THIS WAS WRITTEN BY OUR SON, TOTO BUTCH! A reason why he is so special and we are very proud of him! He is a heritage from the Lord! In the Russian Fall By Hardy Thayer 12/10/09 12:08AM The gray stout building stood in front of an eleven year old boy. Its columns were massive and made of marble personifying the glory of the former Soviet empire. The gray October skies meshed with the colors of the Moscow train station building. The men clad in their black leather jackets and the women in their brown fur coats mimicked the personalities of their inanimate counterparts. The boy, along with his father and mother, stood alone in the grayness and harshness of the Russian |Fall. The father, a man in his fifties dresses in a brown leather coat from Istanbul, turkey carried the burdens of the family in a purple backpack. He turned and spoke to his wife calmly yet with authority. “We better hurry so we can get tickets for the earliest train leaving for Saint Petersburg.” “Yes, dear,” replied the woman by his side. The woman, in her mid forties, carried a burden on her back as well. She was a hardy woman, yet caring, and had the touch of Florence Nightingale. The trio made their way through the entrance of the station at the pace the man set. “Well, we have our tickets now,” informed the man. “What time does our train leave?” asked the woman. “Not in a couple for a couple hours. There’s a place to sit over there’. The family made their way through the multitude of people in the station. The inside of the station had beautiful and intricate carvings on the wall. Yet, it possessed the same expressions it had on the outside of the building, gray and sullen. They boy, son of the man and woman, was skinny yet his mind absorbed his surroundings, the images, the emotions felt, everything. Through the eyes of the young boy, the people appeared to be pawns of the station, animate living objects of the surroundings they called mother Russia. For some of them, mother Russia had been their purpose, their life. With the collapse of the Soviet Union a mere twelve years earlier, these men and women felt the deprivation of that purpose in their souls. Some men were sleeping, others were talking. The women were gossiping amongst themselves, others were busy to keep themselves warm. The Russian Fall was bitter an unforgiving. Time passed, an old woman came and sat by the middle aged woman seated on the chair next to her husband and boy. She wore a black woolen coat that draped stiffly to her ankles. A white veil covered her head. He back was hunched. It was difficult to see if she had been beautiful in her youth. The boy saw her eyes. Some say the eyes are windows to the soul. There was something in those eyes, something that cannot be described in words. It touched the soul of the young boy. The woman had been suffering, concluded the young eleven year old mind. The boy studied her more closely and saw that two of her fingers on her right hand were bandaged, if one could call it bandaged. They were crudely wrapped in white cloth a testament to the rewards mother Russia paid for years of labor and suffering. The wife turned to the old woman and spoke kindly, “May I take a look, Maam?” She pointed to the old woman’s bandaged fingers. The woman hesitated, a product of the language barrier. Yet, the wife understood one universal language to that woman- love. The old woman looked the wife in the eyes and understood what she wanted. She surrendered her hands to the wife. The woman in her mid forties opened her burden and drew forth a medical kit. She had been a doctor in the Philippines who worked for the Christian Light Foundation (CLF). Her job at CLF had been to give free medical care to the people in the slums, the poorest of the poor, and later would witness to the poor by showing them the Jesus Film. Many found Christ in this manner including her son who she took along on these medical missions. The wife tenderly cleaned the badly infected wound and placed antibiotic on the old woman’s fingers and wrapped them with genuine bandage from the United States. The whole process did not take more than a few minutes. Yet to the boy, these few minutes, these few mental images would last for eternity. There was more than the placement of ointment that occurred there, more than touching of hands or the surrender of one’s hand to the other. There was love! With the operation complete, the old Russian reached inside her right coat pocket and produced twenty Russian rubbles, an equivalent of fifty American cents at that time. She offered it to the woman doctor. “No, no!” exclaimed the middle aged woman hugging the old woman and drawing her close to her heart. ‘You do not need to pay.” The boy looked upon the scene and saw the reward the doctor wanted, a smile. He gazed upon the face of the old woman and saw through her eyes the marred soul gradually heal. The hug was quick, but the intensity of the affection between the two women was unrivaled. A voice through the station’s PA systems announced something in Russian. The old woman rose. It was time for her to leave. She turned and looked at the woman sitting by her husband and boy. She uttered in Russian, “S-p-a-s-i-b-a, d-a-s-d-v-i-d-a-n-y-a.” The woman smiled and waved goodbye to her. The boy said nothing, but in his heart something was kept, treasured, and learned-because for him, amidst the harshness and solitude of the gray Russian Fall, the abstract concept of love was fully defined. Author’s Note It may be no surprise to you, but for you who don’t know, I was the young boy and the man was my father and the woman, my mother. I thank God for such wonderful parents. This piece is the most beautiful piece I’ve ever written. It is dedicated to my mother. I love her so much and it is through memories of her as shown through this work that I realize that I truly have the most beautiful and best mother in the world. Recipient’s Note This was sent to me on December 14th. 2009 at 9AM. As I read it, pearly tears were streaming down from my eyes as fast as the snow flurries outside. I feel so proud of this boy, the greatest blessing that God bestowed to the man and woman. I cannot help myself but share this beautiful piece of writing to my family and friends. -Glenna
Posted on: Sun, 07 Dec 2014 03:58:15 +0000
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