by Billy Coffey
The Best Things in Life May Be Discovered on a Detour, it said.
Those words hit me with enough force to almost take my breath. And more than that, those words were true. I never would have experienced my snow day if it weren’t for the detour at work. If everything had been fine there, if the company had been purring along nicely and my job had been firmly in place, I would have likely gone to work that morning instead of staying home. I would have missed seeing Santa at the Super Mart, playing with the kids in the snow, and witnessing Mikey’s trip down the hill. I would have never met Eleanor, seen Kenny, or maybe repaired some bridges with Bobby Barnes. I would have never driven over to Stanley to fill out a job application and realized that I was really better off than I ever thought I’d be. I would have missed out on those things and all the other things I’d seen and done that taught me success wasn’t measured by the things I could afford to get, but by the things I could afford to give.
There were things like love, for instance. And time. And dreams and hope and company. We were all rich in those, wealthy beyond measure, but each day we chose to cast all the wealth aside and live in the poverty of worldly gain. What crazy people we were. No wonder the world was so messed up. We had everything backwards. We were all living outside in with the hope that what we surrounded ourselves with would make us better people. We needed to live inside out with the hope that what came out of us would make the world better.
I drove past Mandy’s house on the way up to my street. She and Jack were out in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing. I remembered the bread and milk that had started my day. That was what it all came down to—the necessities of life. As long as we had those, nothing else really mattered and everything else could be borne.
I pulled up to our mailbox by the driveway. Inside were the usual bills and junk mail, along with a few Christmas cards. I paused to survey the scene in front of me. A Christmas tree glittered through the living room window. Bows and greenery adorned the porch. And there, everywhere, were three pairs of footprints. Two small and one not so small, winding their way through the yard and ending at the front porch. Remnants of my exposition with the children. That walk may have just been the best part of my day, though to look at the evidence left behind one would think that we had simply wandered around without purpose. Not true. There was a reason to our walk. We weren’t out to find anything, really, but to just enjoy the looking.
And the children had no worries about where we were all going. They had their father with them, after all. Their father saw what was ahead. He saw where they could go, where the slick parts were, and where the ice was falling off the trees. He knew what to steer them around and what was okay for them to go through. All they had to do was go one step at a time.
My eyes followed the footprints. Like them, my life seemed to twist and turn, sometimes gradually and sometimes suddenly. I supposed that I was on a journey as well. And though the evidence sometimes looked as though I was simply wandering around without purpose, I knew that wasn’t the case. I worried about where I was headed and what was going to happen, but I didn’t have to. I had my Father with me, after all. He saw what was ahead. He knew where the dangerous parts were. He knew what to steer me around and what was okay for me to go through. All I had to do was go one step at a time.
Sometimes it wasn’t all about the finding, but the looking.
The front door was flung open then. Two small children ran out onto the porch and began waving. At the window was their mother, my wife, smiling.
Pay attention. Laugh. Wonder. That was what our walk around the yard was all about. It was what my walk around this life was all about, too. And if I followed the tracks of both, I would see they eventually led to the same place.
Home.
Epilogue
The great thing about a small town is that you get to be a constant observer of so many unfolding stories. There is no crime, no traffic jams or scandals. No distractions. Nothing to do but visit and talk and ponder. You get to know people. You get to share their lives in big ways and little. You watch them live their tale as you live your own.
Mandy and Jack moved last year. They now rent a house on a dairy farm outside of town. Jack seems to have a mind for cows and fields and such and is planning on doing a little farming of his own one day. The two of them are doing fine. We miss them in the neighborhood, but it’s a little quieter out on the farm, she says. And, of course, there is always plenty of milk around.
I still go to Super Mart, and often. The prices there are still good and the people there are still peculiar, which makes it a perfect place to spend some time. I have yet to run into Helen and Charlie again, but I did get a “Merry Christmas” from the cashier there a few weeks ago. It wasn’t from Carrie. She has since moved on, I suppose.
I never saw the Super Mart Santa again, either, though I still scan the parking lot for him every time I stop there. Last year I decided to take up his mantle and deliver a little of my own Christmas magic. The results were… unexpected. But that is another story for another time. Still, if you ever happen to find a gift in your vehicle with a small note attached, don’t look up toward the sky for a sleigh, look out toward the road for a truck.
Speaking of which, I still dress up as Santa for the kids every Christmas. It is, hands down, the highlight of every Christmas. My children can hear all the talk their friends dish out. They know there is a Santa. And they have irrefutable proof, too. Their mother has luckily had a video camera in her hand and happened to tape the children every Christmas Eve when Santa peeked through the window. Sooner or later they will realize that I never happen to be around when Saint Nick makes his yearly appearance. I’m still trying to figure out how I can get around this.
Kenny McCallom quit his job stocking shelves at Super Mart and took a job selling cars. He’s doing pretty well at it, too. From what I understand the family has moved into their first home. Turns out he found his comfort without the aid of a college education, which he decided to put on hold. I heard his oldest daughter was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes a few months ago. I also heard she was a pretty sharp girl. Maybe she’ll be the one to find a cure. Let’s all hope and pray.
Bobby Barnes is still playing hide-and-seek with God, though I think it’s getting a little harder for him to hide. He sold his business a few months after I passed him on the road, and word has it that he filed for bankruptcy. I haven’t seen him around lately. But if I do, I’ll say hey. You never know.
Eugene Turner is still fixing gutters and unclogging sinks and loving every minute of it.
Sara and Josh still play with the Lite Brite. Between you and me, I still play with it, too. Because sometimes I still need to be reminded that the holes in our lives are there so the light can shine through. The mysterious holes in our yard by the oak tree reappeared the next year. Against the children’s wishes, I filled them in with gravel and sand again and then put big rocks on top of them. That’s seemed to put an end to the mystery. The rocks are still there and the holes are still not. I know, I know, I said mystery is good. And it is. I just didn’t like the idea of a critter I didn’t know making its home in our yard.
I buried an arrowhead in the sandbox a few days later. Another mystery. Whose was it? Where did it come from? Pocahontas, thought Sara. Geronimo, thought Josh. Were there more? Absolutely, they found out, once another one mysteriously appeared near the swing set a few days after that. My wife and I now have two little Indiana Joneses running around the yard digging for treasure. Wonderful, I say.
Mikey Pannill and the other kids gave up sledding once the church put a new building on the hill. That’s okay, though. Mikey now rides motorcycles. How in the world he managed to talk his mother into that I do not know, but I do know that he always wears a helmet and pads. Not a mouthpiece, though. Riding motorcycles is fun, and he couldn’t laugh while wearing a mouthpiece.
Eleanor passed on a few months after our first talk. That would be a sad thing to share
if it weren’t for what happened just before she died. It seems as though the company she lacked in this life was all made up for in the next. According to the nurses who tended to her final moments, Eleanor’s last words were, “There are angels everywhere.”
Chris Davies is getting a crash course in both the rules of the road and the rules of life. Back in the spring he drove past a speed trap going seventy in a thirty-five. Instead of yielding to the flashing blue lights and pulling over, Chris decided he could outrun his pursuer. It was a few minutes and about five miles later, after his Mustang had been wrapped around a tree and the state police were standing over him, that he finally realized he wasn’t Bo Duke. “I didn’t get scared,” he told me later, “until I saw the gun in my face.” And on top of all that, Heather the cheerleader broke up with him. She said she had to find herself. That’ll take a while, I think.
After three days of languishing in the hallway closet—just to make sure—Beary was delivered to the firehouse. His whereabouts are currently unknown, and I’ll admit I’ve spent some time wondering where he is. If you happen to know, drop us a line.
As for me, I went back to work the next day and found that my job was still there. All that worrying for nothing. Then a week later, two things happened. One was that I was told I would be cut out of my area and sent to another part of the factory and to a worse work schedule. The other was that I received a phone call from the college. I went to an interview and must have answered all the questions pretty well, because they offered me the job two weeks later. I said good-bye to the factory and hello to the college.
It hasn’t been bad. Oh yes, the Boyds are now pinching pennies and squeezing dimes, but God has a way of working things out just fine if you let Him. That’s the key, I’ve found—letting Him. Of course, I still zig and zag and question where I’m going every once in a while, but I’m trying to do better and I suppose that’s what matters. I’m home with my family every evening and there are no more weekends to work. I had eleven days off for Christmas this year. And though I have to work in the city, I have a real nice view of the mountains outside my windows. The people who have the crazy ideas, I’ve also found, are far outnumbered by the people who have the right ideas. There are many good people here, and more than a few wonderful ones.
I’ve found something else here that I seemed to lack at the factory—a sense of perspective. You could say that my presence here serves an important function. Turns out, handling all the mail for a college is a pretty big responsibility. A lot of people depend on me to do my job and do it well. I like that.
But according to the handbook sitting in the drawer of my office desk, I’m still classified as “nonessential personnel.” I like that, too. I like knowing that while I’m necessary, I’m not essential. It’s not all about me. There’s comfort in that. So much of my life has always been about looking inward. About seeing things as they affected me rather than everyone else. I know better now. I know that life should be lived outside in as much as inside out. That we should affect the world as much as it affects us.
Being nonessential has another benefit, too. It offers me something I haven’t had much of for the last twenty years. Something I plan on taking full advantage of as often as God and the weather see fit.
Snow days.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The pages you’re holding are the end result of a very long walk. Writing is like that, I think. It’s a trek along a path through unknown wilderness that leaves you refreshed and satisfied, but also exhausted and hungry.
It can be a lonely walk. Not so much when you lift your head to smile at the sun, but certainly when you bow it to take the beating of a cold rain. Both are on that path, you know. There are hope and hopelessness, purpose and doubt. Which is why it always helps to have good company along the way.
My wife, Joanne, has been walking with me since the beginning. The words you’re about to read would have been impossible to write without her.
Anne Lang Bundy was the one who found me near exhaustion and offered both a place to rest and a reason to keep going.
Rachelle Gardner calls herself my agent, but she’s much more than that. Any trek through the wilderness is better with a guide to show you the way. She found me while I was lost, turned me around, and said, “Follow me.” I’m glad I did. And still do.
To say that Kathy Richards made my walk easier would not nearly be saying enough. She’s led me through the dark places and shouldered much of my load. I can’t thank her enough, but I’ll keep trying.
Joey Paul, Holly Halverson, Whitney Luken, and the rest of the FaithWords family met me soon thereafter. They offered smiles and congratulations and more wisdom than I thought possible, then clapped me on the back and told me to keep walking.
That’s just what I’m doing, which is fine with me. Because like I said, I have good company along the way.
Table of Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
Dedication
1. Bad Forecast
2. Bread and Milk
3. The Superman Costume
4. Beautiful Scars
5. Passing It On
6. Kenny McCallom’s Wonderful Life
7. The Santa Suit
8. Is Anybody There?
9. One for the Good Guys
10. The Two-Lane Road
11. More Than We Can Bear
12. Eugene Turner’s Luck
13. Finding Life
14. The Great Backyard Exposition
15. Michael Pannill’s Triumph
16. Eleanor’s Story
17. Rules for the Road
18. Beary
19. The Plan
20. The Detour
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Praise for Billy Coffey
Copyright
Praise for
Billy Coffey
“SNOW DAY is the kind of book you savor, then read again. Simple, yet profound. Spare, but beautiful. Coffey chronicles a day in the life of an ordinary man who grows in extraordinary ways through simple interaction with the people and world around him. I loved this book.”
—Mary DeMuth, author of the Defiance Texas trilogy and Thin Places
“Billy Coffey has a way of writing that draws you into his story, which then allows you to find yourself in it. In this book he’ll encourage you to pay attention, to laugh, and to wonder.”
—Vince Antonucci, author of I Became a Christian and All I Got Was this Lousy T-Shirt
“Set against a Blue Ridge Mountain backdrop, peopled with a colorful cast, and seasoned with small-town Southern charm, Billy Coffey’s SNOW DAY will make readers want to live aware—to discover the divine in ordinary places among common folk. Each chapter is a story in itself, a jewel sparkling with wisdom. Strung together, the shimmering strand adorns simple truth: Life may be hard, but God is good. Detours happen by design. One way or another, the road leads home. So pay attention. Laugh. Wonder. And, sweet fancy Moses, don’t forget to pick up the bread and milk.”
—Jeanne Damoff, author of Parting the Waters: Finding Beauty in Brokenness
“Author Billy Coffey weaves a poignant and poetic tale of a man rediscovering his faith and purpose. Told with charm and humor, SNOW DAY reveals how unexpected detours, ‘chance’ encounters, and everyday experiences lead to life’s most valuable insights.”
—Laura Cross, author, screenwriter, and writing coach
“I dare you to try walking away from Billy Coffey’s words. He tells stories with the wit and energy of Mark Twain, albeit with compassion and spiritual vision. You won’t regret that he reined you in, kept you sitting by the fire.”
—L.L. Barkat, author of Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places and Inside Out: poems
“Everybody needs a snow day! To slow down and take a breath of what really is important.”
—Don Mattingly, 1985 American League MVP
“Billy Coffey has crea
ted a town of winsome, appealing characters with strengths and struggles, faith and foibles—they’re so realistic, I’m wishing I could pick up and move to that fictional town in Virginia in order to get to know them better. But the message of this novel is that no matter where we live, those people and their insights are all around us; meaningful stories are just waiting to be told. All we need to do is slow down enough to pay attention… all we need is one good snow day.”
—Ann Kroeker, author of Not So Fast: Slow-Down Solutions for Frenzied Families
“With SNOW DAY, Billy offers further proof that the blogger-turned-author is a trend we’ve barely touched on. Honest, insightful, and packed with the writing people fell in love with online, SNOW DAY makes me proud to be a blogger.”
—Jonathan Acuff, author of Stuff Christians Like
SNOW DAY
Billy Coffey
New York Boston Nashville
Copyright
Copyright © 2010 by Billy Coffey
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
FaithWords
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New York, NY 10017
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First eBook Edition: October 2010
