One Lifetime Is Not Enough

One

Lifetime

is Not

Enough

REX NELSON GREENWALD

One Lifetime Is Not Enough!

Copyright © 2021 by Rex Nelson Greenwald All rights reserved.

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Published in the United States of America

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021912205

ISBN 978-1-64753-842-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64753-843-9 (Hardback)

ISBN 978-1-64753-844-6 (Digital)

17.09.21

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: One Lifetime

Chapter 2: Just in Time, Lives Collide

Chapter 3: A Couple of Weeks later

Chapter 4: A Few Weeks Earlier

Chapter 5: Little Mora

Chapter 6: The Resort

Chapter 7: A Little Grandpa History

Chapter 8: Everything Has a Real Start

Chapter 9: Flashback to Confirmation

Chapter 10: The Fish House

Chapter 11: New Life Style

Chapter 12: Tree Swing

Chapter 13: Hilding

Chapter 14: The Road Less Traveled

Chapter 15: Pojken, He talks!

Chapter 16: The First Play

Chapter 17: The Resort Was Humming

Chapter 18: Then Came Tess

Chapter 19: Back to Little Mora -Those People

Chapter 20: The Invite—People Are People

Chapter 21: Emmanuel

Chapter 22: Coy Becomes a Snoop

Chapter 23: Jordan’s Bay Part One: The Entrance to Rebirth

Chapter 24: Part 2 Ten Years Later - The Beginning

Chapter 25: The Moment in Time Was Now

Chapter 26: Don’t Count Your Time. Make Your Time Count

Chapter 27: Back to the Dock, 1973

Chapter 28: Over to Cabin 7

Chapter 29: The Walk

Chapter 30: Back to Growler’s World

Chapter 31: How to Be Happy

Chapter 32: So, How Many Fish Do You Think Are in the Lake?

Chapter 33: Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Chapter 34: Alone Time

Chapter 35: The All-Americans

Chapter 36: One of the Boys

Chapter 37: Resort Fish Fry and Campfire

Chapter 38: Jordan’s Bay Part Three – I Love you like a Tomato

Chapter 39: Saying Goodbye to El

Chapter 40: Saying Goodbye to Tess

Chapter 41: One Final Reading

Chapter 42: Jordan’s Bay Part Three - More Than a Murmur

Chapter 43: Ending with Beginning

Chapter 44: Ten Years Later – AMEN!

CHAPTER 1

One Lifetime

What happens when an enquiring young person crosses paths with an interesting and worthwhile person? They will pursue, examine, follow, and yearn to find that someone with knowledge. Often, and more importantly, a wise person is uncovered. History is filled with wise, anonymous people and it is with profound delight when that person is dropped into life with pres ence.

Coy, a vigilant young man, carefully stepped on his tiptoes like numerous times before through the kitchen area of the Little Mora Cabin. He was a prototypical, energetic, bright, twelve-year-old boy with distinguishable self-awareness beyond his time and youthful experience. However, he also lived with the restless and impulsive nature all boys and girls of his age possessed while looking for answers. Answers as profound as how we become good people and how we discover the meaning of life.

Coy lived with purpose and focus, with an overwhelming mission to complete whatever pushed him past his comfort zones. He had discreetly entered the Little Mora Cabin and now stood in silence at the center of the small kitchen area, instinctively knowing from past experience the way to his destination even in the shadow of darkness. However, even with familiarity in hand, he was still filled with consternation and contemplation. His acute self-awareness confirmed he did not have a clue what he was doing or why he was doing it. His inquiring mind and youthful exuberance could not and would not be stopped.

Coy felt irreverent, like one of those altar boys who had just smoked a joint in the john. Nevertheless, he continued moving through the kitchen into the bedroom area, making his way directly to where the old man’s memoir book was not-so-carefully hidden. His innate presumption told him it must have been left there and hidden just well enough to be found. He pulled the chain on the lamp and turned on the meager light while reaching down and picking up the book with care, knowing it deserved to be treated like a treasured possession which surely stood the test of time.

Coy carefully unwrapped the tie band from the book, which kept the well-worn pages and loose notes from spilling out, and sat down on the edge of the bed near the nightstand. He opened book and set it down on his lap and decided to let God choose where and what was to be read this day. After a brief moment, he started to peruse briskly through the pages and notes of the treasured mystery book, hunting for clues and perhaps unforeseen pearls. He let his fingers, eyes, and mind go to the pre-ordained pages God wanted him to read. He browsed through familiar first few pages and arrived to about the one-third portion of the book. His leading forefinger stopped, and he paused to whisper a needed prayer. He was feeling a twinge of guilt, as if Jesus had taken a swing at him. The prayer calmed his mind. He continued to reflectively examine the words written by an older man and pondered and passionately desired to know the where, when, and how moments in life when the well-traveled timeless words would have been written.

Coy stopped reading every so often to look up and around while straining to hear something hidden in the silence. He listened carefully and looked around for any noise or anyone or anything, as if someone or something else wanted to be in his space.

Holy cow! he whispered loudly, as his reflections exploded with too many thoughts. The words and language recorded in the book were difficult to read, understand, and comprehend, and he struggled mightily. He sat silently in thought, hoping the feeling of vulnerability was external, intentionally hiding his internal deliberations.

The story and mystery became vaster and more confusing each time Coy read from the mystery book. His sympathy grew deeper for this older man each time he read from his book. He was entangled with a devotion bordering on obsession for answers that fueled his unquenched thirst to understand this older gentleman, who was dropped like an A-bomb into his life. His young mind cognitively recognized each glimpse with a desire to quench the thirsting of his heart to learn the truth and purpose.

Coy stopped again and looked around the room. He looked at the nightstand and ironically thought how the book was hidden neatly and in view on the lowest shelf. The bedroom was small, with three twin beds and one window that gave barely enough daylight in the room to let him navigate through the book. There was one small lamp on the lone nightstand. The extra effort it took to read the welcomed expressions in the dim lighting invariably enhanced his concentration to read even more carefully and clearly for answers and meaning.

Coy was always pleased to discover the writing to be remarkably legible, albeit faint, but never dull. The wording was difficult for a twelve-year-old and obviously came from a very intelligent and perhaps educated man. Coy prayed silently again for direction and answers, and God directed him to a heading that grasped ahold of his attention. He began to read out loud quietly. The heading was dated April 12, 1961. He had a sensation of a light being switched on inside his head, like a revelation with a strong feeling and belief that this was the perfect place to read. The date was of his birth and his aspiring ambition was rewarded with enlightenment.

April 12, 1961

The existential threat may be life itself. What can possibly give life meaning? I am hoping my story does not begin at the end. Nonetheless, endings are beginnings we need time to recognize. My experience has told me for young and old folks alike, such as myself, there are moments in time where we realize one lifetime is not enough! The finest way to reward a life is to recognize and enjoy lovely moments. Where do we reach the place where justice is done? Oh, how I pray and hope my moment will be enjoyed and give life meaning.

The heaviest charge against this world does not turn upon the things I have done but on those I have not done. I wait for moments that define life. However, countless years have disappeared from me as if I am being spilled like a lonely drop of water in an ocean. My time is passing away with deadly persistence. This continuous life struggle over the limitations of time has truly become a lifetime affair. I struggle with the thought that if I leave my place in line, it will be filled easily by another. It scares me to the deepest hole in my soul, to a point where I do not step out of my lifeline, and I stop living life on and with purpose. I look around and observe, and it seems some accept their blessings learned divinely over time. Nobody is meant to be in this exact spot in line meant for them or me. I still stay in my own line with fear. Take the fear away or keep it. Thy will be done.

Coy paused, looked around, and stilled his mind in the silence. He had no other choice but to continue reading.

A special meaningful moment may not seem salient when they enter any of our life paths. They may well pass without notice if one is not enlightened enough to pay attention at the time. The underlying struggle excites and depresses me at the same time. I desperately desire to have the ability to open my eyes or have the ability to help others open their eyes to the moments that resonate. My conclusion at this point is, that to some, this dedicated effort will become the life that shapes and carries where they are meant to be. To others, the refusal or inability to recognize the moment will desensitize a heartfelt life, like the refusal to hear something that makes no sound no matter how near or frightening and exhilarating. The entrance of a defining moment so often, if it does not come with a big bang, hardens hearts, creating difficult access. Help me soften and open up my heart to the moment.

Life, to some, becomes a pursuit of living with the hope of a desired moment of freedom. Freedom becomes one of life’s greatest lies. It gets muddled with pride, habits, duty, dedication, and the almighty presence of the aging process. The weight of liberty becomes overbearing and debilitating. The aim becomes wearisome and too overwhelming to overcome alone. As you know, I pray to be alone and with people at the same time.

A devoted few attempt to live divinely hard for the chance of any moment. However, it appears many live stuck in the past or live only for a bright, wonderful future with the realization that even if there is a future it might not be wonderful or bright. Nevertheless, we are only guaranteed the present with a future by faith only You can give. People become blind regarding their memories that get exasperated by blurry and habitual vision. It is so unfortunate most are not chosen to be blessed enough to understand and recognize the moments in life that change courses. We wait for a big event in life, in desperate hope, the moment in time will make the difference. Or, even more harshly, we define many moments to be much bigger or smaller than they really are without careful recognition. Nevertheless, life is made up with little twinkles of special purposes within the precious moments of each day. The moments pass by, often without proper notice or proper remembrance. Help me not to pass by moments. If you have chosen me, let me accept the choice.

The forcefulness of unhappiness creeps into my existence and gives me eyes of wood. Such eyes transform the most resplendent of visions into the dreary, lamentable, and unbearable. Somewhere in my life, I want to be that ‘Hi Ho Silver’ guy who stamps out evil and has happy endings. My vision has become blinded. Give me vision that sees.

Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it (Matthew 7:13-14).

The good book tells us… oh… dear Lord, You move in mysterious ways. Fate appears to run its own race.

The narrow path has ostensibly disguised itself from me as narrow opportunities. No one willingly accepts the statement that most seem to want to not get hit with life too much. We insufferably and latently live to not get hit. However, no one wants to get hit too little with life either. We live with the hope the gateway must be wide, and it cannot to be closed without permitting entrance. Wide just has a better feeling than narrow. Some live with blind providence somewhere deep inside the soul where there is a dormant standing post to prevent us from getting hit too much. Eating, living, surviving, and moving forward become life. We try to grow into the wider gate and do not want to accept a narrow gate because we grow afraid that we won’t fit through it. Life wears us down. The gentle nudging of realization tells us it is not the narrow gate that bothers us. The real bother is we might not be able to go through it no matter how hard we try or how much we want it. Help me enter and fit through the gate.

Some live it and realize we are all soldiers this side of heaven, fighting against the world that continually aims to hammer us down to narrow the path of enlightenment. The anxiety is exasperated with the timeless fighting against the aging process, which tells us each day, I am getting older. We all fight the ‘where, when, and how to live syndrome’. At some point, people realize that seventy, eighty, or even ninety-plus years of existence on earth becomes like a small drop of water in an ocean when compared to all of time. Some invited find and enter the narrow gate. Some give up and tell themselves they just do not have enough time to find it. Some realize it is not a choice, even though the moments are freely given to be accepted and received. Help me accept the entrance.

Fortunately, there is a something down deep in my soul that tells me what life is supposed to be and tells me what I am doing right now in the present may not be the right path. Or, is it? Thank You for giving me an inner voice and desire to aim to be narrow and live with a will to have Your will. Although I know this to be true, my mental battle is overwhelming.

I have been taught and trained not to imagine being a soldier going into battle with the aim of not getting hit very much. The very suggestion is ridiculous. The aim is to not get hit at all, obviously! Yet, I get hit with life. I let it happen. I live as time passes on and feign to toughen up and keep the remnant of inner knowledge and desire disguised and covered up with pure humanness. Help me focus Your aim for me.

I continue to live each day like a soldier going into battle with the aim of not getting hit very much. I struggle with making the commitment to live each day with the built-in exceptionalism only You can give. I am now beginning to realize my aim; life still hits me. Life hits with bullets and arrows of habits and built-in familial, genealogical, societal, and ingrained natural temptations and desires to fit in and be normal. It has become a slow death process while breathing a life away. You have given us a tough trait to overcome. I somehow know every time I say yes to temptations and habits, it will naturally make it harder to say yes to You the next time, all the while missing desired exceptionalism. Help me be tough Your way.

Really? What is the difference with getting hit with one or a dozen bullets? They all kill. It only takes one! However, if it takes only one to be bad, logic tells me it also takes only one to be good. That is good news. When I kill, I aim to kill. Therefore, the logic You have shared with me tells me when I need to aim to live.

Innocence, naivety, and youth are the strongholds I grasp that speak to me daily. Good as they may be, each is hard and impossible to hold. Help me find a way. The easy path should be to give up my strongholds and let go. I pray to be near one special life You put in my path, and together we enter a path of life to help each other overcome. I just hate to admit it. Apparently, it is never done alone. Therefore, I must admit the gate is narrow and, really and unfortunately, only few enter.

Pulled, pushed, side by side, it does not matter as long as the gate is open. Let me enter, dear Lord. That is how it is with life and death. You spill a drop of water from the cup, and the cup remains full.

I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of being dead. Show me a glimpse. The revelation of the moment becomes final with the realization that the only way to win the fight to retain victory is an embodiment of the thought where the only way to survive and thrive is that one life is not enough. I pray You will not let death melt my pages away. My burning midnight oil is running low and that is it for now.

Coy felt chockfull and his head would not let him read anymore. His brain was exploding in a fire of thoughts and was completely out of energy. Without knowing how or when it happened, he found himself kneeling next to the bed by the nightstand. He realized the position helped with the minimal light from the lamp. With book in hand, he realized he was in a praying position. He found, as of late, he was praying more and more; when in the past, he only prayed when asked to or at church, and rarely did he pray alone. Coy prayed silently and carefully put the wrap band back on the well-worn book, and he put the treasured book right back as close as possible to its original position on the lowest shelf of the nightstand. He stood up and quietly walked on his tiptoes out of the Little Mora cabin.

This story begins around the year of our Lord AD 1973, in northern Minnesota, United States and winds up with eternity.

CHAPTER 2

Just in Time, Lives Collide

Young men can be put into situations where they can move to the next level of maturity in a very short period of time. Coy, an atypically busy, inquiring young man, had all the qualities to make the next step to young adulthood. A great deal was going on in 1973 in the United States of America and in Coy’s life. Coy had loving, wonderful parents and one sister. However, his family was in disarray. His mother’s mother just passed away, and his parents decided it may be a nice reprieve for them and Coy if he would spend a few weeks at the Lake Esquagamah resort in Northern Minnesota with his father’s father during the summer of 1973. This was where this adventurous summer story commenced. Besides his grandfather, Coy developed many relationships at the resort while he was there. However, he built a lifelong eternal relationship with a man known as Growler. Neither Coy nor Growler had any idea of the impact and eternal implication their unimaginable relationship would have on each other. In no way did they anticipate the lasting impact or ending. The apex of their relationship happened just a couple of weeks after Coy was dropped off at the lake resort. Coy knew some day he would have the courage to write down his experience because, after all, one life is not en ough.

CHAPTER 3

A Couple of Weeks later

There was not a murmur or movement within the experienced, seasoned hand holding the . 357 magnum revolver with perfect authority. Growler pushed the cylinder open and eerily loaded the gun with one bullet, spun the cylinder and closed it in position expertly with precision, while looking directly at the young man he knew as Coy. He lifted the revolver up and pressed the muzzle end near the forehead of the young man he cared for and loved. His tattered, well-practiced hand did not shake at all as he held the gun within an inch of the young man’s forehead. Growler was in such a condition he could no longer be identified with pronouns. He was only an object. His stare could turn the sun ice cold, as if he was a direct descendant of the first murderer, Cain.

Over a lifetime, Growler had learned the only way to get away with death was to continually step within an inch of it. Life was to be taken, not given. The young man, of course, did not have the lifetime of experience that was being shattered this morning and sat there speechless and motionless, but with serenity. He looked directly into the old man’s bloodshot, well-traveled, deep, bottomless, mossy eyes. The moment was like a wild dream sequence in which danger was all around, and the hero or the villain was frozen and could not move or even have the ability to move a muscle to retreat from the danger. The motionless, spine-chilling moment froze time.

Growler had faded eyes, eyes the color of swamp spume, mossy eyes nobody else in the entire world would care to look out from. The moment silenced everything around them. Life was so quiet, even a drop of water falling into an ocean of water would have been heard. Coy could feel and hear his fingernails growing. The sudden feel of the cool wind blowing across the lake was all that was needed for the feeling that his teeth were burning. Unrecognizable senses and feelings were surfacing.

If Growler’s eyes had the ability to speak, each eye could carry a conversation over an entire sports stadium of rabid fans screaming for no other reason than for desperate hope of attention. The irony of timeless stoicism was deeply embedded within those eyes and, along with the deep sagging circles directly under his eyes, he looked so stricken it was like Jesus had taken a swing at him. The weight of life was upon him, so overwhelming with the realization that his weary struggle of a loyal, stoic life might be at its end and outlived. He had outlived his purpose.

Silence was broken.

Do you believe? Why? Who are you?

Growler broke the silence and asked the young man as if interrogating. The timbre of his voice reflection was clear as he spat out seven words with his unusual, well-traveled, practiced, and disturbing sputter. Growler had a way of speaking softly and loudly at the same time.

Coy knew his winsome