Friday, April 1, 2011

Jesus, Take Me Home


As I'm sitting here in my bed for the second day in a row, watching my sick little boy finally resting peacefully, I am reminded of a story from my childhood. This story had an everlasting effect on me, and I instantly had a desire to look it up and write a blog about it. During my googling endeavours, however, I stumbled upon a blog that was so close to what I wanted to write, that it's kind of redundant for me to write my own.

I will still tell my readers about this story, and share the bang-on blog at the end of my post. Many of you, or maybe not so many of you may be familiar with Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. They were a series of Christian children's books that came out in the 1960's. If you were a child in the 1970's, as I was, you may have also had this collection of books on your bookshelf. The books were compilations of stories that were said to be real-life stories of good Christian values. My personal favourite, was one of some little girls; I remember the illustrations so vividly: girls with pretty, floral dresses, bobby socks and mary-jane shoes, with shiny ringlets adorned with ribbon-tied bows. I was a sucker for that kind of girly-girl, squeaky clean wholesomeness when I was young. These little girls would sew their own doll clothes for their beautiful old-fashioned dolls. Nothing in the world seemed more wonderful to me than that. I can't even remember what the moral of that story was, but I'm sure that I studied that illustration of the pretty girls with their dolls and carriages for hours on end.

The books were definitely a piece of my childhood, and I remember reading them and enjoying them. There was one story, however, that traumatized me (and obviously not just me) a bit, and I haven't forgotten it to this day. I don't remember the name of this story, but I remember that it was about a boy who had been hit by a car. He was in the hospital, and obviously was in a lot of pain; so much so, that he wished he would die. Let's keep in mind that this is a "bedtime story". The boy had it in his head that all he had to do was ask Jesus to take him, and he would. Another boy who shared his room in the hospital told him that Jesus came into the room each night, and that if he just raised his hand, that he would take him. The little boy knew what he had to do, but he was so weak that he could not keep his arm up. The other little boy, being the saint that he was, helped his roommate by propping his arm up on a pillow so that Jesus would see that he wanted him to take him to heaven. Jesus did take the boy that night, and that was it. Couldn't that other little boy be guilty of euthanasia, or something? You can imagine my horror as a child, when I would awake in the night and notice that my arm was in such a position that it was slightly erect. OH MY GOSH! I could have died tonight! I must be more careful! Seriously, I was actually concerned that Jesus might get the wrong idea and take me when I wasn't ready to go. I still think about it to this day, and panicked slightly when I glanced over to see my sick little boy with his arm pointing upward between the mattress and the pillow.

3 comments:

  1. Isn't it facinating that you and Chris wrote the same story? I used to think that what I wrote was original but everytime I look for a picture to illustrate the theme, I always find several choices! So much for new ideas! But I also write a series called Spirial Lessons where we get the same lesson over time to allow us to understand it better, each time we are further out on the spiral. So guess these "coincidences" provide new opportunities to learn old lessons to a dreater depth. BTW, I grew up with Grimm's Fairy Tales...now there is a group of scary stories! Good read, thanks! hugs, pat

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  2. Hi, just read your profile and wanted to comment on your fear of getting old. I am 67 and must say that these years are definitely the best years of my life! I have had a wonderful life, so saying now is the best is saying a lot. There is a serenity that comes with age, a kind of humor, too, that the young have yet to learn. Plus, it is great fun saying, "Hey, I was doing that 25 years before you were even born!" Our culture has sold us a bill of goods about youth and scared us about being older. I still love riding herd with the cowboys here in Brazil where I am a volunteer, dancing with a beautiful man, walking in the floresta, and savoring life. Each phase has its rewards and difficulties, so we can just accept where we are with elegant grace! hugs, pat

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  3. Thanks for reading, Pat! It's obvious to me that you are not "old'! You have not let age dictate your life and the things that you enjoy. If I could be guaranteed that I would be like that too, then I would have nothing to fear! All the best, Tara

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