Crossroads of Life
 By Jeffrey B. Nickel
March 6, 1998

He pulled in and parked at the end of the driveway. He turned off the car and took out the keys as he hopped out of his Sunfire. Then he opened the back door and grabbed his school bag. His car had given him some freedom, and he took great care of it. Swinging the heavy bag over this shoulder, he continued up the driveway. He propped open the screen door and unlocked the front door. As he feet dragged across the threshold, he said to himself, "I hate Mondays." He had been with his friends all weekend, and sleep was not one of his priorities. As he took off his sweatshirt jacket and kicked off his shoes, he looked at the pile of books that poured out of his worn backpack. He only had a few months left before he graduated. He wanted to have fun, not to be stuck doing Calculus and reading Dante’s Divine Comedy all night. They were definitely not one of his favorite things to do. His mom kept on asking, "Where are you going to go to college?" He was frustrated. Why couldn’t she just let it rest? He didn’t care right now about next fall. He wanted to have fun with his friends before they graduated. But his friends could wait...all he cared about was a nap, his escape from this world and its pressures.

He grabbed his Literature book and went upstairs to his room. Only in his room, could he be at rest and not pressured. As he sat on his bed, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Yahhh," he said as he looked around his room, the posters stared back at him. The more they stared back, the more he really did not want to read Dante. Reluctantly, he opened the book. As he read, he read about the Pilgrim who was midway through his life. The Pilgrim had been walking up the mountain of salvation until his way was blocked by three beasts. He stopped reading, and said to himself, "Man, I feel like the Pilgrim. Here I am at the end of my high school years, but midway through my life. No matter how hard I try, I always get blocked by something. I can never get ahead." As he read about the Pilgrim’s guide, Virgil, his eyes got heavy. Fighting to say awake, he continued to read a little more. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

He was awoken by the hum of a drill press. He looked down, and he was wearing a greasy pair of overalls. "Come let’s get to work." His foreman patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. "We have an order of these due by the end of the week. We are behind as it is." He looked to his right. There was a box of steel cubes. Then he looked to the left. There was a box of the same steel cubes, except with a hole in them. He slapped the next block down on the table. He pulled down on the handle and the bit lowered, making the hole. Then he put it in the box on his left and slapped another block on the table. He was bored with this. Hour after hour, day after day, he milled out the same parts. Then the buzzer went. "Yeah, lunch break." He walked to the small lunch room and sat down in the old chair. It creaked and sagged with his weight. He opened the tattered paper lunch bag and dumped its contents on the table. Taking a drink of his pop, he opened his sandwich. As he took a bite, a magazine was thrown down on the table next to him. "Take a look at this," said one of his co-workers as he took a drink of his beer. He looked at the cover and Playboy was across the top of the page.
"No thanks," he said as he pushed it away.
His co-worker got mad and said, "Fine be that way!" as he took the magazine back. As he walked away, he said something under his breath.
"This job really stinks," he said as he continued his lunch, "the people here are so rude. I wish I had a better job. I wish I had gone to college." He put his head down on the table.

"Hey," a voice whispered, "this is not Sleeping 101." He put his head up. There in front of him was his college roommate. "You know, you have to be awake to get credit," he said jokingly. He had fallen asleep in his morning class and was caught. Luckily, it was his roommate that found him asleep and not anyone else. "I guess I shouldn’t have stayed up all night and worked on that project," he commented. Instead of working on it each night, he put it off until the last night and pulled an all-nighter. He and his roommate had become good friends since they were put together. They did things together and liked each other’s company. They enjoyed the same things and disliked the same things. Their morals were the same, and they really got along well. In a few moments, the bell rang and the whole class got up and left. He next class wasn’t for a few hours. He went back to the dorm and sat at his desk. Looking at the notes he had taken before he fell asleep, he decided he should read the chapter again. He had learned a lot in his other classes but he didn’t enjoy this class. He started reading the chapter and then began flipping pages. The chapter never seemed to end. "I don’t want to read thirty pages. College sucks. I don’t want to do all this work. When am I going to use it?" He let his head fall on the book that was on his desk. A dense "thud" echoed in his small dorm room. "I don’t want to do this," he said again.

There was another "thud." He woke up and looked around. His Mistic bottle had fallen out of his hand and laid on the floor. He found himself sitting in a chair in his living room. He got up from the chair and looked at himself. He wore a stained white T-shirt and had put on quite a bit of weight. As he walked to the kitchen he looked at himself in the mirror in the hallway. His hair was wild and had not been combed. His face was rough and he had not shaved in a while. He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and went back to his chair. As he sat down, a whiff of musty air shot up in his face and the old chair creaked. "Aren’t you doing anything constructive?" asked a voice from the other room. The voice sounded familiar and he turned to see his mother walk into the room. She had aged, but in a good way. Her hair had turned a silver color, and she had lost some weight. She had a light, easy-going spirit as she continued into the room. "Can’t you do anything besides sit here and watch that blasted television?" He sat there with a dumbfounded look on his face. "Why can’t you go out and get a job? Why can’t you be like your brother? He married and has a good job. All you do is sit here and watch television and eat those potato chips. You are such a bum." He got mad at her and went outside and sat on the porch steps and put his head on his knees. Her words echoed in his head. "You are such a bum ... such a bum ... such a bum ... such a bum.

He was startled by a car horn. A cabby, from inside his car, yelled, "Get off the curb you lazy bum!" He pounded on the horn another time. He stood up and found himself in a big city. He wore a stained trench coat and torn pair of pants. His hands were chapped and dry from the windy weather. He took a few steps and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass bottle. Someone had given him a bottle of orange juice that he had made it last as long as possible. He had the bottle for a week and only half of it was gone. He reached back into his pockets. There was nothing except some lint. He had no money, no home, no friends. Every winter he struggled to stay alive. The cold weather was harsh on him as he went from one full shelter to another. He opened the glass bottle and slowly took a drink. As the moisture of the juice touched his lips, someone bumped into him. The bottle came out of his hands and smashed into a thousand pieces on the sidewalk. He stood there stunned, broken-hearted and crushed. He bent down and started to pick up the shards of glass. As his eyes filled with tears, someone commented, "Hey! Don’t get that orange juice on your shoes, you wouldn’t want those to get ruined!" Because someone had accidentally bumped into him, he had been made a mockery in the middle of the city. He sat on the steps of the old bank. People looked at him as they passed by. Then there was a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to find a group of teenage girls looking at him. One of them had her arm outstretched, holding a bag of Cheerios.
"For me?" he asked.
"Yes," the girls said almost in unison. "Thanks." He was shocked. Was there really good people in this big city? Then the group started to continue down the sidewalk.
"God bless," one of them said as they turned.
"Same to you," he replied. Seeing those teenage girls made him think about his days in high school. Back then he spent time with friends and just had a good time. "I wonder how she is doing?" he pondered, speaking about his girlfriend from high school. She had gone off to college, and they had lost touch. He walked into the church that was around the corner. Its doors were always open. Inside he could warm up and maybe get a bite to eat.

As he walked through the doors, his best friend greeted him in a tuxedo. "Come on. Today’s the big day." He looked at himself; he was in a tuxedo also. "Do you have the ring?" He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He nodded. "Well let’s get going." He stood at the chancel, and they played the music. Down the aisle came his girlfriend from high school, more beautiful than ever. She stopped at the chancel, and they looked into each other’s eyes. They both smiled as the looked at each other. Then they turned and faced the minister. They got married and had a great honeymoon. The two of them were really in love. They soon moved into a nice apartment and started their lives together. They talked to each other and cared about each other’s concerns. They worked through those problems that come up with newlyweds. They laughed and spent time together. Some more time passed, and they had a child. They moved from their apartment into a house of their own. He had a new sense of renewal since his daughter came around. He was like a kid himself and they loved each other greatly. One day he sat in the arm chair in the new house. ‘Daddy’s little girl’ was asleep in his arms and he watched television. He closed his eyes and said to himself, "Life is good. I’m lucky."

"Yeah! What are you so lucky about? Huh?" He opened his eyes and there was his wife, but things had changed. He looked around. They no longer lived in the nice house but rather a worn down apartment. By the tone in her voice, he could tell she was not happy. His wife continued, "We live here in this pit and all I do is clean, so that you can mess it up again. The kids run around and they cause trouble with all the neighbors." There had been tension with the marriage for a while. It started when he had come home early and found her and the repairman in the bedroom together. She insisted he was looking at the electrical plugs in the bedroom, but he knew better. Now having fights had become the main focus of the marriage. Instead of trying to work things out, they would yell and scream until one of them would leave for the night or the police would come. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "You know I help around the house as much as I can. It is just that I have to work since you watch the kids. And you’re calling me lazy?! Why don’t you get up and work for once?" She slapped him across the face. He closed his eyes. He was somewhat stunned. They had argued before but she never hit him and he never hit her.

Then there was another slap, but it wasn’t as hard. Actually, it felt like a pat on the cheek. He opened his eyes and his mother was looking down on him. He sat up and looked around. He was back in his room. At his side was the Literature book open to the Divine Comedy, right where he had left off before he fell asleep. "Sorry to wake you honey, but what do you want for dinner?" his mother asked. "Oh I don’t know. Ask my brother," he replied. She got up and went back downstairs. As he sat there, he wiped the sleep out of his eyes.

He sat on his bed, midway through his life, and walking up the mountain of his future. Things were in his way; choices that he had to make. He stood at the crossroads of his future; he had looked down each road of opportunity. One lead to the work force, and another to college. Others lead to somewhere else. One lead to starting a family with that special someone. He could ask others for help, but this was a decision that he had to make as an individual. Each road was there for his taking, but he could only pick one. The Pilgrim had a guide by the name of Virgil. The character had a guide also, the Lord. Lord had a future for him and He eventually led him there. Jeremiah 29:11 says: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." The Lord has a plan for each of us. May you be willing to hear His call.

"This is what the Lord says: ‘Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancients paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.’ " Jeremiah 6:16
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