Shalom beloved of Yahweh.

The other day I wrote another blog for this site. Spent quite a bit of time on it actually only to get to the end of it and,,,,, it disappeared on me.

So today let me just tell you a true short story about an experience I had as a young boy living in the country when I was just seven years old. 

My Dad was a Farmworker for most of his life. He had about three mustering horses along with a posse of usually around    six   or  seven sheep and cattle dogs.

I attended a  country school at the local village called in Maori "Upokangaro" and I was picked up and dropped off at our gate by the school bus.

I remember this day as we pulled up after school near the gate on the opposite side of the road.

Through the bus window I could see my Dad was home because all of his horses were tied together near the house.

A whole bunch of freshly driven sheep were in a nearby paddock also.

My mum and some of their friends were also sitting in the afternoon sun on the veranda.

About as excited as a seven year old boy cound be I leapt off  the bus ahead of my two elder brothers, ran around the rear off the bus and out onto the road.

All I remember was waking up on the far side of the road with my mum kneeling over me and my dad having a fistfight with some bloke. 

At  full speed it must have taken a few minutes to reach me from the veranda.

I remember feeling warm and restful as I lay there on the edge of the road.

The schoolbus was full of other kids going home as we were the second or third stop. They must have been horrified to see a classmate being hit     straight on by a Volkswagon car travelling 60 mph and punched through the air.

Not to mention my poor mum and dad and the rest of my family. And lets not forget the driver that hit me.

We lived about half an hour from the city hospital as dad drove while mum straddled me across her lap on the back seat.

We visited our family doctor first as she was closer than the hospital. I was wearing shorts shirt and gumboots with sox.

I remember them removing the boots and sox  off my left foot and them cutting the rubber boot off my right foot because of the pain coming from that leg.  They determined it was broken and after cleaning blood from around some scrapes and cuts all over my body they took me off to the hospital.

After the mandatory x-rays I was taken to the plastering room for a cast.

After all this we were ready to head home again. It had been about four hours since the accident and mum and dad were anxious to get back to their other children. 

Again mum straddled me across her lap and about three or four minutes from the hospital mum let out a loud shriek!

Dad pulled over and asked what was wrong.

They had plastered the wrong leg!!   Because I would not let them   remove  thesock on my injured leg the plasterers presumed it was the other leg that had been broken.

So back to the hospital to get a cast removed and onother put on. My dad was not happy. My mum ws not happy and as I watched my dad remonstrating with the doctors and nurses I lay there completely at ease.

After all of this drama we finally arrived home and my body healed rather quickly.

And the most disappointing thing for me regarding this whole adventure was the fact that the local paper got my first name wrong!! Not just the spelling but the whole name.

They called me,"Riddnell"    Brightwell. Huh???

The moral of the story?   Even way back then and  coming from a non-religious family,,,,I knew who I was!

I am Raymond John Brightwell, Son of the Living Elohim, your servant in Yeshua.


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