What are the best moments you remember in your growing up childhood years? (500 words maximum)
Time to Practice
by Ray Burton
People believe that Jeshua’s first miracle was turning water into wine at a party. But that is not true. It was his first public miracle, but not his first.
Hello, my name is James, and I am the eldest of Jeshua’s brothers. He was my favourite brother.
Growing up with Jeshua was an amazing experience. We did things that no other children do. Ever. I remember the first time I saw him do a miracle. I was just ten years old. I saw him walking towards the Sea of Galilee and decided to follow him and try to play a trick on him.
We were alone on a quiet still day. I saw Jeshua walk into the water and I hid behind a nearby bush. What I saw next left me speechless and ridged like a stone monument. Jeshua continued to walk into the Sea of Galilee without sinking. I watch as he walked on the water for a great distance. Eventually, he stopped and turned to look directly at the bush the barely concealed me. He started to walk back towards me. I panicked and quite literally could not move.
He walked out of the water and called out, “James, come here.” My strength returned and I approached, still awestruck by what I had seen.
“You must never reveal what you have seen to anyone while I am still with you.” “But how did you do that?” I asked. “That is not for you to know now. But I must practice and learn what my Father is showing me. If you faithfully keep quiet about what you see I will let you see more.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked my mother as I walked in the door. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Perhaps I have” I said trying not to be disrespectful. “Well get cleaned up supper’s not far away.”
I could barely sleep that night. I heard Jeshua leaving the house. I quietly got out of bed and decided to follow him. He walked away towards the Sea of Galilee again. This time he sat on a rock and just looked across the lake. He turned his head towards me and said, “Come join me.”
We sat chatting away like any schoolboys would, when suddenly a snake appears out of a bush and raises itself up all proud and ready to strike. Jeshua said something, I did not understand the tongue he spoke in, but immediately the snake humbled itself and slithered off.
I looked squarely at Jeshua. “How did you do that?” I asked. My Father is testing and training me all the time so that I will learn and grow. “But papa’s not here,” I said confused.
Bush Time Memories
by Deborah McDermott
The smell of coffee wakes me even before the doves do. Yawning, I crawl out of the puptent I share with my one sister and pour myself a cup from the bubbling percolator, then add plenty of milk and sugar to the bitter brew before sitting down next to my father on the banks of the Maleme Dam.
“Morning, Debsie. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes thanks, Dad. Did you?”
He nods and we sit in silence. Listening to the many birds herald in the dawn is our favourite time of day in the bush. Why interrupt it with needless chatter? Sighing with contentment, I gaze at the dam stretching before us. The sun is just beginning to peep over the horizon, turning the early morning mist hovering over the still water from white to a rosy hue. It will soon evaporate with the warmth of the rising sun—as will the diamond-like dewdrops on the spiderweb I have just noticed—but until then I will revel in this magical fairyland that my Dad and I silently share. The bush is his special place and he has shown me how to make it my special place too. Later, we’ll probably sit here with our fishing rods and worms. I still don’t like putting the wriggly things on my hook, but Dad prefers me to do what he’s taught me to do instead of going to him for help all the time, so I do it anyway—just to please him, and oddly enough, pleasing him pleases me too.
I also like exploring the lovely Matobo Hills in this area so may do some rock climbing when it gets too hot to fish. My parents don’t mind if I go alone, as long as I don’t stray too far from camp.
There is a stirring in the caravan behind us and Mom emerges, empty coffee cup in hand. At home or in the bush, Dad always serves her coffee in bed. He’s good like that. He’s also good at making breakfast, especially in the bush, and sets about doing so now in the old fashioned way. He lit the fire the moment he got up and the wood has burnt down to a glowing bed of embers that are just right for cooking bacon, whole tomatoes and toast. The smell of the sizzling bacon makes my mouth water. I like mine crisp so Dad leaves it on the grid a couple of minutes longer while frying the eggs in an old fire-blackened pan. By this time, both my sisters are up and hovering around Dad, unable to resist the scrumptious smells of breakfast cooking. Definitely a drawcard for those who like to sleep late!
Silence reigns supreme as we ravenously devour Dad’s breakfast offerings. They might have only been served on cheap enamel plates but the delicious flavours would put any leading chef to the test. To this day, the memory of breakfast cooked over an open fire makes my mouth water.