Christmas was ten-year-old Allison’s favorite time of the year. Even though she was not allowed to decorate Christmas trees or exchange presents anymore, the excitement of past Christmases spent with Daddy always remained a vivid memory.

Allison remembered being lifted way up high as her daddy helped her place the star on the top of the Christmas tree; that was to be her special job each year.

One night, when Allison was about four years old, “she” came in to her room and told Allison to hurry up and get dressed because they had somewhere they had to go right away.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked as she sleepily stumbled out of her little bed.

“Don’t worry about your daddy,” she snapped, as she helped her change into her traveling clothes. “He’ll be joining us soon enough.”

At the time, Allison believed that he would be with them soon. However, as time went on, she knew something was terribly wrong. She was at the mercy of this grownup and all she could do was pray that her daddy would come for her very soon.

“When will my daddy be here?” she asked timidly.

“He is not coming,” the woman answered her coldly. "He doesn’t want you anymore, and he gave you to me. We have to start a new life now. From now on, you are to call me ‘Mother.’ Do you understand?”

She nodded her head as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She was in total shock. What had she done to make Daddy not want her anymore? She was a bad, bad girl and didn’t deserve to be happy, she thought to herself.

“Your name is no longer Patty,” she continued. “Your name is Allison now. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Gunderson,” she answered. Upon realizing her mistake, she quickly corrected it and immediately said, “I mean, Mother.”

“Very well, Allison. If you ever make that mistake again, you will be punished severely.” Then she walked away, leaving Patty to adjust to her new name and all the information she had just learned. Patty was devastated, but realized that from then on, if she wanted to survive, she would have to think of herself as Allison.

That had been at Christmastime six years ago, and each Christmas season after that, she couldn’t help but wish that it had all been a mistake and that her father was out there searching for her.

At school one day, Mrs. Wilson smiled as she handed Allison a long, white envelope. “Would you please give this envelope to your mother, dear?” she asked. “I would like to have her permission to submit the Christmas story that you wrote in to the National Contest. It’s an excellent story and I believe you could possibly win the prize for your age group.”

“Oh no, please don’t do that!” she exclaimed. Allison swallowed hard over the lump that had formed in her throat, and she tried to speak again without sounding as frightened as she felt. “Mother hasn't been feeling well and I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

“Alright,” she replied. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“I’m very sure, Mrs. Wilson. Thanks anyway, though,” she added, just before she ran down the hall and out of her sight. Allison didn’t see Mrs. Wilson’s puzzled look or the fact that she headed straight to the principal’s office with the story.

Mrs. Wilson was quite sure now that her first instinct about the story was correct. The story about the little girl who had been awakened in the middle of the night and whisked away by her nanny while her daddy was out of town, must be a true story. She was positive, now that she had seen that reaction of terror, that Allison was the Patty in her own story. Mrs. Wilson was certain the principal would know how to handle this situation properly.

During the next few weeks, Mrs. Wilson kept an extremely close eye on Allison’s comings and goings. She asked Allison if she would like to be responsible for the decorations of the entire Christmas program that was to be performed in the auditorium on Christmas Eve. Allison was delighted and she looked so forward to participating in the festivities.

Allison looked beautiful the evening of the Christmas program. Her long, blonde, waist-length curls were hanging in ringlets over her shoulders, down her back, and were accented with red velvet bows that matched her dress, while her big, bright, thickly-lashed eyes sparkled like blue diamonds.

“Mother, can I get you anything before I go to the Christmas program?” Allison asked happily. She had been telling her all about it for weeks.

“I haven’t given you permission to go, yet,” she said, as she looked up at her, glaring.

Allison was so surprised by what she had said, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop shaking long enough to ask for permission to go. She never dreamed that it would be a problem, so she hadn’t thought to ask. “May I go?” she finally asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You should have asked me long before this.” Mrs. Gunderson turned to look at her and said, “Go to your room.”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Wilson frowned as she watched the door; she knew something was wrong. Allison had never been tardy before. She only hoped that evil woman hadn’t spirited her away again. She turned to the big man sitting to her right, shook her head “no” and out the door he went in a flash.

Within ten minutes there was a loud knock at the door. Mrs. Gunderson looked at the clock on the wall, and it was 7:05 p.m. No one had ever visited their home at this hour before. She decided that she would ignore them, and hopefully they would go away.

When the knocking had progressed into pounding, she screamed for Allison.

“Allison! Come and answer this door!” When Allison got closer, she grabbed her by the arm and said, “Whoever it is, send them away and then go back to your room. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mother,” she said. Then Allison went to the door, opened it and when she almost screamed, he grabbed her, covered her mouth, and dragged her around the side of the house.

“Daddy—I thought you’d never come for me,” she cried out, through tears of joy as she hugged and kissed him.

“Oh, my darling Patty—I’ve been searching everywhere for you! I love you so much. Let me look at you,” he said. “You are so beautiful. You look just like your mother, God rest her soul.”

In the meantime, the sheriff had gone into the house and placed Mrs. Gunderson under arrest. She was standing there in cuffs.

“Mr. Lang, do you have anything you want to say to her before we take her away?” the sheriff asked.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gunderson,” he said. “We’ll see you in court.”

Mrs. Gunderson glared at him from the back seat of the sheriff’s car as she was driven away.

“We’ll need you to come down and give us your statements as soon as you can, Mr. Lang,” the sheriff said.

“Can it wait until after Christmas?” he asked. He looked down at his daughter who was clinging to him for dear life and said with a smile, “I believe I have a hot date for the Christmas program, and if I’m not mistaken, they’re waiting for a certain someone to hang the star on the Christmas tree this year.”

THE END...

or I should say the beginning!

My answer to this question is a resounding yes, but probably not for the reason you think.

When our ancestors wrote the United Stated States Constitution, they tried to think of every conceivable thing that may happen in the future, based on what they knew to be true at that moment. In good faith, they drafted what is known to us as The Bill of Rights or the Amendments, of which there are now a total of twenty-seven (27).

In the First Amendment, it states the following: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances."

There have been many disagreements as to the meaning of this particular amendment, but to me, the meaning is crystal clear. Our Country was founded on biblical principles, by Christian men who crossed the ocean in order to preserve that religious freedom, not remove it from their lives! It is well-documented that they prayed together before each meeting and asked the Lord for guidance when deciding what the wording would be for the Constitution. James Madison, who was the chief framer of the United States Constitution said: "We have staked the whole future of American Civilization...upon the capacity of each and all of us to govern ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God."

Does it sound like it was the intention of our Founding Fathers to separate our Creator from our lives while governing the people, which is one of the most important responsibilities that one may be called to do in his/her service to others? I think not.

My interpretation of this situation is that anti-Christian liberals are trying to push their agenda for our nation, which is that it be Godless, so that our children can have freedom "from" religion, not freedom "of" religion." They would like nothing better than to destroy the roots and foundation of our great nation and replace them with Marxism, unequal justice, deceitfulness and anything that is the opposite of truth, justice, honesty and the Christian values set forth in the Constitution of the United States.

The Constitution was not written to give religious content to our nation, but rather, the Constitution was intended to be and is an instrument that protects and perpetuates the already existing religious values of our nation. It would probably even come as a huge surprise to many people to discover that nowhere in the Constitution does the phrase "separation of church and state" appear. In fact, there has never been a document of state that has even proposed such a concept, but the phrase has been passed around so much, that it is as much believed as one of the gospels.

In 1947, Justice Hugo Black made a ruling with the United States Supreme Court in the case of Everson vs. Board of Education. In that ruling, Judge Black took the First Amendment clause that read: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof" and ruled that the absolute meaning of that clause was that any aid or benefit to religion from governmental actions is unconstitutional. As Justice Black stated, "The First Amendment has erected a wall between church and state. That wall must be kept high and impregnable. We could not approve the slightest breach."

When the First Amendment was passed, it had only had two main purposes. First, was to prohibit the government from mandatorily establishing a "Church of the United States" and declaring that one particular religion be the religion of the region, such as Britain had done. This was in response to concerns expressed by some Baptist clergymen of Danbury, Connecticut in a letter that Thomas Jefferson received from them in January 1802. Jefferson answered that letter, assuring them about the "wall," which had a one-directional purpose and that was to protect the church from the state. The church should always be free to teach biblical values to the people, while at the same time keeping the government out of the church. Our ancestors crossed the ocean, founded this great Country, and fought to preserve and protect those freedoms!

Secondly, the part of the First Amendment in which many people have of late decided to disagree, is the part that had been interpreted as follows: “the government should not impede or interfere with the practice of free religion.” The voice of religion is not supposed to be removed from public debate, but protected so that each religion can have its say. The First Amendment was intended to be a safeguard so that the state has no jurisdiction over the Church, thus protecting it, but if the non-believers and other First Amendment dissenters have their way, they will remove the Church from every forum and totally disestablish it.

The following is a story that I wrote to be read and distributed at the memorial party held on 19 January 2008 for my uncle, Joseph Knapp, who died on Christmas day, 2007. Just six weeks prior to his death, he lost his house and all he owned in those terrible fires in the mountains near Lake Arrowhead, California. He didn't mourn his losses at all; he was thankful to be alive!
When the policeman came and knocked on his door, telling him that he had to evacuate at once, he only had time to grab his car keys, a bag of laundry that had been left sitting by the door, and go. If it had been the week before, his car would have been in the shop and the policeman would have assumed nobody was home and would have given up trying to awaken whoever was in the house.
Poor Uncle Joe, who was eighty-five years old and in good mental and physical shape, was nonetheless exhausted from his long day at the beach and running errands, and didn't readily answer the door because he was used to drunks disturbing him in the middle of the night; so he thought that must be who was disturbing his sleep now. When the policeman kept pounding and pounding, he finally answered and was very thankful that he did.
He got the biggest kick out of telling everybody about what happened, especially since he shocked the young policeman by answering the door wearing nothing but a scowl.
My Uncle Joe definitely was a character...and I will miss him so much....



"My Uncle Joe"

“You’re not on the farm now!” my Uncle Joe said rather loudly as he looked from face to face down the length of the long dinner table. Then everyone burst out laughing and suddenly all eyes were upon me. I think I was about ten years old at the time and embarrassed to death to be the center of attention—especially since what I had done was not something that could be referred to as brilliant. My Uncle Joe was a certified and most accomplished jokester and I had handily fallen into his trap; he was ready to pounce and I was unable to stop his advancement.

Our families (the Knapp and Bond families; Nonie (Carpenter) Knapp, my aunt and Mary Ellen (Carpenter) Bond, my mother, were the "sister" ties) had just finished a totally fun-filled day at the Corning Glass Works and a few other stops along the way and had then decided to go out for dinner. We had agreed on the Lehigh Valley House Restaurant in Ithaca because my father was treating us all to dinner. This was where Dad liked to take our family and my grandmother when we came to visit her at her home in Ithaca once a week and he was sure we’d have a wonderful, relaxing time there.

After we were seated, menus were handed out and everyone was ready to order, Uncle Joe noticed that I was discreetly studying the “lump” that was wrapped in a cloth napkin beside my plate. The place settings at the entire table looked different to me that night from the way they usually looked week after week and we were later told that they had changed how they had been setting the tables only a few days prior. When the waitress finally reached Uncle Joe, who was seated on my right, he bent over and grabbed the “lump” from beside my plate, then carefully spread the napkin out and while he looked at me, he announced, “That’s your silverware under there.” He spoke loudly and slowly, as if I were a dullard, then he paused for dramatic effect and proclaimed rather loudly, “You’re not on the farm now!” As you can imagine, my face turned beet red when everyone started laughing. It was not one of my better moments.

Unfortunately for us, that was not the last time that Uncle Joe would use that phrase on us. Throughout the years, whenever he got the chance and whenever we least expected it, out Uncle Joe would come with a huge grin on his face and his voice booming with that ever familiar little byword designed to embarrass his unsuspecting victims. To this day, if one of our family members or friends says something stupid or naive, you’re bound to hear someone say, “You’re not on the farm now!”

My Uncle Joe (or Jose Siesta, as we used to call him when we were little) was a handsome, charismatic man. He was so full of life that he was absolutely electrifying; he made you feel glad to be alive! He was someone that I looked up to, loved and respected and just thinking about him has always put a smile upon my face.

I remember when my twin sister, Sande, and I were twelve years old and our family went out to California to visit. Our sister, Carol, who was sixteen at the time, was scheduled to have major back surgery and our father thought that a nice vacation beforehand was in order. During the vacation, one of the neighborhood parks (Yucaipa?) hosted some summer festivities which included swimming contests for all age groups. Sande and I weren’t particularly good swimmers at the time and had never competed in anything before, so Uncle Joe encouraged us to sign up for the breast stroke competition. Kathy, Laura and Sue Ellen quickly taught us how to do the breast stroke and we were ready by the time our class was called. To everyone’s delight, Sande came in first place and I came in second! We accepted our ribbons and Mom and Dad kissed and hugged us, saying how proud they were of us.

Afterwards, I kept my eyes glued on Uncle Joe. Whether he was aware of it or not, he had the power to break my spirit that day. I look back at it now and realize that he knew exactly how I was feeling when I kept looking down at my feet, fighting back my tears, thinking to myself that my second place ribbon was worth absolutely nothing!

You see, Sande and I were the only ones in that age group. In fact, we were the only ones in that competition. As I saw it, I had come in dead last; therefore, I lost, so I was a loser! Case closed. (Sande had beaten me, at least.)

I watched as Uncle Joe briskly walked over to me, bent down on one knee and said, “Look, kiddo; you finished your race. You did something you had never done before in front of a bunch of people you didn’t know in a brand new place. The most important thing is that you did your best! In my eyes, that makes you a winner!” Then he smiled at me until he made sure that our eyes met; then he gave me a great big, long hug. That changed everything for me. And you know what? I still have that red ribbon as a reminder of what an awesome thing he did for me. He taught me a big lesson that day—and I really did feel like a winner after that!

I can’t tell you how many times my Uncle Joe did things like that for me throughout the years. Whenever we came in contact, the miles that separated us would just disappear and our closeness would instantly be restored. He was just that way; it was all or nothing for him—and his “all” was the best there was! When he visited us following the big arson fire that destroyed the building that used to contain the Oldsmobile-Chevrolet dealership that my father owned for over forty years, he volunteered his time and talents to do several repairs that were weighing heavily on my mother’s mind. He just swooped in and took care of them for her, just like he did forty-five years ago, when he installed all those phones in her house; they’re everywhere! (There’s one in every room and we think they may be multiplying!)

Uncle Joe was an awesome uncle and I loved him more than I could ever describe on paper. Even though we’re all terribly sad that he had to leave us, let’s rejoice in knowing that we will be reunited with him once again when we meet with him in Heaven—and right along beside him will be my beautiful Aunt Nonie, whom I also loved dearly. There will be dancing and singing and angels, and everyone that has asked Jesus into their hearts will join all of our loved ones who have gone on before us, and they will welcome us into eternity.

Thanks for listening to my story and may God bless you all.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!” There. I said it. Nothing terrible happened. The earth didn’t explode. And why would it? And why should we change the name of THE. MOST. BELOVED. HOLIDAY. just because a minority of people are “offended” at the very mention of the word ‘Christmas?’

At least ninety percent of Americans celebrate Christmas and I believe that it would be a safe bet to say that most of them are “offended” because they are forced to endure changes that are thrust upon them, all because of a small group of complainers. Why is it that Christmas and New Year’s have to be combined into one gigantic shopping holiday called “Happy Holidays?” You won’t see anyone combining Cinco de Mayo (05 May) with Nurse’s Day (06 May) or the equally offensive blending of Labor Day (01 Sept.) with Ramadan. (02 Sept.) Why would anyone think we want “Christmas” combined?

Did you realize that at most retail stores the employees are no longer “allowed” to greet customers with the traditional “Merry Christmas” because it might “offend” someone? It now has to be a cheery “Happy Holidays,” as if that will somehow disguise what this holiday really is!

I realize that there are some people that do not celebrate Christmas, but why can’t they just graciously accept that there is freedom of speech and religion in the United States of America?

I hate Halloween and I think it’s terribly offensive. In fact, quite a few Christians agree with me because of the fact that it’s a pagan Celtic holiday. Yet, do you see me pitching a fit, insisting that the word “Halloween” be banished from sight or that all the displays be removed from public view?

Can you imagine someone looking at the Nativity scene, and having them referred to it as “vile and offensive,” and then having that same person laugh, giggle and point at the “adorable” ghouls, witches, ghosts, spiders, goblins, vampires, blood and gore that ARE Halloween? That just does. not. compute!

You can give me Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo and Canada Day and Native American Day and Columbus Day and Hanukkah/Chanukkah and Kwanzaa and even Boxing Day, just please, please, PLEASE give me back my “MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

Momma, Poppa, my little brother, Johnny, and I dwelled in the mountains of North Carolina in a modest little cabin, living off the bounty of the earth and the wilds. We struggled to survive, but the Lord always provided what we needed, so as we said our prayers that night, we were sure that He would do so again.

When I heard the loud knocking in the middle of the night, I was sure it was Poppa returning from his two-week trip to get provisions that we needed from town. I thought it was such a miracle that he was able to make it back. After the blizzards, nobody was supposed to be able to make it up the mountain again until the Spring thaw.

I grabbed my wrapper, ran to the door and flung it open. There before me was a giant of a man that startled me so, that I backed up several steps, leaving my mouth wide open. My momma, who I had not known was behind me, invited the stranger in and lead him to the fire to warm himself. She gave him a blanket and a hot cup of broth.

I wanted the stranger to go away, but there was an awful blizzard outside and it would be Christmas in the morning, so even though we were almost out of wood to burn and food to eat, Momma invited him to stay. He nodded yes but never spoke a word.

Momma was heavy with child and it was near her time, so she was counting on me to help her. I was a mature ten-year-old and had seen some of what happened when my four-year-old brother was born, but I worried that I didn't remember much that would help her.

When Momma's pains came, the stranger had only been there a couple of hours, but he took right over. He knew just what to do and even though he never spoke, we worked well together. My little sister was born just as the sun was coming up on Christmas morning. We laid the last of the wood to burn and all of us, including Johnny, went back to bed, because we had had such a long night.

When I finally reawakened, I realized that the stranger was gone and the fire was still burning strong. I opened the front door and saw that there was still a blizzard outside. Where could he have gone?

Then I started noticing things, one by one. First, the wood bin was overflowing and next, there were packages wrapped in burlap and tied with twine on the bed that we had made for him. Then, there were all kinds of food stuffs on the kitchen table and floor. There were bags of flour and sugar, sacks of potatoes, loads of cured hams and meats and much more; it was more food than I had ever seen before. Then I went out to the porch to take a look and there, stacked neatly in several huge rows, was enough wood to last the winter!

I ran back inside to wake Momma and saw that she was nursing my new baby sister, so as Johnny listened on, I told her what I had found.

She smiled but did not act surprised. My brother and I listened quietly as she reminded us of the scripture that tells us to be kind to strangers because we could be entertaining angels unaware.

We were all sure that was what the stranger was. He was an angel! We said a prayer together and thanked the Lord for His goodness and then my momma said, "Let's name your little sister now. Do you have any ideas?"

My brother and I both looked at each other, smiled and in unison we both said, "Angel."

When my husband, Dion, informed me that he had discovered a small leak and that he would need to go up on our steel roof to repair it, I was instantly overcome with feelings of dread. I have a tendency to be overprotective in situations that I feel may be dangerous, so I thought it would be best to keep my imaginations to myself rather than run the risk of giving him the impression that I did not trust his judgment or abilities.

I knew that Dion's aptitude for climbing trees like a monkey and jumping fences like a gazelle would not entitle him to a guarantee of longevity any more than if he did everything right , so I was counting on his coordination and the prayer that I had said on his behalf to keep him safe.

In the back of my mind, a cold, echoing voice mocked me saying, "There are no guarantees in this life except death and taxes!" A voice that was kind and gentle answered a breath later saying, "We have something better than simple guarantees! We have promises from GOD Himself and nothing is more powerful than the Word of God!" I immediately felt much better.

I opened a book and tried to read, keeping my ears open to listen, just in case Dion called for my assistance, which he was known to do on occasion if he forgot something or needed an extra pair of hands.

Without warning, the unnatural sound of Dion's terrified voice raised an octave higher than normal as he yelled, "Oh, shoot!" cut through the the silence like a knife. The blood-curdling holler that followed as his body slid down the roof like a boy on a park slide still echoes in my memory.

The impact of his frame striking the extension ladder, which partially broke his fall, followed by his body smashing into the unyielding, hard-packed earth, sounded like a sack of potatoes being hurled against a wooden crate and then slammed to the ground.

I froze in terror, trying with all my might to listen, but my heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear a thing. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, remained still, hoping that what I had just heard had not really happened and then I heard another horrible sound. Dion was calling out to me, "Honey, honey," and instead of the normal sound of love that I should have heard, he was moaning, obviously in pain. Was that fear that I heard in his voice as well?

Tears stung my eyes as I instantly sprang into action. I yelled back to him, "I'm coming, honey. Don't move--I'll be right there!" My heart was beating wildly as I wondered how alert he would be or if he even heard me. I slid my shoes on, was out the door and by his side within seconds.

Seeing Dion lying there in the fetal position with all the color drained out of his face made me feel nauseous. The thought of losing him flashed across my mind and I found it difficult to breathe.

I suddenly thought of the two little girls that I had gone to school with whose fathers had both died from falling off the roofs of two-story homes not unlike the one that Dion had just fallen from. I was heartsick! NO! I can't lose Dion! I WON'T! Please God--don't take him away from me! I can't live without him! I was begging and for a moment, I thought that I might faint. Then I thought to myself, I can't go through this again! Years earlier, I had lost my fiance (his brother) to a car accident, and I almost didn't

I bent down to Dion and asked him, "Where do you hurt, honey?" as I gingerly touched his cheek, petting him like a mother would pet her sick child. I was fighting back my tears and when he looked up at me, I could see in his eyes that he needed me to understand that he had fallen so hard that the wind had been knocked out of him and it was painful for him to speak. Somehow I did.

He was gulping for air and he gradually started to relax as I stayed beside him and spoke soothing words to him. When he was sufficiently calmed, I asked him if he wanted me to call the ambulance and his immediate response was a resounding, "No, I don't need one!" Then he collapsed from the effort of speaking so loudly, because to do that, it had taken every bit of energy that he had.

Gently I asked him, "Are you sure? I really think we should call them, honey." I waited for an answer. "You shouldn't be moved until you're checked out," I told him, but he was not convinced. He was adamant that he would be fine in a few minutes. No ambulance!

Slowly, Dion gathered himself together in an attempt to stand. By then, I could tell by the grimace on him face that he was in a lot of pain. I was worried that he may have broken something or that he may have internal injuries, but he assured me that neither was true.

When Dion finally stood and when I was sure that he was steady on his feet, I brushed him off, helped him in to the house, and then we began an inventory of his body to see what had been hurt in the fall.

The inflammation of the lower left side of his back and his lower regions was so plain to see that it made me wince, but no other injuries of any real consequence were visible except a bump and a bleeding scratch on the top of his forehead. His pain was obviously increasing by the minute, but when I asked him again if he wanted to go to the Hospital Emergency Room (ER), he said that he would rather not. He thought that if he were able to stay still for a bit, that he would feel better, so I agreed to let him try it.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he did need to go to the ER after all, so his mother drove us there and patiently waited while I went in with him during his exam and X-rays.

During the course of Dion's examination, the doctor realized that Dion had not arrived at the hospital by ambulance and she immediately admonished me. I knew that I should have insisted that he come by ambulance instead of letting him refuse to and now he also realized that it had been a mistake, so it was a lesson well-learned by both of us.

When the results of the X-rays came back, we were relieved to hear that there were no broken bones. The official diagnosis was that he had badly bruised his lower back and entire lower regions, with probable ligament & tendon involvement. He was badly swollen so she gave him something for the pain and an excuse for three days off work, explaining that that was the most they could do and instructing him to go to his regular doctor as soon as possible. We left there knowing that we had much to be thankful for.

Unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, Dion was awake most of that night. When I got up to feed the cats the next morning, I went out to look at the spot where the fall had taken place..

When I stood in the spot where I had found Dion lying and looked up at the roof, I couldn't believe the distance he had fallen. I let my eyes follow the trajectory of his path and there before me were two, three-inch-deep heel marks from where he had landed in front of the fence that surrounds the gully behind our house. I stared in amazement when I realized how close he had come to tumbling down that deep gully or being impaled by one of the fence posts that support the fence surrounding that gully. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of what could have happened and chose to thank the Lord for sparing him instead.

We would later learn that Dion did indeed have extensive tendon and ligament damage as well as bone tissue fracture. He missed several weeks of work, he was in a lot of pain and would be needing physical therapy to correct some of the damage that had been done. We just have to pray that Dion will be good as or better than new when this is over with and we're counting on the Lord to answer our prayers!

This story does have a happy ending, as far as we're concerned. Dion could have died from that fall and The Lord rescued him. What could be "happier" than that? We are all totally thankful that the Lord protected him that day!

Thank you for sending your angels to watch over Dion, Lord! YOU'RE MY HERO!