ever get started.”
The young man slowly nodded as he surveyed the crowd.
“Yes . . .” And then, for the first time, his eyes connected with Conrad’s. They seemed to sparkle, yet were filled with compassion. Though the two of them were nearly fifty feet apart, the experience left Conrad a little disarmed. It was as if he was an old friend who knew exactly what Conrad was thinking.
“What about the good seed?” someone shouted.
The young man turned from him to face the question, and Conrad felt a slight wave of relief. “That, my friend,” the young man grinned, “is the good news. Unlike the seed that lands on hearts of hard pavement where the enemy quickly snatches it away, or on the thin soil where it sprouts until the hot sun of hard times dries it up, or in the weeds of riches and worries that choke it with concern . . . the seed that lands in soft, fertile hearts will yield an incredible harvest, a crop a hundred times greater than what was originally planted.”
hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 41
41
He said no more but watched in silence as the audience slowly digested the story, several beginning to nod in understanding. Conrad looked on, marveling at the man’s ability to weave a story so simple, yet so full of meaning that it held everyone’s attention. And his style—Conrad could think of no other description except casual dignity. He obviously had the crowd’s respect, but at the same time he was totally accessible.
“Now I don’t know about you folks”—the young man grinned—“but I came to watch a ball game.” The group voiced their approval, and he hopped down from the vehicle’s dented bumper. “Jake?” he shouted.
A burly moose of a man who had already started for the ballfield turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the use of the RV.”
“No prob,” he replied, then turned and continued toward the field.
Those who weren’t playing started toward their cars or walked to the shaded picnic tables or the bleachers. Unsure what to do next, Conrad glanced back to his cameraman. “Uh, Ned . . .”
“I know, I know,” Ned sighed. “Get cutaways of him interacting with the crowd.”
It sounded like a good idea and Conrad nodded. “Go to it.”
The man shrugged, nodded to Horton, and the two moved into the group.
“Connie? Connie, is that you?”
Conrad turned to see Suzanne approaching through the crowd. As always, she was all grace and smiles. Granted, there were a few more lines around the mouth than he had remembered and her eyes looked a touch sadder, but it was still the same smile that had captured his heart so many years earlier. The same smile that he had turned to tears more times than he cared to remember.
“Suzanne . . .”
They embraced. She felt warm and good. Most important, she felt real. He held her longer than he should, but he needed to. She’d always been an anchor for him, even after the hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 42
42 divorce. And now, wherever he was, whatever he was going through, he needed to feel her support, he needed to feel the familiarity of her presence.
When they finally separated, the words tumbled out before he could stop them. It was one thing to exercise restraint around Ned and Horton, but this was Suzanne.
Despite the years, there was still a connection. There would always be some part of them that others could not share.
“Where are we?” he blurted. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She tilted her head at him quizzically. “What?”
“All of this . . . it all seems so . . . real!”
She continued looking at him, still not understanding.
He swallowed and regrouped, trying to explain. “What about the hospital? What about my accident?”
Her expression clouded. “You were in an accident?”
“Well, yeah . . . I mean . . .”
“Were you hurt?”
“I, uh . . .” His hand shot self-consciously to his face, feeling for wounds, for stitches, for some evidence of the exploding windshield, the rock, the crushing
The young man slowly nodded as he surveyed the crowd.
“Yes . . .” And then, for the first time, his eyes connected with Conrad’s. They seemed to sparkle, yet were filled with compassion. Though the two of them were nearly fifty feet apart, the experience left Conrad a little disarmed. It was as if he was an old friend who knew exactly what Conrad was thinking.
“What about the good seed?” someone shouted.
The young man turned from him to face the question, and Conrad felt a slight wave of relief. “That, my friend,” the young man grinned, “is the good news. Unlike the seed that lands on hearts of hard pavement where the enemy quickly snatches it away, or on the thin soil where it sprouts until the hot sun of hard times dries it up, or in the weeds of riches and worries that choke it with concern . . . the seed that lands in soft, fertile hearts will yield an incredible harvest, a crop a hundred times greater than what was originally planted.”
hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 41
41
He said no more but watched in silence as the audience slowly digested the story, several beginning to nod in understanding. Conrad looked on, marveling at the man’s ability to weave a story so simple, yet so full of meaning that it held everyone’s attention. And his style—Conrad could think of no other description except casual dignity. He obviously had the crowd’s respect, but at the same time he was totally accessible.
“Now I don’t know about you folks”—the young man grinned—“but I came to watch a ball game.” The group voiced their approval, and he hopped down from the vehicle’s dented bumper. “Jake?” he shouted.
A burly moose of a man who had already started for the ballfield turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the use of the RV.”
“No prob,” he replied, then turned and continued toward the field.
Those who weren’t playing started toward their cars or walked to the shaded picnic tables or the bleachers. Unsure what to do next, Conrad glanced back to his cameraman. “Uh, Ned . . .”
“I know, I know,” Ned sighed. “Get cutaways of him interacting with the crowd.”
It sounded like a good idea and Conrad nodded. “Go to it.”
The man shrugged, nodded to Horton, and the two moved into the group.
“Connie? Connie, is that you?”
Conrad turned to see Suzanne approaching through the crowd. As always, she was all grace and smiles. Granted, there were a few more lines around the mouth than he had remembered and her eyes looked a touch sadder, but it was still the same smile that had captured his heart so many years earlier. The same smile that he had turned to tears more times than he cared to remember.
“Suzanne . . .”
They embraced. She felt warm and good. Most important, she felt real. He held her longer than he should, but he needed to. She’d always been an anchor for him, even after the hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 42
42 divorce. And now, wherever he was, whatever he was going through, he needed to feel her support, he needed to feel the familiarity of her presence.
When they finally separated, the words tumbled out before he could stop them. It was one thing to exercise restraint around Ned and Horton, but this was Suzanne.
Despite the years, there was still a connection. There would always be some part of them that others could not share.
“Where are we?” he blurted. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She tilted her head at him quizzically. “What?”
“All of this . . . it all seems so . . . real!”
She continued looking at him, still not understanding.
He swallowed and regrouped, trying to explain. “What about the hospital? What about my accident?”
Her expression clouded. “You were in an accident?”
“Well, yeah . . . I mean . . .”
“Were you hurt?”
“I, uh . . .” His hand shot self-consciously to his face, feeling for wounds, for stitches, for some evidence of the exploding windshield, the rock, the crushing
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