Blood on the Plow
Reverend Smith walked down the dusty lane towards the Muldoons' place, worrying about tomorrow's sermon.
He didn't have one.
He'd been praying for inspiration all week, and had come up dry. He had been visiting his flock that day, thinking maybe inspiration would come that way. So far, no luck. He prayed some more as he walked.
The Jameson boy had taken ill, but it was nothing serious. He'd visited the family, prayed with them, and walked on. He still didn't have a sermon.
He decided to visit the Muldoons, and walked towards their farm, continuing to pray for a miracle.
Rebekkah heard the pained screams and ran toward them, worried sick about her beloved husband. She ran past the planted field, and through the partly plowed field, and there Jonah lay, grasping his leg, blood squirting out of it with every heartbeat. By the time she reached him the deeply tanned farmer had lost consciousness and was as pale as a newly bleached bed sheet.
Jonah's mule and plow were nearby, the plow in a pool of blood that stretched to where Jonah lay.
She tore off a piece of her skirt to make a tourniquet out of and applied it, but she feared it was too late. He'd lost a lot of blood! He got more and more pale, and his breathing became more and more shallow.
Her husband was dying. She was sure of it. She knelt down and prayed that the Lord God would save him. “We're so young, Lord! We don't even have a child yet! Please, please, Lord, don't take him from me!
“But Lord,” she added, “Thy will be done, not mine. In Yeshua's name I pray, Amen.”
She opened her eyes and saw... well, she wasn't sure what she saw through her tears. She wiped them out of her eyes and saw the Reverend Smith bending over Jonah. “Rebekkah, what happened here?! All this blood!” he said.
“I don't know, John. I was churning butter when I heard him scream. By the time I got here he was unconscious. I put a tourniquet on, but...” she sobbed “I'm afraid I was...“ she sobbed again, “too late!”
“My poor child,” said the Reverend, his hand on her shoulder. “Dear Lord, if it be your will, please spare Jonah, and please comfort this poor child in her time of grief. In Yeshua's name I pray, amen.”
Jonah groaned, and Rebekkah startled. “Jonah?”
Jonah looked a little less pale. His eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Christ, my leg!” he panted. “Oh God, it hurts! And I'm so thirsty!”
Smith's eyes opened wide. “Jonah? Are you all right?”
“Reverend? When did you get here? No, I'm not the least bit all right! My leg... the plow almost cut it off! It really, really hurts! Oh, God!” he said, gasping. “I think I'm going to die!”
“You just lie still, Jonah,” the preacher replied. “Rebekkah, stay here with him while I go get some help.” He then took off running.
When he returned with three other men and a stretcher, Jonah was upright, with his wife helping him walk back to their house. “Jonah?” Reverend Smith said, “I brought strong drink, as it says to in the holy book's book of Proverbs.”
“Thank you, Reverend, but it doesn't hurt as much. I think the bleeding stopped, but I need water. Yeshua but I'm so thirsty!”
“But how... thirty minutes ago your leg was half off!”
Jonah smiled, took a step, and grimaced. “It's a miracle, John, truly a miracle. Praise be to God! Shall we all go to my house and commune with a glass of wine?”
“Well,” said the reverend, “Forgive me, Lord, but I could use a stiff drink!”
He knew what his sermon was going to be tomorrow.