One Tiny Light
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series III, Cycle C
It's a strange phenomenon that scientists are surely able to explain. Here in the northern plain states, where the terrain is so flat, one can see a light miles away. I remember in school being told that in complete darkness the light of a single candle can be seen at least five miles away.
Wow! That's a long way. I heard those words as a school-aged child in southern California. It was difficult to imagine. But 25 years later I moved to North Dakota and I saw with my own eyes the truth in that statement.
I remember when we first got here. We would take a country road and see where it would go. Country roads aren't on the map, and so we would take one road, follow it along a good distance, turn around, and come back. We naturally drove in the daytime so we could take pictures of our "adventures." One of our greatest delights still today is sending family and friends photographs of what life on this beautiful, vast prairie is like.
We were eager to show my sister, Ingrid, the prairie. She had flown in from Los Angeles and was eager to see as much as we could. We had lived here almost a year and considered ourselves old-timers.
We explained the local agricultural habits. We showed her the buffalo ranch, the elk herd, the emus, the crops, and numerous small lakes. Her first day was a beautiful sunny day. We decided we would take her on an adventure on the way to our house. We weren't that far. Maybe about thirty miles.
The road was bumpy and row after row of fencing greeted us. We saw the Canada geese sitting in their nests in the sloughs. We saw the hawks circling in the air. Only one lone eagle was flying over the eagle nesting ground. The mighty Missouri was low that year and sand bars held many cranes. We had driven about fifteen miles when we decided we would turn around and go back. Then we noticed the gas tank was almost on empty. It was getting dark and we decided to find a town. We weren't really familiar with this area. My husband asked me which way to turn. I didn't dare admit that I had no clue.
Ingrid noticed a group of lights. "That might be a town." It didn't seem very far away, but we clocked that group of lights. It was 21 miles away. We stopped in the growing darkness in the town and filled our tank. We were headed west of where we lived, going parallel to the highway we were familiar with. We were only about ten miles away now.
To say we were relieved is an understatement. That group of lights led the way for us. It turned out to be a town we would return to often: their cafe had the best knoephla soup in the area!
Wow! That's a long way. I heard those words as a school-aged child in southern California. It was difficult to imagine. But 25 years later I moved to North Dakota and I saw with my own eyes the truth in that statement.
I remember when we first got here. We would take a country road and see where it would go. Country roads aren't on the map, and so we would take one road, follow it along a good distance, turn around, and come back. We naturally drove in the daytime so we could take pictures of our "adventures." One of our greatest delights still today is sending family and friends photographs of what life on this beautiful, vast prairie is like.
We were eager to show my sister, Ingrid, the prairie. She had flown in from Los Angeles and was eager to see as much as we could. We had lived here almost a year and considered ourselves old-timers.
We explained the local agricultural habits. We showed her the buffalo ranch, the elk herd, the emus, the crops, and numerous small lakes. Her first day was a beautiful sunny day. We decided we would take her on an adventure on the way to our house. We weren't that far. Maybe about thirty miles.
The road was bumpy and row after row of fencing greeted us. We saw the Canada geese sitting in their nests in the sloughs. We saw the hawks circling in the air. Only one lone eagle was flying over the eagle nesting ground. The mighty Missouri was low that year and sand bars held many cranes. We had driven about fifteen miles when we decided we would turn around and go back. Then we noticed the gas tank was almost on empty. It was getting dark and we decided to find a town. We weren't really familiar with this area. My husband asked me which way to turn. I didn't dare admit that I had no clue.
Ingrid noticed a group of lights. "That might be a town." It didn't seem very far away, but we clocked that group of lights. It was 21 miles away. We stopped in the growing darkness in the town and filled our tank. We were headed west of where we lived, going parallel to the highway we were familiar with. We were only about ten miles away now.
To say we were relieved is an understatement. That group of lights led the way for us. It turned out to be a town we would return to often: their cafe had the best knoephla soup in the area!
