Brand New Years | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Brand New Years | Previous Challenge Entry
By LINDA GERMAIN
05/13/05
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Harley was dead. There was no doubt about it. It is important for you to understand his date of expiration was a fact. Irrefutably, the man was taking a dirt nap and pushing up daisies. No equivocation here. He was dead, dead, dead.

The faded old sign still read, “Gouge and Harley - Motorcycle Sales and Service." Harley and I were business partners on paper, but he was the personality, the hawker, the fixer, the closer. He was a big man who was gentle, happy, secure, and with two jobs.

His other endeavor seemed foolish to me. You might say he was a non-traditional man-of-the-cloth, varooming around on that huge white motorcycle; a business advertisement, yes, but more, what he called a rolling fisher of men. He had a message and he delivered it. The good news he shared was saving grace for countless sinners, except one.

Remarkably, my reputation as a curmudgeon and skinflint extraordinaire did not threaten this odd alliance. My devotion to the bottom line combined with his ability to sell, produced enough profit to convince me to hibernate in a bleak and ugly back-office doing what I do best. My talents tended to accounting, a word that has since taken on new meaning for me. Some would say the root of all my evil began and ended with money.

Harley took to the road, selling and, well… fishing. I had little use for his persistent and happy disposition; neither did I hide my disgruntled, unsolicited opinions.

Harley would boom with laughter, “Oh Gouge, you are one Hah-Bum-Bug, but God loves you anyway.”

“Hrumph”, I would bray, “You make me sick.” Of course this was a sad, trite and pitiful retort, but it was all I had.

Not only was I an emotional cripple, my scowling countenance terrified employees and children. Even animals avoided me. I tell you this to elicit appreciation for the life -changing event that took place on a most propitious occasion.

I told you ole Harley had passed, but what happened to me cannot be charged to any mystical or ghostly appearance. No clanging chains or moaning preceded this encounter. No sinister quality surrounded this awesome incident. I am saying it was a dream. Very clearly, he spoke to me with some seriousness. It was a bad dream. It was a good dream as well.

In an eerie parody of a 19th century Christmas story, I was able to see with exquisite clarity a fresh view of the New Years in my life: past, present, and future. This sobering journey was a shock to my callous and corrupt spirit. My unrepentant soul, stunned by the icy waters of remorse, leaped up to the embrace of warm forgiveness. The resulting changes were of epic proportions. I am giving you the condensed, digestible version.

Dear Maggie, my true love so long ago, was a precious gift. She was cast aside, a victim of my foolish fears and unwillingness to bend. I wept at the loss of her.

I saw the selfish cruelty I had displayed to the only employee left. This oppressive heartlessness was extended to my kind nephew as well. Shame stabbed me to the core.

On seeing a future New Year that would occur after my demise, I was stunned at the lack of impact my life had made. It was chilling. Not one person cared. I was a reviled man and there was much relief, even jubilation, at my removal.

Harley used to tell me to wake up and smell the coffee, not original, but it suited him to poke at me with banalities, probing for a soft spot, a place to plant a seed. I was hard ground. Harley was a plow.

Alert now and trembling from the import of this somnolent alarm, I shouted to a cold, empty room, “I’m awake, I’m awake."

By God’s grace and with stunning insight at the havoc wrecked by me, I became a new creature in Christ.

Praying for direction and wisdom, I tracked down Maggie and was humbled by her forgiveness and acceptance of a brand new proposal.

Today, as I steer our roaming home through heavy traffic, my heart nearly stops at the beautiful sight of my wife sitting by my side, reading the map as she helps me find our way.

When a gaggle of bikers pass us, I smile and wave, quietly sighing, “Harley, Harley, Harley."

Maggie probably thinks I am looking for Gold Wings – she may be right.

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