Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write something AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL (10/02/14)
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TITLE: Everything in Its Season | Previous Challenge Entry
By Steve McClure
10/07/14 -
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Half-way into a long, slow bend I felt the rear tires give way. At that speed there was no recovering. The Ford dove head first into the embankment and whipped into a roll. The impact flung Ernie out the door (no seatbelts). He smashed to the pavement and “woke up” seeing the Ford falling on him…but it crashed just past his head and bounced away as he tumbled along the blacktop. I clung to the now useless steering wheel as the Ford crunched and scraped along the embankment, each roll slamming me back and forth against the inside panels. The twisted coupe landed on its feet some 100 yards from initial impact. I crawled out to see Ernie walking down the road toward me. He had a few bruises. I had a small cut above one eye. The Ford was destroyed.
Did I thank God for this life-preserving miracle? Never crossed my mind. Didn’t think about God much at all, then. I’d been in a Methodist youth group for a while, but it was more socializing than spiritualizing. Talked with the minister once about this God thing. Didn’t get much out of it. I never asked again.
In the succeeding years, I lumped demonstrators, activists, Jesus freaks, and bible thumpers all in the same category – people to avoid. I spent time in the Army, graduated from college, traveled with a rock group, got married…into debt…and divorced. The great American tragedy.
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Downtown historic Annapolis, Maryland – a jumping place most evenings. I was perched on a bar stool in Fran O’Brian’s, nursing a heavy alcohol-fuming concoction and occasionally exchanging nonsense with those beside me. Then, a new voice to my left.
“Hello,” she chirped from a bright, cheerfully smiling face punctuated with large, almond-shaped eyes. “I’m Trisha.”
Five-foot two, blondish Trisha had just emerged three months earlier from intensive care in Annapolis General. She suffered from a severe, chronic immune deficiency and was expected to die (that was in December 1980). But God wasn’t finished with her yet.
Trisha could party with the best of them, and we did. Then, Trisha’s grandmother died – someone she was very close to. One afternoon shortly after, Trisha mixed the first of normally many very strong screwdrivers (we bought vodka by the half-gallon). She paused for a moment…then, poured it out. She never mixed another.
The following Sunday, Trisha went to Mass (she was Catholic by heritage) – the first in a long time. She was visibly shaken. I began attending with her (support only – I hadn’t experienced any “revelation”). But for her, each service was a very tearful, remorseful event.
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Sunday morning. An Amway weekend. Thousands of people. I’d sat through several of these non-denominational services. I liked the music, and respected the leaders; but this Christian thing…. After Trisha’s change, my analytic bent wanted to sort all this out. I’d been dissecting (critically) the Bible and commentaries and whatever else I could get my hands on. This morning, Trisha’s chronic illness kept her in the hotel room. I sat in the front row.
Alter call. A Pentecostal friend of mine jumped up and went forward. Spontaneously, I followed (strangest thing).
“Do you acknowledge yourself a sinner…?” Suddenly, I began to tear up.
“Do you believe Jesus died…?” Tears streamed down my face.
“Do you repent…?” I sobbed uncontrollably, saltiness flooding my mouth. I imagined a kind-faced, inviting Savior standing before me, reaching out. I reached back. That was June 2, 1985. I was 40. A few months later, Trisha went forward as well – a big step for her, going against the family grain. (We often mused afterward that God brought us into Amway for a time solely for our conversion).
Trisha died in the very same intensive care ward, exactly 20 years after God held Death at bay in December 1980. I think God tacked on that extra 20 years and sent her to me to save us both. Anyway, that’s what happened.
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