Nothing but a Vapor

My childhood was gone. Years I had longed to be over and then they were all too soon. 

How did it happen so fast? 

Yet here I am: thirty-seven, homeless and at the moment higher than the stars.

There were bad days then, but not so bad as this. Days when dad didn’t come home. Days when I was bullied and spit upon. 

But there was happiness in it, too. The simple pleasure of sitting around and talking. Laughing. Baking cookies. Playing catch. The “golden moment” of dusk when the light of the sun caught the air just right, leaving you breathless.

I sigh. How did I get here? 

Mama’s words come back to me. 

“Follow the Good Lord, Quinton, and everything will be alright.”

Where was the Good Lord when you needed Him?

Nowhere. 

Mom was always full of that stuff. Nothing but fantasy. False hope. Lies.

But Mom had joy, I have to admit that. 

I haven’t talked to her in over a decade.

My childhood gone. High school years blown by. Early twenties, nothing but wasted years of parties, drugs and every sort of wickedness imaginable. Days when I thought I was “free” to do whatever I dang pleased. 

Monty wasn’t free then. Or so it seemed. He held himself to rules I thought ridiculous. Didn’t cuss. Went to church. Never partied. Responsible sort. 

Where was the fun in that?

I chuckle angrily to myself. But look at Monty now. Family, a home, a joy just like my mother’s.

Maybe he wasn’t so dumb after all. 

I count. I always was good at math. The average human lifespan is seventy-six to seventy-eight years. 

If I live to seventy eight then I have -

14,975 days left. 

The number thuds in my brain. 

That’s it?

It feels so little, 

“Life’s nothing but a vapor, Quinton. Nothing but a vapor,” Mama used to say. “Don’t waste it.”

I scowl. My vapor has been wasted. Useless. 

There was a time when everything seemed perfect. I was doing well in college, had a decent amount of cash. A future. And a girl. Cindy. Never should’ve let her go. 

That girl was loyal to a fault. Until I ditched her. 

I can still remember the look in her eyes that day. Broken. Grieved. 

Betrayed. 

A few weeks before Cindy and I were on the porch swing. I  remember putting my arm around her and whispering, “I wish we could stay here forever.”

I was a jerk. I am a jerk. I stare at the white powder in my palm and scowl. I turn my hand over, watching as it slowly drifts to the ground. 

I stand, staggering to the end of the alley. The rain comes down lightly as I cross the street. 

But with the piercing scream of a horn and a solid hit to my body, everything goes dark.

I didn’t die that day in the alley. I wished I would’ve, although it wasn’t my intention. 

I hated the man that hit me. Mostly because I couldn’t explain him. He was awful large, making me feel like a mouse. Picked me up, put me in the car and drove me to the hospital. Stayed by my side till I gained consciousness . 

He told me the minute I woke, “I hit you on purpose. My Lord told me it’d knock some sense into you.”

And then he disappeared. Right there before my eyes. I nearly lost consciousness again, but instead chalked him up to a hallucination. 

Yes, just a hallucination.

Monty walked in about an hour afterwards. Said he saw me come in. 

“Go away.”

I loathed that man, and tried to scare him off with screams and even a death threat. But Monty was an odd man and calmly pulled up a chair and sat till I was done with my fit. 

Then he said, “Come home with me, Quinton. I’ll help get you on your feet.”

At first I refused. And when the hospital was going to evict me, Monty paid my fees.

He came to the hospital regularly, although most of the time he didn’t stop in to see me. I’d see him walk past my window, sometimes with a woman and a baby boy, flashing me a smile on the way.

Monty did make a point to visit me often, however. One of the times he did I asked what he was doing when he passed me over. 

“My daughter’s got cancer. She’s a few rooms down from you.”

So his life hadn’t been perfect. Why didn’t that make me feel better?

Monty left, returning with his daughter a few moments later. She wore a beanie with not a wisp of hair poking out and a hospital gown. She was frail looking. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

But she had a smile and a light behind her eyes and that struck me like nothing else. 

She rolled her wheelchair to my bedside and placed a thick book on my nightstand. 

“It’s for you.”

She gathered the strength to stand and placed a kiss on my forehead. She sat back down, seeming weaker than before. 

As they left she looked at me. “There’s much more hope than you realize, sir.”

I didn’t dare to touch the book for three days. The third night I gingerly reached over and picked it up. 

It read “Holy Bible”. And after staring at the worn leather cover for a moment I opened the pages. 

They were the same words I’d read as a child. 

The same words I’d hated for nearly forty years. 

But never had they touched me so.

I read of His sacrifice. A love so great God Himself was willing to pay my debt at the cost of His own flesh and blood. 

And I accepted Him. Gained a purpose. I was loved.

And Jesus made me whole and healed my heart.

7, 305 days left. 

But the last twenty-five years weren’t wasted. 

Come and gone, nearly as swiftly as the first half of my life. 

But not wasted. 

I’m in the hospital again, but in the waiting room this time. 

Monty and his wife sit across from me, just as anxious. 

Cindy’s wrinkled hand slips into mine, squeezing gently. 

Prayers are whispered. Time goes by, for once slowly.

Monty’s daughter died a long time ago, having made a much bigger impact than I ever did in my youth. 

Even through his hardship, Monty looked out for me. Taught me to follow Jesus. And it was the Good Lord Himself that used Monty to turn my life around. 

Mama would be proud. 

Cindy gave me another chance, and we got married over twenty years ago. 

I’m a counselor now, helping others heal from their past with the great power of Jesus. 

Two hours later Monty’s son, my son-in-law, comes out breathless. 

“It’s a girl!” He breathes, looking happier than I’ve ever seen him.

I laugh as we wade through the halls into the hospital room. My own daughter lies on the bed, looking tired. Oh, so tired. 

But joyful. In her arms is my granddaughter. A brand new life. A gift from God.

1,203 days left. 

But I don’t think I even have that many. 

My breaths are shallow. My heart weak. 

Cindy died two years ago. And now it’s my turn. 

I can hear the heart monitor beep slower and slower. 

My daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren sit silently about the room. 

My daughter rubs my hand, holding back tears. 

I look down at her, thankful for the millionth time that God gave me her. 

“I love you, dear. See you later.” My words are barely audible.

I don’t hear her reply as the heart monitor gives a long, steady, dreadful beep. 

Dreadful to everyone but me. 

For now I’m home, in the place I was always meant to be. Running into the sweet arms of Jesus. 

Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.

James 4:14