An Only Hope
A Search for the Goodness of God in the Land of the Living
by
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The winter sun seared through the gray morning haze. Laguna Madre was still. Behind us a great blue heron, talons poised like a ballerina, skimmed the shallow waters as she probed for her breakfast. The flat boat's motor groaned as we climbed aboard, Gretchen muscled the boat's stubborn steering, freed it from its moorings and eased us into the channel.
Pastor Hamilton sat down in the front of the boat. He rested the cheery-wood box at his feet. Head bowed, he betrayed a slight tremor as he fingered his notes.
Barbara and the red-headed angel sat port and starboard and I slumped in the stern hoping against all reason that I awaken soon from this day-mare.
"Tell me where." Gretchen wrenched the wheel sharply toward the port side. A jagged array of rocky deposits peaked through the bay's surface and scraped the side. I looked back at the island, forward toward the horizon and then glanced at the bridge.
"Over there," I pointed, knowing I would never be able to tell Daniel exactly where we scattered his daddy's ashes; but, at least I had three points of reference.
Pastor Hamilton rose, took a deep breath, committed Danny's remains to the deep, praised God for his life and then prayed for his soul. With a gentle gulp the Mother Bay swallowed all that was left of my baby boy. The dam burst and streams of tears tumbled down as an unrecognizable whimper escaped my lips.
He'll be cold," I thought.
The eyes of a sea turtle bulged as he observed it all. When he could tolerate the sadness no longer, he sucked his bony head toward his shell and sank into the deep.
Barbara floated a home-made cross crisscrossed with leafy bows and flowers toward the ripples marking the spot. It lingered there for several minutes and then ambled toward the horizon. The red-headed angel scattered bougainvillea petals until her bag was empty. The colorful, undulating trail remained intact until we left the dock.
Words were scarce as we hugged each other and went home. As I crossed the Bay Bridge I made a vow. "If I can spare one family this kind of pain, Lord, I will do it... just show me how.
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About the Book
Caution: An Only Hope could soften a hard heart or open a blind eye. Humor and pathos surely enough for one lifetime unfold in patterned fashion. God’s faithful hand on display—so obvious yet mysterious—encourages, protects, comforts and heals.
A lot of water shimmers under the bay bridge. A lot of aqua and blue streaked water teems with reds, speckled trout, sharks, sting rays, pelicans diving, and dolphins leaping.
The wind sometimes churns the sea an angry gray and occasionally threatens to blow my dreams away. Last fall it blew in the red tide with its stench of death, choking the lungs and making the eyes tear. That same wind changed on a whim and blew the algae out to sea, and easy waves covered all as if nothing had happened. And so the waters of the gulf mirror my life with all its beauty and challenge.
“Katherine’s plane has repeatedly crashed—in a childhood rape and a failed marriage, her sons’ heartbreaking choices, in her own illnesses of body and soul, as well as sore disappointments in church and work alike. Yet though often smashed, the fine aircraft of her life has never burned. She is indeed an exemplary survivor. Her story will encourage readers who want to look life squarely in the eye, and to be buoyed by her bedrock faith that (as a Tolkien character says) ‘everything sad will become untrue.’”
—Ralph C. Wood, professor of theology and literature, Baylor University, Waco, Texas
“There are some people created by our heavenly Father who have courage along with faith, and this book captures the author’s steadfast resolve to go through her memory bank of joy along with the agony of loss. I know it will be a blessing to all who read it. The sequel will be in heaven when all are reunited.”
—Barbara Creighton, friend, CEO, Sarati International, Bayview, Texas
“A compelling, candid look at a life of faith.”
—Hamilton Musser, pastor, CornerStone Church by the Bay, Laguna Vista, Texas
About the Author
A Midwesterner, bred and educated, K.C. taught school until her family moved to California. There, tested with every sort of sadness, she escaped to the long hot summers of Texas. In 1999 she graduated from Baylor University’s Truett Seminary with a Master of Divinity and taught Old Testament and World Religions at Navarro Community College.
For seven years K.C. ministered to homeless women and their children until Hanna’s Ministry closed in 2007. At present she serves her church as an elder and as a Bible teacher, and occasionally preaches when the pastor is traveling. Now retired, she fishes and plays golf with her grandson. Today, most of her waking hours are spent at ArtSpace, elbow deep in clay, creating. She can’t help it. It’s in her spiritual genes!
K.C. wrote An Only Hope to honor God and offer hope, for if she can wake each day expectant of the goodness of God, so can you.