A Need To Remember
Stories
56 Stories For Preaching
The wind whistled menacingly through the broken windowpane of the old house in which she had taken refuge. She was ill-clothed for the storm that had blown up so unexpectedly, and thankful to have found shelter. Her backpacking tent would have offered small comfort against the raging gale.
Every year she took a week off, away from her family, away from her job, away from the city, away from everything and everyone to be alone, to hike, to think, to write, to pray, to read, to be -- and to remember. But, as necessary to her mental health as she found its solitude, her annual backpacking trip had begun out of her need to remember a man who had risked his life for a six-year-old child he'd never met.
That summer she had been visiting her grandparents' farm. Blonde, blue-eyed, and barefooted, she had wandered out by the gate to wait for Grandpa. Looking down the dusty lane, she saw a man approaching, a stranger, barefoot himself. Perhaps it was his ragged clothing; with wisdom beyond her years, she knew that unlike her, he was not barefoot by choice.
He had nodded, smiled and was just passing the gate when suddenly he froze, his head cocked to one side as if to listen. Was it that irritating whirring noise that had caught his attention?
He looked directly at her then, and in a soft but make-no-mistake-about-this voice said, "Don't move!" When he was sure she had heard him, he continued, "I don't want to frighten you, but there's a snake ..."
Frighten her!? She was terrified! She couldn't have moved then if her life had depended on it. Cold fear had pierced the core of her being and turned her muscles to stone. Suddenly the man moved, faster than eye or mind could comprehend. And, she was aloft, held by strong arms high above his head as he kicked defensively toward the snake which had struck at her almost simultaneously with the man's saving lunge. She was safe; the man was not. The snake, long, sinewy, with diamond-shaped patterns on its back, had sunk its fangs into his unprotected foot. He howled with pain as he set her down on the grass.
Screaming for her grandmother, she ran toward the farmhouse. "Grandma! Grandma! Help! A snake! A man! He's hurt! Grandma!" She had never seen her grandmother move so fast. Her grandfather arrived just as Grandma reached the stranger; the snake was no where to be seen. Together they got the man into Grandpa's truck, with Grandpa's belt cinched tightly around the man's leg.
She never saw the man again, nor ever knew his name. Grandpa told her the man had lived, but lost his foot because they'd had to leave the belt on too long. This man, this stranger, had risked his life and lost his foot -- for her!
Memories! This one would remain with her always. She carried her sleeping bag over to a corner of the room, away from the broken window. There, in that abandoned house, reminiscent of the one on her grandparents' farm, with her sleeping bag draped around her shoulders, she sat on the floor, took out her journal, and began to write and to remember.
Every year she took a week off, away from her family, away from her job, away from the city, away from everything and everyone to be alone, to hike, to think, to write, to pray, to read, to be -- and to remember. But, as necessary to her mental health as she found its solitude, her annual backpacking trip had begun out of her need to remember a man who had risked his life for a six-year-old child he'd never met.
That summer she had been visiting her grandparents' farm. Blonde, blue-eyed, and barefooted, she had wandered out by the gate to wait for Grandpa. Looking down the dusty lane, she saw a man approaching, a stranger, barefoot himself. Perhaps it was his ragged clothing; with wisdom beyond her years, she knew that unlike her, he was not barefoot by choice.
He had nodded, smiled and was just passing the gate when suddenly he froze, his head cocked to one side as if to listen. Was it that irritating whirring noise that had caught his attention?
He looked directly at her then, and in a soft but make-no-mistake-about-this voice said, "Don't move!" When he was sure she had heard him, he continued, "I don't want to frighten you, but there's a snake ..."
Frighten her!? She was terrified! She couldn't have moved then if her life had depended on it. Cold fear had pierced the core of her being and turned her muscles to stone. Suddenly the man moved, faster than eye or mind could comprehend. And, she was aloft, held by strong arms high above his head as he kicked defensively toward the snake which had struck at her almost simultaneously with the man's saving lunge. She was safe; the man was not. The snake, long, sinewy, with diamond-shaped patterns on its back, had sunk its fangs into his unprotected foot. He howled with pain as he set her down on the grass.
Screaming for her grandmother, she ran toward the farmhouse. "Grandma! Grandma! Help! A snake! A man! He's hurt! Grandma!" She had never seen her grandmother move so fast. Her grandfather arrived just as Grandma reached the stranger; the snake was no where to be seen. Together they got the man into Grandpa's truck, with Grandpa's belt cinched tightly around the man's leg.
She never saw the man again, nor ever knew his name. Grandpa told her the man had lived, but lost his foot because they'd had to leave the belt on too long. This man, this stranger, had risked his life and lost his foot -- for her!
Memories! This one would remain with her always. She carried her sleeping bag over to a corner of the room, away from the broken window. There, in that abandoned house, reminiscent of the one on her grandparents' farm, with her sleeping bag draped around her shoulders, she sat on the floor, took out her journal, and began to write and to remember.
