I met Lynn when she was a knock-kneed fifth grader at Freetown Elementary School. I was also in the fifth grade, but I attended a neighboring school in the city of Vallonia. On a spring morning, my class boarded a school bus that took us to Brunswick Bowling Alley for a field trip. I believe the trip was a social outing for the schools within the county as a mixer, so after the fifth grade classes from around the county merged at the common Junior High School, the sixth grade students would be familiar with each other; brought together by bowling. The Brownstown kids arrived with little fanfare as did those from Medora. When the Freetown bus unloaded its cargo, my young world changed.
Dressed in pink from head to toe, Lynn stood a few inches taller than her classmates. Her lanky frame seemed awkward and she walked with her arms bent and nervously fidgeting with her fingers. Her awkwardness and fidgeting was ironic as her attitude and eyes exuded confidence; perhaps a superiority over the other girls. She noticed me in passing as the boy who would not stop staring. I was smitten, as a child’s first taste of ice cream; I stood motionless, smiling inside. I asked my friends about her. No one knew her or her family so I referred to her in my dreams from that day forward as Pinky. At the end of the field trip, she boarded her bus and I did not see her again until the first day of sixth grade when we became best friends and were inseparable. Lynn would confess only after we were married that she was as fascinated with me as I with her, but it was not polite for a real lady to reveal these things to such an eager boy.
I would not share my experience of Tonder with Lynn. I simply did not know how to begin. I suppose that omission would prove to be more damaging, but in my own way, I felt I was protecting her from a life less ordinary. I watched her from the edge of the bed while she removed her make-up in the mirror. The shape of her face was more artistic than humanly as her subtle lines and sharp features were that of a fine sketch crafted by a pencil in the hands of a true master. I never tired of looking at her, tracing those pencil lines of her cheek bones with my own as if mimicking the mastery of da Vinci.
I broke from the moment of admiration to take in one last cigarette before settling out of the playful Sunday in preparation for the work week. An hour earlier, Doyle fell straight asleep, exhausted from a full day of games and pretend. Nestled asleep in his room, his world awaited him in the morning, free of worry and concern; at his hands to form as he pleased. I raised our bedroom window and rested my elbows on the sill. I lighted a cigarette and watched the smoke escape the open window, the evening was still and quiet. The small sounds of Lynn moving about the bathroom were the only effects in the air. The smoke hung on the night air, ghostly reluctant to shift and dissipate. I thought of my mother.
I wondered how I became so far removed from the Catholic foundation she had formed long ago. Mom was insistent that we attend Mass weekly and partake in communion as often as possible. Dad typically stayed home from Mass and mowed the yard or worked in some other fashion around the house. He was supportive of Mom’s mission to raise me Catholic, but comfortably from a spectator’s seat. He didn’t realize that a formative teen, his son, needed his example to become a man. He did not realize that the true measure of a man is how he treats God when no one is watching. This lesson would come.
Saturday night’s at 11:00 p.m. were spent in Eucharistic adoration with Mom. For one hour, we spent our weekly commitment in prayer, reflection, and reverence in front of the blessed sacrament; giving this time to God for thanks and praise. Together, we would genuflect upon entering the chapel and would kneel in front of the monstrance, praying the rosary before the Body of Christ. My mother’s eyes were always closed during the recitation of the rosary and her hands clutched the beaded chain as if it may be snatched away; as it were the most valued item she possessed. Her whispers announced the decades of the rosary and the repetition of the Hail Mary prayer was hypnotic and soothing. At thirteen my interest was piqued in curiosity and steeped with attraction. Nonetheless, my mind began to wander during the prayers and thoughts beyond the adoration chapel and the distractions would overtake me. Twenty minutes was adequate time to recite the rosary, leaving forty minutes for additional prayers, intentions, and talk between us. In this memory, she spoke quite seriously.
“Sutter, what do you see when you come with me to adoration?”
“I don’t know. I see candles and kneelers, I see you praying the rosary, and I see books, I guess. Why?”
“Do you see Jesus, Sutter? Do you see Him in the Blessed Sacrament when we come in; when we pray, when we give this hour to Him?”
“I don’t know; I mean, I guess. If you are talking about the communion host in the monstrance then, sure, I guess.”
“Sutter, seeing is not always done with your eyes. Your faith guides your heart, my boy, and your heart gives your soul the eyes to see what other may not. Everyone can see God, many choose not to look. Think about this: many people believe that living a good Christian life is easy. Once one gives his life over to God, then nothing can touch them. God puts them under His wing and life is a breeze. People think that Christians have an easy life without worry, temptation, or sin. This is so wrong, Sutter. It is quite the opposite. Sure, when a person becomes a Christian and gives his life to God, then he should realize that there is nothing God can’t do for them; however, we are human and imperfect. We are constantly tempted and prone to sin. God knows this. He gave us free will to choose, and we must choose daily. Satan will come after you with everything he’s got, especially we Christians. As a matter of fact, Christians are a big target for Satan; what a prize for him to turn a Christian soul away from God. Sadly, this is an easy accomplishment. He doesn’t need to turn you in favor of him; he just needs to turn you away from God and he does it a little at a time. The turn off of the path to God is not always a right angle. In fact most times one veer’s from the path so slightly that these tiny nudges, these fireballs thrown by Satan, can steer us little by little until we are eventually off of the path.
You’ve got to be aware of your Christian foundation, of your Catholic beliefs daily, Sutter. You’ve got to dedicate you life to God every morning and pray that He lead you down His path. Every evening apologize to Him for being a less perfect version of yourself than He wants. The next day you try again. Being Christian doesn’t mean you sign on the dotted line and sit back and watch life go by until God calls you. You’ve got to keep your life in motion. Be aware, son, that Satan will always come at you. He wants you and demands you, but God’s got you. Don’t let go of that. Carry the cross that God gives you and pray, my boy. If you don’t remember anything from our hours of adoration, remember to pray always. Your sweetest prayer will always be the one that is in your heart, and on your lips.”
I turned with a start to the touch of Lynn’s gentle touch to my shoulder.
“Sutter, I was talking to you. You must be in deep thought because you didn’t answer me.”
“Just thinking about Mom, I suppose. Hey, Pink, do you think we are getting everything out of our church? I mean, I was raised Catholic and I guess I miss it every once in a while.”
“You know, we decided a few years ago that we don’t need a denomination to believe. It was your idea, remember? I think there is room in heaven for everyone, not just Catholics or Protestants; I think organized religion needs to get with the program and change with the times. I think our church does that Sutter. The First Church of the People is everything we need and we make our own decisions based on our own moral beliefs. It’s about living in peace together being good to each other; that’s all. What more could there be? I mean logically, Sutter, we are an intelligent race so we can decide what God wants, right? Plus, look at all of the support that Church of the People has received over the past several years. What a blessing! With all of the high profile, celebrity support, we have the Healing Center for Souls within a short drive from here. Yes, we are where we need to be. You know, your mother said that the center is not…”
“I know, Pink. You’re right. Sometimes I just miss it. It was such a part of my childhood.”
“Well, thank goodness you’re not a child anymore.”
Lynn wrapped her arms around my shoulders and gently kissed the back of my neck. I turned to meet her, eye to eye, and was immediately awash in her sea of green eyed wonder. All other thoughts were gone and she and I embraced, smiling, and immersed in the moment as we locked hands and moved toward the bed. These bliss-filled moments of togetherness washed away the questions and concerns and reinforced our oneness giving me confidence in the approaching day.
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