The little boy was only five years old. His parents were trying to keep body and soul together during the Great Depression. They lived in a humble little cottage in a small Ohio industrial town. The little boy had a younger brother and a baby sister. His father worked nights at a nearby industrial plant. There were many lonely hours for the family as they awaited their husband and dad’s return from work late each night.
One dark night the little boy lay in his bed in the room he shared with his brother. Suddenly, he thought he saw movement across the room, near the comer. What was it? He knew his mother couldn’t help him. The noise of the country music coming from the radio would muffle any sound of a struggle he might have with an intruder. Only a single tiny shaft of light fell into the little room from where his mother sat.
“Mom,” he called, “Mom! Come quick!”
His little brother. Bill, didn’t awaken though he was just a few feet away in his small bed
“Mom, come in,” he called a little louder.
This time his mother appeared, pushing apart the, curtain that served as a door between bedroom arid living room. The little boy looked up quickly at the comer from which fear had gripped him. He was amazed. The dark object was his dad’s old hunting coat, hanging on the hall tree. No intruder was coming to get him but he trembled trying to recover from his fear as his mother bent over his bedside.
“What’s the matter, Kenny?”
In the darkened room he could see his mother was not happy that he had been calling out, disturbing both her and the younger children. What could he say? He didn’t want to admit what he had been mistaken about.
He thought quickly. “Mom, we didn’t pray.”
Sometimes at night he would recite a small prayer at his bedside as she listened. “Can we pray?” he continued. “All right, go ahead,” his mother said evenly, as she sank down on the foot of the bed.
“Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
“That’s nice, now go to sleep,” his mother said with just a touch of impatience in her voice as she rose to leave.
The worried little boy called quickly to his mother just as she reached the curtained doorway. “Mom, what happens when you die?” he blurted out. She turned back and answered softly, “I don’t know, Kenny, now go to sleep”, Then she was gone.
That experience was my maiden voyage into the mysterious field of theology, the study of God. I am thankful that someone took the time, years later, to explain to me the answer to my probing question when I was only five.
Do you know the answer to that question? Down through the years of time, I remember asking that question as though it were yesterday. I learned the wonderful answer from God’s Word.
Send me an E-mail and I’ll gladly share the answer with you. Nobody needs to fear the dark spots in the comers of his or her life. If I can help, contact me. Call me on the phone if you wish. If you contact me, you can be sure it is just between us. No sales pitch, nothing threatening, just an honest answer.
Ken Pierpont, Pastor, Jonesville Baptist Church
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