Get Right with Jesus.
When I was 18, I worked in a warehouse overnight loading trucks for the next day’s deliveries. The warehouse had a conveyor system that at one point separated into two tracks, one at about waist level and one that went way up high, 20 feet or more.
Every now and then a box or two would get turned the wrong way and the conveyors would back up. When that happened on the upper line, a couple of guys would have to go up and clear the jam. In hindsight, this didn’t meet OSHA standards. There weren’t any safety harnesses or really any place to walk except on the edges of the conveyor itself, hanging on to the supports that came down from the ceiling every six feet or so, and 20 feet below polished cement.
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Lessons from Flawed Saints
It was the spring of 1945. They had met only six weeks before. He was a cocky, happy-go-lucky, freshly-commissioned lieutenant in the US Army, sent to England in preparation for the Allied invasion of Europe. She was a reserved, very proper young lady, from a genteel English family “doing her bit” for her country, by working at the newly-repositioned (and secret) wartime headquarters of the Bank of England, in the tiny town of Whitchurch, far away from blitzed London.
They were total opposites - in backgrounds, but also in personality. He was an absolutely buoyant optimist who never met a stranger and lived his life at an enthusiastic trot. He never seemed to walk anywhere. She, on the other hand was reserved and had experienced tragedy early in her life, when her father, at 55, collapsed on a London street from a massive stroke - and died in her arms. That had been on a Christmas Eve, and she was, at the time, just 15 years old. She’d learned early how unexpectedly and cruelly life can be upended.
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