The afternoon had slipped into early evening. The sun was just a glow that hovered above the treetops, waiting to say goodbye to yet another day. Gently the wind stirred, rustling the branches of the big, old pine tree that dominated our front yard. But that pine tree was more than a fixture in our front yard; it was where three little girls spent most of their day, playing. There underneath its canopy we marked off rooms for our playhouse, dug roads for our cars to ride on, and gathered up cans, jar lids, and anything else we could find to outfit our pretend world. No cares, no worries, no concerns; just complete peace and quiet.
But, the world my parents lived in was not as restful. There were cares, worries, and concerns, and this day was a particularly worrisome day. There was no food. Nothing. The food had run out and it was still days before they could expect any money. Somehow three little girls needed their supper.
Daddy had a special place out in the woods beside the house where he went to pray. So when daddy came out of the house and turned toward the woods, I knew he was going to his special place. I started after him, but he stopped, looked at me intently, and said, “No, you can’t come this time.” About that time mother came to the porch and one of us asked when supper would be ready. Quietly mother said, “When your daddy gets back. Just play a while longer.” So we did.
Maybe 30 minutes, maybe an hour went by. I don’t really know, but after a while, daddy came walking back toward the house. Peace occupied the place worry once held. He walked with more energy and confidence. Even to an 8 year old something had noticeably changed.
“Look, daddy. Look at all those cars turning off the highway.” Car after car drove into our yard. It seemed as if the entire church made up that caravan. We stood captivated as each family brought baskets and sacks of groceries and goods into the house. The church had decided to surprise us with a “pounding.” When the last sack was unloaded, food covered our dining table, the chairs, and lined the walls of the dining room and kitchen. Smoked hams hung on the back porch. I remember a 50-gallon can of lard (we don’t use that now) that sat just inside the kitchen door.
I will never forget the look that passed between my mother and daddy. With tears streaming down his face, Daddy told mother, “I told you the Lord would provide.” It was the first time I saw my daddy cry.
Grams
