Ed and Tim's Journey to the Afterlife Read online

  Two Journeys

  To the

  Afterlife

  T. Ralph Turner

  Also by T. Ralph Turner

  How to Overcome Cooldown and Keep the Fires Burning—Hunter Books

  Preparing Your Heart to Survive in a Dangerous World—Publish America

  Threat Awareness—Publish America

  Color Coded Motorcycle Safety—Publish America

  Citizen Warrior—Wolfhunter Chronicles EBook Publishing

  To my wife Joan

  Without her dedication to and support of these projects, none would have been possible.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken form the Holy Bible, New International Version , NIV. Copyright @ 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Or

  Scripture quotations marked “NKJV” are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Or

  Scripture taken from the New American Standard Bible, Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977 by the Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

  Base Scripture

  There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores. The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, “Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.” But Abraham replied, “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.” He answered, “Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father’s house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.” Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.” “No, father Abraham,” he said, “but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.” He said to him, “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”

  Luke 16: 19–31 NIV

  Meet Ed Williams

  Ed’s Life Begins

  Jesse Williams paced back and forth in the front yard of the family farmhouse. He would change directions, spinning on the heel of his cowboy boots at one edge of the porch and then head for the other edge. With each spin, his rather long black hair would lag slightly behind the change in direction of the rest of his 6 foot 4 inch frame. With each pass by the front door, his dark eyes would flick toward the opening to see if there was any sign. And with each pass, he would grow more impatient. “What are they doing?” he snapped at no one in particular, although there were several more in attendance.

  After about a dozen or so of these passes, his father, sitting in the cane bottom rocking chair on the porch, spoke. His words were carefully chosen, and spoken with deliberation. His pointed way of speaking came from his Native American heritage as well as his time as an army colonel, riding with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. “Settle down, boy! How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  Jessie was in no mood for riddles. “What difference does that make, Dad?”

  “How many?” the old man repeated.

  Without even pausing in his journey, Jessie shot back, “Eight brothers and three sisters. So what?”

  “That means that I have been where you are eleven times. This is your first. And you ain’t gonna die! And neither is Janie. Your mother is in there with her, and so is Aunt Ethel, the best midwife in the state. So just relax.”

  But the old man was wrong. Jesse snapped back at him. “Yea, Dad. You and Mom had a whole bunch of us kids. But how many did you have to bury before you even had the chance to meet them.”

  Jesse’s dad, Amos, pulled up short in his remarks. He had plumb forgotten that. Now he remembered how hurt his son and his young wife had been at the loss of the two other babies. “Sorry, Son!” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said. It’s just that you get so steamed up over things you can’t control. And believe me, this is one thing that is totally in the hands of the Lord. You know that, and you know Him. Just leave this in His hands, and take whatever happens as His will.”

  Jesse felt a twinge of resentment touch his heart. He knew there was no way he could blame God for the other two or with whatever happened here. This was the first time Janie had been able to carry a child to full term. He remembered her mental state for several months after the other two. The last one was worse and lasted longer than the first. He just didn’t know if she could handle another loss. They both wanted this baby more than anyone could know. So, of course, Jesse was anxious, scared, and more than a little bit short tempered when told to just relax and not worry. He knew he should leave the entire thing in God’s hands, but that was easier said than done.

  Then, on what he knew must be the hundredth trip back and forth between one end of the porch to the other, it happened. He heard it faintly at first. Then louder! The distinctive cry of a baby! And one with good lungs from the sound of it. Jesse’s mother burst out the front door, shoving it hard enough for it to bang against the doorstop. “It’s a boy!” she shouted.

  Jesse began to dance around the front yard, kicking up dust. The old man fairly skipped down the steps off the porch, yelling at Jesse, “See, I told you so. God had already let me know this one was going to make it okay. See … I told you!” He continued dancing right into the yard, joining the dance with his son. “See!” he yelled again. “I told you it would all work out this time. I heard it from a good source. The Lord promised me He would hear my prayer that this baby be not only born but born healthy.”

  “Okay, Dad! I heard you! Praise God!” And the dust flew higher!

  With that, Jesse ran into the house, through the living room, and into the bedroom, where Janie was. She looked beautiful, though exhausted. And there in her arms, all snuggled in a blue blanket, was the most fabulous gift a man could receive. A girl would have been wonderful, but a son … wow! Jesse paused beside the bed, just looking at the tiny figure. “Thank you, Jesus! And forgive me for doubting.”

  “How do you like him?” Janie asked in a low voice.

  Jesse sat on the edge of the bed. “My heart just isn’t big enough to contain the words, Janie. I just want to run through the woods yelling at all the critters about him.”

  Janie spoke. “Jesse, meet Edward Ralph Williams. Edward Ralph Williams, meet your daddy.” Life was wonderful beyond words.

  And thus was Edward Ralph Williams introduced to the world on March 5, 1923. He was born on the Williams family farm, located just outside a small farming community forty miles north of Nashville, Tennessee. Here he would grow into a fine young man, and here he would leave this world for the next. But wait! We’re getting of ourselves!

  Many of the details regarding exactly when and how the land came into the possession of Jacob Williams (Ed’s great-great-grandfather), who had migrated to the United States from Ireland some one hundred years before, was somewhat obscure. He evidently had come to this country with a large amount of money, supposedly from the sale of his family’s estate in Dublin. He settled in this
area north of Nashville. Recently declared the capital of Tennessee, Nashville had quickly offered a lot of business opportunities throughout the area. One of the most promising was cotton farming and timber. Jacob quickly began buying up small farms around the area where the family farm was now located. His plan was to combine them into one large enterprise. He was very successful at that and was soon one of the largest landowners in the area. He built a reputation as an honest businessman, generous to all. That included the local Cherokee Indians. Within a few years of his settling here, he married a Cherokee chieftain’s daughter and soon began producing offspring. By the end of the first decade of the 1800s, he had three sons and two daughters. In those days, marrying an Indian brought some serious repercussions. At first, it affected Jacob’s dealings around town. The label “squaw man” was often attached to his name. However, family history claimed it was always in private, as Jacob was quick with his temper and his firearm.

  According to the history of the area, it was in May of 1838 that the first Cherokee roundup took place. In June, the first group of Cherokee was driven west under federal guard along what would become known as the Trail of Tears. For a while, this move was halted due to the drought, the worst in recorded history and became what was called the “sickly season.” Thirteen thousand Cherokee were held in military stockades to wait out the drought; fifteen hundred would die during that time. In August, the stockade chiefs met in council to reaffirm the sovereignty of the Cherokee Nation. Then, in September, the drought broke, and the forced march began again. Ed’s great-great-grandmother, who was full-blooded Cherokee, had been forced to join the Trail of Tears and relocated to Oklahoma. The story is that she was never heard from again. Jacob’s three sons were reported to have joined an antigovernment group fighting against the government’s action toward the Indians. Rumor has it that some of Ed’s ancestors on that side of the family had fought along in some of the later Indian uprisings. No one knew for sure.

  Ed’s great-grandfather had left for the Civil War as a twenty-two-year-old captain in the Confederate Army. Kissing his young wife, heavy with child (Ed’s grandfather), good-bye, neither could know that they would never lay eyes on each other in this life again. Only a few months later, Captain Williams would be one of only 731 men of Colonel Munson R. Hill’s Tennessee Regiment, that would attempt to provide reinforcement to generals Johnston and Beauregard at the Battle of Shiloh. He would be shot off his horse with the first charge. Ed’s great-grandmother would stay there on the farm, raising Ed’s grandfather, Ernest Williams. Ernest would become very familiar with the dreams of his father for a military career. As an army colonel, he would become a Rough Rider, charging up San Juan Hill right next to Theodore Roosevelt. He would return to Tennessee and become a member of the Tennessee legislature. But the family farm and his family would always be his first priority. And he had a special love for his oldest grandson: Ed. Ed would grow up strong and straight.

  Ed’s father, Jesse, had the farm as his life’s focus. Many of his forebears had been strong military men. All he wanted to do was turn the farm into a booming enterprise for his family. Under his management, it had become one of the largest in the production of timber and cotton from the Alabama/Tennessee line to the Tennessee/Kentucky line. And he loved mules. He considered them the backbone of not only the timber industry but of all types of farming. He became one of the largest mule traders in the area. One of his pet peeves was to see the automobile (in his mind, a device of questionable value) begin to push out the trusty mule as the prime mode of transportation. He felt there would never be a gasoline engine that could out-power a good pair of Kentucky blacks. He had built a huge barn and mule yard just to the north of the main house. At any given time, you would see at least four hundred mules there. Jesse (or Jake, as he was called) was known as the king of all mule breakers.

  Now, there are several different ways of breaking a mule to either ride or work. There was another mule dealer, who lived about twenty miles down the road. He was known for his abuse of mules, having killed several in the process. One of the hands, skilled at riding, would mount the mule that was in need of breaking. There would be nothing but a large rope tied around the animal’s withers. The mule would be blindfolded, and his back feet would be shackled. Once the breaker had mounted the mule, the blindfold would be removed and the feet unshackled. Another man on another mule would begin to whip the mule being broken with a bullwhip. Of course, the mule would begin to jump and kick. The beating would continue until the mule being broken was too weak to stand up, much less buck any more. Jesse hated that, and despite his Christian attempts, he hated any so-called mule breaker who would treat his mules that way. Ed remembered one conversation between his dad and granddad. It was at the end of winter and time to begin breaking a new crop of mules for the sale in Nashville. As usual, the family had finished supper and was sitting in the living room around the fireplace, still needed on most nights. Jesse was trying to buy out the mule dealer down the road. So far, there had been no agreement. Jesse hated to see another season of abuse take place. He and Grandpa were sitting in their straight-back chairs, staring into the fire. Jesse spoke. “Dad, every time I think about all the torture that goes on at the Wilkins’s place, I get so mad I could just walk up and knock him in the dirt and then open the gate and let all his mules out. Why can’t he see that there is no need for all the brutality he uses to break mules?”

  “Jesse, it’s not just Bret. His old man was that way. In fact, so was his granddad. He comes by his meanness honestly.”

  Jesse continued. “If he could just see that the best way to break a mule is with gentleness and a soft touch. Sure, they are basically mean and like to kick the stuffin’ out of you. But they will respond to kindness.” Both stopped talking for a bit, staring into the fire.

  The old man spoke first. “Jess, it’s that way with folks. No matter how mean they are, with enough kindness and soft words, they will usually give kindness and soft words back.” Those words would be implanted in Ed’s heart for many years to come. Before the breaking season really got started, a mule kicked and killed Bret Wilkins. His widow was more than glad to make a deal with Jesse for the mule business.

  As already mentioned, a large part of the Williams farm operation was timber. The family had always dealt somewhat in timber but on a much smaller basis. Jesse had been able to buy up several smaller parcels of raw timber, greatly enlarging his timber holdings. Now, with over nine thousand acres of raw timber, sawmills from as far away as the Northeast had started to approach Jesse about buying timber. There was often one interfering factor. The largest timber operations in the country were generally located near major waterways, where the logs could be floated downstream to the mills. That was not the case here. Logs would be hauled on huge logging trailers, pulled by double teams of mules to the Nashville sawmill. After being cut into boards, they would be taken by train to their destinations around the country. Each year, Jesse would pick out a particular spot where the saw timber was getting heavy. He would sell the trees to the highest bidder, so each year the timber business would grow larger.

  This business soon made the Williams Timber Company the largest around. That meant Jesse would need to buy more equipment, such items as skidding harnesses for the mules and several huge trailers designed to carry massive loads of logs to the sawmill. One of the timber companies Jesse started doing business with began trying to convince him to get at least one truck to use in his operation. They even offered to partner with him in the huge cost for such equipment. Jesse resisted, believing that such equipment would never take the place of mules. But finally he succumbed, buying a well-worn Kelly-Springfield (K-S) logging truck with a three-speed transmission and rated at three tons. Jesse made it a point to prove that a team of mules would always be better. But progress would have its way, and by the time Ed finished high school, there would be more trucks and gas-powered skidders in the woods than mules. Ed was a lot more excited at the prospect o
f driving one of those monster trucks than working behind a team of mules.

  But his dad had other plans for him. There had been too many good men maimed or killed in the logging woods. He would not allow Ed to put his life in such danger. He just felt that the Lord had other plans for his eldest son. Oh he had his responsibilities, for sure. By the time he was a senior in school, he was working as field boss in the cotton fields. This involved supervising the weighing of the cotton and paying over two hundred hands. But he always had one eye on the logging operation. There were memories that just would not leave his mind.

  When this addition to the family business first really started to grow, Ed was about twelve years old. Because of the danger involved in logging, Ed and his brothers were never allowed to get very close to what was happening. They could stand across the road, where they could generally look across and see the action taking place. Ed can still remember the hugeness of it all. The teams of gigantic Kentucky black mules hooked up to logs that often were six feet across, and fifty feet long. The mules would come out of the woods at nearly a dead run, the log trying to catch up with them. And standing on the log would be either his dad or one of the many hands hired for this operation. The mules would pull the log up to what was called a landing. This was an area slightly elevated above the road. The log trailer would be parked on the road, down below the landing. The long log would be “bucked” into shorter lengths. Hooked to the trailer would sometimes be six to eight mules. Each log would be rolled down the slight incline of the landing, with as many as ten hands using cant hooks. Once started, the log would be rolled onto the trailer. Nearly every season there would be at least one worker who would be either hurt or killed. It was the nature of the work.