The subject of death may be uncomfortable or difficult for some. And yet, we are all going to die . . . some time. . . somehow. Next a quote from Steve Jobs, then a note from me.
“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” — Steve Jobs
Note from Marlene: Writing. . . letting others read your writing . . . can make you feel vulnerable, afraid and weak in the knees. And yet, when we pay attention to our desire to write and share our writing . . . it’s such a satisfying feeling. So, I say, let go of your fears. . . be brave. . . write and share your writing. What do you have to lose?
Photo by Jim C. March
Ke11y
At eight years of age I didn’t have any concept of who God was, is, or would become in my life. That isn’t to say I didn’t use his influence on others to get what I wanted.
I grew up in an orphanage, Barnardo’s, which was a large institution in Tanners Lane, London. I was adopted at eight years of age into a family living in Scotland, on an island, to be exact. I was a happy kid, and couldn’t imagine that my days could be any better. I was loved, well fed, and had a bunch of pals. To this day the sounds, sight and smells have never left me. In those days I could go to the huge front door of the orphanage and find toys stacked there, clothes, and every kind of shoe. True, not all in new condition, but new to us. Having been adopted I was to face the stark fact that this thing called ‘family love’ meant that gifts would only come twice a year, birthday and Christmas! At eight years of age, and being the eldest of the children in the orphanage – which should give you a clue to how difficult a child I was – the rarity of gifts was difficult to comprehend.
I was first introduced to two people who came more often than others, and who seemed content to play with me and not any of the other children. Matron said that they thought I was special, and wanted to spend their afternoons with me, sometimes in the gardens, and sometimes they would take me into town, and Matron always came along too. They seemed okay. The man, who wore his hair long like a woman, was a fisherman, going out on a boat, he said. The woman, with a kindly smile, said she stayed home. It all meant very little. And was terribly boring stuff compared to what was going on in the great hall, and I was always a little irked when they came.
This went on for over a year, they would come twice a month and eventually Matron would let them take me out on their own, to the zoo, maybe, to the park, even to the library. Matron told them that the library was a very good place to take me, but Matron must have gone very deaf in my last few weeks at the orphanage! I hated the library, and told her so.
Then it happened. The ‘Clean Smelling Man’ came into the orphanage. He was the person we kids most feared, seeing as so many times when he came one of us disappeared! As children our only connection to this adult was his smell, and it hung in the corridors every time he came into the orphanage. He came many times, but never for me. Till one day, when I was eight, and that was the day I would be the one to disappear.
Most things kind of went along okay, you know. I mean, I learned some different things: how to sew a lobster pot, make giants cups of tea for fishermen, and have play fights with all the men who would be friends with the man I would now call Dad. The woman, who consistently hugged me within a breath of my life every morning, sent me to school. I wasn’t impressed with school, or with her for sending me. She made me do difficult things. She cried…and cried…and cried…and I didn’t know why ’till Dad took me up in his arms one day, said maybe I should call her Mum. I told him that she made me do difficult things, make my bed, clean my shoes, eat every damn morsel on my plate. He laughed and messed up my hair with his huge hands. “You don’t know what love is yet, son. You will, trust me; you will know it like no-one else knows it.”
My Dad was right about everything.
The power of God had eluded me right up until Sunday school. After this thing we called church, I was left with Mrs. Findlay, the Sunday school teacher. She was so weird! I knew old people couldn’t help being old, but Mrs. Findlay was really old. She was so old she couldn’t stand up straight. I asked my dad one time, he said something about polio.
I was sat with the other children, four of whom were girls. I was seated at the back of the room. Jesus got a lot of mentions. So did all his friends. But God was King! It was kind of like being back at the orphanage when God was the ‘Clean Smelling Man’. Matron told me that the ‘Clean Smelling Man’ had immense power, and could place us with people who would love us all very much, and was always working to make sure we were loved and found families. Really, I remember thinking, then why not just leave us where the toys are!
After a while, Mrs. Findlay got up from her desk and stood by the door after telling us that Jesus had escaped some cave! I remember thinking that was a pretty neat trick. But I also remember thinking God was able to do whatever He wanted. He could wake Jesus up and tell him to walk out the cave, even though a huge boulder was blocking the entrance. Anyway, Mrs. Findlay, as bent as a coat-hanger, said she was only going to let us out if we could say we had earned the privilege. She said she was going to be some joker called St. Peter, one of Jesus’ sidekicks, standing guard at the gates of Heaven (Heaven being freedom from all her nonsense) and that any child with a good deed to record could leave, and head out into the sunshine. Well, Susan Rafferty, with red hair, and a curly nose, told Mrs. Findlay that she had washed the breakfast dishes, and woe-betide, she was let out! Others told they had picked up their clothes, dried dishes, made beds and all filed out. I hadn’t done anything of the kind! I was going to sit here all day! But I had listened, heard how it all worked, you know, this Jesus thing, his buddies, and the boss of course, like ‘The Clean Smelling Man’ and I stood up, walked boldly toward her and straight by, without waiting to be asked anything. Mrs. Findlay called me back.
“Kelly, don’t you have anything to tell me?”
“Oh,” I said, “you must be the new man on the job.”
“I’m St. Peter,” she replied.
“Yes, I replied, “and I’m God!” Then disappeared into the bright sunshine.
I got away with that just once!
I cleaned my shoes, made my bed, and never cringed when hugged one last breath from death by my mother.
I was loved, finally and forever, by father, and my ‘Ace of Hearts’ mother.
mcullen Post author
Beautiful! Your writing mesmerizes me. And the surprise ending! Brilliant. I like this kid!
Ke11y
Do you accept tips?
mcullen Post author
Smiling. 🙂