The Secret Life of a Fool: One Man's Raw Journey from Shame to Grace
224
The Secret Life of a Fool: One Man's Raw Journey from Shame to Grace
224eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781617950377 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hachette Nashville |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2012 |
| Sold by: | Hachette Digital, Inc. |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
He and the Palau team have also been featured in some of the world's leading media outlets including the Associated Press, Forbes online, the Washington Post , CNBC Asia, and USA Today . In addition, Andrew maintains his own website, which receives 5,000 visitors a month. He and his wife have three children and live in Portland, Oregon, close to the world headquarters of the Palau ministry.
Read an Excerpt
The Secret Life of a Fool
One Man's Raw Journey From Shame to Grace
By Andrew Palau
WORTHY PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2012 Andrew PalauAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61795-037-7
CHAPTER 1
FOUR SECONDS TO LIFE
Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied with the life you're living?
—Bob Marley
SOMETHING WAS WRONG. We were going too fast. Or it was raining too hard—the pilots couldn't see. What was going on?
I knew that when there's bad weather, pilots work the reverse thrusters extra hard, but something seemed off. I just couldn't tell what. My eyes darted around the cabin from the other passengers to my family sitting in the seats on either side of me. Some passengers looked tense, some looked nonchalant, and some were even applauding the odd landing.
Are you kidding? You're gonna clap for that landing?
Confusion and doubt fired through my mind. I knew this runway. I knew there was only a chain-link fence between the end of the pavement and the beginning of the Caribbean Sea.
Then it happened.
The impact was immense. My face slammed into the seat in front of me, gashing my forehead right above my nose. There was blood and pain and darkness.
Pitch black for three or four seconds, and then the lights flickered on. In the midst of the confusion, I felt as though I'd fallen asleep in a movie theater and awoken during a difficult scene. I couldn't decipher fact from fiction. One moment everything was clean and tidy and in its place. Then, in an instant, everything changed. It was just wires, panels, and luggage strewn everywhere.
My first thought was, I'm alive. The next thought was the sickening horror of it: I'm alive, but is anyone else alive—my boys, my daughter, my wife? In that moment you don't want to know the answer. Everything was quiet. My heart sank, and then leapt in my chest as movement came from under the pile of debris to my left. My boys were okay. I turned to find the girls alive as well. Next thought: Get out of here!
I could see some people beginning to move around. Most were still huddled in their seats. The dim emergency lighting flickered on, casting an eerie glow while rain blew into the exposed cabin. The massive 737 lay broken, the rain pounding on the three pieces.
The seconds it took to figure out what happened seemed like an eternity. But then the slow motion of time caught up with the reality of the situation. People began to panic.
"It's going to be okay!" I shouted. "Take it easy. Leave everything. Let's just get out of here. Everyone, stay calm!"
I tried to calm the situation but found little success against the mounting surge among the passengers that had turned to full panic. People began to realize what had happened. I helped my two boys, Christopher and Jonathan, out from the wires and panels on top of them.
Sadie, my two-year-old daughter, was in her car seat. We never travel with a car seat. For all the times coming to Jamaica with the boys, we never brought it along. The one time my wife, Wendy, convinced me to bring it, this happens. And to think how frustrated and obstinate I had been about bringing it.
I always thought, I have them; I can hold them. They'll be okay. But in that instant I realized that nothing is safe and with all my strength I could never protect them from forces like a plane crash.
I think of what could have been if we had left the car seat behind. Wendy or I would have been holding Sadie. I think of my face—swollen and bleeding. If I had been holding her ... my mind flashes through this scenario and I shudder. I'm thanking God. I'm grabbing Sadie. I'm gathering my family.
Rob, the soldier who sat behind me, is helping us out onto the wing. This is now. This is my reality.
But all the panic in the cabin didn't last long. Rob took control.
"Okay. Take it easy, everyone. No pushing. Calm down and move toward the exits." He delivered these lines as though he had experienced it all before. Rob was a hero in the moment, a serviceman coming home to his family for Christmas. Now, serving us—the panicked and afraid.
I gathered my family on the wing and we stood looking out into the night. How far down was it? Was it ten feet? Twenty feet? I couldn't see. It was dark and rainy, but there I stood on an airplane wing with my family about to jump. I can't believe I'm going to jump off the wing of this plane.
But I've always been ready to survive. When my brothers and I were younger we had our little metal lunchbox that we turned into our survival kit. We were survivors. Right? I was a long way from that survival kit. Survival wasn't such a cool and innocent thing now. It was simple necessity.
Before my eyes adjusted to the depth of field, Jonathan noticed that the wing was only one foot off the ground. "What are we waiting for?" he asked.
I could see the landing gear and the jet engine on the right side had completely torn away. The plane lay on its belly and leaned to the right. We just had to step off the wing onto the jagged honeycomb rocks and sand.
Brilliant.
The sand? Where were we?
I was laughing at my thoughts, crying through the rain.
Thank You, God. Thank You, God. Thank You, God.
We were among the first to step foot on land—confusion behind us but uncertainty before us. I just wanted to huddle and hold my family. My mind kept racing as the rain soaked us.
A memory from my childhood popped into my racing thoughts. It was a bizarre memory to be emerging at this moment: a memory of a vision I had at my grandma's house when I was a boy. My cousins came over to play with my brothers and me. Everyone ran inside to get a drink. As I lingered behind and found myself alone in the large yard, my eye caught something in the sky. I looked up and saw something incredible and golden up above Portland's West Hills. I could not tell if it was real or just my imagination playing games with me. It was also Easter weekend, which made everything seem even stranger ... or maybe stronger?
There was this breaking cloud and inside of the cloud I saw a golden city—fantasy-like in its simplicity. I was struck by how tangible the vision was. And so I waited for what seemed like an hour for one of my brothers or cousins to come back out and see this shimmering city with me. But no one came.
I didn't want to take my eyes off it, but I finally ran into the house to get someone—anyone—to confirm it was real. But when I came back out the city had vanished. I've often thought about that childhood vision. It was a simple seed that God gave me as if to say, "This is what is real. I am real. Will you believe Me?"
In that harrowing moment after the crash, the glimmering city surfaced again. It invaded my consciousness, my life seeming to move in slow motion while my thoughts continued to run wild.
I had to get my bearings, but I had to get my family away from the wreckage—the smell of jet fuel was overpowering. Jonathan was only wearing socks. Would he injure his feet? Sadie was shivering in my arms—cold and wet. Was she going into shock? Was she cut or bleeding? With my sons in front of me, Wendy behind me, I carried Sadie and began moving us away from the plane.
Where are we? I thought. We were walking among the rocks and shrubs and sand. We must be on the beach. I kept walking, guiding my family further away from the wreckage. Sadie clung to me—her head buried in my neck.
Just as we began to gain confidence and picked up the pace of our escape, we discovered that we were mere feet from the ocean. The shoreline was right in front of us. The waves crashed violently at our feet. My family was safe with just minor scrapes and bruises. But we had to get farther away from the plane. Not only could I smell the jet fuel, I could see it pouring from the plane. More scared thoughts.
Many survive the crash but die in the fire.
We headed away from the sea toward what I thought looked like a gully. We slowed as we approached it. It looked deep and I could see water flowing in it. Then I saw lights in the distance.
Oh, it's Palisadoes Road, I thought.
We were about fifteen feet above the road. As we made our way down toward the road, lights in the distance moved closer. It was a city bus. Wendy waved her arms and flagged it down. The driver looked surprised to see a plane so close to the road. She looked at me, smiling in an attempt to mask her confusion. Her eyes said, Am I in some strange movie? What I'm seeing doesn't make sense. The gravity of the situation finally registered on her face. The fact that my family was bloodied and bruised and wet and that more people were emerging from the dark shore also gave her a clue.
Everyone clambered onto the bus. When I made sure my family was safely aboard, I felt as if I could breathe again—as if I had been holding my breath for the past ten minutes. The bus was full but far from calm. Many shouted for the driver to get them out of there. We left as emergency vehicles came and gathered up those remaining.
My family sat dazed and thankful to be alive and together. As the bus drove off, I sang a familiar song we often sang together. "Jesus, Name above all names, beautiful Savior, glorious Lord. Emmanuel, God is with us ..."
And He was.
CHAPTER 2WATCHING IT BURN
If I set down every action in my life and every thought that has crossed my mind, the world would consider me a monster of depravity.
—Somerset Maugham
I USUALLY READ stories like the one about our plane crash the way you do. I read about the US Airways flight 1549 that ended up in the Hudson River and remember thinking, What a miracle. What a great pilot! What must those people have thought during the process? What must they have learned? To have come so close to death and yet walk away unscathed—how sweet life must taste to them now.
But then, like you, I turn the page of the newspaper before reading the details and continue with breakfast. "Pass the marmalade, please. Yes, I'd love some more coffee."
But that evening, on a sliver of beach in Jamaica, I was living it and there was no skipping the details. There I stood, a few feet from the Caribbean Sea holding my two-year-old daughter in my arms with my boys and wife at my side. The only thought at that point is: I'm grateful for our lives. In a situation like that your mind races to what could have happened: We could have slammed into an embankment! Or what if we skidded into the sea? Then, to what did happen. Then to your family again—how much you love them. It's all quite huge in your brain, and it remains huge for months.
When that plane broke apart, life crystallized for me. More than ever, I knew that God holds this world, and everything that happens, in His hand—good and bad. More than ever, I understood the most important things in life carry a deep significance; they transcend the everyday and change you—things like love, things you put your faith in, family, and your life's calling. More than ever, I could see the fragility of life; how quickly we can and do pass like a vapor.
But what are we doing within that vapor? Which moments of the in-between sections—the living sections—define us and point us toward real life for now and for eternity? These questions stuck in my brain.
My family's experience on the plane was serious and shocking, but thankfully no one died. Maybe most of all, it was jarring. It forced us—and me the most—to consider the hard and true thoughts about life. Was I living a life that, if snuffed out in a plane crash, would leave a sweet aroma representative of what matters most?
At that time, there wasn't long to reflect because, by morning, I had numerous news organizations and television and radio stations calling my father-in-law's cell phone for the story. But since then, I've had plenty of time to think about it. In fact, my entire life has been stamped with colorful events: from that plane crash near the Caribbean Sea to burning cars at frat parties in college to wandering in Europe with a buddy to falling on my knees in the Jamaican Blue Mountains calling out to God. It's lined with innocence, guilt, and all that falls in between. It's a breath away from being completely tragic and a gulp of pride away from being completely beautiful. Ironically, the dark rain that night on the beach after the crash helped me see all this more clearly. It has helped me see my story in light of eternity.
* * *
One minute you're daydreaming about what beach you're going to be sunning yourself on and the next minute you're on that beach in the middle of a midnight rainstorm staring into the darkness trying to get away from a crumpled airplane.
Nothing prepares you for life better than brushing against death. And life exists in fleeting moments—moments that carve us into the men and women we are and will be. I remember thinking how time froze in the confusion of the landing and crashing. As though God held His breath and reached out His hand, especially for those seconds as the airplane careened over the road and crashed on the shoreline. One-one-thousand—you sense something wrong. Two-one-thousand—sudden impact, blackness, screams. Three-one-thousand—awful thoughts about losing your family, losing your life, losing it all. Four-one-thousand—we're here, we're all here ... we're safe.
We're all about four seconds from eternity—four seconds from death, four seconds to life.
That Chattering Echo
The night of the crash, my mind raced over the events of my life and I was overwhelmed. Even now, my eyes fill up as I think over the events that shaped me—what grace I received, this gift of unmerited favor in my life. I love to remember it, to meditate upon it. But it wasn't always that way. I used to fear being alone with my thoughts.
Sooner or later I found myself alone, with my thoughts chattering away at me. More often than not, there was no reply, just an echo. An echo in your head feels different from silence. It's recognition that no resolution has been formed. At least with silence you can close your eyes and fall asleep. With an echo you're forced to ask, What's that sound? Why can't my thoughts and memories come to rest? That was me. I realized that the echo I heard was evidence of emptiness, an emptiness amplified by the rattling of my own words: Oh God, what am I doing?
The echo was the sound of my pride when it's stripped of all its false values—in the corner of the brain realizing it's been had—like a blip on sonar. When I realized my very own pride had driven me to this place of emptiness, my soul clenched in anxiety.
That was me—afraid of the echo, driven to make sure I drowned it out with everything life could offer. I learned that if I kept life fast enough and fun enough and risky enough, I could blow through all the emptiness. But the echoes don't just go away. When the party ends, they come back—seeking revenge.
For me, in my twenties, crazy thoughts echoed in my brain. Thoughts of fear, What if people discover the real me? Who is the real me? Those echoes, those thoughts, haunted me. So I did my best to bury them and move on to the next kegger, the next girl, the next whatever.
But as I discovered, there's no contentment in burying thoughts of regret. Those seeds sprout right back and spread. Eventually you'll do anything for a solution—either you find a way out or go deeper into the muck. I went deeper and still deeper. It made sense. How stupid. People seem to want guys like me—son of a preacher man—to have some scandalous reason for all my "mistakes." But my scandal is less of what you might expect and more like something we all deal with: our dirty selves.
How can it be explained, this rebellious spirit welling up in a heart without excuse? Who could I blame? I didn't live a rebellious life because my father hurt me emotionally or because my parents neglected me for ministry life—thank God.
I didn't have some big wound that drove me over the edge; I had Andrew. Me. I was in love with myself. I wanted to be cool. I wanted the girls to like me. I wanted every cool guy from every cool clique to think I was cool so I could date the girls from that clique. But I felt people loved me for being that kind of person. It made me seem like I was no respecter of persons, open-minded and broadly accepting, and I fed on their love, their acceptance.
Attention Grabber
Early on in life, I started pushing the envelope to gain attention, and I loved it. Fire was an easy attention grabber. And I liked to watch things burn. My friend Bailey and I were pyros. We loved to mix it up with fire. We'd make plans for days. Periodically we would drop a gallon jug of gasoline off the nearby overpass onto the open road and ignite it just for kicks. Initially our idea was that the flames would be significant, having no idea they'd rise up and nearly engulf our heads as we stood looking down.
Our actual plan was this: we'd wait for a single car's headlights to peek out of the distance, and as the car rounded the corner we would light the gas—just enough to startle, but with no intention to hurt anyone, and certainly not close enough that they might actually be able to catch us. It was a dangerous prank, but that was our MO. Especially the not-getting-caught part.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Secret Life of a Fool by Andrew Palau. Copyright © 2012 Andrew Palau. Excerpted by permission of WORTHY PUBLISHING.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
FOREWORD BY TOBYMAC,1: FOUR SECONDS TO LIFE,
2: WATCHING IT BURN,
3: FIRELANE 3,
4: POURING GAS ON OPEN FLAMES,
5: BELL IN HAND,
6: RUN ON FOR A LONG TIME,
7: THE GLIMMERING GIFT,
8: THE WORLD AS NEW,
9: A MOVE TOWARD HOPE,
10: COMING TO GRIPS WITH LOVE,
YOUR INVITATION FROM GOD,
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS,
NOTES,
PHOTO SECTION,