2  November 24, 2012

Thanksgiving.

As I sit in my office, here in Kathmandu and gaze out at the snow capped foothills of the Himalayas, my mind drifts back to another time in my life…another Thanksgiving long ago…

Location: Visalia, California. 1970  I was 20 years old, married, mother of two. My little daughter was one month old. My son was just over two.  My husband had disappeared..again, no doubt spending our only paycheck on beer and women.  No money, no food in the house except one half a box of powdered potatoes.  For two days I had prayed for a miracle, for food to feed my babies, but nothing came. 

That morning I woke up with an idea born out of desperation and a determination that no matter what, by the end of that day, we would have a good Thanksgiving dinner.

  I made the powdered potatoes into patties and fried them. I found a small chunk of processed cheese with green mold on it.  I packed these, our last bits of food, along with some water, and bundled the children up.  I grabbed my old fishing pole and wedged it, sticking up from the baby stroller.  We set out for the destination of a man made pond about 3 miles away.

As I walked, I prayed again. “Lord, help me to catch enough fish to feed my family! Make my children quiet and my son obedient, while I fish.” 

  Three miles is a very long way when you are recovering from giving birth and a extremely long way for a two year old to walk.  Often I would have to pick up my son and carry him, struggling with the stroller one handed. Thankfully the sun rose up in the sky giving off the warmth we needed. 

The pond was more of a cattle watering hole, but I had heard that some fish were being pulled out of it recently.  I knew that it was probably filled with boney perch or carp, but it didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that I catch fish. My own stomach burned with hunger, but the cries of my children set a determination burning inside me, greater than any hunger that I could endure.  I was thankful that I could at least breast feed my daughter.

The pond was carved out of the land with a deep embankment.  It took several trips down to get the children and the stroller to a flat spot near the water. I spread out a thin blanket, placed some toys for my son

I took the small chunk of moldy cheese and pinched off a tiny bit, forming it on the hook.  With another prayer, I cast the line in the water.   “Lord, if there is a big fish in this pond.” I said out loud, “Let it have my name on it!”  Almost instantly there was a tug on the line.  I reeled in a small perch. That’s ok, I could fry it up. No problem. Thank you Lord!. 

Two hours crept by slowly. I caught three small perch. It was hardly a meal.  My son was getting restless and his bundle of energy sent him running around like a race horse up and down the banks of the pond. He had already managed to tangle in the fishing line and fall into the water.  I set him down on the blanket and gave him a potato patty.    My daughter began to cry. She was a good quiet baby who seemed to be content looking around and cooing. Her cries and my own body were telling me that it was time for a feeding.

 I can still picture this moment in my mind so vividly. There I was, nursing my daughter, trying to get my son to lie down and watching that fishing pole like a hawk.  The late morning sun had long ago lost its comforting heat and began piercing our skin into a pink hew.  My son was tugging at my arm. “Mommy, more!” he cried after finishing the last potato patty. Tears began to form in my eyes as discouragement flooded through me.

“Catching anything?” The voice startled me out of my self pity. Shading my eyes, I looked up on the high bank.  It was a man in farmer’s coveralls. “Just a few small perch,” I replied. “Watcha using for bait?” he hollered down.  “Ummm, cheese.” I shouted, trying to cover up the fact that I was nursing a baby. 

“Mind if we join you?” he asked.  “Wife kicked us all out of the house til turkey time.” He shouted as he shuffled his way down the embankment.   I watched as he and three boys, carrying fishing rods, and ice cooler manipulated their way towards us.

The man stood above us smiling. “We got a bunch of worms.” He said. “Me an’ the boys dug em up this morning. You are welcome to use those.”   “Uh, thanks.” I said awkwardly.  One of the boys plopped an ice chest down on the ground just a few feet away. Before I could stop him, my son ran over to it and said. “I’m hungry.”  I felt my face turn crimson.  But before I could say anything, the oldest boy opened up the chest and pulled out a bag of potato chips, sat my son down and poured some in his lap.  Relief flooded through me. “Thank you Lord.” I silently prayed. 

My daughter had fallen asleep and I softly laid her in the stroller, shading her little body from the sun with a thin baby blanket. 

“We’ve got some sandwiches in the ice box and some soda’s too.”  The man said. “More than enough for everyone!”

I have never forgotten that Thanksgiving day.   We had a wonderful time filled with stories, laughter and the biggest ham sandwiches I had ever seen.  Not only did we fill our stomachs, but we filled our souls.

The fish began biting on those worms like crazy!   Some perch, some catfish, and a few bass obliged us.  And…I did catch the biggest cat fish I had ever seen!  At the end of the day, the man and his boys loaded us up in their pick-up and drove us home. As we were saying our goodbyes, the man handed me his stringer of all the fish they had caught. “It ain’t Turkey, but it’ll feed you and the babies for a few days” he grinned. “God bless you!” he hollered as they drove away, the boys waving and smiling from the back of the pick up.

Our God answered all of my prayers…and more!  I wonder if Jesus was sitting there with us that day?