When I was a child we lived in the same big homey house with my grandparents, Boonie and Papa,  and my maiden aunt, Lizzie. This used to be common practice and looking back I see so many good things  in the arrangement. There was a blending of ages and a sharing of outlook that was nurturing and loving and bonding that is seldom seen in today's fractured and scattered families. Finances, job location, health and other issues dictate where families will live.  Many times families live hundreds of miles apart  rendering that close bonding impossible. I realize, of course, there were drawbacks,  but to a child it was WONDERFUL. There was always a grown-up to talk to, to tell me  stories of THEIR childhood..(Boonie was a  born storyteller and I still cherish the exciting stories she told me about "when she was a little girl") . There were  little gifts to delight me, the tastiest bits of scrumptious foods to sample.  If I got into mischief and fell out of my mother's favor I had these other protectors to wrap me  in their arms and intercede for me. I can honestly say I grew up totally wrapped, surrounded and protected by love. 

Not too far from our house was a deep ravine or gully, very dangerous, with steep slippery clay banks and huge rocks that had fallen into the bottom  Puddles and trickles of dirty germ-filled water seeped into the floor. Everyone called it THE BIG DITCH ..capital letters.  Every parent laid down strict rules about keeping away from the Big Ditch. No playing there.  Needless to say, that No-No command only whetted the challenge to each and every child.  The boys made it their own ..they knew several ways to climb down and up again on the other side. They conquered  the "dangerous territory." The girls, however, were more obedient and  kept our distance no matter how temping the stories our brothers and friends told. Except for this once...     My pretty mother was going to town for some shopping and she was letting me go with her. I was so excited. A trip to town in those days was a real treat. You DRESSED to go to town. No sloppy jeans or sweatshirts on those trips. I can still remember how my mother would dress carefully; hat, gloves, high heeled shoes and bag. Usually a touch of lace somewhere. I loved to look at her in her finery. Well, little girls had to dress up also. On this day I wore  my white socks and white Mary Janes, and my newest beautiful pink dress. I had a big pink bow in my hair. Oh, I was a beautiful sight indeed. Mama gave me her approval, assured me I was  pretty and then sent me  to play quietly till she was finished dressing. Her last words.."Don't get your pretty pink dress dirty."     Hhhmmmm. You know what happened, don't you?  For some wild reasons I took a stroll into No Man's Land. I wandered to the Big Ditch. Closer and closer I edged toward the very brink.  By now I had forgotten all the instructions  I knew so well ...no, not forgotten, just put my conscience into the closet of my mind and shut the door.  By now I could see all the way to the bottom --- it was a LONG way down.  Some imp from Satan whispered in my ear.."You can get down that little path and see where Lucian (my brother) digs the clay he carves into little animals."  I started gingerly down the slippery bank holding to honeysuckle vines and out-jutting roots and stones. Warnings were going off in my mind but it was too late. It wasn't long before I realized I was in BAD TROUBLE.. I couldn't find a foothold. my hands were slipping and I was afraid to look down. By now I was scared stiff. I started to cry. I tried calling for help. BUT nobody knew where I was. The was nobody around to hear me. I was all alone.  I fell.  Hard. I hit that dirty, wet, floor of the ditch and my first thought was "I'm going to die." I have never felt so alone, forsaken, lost hurt, scared...and afraid. How will I get out of here? Then, what will happen when..if..I get home? I have broken an important rule and look what happened. I looked down at my pretty pink dress and started crying all the more. I was a muddy mess.  My pink dress wasn't pretty any more nor my shoes and socks white anymore. My hair bow was lying in the dirty water. I hurt. My knee and legs were scratched and bruised. my hands were scraped and raw. My long curls were bedraggled and stringy and wet with smelly dirty water.  Now I am  still in trouble. How will I get out???  Do you know, I sill don't actually know how I got out. I vaguely remember scrambling back up the bank but it's a blur. Dare I suggest that perhaps my guardian angel was there, guiding my feet and hands to safety? Then why didn't my angel prevent me from falling? Maybe because I had a lesson to learn. Disobedience is a dangerous thing. When  I was finally out of the ditch I was shaking all over from shock and I was hurting from the fall. I ran all the way home but as I drew near  I began to slow down and a new fear took over. What would my mama say and do? I had deliberately disobeyed my parents and had got into trouble and I deserved being punished. Guilt makes us afraid and ashamed to face those we have offended. I dreaded facing my sweet mother. I knew she would be scared and probably, rightfully, mad at me. What to do?????  Then I knew. I ran to Boonie. She was sitting by her kitchen window watching the birds she fed and enjoyed. She heard me come in the door, turned and saw the condition I was in. She jumped up, ran to me, hugged me..mud and all...asked if I was hurt and just cooed and murmured over me.  I was crying again. "Boonie, look at my dress. I've ruined my pretty dress. Mama will be mad." Boonie, shushed me and said," Don't cry.  Maybe we can fix it ." she washed my face and hands and feet and legs, toweled my hair, brushed it best she could, wiped the mud off my shoes, and sponged and wiped the worse of the stains from my dress. It helped but I was still a mess  Then...Mama called from upstairs. "Are you with Boonie? Come on. It's time to go. Tell Boonie you will bring her some milk chocolate chunks(her favorite)". When I didnt answer  she started down the stairs.  When she saw me she suddenly stopped, her hand flew to her throat and her eyes were filled with fear.for me.". I was trembling with fear myself..I knew I was in big trouble.and also because I was so glad to see her.  (We're like that when we sin against the Lord. We try to hide from fear of deserved punishment yet all the time long to rush into His arms for refuge and comfort)  I "schooched" back into the safety of Boonie's plump protecting arms and in her soft , soothing voice, said,"She's alright, just a little shook up. " And she put my mother's fears for me to rest . She even said ,"She's worried about her dress..I cleaned it up a little but I think it will wash out just fine." By now, I am wrapped in my mother's arms, she is murmuring little love sounds over me, checking for herself to see if I really am ok. . We three are all crying now. Love does that. Women do that whether they are six as I was, or  ninety-six. Tears express what there are no words for. Was I punished?? Strangely, I don't remember.I HOPE so. Or maybe my folks felt my ordeal was punishment enough and a hard lesson  well learned . The refuge and love and care and comfort that I found so outweighed anything else , that  that is what I remember most. even more than the frightening  fall that could have been so much worse. This is so like what happens to us when we deliberately go 'into our own way", disobeying the Lord's commands and instructions., given for our own protection and good. We fall into our "ditches", muddy our garments, bruise our hands and knees, and then  have to deal with guilt and shame and fear of punishment at the hands of a holy and righteous God. And what do we do?? We run to our Refuge..we run to JESUS  . He wraps His arms about us and folds us protectively to His heart and says , "Father, I know this one has been willfull but I have washed her/ his gaments clean in My own blood on the Cross, I have bound up the wounds of sin. All is forgiven and restored in my Name." And the Holy Father God says, "Yes, all is forgiven because of the price You paid, My Son."                WHAT A PRECOUS  REFUGE  IS FOUND IN JESUS!

Romans 8:28
 

  My Refuge
                (by Ruth Martin)

    Many times I, as a child,
      would hurt myself while playing,
    And fast as little feet could go,
      I'd run home sobbing, saying,
    "I fell down and hurt myself,
      I bumped my head and knee.
    I cut my hand and bruised my feet.
        I'm bleeding. Do you see?"

    Then loving arms would hold me tight.
        Kind hands would dry my tears.
    Soft murmurs. oh so gentle,
        Would drive away my fears.
    "I Know it hurts--it hurts me, too,
        To see you in such pain."
      Then healing kiss and tender touch
        Would make me well again.

    Now I no longer am a child.
          I suffer deeper woes.
    Still just as fast as heart can fly
          I go to One Who knows.
    "I hurt my head and skinned my knee-
          (Someone broke my heart.")
    "My hands and feet are bruised so bad--
          (My world just fell apart.")

    Then loving Arms enfold me close,
          One whispers in my ear,
    "I know it hurts--it hurts Me, too,
          To see those bitter tears.
      I'll heal your wounded, broken heart,
          I'll stay here close to you.
      I know dear Child just how you feel.
          You see, I've been hurt, too."

      "With crown of thorns my brow was torn,
            A spear my side thrust through,
      My hands and feet nailed to a cross.
            I bore it all for you.
      But now I'm always with you
            Through ev'ry joy and pain.
      So bring me all your burdens.
            You'll never come in vain."

    So when  I am fearful or lonely or sad,
        When heartaches and sorrows befall,
    I run fast to Jesus, rush into His arms
        His love gently wraps 'round it all.
    There's no pain or suff'ring that He does
              not know,
        He tread that dark valley alone
    Now He is my Master, my Savior and Lord,
          His comfort and strength are my own.



Copyright Ruth R. Martin 2003 Rights Reserved