Hopefully Forgiven, Never Forgotten

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

On December 3rd it was warm and sunny in Longview, Texas. I had returned to my home town to celebrate my mother's birthday. That afternoon I slipped away to visit some of the old familiar places of my youth. The next few hours were spent in a whirlwind of emotion and memories of days gone by. My stops included 614 Idlewood Drive where I spent three years of my grade-school life. The front yard looked smaller than I remembered. The tree I fell out of and broke my arm was no longer there. But that didn't stop the memories from rushing forward and engulfing me as though it were yesterday. I only wish I could take you by the hand and carry you back in time with me and let you see what I saw, feel what I felt. But you have your own memories, the things that molded you into who you are today. I have many happy memories of when I lived on Idlewood Drive but it was also the birthplace of one of my most painful learning experiences. And so the story goes . . . .

"I will run away if you make me do that," I said. It was my last ditch effort to control my mother's behavior. She had become more and more resistive to my tactics. During the eight short years of my life, mom had come to know and anticipate my moves almost before I played them. If she played chess, I would have never won a game. When I said I would run away, she just looked at me and without so much as a hesitation; asked if I wanted to eat dinner first. Well, if she didn't believe me I would show her. We'll see how calm she is when I never come back. Mom would regret that she forced me to run away from home.

I didn't wait for dinner. With my luck it would probably be my night to do dishes. I never could keep the schedule straight. I thought of all the things I would miss: my family, visits to Granny's, TV. But there were also things I wouldn't miss: doing dishes and other chores around the house, not to mention always being told what to do. For certain there would be no TV out in the woods or in a hobo camp where I would have to live the rest of my life. No matter what I would miss, I was determined to do whatever was necessary to keep from being labeled a thief, humiliated in front of my classmates and probably spending the rest of my life in jail.

Mother didn't seem bothered in the least that I could be sent to jail. I have no recollection of her exact words but it was probably something like "You knew what you did was wrong when you did it and now you have to make it right." Where was the mercy and charity she would later teach me about? Was there nothing but the cold hard steel of justice in my future? I saw no option except to run away and start a new life far away where no one knew about me and my crime. As I passed through the kitchen I grabbed two slices of Wonder Bread, stuck them inside my shirt and headed out the front door. I made sure that the door slammed so that mom would know that I had left for good. Normally I would hear her say, "Don't slam the door." But I heard no response from her as I passed through that door for the last time in my life.

I was out the door and walking down the road with only my thoughts for company. I began to reflect on the events that brought me to this point in my short life. School had been in session for two weeks. As third graders we were still getting acquainted with our classmates. The boy sitting in front of me (name-long-forgotten) brought a collection of foreign money to school from several different countries. Name-Long-Forgotten sounds like an Indian name but he wasn't Indian, I just can't remember his name. His father served in World War II and collected the money as he marched from place to place.

I wanted that folder of money more that anything I could think of. A scheme started to develop in my mind how I could become the new owner of that treasure. The final bell rang signaling the end of the school day. I waited around until the school was almost empty before I slipped back into the classroom. I moved quickly to Name-Long-Forgotten's desk and to my delight, the folder containing the foreign money was right where it had been when we left the room. My plan was working perfectly. I slipped the folder inside my notebook and made my way out of the school as quickly as possible. As I crossed Mobberly Avenue in front of the school I knew that I had gotten away clean.

As I walked home I was surprised at how easy getting the folder had been. Now the second part of my plan began to take shape. I would dig a hole under the house and bury the folder for a few days. On the weekend I would play as usual under the house and pretend that I discovered the buried money. It was damp under the house so I had to be careful to keep the money collection from getting damaged. This stealing business was so easy. No wonder people stole what they wanted. No one saw anything and no one questioned me. I would now wait and let things cool down.

A great stir swept over the classroom the next morning when Name-Long-Forgotten discovered that his money collection was missing. Someone was a thief. The teacher said that she knew it was someone from the class and the money better be returned by the next day or the police would be called. Police! Thief! I knew I was a thief but being labeled a thief was almost worse than being one, I thought. Police? It never occurred to me that the police would be called. I panicked. I didn't panic and confess; I just panicked on the inside. There was no reason to panic on the outside and do something stupid because no one knew that I was the thief who had taken the money. Well, no one knew except me and God. Others couldn't possibly know because I hadn't made my great discovery from under the house where the money was hidden. I could just leave it there and no one would ever know. Well, no one but me and God. I considered digging up the money and quietly returning it early the next morning but I decided that would be too risky. What if I were to get caught returning the folder? It wasn't worth the chance. Besides, there had to be some way of working out these unforeseen problems and still be able to keep the money collection.

My conscience was doing battle with my brain. I knew what I had done was wrong. I also knew that I would not want Name-Long-Forgotten or anyone else to steal something from me. Mother had been trying to teach me that golden rule stuff as long as I could remember but I guess her words hadn't stuck in my heart. Your brain can talk to your heart all day long but if your heart doesn't want to listen it doesn't do any good. When no one's looking, you'll follow your heart. I knew that there must be some way to save the day and get the money back without being caught. But the biggest problem I faced wasn't the police or getting caught returning the money. The problem was that I still wanted to keep the money collection. A wrestling match between my heart and my brain was still going on. In the end my heart won. I wanted the money more than I wanted to do the right thing. The right thing was to have never become a thief in the first place but it was too late for that. This stealing business was getting in my blood and my blood had to pass right through my heart. With stealing in my heart I wasn't just a thief on the outside; I was a thief on the inside. I had never stolen anything before with the exception of Halloween candy from my cousins and I wasn't sure that was really stealing. But that was all part of the past. I was a thief for sure now. I knew it and Heavenly Father knew it but He didn't seem to mind one way or the other. He didn't shock my fingers or give me some other sign to try and stop me when I first touched the money folder. I knew that one day I would face Heavenly Father but I didn't think too much about my future visit with Him. I wasn't going to see Him anytime soon because I was only eight years old. Besides, I could repent someday and then I wouldn't have to worry one way or the other, all would be forgiven.  

The decision was made; I would keep the money and proceed with my original plan. I would just wait a little longer and let things cool down before digging up the money from under the house and becoming a modern day pirate discovering buried treasure. There would be a little excitement, my brother would be insanely jealous of my good luck and most important, I would have my very on foreign money collection. My very own collection of foreign money . . . man those words sounded nice. How lucky can a guy be? In this world you can make your own luck.

I couldn't wait to dig up my money and show it to mother. The waiting was driving me nuts. Each afternoon as I came home from school I would slip under the house and dig up the corner of my treasure just to make sure it was still there and hadn't been stolen. See, once you become a thief you naturally begin to think that everyone is a thief just waiting for an opportunity to take what is yours. I don't remember ever worrying about someone stealing my stuff before I stole the money collection but now I was obsessed with protecting what was mine. I carried an image in my mind of the money collection just sitting under that desk waiting for someone to steal it. If I hadn't gotten to it first surely someone else would have taken it. But now it was mine, all mine.

I guess the teacher decided that whoever took the money collection wasn't going to bring it back because she stopped threatening us and to my relief the police never came. I was sure glad I hadn't caved in to her pressure and confessed. If I had panicked and confessed, all the other thieves in school would be laughing at me, my classmates would never speak to me again and I might even have to go to jail. But for now life couldn't be better. I had gotten away with stealing the money and no one would ever know. It's the dumb ones who get caught or the weak ones who loose their nerve and spill their guts. I didn't have to worry about any of that because so far my plan had been perfect. In fact, things were going so well I decided I didn't need to wait any longer before making my great discovery of the buried treasure. I asked mother if I could go out and play under the house. I had never asked mother if I could play under the house before but this time I wanted to make sure there would be no question in mother's mind where the money came from.

Crawling under the house next to the back stairs, I quickly dug up the money collection and set it aside. I needed to wait a few minutes before declaring my new discovery. I'm sure it was only minutes but it seemed like hours and soon I could wait no longer. Climbing out from under the house, I painted a look of surprised delight on my face and went running into the house to show mother what I found. That was my last happy moment. Mother took one look at the folder of money and said, "You didn't find that under the house." How could she know? Fear stuck to me like molasses but I quickly caught myself and said, "How do you know?" "Because if it had been under the house like you said, it would be wet from the damp ground." I had sprinkled a little dirt through the pages so it would appear older than it was. Rats, I hadn't thought of that. I continued to proclaim my innocence all that afternoon. Mother bombarded me with questions and accusations and refused to believe my story. My own mother had turned on me and was making my life miserable.

Over and over mother said, "I don't believe you Mack. Where did the money come from?" I stuck to my story but she was melting me down like a hot sun glaring on an ice cream cone. It couldn't have been worse if she had tied me to a chair and turned a spotlight on me. Mother had not laid a hand on me but anyone will break under severe pressure. I broke. I confessed. Oh, at that moment, how I wished I had never seen that money collection. How I wished I had never taken it or at least taken the gamble to return it even if it meant getting caught. This was the darkest day of my life. I thought it couldn't get any worse but then it did. Mother told me that I would have to return the collection, tell the teacher I stole it and apologize to Name-Long-Forgotten. I begged for her to let me just sneak the money back into the classroom but she said, "No." "Mom, I can't do it; I won't do I," I said. "Oh yes you will Mack and you are going to do it tomorrow," mother said.

I didn't want tomorrow to ever come. That's why I ran away. If mom couldn't find me she couldn't make me take the money back and face all that humiliation. The street in front of our house was unique to the neighborhood. There was an island of grass and shrubs running the full length of the street dividing the east and west traffic. Months earlier I discovered that the center of one of those shrubs had died out and I could crawl right up inside and be totally concealed from view. Twice I had hidden there to keep from having to take my piano lesson from Mrs. Schaffer who lived at the end of the street. I disliked Mrs. Schaffer and her mouse-infested piano almost as much as I hated piano lessons but I wasn't worried about a piano lesson today. I crawled into the shrub and prepared to wait until I could come up with my next plan of action. I didn't eat my slices of Wonder Bread.  I was feeling too miserable to be hungry.

I was hoping that mother would collapse in hysterical sobs over the loss of her son, come find me and tell me that she would not make me return the money and be humiliated in front of the whole class. I wanted mom to step in and sweep my pain away like she was sweeping dirt off the front porch. But she did not come. It began to get dark and she still didn't come. It wasn't the darkness of night that bothered me. I learned when we lived in the country to overcome my fear of the dark. Gradually it became clear that my plan wasn't going to work . . . I had played my last card and lost. Mother wasn't going to give in to the wishes of a misguided little boy whose heart had been wrong from the moment he thought about stealing that money collection. Looking back on it now, to give in to my demands would have been the worst thing she could have done. I would have to return the money collection and face whatever punishment I had coming to me. I crawled out from the safety of the hollowed out hedge and slowly headed for home. My heart was heavy and my brain was numb. I felt like both my heart and my brain had let me down. But I knew the truth.

I had left home by defiantly slamming the front door and now I was sneaking in the back door like a skinny mouse with its tail between its legs. My brother and I slept on the screened-in porch at the back of our house. The room was dark and there was no one home when I came in the back door. Bill and I had bunk beds and each year we traded off who got to be on the top bunk. This was my year to be on the bottom. I slipped into bed and covered my head. I wanted to just disappear but I was all out of magic tricks. After a while I heard the screen door open and mother quietly came through the door. I reached out in the darkness and touched her leg as she went past me. I wanted her to know that I was home. Neither one of us spoke. There would be plenty of time for us to talk tomorrow. Oh how I wanted tomorrow to never come.

But tomorrow did come and I was soon on my way to school with the folder of foreign money to return to Name-Long-Forgotten. I hated this mess I was in. If I had paid closer attention to the Bible story about David and Bathsheba that my Sunday school teacher taught me I wouldn't be in this mess. My teacher was Sister Nimtz. It didn't make sense that Mrs. Nimtz could be my sister but when you are eight there are a lot of things that don't make sense. One thing in particular that didn't make sense was why I couldn't just quietly slip the money collection back into the classroom. Anyway, what happened next might have never taken place if I had learned from Sister Nimtz's bible story that things can go from bad to worse when you try to cover up the stink of being a thief. Remember, David knew Bathsheba and she was found with child (that's the way they say it in the Bible) . . . sort of like she stumbled, fell down and when she got up, discovered she was going to have a baby. But David had another problem. Bathsheba was already married to someone else. David didn't want Bathsheba's husband to find out what he had done to Bathsheba so he had her husband killed. That's what I mean when I say things can go from bad to worse when you try to cover up what you did wrong.

Just like David, this morning I was filled with dread for having gotten myself in such a pickle. At least I wasn't as bad as David. I hadn't resorted to having anyone killed over this little money problem. That's how the mind of a thief operates; they compare themselves to someone who did something worse, then they don't feel so bad about their own mistakes. Last night I had been defeated, worn down, smeared with the agony of worldly sorrow. But my sorrow was not for what I had done. It was for having been caught. With this fresh new day, my brain began to scheme my way out of this unfortunate situation. See how a thief begins to think when he gets in a jam . . . he starts distancing himself from the foul act by referring to it as an unfortunate situation.

The problem in this unfortunate situation was the evidence. I needed to get rid of the evidence. David in the bible couldn't get rid of his evidence; he loved Bathsheba too much to let her go. I no longer loved or wanted this money collection, I hated it. Four days ago I thought I couldn't live without the money and now I couldn't stand the sight of it. When you think about something night and day your mind goes crazy wanting it. That foreign money was worthless because I couldn't even spend it. You couldn't buy a hamburger with the whole lot of it. Mother would have said something like, "There isn't enough money there to buy a pot to pee in." I would never spend my money on a pot; a boy can always find a bush to go behind. If I could get rid of this evidence no one could ever prove I was the one who took the money. I made my decision. I wasn't going to confess and I wasn't going to ask Name-Long-Forgotten to forgive me for stealing his money collection and no one could make me.

To get rid of the evidence by just burying it wouldn't be good enough. With the way my luck was going, someone would find the money collection and I would be dead meat. I had to destroy the evidence. After school I ran home as fast as I could. I already had a box of matches hidden under the house for lighting small forbidden fires. I lit the folder of foreign money on fire but just the edges of the pages burned. I soon realized that I would have to burn one page at a time. I watched as the fire first blackened each page with the money taped to it and then it turned to ashes. I felt like I was watching something take place that I would regret all my life but that feeling did not stop me. Once all the pages were burned I stirred the ashes into the dirt to destroy the evidence of the fire. The money was gone. I couldn't give back what didn't exist. I was free! But it was just another lie I told myself. I didn't believe the lie but I wanted to. When you begin to believe your on lies you are really in trouble.

I was in trouble but I wasn't a goner. I hadn't started to believe my own lies yet. I knew what I was doing was wrong. It was wrong to steal the money collection. I could say the devil made me do it but that would just be another lie. He may have tempted me but he didn't put my hand on the money. I stole the money because I wanted it more than I wanted to be honest. Destroying the evidence by burning the money was worse than the original theft. I burned the money to cover my wrongdoing.

I was acting just like David in the bible. When David discovered that Bathsheba was found with child, his solution to the problem was to have her husband killed. It didn't matter to him that he had taken another man's wife.  David, the king sent the husband of Bathsheba into the heat of a terrible battle and commanded his men to withdraw from him leaving him alone to be surrounded and killed. I imagine that when David first received the news that Bathsheba's husband Uriah had been slain in battle, he exclaimed, "I'm free." His happiness probably lasted about as long as mine did.

Like David, I had slain my Uriah so to speak by eliminating the money collection but I wasn't free. Mother would be in the house waiting for a report on how my day of confession and restitution had gone. I crawled out from under the house where the evidence had been burned and buried. I painted on my sad face and went inside. To my surprise mother did not immediately descend upon me with a bunch of questions. Eventually she did ask how my day went and I told her it was the worst day of my life. I had become a liar as well as a thief. I now understood the saying, "Show me a thief and I'll show you a liar. Show me a liar and I'll show you a thief." Once again I lied to myself when I thought, "I'm home free." I felt free because mother never checked with the school to see if I had followed through with her demands that I confess, make restitution by returning the stolen money collection and asking Name-Long-Forgotten to forgive me.

But I was not free. Through the years there have been many times that if I could, I would have pushed the rewind button and made different choices those days long ago in the third grade. But you can't change the past, you can only learn from it. The decisions I made back then were wrong but there was a rainbow at the end of that third grader's sad story. Throughout my life each time I have been tempted to take something that did not belong to me, I have immediately thought of the feelings I experienced in that damp crawl space under our house on 614 Idlewood Drive. There, I experienced worldly sorrow for having been caught and chose to burn the evidence of my wrong choices.

I have learned the difference between worldly sorrow and Godly sorrow. Worldly sorrow causes you to try to hide your mistakes. Godly sorrow prompts you to do everything you can to undo the damage you have caused and wish with all your heart it had never happened. This experience I have shared with you became a benchmark in my life. As I gradually became truly sorry for my actions or in other words experienced Godly sorrow, I knew that I would have to find Name-Long-Forgotten and express my heart felt regret for having taken something that did not belong to me.