Thoughts from Mark "Hat" Rackley

Editor’s Note: In the last episode, Babs lets Harold know that she is his guardian angel and now that he is about to lose his job and his need to travel, she must leave also.  She, or rather, the non-gendered angel who inhabited the body of “Babs”, would always be by Harold’s side, but in spirit form.  It was up to higher authority to allow “her” to be seen, and the action figure in which “she” inhabited was broken when the angel left it, a broken heart.

For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways;
they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

• Psalm 91:11-12

The jailer called for lights, rushed in and fell trembling before Paul and Silas. He then brought them out and asked, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”
They replied, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household.” Then they spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all the others in his house. At that hour of the night the jailer took them and washed their wounds; then immediately he and all his household were baptized.

• Acts 16:29-33

But what does it say? “The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart,” that is, the message concerning faith that we proclaim: If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. As Scripture says, “Anyone who believes in him will never be put to shame.” For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

• Romans 10:8-13

Boilerplate

I’m Harold Dykstra.  I’m retired, but I go to food bank distributions all over Tracy and talk to people that need someone who will listen to their story.  My time is well spent.  A police lieutenant suggested that I write down the conversations that I had with an angel.  I did not know she was an angel at the time.  The angel, for a little over a year, indwelled a life-sized posable action figure my children bought me, so that I would not be perceived as travelling alone.  And in a way, she was training me for what I do while talking to the needy.  She probed my heart to find out what I believed and how I express love for others.  She changed my life.

In her leaving, she said someone would come.  I had thought that was Jesus, in His second coming, but I guess this story proved me wrong…

This Week’s Question

For a few months after Babs left, Morrie, my eldest child, my son, renovated the upstairs bedrooms into an apartment.  He thought that once I got older, started falling, started forgetting, whatever, I would need help.  I could rent the apartment so that I could have a live-in caregiver and offset the expense of a caregiver with the rent.  Of course, there are programs that help with caregiver pay.

I instructed Morrie that I would not have a boarder unless I needed one and I would be the one who decided that.

I was at my table near the exit of the food bank.  Opposite my table, there was a smaller table.  If someone was not a part of the regular food distribution, they could apply for a one-time distribution or to become a regular recipient.  At that table, they would fill out the forms and interview the manager of the food bank.  They would usually get a one-time distribution at that point and then there would be some checking of the form before they got the regular distribution.  Sometimes, people were great at telling a good story, but they had a great job, maybe better income than the people handing out the food.  Not much checking, but some checking to weed out those that take advantage.

The line would form at a door in the far corner from my table.  As people came in, I tried to make eye contact.  If I saw their pain, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”  Then, if they did, they would go through the door into the inner room to get their food and leave through the exit door, which came back out into the outer room where the manager and I sat at our respective tables.  I rotate to all the other food banks in the big city of Tracy, some quarterly, other twice each year (the smaller food banks).  At first, I got few customers, but since this was the church where I attended, I am there every month.  People have gotten to know me and some always stop by to say a few things, usually to give me an update.  I have learned all the names of everyone in their families.  Sometimes all they will say is something like “John is off the wagon again” and I must know who John is.  Most of the people are not members of the church, but due to me showing that I care, a few have joined.

All I really do is listen and pray.  My advice might be very limited and usually showing the Scriptures that backs up what I have to say.  That is what Babs did for me, in having me teach her Bible lessons every day for about sixteen months, almost sixteen.  The start of the healing though is always in lifting them up so that they know that they are heard.

But I will admit, it took me a few months of weeping and not leaving the house when Babs left.  I had never been at home for more than two weeks at a time after I went back to work after my wife died.  And my leaving on the next sales call after my wife’s death was that first day that the doll came to life, and Babs entered my life.  Now, without a job and Babs gone, everything in the house reminded me of my wife or of Babs.  It was Babs’ idea for me to go to the food bank and help.  I help stock the shelves on a day apart from distribution day, but on distribution, the regular volunteers distribute, and I listen to people.

On this particular distribution day, about one year after Babs had left, a woman came in the exit.  I wanted to ask her if she went into the department stores through the exit, but Babs had taught me to be nice.

She was maybe 10-15 years younger than I was.  She had blonde hair, done in a style that I had not seen since I was a child, and then a style that grandparents might wear.  Her hair fell casually over her shoulders, but pulled back.  If it were a man’s cut, instead of being styled that way, I would call it a mullet.  She wore glasses, black rimmed glasses.  She wore bright red lipstick and a blue dress with small white polka dots.  It took a while to realize that I had seen dresses like that in advertisements in my mother’s old LIFE magazines from the 1940s.  My mother had kept them all.  I didn’t throw any of them out, and I later learned that Willie, my daughter, had gathered them as her reminders of her grandmother.

By the way, Morrie, who dedicated his life to Christ while Babs was with me, has salvaged his marriage and his two children are cleaning up their acts also.  Willie, married to a pastor with two children of her own, is a blessing each time I see her, but I see Morrie more often, still tinkering with the apartment.  Willie still makes one trip each week.  At first to supply groceries, but after I started doing my work at the food bank, she would drop by just to say hello, better than a phone call.  She always had a way with being able to tell if I was lying when I said, “I’m fine.”

That is a lot of background to say that this woman looked unreal, at least out of place in time.  She was a copy of an advertisement from an 80-year-old magazine.  She was pretty, but she was far younger than 80.  I figured early to mid-50s.

She leaned over and removed her glasses.  “Harold, is it you?  Harold Dykstra?”

I said, “You have me at a disadvantage, ma’am.  You look a little familiar, but I do not recognize you.  I do not think you are from my graduating class, but you might be a daughter of one of my old classmates…”

She laughed and sat next to me, without me offering a seat.  “Thank you so much for the compliment.  Unless a classmate had a child in middle school, I am probably older than that.  I am Barbara Bounty.”

She smiled, but I started to shake.  It cannot be Barbara Bounty, from a small town in central Illinois.  No, that was the name on Babs’ driver’s license.

Tears formed in my eyes, “No, you cannot be here.  You cannot be Babs.  You sort of look like her a little, but Babs was a lot younger.  Excuse me.  After I underestimated your age, I have to admit that you look older than she did.  Your face is not the same, a little drawn.  You are her height within an inch or two, but the shape is not the same.  It has been a year, but I remember her as if she was here yesterday.”

The manager of the food bank, Tim, came over, “Babs!  You’re back!  Can you help us out today?  We are one short, someone has the flu or a bad cold.  You know, it’s the season.  You and Harold were such the pair, but you always said that you would have to leave since you were just Harold’s travel buddy.”

Babs laughed, “Tim, I would love to help.  Cans or dry goods?”

Tim said, “Probably packing the boxes, since they have all been doing their assignments.  It’s helter skelter with so many packing each box at the same time.  They are all bouncing off each other in there.”

Babs turned to me, “I’ll be back after the distribution is over.”  She gave me a smile that reminded me of Babs.  Then, she scrunched her nose, just like Babs used to do.

With Babs in the back room, everyone recognized her right off.  Suddenly everything was well organized.  I again got into the spirit, and I talked to almost everyone, a few people for more time than usual.  But in the back of my mind, I wanted to escape before Babs re-emerged after distribution, but the last people in line had a lot on their hearts.  I could not leave.  I had to hold their hands and pray for them.  As I opened my eyes after the last prayer, I saw one of the other family members holding hands with Babs, who sat next to me.

I was trapped and I could not escape.  The last to leave was Tim, and he said that he set the door to lock as soon as the two of us left.  He thought we needed some time to get reacquainted, but that made no sense.  None of this made any sense.  My Babs was designed from a porn star, named Bountiful Babs.  The star had let them dip every part of her body in latex to make molds.  From those molds, hundreds of dolls, exactly like the original, were distributed across the nation and beyond, for unspeakable purposes.  My Babs was my travel buddy.  We hugged and kissed, but never romantically.  The last night she was with me, she begged for me to sit on the edge of her bed and hold her.  I fell asleep falling backwards onto the bed, waking up in that position.  Next to me was the briefcase that the doll came in.  I still have the briefcase, but the doll will not inflate.

So, if this is the original, where did she come from?  Why was she here?

I wanted to ask a hundred questions, but I was mute as I sat there in anguish, gazing at her, trying to see my Babs in her eyes.

She giggled, just like Babs.  “I can answer all your questions, but it might be better when we get home.”

I said, “No, I can drop you off at a hotel.  Then I am going home.  Maybe we can talk in the hotel lobby.”

She held up a key.  “I arrived in town a couple of days ago.  You aren’t in the white pages.  I was about to hire a private detective when I saw an ad in the newspaper.  Did you know that your newspaper, the Tracy Daily, only comes out three days a week?  Anyway, I saw an advertisement in the personals.  It said that if your name is Babs and you are a great travel buddy, call this number.  It was Morrie.  It was the first time he had run the ad.  I called, and he came to my hotel as I was checking out.  He gave me this key to your front door.  I paid for the first month’s rent and an extra month as a security deposit.  He looked so excited to see me.  He has called Willie, and she was going over to the house during the food distribution to fix some food, run a vacuum through the house, and make sure everything is shipshape.”

After I stuttered for a while, she imitated my stuttering and asked, “Bu… But what, Harold?”

I replied, “But everyone recognizes you, and I can barely make out the slightest resemblance.  How can that be?”

Babs said, “1, 2, 3.”  She then sang, “I don’t know” to the tune of my doorbell, but I was mute. She gave me the Babs pouty face.  “Harold, you didn’t sing along, and you have such a beautiful singing voice…  Oh, let me explain.  I think the other food bank workers recognize me because they want to see me next to you.  It is that normalcy syndrome that is probably why, with your younger Babs, something that started as an obvious doll was seen as a real person, since Babs, your Babs, walked and talked, but then it was as if she had taken on flesh.  She looked real, even with a real heartbeat in the end.  But every Bible study that you had together was somehow recorded by God, and when I went to bed at night, I dreamed a dream where I saw you in the uncomfortable office chair, while I sat in the comfy chair, with my feet propped onto the ottoman.  I only knew that I was seeing you through the eyes of the doll when I saw her in the mirrors.  Occasionally, she would look into the mirror and say, ‘Remember.’”

Babs began to cry, “See, you have broken me, Harold, I am leaking.  That was her fear that she would spring a leak and never be able to inflate again.  Each time she cried, she talked about being broken.  But every day you had a Bible Study and every night, I heard your entire conversation.  It haunted me.  I was living in an assisted living facility in Arizona.  I did not need assistance, but I paid ahead of time.  I wanted to hide where no one would recognize me. They had a pastor who came to the home and preached each Sunday afternoon.  I had never been in a church in my life.  I told him about my dreams. He basically said to roll with the flow.  God was talking to me.  But I knew who I was, what I had been.  I was not the kind of person God would ever want to talk to, but I kept having the dreams every night.  I would try to stay up all night and miss one, but somehow, sleep overtook me, and in that brief moment, I had the nightly dream.  The night, excuse me, the day when Babs felt that her body had been made from my mold, and it was made for sinful purposes, she begged you to take her to the lake near the Standish Pharmacy, and she got baptized to wash her sins away from the body she was inhabiting.  I knew what I had to do that next day.  I called the pastor, and he came over and took me to a lake near the assisted living home.  I accepted Jesus, and he baptized me in the lake.  From then on, I had a Bible next to my bed, and each time I awoke after the next dream, I looked up all the verses that you talked about.  And when she told you a year ago that she had to leave and another would come, I knew she was talking about me.  Those dreams saved my life. Those dreams gave me a life, instead of hiding until I died. It took me six months and a lawyer to get my money away from the assisted living home.  They weren’t equipped to let the money go since they keep the money until the person passes away.  Then the packing, my few household goods are in a crate near your house by now, I hope not blocking the driveway.  I just have my suitcase with me here.”

Funny, I had never noticed the suitcase, sitting next to me the entire time since she arrived.  I drove her home, and I walked up the stairs with her to show her around the apartment.

Willie heard us walk up the stairs and she called us back down for dinner.

Willie, like everyone else in Tracy, except me, ran and wrapped her arms around Babs, “Babs, it so great that you returned.  This past year has been rough on Dad, but I am sure you are here to stay.”

Babs smiled, “If this one here will not show me the door…”

Willie laughed, “He better not!  Besides, he grieved over Mom dying, but there was equal grief that you were gone.  It sure took you a long time getting your stuff packed and getting back to Tracy.”

Babs laughed, “Well, for one, I am directionally challenged, but I was delayed by legal issues.  Now, I have enough money to pay the rent and help with the groceries, but a year ago, I did not have enough to pack a toothbrush and thumb my way to Tracy.  God provided, but in His time.”

Willie kissed her.  They hugged, and Willie left.  We dined in silence, and then Barbara Bounty, Bountiful Babs, said, “You know nothing about the original Babs, me.  Can I tell my story?”

I nodded, “How can a beautiful young girl get into the porn business, and then become a star?  You already told me how you met Jesus, through a doll who looked just like you did many years ago.”

Babs groaned, “Don’t say many years. Make it a few years. Saying many makes me feel old.  I already am putting a blonde rinse in my hair to cover the gray.  I was blessed with it turning white all at once practically.  Salt and pepper leaves you with the option of keeping it brown, and everyone can see that is fake.  But as long as they see enough looking blonde, they don’t notice that you were never a blonde in the first place.  These clothes were at a thrift store, and they reminded me of my grandmother.”

Again, tears filled her eyes, “Where to begin?”

I suggested, “Since romance seems to be your thing, why not your first date.”

She giggled, “This is the closest thing to a first date that I have ever had, unless the pastor who was trying to help me make sense of the dreams counts.  Nope.  He was happily married, so this is it.  I see the confused look.  I was almost fifteen years old when a boy knocked on the door.  I was a very confused and frightened young girl.  I was very chesty, and I slumped my shoulders to hide it.  As the late bloomers started getting small breasts, they let them show and got all the dates.  I sat in the back of the classroom slumped forward, always with a frown.  But this day, a boy came to ask me out on a date, but he was so clumsy.  I asked him in, and we sat on the sofa.  He was worse than I was socially.  In the midst of his stuttering, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  He still had not asked me on a date, but he looked me in the eyes and kissed me on the lips.  A bold move.  Then, my stepmother entered the room and said we were doing it wrong.  Oh, stepmother in that my mother died when I was born.  Dad, within a year or so, came home with my stepmother.  I found out later that she was a stripper, and since she was getting too old to strip and she was about my mother’s age, my Dad made more of a business proposal than a marriage proposal.  She lived with us for five years before they got a marriage license.  So, she knew that I had the body of a porn star, and she turned me into one.  She told the boy what to do.  She told me what to do.  Somehow, all three of us were naked, and by the time we were done, the boy had robbed my virginity, did it again with me, and played with my stepmother some.  He returned a couple of weeks later to bed down my stepmother, but by then, Mom had arranged for other boys and girls to visit, and she helped with each of them.  By then, after the first time, I had protection.  I do not know if I was training as a porn star or I was doing tricks as a prostitute with Mom pocketing the money, but within a few months, I walked erect into school, not hiding my upper frontals, proudly showing off my assets.  I wore revealing clothing, at least revealing the curves.  On my eighteenth birthday, Mom set up and appointment with a porn producer in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  After that, I rarely made it home.  I was an instant success.  I knew all the things they wanted me to do, and I could act.  Mom and I had done a lot of things.  Some girls came over to do things, mostly strippers, since Mom had connections.  When I had the latex molds made, Mom was so proud of me.  That meant I was at the top of my field.  But the industry takes its toll.  I was never taught growing up that I had a soul, but for decades, my soul seemed dead.  And if anyone recognized you in public, they wanted to take you to bed. I have felt more alive in the past year, since accepting Jesus, and today, I feel better than I have since I was eight or nine.  Oh, and although I have had some nips and tucks done to stay on my game, that is until I retired, I am disappointed in you, Harold.”

I asked, “Why is that?”

Babs giggled and scrunched her nose. “You are an engineer.  You said things like my face was a little drawn and my body shape was little off.  It’s called gravity, Harold.  An engineer should know that.  I am a little shorter due to the back compressing.  My chest is a little lower due to not having the best of bras, plus gravity.  And my face is sliding downward, ever so slowly.  It’s all getting older and gravity.”

At that moment, we noticed a third person, one on the other side of the dinner table.

The young Babs was sitting there, but she did not seem to be as real as before. She seemed to glow, but maybe that was the lighting.  She was still wearing a business dress I had bought for her.  She scrunched her nose and giggled, “I thought you’d make a great couple.  I think I can hear bells in your future.”

I protested, “She has only paid the first month rent and we have hardly scratched the surface on knowing each other.”

Young Babs said, “Harold, I can tell.  Trust me.”  Then she started giggling.

Babs asked, “Babs, did you know about me?”

The young Babs said, “Not directly, but my boss is also your guardian angel’s boss.  It all got worked out, even with you both having free will.”

We both asked, “Will we see you from time to time?”

Young Babs said, “1, 2, 3.” And all three of us sang, “I don’t know” to the tune of my doorbell.

Young Babs giggled and said, “Great harmony!”  But she was already gone.

I looked at Babs and opened my mouth.  She asked me what I was thinking, “Did you see that faint image?  Babs had disappeared, but there were these huge wings that extended beyond the edges of the table.  They flapped a couple of times…”

I nodded, “And as soon as I felt the wind from the wings flapping, the wings disappeared.”

Babs shrugged, “She knows how to make an exit.”

Credits

All these conversations remind me of my conversations with my wife.  We would talk about anything and everything.  And most of the time, it sounded like a discussion in a Sunday school class.

I patterned the distribution center to be similar to the one at our church.  Otherwise, the rest is fiction.

Soli Deo Gloria.  Only to God be the Glory.