lord, I believe – save me.” He whispered

“Did you say something, honey?”

 “Don’t speak, save your strength,”

What else could she say. She knew what was happening.

“I believe in you God; I believe Jesus died for me’.

As the words registered, she began to cry.

But how?

“I believe…” were the last words he spoke. Looking up, into her face, he died.

She cradled his head in her arms and rocked.

She sat on the curb, waiting for the police. Carrie. She thought about what she heard. But she was not sure. It all happened so fast.

The collision. That car came out of nowhere. They had no chance to avoid it.

His voice, so faint. What did he say?

Why did God let this happen? This is not the way it was supposed to go. God was supposed to show him the truth. How could he know the truth now?

As she waited, one of the paramedics, she thought, came over to her.

 “Ma’am, I have something for you., it was in your husband’s hand”

“Oh, thank you.” She said.

He handed her a crumpled-up piece of paper.

She looked down at the familiar scrap. She spread it out in her palm and gasped.

“Where did you get this?”

But the man had vanished.

“No, this isn’t…”

She stared into her hand, as tears began to spill down her face.

In her hand, was a page from her bible. A page ripped from the binding and gripped as one might, holding on to life itself.

Her tears stained the page as she read her own words, “Dear God, I know he is running from you but you know how much I love him and I know how much you love him. You died so he could have life. Please God let him read this and understand. Whatever it takes, whatever has to happen – I pray that you help him see the truth.”

THOUGHTS

Well, I hoped you liked that. As mentioned, I really enjoyed putting it together. If you have any thoughts, comments, complaints or just want to post random song lyrics, I am game.

Turn back up next week for a more traditional PADAG post…I doubt it will deal with time or time travel…but you never know.

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