Story-Teller
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- Feb 22, 2009
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Falling Up?
The beautiful early Spring day nagged me out for a walk. Down the street I went, a nice easy pace, breathing deeply the heady fragrances of industrious neighbors mowing their lawns. The sun, warm, teased through the first dressing of finest leafed trees and brindled the bright sidewalk with cool shadows.
Amy, my neighbor's daughter, (too young for school), was preoccupied with something which claimed earth or stone as home. Digging deep with a broken twig, her tongue stuck out at the side of her lips. Deep in concentration, she suddenly dropped the twig, and carefully lifted a tiny creature off of the ground, placed it gently in her palmed hand, and slowly stood. I couldn't help but smile, watching small chunks of soil fall off her muddied bare knees, freckling her shoes. Lifting her chin, she stared wide-eyed up at the skies, studying something beyond my vision. Cupping whatever life was within her hands to keep it safe from harm, she rested this treasure beneath her cherub-cheeked face and lowered her head. Silent and unmoving, her eyes bunched tightly, as if in deep concentration.
Then without warning, her arms flew up and out. With a huge burst of energy, she jumped, toes pointing out, hands flaying up to the skies, fingers opened. She followed the insect’s path up then down, loosing it in the grass.
Forlorn, her shoulder’s sagged, back bent.
I walked up to her, curious. “Amy, what are you doing?”
She talked into her shoes, despondent. “ I keep rescuing these bugs from danger. Talk to ’em. Pray over ’em. Try to get ’em to heaven, but they don’t seem to wanna go...”
Sure made me think way past my physical steps taken that Spring afternoon.
He rescues from the perils of Satan’s touch, digs us all out from the mud and refuge that we once thought of as home. Keeps the conversation open. Prayers touch as warm living breath; He does everything He can to get us up there right with Him. Every single one of us is eventually lifted - heading in the right direction, falling up, not down.
I imagine God does much what Amy did that afternoon, shoulder’s sagging, forlorn, watching as those whom ignored the personalization of care given, the message of direction whispered in love by Him...drop beyond His grasp.
Karen Rice
Copyright 2005
Submitted by Richard
The beautiful early Spring day nagged me out for a walk. Down the street I went, a nice easy pace, breathing deeply the heady fragrances of industrious neighbors mowing their lawns. The sun, warm, teased through the first dressing of finest leafed trees and brindled the bright sidewalk with cool shadows.
Amy, my neighbor's daughter, (too young for school), was preoccupied with something which claimed earth or stone as home. Digging deep with a broken twig, her tongue stuck out at the side of her lips. Deep in concentration, she suddenly dropped the twig, and carefully lifted a tiny creature off of the ground, placed it gently in her palmed hand, and slowly stood. I couldn't help but smile, watching small chunks of soil fall off her muddied bare knees, freckling her shoes. Lifting her chin, she stared wide-eyed up at the skies, studying something beyond my vision. Cupping whatever life was within her hands to keep it safe from harm, she rested this treasure beneath her cherub-cheeked face and lowered her head. Silent and unmoving, her eyes bunched tightly, as if in deep concentration.
Then without warning, her arms flew up and out. With a huge burst of energy, she jumped, toes pointing out, hands flaying up to the skies, fingers opened. She followed the insect’s path up then down, loosing it in the grass.
Forlorn, her shoulder’s sagged, back bent.
I walked up to her, curious. “Amy, what are you doing?”
She talked into her shoes, despondent. “ I keep rescuing these bugs from danger. Talk to ’em. Pray over ’em. Try to get ’em to heaven, but they don’t seem to wanna go...”
Sure made me think way past my physical steps taken that Spring afternoon.
He rescues from the perils of Satan’s touch, digs us all out from the mud and refuge that we once thought of as home. Keeps the conversation open. Prayers touch as warm living breath; He does everything He can to get us up there right with Him. Every single one of us is eventually lifted - heading in the right direction, falling up, not down.
I imagine God does much what Amy did that afternoon, shoulder’s sagging, forlorn, watching as those whom ignored the personalization of care given, the message of direction whispered in love by Him...drop beyond His grasp.
Karen Rice
Copyright 2005
Submitted by Richard
