My husband had just stepped out of the car when his phone began to ring. I looked out the window, watching the tow truck driver as he lowered Elsa off the racks, my husband looking on while a lazy August drizzle settled around us, and decided to answer the phone call. It was Jack. And I smiled. I don't know how they always find me. But I'm so glad they do. They're the gruff looking grandpa sorts who really are the biggest teddy bears ever. And we become fast friends. When I first met Jack, I told him I was going to keep my eye on him. "Well, you better!" he had said with a laugh.
That Sunday morning, the morning of the day that Elsa took her first (and hopefully last!) tow truck ride, I had stayed home with Jobie and his runny nose. Jack called to see where I had been. He asked me if I was interested in Indian history. I told him I thought I could be. He chuckled. Then he told me how his great uncle had lived with the Cheyenne Indians and died with an arrowhead inside of him. "Well, anyway, I make dream catchers and I'd like to make you one," he said. He asked my favorite colors and also asked if I'd be in trouble with my preacher husband for having a dream catcher. I laughed.
A few weeks later, that preacher husband of mine brought home the most beautiful dream catcher. And yesterday, as I stepped through the doors of the church and spotted Jack sitting in his wheelchair and handing out the bulletins, I leaned over and thanked him for his beautiful gift to me.
Stories from Here is a series that is being written and photographed because I want to remember all of the people and places, happenings, findings, and friendships that we are experiencing here. Read Stories from Here / Part One here and Stories from Here / Part Two here.