Sharing is caring!

Helping Mrs. Larsen

“Please turn off the water and then run over the barn and get me the spade. We’ll need to bury this chicken.”

“Sure, mom,” Mike sang as he skipped along the hose. He enjoyed these visits to help Mrs. Larsen after the accident. He got to do things. Oh, there were still things too heavy, too high, or too hard for a seven 1/2-year-old, but there were many things he could do. Things he’d never get to do at home. With the water turned off, Mike got the spade and returned to the chicken coop.

They took the chicken to the edge of the garden. His mother dug a hole and put the chicken into it. She went back to the house, leaving Mark to finish burying the chicken and returning the spade to the old barn. Mark filled in the hole carefully. He smoothed the first dirt with his hands into a small mound, and then he searched the gravel driveway until they found a grey colored stone about the size of his fist to use as a marker on the grave. Mark stood and looked at the other six mounds along the garden edge. Each had its stone marker. Smiling, he picked up the spade and ran towards the barn to put it away.

His mother and Mrs. Larsen were sitting at the kitchen table when Mike came into the house.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mrs. Larsen held up a pitcher.

“Please.”

“Wash your hands,” Mike’s mother said and then turned to Mrs. Larsen, “Another chicken died, and he was burying it.”

Mike listened as he washed up to Mrs. Larsen say that the chickens were old, and the hot weather was hard on them.

When she finished, Mike said, “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“What’s not fair?” His mother asked.

“The chickens dying,” Mike took his glass off the table, not sitting down, “And the accident and the bugs eating the garden, and all that stuff. It’s like she’s being picked on.” Mike took a sip from his glass and gained the instant red mustache.

The two women looked at each other and then back at Mike. Mrs. Larsen leaned forward, looked at Mike with a bright smile, and asked, “Who do you think might be picking on me?”

Mike thought. He even scratched his head, but finally, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know.”

“I only know one who could have had the bugs eat my garden or do all those other things, and that’s the Lord. I trust the Lord and know he wouldn’t pick on me. He has a purpose for everything he does, and I think I know part of why these things are have happened to me. He is teaching. Why if it weren’t for the accident, I’d never have known about the love of my friends like you and your mother,” Mrs. Larsen pointed gently at Mike, “But I think he is teaching you too.”

“What?” Mike’s eyes opened in surprise. Mrs. Larsen patted the seat of the chair beside her, inviting Mike to sit down, “What you think you might be teaching you?”

Mike looked at Mrs. Larsen as he sat down. She looked like his grandmother. He answered, “Something about the chickens dying?”

“That’s probably part of it because you live in town you don’t know about the country. It has much to teach you. No, I was thinking of something else. How do you feel when you go home after helping here?” Mrs. Larsen asked.

“Good,” Mrs. Larsen smile encouraged him to continue, “I get the help to do things… Important things.”

“And you’re proud of what you do, right?

“Sure, and it is fun to do too.”

“I think the Lord is teaching you how good it feels to help others, don’t you?”

Mike studied his glass for a moment and then smiled and nodded yes with his whole body.

“That’s an important lesson, Mike. Do you think you will always remember it?” Mrs. Larsen asked.

Mike’s face clouded over, followed by a bright smile as he answered, “Sure, I’ll remember, ‘cause it’s fun to learn.”

Mrs. Larsen chuckled, and his mother beamed. After a moment, Mike smiled too. He knew he had learned an important lesson.