Standing Up

Phil Robertson voiced what he believed. But he wasn’t standing up for what he believes. He wasn’t fighting for a cause. He wasn’t being persecuted and or battling oppressors. In fact it is likely that he lives a pretty comfortable life every day, able to say what he wants. And when he happens to get a line wrong they can just re-shoot the scene; the life of reality television.

But he is not a hero. Members of the Nanle County Christian Church in the Henan Province were beaten by local police and their thugs because if their beliefs. They are heroes.

Missionary Kenneth Bae, an American citizen and Christian was imprisoned by the North Korean government because of his beliefs. He is still in prison, his beliefs unchanged. He is a hero.

I have never watched Phil Robertson’s television show, Duck Dynasty. I understand that it is a pretty good show; in fact they even end the show by praying. Good for them. Having never seen it I don’t know if maybe the show is the Robertson’s mission field. I doubt it, but if it is there probably isn’t a government official waiting to lock the cast away because of what they believe.

Robertson’s words were offensive. Not his belief. I believe in the sanctity of marriage. I believe that God designed man to be with a woman and a woman to be with a man. I also believe that Christ taught us to love, to control our words, to walk in a way that others will see Jesus Christ in our walk. In Mr. Robertson’s words these things cannot be found. I believe him when he says he is a Christian, I can see it in his face and hear it in his voice…but would a non-believer? Could someone who was searching for the truth be inspired by someone whose language is so demeaning? If you did not know that he is a Christian man would you have thought so after hearing his words?

I also believe the behaviors that are offensive to God are sin. We sin only against God, and we seem to do it a lot. We offend others or they offend us and then we are compelled to tell them why. Phil Robertson decided to tell everyone that which offends him, but he did so in an offensive manner. This brings us back around to standing up for what you believe in.

Our freedom of speech is perhaps the greatest freedom we have. Men and women have fought to keep this Right for hundreds of years. As with any other Right we are blessed with the owner of that Right has a responsibility; including the Right to Speech. When a gun owner acts irresponsibly with a weapon there are consequences. If it is egregious he may even void his Right to gun ownership. Being responsible with our freedom of speech, with our words, should be as important to us as any other responsibility we cherish.

The Phil Robertson story will run for a while I suppose until something better comes along. I hope that it goes away before Christmas. You see my friends; if you are a Christian there is no better time to let your light shine than now. The world, your friends, your family, your children…they are all watching you because it is Christmas. They want to know why you smile all the time. They want to know how you are able to go on when problems are abundant. They want to know about this man named Jesus. Let your light shine bright this time of year.

Nothing will turn your light off faster than your words.

Stand up for what you believe in but do it with love. Speak them as if Christ was standing with you, right there by your side…listening.

Because he is.

Time Continues

Time consumes me. I awake when it is time to. Then comes the time for breakfast; time to get on the road; time to start work and then time to catch up. Wasting time, I will never finish. Suddenly it is time for lunch, but I’m short on time, so I will have to skip it today, I need to make up some time. Time drags, will quitting time ever get here? Too much time spent in traffic. Time to make dinner; just enough time before it is time for my favorite show. Now time to spend with the family before I spend some quiet time with God.

Tomorrow I will do it all again, if I have the time.

Time is everything.

Does anybody really know what time it is? (Does anybody really care?)

Is there really quality time.... only time will tell.

Passing time, killing time, tracking time...all in good time.

Good times, bad times.

Time well spent, wasting time.

A time to live...

The words of King David, “My times are in your hands.”  I wonder if David’s times were as malleable as my list. The words immediately following his declaration read, “deliver me from the hand of mine enemies, and from them that persecute me.”  From the enemies hand into God’s hand! David’s first thought, after finding himself in God’s palm, was that of his enemies.  When we have enemies, foes, opponents, it doesn’t matter what we call them, they consume our thought, and they devour our time. We fret over them, always looking over our shoulder to see how close they may be.

As with any great king, David’s enemies were many. They were ruthless warriors that would cut him down if given the chance. Our own enemies, hopefully, are defined much differently. But the fears they impose, imagined or real, are just as powerful. The dread lasting well into the night, they climb into our bed, making it impossible to rest even for just a moment. After pitiful amounts of sleep I wake up and they are waiting for me. Stealth is not in their description; no, they are forthright in their pursuit. Their missions are many, their goal to destroy, their target...time. Each foe we face has the ability to destroy our time. Time that should be spent creating, achieving, sharing or growing is stolen away because of our fear. The casualties we may experience go beyond any financial concerns, beyond worries about health, even ahead of relational regards. But lost forever is the time destroyed by the enemy.

David’s first time is fear.  But through faith he placed his fear in the hands of God.

“My times are in your hands.”

What other times are there? Too many to count, but we will explore them, learn from them, and then place them in the hands of God.

The verses just prior to David’s declaration;

“But I trusted in thee, O LORD: I said thou art my God.”

No greater claim can be made than to declare thou art my God!  So with trust, faith, love and recognition of my God, David placed his times in the hands of God.

Time? What times do you have? Which ones are you holding on to?

Time

A slight change of course is in order, an unscheduled break from working on my short story novel.

Last night I was preparing for a Bible study, I read the 31^st Psalm, A Psalm of David. It was in the fifteenth verse that my course of dedication to the new book was altered. It begins, “My times are in your hands;” (NIV). These six words spoken by King David to God had a remarkable impact on me. Quite often I will read a verse or passage in the Bible that brings comfort, thought, joy or even fear. I spend time meditating over the words when this happens. But with Psa. 31:15, I immediately knew that it would require more than a few moments of meditation to understand David fully, to enrich my own knowledge and bless my own soul.

“My times are in your hands,” David declared. My mind instantly wanted to understand “times”. The psalmist follows up albeit quietly, refusing to explicate. The beauty of this verse should not be concealed in mystery.  As I read his words over and over, my desire to know more increased.

I am blessed to be able to teach from the Bible twice every week. The studies are structured and beholden to calendars and clocks, and that is okay. But with this verse, “My times are in your hands”; I knew I wanted to spend as much time as needed to understand, to savor and to live the words of King David. So over the next few days or weeks, or however long the Lord decides to tarry in his enlightenment I plan to meditate upon them and share my thoughts here. I hope you will come along with me. I covet your feedback, your thoughts and your critique.

I also covet your prayers.

These words, “My times are in your hands”, have moved me so greatly because of times in my life now. Times are changing. Changes that require much thought and ultimately decisions that must be made. The details are not important now, they will come with time. I can tell you this, I have spent much time in prayer, waiting for an answer, and none would come. I know why now. God lead me to this verse for a reason; to understand Him more fully helps us to understand His answers for our lives. His timing for us is always perfect, I believe He has an answer for me, but understands that I am not ready for this answer. Not until I understand that my times are in His hands.

So the journey begins here, I hope you will come along. 

I did find this hymn today written by William Freeman Lloyd in the 19^th century. The answer may be as simple as the song-

My times are in Thy hand;
My God, I wish them there;
My life, my friends, my soul I leave
Entirely to Thy care.

My times are in Thy hand;
Whatever they may be;
Pleasing or painful, dark or bright,
As best may seem to Thee.

My times are in Thy hand;
Why should I doubt or fear?
My Father’s hand will never cause
His child a needless tear.

My times are in Thy hand,
Jesus, the crucified!
Those hands my cruel sins had pierced
Are now my guard and guide.

My times are in Thy hand,
I’ll always trust in Thee;
And, after death, at Thy right hand
I shall forever be.

The Great Breakfast Taco Hunt (excerpt)

Joe had never been in the basement of Mulberry Baptist Church. Today would change that. You see today he turned the magnificently amazing age of thirteen. Why just yesterday he would not have been allowed to navigate the steep stairs that led to basement of the hundred year old church. The basement housed the church kitchen, the maintenance office and the room where the Teen Sunday School class gathered. Joe’s old class, the youth group met in the new building that had been constructed behind the old church. It was a nice new building, but Joe knew he wanted to join the teens in the main building’s belly. He loved to explore and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to discover the mysteries that would surely live downstairs. But just as important was the kitchen, for it was here that what is believed to be the best breakfast taco in the whole town is crafted. Sundays past provided glazed donuts to the members of the youth group. Now Joe didn’t complain about a glazed doughnut but a breakfast taco...well a breakfast taco meant you were growing up. What a great birthday this would be!

Joe bounded up the front stairs to the church ahead of his father and two younger sisters. “Come on Dad,” Joe yelled over his shoulder, “we are going to be late!”

They weren’t going to be late. His father was never late for anything; Joe wanted to be sure he would have time to get a breakfast taco before classes began.

“Slow down birthday boy, we have plenty of time.” His father replied with a smile on his face. He knew from where his son’s urgency stemmed. Jake Walker had grown up in Mulberry Church, he remembered the first Sunday when, as a new teenager, he had been allowed downstairs. They weren’t serving breakfast tacos way back then but the fascination of the basement had been just as alluring for him as it was now for his son; not only his son but for every boy or girl that promenaded into their  teen years  while attending Mulberry Baptist Church. And even though Jake had felt the basement’s draw himself nearly thirty years ago he could still not understand what it was that caused this feeling of eagerness in so many children.

“Dad, can I have a dollar to buy a breakfast taco? Please!” Joe said with his hand extended.

“I guess, after all it is your birthday.” Jake handed his son a five dollar bill. “Do you know where to go?”

“I think so. But don’t worry Dad,” Joe smiled, “remember I was born an explorer.”

Joe’s mom had been killed two years earlier in a plane crash. Her favorite pet name for their first born had been The Great Explorer. She had told Joe hundreds of times that he arrived five weeks premature because he was born to explore.

“All right then Joe, commence your great breakfast taco hunt. Get one for your sisters too, and bring me one. We can have full bellies before Sunday school begins.”

“You want me to bring them back now?” Joe almost whined, “I will be late if I do that.”

“You have plenty of time son. “

What Joe’s father didn’t know was that his son had hoped that by arriving early to church, as usual, he would have time to do some exploring in the basement. He looked at his father and down at his sisters. His enthusiasm was momentarily replaced with exasperation, but the smiles of his two little sisters beaming up at their big brother, their teenage brother, was enough to extinguish the exasperation before it could grow.

“Okay Dad, I’ll be right back.” And with that Joe ran down the long corridor that leads to the basement stairs.

J

oe opened the heavy door and looked down the steep stairwell. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit passage. The lighting had not been added until the fiftieth anniversary of Mulberry Church, and it had not been updated since then. The thick stone walls made it difficult to add the wiring that would be needed to modernize the basement area or the stairwell.

Joe tried to listen for any sounds coming from the rooms below. Silence was all that came up the stairs. They had arrived at the church almost thirty minutes before most others; his father hated being late, so it was likely the basement was empty. Carefully he stepped down onto the first tread; it creaked loudly in the silence. Joe had been warned how steep the stairs were, the runs were short and the risers deep. It was because of this precarious construction that children were not allowed beyond the door. But Joe wasn’t a child anymore, today is his birthday he reminded himself before continuing his dissent.

Halfway down, Joe’s nose detected the smell of bacon, bacon that would sit on top of the eggs, eggs that would sit on top of the tortilla. Then all that topped with freshly grated cheddar cheese! Joe quickened his dissent.

At the bottom landing the hallway way provided Joe with three choices in which direction to take. Straight ahead, the hallway continued for some distance. It didn’t appear as if any lights were on in this direction so Joe looked to his left and right. To his right, through the only open door, he could see a brightly lit large room which he was sure was the classroom. To his left he could see the double doors at the end of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Two other doors lined the hallway, one on the left and one on the right, both closed. The sign on the door to the right read “Luke’s Office”; on the left the sign read “Maintenance”.

Joe walked to the double doors and peered through the plastic windows. The smell of bacon frying filled the air. For the birthday boy this was the most incredible aroma to ever reach his nostrils. He placed his hand on the door to the right and pushed.

“Hey, where are you going?” A voice bellowed from behind him.

The Anything Tree (conclusion)

Things did not go well for Thomas Gallo.  It would turn out to be a long winter with many cold shoulders and rude utterances mumbled surreptitiously.  Thomas had heeded Gabriel’s advice, telling the townspeople whatever it was they wanted to hear. When Mrs. Crossly had asked Thomas if it was a pear tree his reply had been a resounding “Yes ma’am!”  Larry Haley received the same positive response when he asked Thomas if he had found the perfect River Oak to buy. The three Crenshaw sisters, members of Eden’s founding family all wanted a lemon tree. They stopped Thomas in the street just a day or two after the Anything tree had been planted, “We hope you found a good lemon tree Thomas Gallo.” They chimed. Thomas smiled at the trio and replied, “Me too!” At least this time it wasn’t a flat out lie.

That was how things went for the first few days, which really wasn’t too bad except that Thomas’ conscience kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.  Thomas wondered why he had listened to that old man at the roadside diner. The fondness that had come on so quickly upon meeting Gabriel faded just as quickly. Thomas wanted to blame the old man for taking advantage of him, but no money had really even exchanged hands. He didn’t think the shop owner was somebody that would do a mean trick just for laughs. If he ever saw him again he would ask him why. But Thomas didn’t think he would ever see the old man again. He was wrong.

On the first Sunday after planting the tree, some members of Eden Baptist church gathered together at Sal’s Diner for a late breakfast (brunch was a word for Northerners, in the south it was just a late breakfast). Among those that sat at the Formica tables with the faded vinyl yellow chairs were Larry Haley and the Crenshaw sisters. The table top conversations naturally turned to the new town square and the freshly planted tree.

“I can’t wait to pick the first lemon from that tree. Do you think it will produce lemons this year?” asked one of the Crenshaw sisters to no one special.

“It’s going to be a little hard to get lemons from an oak tree.” Larry Haley laughed.

“It is not an oak tree” chimed one of the sisters.

“I beg to differ. Thomas Gallo told me it was.”

“He told us that it was a lemon tree!” The three sisters harmonized.

Customers sitting at other tables and the booths were politely eavesdropping on the Baptist folks’ conversation.  One of those customers was George Handan, the mayor’s assistant.

“Well you are both wrong. That is most definitely a young willow tree.  I asked Thomas when he was putting it in the ground. It’s a willow.”

There was complete silence in Sal’s Diner for half a minute. And then the conversations exploded like a flock of startled grackles. At least a dozen people had similar stories about what one Thomas Gallo had told them. Some identified the tree the same, others were told something else. All in all Thomas had claimed the tree as at least seven different species. George Handan, being the mayor’s assistant, decided that a meeting with Thomas was most definitely in order.

On Monday morning the mayor, his assistant and four community leaders met with Thomas at the maintenance shed. It didn’t take long for Thomas to breakdown in tears, confessing his goof-ups. The conversation in the small maintenance shed that day would be the longest one that anybody in Eden would have with Thomas Gallo over the next few months. It seems that expressing disappointment was easier to dispense than showing forgiveness.  Even the preacher at the Baptist church Thomas occasionally attended changed his sermon series from stewardship to honesty and integrity. Thomas only attended church one time during this most difficult time of his life. At the end of the day the town leaders elected to let the tree stay where it was. Come spring they would learn its identity. They could decide then what to do with the tree. Rest assured, Thomas Gallo was not part of the plans.

Rain that winter was plentiful. The rich soil combined with warm days and the covert fertilizing that Thomas provided resulted in an impressive growth spurt for the unknown tree. By late February the tree had added almost three feet to its height. March came in with beautiful weather that God reserves for the south. The second Saturday in March was exceptional bringing most folks outdoors for morning strolls. Eden was a small town, and if one chose to take a morning stroll it was likely they would pass the town square. But on this morning no one passed the square; they all stopped to see the tree.

As if by magic, overnight the Anything tree had opened its buds, revealing thousands of tiny white and pink flowers. The morning sun shined its rays down upon the beautiful tree, casting a halo-like effect above the canopy. By nine o’clock the square was surrounded by almost a hundred townsfolk. No one had ever seen a tree so beautiful. And still no one knew what kind of tree was growing in the middle of the square. The Crenshaw sisters maintained belief that it was a lemon tree, only a “Different kind.”

Thomas had noticed the crowd gathering and walked over to join them. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the tree. Had he done that?  He heard the voices speaking about the beauty of the tree. He also heard the questions. “

What kind of tree is it?”

“Does it have fruit on it?”

Others still convinced of their own arboreal expertise claimed to know-

“It’s definitely a fruit bearer.”

“No it is some kind of nut tree.”

“It is neither; it is in the oak family for sure.”

Thomas heard a voice raise above all the others, “It is called an Apple Blossom Tree.”

Thomas looked across the square to where the voice had come from. Standing there, wearing a clean white apron with the words ““Tip the Cook, there ain’t no waitress” written in the brightest green Thomas had ever seen was Gabriel.

  “A what?” Someone in the crowd asked.

“What’s an apple blossom?”

Someone else asked, “Who is that? How does he know what kind of tree it is?”

Old Mrs. Cooper, the town’s only Yankee said, “It can’t be an apple blossom. It may look like one, but an apple blossom would never grow this far south. I had them in my back yard growing up. This can’t be an apple blossom.”

“Well it is” replied Gabriel. “And it looks like its growing pretty darn good.”

“Who are you mister?”

“I’m just a cook that happens to know an apple blossom tree when I see one.”

“He doesn’t know.” Someone yelled.

“No one does. I’m telling you, it’s a fruit tree. We just need to wait a little longer. The proof will be in the fruit.”

Quite a few people laughed at the last. Most shook their heads in agreement. “Let’s wait a little longer, it ain’t like the tree is going anywhere.”

Slowly the town folk began to disperse, heading back to their homes or continuing a longer Saturday morning walk to the river’s edge. Thomas could hear opinions being opined-

“It’s a lemon tree.”

“It looks like a young oak to me.”

“I hope it’s a willow. If there is fruit on it then I hope it’s a pear tree. Oh I love pears!”

 Thomas looked across the square; Gabriel was still standing there, smiling at Thomas. Thomas walked over to the little old man.

“Good to see you my friend! I hope you had a grand winter. You did well with that little nothing of a tree I gave you.”

Thomas looked at the old man before replying.

“I was mad at you. All the people here in town were mad at me. Nope, I didn’t have a very good winter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Thomas. But it all worked out didn’t it?”

“I guess, unless you’re right about the tree. That old lady said an apple blossom won’t grow here. “

“Well she’s wrong. Looks to me like God has blessed that tree. Have you ever seen so many blossoms?”

“People still don’t believe you. They don’t think it’s an apple blossom.”

“I heard. I guess maybe that tag was right Thomas.”

“Tag?”

“Oh you remember, N.E Thing. The anything tree. That’s what they believe anyway. They want that tree to be anything they want it to be. But at the end of the day Thomas, that there is an apple blossom tree.”

“You heard them. I don’t think they will ever believe you. I know they won’t believe me. You might call it an apple blossom tree, but I don’t know if they ever will.”  Thomas looked around the small town square, everyone was gone except for Gabriel and him.

“Thomas, do you believe in God?”

“Yeah, sure I do.”

“God made that tree. He made it an apple blossom tree. He breathed on it and made it grow right here the town square. Maybe it’s not supposed to, but it is. You know why? Because God can. The folks around have a hard time believing that. It doesn’t matter what they call it, it’s an apple blossom. They can’t change what it is, what God made it, just by calling it another name. Ignoring the truth never changes the truth. God’s perfect design for this tree was to make it an apple blossom tree. They can wait a little longer to see if it changes, it won’t. God gave us this tree. You planted it and cared for it, and God made it grow.  It is an apple blossom tree. Always has been. Always will be.

Thomas turned and looked at the tree. The beauty of the tree was indescribable.  An apple blossom, God’s perfect design, Thomas began to understand.

Thomas turned around. Gabriel was gone. Where had he gone? Thomas quickly looked off in every direction but the cook slash waitress was nowhere to be seen. Thomas looked down at the ground and spotted a small white tag lying where Gabriel had been standing just a moment before. He picked it up and read the neat block writing on the back;

The Anything Tree

“Always has been. Always will be.” Thomas headed to the maintenance shop, this tree was going to need some help.

Author’s note-Mixing politics and faith makes for strange bedfellows, so I try my hardest to avoid mixing the two. I felt that writing this short story might allow me to approach the political side of an issue without ruffling too many. Marriage has been in the news quite a bit lately. I believe that marriage was designed by God. His perfect plan is one man/one woman. Changing the name or ignoring the rules does not change the definition. Never has. Never will.

The Anything Tree (part 3)

Thomas finished the last piece of the pumpkin pie, leaned back on the bar stool and belched. Instinctively his hand came up to cover his mouth as he mumbled “excuse me” to the empty room. The appreciative burp was the only sound in the room except the muffled noises coming from somewhere in the back as Gabriel searched for a suitable tree. Thomas had doubt that the old man would actually return with a tree! He looked around the shop again. With no doubt the shelves were filled with hundreds of different nick-knacks, colors and flavors, but nothing that looked like a plant, much less a tree. Thomas reprimanded himself again for losing the tree list.

His self-reprimand was cut short when the double doors opened with a bang. Carrying a large black pot with a tree rising above the rim was the little shop owner. With a wide grin on his wrinkled face, Gabriel carried the large pot over to a small two top table and sat it down. With hands on his hips he arched his back slightly, Thomas could hear the bones cracking and popping like kettle corn.

The tree stood about three feet high. The branches that came off it were scarce and practically bare. Most of them drooped, especially those near the top, as if or bowing down to some unseen king. The few buds or small leaves that were on the tree were pale yellow or an insipid green. This tree looked sick and yet Gabriel stood by the table with the look of a proud papa, smiling from ear to over-sized ear.

“Come here, come here. Get a closer look at this wonderful tree. I told you we are the Everything Shoppe! Come and look Thomas!”

Thomas climbed down from the bar stool wand walked over to the small table. Closer inspection didn’t improve the picture of health for the small tree. Thomas noted that even the pot that the tree resided in seemed old and incapable of holding soil or badly needed water and yet somehow it held together.

“Sit down and take a closer look. “ Gabriel read the look on Thomas’ face.

Thomas followed the direction of the shopkeeper and sat at the small table.

“What kind of tree is it?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know. See that small tag hanging from the bottom branch? Turn it over, the species should be written on it.”

Thomas turned the tag over with his larger clumsy fingers. He looked at the small and neat handwriting on the back. “N.E.THING” was carefully written with black ink, Thomas’ look of doubt transformed into a look of perplexity.

“What’s an N E Thing tree?”

At first Gabriel chuckled, and then his chuckle turned into full hold-your belly laughter. After a full minute of laughter, Gabriel pulled out the second chair and sat down next to Thomas.

“Well it’s not an N E Thing tree. That’s an old tag that must have fallen and got hung up on the tree branch. Long ago, before this was the Everything Shoppe, my dear wife named it the N E Thing Shoppe.  Her first name was Naomi. My middle name, which she favored over Gabriel, is Edgar. My last name, in case I haven’t told you is Thing. N.E. Thing Shoppe!  But over time we had so much stuff cramming the shelves that people starting calling it the “Everything Shoppe”. Well it made since so we officially changed the name in ’53. I haven’t seen one of those small tags in years. Naomi tried to tag everything that came into the shop, she would spend many late night hours writing out those tags and putting the price on it. Thomas does that one have a price on it?”

Thomas looked at the tag again. Faded but legible, written below the block letters was “25¢.”  

“It say’s 25 cents.” Thomas answered.

“Well what a deal you’re getting!  A tree for a quarter! For that price it don’t really matter what kind of tree it is.” An ear to ear smile returned to Gabriel's face.

“I can’t pay a quarter for a tree Gabriel. That’s not fair...no matter what kind of tree it may be.”

“That’s the price tag on it. House rules, whatever it says is what you will pay. That’s Naomi’s second rule, right after “Your break it you buy it.” Gabriel chuckled again.

Thomas thought for a minute before speaking again.

“I don’t know. I already messed up by losing the list. If I show up with this scrawny little tree, even if it only cost a quarter, they will probably shoo me out of town.”

“It won’t always be scrawny, Thomas. It’s almost wintertime, which means it is still fall. Fall is for planting!  Why if you get this tree into the ground now, by the first signs of spring I bet you have the best looking tree in all of Eden.”

“But what do I tell everybody when they ask what kind of tree is it?”

“You can tell them to wait and see. Or tell them it is an Anything Tree. That’s what the tag said.”

Gabriel cleared his voice and moved closer to Thomas.

“Tell them it is whatever tree they wanted. If they wanted an oak, tell ‘em it’s oak. If they asked for a pear tree, tell ‘em it’s a pear.”

“That doesn’t sound like the right thing to do; it sounds a lot like lying.”

“Thomas, what kind of tree is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how could it be lying?”

 Thomas Gallo was just a little slow, but this last puzzle the little old man tossed his way was too much.

“Well look there, the sun is coming out. I think you better get back on the road to Eden before the next batch of bad weather gets here. Pay me for the coffee and the tree; I’ll slice you another piece of pie for the road, no charge.”

The mention of another slice of pie took the puzzle and the thought of lying right out of Thomas’ mind.

“That’s nice of you Mr. Thing.” Thomas smiled.

“If you ever get down to Eden be sure and come find me. I think I owe you a lunch of your own.”

“Well thank you, Thomas. I might just do that. Now load up your tree, while I grab that pie. My knees tell me bad weathers on the way.”

As Thomas Gallo drove away he saw the flickering lights of the neon sign pulse once or twice. They “y” in everything” lit for just a second before all the lights went out.

“’Y’ indeed?” Thomas thought.

To be continued.