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A Cowboy's Strong Arm
Everything about Uncle Tommy was rough - his wide rawhide belt clinched under his belly, his heavy hemp-like khaki pants, his scorched skin worn thick like mesquite bark in the South Texas sun. Line over line carved on his face by the wind and weather made him look like the tough cowboy that he was. Long days working on the King Ranch kept Uncle Tommy happy because he loved the land and the life of the wrangler. He learned not only to speak Spanish from the ranch hands but also their secrets of campfire cuisine.
To this day I can picture Uncle Tommy standing over the kitchen stove stirring the cast iron skillet of corn cut fresh off the cob, with smoked bacon and onion, to just the right creamy consistency. Meanwhile, I on the living room floor with my doll Missy, could be entertained for hours. Finally Uncle Tommy came in and then was the most fun of all. He had a fine roping arm. He would pick me up, sit my lace-pantied fannie in his big, strong hand, and lift me high to bounce my blonde topknot on the ceiling. It seemed that I was on the top of the whole world and I stretched my tiny fingers higher, higher, higher to touch the ceiling.
It was a fun game to bounce up high. The real game was keeping the secret: when Uncle Tommy lifted me up I felt so big and tall, and Uncle Tommy felt so young and playful. He lifted me up high. He laughed and I giggled.
-- Jan
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Lifting One Another - by Bill
When I was three, I nearly drowned. At least, it seemed that way at the time. Behind our farmhouse, a plank footbridge crossed a small irrigation ditch. One spring day, I lost my balance on the bridge and fell in.
The water was only a foot deep, but the current was strong and I was small. I spluttered to the surface, grabbing a tuft of grass on the bank to steady myself. The current swept my feet from under me. I floated on my back, my grip on that fresh green grass all that kept me from The Waterfall.
The Waterfall was actually a headgate on the irrigation ditch, a few yards downstream. Water flowing through the headgate dropped a couple of feet to a lower ditch. Just a couple of feet -- but for a child it was The Waterfall.
I screamed in terror. One by one, the blades of grass to which I clung began to tear, to break. Soon, I was sure, I would be swept downstream to certain death.
My father came running, lifting me to safety in his strong farmer's hands. I was wet and scared, but unharmed. Still, I remember that green grass slowly tearing away in my hand.
Dad is 92 now. His hands tremble constantly. The feet that ran now shuffle slowly, assisted by a cane. Instead of Dad bending down to lift me, I bend down to help him get up from a chair.
While Dad was able to rescue me from the terrors of The Waterfall, I am not able to set him free from frailty and diminishment, from the vulnerability of all human life. We belong, each one of us, to the company of the dying. Every earthly thing that holds us secure will, one by one, tear and break.
Whenever you tumble into life's torrents, may strong hands be there to steady you. And when you approach The Waterfall of death, may the loving hands of God carry you tenderly to life eternal. |
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Copyright (c) 2010 Soul Windows Ministries
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