Chapter 4 WARFIELD

     Warfield was thinking about the past as he walked home.  He remembered having heard his younger stepbrothers’ and stepsisters’ happy sounds; he went in to see what was causing it.  Toys and pretty wrapped boxes were being handed out after someone’s name was called. He waited, standing at the door, very anxious to hear his name.  “Get, I told you,” angrily yelled his stepfather as he got up and rushed toward him.

     Warfield recalled that he ran and sat crying on his pallet on the floor where he slept.  Limp with the shock of being so left out.  He remembered the visiting preacher’s words, “Sometimes I feel so down, just don’t know what to do, and I reach for my bible.”  Not wanting to hurt, Warfield did the same.  After opening the bible the traveling preacher had given him, it was strange how his eyes went right to the part that told how God loved people on this world so much that He gave His only Son, so who ever chooses to believe in Him would have eternal peach and joy.  It helped to read that someone cared even if he couldn’t believe it.  The hurting stopped.  So later when Clara asked him to come meet Jesus, he agreed.

     Warfield was dressed in one of his usual expensive-looking suits, solid light cream color with a silky, printed, exactly-folded handkerchief appearing above the pocket with a matching tie.  Shoes polished as if they were brand new.  He even got a fresh haircut—immaculate!  “Clara, I’m all ready,” Warfield smiled. 

     Then there He was.  “Hello, Warfield, how glad I am to know you want to be my friend,” Jesus smiled.  “Hi, Clara, thank you for bringing your cousin to meet me.  Warfield, I’ve been wanting to tell you, no matter what you look like, or say or do, I love you,” Jesus said with a most understanding and sincere look.

     Warfield fell sitting back from the intensity of Jesus’ presence it seemed, but mostly from the thought of what He had said.  “All this time I thought I wasn’t good enough.  Not fit to be with anyone because of some defect that was always visible to others that kept me guessing what to do to make up for it or cover it with a neat appearance.  I wanted to be loved by someone so much.  It was such a struggle to keep trying this behavior, then that accomplishment.  I’ve wasted my life, energy, time, trying to please others, thinking my survival depended on their acceptance of me.  All along, You,” Warfield said, barely audible due to his crying so hard.

     Clara thought for sure Jesus would wrap him up in a big hug and comfort him with words, but He just squatted down and cried too.  He felt Warfield’s pain.  Warfield, who never felt really sure that he could trust someone, was looking in Jesus’ eyes, hoping with all he had that he could trust Jesus and said, “Sir, please, I, uh, never, well it’s, is it O.K. to believe You won’t tell me to get?  Will You?  Well, if you get tired of me, I understand.” 

     Jesus responded, “I am always with you.  I will not desert you or fail you.”

     Jesus sang to Warfield:

          For the lost I am a shepherd.  For the hungry I am food.  For the brokenhearted someone,

          I’ll be there for always.  For the homeless I am shelter.  For the sick I am healer.  For you
         
          my beloved, I am here for evermore.

     Warfield sang to Jesus:

          What would I do without You in my life?  May be troubles and storms and strifes,

          but with You there’s a sunshine and a joy each day.  Thank you God for giving

          me Jesus to stay.”

     Jesus told Warfield this story:  “The beggar sat outside the castle wall gate.  The people coming out were happy, but he was afraid to go iin even after they encouraged him to go ask the king for what he needed.  Wolves around him at time would come close and when one bit him, he ran inside the gate.

     “A banquet was going on.  He was invited to eat, but was afraid to go to the table to get food for fear of the people seated there.  I, Jesus, fixed him a plate and put it in his hands because he wouldn’t even reach out to take it.  He felt unworthy.  He ran with the food to hide behind a big tree near the gate.  He felt safe where no one could see him and where he could run quickly out free whenever he wanted.  I served him a plate filled with a variety of dessert treats, setting it down in front of him.  I knew my brother thought that everyone was a potential pain, waiting to hurt him, so I walked away, wiping a tear from my eye.  Even though it hurts me, I will stay back from you if I see that my being close makes you feel nervous or uncomfortable;  but I’m still with you, as near as you let me be,” explained Jesus.

     Warfield sang to Clara on the way home:

          The greatest love you’d ever show me is to teach me the way to go to the greatest
         
          love I’ll ever Know, from the One Who loves us so much He gave Hi only life just to
     
          teach us how to give our love in the greatest way we could ever do to love the One

          Who died for you. The greatest love you’d ever show me is to teach me the way

          to go to the greatest love I’ll ever know from the One Who made us all.

          How great is our God!  How great is our God!  How great is our God to be, forever

          the same, all glory and praise and honor to God from me.  How great is our God! 

          How great is our God, forever  the same to see, how great is our God!  How great

          is our God forever and ever.

     After they parted, Warfield continued to sing, while thinking of Jesus:

          Have mercy on me.  Have mercy on me.  Oh Lord, have mercy one me.

          He’s alive today and He’s doing fine and He wants to e a friend of mine.  He’s alive today

           and He’s doing fine and He wants to e a friend of mine.  He’s alive today.  He’s alive

           today.  He’s alive today.  He’s alive.  He died for us so we could have the freedom

           we need.  Thank  you God.  He died for us so we could have the freedom we need.

           Thank you God.  He’s alive today.  He’s alive today. 

     In between the sniffs as Warfield started to cry, you could still hear him singing:

            He’s alive today.  He’s alive.

         

Chapter 3 CLARA IN CHURCH     

     Clara poured her heart out to God:  “Sometimes it seems like I want to get out or in wherever there is life.  I want to be close to someone.  It’s dangerous because I’m getting desperate.  I feel so alone.  I want frantically to be rid of my people hang-ups so I can be close to others.  I’m afraid of being all alone in life because being alone only makes life seem barren and without purpose.  What’s life for anyway?  When we’re dead and gone, what would it matter that you tried to do something?  I don’t know how to live in this world.  I don’t like the way I am, all nervous, worried, negative and scared I can’t breathe; it’s smothering me.  I feel horrible.  I feel guilty and mean and ugly and so helpless and so in need of someone to be kind to me and care, really care about me.  They think it’s dumb to be me.

     “I’m scared because I’m alone.  And I think no one will ever care about me really.  Why doesn’t anyone want to hear me?  I’m too tired of trying to change because it doesn’t seem to be for any real benefit.  I’m trying to kill who I am to be someone else, so I don’t know who I am anymore.  Where am I, Clara, the original human being?

     “I feel lonely and it just doesn’t seem normal.  It’s because of a need to see people excited when I talk, because that’s the only way I feel worthwhile.  It wouldn’t be that way if I weren’t supposed to be close to someone.

     “I am depressed most of the time so I can’t smile it away.  I can only talk it through, but I desperately need someone to talk with me, not merely listen.  Maybe that’s not what I need, but as long as I think it is, someone telling me it isn’t won’t help.  To submit without an alternative, to cry alone, to hurt and not be able to say why, to say why, and be told you’re wrong, you shouldn’t think that way, hurts me inside.  Do I seem like nonsense?  Maybe to them, but I still think I’m O.K. I wish everybody did.    

     “Why do I feel so unimportant to anyone except myself?  They only want you to be what they want, never what you are.  Why are we so obsessed with molding others into our ideas of perfection?  Why am I so obnoxious or unwanted as I am?  They don’t want me human.  But I need them.  I want to be close to someone outside myself, and it’s impossible.  I need to accept it and quit.  I can’t be all things to anyone.  I quit!

     “I don’t want to direct my energy toward developing human relationships.  I’m signing off.  I’m closing the doors and I seriously doubt if anyone would care, if they even noticed it.  Really, I don’t think it would be noticed, because they wouldn’t care enough anyway to see.  What is it about me that attracts cruelty?  I’ll never pour my heart out again, never to anyone.  No one else will ever see me as I really am or how I feel, only a smile; only the help I give but not the friend I want to be.  I’ll be silent and serious and never care about anyone caring about me ever again.

     "It hurts and I don’t know what to do.  I wish I knew how to live.  I need to know I’m all right with someone.  I can’t get settled.  It seems everywhere is discouragement.  I’m afraid if I don’t do all the right things the way others expect, I won’t be loved, which means I’ll have to hurt.”

     Clara always carried a book or something written in her pocket (just in case she had to wait for someone, which was the usual for her).  This time it was a poem she had written, which she read out loud to God since she saw no one else in the church:

  Loneliness was trying so hard to be my friend, so I stopped to talk with it one day. 

  Its story was very sad and made me cry with feelings that brought the most

  depressing mental stress I have ever known.  I, a child too young to know the

  rewards of suffering, slipped away from the frightening call of loneliness.  Slipped

  away to my own dream world to block out my fears of no ever-present and loyal

  friends.  When there were no more dreams, because they were becoming less

  helpful, my new friend loneliness visited again.  We talked and now I know it will

  be my lifelong companion.

  As with all my friends, I want to know and understand all there is about them. 

  Loneliness, despite the pain, is no exception.  This visitor is persistent and very

  possessive.  Its most   prominent characteristic is the deep shattering pain it brings. 

  Its visits are reluctantly received and joyously rejected, but since loneliness is my

  friend, I cannot turn my back and slam the door always.  For along with its bitterness,

  it has shown me roads to peace.  The peace and contentment I would have continued

  to run away from without the guidance of my friend loneliness.  Loneliness is my

  loyal friend, especially since it visits so often

     Hurting so much inside, thinking about her feelings, she just cried really hard even though she hated crying because that’s what she did in the middle of most nights.  Then all of a sudden the inner hurting stopped and she sensed someone on the far side of the pew.  She wiped her face and looked over to see the kind face of a young man and oh, his eyes!  The eyes that showed the deepest understanding and gentleness.  And was that love?  He bowed and held his hands palms up in front and said, “Hi, I heard you.  I am the Way you asked for, to take you to heaven.” 

     “Jesus?” asked Clara in an unsure and surprised way.

     “Yes,” replied Jesus.  “When you are troubled and uncomfortable, imagine that God has you on His lap very gently sanding the rough spot to make it smooth and shiny like polished rocks.  The rough spot is an attitude, belief, thought, feeling, memory, desire, tendency, or some other part of our being that is not according to His perfectly loving will.  It is blocking the way of love.  He is replacing it with what is needed to bring us into a joyous relationship with Himself.  The rough spot of impatience is polished to the belief that God provided the best at the best time so you can believe that He’s giving the utmost possible love for you each second of your life.  Rough surfaces get hindered by the cares of this world and snag attachments that are not to God and are directed by sin.  Smooth surfaces glide past these problems since there are no crevices to hold their dirt as in rough surfaces.  Things are not embedded, so any dirt can be easily wiped away.  As He sands, the surfaces become hardened and the pressure pushed the soft parts inward.  A hardened surface cannot be so easily torn or destroyed by outside pressures and thorns (situations and people that afflict).  Corrosives, false or negative words, cannot penetrate to worm their way into the soft centers where hurts could result and fears cause one to run to anything or anyone offering comfort or appearing to do so, but not always to God, who only can do what is always best for us.

     “We decide to run to God for help and comfort, staying in response to His help, in love with Him now; standing close before Him, secure, trusting His love and providence.  Since our surface is smooth and shiny, we will reflect His good qualities—His glory, His love out farther as a light for others.

     “Problems are an opportunity for God to show how much He loves us.  God’s love has to be stronger than the hurts, so the hurts will not become a god to us.”

     Clare unknowingly became enlightened by the Holy Spirit and said, “So God in His mercy allowed me to suffer so I would know that He was about to help me and in my heart be moved to love Him.  If the hurts had been healed too quickly by an identifiable source other than God, It would have removed the need to talk with God long enough to get to experience enough of His attractive qualities so that I would trust Him to be Daddy God for me.  This way I wouldn’t leave Him permanently in pursuit of other gods, who never really love and take care of me, but only give a stopgap thrill like my chocolate-chip cookies, right?  I had a sudden insight.  I wrongly thought that He just didn’t care about my hurt feelings.”

     Jesus sang to Clara:

          Little child in my heart, won’t you please take my hand? Little child in my heart,

          I understand.  You have felt all alone.  You have felt so much pain.  Little child in

          my heart, please take my   hand.

          Little child in my heart, you give me so much joy, for your heart you have opened to

          me.  When you thought no one cared, you still trusted me to hear, little child in my

          heart, you weren’t alone.

          Little child in my heart, won’t you please take my hand?  Little child in my heart,

          I give no fear.

          Little child in my heart, I have felt all your pain. Little child in my heart, I love you

          so much I gave my only life, Just to give you the redeemed life, with the greatest

          love you’ll ever know, from the One Who loves you so much He gave His only

          Son and Holy Spirit, the comforter, to you, Clara, our precious child, to stop the

          pain and fill your need.

     Jesus explained, “I am deep in the gooey, ‘yucky’ part of your heart at the root of the weed that is causing inner hurts.  Very tenderly, I am separating the tiniest root hairs from the flesh of your heart so that when I pull the weed, it won’t hurt as much. When I finish, knowing that you will feel better, with a big smile and a very messy face, I hold up the uprooted wed and tell your spirit, ‘I got it.”  Then you feel the relief.”

     “All along You were working to help me get the whole problem cleared.  I just wasn’t aware of your presence because You were at such a very deep level in my heart,” tenderly said Clara.You have set me free, all this love for me.  You have let me see how great I am.                              

          You have set me free.  All this love for me, You have let me be just who I am.  You 

          have given me all the love I need.  You have taken me into your loving arms.

  She could ride the wind of the breath of God.  He will keep her safe in the home

  of God.  You could ride the wind in the home of God.  He will keep you safe in the

  heart of God.

     “God provided.  He always provides.  What you didn’t have, you didn’t need.  You see Him in the ordinary things of life.  When you were 3 ½ years old, your mother was feeding you.  You could have fed yourself, but didn’t want to eat ‘yucky’ vegetables.  Your mother said, ‘Well, we better get these vegetables in so when you get an ‘ouch’ it will get fixed’ You said, I’ll ask Dr. Jesus to fix it.’  Your mother replied, ‘That is wise.  Dr. Jesus and Daddy God put good stuff in these green beans so that when His daughter Clara eats them, the good stuff will come out and fix the ‘ouch,’ then it won’t hurt so long.’ So let’s take what God has already provided and when that’s not enough, we can ask Dr. Jesus and He will put in the rest.  When vegetables won’t do, Jesus will still care for you on the long journey,’ you said.  A good lesson in living provided through your mother using the ordinary experience of eating.

     “God is the Master Baker mixing the ingredients together.  Some things He never intended to go into the mix, but people have free will and do not always use it to love others, so in go their weeds.  At some points in mixing, pulling out the weeds causes precious batter to be lost, so they must be left there until a less damaging time for removal.  When the flour, sugar, spices and eggs are in the bowl, it looks ‘gooky.’  The rebellious eggs take more stirring to get mixed into the batter.  All blended it goes into the oven.  When it is done, it is a loaf ready to serve.  That is you, Clara.

     “Look in the box again.  You’ll see that the written answer was stuck in the lid:  Jesus is the way Who is true and Who brings life.  He is the only One Who can take you to the Father, where all your needs will be met.  I heard your request for heaven,” smiled Jesus.

          Living in despair.  Hopelessness surrounds me.  Never thought I’d say this, but thank you

          Jesus, for my life.  Thank you Jesus, for my life.  You healed my emotions.  I don’t just

          have to wait for heaven to have all the joy since You make life better now, seeing You

          in the ordinary things of life.  He said “come to me all you who are heavy laden, and

          I will give you rest, so cast your cares on me.  I care, and your burden is never too much

          to bear.”

          He has lifted me.  He has lifted me.

          Nobody likes me and I don’t care.  They just don’t like me ‘cause I got hair in my

          nose and on my legs.  They say you look so weird.  Why do you act the way you do? 

          Ooh, you’re just so strange.  Nobody likes me and I don’t care.  They just don’t like

          me ‘cause I got hair under  my arms and in my ears.  They say you act too strange. 

          Why do you do the things you do?  You really dress so weird.  They just don’t like

          me but I don’t care.  Somebody love me and I have been set free.  Jesus in love

          with me.  Somebody loves me and I have been set free.  Jesus in love with me. 

          Jesus in love with me.

          I don’t care what I got as long as I have Jesus to be beside me.  I don’t care what

          I’m not as long as I’m not someone without Him.  I don’t care what they say as

          long as they don’t take my Jesus from me.  I don’t care what they do as long as

          they don’t do till I turn from Him.  I don’t care what they’ve done, He healed my

          hurts and helped me live.  I don’t care if I feel many things, He helped me see

          that He’s God.  He gives life and He helps you to sustain it.  He’s the Almighty

          One, no one can take His place.

          Praise God, praise God.  He’s the One Who gives you joy.  Praise God, praise

          God.  He’s the One Who gives you peace.  Thank You God.  Thank You God. 

           You have given me life and hope.  Thank You God.  Thank You God.  I can

           give Your love through me.  Praise God, thank You God for Jesus Christ Your

           only son.  Praise God.  Thank You God.  Jesus carried me right through it. 

           Praise God.  Thank You God that Jesus helped me see and know His love.

         

        

  

Chapter 2

THE WHO BODIES

     Numbered in order of importance were the Who Bodies hanging out as usual downtown.  Number 1 and Number 2 thought of the mean things that they did.  The others followed.  You know “mockingbirds of a feather  flock together.”  They all had life but didn’t really live it except through others, thus the overtly interested “dipping” into the business of others in town.  They prided themselves in knowing all the in things to do, wear or say to be considered a normal one.  Underneath they were afraid of being rejected themselves, so to avoid it, they hoped to remain accepted by finding out all the details of others’ lives, especially their mistakes, then telling whoever listened.

     Number 1 found security in food and at any public moment could be found to have many candy bars hidden under his feathers.  Number r2 and Number 5 had trouble controlling their fists and nasty fist fights occurred rapidly and frequently.  They fought off feeling small.  Number 3 liked to talk big and loudly command the others in a lisping, mumbling speech that would have brought sympathy if it weren’t for his “I’m better than everyone” attitude, which usually was the reason for laughter behind his beck, mainly from Number 4, the clown of the group who interpreted Number 3’s speech.  Number 6 was a fence straddle.  He dropped in to join them until they said or did something that he thought was beneath his values (which were low-life style since he started growing up and trying out what he wanted; although they had been high from home training), then off he’d fly to keep more civil company.  Number 7 and Number 8 would aggressively hit and throw trash at others for no visible reasons.  Their favorite conversation was over what brand of deodorant everyone used.  They were proud of themselves for using a men’s deodorant (even though they weren’t yet men) and wanted anyone who would get trapped into a conversation to know this. 

     “How do you get to be accepted?”  asked Clara.

     “What kind of deodorant do you use?” asked Number 8, as he punched Clara in the shoulder and kicked Warfield’s bottom.  Number 7 threw trash at them.  With head drooped, Clara and Warfield stood still.

     “Meh mee auh geet goo a sports,” mumbled Number 3. 

     Number 4 said, “He said, ‘he got good at sports,’”  Then he wildly started holding out his hand to “give them five” in all sorts of ways while going through a runoff of slang expressions changing his posture and moving his head in the “in coolest” ways of the time.

     “Don’t take nobody’s mess.   You gonna let them do that to you, you a chicken.  Gees, man, I’d hit ‘em if I were you,” demanded Number 2, punching Number 5 to demonstrate as if he were something to be used to meet his needs.  This triggered uncontrolled fist fighting between the two of them.

     Number6 stared curiously at them, not saying anything at first.  Then he said, “Hey, what did you get from the box man?  Your mama let your sisters and brothers get all kind of big money stuff when they were downtown.”  Clara’s hurt returned over the empty box.

     Number 1 spoke up with the most sensible answer.  Strutting and chewing a candy bar that he seemed to pull out from somewhere on his body, he said, “It depends on who you want to accept you.  You’ve got to go to who you want to accept you.”

          For love of them I died.  For love of them I cry.  Little ones, little ones, come into my love.

          For love of them I writhed.  For love of them I sighed. Oh, little ones, oh, little ones, come

          into  my love.

          So much love I offer you silver and gold cannot replace.  So much love inside my heart.

          Come little ones, come for the love I have, nothing else will do.  Come fill your hearts with

          joy, little ones.

          Come to me little ones, the love you leave is for you.  Come to me little ones.  You’ll find

          Your greatest joy in me.  Oh, come to me little ones, acceptance from others cannot

          replace me.  Come to me little ones.  I love you.

          So much love you’ll never know until you come to me, little ones.  More than meets

          your needs.  Come to me little ones.  Let me be your everything.

     Clara and Warfield silently walked on down the street together.  Clara said, “Bye, Warfield.  If I want to go to Heaven, I need God to accept me.  I’m going to the church.  Talk to you later.”  Back then the churches could always be left open for prayer.

          I asked my friend if she’d help me find Jesus.  She said “I heard that He hangs around

          the churches and I heard that He plays with the little children and I heard that He’s

          near to the broken hearted, so I think you’ll find Him in one of those places.”

           I said, “It’s sad that I don’t know what He looks like and I don’t know what His

          voice sounds like.  How will I know Him when I see Him?”   And my friend said,

          “I think you better try.”

        

     

Chapter 1 THE BOX MAN

Chapter 1  THE BOX MAN

     Clara, the lonely but seemingly content one, whose greatest pain was from the longing inside for some unknown.  Hurt because she could not find the solution for her need, she went to meet the Box Man. 

     You would hardly notice him or think that he had anything worth giving because of his dirty, well worn sneakers and old but mostly clean looking clothes—definitely out of style.  Standing there alone with the usual sad, drawn, “I’m in heed of love” look that she had seen on people waiting downtown.  He seemed to be helping others who came along from time to time, giving them something that he pulled out from under his shirt.  She had heard about him from the local Who Bodies (the ones in the know about all that was considered worth knowing).  “I wonder,” Clara thought, “I he could possibly have something to give me?”

     Upon approaching him, she was startled to feel and see how intently he looked into the eyes as if to figure out what was there inside a person.  Although he looked partly shabby and worn from a distance, the love and understanding that showed in his eyes was all that she noticed up close.

     “Would you like a gift?” he asked.

     “Yes,” Clara said in shock that he had noticed her.

     “What would you like?”  he requested gently.

     “See, I, well, I don’t know what’s bothering me.  I need, but I don’t know what, so I can’t find it and maybe wouldn’t if I knew.  I’m just not filled up inside; there’s a hole, an empty spot.  I’m unfinished—just not all together—missing a part of me.  I want to go to Heaven, I think, where I heard that all our needs will be met,” Clara blurted out, surprising herself with this unusual openness.  Then she saw it.  He grasped the knob attached to the top of a metal bin where usually a flesh stomach would b and pulled it open.  The bottom of the bin must have been stuck to him, because it never moved.  There was no way to see inside because his shirt covered the top.  He reached in and gave Clara a small gift-wrapped box.  She stared at it in disbelief, then looked up to thank him, but saw just the usual people doing the usual downtown things. 

     “Mama, the Box Man, he gave me this gift!”  Clara quietly shouted when she got home.

     “Put it under the tree with the other gifts,” Mama said gently.

     No corrections for taking it from him, wondered Clara.  How could it be O.K.?  They never talked about him at home before.  The Who Bodies downtown did.  The stories she overheard them tell about wondrous gifts others had received made Clara think that it was too good to ever imagine happening to her, a considered strange, nobody.

     Clara’s was the smallest gift under the tree.  When she opened it, there was nothing she saw.  Everyone else in her family was playing, laughing, enjoying their big gifts, while Clara sat stunned, staring into the air.

     Clara said, “I quit!”   Sitting crying on the floor, she hurt so much that the presence of someone standing near wasn’t noticed until he touched her shoulder.  Just like cousin Warfield to tap gently with one finger so as not to be too much of a bother.

     “I saw your hurt,” he said with his head down, occasionally glancing sideways over to Clara.  “I picked you a flower and I’ve got part of this sandwich.  It’s clean, I was just saving it for whenever.  She left me.  I’m alone.  You were so nice to me before.  I never, well, ugh, it’s different.”

     Clara was scared to hope, maybe not scared as much as just tired of trying.  So many years she had lived with the depression, loneliness, fears, guilt, deep anger, hurts over memories—inner torment.  Now without hope of help from the Box Man, she left the house to join cousin Warfield, the only comfort she believed was left, on the other side of the street.  Warfield, his mother's firstborn, on whom had been fought a bloody battle, kept a sad look in his eyes.  His mother was forced to go to her only wedding to marry a man who wanted her, but whom she didn't love, instead of Warfield's father with whom there was a mutual love.  She never said "I do," but her father said, "Take her anyway, she's ruined."  Warfield's stepfather beat him into use as his personal and family slave.  He got used to being hit, feeling unloved and allowed to eat so little that he was malnourished, but what hurt most was what his mother said the day his stepfather picked up an axe, vowing to cut off his leg for running away from home again.

     Warfield streaked to his mother, telling her what was happening, hoping for protection and comfort.  He heard her say, "Get! You never was nothin' but trouble. Go to mama's!"
     He stopped outside the gate crying with a pleading tome screaming "Mama, Mama!"  She was the only person in his world who he thought cared about him or ever would.
     "Get! I said just get!" his mother yelled coldly.
     It was no wonder that Warfield, as an adult, was fearful, nervous, lonely, and so tired of his life, even if he was handsome, with an untouched groomed look, and intelligent with the highest degree in microbiology.  Clara had heard that he desperately clung to his wife, who he thought wouldn't want to love him enough to stay with him.  Frequently Clara had seen him downtown walking with her and overheard him pleading to find out what would be pleasing to her, only to see her walk on ignoring him as if he was of no importance.  They say he bled inside from the pain of it all.  The Who Bodies nicknamed him "Ulcers."


          God made a little baby.  He gave him such beauty.  He gave him all His love
          and they kept His love and crushed him.
         
          God made a little baby.  He gave him a life to live.  He gave him so much love
           and they kept His love and gave him their own hate.


     "Thank you for giving me something.  It really means a lot to me,"  Clara said cheerfully to Warfield
     "I never am sure if what I have to give will be wanted.  How do you ever figure out what to do to be accepted?" sighed Warfield.
     "Some, seems like most, just know naturally.  Let's go ask the Who Bodies," said Clara.

Copyright 2001 by Clarice Wiggins for story, songs, music, and art.  The song "He's Alive Today" copyright 2001 by Clarice and Stephen Wiggins.  Modeling by April Wiggins.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronis, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise--without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.  Published by Bush Computing.  Music recorded y Splice of Life Recording Studio Michael and Cheryl McKenney.  Background instrumental and sounds by Michael McKenney and Joseph Wiggins.