After I was seated on the plane, I texted Andreas to let him know that I was on my way. Then I settled in for the long flight, watching the plane fly over the Atlantic Ocean on the screen in front of me. Most of the people appeared to be seasoned travelers. As soon as the cabin lights went off, they pulled out their headphones tablets or books and submerged themselves into the world of technology, discounting the beauty of the skies around them. I, on the other hand, kept my eyes on the heavens and its unique shades of blue.

  Once we landed, I tried to maneuver through the crowds as quickly as I could. There was so much more to see, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from darting in all directions, everything seemed brighter and bigger than home. As I neared the entrance, I saw my son’s peanut shaped head above the crowd.

  “Ma, I’m here!” He stood there, looking proud in his uniform.

  We ran to each other; my head now only reached the height of his chest. It felt like I hadn’t seen him in years. “I made it, I can’t believe I’m here, Andreas. I’m in Italy. This is the best Christmas gift ever! Thanks, son.”

  When we left the airport, Andreas introduced me to his new best friend, a 2013 Fiat 500L. It drove like a dream but watching him drive on the left side of the rode was a bit unnerving. We drove through Udine and then to Pordenone where he rented a two-bedroom house. It was nothing like I pictured, it was a quaint cottage sitting along a hillside. The atmosphere was very quiet and peaceful, and I fell asleep in the guest bedroom like a baby.

  Venice, Italy is set on shallow waters of the Adriatic Sea, a city held by tall wooden struts, situated along a group of small islands and bridges. To reach the city, we caught a shuttle bus from the town of Pordenone. When I stepped onto its presence, I felt the essence from the days of old and the presence of the new. The setting looked like a huge room that had been splashed with bright pastel colors. We stood on the edge of a dock watching the gondolas go by, and I couldn’t help but wave to the couples seated in them. Being mid-winter, there was a chill in the air, so I took hold of Andreas’s jacket, and we walked down closer to the waters where the rays from the sun were warmer. The scene was surreal, watching people sit and sipping coffee at neighboring cafés and walking into the world-renowned fashion houses of Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Versace, to name a few were more than I could ever dream imaginable.

  On the days not spent in Venice, we visited the beautiful vineyards and historical caves-a kiss just below the snow-topped Dolomite mountains. The hospitality of their people was very gracious, and I learned early on that it was impolite not to accept a kiss on each cheek and welcome each other with the customary “Ciao.” The one thing I truly loved was the Italian’s dedication to family time; most businesses and churches were required to follow the riposo (three-hour midday break); it happened everywhere as it was custom.

  Early on Christmas morning we drove to the Venezia Mestre Railway Station and boarded the Frecciargento train headed for Rome. We were both excited to see Rome for the first time, so we didn’t mind the six-hour ride to the Capital of Italy. Of course, the first thing my son wanted to do when we got there was eat, so we stopped at a nearby restaurant called Roadhouse. The aroma was very inviting, it reminded me of the Texas Roadhouse back home, a juicy steak would be a nice transition from the creamy Italian dishes they served in Venice. The entire meal was delicious, but the oddest thing was that no one who worked at the establishment knew what steak sauce was, they kept bringing us ketchup.

  Afterward, we took to the cobblestone streets of Rome to do some sightseeing. The roads were made with stones that weren’t evenly laid, which my heels caught in between every small crack, thank goodness I brought my comfy sneakers along in my overnight bag. We missed the Pope speak since the Vatican was set far from the city central, we decided to explore the Historic Centre inner courts and local areas. We stopped a coachman and went on a carriage ride, I was able to bargain a reasonable price that worked for both of us. The gentleman rode us through the center of Rome, from the Colosseum to the Pantheon, from St. Peter’s Basilica to Michelangelo’s Museum and the Trevi Fountain (visitors have tried to swim in that fountain, believing that it was the fountain of youth); our tour ended at the bottom of the Spanish Steps of Rome where we did a lot of shopping and sight-seeing. It was hard to follow the city map until we figured out that the names of the streets were engraved into the stone walls. We stopped for a late dinner at La Matriciana, they served smothered lamb chops which had become Andreas’s favorite. The owners shared stories of how it was said that a young woman from Amatrice began to serve her spicy tomato sauce where the restaurant is currently located.

  Before we checked into our rooms at the Hotel Mozart, I couldn’t resist getting just one more gelato! It had become the best thing I’d tasted since a yogurt from “TCBY” - may they rest in peace. In Italy, gelato is made from whole milk and not cream, and there was absolutely no way to pick a favorite flavor because they were all so good and made of real fruit. There was the fregola (strawberry), the limone (lemon), the ananas (pineapple), the pesca (peach) and the mela (apple) that I had tasted so far.

  It had been my best Christmas ever until Andreas sat down with me and shared the news of his first assignment-his first tour of duty would be in Afghanistan. The Air Force planned to deploy him the first of May for six months. Being sent to the Middle East is what we had prayed against, and my heart was crushed. Within seconds where I was and what I was doing no longer mattered. Afghanistan is mostly an ungodly, unholy land, that is governed by people who don’t believe in God, but for some reason, my son accepted the idea of going, and I couldn’t understand why.

  “Andreas, what are you saying? Before you were sent to Italy a year ago, you shared the same feelings as I do about Afghanistan.”

  “Well, during this past year I’ve come to a better understanding of my purpose and role as a Senior Airman. Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “That’s the good news I wanted to share. I’m officially a Senior Airman now.”

  “That’s great, son, but what else are you talking about?”

  “Let me break it down like this. At first, I thought that I was joining the Air Force because everybody wanted me to, but now that I’ve been given more responsibility, I’ve come to see the respect and honor it is to serve my country. Now I’m doing this for me, because I want to make a difference, Ma. I know that you’re worried about me, but you raised me to trust and have faith in God. I don’t know whose life I might touch, or whose life may inspire me, but I believe that God will go before me. Don’t you?”

  Out of the mouths of babes, they say. My son was showing unwavering faith, although I had fallen short. Taking his hand in mine, I silently prayed to God for forgiveness, and then I openly asked Andreas for forgiveness as part of my repentance. He was becoming the man of God that I’ve always known he would be.

  It was the month of June 2017. It is said that you can measure time like a straight line is defined by point A to point B, but when the hands on the clock move by my sight a picosecond of an actual second my days became longer. On the other hand, the seasons seemed to go by quicker with each year that passed; it had been five years since he had graduated from basic training. Andreas had accomplished three tours in Afghanistan. He sounded happy, his life was full of many new people across the globe. He was learning new languages and visiting exotic continents on leave that I was surely happy for him to see, so why did I feel the way I did? Was it the void of his distance, not hearing his voice or seeing his face when we chatted online or had I grown too dependent on knowing that he was with me.

  A small lump grew bigger and bigger in the back of my throat thinking what terrible parent I had become when I had always prayed for his success. I grabbed a tissue out of my purse and chose a seat midway of the sanctuary, instead of my usual place on the second row. I hid my tears and pretended to listen to my pastor preach when suddenly one of our college youth members hopped over to me with a cast noticeably on his left leg. Pushing his crutch to his side, he said, “You might not know me, but I’ve heard what you’ve said about your son. Both of my parents are in the military, and I’ve been a military brat my whole life,” he smiled. “I would like to pray with you if you don’t mind.”

  Immediately I felt embarrassed, but when I looked up at his warm face, I scooted over to offer him a seat beside me. The feeling of shame must have been written all over me because I also realized that I didn’t consider anyone else that might have been sitting there. When he sat down, I realized that I had never seen him before, which was odd as I was very active in our ministry. He took my hand in his and prayed for me and Andreas with a very gentle voice. When he stood to leave, he told me that everything would be okay. I cried and thanked him wholeheartedly for taking the time to pray with me. His words made me stronger somehow, and since that Sunday morning, my outlook on Andreas being in foreign lands was totally different.

  That was a summer ago. Andreas is now a Sergeant and is serving in South Korea. Over the last year, that prayer has helped me to understand that Andreas must follow the path that God has set for him. It was not my position anymore, and that gave my heart peace. I started to inquire about the young man who was bold enough to pray for me during service, I wanted to thank him and tell him what his prayers had done for me. A few young faces looked familiar, but none of them matched the one I sought for. This began to give me an odd feeling, so I asked our Youth Ministers if they knew of such a young man whose parents had been or were in the military. They looked at each other, I could almost see the gigantic question mark dangling between their foreheads, but then their expression turned blank. They apologized and told me that they had not mentored a young man or woman that matched my description. I knew that God had sent me an Angel to provide His peace.

  Exodus 23:20 ~ “Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.”

  Sandra Boykin is a native of Maryland, who now resides amongst the mountains in South Carolina. She has been featured on a local NC cable channel, featured as an author during one of Hank Stewart's Annual White Linen Affairs and has done a read from her novel The Table’s EDGE (The Table’s EDGE-2 Sequel) at an Ella Curry's Black Pearls Magazine Chocolate Social in Atlanta, GA. One of the most important facts about Sandra is that she has spent most of her life's work dedicated to serving the public by working for the State of Maryland, in Clinical Research and Administration at Duke University, mentoring teens and by writing books to aspire those who’ve been forced into silence by an oppressor.“Here I Am” Will be the first book that she publishes under her new founding company, Butterfly Wings Design Publishing.

  BWDeditingandpublishing@gmail.com

  www.linkedin.com/in/sandra-d-boykin-5730168a

  https://www.amazon.com/Sandra-Boykin/e/B00CWRME4Y

  Sandra Boykin

  If you enjoyed this anthology and have a short story to tell or a true life testimony that will bless the lives of others, email your information to: vanessa.praiseunlimited@gmail.com. We would love to have your story in the next anthology.

  Until next time, thank you for reading our stories...

 

 

  Vanessa Miller, Angels Working Overtime

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends