Archive by Author

The Shadow Knows

23 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

1

When we’re young we think adults know everything. While we’re in that stage, we’ll follow almost anyone who is nice to us. It takes many years to begin to realize that people don’t know as much as we think they do.

Take for instance our relationship with God. You see and hear all kinds of things about how we should think and behave, and what we should believe. The more mature we grow, however, the less apt we are to believe just anything. We come to a place where we want to know God for ourselves. We want Him to teach us and answer our questions. Oh, I’m not talking about Christ being God’s Son and dying for our sins. That’s basic. No, it’s more like traditions and rites, and conjecture about what He actually wants from us and what he is like.

Who really does know everything? The Shadow Knows of course, but who is the shadow?

DiVoran and David Bowers

David and DiVoran Bowers

First of all, he was the alter-ego of a man named Lamont Cranston, and the hero in the radio program, “The Shadow.” In the 40s my little brother and I loved to listen to that program. To keep us out of their hair at the restaurant on Sunday afternoons our parents bought a radio and installed it in the living room of our duplex at the end of the street. We didn’t have a working kitchen because the kitchen held our bunk beds. So dad bought us a new- fangled pop-up toaster. Every week our parents gave us a loaf of Rainbow bread and sent us home to listen to the Sunday afternoon programs.

When we had polished off the toast, we found our toys and laid them out in preparation for moving them around. David took each tiny horse, each cow, and each section of rail fencing and placed it exactly where he wanted it.

I pulled out Mother’s little dolls and the clothes she and her Grandmother had made for them in the late twenties.

We listened happily and when, “The Shadow,” came on we paused to listen to his voice. One phrase I never forgot from “The Shadow” was: “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.”

The Shadow

“A figure never seen, only heard, the Shadow was an invincible crime fighter. He possessed many gifts which enabled him to overcome any enemy. Besides his tremendous strength, he could defy gravity, speak any language, unravel any code, and become invisible with his famous ability to “cloud men’s minds.” (Thanks to the website, Old Time Radio World.)

So now we knew someone who really did know everything, and somehow, we had a profile of God. We could trust the Shadow because he always did the right thing and he protected people and their children. In the end, though, we were open to being friends with someone who possessed all the Shadow’s abilities and much more. We chose to worship Jesus.

Now that we’re grown-ups, we think we might know a thing or two, but we still come against questions we can’t answer. That’s when we have to say, “The Shadow knows.” We mean God, or course. He is sufficient for any need we have.

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A Dream of Orchids

16 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Photo by Melody Hendrix

Photo by Melody Hendrix

The first real orchid I ever saw came in the mail from Hawaii. Bill the sailor sent it to my parents’ home where I was living in Albuquerque waiting for him to get out of the service. I unpacked it slowly, carefully, and admired it in the box packed for its trip to the mainland. It looked like ones in this photo and the accompanying note called it a Vanda Orchid.

Before I lifted it out, I brought the package up to my sniffer to see if it had a fragrance and it did. What a joy! I learned later that not all orchids do. If it was close to Sunday, Mother may have pinned it to the dress I wore to church. The flower didn’t last long, but the memory did. Bill and I have been married for fifty-nine years. I must remember to thank him again. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Bill, for the orchid and for the bouquets from the florist and the flowers you’ve grown for me. I think you like them as much as I do and that’s an extra bonus.

One Friday, my friend, Melody and I went to Kiwanis Island off Merritt Island to visit an orchid show called, I Dream of Orchids.

I Dream of Orchids

 

We couldn’t stop snapping pictures, Melody from one of her two cameras and I from my iPhone. She wanted to purchase an orchid for her husband’s mother who raises them in Georgia, so she talked to the growers about the details of shipping. I had no idea it was such a big deal, and in my mind thanked Bill again for the special one he had sent in 1958.

The first person Melody talked with told us he was a lecturer on the subject. He is an engineer, he was born in Viet-Nam, but has lived in Melbourne all his life. His name is Thanh Nguyen and he will send orchids by mail. His phone number is 321-223-6173 if you want to talk to him about it. He doesn’t have a website because he spends every spare moment on his beloved orchids. He says it takes a lot of effort to pack a plant for shipping, but if you want the materials you can buy them from him. Among other materials, he listed cotton-packing and heat-wraps. Mr. Nguyen says orchids survive the trip, but if they were shipped with blooms, the blooms will die. Never fear, says he, they will come back exactly the same in the next blooming.

As I dreamed of orchids I recalled another one a different gentleman arranged for me to have. It was this way: Bill and I more or less eloped. We invited our families to the wedding in California, though. Both of our dads were traveling men. Bill’s mother flew to California where Bill was stationed. I had gone with a family she’d known a long time in their VW fan and stayed at their house. My Aunt Jenny drove my mother and cousin. I had ordered a gardenia bridal bouquet, but when we picked it up, it had a wonderful white orchid at its center. My dad had called and changed my order. He wanted me to have the best. My wedding orchid looked like this one.

Wedding Orchid

After we moved to Florida, orchids began to collect themselves on our porch. Every time we saw a good buy we bought. They took a minimum of care, here in Florida, and lasted for many years. But then they came to a place where they were going to need transplanting and I, being a casual plant owner, decided to find good homes for them instead. I gave them to three friends at church, each of whom cared well for hers and gave me thanks and reports for many years after. One friend put hers on a tree in her yard where it thrived. I think orchids make people happy, no matter what.

Green leaf orchid

 

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Doggy Walk

25 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lites

2

 

I’m quite the home-body. I love having a free day when I can do all the things around here I want to do and need to do, no pressure. But sometimes I feel I should get out more, be more friendly.

When I saw the, “Doggy Walk,” sign in front of the SPCA I thought maybe I would check it out. One of the reasons I don’t go out more is because I don’t do the things I really like when I do go out. But animals, yep. Love them. I get to know all the dogs on the trail because fortunately people who walk dogs usually like to have their dogs admired.

One person, Julia, whom I have met is just as lovely as she can be, but a bit of a maverick. She walks her dogs off leash because they’re very small, somewhat aged, and non-aggressive. I used to walk my dogs off leash too. They weren’t aggressive, but they were big and the trail wasn’t the trail it was a dirt path and we never met anybody on it. Julia’s dogs love being out of doors and never cause any trouble except for the giant puppy, Leo, who is her granddaughters’ dog. At first he barked so much that he made trail-conversation impossible. Now with Julia’s gentleness he has become calm, so that I now love it when I see him running to greet me.

I decided to ask Julia if she would go to the dog walk with me and take a dog.

It was a new thought and I watched her process it. “I can’t take Leo,” she said. “I don’t’ usually have him on Saturdays anyway. Tucson might not like it…” Then she brightened. “Oh, I know, I’ll take Miracle.” She then beamed with excitement. I’ll put a dress on her and everyone will pay attention to her. She loves attention, and she does have clothes, you know.”

The walk was a couple of weeks away, but I started looking forward to seeing Miracle in her little dress. The next time we met, Julia was walking with Rene and her beautiful border collie, Joe. I must have been reading, “All Creatures Great and Small,” when I met Joe, because I was very taken with him and even wrote a poem about him. We invited them to go too, but when the day came they couldn’t. Rene usually visits her 94 year old uncle in a nursing home on Saturdays.

The big day dawned cool with a storm threatening, but we went anyway. Tucson got to go too. As we got out of the car, Julia mentioned that Rene told her I had written a poem about Joe. She said Miracle and Tucson were jealous, so I guess I’ll be putting on my poets smock and see what I can come up with.

I handled Miracle’s leash because Julia thought I’d like the reflected glory and I did. The black and white Chihuahua mix wore a combination flowered print and halter. Very stylish. She and Tucson wove in and out and Julia and I raised the leashes so the other could walk under or laid them on the ground so we could step over them. We walked with a whole string of other people and their dogs. The SPCA volunteers were kind and happy. The donations went into the side pockets on special vests worn by a couple of big, gentle dogs. It reminded me of the time we went to a Greek restaurant where the tips for the belly dancers went into a certain place around their waists… but never mind about that.

Anyhow, I loved the whole outing, but it was pretty short, so we decided we’d go to the next town and see the wonderful new, Chain of Lakes, trail. I’d been there once. The photo you see on my blogs was taken there by my friend, Melody Hendrix.

Julia wanted to start walking that trail right away, but I was slowing down. “We’ll do Chain of Lakes soon, “she said.

 

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Getting Dressed

18 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lites

1

My brother and Brownie, the neighborhood kids, and me.

 

When WW2 ended and our family moved to Westcliffe, Mother would take Dab and I to Denver to visit our other grandmother, Mabel. She and Mother’s auntie worked as chamber maids in big hotel. We’d get a stop at the pet store and a trip to Elitche’s Garden where we rode the Ferris wheel and the merry-go-round. We all slept in Grandma Mabel’s high up in the building and whenever Dab and I could slip away we’d slide down the bannisters to the next floor.  There’s just something about bannisters and kids, and we felt like we’d invented the game on our own. We eventually got caught and had to stop. 

The other real reason for the trip was to outfit us for school the next year. We’d go to the May company where they had a perfume fountain in the lobby and I’d try to stick my finger in it so I could adorn my pulse points. I knew you had to be bathed and in fresh clothes to wear perfume, so I felt I was perfectly qualified, but a scorching look by a shop-girl soon put me straight on that score. 

When I was twelve Grandmother came to visit and brought me some sun–tops she had made for me to wear with my jeans. The tops were very pretty, but I had a problem with them. I’d been begging mother for a brassiere, and she had finally broken down and bought me one. When I tried a sun top on, the straps of the undergarment showed and I refused to wear them. Grandmother just gave them to one of my friends and it was never mentioned again.  

It wasn’t long after that when I became interested in boys. I wanted jewelry, and make-up, and clothes became more interesting. I had some money from washing dishes in the restaurant and ironing the family’s clothes, so I bought a pair of dangly earring with blue-green jewels. I also bought a Tangee Tabu lipstick.  As I was looking for the color name online I discovered that The Vermont Country Store still sells Tangee Tabu lipstick plus many more wonderful things. I asked for a catalog. If you want one, you can request it on https://www.countrystorecatalog.com/Default.aspx  

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Alterations

11 Apr

My Take 

DiVoran Lites 

Young DiVoran

During World War 2 people couldn’t get fabric or clothes because almost everything was going for War supplies. My dad was at the front and Mother, Dab (my brother), and I lived in one of Granddad and Grandmother’s upstairs apartments in their beautifully restored Victorian house on Greenwood Ave. Grandmother wanted to keep herself and mother busy, so she started bringing the clothes out of the attic to alter for Dab and I. They started cutting children’s’ clothing from adult garments. It seemed to me as if I had to stand still every day for fittings. I fidgeted, but Grandmother and Mother went on relentlessly making clothes the whole nine months dad was at in the army.

One day they put a dress on me and I reached up and ripped it apart from neck to hem. My seamstresses were so astonished they forgot to smack my bottom and I seized the moment to make a swift getaway. Naturally the tailoring continued until the war was over and Dad came home to move us to another town where he had purchased a restaurant with the aid of the G. I. bill. There, I was the best dressed child in our new town, which was right up against the Sangre de Christo mountain range and to me the most beautiful place in the world.

When Grandmother came to look after us kids and the restaurant while Mother and Dad went on a trip I wore my jeans and flannel shirt for a full week and Grandmother didn’t complain about it one bit. I have never been able to understand why she let me get away with it. She let us have an ice-cream bar out of the freezer every day after school as well.

I got to dress up in brand-new cowgirl clothes, hat and all, to be in a fashion show with some of the other girls who lived in town. There were only about 20 children of all ages in the whole town. Grandmother had given me her boots by then and I wore a cowboy hat as well. We sang, “Ghost riders in the Sky” to entertain the ladies who came to the show.

Every year on my birthday, which was two days before Halloween, mother threw a party for me with the classmates that lived in town. We went trick or treating in that safe little town where no one ever got hurt, we didn’t lock our doors, and nobody stole. I wore a dress mother had given me to play dress-up in. It was a deep green velvet and I felt like a princess. The bonus was that I wore it for several years because it was adult sized to begin with.

Mother had another dress I loved. My daughter has it now. It’s pink silk with ruching and pink embroidery. It was given to my mother by her best friend, Katherine, who received it from England in 1922 when they were children. Katherine’s mother wouldn’t let her wear the dress because it was pink and she had red hair. What a beautiful dress it is, as light as gossamer.

Thank you Lord for giving me such a good childhood with parents and a whole town full of people who loved me. Thank you for the gorgeous mountains, and the teachers and pastors who worked so hard to help us all become more civilized.

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Mrs. Q. and the green ink

4 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and ArtistI suppose someone provided me with a first pair of jeans when I started riding a Shetland pony at eight years old. Anyhow I grew up wearing 3jeans whenever I could get away with it. When we moved from Colorado to Los Alamos, we wore jeans to school on Fridays. No one missed that opportunity. When I moved to Florida as a married woman with children, I gave jeans up and went for knit pants. Eventually someone came along who loved clothes and loved to shop and she straightened me out. Jeans wanted me.

After a while I hit another snag for which I needed the help of friends. Apparently my jeans bagged now that I had lost weight. My friends tactfully explained about Mrs. Q. and her skills as a tailor and sent me to see her.

I had a number of clothes that needed to be fitted, so I took them all. When you enter Mrs. Q’s small shop it’s as if you’ve come home. Her finished work hangs on a rack along the south wall with Mrs. Q’s counter in front. At the back of the room you see three large sewing machines with a small man sitting at one. Mr. and Mrs. Q. are from Vietnam. Both of their fathers tailored clothes for a living, and now they are carrying on the tradition. They are good at what they do. Mrs. Q. and I talk over every aspect of an alteration. Mr. Q. never opens his mouth. I’ll bet he gets an earful, with all the girl-talk that goes on.

Last August, I bought a pair of white jeans with diamonds on the back pockets. I knew the jewels would never be seen because I always wear my tee-shirts on the outside. I had these jeans for several months before I took them to Mrs. Q. to shorten. When I laid them on the counter we both saw that the security tag, still attached. Mrs. Q. tugged on it and then shook her head saying, “Better take them back to the store and let them take it off.”   2

 

When I got home, I thought I’d force the tag off, but it wouldn’t budge. The next time I went out I visited the two stores where I thought I might have purchased the jeans.

“No, our store doesn’t carry this brand, but don’t try to force it because it has ink in it and it will stain the jeans,” store 1 associate.

At the next store the only associate in sight tried to help even though she knew right away that the jeans hadn’t come from their store, either. Apparently every brand of store has a magnetic key to open their own tags. She couldn’t budge it. “Be sure not to force it open, I had an accident with one and it stained my purse and my hands with bright green ink,” store 2 associate.

While she fiddled with the problem, though, I realized the tag hung from the belt loop, so I decided to cut off the loop and throw it and the tag away.

I took the jeans back to Mrs. Q. and told her about my fix. She shook her head with a worried frown until I persuaded her no one but us would ever see the loopless spot.

As I got ready to leave, I remembered to warn Mrs. Q. about the trap. “Oh, yes, I know. Ink. Green. That’s the reason I told you to take it back to the store.”

I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world who didn’t know about security tags and ink. But instead of feeling ignorant I thanked the Lord for sending helpers my way. We all need help with one thing or another. It feels good to be kind and it feels good to receive kindness.

Bill and I met our computer-programmer grandson in one of the prettiest and ritziest downtowns I’ve seen. I wore my well-fitting jeans and felt like I fit in. For one of our conversation topics, he helped with a computer problem we’d had. I believe the world has more good people in it than bad ones, but maybe that’s because I rarely meet anyone bad, as far as I know.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. 1 John 4: 7.

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Perfect Love Casts Out Fear~Part 2

21 Mar

Beach

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

 

You unlocked the park’s bathroom door and stepped out into a cloudy day. You heard sea gull’s caa-caaing and the shushing of the surf. You climbed the stairs of the boardwalk. You then removed your sandals and rolled up your pants legs. When you started walking and felt the roughness of the old boards, you recalled the time when you ran a hand over a shuffleboard table and got attacked by a splinter. Now you watched where you walked because you didn’t want any more wood injuries.

It is hard for you to write these things because you’re afraid people will judge you for your fears. In my reality, though, rear is common to almost all men and women. Does not my word contain at least 365 references to that state of being?

When you stepped off the boardwalk and onto the cool sand, you saw large and small footprints. You saw ruts where folks’ toes dug in as they ran. Because the fisher- folk were to the right, you decided to walk in that direction. If it seemed appropriate you could ask the folks who had their poles stuck in the sand: “What’s biting, and what are they biting on?” All eyes, however, stared at the shivering lines as if mesmerized. All along you thought fishing was a serious enterprise and now you knew it truly was.

You continued toward the old launch pad, which had once held a giant gantry atop a multi-story, tracked, crawler- transporter that which had carried the 363 foot tall Apollo/Saturn V launch vehicle to launches. You recalled the time when Bill got you a pass to go all the way out to the space center with three other worker’s wives to watch a launch. You’ll never forget the giant countdown clock in front of the visitor’s gallery close to Vertical Assembly Building (VAB).

In your mind’s eye, as you walked, you envisioned a vehicle set to go. A column of smoke billowed from the flame-trench underneath. But the Saturn V did not move. Was something wrong? At T minus zero seconds, after full power on all five 1st stage rocket engines had been verified, the swing arms retracted and the vehicle began to rise. When the sound and vibration reached you it was like a continuous thunder clap echoing off the walls of the VAB. You felt the pulsations inside your body. You looked up and saw fire-tinted clouds boiling underneath the Saturn V as it began to leave the earth. It was such an awesome combination of sight and sound that you wanted to laugh, to shout, and to cry all at the same time.

Soon your mind-video ended and you were back on the quiet beach. Now you looked down at the foam scalloping the shore and lapping at your feet. The air felt humid, and the sand undulated like miniature hills. You leaned against a hearty wind and held on to your wide-brimmed hat as you continued down the beach.

After about fifteen minutes, you turned back toward the boardwalk. You asked yourself why you had come. The only reason thing you could think of was because you remembered being there with your children and grandchildren. All at once you remember being afraid for the children and the not wanting to take your eyes off them. The boardwalk was far away. You turned around and headed back. You climbed the stairs, put on your shoes, and rolled down your jeans.

 

My Beloved Child, hear me in this:

The world is afraid, it has always been afraid. The terrorists can’t take credit for it. You will see the phrase, terror of the night in my word along with a promise that you will not be overcome by it. You needed to come here today, so you could capture those fearful thoughts and memories and let me erase them for you, never to be remembered again. Fear, my dear, is the direct opposite of love. The world, the flesh, and the devil, are the unholy trinity, the enemy. You do not belong to these. You are mine I have called you by my name. You’re “designed for peak happiness, thinking, and health,” (Dr. Caroline Leaf.) I will never, never, ever leave you or forsake you, not for any reason. I have prepared a place for you and I’ll help you move into it now.

 

 Dr. Caroline Leaf 

 

 

 

 

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Colorado Adventures

22 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

and

Patricia Franklin 

1

 

Patricia and I have been corresponding for years. We first met when she was in first grade, just before she was promoted to second and moved one aisle over to the second grade aisle where we five second graders sat. She got promoted because she was the only child in the first grade, and because she was smart. It was my first time in that school because my family had recently moved to town. This letter starts where my last blog, “Shelf Roads,” left off. I liked the extra details she shared so thought I would pass them on.

DiVoran

 The Altmans started coming to our school after the consolidation. (Before that they had gone to a small country school closer to their ranch. The consolidation was when all the students from valley schools were bussed to town.)

Marjorie and I were friends in high school, and we actually were roommates our first year in college in Gunnison.  They had a ranch at the foot of the range, near Alvarado, (a mountain meadow where the community had field days and picnics). We used to go horseback riding on the trails up there. That was so much fun.

One time we came upon this old cabin.  We looked inside a broken window and something white moved inside.  We screamed and ran, then went back to look again.  It was a white goat, and was inside standing in the middle of the bed. The cabin was old and still furnished.  The cupboards had been taken over by rats and any other creature that could get inside.  I guess it had been abandoned, as everything in it was a mess.  We never did find out who the owner was, or what happened after that.  Although, I remember my Dad had me write up an article for the Wet Mountain Tribune about the adventure, and it was on the front page of the paper.  We sure had some great, fun adventures in those times.

There is a shelf road between Canon City and Cripple Creek.  It is named the Shelf Road and is used a lot.  It has been closed various times, due to rock slides and erosion, but is still one of the main roads up there.  That and the Phantom Canyon Road are the two most used from Highway 50 to Cripple Creek I would say.  I have not been up those roads for a few years, but I love them.   After driving all over the “jeep roads” in the San Juan and Gunnison mountains, I do not mind them anymore.  We have been on some very narrow and scary roads, but I love it so much, I got over my worst fears.

I still do not like being on the edge and looking down though.  Once Frank and I had to pull way over to the side because some 4 wheelers were coming down and would not move over.  (As we were going up, we were supposed to have the right of way).  Our Jeep was so close to the edge, I could see the pebbles falling out from under the tires and rolling down the mountainside. And there was a pickup upside down about 1000 feet down.  Now, that was scary!!😕 One time we started up that road when it was raining. A lightning bolt hit a nearby mountain, and then some rocks started rolling down the side of the mountain above us.  Needless to say, we backed down and did not make the trip that day.

The Shelf Road from Canon City to Cripple Creek

 

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The Shelf Roads

15 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

My friend, Patricia has been commenting on the serial I’m running on Rebekah Lyn Book. It’s called Go West and I asked her particularly to comment because we have a shared childhood from 1945 to 1951. If anyone could keep me straight, or answer questions, it would be Patricia. Those were wonderful childhood years. She has done a bang-up job.

At that time of life most kids are interested in everything. Patricia and I were avid learners so we got a lot out of school. Patricia’s family had been in the valley from the time they first came to America. Her mother’s family was German and her dad came from Canada and was of French ancestry. She has some good tales to tell about them.

My parents moved to the small town right after dad came home from WWII. He bought the restaurant on the G. I. Bill. We lived in a railroad worker’s duplex, but before we moved away, Dad bought the old train depot and remodeled it into an apartment house. The railroad was defunct, but some of their buildings still stood.

Because I had the Go West characters in a shelf road situation for the last episode, Patricia remembered some shelf-road situations she’d been in herself. Here’s what she said:

The shelf road was very scary and reminded me of a couple of trails that I know!Remember the Dieckman girls?  Or did they just come to school during high school?  I’m not sure.  Anyway, I used to go horseback riding out on their ranch and along some of the mountain trails with them.  They kept wanting to ride up along Phantom Terrace, which we never did, although they had ridden it many times.  Just the name scared me. They said that horses are very surefooted and it would be perfectly safe.  I’m glad we never went, as I would probably have fallen off just looking over the cliff.

Shelf Roads OTRN

 

I wrote back and told her I did remember one of the Dieckman girls who came to our school after classes moved to the other small mining town a mile away. The school had about five rooms and you had to go through one to get to the other. It was unpainted wood. We had no bathrooms, only outhouses, but that was no problem, we’d had outhouses at the two room schoolhouse where we’d gone before.

It’s wonderful to have a friend from such a long time ago. Both sets of parents are gone. I still have one brother and she still has all five of hers. We’ve moved on to other locations, other lives, but it’s as comforting as can be to have someone to reminisce with and to still be able to remember the past even though we both think often of the hereafter. We think about Heaven and we think about going from one room to another and saying, what am I here after?

 

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Peace Be Still

1 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Peace Be Still

Jesus always told stories when he spoke to his followers.

I’m into stories, have been since I was born. My mother told true stories and made up some. Grandmother told stories about her life, too. Before he went away to war and later when he grew old, Dad told stories about his. His stories stopped during my childhood because he suffered from what is now called PTSD.

I married a man who tells stories about his adventures every day, our grown children tell stories and so it goes. Stories and the need for them will never die. I thank God that I come from a story-telling family. I’m convinced there is no better way to learn the vital things of life.

It seems possible to imagine myself present as a child in a story about one of Jesus’ miracles. See if you can put yourself into it with me.

Father and Mother took me up on the mountain to listen to the master. He told us things about how to be happy. Wildflowers grew all over the mountain spreading their fragrance over the crowd like a blessing. I stood in the boat next to Jesus as he taught from there. I wanted to sing and dance with joy, but, alas, there was no room for that in the small boat.

When the teaching was over, the master asked the fishermen to take him across the lake. The sail filled with wind and we flew right along across the water next to a low-flying seagull. I looked around for the master and finally found him sleeping at the back of the boat. I was tired from all the excitement and the fresh air, so I lay down nearby. I thought about the wonderful day and looked at the white clouds in the blue sky. I too, fell asleep.

I awoke to rain in my face, black skies, and a bad feeling in my tummy. The fishermen were shouting and I saw that they were afraid. I’d never seen big rough men show fear before. Two wrestled to get the sail down while two others tried to bail out the water coming over the side in waves. One of the men came back and shook the master’s shoulder to wake him.

“Don’t you care that we’re all going to die!” he shouted.

By now I was hanging onto the anchor so I wouldn’t be washed out of the boat and into the sea.

The master rose and made his way to the bow. He held his hand up commanding, “Stop. Be quiet. Peace! Be still.” His voice carried through the storm. We all heard it. Suddenly the sea was calm. The sun came out. The bailers finished bailing. The sail went up again. Soon the work was done and we were on our way.

“Why were you so afraid? Don’t you have any faith?” said the master.

“Who is this man that wind and sea are at his command?” said one of the men.

I almost raised my hand to answer, but then thought the men might not like a child telling them something they didn’t already know. Someday, perhaps I will tell the story of this day so others may hear and know him too.

Mark 4

If you want to see the ancient fishing boats, Google Bible fishing boats. The pictures are beautiful.

 

 

You might enjoy this book: The Power of Personal Storytelling 

 

 

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