October 14, 2000

Hello Dears!

Not Goodbye!

She was so weak. I watched as my mother and father in law held hands. She looked at him for the last time and said "So long".

With her saying that, they both knew it would be the last time they would behold each other on this earth, but also knew they would one day soon be reunited in heaven. They would not say "Goodbye" as it was so final. Instead they just said So Long, knowing they would one day be together again. And indeed, just two short years later Dad went to be with her.

And so my loves, this Poppy Weekly is saying a short "So long" to you Dear Hearts." Of necessity we need to discontinue the weekly for a time. But I am not saying Goodbye, Just so long , for awhile.

I find that my hands are needed elsewhere right now, and I am not able to do justice to the weekly at this time.

Fincastle's and I wish to say a wonderful "Thank You" to each one of you. You have been so wonderful to let us know your appreciation for the weekly.

Fincastle and his wife Janice have been such faithful and loyal servants of the Lord. They have done everything in their means to help constantly with each weekly. I could never have done the weekly without their cheerful help.

Also, I want to say a Hearty Thank You to a young man who went by the online name of Solomon. Solomon is the one who, as a surprise to me, put out the first Poppy Weekly. It has gone on for about 3 years now.

We will let you know when we are able to re start the weekly again. I have aspirations to one day continue with it.

Eccl 9:10
"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might;"

So Dear Ones, for right now I must do the work that is set before me, and trust that when He desires , We will hear, and begin the weekly again.

Thank you so much for all your wonderful words of encouragement and blessings.

For now it is just "So Long"!

Hugs, Poppy

.... E-mail Poppy at  jefree@transport.com

May God Richly Bless You All

I cannot even begin to tell you all what a blessing it has been to have been a part of Poppy's Weekly. As many of you know, when Solomon went into the Master's Commission Program he asked me to take over the weekly for him. Just a quick update, Solomon is now married and has a beautiful baby boy. His work in ministry continues.

As for Janice and I, we are being kept very busy with a musical we are writing which is near completion. Please keep it in prayer as we believe with all of our heart that many children, youth, and adults will come to know Jesus as their personal Savior through this musical.

Our prayers go out to each and every one of you, our readers, who made the weekly what it is.

Until we meet either here on earth or in heaven, we remain your brother and sister in Christ,

God Bless each and every one of you,

Jerry & Janice Doty (Fincastle)

As I thought about the many stories which we posted here over the past several months, I wanted to leave one on this site for our internet friends. After thinking of many of them, I settled on "The Cab Ride". It touched all of our hearts and reminded us of just how precious life is.

With that said, here is....

The Cab Ride

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about heir lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase and walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.

They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.

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