Clyde the Cart

A children's story. Or is it?

Clyde the Cart had a big, big heart and humble roots in an old factory surrounded by grease and escaped ball bearings. 

 

When Clyde was only a few hours old, he was loaded into the back of rumbly truck and shipped off in the darkness to his new home: a fast-food restaurant with only one thing in common with his old home—a greasy floor.

 

Clyde did his best to settle into his new surroundings. He waited patiently to be loaded with boxes, he tried not to squeak and squeal when Dan, the man in charge of taking out the trash, pushed him out to the blue dumpster behind the building.

 

But Clyde soon grew weary of his new job. No one seemed to take any notice of him at all. Martha, the manager, complained he was always in the way. Peter, the patty-flipper, grumbled he either brought in too many boxes of burgers or not enough. And Dan stubbed his toes and knocked his shins on Clyde’s corners so often, that one day he howled in pain, then kicked him out the door, straight into the path of a car in the drive through.

 

The driver blew his horn. HONK!

 

Clyde barely managed to roll out of the way in time. At first, he sat unnoticed near the big dumpster. “Surely someone will come and take me back inside,” he thought. But no one came. Finally, it grew dark, and Clyde fell asleep. He was awakened by sharp claws on his back.

 

It was Snap, the black cat that lived on the other side of the fence. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked Clyde.

 

“Dan kicked me out,” Clyde explained. “And I’m waiting for someone to take me back in, but now it’s dark, and I think they’ve forgotten me.”

 

“Pro’bly so,” answered Snap, nonchalantly. “People are like that. Can’t always trust ‘em. Look at me! I used to have a little girl that gave me sardines and scratched me behind my ears, but one day I woke up and the whole family had moved to California. Can’t trust ‘em I say.”

 

Snap leaped off Clyde’s back and balanced delicately on the edge of the dumpster. “If I was you, I’d leave. No use waitin’ around.” Then he disappeared into the giant heap of trash.

 

Clyde sat sadly, thinking. It did seem that no one cared for him. No matter how hard he tried to serve, he’d somehow messed up. He’d done everything he could do, and no one had noticed at all! In fact, he’d been grumbled and complained at, and even kicked! It wasn’t right.

 

The more Clyde thought about it, the more his big heart hurt. He’d given his best, and no one appreciated him at all. Perhaps Snap was right, maybe he should move on. Slowly, his wheels begin to turn. This time, Clyde didn’t even try to keep them from squeaking.

 

By morning, Clyde had rolled to the edge of the parking lot near a little hill. When he saw Dan’s old white car pull in to work, something happened to Clyde that had never happened before. He felt angry. Without another thought, he rolled a little farther toward the hill, then Zip! Over he went, traveling at breakneck speed toward the entrance of a store at the bottom of the hill.

 

Going so fast made Clyde forget he was sad. He felt the whistle of the wind around his handle, and exhilaration flowed through him as he leaped off the ground to jump a pothole.  There was only one problem. He didn’t stop in time.

 

Crash! Glass shattered all around him. Oops. Clyde rolled slowly backward, his wheels crunching over the bits and pieces of the door. Maybe the people at the restaurant had been right. Maybe he really was a bother. He couldn’t even run away without causing trouble.

“Hey!” A large man with an angry face appeared at the door. “What’s going on?”

 

Clyde didn’t wait to hear more. He rolled away rapidly, leaving the man shouting after him.

 

He was in such a hurry he didn’t notice the woman walking toward the store pushing a stroller. At least, he didn’t notice until he ran straight into her. The woman fell to the ground, and the stroller rolled away and came to rest against a parked car. Clyde was too scared to stop. He hoped he hadn’t hurt the woman or the baby, but he knew he was becoming a bad cart. A cart that ran into things and pushed people over, and he didn’t know why. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to cry, but big carts didn’t cry.

 

Then Clyde saw something. Across the street was a sprinkler. It was watering a flowerbed filled with colorful blossoms. What fun it would be to roll through the sprinkler! Maybe that would help him not to feel sad. Recklessly, Clyde scurried across the street, then tore through the yard and under the sprinkler. He cavorted about, feeling the drops cascade onto his back and run off his corners. This was fun!

 

Suddenly, something hit Clyde hard. He skittered off to the side. An old woman stood there brandishing her cane. “Look at my flowers!” she yelled. “Just look at them!”

 

For the first time, Clyde looked down. The damp ground was torn up in big ruts. Flowers lay uprooted and crushed all around. “Oh no!” Clyde thought. “Look what I’ve done! I really am a bad cart now!”

 

Quickly, before the old woman could hit him again, Clyde rolled down the street. He spotted a hill in an alleyway and thought it might be fun to go fast again. Over he went, racing away toward the bottom. But Clyde wasn’t a good judge of distance, and as he hurtled downward, he realized he would never fit between the wall and a shiny black car parked to one side.

 

Scri-i-i-tch! A long streak of red appeared on the shiny black car that hadn’t been there before.

 

Clyde paused in dismay to look at the disaster. He didn’t want to cause problems, but he didn’t know how to fix the ugly scratch, and he didn’t know how to stop messing everything up.

 

He’d have to leave, now, before the driver of the shiny black car came back and yelled at him. Maybe, if he could go fast enough, he’d forget how miserable he was. Clyde took off at a tremendous pace, fleeing down, down, down the hill.

 

He rolled along so fast his wheels were only little black blurs. On and on he went. At last he stopped near a crumbly old building, just as the sun sank out of view and the little twinkly stars came out.

 

Clyde used to love the twinkly stars. He had imagined they were his friends as they winked down at him. But now the twinkly stars just made him sad. They wouldn’t want to be friends with a naughty cart like him. No one wanted him, Clyde thought sadly. And he cried himself to sleep by the crumbly brick wall.

 

Clyde the Cart was awaken the next morning by a cheerful voice: “Ho! What have we here?” the voice asked.

 

Clyde opened his eyes. A little old man was standing there, looking at him with kindly expression. Clyde could hardly bear the smile the man wore. “I must leave now!” he told himself, “Before he finds out what a bad cart I am. Before he starts to yell at me and kick me. I must go quickly!” And so Clyde threw himself forward, aiming his wheels down another nearby hill.

 

But he had misjudged the distance. Oof! Clyde barreled into the little old man and knocked him over.

 

Clyde rushed past the man on the ground and raced on down the hill. There was a bridge at the bottom of the hill with a river roaring beneath it. Big, ugly rocks poked out of the water. Clyde put his front wheels on the bridge railing and peered over. Maybe he should roll over the side and hide in the rushing water. There, he couldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t scratch fancy cars or root up flower gardens or bruise shins.

But before Clyde could clamber over the bridge railing he heard pounding footsteps behind him. A firm hand grasped his handle. “Oh no, you don’t!” a voice said, and Clyde felt himself dragged backward onto the bridge.

 

It was the little old man whom he had knocked over. “You’re coming with me,” the man said, still cheerfully. “I have plans for you. You’re just what I needed!” And he pushed Clyde back up the hill, up, up, up, until they were once more by the crumbly brick wall.

 

The little old man washed and scrubbed the runaway cart until all the mud was gone from his wheels. He left him to dry in the sun, and that afternoon he painted him with a can of bright red rust-proof paint, whistling all the while. Come nightfall, he pushed Clyde inside and parked him carefully by a pile of boxes.

 

The next day, Clyde was put to work. He carried boxes and bags and random pieces of furniture back and forth in the store the little old man operated. Sometimes Clyde knocked things over, just to see if the man would kick him like Dan had. But the little old man never did. He didn’t complain like Martha and Peter, either. He just smiled at Clyde and said, “I’m glad you’re here, little cart! I don’t know what I’d do without you!” and he would pat Clyde’s handle, and smile at him.

 

And so it was that Clyde begin to trust the little old man. He stopped tripping him up. He stopped waiting to be kicked. And slowly, slowly, Clyde’s big heart begin to grow back together. He wasn’t really a bad cart. He had made some mistakes, it was true, and he might make mistakes again, but the little old man treated him the same no matter what.

 

One night, the little old man took Clyde outside and parked him by the crumbly brick wall. The man sat down on Clyde’s back and leaned against the wall, and they looked at the stars together. Clyde was not afraid to look at the twinkly stars this time. He knew they were friendly, and he was too.

 

Suddenly, he heard a sound. “Meow!” It was Snap. “Didn’t I tell you not to trust people?” he asked Clyde.

 

“Yes,” Clyde answered, his big heart swelling, “but Snap, sometimes you need to trust people. Sometimes that’s what your heart wants most of all. You can stay here for the night, if you like.”

 

“Humph,” grumbled Snap. “That old man would probably throw rocks at me. I’m just a mangy old alley cat, least that’s what I’ve been told.”

 

“I don’t think he would,” answered Clyde. “You see, he doesn’t kick me, and I’ve tripped him up plenty of times. You really ought to stay.”

 

So Snap stayed the night, sleeping on Clyde’s back. And the next morning, when the little old man offered him some old salami, Snap stayed to eat, too.

 

And that, Clyde thought, was the best thing of all—to have his big heart back together and to pass on a kindness to someone else, someone else who wanted to be good but often was bad. Someone else who thought he was not wanted. Someone else with a big, big heart and humble roots. Someone very much like him.

 

The End.

Fly On the Wall

     Sometimes it is hard to accept responsibility. Sometimes we need to let others bear a burden we are not meant to handle. None of the women in this story shirked their duty. All were used of God in some way. We can trust that our Father divides His work evenly. Which worker are you? 

    Elizabeth was a Christian woman. She was a hard worker, a good singer, and had her worries like everyone. Her three children were sometimes well behaved and sometimes not. Her husband went to work every day, where he earned a comfortable, but not extravagant wage. He came home at night, tired, but still managed to play a few games of catch in the backyard with the nine-year-old, let the toddler ride on his back like a horse, and admire the painted rocks of the five-year-old before he sat down to a hot supper that Elizabeth had prepared. The lettuce was from the garden, and the chicken she had canned herself.

Elizabeth loved her Church family dearly. She didn’t feel particularly critical of them. She was glad to do her part. She prided herself on it, in fact. She was always there on school cleaning days and bake days for the elderly. She offered to help sing at the local old folks’ home, had company, and sometimes kept her neighbor’s children for the day. She did sigh, though, when she got elected to the food committee. She was already a Sunday School teacher, a busy mom, librarian at school, and part of the Comforter Committee. Couldn’t someone else do the job?

     Berniece, for example. She didn’t have any jobs at all. She was perfectly capable, too. But she rarely brought food to basket dinners and often she stood around and didn’t help with so much as putting ice in the glasses!

     And Amanda. Why, she was only on the Bible School Committee, and that was only a couple weeks in summer! But maybe she had a spiritual problem. She sometimes missed Church entirely. And she never talked in Sunday School.

     And then there was Marge. She talked a lot, maybe too much. She didn’t mince her words when she had an opinion. She would likely have no trouble at all making the decisions being on the food committee required.

    That night, Elizabeth had a dream. She dreamt she was working in the garden. A fly landed on her nose, and she brushed it off. As she stood up from pulling a weed, a figure appeared at the end of the row. She gaped. It was an angel! Whatever could he want?

 The being smiled at her. “I am here to give you a gift,” the angel said.

 A gift! Whatever could it be? “Oh,” stammered Elizabeth, “Why, thank you, but I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a gift!”

 The angel looked at her. “Gifts are never deserved and rarely given for one’s own use,” he said gently. “They are nearly always given for the use of others.” He then handed her a tiny pin. It looked like the kind businesses give away as promotions. She peered at it. It was black, with the silver image of a fly etched on the top.

 “But what is this?” She turned to ask, but he was gone. Shrugging, she pinned the tiny fly to her blouse, and continued with her weeding.

 Elizabeth woke with a start. What a strange dream! An angel and a fly. And nothing had really happened beyond that. As she lay awake, pondering, the problem of the food committee again began to bother her. Perhaps she should ask to be released. Maybe she should suggest Berniece to take her place. But even as she lay there, there was a buzzing noise. And suddenly she found herself in someone’s living room. And that wasn’t all. She was sitting on the wall, in the form, she discovered, of a fly. And there were two people in the room. She recognized them in the dim light of a single lamp as Berniece and her husband.

 Berniece was lying on a recliner, a bottle of pills nearby. “I am so sorry,” she told her husband. “I don’t mean to complain, but I feel so badly, being a burden to you!”

 Her husband, in a chair near her, shook his head. “You’re not a burden, Berniece. I wish you wouldn’t think that! Maybe soon the doctor can find something to help this back pain. And I wish you could understand,” he continued, "just how much you encourage me with your steadfastness and patience, even through your pain."

 Elizabeth felt her little fly eyes widen. Berniece struggled with back pain? She had never once complained. No wonder she didn’t help much. Now that she thought about it, she could remember Berniece and her husband often left social events early. She’d been a little irritated in the moment—how they could show up, and Berniece never helped set up or clean up and if she brought a dish it was usually a simple one.

 “I just feel so badly,” Berniece was saying now, “I wish we could have company. I know you like to socialize! And If only my back would quit hurting long enough to make you something besides soup out of a can! There are days I just feel useless!”

"I don't mind," her husband shook his head,"and you serve a great purpose with the way you are willing to listen to other people's problems for hours on the phone."

 Suddenly it all came clear to Elizabeth. Berniece was sacrificing herself for her husband. Coming to social functions must be excruciating to her, but she still showed up because it was the only way her husband got to visit with his friends. And probably the only time he got a really good home cooked meal besides. And here she had been, ready to hand in Berniece’s name for the food committee!

 Well, there was still Amanda. Maybe her name would work for a replacement. Even as she thought the name, there was another buzzing sound in her ears, and Elizabeth found herself in another room. She recognized it as Amanda’s dining room. There was a little desk beside one wall. Amanda was there, writing something. Elizabeth stretched out her little fly wings and landed as quietly as possible on Amanda’s shoulder. Peering down, she read what was being written:

 “This burden that I carry, Lord, will it ever leave, or must I be resigned to carry it forever? I want to serve You. I love You with my whole heart, but this pain from my past, will it be with me always? If you wish me to carry it, I will, for I know You will walk with me. But it is so hard for me to walk among the other women! I feel so different, like a stranger wearing a mask, trying to blend in. None of them know my life was so different from theirs when we were children. I still get flashbacks of my father and how he treated us. What if someday I lose control of myself and hit my own children? Sometimes, in spite of my love for You, I can hardly go to Church and pretend. I know I shall cry the whole service through, because I am sad, so sad, and I grieve for my lost childhood, my shattered dreams. I want to be a whole and vital Christian and live for you, but will I ever be whole? Or will I go through life broken?”

 The pen paused on the page. Elizabeth had known none of this. She remembered Amanda from school days, a quiet girl. The kind who never had come-backs when the other students teased her. She’d worn out of date, ill fitting dresses. Her hair had only ever been combed one way. Sometimes she had spoken strange, fanciful things, and when the others looked at her oddly she had collapsed into silence. They had thought her boring, unpopular, odd. They had never guessed the truth. Oh, it was terrible!

 “I’ve started healing, Lord, but it’s such a long process. I’m afraid it will take the rest of my life. But I will pursue healing for my children’s sake, my husband’s sake, my own sake, and Yours. Yet it takes so much energy! Taking care of my family feels like a monumental task. I am weary so often, a weariness in body that comes from a weariness of heart. I don’t do my part in the congregation, but not because I don’t want to. I struggle to accept that I can’t. I know if I take on jobs I’ll become overwhelmed and end up in the hospital again, and Lord, I can hardly bear the thought of that. I never felt good enough for my earthly father. But I stand amazed every day that I am perfect in the view of my Heavenly Father. Help me to keep that ever in the forefront of my mind.”

 Elizabeth felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. No wonder Amanda always acted so exhausted around holidays! Of course, they’d been with her parents, and that must take a terrible toll on her! Elizabeth remembered now the last Christmas party at school. Amanda had been picking up her things as if to leave, and Elizabeth herself had thrust a vacuum in her hands and told her—the words came back as she had spoken them—“We all have to do our part if we’re going to get this done!” Amanda had turned white, and then looked angry. After a long pause, she had taken a deep breath, put down her things, and taken the vacuum. She had looked about to cry as she pushed the vacuum back and forth, and when she was done, she had left without saying a word. At the time, Elizabeth had congratulated herself. Somebody had to see to it that everyone helped out. If Amanda wanted to cry and be mad, that was her own problem, she needed to grow up. But now? Now Elizabeth knew it had probably been a difficult time. And she had not helped anything.

 Well, there was still Marge. Maybe she could take over food committee. Again there was that buzzing noise in her ears. And in moments, Elizabeth found herself on Marge’s back porch. Marge was there, and a teenager Elizabeth couldn’t recognize.

 “Sometimes I just want to run away. I don’t think my mom cares at all! They all think Clara is the perfect daughter, and they don’t understand me!” the girl was saying.

 “But your mom does love you,” Marge was saying. “Even though it can be hard to feel if you don’t think she understands you. Promise me, Angie, that you won’t run away without talking to me about it first, OK?”

 Marge listened, amazed how gentle Marge’s voice was. But surely, talking to some random girl late at night on the porch wasn’t enough to get out of other responsibilities! The gentle buzzing in her ears again, and Marge felt herself transported to a bright, sunny day.

 Again, Marge was there, handing a water bottle to a wrinkled woman wielding a cardboard sign. Elizabeth was perched on a sign pole and couldn’t hear a word, but she saw Marge sit down beside the woman. Elizabeth didn’t know if she could do something like that! Sit with a homeless woman? She could hand out money and pray for them, but to actually sit down and talk? It just wasn’t her. The conversation wasn’t long, and soon Marge hugged the shabbily dressed woman and walked away.

 And? Elizabeth wondered. So Marge had midnight conversations and hugged random homeless persons. And that was supposed to let her off the hook how? Again the buzzing noise. Elizabeth really wanted to cover her ears. To escape this weird world of half dreams and vision and somehow a feel of reality. But no, here she was again. This time it was church. To her surprise, she saw Amanda, standing by the back wall. This time, Elizabeth was sure to fly close. Suddenly, Marge was there, too. She reached out and squeezed Amanda’s hand. “I’m glad to see you this morning!” she said, “I left a casserole in the fridge for you. I sure hope you all like bacon and ranch!”

 Then everything went dark, and Elizabeth found herself, heart beating faster than normal, back in bed. It must have been a dream. Slowly, she grew drowsier and drowsier. Soon she drifted off to sleep again. And there she was, back in the garden. Suddenly the angel was before her.

 “I’ve come for the pin,” he said quietly.

 “Oh, of course,” Elizabeth felt flustered. “Here it is.”

 “Did you find the meaning in the gift?” the angel asked, smiling.

 “Well,” Elizabeth paused, “I think so. Except, I wasn’t quite sure about the last one.”

 “Marge?” asked the angel. “She is a very dear worker. The Father has so many uses for her. She is faithful in them all. He would rather not use her talents in such a direct way. Someone has to do all the little jobs, you know.”

 Elizabeth stood, biting her lip. Something she didn’t quite understand niggled in her brain. “But I was wondering,” she said, “I mean, I don’t understand. Where does that leave me? Am I to take on all the responsibility that those women can’t? How am I supposed to handle it all? I’m busy, too! I have my own needs that have to be met.”

 The angel smiled and sat down. “Come here,” he said. “Let us talk a little.” Elizabeth made her way over to him. “I said the gift you were given was for others, not yourself,” the angel begin. “Can you see how that was true?”

 Elizabeth nodded. Yes, she could understand that. Being a fly on the wall had led her to understand what others were really going through. It helped her to give them the grace they needed, to not hold them accountable to do things they really couldn’t handle.

 “You have been an admirable worker, Elizabeth. You handle a household so well. You always are volunteering to clean or cook for others. But you sometimes feel disappointed with life. You get disgruntled because you work so much, and you sometimes wonder why all the responsibilities fall on you. Isn’t that so?”

 “Yes…” Elizabeth hesitated. “I’m so busy all the time! I hardly ever have time for me and the things I enjoy! I give all of myself to others! If not my family, it’s the Church. And I know that’s what I should do, but it’s hard.”

 “That’s honest of you,” the angel looked at her. “You know, Elizabeth, life is busy. The Father knows it. But giving yourself is what He asks of everyone, just in different ways. There will come a time when you are old that you will long to be able to do the things you are doing now. This is a busy season of life, and you have choices, you know. Fight against the busyness or accept it. The gift you have been given wasn’t only being a fly on the wall.”

 “What?!” Elizabeth looked at him with dismay and consternation. “What was it, then?”

 “Two things,” the angel smiled. “Maybe more. You’ve been given a healthy mind and a strong body. Because you have those things, you will be asked to do much in the Kingdom. There will be times it looks like you are doing more than your share, but trust me, the Father never divides His work unfairly. And if you’re worried about drowning in busyness, you needn’t be. He’ll give you direction for rest, as well as for work.”

 “I don’t think,” Elizabeth said, petulantly, “that I like being a mature person with responsibility very much.”

 “And that,” said the angel, his eyes sparkling, “is why the Father wishes everyone to remain child-like.”

 And then the angel was gone, and Elizabeth found herself sitting bolt upright in bed.

 Elusive thoughts danced about in her mind. Child-like. Pure, innocent, forgiving, loving, patient, kind. And accepting most of all. Children were so flexible, so resilient, so utterly moldable. Was there a reason she couldn’t be on the food committee? Not really. She had accepted the good things in life, why not accept the busy-ness of life as well? Learn to enjoy the things she was called on to do as a service to God instead of her dutiful place in the community? Love her struggling sisters enough to fill in the gaps they left when they were unable to do what she could?

 Slowly, she opened her heart to the Father, and He spoke peace to her soul. And then, like a child, she fell into the sleep of true acceptance.