“He’ll Be Alright”

By Travis W. Lewis

June 30, 2000

This essay was initially presented in the July-August 2000 issue of REVEILLE, which was a newsletter published by its editor, Travis W. Lewis, in the early part of the twenty-first century. It can also be found on this website under PUBLICATIONS, then by clicking REVEILLE NEWSLETTERS, followed by REVEILLE 5A.

The photo attached to this essay displays the final testimony of a ninety-three year old man and is found on his tombstone in a Henderson County, Tennessee cemetery.

Being self-employed in his successful construction business, Paul Baylor had reached the point of needing to capitalize a very steep growth curve. A sizable loan was arranged, and the future took on a new brightness. Almost two years passed as his business grew beyond his well-thought-out business plan. The energetic Paul and his wife, Cassie, had more reasons than ever to be excited and optimistic. A very large contract had materialized that, if plans matured, would provide more than sufficient funds for full repayment of his still sizable outstanding debt.

It was mid-summer. With a full charge, Paul departed home on this particular morning with the usual, distinct spring in his step. Not a thought was entertained that the Baylors’ storybook status was about to experience drastic change.

Only a couple minutes had passed following Paul’s leaving for his day’s work when Cassie sensed that something just wasn’t right. Saying their morning goodbyes, hearing the door shut as Paul left the house, then seconds later hearing the truck door slam, followed by his truck cranking and pulling out of the driveway – that sequence had become part of her subconscious mind. “Something must be wrong – the door slammed, but the truck didn’t crank.”, she thought. “Must be the battery.”

As she opened the outside door from their den and glanced toward the truck, a mental alarm went off. Paul was not outside the truck seeing what was wrong – and there, inside the cab, as her pace quickened toward him, she could see only an arm draped over the steering wheel. Something told her now that something was very wrong! Cassie reached the passenger door and peered inside; it was Paul, half-slumped sideways onto the seat. No sooner had she yelled his name with no response than she opened the truck door and reached to turn his head so she could see his face. He was expressionless. His head and collar were damp with sweat. Cassie had contained her composure enough to tell that he was breathing ever so slightly. “What do I do? Who do I call? 911, that’s what I’ll do. There’s his cell phone. 9-1-1. This is Cassie Baylor at 2115 Greenbriar….”

During the following few minutes, which seemed like hours, she yelled for help to no avail. Her nearest neighbors lived almost a quarter mile away. Paul had wanted this home in the country so he could have elbowroom. “Who else should I call? Where are the boys?”, she asked herself as she repeatedly failed to gain a response from her husband of twenty-four years.

Their oldest son, Bradley, now twenty-one and preparing for his senior year in college, along with his younger brother, Stuart, who had just finished high school, had left just fifteen minutes before. Both were entertaining thoughts of becoming part of their dad’s flourishing business following college. For the greater part of their summers since their early teens, they were getting a taste of the literal ground floor of the business.

Cassie knew it would still be several minutes before she could contact them. She managed to wrestle Paul’s legs toward the door and to straighten his twisted form so he at least could breathe deeper. The ambulance arrived. Paramedics methodically examined Paul and tentatively diagnosed his problem as an aneurysm.

From a few feet away, Cassie gazed at this most unbelievable scene. Only a few minutes before, this beautiful setting had cast a handsome, enthused forty-six-year-old, successfully chasing the American dream. Now suddenly, his high school sweetheart and eventual bride is weeping as his formerly vibrant body lies lifeless on a stretcher, fighting for his life and being hauled away. His khakis, only moments before being starched and dressy, were now wrinkled and damp with perspiration. As Cassie stood on the edge of the well-manicured grass with which Paul had labored so meticulously only yesterday afternoon, the weight of her whole collapsing world seemed to settle deep within. The clamor of the ambulance arrival and departure had gained the attention of neighbors who were now arriving. Though being offered all that was at her friends’ disposal, Cassie knew her family’s need was far beyond their ability to deliver. “He’ll be alright”, she silently reassured herself as she loaded into a neighbor’s van and proceeded toward the hospital four miles away. Since both were high school seniors, Paul had always been there. But, “He’ll be alright.”, Cassie again thought. Aside from her successful attempt to reach Bradley by phone during which through her open sobs she briefed him on their dilemma and asked that he contact Stuart, the trip to the hospital was filled mostly with silence. Yet, eerily, over and over, those same words continued to flash across her mind, “He’ll be alright.”.

As the hospital came into view, she began trying to pray, “Lord, help us, and please do it now! Lord, by the time we get to him, please let him regain consciousness”. But somehow, praying felt so awkward! Again, across her mind came the thought, “He’ll be alright.”. By this time, the recurring thought was bringing a weird sort of uneasiness to Cassie’s mind. As her brisk steps took her through the emergency room doors, she again whispered, “Lord, help us.”, with only that same returning thought, “He’ll be alright.”. On inquiry at the information desk, Cassie was told that specialists were still working with Paul, and that she could hope to hear something very soon.

As Cassie turned to take a seat, she sighted a door marked “Chapel”. Somehow, that word lured her, and as Cassie strolled into the small room, she felt totally swallowed by loneliness. Never had she experienced such emotional weight and total emptiness! As she knelt on the small, padded knee-rest, there came that gnawing thought again, “He’ll be alright.”.

Struggling unsuccessfully to really pray, her thoughts wandered back to when she was a junior in high school. It was in April of that year when she came to claim a hope in Jesus. “Yes, that was a wonderful time!”, she reflected. A few months later, she had met Paul, the most handsome, kind young man she had ever met. Shortly thereafter, she had invited him to church. She remembered how he had agreed to go, but with little enthusiasm.

A few weeks later, he had agreed to attend “revival meeting” with her. By this time, her thoughts of growing in the Lord’s work had been displaced by her intrigue with Paul. She remembered how Paul had begun to show some discomfort with this “church stuff”, as he had begun to call it. “Why am I thinking about this silly kid stuff, with Paul in there fighting for his life?”, Cassie thought as her mind returned to miserable reality. No sooner had the thought appeared than again, inaudibly, but no less profound, the voice, “He’ll be alright.” haunted her mind again.

Her thoughts returned to the weeklong revival meeting; how, just after the Thursday night service had ended, the pastor had made his way to Paul, gently asking, “Paul, how is it with you and the Lord Jesus?”. She remembered her initial embarrassment turning to anger toward the aging pastor, and the sharpness of her retort as Paul stood speechless. Though Cassie could not recall her pointed reply, she could recollect her depressing thought, “I reckon this will be the end with me and Paul.”, and how the pastor’s tears revealed his hurt and disappointment as he turned and walked away. It was the next morning, she recalled, when the pastor had called and asked how he could contact Paul. She had told him in no uncertain terms not to bother Paul; that she would take care of the matter when the time was right.

Mysteriously, Cassie’s nostalgia continued to stop on “church stuff”; how the years had flown by, their wedding during Paul’s senior year in college, the passion toward his first job, moving into their first very own home, their two sons being born, then the last time Paul had attended church with her. It was fourteen years ago – Easter Sunday. Paul had just started up his own business, and he and Cassie knew they would need all the help they could get for the business to succeed. Easter Sunday church sounded like a good idea.

The day had started so beautifully and just as planned! They would attend church, then, out by noon, they would whiz by KFC for lunch, then, on to the river and the mobile home they had just purchased as a getaway. Paul had promised Bradley and Stuart their first crappie-fishing trip of the year this afternoon.

Her reflections of that day’s church service settled uncomfortably on these scenes still vivid in her mind – the pastor’s message entitled, “Payday”, and Paul’s discomfort during the message. Then during the invitation when four-year-old Stuart looked up at his father and, in barely above a whisper, asked, “Daddy, you never told us about Jesus. Is he one of your friends?”. As if a mural, she could still see Paul’s countenance showing a helpless, fearful uneasiness – one that silently asked of her in his glance, “What can I do?”; then how, at that point herself not being sure, and assuming there would be a better time to discuss his question, she had placed her arm around him and whispered, “You’ll be alright.”.

It was all coming together – that haunting voice over the past hour, “He’ll be alright.”! These were the words, “He’ll be alright!”, with which she had sassily replied to the pastor on Paul’s first visit to church. This had been her reply, “He’ll be alright.”, used the next day when the pastor called and she had shielded his visit with Paul, planning to take care of it herself. Cassie could not believe that almost thirty beautiful years had passed without getting around to discussing Paul’s eternal welfare with him. In all their time of planning, dreaming, working, raising the boys, vacationing – somehow, the time had never seemed right.

Overcome with sobs, she vowed to not put it off – just as soon as Paul was able, she would tell him about the Lord, and “He’ll be alright.”, she persuaded herself. “I know the Lord will give me one more chance to discuss and plead with him”.

Just then, Cassie sensed a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice call her name as her mind returned to the present. “Mother, the doctor is here, and he’d like to talk with us”. It was Bradley’s voice, and as she stood and turned, there were both he and Stuart, along with a doctor waiting at the door to the small chapel room. As Cassie threw her arms around her two sons, in a low, trembling voice she heard Bradley say, “Mom, Dad’s gone. They couldn’t save him.”.

Surely this was a dream! “How could the comfort and security of home, their successful business, the happy family, their exciting dreams for the future – how could all this come to such an abrupt end?” All these questions flashed across Cassie’s mind. The voice of the doctor, explaining how the massive bleeding in Paul’s brain had allowed only several minutes of life, seemed so distant as she faced the most crushing thought of all – “Where is Paul’s soul? The chance I knew would come won’t happen! The time I had to talk with him has run out. All my remaining days, what can I do to make it up?”, Cassie wailed in bitterness. As her resentful cries finally subsided, from the deepest recesses of her being came the profound answer, “You said you would take care of it, Cassie. You told the pastor; and Paul took your word, that he would be alright. Remember, Cassie? Remember?”

Author’s epilogue: The names and specific incidents in this story are fictitious. The lesson, however, is very real and may picture a similar situation that exists, or may presently be taking shape in either your or a friend’s life. Hopefully, this short story reminds us that our every opportunity to do good could be our last; that we or our friends do not have to be ill or old for life to be changed instantly, or even snatched away. The thread of life is brittle, and regardless of the security and comfort that we seem to acquire, none lasts except that to be found in the Lord Jesus. Ω ©