Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: TEXTING (05/18/17)
- TITLE: A Time and Season
By Phillip Cimei
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Bob didn’t look up, but kept texting the best he could—his fingers not as nimble as Carol’s. “I’m nrt going to paimt that bathroon pink!”
“Yed you are! Countered Jan, his wife, in an equally inept manner.
“You akready make me walk that dog of ours in a fufu dress, and I am the layghing stock of the neighborhood.”
Carol played the role well donning a look of aggravation only a parent could. “Dad, Mom, have you lost it?”
Bob set the phone down, interlocked his fingers, and rested his chin on them, “We got a call from your principal.”
“I can explain,” Carol quickly interrupted.
Carol was one of those children parents could only dream of having. From an early age on, she exhibited many gifted qualities: accomplished pianist, operatic voice, Valedictorian, and model Christian. But she would have to redeem herself.
“I received a text from James during a Chemistry test. I shouldn’t have responded, but he got wind that I was putting our relationship on hold. I talked to the principal, apparently after she called you, and got things straightened out.”
Carol smirked as her attention turned to her best friend and sister, Dianna, “Did you put them up to this silly ‘Let’s make a point at our family dinner time’ antic?”
Diana scrunched up her shoulder’s, “Well, I did kinda, maybe, sorta, suggest it as a fun teaching tool.”
Carol winked and said, “A girl after my own heart.”
Bob explained to Carol how out of character today’s mistake was and that being accepted into the Julliard School of Music meant an untarnished reputation. Carol only needed a quick reminder about the right time and place to text.
Carol assured with, “I know Dad, ‘To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under the heaven.’” Ecc. 3:1 NKJV
They all chuckled a little and Carol pledged that she’d use better judgment. “I am meeting James tonight and we will work it out.”
The dinner continued in its customary way—textless—with laughing, talking, planning and seeking Gods guidance to prevent future hiccups. But Carol had to excuse herself to settle what had birthed tonight’s ploy.
Life went on with its normal routine, Dianna texting Lord knows who, Bob and Jan arguing about pink bathrooms, and their rat terrier—leash in mouth and wearing a pretty laced fufu dress— sitting by the door.
“I’ll take her this time,” Jan said, giving Bob that certain look.
“What’s next?” Bob inquired, “Painting my Harley a pretty…”
The conversation was interrupted as Jan was about to grab the door knob.
Knock! knock! Jan’s bewildered, “Oh, no!” greeted the unwelcomed guest. Both flinched.
“Are you the parents of Carol Johnson?” came the words pre-empting life altering news. Phone calls in the middle of the night, news flashes prematurely announced without notification, a knock at the door, time stands still.
“I am very sorry,” the officer said, “but your daughter was in an accident. She apparently was texting and lost control of her vehicle. It rolled and she was thrown out.”
Hope trumped confusion and denial, “Is she okay? “Bob!” she fearfully screamed.
“She is in critical condition at McCurtain Memorial,” the officer informed.
Life support, no brain activity, and organ donor are words no parent can fathom. The family stood silent as the woosh of a ventilator, and the sound of a constant slow beeep put an exclamation mark on the prayers their church family uttered at bedside. Dianna crouched in the corner staring at her smashed phone.
Guilt repelled consoling words. All Dianna could mumble was, “I was the one texting her, I was the one that killed her.” Only God would be able to help her understand, “it was time”.
A time and a season for all things. It was time for Carol to give. Two hundred miles away another beloved daughter, more wooshing, more prayers. An incoming text lights up a phone, “We have a match. She will get a new heart.”
One text took and one text gave. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.
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