by Karen Barker
One cool summer evening I was born, Outside alone. My mother did not want to feed me, so I went hungry many times. I was only a couple of weeks old, when my brother took ill. He was small and hungry, and very weak. I watched as he died. I was scared. Then as if from heaven, warm hands scooped me up. I was frightened, yet did not fight. For I too was sick and hungry. The warm hands forced me to eat. The warm hands petted me. The warm hands spoke to me. They told me it was going to be alright. I trusted in the warm hands.
I began to grow, and get stronger. I began to eat on my own. I felt good and playful again. The warm hands had given me a second chance at life. Then one day, those warm hands, placed me in other warm hands. These hands were different. These warm hands felt love. I was then brought to a big building, inside were many hands. They all petted me and praised me. These hands gave me more food and milk. They loved me and I knew it. Then some smaller hands picked me up and held me. The hands pulled me close, and I felt something warm on the top of my head. They kissed my head and said they loved me. Everyday the warm hands would take care of me and play with me, I was so happy. I had lots of food, lots of love and the little hands let me share his bed at night to sleep. The warm hands even brought me friends to play with. They looked different then me, but I liked then anyways. I think they called my new friends dogs. They would eat my food and that made me mad. I would chase them around even though they were bigger then me, they ran from me.I laughed inside at how silly they looked. I had a good life now, although I was still small.
One day I came home from playing outside. I was not feeling well. I was sick. The hands began to cry. They held me and comforted me, but I hurt and was getting weak. I didn’t want the hands to see me like this. I tried to go outside, so they wouldn’t see , but they wouldn’t let me go. The little hands held me tight as something warm and wet hit my face. The little hands seemed so sad. I felt so bad. I tried to hold on, but it was too much. As the hands rushed me to the hospital I could not take anymore. The little hands held me tighter and began to cry, I could see him hurting for me. I didn’t want to go, I only wish I could have stayed forever, in those loving hands. But God was calling, and they were waiting at the gate. So I took my last ragged breathe as I looked up into the face of those little hands that held me, and said good bye. I will miss my warm hands, but I will always be with them in their hearts, as I am now in Gods warm hands.
Love forever, Elmo Harley DuBar