Tramway Talk: a Short Story

Tramway Talk

“Yep, I been workin’ on dyin’ for a long time now.”

“How is that?” I asked. I always had to ask. The fellow sitting next to me on the aerial tramway was dressed predominantly in red, a popular color on the slopes.

“Well, it’s like this: I believe we oughtta live our lives in such a way that we can die without regrets.” He didn’t say it like a sermon, and both his face and voice remained cheerful.

“That makes sense,” I said. I looked out through the glass at the incredible mountain scene below us and all around us. I could feel the wind pushing against the suspended tramcar, making it rock from side to side. The sky was mostly gray but here and there small patches of blue were beginning to appear. It might just clear off and become a perfect day.

It wasn’t that I’m not a friendly person. But talk of death, in any form, was not what I wanted to hear while dangling high in the air like this. So I tried to change the subject.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m a mortician, an undertaker.” He said, smiling fully this time.

Perfect, I thought. The tramcar wasn’t all that big. On this particular trip, at this time of the day, there were about six or seven of us going to the top. And I had to sit next to a mortician who was, apparently, really into his work. But I tried again, anyway. The patches of blue above us were widening, after all, and spots of bright sunlight were moving along some of the slopes and rocks. We might see sunshine yet.

“That’s interesting,” I answered. “I’m a civil engineer in Dallas.” Okay, so it was a lie. In fact, both comments were lies. I had no interest at all in how dead bodies were prepared for burial or cremation. And I wasn’t an engineer. I was a temp-for-hire draftsman contracting for the city. But I was taking night classes, working very hard to major in engineering. So it wasn’t like an outright or bald-faced lie. I was simply trying to speak optimistically.

“That sounds like an interesting job,” the fellow next to me said. “Do you engineer those off ramps on the freeways?” The guy didn’t look all that old. Maybe 35, or so. He was about medium height and had what appeared to be about a three-week-old beard that was mostly blond with hints of red. He didn’t fit my mental picture of a mortician.

“No, I work on the design and maintenance of the water supply system.” This time I told the truth.

“Well, I was just going to say that whoever designs and builds those off ramps for the freeways in some cities have done a lot to increase my business.” The stranger said with a smile. “I’m not complaining, you understand.” Then he chuckled, shaking his head a little at his own dark humor.

“Yes, I’ll bet they have,” I said.

There it was again. The topic would not go on to something lighter, something cheerful or upbeat. Staring out the windows at the snow-covered rocks and trees below and all around, I noticed that the clouds had pushed together again to close the little windows on the blue sky. Suddenly, the whole day seemed to take a dark turn. What had seemed all morning like a great start on a much-needed January weekend of play now felt almost threatening. Like some omen warning me to go home and forget skiing.

But of course I couldn’t do anything about it right now. I was bound for the top. Trapped inside this steel and glass cage with a guy who loved to talk about death. Like an idiot, I found myself talking again, trying to move on past the gloom that was gathering around my heart.

“Um, how would you say that your desire to have no regrets at death has changed your day-to-day life? Has it made a big impact on how you live?” What was I thinking? I sounded like some geek reporter for the Religious News Channel.

The stranger turned and looked me square in the face, and said, “Oh, my life has changed completely. I used to be one of them cussin’ and fightin’ types. But now I try to slow down and just appreciate each day and all that it brings me. And even my career is different. I used to work in the oil fields. All I could think about was money and drinkin’ and partyin’. But now I work with families and friends who’ve just lost a loved one. Instead of thinkin’ about myself all the time, I now spend my time helpin’ other people.

“Yes, that sure sounds like some drastic changes, all right.” (Like a mighty boring life, I thought to myself.) "Are you really happier now, though? Don’t you miss some of the fun things you used to do?”

“Well, I do miss some of the old friends I used to have. Some folks are bothered by my new career. They don’t like bein’ around someone who makes them think about death.”

“I think I can understand that…” My answer was interrupted by a distant clanging noise as the tram car came to a lurching stop. We were only about half of the way to the top. There was no place to go. My heart went from a steady ka-thump-ka-thump to something like a jackhammer pace.

I’ve always been a little afraid of heights. I love the mountains. I love to fly. But even on a step ladder, my legs stiffen up and my normally good sense of balance seems to melt away. I always enjoy the tram rides up to the slopes, but I also always feel a little nervous whenever I look straight down. And right now I was looking down, and all around for any place that might work for a crash landing. I saw nothing at all to make me feel any better. Nothing but air was below us for a long way, and then there were huge, jagged rocks, partly covered in ice and snow.

The fellow next to me saw the anxious look on my face and smiled gently. “It’s okay. They stop along here sometimes when they’re adjustin’ the big wheels up there. We’ll get goin’ again in a few seconds.”

Sure enough, after only a few seconds, the tram lurched into motion and we started moving upward again. I let out a silent sigh of relief. I tried to relax completely but it was all I could do to loosen the death grip on my skis. As always seems to happen whenever I get nervous, I started talking again.

“This is my last free weekend before I go back to school,” I said. “I’m taking night classes to complete my degree in engineering. I’m not really an engineer just yet.” Admitting the truth was actually more of a relief than an embarrassment. That surprised me a little.

“I’ll bet some of those classes are tough,” the stranger said. “Especially if you’re havin’ to work in the daytime, too.” There was nothing in his voice or tone to indicate surprise or disapproval. “I had to go back to school when I became a mortician. Whew! I thought I was goin’ to drown in all that study.”

“It’s no picnic,” I said. “That’s for sure.” I nodded my head. Suddenly, bright sunlight hit the side of the tramcar, splashing half the inside with golden brightness. The added warmth was instant and pleasant. It was just a patch of light, shining through one of those occasional windows in the clouds. But the brightness it brought me went deeper than the illuminated surface around me.

“I don’t know how most folks get through the extra load of study on top of working,” the brightly dressed mortician said. “But I had to pray and ask for God’s help. I think I would have flunked out and just quit, otherwise. How about you? How do you deal with all the extra pressure and the demands on your time?”

“Well, I don’t pray, if that’s what you mean,” I said. “Well, I do pray. Sometimes. But I never thought to pray about school or classes. I may have prayed just before a couple of exams. Especially back in high school.” I grinned to let him know I was joking. “But I think that nothing takes the place of just doing the work. If I study and prepare, then I’m usually ready for whatever they throw at me.”

The stranger nodded in agreement. “Yep. That’s always been how I see it, too,” he said. “But even when I was doin’ my best, I got to a point where I was still slidin’ backwards instead of makin’ progress. Workin’ in the oil fields all day and then tryin’ to cram and study all night just wasn’t workin’ out for me. So when I was thinkin’ about givin’ up, I prayed. I asked Jesus to help me make it through, if this change in direction was His will. He heard me and helped me. I made it through. I still had to give it all I had, and then some. But I could feel and see the changes.”

“Guess I’m just lucky, so far,” I said. “Things have been pretty bad at times, but I’ve always been able to make it through on my own. Like I said, I never really thought about praying for a day to go better, or for the extra strength to make it through a rough time.”

Once again, the fellow next to me was nodding in agreement. “I know just what you mean, Friend. I lived my whole life like that until I met Jesus a few years ago. And I had always thought that I was makin’ it all on my own. But when I started learnin’ the Bible I found out that God often helps us out even when we don’t know how to call on Him. Sometimes that happens because other folks are prayin’ for us. And sometimes it happens just because of God’s kindness, or what the preachers call ‘grace.’”

That painted just a little too rosy of a picture of real life to me, so I said, “But what about all the people God seems to forget to help? What about the children who are starved and beaten or the thousands of refugees and others who starve to death? What about diseases that cripple and kill? And what about all the students who do flunk out, and the kids that get hooked on drugs, and the people who lose their jobs because they drink too much, or because their company decided to start sending all the work out of the country?”

I was asking a basic question that had troubled me every time I heard some preacher talk about how merciful and good God was to everybody. I doubted that this mortician was going to give me the answer I needed. But it felt good to ask, anyway.

I glanced over to see if I had overwhelmed him. Apparently not. He was smiling that same little smile, as though he had heard it all before. And then I realized that he probably had. Being a mortician, in the business of death and grief, he had no doubt heard such questions several times a week. Maybe several times a day.

In his quiet voice, the fellow said, “Well, I sure can’t claim to have all the answers. We all have plenty of questions when it comes to God and how life works. I talk with folks all the time who want to know why God took their daddy away, or their mamma, or their little baby, or their son who was about to graduate with honors, or their spouse just when they were needed the most.

"Just yesterday a young lady was asking why God took away her grandmother, who was the only person in the whole world who had ever shown her any love or kindness. A lot of these folks are really good people, hard-workin’ people who’ve lived decent and God-fearing lives. And some of them are very angry with God. They feel that He’s been unfair and downright cruel. And too many of them don’t know how they’ll be able to go on living.”

“So what do you tell them?” I asked. “Do you have any answers that help them in their anguish and confusion?” The clouds had closed all the gaps again, and snow was flying around us as the tramcar continued, slowly, toward the top. But for the moment, I didn’t care. I was interested in what the mortician might say next.

“What can anyone say to the grieving that will take the pain away?” He asked. “Nothing I say, nothing that anyone says will give them what they really want when they’re hurtin’ like that. Most people don’t really want answers, anyway. They just want their loved ones back. They just want things to be made right again, as they see it.” The expression on his face made it clear that he was being sincere, that he had learned this lesson only after trying -- again and again -- to find the words that might help to ease some of the grieving of those whose lives have just been shattered by death.

“So you don’t tell them anything, at all?” I asked.

“I tell them what I know,” he said. “After all, I can only give away what I myself possess. I tell them things they will come to see and understand on their own with time: God has a plan for every human life. We all have just so many days here on earth. Nobody’s promised tomorrow. Every last one of us is goin’ to leave this world behind. What matters most, then, isn’t how or when we go, but how we use the time that we have.”

“And that helps them feel better?” I asked, not convinced that such words would help anyone at all.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said. “Most folks don’t respond right away, while I’m talking to them. Their own pain makes them kinda numb to what people are sayin’. But sometimes you can see it start to sink in, even before the funeral service is over. A few even come up and tell me how much they appreciated the things I said. Other times, they don’t seem to respond at all. But that’s okay. It really isn’t about makin’ people feel happy. It’s about helpin’ folks to get a better handle on basic facts of life.”

I shook my head, taking it in. I said, “Well, I guess there’s no getting around the fact that we are all going to die. I mean, no one gets out alive, right?”

“That’s right. Nobody gets out alive,” he said. “We will all leave this life at some point. What really matters is being able to look back and see that we made our time here count for something good. Who wants to spend a whole eternity regretting how we spent the few years we have here? No, it’s better to do without some of the temporary selfish pleasures, especially if those things get in the way of helping others. A lot of folks need help just to get through the day, to make it through the month. By making a few good choices, we can do our part to make life a little better for everyone.”

“Is this what your religion teaches you?” I asked.

He smiled big at that, and then said “Well, I don’t really think of it as religion. But the Bible does talk a lot about how we live life and how we treat everyone around us. God says that we should treat others fairly and decently, no matter who they are. The whole Old Testament is about that. And the Lord Jesus says the same thing again in the New Testament. But Jesus didn’t just talk about it. That’s how He lived out His life. He was always helpin’ others, healin’ people, feedin’ people, teachin’ people, settin’ people free. He spent His whole life caring for others, right up to the very end, when He died on the cross for the sins of the whole world.”

At this point, the tram reached the top. “We made it!” I said, and then felt a little foolish for the way it probably sounded. Not very macho.

“Yep, we made it one more time.” Everyone in the tramcar stood up and we made our way through the doorway to the crisp, cold air outside. Once again, the gray sky was breaking up, and the sun was shining through. Up ahead, I saw my buddies who had gotten an earlier start.

I turned and said, “Well, I’m headed over to my group. I’ve enjoyed talking with you. By the way, my name is Wade. Wade Strickland.”

“Yeah, Wade. I enjoyed it, too. My name is Larry Hanson,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll run into each other again, sometime.” As he spoke, a very attractive woman came up to meet him. “Oh, Wade,” Larry said, “I want you to meet my wife, Linda.” We exchanged greetings and smiles.

Turning back to Larry, I said, “One thing is sure. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I think I need to rearrange some priorities in my life.”

“We all do, Wade. We all do,” Larry said, nodding. “And If you find that you’re not makin’ much progress on your own, you can always call on the Lord Jesus. He’s in the business of givin’ people new lives. He forgives the wrong choices we’ve made in the past, and gives us a clean start. That’s what He did for me. Without His help, I’d still be on the old path I used to walk.”

“I just might do that, Larry,” I said with a wave. And then I went my way.

I might have forgotten most of the exchange with Larry and the tramway ride, except that on my first trip down the slopes I lost it and flew off to the side, right into a tree. I thought my leg was broken. Come to find out, Larry’s wife, Linda, was a registered nurse. Coming down right behind me, she turned aside and came over to see how I was.

It turned out that I had only pulled the muscles around my knee. So I went and got it wrapped, but was told to stay off the leg for the rest of the day. Great. While my friends had a perfect time on the slopes, I sat in the lodge with my leg propped up. But I had a good time, too.

Larry and Linda spent time with me, keeping me company, and helping me to hobble around. It turned out to be one of the best ski weekends I’ve ever had. I’m not exaggerating to say that my whole life was changed by that one day.

That weekend I decided to pray and ask for God’s help in rearranging my life. And my prayers were answered. In the weeks to come, I could see God’s hand powerfully at work in my life. I even started going to church. And then, two Sundays ago, after hearing the Gospel presented a few times from the pulpit, I gave my heart to the Lord Jesus Christ.

Now I understand. I know what Larry was talking about. I called him right away and told him the news. He and Linda are flying in this Friday to visit. I can’t wait to bring them up to date on everything the Lord has been doing in my life since I gave my life to Him. For one thing, I’m not as bothered by the thought of death and dying. But, more important, I now look forward to life itself a whole lot more.

A Bible promise for all who trust in the Lord:

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior." (Isaiah 43:1b-3a)

Amen to that.