GOD PROTECTS AND PROVIDES

Another memory of my early childhood took place when I was somewhere between three and five years old. My sister and I live with our grandmother in a small house in Theo, Mississippi. We didn’t have running water, but God had put a spring in the woods behind the house. I don’t remember me and my sister going there many times, though. It was a good distance from the house and down a steep hill. 

I remember a man in an old green car bringing us water in glass orange juice jugs. His name was Jimbo. We helped our grandmother carry those jugs of water, that God had provided for us, into the house, and into the kitchen, where she put them on the counter, beside the sink. 

At some point, we got a water faucet outside, by the front porch. Then we didn’t have to carry water from the spring or have someone else bring us water. We were living the life then. It reminds me of the time God made water come out of a rock, to provide for his people in the wilderness.

One day I went to get some water from the faucet and saw a spider hanging there. When it saw me it quickly climbed up its web and went inside the faucet. I had my own “Itsy, Bitsy Spider.” At least that’s what I thought at the time. I was quite a bit older before I realized that a water spout and a faucet were two different things.

I remember a lot that happened while we lived there, in that little house in Theo. I remember my Aunt and uncle, and cousins coming to visit. Our cousins were older than us, but they would always make a mess in our kitchen, and leave without cleaning it up. After they would leave, we would help our grandmother clean up, and get the place back like it was before they came. We loved our home that God had provided for us.

One time, while our uncle and his family were visiting, my sister ran into his open car door and cut the corner of her eye. She did the same thing with our dad’s car door. I don’t remember which one happened first, but she ended up with almost identical scars on both eyes. She was blessed that her eyes were not badly damaged.

My grandmother kept food beside the bed for us in case we woke up hungry, and I remember waking up and eating in bed. I never remember going hungry. God has always provided food for us as far back as I can remember. 

Our neighbor would get drunk some nights and would be mean to his wife, and son. I remember waking up on more than one occasion and seeing them sitting in our living room in the middle of the night. God provided a safe place for them while that man was drunk.

Another time, a man was mowing our yard, and my grandmother was outside doing something. The mower hit a wire clothes hanger and flung it right into her leg. It made a big bloody mess. She came in with the wire sticking out of her leg, and if I remember correctly, she had to get some pliers to pull it out. She bled like a stuck hog, but thankfully, it didn’t do any real damage.

A few years before that, when my sister was two years old, she had a bad accident. It was winter, and we had a wood heater. Somehow she fell over on it, and just laid there screaming, with her head touching the heater, for what seemed like forever. I don’t even think she went to the doctor, though. They just put something in a tube on it and fixed her right up. To this day, though, there is a spot on my sister’s head where no hair will grow, but thankfully, it’s only about the size of a quarter, and her other hair covers it. 

We were in the garden one day, and my aunt screamed, grabbed me, and pulled me back. She saw the snake just before I stepped on it. I could have been bitten, but thank God I wasn’t.

Another time, when I was five years old, I was on the front porch, and a hornet stung me right between the eyes. I was allergic to bee stings, and I started swelling fast. There was a house church in our neighborhood, and they happened to be having service. My grandmother, and my mother, took me there for prayer. I remember everybody praying, and all the while, my eyes were swelling tighter, and tighter, until I couldn’t see anymore. I must have passed out because that’s the last I remember about that. 

For years, I thought God didn’t answer their prayer, but he did. They were praying for me to be okay, and not die. I did tell you I was allergic to bee stings, didn’t I? As a matter of fact, I was stung several more times over the years, and now I’m barely allergic at all. I guess my body has built up an immunity to the toxin. God knows what he’s doing. We can trust him, and as we look back at our past, we can see many times when God took care of us, protected us, and even though we may have suffered pain, he often saved us from something much worse.

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WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE

I believe I was four, or five years old at the time. My sister was sixteen months younger than me. We were playing outside by a tree in the sideyard of our humble little home in the small town of Theo. The same place we lived when my sister rode The Horse That Almost Reached The Sky. All of a sudden we heard a faint noise coming from somewhere up the road. It sounded a bit like a helicopter, but not exactly. It sounded somewhat like the wings of a thousand hummingbirds, but we knew that wasn’t what it was. All we could do was wondered what could it be.

As the noise came closer, we ran to the front porch where our grandmother was sitting with our aunt. Soon we found out what was making that awful noise. It was a gang of bikers on their motorcycles. There must have been a hundred, or more. As they came closer, the noise got louder, and soon all we could see was dust on the road. We lived on a gravel road, and our house was pretty close to it. We only had a small front yard. Thinking about it now, those motorcycles remind me of a cattle stampede.

After what seemed like forever, the noise started to fade, and soon the dust began to settle. In a few minutes, we began to be able to see the road again. Wow! It was kind of exciting, but scary at the same time. Kind of like watching a wild animal in the open woods. You want to keep watching to see what it does, but at the same time, you want to run for your life.

After a while, we went back to whatever we were playing out in the yard by the tree. We had forgotten about the motorcycles. We were engrossed in our childhood fun, when our aunt called out to us, and said, “Y’all come back to the porch, I hear them cranking up. They’re coming back.”

With that, we ran back to the porch. It wasn’t long until we saw the bikers coming around the curve bringing a cloud of dust with them. It was basically the same scene all over again as far as we could tell. We couldn’t see much farther than the edge of our porch. We couldn’t see the road at all. Then all of a sudden, out of the cloud of dust we saw a scary sight. A lone motorcycle wheel sped past the porch and smacked right into the very tree where we had been playing only a few minutes earlier.

I don’t remember if the guy whose motorcycle lost the wheel was hurt or not, but I do remember telling my kids that story when teaching them about obeying their parents. My grandmother raised us, so she was our parent. God tells us to obey our parents (Ephesians 6:1, Colossians 3:20, Exodus 20:12). Our aunt, our grandmother’s sister, helped her in our raising as well. Plus, we were taught back then to respect our elders.

If we had not listened and gotten away from that tree, we might have gotten hurt. Maybe pretty bad. That was a big wheel, and it smacked that tree pretty hard. I miss being a kid. I miss living in that little house, and I miss my grandmother. I’m looking forward to that day when Jesus comes to restore everything back to the perfect condition he created it in, In The Beginning. My anticipation grows stronger every day.

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GIFT SCHOOL

Recently, I drove by the first school I ever attended, or where it once was. It was demolished some time ago. Other than an old tree, all that’s left is part of the basketball court, and it’s almost covered with grass. It was simply called Gift. Although it had a Corinth, Mississippi address, I think the community was called Gift, so it was Gift School, but I’m not sure.

I went to Gift from Kindergarten through the third grade. It closed down the next year, citing there weren’t enough students enrolled that year to keep it open. I have a lot of memories from the few short years I attended there. Some are good, and some, not so much.

What I remember most is the people, the kids, and a few teachers I met there. I didn’t stop this time. I just slowly drove past where the school had been, then headed down the old bus route we had taken every day for those five years I was there. As I passed the homes of the many kids who rode the bus every day, I wondered what had become of them. Did they still live there? Were those newer houses theirs, or had they moved far away? Were they still alive? I don’t know. I haven’t seen most of them since the day the school closed.

I only remember one kid from Kindergarten. His name was Donnie. He would eat anything, and by anything, I mean anything that wasn’t food. I remember him eating glue, and modeling clay, just to name a few.

From the first grade, I remember Vivian. She was my best friend. I went to high school with her and got to work with her for a while, a few years back. Then there was Susanne. She was my first girlfriend, although, she didn’t know she was my girlfriend. I went to high school with her as well.

There was Jeffrey, who was quite a bit older than the other first graders. I don’t think he had ever been to school because he was blind. I liked him and considered him a friend. Most of us played with him and helped him get around outside at recess.

I remember a girl named Lynn. I remember the teachers talking about how smart she was. In the middle of the year, they advanced her to the second grade. I was a little jealous. Then I had to repeat first grade, and she passed to the third. She left me behind like I was sitting still. I was so mad at her for years.

An older student named Leroy would come to our classroom after lunch, occasionally, and sing to us for a while. One of the songs he would sing was “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.” I thought he was Leroy Brown and did for years after. He had a good voice, by the way.

I remember coming into the classroom one Monday morning, and discovering it had been vandalized. There was trash everywhere, and our books had been thrown all over the room. Our pencils, crayons, and markers were everywhere. They were even in the fishbowl, and the fish were all dead. It was awful. It was scary, but what could we do? We cleaned it up and went about our day.

I’m not sure if I was in first, or second grade, but I remember playing in the woods during recess, and after lunch. Later, schools changed the word “recess” to “break,” but we called it recess. I remember building houses in the woods. We used the living trees for the frames, and dead, and smaller trees, and branches for the walls. We used branches with leaves for the siding and for the roof. We would cover the roof with dead leaves, and we even made doors on the houses. We played in and around the creeks, and brier patches. We played with moles, tadpoles, and bullfrogs. We had so much fun. Children from all different grades and ages played together there. Of course, there were some older students who were “too mature” for that sort of thing.

I remember a boy named Mark. His dad drove our bus for a while. My sister had a crush on him. They were king and queen of some contest we had for a Fall Festival or some kind of program. I think we were in the second grade, and it was winter. Several of us were playing on some ice in an old frozen pond in the woods. The ice broke, and Mark went under. He might have drowned if not for an older student named Bill. He reached right down into the water with his long arms and pulled Mark out and saved his life. 

Bill was a good friend, too. We had a lot of fun times with him. I’ll tell you more about him in a future post about some of my experiences in the four different elementary schools I attended growing up. I'll put a link at the bottom of this page.* Follow my blog, and get updates when I post new articles. Anyway, after Mark almost drowned, we weren’t allowed to play in the woods anymore. It wasn’t “safe.”

In the third grade, I started hanging out with a boy named Jerry. He wore thick glasses. He said it was because he had been stung between his eyes by a hornet when he was younger. The same exact thing had happened to me two or three summers earlier, but he didn’t believe me, because I didn’t have to wear glasses. I couldn’t make him believe me, so I didn’t waste my time trying.

One day Jerry and I were in the field behind the school, heading back from recess. His little brother Gary was with us. I said something about the woods being grown up since we had not played there in a long time. They both thought I had said a curse word, even though I hadn’t. One of them went and told the teacher, and I got into trouble. I recently heard that Jerry had passed away. I pray that God will bless his family in their time of grief.

There was a red-headed girl named Patty. She reminded me of Peppermint Patty from the Peanuts Gang. There was a kid named Tim who went crazy in the auditorium when he saw Santa Claus get out of a car, and head toward us. I went to calm him down, and we became friends. His mom would bring us toys from time to time after that. I just saw her a couple of weeks ago, and talking to her brought back a lot of memories.

There was a girl named Tina. She sat a can of soda down for a few minutes while she was playing. There were yellow Jackets flying around where we were. When she took another drink, she swallowed one that had crawled inside the can. You can imagine what happened.

Another girl named Michelle was out of school for a while. When she came back she told us she had one of her tonsils taken out. They were both really bad, but she only had to have one removed because the other one just came out by itself. She said she just spit it out on the porch one morning.

I don’t remember everybody who went to school at Gift during the few years I did, but the ones I do remember, I have mostly good memories of them. The teachers, and the students I met there, all affected my life in some sort of way, and I’m glad to have known each one of them.

*Bill, In The Woods, With The Rope

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If you ever attended Gift school, I’d like to connect with you on Facebook, or by email. Maybe you can share a few of your own memories, and pictures if you have any. Thanks for reading. Looking forward to hearing from you.

Email: teddylynn@mail.com

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Twitter: TeddyLynn10

Note: Although it looks a bit like what I remember, the picture for this post is not of Gift School. Sorry, I don’t have one. If you do, please share it with me. Thanks.

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https://teddylynn.blogspot.com
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© 2016 Teddy Lynn – All Rights Reserved

My books are available in paperback and digital format on Amazon @ 
https://www.amazon.com/Teddy-Lynn/e/B01MZDB6L6