Good morning church family,
Kurt hadn’t intended on spending his vacation looking for another man’s knife. But that’s exactly what happened. And the funny thing was – Kurt hardly even knew Mervin.
Every few months, when either his Hyundai Sonata or his wife’s GMC Yukon was due for an oil change, Kurt would drive to the Speedi-Lube across town where Mervin would have one of his roustabout crew of grease monkeys do the job. Mervin, who managed the Speedi-Lube, wasn’t much older than Kurt but had quite a few more miles on him. Three times divorced, tattooed from wrist to chin, salty tongued, eyes red and tight, burned out on life, and sporting a wheezy laugh that always turned into a cough, Mervin was almost nothing like Kurt. Kurt Severson was a thirty-five-year-old, married father of three who ironed his polos, kept the hedges around his house neatly trimmed, solved crossword puzzles in his spare time, and never missed church on Sundays. But that’s not to say that the two men didn’t have anything in common.
A couple years back; on a warm, summer day, Kurt had ding-dinged his way into the Speedi-Lube lot on his way to going fishing for the day. When Mervin saw the rod and tackle box riding shotgun in the Sonata and a Cabela’s hat on Kurt’s head, Mervin brightened up.
“Oh man,” Mervin began, “you’re killing me. You goin’ fishin’?”
“Yeah,” Kurt answered with a shy smile. “The wife is visiting her folks and she took the kids. I finagled some time off from work – so I’m headed up to Sebago for the day.”
“Well, don’t freak out if you find a stowaway in your trunk later today,” Mervin said while laughing, wheezing, and coughing in quick succession.
That was the beginning of a very casual, haphazard, but friendly acquaintance. Every three-thousand miles, Kurt would hang out in the waiting room and he and Mervin would trade fishing stories and talk bait and tackle. Over time, these choppy conversations revealed that Mervin’s rough and tumble life didn’t afford for very much fun. Fishing, Kurt learned, was one of the precious few healthy diversions that Mervin enjoyed. From all that Kurt could gather – it was the only thing keeping him sane.
That’s why the sad story Mervin told to Kurt late last fall nearly broke Kurt’s heart. Kurt had brought the Yukon in for an oil change before a trip to Ohio for Thanksgiving. Mervin was entering customer data of some kind into the computer behind the reception desk and Kurt was seated on a squeaky, pleather chair drinking a bad cup of coffee from the Keurig that was set up for the customers. As Love it or List it droned away on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall, Mervin explained that as a last hurrah of summer, he and a buddy of his had bombed over to Vermont for a weekend of fishing on Lake Bomoseen. They’d found a cheap Airbnb right on the water with a nice boat ramp for launching his buddy’s boat.
“We were fishing this little cove,” Mervin began; shaking his head and typing into the computer as he related the story. “It was on the far shore – right across from our little cottage or whatever. I had my knife out; trying to work on a hook that had gotten all stove-up somehow and my buddy Jason, who was fishing off the front of the boat, stumbled and fell back onto the bench. The boat – you know – wobbled or something . . . I don’t know. I guess I moved to get stable or whatever but in all of that – I dropped my knife into the lake.” Mervin was shaking his head as he stopped typing momentarily to turn to the copier behind the desk. As he turned back after pulling some paper off the tray, it seemed to Kurt that Mervin might be tearing up a little.
“Oh, man,” Kurt had replied, “you probably weren’t able to find it, huh?”
“No,” Mervin had said with a sigh, “I looked for it a bunch but I’m not that good a swimmer and my lungs are no good for stuff like that. Oh well,” he’d said with a sigh of resignation as he moved to go out into the service bay, “it was just my daddy’s knife – handsome, ivory-handled thing. He gave it to me when he was dying. I could kick myself. I never should’ve been using it.”
And that was all that was really said on the matter. It was the first time Mervin had ever mentioned his family. The bro code prohibited any further delving into the matter but enough had been said and communicated to let Kurt know that the loss of that knife had been a pretty significant hurt in Mervin’s life.
Sometime the next spring, as Kurt and his wife were talking about summer vacation plans, the idea of spending a week in Vermont came up. Lindsay had always wanted to day-trip around the Green Mountains and parts of upstate New York. Kurt remembered Mervin’s talking about Lake Bomoseen and how nice everything had been. Looking into it, his wife kind of liked the location and the small lake looked good for swimming and maybe a little bit of fishing. There was only one Airbnb listed on the lake but it was free for the week that the Seversons had in mind. The vacation was booked.
Arriving to the little lakeside cottage that July, the family was excited for the week ahead. Six Flags, Fort Ticonderoga, hiking, swimming, exploring, and taking a tour of the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream factory had been all the talk during the five-hour car ride from Maine. The cottage was pretty well lived-in but nice enough and perfectly comfortable for the family. The Lake was small but beautiful – and proved perfect for swimming. Standing out on the back deck and surveying the lake, Kurt looked out across the hundred yards of shimmering water to the far shore. His eye immediately fell on the little cove where Mervin must have been fishing when he lost his knife. “I bet I could swim over there no problem,” Kurt thought to himself. “It’d be fun to look around a little.”
Look around a little he did. For the next seven days, every free moment when he wasn’t gallivanting around, barbecuing, playing and fishing with the kids, or sleeping, he had his trunks on and was off to the other side of the lake looking for sunken treasure. The crossword puzzles never came out of his satchel; nor did any of the recreational reading he brought. As much as he loved to sit and doze in the sun, Kurt didn’t allow himself that pleasure either. He became obsessed with the idea of finding Mervin’s lost knife and returning it to him.
But Bomoseen was a lake with a muddy bottom and it didn’t take much for the water to cloud; obscuring the view. A couple times, Kurt’s eye had locked onto something shiny and metal but the diving only produced a bottle opener, soda can, and a bit of broken reel. But instead of discouraging him, these little discoveries only served to fire up Kurt’s glimmering hope. He became more dedicated as the week went on – steeling away at nap times and other odd times to have a look around. But for all his searching, he hadn’t spied the lost knife.
On the family’s last full day in Vermont, Kurt got up early. He liked to sit out on the deck while doing his devotions and enjoying his first cup of coffee for the day. The family would be getting up soon as the long-awaited trip to Six Flags was on the itinerary. As Kurt read his Bible in the still and quiet of the pre-dawn morning, he looked out over the lake. The air was heavy and humid. Birdsong broke the silence as the rising sun was causing security lights all along the shore to blink off for the day. Little columns of gnats twirled about atop the water and every now-and-again a fish would flap and splash above the surface.
“Lord,” Kurt prayed, “I suppose I should have asked for your help before now. But I would really like to find that knife of Mervin’s.”
There was a pause before the Lord said in reply, “I would really like your help finding Mervin.”
Kurt was floored by this word from Heaven. For the next few minutes, the Lord shared His heart concerning the acquaintance that Kurt had worked so hard to keep. Kurt realized at once that of all the things lost – Mervin was the most important.
“Okay, Lord,” Kurt found himself whispering out loud, “I’ll do it. I’ll share the gospel with Mervin. I promise.”
Just then the sun rose above the treetops behind the cottage and the day’s first direct sunlight fell on the far side of the lake. Kurt put his coffee down and tiptoed inside to put on his trunks. “Just a quick look before the lake comes to life,” Kurt thought to himself.
Wading into the water, he dove out into the lake. Skimming across the surface, the cool water quickened Kurt’s senses and filled him with energy. As he approached the far shore, he put on his goggles and began swimming with his eyes fixed on the lake bottom. The early morning sunshine sent a shaft of light through the greenish, murky water; allowing for the best view of the floor yet. Holding his breath, he scanned the mossy, muddy rocks along the bottom. Then, for just a moment, Kurt caught a glimpse of something glinting in the sunlight. Taking a quick breath above the water, he ducked his head back down in the same direction. Sure enough, something shiny and hard was poking up between the rocks. Keeping his eyes locked on the sight, Kurt dove down to the bottom. Barely able to see now, his hands felt along the slimy, floor. There! The glint again! He reached out and grabbed the metal object. His chest getting tight, he swam to the surface, clutching what indeed felt like a knife. Breaching out of the water and taking a deep breath, Kurt tore off his goggles and saw the beautiful sight – a four-inch blade that folded into a hand-carved ivory handle. It was Mervin’s knife.
Walking out of the water and climbing the steps onto the cottage’s back deck, Kurt saw his open bible and half-drunk cup of coffee. The sight reminded Kurt of his promise and his broad smile turned into a sober look of concern. “Now by the light of My Spirit,” the Lord seemed to say, “I’m going to help you find my Mervin.”
We’re looking forward to a wonderful time of fellowship with Lord tomorrow as we sit at His table and enjoy a blessed communion we once thought impossible. And there’s always more room at our Father’s table for another to come and sit. Be thinking of the Mervin in your life and ask the Lord for His help in bringing that lost soul home. May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
- Pastor Tate
