The Stranger’S Touch

2014 DONALD E. MACKAY. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/11/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5172-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5171-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5170-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900753

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

THE STRANGER’S TOUCH

THE CHRISTMAS CARD EFFECT

THE GENTLE BREEZE

THE TICKET HOME

THE MUSICIAN

THE RING

THE DEBT OF HONOR

THE KETCH MARY B.

THE PARK

FRIEND-SHIP

A DESERT BLOOMS

A Roman thinker uttered these words that became the foundation of my life’s philosophy: Aut inveniam, viam aut faciam: Either I’ll find a way or I’ll make one.

INTRODUCTION

THE STRANGER’S TOUCH

We, as strangers, often do touch one another, although not necessarily in a physical sense. As is true with all things, not all strangers are evil, and not all are good. All things in life are required to be in balance. As a stranger, I try to touch readers with both emotions and intellect and pathos. All my stories were created from imagination and can and often will have, here and there, a small amount of truth in them. Of course, truth offered is tempered with a good deal of imagination.

I would like to thank the lady next door, Mrs. Elizabeth Klepoch, for her assistance in editing my book and her suggestion for the title for this book. Also I would be pleased to thank the artist, Mrs. Ruth Williams, who created the painting offered on the front of this book. I am also thankful that Mrs. Christine Mizikow insisted my work possessed possibilities, and she offered her wisdom in the creation of this book.

If mistakes are found in this book, as certain as the sun will shine tomorrow there will be, they belong to me; all, all, are mine. Ignorance and errors at my level do not allow for perfection, but they prove I am an imperfect human being. Without final editing, I now cast my little children of literature adrift. It is a case of transparency in that any critic will have a wonderful time dissecting this book. Of course, Carl G. Jung or Sigmund Freud would have loved to discover the hidden meanings so easily seen by them in the dark corridors of the human mind. I confess: I attempt to hide nothing; pellucid is the key word here. Ah, yes, pellucid, it is a strange word for me, but it is a most wonderful word. It means clear and easy to understand. I use it quite often these days.

D.E. MacKay

THE STRANGER’S TOUCH

I wrote it all down in my will for the lawyer. I wanted my family to have my possessions and this story as well, after I go to the other side.

This story states how it was for me. The Creator punished me but He relented in time. He gave me a pretty young woman; a waitress called Sophie to share the remainder of my life. My name was clearly written in my will, but Sophie called me Cookie, and that’s more than good enough for this story.

I was not important in this life; I was just a stranger to all and even to myself.

While I possessed little importance in this life, the story, however, is very important. If a man is in danger of losing his soul, I would say that made it very important. How did it all come about? Is it a love story? Is it a story about philosophy? Is it a story about the human condition and suffering and pain? Yes, yes, all of that but much more.

It began in early fall; September I believe it was. I was in my early fifties and as ignorant as was possible for a man in this life. Was there sorrow and regret and emotional agony that struck my mind? Yes, yes, it was all of those failures and much more.

Many think I was blest, and many are they who would be convinced I was cursed. I suppose it was somewhere between those two poles of extremity.

It was a lovely day, a little cool perhaps, but not a cloud in the sky, so they said.

I had been told that on this fine fall day, as the chill was on the air, I went for a walk to the back field. I often spent an hour or two merely thinking and calling out to the God I was told was real. There was a Deity in all creation, and I was told that I believed, at least they said I wanted to believe. They said how I often cried out to the Creator seeking knowledge of His reality. The neighbor often heard me calling out to the clouds in the sky, ‘Where are you? Why don’t you respond if you are real?’ It was no different that day when I issued a loud tirade. My neighbor, I once knew him well, but no more, was walking his dog and saw me pointing to a rather small, dark cloud that had somehow appeared just above me in the sky. I was demanding to be heard by the Creator. At that moment, lightning streamed from the black cloud and struck me.

When lightning struck me, my neighbor guided me to the house where I once lived. Standing outside, they said I gazed about me like a lost child that was dumb struck, until a woman came out to see why I didn’t come back in. It was beginning to cloud over. The rain had begun to fall, and a cold wind started to blow. How strange it all was, for they said it was a perfect day in the beginning. Only one small dark cloud had appeared and discolored the blue sky, but now many clouds sped across the sky. I stood alone, a stranger in my own land.

I was a perfect stranger to myself and to all who once knew me. Most of my past life had been erased. Standing before them was as an innocent child with no remembered sin or wrong thinking beyond the outrage I offered the Creator. Yes, I remembered some of my derogatory comments directed toward the Heavens and a few necessary things like math and taxes; basic things. Did I do many wrongs in life? I can be sure I did. I would probably testify as to the evil deeds I had performed with great sadness. But I cannot remember them to say how each was performed or the why of them or that I needed to ask for forgiveness for them.

The future seemed a frightening place to contemplate. I thought where could I go; to whom can I say, yea, brother, I know thee well? I have no recollection of skills I’ve been told I once had. If my means of livelihood had been taken away from me, what was the good of it? Must I begin again and re-learn all the things I once knew? I was still able to spell and count. I still knew the basic facts of life, but all the other common things that anyone should know have evaporated like a mist in the sun. Only one thought kept coming back to me, it was about a man called Job, but I knew no man by that name. I knew him not.

At the hospital all the bustle of nurses and doctors with their knowing glances were on parade. I was some sort of freak. I was struck by lightning, still alive but mentally gone in an instant. They asked me many questions, but what was I to tell them? The doctors subjected me to all sorts of probing of my mind. Why had this happened? How had this happened? I was not injured beyond a severely burned finger and a small hole in the bottom of my right foot.

The memory loss brought to me a great deal of pain and regret. My family came to the hospital to see me; I listened. My children and I were only able to stare in the general direction of one another. I was told my wife loved me, and we had a loving relationship. I said, but my dear loving wife, I know thee not. One child asked me why I was talking like that. How could I say the why of it? The visits were pure disaster. Each one stood near my bed and stared into my eyes that were wide and clear. My face produced an unfathomable nothingness in response to the knowledge my family thought important to convey to me. They said as a deacon of the church, I was a leading church member and a good father and a good provider and a loving husband and a true friend. On and on it went. Nothing could bring back all the major and minor keys to my once happy life they had shared with me. But, I wondered; was I ever really happy?

I wasn’t locked in as a prisoner, as I was not a threat to others or to myself. I was more a medical curiosity than a real patient. No restrictions were placed on me. I was allowed to walk the halls and visit other patients. I then found out what I had gained. Ah, how my mind struggled with the questions that had no easy or possible answers.

As I was free to wander, I came upon a little girl’s room. Her condition intruded as it came uninvited in a terrible vision that invaded my mind. This child was beyond ill. I gazed at her, and all the physical failures that had befallen this unfortunate child came rushing into my mind: A defective heart, a weak liver, and both were reaching for failure. She was blind from birth. I have no way to tell how exactly it was possible. By some means, I held her in my mind for a few moments as a healing force streamed toward her, and then she was released. I said she was released by some force not known to me; it was none of my doing.

I was struck a terrible emotional blow to my entire being. My breath came in short gasps and my hands shook. I struggled to understand what had slammed into my brain. But if one has no answers, the questions would simply dangle in mid-air and quiver with a power all their own.

The little girl began to scream in pain. It hurts my eyes; mommy, it hurts my eyes.

Sunlight had penetrated the shadowed room in an intense narrow stream between the slats of the window screen and struck her eyes. Her mother was standing by her bedside and took her hand and asked her, What is it Suzie, what is it that hurts you?

I see you mommy. I see you.

In my mind’s eye, I saw in another vision, quite clearly that Suzie’s heart had begun to beat in perfect rhythm, and her body parts responded and began to function perfectly.

The girl’s mother began to cry for the doctors and the nurses: What has happened here? What is this? The mother was in a state of shock.

I saw the duty nurse; she came running to see what the problem was. Why was this woman screaming like that?

I stood frozen in place, transfixed as the healing had penetrated the child’s body, but how was that possible?

The Stranger that I am had no desire to be part of the developing mystery. In my haste, I stumbled and almost fell as I hurried to walk away. The inner struggle now became almost insurmountable. How had the little girl responded to my probing mind? I knew the little girl could see and was healed. What power had allowed that vision to penetrate my mind?

After the terrifying experience with the little girl, I began to accept the idea the Creator did respond to that ignorant individual who once stood in the empty field near the woods and shouted at Him and tempted Him. How else to explain what happened? Having lost all knowledge of family and friends and other memories as well, I knew I was being punished. A simple tool for doing the Creator’s work, was that what I became? The image of a man called Job remained in my mind, but why? I had lost almost everything else. I don’t know why the man called Job was important; I don’t remember this man. Was he a man I once knew in my former life? Nay brother; I knew him not.

As I stumbled down the hallway to my room, I thought I saw what it was. I had insulted the Creator, and He acted. I tempted Him, and He responded in this way. I had been told how I addressed the ultimate of all, shouting and demanding to be heard. I had a clear memory of one instance. I cried out, "Why don’t you come down here and kill me, at least then I would have the satisfaction of knowing you exist?" He answered me.

My next encounter was with a visitor in the hospital, there to see her friend who had been in an accident. I felt the sweat rushing down my back as the invading images of a fatal illness flooded my mind with vivid images. Oh my God, she was so young and beautiful and kind and gentle and filled with cancer. Nearly all her internal parts were being destroyed slowly, so slowly she had no idea she was about to die. What was my part in all this? I wasn’t able to do anything more than let my mind reach out to her, and she gave a shudder as if a chill wind had suddenly struck her. She was held in my mind for a few moments as healing rushed toward her, and then she was released. I said she was released; but I didn’t do it; I didn’t do it.

She leaned against the wall as if afraid she would fall. She looked nervously about her to see if anyone had noticed her shaking hands and legs. She was unsteady, but she regained her composure. She looked at me, but I was only a stranger who was walking away. That fact offered nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary had happened as it related to the stranger she saw. She never knew a few moments ago, she was at risk, and the angel of death would have arrived and touched her brow to take her home. Surely, she would now go on in life doing what she was best able to do, sharing her kindness and joy of life with all those who would meet her. What more she was destined to do; only the Creator knew.

I now had a clear understanding of how it worked, well, as clear as possible for a man in my condition. While I was in the hospital, I had little else to