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by Paul in Romans 8: 18-28, building the story of my life. |
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Our children were the active sort they loved to run and play; Toys were sticks and leaves and such At my parents place that day. Scotty was the deep thinker; By his picture can you tell? We knew something was terribly wrong When he began to yell. He'd run across a nest of ground bees To which they took offense They swarmed up beneath his shirt And were severly attacking him. My husband pulled them one by one While they stung and they did bite I held him close and prayed, "Oh Lord, Please make our son alright." I could not dress him before his clothes were soiled once again; He was spewing forth with tears, poison from both ends. We wrapped him in a bed sheet And ran out to the car. Headed for nearest hospital, Twelve miles seemed oh so far. We told that we had prayed For a miracle healing for our son, And were broken hearted For the healing hadn't come. The doctor replied, "Oh yes it did my friend. I counted 36 bites, on a child so small That should have been his end." "Oh but the awful vomiting, Diarrhea everywhere." "That's how the poison was driven out; The answer to your prayer." And so I learned to just accept How strangely answers may come The day that God saved the life Of our precious second son. Leola Boyd © 20 October 2011 |
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Bees from morgueFile 
photo & graphics Leola Boyd
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