My Problem

Leroy Garrett tells the story of how the 89 year old DanielSommer while on a preaching tour suddenly went blind.  At the time he was on the train traveling to Pittsburgh for an appointment.  
Arriving at Pittsburgh, even though he was now blind, he was able due to his remarkable memory, to complete his preaching schedule there, and then he took a train to his next appointment  in West Virginia.  There he preached for several days in his new world of darkness.  His friends in West Virginia persuaded him to cancel his remaining appointments and to return home.  After arriving alone at Indianapolis he took a taxi home.  Once home, he took his luggage upstairs to his bedroom, washed up, and went into the kitchen to great his family.  Later that day during the evening meal they realized that he had gone blind.

Now, let’s see, what was my problem?

A SAD LITTLE CREEK

                                As I walked along a trail not far from my house, I enjoyed looking through the trees at a little creek that ran beside the trail.  For about 300 yards the trail and the creek are very close to each other, and I could see down through the trees to a miniature stream of water slowly making it’s way to somewhere.  Engrossed in my thoughts of my childhood, of the few creeks and trails that I had known then and of the pleasure they had provided, I suddenly realized that there was something missing along this trail beside my walk.  Even though it was squeezed between two apartment complexes, both having access to the creek, I had not seen any sign of boy or fort.  I asked myself, “Where are the forts?  Where are the boys?”  All along the way I had seen place after place for perfectly wonderful forts built of fallen logs, places that called out to me, “Hey old man, come here and arrange some of my logs.  I need for boys to be playing, boys to be building, boys to be shouting, boys to be...” 

                But there were no boys, there were no signs of boys where one log had been placed upon another log, not one little trail running through the trees, not even a  rock that that appeared to have been bounced off the head of a ten year old.  And I thought how sad this little creek must be.  Only a few years ago before the apartment complexes squeezed it so tightly, there were deer and other wild animals that we would see stepping out of its little forest to observe our suburb.  But now, there are no deer, no boys, no trails and no forts. 

                My trail soon takes me away from the creek, but I continue to think about it’s fort-less banks, about the trails that do not exist, about the little boys that live beside it’s banks but do not play under it’s trees. And I think to myself, how sad.  How sad the little creek must be, how lonely it’s trees, how sad it makes me, to think of how much fun those little boys are not having.

                Why is my creek lonely?  Why are there no boys building their forts, no boys throwing rocks, no boys shouting insults at one another, no little boys gloriously dirty, wonderfully happy, proudly wearing their bruises and scrapes for savagely fighting off sworn enemies from across the borderline of their kingdom?

 And then I remember we live in a different world than I grew up in.  Today, little boys are not often trusted with knives, hatchets, BB guns and other “dangerous” toys that we enjoyed.  Today parents worry over much about the safety of such things.  It all makes me sad.  I think tomorrow I will walk on my treadmill.

Terry Bouchelle