Read Online CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New by Janette Oke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janette Oke
Ads: Link
raiding rabbits or rodents. The vegetables were free to grow in the hot, summer sun, unhampered by marauders.
When the summer became unusually hot and dry, even the pesky mosquitoes thinned out some. It was just too dry for them to do much hatching.
About three times a week I went to the garden with my water pail and spent most of the morning watering my plants. It was hard but rewarding work. Between the water that I poured on them, the warmth of the sun, and my words of encouragement, they prospered.
I longed to share my garden as soon as some of the plants were big enough to use. I took a few vegetables to Louis LaMeche, the trader, first. He accepted them with a scowl, not even a thank-you.
I then decided to share some of my carrots with the Indian women. I was sure that once they tasted them they would want more. It was hard to find a woman I could approach close enough even to offer my produce. When they saw me coming they either walked the other way or else went into their cabins.
At last I found a young woman who was unable to avoid me. I handed her the small cluster of freshly pulled carrots, explaining that they added much flavor to the stew. She took them and walked away. I watched in anticipation, but as soon as she thought I would no longer be looking, she threw them in the bush by the path and wiped her hand on her skirt. With a pang, I realized I still had a long way to go to make friends here.
We desperately needed rain. Wynn was beginning to get concerned. The forest was getting too dry. Animals were being driven out into the open areas looking for food. The forest floor was brittle under foot. Our small stream was only about half its usual size.
I didn’t know enough about this part of the country to have intelligent concern, but I could see the worried lines crease Wynn’s brow as he looked to the west in the hope of spotting rain clouds, and I knew that the lack of rain was a real issue.
I could see the Indian people looking to the skies as well. I even heard them talking in low, frightened voices as I went by. Then I began to notice renewed glances my way and nodding of heads, and I knew that the lack of rain and the pale-faced woman were somehow connected in their thinking. Then I did get worried.
One day as I walked the path to the garden I heard the words, “Bad omen,” and saw the thrust of the chin my way as I went by. I knew that they were speaking of me.
I wanted to eavesdrop further, but I forced myself to keep on walking. All the time I was in the garden, I prayed. I hardly knew what to say in my prayers. The facts were all so scattered as far as I was concerned, but I prayed on, trusting that my God knew far more about the circumstances than I did.
“Lord,” I said, “I really don’t understand what is going on here. The people of the village are so steeped in their pagan belief. I don’t know how to help them, God, but I don’t want to be guilty of driving them even further from You.
“It’s all tied up in this garden spot and the fact that we planted here. Now I’m afraid they think the rain is not falling as a punishment to me, and that all of them, and the animals of the forest, will have to suffer because of it.
“I don’t want that, Lord. I don’t know what to do about it. We do need rain. Wynn is worried about it. Lord, I don’t even know what to ask You for, but if you could turn my mistake into something good, I would be so thankful.
“Certainly, the reasonable thing to me would seem to be for You to send rain. That would water the ground, replenish the food supply for the animals and fill our stream again. It should help our problem with the villagers, too. Then they might understand that I really had nothing to do with the drought.
“But I leave it in Your hands, God. Help me to be patient and to do things Your way. I can’t untangle this myself. Thank You, Lord, for hearing me. Amen.”
I guess I expected to see a “cloud the size of a man’s
When the summer became unusually hot and dry, even the pesky mosquitoes thinned out some. It was just too dry for them to do much hatching.
About three times a week I went to the garden with my water pail and spent most of the morning watering my plants. It was hard but rewarding work. Between the water that I poured on them, the warmth of the sun, and my words of encouragement, they prospered.
I longed to share my garden as soon as some of the plants were big enough to use. I took a few vegetables to Louis LaMeche, the trader, first. He accepted them with a scowl, not even a thank-you.
I then decided to share some of my carrots with the Indian women. I was sure that once they tasted them they would want more. It was hard to find a woman I could approach close enough even to offer my produce. When they saw me coming they either walked the other way or else went into their cabins.
At last I found a young woman who was unable to avoid me. I handed her the small cluster of freshly pulled carrots, explaining that they added much flavor to the stew. She took them and walked away. I watched in anticipation, but as soon as she thought I would no longer be looking, she threw them in the bush by the path and wiped her hand on her skirt. With a pang, I realized I still had a long way to go to make friends here.
We desperately needed rain. Wynn was beginning to get concerned. The forest was getting too dry. Animals were being driven out into the open areas looking for food. The forest floor was brittle under foot. Our small stream was only about half its usual size.
I didn’t know enough about this part of the country to have intelligent concern, but I could see the worried lines crease Wynn’s brow as he looked to the west in the hope of spotting rain clouds, and I knew that the lack of rain was a real issue.
I could see the Indian people looking to the skies as well. I even heard them talking in low, frightened voices as I went by. Then I began to notice renewed glances my way and nodding of heads, and I knew that the lack of rain and the pale-faced woman were somehow connected in their thinking. Then I did get worried.
One day as I walked the path to the garden I heard the words, “Bad omen,” and saw the thrust of the chin my way as I went by. I knew that they were speaking of me.
I wanted to eavesdrop further, but I forced myself to keep on walking. All the time I was in the garden, I prayed. I hardly knew what to say in my prayers. The facts were all so scattered as far as I was concerned, but I prayed on, trusting that my God knew far more about the circumstances than I did.
“Lord,” I said, “I really don’t understand what is going on here. The people of the village are so steeped in their pagan belief. I don’t know how to help them, God, but I don’t want to be guilty of driving them even further from You.
“It’s all tied up in this garden spot and the fact that we planted here. Now I’m afraid they think the rain is not falling as a punishment to me, and that all of them, and the animals of the forest, will have to suffer because of it.
“I don’t want that, Lord. I don’t know what to do about it. We do need rain. Wynn is worried about it. Lord, I don’t even know what to ask You for, but if you could turn my mistake into something good, I would be so thankful.
“Certainly, the reasonable thing to me would seem to be for You to send rain. That would water the ground, replenish the food supply for the animals and fill our stream again. It should help our problem with the villagers, too. Then they might understand that I really had nothing to do with the drought.
“But I leave it in Your hands, God. Help me to be patient and to do things Your way. I can’t untangle this myself. Thank You, Lord, for hearing me. Amen.”
I guess I expected to see a “cloud the size of a man’s
Similar Books
