Friday Evening - December 11
Shane went into the office, picked up a framed picture that sat on one of the bookshelves, and brought it to Oliver.
"It's him. The grandfather," Shane said.
Oliver examined the photo. He looked at Shane, then the photo again, and back at Shane. His eyes lit up and he smiled.
"That's not all. I think we found the grandson," Shane said. She pointed to the nameplate that sat on the desk. "Andrew Carlson."
Oliver frowned. "You previously ran a search for the last name Carlson with no results," he said.
"Not Carlson. Carlton."
"The grandfather addressed the letter to Andy. The young man who runs this facility is named Drew."
"Oliver, Drew is another nickname for Andrew."
Oliver put the photo back on the shelf. "Trust the timing, indeed," he said.
Drew stuck his head into the office. "There you are."
"I hope we are not intruding," Oliver said.
"Not at all."
"Is everything all right with the children?"
Drew smiled and nodded. "Adolescent boys have trouble controlling their feet. Matthew tripped over a chair," he said, shaking his head.
"Who is the man in the picture?" Shane asked.
"My grandfather."
"A very handsome gentleman."
Drew nodded. "He was a real looker."
"Was?"
"Grandpa passed on when I was a teenager."
Shane looked sideways at Oliver. He stood quietly, but Shane could almost feel the frustration that had plagued him for the last two weeks disappear. Against almost insurmountable odds, Oliver's belief in the POstables' mission had been fulfilled again. They did not find the letters. The letters found them. A letter that found them is not unsolvable. Every letter is a Divine Delivery.
"Would you excuse us for a moment?" Oliver asked Drew.
"Of course. Feel free to use my office."
"I'm going to the DLO," Oliver said as soon as Drew left. "Please bring Norman and Rita up to speed. I shall return directly."
Oliver ran from the room. Shane stood there for a moment, looking at the grandfather's portrait. She touched it gently. "Don't worry. Your grandson is going to get your gift," she said and went to tell Norman and Rita.
Shane, Rita, and Norman stood in the entry when Oliver returned. He shrugged out of his coat and Shane hung it in the closet.
"Where is Drew?" Oliver asked.
"He's in the Community Room," Norman said.
Oliver handed the package to Norman. "Please wait for us in his office," Oliver said.
Drew stood in the back of the room, talking to Bill and Joe. Oliver joined them.
"Could we have a moment of your time?" Oliver asked Drew.
"Of course," Drew said.
"My colleagues are waiting in your office."
Oliver and Drew came into the office. Shane handed the package to Oliver. The POstables stood together, facing Drew.
"Mr. Andrew Carlson, we are from the Dead Letter Office of the United States Postal Service," Oliver said. "It is our pleasure to deliver a package that has been lost for a long time."
Drew took the box. He removed the present from the packing, laid it on the sofa, and opened it. "Grandpa's fishing pole," he said, sitting down on the sofa. He blinked his eyes rapidly and wiped them with his fingers.
Oliver reached into his jacket pocket. "This letter was included," he said, handing it to Drew.
Drew walked to his desk and sat in the chair.
"Please make yourselves comfortable," he said, nodding at the chairs. The POstables sat down and waited quietly while Drew read the letter.
Drew finished reading and laid the letter and photo on his desk. "My grandfather was an extraordinary man. His entire life was devoted to some type of service."
"Grandpa joined the Military Chaplains Corp. as soon as he graduated from seminary. He served in the Vietnam War for four years. I have his letters. He didn't write much about the battles, or that he put his life on the line many times to be with the wounded and the dying, or the long hours standing and praying in the operating theaters. He wrote about the children - the 'orphans of war'. So many children, abandoned, forgotten, running the streets, crowding the orphanages. His heart broke for them. He visited the homes, spent time with the kids, and gave most of his pay to the staff.
"Grandpa returned home to Seattle and married Grandma. He accepted the position as Senior Pastor at our local church. They spent their summers in a cottage on a nearby island."
"Would that be Bainbridge Island?" Oliver asked.
"Yes."
"I know it well."
Shane looked at Oliver and raised an eyebrow. How did he know the name of an island off the coast of Washington when he had always lived in Denver?
"Bainbridge has the best fishing," Drew said. "You could catch rainbow trout and largemouth bass right from the shore of Heart Lake. Fishing was Grandpa's solace. He didn't have to catch anything. He would sit on the shore, soothed by the sounds of nature, pray, and listen for 'the still small voice of God' to guide him. For two years, the message was always the same. 'Take care of the children.' "
"Soon after Dad was born, Grandpa resigned his position as Senior Pastor and accepted a new job as Youth Pastor in another church. He loved working with the kids, believing he had listened to God's direction, yet every summer when he returned to the lake, he kept hearing the same message. 'Take care of the children.' The summer Dad turned fourteen, Grandpa finally understood where God was leading him. They had gone to the cottage, as usual. One day Grandpa fell asleep on the shore. He dreamed he was back in Vietnam, watching the children. Abandoned. Forgotten. No one to care for them.
"Grandpa had finally found his true calling." Drew pointed to a plaque on the wall."He lived this verse. Mark 9:37 - Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes not only me but also my Father who sent me. (New Living Translation) Keeping his job as Youth Pastor so he could support his family, he bought a large, rambling old house and began working with social services. Grandpa could never say 'no' to a child who needed him. It wasn't unusual for one of the social workers to show up at Thanksgiving or Christmas with another kid, sometimes more than one. Grandpa would kneel in front of them, place his hand on their shoulder and say in his soft, gentle voice 'Welcome. Welcome. There's always room for one more'.
Drew reached into a drawer and pulled out a large ledger. "He created this 'success story' of every child who entered the home. Who they were when they came to him, and who they had become." He turned a couple of pages. "Gordon. Grandpa was his last chance before he ended up in the juvenile hall. Today, he runs a homeless shelter in one of the poorest sections of Seattle." He flipped pages. "Jaime. Abused. Abandoned. Distrustful of everything and everyone. Today, she's a missionary in Zimbabwe. Every one of these kids received love, acceptance, and guidance from Grandpa. He also taught them about the greatest love. God's love."
Drew went to the last page and then turned the book around so the POstables could see it. "Here's one of the toughest. And the last."
Norman picked up the photo of Drew and his grandfather, studied it, and then looked at the picture in the ledger. "You?"
Drew closed the book and sighed. "My parents met in college. Dad was in seminary and Mom was pursuing a degree in music ministry. Grandpa prayed that Dad would receive the calling to a church in Seattle so he could work part-time at the home, but Mom wanted to live in Denver. She grew up here. Her family was still here. We had a good life. My earliest memories are crawling around the floor in the church sanctuary, playing with my cars and trucks, while Mom directed the choir and Dad sat in his office, working on sermons.
"Grandpa and Grandma closed the children's home and retired to the island when I was eight. Dad, Mom, and I spent our summer vacations with them. Grandpa always took me fishing. We talked for hours. One day he told me that, God willing, he would like to establish another home for children on the island. His enthusiasm was contagious, and by the time I was twelve, I had decided I would train to be a social worker and work with Grandpa at this new home.
"Then everything fell apart. The next year, Mom was killed in a car accident. A year later, Grandma died. Soon after that, Grandpa told us he had an aggressive form of lung cancer, caused by his exposure to Agent Orange. He had a year to live, maybe two."
Rita gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Shane brushed tears from her cheeks.
"We're so very sorry," Rita said.
"Thank you. I couldn't handle any more pain, so I pushed it deep inside of me. The pain was replaced by anger. At God. At my father. At everyone. I stopped attending church. I ditched school, ran with a gang, stayed out all night, started drinking. Dad did everything he could to get me to talk through the pain, but I refused. Then, I got arrested. Breaking and entering. I spent the night in jail. That didn't even scare me. By the time school ended that year, Dad decided he needed help. He put me on a plane and sent me to Grandpa.
Drew shook his head. "I gave Grandpa such a hard time. I was rude and mean. I wouldn't lift a finger to help around the cottage. I would sit in a chair with my arms folded, staring off into space. No matter what I did, or didn't do, Grandpa never lost his patience. He insisted on one thing. We went fishing every afternoon.
"I sat for hours by the lake without saying a word. Neither did Grandpa. Occasionally, he would reach out and rub my back, or touch my face, or squeeze my hand. I always pulled away. This went on for weeks, and then one day, right after we threw our lines into the water, Grandpa started singing. Jesus Loves Me. My mother's favorite song. I could almost hear her voice. Tears formed in my eyes. I brushed them away, but they kept coming. Grandpa put his arm around me, drawing me close, while I sobbed out all that pain. I cried so hard I could barely catch my breath, but when I finally stopped, I felt like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I began to heal.
"Grandpa died the summer before my senior year of high school. Helping Dad sell everything in the cottage and put it up for sale was the hardest thing I'd ever done. The day before we left, Dad was packing the personal items we were taking home with us - pictures, books, Grandpa's letters, his well-worn Bible, his devotional journals, this ledger. I wanted one thing. Grandpa's fishing pole. Dad and I went through every room in the cottage inch by inch, but we never found it. We went to the Bait and Tackle Shop and talked to Jonas, the owner. He and Grandpa had been friends for years, and Dad thought perhaps Grandpa had given the fishing pole to him. He hadn't.
"Dad and I went back to the cottage. Dad went inside to finish packing. I walked down to the lake. A man sat on the shore, fishing. He looked up, saw me, and handed me the extra pole that laid beside him. 'Join me', he said. I sat beside him and cast the line. We sat there without speaking for about an hour. The man reeled in his line, leaned towards me, and said 'Are you listening?' He stood up. I tried to give him the pole. 'Keep it', he said and left. I had no idea what he was talking about. I got up a minute later, shouting 'Wait a minute!' I looked from one end of the shore to the other. He was gone.
"I missed Grandpa so much. The pain I'd worked through the year before had returned, even worse than before. It would have been easy for me to slip back into my old destructive lifestyle. Thank God for my dad. He saw the signs. I woke up one morning and saw a box sitting on the foot of my bed. The fishing pole given me by that mysterious stranger lay next to it. A piece of paper was taped to the box with a message in Dad's handwriting. 'Go to a lake. Fish. Read these'.
"He'd given me Grandpa's letters and journals. I got dressed, picked up the box and the fishing pole, and headed for a nearby park, and a lake.
Drew folded his hands together on the desk and smiled. "My life changed forever that day. I gave my heart to Jesus and found true peace when I surrendered all the pain to him. I also understood what the man who sat with me by the lake had asked. I listened and received an answer. I promised myself that, with the help of God, I would fulfill Grandpa's dream. I graduated from high school and went to college, pursuing a degree in social services. And here I am."