Article June 7, 1975 Issue

On His Own with God

Claire Hagenlocher Stubbe

Jim was sweeping the porch on the big, old house where he works after school. Colorful flowers in pots hanging from the porch ceiling had dropped their petals for him to clean up. He liked working there, and he was glad to be outside on a day like this. The sky was really blue and the ... ... ... ... big puffs of white clouds moving quickly across it reminded him of the white foam at the edge of the pounding surf. The birds were singing with all their might. Jim enjoyed the beauty and wonders of nature.

As he whistled his way around, the broom handle hit one of the columns that line the porch. He'd disturbed a hornet's nest. All of a sudden he was surrounded by the creatures, diving past him like airplanes on a bombing mission. And Jim was the target. It was all over quickly, but he was stung several times on the hand and chest. The welts were large and painful and getting worse by the minute.

Whenever Jim had been hurt or ill he had always been healed through prayer. God was the best and only medicine he knew. But usually someone else was around to help him pray. He telephoned home but nobody answered.

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