NEVER HOPELESS

I pray you will indulge me for a brief moment of your life and allow me to tell you a short tale of the day my mother packed my bags and sent me off into the big world. I was 8. There was no where to go. So off I went.

It was seemingly long time ago but even so, if my mother knew I was telling you this story she would begin making plans for her garden beyond the pearly gates because she would die for sure! I hope the garden’s nice……’cause here goes!!

I was all of 8 years old and a typical boy. I mean, I got into everything and was as lazy as the day is long! You already know that I grew up on a farm with a couple of older sisters and we had all sorts of chores to do day in and day out. Feeding the cows all year long, tending the garden in the summer and mowing acres of grass practically non-stop.

Well, I had shirked my duties for the last time. I really don’t remember what I had done but it was probably a combination of not picking up enough horse chestnuts, not cleaning my room, laying in between rows in the garden rather than weeding, tormenting my sisters and lying about some insignificant thing like the color of the sky. It could have been compounded by shooting my mothers baking sheets left outside to cool with my bb gun, pumping the heads of cabbage growing in earnest in the garden full of bb’s or mowing off her carefully planted flowers which I had absolutely no interest in. Who knows what it was…….But the last straw was tossed upon my poor mothers back and she suddenly broke.

“PACK YOUR BAGS!” she yelled. She grabbed my one arm and I was half dragged through the house, up the stairs and into my room. Suddenly, she made a suitcase appear out of thin air like she was David Copperfields assistant or something although they never had that tortured scowl on their faces when they stepped out of some box after being sawn apart, repositioned and then magically returned to normal. No, no. Her face told a much different story. I was in serious trouble this time.

Clothes flew through the air in the direction of the suitcase. Some landed in, some out, some in and out. Socks. Shorts. Jeans. Underwear (a good mother throwing her 8 year old son out must make sure he has clean underwear! what if he’s in an accident! She wouldn’t want people to think she’s a bad mother or something!). Toothbrush, travel size toothpaste, washcloth and a light jacket. All the necessities. All bases covered, out the door I go.

“Git!”

“But where will I go?” I asked. I was starting to come unglued. I was sensing that she was serious this time and I might just have to really leave. BUT WE LIVE OUT IN THE STICKS! There’s nothing around, NOTHING.

“That’s not my problem. Now go!” Shuffling and choking back tears and panic I began walking out the long lane towards…..well, …I just didn’t know where. I started walking. Suddenly all those dreams of exploring the vast ‘beyond-the-next-hill’ didn’t seem so exciting. It was down right scary and I had to now go do just that. It’s exciting as long as you can go home, but suddenly I no longer had a home.

I walked for a while thinking that sooner or later mom would come up the road in the car, pick me up, ask me if I had learned my lesson, hug me and take me home to a good helping of sliced strawberries over shortbread with fresh whole milk. MMMMMm.

But I didn’t hear any cars coming. None.

I walked and walked and finally I made a hasty plan to go to our closest neighbors house and ask them If I could stay there. Sooner or later they would have to run into my mom and dad and a deal would be worked out so either they would keep me or my parents would take me back. I hoped it was the latter because Lester and Janet, our neighbors, really worked hard! And I wasn’t hoping for any of that! But I needed a roof over my head and so I made it to their lane and began walking down it to their house.

Still carrying my old suitcase I made my way down that dusty road until I came into sight of their house. I trudged slowly up the broken concrete sidewalk with uneven pieces sticking this way and that in a perfect way that lets you know you are on a long worked farm. Up onto the wooden porch I went and set my suitcase down by the back door and tried to calm my racing heart, shaking hands and wobbly knees. I took a deep breath, raised my hand and knocked ever so lightly on the back door. I didn’t want to knock too loudly for fear of getting this new relationship off on a bad foot. I waited….

Nothing.

I knocked again, a little firmer but still got no response. I knocked and knocked for about five minutes and finally determined there to be no one at home. I sat down on my suitcase of clean underwear, contemplated a fresh pair, and tried to figure out what to do next. I literally had no where else to go.

I must have sat there for an hour. Down the valley I could hear the sounds of our big lawn mower echoing along the meadows and I wondered if I dared sneaking back onto the farm. No, that wouldn’t work. There was no good approach and she would see me for sure. This is no time for deception. I had to attack this problem straight on. I will just walk back on to the farm, cry a lot and hope she takes me back.

So that’s what I did. After being away with my suitcase of hopes and dreams, I walked back home, slowly for sure, back down the lane wondering if she would tell me to “GIT!” again, this time for good.

She saw me comin’. yep, and she was coming for me on that big lawn mower. I kept my pace slow and steady, not making direct eye contact for fear of being turned to stone, and as the mower got louder and louder I thought this was my last moments before I would be chopped to pieces as she ran me down. I wasn’t that upset about it because I had no where to go anyway. Louder and louder, closer and closer it came. I held my pace and my eyes cast down.

Suddenly, when the mower was almost upon me, my nerves gave out and I jumped slightly away from it and lifted my terrified eyes toward hers. Our eyes met for just a second and I felt my bones go cold. I think they actually began to turn from a marrow center to granite but then her stare broke as she passed by on the mower. Nothing was said, no “Git!” no nothing. So I figured that was good enough to risk re-entering the house and trying to reclaim my room. I ran for the house, bounded back up the stairs, into my room and landed face first on my bed where the tears finally flowed and I sobbed the tension away.

I tucked the still full suitcase into my closet just in case and waited for my dad to get home so he could be mad at me too for being so lazy. To my surprise, after he got home I was called for supper and nothing was ever said about it. It was as if it never happened. That night, it was the best meal I ever remember having.

My mom takes a beating over that story even to this day. It’s a huge source of laughs for all of us and I don’t miss an opportunity to grind her up over the day she packed her 8 year old son’s bags and sent him packin’.

I love my mom. I don’t know what I did to drive her to that point, but I know I had it coming. I’m so glad our neighbors weren’t’ home that day but I wonder if my mom had called them before I got there and asked them not to answer the door. I imagine she did for they were always home. Perhaps it was just the Lord working through it all, protecting my mom and me at the same time.

One thing I know: Despite how traumatic that day was, I still managed to shoot a few more cabbage heads, sleep between the rows of weeds in the garden, toss clods of mud at my sisters and steal cans of cherry pie filling from the cupboard and eat them in the barn away from prying eyes.

My poor mom. She did the best she could. Happy Mothers Day