Rural Fairfield County during the 1950’s was an innocent time, a time of moral insulation. We were a church going family—simple farm folks, you might say—who were strangely proud of our humility. When Dad wasn’t delivering milk door to door for Deed’s Dairy, he worked our little hillside 28-acre farm where my three brothers and I baled hay each summer. Throughout the year we raised a few hogs, tossed shucked corn to an ever-rotating flock of chickens, and milked one Guernsey cow named Brownie.
Our first responsibility when we got home from school was to feed the animals and finish our homework; after that, we were free to play. Unlike today, we never considered playing inside the house, we always headed outdoors. No electronics, no TV… well, we did have a TV but there were only three channels and the picture on our old black and white was so dim you couldn’t tell Buffalo Bob from Howdy Dowdy until sunset. I didn’t know I was underprivileged; I thought I lived on a 28-acre amusement park!
One sunny day, I decided to make a tent out of discarded bed spreads. Searching for a method to suspend them, I draped one end of the large bed cover over a couple fence posts, but I couldn’t keep the blankets from sliding off the top of the posts. Ever the problem solver, I recalled a stack of unused cement blocks near the trash burner and determined I could place a cement block on each post to hold the cover in place. I draped the opposite side of the makeshift tent over my bicycle. It worked great and provided an excellent hideout. With only enough headroom to crawl on my hands and knees, I was snug as bug in a rug.
What happened next is still not clear. Apparently, at some juncture, I raised up and pulled the cement blocks down on my head. The lights went out. That evening when the dinner call went out and I didn’t come in, thank goodness, Dad came looking for me. In later retellings, Dad commented that they had no idea how long I had been knocked out.
On a farm in the 50’s, there was no such thing as an emergency squad and we had no health insurance, so my parents simply trusted I would eventually “come to” and laid me on the couch while they sat down to dinner. The first thing I remember as I awoke that evening—other than a category five headache—was my older brother shouting from the dinner table, “Hey, look! He’s gonna be OK! He’s awake!” They seemed pleased and finished their dinner.
I really admire the Apostle Paul, but I’m just not cut out to be a tentmaker. To this day I have a nasty dent on the top of my head as a constant reminder of my misadventure.
All of us, at one time or another, have put our faith in something or someone only to have it crash down upon us, haven’t we? I’m grateful my dad came looking for me when he did. He knew my favorite hiding places and came searching when I didn’t show up. I can’t imagine if I had awakened in the dark feeling like I did, trying to make my way across the field to our house alone.
Our heavenly Father knows us inside out and is continually looking for us to turn our hearts toward Him. Listen to this incredible passage from the Bible found in the Psalms:
I’m an open book to you; even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back; I’m never out of your sight.
You know everything I’m going to say before I start the first sentence.
I look behind me and you’re there, then up ahead and you’re there, too– your reassuring presence, coming and going.
This is too much, too wonderful– I can’t take it all in!
Psalm 139:2-6 The Message
I want to encourage you today, the Lord cares very deeply for you and is waiting to help you. Don’t be afraid to call on him.