Perception

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

On several occasions I have had a dream repeat itself. These repeated dreams have the same storyline but with different outcomes. These dreams have given me an opportunity to look at life from different viewpoints.

The Dream...

Although I had not opened my eyes, I gradually became aware of my surroundings. I was a little warm even though my only covering was a sheet. What was producing the heat was her body snuggled up next to mine with her arm across my chest. I don’t know if it was the heat from her body that had awakened me or the unique way that she always breathed as she slept. Her breath came in little puffs. She didn’t snore as she accused me of doing but the sounds she made were just as irritating as any sound I might make. If she would just turn over on her back she could breathe easier and the oppressive heat of her body crowded up next to me would diminish. You would think we were sleeping on a single bed instead of the queen-size bed that consumed a large portion of our bedroom. It would do no good to ease out from under her arm and move over because within a few minutes she would find me again even in her sleep.

A Repeat…

Although I had not opened my eyes, I gradually became aware of my surroundings. I was a little warm even though my only covering was a sheet. What was producing the heat was her body snuggled up next to mine with her arm across my chest. I don’t know if it was the heat from her body that had awakened me or the unique way that she always breathed as she slept. Her breath came in little puffs. Realizing the source of the external heat warmed my heart. Even with the queen-size bed that occupied our bedroom, her most comfortable spot was snuggled up next to me. The little puffs of air escaping from her lips gave me assurance in the darkness of who was lying next to me. How fortunate I felt that someone cared enough about me to snuggle up next to me even in the heat of a summer night. How comfortable it felt to know someone so well that you could even recognize the pattern of her breathing. I pulled her tighter against me and wished that the moment would never end. I was glad that she found me even in her sleep.

How often do we look for the negative and overlook the positive? Our attitudes can lead to self fulfilling prophecies. Do I need an attitude adjustment? Could each of us use an attitude adjustment? These two dreams had everything in common: the heat, the closeness, and the little puffs of air escaping from her lips. The only difference was my attitude. I wrote about another dream I had in February 2004 where the scene replays and I get a chance to do things differently. It is titled “The Dirty Windshield” and you can read it by clicking on the link below.

www.grubbsfamily.org/ponder/item?item_id=19405

Time to Fish

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

Have you ever awakened and briefly wondered where you were or what day it was? As I raised my head and looked around, I began brushing the sand from my face as though it was something I routinely did every morning. The sound of waves crashing on the beach drew my attention away from myself for a moment. The ocean looked angry and the skies were dark and threatening. It was only a matter of time before rain would be pelting me if I didn’t find some type of shelter.

My clothes were in disarray. I was missing a shoe. I had an ache in my stomach that resembled hunger but I wasn’t sure if it was hunger or anxiety. When had I last eaten? I couldn’t remember. How long had I been here? I didn’t know. How did I get here? I wasn’t certain but there was a nagging thought that I had fallen overboard from a ship of some kind. I had this sense of falling and then the darkness and the cold. Now here I was lying on this beach, chilled, hungry and about to get drenched by a storm that filled all the visible sky.

The wind howled and the tree limbs leading into the dense vegetation whipped against my face as I pushed my way through looking for a place that would shield me from the elements. As the rain came I could hear it pounding on the canopy of trees above me. It reminded me of the big bad wolf growling and trying to blow my house of trees down. The trees were so thick they blocked the sky as the rain pounded against this little island. The ground was thick with vegetation and fallen timber. I found a large log about three feet in diameter. I stacked limbs and clump-grass against the log making a lean-to to shield me from the rain. After I crawled inside I drew my knees up against my chest to block out the chill of the coming night air.

When I dozed off and was startled awake by a large clap of thunder it was dark. I couldn’t see anything. The sounds around me were adding to my already heightened sense of concern and anxiety. As I laid there huddled against the forces of nature, I became aware of a sound that was different from the rest of the forest noises. It was a crying sound that was human or near human. I wasn’t alone. But what was out there in the dark of this wet, cold night? Not being able to see because of the darkness I laid there for the rest of the night listening to that muffled cry. With all the other noises I couldn’t determine how close or far away the sound was coming from.

At daybreak I eased out of my resting place behind the log and looked around. As far as I could see it was just trees, trees and more trees. The vegetation was choked with fallen timber from trees that had finished their lives and collapsed, rotting at the feet of newer, healthier trees. The sound of crying was fainter now and it was hard to distinguish the direction it was coming from. I made my way toward what I thought was the origin of the sound.

I didn’t know what to expect. What if it was someone injured or sick? It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to survive, but to have to care for someone else may be more than I could handle. My mind was alert and I had always been taught that the mind is the most valuable weapon we have against the unknown. The sound of crying gradually became clearer as I moved deeper into the dense growth of trees. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It startled me and my breath locked in my throat yet I was excited to finally know the source of the crying sound. I wasn’t prepared for what I discovered.

It was a woman holding a small child cradled in her arms. The girl looked to be about three years old. They were both drenched and shivering from the rain of last night. Fear streaked across the woman’s face as she clutched the child to her chest and struggled to get on her feet for what I thought would be a flight deeper into the jungle. She collapsed back against the tree trunk she had been leaning against before I startled her. Then the lady began to weep in deep gasping sobs which caused the little girl to cry even louder. They just sat there clutching each other like I was their executioner.

I dropped to my knees in front of them and asked how I could help. As the woman’s sobs turned to whimpers I reached out and rubbed the side of her face. She gradually eased her grasp of the little girl and allowed me to take her in my arms. I took the woman by the arm and helped her to her feet. She was like a wobbly newborn calf as she stood and tried to walk. Gradually we began to move in the direction from which I came. My footprints were easy to follow in the damp earth. Looking down it was almost comical as I remembered that I only had one shoe. As I held her arm and carried the child we did not speak. The little girl had stopped crying and was leaning against my chest. I could feel her warm breath on my neck. It was such a contrast to the chilled skin of the woman’s arm as I continued to steady her as we walked.

Somehow I needed to get these two people warm. The rain had stopped but due to the dense canopy of trees overhead, I didn’t know if the clouds had blown away to reveal a sunny day or not. They needed warmth, water and something to eat. My mind began to race as I thought about trying to get a fire started after such a downpour. What was I thinking? I didn’t even have a single match: no Bic lighter, no flint and steel, no nine- volt battery and steel wool. A feeling of calm came over me as I remembered that if Heavenly Father wanted this woman and child warm he would help me accomplish the task. He had helped me find them, hadn’t he? I thought about that saying: “There are no coincidences in life.”

After an hour of frustration I still didn’t have that miracle fire started. I gave the woman my dry shirt and told her to remove all her wet clothes and let them dry in the sun. I took the toddler’s clothes off and put my tee shirt on her. As we sat in the sand she explained that they hadn’t eaten for three days. That is how long it had been since they were left on this island by the father of her child. When she told him she was pregnant he became angry and tried to persuade her to get an abortion but she refused. After their daughter was born, their relationship deteriorated until he took them on a sailboat cruise to this remote island and deserted them, leaving them nothing but two bottles of water. They watched him sail toward the horizon certain that he would come back. Since the birth of their daughter he had played other cruel jokes on her but this time he didn’t return.

All of a sudden the responsibility of caring for this woman and her daughter began to overwhelm me. Getting a fire started using old Indian methods I had studied in a book wasn’t going to be easy. That was just one of the many challenges that would be required of me if I was going to keep them alive until help arrived. I began preparing to go into the forest to see if I could catch some small game for us to eat. The woman didn’t want me to leave them but I couldn’t accomplish what I needed to do with them along. With my pocket knife I sharpened several long stakes to use as spears and headed back into the dense vegetation to look for food. After several hours of hunting with no success I returned to fine both of them sound to sleep. Something pricked my heart to think that they had laid their troubles in the sand and were sleeping contented. They wouldn’t be sleeping so peacefully if they knew how ill prepared I was to keep them alive.

The woman was lying on her left side with her head resting on her outstretched arm. Her hand was open, palm up with no ring on her finger. Her mouth was slightly parted and her breathing came in short little puffs. She had small laugh lines at the crease of her mouth. Her hair was blonde with the slightest presence of darker roots at the scalp. Her daughter was tucked in a fetal position against her stomach with the woman’s right arm holding the child snugly to her. It was like I was seeing them before she gave birth to her daughter. I wanted to brush the sand from her cheek but I was afraid I would awaken her. There was something familiar about this woman and her child. I realized I was studying her like someone preparing for an examination and I became embarrassed for invading her privacy as she slept. Rising to my feet, I unbuckled and removed my jeans and took one of my sharpened sticks and started toward the breaking surf to try my luck at fishing. They were hungry when I found them and they would be even hungrier when they awoke. As I approached the water I saw a white plastic trash bag half buried in the sand. Then I saw another, and another. One of them was ripped open spilling out debris in the surf. There were milk containers, tin cans, rotting vegetables, soggy wet paper goods . . .

Then I remembered. I had been standing on the deck near the back of our cruise ship watching the moon and stars paint the sky with a beautiful array of twinkling lights. I heard a clanking sound like a heavy steel door being opened somewhere far down below me. I leaned over the rail to examine where the sound was coming from. I was startled to see gigantic amounts of garbage being belched into the ocean from the ship. It was sickening to watch. Hundreds of garbage sacks and food along with the smell of human waste spiked the air. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. If every cruise ship practiced ocean dumping at this magnitude, what would eventually happen to all the marine life in the water? As I watched the tons of waste being dumped it began to stream out behind the ship like a highway of refuse. I looked at my watch. It was 2:38 A.M. “No wonder they do this in the middle of the night,” I thought. Startled from a noise from behind, I began to turn around and at that moment I was shoved over the ship’s railing and began to fall. I grabbed for the rail but it was too late. If this was a dream I would awaken before I hit the water. With arms and legs flailing in the air I was certain I was going to die from the impact but unwilling to give up I tried to arrest the tumbling motion and keep my feet pointed down. Wham! I landed in a sea of plastic garbage bags, rotting food and worse. Crashing through the bags of garbage I tore through some of them and drug them down below the surface with me. Fighting the water and the plastic bags of garbage I worked my way to the surface and gasp for air. I guess it wasn’t a dream. I didn’t wake up before I hit the water and I hadn’t died. I was wrong on both counts. I felt something strike my leg and fearing it to be a shark I scrambled to stay on top of the floating garbage.

Fear shut down my brain or I actually passed out, I don’t know which. I was pulling garbage sacks around me trying to hold them together when a voice in my mind said, “Give up, it will be okay.” I shouted out loud, “I will never give up.” The next thing I remembered I was waking up on shore and brushing the sand from my face. Now here I was, on a remote island with a woman and the daughter she refused to give up. They were looking for me to be an answer to prayer. Standing at the edge of the surf with my spear in hand, I looked back at the woman and child sleeping in the sand. Then she rose up on one arm and calling after me said, “Will you take care of my daughter like she was your own if something happens to me?” I didn’t answer her. I just turned back toward the ocean. It was time to fish. She would ask the question again and we both already knew the answer. As I stepped into the water, I awoke.

Lady Justice

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

She stood eleven feet eleven inches tall and held a set of scales in her left hand. Why justice is always portrayed as a woman wearing a blindfold makes sense but why she is draped in a robe with her right breast exposed is a mystery to me.

This bronze statue of a lady stood atop the dome and oversaw the affairs of justice at the Lincoln County Courthouse in Kemmerer, Wyoming until the building was remodeled in 2003. She was placed there when the courthouse was constructed in 1925 and looked down on the court proceedings of those presumed innocent until proven guilty by that court of law.

Having served faithfully for seventy-eight years, Lincoln County couldn’t let her go to the scrap yard and be melted down once she was replaced by a shiny new lady of justice. The bronze statue was tucked into a corner of the remodeled courthouse just inside the front door where she could be honored for her years of service. Looking atop the building the new Lady Justice was draped in a bronze robe with her right breast exposed just like the former Lady Justice. Now the accused shoplifters, thieves, drunk drivers, rapists, and murderers pass under the non-seeing, all sensing new lady as they experience their day in court.

“What is the significance of Lady Justice being eleven feet and eleven inches tall?” I asked. Most court decisions are arrived at without all the facts. Lady Justice isn’t built to full height because she must often balance the scales of justice with less than a full measure of truth. How challenging that assignment must be. She is blindfolded as a symbol of impartiality. I still haven’t figured out why she has her right breast exposed.

Stepping up to examine the former Lady Justice a little closer, I noticed she had sustained three bullet holes. One bullet passed through her neck, one through her right breast just below the nipple and a third bullet penetrated near a depression in the robe covering her female fold. Stepping around to the rear of the statue I saw where the bullets passed completely through the statue leaving jagged protruding tares in the bronze metal. “What is the story behind Lady Justice being shot?” I asked the clerk at the desk. “I have no idea,” she replied. The young blond with her sparkling blue eyes and hair pulled back under a gold clip made me feel younger just looking in her eyes. She probably wasn’t even born when Lady Justice was assaulted. Striving to be helpful she said, “Vera, the oldest member of our staff may know something about the bullet holes. She works up on the second floor in the court clerk’s office if you would like to check with her.”

I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and opened the door to the balcony that overlooked the foyer below. From where I stood I couldn’t see Lady Justice tucked away in the alcove but just knowing she was there was a reminder to me that truth will always tip the scales toward the right decision. “Clerk of the Court” said the sign over the door that lead to the office where I was looking for Vera. An older woman with her eyes and hands busy with a stack of papers looked up as I entered the room. “Are you Vera?” I asked. She nodded an affirmative gesture and her eyebrows raised but didn’t speak. “I was told that you might know why Lady Justice down in the foyer has three bullet holes in her,” I said. “What makes you think I know anything about that?” she said almost expressionless and returning her attention to her paper work. I wanted to say that the young lady in the tight sweater downstairs said that she was the oldest hen in the house and if anyone knew something it would be her, but I didn’t. I said, “The lady downstairs said that you had worked here the longest and you might know more than she did.” Vera looked up at me and asked in a cold impersonal voice, “Why do you want to know?” I was caught off guard by her question and my mind went back to many years ago.

As a small boy I sat in the window seal of my grandmother’s kitchen and asked her a thousand “Why” questions. Years later, as I returned to visit my grandmother she would tell me the story over again how I was the little boy so full of questions. Here I was like that little boy again, I didn’t have a real reason, I just wanted to know. “I guess you might say it is just curiosity,” I said. “Curiosity killed the cat,” replied Vera. I smiled and said, “I’m not a cat.” Her countenance softened and she invited me to sit down. What had started out as a stern expression that said, “Don’t bother me; I’m busy and I have important things to do,” melted into a warm friendly expression of, “Okay.”

It all happened in 1957, Vera began. I won’t give you their names because who they were isn’t the important part of the story. He was eighteen and she was seventeen and ten months old when it all started. No, not when it started but when they appeared before what you call Lady Justice. They had just graduated from high school. He was leaving for college in the fall and she was working at the J.C.Penny store in town. They planned to marry as soon as he graduated. He was accused of statutory rape. The charges were brought before this court by her father. She was in love and refused to testify against the only guy she had ever seriously cared about. They had dated all through high school and it was only by accident that the depth of their relationship was discovered. I think I understood what Vera meant when she used the term depth of their relationship. I had heard sex described in many ways but this one was a new one on me.

Her father was furious and placed all the blame for the violation of his daughter on the young man. The young man didn’t hire an attorney and one was appointed by the court. The day of his trial arrived and he took the witness chair, raised one hand to the square and placed the other on the bible and swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. He testified that they were both minors when their relationship first deepened and that he was guilty of such activity with her after his eighteenth birthday. When asked questions about the young woman’s participation and willingness in the activity, he declined to comment. He never spoke a word that would shed a negative light on her regardless of the humiliation and embarrassment they both were being exposed to in open court.

He was sentenced to five years in the state penitentiary and was removed from the courtroom in handcuffs. Before exiting the courtroom the judge asked if he had anything to say. He turned and faced his accuser, the father of the only girl he had ever loved, and said, “I’m so sorry. I would have gladly accepted a sentence twice as long if it would have saved your family this embarrassment. I will always love your daughter. I hope that someday your family will be able to heal from my selfish acts.” From that moment on he looked straight ahead and left the courtroom without uttering another word. The following morning he was transported to the Wyoming State Penitentiary where he began serving his sentence.

Early the next day three shots broke the still morning air over the town. When business as usual began at the courthouse, a note was found beneath a rock on the front step. It said, “I shot her three times, I hope I killed her.” No one understood the note. They thought it was a prank or someone confessing to a murder that would soon be discovered. Then a second note appeared one week later. It said, “Justice is indeed blind in this town. Look up you fools. I shot her in the neck as a symbol that her head and her heart weren’t connected in last week’s court decision. I shot her in her breast as a symbol that the beauty of justice was destroyed last week. I shot her in the appropriate spot, not in an attempt to violate her, but in hopes that she will never again reproduce the kind of justice that was delivered on a young man last week. If you find me, don’t expect me to do as he did, to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I will lie, I will deceive, I will hire the best attorney my money can afford and I will beat your system that you call justice. I want your bronze statue, Lady Justice to stand as a witness of the two lives that were destroyed last week by an insensitive father and an insensitive justice system.”

The court tried to keep the notes that were found on the steps secret but eventually the public became aware of what had happened to the bronze statue and why. The unknown shooter became a local hero of sorts. He was talked about in the restaurants and bars around town and members of the community expressed the sentiment that they hoped he was never caught. An all-out effort to find the shooter and bring him to justice was mounted. The angles of firing line were studied and eventually the hillside knoll was discovered where the shots had been fired. Three empty 30-30 rifle cartridges were still lying on the ground. Next to the brass cartridges were two small white crosses, each had a ribbon and bow attached to it, one pink and one blue.

Vera rose from her chair signaling that our visit was over. As I stood to leave, she came around her desk and gave me a hug. With a smile that could have melted my heart she said, “Thanks for asking.” As I turned to leave she said, “What’s your name?” “Why do you want to know?” I asked. “Remember, curiosity killed the cat.” “But you aren’t cat,” she said. “You are the only person I have ever told my story. I was that seventeen year old girl.” I stepped back toward her and we held one another once more, this time with more understanding. I felt her body trembling against my chest. She was struggling to hold back tears the way some people do when they feel like if they let one tear fall, a floodgate will open and they will not be able to stop. I said goodbye and stepped through the door and out of her life.

Do I Know You?

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

A phone call I received at 12:14 pm . . .

Phone ringing . . . (Me speaking) This is Jerry.

(Caller speaking) Who is this? (Me) Jerry Grubbs. Who were you looking for?

(Caller) I dialed 910-8986. (Me) No, you dialed 910-8989. You misdialed.

(Caller) I dialed 910-8986 so why did you answer the phone? (Me) You didn’t dial 910-8986, you dialed 910-8989. You need to hang up and redial the number you were trying to dial.

(Caller) Who are you? (Me) I’m Jerry Grubbs.

(Caller) Do I know you? (Me) No, I’m the guy you called by mistake.

(Caller) Are you a directory assistance person? (Me) No, I’m just the person you called when you misdialed.

(Caller) If you aren’t a directory assistance person, how do you know what number I should dial? (Me) You told me the number you were trying to dial when you misdialed and called me instead.

(Caller) Should I try to dial the other number 272-6781? (Me) I don’t know who you are trying to call. You just need to hang up and redial the original number 910-8986.

(Caller) Who is at that number? (Me) I don’t know, you were the one who told me that number.

(Caller) Should I try to call the other number? (Me) Which number?

(Caller) 272-6781. (Me) Just hang up and redial the same number you were trying to dial when you called me.

(Caller) Whose number is that? (Me) I don’t know whose number that is. You are the one who gave me that number.

(Caller) What number? (Me) Look, you just need to hang up and dial your same number 910-8986 again.

(Caller) I already dialed that number and you answered. (Me) No, you dialed 910-8989 which is my number not the number you were trying to dial.

(Caller) Are you a directory assistance person? No, I am Jerry Grubbs, the person you called by mistake.

(Caller) Who did you say you were? (Me) I’m Jerry Grubbs.

(Caller) How did you get my number? (Me) I didn’t get your number, you called me. Who are you trying to call?

(Caller) Loa. (Me) Who is Loa?

(Caller) My wife. (Me) Would you like for me to call your wife and have her give you a call?

(Caller) Do you think I should call her? (Me) No, I asked you if you would like for me to give Loa a call?

(Caller) Do you know her number? (Me) Yes, I have your wife’s number.

(Caller) Where did you get my wife’s number? (Me) From you.

(Caller) I didn’t give you Loa’s number. (Me) Would you like for me to call her and have her call you back?

(Caller) Okay.

Phone call I made at 12:21 pm . . .

Dailing 910-8986 . . . ringing . . . (Recorded Voice) I can not come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I will return your call.

(Me) Loa, this is Jerry Grubbs. You don’t know me but I have been speaking with your husband and I think you should give him a call. He seems to be confused about a few things. You are welcome to call me but please give your husband a call. I repeat, he just seems confused but I didn’t get the feeling that he was having an emergency.

Phone call I received at 12:38 pm . . .

Phone ringing.

(Me) This is Jerry. (Loa) Hello, Mister Jerry. This is Loa Clawson the person you called earlier.

(Me) I’m not a mister, I’m just Jerry. Loa, did you get my message? (Loa) Yes, and I am so sorry that my number is close to your number. My husband has Alzheimers and he has been very confused today.

(Me) Loa, please don’t apologize, that is the beauty of the telephone. If I hadn’t wanted to help I could have just hung up. What you are facing is much more challenging than a misdialed phone number. I wish you the best in your life’s struggles and challenges. (Loa) Thank you Jerry for being kind to my husband.

(Me) Loa, how would you have treated my mother in a similar situation? (Loa) With kindness.

(Me) Then we are even aren’t we. (Loa) Does your mother have Alzheimers?

(Me) Loa, that isn’t the point. The point is that you would have treated her with kindness. (Loa) But you didn’t know that when my husband called you.

(Me) I treated your husband the way I chose to see him. (Loa) I hope you never get this awful disease.

(Me) Me too. (Loa) Goodbye Jerry and thank you again.

(Me) Goodbye Loa.

Phone call at 1:49 pm . . .

(Me) This is Jerry. (Dad) Hello son. Where are you?

(Me) It is good to hear your voice dad. I’m glad you still know who I am. (Dad) What did you say?

(Me) Nothing.