By Jerry Mack Grubbs
As the time approached for my release as Bishop of the Young Adult Ward, I became apprehensive about being able to emotionally let go of all those ward members whom I had come to love so much. My mind raced back to when the previous bishop had been released, and how he suffered during that adjustment. My release was not a surprise. I was instructed when I was called to be bishop that the call was for three years and my release would happen within a couple of weeks of that time frame.
The Stake President informed me that I would be replaced the coming Sunday. The night before that Sunday, I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father to help me through this adjustment. The main thing that I wanted to do was make sure that I did not create problems for the new bishop, yet I had come to view these young adults as my own. The instruction that had come from the Stake Presidency was: we love you; we appreciate what you have done for the ward, now please step aside and let the new bishop do his job. I had strong reservations about being able to emotionally step aside.
As I retired for the evening, I was very restless. I did not want the next day to ever come. I could not bear the thought of not being at the Ward with the young adults. I had no desire to return to my home ward. I just wanted things to stay the same way they had been for the last three years. At the beginning of my call as bishop I had never dreamed that I would come to love the members of the ward so much. Now it was all coming to a crashing end. As I drifted off to sleep I experienced the following dream:
We were on a ward outing up in the mountains. The surroundings were familiar, but I was not sure where we actually were. We were hiking up a river drainage with everyone having a great time. Some were having water fights and others were just enjoying the outdoors and nature. I engaged in light conversation with several members of the ward as we worked our way up the shallow river. The bottom of the river bed was rocky, and I remember having to be careful how we stepped because of the slipperiness of the rocks. A couple of members lightly sprained their ankles due to the condition of the river bottom.
I was swept away in thought of how much joy and happiness the ward members had brought into my life. It was indeed the best, most enjoyable calling I had experienced in the church. I do not make light of the calling or imply that everyday was a holiday, but through the thick and thin of it all, I was very happy to be serving where I was.
A couple of the young men got carried away with the water fighting and had to be toned down a little. I knew that they were doing nothing different than l had done as a young adult. While thinking about their actions and my own past experiences, I felt an uneasiness wash over me. I first searched inside myself for definition of the feeling, but finding nothing of significance there, I began to be more aware of my surroundings. I moved a little ahead of the group so that I might listen and hopefully learn something concerning what was going on. I heard nothing. I saw nothing that should be of any alarm. I returned to the group and actually participated in some of the water fighting.
One of the sisters slipped on the rocky bottom and injured her knee on a large stone. I assigned two men in the group to help her. As I, along with the two young men, examined her injury, I felt that same uneasiness wash over me again. This time it was an even stronger feeling. Once again I moved ahead of the group, and this time I vocally expressed my concern and feeling of uneasiness to my Heavenly Father. I plead with Him to give me assurance that He would not leave us to our own demise and that if there was danger ahead that He would make it known to us so that we might properly prepare. As I finished my silent prayer I realized that there were no longer any birds singing or any other of the normal forest sounds. All I could hear was the sound of the river and ward members laughing and playing in the water. Although I still had no definition of what danger might lay ahead, I felt strongly that we should move up the embankment and get out of the bottom of the riverbed.
The announcement to move out of the water and up the embankment was not accepted with much enthusiasm. I had to become quite forceful with some of the young men. Eventually everyone complied with the request to travel along the higher slope. I noticed that some did not question the decision. They just accepted the request and moved up the bank without any complaining. Others were more reluctant, needing an explanation of why we couldn't stay in the water where the traveling was much easier. A select few refused to come up the embankment without being issued a direct order to get out of the water. Those same few tried their best to make the journey miserable for the rest of us through their complaining and whining. I remember a sister in the ward suggesting that I allow them to go back down in the water so the rest of us could get some relief from their bickering. I told her that I was the bishop of all the members not just those who willingly obeyed.
The way became very difficult as we hiked along the embankment. It was overgrown with briers and vines which made the passage very arduous. For a brief time I even began to doubt my feelings about the supposed danger. As I thought about my responsibilities to the members of the ward, the same feeling of uneasiness swept over me again. This time it was so strong that I immediately told the ward that we were going to get even higher up the embankment. I wondered if my own imagination was getting the best of me. I heard one young man suggest that a group break away and have their own hike where they could have some fun. My faithful counselors put a stop to that talk immediately.
Moving further up the embankment had only added to the difficulty of the way. We were in such dense undergrowth that I was fearful that we would become lost. Some of the weaker members were beginning to fatigue from the exertion. I once again poured my heart out to Heavenly Father for help. This time I was not asking why, but what I should do to protect the members from harm. What should we do and where should we go for safety? As I closed my silent prayer one of the more ambitious and energetic young men shouted that he had found a trail. We quickly moved over to the trail and the way became easy once again.
We followed this trail until it led us to a small rundown cabin. There was a shed near the cabin and I could see an old Chevrolet pickup parked inside. It must not have been used in years judging by the amount of dust it carried. I went to the door and knocked without expecting to find anyone living there. To my surprise an elderly lady answered the door. After a pleasant exchange I obtained directions from her how we could get back to a main highway. I encouraged her to come with us because I felt that a danger lay ahead for the area, but I could not define it. She declined the offer and wished us well.
We traveled on this well defined dirt road for about an hour when we decided to stop and have our lunch. We gathered under a large oak tree near the road. It appeared to be a land mark for it was taller than anything else around. Many members were now exhausted and just wanted to lie down and rest instead of eat. Some were still talking about how stupid all this was. One suggested that I had concocted all this as some type of weird teaching tool. Five young men and one sister wanted to go ahead of the group on the dirt road and get back to their car as soon as possible. I knew from the elderly lady's comments that we still had half a day's walk before getting back to our vehicles. I was about to give in to their demands when the thought came into my mind to climb the large oak tree and see what was on the distant horizon.
Climbing the tree was no easy task. There were no lower branches to grab onto. The members built a pyramid of human bodies to help me reach the first branch. As I climbed higher and higher, I sensed that something terrible was about to happen to this land. As I neared the top of the tree I could see in the distance a large forest fire. It was destroying everything in its path and was moving directly toward us. Behind the fire was a flood of water. I momentarily felt that the water would quench the fire before it reached us, and we could deal with the flood of water by all getting to higher ground. As I began to formulate my plan of defense, the spirit literally shouted to me that the fire would reach us before the water, and we must escape the area if we were to survive. I looked below me, down at the ward members who trusted me and looked to me for guidance and safety. I knew that I would do anything in my power to save them from this harm. Now they were all mostly lying down and resting from the difficult journey that had brought us to this point.
While descending the tree I made the decision to tell no one what I had seen with the exception of my counselors, the Elders Quorum Presidency and the Relief Society Presidency. I called a planning meeting and laid out the plan that I would return to the cabin with one strong elder and one strong sister. The rest would remain with the ward members to insure that they remained together until I returned. I selected physically strong members to accompany me because I knew that we would have to run all the way if we were going to get there and back in time to save the ward members. I took a sister to help persuade the elderly lady to come with us. I took a strong elder to help me get the old pickup started if possible. I knew that our only chance of getting out of there in time to beat the fire was with the old pickup. I didn't know how we could all possibly fit into the truck, but that was a problem I would face later.
Arriving back at the cabin, we found the elderly lady in her same congenial mood. She assured us that she would be fine and did not want to go with us. Before we could even ask, she suggested that if we could get the truck started we were welcome to take it to aid in our evacuation. As previously thought, the old Chevy pickup hadn't run in years. The three of us, with pushing, pleading and praying were finally able to get it running. We returned once more to the cabin and begged the lady to come with us, but she refused. Reluctantly we left her and headed back for the ward family.
By the time we returned, the smell of smoke was in the air and the ward members were almost in hysteria. Two young men had left on their own, stating that the rest were fools for waiting any longer. We loaded everyone into the pickup. To use the term "into the pickup" would be a lie. We had members on the hood, on the bumpers, in the back and on the roof. I counted eleven just in the cab and I still had to get in to drive. There was a feeling of excitement in the air. We had made a plan and that plan had worked thus far. We said a prayer of thanksgiving and prayed for our continued success. I began to squeeze myself under the steering wheel of the truck. I was almost in, but I couldn't get the door closed. No matter how hard I pulled, the door just wouldn't close. I turned my head back to see what the problem might be. There was another man's hand on the door, preventing it from closing. Just as I. saw the hand a voice said, "Bishop Grubbs, you will not be making the rest of this journey. Your job is complete. I'll be taking your place behind the wheel."
At first I was resistive to the voice. I said that the members were counting on me. They looked to me for safety and assurance of the future. Then, without another word being spoken, I knew that the voice was right and that my mission was complete. I stepped out of the truck and another slipped under the wheel. Some of the members upon seeing that I had gotten out of the truck jumped down and said that they were not going if I was not going. All of a sudden I knew that no matter what happened to me I had to persuade them to get back on the truck and flee the impending firestorm. With some coaxing they all got back on the truck with a promise that they would look for the others who had not chosen to wait.
As the old Chevy pickup slowly began to move forward the members turned and waived farewell to me. At first I was sad, but then I realized that although I may never see some of them again, no one could take away the sweet memories they had brought into my life; how they had accepted me, taught me, and loved me.
As the truck lumbered down the dirt road carrying its heavy load, I could hear the ward members singing the song "In the Hollow of Thy Hand." As the truck disappeared around a curve in the road, suddenly I was all alone. The thought came into my mind, what will happen to me? Is this where I will loose my life? Then, just as strong as any feeling I have ever experienced from the spirit, a voice whispered inside of me, "No, not yet, you have an elderly lady back at the cabin to take care of." I began to run with all my might and strength back down the dirt road toward the cabin. As I ran I began to plan how I would get her to go with me and how we would shield ourselves from this fire and survive the flood.
Most of my dreams are of little significance. But this dream did have significance. It rested upon my soul. It brought me the peace that I sought from my Heavenly Father to help me through this transition in my life. Did my dream make the transition and release as the bishop of the young adult ward easy? No, but it made it less difficult. I felt as though I was in the Hollow of His hand.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Too Proud to Pray
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
I have a saying on my desk that I look at each day. It states "The truly important things of life are not found in worldly wealth and earthly possessions but in the relationships we build with family and friends." After reading that saying, a visitor to my office said, "It was probably a poor man trying to make himself feel better who made that statement." I said in response, "If you truly believe what you just said, you probably also embrace the philosophy that 'religion is merely the opium of the uneducated,' a poor man trying to feel better about himself." Why is it that as a nation, the more successful we are, the more difficult it becomes to recognize the hand of God in our lives?
I invited my visitor to have lunch with me. With a roll of his eyes he said, "You will probably insist that we bless the food at the restaurant." "No, I wouldn't want to embarrass you or cause you to feel uncomfortable," I said. "Many prayers are offered in silence, formulated in the mind and nestled softly in the heart. A prayer offered for show is no prayer at all but merely a one-act play with no curtain call.
I'm thankful I live in a country where our president isn't too proud to admit that he prays. I am grateful that our Founding Fathers weren't too proud to pray as they struggled to create a constitution that would stand the test of time. I'm glad I live among people who remember the God of heaven and earth when turmoil and conflict enter their lives. It was a humbled and frightened nation that returned to prayer following 9-11.
I was certainly offering prayers of pleading the night of July 10th when those precious little ones of our family were in peril. As our boat sped through the darkness, our path being illuminated by a 400,000 candle power search light, I was thankful that I wasn't a stranger to prayer. Those prayers became prayers of gratitude the following day as we were able to reflect upon how blessed we are as a family. The family prayer that I was requested to give that morning was the most emotionally challenging assignment I have had in a long time. How thankful I am that I belong to a family where prayer is a daily part of our lives. That night of July 10th helped remind us just how unimportant worldly wealth and earthly possessions are when compared to the precious relationships of family and friends. How blessed I feel for each of you; for your safety, your example to me, and what I learn through my association with you.
It has been said that you measure a man by what makes him angry. I believe that you also measure a man by what he expresses gratitude for. It is often fear and anguish that brings a man to his knees in prayer; it is gratitude that keeps him on his knees.
I have a saying on my desk that I look at each day. It states "The truly important things of life are not found in worldly wealth and earthly possessions but in the relationships we build with family and friends." After reading that saying, a visitor to my office said, "It was probably a poor man trying to make himself feel better who made that statement." I said in response, "If you truly believe what you just said, you probably also embrace the philosophy that 'religion is merely the opium of the uneducated,' a poor man trying to feel better about himself." Why is it that as a nation, the more successful we are, the more difficult it becomes to recognize the hand of God in our lives?
I invited my visitor to have lunch with me. With a roll of his eyes he said, "You will probably insist that we bless the food at the restaurant." "No, I wouldn't want to embarrass you or cause you to feel uncomfortable," I said. "Many prayers are offered in silence, formulated in the mind and nestled softly in the heart. A prayer offered for show is no prayer at all but merely a one-act play with no curtain call.
I'm thankful I live in a country where our president isn't too proud to admit that he prays. I am grateful that our Founding Fathers weren't too proud to pray as they struggled to create a constitution that would stand the test of time. I'm glad I live among people who remember the God of heaven and earth when turmoil and conflict enter their lives. It was a humbled and frightened nation that returned to prayer following 9-11.
I was certainly offering prayers of pleading the night of July 10th when those precious little ones of our family were in peril. As our boat sped through the darkness, our path being illuminated by a 400,000 candle power search light, I was thankful that I wasn't a stranger to prayer. Those prayers became prayers of gratitude the following day as we were able to reflect upon how blessed we are as a family. The family prayer that I was requested to give that morning was the most emotionally challenging assignment I have had in a long time. How thankful I am that I belong to a family where prayer is a daily part of our lives. That night of July 10th helped remind us just how unimportant worldly wealth and earthly possessions are when compared to the precious relationships of family and friends. How blessed I feel for each of you; for your safety, your example to me, and what I learn through my association with you.
It has been said that you measure a man by what makes him angry. I believe that you also measure a man by what he expresses gratitude for. It is often fear and anguish that brings a man to his knees in prayer; it is gratitude that keeps him on his knees.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Eighty Proof
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
Dinner was at a restaurant specializing in barbequed ribs. We ate with our fingers and laughed about the people around us who were trying to eat their plate of ribs with a knife and fork. The meal was delicious and the atmosphere softly lit. Our waitress was pleasant as she presented us with the bill and thanked us for our patronage.
We argued over who would pay the bill. Although I had been invited to dinner, I wanted to pay my own way in this world of business. Should I decide to reject the services of the company she represented I didn’t want the slightest string of obligation to tangle me up. Plus it felt strange having a woman pay for my dinner. We tussled over the bill until I suggested a solution I thought would be fair and agreeable. “How about we toss a coin to determine who pays?” I said. Without hesitation I withdrew a dime from my pocket and said, “I’ll toss, you call.” She called heads. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear so I quickly said, “Heads I buy, tails, you buy.” She agreed. Since my coin was a two headed dime that I carried for just such occasions, she lost the toss. I paid the dinner bill and we headed for the restaurant parking lot.
I walked her to her car and opened the door for her. We said our goodbyes and I proceeded to my rental car. As I slid into the seat and was about to close the door I saw her walking back toward me. She must have forgotten something she wanted to tell me. She stepped between me and the open car door. Before I realized what she was doing, she leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. I was surprised and startled by her action. She withdrew before I had time to react. Without saying a word she tossed a motel key on my lap and walked back to her own car.
I grew up in the south where gals mature early and guys are said to be slow on the uptake but I knew what she was suggesting. I studied the plastic tag attached to the key and realized she was staying at the same motel where I was registered. I wondered if that was a coincidence. She hadn’t even given me a chance to say something polite like thanks but no thanks. Upon returning to the motel, I left her room key with the clerk sitting behind the desk. He asked no questions and I volunteered no answers.
Just before eleven o’clock a knock came on my motel door. When I opened the door she was standing there in a silk or satin dress. I’m not an expert on fabric. But it was apparent she wore no supporting equipment beneath her dress. “May I come in?” she asked. She had a bottle of alcohol in her hand. In her other hand she held two tiny glasses. In the western movies I grew up watching, they were called shot glasses. I stood in the doorway blocking the entrance or I think she would have come into the room like she was expected. Sensing that the evening wasn’t going the way she had played it out in her mind, she reached out her hand in an attempt to hand me the bottle. I didn’t accept the gift. She said, “A friend suggested you could use a taste of what the world has to offer.” “I’ve never tasted alcohol in my life. I’ve always wanted to remember what I did. I hear you are responsible for what you do, drunk or sober,” I said. She stepped forward to kiss me once more but I was better prepared. I placed my hand on her shoulder stopping her forward movement and said, “No thank you.” She placed the bottle on a small shelf just inside the door and said, “If you change your mind drop by anytime.” With that comment she tossed her room key down by the bottle and walked away. I closed the door, slid the security lock in place and returned to the project notes I was working on.
The next morning I gathered up my belongings and prepared to check out of my motel room. I picked up the bottle. The label said Crown Royal, Blended Canadian Whiskey, 80 Proof. Now what was a boy from Texas who had never tasted alcohol going to do with a bottle of 80 proof whiskey? I kept it as a reminder of that world I had never tasted.
Six months later while sitting in an airport waiting for my flight to be called, a lady sat down next to me. As I looked over she said, “Do you remember me?” How could I ever forget her! “I still have the bottle of whiskey you gave me,” I said. We talked like old friends. She shared what was going on in her life at that time. She talked of the motivating forces behind her actions that night at dinner and later at the motel. She apologized. I accepted her apology. We gave one another a polite hug and prepared to go our separate ways with no intention of ever seeing one another again. Then we realized we were booked on the same flight. I was headed for Salt Lake City. She had a stop over in Salt Lake then the flight would carry her on to Billings, Montana.
On the flight we sat together and talked about our families and how our lives intersected. As the plane pulled into the terminal gate at Salt Lake, she wrote her phone number and address on a slip of paper and said, “Keep in touch.” As an after thought she said, “By the way, that blue dress was silk. I don’t suppose it would have made a difference if the dress had been satin” I just smiled. As I walked through the terminal to retrieve my luggage, I slipped the piece of paper containing her phone number and address into a waste can. I never saw her again but I have held on to the bottle of 80 proof . . . the cap is still sealed. The world might say I missed a great opportunity to get lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it. It was all about choice. There are some things in this world I don’t need to taste.
Prior to elevating me to sainthood over turning down an evening with an attractive woman and a bottle of 80 proof that would give me a taste of what the world has to offer, you should know that there are other things in my life that I have tasted. But you will only discover those shortcomings and weaknesses in the unabridged version of this article. I’ve rarely turned down coconut cream pie, homemade ice cream, cashew nuts, an opportunity to go flying, or sitting by a campfire watching the flicker of the flames with someone who cares.
Dinner was at a restaurant specializing in barbequed ribs. We ate with our fingers and laughed about the people around us who were trying to eat their plate of ribs with a knife and fork. The meal was delicious and the atmosphere softly lit. Our waitress was pleasant as she presented us with the bill and thanked us for our patronage.
We argued over who would pay the bill. Although I had been invited to dinner, I wanted to pay my own way in this world of business. Should I decide to reject the services of the company she represented I didn’t want the slightest string of obligation to tangle me up. Plus it felt strange having a woman pay for my dinner. We tussled over the bill until I suggested a solution I thought would be fair and agreeable. “How about we toss a coin to determine who pays?” I said. Without hesitation I withdrew a dime from my pocket and said, “I’ll toss, you call.” She called heads. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear so I quickly said, “Heads I buy, tails, you buy.” She agreed. Since my coin was a two headed dime that I carried for just such occasions, she lost the toss. I paid the dinner bill and we headed for the restaurant parking lot.
I walked her to her car and opened the door for her. We said our goodbyes and I proceeded to my rental car. As I slid into the seat and was about to close the door I saw her walking back toward me. She must have forgotten something she wanted to tell me. She stepped between me and the open car door. Before I realized what she was doing, she leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. I was surprised and startled by her action. She withdrew before I had time to react. Without saying a word she tossed a motel key on my lap and walked back to her own car.
I grew up in the south where gals mature early and guys are said to be slow on the uptake but I knew what she was suggesting. I studied the plastic tag attached to the key and realized she was staying at the same motel where I was registered. I wondered if that was a coincidence. She hadn’t even given me a chance to say something polite like thanks but no thanks. Upon returning to the motel, I left her room key with the clerk sitting behind the desk. He asked no questions and I volunteered no answers.
Just before eleven o’clock a knock came on my motel door. When I opened the door she was standing there in a silk or satin dress. I’m not an expert on fabric. But it was apparent she wore no supporting equipment beneath her dress. “May I come in?” she asked. She had a bottle of alcohol in her hand. In her other hand she held two tiny glasses. In the western movies I grew up watching, they were called shot glasses. I stood in the doorway blocking the entrance or I think she would have come into the room like she was expected. Sensing that the evening wasn’t going the way she had played it out in her mind, she reached out her hand in an attempt to hand me the bottle. I didn’t accept the gift. She said, “A friend suggested you could use a taste of what the world has to offer.” “I’ve never tasted alcohol in my life. I’ve always wanted to remember what I did. I hear you are responsible for what you do, drunk or sober,” I said. She stepped forward to kiss me once more but I was better prepared. I placed my hand on her shoulder stopping her forward movement and said, “No thank you.” She placed the bottle on a small shelf just inside the door and said, “If you change your mind drop by anytime.” With that comment she tossed her room key down by the bottle and walked away. I closed the door, slid the security lock in place and returned to the project notes I was working on.
The next morning I gathered up my belongings and prepared to check out of my motel room. I picked up the bottle. The label said Crown Royal, Blended Canadian Whiskey, 80 Proof. Now what was a boy from Texas who had never tasted alcohol going to do with a bottle of 80 proof whiskey? I kept it as a reminder of that world I had never tasted.
Six months later while sitting in an airport waiting for my flight to be called, a lady sat down next to me. As I looked over she said, “Do you remember me?” How could I ever forget her! “I still have the bottle of whiskey you gave me,” I said. We talked like old friends. She shared what was going on in her life at that time. She talked of the motivating forces behind her actions that night at dinner and later at the motel. She apologized. I accepted her apology. We gave one another a polite hug and prepared to go our separate ways with no intention of ever seeing one another again. Then we realized we were booked on the same flight. I was headed for Salt Lake City. She had a stop over in Salt Lake then the flight would carry her on to Billings, Montana.
On the flight we sat together and talked about our families and how our lives intersected. As the plane pulled into the terminal gate at Salt Lake, she wrote her phone number and address on a slip of paper and said, “Keep in touch.” As an after thought she said, “By the way, that blue dress was silk. I don’t suppose it would have made a difference if the dress had been satin” I just smiled. As I walked through the terminal to retrieve my luggage, I slipped the piece of paper containing her phone number and address into a waste can. I never saw her again but I have held on to the bottle of 80 proof . . . the cap is still sealed. The world might say I missed a great opportunity to get lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it. It was all about choice. There are some things in this world I don’t need to taste.
Prior to elevating me to sainthood over turning down an evening with an attractive woman and a bottle of 80 proof that would give me a taste of what the world has to offer, you should know that there are other things in my life that I have tasted. But you will only discover those shortcomings and weaknesses in the unabridged version of this article. I’ve rarely turned down coconut cream pie, homemade ice cream, cashew nuts, an opportunity to go flying, or sitting by a campfire watching the flicker of the flames with someone who cares.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
A Place in Time
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
Prologue: I watched an old movie called Cast Away staring Tom Hanks. In the movie Tom Hanks is marooned on a remote island after a plane crash. He learns to survive on the contents of FedEx packages that wash ashore from the crash. I fell asleep thinking about what I would want to have with me if I became stranded on a deserted island for an extended period of time.
The Dream: It was Sunday evening and we had enjoyed a family dinner together. I was slumped back on the living room couch with a contented full stomach and one of my grandsons on my lap. Laziness had already crept up my spine and I felt glued to the couch. The grandchildren were running in and out so the front door was open. Without knocking, a tall man dressed in a dark grey suit and sunglasses stepped through the door and into the foyer. He asked, “Is this the Grubbs home?” I said yes and asked who he was looking for. He didn’t answer my question but said, “I came to give you a message. Someone dear to you has been sentenced to spend three years on a deserted island. Anyone present in your home tonight can serve the sentence in this person’s place if they choose.” “Who is this person who is dear to me?” I asked. “You will not be given that information,” he replied. “What was the crime and what purpose will be served by someone spending three years on a remote island?” I asked. “The act may or may not have been intentional but whether a person falls or is pushed from a cliff, the resulting injury at the end of the fall is the same,” he said. “If no one comes forward and volunteers to meet our requirements, I will return in seven days to escort the guilty person to the island. Just remember, whoever you select to serve this sentence will have no contact with the outside world for three years.”
I must have decided in my heart that I would be the one to go because I handed my grandson to his mother and immediately went to my room and began gathering items for a survival pack to take with me. I selected a knife, a folding saw, two aluminum space blankets, a nylon rope and two watertight cases of matches. I packed my halogen headlamp and twenty-four fresh batteries along with a water purification pump. I gathered a complete change of clothes including a large brimmed hat and sunglasses. I went to the garden shed and put corn and tomato seeds into plastic Ziploc bags. Last of all I put six writing tablets along with pens and pencils into my backpack. I wanted to record my experiences on the island or at least let someone know what became of me.
Just one day prior to my scheduled departure I was told that I would be allowed to take one person chosen from those who had been present at the family dinner to stay on the island with me. My dad immediately volunteered but I knew his health would be compromised by such an ordeal. In reality I couldn’t ask him or any other person at the dinner to put their life on hold for three years. As much as I didn’t want to spend that time all alone, the idea of someone else making that sacrifice tore at my heartstrings. I was adamant that no one else would be going with me. On the outside I was standing brave. On the inside I revealed my personality flaws even if it was only to myself by wishing that someone would argue with my decision or suggest taking my place. I knew what my answer would be but it would have been nice for someone to offer. I chided myself for such childish and immature feelings. Everyone present that night knew that I was the best choice to make this sacrifice. My children were grown and I was healthy and willing.
The visitor to our home was true to his word. Just seven days after that visit it was time to leave for the island. Everyone present at the family dinner was invited to join me on a beautiful ocean yacht for the journey to the island. The yacht had every amenity you could imagine. Beautiful state rooms and a banquet style kitchen open from six in the morning until midnight was at our disposal. We lived in luxury those seven days it took for us to reach sight of the island where I would spend the next three years of my life. On the eighth day, with the yacht anchored some distance off shore, my family and friends gathered on the front deck to bid me farewell. A motorized dingy was lowered down to the water in preparation for my departure. With the hugs and well-wishes complete I told the man in the dark grey suit and sunglasses that I was ready to be taken to the island. He motioned for two large men to join him. With no warning they grabbed me and threw me to the deck of the yacht. They removed my backpack, hat, shoes, socks, belt and the items in my pockets. As the two men held me down on the deck the man in the sunglasses picked up my backpack and dumped its contents over the side of the ship, making sure that the Ziploc bags filled with corn and tomato seeds were torn, spilling the seeds into the ocean. My family and friends stood in shocked disbelief.
Without saying a word the two men lifted me off the deck of the ship and threw me over the side. I tried to prepare for the impact with the water below but only managed to flail in the air as I descended and hit the ocean in a slightly vertical position. The dingy was only a hundred feet away but as I began to swim toward it, the yacht put its engines in reverse and backed away from me with the dingy still tied to its hull. I was left all alone to swim a long distance to the island. I was frightened by what might be lurking in the water beneath me. Fear also gripped me just thinking about what else the man in the dark grey suit and sunglasses might not have told me about the island where I would spend the next three years of my life. True, he had not told me that I could take anything with me but he knew I had prepared a backpack and he had said nothing. As the yacht moved toward the distant horizon, I realized that my loved ones would not even know if I made it to the island. I began to swim.
Hours later, the waves lapped at my tired body as I lay exhausted on the beach. I was totally spent from the swim after I had been thrown from the yacht that carried my family and friends away. As my mental faculties returned, the first thing I noticed was my head being stroked in a familiar way by a gentle hand. Looking up with surprise I said, “What are you doing here?” “I came to be with you,” was the reply. “You can’t stay here,” I said. “I have to stay. My fate was sealed with yours when the yacht sailed away. I knew you would never agree with my decision to stay with you so I came to the island ahead of you. The man in the grey suit and sunglasses brought me over before sunrise. I have been waiting for you. I chose to do it this way so that there would not be an argument between us about my decision,” explained my island companion.
As I sat up in the wet sand and looked around, I noticed six cornels of corn seed that had washed ashore from my spilled backpack. I wondered if the salt water of the ocean had damaged the seeds. I quickly calculated that if I planted those six cornels and each grew and produced two ears of corn, in seventy-eight days I would have plenty of corn seed to plant and harvest in the future. I washed the seeds off in rain water that had collected in an upturned seashell and we went to look for a suitable place to plant them. Although it would require twice as much food to feed two people, I was glad I wasn’t alone. What would people say when the yacht returned in three years to pick us up? I decided to not worry about things I had no control over.
After planting the corn we explored part of the island. We scratched a mark on a large rock symbolizing day one with one thousand and ninety-four days remaining. Of course that didn’t take into account leap year. But what difference would one day make? We walked on the beach and were dazzled by a beautiful sunset. As night fell, we covered ourselves in sun-warmed sand to block the chill of the night breeze. Lying on my back and looking up at the stars that began to appear in the sky, I whispered a silent prayer of gratitude that I wasn’t alone. We called this island home A Place in Time.
Prologue: I watched an old movie called Cast Away staring Tom Hanks. In the movie Tom Hanks is marooned on a remote island after a plane crash. He learns to survive on the contents of FedEx packages that wash ashore from the crash. I fell asleep thinking about what I would want to have with me if I became stranded on a deserted island for an extended period of time.
The Dream: It was Sunday evening and we had enjoyed a family dinner together. I was slumped back on the living room couch with a contented full stomach and one of my grandsons on my lap. Laziness had already crept up my spine and I felt glued to the couch. The grandchildren were running in and out so the front door was open. Without knocking, a tall man dressed in a dark grey suit and sunglasses stepped through the door and into the foyer. He asked, “Is this the Grubbs home?” I said yes and asked who he was looking for. He didn’t answer my question but said, “I came to give you a message. Someone dear to you has been sentenced to spend three years on a deserted island. Anyone present in your home tonight can serve the sentence in this person’s place if they choose.” “Who is this person who is dear to me?” I asked. “You will not be given that information,” he replied. “What was the crime and what purpose will be served by someone spending three years on a remote island?” I asked. “The act may or may not have been intentional but whether a person falls or is pushed from a cliff, the resulting injury at the end of the fall is the same,” he said. “If no one comes forward and volunteers to meet our requirements, I will return in seven days to escort the guilty person to the island. Just remember, whoever you select to serve this sentence will have no contact with the outside world for three years.”
I must have decided in my heart that I would be the one to go because I handed my grandson to his mother and immediately went to my room and began gathering items for a survival pack to take with me. I selected a knife, a folding saw, two aluminum space blankets, a nylon rope and two watertight cases of matches. I packed my halogen headlamp and twenty-four fresh batteries along with a water purification pump. I gathered a complete change of clothes including a large brimmed hat and sunglasses. I went to the garden shed and put corn and tomato seeds into plastic Ziploc bags. Last of all I put six writing tablets along with pens and pencils into my backpack. I wanted to record my experiences on the island or at least let someone know what became of me.
Just one day prior to my scheduled departure I was told that I would be allowed to take one person chosen from those who had been present at the family dinner to stay on the island with me. My dad immediately volunteered but I knew his health would be compromised by such an ordeal. In reality I couldn’t ask him or any other person at the dinner to put their life on hold for three years. As much as I didn’t want to spend that time all alone, the idea of someone else making that sacrifice tore at my heartstrings. I was adamant that no one else would be going with me. On the outside I was standing brave. On the inside I revealed my personality flaws even if it was only to myself by wishing that someone would argue with my decision or suggest taking my place. I knew what my answer would be but it would have been nice for someone to offer. I chided myself for such childish and immature feelings. Everyone present that night knew that I was the best choice to make this sacrifice. My children were grown and I was healthy and willing.
The visitor to our home was true to his word. Just seven days after that visit it was time to leave for the island. Everyone present at the family dinner was invited to join me on a beautiful ocean yacht for the journey to the island. The yacht had every amenity you could imagine. Beautiful state rooms and a banquet style kitchen open from six in the morning until midnight was at our disposal. We lived in luxury those seven days it took for us to reach sight of the island where I would spend the next three years of my life. On the eighth day, with the yacht anchored some distance off shore, my family and friends gathered on the front deck to bid me farewell. A motorized dingy was lowered down to the water in preparation for my departure. With the hugs and well-wishes complete I told the man in the dark grey suit and sunglasses that I was ready to be taken to the island. He motioned for two large men to join him. With no warning they grabbed me and threw me to the deck of the yacht. They removed my backpack, hat, shoes, socks, belt and the items in my pockets. As the two men held me down on the deck the man in the sunglasses picked up my backpack and dumped its contents over the side of the ship, making sure that the Ziploc bags filled with corn and tomato seeds were torn, spilling the seeds into the ocean. My family and friends stood in shocked disbelief.
Without saying a word the two men lifted me off the deck of the ship and threw me over the side. I tried to prepare for the impact with the water below but only managed to flail in the air as I descended and hit the ocean in a slightly vertical position. The dingy was only a hundred feet away but as I began to swim toward it, the yacht put its engines in reverse and backed away from me with the dingy still tied to its hull. I was left all alone to swim a long distance to the island. I was frightened by what might be lurking in the water beneath me. Fear also gripped me just thinking about what else the man in the dark grey suit and sunglasses might not have told me about the island where I would spend the next three years of my life. True, he had not told me that I could take anything with me but he knew I had prepared a backpack and he had said nothing. As the yacht moved toward the distant horizon, I realized that my loved ones would not even know if I made it to the island. I began to swim.
Hours later, the waves lapped at my tired body as I lay exhausted on the beach. I was totally spent from the swim after I had been thrown from the yacht that carried my family and friends away. As my mental faculties returned, the first thing I noticed was my head being stroked in a familiar way by a gentle hand. Looking up with surprise I said, “What are you doing here?” “I came to be with you,” was the reply. “You can’t stay here,” I said. “I have to stay. My fate was sealed with yours when the yacht sailed away. I knew you would never agree with my decision to stay with you so I came to the island ahead of you. The man in the grey suit and sunglasses brought me over before sunrise. I have been waiting for you. I chose to do it this way so that there would not be an argument between us about my decision,” explained my island companion.
As I sat up in the wet sand and looked around, I noticed six cornels of corn seed that had washed ashore from my spilled backpack. I wondered if the salt water of the ocean had damaged the seeds. I quickly calculated that if I planted those six cornels and each grew and produced two ears of corn, in seventy-eight days I would have plenty of corn seed to plant and harvest in the future. I washed the seeds off in rain water that had collected in an upturned seashell and we went to look for a suitable place to plant them. Although it would require twice as much food to feed two people, I was glad I wasn’t alone. What would people say when the yacht returned in three years to pick us up? I decided to not worry about things I had no control over.
After planting the corn we explored part of the island. We scratched a mark on a large rock symbolizing day one with one thousand and ninety-four days remaining. Of course that didn’t take into account leap year. But what difference would one day make? We walked on the beach and were dazzled by a beautiful sunset. As night fell, we covered ourselves in sun-warmed sand to block the chill of the night breeze. Lying on my back and looking up at the stars that began to appear in the sky, I whispered a silent prayer of gratitude that I wasn’t alone. We called this island home A Place in Time.
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