Annie saw the old man, as he was the day before, was sitting on the garden bench, wearing the same tattered, green wool cardigan sweater and dark corduroy slacks. His well-worn, black, fedora was set rakishly on his head with tufts of silver hair sprouting from the sides. The twisted shillelagh cane he used rested against the bench seat within easy reach.
She knew her mother would be annoyed if she found the garden was, again, being frequented by uninvited visitors. Since her father had abandoned them for a passing fancy, Annie knew the planned picket fence would be a long time coming, if ever. With the sidewalk just steps away, no barrier was simply an invitation for passersby to rest old bones before continuing. Although Annie saw no problem, her mother saw an invitation for trouble for two women living alone.
The elderly gentleman looked up and smiled at her approach, offering in a quiet tone, “Good morning, Annie!”
“Good morning, sir.” Annie made to sit on the grass before him, accomplishing the movement with the grace of youth. The gentleman smiled.
“Sir is so formal,” he began, “please call me, Elo.”
Annie nodded, “As you wish. That is an unusual name, is it short for something?”
He smiled broadly, which made is old eyes squint, almost shut, behind the magnifying coke bottle bottoms framed by his black rimmed glasses. “Elohay, my dear; Elohay Mikarov.” Several birds landed in the tree above and began to sing. “And, yes, before you ask, it is of Hebrew origin.”
She smiled at this answering of her next question. “So, you are Jewish?”
At this he emitted a small laugh, “I consider myself, non-denominational. One is not responsible for one’s given name, and people should not put too much stock in origins.” He cocked an eyebrow and locked on her eyes, “What is in one’s heart is that which is important, all else is simply... assumption.”
She cocked her own eyebrow in return, “And we all know what assuming can do? I did not mean to offend.” She lowered her eyes to look at the grass, embarrassed at a possible misstep. Elo laughed, with more energy this time, as he saw her small discomfort.
“My goodness, no! You will have to try harder to offend this old bird.” Elo reached into a pocket of his sweater and removed a crust of bread which he proceeded to pick apart and toss to several of the birds which had landed on the grass. One alighted on his shoulder which elicited a smile from him and a giggle from Annie as he proffered a crumb, gently snatched by the feathered friend.
“The birds seem to like you.”
Elo tossed the last of the crumbs. “All of God's creatures seem to like me.” He locked eyes with her again, a slight frown replacing his smile. “A few people ignore me,” the smile returned, “but, these friends, here," he nodded toward the birds, "keep me company and make my happy.” He gave Annie a sidelong glance. “Are you out and about to give praise and thanks for this beautiful day which God has seen fit to grace us with?”
She looked away to the grass once more. “It isn’t Sunday, and I wouldn’t go to church at any rate. I have little to be thankful for, much less the day.” The old man continued to toss crumbs without prying further into her comment.
Elo brushed the remaining crumbs from his hands and reached for his shillelagh, leaning forward in preparation to stand. He stopped and waved a bony finger toward her, “Church is an overrated institution when you consider this wonderful cathedral,” he opened his hand to wave in an arc from the trees to the sky, “provided by God and nature. Don’t you agree?” He winked and easily stood, despite his slightly hunched physique, offering her a hand.
“Your point is well made.” She accepted his hand and, as he assisted her up, she asked, “Will I see you again?”
He laughed, smiled, and with another wink responded, “Always, my dear, if only in a, hopefully cherished, memory.” And with that he waved, turned, and, reaching the sidewalk, made his way down the maple tree lined street. She watched as the birds followed in song, and the leaves of fall seemed to provide a colorful runner of reds, oranges, and gold along his path.
Annie glanced around her, then, more slowly, she looked around her. For the first time since her father had left she found herself appreciating the beauty surrounding her.
She smiled, looked back down the street, and realized the old man must have made a turn at the corner. “Yes, a good memory.”
Her mother beckoned to her from inside the house.
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A few days passed and the bench under the tree remained vacant. Annie began to wonder if the old man, Elo, had silently understood his trespass and opted not to return. Perhaps he chose to explore another route for his morning constitutional. But, this Sunday morning was met with a pleasant surprise when she glanced out her window and saw the old gentleman, dressed as before, suddenly appear, sitting on the bench, slice of bread in hand and birds pecking at pieces already tossed. One minute he wasn’t there, and when she looked again, he was. Pretty fast for a slow moving old fart, she thought.
She slipped into her zip up fleece hoody and hurried out the front door, ensuring not to let the screen slam, but her mother immediately yelled from inside, “Annie! Make sure you put on a sweater if you’re going outside!”
“I have, mother!” she yelled back as she quickly descended the four steps from the porch. The old man, Elo, looked up from his few feeding feathered clients. “Good morning to you, Annie!” he softly greeted.
“Good morning, sir… I mean, Elo.” quickly correcting her faux pas. She, again, took up station on the grass just in front and to the side of the old man so as not to interfere with the bird feeding. “This is the second time you called me by name,” she began, yet, I don’t remember ever telling you.”
A look of great concentration appeared, making his face more wrinkled and his brow furrowed. He closed his eyes in concentration and placed an index finger above the bridge of his nose where the third eye would be located. After a second he removed it and looked at her saying, “There are those who might say I am all knowing. One might deduce, however, that I am all hearing.” Annie arched a brow, confused at the statement.
He smiled. “Your mother is loud,” he explained.
Annie also smiled, and then laughed. “Yes, she certainly is.” Elo let out a small laugh in return and continued tearing the last of the bread heal into crumbs.
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She picked at the grass by her knees and the small birds rummaged through what she tossed to the side, searching for some small treasure. Her voice was soft, “I thought, maybe you had found another bench to rest upon. I haven’t seen you in a few days.”
Elo tossed the last of the crumbs to the waiting birds as he reassured her, “I am always around, even if you don’t see me.”
“Kind of like God?”
He gave her his sidelong glance. “That borders on sacrilege, Annie.”
She averted her eyes at the use of her name in the admonition, “I’m sorry, mother says my mouth will be my downfall. It seems to always get me into trouble." She look back up at him. "I didn't mean to offend.”
The old man gave her a forgiving smile along with a slight shrug. “You speak your mind.”
He changed back to the topic at hand, “I am flattered that you missed me, though.” Elo reached down and patted her shoulder. “As for not seeing me around, when you get to be my age, people tend to not notice you.” He sat back, “It doesn’t matter how popular you once were in their lives or yours, you will blend into the background, and people will forget. They’re so wrapped up in the trees, the issues they confront their every waking moment; they forget to see the greater forest of life which lies behind.” He brushed his hands together and put them in the pockets of his sweater.
Annie nodded in agreement. “I think cell phones, pads, and computers make them blind to even their issues; tunnel vision.”
Elo nodded in return. “Ah! In this we agree. How many people are enjoying a morning conversation, face to face, like we are? This is becoming as lost as enjoying nature, having faith, or believing in God.”
Annie cocked her head at this. “Isn’t faith and belief in God the same thing?” she asked.
Elo looked up into the sky, careful not to lose his fedora hat. “Oh, my goodness no, child.” He looked back down and met her eyes. He had the tired look of knowledge that seems to come with age. He continued, “I’m sure God would rather we have faith that includes the Almighty, but, I think a living a righteous, giving, and moral life will speak for itself at the time of judgement, don’t you agree?”
Annie thought for a moment, then, “But isn’t it one of His commandments to believe in Him?”
Elo smiled at her error, “This is what mankind does with information; by accident or design we always seem to muck it up. "What it commands is that man put no other gods before the Him," he explained. "As for not obeying the commandment, does this mean everyone you know is going to hell? Who obeys every commandment? If you think about it, all of the commandments, save one, have forgivable levels of guilt. Only murder is truly evil and requires serious penance. As for forgiveness? Oh, you will do penance for not following the rules, but God will love and forgive you while you do." He looked into the sky and looked as if he was remembering something that pained him. He quietly spoke, "Forgive is what a loving father does, regardless of the transgression."
Annie averted her eyes, “I wouldn’t know.” She felt Elo look her way and she quickly asked him, “But, if you don’t believe in heaven or hell, why would there even be a judgement for heaven… or hell for that matter? Why not just die and that’s that; dead, black, and that’s it? No bright light to go into or relatives to greet you. No burning flames, Satan, or hell, and no concern about an afterlife not believed in. No hope, just dead; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Elo’s brow rose and his eyes widened. “Where would the Father’s lesson be in that?”
“How would burning in hell for the rest of eternity be a lesson?” she answered.
“What makes you think, just because you fail, you won’t have to take the class over again until you pass the test?” Elo shot back.
“So what you propose is... there isn’t a hell?”
“You don’t go to church to sing His praise, so you think that will pass muster when your time comes?”
“According to you, I shouldn’t have to.”
“Whoa, little girl, not according to me; it says so in scripture.” Elo closed his eyes and recited, “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”
With that, Elo opened his eyes, let out a snort, “Like they really think God doesn’t see right through them. I think the best of reasons for people to congregate is to discuss their faith; this is how faith grows within us. I think prayer is your personal relationship with God, and not a public thing.” He suddenly looked sad. “But, I also think there are those whose transgressions, those sins, which are beyond immediate redemption, forgiveness, or another chance to excel. Without forgiveness for minor transgressions, the number of righteous would rapidly dwindle to zero, and where would God fill the ranks of His army from then?”
He paused for a second, then, “Maybe there is a level of hell for those who require just a smidgen of corporal punishment, if you will, the nun’s a ruler across the knuckles.” A smile reappeared on his face, along with a twinkle in his eye, as he shot her a humorous look. He stuck a regal pose on the bench, like a king on a throne. He stuck his arm in the air with the finger pointed up and proclaimed in a loud, kingly voice, “A good, long, spanking in the dungeon should cure what ails them!” They both began to laugh.
Their laughter subsided and Annie asked, “But, what if they never repent?”
Elo took a breath and shrugged, “Then I would suppose the spanking would continue until they do, unto forever.”
“How sad for them,” Annie said quietly.
“Yes,” agreed Elo. “How very sad, indeed.”
They both sat in silence, for a bit, as the birds continued their song and the sun rose higher in the beautiful morning sky.
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Annie waited on the bench, Sunday, hoping the elderly Elo would again bless her with another visit. His visits made her feel better about life. He was the mentor her father never provided, and her mother never seemed to have the time for due to work. She assigned no blame to her mother whom she knew was working hard to provide for them. She looked down the vacant street, and over her shoulder she saw no one out and about either, but, when she looked down the street again, there was Elo making his way slowly toward her, leaning on his twisted shillelagh for support at each step. She got to her feet and walked to meet him.
“Good morning, Elo!” she said as she fell into step beside him.
“Good morning, yourself, Annie!” he replied with a genuine smile. He nodded forward, “Are you up to a walk this morning?”
Annie shrugged, “Sure; where to?”
Elo raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. “I thought we’d enjoy a stroll through our relatives.”
“Excuse me?” Annie knitted her brow and looked confused.
Elo simply smiled at this and explained, “The cemetery, young lady.” The cemetery, in the small town, was just around the corner, two blocks down.
“Okay, but I have no relatives buried there.”
Elo stopped for a moment and leaned on the cane to rest. He turned to Annie, “Really? You don’t consider all of mankind to be related? Aren’t all of these folks that exist now, or have gone before, part of our greater family?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Well, in that sense, I suppose so.”
“Ah!” Elo nodded, “In that sense.”
Annie put her hands on her hips and gave him a serious look. “Hey! Wait a minute. Aren’t you the one who bemoans the fact that you’re invisible to most people because you’re old? Not very family like of them, if you’d ask me.”
Elo’s eyes widened at the admonishment and waved his free hand as if to calm her. “Whoa, Annie. What about forgiveness? Even the most loving family can fail. The family of man fails constantly, but, does that mean we give up on them?” Annie dropped her hands from her hips and softened her look as he continued, “No, of course not.” He began to walk again as he continued to talk.
“People fail constantly. They can lose their way and get lost. If we show them love, understanding, and tolerance, perhaps they can find their way back to their path. They might even find their way to a better path from the lessons they learn. Who are we to judge the servant of another?”
“Servant? What makes you judge someone to be a servant?”
The old man laughed, and then smiled as he looked at her. “We all serve at the pleasure of another, don’t we? You report to your mother, others to an employer or debtor, and some to their god or to nature. It is part of life.”
Annie met his eyes. “And, who do you serve, Elo?”
He knotted his free hand to a limp fist and lightly knocked on his chest, over his heart. “I serve at the pleasure of time, my dear, and time, regardless of this wrinkled old dinosaur you see before you, is my infinite, never ending task master.”
She hesitated at her next comment. “But, you will die.”
He laughed again, “Yes! Oh, yes! And time will march on, regardless. I have died before, and I am sure I will die again. It is the nature of the universe that our energy be returned and reused, you see. Nature wastes nothing, and abhors a vacuum. Where something once was… there will something be again.” He waved a finger to her. “As you once pointed out, ashes to ashes…”
She smiled and mumbled, “Funk to funky.”
Elo responded in beat with, “We know Major Tom’s a junkie.” She stopped in her tracks as he finished the lyric.
He turned to look at her, and smiled. “What? You think because I’m old I never listened to David Bowie? Ashes to Ashes, 1980. Hard to relate to the young unless you try to keep up. Impressed?”
“And amazed,” she answered. It occurred to Annie, as they started walking again, “I never asked, but, well…”
“Just how old am I?”
Annie nodded.
“Ancient.” he stated. “I am what you young folks affectionately call, older than dirt. I was old when Christ was a corporal. Noah threw me into the water, so I’d learn to swim. The “Big Bang” made me jump. Yadda, yadda, yadda…”
Annie gave him her best annoyed look. “So, you’re not telling?”
“Nope.”
They had arrived at the cemetery gates.
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Being a small conservative town, none of the grave markers were large and ostentatious. Even the few family vaults were less than conspicuous; especially considering it contained a history of residents dating back well over one hundred years. This cemetery was more about the trees and flowering bushes, the pond and the garden path that wound through it; about peace and beauty, a reminder that our death is simply a part of our life, to be cherished and not forgotten.
Annie had taken old Elo’s arm as they walked quietly through the small tombstones in the older section. She was busy looking at the chiseled dates and short testimonials, occasionally pointing one out that was especially interesting. They wound their way through the past into yesterday, heading for the present.
She almost missed a flat marker in “yesterday.” Something about it caught her eye and she stepped back a pace bringing Elo up short. He half turned his aged body and used his neck to make up the difference.
“What have you found?”
She had stepped off the path so she was looking down at the slightly tarnished brass plate with a ceramic cabochon etched with the head and shoulders of a middle aged man set in the lower middle, below the name and dates. Elo walked to her side and saw a tear on her cheek. He pulled out a clean handkerchief from his sweater pocket, dabbed the tear, and placed the cloth in Annie’s hand.
“Mom never told me.” She was trying so hard not to lose it, but when Elo placed his arm around her shoulders, she caved and the tears flowed freely.
“Your father.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Ye… yes.” she sobbed. “She never told me. He ran out on us… and died…and she never told me!” She put both arms around the old man and held him as if the action would give her strength, or answers. Maybe hoping it would just make her feel better. Elo gently patted her back and walked her to a one of the small concrete benches placed along the path.
She hugged his arm and he patted her knee until the crying subsided. A weak, childlike voice asked, “Why wouldn’t she tell me, Elo?” The old man removed his beaten fedora and set it atop his cane against the bench. His voice was low and gentle as he spoke.
“From what you’ve told me, and what I’ve seen in you, there was much pain; plenty to go around for all three of you. Yours was a family beset by turmoil, betrayal, anger, hate, confusion, and a loss love. As I remember, it would seem the date he died was not long after he left, about a year?”
She sniffled, “A little less.”
“You were a child. Both of you were hurting. Things were probably said between them in anger, which didn’t help. Assuming your mother knew, what was she to do, pile more hurt atop the hurt you were already dealing with? What horrific confusion for one so young to deal with. Sometimes what we do for those we love makes little sense to those we love. Even now you would look to assign blame where there might only be need for gratitude.”
She gave him a big hug and sat up, wiping the remnants of moisture from her cheeks and eyes with the handkerchief. “Thank you for being here, Elo.”
She smiled, and so did he.
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Elo and Annie continued to visit, every week, for the next ten years. She never asked where he lived, and he never offered the information. The truth is, after ten years she knew less about Elo than he knew about her, volumes less. She only realized this as she stood in her mother’s doorway looking at an old scrap of notepaper the polite police officer, hat in hand, had just given her. She unfolded it to find her name and address with a short note:
“Should you happen upon me, and I have passed on, I apologize. Sometimes things just take us by surprise, as my death must have taken me. Please be so kind as to inform my dearest friend Annie, whom I have loved since before she was born. Elohay Mikarov”
The officer explained to her how they could find no next of kin, and no other public record to show he, the alleged Mr. Mikarov, ever existed. After explaining her relationship to Elo, and the fact she, also, had no further information that could be of help, she smiled and thanked the officer. While Annie refolded the note she inquired as to where Mr. Mikarov’s remains had been taken.
After she closed the door, she immediately made two phone calls, one to secure the remains so he would not be buried without dignity, and the second was to secure the services of the mortuary next to their cemetery where he would be laid to rest, at her expense. She smiled as she thought to make sure he would be interred next to young people. He would like that.
After she closed the door, she immediately made two phone calls, one to secure the remains so he would not be buried without dignity, and the second was to secure the services of the mortuary next to their cemetery where he would be laid to rest, at her expense. She smiled as she thought to make sure he would be interred next to young people. He would like that.
As she closed her cell phone she recited to herself, “Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, we know Major Tom’s a junkie.” She dropped the phone as she buried her face in both hands. Finally, slowly, she sank to the floor and cried.
Mourners at graveside consisted of Annie and her mother, dressed in what Elo would have called their "Sunday go to meetin," finest. There was no church service. A minister said a few kind words, at graveside, from information Annie had provided about the kind of man her friend was. When all was said, she approached the simple coffin and placed a single rose atop the varnished lid, leaving her hand for a moment as she said a silent goodbye then, softly spoke, “I will come visit.”
Every week thereafter, when possible, fresh flowers could be found at the brass marker which simply stated his full name, the year he died and, “He was my friend.”
The corner of the entry hall, by the front door, was the new resting place of a cherished heirloom, an object that would become the center of many stories of an old man that came to visit; stories of life and love, philosophies and faith. The twisted shillelagh would forever remain in her care until, in due time, she would hand it down to another.
And while this time came to pass, she would come to understand the meaning of his name, and what he truly meant to her. She would marry and have children of her own, and they would grow and leave, as would her grandchildren, and great grandchildren, mother, and husband.
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The old woman could be found, each day, sitting on the weathered concrete bench along the spongy synthetic path that wound through the historic graveyard and city park. She would arrive during her daily walk, slowly making her way with the help of an aged, twisted cane of wood, and place flowers on one particular grave. She would stand there for a moment and then cross the path to the bench and sit alone for a while. Throughout the entire exercise she would just smile, as though listening to some private conversation.
A few silent vehicles, powered by systems only dreamed of in her day, made their way out of garages and toward the mag line depot where the occupants would be swept into the city and back again on the Transrapid maglev train. From where she sat, she had watched as a city of gleaming business towers called skypenatrators had, year after year, slowly crept upward into the horizon thanks to further innovations in carbon Nano technology, buttressed cores, and significantly wider bases. Now, the four main towers, housing seventy-five percent of all businesses, could easily be seen from this small town, thirty miles away. Cities had literally “grown up” and not out. More was now less as the footprint of a small city was capable of holding the population and businesses of two or three others.
Early in the morning she normally had the cemetery section of the park to herself. This morning, however, a young teenager was sitting at another bench down the path a bit. He closed his dog-eared copy of Walter Moore’s 1989, Schrodinger: Life and Thought, and placed it under his arm as if to leave. He glanced over to the elderly woman, thought for a second, then casually approached.
He held his book in front of him with both hands at his beltline as he stood to one side and offered, “Good morning.”
The old woman looked up squinting and shielded her eyes from the ever rising morning sun with a graceful movement of her free hand. “Good morning, Charles!” Her youthful voice was contrary to her advanced age. “Please, sit.” She patted the space next to her.
He raised an eyebrow at the mention of his name, and took the offer of a seat. “You are nouveau-psychic?” he asked, referring to an accidental pharmaceutically induced alteration creating mild psychic abilities some people who were injected with a particular flu inoculation. These new "psychics" had been dubbed "nouveau-psychics."
The old woman closed her eyes and put a finger to her third eye. With her eyes closed she held her hand out before her as if touching an unseen script and spoke as if possessed. “I see many things," she paused and then, switching back to her normal voice, "No, my gullible friend, it is written on the cover of your book.” She opened one eye to glance at his expression and they both laughed as he looked to the book to see his name in plain sight on the dust cover.
She put on a pair of reading specs which she retrieved from the pocket of her sweater and squinted at the book's title. She nodded in approval. “Schrodinger. Interesting reading is this quantum mechanics, better than warm milk at night.”
“Milk? Oh, yes, grandmother drank it. She mentioned it helped her sleep. I guess it’s becoming popular again as the old cities are being razed for multi-leveled farmland." He lifted his head to point his chin to the southwest, "I've heard the Federal agriculture folks are cattle breeding cattle in test tubes to meet the new demand. He looked at the old woman who was listening intently, "I suppose it won't be too long before I'll be able to afford a hamburger at McDonald's restaurant.”
The old woman smiled, and nodded again. “Um, yes, McDonald's. What is old, is new once again. Funny how this seems to be another constant in the world of change." She pointed to his book, "So, you are a physicist?”
It was the boy’s turn to smile. “Oh, heck no, I’m only fifteen,” he stated. “I’ll get my masters in two years, then, if I’m accepted, it’s off to W.I.T.C.H. for my doctorate.” He saw her cock an eyebrow. She seemed impressed at the mention of the World Institute of Technology Colony Hub.
“Still impressive, for one so young,” she began, “to strive for the orbital university.”
He nodded his head with deserved pride, “I hear they’re looking to terraform Mars. I’d like to get in on the ground floor of that. I think, I pray, we will learn a lot which will benefit us back on earth and move us out into space.”
She winked, “Pray? So you hold onto deist philosophies, or do you simply use the phrase?”
He lowered his eyes and fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke a fond memory, “Grandmother’s influence, before she died.” He looked up to meet the old woman’s twinkling eyes. “She wanted to ensure I respected the fact that there were things in this universe greater that myself.” His smile returned as he repeated something his grandmother used to tell him, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio…”
“Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” she finished. “Grandmother, again?”
He laughed. “Yes! She would quote Shakespeare at the drop of a hat.”
“That was a good thing,” she stated.
He reacted to a small mechanism behind his ear. “It seems I have to go, or I’ll be late for my online lecture. I have many questions for the instructor today.” He stood to leave. “I enjoyed talking to you. It reminded me of talks with my grandmother. Will you be here tomorrow?”
“God willing, Charles. I serve at the pleasure of time, a dimension which your generation will redefine, in due course.”
She offered her hand, which he gently shook, and Charles said, “I never asked your name.”
Her eyes were framed with the laugh lines earned through her long life. He noted the, seemingly, never ending twinkle in in them as she raised her head proudly, yet retained a humility that comes with true awareness, as she smiled and declared, softly, “Elohay Mikarov!” then she put her hand beside her mouth, as if passing a secret, and added, “But, you may call me Annie.”
A blossoming of medical knowledge and physics would extend her life another thirty years. Their friendship would also blossom and continue until her passing at the age of one hundred and thirty-two, and maybe even longer...
… if Elohay was to be believed.
Just a thought to ponder: I think God is found, most often, in the angels around us. And, most often, many of them go unseen, or unrecognized, because our own lives have become selfishly cluttered with, what we would insist are, very "important" issues which are truly of so much less importance to our happiness than we think. Perhaps, all we need to do is take the time to have a little faith, and open our eyes. Our answers, along with our happiness, are usually right in front of us, along with the rest of the universe.
Whether you believe in a past life is important if you believe in an afterlife. Can you believe in an afterlife if you don't believe you lived before? Doesn't one evidence the possibility of the other? And, if this is true, does the possibility of an afterlife necessarily mean a "life ever after" in the Kingdom of Heaven? I offer that, maybe, death is just a school bell letting us out of this class and signaling the time for our next.
I think our faith would be in the knowledge that we will, one life soon, graduate to be all that we are; what we were always intended to be. Until such time comes to pass, if we do nothing else in our lives, we must mentor our young and teach them love, forgiveness, tolerance and faith, preparing them for all that comes next in theirs.
"Am I a God at hand, declares the Lord, and not a God far away?”
-- Jeremiah 23:23
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Just a thought to ponder: I think God is found, most often, in the angels around us. And, most often, many of them go unseen, or unrecognized, because our own lives have become selfishly cluttered with, what we would insist are, very "important" issues which are truly of so much less importance to our happiness than we think. Perhaps, all we need to do is take the time to have a little faith, and open our eyes. Our answers, along with our happiness, are usually right in front of us, along with the rest of the universe.
Whether you believe in a past life is important if you believe in an afterlife. Can you believe in an afterlife if you don't believe you lived before? Doesn't one evidence the possibility of the other? And, if this is true, does the possibility of an afterlife necessarily mean a "life ever after" in the Kingdom of Heaven? I offer that, maybe, death is just a school bell letting us out of this class and signaling the time for our next.
I think our faith would be in the knowledge that we will, one life soon, graduate to be all that we are; what we were always intended to be. Until such time comes to pass, if we do nothing else in our lives, we must mentor our young and teach them love, forgiveness, tolerance and faith, preparing them for all that comes next in theirs.
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life."-- Shakespeare's "Hamlet" (3.1.56-69)
Editor's Note
(re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)
Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so.
It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and then engaging in peaceful, constructive, discussion and debate in an arena of mutual respect concerning the opinions put forth. After over twenty years as a military intelligence analyst, planner, and briefer, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.
We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we do afterward, and what we learn from the experience.
Frank Anthony Villari (aka, Pastor Tony)
Pastor Tony is founder of the Congregation for Religious Tolerance and author/editor of the Congregation's official blog site, "The Path."
