Three Years Later
The long, silver Cadillac wound its way along the two-lane highway that caressed the hillsides of the Palouse. The late summer sun illuminated millions of heads of wheat heavy with grain. Even in the filtered rays of the early morning, the fields sparkled on every rise and in every direction until the golden horizon met the pale blue morning sky. The harvest would be starting soon, and Walter was glad that this trip was not four weeks later, or he would be dodging combines and hay trucks all the way to Harvest. Well, not Walter, exactly. Jack would do the dodging.
Sam had not left all his money to his children. He’d set up initial disbursements to his favorite charities and then an administrative fund to support anything Walter wanted or needed in the execution of his duties as executor of the estate. This included travel, legal fees, and, Sam had insisted in the will, the upgrade of Walter’s mode of transportation.
And so, on this August morning, Walter sat in the back seat of his newly acquired Cadillac while Jack, his driver, negotiated the windy road from Spokane to Harvest. And Walter loved it! Age had made driving more of a chore, and employing a driver gave Walter more time to think and write his memos and briefs.
Walter’s law practice was winding down, and he was moving reluctantly into early retirement, although many of his former clients still insisted on his direct involvement with a variety of legal matters. His law practice was, after all, about relationships.
Even his legal work had taken a back seat to his main focus, namely the administration of the Roberts estate through the work of the Roberts children.
It was just over three years since Sam’s funeral and the two days spent in Sam and Lori’s house reading the story of Steward of Aiden Glenn. During those years, Walter had crisscrossed the country giving counsel and watching over the ways the four children administered the wealth they had inherited. Walter had no legal jurisdiction over their decisions, of course, but he carried a great amount of influence. In many ways, wherever he went, he represented Sam and Lori.
As the silver land yacht passed the sign reading: Harvest 30 miles, Walter let his mind wander back to all that had transpired these last three years, beginning with the journey Reed began the moment he drove away from his father’s house that cold February evening.
Walter had met with Reed on a number of occasions since the funeral, but three were fixed firmly in his memory. On his first visit, they sat in Reed’s living room as he unfolded the last six months to Walter.
“The mental image of those golden rings of Petitzaros were stuck in my mind for weeks after the funeral. But with all the business pressures, you know, they just sorta faded away. Well, all that changed the day the funds from Dad’s estate were transferred.”
Reed’s transformation began in a most unlikely place. He was going into a major negotiation session with twelve investors whom he had been cultivating for months.
Reed stood and paced as he recalled the situation to Walter. “Each person was hand-picked and vetted to be sure they had the capacity to make the investment we needed to take the business national—and soon international.”
Walter raised his eyebrows. He’d underestimated Reed’s ambition.
Reed grew more animated. “Oh, Walter, I’d polished my presentation until it was perfect, flawless! I was ready to sell them on the expansion of the business and wrap up the full investment right then and there. I can tell you, they had the money, and then some. My goal was to use as little of the inheritance as I had to. It was a game, a challenge, and I took it on. I mean, why not use someone else’s money, right?”
Walter wasn’t sure if he was looking for an answer, so he shot him a wry smile and let him continue. Reed’s eyes sparkled as he relayed the story.
“I entered the room where the guests were assembled and greeted everyone. There was a hush as I moved to the podium and began the state-of-the-art multimedia presentation. As I moved through the sales pitch and nailed every point, I examined the men and women in the room to watch for their nonverbal response. This was a first-class group. They were dressed in outrageously expensive suits, and they wrote notes on slick laptops or paper pads in exquisite leather cases. I had known each of them for years, but on that day as I studied them, an image took shape in my mind. It was as clear as if the entire room had been transformed by a Hollywood costume and set designer. I saw heavy golden rings lying over their shoulders. Their faces grew dull and pale right before my eyes, and they began to hunch over under the burden of their wealth and all that it meant to them. As they asked questions, I could hear the greed behind their words, and before long I found myself standing smack-dab in the middle of Petitzaros, amid a group of hunched-over, sad, gray little kings.”
Walter beamed then tipped his head. “Dunston’s spectacles?”
Reed laughed. “Yes, that’s exactly what came to mind when I saw that scene. I almost reached up to see if they were on my nose!”
Walter laughed with him. “That’s incredible. The kingdom—you got a glimpse of the way God sees things.”
Reed nodded as his tone grew more intense. “I’ll say, but it gets even better. I stopped right there in the middle of my presentation. My partners were sitting to one side of the room, and they thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.” Reed laughed. “I just shut off the projector, shook my head, and laughed to myself. The greatest moment of my business career, and there I was, standing in a fairytale land. But I couldn’t shake it, and I knew it was over. So I looked out at my audience and said, ‘My friends, thank you for coming. But I think I have just discovered what this business is really all about, and there will be no expansion under my watch. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but I think my life is about to go in a very different direction.’”
Sam, you’d be so proud of this young man right now, and you always were.
“Amazing. And what will you do now?”
“I’m not sure, but if I am to be true to my father, I need to understand more about the discipline of giving. I’ve never been very generous, and I know that’s what Dad was trying to help me learn in the story. And if every time I try to make money I find myself back in Petitzaros, I’d better learn how to give it away.”
Walter arched a brow. “The Elixir of Mah Manon?”
Reed laughed. “Yes, I guess so. I know that was supposed to symbolize money and the power it has to change people’s lives for better or worse. It will be completely new to me to give it away…and enjoy it!”
“Perhaps if you find some people who do enjoy it, it will rub off.”
Nine months later, Walter met Reed again and he was surprised to hear how that final comment so many months earlier had started Reed on a journey of discovery. Reed had begun meeting with philanthropists and reading about stewardship. He started giving modestly, and the pure joy of changing other people’s lives became infectious. Within a year of the transfer of the Roberts estate, Reed had sold his business and was a full-time philanthropist.
Walter beamed at the news. “Reed, you know how pleased Lori and Sam would be. I’m happy for you, happy you found that there is so much more beyond the money. Now, tell me about the rest of your big news.” Walter sat forward, his eyes locked onto Reed’s. He’d been waiting a long time to hear this from Reed’s own lips.
Reed put his hands in the air. “What other news?” They both laughed, and Reed continued. “Oh, you mean that little five-foot-tall, blonde dynamo from Texas who swept me off my feet?”
Reed looked past Walter, losing himself in memory. “Katie and I met on a fundraising trip to Belize, actually on a snorkeling boat in the Hol Chan. She was so committed to her causes. I mean she gave money, time, passion. Definitely my opposite.”
Walter caught his gaze. “What kind of causes was she into?”
“Oh, everything, you name it. She had a passion for caring for people in need, loving the forgotten, and taking care of ‘God’s gorgeous, green garden,’ as she called it. And I fell hard for her at first and then, over time, for her passions.”
“And Harvest, so it seems.”
Reed nodded. “Surprising, huh? You remember when I took her there on a long weekend and stayed at that new bed and breakfast just outside of town. I gave her the grand tour, including a walk through the family home, the mission, and the church. She loved it. When we got back to the B&B, we sat and read the story of Steward of Aiden Glenn.” Reed paused and rubbed his eyes. Walter could see the emotion of that moment welling back up in him.
He took a deep breath, looking at Walter now as he continued. “It moved her…so deeply. When we finished the book, she took my hands in hers, looked at me with those deep brown eyes, and said, ‘Reed Roberts, you were created to be a steward of God’s abundance, and your father knew it.’”
Thank God for Katie. Sam and Lori would have loved her so. “God’s steward. Well, that seems a fitting title after what you read from your father’s book.”
Reed nodded. “It was. And we were off. From that moment, we started laying out our plans to build Eden Village.”
“And for a wedding?”
Reed laughed. “Oh, yes, that too.”
Walter leaned back against the car seat. His final memory took him back to a meeting with Reed and Katie on the site for Eden Village. The land for the village was high in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state, about three hours from the closest city. Reed and Katie had designed a state-of-the-art research and experiential center to educate and inspire leaders globally in the importance of generous giving and creation care. The plans were extensive and complex. Walter was moved by their seriousness but dubious about its ultimate success. But nothing could assuage Katie’s passion.
She squeezed his hands as she spoke. “Walter, we will change the world from this quiet valley. Young men and women will come from all over the world to visit and study here. People of wealth will be invited to come and plan for how they can be more faithful stewards. The greatest minds will assemble here to pray, research, and lead our world toward greater generosity and responsible care for this wonderful planet that God gave us. This is our calling.”
“That’s a powerful vision, Katie.”
Reed put his arm around her shoulder. “And a powerful young woman behind them.”
Walter nodded. “And a pretty impressive man as well. Reed, God had you exactly where He planned so many years ago. Do you feel that?”
There was no hesitation. “I do, Walter. I see it now. From the moment I drove away after the funeral, the story, and all, I sensed changes were coming. I pushed them down for a while, but when Katie and I stood on this property with these plans in hand, I knew. I knew in my heart…I saw so much coming together.”
Yes, it had come together. Amazing, given the self-centered and lost young man who sat in the Roberts house some three years ago.
My faith is so weak. I hoped and prayed for this for Reed, but did I believe it? Help me, Lord, to trust You more in the future, because this is the work of Your hand.
Walter was given the grand tour of the stunning conference center. Its architecture was so ingenious that if not for the large glass windows, the building would almost disappear completely into the wooded hillside in which it rested.
Walter just shook his head. “Amazing. It’s as if the buildings are a part of the forest.”
Katie pointed to three large, white structures in the distance. “We have hydroponic greenhouses that will grow all the food for the entire ministry. Our fish farm will supply food and lots of fertilizer. And over there, that windmill only needs a three-mph breeze to generate our electricity, along with the solar panels.”
Reed waited a moment then asked with some hesitation, “So, Walter, what do you think?”
Walter looked out at the structures then back at Reed and Katie. “I can’t think of anything that would make your parents prouder. They cared so deeply for the poor, and what you will accomplish here will make an impact around the world.”
Reed gave Katie a hug. “Walter, we have two things we want you to see before you go.”
They walked up the main road and stopped where two masons were working on a large pillar. Reed slid his arm through Katie’s. “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but here are the drawings of the finished piece.” He handed Walter a large piece of architectural drawing paper.
Walter held it up, examining it. The drawing was a large post with rings of all sizes lying and leaning beside it. On the bottom was an inscription that read, “Do you want to be free?”
Steward’s words to Czartrevor.
Walter looked at Reed. No expression could capture his joy.
Reed just smiled and nodded. “It will be the first thing people see when they visit the village.”
“One more surprise.” Katie took Walter by the hand and led him to the main conference center where men were working on the entryway. Above the two main doors was a large beam that was covered by a tarp to keep it clean. Reed asked the men to remove the tarp, and beneath it was an engraved piece of metal that read, “The Aiden Glenn Conference Center.” Beneath it was inscribed, “In loving memory of Sam and Lori Roberts.”
The Cadillac slowed down, and Walter was jolted back from that moment to the present as Jack pulled into a gas station for a break from the drive.
“Is this okay, Mr. Graffenberger?”
Walter knew that soon he would tell Jack to call him Walter, but he kind of liked the formality for now. “Yes, Jack, we have plenty of time.”
Soon they were back on the road, and Walter let his mind take him back across the long and difficult journey that Merideth had traveled since that day at the Roberts home so many years ago. He’d seen her three times since those emotional two days in Harvest.
He’d had such a sense of despair on his first visit as he walked down the sterile, linoleum-lined corridor of the Rainier Valley Rehabilitation Center. He’d only spoken a few words to the cheerless attendant and the attending physician who had treated Merideth during her breakdown. They arrived at her room, and Walter squirmed at the memory of her with disheveled hair, ashen face, and eyes that were empty of passion and life.
It was awkward at first. Walter prayed for the right words. But without prompting, Merideth shared what happened to send her to the rehabilitation center.
“The drive home from Dad’s funeral—the story, the inheritance, and all of it—that was the longest drive of my life. So much was coming to the surface. Things I’d pushed down. It was starting to change me. Stuff that drove me, it all began to look foolish…unnecessary. Okay, I know it sounds like Dad’s Phaedra, but my mind kept telling me to wash it all away. I had the money. Nothing else needed to change. So it didn’t. I didn’t. Not at first.”
She went on to tell him how she’d thrown herself into using the power of her inheritance to further her ambitions. She bought her way onto influential boards and made several risky deals as first steps at building her own empire. Some paid off and her early success bred a greater thirst for more until she became obsessed by it. She alienated her few remaining friends, leaving her with only a handful of shallow relationships that revolved almost entirely around her money.
“Did you think much about your father’s story as you were involved in all that?”
Merideth continued gazing out her window at the manicured lawns. “Occasionally. I would catch myself imagining myself as Cassandra on the ramps, but I dismissed the thoughts.” She turned to Walter. “I wrote it all off as father’s sincere but naïve hopes for a daughter he never really understood.”
Her brow furrowed. “What I couldn’t shake was the gnawing image of Donturnates struggling to build his pathetic little second ramp with his bleeding hands and gray eyes. That image unnerved me every time it flashed through my mind. It worked in me like the constant pain of a pebble in your shoe. Every step I took, I knew that something was not quite as it should be.”
“What happened?”
At that, she straightened and spoke in a staccato voice. “Well, Walter. One day I met him.”
Walter’s eyes widened. “Him? You mean Donturnates?”
She nodded. “It’s quite a story, actually. A special courier arrived at my office with a personal invitation to meet with one of the most powerful people on the West Coast—Truman Helms. He’d heard of my resolve and was intrigued by my recent run of successful deals. He wanted to know if I was a ‘genuine player’”—she made quotation marks with her fingers—“and if I was ready to move up into the big leagues of investments and mergers.”
“And you went.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Absolutely! He flew me by personal jet to a private airstrip just south of Palm Desert. I was taken by limo, champagne in hand, up into the hills surrounding Palm Springs then through massive gates leading into a private world of waterfalls, golf courses, and, of course, mansions rising up in every direction.”
Walter nodded. “I’ve been to a few places like that.”
She leaned closer. “So have I, Walter. But nothing like this. It was…well, just unbelievable.”
“So what happened?”
She sat back. “Near the top of the ridge surrounding the exclusive settlement, the limo stopped in front of the largest home I’d ever seen. I was escorted inside, where I was greeted by an assistant, given yet another drink, and invited to wait out by the pool.”
She stood, acting out the walk. “I walked out onto a sweeping lanai that led down to a massive stone and plaster pool. The marble, granite, and alabaster went in every direction. From the edge of the pool, I could look across the entire Coachella Valley and out into the endless desert. The opulence of the place took my breath away.”
Walter was caught up in the story. “What was this Mr. Helms like?”
She shrugged. “He was a short, stout man, which surprised me. I’d heard stories of him for years. He was renowned for his shrewdness, his ability to win every negotiation, his ruthless takeovers, and his brash personality. I didn’t expect a squatty man, modestly dressed and, frankly, not the least bit intimidating. He greeted me, and I thanked him— and then asked him the dumbest question you could imagine.” She shook her head. “I asked if he’d had his amazing home built. Then I said I’d never been in a more incredible home. And you know what he said to me?”
Walter shook his head.
“‘Oh, well, you will.’”
Walter frowned. “What did he mean?”
“I asked him that, and he led me to the farthest end of the pool and down some stairs to a sculptured lawn area that opened up a splendid view to the north. I could see that, high up on a ridge, a massive field had been created. Big stands of rock and lumber were piled alongside pipes and parked machinery. I asked what was going on up there, and he said it was his new house! That they were starting construction in a month.”
“‘A new house? Why are you building another home?’” I asked. “He studied me, clearly not happy with my question. ‘Merideth, let me ask you…what do you want from life? What do you really strive for? What’s your passion? What makes you hungry?’ I knew he was measuring me, so I chose my words with care. I told him I wanted what he wanted, to be on top, to win. I thought that would please him. He didn’t flinch. Not a nod or a smirk. I guess I know how a swimmer feels when a shark is circling him. Then he asked me, ‘Then tell me, why shouldn’t I build a bigger house?’ I couldn’t believe my own words, but I blurted out, ‘You have so much here. This place is so grand, what could you possibly want with anything more?’ He turned on me like I was some kind of prey. ‘No, Merideth, I’m sorry, but you do not want what I want. Having something more is what I want. I sell yachts to buy larger ones. I sell companies to purchase bigger ones. I sell horses to own faster ones. I buy and sell real estate, art, airplanes, commodities, and people to own what is larger, more valuable, more beautiful, more powerful, and more loyal. And when I’m done, I see that I have only begun.’ And that’s when I saw him.”
“Donturnates?”
She nodded. “It gets worse. I blurted out, ‘When do you stop? When do you have enough? When is your house big enough, your horses fast enough, your investment valuable enough, or your people powerful enough? Where does it end?’ I can still hear him shouting. ‘Ending is for those who are content with mediocrity. Content with winning most of the time. Content with a taste of power and a sip of success.’And then I said something that was more to myself than anyone. It became so obvious. I just replied, ‘Perhaps, they are just content.’ That was the end of it. I was out the door, well, almost. His parting words to me, Walter, and I swear this is word for word, were, ‘I was the first one to build up on this mountain, and I will be the first to build on that mountain as well. There is always another mountain, and while others are scratching and clawing to get up there, I will be waiting for them at the top. You see, Miss Roberts, no matter how hard you work or how fast you build, I will have already beaten you. I have won, Miss Roberts. No matter what you try to accomplish, you will always have to live with the realization that I have already beaten you, because I am willing to do whatever it takes.’”
Walter’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, those were his exact words?”
“Yup, his exact words. It was Donturnates. As I watched him walk away, it was as though he turned into that sad little man, hunched over by the burden of his unfulfilled desires, gray from lack of joy in his life, hands bleeding from work that would not satisfy, and eyes sunken and lifeless from a thirst that could never be quenched.”
Walter focused back on Merideth. I can’t imagine that moment. Whatever it takes, he actually said that. “How did that affect you?”
“It devastated me. It was all so…pointless. I was back in the moment when I heard Dad calling me to a life of contentment. I remember I talked about a life of sandcastles being washed away by some huge wave. Well, that wave hit me again. Everything just wiped away. A week later, I was checking in here.”
She paused, her shoulders slumped. She managed a glance back at him. “Thanks, Walter, for coming all the way to Seattle so soon after I called. I needed someone who understood…who cared.”
It was six months before Walter could get back to the rehabilitation center for a second visit, and when Merideth would agree to see him. This time, as Walter entered her room, Merideth looked rested and well cared for, bearing a softer countenance.
Was that humility? Soul searching?
He was delighted to see her this way. “Hello, Merideth. It’s so good to see you.”
Merideth looked up and smiled. “Thank you for coming, Walter. Dr. Schreck, can I spend some time alone with Walter?”
The mid-sixties psychologist obliged. “Of course, Merideth. Remember to look for the patterns from your past. Perhaps Mr. Graffenberger can help. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Walter let the door close and put down his briefcase. “What did he mean by patterns?”
Merideth rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’s convinced that my recovery is dependent upon my ability to reconnect with the past patterns in my life that created in me the thirst for success and fame. I think it’s mostly psychobabble to make me think he can really help me.” She drew up a grin.
Is she taking this seriously?
“You don’t think he can? Then why are you here?”
Merideth folded her hands, rubbing her thumbs into each other as she spoke. “I needed a safe place to get away and think. When you were here last, I’d lost all sense of who I am and what I am supposed to do with my life. I’m still searching. I mean, if I’m to give up trying to be successful, then I abandon everything that motivates me, everything that gives me satisfaction and happiness. I give up real life, fulfilled life as I know it. Then, Walter”—she threw her hands in the air—“what do I have left? What do I have left? Nothing! Nothing that I care to wake up to every morning. I’m not Anna. I can’t spend my life serving the poor or caring for lost kids. I have nothing to hope for. Nothing to live for. And that scares me. That’s why I am here.”
Walter took her hand. “My dear Merideth. You and I are not so very different, you know.”
“Oh, come on, Walter, you are…well, you are Walter Graffenberger! How are you and I alike at all?”
How much should he, could he, tell her?
“Oh, Merideth, my ambitions have taken me several times to the brink of disaster. After leaving law school, I longed to be the preeminent attorney in the region. I did my own share of clawing my way through and around and over people to build my practice and reputation. But my success never satisfied me. I thought I just needed to work harder, earn more, and climb higher than my peers. I was on the fast track to absolute burnout, but I was so driven. Man, was I driven!” He stood to look out through the window, across the open landscape.
Merideth came next to him. “Walter, I’m…I’m astonished. You seem so…settled. So at peace. Your life seems to be in such balance. How did you get there?”
He turned to her. “You may not like the answer. I found out that God cared less about what I did than who I was. Everything that drove me was of no consequence to my Creator. I had to come to grips with the fact that I was doing it all for me. And, Merideth, that just wasn’t enough.”
She broke his gaze and shook her head. “That’s great to say, but just how did you make such a huge change in your life? How do you go from your heart’s desire to something else…something less?”
Walter put his hand to her chin and turned her face back to him. “But, Merideth, it isn’t less. It’s more, so much more. Saying it’s less—that’s the lie. Your father helped me understand that I was gifted to succeed at whatever I put my hand to. I just needed to choose battles that made a real difference. I didn’t leave my law practice, I just changed the focus of what I did through it. I took on cases that mattered. Not for their prestige or financial reward, but for the impact they would have on issues of justice and fairness and equality. I decided that I would start fighting for what mattered in the bigger picture, regardless of what it meant for me personally or professionally.”
He let his hand fall, but his caring gaze continued to hold her. “Merideth, your mother and father were immensely proud of your ability to accomplish whatever you put your mind to. They just prayed that you would find satisfaction in accomplishing things that had eternal value. Your father helped me understand the value of such work. And I know that, when he was dying, he hoped that you would find the same satisfaction in your own life. He left you that fortune because he had absolute faith that one day you would.”
Her eyes opened wider. “Do you think I can, Walter? I’m not sure. I’m so far down the other road. I can’t see my way back. It just seems so dark and hopeless…”
He turned her to face him.
“Merideth, you are Steward at the crossroads in the Fungle Woods. You have two paths. One is wide and familiar, the other is dark and threatening. But I am confident that you know in your spirit that the harder road will lead you to where you want to go. And I know”—he pressed in closer to her—“I know you have the courage and the strength to take it.”
Thank you, Lord, for those words. They were yours, not mine.
Three months ago, Walter had made his third visit, this time to her new offices located in a row of quite classy but humble houses that had been converted into offices near Elliott Bay in downtown Seattle. The views were magnificent, but the décor was humble and brought a sense of calm to Walter. In the lobby, Walter got his first look at the beautiful bronze sculpture that symbolized Merideth’s transformation. He ran his hands over it and admired its combination of simplicity and emotional power.
Merideth greeted him with a hug, and they stood looking at the three-foot-high sculpture.
She looked at him. “Well, what do you think?”
He just shook his head. “It’s amazing. It captures the essence of the symbol. I can’t imagine anyone looking at this without being moved.”
“You’re right. Almost everyone has an emotional response to it, and then they ask what it means. That’s its beauty. It invites you in to learn more.”
Walter walked around it to see it from every side. “Do only prize winners get one?”
“Only prize winners get first-run copies. But we will sell a second-run copy to anyone.”
“How many prizes have you given so far?”
“Just nine. We hope to give out about twenty per year, starting next year. We just had our first in February.”
Walter picked up the brochure. “The Cassandra Award for Excellence in Business Practices with Eternal Value.” The brochure explained the cash award, ranging from $100,000 to $1 million, “to be given to companies with business practices reflecting eternal values that are expressed in acts of love and service to their neighbors and communities.”
The brochures sat in a glass case next to the glistening sculpture of a Quash and sash. The detail was impeccable, with every fold in the sash so lifelike that many people tried at first to run their hands across the smooth cloth, only to find it was metal. The inscription that had been on Sam’s gift to Merideth—“Love your neighbor as you love yourself”— was engraved on the bronze award.
Walter felt the deep engraving. “From your gift from your father.”
Merideth let a broad smile beam across her face. “Yes, and that’s what it’s inspired people to do. Each gift has awarded amazing changes companies and their leaders have made in refocusing their goals to include helping others. I love the line ‘acts of eternal value.’ That’s what I was missing all those years. A life focused on eternal value.”
Walter decided to take a chance. “They have a word for that…”
Merideth didn’t hesitate. “Yes, they do, it’s called contentment.”
Walter smiled in the back seat of his Cadillac as he rolled the thought of that visit over again in his mind. Then he moved his thoughts to Anna.
He’d been so disappointed when he first saw her a few months after the funeral. Despite her wealth and her insistence that she had been changed by her father’s story, she remained unkempt, carrying the same melancholic countenance she had at the funeral. He’d met her over dinner at a small café near the University of Washington.
Walter noted the diversity of people streaming through the café. “This is quite an eclectic community. Are you at home here?”
She stared down at her lunch. “Walter, I can hide here, so yes, I’m fine.”
Poor Anna, she hadn’t found herself, her calling, or her passion.
He tried a cheery tone. “So what out there is grabbing your passion these days?”
She continued with no change in body language. “A lot of causes move me, Walter. But none of them feel like the place I want to dedicate my life. Why is it so hard to find your calling? When did you discover that law was your passion?”
Walter shifted at the question. He had asked penetrating questions of the four children over the years, always expecting them to be open and honest with him. That was his role, after all. Now he was on the other end. “I’ll be honest with you. Practicing law is not my passion, it’s only my vocation.”
That was a confession few had heard, only Sam and Walter’s wife, Grace.
“Since I can remember, I have had only one passion in life and that was to fly. I’ve loved airplanes all my life. My entire childhood I wanted to be a pilot, flying in the Navy and then commanding jumbo jets all around the world. It’s all I thought about, all I dreamed about.” Then he added, “It’s what I still dream about.”
Anna sat up with renewed energy. “Why didn’t you pursue it? Did you ever learn to fly?”
He shook his head. “No, I never did. There was never enough money or time. I took an introductory flight when I was twenty-three. It was fabulous. When I took that yoke in my hands, I was happier than I could ever remember.” He held an imaginary yoke in his hands as he spoke. Then he dropped his hands with a sigh. “But I never took the next steps. Paying for law school consumed my time and funds, and then it was marriage, kids, and building a practice. You know, life got in the way.”
Anna reached out and touched his shoulder. “It’s not too late, you know. I’ll even kick in for the lessons,” she said with a teasing smile.
He wanted to get away from the subject and pain of a passion unfulfilled.
“Thank you, my dear. But I’m more concerned about your passions than mine. You have your whole life ahead, and it’s critical that you find your calling. Let’s stay in close touch, and please let me know if there is anything you want to kick around with me. Really, Anna, I am there for you any time you want to talk or explore any idea, okay?”
Anna smiled back. “I’ll call you when I have an idea…and you go learn to fly.”
About seven months later Walter was back in Seattle, and Anna had asked him to meet for dinner. He could hear an excitement and energy in her voice he hadn’t heard before. As he entered the lobby of the Lake Union Bistro, he was met for dinner by a far more confident, and significantly lighter, young woman. For the first time he could remember, he saw the soft and beautiful features in Anna’s face.
“My, you look wonderful!”
Anna gave him a warm hug and then pulled back to look him in the eye. “So how are the lessons going?”
“Lessons?”
Anna scowled. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t started your flying lessons yet?”
“Oh, that,” he replied laughing. “No, I’m afraid I’m too old to start now, but I appreciate your asking. That’s a dream that will remain a dream, I’m afraid. Now tell me, what has you so excited? I could hear it in your voice when you called.”
They sat at a table overlooking Lake Union. To his surprise, Anna’s countenance was somber.
“Last month, Char, one of my closest friends, called me at midnight sobbing. She was inconsolable, but I managed to get from her that her daughter Cassie had attempted suicide. They found her in their bathtub with her wrists opened and blood everywhere. The paramedics rushed her to Harborview, and Char was waiting word on her condition. I got dressed and caught a cab and met her there. It was only a few minutes after I arrived that the emergency room doctor came in, and…well…you could tell by the look on his face. I guess they can’t hide it. We all knew that she was gone. Char collapsed, and they had to sedate her for three days as she came to grips with what had happened. Peter, her husband, just sat for days and stared out the window. It was horrible. For nearly a month I met with Char every day, but she was never able to talk about it. Everyone was in a daze. No one went into Cassie’s room. They left it like a shrine. Finally, after about a month a family member went in and looked around, and they found a letter Cassie wrote before she took her life…”
Anna paused and took a sip of water. She dried some tears, then collected herself and looked at Walter. “Walter, it was Claire’s letter! Almost word for word. It was her cry for help, her lament, and her sense of hopelessness at knowing she was more than the world was seeing in her but not being able to escape the despair that she would never be free to live as she knew she could. It was Claire’s letter!”
God, you work in ways I can hardly believe. “Incredible.”
Her eyes grew wider. “Yes, incredible indeed. And it shook me to the core. But that wasn’t the worst. After her funeral I was talking with her school counselor, trying to make some sense of how such a beautiful, smart, and popular girl could have become so depressed. I mean, to sit in a bathtub with a razor… Anyway, her counselor told me that over three-quarters of the girls she sees have contemplated suicide. She went on to say that there is an epidemic in her school of self-hatred and despair among the girls, but especially the most popular ones. She turned to me and said, ‘It’s as if they have some grossly distorted mirror that keeps reflecting images that have no basis in reality.”’
Walter almost leapt from his seat. “Anna, you’re kidding! She used those words? A ‘grossly distorted mirror’?”
Anna nodded. “Yes, those exact words. And that was it, Walter—that was my moment of clarity. That was when God reached down to me and said, ‘Anna, are you listening?’”
That’s the moment Sam and Lori had always prayed for you to experience.
“Oh, Anna, I’m so happy for you. So what are your plans?”
She spent the next two hours sharing her heart with Walter. She had vague plans and general ideas, but by the time they finished, Walter had helped her map out a series of next steps to investigate how she could use her wealth and her passion to respond.
He had talked to Anna almost every week for the two years that followed. He visited her monthly and served as her advisor and legal counsel while her plans took shape, but she never let him visit the site where her dreams were becoming reality.
A month ago, Walter received a special invitation from Anna. It read, “The time has come to share with you the culmination of my dream. Please bring Jack and be our guest.” There was a map enclosed and nothing more. A five-hour drive took them to a quiet road near the little town of Yelm. Life was lived more slowly here in the shadow of Mount Rainier.
Jack eased them along a winding road until they were greeted by a large entry with a gate that opened onto a long driveway. They drove in and stopped in front of the stone sign marking the entry. In warm letters the sign read, “Welcome to Marikonia, A Place of Healing and Hope.”
Walter smiled and shook his head.
Marikonia, it had to be. Well done, Anna.
They eased down the winding, tree-lined driveway and stopped at the main building. It looked like an old English Tudor mansion. Outside young girls were playing soccer in the fields that sprawled out alongside the drive. Anna emerged from the front doors to greet them. “Welcome to Marikonia, Walter. Well, what do you think?”
Walter looked around at the magnificent buildings and grounds.
Anna gushed. “We wanted to create the feel of a small village built around a beautiful center courtyard. We wanted this place filled with flowers, meandering walkways, quiet alcoves with benches, towering trees, and fountains—three fountains!”
Walter stood gawking. “Anna, I’m speechless. And that’s saying a lot for an old lawyer. Tell me about the work.”
She walked Walter and Jack around part of the 125-acre property as she unpacked her vision. “This is a ministry to young girls who have lost faith in themselves. Some attempted suicide or are suffering from severe depression. We have outreach programs into the schools and churches and support classes for parents and siblings of these emotionally scarred girls.”
She stopped at a wrought-iron gate that led to a small exquisite garden. “This is our centerpiece. It speaks to our mission—to end teenage suicide among girls. I know it is not achievable, but it’s what drives us every day.”
She turned to Walter and stepped aside to allow him to read the inscription on the gate.
“Welcome to Claire’s Garden.” Walter breathed a deep sigh, his throat tightening. “Anna, it’s…I don’t know what to say.”
She hugged him. “The best part is, when people ask me about Claire, it gives me a chance to tell Dad’s story.”
Anna, you are telling Claire’s story, and your father’s in everything you’re doing. How proud Sam and Lori would be.
“Three miles to go, Mr. Graffenberger.”
Jack’s words brought Walter back to the present. In a few minutes, they would be back in Harvest. The silver Cadillac eased its way along the familiar curve that marked the descent into the town of Harvest. The warm, late-August sun beamed through the tinted windows, and Walter reached over to turn the air conditioning up a notch. Jack drove the car to the railroad stop at the edge of town, then down Main Street. Little had changed in the past three years. It was late summer, and the streets were filling with visitors, farmers, vacationers, and residents. The town had a wonderful quiet energy that Walter so dearly loved. They continued to the turn just beyond the Mill Stone that took them past the Harvest Gospel Mission.
It looked great. Carl had used the gift from Sam and Lori’s estate to expand programs and reach hundreds more people.
The car moved on and Walter looked down the street to his left where the Roberts house stood at the end of Avenue B. It would soon be full of life again, just as Sam and Lori always prayed it would.
Jack parked the car in a reserved parking spot. He and Walter emerged and walked together up the long sidewalk toward the Resurrection Christian Church. Walter looked ahead as throngs of people streamed into the church as the midday sun warmed the air and a breeze carried the smell of apple blossoms across the landscape. It was a glorious scene, and Walter breathed it in.
“Walter, there you are!”
He turned. It was Katie, and Reed was close behind her as she ran up to greet him with her usual enthusiastic hug.
“Katie, you will squeeze the life out of me someday,” he said laughing.
Reed shook his hand. “Walter, it’s great to see you again. You know there’s a room always set aside for you at the Village. Please come for a visit soon, will you?” Walter agreed to a visit, and together they walked up the walkway to the church.
Before they got to the top step of the church entrance, Merideth and Anna saw them and joined them.
“Hello, Walter.” Merideth hugged him.
Anna added her own hug. “Oh, Walter, won’t this be an amazing day!”
Walter relished the anticipation. “Yes it will. Here we are, all back here after three years.”
Reed leaned in. “Quite a different change of mood.”
They all laughed.
Walter looked around them. “Indeed. It’s hard to comprehend what all has happened in those three years. More than your father and mother would ever have dreamed of.”
Merideth looked out across the scene of people making their way to the church on the fine summer day. “Oh, I don’t know. Somehow I think they had a lot of this figured out long before we did.”
“Walter, we have a surprise for you.” Anna held something behind her back. She pulled it around and handed Walter a book. He examined the thick novel that had the professional look of a New York Times bestseller. He read the title, Steward of Aiden Glenn. The front cover imagery behind the words was of battles, black knights, ramps, throne rooms, and the striking figures of Steward, Astrid, and little Dunston.
Priceless. Beyond words.
Anna beamed. “We self-published it. It’s just being released today as part of the celebration.”
Reed reached out a hand to Walter’s shoulder. “Now everyone can read Dad’s story.”
The church bells began to ring, and people made their way inside to the pews. Extra chairs had been set up along the aisle, the side walkways, and as far back as they could be placed. Soon the church was packed to overflowing.
A nervous usher recognized Walter and made his way up to him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Graffenberger. I have your seats ready. Are your guests with you?”
“They will be along, but I’m ready to be seated.”
The usher looked a little undone, but he led Walter up the main aisle. Walter stopped to shake hands with people as he walked, placing hands on shoulders and exchanging smiles and nods with so many dear friends.
This church has never been more electric. Everywhere huge smiles and laughter and…joy!
As he approached the front, he passed the pew where Anna, Merideth, Reed, and Katie were seated. Jack had been invited to sit with them. Walter was escorted to the row right in front of them, where three chairs waited. Walter sat in the chair next to the aisle.
Reed leaned forward and whispered. “Walter, are your guests here yet?”
Walter had asked the Roberts children if he could be seated in the front with two special guests. They were happy to oblige.
“No, not yet.” He took a deep breath and then looked down at the program that had been handed to him by the nervous usher.
The Ordination Service for Alex Daniel Roberts
and his Installation as the
Sixteenth Pastor of Resurrection Christian Church
The words took Walter’s breath away. As the opening music poured out of the pipe organ, Walter thought back to Alex’s journey since the day of his father’s funeral.
Several months after the funeral, Walter was surprised to hear from Alex that he was heading back to Harvest and wanted to meet Walter there. They found a quiet table at the back of the Golden Fields restaurant.
Alex was ashen. “I put the decision to come back here off for months, but from the moment I drove away after Dad’s funeral, I knew I had to. I got here yesterday and stayed at the house.” He paused to stir his coffee.
Walter tried to imagine Alex alone in the house with all that had taken place there. “How was it, being alone there?”
Alex shrugged. He shared a few details about his stay—breathing stale air from weeks of closed doors and windows, building a fire, walking around the empty house, sitting in the overstuffed chair near the fire, and reminiscing about those two days with his siblings as they read Steward’s story.
“I was at peace. Kind of strange I guess, there all alone. But that’s where it began.”
Walter cocked his head. “Where what began?”
Alex looked up. “I walked into Dad’s study and took another look at that cracked paperweight and the chip on the mantel. I got a laugh out of reliving the scene. Then I sat in Dad’s chair and just looked around the room. Geez, Walter, you could still smell Dad’s Old Spice. It was kind of comforting and a little unnerving. But that’s when I decided to peruse Dad’s library. And there it was, that first-edition copy of Karl Barth’s Epistle to the Romans that Dad gave me.”
The story was so painful for Alex, Walter was surprised to hear him mention the book. Alex continued. “I slid it out. I gotta tell you, my hands started shaking. Then the memories flooded in, you know, how I disappointed Dad by quitting seminary. But for some reason, I decided to take the book back with me to the living room and read a little of it.”
“You’d never read it?”
Alex gave him a sheepish look. “Nope. Can you believe it? Maybe that’s what got me curious. Well, that few minutes turned into hours and it was very late when I came across this passage. Here, I wrote it down.” He unfolded a piece of stationery paper and read.
To the man under grace, righteousness is not a possibility, but a necessity; not a disposition subject to change, but the inexorable meaning of life; not a condition possessing varying degrees of healthiness, but the condition by which existence is itself determined; not that which he possesses, but that which possesses him. The freedom of the man under grace is founded upon the good pleasure of God and has no other foundation; it is the freedom of the will of God in men, and freedom of no other kind.
He looked up. “Did you hear it, Walter? Righteousness is not a possibility but a necessity? The inexorable meaning of life? That which possesses us? What does it mean to be possessed by God, where righteousness is a necessity and the true meaning of life? What does it feel like to know the freedom that is founded on the good pleasure of God?” Alex’s soul thirsted for answers.
I’m no theologian. Help me, Lord.
“I’m not sure, Alex. I guess the one thing that jumps out at me is the idea that God possesses us. He loved us before we were born. And grace, how did Reverend Hastings used to say it, ‘grace is the greatest expression of our freedom in Christ.’”
Alex sat forward. “And Barth said our freedom is founded on the good pleasure of God, and because of that, it is freedom of no other kind. I want that freedom, Walter, and I haven’t found it anyplace else.”
Walter nodded. “If freedom is from God, you should know where to find it.”
Alex shifted in his place. “Yeah, but that’s just the problem. To find it I need to look to the God who took it away from me in the first place.”
Walter studied him, saying a silent prayer. “Perhaps, Alex, you are back in the Fungle Woods, wondering if the image in the mist is really the king or an illusion conjured up by the enemy to destroy your faith.”
Alex set the paper down. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Walter leaned forward. “Was it God who took it from you, or could it be that the real thief is the enemy of your soul, and his greatest deception is stealing your most precious possession in such a way that the one who is giving you faith appears to be the one who stole it from you?”
Alex shook his head. “But I looked for God. I tried so hard to find Him when I needed Him. If He wants me so badly, why did He stay so hidden?”
How far could he go before getting in over his head?
“I don’t know, Alex. But I have come to learn that trust doesn’t need to search. It doesn’t expect to find but to be found. How did Barth say it…‘not a freedom we possess, but one that possesses us’? I think you need to find out how to enjoy being found by God rather than thinking you always need to be looking for Him.”
Just last week, Walter received a letter from Alex. It chronicled a two-year journey from that lunch in a little Harvest restaurant to his graduation day from seminary and through his process of ordination. Alex concluded with this:
“Walter, in the end I found what I had been searching for all my life. It was there in Dad’s story, in Mom’s unconditional love. It was woven throughout the Bible and etched in the hearts and lives of so many people I had rejected. It was the simple truth that our lives are not meant to be anxious pursuits of God, but the joyous response of having been found by Him. I’ve been found, and I am ready to help others know the same truth. Thank you, dear friend.”
The organ music stopped and then started again, this time playing a regal march version of “Crown Him with Many Crowns.” The congregation stood as a parade of banners, flags, and a robed entourage walked in solemn procession down the aisle and up to the platform. The last three were the regional church moderator, the president of the Resurrection Christian Church board, and Alex Roberts. As he passed, Alex looked over at Walter and smiled. But his eyes narrowed in wonder at seeing the two empty chairs.
The entourage was assembled on the platform as the music hit its crescendo. Everyone was invited to sit, and for the next hour dignitaries, church leaders, and friends spoke of Alex’s spiritual journey and welcomed him into the church. There were Scripture readings and more singing. Finally the moment came when Alex Daniel Roberts was installed as the new pastor of the Resurrection Christian Church. Alex repeated the vows of ordination, and then dozens of people laid hands on him while the moderator prayed for him.
When they were finished, the church president stood before the congregation. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my sincere honor and pleasure to present to you the sixteenth pastor of the Resurrection Christian Church, the Reverend Alex Daniel Roberts.”
At that, the whole assembly rose with cheers and applause that went on for several minutes. Walter applauded and looked on. He turned behind him and embraced the Roberts children and Katie and even Jack. He looked back at Alex and listened to the cheers from the pew behind him.
Dear Lord, how can I ever thank You for what You have done here? Thank You for Your faithfulness and thank You for the story of a young man from Aiden Glenn.
The congregation ended their applause and returned to their seats. The moderator stepped forward. “And now it is my honor and distinct privilege to invite the new pastor of Resurrection Christian Church to the pulpit to preach his first sermon to his congregation.”
Alex stood up and walked to the pulpit. He was an impressive figure in his flowing black robe adorned by the white, red, and yellow pastoral stole, which was a gift from Anna at his seminary graduation. He stood and looked around at the assembled congregation, then his gaze moved to the two empty seats next to Walter. When his eyes widened and a smile lifted his lips, Walter knew Alex understood.
Walter smiled back at him.
Alex opened the Bible that Walter had laid in his hands that night three long years ago and began to preach.
As he did, Walter looked to his left. In his mind’s eye, seated next to him was Lori Roberts. She sat up straight in her favorite blue chiffon dress with white embroidered trim. It was Sam’s gift to her on their twentieth anniversary for her to wear “on high and holy days,” he had said with a great burst of laughter. She looked up at her son, and her face reflected the deep sense of joy that lay inexpressible within a mother’s heart. She then turned to Walter and smiled at him with an expression of overwhelming gratitude. And Walter smiled back at her through his tears.
Sitting next to Lori, Walter could envision Sam Roberts. He was dressed in his finest suit and the tie that Walter gave him to wear when he went asking for donations from wealthy donors. Sam held Lori’s hand, as he had always done in church. They stared up as Alex began to preach from John 15.
Alex’s voice rang out. “According to the apostle John, Jesus said, ‘You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit.’”
Walter let his imagination have full rein. Through it, he watched Sam’s face. As it beamed with joy, Sam glanced at Walter, leaned across in front of Lori, and rested his hand on Walter’s forearm. Then, from his deep, throaty voice, Sam Roberts whispered, “Proudest day of my life, Walter…proudest day of my life.”
~The End~