Magda’s Gift, Part 13

shortstory13I quit my job.  I’d been earning over six figures for over ten years without a lick of joy, so I decided to try something else.  It’s funny how quick you get used to not wearing pantyhose and high heels.  I think my tendons have forgiven me.

Carl may have had something to do with it, that week we spent tracking down all of Magda’s guestbook entries.  Magda’s simple words to them had profound effect, as did the news of her death.  Often the voice on the other end would just go silent and then the storm of grief would erupt.  Magda had that effect on people.  In the midst of country-wide and even international calls, I made a dreaded one to my office.  They seemed at least glad that I hadn’t died and covered for me while I worked at Magda’s last request.  But two months later I was packing up my office while my colleagues just shook their heads in amazement.  I was truly giving up a lot; a successful career, built up by a whole lot of grit, manipulation, and raw ambition.  They were all still climbing the ladder that I was jumping off of.  There was, I’m sure, a whole lot more speculation about who would move into my corner office suite than there was about what on earth could entice me away from it.

As part of my midlife crisis, I adopted a dog from the Humane Society.  A black lab with way more energy than I’d planned for.  City living wasn’t a good fit for him, nor for me anymore.  I sold my apartment and parted with my expensive furnishings as easy as shedding a coat on a warm day.  I moved into Magda’s cabin, my cabin.  Buster, as I named him, found Heaven-on-Earth the day we moved in.  He made it his solemn duty to round up every fetchable stick in our twenty-nine acres so as to stockpile against leaner times.

There were two men in my life; Jesus and Carl, and unlike for Magda, God smiled on me having both.  If anyone would have told me a year ago that I’d be barefoot, pregnant, and in an earthy cabin in the mountains, married to a cowboy, and letting my degree grow mold, I would have told them to stop smoking crack and wasting my time.  How life turns.

God kept up His whispering and the divine hospitality He orchestrated began within weeks of moving in.  Though I’m nowhere near as wise and sanctified as Magda was, I have my story to offer; a story of a riches to rags, success to joy, lost to found story.  It’s enough.  It’s more than enough.

Today I find myself at Magda’s grave.  Wildflowers have covered it, all but the cross that Carl made so lovingly in her honor.  I kiss my hand and lay it upon the graying wood, “Magda, thank you. Thank you for giving me my life back.  You didn’t just save my life, you pointed me the way out of a living death.  I’m having a daughter, Magda.  Can you guess what I’m naming her?”

I let the tears roll on down; I was getting a whole lot better at letting emotions run their needed course.  The tears hit my protruding belly and I laughed.  “I love you, Magda.  Thank you.”  I turned, Carl just down the slope from me, waiting to usher my clumsy self down.  He smiled wide.  Glory.

 

The End.

Thank you for reading, dear ones.

 

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