Marshall Ramsey

Nearly twenty years after he had uttered the words “I do,” the middle-aged man sat awake in his bed staring at the person who had echoed those fateful words.  She was bundled up in her blanket, almost in the fetal position. Her face wore a scowl — if she was dreaming, it was a fitful dream. Being married to him would do that to a woman.

The room was dark as he spun his feet to the left and planted them firmly on the carpeted floor.  He had woken up before his alarm once again:  4:48 a.m.  A quick stretch and he quietly stumbled into the kitchen. He plugged in the hot pot; it was time to make tea.  He thought about attaching jumper cables to his nipples to wake himself up.  Nah, caffeine would have to do.

The water in the pot started to hiss, breaking the silence that held the house in its cold grip. On the other side of the house, the kids were asleep. He walked over to their rooms and stuck his head in to peek at them.  It made him laugh how much they looked like their mother right now.  The boiling water beckoned him back to the kitchen.

He grabbed two bags of green tea and dunked them in the quart-sized cup.  He had hated green tea initially — it was like drinking grass clippings soaked in dishwater. But over time, he had grown to enjoy it.  Steam rose off the cup and he savored the aroma of the steeping beverage.

It was silent again.  And dark.  It was the first day of fall and even the sun was sleeping in this morning.  He picked up a pen and started twirling it in his fingers.  It was a move he had learned from watching Top Gun in 1986.  That was the spring of his life.  And like the day that was about to dawn, the season of his life was moving into fall, too.

He looked at the pad of paper and started jotting down the blessings in his life. That quickly filled a page.  He then wrote down the challenges.  That also filled a page, too. He realized that he had been so caught up in his own concerns that he had just turned inward.  Not good.  He started twirling the pen again.  He felt the need. The need for caffeine.

He stared at the steaming cup again and wondered what a man had to do to get an epiphany.  It always seemed so easy — like when Maverick grabbed Gooses’ dog tags while fighting the Mig 28’s and decided to engage the enemy. What would it take for him to engage his own life. To quit being afraid?  He looked at the steaming cup yet again. Why did he keep going back to it?  Tea. TEA.  TEA!

He needed TEA! He wrote furiously.

T for Talent: He was a big fan of the Parable of the Talents. Twenty years ago he stumbled across their power and always worked hard to be the servant who didn’t bury his talents.  He knew that he could apply his God-given abilities and dig out of any hole.  At that moment, he renewed his vows to his talent.  From here on out, he would make the most out of what was given to him.

The tea seemed to be steaming even more now.

E for Effort: GET TO WORK!  It’s one thing to have the talent — but you have to apply it! He thought about Mark Twain’s great quote about reading, “A person who won’t read has no advantage over one who can’t read.”  He knew that having a talents meant NOTHING if you didn’t use them!  And more you worked, the more you used them.  He smiled and checked the tea. It seemed hotter than ever.

But what was the missing ingredient? One last cloud of steam rolled off the cup.

A for Attitude: Talent and effort meant nothing unless you had a positive and energetic attitude.  People were attracted to a winner.  A person who smiles. Who does instead of complains.  He hadn’t been that guy.  And it was like trying to drive with your parking break on. His life was being held back by one person: Himself.

Talent Effort and Attitude.   T   E   A  — > Tea.   All had to be together or it wouldn’t work.

He held the cup of tea in his hands and it had finally cooled enough to take a drink. He felt its warmth flow down his throat and into his stomach. The caffeine lit the pilot light of his brain’s furnace.  He finished jotting down his new way of living life and headed back to the bathroom to take his shower. As he passed his sleeping wife, he looked at her beautiful face.  Her face’s scowl was gone, replaced with a slight smile.

In the dimly lit bar were dozens of people trying to numb their lives one drink at a time.  In the corner sat a pale man with a yellowed list.  He wasn’t drinking. He was watching.  The man sat in the same spot every Saturday night.

He looked around the dark room.

There was Heather Bumfry.  He flipped through the list. Ah, there she was. Heather was full of self-doubt since her boyfriend had dumped her.  That doubt was like an anchor on her life that kept her from trying new things.  He put a check by her name.

Then there was the ever-handsome Fred Collins.  Fred had been an up-and-coming star in the business world. His company’s C.E.O. had randomly cut his salary, leaving Fred bitter and resentful. A star had burned up as it re-entered the atmosphere.  Another name. Another check.

Over by the big-screen TV was a hulking man named Jim Hall. Jim was 45-year-old and at the end of this rope.  His job was being threatened by layoffs and Jim was having to work a second job to pay for his wife’s hospital stay.  Jim was completely consumed by fear.  “Here’s a check for you, Jim.” the man smiled.

Up next was the beautiful young Ginny Smith.  Ginny had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  As she drank, she felt the hope drain out of her soul.  Check.

In the booth by the kitchen were Candy and Gus Hornbeck.  They had lost their child in a freak traffic accident.  Their once-strong marriage was crumbling around their despair.  The man flipped through his notebook and found their names. Check.

Seeing his work was done for the night, the pale man placed a couple of bucks on the table.  He looked around one more time at the people in the room. He had feasted on their fear and gotten drunk on their hopelessness.  The pale man was full.

He was the Devil. And he’d back again next Saturday night.

It was early Wednesday morning and a husband and wife were getting ready for work. Both stood in their master bathroom, sleepy from far to few hours of sleep.  The wife wearing a towel, looked in her vanity mirror and began to speak.

“I have a scar here.  And a bruise here.”

The husband looked at his wife as she pointed out her “flaws.”

“And I have this scar here. And this.”  She patted her stomach.

The husband just stood there silent.  Then he said the only thing he could say (without getting killed):  “I don’t see the scar or the bruise or what you call a belly. I love the whole you.  I love you for this.”

He then pointed to her heart.

He knew love is more than a sum of body parts.  It’s something much greater.  He smiled at her and then went to go finish getting ready for the long day ahead.