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4 Moms Present: A Story of Thanksgiving

Posted By Smockity Frocks On November 25, 2010 @ 7:00 am In 4 Moms,Family,Smockity's Reel Life | 8 Comments

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Happy Thanksgiving from The Smockity Family!

This week the 4 Moms are sharing a Round Robin Thanksgiving Story arranged/edited by The Headmistress [3]. Start reading with any of the 4 Moms, then follow the link at the bottom for the next segment. When you reach the blog at which you started, you’re done!

Before you begin with my portion of the story, I thought you might enjoy a REAL live look at what the day before Thanksgiving looked like at my house.

The Turkey Egg

Mrs. Tim leaned back in her chair thoughtfully as her husband finished his story. The remainders of their Thanksgiving dinner beckoned temptingly, but she turned her attention to the children who waited for her to begin.

“Where did the turkey egg come from,” asked an inquisitive child. “Did he ever find out?”

“I heard this story from Grandpa Bob, or Jericho as he’d been called as a child, the first Thanksgiving after I married Tim,” she began. “Grandpa Bob and his wife, well, I have never met more hospitable people.

I asked them later what made them so generous with their hospitality and Grandpa Bob told me about the turkey egg.

One evening when he was around 13 or 14 years old as he was strolling along, kicking pebbles along the ground and thinking about how he wished he were a better boy and how hungry he was, he happened to pass by a little house with a nice garden, and a man of about thirty, Grandpa Bob told me, was out working that garden. He looked up and locked eyes with the hungry lad on the road, and something made him offer some food for work. Well, the way he put it was he needed to weed the garden before dark, and he was afraid that was too big a job for one man, and if he didn’t get the weeding done quick, the dinner on the stove would be ruined. Jericho Bob agreed, and they began a friendship that led to a bigger friendship- the most important friendship of his life. That man was a Christian, and he shared the gospel with my Tim’s Grandpa. He showed a hungry boy the Bread of Life.

Being a Christian changes your perspective on things, or it should, and now Jericho found himself plagued by the memory of a turkey egg he had found and kept long ago. Now realizing he had done wrong to keep it, he thought he’d see if he needed to make something right. You remember that Miss Pritkin was the only person around who raised turkeys. Miss Pritkin was a shy, and somewhat awkward lady who always dressed in black. He’d heard her young man had died shortly before their wedding date many years before, but she and Jericho Bob had never had much to say to each other. When he started going to church he noticed that she was usually there- sitting in the back corner, not saying much to anybody, but singing the words to all the hymns with a gusto that surprised him.

One day there was an announcement that shy Miss Pritkin needed to go to the hospital for a short while, and she needed somebody to care for her turkeys. Jericho Bob volunteered, and he went to her house for instructions. After she’d explained how to care for the turkeys and yard properly, she invited him to sit down for some lemonade. There was a long and uncomfortable silence over that lemon-ade table.

Jericho broke the silence. “Miss Pritkin,” he said, “I think I might need to apologize to you. Several years ago when I was a boy, I found a large egg in our chicken coop, not a chicken egg. I learned it was a turkey egg, and it hatched out that same day and a friend and I raised it, intending to eat it for Thanksgiving. That’s another story, but now I wonder- could that have been an egg belonging to you, and should I have returned it?”

Another awkward pause ensued. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess it was yours and I should not have kept it.”

Miss Pritkin confessed that she had put the egg there to help him, and also as a sort of test. “I realize now that part was silly, and maybe a little unfair,” she said. Miss Pritkin’s own little flock of turkeys had started as a gift. Shortly after her fiancée had died, a kind farmer from the church had given her six turkeys and a clutch of eggs to help her get by. When she tried to thank him, he’d said it was nothing, somebody had done him a favor that year, made him a present of enough firewood to get through the winter, and he wanted to pass it on, to do something good for somebody else.

The little flock of turkeys had grown well, and eventually paid well each year, and Miss Pitkin was looking for somewhere to pass on an act of kindness of her own. She had, unbeknownst to him, been watching the fatherless boy who lived up the road, and wanted to help him. She thought she’d leave him one turkey egg, and if did the honest thing and came to ask her about it, she’d give him a small clutch to hatch and raise. But he never came, and she quietly prayed for him, and extended her small acts of charity in other directions (including, he found out later, sometimes buying his mother’s eggs even though Miss Pritkin did not really need them).

Because of that small act of courage in finally coming to her and asking about the turkey egg, Miss Pritkin became one of Jericho Bob’s friends and supporters. She paid him well for watching over her flock while she was in the hospital, and when she came home, she gave him that clutch to raise. She also invited Jericho Bob, his mother, Julius Fish and Julius’s mother, as well as a few other friends to her home for the first Thanksgiving dinner Jericho had ever had.”

Mrs. Tim looked earnestly around the room, “Even a child,” she said, “Is known by his actions, by whether his deeds be pure and right, and though Miss Pritkin thought she had been a little unfair to Jericho, and I might feel that way a little myself, he didn’t. He told me he was glad things worked out the way that they did, and I suppose I am, too. Because if Jericho hadn’t been so hungry, he never would have weeded that man’s garden for him, and that is how he learned the gospel, and he met his wife at church, if they hadn’t met, there would have been no Tim’s father, which means there’d have been no Tim! And that is a thought not to be born. I suppose that makes this a Thanksgiving story, doesn’t it?”

Mr. and Mrs. Tim exchanged thankful glances as their host cleared his throat and turned to Brother Garcia.

For the rest of this Thanksgiving story, go to Life in a Shoe [4].

Article printed from Smockity Frocks: http://www.smockityfrocks.com

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[3] The Headmistress: http://www.heartkeepercommonroom.blogspot.com

[4] Life in a Shoe: http://www.smockityfrocks.com http://wp.me/pEOF1-25v

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