The Emerald Lizard
Brother Pedro lived in Guatemala long ago, hundreds of
years ago, in fact, but all the good he did lives on
in the stories of his work. He was a poor man and
stayed poor all his life, for he gave whatever he had
to those in need. He turned his own small, humble home
into a place where the sick could find care. It is said
that at night he walked the city streets ringing a
little bell to remind people to thank God for their
blessings and share those same gifts with others.
One day Brother Pedro was walking toward the city when
he came upon a ragged man sitting beside the road. The
man wiped away a tear as Brother Pedro approached.
"What ails you, my friend?" Brother Pedro asked,
perceiving his despair. "My troubles weigh heavily,"
the man sobbed. "My wife is sick and needs medicine. My
children are hungry and want food. But I have no money
and can find no work. I don't know what to do."
Brother Pedro looked at the suffering man's face and
longed to help. But his own clothes were just as ragged,
his own cupboard as bare, his own pockets as empty. He
had nothing to give. He turned his gaze upward, hoping
for an answer. The sun's warm glow spread across his
kind face. "Dear Lord," he whispered, "help me help
this man." There was a rustling at their feet, and from
behind a gray rock, a bright green lizard crept into
the sun. Brother Pedro stooped and gently caught it by
the tail. With a smile he placed it into his companion's
hands. The poor man looked at Brother Pedro in bewilderment.
The he opened his hands and gasped. The lizard was
suddenly rigid and heavy and hard. But it is still a
rich green. The man peered closely, and beheld a miracle.
The live creature had turned into an emerald lizard.
"Take this and sell it," Brother Pedro said. "With the
money it brings, you will be able to care for your wife and
feed your children, and perhaps you will have enough left
over to tend to others in need as well." The grateful man
did as he was told. He hurried to a jeweler, where he
was able to sell the rare emerald for much gold. With
medicine and food, his family grew healthy and strong
again. The years passed. The man worked hard. His
children grew up to be prosperous ranchers and farmers,
and their wealth increased tenfold. But they lived quietly
and sensibly, and took care of their aging parents, and
gave much of their fortune to help the poor.
The day came when their father directed his footsteps
back to the jeweler where he had sold the miraculous
lizard. He bought the gem back and set out to find Brother
Pedro. The good Brother was much grayer now, and even
poorer and more shabbily dressed than before. But his
wrinkled face was every bit as kind.
"Do you remember me, Padre?" the visitor asked.
Brother Pedro looked at the stranger closely, searching his mind.
"I met you on the road one day long ago. My wife was
sick, and my children were starving."
Brother Pedro shook his head. There had been so many!
"You gave me an emerald lizard, and told me to trade it for gold."
Brother Pedro's face brightened.
"Of course, of course. Now I remember. And how did
things turn out? How is your wife? How are your children?"
"They are well." the man replied. "But now I've brought your emerald back.
It has given my family health and wealth. You've worked
hard all your life in service of others. Take the gem,
and rest from your labours. You can sell it for gold,
as I did, and live your last days in ease."
He took the sparkling lizard from his pocket and placed
it back in the good old man's hands.
Smiling gently, Brother Pedro stooped and set it on the
ground. At once it turned into a live green lizard and
disappeared under a rock.
Angels, Once in a While
In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry
babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father
was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven
years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been
much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they
heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would
scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave
15 dollars a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided
to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food
either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern
Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then
put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the
rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The
seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant
in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed, crammed into
the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince
whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do
anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck. The last
place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an
old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted
to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old
lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of
the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed
someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven
in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could
start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street
that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come
and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could
arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already
be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her,
so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our
prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And
so I started at the Big Wheel. When I got home in the
mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with
one dollar of my tip money - fully half of what I averaged
every night.
As the weeks went by, heating bills added another strain
to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the
consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had
to fill them with air on the way to work and again every
morning before I could go home.
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to
go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand
new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I
wondered. I made a deal with the owner of the local service
station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I
would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot
longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the
tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still
wasn't enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money
for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and
started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid
them in the basement so there would be something for Santa
to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry
too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys
pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee
in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank,
and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians
were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were
dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just
sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning
and then left to get home before the sun came up. When
it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock onChristmas
morning I hurried to the car.
I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed
to get home and get the presents from the basement and
place them under the tree. (We had cut down a small cedar
tree by the side of the road down by the dump.)
It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared
to be some dark shadows in the car - or was that just
a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different,
but it was hard to tell what. When I reached the car I
peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw
dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was full-full
to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly
opened the driver's side door, scrambled inside and kneeled
in the front facing the back seat.
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go
with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other
boxes: There were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of
groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned
vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O
and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag
of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were
five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove
back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the
most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with
gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces
of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December.
And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
--Barb Irwin
Death of an Innocent
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you were always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road
the other car didn't see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom. I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is he drank and I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying and all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom, put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?
Author Unknown
