Crackers and Sprouts

I started a little project a few months ago. I haven't had much time to devote to it, but little scraps of time here and there have been found to write a few lines. I started a compilation of short stories from my childhood. I finally finished the first story a few nights ago...read on if you'd like...if not...that's okay too! :)

Crackers and Sprouts

I remember one beautiful summer day when I was five years old. My younger brother Kyle, who was three at the time, was a spunky, inquisitive, button-pushing, knob-pulling, Tonka truck-driving bundle of energy, who could always make you laugh just by pulling a funny face. On this day, however, his spunky little face-pulling self happened to be missing. I don’t remember when, or how we noticed, I just remember that all of a sudden there was a frantic stomach-turning fear when we realized that he was gone. We couldn’t find him anywhere. Our house sat on about three and a half acres, and on those acres were a shop, a chicken coop, a barn, horse corral, two pastures, a large garden and yard, and the canal. The canal was a near constant worry for my parents for many years, and on that day it was a significant concern looming in front of all of us. The canal ran along the back of our property, and Mom and Dad always worried about us falling in and not being able to climb out of the steep bank.

When Mom realized that she didn’t know where Kyle was, the search began. We called and called, but he didn’t answer. I remember searching every room in the house; behind couches, under beds, in the storage room, in fireplaces, in cabinets, under tables—literally everywhere that a three-year-old may have hidden. When we couldn’t find him, Mom called Grandma Belnap, who lived just down the road from us, and Grandma, of course, proceeded to call the neighbors. Pretty soon, we had quite a group out searching for him. Dad, who was at work was also called and on his way home, the volunteer policeman was out in full force, and of course Trever and I were on the search and rescue team as well. The adults were walking up and down the canal bank, Grandpa was worried about his ditch, which was full of water, and after searching the house Trever and I were probably just in the way.

I remember being really scared to think that my brother was lost. Being lost is a child’s worst nightmare, at least it was mine, so the thought of my little brother being lost was terrifying. I remember that sick feeling in my stomach, wondering if I would ever see my little brother again. The clouds of anxiety started coming in thick and fast as my little heart worried for my brother. But then in the midst of the fear and worry, I remembered that my parents had taught me that if I prayed to Heavenly Father, that He would answer my prayers. That little ray of sunshine drove the worry away. I believed them, and I trusted that my Heavenly Father would help me. In my little five year old mind, there was no question that my prayer would be heard and answered.

So, I went to my room, knelt down by my bed and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, my little brother Kyle is lost. I know that You know where he is. Will you please help us find him? In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

As soon as I was done praying, I had the thought come to my mind that I should go downstairs and check underneath his bed. This thought seemed strange to me, because we had already checked there. I paused for a moment to wonder if maybe I was just imagining the thought that had come to me, but, acting on the faith of a five-year-old, I went straight down and looked under his bed. I didn’t just casually glance under it, I got down on my tummy and scooted halfway under in order to see all the way into that dark abyss of the under-the-bed world. Sure enough, tucked way over against the wall was my three-year-old brother, hunkered down under some blankets while busily munching graham crackers. It was amazing that we hadn’t heard him chomping away on those things. He must have been born with some inner stealth and had silenced himself during our initial shakedown of the house. This time, however, he was pinned. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and he knew it. He had this sheepish grin on his face for he knew he’d been caught red-handed. I seem to remember him offering me a cracker, which was, of course, a brilliant plan by a three-year-old to escape full blame.

He hadn’t answered us when we had called him earlier because he was afraid of getting into trouble. So while the entire community was out looking for the poor assumed-to-be lost or drowned or kidnapped child, that poor, sweet, innocent child was snuggled up in a favorite blanket quietly enjoying a little afternoon snack.

Good does come from frightening experiences such as this. I suppose a few neighbors had their presumptions validated that the Belnaps really weren’t perfect people after all, Kyle was made to realize through the full-scale rescue operation that his family loved and cared about him, and a five-year old girl was given the opportunity to test that little seed of faith that had carefully been planted a few years earlier. That day is a vivid memory for me, because it is one of the first memories I have of receiving a direct and immediate answer to my prayers. My little seed of faith had sprouted a tiny new bud which would later blossom into a sure testimony that God, our Heavenly Father not only hears, but answers even the smallest prayers. Thanks, Kyle.