To Any Of These Little Ones
Stories
Object:
Contents
"To Any of These Little Ones" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
To Any of These Little Ones
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 10:40-42
Lee had been brought up on the farm where she had learned the value of hard work, getting up early to get a start on the day, and the necessity of taking care of one another, because bringing in the hay was hard, dusty, dirty work that dehydrated the field hands before they could notice. One of her jobs as a teenager had been to carry water to the men doing the harvesting. This required the ability to drive the farm truck, loaded with five-gallon bottles of water, a few buckets and cups for the men and boys to fill with water.
Not that this meant she escaped field work. She also could drive a tractor, and often did, hauling one of the hay wagons back to the farmyard when it was full or the water was gone, depending on which came first. Then she re-filled the bottles and hauled them back out, over and over from dawn to past dark, especially if rain was in the forecast. The hay could not get wet.
Now she was living on an old, unused farm with her kids and husband. The fact that they were ten miles away from the nearest town -- a small place with just 5,000 people -- bothered her not at all. But she did miss the work of the farm. Her husband was a social worker, which was hard work, but in a way vastly different from what she had grown up with. His work was emotionally draining and required knowing the laws governing his work and what he could do with and for his clients.
This county in Wisconsin wasn't very big and the town of 5,000 was the biggest town in that county. There used to be many farms around but now most of the farmhouses were torn down or so dilapidated they constituted a danger to kids who might decide to explore the "haunted house." But Lee loved the quiet, loved to listen to the birds, loved to go berry picking with her children at the foot of the ridge that was just a couple of hundred yards from the house. They would go picking and when they came back, she would add water to the little wading pool in the shade of the hickory tree in the backyard and while the little ones splashed each other and the cat when it foolishly got too close, she would sort the berries. When the children were tucked into bed for a nap, she would cook most of the berries to make jams and preserves. This was the daily round for her in the summertime.
Chuck's job was primarily child protection. The children in the families he served were never happy and carefree. If they went berry picking, it was so they would have something to eat, and unlike his children, if the client children popped as much into their mouths as they dropped in their pails, they got slapped for stealing food from the rest of the family. He found it exhausting.
Even more exhausting was the fact that he spent most of his time investigating Native American families who lived on the "Mission" outside of town. The smaller town was called this because a church had been established a generation ago to minister to the "Indians" as they were called back then. There were less than fifty houses there, but more than 250 people lived in them. It was the custom for at least three generations to share a house, which meant that they also shared whatever food they had as well as everything else they owned. If one person brought home a deer or a string of fish, everyone in the family was able to eat. But no matter how little a household had, they all shared in it, which meant either they feasted or fasted, but all together. This did not go over well in the State of Wisconsin, so Chuck was a busy man, following up complaints from school teachers and others that children were coming to school hungry, and so they were falling asleep at their desks and were unable to perform well.
This cultural difference alone was enough to drive Chuck crazy, and when he complained at home, it made Lee crazy as well. After all, she wanted her husband to be happy in his work. But more than that, it upset her to hear how much prejudice was rife in their community. The Native Americans were looked down on, called names, and generally considered to be dirty and lazy, never mind that they had legal permission to fish any day of the year, including spear fishing. "Indian traditions" were not respected, to say the least.
And the poverty! The county as a whole was poverty stricken, for whites and natives both. No large towns meant a limited number of jobs, and employers generally wanted to hire whites, not native, because "Everyone knows how lazy 'those people' are! After all, they're all on welfare!"
Lee didn't think about these things much, except when Chuck told her about his day or some woman at the Laundromat started in on how lazy "those crazy Indians" are! She mostly saw people as people, not as divided into groups -- unless you were talking about religion. Then there were Christians and all those other folks. Not that she preached at people. That didn't seem to her very Christian, despite the fact that her pastor told the congregation regularly that they needed to save people from hell by getting them baptized. She was pretty much a "live and let live" person that way.
In every other way, however, she was a biblical Christian. She never wore makeup and never let her little girl wear braids, because the Bible saw braids as ungodly (1 Timothy 2:9). She didn't drink alcohol of any kind, though her husband generally had a couple of beers on the weekends. And she went to church every Sunday that she could. Chuck actually helped her do that, even though he never went to church and never intended to but he looked after the children, whether they were well or sick, while she went to worship and Bible study until they were old enough for Sunday school. Then he would help the kids get ready for church so Lee could get dressed and get breakfast and get them in the car and off to the little congregation that met in the basement of the bank in town.
This is the life I had never known until my husband and I moved to the country and met this couple. We liked them right away, though Lee was more reserved than most of my friends had ever been. They were what my husband liked to call "good people." But I never knew how good they were until a hot afternoon in August.
We were all sitting in the yard under that big hickory tree, laughing at stories we each had to tell, and watching the kids in the wading pool. In fact, I had taken my lawn chair over to the side of the pool and was dangling my feet in it, because it was getting so hot, even in the shade.
A car drove into the driveway and we could see that it was packed with people from the Mission. There must have been seven or eight people in the car, including kids on the laps of the grown-ups. The woman in the front seat leaned out the window and called over to us, "Could we get a drink of water from you? The kids are getting really thirsty in this heat."
I was instantly on alert. Who knew what these people were after? If Lee invited them in, how would they treat the house? Or Lee? I was relatively new to the area and having lived most of my life in the city, I often expected the worst from people.
But Lee got up from her chair and said, "You could let the kids out of the car if it's too warm for them. I'll just go in and get you a drink." And she did. The back door of the car opened, and the teenaged boy on that side climbed out of the car and helped a little girl get out. The backdoor on the other side opened, and another young man got out, leaving another little kid on the lap of a woman who was possibly the grandmother. The driver didn't move, he just sat, looking straight ahead, as the woman in the front passenger seat opened the door and dropped a toddler onto the ground, keeping a firm hold on his hand. None of them moved far from the car. They nodded in our direction but said nothing. This did nothing to soothe my dis-ease. Why didn't they look us in the eye? The little children looked around, as preschoolers will, but the two young men just looked at the ground! What could they be up to?
Lee emerged from the house with a drink cooler in her hand and a stack of paper cups. She went straight to the woman in the front seat and handed her the cups, then stood there with the cooler as the woman pried loose one cup after another and filled them with ice water, handing one first to the woman in the backseat, then the man in the front, and then to the littlest ones. When she had poured herself a cup of water, she handed the cooler to the teen nearest her, and he drew off a cup for the young man on the other side of the car and finally for himself. There wasn't enough to fill his own cup, even though he tipped the cooler so the water inside would be at the tap.
Without hesitation, Lee said, "Here, let me fill that up again."
"Oh, no, that's okay," said the woman in the front seat. "We've had enough."
One of the little children looked up and said, "I gotta go potty."
Lee held out a hand to the child and said, "No problem. Come with me while I get some more water." And back in the house she went, re-filling the jug and bringing it and the child back outside. As she started to open the screen door, the young man on our side of the car loped forward, relieving her of the jug and striding back to the car with it. Everyone had another cup of water, which again emptied the jug. But this time, they all thanked her and said they had to be going. The car was started and off they drove, waving and saying "thank you" as they left.
I thought I was a Christian. I thought Lee had odd ideas about what it is to be a Christian, different from those I had grown up with. I thought she was foolish to trust these -- to me -- strange people in her yard, let alone in her house. But that day I earned a practical education in sainthood and how to give a cup of water to "the least of these." I was to learn a great deal about practical Christianity as I got to know those who lived at the "Mission." But that was the greatest lesson of all.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 29, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"To Any of These Little Ones" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
To Any of These Little Ones
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 10:40-42
Lee had been brought up on the farm where she had learned the value of hard work, getting up early to get a start on the day, and the necessity of taking care of one another, because bringing in the hay was hard, dusty, dirty work that dehydrated the field hands before they could notice. One of her jobs as a teenager had been to carry water to the men doing the harvesting. This required the ability to drive the farm truck, loaded with five-gallon bottles of water, a few buckets and cups for the men and boys to fill with water.
Not that this meant she escaped field work. She also could drive a tractor, and often did, hauling one of the hay wagons back to the farmyard when it was full or the water was gone, depending on which came first. Then she re-filled the bottles and hauled them back out, over and over from dawn to past dark, especially if rain was in the forecast. The hay could not get wet.
Now she was living on an old, unused farm with her kids and husband. The fact that they were ten miles away from the nearest town -- a small place with just 5,000 people -- bothered her not at all. But she did miss the work of the farm. Her husband was a social worker, which was hard work, but in a way vastly different from what she had grown up with. His work was emotionally draining and required knowing the laws governing his work and what he could do with and for his clients.
This county in Wisconsin wasn't very big and the town of 5,000 was the biggest town in that county. There used to be many farms around but now most of the farmhouses were torn down or so dilapidated they constituted a danger to kids who might decide to explore the "haunted house." But Lee loved the quiet, loved to listen to the birds, loved to go berry picking with her children at the foot of the ridge that was just a couple of hundred yards from the house. They would go picking and when they came back, she would add water to the little wading pool in the shade of the hickory tree in the backyard and while the little ones splashed each other and the cat when it foolishly got too close, she would sort the berries. When the children were tucked into bed for a nap, she would cook most of the berries to make jams and preserves. This was the daily round for her in the summertime.
Chuck's job was primarily child protection. The children in the families he served were never happy and carefree. If they went berry picking, it was so they would have something to eat, and unlike his children, if the client children popped as much into their mouths as they dropped in their pails, they got slapped for stealing food from the rest of the family. He found it exhausting.
Even more exhausting was the fact that he spent most of his time investigating Native American families who lived on the "Mission" outside of town. The smaller town was called this because a church had been established a generation ago to minister to the "Indians" as they were called back then. There were less than fifty houses there, but more than 250 people lived in them. It was the custom for at least three generations to share a house, which meant that they also shared whatever food they had as well as everything else they owned. If one person brought home a deer or a string of fish, everyone in the family was able to eat. But no matter how little a household had, they all shared in it, which meant either they feasted or fasted, but all together. This did not go over well in the State of Wisconsin, so Chuck was a busy man, following up complaints from school teachers and others that children were coming to school hungry, and so they were falling asleep at their desks and were unable to perform well.
This cultural difference alone was enough to drive Chuck crazy, and when he complained at home, it made Lee crazy as well. After all, she wanted her husband to be happy in his work. But more than that, it upset her to hear how much prejudice was rife in their community. The Native Americans were looked down on, called names, and generally considered to be dirty and lazy, never mind that they had legal permission to fish any day of the year, including spear fishing. "Indian traditions" were not respected, to say the least.
And the poverty! The county as a whole was poverty stricken, for whites and natives both. No large towns meant a limited number of jobs, and employers generally wanted to hire whites, not native, because "Everyone knows how lazy 'those people' are! After all, they're all on welfare!"
Lee didn't think about these things much, except when Chuck told her about his day or some woman at the Laundromat started in on how lazy "those crazy Indians" are! She mostly saw people as people, not as divided into groups -- unless you were talking about religion. Then there were Christians and all those other folks. Not that she preached at people. That didn't seem to her very Christian, despite the fact that her pastor told the congregation regularly that they needed to save people from hell by getting them baptized. She was pretty much a "live and let live" person that way.
In every other way, however, she was a biblical Christian. She never wore makeup and never let her little girl wear braids, because the Bible saw braids as ungodly (1 Timothy 2:9). She didn't drink alcohol of any kind, though her husband generally had a couple of beers on the weekends. And she went to church every Sunday that she could. Chuck actually helped her do that, even though he never went to church and never intended to but he looked after the children, whether they were well or sick, while she went to worship and Bible study until they were old enough for Sunday school. Then he would help the kids get ready for church so Lee could get dressed and get breakfast and get them in the car and off to the little congregation that met in the basement of the bank in town.
This is the life I had never known until my husband and I moved to the country and met this couple. We liked them right away, though Lee was more reserved than most of my friends had ever been. They were what my husband liked to call "good people." But I never knew how good they were until a hot afternoon in August.
We were all sitting in the yard under that big hickory tree, laughing at stories we each had to tell, and watching the kids in the wading pool. In fact, I had taken my lawn chair over to the side of the pool and was dangling my feet in it, because it was getting so hot, even in the shade.
A car drove into the driveway and we could see that it was packed with people from the Mission. There must have been seven or eight people in the car, including kids on the laps of the grown-ups. The woman in the front seat leaned out the window and called over to us, "Could we get a drink of water from you? The kids are getting really thirsty in this heat."
I was instantly on alert. Who knew what these people were after? If Lee invited them in, how would they treat the house? Or Lee? I was relatively new to the area and having lived most of my life in the city, I often expected the worst from people.
But Lee got up from her chair and said, "You could let the kids out of the car if it's too warm for them. I'll just go in and get you a drink." And she did. The back door of the car opened, and the teenaged boy on that side climbed out of the car and helped a little girl get out. The backdoor on the other side opened, and another young man got out, leaving another little kid on the lap of a woman who was possibly the grandmother. The driver didn't move, he just sat, looking straight ahead, as the woman in the front passenger seat opened the door and dropped a toddler onto the ground, keeping a firm hold on his hand. None of them moved far from the car. They nodded in our direction but said nothing. This did nothing to soothe my dis-ease. Why didn't they look us in the eye? The little children looked around, as preschoolers will, but the two young men just looked at the ground! What could they be up to?
Lee emerged from the house with a drink cooler in her hand and a stack of paper cups. She went straight to the woman in the front seat and handed her the cups, then stood there with the cooler as the woman pried loose one cup after another and filled them with ice water, handing one first to the woman in the backseat, then the man in the front, and then to the littlest ones. When she had poured herself a cup of water, she handed the cooler to the teen nearest her, and he drew off a cup for the young man on the other side of the car and finally for himself. There wasn't enough to fill his own cup, even though he tipped the cooler so the water inside would be at the tap.
Without hesitation, Lee said, "Here, let me fill that up again."
"Oh, no, that's okay," said the woman in the front seat. "We've had enough."
One of the little children looked up and said, "I gotta go potty."
Lee held out a hand to the child and said, "No problem. Come with me while I get some more water." And back in the house she went, re-filling the jug and bringing it and the child back outside. As she started to open the screen door, the young man on our side of the car loped forward, relieving her of the jug and striding back to the car with it. Everyone had another cup of water, which again emptied the jug. But this time, they all thanked her and said they had to be going. The car was started and off they drove, waving and saying "thank you" as they left.
I thought I was a Christian. I thought Lee had odd ideas about what it is to be a Christian, different from those I had grown up with. I thought she was foolish to trust these -- to me -- strange people in her yard, let alone in her house. But that day I earned a practical education in sainthood and how to give a cup of water to "the least of these." I was to learn a great deal about practical Christianity as I got to know those who lived at the "Mission." But that was the greatest lesson of all.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 29, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
