One At a Time God Takes Us Home
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This happened to the young missionary son and twelve or fifteen young missionary friends.
I heard the story from his parents who attended Sunday School a day or so after receiving the news from the lone surviviing missionary. They had been treading water for a day or two, singing hymns, sharing Bible verses, laughing and talking. Being taken one at a time by sharks. Only one in about 18 or 20 was rescued, and he called all of the other parents to let them know that they had had a fine time to the very end, and how their children passed on to the next dimension. I have never forgotten this story, nor shall I ever. It had horrified me so completely.
Freezing water.
Many hours.
Prayer, hymns, and laughter.
Gray fins begin circling our group.
Day Three There are thirteen of us now.
Twenty-six numb legs stop moving.
Hymn singing stops.
Who will be next? I hold my breath.
Goliath is taken.
Pulled away from the circle.
His girlfriend screams.
Goliath makes no sound. Gives me a sad nod.
I watch in morbid curiousness
As he is pulled under the water hard.
The water fills with vast amount of red liquid.
Frenzied sharks swim in for their taste of the kill.
The rest of us hold our breaths.
The third day of our capsized non-rescue.
The ocean is deep. Eight others had already been taken.
Which is easier – to be taken or to watch those taken?
The sharks swim around us one more time.
We who are left give praise for another hour
Of life, each minute a reminder of how quickly
We are taken. Tears in our eyes. Who will tell our tale?
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019
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