God and the Outhouse

Like a reflection in a mirror we can close our eyes and see visions of our childhood in those precious memories when we were so small and innocent. Some we remember so vividly like it was only yesterday, but the one’s you never want to talk about get tucked away in the back of your mind, becoming a secret only between you and God. Nineteen hundred and sixty-five, her world was viewed from a mere two feet above the ground, and she smiled as her big Sister helped her reach the top of the kitchen cupboard and held her hand walking to the bathroom. Or should I rephrase that, it was called an outhouse. With a rickety old wooden door that didn’t close tight so you could watch the beams of light peeping in through the cracks. Not to mention how hard it was to stand on tiptoes trying to reach the seat. But, at five years old it was an adventure! Just like taking a trip, even if it was only to the neighbor’s house when their family had the only swimming pool for miles. Anxiously, we walked across the field, as the others were excited, her hesitation of the freezing cold water needed a way to shake the shivers. But slowly she jumped right in, thinking she could swim just like the other children. Hearing them laughing and playing as her head went under, splashing and thrashing, unable to touch her feet to the bottom. No one ever came to help the tiresome little arms waxing weaker by the moment. An unexplained memory always praying on her mind. Somehow a nudge, a push or her invisible keeper. That was the first time. Now she knows it was God!