When I Am Gone

Janet Drake started the car. Then just before backing out on to the street she reached into her purse and pulled out the picture with the haunting faces—the faces that had changed her life in just one short week.

Traffic was light this Saturday mid-morning and within five minutes she was on the interstate heading east. Even though Gertrude, Peter’s old Honda, grumbled about the climb to the summit, Janet knew it was the right vehicle.

The much newer Lincoln Town Car she’d left in the garage would have sailed over the mountain pass, but it would hardly fit her new image. She was sure it would have been way too ostentatious with its pristine ruby-red finish.

An hour later as she headed into the dark tunnel that cut through the mountain near the 3300 foot summit, the radio lost its signal. She switched it off and the all too familiar voices took up their recent and frequent debate.

They’d been dogging her ever since the day she first saw the picture of the motherless family. That’s when one of the voices whispered, “You could do that job. You know what it takes to raise four children, and it would put some real meaning into your life.”

Immediately an opposing voice jumped in with, “Don’t you think you do plenty of good works stuff already? You donate money, help the needy, drive people to their doctor, teach Bible classes, take meals to shut-ins and even tidy up their houses. You’re always volunteering to do something, but this is ridiculous. You’re too old for such folly. Good grief, Woman, a toddler and three kids ten and under...why, they’d tear you to shreds.”

“It would be a challenge for sure,” countered Inspiration. “But sixty-three isn’t that old, especially when you have your health. You could invest in their lives, and make a real difference. God would give you the strength. And who knows, this might be the answer to Peter’s dying challenge.”

She tried to imagine the bewildering heartbreak in the Harrison family and the picture refused to leave her mind. Even though the voices in her head raged on, she made the appointment with Tom Harrison, and when no one was looking, she swiped the picture off the church bulletin board.

From that day on she had claimed the family as her own. They’d dominated her thoughts and prayers, but she neither spoke of her plans nor did she show the photo to anyone—especially her friends Susan and Kathy. She knew they’d have thrown every argument at her—good reasonable arguments too—and it all would have sounded so sensible.

Her grown children would have joined them in the chorus of naysayers and flat out proclaimed, “Mom, you’re certifiably out of your mind.” Not that she saw much of her kids. They were all well launched into their own busy lives that left little time for visiting. No, this was her secret and no one shall know of it until it is a done deal.

Early for her appointment, she took the turnoff marked Viewpoint. She parked the car and walked to the rail where she and Peter had stood seven years earlier and looked down on the fertile valley surrounding the little town of Montrose. It was while standing there they’d decided to check out Montrose and stop for lunch.

They had to wait for a table at the popular but unadorned Marlene’s Café. Janet had watched the warm interaction of the locals and felt a tinge of envy. After lunch they strolled about the tree-lined neighborhood.

Mature oak trees lining each side of the streets demonstrated the relentless power of their aggressive roots by heaving up sidewalks. Well-maintained older homes, standing like soldiers shoulder to shoulder, offered a stark yet winsome contrast to the fashionable sprawling Kensington Estates where she and Peter lived in Richfield.

“Life must be simpler here,” she’d commented to Peter. Then without understanding why, a longing arose within her to know the people in the café and those who lived in the seasoned, but still erect houses. She saw herself in the local market, meeting folks by chance and stopping for a leisurely chat beside the tomatoes.

She did not speak of this surprising and inexplicable yearning, but from that day on, she found her mind drifting toward the little town. She even fantasized about life—her life here, yet this was the first time she’d been back to Montrose.

Out of the mountains now Gertrude purred along through gentle undulating hills past succulent fields of tall grass that rolled in green waves on both sides of the highway. Here and there farm equipment worked through the fields, cutting and raking hay and sending up clouds of dust.

Janet took the next exit and drove past ranches where horses and cattle grazed in the summer heat. In less than a mile she entered the quiet little town with its overgrown shade trees. Paying close attention, she followed the directions Mr. Harrison had given over the phone.

Since Peter’s death, Janet had been caught up in a variety of worthwhile activities. She’d sink her teeth into an especially difficult task and then savor the exhilaration that floods in as the project mounts to completion. But nothing yet had quite fit Peter’s challenging criteria of “bigger than you are.” It sounded ominous, even out-of-control. She sensed that such an assignment would require incredible stretching—a stretching far beyond her comfort zone.

“Ah yes, my comfort zone. I do like my comforts, and I’ve enjoyed many, thanks to You, Lord,” she whispered, “and of course Peter’s diligence in the workplace.” Why I’ve even been able to continue supporting a variety of charitable works without personal sacrifice.

Sacrifice! That was the disquieting word. Janet reflected on the oft-quoted, portion of Scripture from Romans 12: “In view of God’s great mercy, offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship.”

Yes, this venture might come close to being a living sacrifice. But am I truly ready to make such an offering?

All the houses on G Street appeared to have been built in the 1930s. But they carried their age well and exuded the charm and restraint of earlier days, as well as high quality materials and workmanship. She parked the car in front of the house and began again to question the sanity of her venture.

“This is crazy!” Reason screamed. “No one else your age would do such a thing. Don’t you know this is a job for a much younger woman? You’ll be lucky if this Harrison guy doesn’t laugh in your face the minute he opens the door. Good thing you told no one or you’d embarrass your children and be the laughing stock among all your friends.”

Janet had to agree with all of Reason’s objections but then the other voice whispered, “Remember Jesus endured mockery and a whole lot more. Should His servants expect better treatment? Turn back now and you’ll never know if this is Peter’s prophetic challenge.”

She checked her hair in the rearview mirror, touched up her lipstick, and steeled herself to walk the last few steps.