He sat on the bench, watching the people as they passed by, each one immersed in their own lives, their own dramas.  They passed by, unmindful of the man that sat huddled into a worn, dirty coat.  He was not one to draw attention, unless it was of the unwanted kind.

He had not always been where he was today.

He looked down at the gold band that circled his left ring finger, allowing his mind to go back to the life he had led years before.

Life had been full then, complete.  A beautiful wife and a couple great kids.

He sighed, not for the first time wondering why God had allowed him to lose everything in one awful moment.

His eyes moved from the wedding band to the scars that covered the back of his hand.  Those scars ran up his arm to disappear under the sleeve of his shirt.

Tears filled his eyes as he relived that night.

Arriving home from work late in the evening to find his house engulfed in flames, he had run, heedless of the danger, into the burning building to look for his loved ones.

He had been too late.

They were gone.

Smoke inhalation was what he had been told after he had woken up from a drug induced sleep weeks later.

Then came the pain of healing.  Physically, emotionally, mentally.

There were times when he wondered if this is what Job felt like.

He turned his attention back to the people all going on about their daily business, and wondered what their lives were like.

Did they have problems that seemed to be insurmountable?  Did they have heartache and pain in their lives?  Were they disillusioned by the day to day business of living?

Did they know there was a better Way?

“Excuse me, Mister.”

He turned his head and looked down at the boy that stood in front of him.  His glance ran around the area, coming to rest on a woman standing a few feet away, smiling slightly.


He turned his attention to the child with raised brows.

“Yes?  May I help you with something?”

The boy shook his head and held out his hand.

“You hungry?  Momma an’ me, we gotcha’ a samich for lunch.”

The man looked down at the offering, wrapped in white deli paper.  Deeply touched, he reached out and took the wrapped sandwich.

“Thank you.”  He lifted grey eyes and looked at the mom, then back at the little boy.  “And did you and your mom eat lunch?”

The boy nodded.

“Yup.  I had a ham samich and momma had salad.”

He nodded.  “That’s good, then.  I thank you for thinking of me.”

The boy nodded again.

“Miss Mary says we’re suppose ta help others that don’t got things.  Jesus said so.”  He studied the man that sat there.  “I axsed momma if we could get you a samich, ‘cus you look hungry.”  He frowned.  “You like ham samiches?”

The man nodded, smiling.  “Yes, I love ham sandwiches.”

The boy tilted his head to the side.

“You know Jesus?”

The man smiled again.  “Yes, son, I know Jesus.  And I am glad you do too.”

The boy nodded, smiling a smile that lit his eyes from within.  Then, before the man could stop him, he turned and raced full speed to the woman.

“Momma, he knows Jesus too!”

Momma smiled and looked across the distance, blue eyes meeting grey in silent greeting.  He lifted the sandwich and nodded slightly in thanks.  Her smile widened before she turned away.

He sat and watched them walk away before bowing his head.

“Heavenly Father.  Thank You for this day that You have given to me,  for the sunshine and the warm weather.  Thank You for those two strangers and for this meal that was so thoughtfully supplied.  Thank You for the blessing of that meeting.  Bless them this day Father and watch over them.”  He paused, thinking, then continued.  “Here was I thinking I had lost everything, but I still have You, and Your grace is sufficient.”

© Drusilla Mott and https://drusillamott.wordpress.com, 2012


15 thoughts on “WHEN THE HEALING BEGINS – a short story

    • Thank you Patti. As I sat down to write this last night, my mind was blank. I didn’t have a clue what to write about or what the first sentence would be. I started praying for some leading and the first sentence came to me. I still had no idea what I was going to write, where the story would lead. I was given one sentence at a time, and I typed as God dictated. The story isn’t mine – but His. Not sure yet if He wants a sequel. 🙂


    • Thank you Jeanne. It was slow going last night trying to get the words. Normally I have an inkling of where the story is heading when I start typing. Not this time. I was typing blind as God led me along.


    • Thank you Greg. I only have what God has given me. As I keep saying – He dictates, I type. This one came to me one sentence at a time. Even half way through, I did not know where it was going to go. I’ll have to wait and see if He wants it to continue next week. 🙂


    • Thank you Jessie. I am glad it touched you. As I answered to other comments, the Lord is the One that gave me the words, all I did was type. If it was something you needed to read, maybe that is why He told me this story. That is part of the reason we are here – to listen to His promptings so that we can reach out and help others, whether we understand or not.


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