ACES

Please note- This story is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended to relay spiritual truth or establish any doctrinal statements.

 ACES

Steve stepped with trembling feet onto the edge of the Bellagio Hotel and failed to notice the chaos of the Strip below him.  Las Vegas had billed itself as the homeland of anonymity; the city guaranteed that your secrets would stay there.

If only that were true.

His heart burned deep in his chest, forcing anxiety to manifest in the form of self destruction.  He lived with his secrets as long as he could.  He couldn't go on.  He was determined to jump.

"God," he whispered.  "I don't know if You care, but I'm at the end.  I'm too ashamed to go on.  I wish it was different, but I can't undo the past.  Please forgive me for what I've done and for what I'm about to do."   He tapped his pocket, guaranteeing that his backup plan was in place.

There.  He'd made as much peace with God as he could.  Now the only thing that remained was to jump.

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 The Heavenly call center was an apiary of activity with angels buzzing back and forth dispatching answers and help in response to the prayers of both the saints and sinners on Earth.  Harney looked down from his supervisor window with satisfaction.  His troops were functioning with their A game.  They were always quick to respond once the orders were cut. 

           

"Now where is Athaneal?" he asked himself.  "Etta is supposed to be helping Athaneal with his orientation."  He referenced his schedule and remembered.  She was showing him the Intake Center.

Athaneal watched the prayer intake board light up with new requests.  "Brilliant," he exclaimed.  "It is almost as bright as the light coming from the Throne." 

           

Etta smiled.  The first time visit to the Intake Center was always inspiring.  "As each prayer is logged," she explained, "a single light burns, which prompts the Gopher Angels to forward the request to the processing center…"

"Gopher Angels?" he interrupted her.  "I'm unfamiliar with that designation." 

"Oh, you know.  They're Gophers."  She smiled eagerly, but he didn't get the joke.  "You know, they go for this, and they go for that…  Get it?"

Athaneal grinned brightly.  "Right, ho!"

"Imagine a type of prayer triage, if you will.  Once the prayers arrive at the center, they are sorted by the angels according to content.  You already know what happens to the prayers of gratitude and elation, right?"

"Oh yes!  Those go straight away to the Jumbotron, which reflects off the Crystal Sea!  It's very exhilarating."

Etta turned to the left.  "The prayers of petition, so called because they don't require an emergency response, are placed on a conveyer belt, where they are processed according to the time schedule approved by the Lord."  They moved farther along the work center floor.  "The prayers of great stress but low urgency are coded with green lights.  Do you know what those are?"

Athaneal held up his manual.  "Yes.  These prayers were uttered by people experiencing a large and sudden dose of fear or stress, but the situation resolves itself of its own accord."

"Very good.  For example, Cindy, who is susceptible to peer-pressure, allowed her school friends to taunt her onto a roller coaster, which terrified her.  She prayed the entire ride, but the situation resolved itself when the coaster rolled to a stop and the bar lifted."  She pointed across the length of the hall.  "That is where we are going next.  The Agent of Change Engagement Center."

"ACES," Athaneal whispered.  "Hold up, I have a question.  We refer to the Center as ACES, but there is no S in Center."

"Before the Great Flood, there were only a few hundred thousand people on Earth, and this was just a station.  As the population grew, the station was too small and it became a center."  They walked into the ACES hall and stopped for a moment to enjoy the grandeur.

Harney joined them and dismissed Etta to her regular duties.  "I will take over the tour now, Athaneal.  Do you understand everything?"

"Oh yes.  It's absolutely fascinating!"

 "Right on, then."  He began walking under the display screen.  "The prayers seeking repentance or salvation are coded orange until the praying human is comforted, at which time the light turns blue, and then falls into the sea.  The prayers of urgency are labeled Code Red.  Once the Code Reds are answered by the Lord…"

"Which actually happens before the prayer is uttered!" Athaneal interjected eagerly.  "It's so cool!"

Harney smiled.  "Code Reds are sent to the dispatch center, where the operator on duty activates an Agent of Change, or an ACE, for short."

"An ACE is often a Christian—or the nearest operative, who will fulfill Heaven's response." 

"And it all occurs at light speed!"  Athaneal was excited to be part of the team.

"Yes it does!" Harney was proud of his job and his troops.  "No prayer too small!" was his team's motto.  "Alright, I'm going to set you at this station.  You are next to Etta, who can help you if you get in trouble.  Godspeed."

Harney strolled the floor watching his dispatch team receive requests and activate the proper ACE.  He leaned over Etta's station and motioned for Athaneal to join him, "This is a good example here of basic ACE management.  Watch how Etta handles this situation.  I'll be in my office should you need assistance."

Timmy, one particularly needy boy on Earth, was always getting himself in trouble, but he knew how to get out of it.  He was a frequent requestor, and his name came up often.  Today, he was stuck in a well, and the only ACE available was his dog.  Fortunately, the dog was very gifted with rescues, and he was able to summon Timmy's dad to lower a rope into the well and fetch the poor boy.

Harney watched as Athaneal returned to his station.  He would do fine.  He was certainly eager enough, and he would have Etta nearby in case of any problems.    

The only time Harney felt stress himself was when his team activated an ACE, but the ACE was reluctant to respond, or too involved in his or her own life to react.  That is why he was often forced to dispatch a pet, most often a dog, (cats are notoriously reluctant to be helpful) because the humans were too busy to be helpful.

One orange bulb lit up and was immediately forwarded to his team.  Some lost soul was crying out for God to save them.  Etta received the request and her nimble fingers hit the keyboard as she located the nearest operative.  She was looking for a harvester.  She activated her microphone and said, "Chaplain Smith to the OR waiting room, Penson Memorial Hospital.  Look for an aged man with a brown sweater, who is wringing his hands with great urgency.  He has called out to God that if He will save his wife's life, he will surrender his own in repentance.  This situation has been forming for 63 years, and he has finally surrendered his life to Jesus."  Harney watched as the orange light slowly faded to blue, and a cheer when up throughout the call center.  Another soul was saved!  What a great way to start his shift!

Harney watched as a red light flashed on the display, and then began pulsing between red and orange.  He leaned forward.  This light meant trouble.  Something was going on, and if it wasn't handled properly, it could end in disaster.  He scanned the floor to see which angel was next in the rotation and his heart sank.  Athaneal.  He came to them from the heavenly choir, but after some unfortunate developments, he became an Angel Junior Grade, of the 3rd Phalanx, 15th Cohort, and was transferred to Harney's company.

As rapid as a courser Harney flew from the window and landed behind Athaneal's station.  "What is it?"

"Well, sir.  It appears that Steve is in a conflict.  He wants to commit suicide, but he doesn't really want to die."  Athaneal glanced at Harney through the corner of his eyes.  "What am I supposed to do?"

"You fix it!  Don't be an oocephalus, Athaneal.  We don't have time for that."

"Ah gee.  You don't have to be so mean."  He looked down at his keyboard.

Harney frowned.  "Yes, you're quite right.  I didn't mean to call you an oocephalus.  Let us put this unpleasant business behind us and move on, shall we?"  He watched Athaneal for a moment, who didn't respond.  "Now get to it.  Find an ACE."

"I don't know what to do, sir.  He is praying that God allows him to die, but he doesn’t really want to die.  Which one am I supposed to answer?"

Harney growled.  "Read the orders.  The Lord answered his prayer.  Read what it says."

Athaneal glanced through the orders and sighed.  "This says for me to activate an Agent of Change."

 "Yes, go on then.  Activate an ACE.  Who is the closest?"

 Athaneal appeared pained.  "It also says to active a specific ACE."

 "Well, get to it."

"But sir, the ACE isn't anywhere around.  He's in Colorado on a ski slope."

 "And where is your petitioner?"

"Gosh, he's in Las Vegas."

 "Oh.  Well, that explains the suicide!  Don't just sit there staring at me.  Get it done."  The blank look on Athaneal's face told Harney everything he needed to know.  He sighed deeply and said, "Very well.  Tell me what's happening?"

 "Well, sir. Apparently the petitioner is in distress over the condition of his pockets and is in so much pain he wants to die."

"His pockets?"  Harney thought for a moment.  "We know he's in Las Vegas, right?  Where exactly is he?"

 "He's standing on the top of the Bellagio Hotel.  I think he might jump."

"Dear me."  Harney looked at the screen.  "Yes, he appears to be rather unstable.  He's holding his face as if in torment. Poor chap.  He looks like the subject of a Salvador Dali painting."  A shiver ran down his back.  "And what's this about your ACE being in Colorado?"

"The orders are specific.  It has to be Joe.  And Joe is in Colorado on a ski slope."

"We must get them together.  Make it happen.  Chip, chop.  No time to waste."

 Athaneal didn't move.  "But sir?  How?"

 Harney wanted to be angry, but he remembered that Athaneal had only been at this post for a few hundred years.  He was still an intern.   "Allow me to help you, and then you can do it on your own, next time.  Right?  Let's see what resources we have here.  Go on, scoot over and let me have a go at the computer."  His fingers were a blur as he tapped on the key board.  "First, we must get a plan together.  What is your petitioner's name?"

"Steve."

 "Very well then, Steve it is. And the ACE is who?"

  "J-J-J-Joe," he said hesitantly.

  "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

   "There is a notation that we've had to use Joe before.  His file was flagged."

 "And?"

"And Joe is a reluctant ACE.  He doesn't like people.  He sort of has a history."

  "Out with it.  We haven't got all day."

"He was an Army surgeon who was arrested and dishonorably discharged when he punched the general's wife in the jaw at the Christmas party."

"Hmmm.  And then?"

"And then he was forced to work in third world countries because he couldn't get a job in the States.  He grew bitter and now he hates people.  He wants to be left alone."

"But you've used him before?"

"Yes.  He was dispatched to help a woman who was having a heart attack."

  "Did he save her?"

Athaneal nodded slowly.  "He mostly saved her."

"And how does one mostly save someone?"

"Well, he saw her heart go into defibrillation and backed his car over a telephone pole, knocking the pole over, sending the transformer to the ground, which shocked the woman and caused her heart to beat again."

 "See?  That sounds like a problem solved."

 "Except she sustained electrical burns over 15% of her body, and the downed power pole caused the black out of Las Angeles in 2005, and subsequently the rolling blackouts of the Western seaboard."

 "Oh, yes."  Harney certainly remembered that day.  It was their busiest shift since the end of WWII.  "Nonetheless, the Lord orders that ACE Joe is the man.  We must make that happen."

"How, sir?  They are in entirely different states."

Harney cracked his knuckles.  "We had better get to it, eh?  Let's see now.  First, we need to get Steve off the roof of the Bellagio."            

   

 "I don't think that will be a problem."

"Why?"

"Because he's about to jump right now!"

Harney nodded.  "That will make it easier.  It's a good thing we have the speed of light on our side!  Now, the Bellagio is the hotel with the lake in front and the spectacular water shows with fountains, right?  So, we set off the fountains at just the right angle and then, presto!" 

Athaneal sat up straighter.  "Incredible!  You just hit him with a blast of water that pushed him higher into the sky and he landed on the crane where they are building the hotel next door.  Now what?"

 Harney smiled.  "Now we need a construction worker to see him and lower him to the ground."

 "There," Athaneal pointed eagerly.  "That guy is looking up at him."

"Okay, that gets him on the ground.  Let's switch over to our ACE, Joe.  He's on a ski slope in Colorado?  Ah, there he is.  He's in the middle of that blizzard and is huddled up in the search and rescue line shack on the top of the slope.  So, he's an emergency worker, eh?  I thought he was on vacation.  This is much easier.  Here's what we do:  He needs to hear someone calling for help, which will get him outside on his skis."  He looked at Athaneal.  "Have something start making a noise that will get his attention."

Athaneal nodded and pressed a button.  A mountain lion crawled out of a tree and perched herself on a windswept ledge and began crying into the darkness.

 "Well done," Harney bragged.  "A mountain lion's cry is often confused for a woman in distress.  That will get him outside the shack.  Yes, there he goes!  Just like clockwork."

"Now what, sir?"

"Now we need to get Joe to the bottom of that mountain.  Can you have the cat lead him through the forest and over to that ridgeline?"

"Yes, sir.  Won't take but a moment to do so."

"And by now, Steve is on the ground with the construction crew trying to explain how a burst of water caught him and pushed him into the crane on their construction site.  We need to convince them that Steve is 51-50."

"51-50, sir?"

"Yes, you remember our code for whacko?  If they think Steve is bonkers, they will call for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.  After all, who would believe that a burst of water would land him on a crane like that?  So, we have an ambulance team who is already there and ready to go."

"But sir, those paramedics are on vacation from Idaho."

"They are not on vacation, they are getting their CEU's by attending a mock disaster drill, and they will be ecstatic to be doing anything but that.  Have you ever had to endure continuing education courses?  They're miserable."  He keyed his microphone, "Boundary County Idaho ambulance respond to construction site next to Bellagio, where you will transport Steve to another location."

Within a minute, an ambulance from North Idaho rolled onto the scene and after a brief examination, loaded Steve into the back of the unit and began driving.

"Now, the fun part," Harney said with a smile.  "We need to direct that ambulance to Page, Arizona."

"Page, sir?"

Harney nodded.  "Try to keep up, Athaneal.  We are going to have both parties meet at Page, Arizona."

"What's in Page?"

"Nothing much, really.  Just Lake Powell, I suppose.  And Antelope Canyon, if you're into that kind of thing.  Anyway, that's about halfway between them, and there is a really nice hamburger joint there called Bonkers.  How are we doing with that cat?"

"Joe is almost to the ridge now.  He's starting to think that he's chasing a ghost."

"That's fine."  He keyed his microphone again.  "Search and Rescue Helicopter One, report to the top of the ridge near Pagosa Springs, keep your eyes open for a skier searching for a lost woman.  Skier will need transport upon your arrival."  He looked at Athaneal's screen.  "How are you doing with your rerouting?"

"Fine, sir.  The CSI television show is filming in the area and have a large section of the road blocked off.  I've been adjusting their GPS to take them around the blockage.  They will arrive on Interstate 15 any minute now, and for some reason they will hang a left instead of a right.  It actually helps for them to be visiting from another town.  Otherwise, they would know how to get around my road blocks."

"Excellent work!  Now my helicopter is landing and Joe is explaining that he needs to use the helicopter to search for the woman.  And now they are in the air.  Good.  Now I need to order an incredibly stiff wind from the east to blow them off course."  He typed a moment longer, and then sat back.  "Their next stop will be Page, Arizona.  We need to get things set up at Bonkers.  Any ideas, Athaneal?"

"Well, sir.  We could get out a bunch of free meal coupons and distribute them to the proper players."

"And how do you propose we make that happen?"

"How about a trivia game on the radio?  Human love to brag about how much they think they know.  Especially about movies!"

"Genius, Athaneal.  Just genius.  Make it so."

Athaneal keyed his microphone and put on his best DJ voice, "Hello all you dogs and cats out there in radio land, this is Athaneal, your voice in the sky, coming to you live on K-I-N-G radio with a fantastic opportunity to receive a free meal from, are you ready for this?  BONKERS!  All you have to do is text the proper answer to HEAVEN.  The first, fourteenth, and twenty second responders will win a free meal at BOOOONKERS, good for this night only.  So don't delay!  Are you ready for your question?  Here it is:  What 1945 movie was known as the film that ruined Jack Benny’s career?  If you know the answer, text it to HEAVEN.  Good luck and Godspeed."

Athaneal's panel lit up with eager text messages.  "Yes," he announced.  "That did it.  As soon as I have texted the coupon code back to the winners, we should be ready for the participants to arrive."

Harney nodded.  "Yes, I've been blowing this helicopter all over northern Arizona trying to get him lined up on Page.  He should be there in less than 10 Mikes."

Athaneal said, "The lost ambulance just won a free meal at Bonkers, so they are going to stop for a bite to eat before continuing on their wild goose chase."

Harney rose from his chair.  "I often forget how much fun this job can be.  What do you say we take our break right now and pop in on the activities below?"

Athaneal eyed him warily.  "Is that allowed?"

"Well, I'll make an exception, just this once."  He looked his trooper over.  "You'll need to change if you're going with me."

"What century is it down there?"

"They just started the second millennium a few years ago."

"Oh, then I'll just don this robe.  Everyone will think I'm a Jedi Knight wanna be."

"Good idea.  I'll do the same, and everyone will think I'm a wizard from Middle Earth."

"Or Hogwarts!" Athaneal snorted, and they laughed together.

Bonkers was busy.  Locals and tourists alike loved to stop in for some excellent burgers and quality Italian food.  After being eyed suspiciously by their waiter, the two angels were taken to their table, where they left their hoods covering their heads.  "What's good here?" Athaneal asked Harney. 

"I think the chicken parmesan is wonderful, but the chicken Italia gets good reviews as well."

"It's so hard to decide," Athaneal complained when the waiter appeared for the fifth time after being told that they only needed a few more seconds to decide.  "When you only eat once ever decade or so, it's hard to make a snap decision."

"Look," the waiter replied impatiently.  "I have a whole restaurant of important guests tonight.  I really need you to order something or you two can take a hike."

"Oh…" Athaneal was feeling the pressure.  "Then just give us two orders of Bonker's Cheesy Fries."

The waiter resisted the urge to scowl at them and quickly disappeared around the corner while murmuring, "Last of the big spenders."  

Harney pointed.  "Look, there comes Steve now."

"The whole ambulance team is still with him?"

"Those guys live in a place where there aren't a lot of restaurant choices.  I thought it would be a treat for them to hang out for a little while longer."

"So, Steve will have a table next to Joe?  Is that the idea?"

"Yes.  That method works really great.  Humans run into old friends in a restaurant all the time without realizing that Heaven actually orchestrated that event.  They'll automatically assume it was a coincidence."

"Gosh, they really are naive, eh?"

"Why are you suddenly talking like a Canadian, eh?"

"Shhh," Athaneal whispered.  Here comes the rest of the party.

"Good, they are being seated next to the others.  Perfect.  I love it when a good plan comes together."

Steve, who had been staring at his menu for the last few minutes, suddenly looked up to see Joe staring at him.  He watched the man for several seconds before it dawned on him that he recognized him.  That was Joe Ponska, his Army buddy—well, associate, from years before.  Joe was an oral surgeon who was deployed with him many years ago in Iraq.  They worked together for their entire tour.  The last time he saw Joe was… and then he remembered.  His glance suddenly faded into the floor, and he prayed dearly that Joe hadn't recognized him.

Joe, who immediately noticed Steve, sat simmering in his booth, wishing he had the freedom to throttle Steve, who abandoned him—left him holding the bag—all those years ago.  He'd dreamed so often of what he would do to him if ever given the opportunity.  He hardly noticed the older couple sitting down between them.

The man and his wife sat awkwardly in their chairs.  They were accustomed to finer dining than Bonkers.  But they did win that free meal on the radio.  Who would have thought that knowing about the movie The Horn Blows at Midnight would ever benefit them?  "Well, dear," Peter asked.  "What do you think?  Should I go with the New York Strip, or the rack of ribs?"

"Oh no, Darling.  You should never eat ribs this late at night.  You'll be up all night looking for the Alka-Seltzer's if you do."

"What looks good to you, Samantha?"

"Oh, I will either have the Seared Ahi Tuna, or the Idaho Trout."

The Boundary County ambulance crew overheard her say Idaho Trout and immediately began to advise her on her diner selection.  "Ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, I'd go with the Idaho Trout.  We're all from Idaho and there's two things Idaho is famous for.  Trout is one of them.  We're mighty proud of our fish up there."

"Oh, my!" Samantha managed to smile.  "You have certainly influenced my decision.  Thank you so very much."  She glanced at Peter.  "Don't you appreciate the help these men have offered?"

Peter rolled his eyes and folded his menu, forcing himself to look at the table of Idaho emergency workers.  "Yes, there is no way to express my appreciation for your insights…" and then his eyes met Steve's, and just as Steve, his eyes immediately went to the floor, praying that he had not been recognized.  But it was too late.  The wheels of destiny were already turning.

Samantha noticed her husband's sudden change of mood and glanced at the Idaho boys quizzically.  When she saw Steve, her jaw fell.  "Why, it's that…"

Peter was suddenly on his feet.  "Come on, Samantha, no free meal is worth this much trouble."

Steve, feeling the pressure building from a wound many years old, stood to his feet.  Sudden movement to his left caused his eyes to shift.  Joe was now on his feet as well.  And if the others were shocked, Joe was angry.  A storm was brewing, and Hurricane Joe was about to land.

Samantha followed Steve's gaze and when her eyes landed on Joe's square jaw, her face drained of all color.  "Oh dear…"

Peter moved fast for an ageing gentleman and placed himself between Joe and Samantha.  He locked in on Joe and said, "We want no trouble."

Joe growled at him.  "I've waited an entire lifetime for this moment."

Steve snapped into action and positioned himself between the belligerents.  "Now hold on a minute, gentlemen.  There's no need for violence."

Joe pressed closer.  "There is every need for violence.  I've wanted a piece of him for so long I can taste it."

Athaneal watched the chaos unfolding across the room and asked, "What's happening?  How does this situation resolve a prayer request?"

Harney inhaled deeply.  "Well, it's like this:  Years ago, Joe was an oral surgeon in the Army and Steve was his nurse.  They worked very well together, and they did a lot of good healing soldiers who were injured during the war.  Joe was able to repair a lot of dental damages done when a soldier suffered a head wound.  He helped a lot of soldiers get back on their feet.

"Peter, there, was the commanding general of his post.  Peter was the man in charge, and he didn't need or desire anyone's help when it came to managing his post or his troops.  Samantha, his wife, came to their camp in Iraq with an USO tour.  One day, the actors and singers with the tour were visiting the injured soldiers.  Samantha was with them.  They went from bed to bed and shook every soldier's hand.  One soldier recognized Samantha as the Commanding General's wife and thought it would be funny to give her a gift.  It was a live grenade, and the only thing that had to happen was to pull the pin, and it would explode.  Samantha never imagined that it wasn't a dummy grenade, so she was walking around playing with it.  Joe and Steve noticed what she was doing, and Joe tried to get the grenade out of her hand.  She wasn't interested in surrendering her new play pretty to anyone.  She was only playing when she did it, but she reached up to pull the pin, and Joe, fearing for the lives of everyone in the room, hit her on the jaw, knocking her cold.  She collapsed on the floor and he collected the grenade, which he handed to Steve and told him to make it disappear.

"When the General's wife came too, she was lying on a gurney with a broken jaw.  She was humiliated and immediately accused Joe of attacking her.  Joe tried his best to explain the matter, but the General refused to hear any explanations.  He ordered Joe to a Court Martial hearing.  At the trial, Joe tried to explain his actions, but it was his word against her word."

"What about Steve?  Wasn't he there?"

"Yes, he was.  But Steve was afraid of crossing the General and allowed Joe to go down for something he didn't do.  The truth was covered up, and he has lived with that guilt for the rest of his years."

"What about his petition?  He said he had a problem with his pockets.  Wasn't that a request about the money he lost in Vegas?"

Harney shook his head.  "Not at all.  He stuffed the grenade in his pocket all those years ago.  Somehow he managed to make it home with that live grenade, and has had it in his pocket all those years."

"Strange."

"Humans.  There's no way to understand them."

Steve, now standing between the belligerent parties and said, "General, Sir?  I have to say something."

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Steve Collins.  I served under your command in Iraq, and I served with Joe as well.  I was there the day Joe hit your wife.  And I have to say, Joe was wrongly accused.  He's innocent of all charges."

Joe watched him for a moment, and then backed away a few steps.  The General snorted his response.  "What in blazes are you talking about?"

Samantha placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and calmly said.  "I think he's trying to right a wrong.  Years ago when I was touring with the USO, when I was attacked by Joe, there was more to the story than anyone knew.  I had asked Steve to help me with some headaches that I had been having, and after some persuading, he snagged me some pain medicine.  I took more of them than I was supposed to, and I was a little high.  When the soldier gave me the grenade, I was not in my right mind, and I was pretending to pull the pin.  Joe tried to stop me, but I was too high to know it.  If he hadn't of struck me, I would have killed us all.  We owe him our lives.  Instead, we sent him to prison and ruined his life."

Peter's shoulders fell.  "Is that true?"

Joe slowly nodded.  He had lost interest in a confrontation.

Steve stepped forward.  "It is all true.  Worse, I lied about it because I was afraid I would loose my next promotion if I was discovered for illegally supplying narcotics.  So I allowed a good man to suffer for what I did wrong.  And now I can't live with the guilt anymore."  He thrust his hand into his pocket and produced the grenade.  "I'm sorry, but I have to end it all."  His hand went to the pin and his finger slipped through the ring.

Joe shook his head in disbelief.  How many times can the same bad thing happen to the same guy?  He made a fist and punched Steve on the jaw, snapping his head back, sending him into a heap at the feet of the ambulance drivers.

The General watched Joe for several minutes, and then at his wife.  After a moment, he exhaled loudly.  "Joe, I have no way of expressing how sorry I am for what happened to you.  I can promise that I will restore everything I can to you, and do everything in my power to make it right."

"What about him?" Joe was pointing at Steve.

"Has he suffered enough?"

Samantha jumped into the conversation.  "I sincerely doubt that he has suffered enough, but I suggest that both of you consider showing him mercy.  We all deserve worse than we receive.  I think we should show mercy in this situation, and I think it should begin right here, at this very moment."

Athaneal clapped his hands together fiercely.  "Man, I really love humans.  Sometimes they can really surprise you."

Harney nodded.  "That is one of the reasons God loves them so much.  And it is also why He was willing to die for them.  He wanted them to have mercy as well, no matter what they deserved."

The waiter was suddenly behind them.  "Hey, if you two pixies are finished, I'd like to clean your table and get some real customers in here."

"It's just as well," Harney grinned.  "We have to get back to work anyway."

Reflections by Sara Vinduska (Book Review)

Reflections by Sara Vinduska

I recently ran into a young woman selling a book at the fair.  I always try to help out a local artist—especially a local author.  (I believe in reaping and sowing.)  When I buy a book from a local author, I'm always hoping the book will be "okay."  Well, let me tell you, Sara Vinduska is not "okay", she is absolutely fantastic.  I started reading her book late on Saturday evening and before I knew it, I was already on page 40.  I completely devoured the book by Monday, which is a chore for me (ADHD, need I say more?).

Sara sets Reflections in both Colorado and Wyoming, with an occasional visit to both LA and New York City, and a really pleasant visit to Ireland which lasts several weeks.  Her book follows a likeable hero named Lash, and a heroine named Justine, and let me tell you, I felt like I was falling in love with her by the end of the book!  The story is a drama/suspense story with a rather tasteful love story woven throughout the story line.  Sara does something that not many authors do: she continues the story once the major storyline tension is resolved.  She continues to follow her characters as the aftermath of their crisis abates, and does a darn good job.  Sara has a firm grasp on basic and complicated human emotions, love, frustration, fear, joy, grief, and excitement.  I would swear she has a PHD in psychology, for her insights are spot on, and could possibly save many people years of therapy if they follow her story line close enough!

Sara's book is rich in dialog, and doesn't bog the reader down with unnecessary details that hinder a reader's progress.  Her love scenes are handled tastefully, and her action sequences are not over dramatized.  Sara's ability to develop both complicated characters and storylines into simple, engaging words demonstrates her skill and firmly declares that she is a master storyteller.  Although, I have to admit, I was a bit overwhelmed with her completely surprising ending (I won't spoil it, and I promise you won't see it coming!), but I suspect she has a purpose for it in the next installment of the series.  Her next book can't come soon enough, that's for sure!

Trust me, Sara is a treasure.  Her work is worth your time, and you will find it as rewarding as did I.  And if you ever get a chance to meet her, you will see that her engaging smile is not her only strength.  There is true depth and foundation deep in her soul, and I expect great things from her in the future.

I Met a Man Today

I met him as I was leading my sons to the temple, where we were to offer a lamb for the Passover. The crowd was always a burden on Jerusalem, but this year…this year there was anger. All day the crowd had continued to gather, and normally there was weeping and penance for our sins, but this year it was different. Few were focused on the Passover. Most were focused on their blind anger.
I lead my sons on a three week journey from Cyrene to Jerusalem. Oh, if I had the money, we could have taken the voyage all the way to the shoreline of Israel, but we are a poor family, and we have to make do with what we have. For three weeks we made our way from Cyrene, across Egypt, and on to Jerusalem and the temple, leading our lamb along the way. We were continually dodging the Roman soldiers who patrolled the highways, the soldiers who were constantly hounding us, spitting the words, "filthy Jews," through clenched teeth as if cursing us.

By the time we arrived in Jerusalem, the crowds were so thick that I feared we wouldn't make it to the temple in time to offer our sacrifice. My boys could feel the tension building around us as the city flared from one shouting match to another; they held the edges of my cloak to ensure we wouldn't be parted.

We couldn't find a way to the temple. It was as if the crowd was pushing us farther and farther away from where we wanted to be. Finally, we found an alley that would take us around the bulk of the crowd and possibly give us access to a less crowded street. My boys were clinging to me as we wound our way through the mass of people. Suddenly, the crowd parted and I saw a Roman soldier riding a horse down the street many paces in front of us. As he rode along, he was followed by a squad of foot soldiers who were armed with swords in their hands, forcing the people to make way. My hand reached underneath my cloak to ensure that my short sword was still there and I felt comfort in knowing that I could defend myself against the soldiers. I've fought the Romans before, and I'll do it again if necessary.


The people were yelling and cursing as the soldiers parted the way. I couldn't make out their words, but it became clear to me that they were shouting at the procession of condemned men, who were being led to be crucified. Suddenly, the crowd behind me surged forward and I felt my young son's hands being ripped from my cloak, and we were separated for the first time in their lives. I tried to return to them, but the people kept pushing and pressing, and I had no choice but to move with them. As we neared the procession, I could feel rocks and dirt pounding me as the people behind me began throwing debris at the soldiers and the condemned men. At that moment I saw him.

Him? Was it a man I was looking at? He was more of a beast than a man. I have served as a soldier on more than one occasion. Never, in any battle I have ever fought, never, have I seen a man in such condition. Even though he was many paces away from me, I could see that his skin was shredded into ribbons of flesh, and the cloth draped over him was soaked with blood. A crown of thorns had been pressed into his hair, and it seemed as though the thorns had been driven deep into his skull. He could only see with one eye, for the other was swollen and bleeding. His beard, or what was left of it, had been ripped from his face. The cross he was bearing was dripping with his blood and left clumps of bloody soil behind him, marking his path.

It seemed that every step he took was accompanied by a slap of a whip against his back and shoulders by the merciless soldiers who were driving him forward as if he were a mule burdened beyond his capacity. The man stumbled under the weight of his cross and pitched head long onto the street and landed with a bloody splat at my feet. He almost splashed his blood on me, and would have done so had I not jumped back in time. His blood would have caused me to become unclean, and I would have been defiled by it. I had to make a sacrifice today. I had no time for defilement.

Fury began to build within my chest as I looked down at this…this…criminal, who almost ruined my Passover sacrifice. I began to yell at him as well, wishing the soldiers would drag him away from me so I wouldn't be burdened with him anymore.

As he lay prostrate under the weight of his cross, I noticed a smear of blood marked the cobble stones on the highway, leaving an impression of his face on the ground. Just as quickly as I felt the anger I felt saddened and I saw him differently, and I felt the words of my protest being choked away from deep within my chest. The beast that lay in his own blood was not a beast at all, but a man. Perhaps he had children just as I did. Perhaps he was someone's son. Perhaps he was someone's brother. No matter what he had done, he certainly didn't deserve to be beaten the way he had been. The longer he lay on the ground the angrier the soldiers became until their whipping him had no point to it. He was exhausted and weak. There was no way he could walk much further, much less bear the weight of that miserable cross-beam.

The soldier on the horse recognized the criminal was spent and he yelled a harsh command at his subordinates to find someone to carry the cross for him. Yes! Someone should help that man. It was the humane thing to do. Someone should help him.

I saw the centurion was searching the crowd to select someone to help him, and fear crawled down my spine when I understood the soldier had picked me. I began to peddle backward with indignation, but the crowd was pressing me forward. I saw the soldier's hand reaching to grab me and my own hand reached for the sword underneath my cloak. Filthy Roman soldier, how dare he lay a hand on me! I'll show him…

But before I could grab my weapon, his hands were on me and I was being thrown across the street by his brute strength. NO! It can't be me! I can't be defiled by that criminal's blood. I have to make a sacrifice, I can't be defiled!

Yet I had no choice. The soldier was standing over me and yelling, "Carry that cross, you filthy Jew." When he saw the defiance in my eyes his hands lifted his sword and I could tell he would run me through if I resisted him.

I'm certain my face was twisted underneath my snarl as I accepted this criminal was about to ruin my life. Frustrated, I grabbed ahold of the cross and began to lift it from his back and I felt his hot blood drip down my hands. Revolted, I withdrew my hands and let the cross crash into his back once more. And then I felt the harsh sting of the whip as the soldiers rejected my protest. ARGH! This ruins everything!

Jerusalem is a rank smelling city. The tanners who scrape animal skins and then dye them during the curing process cause the city to smell like polluted death. It's a stench that's always offended me. But this man…this man was foul! The blood had dried to his skin, mixed with sweat and who knows what; it was all I could do to be near him.

I swallowed hard and began to lift the cross and was suddenly impacted with the weight of what should have been a small burden. This cross was made from green wood, and was heavy. It was heavier than I ever imagined. How had this emaciated man carried it so far down these crowded streets? It was heavy to me, and I was not bleeding from every inch of my body. As the weight of the cross was lifted from his back, the man gasped for breath, and I realized it was pressing the very air he was breathing out of his burning lungs. I held the cross for a moment, and then settled the weight of it on my shoulder. Once free of his burden, the criminal gathered his strength and then stood. For a few seconds, he tottered on his feet, and then he looked at me.

No, that's not true. He looked through me. I felt that man's one good eye piercing my very soul, as if he was reading every thought that was in my mind. As he locked his eye on mine, I felt suddenly ashamed of my own selfishness. This man was condemned and was walking the last mile of his life, and I was angry because I had been inconvenienced by a dying man. Was it so much to ask? Was it so much that I help a dying man to his death?

His face bore no expression as he seemed to find strength and he joined me underneath the cross and pressed his bloody body next to mine. Together, we began to make our way down the street toward the city gate. Every step we took I could feel the sharp bite of the whips as the soldiers continued to drive us to this man's death. His exhaustion was apparent each time his feet moved. Many times he fell, and each time he chose to get up. So many men would have quit, but he was determined to see his way to the end. Here was a man who had strength! I think I would like to have known him before he was condemned. I respect strength, and this man's ability went beyond the physical.


As we cleared the gates and began to climb the short hill just beyond Jerusalem, his weakness overwhelmed him and he couldn't move further. The weight of the cross was causing me to pant, but I hated to see the soldiers beating him every time he faltered. I reached down with my free hand and lifted him to his knees, and then to his feet. And then I embraced the cross with a deeper grasp, and reached across the beam and wrapped my arm around his, locking his flesh against the cross itself. I then carried him and the cross up the hill, his feet barely finding the path as I drug him along. "We're almost there," I kept whispering to him, as if he would find relief in knowing that his death was drawing closer with each step. "It's almost over."

Once on the hill, he collapsed into a heap near the hole that would support his cross. I continued to bear the weight of the cross as the soldiers made short work of nailing the other two condemned men to their own trees. Their pitiful cries offended me as I watched their pathetic faces protest the pain of the nails pounding through their flesh. How could they cry like little girls, when this man, this bleeding, broken, poured-out, man was stoically enduring his shame with grace?

I felt the soldiers lift the cross from my shoulders, but somewhere along the way I began to identify with that cross, and the man who was bearing it, and I actually fought to keep it. Of course, it was not my cross, but his, and the soldiers pried my bloody hands from the beams. It was his death, not mine that was about to occur. It was his hands that were about to be crushed by the weight of the nails. It was his…choice?

It all became very clear to me, like the sharp point of a spear. The only way a man could endure such torture was if he chose to do it. A truly guilty man would have succumbed to his guilt long before this. Only a determined man could endure so much. He had to be innocent! That was the only way he could stand it.

The soldier grabbed me by the cloak and threw me across the open ground, where I lay at the feet of the snarling crowd who had followed us from the city. I lay there a moment before I could gather my strength to rise to my feet. I felt hands reaching out to me, not the harsh, grabbing hands of the soldiers, but the warm, caring hands of a mother tugging at me as I pulled myself erect. I looked to my benefactor and found myself gazing into the tear stained face of a woman. This woman was looking at me with gratitude, and I knew then she was the man's mother. No one else seemed to care what happened to that innocent man, but his mother didn't leave him. And that caused a question to burn deep in my soul.

How could a mother simply allow her son to be crucified? I know, I know, a woman had no status to do anything about it, but she should have been, what? Outraged? Truly this man had to be innocent, for I saw it in her eyes. She had a purpose and an understanding as well. She was heavy with the weight of a mother who was watching her son die, but she was doing it with a quiet dignity that I failed to understand. Unless… Unless she, too, knew that he was innocent. The mother of a guilty man would have held her head in shame, but not this one. But? Why would she let him die? Wouldn't a mother try to stop it? Even though she couldn't do anything about it? Why would she seem to accept it?

Then one of the chief priests began to mock the innocent man. He was yelling at him to come down from the cross, and to save himself if he truly was the Son of God. The Son of God? Is that was this is about? That's blasphemy! If it was true, why, he deserved to die!

I couldn't help but steal a glance at his mother as she absorbed the accusations being railed against her son. She had a confident, knowing look about her. She made no effort to stop them, to explain he was only pretending to be the Son of God. A mother couldn't suffer to let her son die that kind of death for a lie. It had to be true.

This man claimed to be equal to God? To be God, Himself? Could it be? Could he be the one they were calling the Messiah? My heart leapt within my chest when I realized I had been so close to the one who made the blind to see. The words of the prophet Isaiah began to burn deep within me, "…he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquity…" Is it possible?

What had I done? Had I hastened the death of the Promised One? His blood was on me!

My hands were shaking. I had to leave the crucifixion. I had to go. Yes! My boys were still in Jerusalem and were probably in terror for being separated from their father. I must leave here and go find them. It took me more than five hours of searching to locate them. In my absence they made their way to the temple, which was mysteriously quiet, for the veil in the temple had been destroyed. There would be no sacrifices this year. Perhaps never again.

In the days that followed I heard much talk about that man who was named Jeshua. It seems that He was indeed the Son of God, for there were many reports throughout Jerusalem and as far away as Emmaus that people were seeing Him. I freely admit that I heard those stories with great skepticism, for people are prone to chase excitement. But then I saw Him with my own eyes, and when I did, my heart leapt within my chest. For a long moment he stared back at me with those eyes that burned deep into my soul. He simply smiled and said, "Get your boys and follow Me, Simon."