Follow the Leader

Today I was reminded of my childhood.

I remembered when I was in first and second grade under the instruction of Mrs. Antrom.  She would come out on the playground at recess and played "Follow the Leader" with us.  Of course, she was the leader.  She walked all over the Terraville playground, jumped over swings and slid  down the slide and each student followed her.  There were times that she would get so far ahead of the last student that she would have to stop and wait for them to catch up.  Then there were times that she would weave her way through the line of students.  Everything went well unless one of the students made a wrong move and then part of the line would have a new "leader."

Today Chip and I went out to rake and bale hay.  He baled right behind me as I raked.  Wow!  I was the leader and he did an excellent job of following me.  There was one time that the baler was acting up and since it was in my way, I had to wait for him to work things out.  Then I got a few rows a head of him and he started to do his own thing.  It worked out as we both finished in the same spot.

As a teacher, I think of students and how they play "Follow the Leader" in class.  Some will choose to make good choices and follow others who make right choices.  Then there are those who choose to make wrong choices and they follow a whole different leader.  I think we call it  peer pressure. 

I still see it happening in adults.  At a parade we tend to look around us and see if anyone is going to stand and salute the flag as it goes by.  It can be a lonely feeling when no one else does what is right.  (Thanks to my cousin in Hawaii who did just that.)
  
I am thankful for Christian parents who taught me to follow the Leader---Jesus Christ.  There are those who have chosen to despise the Bible  and its teachings. They have chosen to follow a different leader.

Joshua 24:15  (KJV)

  And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

 

The Best Friend

In 1972 I asked Swan to write a poem for me to enclose in a graduation card.

Tonight I would like to dedicate "The Best Friend" to the author of that poem---- Swan Loften.

The Best Friend

The world is full of friends so good and true,
They try to help each other in everything they do.
Kindness costs so little, love is given free.
You're a very special friend whose smile means much to me.
I met a friend in years gone by, His love I can't explain.
I know that you have met Him too; Christ Jesus is his name
He is a man of sorrows; He always seems to care,
His name is sweet as music, his love none can compare.
And that's the very reason you mean so much to me
Because when we're together, the love of God I see.
                                                           (Swan Loften)

I have many fond memories of Swan, but will only share a few.  I remember as a teen going hunting with Swan and Dad in Swan's Volkswagen Bug.  I sat in the back seat with Swan and Dad in the front seats.  They did get a deer and Swan did bring it home on the back of that little car.

Then there was the time that Dad had heart surgery.  Swan came out to the house many times and he and I cut and chopped wood for winter fuel. We had lots of conversations   He helped haul alfalfa from Spearfish to the "farm" so that the goats would have plenty to eat. He was always helpful.

Lastly, I remember Swan as a very friendly person that always talked about his Best Friend, the one that "sticks closer than a brother".  (Proverbs 18:24  A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.)  When Swan accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Savior so many years ago, there was much rejoicing in Heaven.  Today as we grieve at the physical death of a dear friend , there once again is much rejoicing in Heaven as Swan entered his Heavenly home.

 

THE VALUE OF A FRIEND

Who needs friends anyway?” we shout as our best friend stomps away angrily.  As if that isn’t bad enough, we decide to add, “You’re a big baby.”

We all need friends.  We need to know what a friend is and who can be a friend.  We need to be a friend.

Who needs friends?  We do!  A story is told of a new baby who had to stay in the hospital for three months.  This baby didn’t know or feel the love of her parents.  She was twenty-three years old before she believed that they loved her.  Even a baby of three months needs friends and love.

A child leaves home for his first day of school afraid of the unknown, wondering who will be in his class.  That first day determines whether there will be enough friends to go around.  It is a shame that we cannot learn to be a friend to everyone.

What is a friend?  A friend is someone who likes what you are.  He or she knows your good side and your bad side.  This friend loves you regardless of your moods.

A friend is someone who gives a soft and gentle answer.  He or she are patient when we are acting ugly and grumpy.  Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Why do we answer an angry friend with anger?  Is it because we are defending ourselves?  Do we protect ourselves against angry words by returning such words?  If we could remember the Golden Rule and “Do unto others as we would have them do unto us,” we would have many more friends.

Who can be a friend?  Everyone can.  We tend to become what our classmates or peers think we are.  If we are constantly told that we are dumb, ugly or unkind, that is what we will think we are.

There was a student who was kind and gentle.  He worked very hard in school and got good grades.  But he had two problems.  He didn’t have a lot of money and he was adopted.  The other students called him names and laughed at him.  This child took on a defensive attitude, became angry and then would not play with anyone.  Stop!  Think!  Would you want to be this child?  Would you want to be treated as he was?

Who can be a friend?  You can!  Be a friend to everyone---to the rich, to the poor, to the “A” student and to the child who is struggling for a “D”.  Be kind to each and every one.  You will be a better person because of it and you will help others to become better people.

A good example of friendship was David and Jonathan.  Jonathan was the prince, the next king of Israel.  David was God’s choice to be the next king.  Jonathan knew that David was going to have his job, but he loved David so much he did all that he could to help David.  Jonathan showed us the value as well as the price of true friendship.

We all can be friends by treating others as we would like to be treated, by being kind and not getting angry and defensive.  Give yourself a beautiful gift…..give yourself a friend!

(Written by Drusilla Peterson Dye August 1991)

 

 

 

The Lost Pony

 

“Sue, wake up!” called Rick, “We need to get our chores done early today.  Dad says there is a bad hailstorm forecast for late this morning.”

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” I groaned.  “I’ll take care of Star first and then help you with the cattle and chickens.”

I quickly jumped out of bed, got dressed and ran to the barn.  I picked up a can of feed by the door and dashed to Star’s stall.  He was not there!  I looked again as I called for my horse.  How could a colt vanish into thin air?

Rick must have taken him out for a run, I thought.  I flew to the door yelling for Rick.

“Rick, Rick, R I C K, where is Star?  He isn’t in his stall.”

I could see instant concern written all over Rick’s face. The disappearance of our year-old colt sent chills through both of us.  We had spent our entire savings to buy Star.  He was to become our rodeo pony who would eventually put Rick and me through college.

We looked up at the bright blue sky above our South Dakota farm.  We had learned at an early age that a blue sky could change quickly into a black thunderstorm with damaging hail.  We also knew that Star was too young to protect himself.

Dad had driven Mom in to see Aunt Mary that morning and would not be back until afternoon.  We could not wait for them.  We must act now!

I yelled for Duke, our big German shepherd and faithful farm dog.  Duke sensed the fear in my voice and raced to me instantly.  I told him our concern and sent him on the trail of our lost pony.

Up into the beautiful forest of the Black Hills we ran.  Rick and I had climbed this hill many times, but now was different.

“Rick”,  I panted, “Where do you think he could be?”

“Cheer up, Sis! We’ll be all right.  We’ll find him and be home in time for my own special out-of-the-can chili.”

“But Rick”,  I cried, “What if Star found his way into that old cave up on Bald Mountain?  He’ll never find his way out of that.”

“Sis!” Rick stopped running and took both my hands in his. “We can’t let our worries get in the way of our search.  Stop crying! Duke will find Star.  Then we’ll decide if we need to worry.”

Brothers! I thought.  How can he be so calm at a time like this?  But I knew that I loved and admired him for that calmness.

Just then I heard a bark.  Duke sounded pretty excited. He must have found Star.  I hoped so, as the blue sky was beginning to turn grey.  It wouldn’t be long before the rain would fall and then the hail.

We dashed up the small incline and spotted Duke nipping at Star’s heels.

Star was fine.  He had simply wandered off.  Now there was another problem to worry about.  It was beginning to rain and the sky was very dark.  We had to find shelter.

The cave!  We had to make it there.  Rick slipped the halter on Star and we dashed to the mouth of that big, cold cave that I feared so much.

We stepped into the cave as the first hailstone fell.  We quietly stood and watched as the hailstones became larger.  Then, as only a brother and sister can do, we talked quietly about the dreams and fears we had in life.

Twenty minutes later the storm was over, the sun was shining brightly and we were on our way home.

At twelve O’clock sharp we sat down to eat Rick’s own special out-of-the-can chili, rejoicing that our dreams could still come true and also knowing that Star was eating his own lunch in his stall.

(This story was written for my first assignment at The Institute of Children's Literature in 1990.)

The Kindest Dog

Cheino (Chee’no) stood in the yard looking and listening to the farm activity.
From the window Caron watched her one-year-old, white German Shepherd. She wondered if dogs could think or if they had feelings.

“Mom,” questioned ten-year-old Caron, “have you noticed how Cheino runs away from Dad? He seems afraid of men. Have you noticed the scars on his feet and his face? I wonder what happened to him before I bought him?”

“Yes, Caron,” replied her mother. “I have noticed. Do you remember last week when we went to pick up Cheino?”

“Oh, I remember it well,” answered Caron. “Cheino lived with a real nice lady on a big farm.”

“That’s right,” said her mother sadly. “The lady was very nice and she wanted to keep Cheino to play with her son, but she said that her husband didn’t like the dog. She said that it was best for Cheino to go where he would be loved. I’m afraid that Cheino was mistreated when he was a puppy and that it will take a long time for him to trust any man again. But if any man can gain Cheino’s trust and love, it will be your father.”

“I hope so. I don’t like to see my dog so afraid,” said Caron sympathetically. “Is it all right if I take David and Trena outside to play?”

“Sure, but keep them away from the chickens. I don’t want your little brother and sister hurt.”

As time went by and the children were playing, Caron forgot her mother’s warning. All of a sudden she heard the chickens squawking. She looked up, surprised to see four-year-old David chasing a chicken. She was amazed and proud to see that Cheino was carefully circling her brother and leading him back to safer territory.

“All right!” shouted Caron with a grin. “I bought myself a super dog.”

At that moment, Caron’s dad, Mr. Sprague, came home. Caron yelled, “Dad, hurry! Come see Cheino take care of David.”

But Cheino, having already protected David, chased the chickens farther way, which also put him farther away from the man.

“Dad,” said Caron, “call him. See if he will come to you.”

　

“I’ll try, but remember, Dear, we have had Cheino only a week. We will have to give him a lot more time before he will trust me.”

“Here Cheino, come here, boy, “ coaxed Mr. Sprague kindly.

Cheino stood there and looked at the man who wanted him to be his friend.

“Well, Caron, at least he didn’t run away, “ said her dad thoughtfully. “I wish that I could erase his past, but I can’t; so I’ll try to help him forget. It’s time for supper. Let’s go in and eat.”

As they sat around the table, Mrs. Sprague said, “I think tonight is the night for Antelope to have her babies. I think the poor goat is going to have a tough time. I want to be around when she delivers.”

“That is a good idea, Honey,” remarked her husband. “Your goats have been having twins and triplets. If Antelope has triplets, they may not survive. We’ll check on her before we go to bed.”

That night, just before bedtime, Mr. and Mrs. Sprague walked out to the barn to check on Antelope. All was well and the nanny was contentedly chewing on her hay.

“She looks fine, Dear,” said Mr. Sprague. “Let’s go to bed.”

But Mrs. Sprague was awakened at two a.m. by a scratching at the door.

“Honey, wake up. There is someone here.”

Together they went to the door. There stood Cheino looking toward the barn where they heard the bleating of the goat.

“Oh, no!” cried Mrs. Sprague. “It must be Antelope.”

They ran toward the barn. There lay Antelope in pain. Beside her lay one baby, but there would be more. An hour later Antelope had three kids. One was a runt.

“Guess we will have to bottle-feed that one,” chuckled Mr. Sprague. “The children will have a great time taking care of him. But now let’s go back to bed. Morning will be here soon.”

The next morning, Mrs. Sprague went out to see her goats. The runt wasn’t doing very well, so she put him in a box and brought him into the house.

“Mommy,” said five-year-old Trena, “May I feed Kiddo? He looks hungry.”

“Kiddo! Where did you come up with that name?” asked her mom, laughingly.

“You told me that a baby goat is called a kid. This one is so small, I thought he must be a kiddo.”

I guess our goat has a name,” said Mrs. Sprague. “Yes, you may feed Kiddo, Trena. Caron, will you let Cheino in the house? He is scratching on the door.”

Caron opened the door. “Come in Cheino, but why would you want in on this beautiful day?”

For an answer, Cheino walked over to the crying goat and began licking and nudging him with his nose.

“Look, Mom, “ said Caron. “My boy dog is acting like a mother.”

Cheino continued to mother Kiddo while Trena bottle-fed the goat. Between the two of them the baby was soon sleeping.

“Oh, Mom!“ cried Caron. “Isn’t Cheino the kindest dog you have ever seen?”

“Yes, Dear,” replied her mother thoughtfully. “I think we can learn from Cheino. He came to the house last night to get us, even though he is afraid of your dad. Today he has spent his time trying to make Kiddo happy. Cheino is a very kind and unselfish dog.”

“Daddy is home!” shouted David. “Let’s tell Daddy.”

As soon as Mr. Sprague entered the house, Cheino whined to be let out the back door. As Caron let him out, she wondered if he would ever trust her father.

Everyday Mr. Sprague tried to play with Cheino. At first Cheino stayed far away, but gradually he gained the trust he needed.

One bright day in May, Mr. Sprague got his hammer and nails and went to fix the door on the barn. He was working when the nail slipped and the hammer hit his thumb.

“Ouch! He yelled. “Oh that hurts, ouch!”

Mrs. Sprague and the children ran out to help. They stopped, pleased to see that once again Cheino was doing the mothering.

“Mom! Cried Caron. “Cheino is licking Dad’s hand.”

“Yes, I see,” said Mrs. Sprague smiling. “Cheino now loves and trusts your father.

(This story was written in 1991.  Cheino was a real dog that did love and care for the other animals.  He was very much afraid of my dad when we first got him, but eventually Cheino became my dad's loyal dog.)

What Does Christmas Mean to You?

This is a story that I wrote while in junior high.  

“What Does Christmas Mean To You?”

Marcy’s family belonged to a small country church, so instead of having a Christmas play each child was asked to answer a question about Christmas.

When the Sunday School teacher gave Marcy her question, she said “Marcy, you will find many answers to this question, but I want you to find the true meaning of Christmas.  I know you can do it, so don’t get discouraged.”

Marcy thought that of course Christmas means that it is time for Santa Claus to come. Or does it? Maybe it means something more.

Marcy thought about her question and decided to ask people what Christmas meant to them.  She would start tomorrow in school and write it all down so she wouldn’t forget a word.

The next day she asked Kristine, her best friend, what Christmas meant to her.  Kristine replied with a laugh, “It’s a time when Daddy spends so much money on us he starts complaining, but he always gives us what we want.”

During recess Marcy asked her teacher, Mrs. Gray; “What does Christmas mean to you?”

Mrs. Gray answered, “A time of hurrying.  I rush from place to place trying to find toys and gifts for the children.  If I can’t find it in one store, I rush to another.  What a relief when Christmas is over!”

Next Marcy asked Joey.  Joey’s family didn’t have much money even though his dad worked long, hard hours.

Joey smiled as he said, “Christmas is the one day Dad doesn’t work.  He stays home with Mom and us 10 kids.  It is so much fun to have him home that day as we hardly ever see him.”

That night Marcy went home discouraged. She thought. People don’t have the right meaning for Christmas. They aren’t really happy.  They even dread the thought of Christmas coming.  But then they all seem to think of themselves.  There must be some reason for having Christmas, otherwise why wouldn’t people just quit having it if they hate it so much.  Mr. Green, the policeman, should have a good meaning.  I’ll ask him tomorrow.

The next day Marcy found out Mr. Green didn’t have such a good answer after all.

“Christmas is when I decorate my house inside and outside.” He said, “ You like beautiful lights, don’t you, Marcy?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It makes everything so pretty.

“Well,” Mr. Green continued, “So do a lot of other people.  So I work hard to make my house pretty. That way I feel like I am helping to make some person happy or helping to make one person forget his or her troubles for a while.  It brightens their day.”

As Marcy walked on she thought:  He was at least thinking of someone else.  But do pretty lights really give happiness?  There must be something or someone to give happiness.

Then Marcy saw Mr. Miller coming toward her.  He was a manager of a department store. 

“Mr. Miller” she asked “What does Christmas mean to you?”

“Money” he said as he wrung his hands together. “Money! People are so careless with money at Christmas.  They buy a lot of things that that they don't want or need.  But I get rich at Christmas time so don’t tell this to anyone.”

Next Marcy met Mr. Molin, an insurance agent.  She decided to try once more.

“Mr. Molin” she sighed, “What does Christmas mean to you?”

 “Christmas” he frowned “is a time of worry.  People travel a lot during the holidays and we worry about accidents that will cost the company a lot of money.  An accident means quite a loss.”

Money, Money she thought, Money is even more important than human lives.  Is that why people are so unhappy?

As Marcy walked along she looked at the Christmas decorations.  Then she saw it. “Merry Xmas!”

Merry Xmas! What was missing?  It looked so short, but what was wrong.

When Marcy reached home she saw a letter that her brother, Jason, had written to her. Jason was attending a Bible College in Minnesota.   When she turned the envelope over she saw a Christmas seal, which said, “Keep Christ in Christmas.”

Then she knew what was wrong.  People were leaving Christ out of Christmas.  How could people really be happy without Christ?  They don’t only leave Him out of Christmas; they leave Him out of their lives completely.  No wonder Christmas is dreaded by so many.  They don’t have Christ.

She glanced at the letter and remembered that she hadn’t read it yet. 

 

Dear Sis,

 I won’t be home until Christmas Eve this year.  Don’t be disappointed.  I know you had a lot planned but something came up.  My roommate and I decided to get a group together from our Bible College and take Christmas to the slum area.  Marcy, they need Jesus, too!   You can help too!  Pray for us, Okay? It will really help.

 Be sure to tell the folks my plans. I’ll be home as soon as we are finished.  Don’t forget to pray.  If someone finds Jesus as their Savior, they will have a joyful Christmas and we will too! 

 

                              Your brother,

 

                               Jason

 

Christmas Eve, the night of the Christmas program drew quickly near, but Marcy wasn’t worried any more.  She knew what she was going to say.

When Christmas Eve finally came, she waited patiently for her turn.

Christmas seems to have quite a few meanings,” she said bravely.  “People think of money either gaining or losing it.  People think of pretty lights or of Christmas presents.  But the true meaning of Christmas is Christ.  It is the day that we celebrate the birthday of Jesus Christ.  We should give Him something.  We should give ourselves to Jesus.  We should win others to Jesus.  Don’t think of us but of others. And keep Christ in Christmas.

After the service Jason took her aside and said, “Sis you did understand.  I’m glad you did.  I figured you were too young, only a second grader, and yet you understood that it is Christ and not Santa Claus that gives true happiness at Christmas.