Billy's Miracle of Love

It was one of the hottest days of a dry season that would bankrupt seven farmers before it was through. Water was being rationed. Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get what little water they could to our fields.

It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes.

I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year-old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn't walking with the usual carefree abandon of youth, but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort . . . trying to be as still as possible.

Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches, thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. A while later, however, he was once again walking in that slow, purposeful stride toward the woods.

This activity went on for over an hour. He would walk carefully to the woods, a short time would pass, then he would run back to the house.

Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey. I saw that he was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them.

As I leaned in to see what he was doing, careful not to disturb him, I witnessed the most amazing scene. Several large deer loomed in front of him, and Billy walked right up to them. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. I almost screamed for him to get away, but held my peace, and the buck did not threaten him . . . he didn't even move as Billy knelt down.

And then I saw the tiny fawn lying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion. It lifted its head with great effort to lap up the few drops of water cupped in my beautiful boy's hand. When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house. He did not see me hiding behind a tree, and I followed him back — to a spigot that we had shut off.

Billy had opened it all the way up, and a small trickle crept out. He knelt there, letting the water drip slowly into his hands, filling up his makeshift cup, as the sun beat down on his little back.

And it came clear to me. The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he didn't ask me to help him. It took a long time for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears.

“I'm not wasting,” was all he said.

As he began his walk, I joined him . . . with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life.

And that was when the miracle happened. As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by other drops . . . and more drops . . . and more.

I looked up at the sky. It was as if God Himself was weeping with pride.

Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. That miracles don't really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime. And I can't argue with that . . . I won't try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm . . . just as the actions of one little boy saved another being.

I don't know if anyone will read this . . . but I had to send it out. To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon. But not before showing me the true face of God.