We were constant sidekicks, LJ and I. Single parents of young sons that were near in age, we had been raised with similar values and those two facts gave us much in common. At the time, we lived about a mile apart, driveway to driveway, in a rural area. Our sons went to the local tiny-town school, so we participated in many of the same activities. Life was slow as was the drawl and cadence of speech. People were kind and trustworthy, deep country in the best sort of way. Jim ran the corner store/gas station. Betty ran the bait and tackle store down the road, and was the expert on the hot bait-of-the-week. Jack was a welder and was an expert at iron rail fences. The mailman was notably kind and friendly, as regular on his route as the school bus. I knew him and his sweet wife from my couple’s bowling league. They were just about the nicest people anyone could meet. That was back in the day when people felt comfortable leaving money for stamps and other items for the postman in their mailboxes.
LJ had been in a long and cumbersome break-up with her ex-husband, Billy. The mental separation and interaction took much longer than the actual divorce. They were both having “letting go” issues for their own personal and opposite reasons. As a result, havoc ensued, and I had developed a strong dislike for this guy. He is the type that admits to no wrong. My opinion of him took on a whole new brand after he left their son waiting and watching out the window for his expected arrival on Christmas Eve…. Frankly, I had always envisioned taking him down with a nice right hook.
LJ and her son had moved houses a couple of times, albeit within a few miles of each other, hoping Billy would lose track of her physical location and she wouldn’t feel stalked. There was nothing intimidating about him or his demeanor. In fact, he was more like an annoying child who knew no boundaries. After an acquaintance inquired about a greeting card she had sent a week earlier, LJ realized Billy was pilfering through her mail and taking anything personal. What irritated her as much as anything was the idea that he thought his actions were going undetected, so she devised a “catch the rat” plan.
That night LJ wrote a scathing letter on a yellow legal pad, tore it off, and folded it neatly. “BILLY” was written on the outside so that it was clearly noticeable. Below, “I hope you are enjoying reading my mail.” I won’t easily forget the call I received, when she laid out her plan and then read me the gutsy and scathing letter that would deliver her message to him.
“Dear Billy,
You are the sorriest excuse for a human being that ever walked the face of this earth! You think I don’ t know that you are monitoring our house and going through my mail. Ha! And just so you know, you have proven to me to be a man of such low character, you have to stand on your toes to see over the curb…”
Yeow! The letter went on to “comment” on his inattention to their son, his lack of paying child support….you get the picture. I admit, I was deriving a bit, okay, a truckload, of satisfaction in this plan. It wouldn’t be the first time he had received the brunt of her disgust with him, but he would, indeed, know that he was not getting by with these latest stunts.
The next morning, she stapled the neatly folded letter at the top, placed it inside her mailbox, and lifted the flag as she left for work. Her daily route took her on a 150 mile round trip everyday. As she drove away, she began fantasizing in her own smug way about Billy finding and reading the letter.
I, too, worked an extended distance from home, and on my drive that morning I began to fantasize about the scene that would unfold. That’s when it washed over me like a cold shower on a Texas August afternoon. I grabbed my phone.
LJ: Hello
Me: Did you put that letter in the mailbox?
LJ: Ohhhh, yes! (satisfied chuckle)
Me: Ohhhhhhhh nnnnnoooooo. OH NO!!!!! OH NO!!!!
LJ: “Ohhhh, yes!….Wait..what..why…'”
Me: (Deep inhale and a measured voice) Do you know our dear, sweet postman’s name?
LJ: (pause) No, WHY?
Me: (in the smallest voice I could muster) His name is BILLY!
Silence…..The play button had been pushed, and the unstoppable catastrophic moment was in motion.
The wrong Billy, the wonderful Billy, would soon see the perky red flag, the neatly stapled letter with his name and would inevitably read the caustic words that would peel the skin back on any kind and unsuspecting face!
That evening, LJ pulled up to the little row of mailboxes in front of her home. She creaked open the metal lid and saw it there, lying sideways on top of the day’s mail delivery. A piece of tape covered the hole that once held a neatly positioned staple.
The next day as Billy, the postman, pulled up to the mailboxes on his regular route, LJ approached him from her driveway. He stepped out of the truck and waited for her with his hands folded in front, head slightly down and his usually fair-skinned face was glowing like a red neon apology sign.
“I am so, so sorry, I…”, he said in his slow drawl. He paused then stepped toward her.
“What?” interrupted LJ. “It is ME that is sorry. I had NO idea your name is “Billy” until my friend told me. That letter was CERTAINLY NOT meant for you. Needless to say I was horrified!”
She heard his slow, kind voice continue from admidst his distressed red glow , “I kinda figured that out about the second paragraph. I tried to put it back like I found it. You should’ve seen me tearing up that mail truck looking for that tiny little staple that had come out of the top! But, all I could find was tape. I really wasn’t sure what to do after that, so I just taped it up and put it back. Figured the right person might find it. I just couldn’t imagine why you thought I was reading your mail.”
They laughed together as the air took on an easiness, and agreed it would be a moment they would long remember with laughter. As Billy drove away, LJ hurried toward the house to give me the long-awaited call.
God must have been belly laughing at us as he watched the whole scenario play out. Like a wise parent who knows His children well, He often allows us to step into the middle of our own consequences. I was reminded of a Bible verse that sure would have been useful to apply at the time:
If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought.” James 1:5-6 (MSG)
Yeah, I bet we would’ve received a more productive idea. God bless us all as we cope with life. May we seek His wisdom and not always act on our quite disastrous ideas and find ourselves gloating right before the fall.