Miracles in Summer

I remember that one time I prayed myself to sleep. Little, lost, and scared in a territory outside of our ranch. Playing Hide and Go Seek with my older siblings, I’d wandered off past the creek, to ensure they wouldn’t find me.

I knew I wasn’t allowed to, but I’d already lost too many times, and I couldn’t wait to see their faces when I’d emerged victorious. It was such an adventure in new territory; the bugs were plentiful, and the weather was gearing towards fall, so a lot of the bugs were energized to get the last of the summer harvest.

Marveling at the new world around I wandered about aimlessly in an unrushed pace, the game no longer at the forefront of my mind. I’d wandered far enough that I watched as dragonflies hunted Momma’s honeybees, far west of our estate; noting what I saw in my mind and contemplating a reason I knew what I witnessed without exposing that I disobeyed orders.

In my musing I’d tripped, narrowly missing a piglet that looked like it was trying to uproot the ground. I squatted, head tilted in curiosity, as I patted down my favorite dress, black and adorned with marigolds and bees. The piglet yelped repeatedly and loudly at me, which was surprising because our pigs at home didn’t act like that. They were much like daddy’s hounds, wanting to be petted and receive snacks, so when this young ‘un bravely told me off in its own little language, I giggled in my amusement. My happy discovery didn’t last long because something big was coming fast; the sound of hooves was approaching.

Instinct, pure and berating my senses, clamored on me, moving my body away from danger. I ran, danger on my heels, as I tried to dash from the oncoming protective mother, the animal thinking I was to do her baby harm. The taste of fear, sharp, tangy, and wretched, was thick on my tongue as I frantically looked for something to climb on, something that the animal couldn’t follow to get me.

I looked and there in the short distance I could see what looked like a treehouse. I wanted to look back so badly, but I knew better. My legs were getting tired from going at top speed for maybe four minutes. I needed a break, but what if I got caught and it broke my legs or something? She sounded heavy, shaking the ground as she’d approached me when I was with her baby.

I prayed for a miracle, for God to protect me, and to save me from the fright and overbearing burn that began to fire in my tired muscles. I was so close, and that closeness made me feel weak, so badly wanting a break. Eyes shut tightly, tears stinging, and lungs feeling the burn that seem to creep from my legs to my chest.

I wanted to give up, and suddenly something like a heavy breeze completely wrapped my legs and propelled me forward; I was being gently lifted, weight that was on my legs lightened, taking me the next thirty or so steps I needed to go to the safety that was the house in the tree.

I reached it, scrambled to the top, not daring to look down, sharp bark bruised my skin and even ripped my beloved dress. I was too relieved to care, safety too close to complain. As I reached the top, I saw it wasn’t a house; the ‘roof’ was separated completely and several more feet up, there were planks misshapenly put together to create what one may call a floor, and what I didn’t see until I was right next to it, a telescope.

Recognition dawned as I thought of daddy’s deer stands, and a new wave of appreciation wafted over me, this was a saving grace, thankful it was more than just a stand. I needed to lay, misshapen floor or not, and so I did, moving curls out of the way as I tried to get comfortable. I looked down, and I was right to keep running; the momma had followed and was loudly fussing. I was too tired to care, looking down, myself at the very edge of the structure, and vowed to never watch, The Lion King again.

I cried, relief and joy for my safety roused in my heart. Then all those marvelous feelings deflated as I thought of how someone would find me; I ventured way too far, and I was never one to disobey, so would they even think to look for me. My heart layered itself in grief at being lost and alone in a place I’d never been. “A 10-year-old could only take so much,” I thought.

Then I realized how I didn’t get up here by myself, that I could pray. I didn’t need to have the details, just know that the result was my safety in Daddy’s arms and Momma’s hot food for my now growling stomach.

Lighthearted again, I closed my eyes, put dirty hands over my chest, and prayed repeatedly that I’d be found, safely and timely. I prayed this until the sun set and the aired cooled my heated skin, my mind singly praying, body too tired to move though hours had passed. I lost consciousness and slept, no longer weeping.

Then, I was awakened by a scream and cry.

“MOMMA!” I screamed, roused from sleep upon recognizing the loud voice of that scream.

My dad, climbing up to get me, shooed me into his embrace when he reached the top. He cradled me as he wept, my own tears impossible in that moment, the relief was so great. When he reached the bottom, I reached for momma, and we hugged fiercely; my siblings soon gathering around, the entire family embraced in a group hug.

“Praying works, Momma,” was my only whispered words as I was plastered in the safety of her arms and my faith sealed forevermore.