Kirkegaard Prophecy Part 3

Elise stooped low in the tall grass, frantically looking around for a better place to hide. Maybe the darkness was enough to allow her to make a run for it...

She heard a dry chuckle escape from near the car. "I can see you clearly enough, the moon’s caught your outline easily," said the voice out of the darkness. "Don’t try any heroics. Smart move, honey, real smart - you left your cell phone in the car, so I’m pretty sure you won’t be making any emergency calls."

"Get away from me," hissed Elise. "This isn’t some game. I’m not going to just let you bully me around, whoever you are. Just leave me alone."

"No."

Elise dropped down on her hands and knees, clutching the box.

"You’re quite a follower of that Kierkegaard philosopher. I heard you bragging about how you followed his writings so much," said the voice. "And I’ve read about him quite a bit myself. So, really what happens is, the Christian faith is based upon your own energy. It all comes down to personal enthusiasm, doesn’t it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Elise.

"Simply this, " answered the voice. "How we believe matters much more than what we believe, since Kierkegaard says that it really boils down to inward exhilaration."

"He didn’t mean it that way," argued Elise.

"Oh, come on now. Did you get all of your information from the back of a cereal box? Read him some more and you’ll see what he says. Hmmm...how did one writer say it? ‘According to Kierkegaard, emotional attachment to an obvious falsehood, is better than detached conviction of the visible truth.’ Yeah, that’s right."

"I don’t get it," said Elise, moving quietly through the grass.

"What he said," answered the voice patiently, "is that he felt it was better to get excited about something, even if it was a lie, rather than to be bored and believe something even if it was an obvious truth."

Elise stopped, blinked and thought about this for a long time. Finally she said, "I had no idea he meant it that way."

There was a long sigh in the darkness. "Honey, he’s saying that your belief in Truth is not as important as your emotional response to it. Emotions play a big part of Kierkegaard’s philosophy. Problem is, your emotions can get in the way, can’t they?"

Something about that statement hit Elise so hard she stopped trying to escape. Though the voice was sound self-assured, there was pain in it. Elise held her breath for a moment, then spoke slowly through the darkness.
"Life hurts, doesn’t it? Life can be cruel."

There was no answer for a full minute. Then the voice answered softly. "Yeah. Things don’t go the way you planned and so you gotta take charge. You gotta face life as it comes. Man is the master of his fate."

"Well, I used to feel that way," said Elise, getting control of her fear. " I tried to run from the very basic truths I was taught at home."
"Yeah, that’s the first smart thing you’ve said all week," called the voice. "You can’t live in the past. Forget what’s behind, all of it. Old things gotta die away. That’s why I want that box. Old things are never good. The things from your past need to be trashed."

"Not always, " Elise answered. "Seems to me I got three square meals a day when I was a little girl. "

The reply was harsh. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Well, eating’s an old habit, but I still think it’s a good idea. Same goes with breathing. It’s repetitive but necessary, know what I mean? Old stuff still is good sometimes. "

The man’s voice chuckled again. "You got me there. Guess it’s so, isn’t it? "

"Okay, since we agree on something," Elise hesitated. "How about I just get up and walk to my car and leave here, okay?"

"No, that’s not gonna happen, not without that box," said the voice, and Elise heard the firmness in the words. "I aim to have that box before you take another step."

Elise shook her head in the darkness. "No, whether it’s a box or a car or my purse - I can’t go through life being bullied by someone," she said defiantly, slowly and carefully getting to her feet. "I’m going to get up and walk right out of here because I know full well you won’t shoot me." Using every bit of strength she could muster, Elise stood up and took a step.

The roar from the shotgun was deafening. A nearby branch fell to the ground with a distinctive thump. Elise fell to the ground and covered her head, sobbing.

"That’s to let you know that I can and will shoot if I have to, and that I hit what I am for, "said the voice.

"Crying, aren’t you? Big time Christian girl who doesn’t even know where she stands in life. Look, now’s she’s crying, "he stopped his mocking voice and coughed. "Look, I’m going to give you one minute to walk that box over here and put it up on that fence post so I can check and see that you didn’t take anything out."

"Okay, okay, okay," panted Elise, her voice cracking. "Just don’t hurt me." She wiped away a tear and prayed and she nervously wiped her face. "I’m heading toward the fence, okay?"

To her right she heard a swishing of grass and the sharp crackling of twigs. Someone was near her, trying to run away. Thoughts raced through her mind like bolts of lightning. Suddenly it was clear...

"No! I’m right here!" She screamed. " That noise is not..."

The shotgun blast ripped through the air. Whoever was running fell to the ground with a thump.

------------------------.
Elise tripped over the lawn chair and dropped the box as she crawled toward the still body. No, Lord, no, Lord, she prayed, it can’t be. Please don’t let him die.

"It wasn’t me!" she cried over her shoulder as she pawed feverishly through the tall grass.

"No! No, I couldn’t have!" roared the man’s voice, and Elise heard him crashing through the fence. She ought to be scared, but it didn’t matter now...

She was sure she knew who it was, anyway.

Clumsily, the figure ran across the meadow. She could hear his heavy footsteps and muffled sobs. "It’s little Tim, isn’t it?" He moaned.

"Yes," said Elise. "It’s Timmy. He must have been hiding, hearing everything."

The man knelt down and placed his hands on Timmy’s chest. "Oh, I never meant..."


The little boy groaned quietly.

Elise felt his pulse while running a hand over the boy’s arm. "I can’t see too well, but there’s no evidence of blood. I don’t think you shot him."

"No," the man said, a bit relieved. "No, it seems that I didn’t."

Elise lifted Tim’s head. "I think he was so scared in hearing the gunshot that her either stumbled or maybe even passed out. What do you think," she looked up, "Mr. Gund?"

He turned the flashlight on, and there he was, just like Tim had described the man with the box. He was tall, and since he wasn’t wearing the poncho, she could easily see how thin he was. She looked at Tim, who blinked and glanced up sheepishly. "Sorry," he said as he wiped his eyes. "I guess I got too scared and ran for it. I didn’t mean to be nosey, but it sounded like you were in trouble." He looked at the man. "Are you going to shoot us just because of some old baseball cards and coins?"

Mr. Gund was taken aback. "H-how did you know?"

"Oh, I see things, and I saw this girl here - her name’s Elise, did you know that? - I saw her holding them and looking them over. I may have other problems but I have real good eyesight." He propped himself up on one elbow and pulled out his flashlight. "Could you open the box?" he asked Elise.

"No," said Mr. Gund.

"Yes," and she pulled the latch on the box. The lid popped open and Tim’s light illuminated the little treasures inside.

"Ah," snarled Gund, his face contorted. "The boy doesn’t need to see this."

Tim ignored him, reaching over and holding up the newer card. This old Yankee baseball player named Gehrig," he said, "was a great man off the baseball field as well as on it. He was a real powerful home run hitter but people loved him because he faced a lot of troubles."

Elise raised her eyebrows in puzzlement but glanced at Mr. Gund. He looked miserable.

"Mr. Gund was not keeping these cards because they are worth money. I bet that folded -up Gehrig card could be sold for over ten thousand dollars. It’s a collector’s item. He was keeping them for something else. Look at that older card, please. You’ll see some value there."

Elise picked up the second card and looked at the front. The same baseball players’ face could be seen through the card’s mass of folds. "It’s all crumpled up, Timmy," she said, "and the strange white ink would wipe out any other value."

"No," Tim said, looking at the night sky and squinting deep in thought. Let me see if I can remember: "This is too much to bear. One death and now another on the way. When will I stop?
Can I overcome the guilt? Please God, help my soul." '

Elise shivered as she looked at the card. "That is exactly what the card says, word-for-word. How could you have possibly known that?"

Tim smiled. "I’m kinda smart that way. I hear things and remember them exactly. Don’t know how I do it, but that’s what I do."

Elise turned and looked at Gund, who had turned his face away. "You know about this, don’t you? This card was written by you about a murder, wasn’t it? Another on the way... what does that mean, Mr. Gund?"

He didn’t answer.

Tim shined the light in her eyes. "Hey, funny lady, it has nothing to do with a murder. Loo, loo, loo."

Puzzled, Elise looked directly into the light. "Wait a minute. You talked to me yesterday about how much you think of death. That’s connected with this, isn’t it?"

Tim nodded his head. "Yeah. I kinda figured it out when I was hiding here in the weeds, listening to you all. I thought about the words on the card and the yelling coming from Mr. Gund and I think I know what it’s about. Want me to tell?" He wasn’t looking at Elise anymore. He was looking at Mr. Gund.

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, laying the shotgun in the grass and turning his back to them. He didn’t leave them. "Yes, go ahead."

He nodded again. "Okay. It’s what most of my Song is about."

Elise stared at him without speaking. She had no idea what he meant.
He looked up. "That card is about me. Well, my family, really. Not my grandparents. My mom and dad." He turned and pointed at the house, singing briefly. "Loo loo loo."

"Timmy," said Elise, "How can this card possibly concern you -"

Tim turned back toward her without expression. "My mom died two years ago, from a called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. I looked it up in a book after I heard about it. Amyotrophic means ‘without muscle nourishment,’ and it means her muscles slowly paralyzed and she died.

Like I told you about my dad, well, I heard him once, in another room at my grandparent’s house. I was real sick at the time and I couldn’t go out and see him, but I did hear him talking and he said the disease’s name - not this one, but another name. It got stuck in my mind, and that’s how I got the Song. I got it from him." Tim glanced over to Mr. Gund. "I never thought I’d meet him, but I think I have now." He looked at Gund. "Right, daddy?"

Mr. Gund turned and faced the glare of the flashlight. His eyes were wet. "Yes. Yes, son, you’re right."
Elise sat back in shock.

Tim looked at her with a kind expression. "I heard him say loo, Elise, I really did. Loo, loo. I was like loo.
"Lou Gehrig," said Elise. "Lou Gehrig had had Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis - after he died, it became known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease."

Mr. Gund bowed his head. "Timmy’s mom - my wife - died of Lou Gehrig’s Disease and it destroyed my world. I couldn’t get up in the morning. I let the farm go. I couldn’t even think of work when I lost one of the most precious things in my life. I left Tim with my folks and spent three years hanging onto a bottle. Drinking and drowning in my sorrows. My parents, they loved Tim like he was their own, and became his parents until I could get my life back in order. About the time I got myself back together and headed back to take up with Tim... " He wiped his nose. "You know, the ALS disease is genetic and can pass down through the family. Tim got bad sick about the time I was ready to step back into his life. That’s when I fell apart completely. Timmy was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease and I just couldn’t hold it together. I gave custody to my parents and moved out. But I couldn’t leave altogether, so I took up renting this place nearby. Only this little piece of property connects my folks’ property with mine. I kept a look on Tim, but wasn’t strong enough to do anything else."

Elise nodded slowly.

"You see, girl," Gund said as he sniffed. "This world is a pitiful place. You get yourself energized and excited for success only to have it ripped away from you. Your Kierkegaard said faith is impossible to discuss. He said that people will have to decide for themselves what they want to believe. What a great prophecy." He laughed without humor. "Then I guess future generations won’t talk about their walk with God. People will just simply decide how much faith they want and what is true for them. Well, all I know is that nothing seems true for me anymore."

Elise stopped. All of her youth group attendance and church activities didn’t help her in this situation. She realized that her life with God was built around how much she enjoyed comfort and security - just like the five acres here. How can she tell anyone how to deal with loss and suffering? She sat speechless.

"There is truth, Daddy," said Tim.

"Huh? What’s truth, Tim?" said Mr. Gund, looking over at him. "Tell me."

"I forgive you, and that’s the truth," said the tired-looking boy. "And it’s true that I want you to come be with me no matter how little time I have left to live. Even if it’s one more week, Daddy, I want you to be with me."
Mr. Gund rose and walked over to the boy. The rifle lay against the fence post, forgotten by the man. He leaned down and gently picked Tim up. The boy closed his eyes and smiled.

"Daddy, I’m sleepy," he said. "Would you take me home?"

"Yes, son. "said the man, his voice cracking. "Yes."

Tim leaned his head on Mr. Gund’s chest. The quiet man turned and headed toward the farmhouse. Elise imagined she heard him singing softly.

For the next hour and a half, anyone driving by the rustic wooden fence next to the five grassy acres would have seen a girl sitting on the hood of a car with a flashlight in her hand, peering intently into a book. If they would have slowed down, they would have noticed that the book was a Bible.

If they would have stopped and talked with the girl, they would have found an eager young lady who would freely have told them that she was going "back to square one."

And even if they didn’t understand what Elise Myers meant, she did.