(April 19, 1908)
What am I doing?
Oh, I am just laying here in bed with my hands behind my head, thinkin’ about everything that happened today.
Who is that you ask?
Well, that’s Tommy, my little brother! He’s asleep; he is seven years old. My baby sister is downstairs, she sleeps in my parent’s room. Her name is Clara; she’s the best!
Wait a second…Shhh, I hear somethin’!
Oh, never mind, it’s just Dad headed out the back door to check on the ewes; it’s lambing time, ya’ know.
I ain’t never told anybody, but I love the sound of that creaky ol’ screen door. It sounds like elderly Mrs. Odle saying, “Hello!” Now, what would life be like without that? Wouldn’t it be sad to have a door that didn’t creak when you opened it?
I hear that rich folk don’t have creaky doors. And Uncle John says they are always traveling. Maybe if they had a creaky door to enjoy, they would stay home more often. What do you think?
Uncle John says I think too much, and Grandpa says, Uncle John don’t think at all.
Grandpa is my best friend!
When I was about Tommy’s age, Grandpa asked me one day, “What do you think, Little Will?”
I replied, “About what?”
He responded, “About anything.”
Grandpa went on to explain to me that a man should always be thinking about something.
Well, I certainly wanted to be a man. So, I have tried to be thinking about something ever since! Are you that way?
Do you have any favorite sounds like a creaky door? I will tell you some of mine, if you promise not to make fun of me.
Alright then, but I have to talk quiet-like, so I don’t wake Tommy; for he is beginning to stir a little.
(Whispering softly): There, can you still hear me? Well, good, so here it goes.
I like hearing Pete bay over on the next hill where Mr. Brown lives. Pete has a deep bark, and on a still night, like tonight, why, his voice echoes all over these Ozark hills. When he bays now and then, and the peep frogs start talking, well, it just does something to the inside of me. Makes me thankful to be alive, ya’ know.
Sorta like, when I am standing in the choir, listening to all the men and ladies sing. That’s another sound I like to hear – but, it’s even better!
Sometimes, I get to watchin’ them elderly folks, and I love them all so much that I get choked up and want to cry. But, I can’t cry – not in front everybody!
So then the pressure builds, and my heart begins to hurt. I mean really honest to goodness hurt! The pain travels down my left arm and settles in the palm of my hand. It knots up so, that I have to rub it to get it to quit. It always does it when something special, like that, happens.
I told Grandma Ingram about it. (She’s not really my Grandma, but she never had any children, so I call her that, and she really likes it!)
She and I talk about everything. She’s also my best friend! She brought me into the world, for she’s a midwife, ya’ know? She’s my school teacher, and my fishin’ buddy!
I fetch a can of night crawlers, then we take our cane poles over to Hog Creek, and fish for perch – they taste the best!
Anyways, we were fishin’ one day, and I told her about my heart hurtin’ when something special happens. I only told her because it kinda scares me; and, I didn’t want to trouble Mom or Dad with it.
Well, she laid her pole down, and asked me to come sit by her on a nearby tree that the beavers had cut down. She said, “Lil’ Will, now you tell me again what happens, and don’t you leave out anything, do you hear me?”
Now I was really scared! I just knew that I was headed for ole’ Doc Hughes!
I told her about everything, and every time it happened, that I could remember.
She sat quietly, and kind of teared up like she was going to cry. Then she said, “Well, honey, I believe you have been given a special gift. A very special gift indeed! The problem with your heart hurting is that it’s too full. It’s so full of good stuff that it has to spill over, and run into your hand.”
That didn’t make a lick of sense to me, so I asked her, “But Grandma, if it’s so good, then why does it hurt? And, right here in the palm of my hand, too?”
She had a real hard time speaking, and then with lips quivering she replied, “Well, honey, there was One long ago that loved everybody so much, that it spilled over, and hurt His hands, too!” Then Grandma really started crying.
I looked down, staring at the palm of my hand. For, I knew she was talking about Jesus, and how they pierced His hands and feet. I had never thought about my pain being a gift from Him; a reminder of His love, and what He did for us. But then it made sense, so now it don’t scare me anymore when it happens.
Well, I am gettin’ awful sleepy, so I better go for now.
School is out for plantin’. If allowed, I want to go see Mr. Wrinkles. I want to talk to him about what he said – about dying to self, and all.
And, I want to try to catch that big ole’ snapper!
This summer, if I get to go with Dad to Cedar Bluff, I want to trade that turtle shell to Mr. Upton for some Confederate pennies. He fought in the Civil War, ya know?
You be careful, and be thinking about your favorite sounds, alright?
Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bed bugs bite!
Lord willing, until next time.
Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.
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