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SHORT STORY


TITLE: journals
By olivia gates
07/02/13
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please help me
JOURNALS FULL OF MEMORIES
A memory is the power to call up the past. My memories are dated and scratched on paper in some twenty journals. Sometimes they are only a few words, to trigger my memory as to what really did happen. Some one once said, “Its not the WHAT that happens to you, but WHAT you do with What happens to you. In those pages are some very precious times spent with friends and loved ones. Some writings simple tell the truth. Others are inspired by my imagination, the cold weather, and just life.
One of the first journaling was not journaling at all, it was dependent on the good Lord and my memory. A poem given to me by the Lord, at a time when I had no pen or paper. This poem would change my life. This particular day the Lord made me really look at myself and some others in my life. The other was a real person in my life and my children’s life. This poem came so strong in my spirit that I instantly knew it was from God. Now all I can feel for this person is sorrowful , that he missed out on some of God’s greatest blessings and beautiful surroundings.
Hunting in Jackson Parish was delightful. We joined a club with Sam and Rene Hatten. I have fond memories of their generosity in sharing their camp house with us. A beautiful camp that was as elaborately decorated as anyone’s home. Our daughter , Rachael shared a hunt with me their, where I harvested a cow doe. This story is revealed in Fear cannot be killed with a bullet.
Here today and Gone tomorrow was brought forth in Jackson Parish also. I will use anything in my writings, even a spider. She taught me a valuable lesson that we are here today and gone tomorrow.
Jackson parish extreme cold took over my body and mind as I did the deer stand huddle. Once in the huddle , the birthing of the parade began. Sitting in a deer stand on a private road, in the middle of nowhere. I conjured up the dream of killing the monster buck old three toes, and my victory parade.
I was most delighted when I realized that a movie was being made of me, by God. I experienced darkness, then light, a soft rain and strong winds. Wow! The sheer awareness of his presence brought me to tears of joy. I just sat there in shock as the movie unfolded in my mind.
Anger and outrage took over me the day I understood that someone had hunted out of my stand and violated my stuff. A stolen deer stand is where I had to come to grips with who would want me this miserable, NO ONE BUT SATAN.
Of all the emotions that have accompanied me to my stand, fear has been a constant. Fear of the dark going to my stand. Years past my husband has had to stand underneath my stand until daylight. Fear of the evident dark that would come to my stand. Fear has paralyzed me in my stand.
Then came the morning when Guy Penrod’s song was stuck in my head. I saw a sunshine slide, What? A sunshine slide really. It was not my imagination, it was Oh so real. The sun burning off of my stand, and dew trickling down the pine nettles were awesome. Then not one but two butterflies, in their exploding colors. In a deer stand, you have got to be kidding me.
Never let me forget what I go to a deer stand for. The deer and the harvesting of a deer. Deer have slipped in on me like ghost in the night. Suddenly, they appear out of nowhere. The buck that materialized in the middle lane, the buck that vanished and raced past my window of opportunity. The majestic buck that was just across the fence on another lease. The huge eleven point that Rene killed in Jackson parish and insisted that we load up this deer on her four wheeler and take to camp ourselves. The does that have danced and played in the open field across the road. The monster buck that I now have waited on for Two years and have not seen.
Journals that are still filled with so much more. Facts and fiction and the good Lord help me to remember by scratched words on a page. Only time will tell what stories are next.
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