The Heavenly Oak Read online

  He motioned toward the chairs. “Have a seat. This is my shop,” he answered, before I could ask the question.

  He sat in the chair on the right side of me. The chairs were slightly angled toward one another, and on the coffee table was a large, tattered book. I picked up the book. It was heavy and cumbersome.

  “That is the story of your life. It’s all in there. Would you like to take a look?” he asked, as he leaned back in the leather chair.

  “I, I don’t know for sure,” I said, marveling at the name in gold on the spine of the book: Christopher Michael Lee.

  “There is some really good stuff in there. Go ahead and see if I forgot anything,” he joked.

  I slammed it shut and abruptly stood. I paced the ornate rug beneath my feet.

  “I know you still aren’t sure what all this means, Chris, but it’s going to be just fine, I promise,” said my serene new friend.

  “If that book is my life, then I died on Pennington Avenue today!” I cried. “And it also means I have to account for what’s in that book, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.” I looked out the window to see a deer grazing on the tall grass.

  He picked up the book and held it out. “Open the book to the last page. It should take away any doubt about its veracity.”

  I reached for the book and sat in the soft leather chair beside his. Running my hand across the red tattered cover, the realization started to set in. Reluctantly, I opened to the last page. There was a full account of my day. All the phone calls, the thoughts, the daydreams, triumphs, and frustrations of my last Friday on earth. At the bottom of the page was the last entry: “Left them en route to the hospital in an ambulance speeding down Pennington Avenue just past 43rd Street.” Then a series of symbols I didn’t recognize.

  “What are those symbols?” I asked. “They look similar to the symbols you have on your plans and blueprints over there.”

  It didn’t seem to bother him that I asked questions without waiting for the answers.

  He smiled and said, “The symbols in both cases are mathematical. The symbols in your book are the mathematical equations that describe your physical body becoming a spiritual essence.”

  “So, it’s my time of death?”

  “It’s the space on your line where your chemistry no longer was in need of physical structure and was transformed,” he said.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I said, and the room filled with laughter.

  Feeling a little more at ease, I slowly opened the book to the first page. There was a picture of me as an infant, lying in a blanket on the same round table that was still in this room in front of us.

  “What’s this?" I asked.

  He pulled his chair closer and looked at the book with the pride of a proud father.

  “That’s your birthday!” he said excitedly. “I worked and worked on you until I got you just right, just … Christopher.”

  I looked at him in bewilderment. I gazed at the large round table in the middle of the room. A chill went down my spine as I realized that on that table, in that clay, I was fearfully and wonderfully made. He touched the image on the page, and it took us to that moment. I found myself standing at the drafting table looking down at large blueprints and drawings. Looking back towards the table, I saw him putting the final touches on his clay masterpiece. The drawings and plans in front of me were both intricate and artistic. Mathematical symbols and equations beside beautiful drawings of me as an infant and at every stage of my development lay before me. Drawings of both my parents, with notes and equations, were on one of the larger pieces of parchment.

  I watched in awe as he leaned down to gently blow his breath into the perfectly formed lips of the clay sculpture. The clay turned a lovely pink and began to squirm and coo. He leaned back looking at his creation and with a large grin said, “It is good!”

  Three

  When the page turned, I was back in the leather chair with my book of life in my lap. Struggling to take it all in, I laid the book on the table in front of us and stood. I gazed in silence, taking in the room. Slowly, I made my way past the potter’s clay on the center table and toward the golden compass. The light from the window shone brightly on the shiny instrument. The plans that represented me were now long since put away. There, on his long drafting table, were plans for an upcoming project.

  “This is where it all started?” I asked sheepishly.

  “Not only for you, but for everything.” He pointed at his angled desk. “That is where I laid the foundations of the earth.”

  “What are these?” I asked, as I looked at the plans on his table.

  “Just something I am working on.”

  “You mean you are still making plans?” I asked.

  “Always,” He replied.

  “If I’ve gotten this far, why do I still have work to do?” I strolled to the long carpentry bench on the other side of the room.

  “Don't you want to continue to grow?” He asked.

  “Well, I always liked the idea of eternal rest, with heavy emphasis on rest.” I smiled.

  “The universe was created to constantly expand and grow and you are part of that universe,” He said.

  Walking back toward the leather chair, I glanced out the window and saw the deer scampering into the woods. Sitting back down in the soft leather chair, I picked my book up.

  “You said you would have to account for what’s in the book. While that's true, don't you believe in forgiveness?” He asked.

  “Well, yeah, but there is stuff in this book that I'm not too proud of.”

  He smiled and said, “I wasn't real proud of you at those times either, but are you sure those things are in the book?”

  Gazing down at the book, I tried to remember one of the worst things I had ever done. I looked for that one thing I had never told anyone.

  Finding the entry from that day I began to read. I knew I was getting close to the moment of my greatest shame. Scanning down the page I came to a blank space. The entries stopped. At the bottom of the page was an image of me. He leaned over and touched the image on the page. Suddenly, I was standing in the back of a dark and filthy alley watching myself curled up in the fetal position crying out in prayer. The prayer had just ended, and I watched as I stood up slowly and wiped the tears from my face. My younger self staggered out of that alley, quietly sobbing, “thank you.” In the book, there was no mention of what the prayer entailed.

  A sense of deep regret came over me. The many years I quietly carried that baggage had encumbered me in countless ways.

  “There were things that happened to me and others as a result of that terrible night. Are they in the book?” I asked.

  “Forgiveness does not mean there are no consequences,” He explained.

  “So, this is my judgment day?”

  He leaned back in his chair and said, “I prefer the term ‘Question and Answer Day’. There are always a lot of questions, and I love giving the answers,” He said with a calming grin.

  Returning to the book, we started at the beginning. Many entries at the beginning of my life fascinated me. Vivid details about my time in the womb, the day I took my first breath, and what my parents and doctors said. We spent a long time going from page to page, laughing and reminiscing about my early years. There were moments that brought me out of my chair, remembering such things as my first toy truck or a family vacation. It was so much fun to see those things in my childhood that I had forgotten. He watched with joy as I paced the floor with my book open. The simplest things seemed much more significant than the obvious celebrations of life.

  Slowly, I sat and my smile faded as I came to the dreaded page. I read on as guilt and remorse consumed me. Memories flooded back to that early August day. I was seven years old, and we lived in the house on Trotter Way. The beautiful summer day begged a young boy to go swimming. Living next door was my best friend, Tommy Jacobs. Knocking on his back door, I was anticipating the fun of swimming in the pool at the empty
house behind our backyards. The Martin family had moved out that prior spring and the real-estate agent insisted on keeping water in the pool. The six-foot-tall fence that surrounded the pool was in need of repair. Tommy and I had found a way into the pool area by way of a loose board next to the gate. It was a secret we kept from our parents and friends. We had the pool all to ourselves anytime we wanted to swim. When Tommy’s back door opened, I remember being disappointed. Tommy had his little sister by his side. He explained that his mom had gone to the store and left him in charge of his sister, and that he would not be able to come out and play. This really made me mad, and I proceeded to try to change his mind. Pulling out all the stops, I decided to let our little secret out of the bag.

  I leaned down to Elizabeth Joy and said, “Would you like to go swimming?”

  She immediately started jumping up and down, screaming, and “Yes! Yes!”

  Tommy was furious that I had broken the code of silence. Elizabeth Joy had already run back into the house to retrieve her favorite Barbie towel. After some continued badgering, Tommy and his four-year-old sister followed me to our secret swimming sanctuary behind the broken fence. We lifted the loose board and slipped through to the waiting pool. We instructed Elizabeth Joy to sit on the pool stairs where she could splash in the water. The sunny warmth beat down on three happy children, frolicking in the cool water.

  The sudden sound of adult voices interrupted our fun. The real-estate agent had decided to show the home and was sliding the glass door aside to the pool area. We scampered out of the pool, grabbed Elizabeth Joy, and slid through the fence.

  “I left my Barbie towel,” said Tommy's little sister. We had her by each hand as we ran across the backyard.

  “We can get it later,” Tommy said.

  Once we had escaped the wrath of the real-estate agent, we all giggled at our afternoon adventure. Drying off inside the screen porch, we recounted our narrow escape. Tommy and I turned to his blonde little sister and made her promise not to tell anyone.

  After we were sure we had convinced her to keep the secret, we spent the afternoon laughing and telling the story over and over. We pondered the “what ifs” of getting caught and imitated the real-estate lady yelling at us. This brought another round of giggles from the three adventurers.

  “What if that lady took my Barbie towel?” asked Elizabeth Joy.

  “Nobody wants your old towel. We'll sneak over there tomorrow and get it,” Tommy said. Elizabeth Joy stared across the backyard.

  Mrs. Jacobs poked her head out on to the back porch to see three wet and happy children. She asked how we got wet, and Tommy immediately spoke up, explaining that we were playing in the sprinkler. This seemed to satisfy his mom. She said they had chores and that I should head home. We huddled once again, renewing our pact of silence. We promised the four-year old that we would get her towel back, and if she kept quiet, we would take her swimming again. Leaving the Jacobs’ home, I was happy that we had had an adventure that lazy August afternoon.

  The stroll back to my house is one that I have often pondered. The carefree moments before life-changing events are rarely recognized. This was the calm before grief’s storm … a deluge of human emotion that would wash away the joy and wonder of my youth. My hand shaking, I turned the page, remembering that awful day. He placed His hand on my arm and said, “This is some of the work I was talking about. You are doing very well.”

  “What does this have to do anything? That was so long ago, can't we just move on?” I pleaded.

  Keeping His hand on my arm, He leaned forward and said, “To move forward, you have to quit expending energy in the wrong direction. Inertia in this realm will not allow backward motion.”

  Reassured, I looked down at the page and continued to read.

  Sirens and doorbells woke me from my deep sleep. Police were at our door asking my parents questions. Looking down the staircase through the railing, I heard the name Elizabeth Joy Jacobs. Straining to hear them, I edged closer and heard they were looking for a lost girl and were doing a house-to-house search of the neighborhood. Hearing this, I gasped. The police officers and my parents turned their eyes toward me.

  “Do you know this girl?” asked the taller of the two officers.

  “Yes ... I ... she’s my best friend’s little sister.”

  The shorter officer walked toward the stairs, placing one foot on the bottom stair. He smiled. “Would you have any idea where she might be?”

  “No!” I said a little too loudly.

  My mother tilted her head, slowly walking up the stairs toward me. My father followed her up the stairs.

  “Honey, is there something you know that could help these nice officers?” she asked sweetly.

  “It’s the Barbie towel!” I cried.

  The police officers started up the stairs. I sat trembling on the top step.

  My father bent down to look me in the eye. “What towel?”

  “She left it at the pool, the Martin place. It’s my fault!” I sobbed.

  My mother turned to the officers. “That's across our backyard.”

  Both officers scrambled down the stairs, talking frantically into their walkie-talkies and running toward our backyard. We all followed the police. I watched more officers who had been waiting outside join in, running toward the pool. I met Tommy in the backyard as we ran after our parents and police. We both stopped in our tracks when a gut-wrenching scream came from the depths of Mrs. Jacobs. We watched in horror as she fell to the ground at the sight of her baby girl being brought out from behind the fence. The stiff, lifeless form lying in the officer’s arms was wrapped in a Barbie towel.

  Little Elizabeth Joy had drowned trying to retrieve her favorite towel. My knees buckled. The entire Jacobs family crumbled together on the grass screaming and crying.

  If only I had listened to Tommy, if I wouldn’t have pleaded with him to go swimming ... if … if, I thought, as I ran to hide in my room.

  The Jacobs sold their house and moved out of state within months of the drowning. I had tried to talk to Tommy, but it was never the same. The day the moving van drove away from their house, I stood crying in the street. Remorse and guilt consumed me for years. Eventually, I managed to put that night in a place hidden deep down inside, never to be opened again.

  Four

  I slammed the book shut, lowered my head, and sobbed. A slight hand touched my face. Looking up, I saw the beautiful, smiling face of Elizabeth Joy Jacobs. She removed her favorite towel from her tiny shoulder and wiped the tears from my eyes.

  “It's not your fault, Christopher,” she said, in a sweet voice that seemed to transcend her years. “I was naughty that night. I snuck out my window and ran to get my towel.”

  She explained how she had slipped through the fence and saw the pool. It was a hot night, and she thought she should try the water. She went to the stairs and held onto the railing but the railing was loose, and she fell into the water.

  “No one blames you for this. It was an accident,” she said soothingly.

  Years of pent-up guilt and remorse seemed to be purged from me in an instant. I was finally free.

  “I get to go swimming with the Father anytime I want,” she said joyfully.

  This brought laughter from the three of us as we all embraced.

  “Let's take a break and show Chris your favorite swimming hole,” He said.

  With that, Elizabeth Joy took me by the hand, and we instantly appeared on the banks of a serene pond. She ran out on a large log lying in the water. She turned and yelled “”Yippee!” as she jumped off the end of the log and into the crystal-clear water.

  He smiled at me and said, “Go get her!”

  I chased her off the log. He laughed and clapped His hands. He yelled to us that He was taking Regal for that ride He had promised and that He would catch up with me back at the shop.

  “See you later, Abba!” she yelled.

  He blew her a kiss and made His way up the grassy slope surr
ounding the small pond.

  She turned to me, treading water, and said, “Tommy is gonna love this place.”

  “Is he coming soon?” I asked.

  “Soon sounds like time, and there is no time,” she said. “Tommy will be here when he is supposed to be, and we will all go swimming.” She splashed me and swam away.

  She showed me a trick the Father had shown her. We walked across the water. She stopped in the middle of the pond and dove into the water. Amazed, I dove in and chased her to the bottom.

  She came up out of the water saying, “The Father wants you to meet Him back at the shop.”

  “Thanks, Elizabeth Joy,” I said. We came out of the water.

  She gave me a big hug on the bank, then ran up the slope, waving goodbye.

  I instinctively knew where to go as I walked away from the pond. Glancing back at her swimming hole, I realized a great burden had been lifted from me. Turning toward the woods, I marveled that my clothes were completely dry. Walking down a shaded path, I knew there was much more work to do. Anticipation replaced fear as I headed back toward the Father.

  The winding path through the woods opened to a huge meadow. Flowers and tall grass swayed in the light breeze. Butterflies danced across the large clearing. Suddenly, the birds began singing my song again, just as the Father rode His white horse into the meadow.

  He raced back and forth through the tall grass, Regal proudly carrying his master. At the far end of the meadow, He turned and saw me. The beautiful white horse reared up and playfully shook his head. The majestic rider grabbed the horse’s mane, leaning into his neck, and headed straight toward me at top speed. I heard Him laughing and egging Regal to go faster. I stood frozen in my tracks.

  He approached, leaned down, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me up onto His speeding horse. I grabbed His waist, and we sped down the shaded path. Leaves flew in our wake as we sped through the woods toward the barn. A mother bear and her cub tried to run alongside us as we dashed through the trees. The galloping hooves on the fertile ground awakened all living creatures as their creator whisked by.