“You know the best thing for a guy like me is to see a keg rolled in, a girl dancing, and a roll of something to smoke.”
Jeff is one of my closest friends and has been for a number of years now. He joined the Army almost three years ago, so I was thrilled to spend time with him when he was able to leave his base in North Carolina and return home for the weekend.
I sat at his kitchen table and listened to him rattle on about the wild life he experiences whenever he gets a night off duty. I watched him as though I was interested in what he had to say, as though I believed a single word of what he was trying to sell.
“That’s all I really want, just some fun, ya know?” He asked as though he expected me to understand. He went on about the pressures of the Army and the insanity of bootcamp, like these things should justify his late-night excursions. Nine minutes into the conversation and I was already concerned for him. I had hoped the Army would spark a change in him. But, instead of questioning his obvious uneasiness, I simply watched him.
He moved around the table where I sat, through the kitchen, into the open dining room and finally to the living room, raising his voice as he wandered farther away. First he loaded the dishwasher, washing the dishes too large to fit in it by hand. Moving to the dining room, he gathered the table cloth into a ball and wiped down the placemats with a wet rag. He checked the living room last, being sure to dispose of any trash and rinse off any dishes left over from last night’s movie. Finishing what he was doing, he returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge to retrieve two bottles of beer. Whether one was intended for me or merely a second for him I do not know, but after looking at me momentarily, he put one back.
Sitting in the seat across from me he began to tell a story of some raging party he went to one night with a few of his “Army buddies.”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” he took a swig of his beer, “it was crazy.” He sounded excited, but as I watched him speak, no genuine smile ever crossed his lips. He simply grinned, like one would, out of politeness or habit.
“What, no crazy stories of your own?” he asked rather sarcastically with the same distinct grin.
“Nothing like that; that’s not really my scene.”
“Good. That’s good.”
We sat in silence as he nodded his head and stared down at the table, lifting his eyes every so often to drink his beer. He looked the way people do when they are thinking about something, and Jeff certainly had enough to think about. Before leaving to join the Army, he had serious issues at home. He had a drug problem in his last two years of high school, his parents got divorced when he was only a boy, he hasn’t seen his father since the divorce, and he has an older brother that he has no recollection of meeting. Needless to say, I was not the one to start judging his behavior, so I remained sitting and listening to all he had to say, the same way I always used to do with him.
A ringing sounded from below the table and Jeff reached into his pocket to answer his phone, pulling him out of a trance-like state. It was his mother. He spoke to her gently and lovingly, offering to her whatever help she may need and assuring her that he was taking good care of himself. As the conversation came to an end he told her he loved her and would call her later to see how she was doing.
“Is everything ok?” I asked.
“Yea, that was my mom. She’s just worried about me, that’s all.”
“You seemed a little worried about her too.”
“It’s been hard on her lately. With me gone and Eli at college, I can tell she’s getting lonely.”
“Oh. Well it’s nice of you to be worried about her.”
Jeff nodded casually, “Well, how are your parents? I haven’t seen them in a long time.”
“They’re the same, especially my dad. He finally got me to read Ecclesiastes.”
“Gotta love Paul,” he said chuckling in a sort of appreciative remembrance.
Jeff knew my dad well. They used to get caught up in conversations about a scripture reading that Jeff claimed to have read, but never did, and my dad had read multiple times, but claimed to be unsure of its meaning. Dad was always trying to involve Jeff in Biblical discussions. He wisely thought, as he always does, that turning to God would help Jeff deal with his problems.
“Have you read Ecclesiastes?” I asked, assuming he had not and worrying that he would be set off by the question.
He stared at a point directly to the left of my face and spoke remotely, “’I explored my mind how to let my body enjoy life with wine and how to grasp folly – my mind still guiding me with wisdom – until I could see what is good for people to do under heaven during the few days of their lives.’”
The words from his mouth reflected the words on his back.
He quoted Ecclesiastes 2:3, a passage I reread after our visit. It speaks of the emptiness of pleasure and the ways in which only God can provide one with a full and satisfying life. He quoted it from memory, but there was sadness in his voice as though hinting at regret.
“Was that –“
“Ecclesiastes.”
“Paul would be proud. So am I.”
The day he made a change in his heart, he tattooed the inspiration to his back.
“If Jesus can carry the cross on his back, the least I can do is carry his words.”
Rather than a reminder to himself, the tattoo served as a testament to others that he understood the lifestyle he should be living, and he was working every day to make it better.
“It’s not the Bible verse people usually get, but I think that’s why I like it. It’s personal. I know what it means for me and when other people see it, they can read it their own way. I’m not perfect, I know that, but I’m trying now. I finally get it or at least I’m learning.”
He’s right. The tattoo is not a common one, in fact, I don’t think I know of anyone else with a tattoo of the words in Ecclesiastes 2:3, but it is perfect for Jeff and it is the perfect translation of his testimonial.
Pen and Needle 