poetryandprose

Finding Jesus by Lynne Cheson

July fourth weekend started with me being bored and in need of some entertainment.  It could have turned out to be one drearier weekend in my life–except for one thing.  I found Jesus.  Big deal you might say. People are finding Jesus everyday.  Mine was a little different than most, though.  You see I found Jesus in a Kmart parking lot in Closter, New Jersey.

Maybe this needs some more explanation. You see, I was all alone. My twenty-one year old daughter, Alexi was spending three days of sun, fun and beach time at the Hamptons, while my eldest daughter, Nicole was at a swimming pool at the local JCC with her husband and their two children, my grandchildren–Aidan and Sophia.  I felt myself sinking into a depression and knew I had to snap out of it quickly. In a short while I came up with an excuse to get me out of the house. My day became a search for lawn furniture cushions.  Kmart was the closest store in my area that might have what I wanted.

I grabbed my keys, went into my car and drove less than ten miles to my destination. I was surprised to see that the parking lot was more than half full for a holiday weekend. It was a sunny bright day after all.  I found a parking spot as close as I could to the stores entrance, then jumped out of the car with a mission. After I walked a few feet towards the welcoming doors a glint on the parking lot macadam hit my eyes.  I stopped, looked at the tiny sparkle in the giant parking lot and swooped down for a better view.  Sure enough there was something shiny on the gritty tar streaked ground.  I picked it up and took an even closer look.  It was a figure.  I adjusted my eyeglasses and immediately identified the object.  It was a teeny, tiny golden Jesus.  Less than an inch long and if you counted the outstretched arms a little less than three quarters of an inch wide.  He was some type of tinny metal, very bendable and paper thin–he had a lot of sparkle though.  I placed him in the palm of my hand and quickly decided to hold on to my little Jesus for dear life.  After all I held the icon of many millions and at that moment I felt the responsibility of the ages. I glanced around the lot to see if anyone was looking as though they lost Jesus but there wasn’t anyone around.  The parking lot was deserted and so I proceeded towards Kmart.

I had a dilemma.  What to do with my little icon.  I certainly couldn’t throw it away. The answer was easy enough. It didn’t take too long for me to claim it as my own. After I made my decision I obviously didn’t want Jesus to slip through my fingers, therefore as I walked into the store, I put him carefully in a small empty pouch in my handbag and headed towards the outdoor furniture and garden department.

I didn’t know what to think.  Maybe someone was devastated with the loss of their Jesus?  Maybe they went to the manager and had asked if anyone had found him?  Who knew?  I realized the importance of my find and the task I now had.  I had to at least make an attempt to give the Jesus back to its owner. But how I wondered?

Pushing away the strong thought of keeping him, instead I made an earnest attempt to bring Jesus and its true owner back together, and so I fished in my handbag for a piece of paper and a pen.  That done, I quickly wrote a large note:  If anyone has lost Jesus, I want you to know that I found him.  I gave my home phone and even my cell phone number, including a quick description. Found: one extremely tiny shiny Jesus, arms outstretched. He is less than an inch high and maybe the same across the arms.  Then I continued off to my original mission–red chair cushions.

I didn’t find the items I was looking for and there wasn’t anything else I needed at Kmart. As far as I could think, I had already found something major and anything else would just be a token.  I went back towards my car, eyes down for any other bright objects that I might spot and after an uneventful trip got into my car and drove home.

I could lie and say the phone rang off the hook, but it didn’t–not one single call.  I realized that mostly everyone that was supposed to have found Jesus had already accomplished that many years ago.  The one quietly residing in my purse was mine.  I was excited, euphoric, waiting for my ship to come in.  Naturally, I thought, this was a good luck omen.  Of course what else could it be?  I waited until after some time had passed. Then I started buying mega million lottery tickets, then pursued horse races, after that I took up different types of lottery tickets.  Nothing happened.  Well, something did happen though; I felt the feeling of hope. And it felt good–somewhat.

You see I have omitted a fact during this story.  Something I feel compelled to disclose.  I’m Jewish and don’t get me wrong, I’m not in the least embarrassed about that fact.  We all know that Jesus was Jewish and I’m sure he being a good benevolent man would not use my religion against me–not at all.

Although it did cross my mind that maybe this was one of the reasons for my luck not rising through the Richter scale, but I am holding on to deep faith. Nothing has happened yet.  I’m positive it will sooner or later.  I still buy lottery tickets. No more betting on horses though. The other day I had a few of the winning numbers but not consecutively on one ticket, instead the numbers were dispersed on a set of five tickets.  I thought that might be a good sign.  On Monday I’ll buy a few more; this time while holding Jesus close to my heart.  I’ll let you know how things go.  Eventually they will kick in.  I’m sure of it.

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I am skeptical about life lately.  It’s not that I have been blessed. I feel that I am when I feel the pain so many others have.  So many people have a horrible life with out a job, a house in foreclosure, not even food on their tables. I  still have my house, my job is an artist and I have been very creative lately with many other great ideas  that I am ready to test run.  I have two great children and two wonderful grandchildren.  But I am still sad worry more than lately.   When my husband died it was  a given.  He was sick for ten years and it was a blessing when he passed away and the shackles of his deteriorating body were finally freed. It was a   curse with a strong ,ind but a body that failed him. It was too hard for him and the rest of us to bare.  God took him to a better place.  And so I was ready for my husbands passing.  With my mother I fought terrible for her to stay but lost the fight even though I did everything possible. I miss my mother so badly lately its terrible.  The only good thing is that I talk to her and I feel her presence and I feel her help and she will always be other person that I will turn to when I need advice or help.  My mother is with me all the time, but it isnt enough.  I need more.  I need to be able to go to my Moms room and sit on the bed and talk to her.  And I dont have that any more.  The latest tragedy is my Charles he was the only one I could take care of feel needed with.  He was my best friend and I will never ever find a friend like that ever.  We needed each other and now he’s gone and I am sad.

No matter sad or not I have a wonderful child to take care of and that is something that I  a so happy for.  Both of my girls need me if they admit it or not and that is the best reason for be happy, if you are needed and viable then everything is good in the world.  I know that my husband, mother and Charles are up there routing for me and its good to know that they are in my corner and I am at peace.  I cant help it if I am sad.  When you lose three of your best friends its hard to be happy.  But I am an artist and writer and being creative is a gift that only those that have it understand and I am one that has it.  Today was  a great day.  Susan Miller might just have hit the mark this month.

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Writing this summer seems to be behind two other priorities.  Not that I want to write.  I do.  But the garden beckons me and I can not resist it’s calling.  The other reason is the few juried art shows I have been busy entering in and winning.  If the weather will lose it’s humidity I would be able to concentrate more on my writing, but at the moment it is too hard.

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It took my mother about two weeks to settle comfortably into my home and two minutes for me to ask myself, “Oh, my God!  What have I gotten myself into?” My 80,000-word memoir, My Mother is Coming to Live with Me, gives me the opportunity to share my experience with the 25 million Americans of the Sandwich Generation and the 78 million Baby Boomers that might confront a situation similar to mine.

Imagine my shock, when I begin to receive midnight phone calls from Mom’s bed to mine.  Her cries for help with imaginary ailments, or reminders of tasks I need to do ASAP. Our getting lost in a department store feels like an episode of The Golden Girls. As the narrative unfolds, flash backs of a dysfunctional family including a drug addicted sibling and a father with connections to the mob intertwine with the present.

Doctor visits are numerous, until a health issue surfaces. I’m optimistic, while my brother sends his creditors mom’s telephone number. Even though my life seems to be sliding down a rabbit hole towards chaos, I find comfort knowing that I’m doing something meaningful. The bittersweet ending is inevitable; the lessons learned are everlasting.

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