IN A MOMENT...

Oh, I looked over Jordan, and what did I see, coming for to carry me home?” The Gaithers sang on the radio, “…was a mighty band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home.”

Stan retired only a couple of years ago and was happy to finally fully focus on pastoring. Sophia and he decided to take an evening drive in the country between Lebanon and Albany. The setting sun shone on the grassy fields and Douglas first. It's last hurrah. Soon to set behind the distant mountains, hugging the Willamette Valley. His furrowed brow drooped. Heavy labor and sweat under the West Coast sun had weathered Stan. His eyes were kind and gentle. He was as worn and bronzed as you'd expect a seasoned concrete worker to be. Though short of stature, Stan was a giant soul who earned the respect of everyone who ever knew him personally.

Sophia, aged and graceful, enjoyed the opportunity Stan had given her to homeschool their children. Though she’s small, her spirit is every bit as bold and fortified as the pioneer women who journeyed with their husbands on the Oregon Trail in the 1800s. Her weathered hands and crow's feet tell the story of a life of labor beside the man she called her husband. In their younger years, she arose daily even before her husband to pray and make lunches for Stan and the kids. Her glasses enlarged her eyes to resemble those of a wise old owl. In the car she holds Stan’s hand between his sips of coffee from a mug that reads ‘Enjoy the journey’. Stan takes that thing everywhere.

“Stan, I’m more in love with you now than when we first met,” Sophia said.

“I know you're disappointed we had to rearrange dinner plans with the kids. But there isn’t a better way to spend the evening, in my opinion,” said Stan.

“We are having the best golden years any couple could ask for, aren’t we?” Sophia replied, smiling.

Stan and Sophia were heading toward an intersection. Bond Road’s blacktop stretches miles behind them. Sophia reached and interlaced her fingers with Stan’s. Their hands together tell the story of their deep love. Rich with shared history and understanding. They roll on and come to a stop at an intersection. Stan looked lovingly at Sophia.

“I agree, love. I’ve never been happier than I am right now here with you,” Stan said.

Meanwhile, Duffy’s, a pub in the middle of nowhere, was in the rearview of a Dodge Ram. The driver managed to leave with one for the road. A Miller High Life between his knees, blaring Good Ol’ Boys. He was the epitome of what the wild west had become. An alcoholic logger with baby mama issues, who never saw enough of his son to feel like he mattered to him. His speed matched his ego and his anger. 395 horses in a Hemi, pushing a hundred on a county blacktop just outside of Lebanon, Oregon. The driver's eyes were glazed over, cigarette in hand, ready to light. His rage distracted him from the intersection that lay only seconds ahead.

Then BANG, the percussive shotgun sound of metal slamming together. The silver Ram 1500 came out of nowhere. The intoxicated driver hit Stan's side of the car. Sophia opened her eyes moments after the sudden impact. The speeding truck practically folded their SUV in half. It looked like crumpled notebook paper on Stan’s side. Shattered glass was strewn across the four-way stop.

The force of the impact had broken Sophia. A relentless, high-pitched tone in her ears dulled the sound of everything else that surrounded her. Something wasn't right. Something felt missing. She looked over. Stan’s eyes were shut; he was unresponsive. Bleeding.

In shock, Sophia fainted. EMTs arrived quickly on the scene. Moments later, Sophia was dimly aware of being placed on a gurney and could barely sense being loaded into the ambulance. Wearing an oxygen mask and neck brace, safely secured to a backboard on the gurney. She awoke in the hospital to the news that Stan was gone. She wept for the loss of her husband. But not with the overwhelming anguish one would expect. She had stood beside Stan as he pastored hundreds of people throughout their lifetime. She accompanied him many times to comfort mourning church members as they lost loved ones. She understood the meaning of the words “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” While those words didn’t erase the anguish of what she and Stan had just experienced, they did bring comfort and hope. She knew there was more beyond this life, and she would get to share that with Stan one day, too.

Jeff Shaw is a media designer, post-production editor, and writer based in Albany, Oregon. With a background in photojournalism, brand media, and visual storytelling, he brings over a decade of creative experience to his work. He is currently pursuing a B.S. in Media Communications at Full Sail University.