This is a true story my Mammaw (Ruth Chrisman) wrote about a time as a little girl living in the woods with her Momma, my Great Mammy, and her brother and sister. This is a story of my heritage. I know this to be a fact, I am alive and walking and talking with Jesus because of this type of praying. She taught my Mammaw and my Mammaw taught my Momma. Thank You Jesus. I hope I have taught my own daughters even just a little bit of this way of life.
Do you believe in angels? Do you believe they still appear to humans in a visible form? Well, there are a few folks who lived around White Lake, Wisconsin, back during the early thirties, who are convinced that they do.
There is a story told which involved my mother. Being the kind of woman she was, deeply religious and doggedly truthful, we have never doubted its validity.
It happened during a short period of time while we lived in Wisconsin. My father didn’t really want to settle down, it seemed, and we temporarily rented this little one room cabin with a loft upstairs. We existed there for a while, God only knows how.
The thing I remember most distinctly about our little home, was the leaves of the birch trees constantly flapping in the mild breeze, their undersides reflecting the silver hue in the bright sunshine. It seemed there were hundreds of these young birch saplings, lining every path in any direction, leading from the cabin.
My mother, seeing God in everything, used to tell us they were clapping their hands in praise to the Lord. (No wonder I’m a worship leader right?) We children would look at them even more intently then, and with our childlike faith, we never doubted her.
I remember every evening, at about dusk, she would sit in the doorway, her long legs stretched out across it, her feet braced against the facing, and she would play an old French harp. It was usually a melody of hymns such as, “Leaning On the Everlasting Arms,” or “Where the Soul Never Dies.” Her music was no doubt an outlet for the pent-up emotions that churned inside of her.
She must have been lonesome at times, very lonesome. Our father’s visits were very few and far between. When he did come home, he was hardly sober enough to realize he had been there. Maybe there was a tiny spark of love deep down inside, that steered him home now and then.
As I look back, I wonder how we ever managed. Probably with help from neighbors. One family didn’t live too far away, and we would walk single file down one of the little paths to their house. It was down one of these paths, I almost stepped on a long, thin, green snake. I still shiver to think of it. (My Mammaw thought all snakes were the devil. She could kill one with her garden hoe quicker than anything I have ever seen. True Story)
We had more than one run in with snakes though. We carried our water from a spring, and one day when we arrived at the spring, a large snake was lying curled up at the edge of the water. It didn’t take long for Mother to get a stick and beat it to death. While she was getting the water, my little brother picked it up. Well, the woods seemed to vibrate with Mother’s screams: of course the little fellow dropped it in a hurry.
We learned all about rabbits, birds, deer, and all the little wood animals from Mother. She told us they were part of God’s world the same as we are and He watched over them too.
One beautiful fall evening, a large flock of birds flew over our cabin and roosted in the tall pines nearby. My what a racket they made. My younger sister watched them intently for a few minutes, her little curly head cocked to one side, then said, “Mommy, what’s the matter with the birds?” Mother promptly informed her they were having church. My sister has never forgotten it.
When it got dark, we would all climb a little homemade ladder to the loft where we all slept in one bed. The corn shuck tick would rustle noisily as we settled down under the weight of several homemade quilts. My Mother always made us say our prayers, and then she would begin. I never…remember…her finishing. I always fell asleep listening to her crying out to the Lord to take care of her and her three little ones.
God took excellent care of us, and once in a very special way. It was during Indian summer, and the trees were beautiful to behold. Golden yellow and deep orange maples were woven in a tapestry of color with the scarlet dogwoods and purple red sumacs.
We children were playing in the warm sunshine, letting what was left of it soak into our little bodies, before the dull grey days of winter came.
Almost as if out of nowhere, two men walked into the yard. They had on the usual hunting outfits, worn around that part of the country. They were pulling a large deer, but dropped it at the edge of the clearing. Their guns were slung carelessly across their backs, supported by a strap.
One a little shorter than the other, pulled a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face, all the while ignoring us children.
The both looked expectantly toward the doorway. Mother, who always kept a wary eye on us children, appeared in the doorway immediately. The men eyed her intently for a few minutes, and then the tall one, taking a few steps closer to the house, inquired hesitantly, “Ma’me, would you have someplace we could leave a deer overnight? We want to do a little more hunting before we go back to town.”
“Of course,” Mother replied quickly, as if anxious to be rid of them. “There is a spring house out back, and it stays cool in there most of the time.” She quickly motioned us inside. I knew her uppermost thought was for the safety of us children, and she would have fought like a tiger to protect us.
A few minutes later, we watched them make their way back to the front door. They knocked timidly, and the short man, still perspiring profusely, asked, “Ma’am, we sure could use a drink of water.
Mother, being a hospitable person, threw open the door, and with a wave of her arm, ushered them in. The moment they stepped inside however, their attitudes changed. The short man took on a leering grin, but his blue eyes were as cold as steel under the heavy red eyebrows that matched his hair.
They began to flatter my mother, telling her what a nice looking woman she was; too nice looking to be alone. It was obvious by now, that they had used the deer to get inside the house to carry out their wicked intentions.
They moved toward her cautiously, making silly remarks, to cover up their own uneasiness. Mother edged slowly towards the black door, thinking perhaps she would have a better chance to protect herself outside.
But suddenly, the men stopped. As is hypnotized, their gaze went past mother in a fixed stare. Surprise and fear covered their faces. Mother said later, that she sensed a presence of some kind, and the fear she had previously felt, just seemed to melt away, and a sweet peacelike euphoria settled over her.
Then, just as suddenly, the two men came back to reality. They began to apologize to Mother, first one, then the other, saying they hoped they hadn’t offended her. That they were sorry if they had put her to any trouble. They ran into each other in their hurry to get out the door. They stumbled out and headed straight for the woods, never looking back. We never saw them again. (I guess they left the deer too!)
The following Saturday, as was our custom, we walked to the neighbors and rode into town with them for our weekly supplies. The General Store, besides carrying everything from baking powder to molasses, was also the center for all the town’s news and gossip. Mother heard some surprising news that Saturday.
As she stopped to admire some new “bolt goods” (a term used for cotton material wrapped around a bolt), she overheard two men talking.
‘Did you hear what happened up in the woods country a few days back?’ one of them asked. The other man leaned over anxiously. “These two hunters came down from Madison to do a little hunting, and came upon a cabin back in the woods,” he hesitantly continued…a pretty woman lived there with three kids…didn’t see na no man around,” he shook his head from left to right as though emphasizing the predica ment the woman was in. “Well, these fellers sized up the situation” he drawled, “ and decided they would take advantage”. With that remark, he raised a bushy eyebrow and continued, “if you know what I mean?”
The man listening to the story teller moved a little closer looking at the floor, and trying not to appear too anxious. The storyteller dragged on, “they said they tried to flirt with her, but there was something different about this woman. They saw the only way they could get anywhere with her was to just rush her. Just as they started toward her, two shadowy white figures appeared out of nowhere. They looked a little like men, but different than any men they had ever seen before. They decided they must have been angels. One stood on either side of her, like they were guarding her. You can be sure they lost no time in getting out of there,” he finished.
Mother stood still for a few moments. She knew the woman they were talking about was her. So that was why those men left so suddenly, she mused.
Her prayer that night was mostly praise. Later in the night the animals scratched on the door, as they so often did. She had no fear. She remembered, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about those that fear Him and delivereth them.” Psalm 34:7
I hope you enjoyed this as much as my family to retell it as often as we can. God is still God and He is still Good. Don’t forget it!
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