The Boy on the Bench

He had not been expecting a letter. The envelope was from Sunnyville Home. Penciled below the printed return address was a name that jolted him: Ellen Heyman Randall.

The Rev. Carl Harris stared at the name. He had known Ellen Heyman in college. She had been the object of his infatuation off and on for nearly four years, but he had been so shy that he had really spoken to her only once.

The memory of that time was still fresh. His junior year at Iowa State was almost over. He was sitting on a bench in Beardshear Hall preparing for his last exam. Ellen had had a class in Beardshear. Since she sat near the open classroom door, Carl usually arrived early for his class on another floor just so he could watch her. He knew that she saw him, but he was always gone when her class was over.

He looked up from his exam materials and saw Ellen walking toward him! Placing a pile of books and notebooks on the bench beside him, she said, "Watch these. I'll be back in a few minutes."

As he waited, he desperately tried to think of something he could say to her. When she returned, Carl could see that she had applied fresh makeup. "That must mean something," he thought to himself, but he could think of nothing to say.

They suffered through an agonizing ten minutes of awkward conversation, and then Ellen had excused herself. It was the worst ten minutes of his life.

That was over 40 years ago and Carl had never seen Ellen again, During those years he had gone to seminary, gained some self confidence, had met and married Noelle, a girl he met while he was in seminary, and had been the pastor of a small congregation.

Then his world had crashed. Noelle had died suddenly and, with her, his faith in God. In the emotional turbulence that had followed, Carl had resigned from his church rather than carry on the façade of actually believing what he was preaching. He had worked with broken men and women in his ministry; he had never believed he would be one.

Now this letter. Curious, yet hesitant, he opened the envelope. There was only one sentence: Carl, if you were the boy on the bench in Beardshear, please come and see me as soon as possible. Ellen.

Carl had been to Sunnyville often during his years of ministry. Its setting on a gentle hill reminded him of the words, "Green hills for thy throne," the first line of Iowa State's alma mater song, "The Bells of Iowa State." That buildings now largely covered the green hills did not detract from the beauty of the song or the emotion of that day on the bench.

The receptionist at Sunnyville directed Carl to Room 1962 in the nursing section. He knocked on the door and walked in. Ellen Heyman lay in her bed. Despite the medical equipment hooked up to her, her face radiated peace. She looked up as Carl entered. She smiled as she said, "Yes, you were the boy on the bench, weren't you?"

Carl nodded, too choked to say anything. "I never thought I'd see you again," she continued, "and I wanted to apologize for how I acted that day in Beardshear. I could see how uncomfortable you were, but I was about to go home and back to my boyfriend for the summer, and I didn't know what to say. My regret is that we didn't have the chance to get to know each other. Now that I'm dying, I wanted to see you again."

Carl finally got his voice back. "Dying? How can you talk about death and look so peaceful? My wife died two years ago and it destroyed my life, my faith, everything."

"My husband has been dead for five years. I didn't want to move on; I couldn't move on. But I had to. I knew if I didn't, I would be dead in lots of ways. Just like we had to get off that bench in Beardshear and move on. A bench is a poor place to live, and so is the past."

Carl felt the truth in his own life of what she was saying. Tears began to flow.

"Carl," she said after a moment, "can you visit me so we can talk? I want to hear the words you told your people when you were at your best, and I think you need to hear what I've experienced."

Ellen died a year later. With her tender counsel, Carl had moved on. As he stood beside her grave, he looked around the cemetery and sang to himself, "Green hills for thy throne..."