Blue
skies smilin’ at me…Nothin’ but blue skies do I see…Never saw the sun shinin’
so bright…Never saw things goin’ so right…Noticin’ the days hurryin’ by…
When
you’re in love—
Judd
couldn’t get those hateful words out of his head. Hard as he tried, they stuck
there like flies to sticky-paper in the cow shed. Judd had heard that song at
the picture show a week back. Some Yankee dude name of Berlin had wrote
them—some white city feller with no notion at all…
Judd
stopped just long enough to catch his breath and mop his brow. A merciless sun
was smiling down on his neck today. A fierce sun halfway through its
turtle-slow march across an empty sky.
Grandpappy
told him about the slave days on the plantation, when the workers would pray
and pray for rain. A rainless April might be welcomed by the white folks as a
chance for long rides and picnics in the countryside. But the negroes in
bondage knew too well that no rain meant harder times busting the sod, possibly
a meager harvest to come, and ill-tempered masters taking it out on the slaves.
Of
course, Judd was aware that sunshine was necessary for his crops to flourish
here on his little spread. His pappy had signed the farm over to him and
Tabitha when they were still in their twenties. Then he and Judd’s mama had
followed the call to become missionaries someplace over in Africa. They prayed
a long, fervent prayer over Judd and Tabby before they departed—including a
humble request that the good Lord would send them sunshine and rain in their proper
seasons…
Well,
Judd thought sourly, at least half of
that plea had been granted, and in abundance!
He
trudged behind the team for another hour and a half, then unhitched them from
the plow and led them over to the feed trough beside the barn. As the mules ate
Judd peered slowly round at the horizon, not very expectantly. His lack of hope
would go undisturbed for another day. Not a puff of cloud.
Retreating
from the empty sky, he clomped up the front steps and into his empty house. He
didn’t pause in the sitting room to glance at the decorative relics of Tabby’s
presence. In the year since she had left him, Judd had spent plenty of stolen
moments he could little afford to spend, gazing at her handmade doilies, her
china figurines, her small bits of antique furniture—each treasure marked by
her skill, thrift and affection. By this time, these things haunted Judd rather
than drew his reflection.
He
hurried through to the kitchen, began scavenging for something to still his
growling stomach. Slim pickin’s, he thought grimly. He hadn’t been to town to
stock up for a month or more. Even the coffee can and the sugar tin were
nothing but leavings. Ruefully, Judd stared over at the narrow pantry door,
knowing that it led to yet another sanctuary of painful memories. Well, what
the heck? He’d hurry in there, grab something, then hurry out.
Flinging
open the door, he pulled the light cord and scanned the floor-to-ceiling rows
of dusty jars. Each jar contained evidence of his wife’s boundless energy,
expended each year in her vegetable patch and tiny orchard of
less-than-generous fruit trees. Breathing hard and blinking in the light of the
bare hanging bulb, Judd grabbed the nearest jar of pickled eggs from a
chest-high shelf. Before he could withdraw and slam the door, he noticed
something fluttering to the floor. Without thinking he stooped and scooped it
up.
It
was a small leaflet with Bible verses printed on it. Judd had to think back a
good piece to remember its origin. But the memory was there. It stuck up in the
sod of his childhood like a stubborn thistle spike. He and Pappy and Mama had
gone to the camp meeting over in Glen County to hear an old traveling preacher.
As they took seats on one of the rude wooden benches planted in the sawdust, a
half dozen young volunteers were handing out the little leaflets.
A
pretty girl he’d never met pressed one into Judd’s hand and, for a second,
their hands made contact.
Many
things happened that night. He and his folks learned about salvation…Mama and
Pappy began their journey that would lead them to Africa…and that pretty girl
captured Judd’s heart for all time.
Judd
turned the little paper thing over and over in his callused hands. Besides the
verses from the Book of Romans telling the reader how to get saved, there was a
song printed on the back. But it was in the careful, artful handwriting of
Tabitha Dawn Farrell—Tabby, who had smiled at him, not like a merciless blue
sky, but like a merciful princess. Tabby, who had charmed and thrilled and
married and served and loved…and had left him for her heavenly home one year
ago.
As
Judd read the words, the clouds burst and the tears fell like rain:
I’ve
got a home in gloryland that outshines the sun… I’ve got a home in gloryland
that outshines the sun… I’ve got a home in gloryland that outshines the sun…
Way
beyond the blue.
Do
Lord, O do Lord, O do remember me… Do Lord, O do Lord, O do remember me… Do
Lord, O do Lord, O do remember me…Way beyond the blue.
