Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: CHILDHOOD (03/09/17)
-
TITLE: Faith’s Fruit | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
03/14/17 -
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
Pappa and I had worked in the field together since early morning. The hours had gone by, and the oppressive heat had taken its toll on my twelve-year-old body. My arms felt leaden. I hoped to be as strong as Pappa someday.
We ran toward home, our tools forgotten in the small patch of land on the outskirts of town where we grew our family’s food.
Gunshots. “Hurry, Stephen.”
Our home came into view down the dusty road. We were almost there when Pappa faltered beside me, stiffened, and fell face down.
I cried out and hurried back to kneel by his prostrate form. Blood oozed from the back of his head staining his sweat-soaked shirt red in noon’s harsh light. My heart raced at the horror before me.
Suddenly, men with machetes surrounded us, their half-naked bodies glistening with oil and sweat. My mother raced from our house. “Don’t touch my boy!”
The leader of the group snarled, “No mercy with these Christians.” As a minority people in our Muslim dominated nation, I’d learned this familiar refrain. His words unleashed their fury. They raised their machetes. The last thing I saw was a blade slashing toward me.
It was dark when I came to. In the moonlight, Momma’s blood-streaked face peered down at me. One of my eyes wouldn’t focus. A great pain welled up from my belly. I heard her prayer, “Lord Jesus, help us. Have mercy on Stephen.”
She took my hand. In that moment, a form appeared behind her and ripped her away, lifting her off her feet. She struggled and yelled, “No!” but no one came to help. Her screams disappeared in the distance as I fell back to unconsciousness.
The next thing I knew voices murmured around me. “Amazing.” “Miracle.” “Should have died with those injuries.” Then nothing.
“Boy, can you hear me? Wake up.”
A cultured voice in our dialect roused me. A hand touched my shoulder. “What is your name?” Where was I?
Over time, they told me. I’d been left for dead a day and a half. Townspeople came to bury me and found me breathing. Somehow, they’d transported me to this hospital.
When I’d been there a week, doctors explained my injuries. “You lost an eye.” “Your bowels were badly damaged. You’ll have to wear a bag all your life.”
I was quiet for a while. In that time, I remembered Jesus. Memories flooded back that He’d been with me after the attack. He’d said, “Trust in Me.”
The doctors waited for me to respond, their concern etched on their faces. I smiled. “Jesus will help me.”
They left, whispering to each other that my injuries had affected my ability to think properly.
My aunt became my guardian. A strong Christian like my mother, she prepared space in the small room where her two younger sons slept. No one knew quite what to say when I came to live with them. I had special needs that everyone helped with, but actually talking about the way my body had been damaged and the loss of my parents was more than any of them could manage.
The first day at my new school was difficult. I couldn’t hide the bag, and it immediately became a topic of discussion and ridicule. A couple of the boys in my class taunted me, called me “bag boy.” “What’s that brown stuff you carry around? Ugh, gross!”
I wanted to respond in kind, but I felt Jesus near. “Tell them about Me.”
In the past I could never do that because I’d never felt comfortable talking about my faith. Now, I did as Jesus said. I spoke His Words with joy. For some reason the boys shut up when I said, “Jesus loves you.”
It was almost harder compensating for the eye that I lost. The doctors finally realized I needed special glasses for the one that was left. When I got those, I was astounded at the difference. I could sit anywhere in the classroom and see the front.
By the end of the school year, I had many friends. I didn’t make them; Jesus made them for me. They said I was an inspiration, that I gave them hope. Maybe. All I know is that Jesus gave me life.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
