DANCE OF THANKFULNESS
by
Sue Cameron
Elizabeth tenderly traced the heart carved in the bark of the aged oak. “Sadie Girl, you sure are standing up to the years better’n me.”
Elizabeth was about six-years-old when she named the large oak, which grew near the river that marked the edge of her parents ranch. Old Sadie had watched the little red-haired girl grow from a fearless youngster, climbing her branches to tie ropes for tire swings, into a young woman who embraced a young man under her shade. He used a knife to record his love for the girl and Sadie still bore the scar and stood as a proud witness.
The woman stroked the rough bark thoughtfully. “Don’t ya think it’s fittin that my Charlie is buried amid your roots?” She settled herself down on the hot earth, leaning her curved spine against Sadie’s trunk. “Lands above,” she complained, “you’re getting more uncomfortable all the time. Guess I got to bring a pillow when I come to chat.”
Some folks thought it a strange thing that Lizzy (as her daddy called her) talked to trees. She also conversed with snakes and bugs, leaves and any manner of inanimate objects and they seemed to respond to her somehow.
At age eleven, when a drought threatened their ranch and the dry ground yielded no new growth for the cattle, Lizzy pleaded with the heavens to release their rain and water the parched earth. Sure enough, the rain came, slowly at first, tender drop by tender drop to wet her upturned face. In response she danced a dance of thankfulness. She swirled in circles as the waters poured down in delightful abandon to drench the young girl and her piece of the world.
Some grumbled at Lizzy and accused God since the Horton’s ranch seemed to be singled out for the blessing. Oh, a few drops splashed on the lands of their neighbors on either side, but it was Lizzy’s voice that brought a response that year.
After that, if ever there were a need or a situation, even if it didn’t affect her directly, Lizzy would be asked to pray.
“I don’t reckon I’m the praying sort,” she said since she never closed her eyes or knelt or said religious things. “I just say what I’m thinking and know Someone is listening.”
“I don’t care what ya call it, Lizzy,” the people said. “Just do it.” Then they added, “Please, if ya don’t mind.”
“Course I don’t mind.” Can’t mind being who I am, can I? she thought, looking at the adults with questioning eyes.
To her life was simple and to be enjoyed—even when it hurt. Her heart was surely hurting this afternoon as she leaned against Old Sadie. “It’s been eight years since Charlie died,” she spoke to her ancient friend. “I want to go too. Why do ya suppose the Good Lord keeps someone like me around? I don’t do much and I reckon the food I eat could go to strengthen someone who has something to give out.”
Lizzy looked high into Sadie’s branches and caught sight of a single leaf dangling from a twig. Like me, she thought, barely hanging on.
A wind presented itself out of the clear blue sky and swept over to the leaf tugging it from its twig. Lizzy watched in wonder as the small dry leaf floated on the breeze, riding up and down and twirling to a smooth landing as an offering at her feet. She accepted this gift with gratitude and held it in her palm like a treasure.
“Still has a beauty, even in its old age,” she explained to the One who hears all thoughts and desires and needs. A response, clear as a bell, came to her heart, “Just like you, Lizzy.”
She smiled at the notion that she was beautiful to the Almighty One. In her smile was the acceptance that even though she was eighty-six, her work on earth was not yet over.
(Part 2 tomorrow)
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