Three friends of mine (including a family member) have recently undergone heart surgery. Their ages vary, but they all share the same
diagnosis... a faulty valve.
It sucks when your valves get all
faulty and leaky. But it would suck even worse if they couldn't be
fixed.
I spent a few days last week sitting in
a surgical waiting room waiting for my cousin to get his heart
fixed. Then, after surgery, sitting in an ICU waiting room waiting to make sure he
survived the repairs.
All the while I didn't even realize that my own
heart could use a little fixin'...
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After leaving the hospital, I decided a
bit of retail therapy was in order. [Cause nothing takes your
mind off your problems like buying crap you don't really need.]
I stopped at Fredericksburg Trade Days, a Texas-sized flea market. Just the ticket.
After several hours of sifting through
barns and walking across acres of junk, I wasn't exactly fresh as a daisy. I
was tired. I was crabby. I was sweaty.
I did not want to talk and I did not want
to smile.
And then I saw him.
The elderly man was wearing an Air Force
cap and sitting behind a table stacked with books. I tried to walk on by, but he saw me and smiled. He had
one of those smiles that went all the way up to his crinkley eyes...
Dang it.
Still, I gave him a polite little nod and kept going.
But I didn't get very far before God
stopped me. Smack dab in my tracks.
GOD: What are you doing, you moron? You just walked past a veteran selling his book.
ME: Listen, God... I'm tired. It's hot. My underboobs are sweating. You know I'm not much of a history buff. Besides, I need to hurry and make an offer on those steer horns before they're sold.
GOD: Are you kidding me??? You're worried about buying a pair of dead horns when you need to be honoring a hero? Who are you? It's like I don't even know you!
ME: Okay, okay. It won't hurt me to go back there and thank him for his service.
GOD: Oh, you're gonna thank him alright, Skippy. And you're not leaving without buying one of those books!
The tired old veteran was alone
at the table when I went back. He looked up at me questioningly and
I said, “Er, hello. I just wanted to come back and... I think I'm
gonna have to get one of your books, because... uh, I know someone. Someone who would love to have this book.”
He smiled that sweet smile and said,
“Great! I'd be happy to autograph it for you! Whose name shall I address?”
I said, “Uh, well... I'm not sure. I
mean, there are a couple of people who would love this, so,
ummm...”
“I'll just sign it with 'Best
Wishes'. That way you can give it to whomever you choose.”
As he was busy signing, I
glanced at his poster, looking for the price of the book.
I saw that the book was $25. Reading
further, I learned that this bespectacled grandfatherly man was a
WWII machine gunner who had been captured by the Germans and had
escaped four times, recaptured three.
“You escaped capture THREE times
before you were free?!” I asked in awe.
“Yep. I wasn't very good at it.”
He handed me my book, I handed him
twenty-five dollars. I held onto his hand and I looked into
his eyes, my own filling with tears. I said, “Thank you, sir.
Thank you for your service. Thank you for your courage. Thank you
for telling your story. It's important for heroes to tell their
stories – there aren't many of you left and we must never
forget.”
As soon as I got home I started reading
his book. I didn't stop until I was finished.
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My hero's name is Harvey E. Gann. He is
96 years old. He was shot down over Italy and became a prisoner of
war at the age of 24. “Escape I Must!” is the story of his
unbreakable spirit and strength in adversity.
A life-changing story of faith and fortitude.
To think that I could have walked right past the author of such an inspiring tale...
Thank God, He didn't let me.
God knows our hearts. He knows when
we're being selfish, picking and choosing who we'll care about.
He knows when our valves need fixin'...
And right in the middle of a dusty old barn, I had heart
surgery. God gave me a much needed tweaking. He reminded me that my
heart was made to care. Not just about people I love, but also the
ones I don't even know.
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After meeting Mr. Gann, I felt oh-so-humbled.
But not humbled
enough to forget about the longhorns.
I made my way to the back of
the flea market. I walked up to the vendor and said, “Those
horns... what's your best price?” We agreed on a price and I
reached in my purse to count my cash.
Shoot! I was $25 short.
Was
this a sign from God?
Did He not understand how much I needed a 6
ft. pair of mounted horns?
I looked up at the vendor, opened my
mouth to give him the bad news... and out of the corner of my eye I
spotted an ATM.
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I'd like to introduce y'all to Longhorn Harvey...
