The Jacob in Me
By Glenda
Reynolds
Eternity. Whoever thought it would come so soon. I’ve always been a
“rascal”, a modern-day Jacob, a trickster, an entertainer, and an occasional
thief. When I was elementary school age, my family had already made up their
minds that when I grew up, I’d be destined for jail. I admit it. I was a little
devil. That’s what happens when you grow
up without a father, and your mother is holding down two jobs to provide for
her family. That gave me an opportunity to befriend a mischievous boy who
talked me into hauling large bags of toilet paper for TP-ing people’s
properties. A policeman stopped and asked us what we were doing with all that
toilet paper. My friend answered disrespectfully, and the cop hauled us in his police
car. You can imagine what I put my mother through.
After graduating from high school, I joined the Navy. Discipline didn’t
sit too well with me. I corresponded with my sister. She sent me one small
cookie with a letter, probably payback from when I let the air out of her
bicycle tires when we were kids. But I recognize a good joke when I see one. My
Navy career didn’t go so well. I went AWAL twice and struck a commanding
officer. The Jacob in me always came out. I was finally discharged.
I soon found my niche as a salesman. You know the reputation of car
salesmen, right? That’s what I was. They called me “Samurai Sam” back in the
day. I left the auto sales industry and gravitated to home entertainment sales.
Home entertainment was and still is a lucrative industry. But the Jacob came
out in me. I was caught stealing merchandise from my employer. My family’s
vision of my future came to pass. However, they didn’t post flyers saying,
“Have you seen this person?” They didn’t even know I was in jail until one of
my friends made phone calls to raise money for my bail. My bail was posted and
I was released.
I found employment in the same industry as a salesman. But the weekends
were meant for partying which I was very good at. I was the life of the party.
Give me Budweiser or Jim Beam whiskey, it doesn’t matter. After one of these
parties, I was driving home on Highway 75 in Fort Myers. I’m sure I angered a
motorist or two. My driving was horrendous. My truck collided with another
vehicle causing me to be thrown from it. While I lay there in the road covered in dirt
and grit, an angel appeared next to me and looked down at me. Other humans who
had parked on the side to come to my aid were oblivious to his presence. That’s
because I was in between worlds.
“You are lucky, son. I’m glad I found you,” the angel said.
“I never told you to look for me,” I spat out. “What makes you think I’m
so lucky? Does this look lucky to you?”
“You aren’t ready for heaven yet. God is giving you a second chance.”
I tried fighting against the message by pushing myself off the ground.
This was actually my spirit doing the moving; my body lay still on the asphalt.
The angel came closer and pushed me forcefully on my chest.
My eyes opened with a jolt caused by the electricity from the
defibrillator used by the paramedic to get my heart to beat again. Yes, I was
given a second chance. I almost blew it though, Jacob style.
I lived my life the way I wanted. I bragged about my financial success. I
bought a boat and took my dog with me while I fished or mingled with other
boaters on weekend getaways with lots of sand and surf. I was addicted to
cigarettes and booze. The party was not complete until I was there to entertain
which I did so well.
One day I checked myself in with a doctor after discovering blood on my
pillow and on my face. It turns out I had throat cancer. The weeks that
followed were filled with radiation treatments followed by chemotherapy. I lost
significant weight. The pain was too great to continue as a salesman or to even
speak to relatives on the phone. But in God’s mercy, people reached out to me,
sending me devotional books and praying for me on the phone. I decided that I
would no longer be a Jacob. I put my life in God’s hands.
But I died.
Months later, to my sister’s surprise, she found an old birthday card
that I had sent her years ago. Of course, she had forgotten about it. She also
found a Christmas card that I had sent during my time in the Navy. I had
written in it how I regretted that we couldn’t watch each other grow into young
men and women, that it hurt my heart. No, we can’t go back in time. We can only
make choices for the future. But we will see each other one day in the greatest
reunion that will ever be, in the presence of the Lord God almighty.
