The Story of Edith Easter # 192-A

Series: Fictional Stories:

An Easter Story By Russell Kelfer

The Story of Edith Easter

It was not your typical doctor’s office. Great pains had been

taken (I understand doctors don’t like that expression) but

great pains had been taken to create the atmosphere of a

family room rather than that of a waiting room.

In one corner, a large TV screen which dwarfed a row of small

chairs was designed to make restless children feel at home. The

idea was to divert their attention, at least momentarily, from the

unpleasant possibility that a hypodermic needle full of penicillin

might be a part of their fate on the other side of those big double


Behind the TV screen was a window which connected the

waiting room to the business office and a video recorder which

saw to it that the children were watching something edifying and

not something too realistic like the emergency room scenes on

hospital shows.

Tiny headphones at each chair allowed the children to view

the likes of Mary Poppins without poppin’ the eardrums of the

ailing or aching adults who waited across the way in their own

little world — a world that included a plug-in sound system that

let them choose their own music.

Behind the vine-covered opening with the electronically

controlled window was the receptionist, Brenda Carter, who

laughingly admitted she was hired because of her knowledge of electronics,

not because she knew an appendectomy from a

tonsillectomy. Alongside her appointment sheet was a console of

switches that looked like a good prop for a Star Wars’ episode,

and above her window was a bronze plate that read “Will Phillips,

M.D., General Practice of Medicine.”

Unfortunately, today was not an unusual day in the life of

this family doctor. Dr. Phillips had been awakened from, believe

it or not, a sound sleep at 3:30 a.m. by Bea Foster, a widow who

had been troubled for years by a bad back. She had awakened in

the night, tried to walk, and had fallen and bruised herself badly,

requiring X-rays and the works.

At about 5:15 a.m., when Mrs. Foster was finally resting

comfortably in her hospital room and Dr. Phillips was headed

for the elevator, he heard the familiar sound of his beeper and

immediately knew that another emergency was about to usurp

the place on his schedule that had been marked breakfast. This

time it was Billy Reynolds calling. His son, Tom, was on the

way to the emergency room with what sounded like possibly the

doctor’s 37th victim of a new strain of flu bug that was making

the rounds most indiscriminately. By the time Tom was treated

and released, 10:00 a.m. had rolled around, and Dr. Will, as he

was respectfully called, arrived just in the nick of time to greet an

office full of patients who were patiently waiting.

As he entered the front door — he always came in that way

so he could greet those who were waiting — his very presence

seemed like a ray of sunshine. His 6 foot 3 inch frame was indeed

imposing until you looked into his eyes – then you forgot how big

he was!

Those eyes showed an amazing mixture of strength and

compassion, of objectivity blended with sensitivity.

It was a look that seemed to say to people: “I know what I’m

doing,” and yet at the same time, “I care about what I’m doing,” as well.

It was, as we said, not an unusual day for our family doctor,

but he carried an unusual burden as he entered the waiting room

that Friday morning — a waiting room that was packed. Yet as

Will Phillips’ eyes scanned that crowd, he did not see a throng of

people; he saw individuals, each of whom he cared about a great


There was the Perkins boy, Freddy, crippled from birth, and

yet not at all crippled in spirit, now grown into a strong young

man preparing to enter medical school. What a positive influence

Will Phillips had been on his life.

There was Mary Fletcher, the school teacher who so often

appeared with a carload of children from the poverty ridden area

where she taught, always paying their bills herself.

There was Bill Norris, the drug salesman from up state

who always had the latest news on the latest cures, and whose

friendship with Will spanned the twelve years Will had been in


But as he glanced through the room, and his eyes moved

to the west wall, suddenly his heart seemed to stop beating, for

sitting on the edge of one of those comfortable leather sofas was

none other than Edith Berns, 82 years young, and without a

doubt the godliest woman Will Phillips had ever had the joy of


There she was, her open Bible on her lap, her hand gently

squeezing the hand of a troubled young mother who “just

happened” to be sitting beside her. You can just bank on one

thing — she was talking about Jesus!

Edith Berns’ conversations always centered around Jesus,

for Edith Berns’ life centered around Jesus!

She always had the time (at least she always took the time) to

stop and tell anyone who would listen that there was really only

one reason for living . . . and Jesus Christ was that reason!

And you just knew how she started the conversation, too —

with a sparkle in her eye and a captivating smile that had become

such a natural part of her that the lines on her face had formed

around it. She would say, “Hello, I’m Edith Berns. Do you believe

in Easter?”

Since it was October 25th, that question seemed even stranger

than it would have in March, but Edith had found it was an

ice-breaker that almost always led to the heart of the Christian

message and yet never seemed to be offensive.

The knot in Will Phillips’ stomach this Friday morning in

October, however, was not because Edith Berns was using his

waiting room as a fish pond for her evangelistic endeavors; that

delighted Will. His burden was the result of a lab report he had

received the day before. That lab report meant that Edith Berns

just might not live to celebrate another of those Easter Sundays

that had so highlighted her life.

Will’s job this morning was to break the news to Edith that

the diagnosis was that her disease was inoperable, untreatable,

and incurable and that the next few months would surely be

characterized by a great deal of pain and suffering. He had faced

this unpleasant task many times before for a man who was only

38 years old, but none had grieved him like the encounter that

awaited him this morning.

So the doctor took an abnormally long time with his first

three patients. He reasoned that he wanted to give Edith all the

time she needed to talk about Easter to her captive audience in

the waiting room, but his real reason was that he couldn’t face

the prospect of describing to that precious saint the possibility of

the pain that awaited her.

By 10:45 Will had run out of excuses, and he reluctantly

motioned to his nurse, Beverly Timmons, and said, “Bev, send

Edith in.”

A few seconds later the door opened again, but it wasn’t Edith.

It was Nurse Timmons instead with a big smile on her face.

“Mrs. Edith and that Thorndale woman are praying at the

moment, Doctor,” she reported. “I believe our waiting room is

about to become a delivery room again. I think another new birth

is taking place.”

You see, Bev Timmons understood. She had become a

Christian herself in one of Dr. Phillips’ treatment rooms, about

two years before. She was taking Edith Berns’ pulse at the time,

and out of the clear blue sky, Edith had asked her;

“Bev, do you believe in Easter?”

“Of course I do,” Bev had answered. “I love Easter. Now lie

still, Mrs. Berns.”

“Oh, I do, too,” Edith had continued, “What do you believe

about Easter?”

Bev would have been annoyed, but you just couldn’t be

annoyed by Edith Berns.

“Well, I believe it’s a day of joy!” Bev had responded.

“Indeed it is,” Edith went on, “Indeed it is. Why is that, Bev?

Why is it such a day of joy?”

Lovingly, Edith had framed question after question that

ultimately led to the one question in life that leads to the answer.

“Is there life after life in your life?” she had asked lovingly, “Do

you know for sure about Easter?”

That afternoon, Beverly Timmons had experienced the reality

of Easter . . . and had never been the same since.

So the drama being re-enacted in Will Phillips’ waiting room

was nothing to be taken lightly to Bev. She knew it was a matter

of life and death.

But in a matter of minutes Edith Berns came scurrying down

the hallway, Bible in hand, her big black purse over her shoulder,

and a smile on her face so wide it even tested those wrinkles that

her godly smiles had already formed.

“Is Mrs. Thorndale in the family?” Bev asked as she hugged

her spiritual mother.

“Oh my yes,” Edith answered, “I completely forgot. She just

discovered Easter. You go out and tell her you’re a Christian, too.

And give her one of these,” Edith went on, as she pulled from her

huge handbag which was half purse and half Christian bookstore

a booklet she had written herself for her newborn spiritual babies.

It was entitled, Either side of Easter!

“And tell her I’ll call her tonight,” Edith added. “Now run

along, Child, I must see if this dynamic doctor of ours is spending

enough time in the Word.”

With that, she winked at the young physician as if to assure

him she would always be there to look after him, which didn’t

make his job any easier.

“Doctor, Doctor,” Edith began before Will could so much as

open his mouth. “You look troubled! Didn’t Jesus tell you to be

anxious for nothing? I’m afraid you’re spending too much time

working and not enough time praying,” Edith exclaimed. “Paul

said to pray about everything and God’s peace will flood your


“You need to get a day alone with your Jesus,” she went on,

“then you’ll be in control of your practice instead of your practice

controlling you.”

“Edith!” the doctor interrupted. “Just which one of us is the

doctor? I appreciate your diagnosis. I’ll take it to heart. Now let’s

talk about yours!”

It came out so fast, Will stunned himself! He was so burdened

that he had been abrupt with the very person he was burdened

for. “Forgive me, Edith,” he asked sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to

be sharp, but I do have something very important to talk to you


With that, both parties were back at the starting gate, and

Dr. Phillips began his painful conversation.

“Edith,” he began, “we got your test reports back last night.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the results are more traumatic

than I had even imagined. You complain so little about pain and

seem so happy all the time, I never expected to see the disease

so far advanced.” Doctor Phillips dropped his head at this point.

“Will, are you alright?” Edith asked. “Bless your heart! Son,

you don’t think God up and made a mistake, do you?”

With that, the good doctor jerked his head nearly out of its

socket and stared in disbelief at this incredible woman.

“My, my Will, I’m surprised at you!” Edith went on. “I’m just

fixin’ to rush into the arms of my Jesus, see my dear husband

again, worship with all my friends who went and beat me to


I’m about to spend eternity in Heaven doing the one

thing I love the most — celebrating Easter — and you’ve got a

face so long your chin’s gonna get run over by a grasshopper. I’m

gettin’ sent home at last, and you’re afraid to give me my ticket?

Shame on you, Will Phillips!”

Praise God! An eternal Easter!” she went on,

“How long do I have to wait?”

With that, the big doctor broke out into a grin himself,

relieved at the unexpected turn of events, and answered almost


“About six months I’d say, Edith. I’d say you’ve about six

months to wait.”

Suddenly, he was gaining her perspective of death, and it

made so much sense he was excited.

Edith thought for a second. “Well, then, I’d like an appointment

to see you at least twice a week,” she announced. “At least twice

a week!”

Will interrupted rather firmly.

“Edith! I’m the doctor, remember?

“Now I’d like to see you about — about — twice a week,” he

stammered. “How’d you know that, anyway?”

“I didn’t,” she chuckled, “but I need that many days a week

in your waiting room to fish for souls. Only the Lord could be so

good — a ready-made fish pond and a soft leather sofa to boot! At

least twice a week,” Edith went on, “at least twice a week!”

“Twice a week will be fine,” Dr. Phillips replied, “just fine!”

“And Edith,” his long face beginning to return, “there, uh,

there, uh, will be . . ….——

“Pain?” Edith said the word for him.

“Yes,” Will responded, ashamed that he couldn’t say it himself.

“It will be nothing like the pain my Jesus suffered for me.”

Edith quietly added, “Paul said we must suffer with Him if we’re

to reign with Him. I only pray that my pain might honor Him,”

Edith went on, “and that I might never become bitter or angry.

Will, I have a good bit of that pain already,” Edith continued.

“I thought maybe you did,” the doctor acknowledged.

“And you know what?” she added, “It’s caused me to trust Him

even more. Will, you’re a marvelous doctor and a precious friend.

Thank you for making this such a special day,” she concluded as

she rose to her feet.

Will had no answer for that! He had given many patients bad

news before, but he’d never been thanked for making their day

special by doing so.

“God bless you, Edith,” he blurted out, and that was all he

could manage to say.

The next few weeks were a little like Pentecost in Dr. Phillips’

waiting room. The first week Edith came for her two visits as

expected, but she came about an hour early so she could be

sure to talk to somebody about Easter. But by the second week,

Brenda noticed that Edith was appearing every morning, whether

she had an appointment or not.

She’d bring in her knitting and her big black purse stuffed

with New Testaments and books to give away, and she’d bring a

lunch so she wouldn’t have to leave at noon when the working

women came in to get their flu shots. She’d just spend the day!

Brenda asked Dr. Phillips what she should do about it, and

he replied, “Be sure she has some iced tea to go with her lunch

and pray that God will send just the right people to sit on that

couch. God has sent a short-term but full-time missionary right

into our waiting room,” he nodded in amazement. “What a great

God we have!”

So on through the Christmas season, Edith Berns sat on that

couch in Will Phillips’ office and talked about Easter and Jesus,

and scarcely a day would go by that someone didn’t discover the

reality of Easter.

Dr. Will’s office was closed, of course, for the New Years

weekend. When they reopened on January third, Brenda kept

her electronic window in high gear as the waiting room loaded up

with patients.

More than a few of those openings were to allow Brenda to

peer cautiously towards that sofa on the west wall to see if that

amazing lady with the big black purse and the even bigger smile

would be manning her post as usual as God’s ambassador for


But this day as the clock on Brenda’s desk moved towards

lunch time, Edith Easter, as they had come to affectionately call

her, still was nowhere in sight. They had tried to call her house,

but they got no answer.

It was about 2:30 in the afternoon when the phone finally

rang. “Hello, Dr. Phillips’ office,” Brenda answered. “He’s with a

patient just now. Who shall I say is calling? Mercy Hospital?

“Yes, Edith Berns is our patient. She’s where? Is she . . . is

she . . . alright? I see. Yes, of course, just a minute. I’ll call the


Dr. Phillips hurriedly picked up the phone.

“Will,” said the cheery but a bit impatient voice on the other

end of the phone, “Will, this is Edith!

“My old body is sending me signals that are saying Edith,

I think God wants you to tell your Easter story down at Mercy

Hospital for awhile. I didn’t want to bother you, so I took a cab,

but this young lady in admitting won’t let me in without an

authorization from a certified M.D. You are certified, aren’t you

Will?” she chuckled.

“Then tell this nice lady to assign me to a room with two beds.

And tell ‘em to keep sending me ladies for roommates that need

to hear the Easter story, will you, Will? And Will, you tell Bev

I’m assigning that couch on the west wall to her. Tell her God’s

moving me on to new territory.

“I’m gettin’ closer to home, Will,” she whispered, “I’m gettin’

closer to home!”

“Let me speak to the lady, Edith,” Dr. Phillips responded, a

bit emotionally, “I’ll see that you get that room with two beds, one

for you, and one for whatever ladies God wants you to tell about


I guess it goes without saying that the 8th floor of Mercy

Hospital had never experienced anything quite like the presence

of Edith Berns. It was obvious she was in a great deal of pain,

but you never once heard it mentioned — she only talked about


“Weeping endures for a night,” she would tell her roommates.

“Oh, but joy comes in the morning!”

Nearly every week a new patient would be moved into Room

824, and nearly always when they left, they left with a song in

their hearts, a song planted there by Edith Easter.

The nurses soon sensed an aura of joy in Room 824, too, a joy

that they couldn’t explain, so you would often find that whenever

it got a little slow on the floor, they would gravitate towards Edith

Easter’s room.

All of them, that is, but one! The head nurse on the evening

shift, one Phyllis Cross, who seemed to perfectly live up to her

name, intentionally kept her distance from Edith. She would

refer to her as that “religious nut in 824”, and, in general, seemed

determined not to let Edith’s Easter story rub off on her.

There was a time or two when no one else was available to

give Edith her medicine, and Phyllis was forced to go in. But even

then she maintained her icy composure and refused to respond

to Edith’s cheerfulness with so much as a smile.

It was a Monday night late in February, and Edith had taken

a turn for the worse. An infection had set in, and her temperature

had skyrocketed. Around the clock care was ordered, and being

two nurses short, Phyllis Cross herself drew the duty in Room 824.

Edith was in great pain and nearly delirious from the fever,

but somehow when Phyllis entered the room, she managed an

incredible smile and took the nurse’s hand, and squeezing it with

what little strength she had left, whispered, “I love you, Phyllis,

and I’m praying for you.”

Now Phyllis Cross was one tough woman. She had been a

head nurse in a military unit for 11 years and worked as head

nurse in the emergency room for 16 years before that. She had

been through three marriages and lived through several personal

tragedies. Her face was hardened by the ravages of time and

temper. Her eyes possessed a quality of iciness that indicated that

all of life was cold and calculated. Whatever fire of warmth that

might once have been there had long since been extinguished.

In all her years on the 8th floor at Mercy, no one had ever seen

her shed a tear; but when that dying woman, whom she had so

avoided, squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, and I’m praying

for you,” something inside of her began to melt.

The irony of it all was more than Phyllis could bear. Here

was a dying woman (with no hope) praying for her! Somehow it

seemed as though it should have been the other way around.

But, of course, Phyllis and prayer were not compatible terms.

The mechanical nurse, as they called her, sat down by Edith’s

bed and squeezing her hand said, “Thanks dear, but there’s no

use praying for me. God gave up on me a long, long time ago.”

“No he hasn’t!” Edith answered, almost defiantly, “and I’ve

asked Him not to take me home until you’re in the fold, too!

All these nurses look up to you, but you’re not looking up at

all! You’ve done a lot of livin’, Phyllis, but you’ve never really

experienced life!”

“If you’re asking your God to keep you alive until I’m in the

fold,” Phyllis responded, “either He’s gonna let you down or you’re

going to be the oldest patient in the history of this hospital.

Religion has never done a thing for me.”

“I love you,” Edith said again, “and God loves you, Phyllis. Oh,

how God loves you.”

Phyllis froze, expecting this incredible spirit to toss out her

Easter question at any moment. It was almost as if Edith sensed

that, and knowing the time was not right, she saved that question

for the perfect moment.

“I love you,” she said one more time, and with that, Phyllis

Cross muttered something about needing to check another patient

and slipped hurriedly out the door. This woman’s very presence

was more than she could handle. She had watched patient after

patient assigned to bed two of Room 824 leave that hospital

transformed. She had seen four of her nurses demonstrably

changed from spending time with Edith Berns after their shift

was over .

In fact, the greetings on her floor among the staff were as often

handclasps and “Happy Easter” as they were “Good morning.”

Something miraculous was happening on the 8th floor. To some

degree it irritated her, yet still something inside of her wondered if

this delightfully different dying woman did not have the answers

that had so eluded her about the real meaning of life. And the

stream of visitors that literally flowed in and out of that room

— all of them so joyful! All of them so encouraging! All of them

greeting her with “Happy Easter, Edith!” They talked about her

being their “spiritual mother,” and many referred to “that day” on

the couch in Will Phillips’ waiting room.

Something truly remarkable was happening in Room 824.

The question Phyllis Cross had to answer was, “Am I going to be

touched by it? Or avoid it at any cost?” For truly, you had to work

at it to avoid being touched by it.

It was late in March when Phyllis Cross could contain herself

no longer. Early one morning, just after her shift had ended,

almost uncontrollably, she was drawn to walk into room 824

before she went home.

The streams of sunlight that flooded the room heightened the

beauty of the wall to wall floral arrangements that kept pouring

into Edith Easter’s room, but the brightest light that morning

was in Edith’s eyes. It was almost as though she had never been

sick. Oh, the pain was still there! But you seemed to sense that

the fragrance of victory made the pain almost of no consequence.

“Good morning, Phyllis,” Edith beamed, “I was expecting you.”

“You were?” Phyllis answered, but she never got around to

asking why. Instead, she sat down on the edge of Edith’s bed and

just blurted out,

“How come you’ve never asked me about Easter?”

The godly old woman smiled and squeezed Phyllis’ hand. “I

was waiting for you to ask me,” Edith answered, “and now you


“Phyllis, do you believe in Easter?”

“I guess I don’t,” Phyllis Cross replied. “At least not the way

you do.

“I’ve always celebrated Easter; always gone to church. I always

gave my children Easter eggs. I’ve always celebrated Easter . . .”

“Ah, but Phyllis,” Edith asked, her big blue eyes literally aglow,

“you have celebrated Easter, but have you experienced Easter?

“Phyllis, do you really believe in life after death?

“Do you believe your real life is yet to be lived when this life

is over?

“Phyllis, do you believe that the real reason for this life is to

store up treasures for the next — treasures of lives that have

been touched by yours?”

“Not really,” the aging nurse replied, “not really!”

“Do you believe in the death of Christ?” Edith went on

intensely, but gently.

“Of course,” Phyllis answered, almost relieved that she could

give a “yes” answer to something.

“Then will you read something for me?” Edith quickly

responded, as she pulled out a Bible so worn it looked like it had

been used to test the endurance of paper and asked Phyllis to

read from I Corinthians, chapter 15.

“Begin with verse 3!” she said.

Phyllis read these words,

3 For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also

received, how that Christ died for our sins according to

the Scriptures.

4 And that He was buried, and that He rose again the

third day according to the Scriptures.

5 And He was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve,

6 After that He was seen of about five hundred brethren

at once.

“Don’t you see, Phyllis,” Edith interrupted her momentarily,

“The whole gospel is the gospel of Easter.

“Jesus died for our sins, just as the Scripture says.

“He died on the cross so Phyllis Cross could have eternal life.

“Phyllis, do you know you have eternal life?

“Do you know that Jesus Christ lives in your heart right now?

“Have you ever acknowledged to God that your sins nailed

Jesus to that tree and asked Him to forgive you and come into

your life?

“Oh, Phyllis, that’s Easter! He died for your sins according to

the Scriptures, He rose again so you could never die. Read verse

13, Phyllis.”

Phyllis read,

13 If there be no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ

not risen:

14 And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching in

vain, and your faith is also vain.

19 If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of

all men most miserable.

20 But now is Christ risen from the dead and become

the firstfruits of them that slept.

Edith’s eyes met Phyllis’ head on.

“Phyllis, you have celebrated Easter for years, but you can

experience Easter for the first time this morning. Jesus Christ

is waiting to be resurrected in your life — to give you a taste of

Heaven on your way to heaven — where you will celebrate Easter forever!”

For the first time in years, tears began to roll down the cheeks

of Phyllis Cross as she knelt beside the bed of the first person

in years who had told her they loved her, and she asked Edith’s

friend Jesus to become her Saviour and her friend as well. As she

rose from her knees, Phyllis Cross glowed with a joy she had been

certain would never be hers.

“Do you know what day this is, Phyllis?” the sweet old saint


“It’s Good Friday!” Phyllis answered.

“And do you know what day it is for you?” Edith asked.

“It’s Easter!”

“Happy Easter, Phyllis, Happy Easter!”

With a clasp of the hands that seemed to signify a bond that

would last for eternity, Phyllis Cross literally ran from Room 824

a new person. For the first time in her life, she was really

celebrating Easter!

It was late that evening when Phyllis returned to duty on

the 8th floor of Mercy Hospital. There was a spring in her step

she had never experienced before. The smile on her face seemed

almost out of place, yet it was incredibly welcomed by the rest of

the staff.

She came to work not only with a spring in her step and a

smile on her face, but with an armful of Easter lilies for that

special lady in Room 824.

As soon as she had checked on all the emergencies that seemed

to always wait for her arrival, she rushed, flowers in hand, into

Edith Easter’s room. She tiptoed as soon as she realized Edith

was asleep, as always, with an open Bible in her lap.

There was a beautiful smile on Edith’s face — you could tell

she had fallen asleep reading from what she called “God’s love

letter to her.” It was open to John, chapter 14, and underlined

with a bold, yellow marker were these words:

I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go to prepare

a place for you I will come again and receive you unto

myself, that where I am, there ye may be also.

Phyllis’ smile broadened. For some strange reason, she

reached down and took Edith’s hand and squeezed it. Only then

did she realize — Edith Berns was home at last!

As she reached down to take the Bible from her, she realized

that Edith’s other hand was slipped in between the pages of

Revelation chapter 21, where she had carefully underlined verse 4.

It read,

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,

and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor

crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the

former things are passed away.

Phyllis Cross looked down and started to speak to the lifeless

body that lay before her. Then suddenly, she looked straight

up instead, and shouted at the top of her voice, “Happy Easter,

Edith! Happy Easter!”

One thought raced through her mind and caused her to smile

even more as she moved quietly towards the hallway. It was

Edith’s vow, “I’ve asked God not to take me home until Phyllis is

in the fold.” God had kept His word — and just in time for Easter.

As Phyllis walked down the narrow hallway to the nurses

lounge, the words “they need someone to look up to” kept ringing

in her ears.

Entering the room, she saw two brand new nurse’s aides who

had just finished their first shift at the hospital. They were busily

chatting, mostly discussing how they would each spend Easter


Phyllis glanced around the room, studying their faces, then

quietly she said,

“Hello girls, I’m Phyllis Cross. May I ask you a question?”

“Do you believe in Easter?”

“I mean really believe?”

You can count on one thing. Before she left the room that day,

they did.

Do you?

Mossbank, San Antonio, TX 78230

210-226-0000 or 1-800-375-7778 l l © Russell Kelfer