There is a Dead Body in the Yard

“Dad, there is a dead body in the yard!”

There are certain sentences a father never expects to hear. That is one of them.

How can fear turn a dark backyard into a crime scene—and one bad choice into a life lesson?

I was standing at the kitchen sink when my son called. Moments earlier, I had seen his car turn into our cul-de-sac. Almost immediately, it raced back out.

My phone rang.

“Dad, there is a dead body in the yard! I am scared for my life. I’m going back to my friend’s house!”

Nothing says good evening, Dad quite like your son reporting a corpse in your backyard and then announcing that he has wisely removed himself from the situation.

I was not sure what happened to my blood pressure, but my curiosity immediately went through the roof.

A dead body? In my yard?

Some people enjoy Horror movies. I am NOT one of them. To me, seeing someone point a gun at Bambi makes it a horror flick.

I went to the window.

The side yard was completely dark. The large streetlight at the end of the cul-de-sac had been broken for some time, apparently waiting for the city to replace it.

I turned off the lights in the house. Now I stood in the darkness, staring into the darkness. And then I saw it.

A body. Motionless. In my yard.

My son’s dramatic announcement suddenly seemed much more dramatic.

I called 911.

The operator was calm, professional and reassuring. “Help has been dispatched. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

I contemplated the question. Unusual? Yes. There was a dead person in my yard!

Other than that, everything seemed perfectly normal.

I explained I had heard a car pull into the cul-de-sac. A door slammed. The car immediately sped away. Then my son called and made his emergency exit.

The operator asked, “What else can you see?”

I looked again. It appeared to be a woman. She was lying slightly curled up. Beside her was a suitcase.

A suitcase? Now my imagination really got to work.

This was not just a body. This was a mystery and I was apparently standing in the middle of it.

I hung up the emergency call. What do I do now? What would you do?

FEAR MAKES UP STORIES

Fear is an interesting thing. It does not simply tell you that something is wrong. It starts writing the entire story for you. Usually, it does not write a happy ending.

My mind began producing possibilities at an alarming rate. Do I wait for the police? Or check out the situation? I believe I would have been more courageous if the body was trapped in a burning car. Just not a fan of touching dead bodies even though that is one of my dwindling occupational opportunities for retirement income. I prefer Walmart greeter.

The dead body in the yard presented a precarious situation. What if she had been murdered? What if the killer was still in the yard? What if this was a gang shooting?

I stared at the body. Then came the hardest question:

What if she was still alive?

That changed everything. If she was alive, she might need help. But if she was alive, she could also be dangerous.

What if I walked over there and she suddenly jumped up? What if she attacked me? What if she screamed? What if she accused me of attacking her?

How would I explain that to the police? I could already see the newspaper headline:

Local Pastor Arrested after Altercation with Woman in his Own Yard.

I considered my options. Should I take a flashlight? Should I take a baseball bat? Maybe. Then I wondered what I planned to do with the baseball bat. I am not Batman.

I was a middle-aged man in his backyard at night trying to determine whether the person lying on the ground was dead, alive, dangerous, or simply having the worst night of her life.

This was beginning to feel less like a rescue and more like the opening scene of a very bad horror movie.

THE CHOICE

The police were coming. I could stay inside. That was the safest choice.

But what if she was alive? What if she needed immediate help? What if the police arrived too late?

My brain said: Stay inside.

My fear said: Absolutely stay inside.

My heart said: Go check on her.

My heart won.

I stepped into the darkness. Every bush suddenly looked suspicious. Every noise sounded like footsteps. Every shadow looked like an axe-murderer.

I began wondering if perhaps staying inside had been an exceptionally good idea. I kept walking.

The young woman lay twisted into an awkward position—certainly not the kind of position anyone voluntarily chooses for a nap. The suitcase beside her was partly open.

She looked like someone had tossed her into the yard like an unwanted rag doll.

I saw no blood. That was good.

I could not detect any breathing. That was not good.

Her long hair covered her face. I knelt and gently brushed it away. And then—

She was alive!

The shock nearly knocked the oxygen out of my lungs. Apparently, she was having the same problem. In that moment, we were both struggling to breathe.

I touched her cheek. She slowly turned her face toward me. She tried to open her eyes. Her lips moved.

At first, I could not understand what she was saying. She tried to turn over. I helped her sit up. I strained to hear what she was mumbling. She wanted to go home.

That is the moment she began to cry. Not crying a little. Not delicate teardrops rolling down the cheek. She was shaking. Sobbing.

This was an all-out, uncontrollable, emotionally overloaded cry.

At that moment, I made an important discovery:

Caring for a dead body might be easier than trying to console a sobbing woman.

At least the dead body does not ask you what it is supposed to do next.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD AWAKENS

Then the police arrived. Lights flashing. Cars speeding into the cul-de-sac. And, almost magically, neighborhood windows began lighting up.

Within minutes, our neighbors were watching from behind curtains and window blinds. It reminded me of Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched. Only this time there was no sitcom laugh track.

The officers began investigating as the mystery slowly unraveled.

Which brings us to what Paul Harvey used to call: “The rest of the story.”

The young woman was not dead. She had not been murdered.

There was no killer hiding behind the bushes. There was no killer gang. And, thankfully, nobody needed my baseball bat.

She was…drunk. Very drunk.

In fact, before she passed out, she had stumbled through several of the descriptive categories of intoxication: Inebriated. Impaired. Wasted. Smashed. Hammered. Lit.

Drunk as a skunk. She had been at a friend’s party. But here’s the part that matters.

She knew enough not to drink and drive. So she did not drive. She took a taxi. The taxi dropped her off at the corner.

She started walking. Somewhere along the way, she wandered into our yard, stumbled, and passed out. Her suitcase landed on her leg and there she remained.

A young woman made one very good decision—not to drive—followed by several very unfortunate decisions involving alcohol, navigation, and gravity.

She was embarrassed. We were embarrassed for her. She was remorseful. Thankfully, I was non-judgmental.

She was alive. And that was what mattered.

THE LESSON HIDING IN THE DARK

Looking back, I realized that the real story was not about a dead body.

It was about fear and choices.

It was a lesson about the way God uses unexpected moments to teach us vital and valuable life lessons.

Fear had taken a dark yard and turned it into a murder scene.

My son saw a dead body and chose to report it and flee. I saw a dead body and had to choose whether to investigate.

The young lady had chosen not to drive. She knew she was too impaired to get behind the wheel, so she called a taxi. That decision may have saved her life.

She made a terrible series of choices that night, but one good choice mattered. Maybe that was part of God’s grace. God even directed her into the yard where the life lesson was most needed.

Thankfully, God is sovereign even over our choices. We do not always know where our choices will take us. God does.

We sometimes imagine grace as God rescuing us from every consequence of our mistakes. But perhaps grace is also God meeting us in the middle of our mistakes—protecting us from consequences we never knew were coming and giving us another opportunity to make better choices.

That young woman could have been killed on the highway. She could have hurt someone else. She could have been seriously injured. Instead, she ended up unconscious in my backyard. She was found alive.

Somehow, in the strange providence of God, she ended up in a place where someone was willing to walk into the darkness and check on her.

I did not know any of that when I stepped outside. I was afraid.

Sometimes one decision protects us. Another puts us in danger. Sometimes we make a good decision for the right reason and still end up in a ridiculous situation. And sometimes fear makes the situation look far worse than it really is.

That night, I learned that fear is powerful. It can make bushes look like assassins. It can turn shadows into monsters. It can convince a man that a woman lying motionless in his backyard is the victim of a murder.

Fear tells us to run. Fear tells us to hide. Fear tells us to protect ourselves. Sometimes that is exactly what we should do.

But sometimes, after the first wave of fear passes, we need to stop and ask:

What is actually happening?

That question can change everything.

Over twenty years have passed since that night. The police left. The neighbors eventually went back to bed. The young woman went home. Eventually, we became waving with a smile neighbors.

My son survived the traumatic experience of seeing a supposedly dead body without having to personally investigate it. I admire his survival instincts.

As for me, I learned something I will never forget.

When we are afraid, we often make decisions based on what we think is happening rather than what we know is happening.

That night, I thought I was walking toward a dead body. Instead, I found a living person who needed help. I thought I was entering a crime scene. I was learning a life lesson.

I did not need a baseball bat; I needed compassion. I was always better at baseball. I need to become more like the Good Samaritan.

Fear wanted me to stay inside. God’s quiet voice reminded me that there was a person out there.

Faith is not about knowing exactly what is waiting for us in the darkness.

Faith is simply trusting God enough to take the next right step.

Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is simply being afraid…and taking the next right step anyway.

God knew what was really happening. I saw a threat. God saw a person who needed help.

How often do we see the wrong thing because of our fear?

We look at someone’s mistake and see a failure. God sees a person who needs grace.

We look at difficult circumstances and see disaster. God sees an opportunity for faith and blessing.

We look at the darkness and assume something terrible is hiding there. God reminds us that He is still there in the darkness.

The #1 Textbook reminds me of truth. “The Lord is my shepherd and sometimes I will walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but I will not fear; God is always with me.”

We will walk through dark nights of uncertain circumstances. God’s promise is that we will not walk through them alone.

Things are not always what they appear to be in the darkness.

Fear sees the worst. Faith looks for God.

When I am afraid, I will put my trust in God (Psalm 56:3).

Those are very different perspectives of the same situation in life.

I still remember that night. God sees what we cannot see.

God can take the moments that frighten us, the mistakes that embarrass us, and the circumstances we never expected—and use them to teach us about grace.

Fear never means death to our dreams. It is a signal to trust God.