This week’s post is straight from my practice journal. This time my oldest son would accompany me. The timer set for 15 minutes and we began our separate assignments. He was to write sixteen spelling words into sentences for homework and I was to craft those same spelling words into a blog. Writing without lifting my pen these third grade words took on a life of their own. When the buzzer sounded I only added the last line and have left it as is–unpolished. By the way, my son was done with his sentences in only five minutes. J (spelling words are bolded) The unexpected surprise was not only was this fiction—but I think I know that little girl…
How do I begin?
How does one retella story of an unhappy girl who foundlife through the friendly Farmer?
Her life was desolate, desperate, and despairing. But whatHe said…caused her to feel hopeful.
Hope was a foreign thought and feeling. She, the scrawnygirl with the scraggly pig tails. The one always shamed and treated unfair by the cross Mrs. Rally anddeemed unimportant to most of thetownspeople.Unlike theothers, this same girl was accepted by the Farmer.
She remembers that day vividly.
The sky darkened by heavy clouds pouring out buckets of rainto the town. The dirt roads were wet, and soon her boots, the ones worn throughat the toe, were splattered with mud. Even the hem of her dress was coveredwith mud.
The rain and mud would not stop her. She promised the townseamstress to deliver a package. Mrs. Rally said if she was a good helper she would give her one quarter—ashiny one. One whole quarter would give her milk and oats for a week. She mustbe careful as to not slip in the mudand drop the package. She walked slowly. The rain pounded down on her. Clothessoaked through. She was almost at her destination—the Farmer’s house. Just afew steps from His porch lightening flashed and peals of thunder shook the sky.
It frightened the poor girl and she jumped at the noise. Sadly, she lost her footing and landedin a pot-hole—filled with mud.
Unhurt, she stoodup. Tears mixed in with the raindrops as she reached to pick up the packagefrom the mud. Silently she wept. Thepackage wet, soggy—completely ruined. She stood there for what seemed likehours as the rain pelted her skin.
“How will I ever remakethis package and make it new again for the Farmer?”
She thought of the shiny quarter. The milk. The oats. Shewouldn’t have any of it. Only beshamed once again by Mrs. Rally.
The porch light suddenly lit up the porch and the doorcreaked open.
She looked down. Pretending to be invisible. Pretending itwas just a dream.
The Farmer spoke. “What have we here, Little One?”
His voice was kind. He gently took the package from hergrip.
She dared to look up.
And when she did…
She saw Him looking at her…
with kind eyes and a smile.
And she knew.
Everything was going to be okay.
I need to know everything is going to be okay…how about you?
Lord, let us see Your eyes and hear Your gentle voice and know…You arenear to pick up the mess and make everything new again.
On the journey with you… lk
Embrace (It’s All Gonna Be Okay) by Jake Hamilton
The LORD watches over all who love him. Psalm 145:20
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those whoare crushed in spirit.