EXTENSION Short Story Contest - First Place

Listen to Catholic Radio Weekly's interview with EXTENSION Short Story Contest winner Christina Sauer

Christina Sauer, the winner of Catholic Extension's 2008 Short Story contest, is a sophomore at Presentation Academy in Louisville, Ky., where she is on the honor roll. She is a member of the Cathedral of the Assumption Parish. While in elementary school, Christina won four Young Authors Awards from the Louisville Courier-Journal. Aside from writing, Christina enjoys theater, Shakespeare, dance, and playing the piano. Over the past year, she has performed in productions by Walden Theater, Presentation Academy, and the Kentucky Shakespeare Youth Academy. Christina lives in Corydon, Ind., with her parents and two younger sisters.

Forgiven and Set Free

by Christina Sauer

Beads of perspiration dotted my forehead. My hands were sweating. I could feel my eyelids closing under the heavy weight of several sleepless nights. My firm grip on the steering wheel loosened. In the distance I heard horns blaring. A women began to scream as I hit the brakes. It was too late. I was going too fast. I awaited the impact I knew was coming.as coming.

"Father!"

I fell to the ground. The room was spinning. I couldn't comprehend where I was. Then it hit me like a brick wall. I was on a plane headed to Dillingham, Alaska. A plane that I was supposed to be flying!

"John!" I looked at the pilot seat where the man was calmly flying the plane. Thank you, Heavenly Father. I stood up, shaking, and moved to the copilot seat.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine. Thank you for taking over."

John gave me a wide toothy smile. "Just doing my job, Father. Flying ain't the easiest thing in the world."

I silently laughed. No, it wasn't.

John gestured out the window at the glittering clouds. "It's just beautiful, ain't it? If I could just live in the clouds, I would. Pardon me for saying it, Father, but up here I feel closer to God than in church." John flipped a few switches and fastened his seat belt.

After nine long hours, the time finally had come to descend.

I quickly buckled up and clenched the armrests until my knuckles turned white. I disliked taking off and landing. My ears began to pop as we dropped in altitude. Why did it feel as though the plane was falling out from underneath me?

"Don't black out on me again!" teased the pilot.

Let us land safely. I swallowed hard. In a matter of a few minutes I would be on the ground.

John was a well-experienced pilot. The plane landed so smoothly that I didn't realize it until it was securely parked in the hangar. "Father, welcome to Dillingham!"

Relief and anxiety surged through my body. I was thousands of miles away from home and feeling very alone. I quietly whispered, "Father, I'm glad You know what You're doing. Help me to know as well!"

The airport was tiny, with only one gate. It was very different from the security at Midway Airport in Chicago. Here, I didn't see an officer, metal detector, or check in station anywhere. In fact, I didn't see anyone except for a dark-skinned man in an Eskimo parka. He waved and walked towards me.

"Cama-i!" The man extended his hand.

I shook it. "Cama-i."

He began gibbering on in the Yup'ik language. I held up my hands. "Caciitua!" It roughly meant, "I have no idea what I am doing."

He laughed heartily. "No worries! I speak English. I know not many big words, but some. You are Father Matthew Champlain, no?"

I sighed. "Yes, and you must be Thomas."

"Yes, I am Thomas, Father Matthew."

John had finished unloading my luggage and greeted Thomas warmly. "How are you?"

"Good. Smooth trip, I hope?" Thomas grabbed one of my large duffle bags.

John and I exchanged bemused glances. "For the most part. Now, let's get Father here off and running. I'll see y'all later."

"I greatly appreciate it."

Dillingham was more beautiful than I had imagined. It sat silently along the crystal blue Bristol Bay with a light dusting of snow. I could see several houses scattered about, a convenience store, and majestic mountains looming in the distance. As Thomas drove me downtown, he pointed out my new church, St. Paul's Catholic Church. I smiled at the rundown, tan and green pole building. I hoped the community would accept me. As we pulled into the next driveway, I noticed an intricate painting of the crucifix on the side of the church. I knew that God had a very special reason for sending me here.

Next door to the church was the rectory. It was a quaint log cabin with a wraparound front porch. Two large pine trees made it a picture right off of a Christmas card. I couldn't ask for a more perfect house.

"Here is your abode," said Thomas. He placed my luggage on the porch and handed me a set of keys.

"Thank you for all your help." He patted my shoulder and drove off.

I was left to settle in and find some food. I also had to write my homily. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I still didn't know how to communicate with my congregation. The Internet could only supply so many words in the Yup'ik language.

Twenty souls came to church that Sunday morning. As I gazed over the small group, I saw many older, weathered faces. Also in attendance were several young children, and one teenage boy. My goal was to bring the gospel message to as many of them as I could. I would soon learn that my mission wasn‘t just to bring the Good News, but to experience it as well.

After the service, I held a small get-together luncheon. Many of the villagers could speak some English. It was nice to know that I could communicate with some of them without the use of an interpreter.

The local fare was definitely a new experience for me. Since most of the men here were fishermen, I wasn't surprised to see a variety of fish. However, dessert was a surprise.

The one adolescent boy offered me a bowl of what appeared to be ice cream. His big black eyes twinkled as I scooped a large spoonful into my mouth. I gagged. In my mouth was a combination of berries and something as slimy as a slug. As politely as I could, I forced myself to swallow. The boy stared at his feet, shaking in uncontrollable laughter.

"Delectable," I mumbled.

His face gleamed. "MMM hmmm. And I'm surprised you could wolf it down. Not many newbies can stand to eat whale blubber, fish oil and snow." His skinny arm took the bowl from my outstretched hand.

I coughed hard. I could already feel my stomach beginning to lurch. "You speak English?"

"Yeah. I'm Shay. My Yup'ik name is longer, but everyone calls me Shay."

Shay was a typical teenager. He was tan and lanky with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. However, he seemed rather thin and pale.

"It's nice to meet you, Shay. I was quite pleased to see a teen attend Mass this morning."

He blushed. "I just know that I'm a sinner and need it."

I was floored. This kid had a lot of faith for a - what? - fifteen year old? I could remember when I was his age. I dreaded church. I used to stay up late and "accidentally" sleep in so my mom would leave me at home. Then, when I went to Mass, I would spend the whole time people-watching or staring at the ceiling. It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I finally felt God's presence in my life! Lord, bless this child.

"Hey, Father, you said in your homily today that Paul had made lots of mistakes, but God forgave him anyway. Is that true? No matter how terrible the sin, if you're truly sorry, God will forgive you?"

I sat in silence. This was a deep theological as well as a personal question for me. "God is merciful and will always forgive," I replied. Shay's eyes welled up with tears.

"So, Shay, what do you like to do?" I asked, to quickly lighten the conversation.

"The typical stuff, video games, snowmobiling, hanging with the guys, and some art."

"You snowmobile? Thank heavens! I had to call Thomas this morning to pick me up in his truck because I couldn't figure out where the key goes in my snowmobile," I cried.

"Shay can surely help you with that." I turned around to see a blonde, middle-aged woman. "I'm Nurse Miriam from Colorado, Father. I work at the local hospital."

Shay shyly saluted goodbye and promised to help me with my snowmobile.

Miriam watched him leave with tears in her eyes. "I can't believe you got a word out of that boy, let alone a conversation."

I gave her a quizzical look.

"Well, you see, Father Matthew, Shay has cancer."

My mouth dropped. "What?"

"About two months ago, he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. It grows in the lymph nodes and slowly destroys your immune system. The doctors gave him chemotherapy, but it didn't help. They only expect him to live a few more months."

I could feel my heart stop. He was so young. "How is his family?"

Miriam pointed towards a frail women. "His father left when he was diagnosed. He couldn't handle the stress. His poor mother takes it one day at a time. Ever since his diagnosis, Shay has become more withdrawn."

As Nurse Miriam walked towards the door to leave, she shook my hand and tears streamed down her eyes. "I'm sure I don't have to ask, but please keep him in your prayers."

I nodded that I would. Before I realized it, Easter was a week away. Alaska was beautiful in the spring. Colorful wildflowers bloomed, while enormous moose and deer rambled through my backyard. God had truly sent me to the right place.

Good Friday's service was bleak. A pacific storm flew in that morning. The winds whistled and the ceiling moaned. I had to end the service early out of fear for the safety of my congregation.

I hurriedly closed up the church and rushed home. I was so exhausted that I went straight to bed.

I suddenly awoke when I heard a knock on the door. I was drenched in sweat. I had had the same dream as the one on the plane. I quickly opened the door. Nurse Miriam stood, her face tear-stained, with a letter.

"Shay died!"

Before I could say another word, she pushed a letter into my hand. I slowly opened it and read:

Hey Father,

On the night my dad left, I told him I hated him and hoped he'd die. Eventually, I forgave my dad for leaving, but I didn‘t know if God would forgive me. Thanks to you, I now know that He not only forgave me, but that He loves me. Please watch over my mom and tell her I love her and miss her.

Thanks, and see you in Heaven.

Shay

The room spun. I held out an arm to Miriam and she steadied me. Thank you, Father.

Shay's funeral was the next day. I had never seen so many people gather in my little church. I even had to put chairs in the aisle. All of them were people who loved Shay. My throat was parched and I could barely listen to the eulogies.

When it was my turn to speak, I anxiously said, "Shay was one incredible young man. Until yesterday, I held in my soul a dark secret. When I was nineteen years old, I fell asleep at the wheel and hit a woman. She was completely paralyzed. My carelessness has haunted me my entire life. However, I never truly felt God's forgiveness.

"I was sent as a missionary priest to bring the Good News of Our Savior's love and forgiveness to the natives of Dillingham. God truly works in mysterious ways.

"Last night, Shay shared with me the true meaning of God's forgiveness, and I will always be grateful to him. Thank you, Shay."

As the funeral procession made its way to the cemetery, I glanced at the wall of the church and saw the crucifix once again. Beside me, Miriam whispered, "Did you know that Shay painted that the day before you arrived?"

I gasped at the painting and was filled with emotion. For above Jesus' cross was a painted banner that read, "Forgiven and Set Free."