Savior

Timothy found himself lost deep in the woods.  He had intended to hike for the afternoon, but the shadows too quickly grew long and then merged together into full darkness.  The sun, when he last saw it slice down into the thick pine and fir trees, drew away the last warmth. 

Timothy continued walking—albeit slowly—into the darkness.  When the first snowflakes stung cold against his arms, he cursed himself for not taking a coat.  Hours later, as the cold and wet snow penetrated his feet, he cursed himself for not wearing heavy boots.

Late in the night, Timothy’s pace slowed to a crawl.  He began shivering uncontrollably.  Idiot, he thought, you have killed yourself.

As a kind of numbness seeped into Timothy’s extremities, he took to praying.  He never imagined he would perish all alone deep in the forest, but there he was.  Timothy decided he would walk until he could walk no more.

And then?

Timothy began to pray as he stumbled on through the thick trees and snow.  The prayers quickly became a kind of chant.  At last, he would meet his Savior.

But wait!

There!  A flicker of yellow light amid the heavy thatch of trees.  Timothy staggered on toward the glimmer.  The light grew against the darkness as he slowly drew closer.

Thank you, he thought.  I am ready to meet you.  I am tired of being cold and alone in the forest.

The flicker of light gradually grew into a fire.  Near the fire sat an old woman keeping herself warm under a heap of cardboard and rags.  She did not seem particularly surprised when Timothy emerged from the darkness, shivering and weak.  “Come sit by the fire,” she said.

Once Timothy had taken a place near the warm flames, the old woman draped some rags over his back.  He continued to ripple with shivers as she stacked more branches and sticks on the fire.

“Thank you,” said Timothy.  As the flames grasped at the wood in the fire, warmth slowly began to return to Timothy.

The woman remained quiet.

Finally, after some time had passed, Timothy said, “I thought I was done.  I have been wandering for a long time.”  He made sure that his eyes met those of the old woman.  “When I first saw your fire, I thought you were the Savior.”

The old woman did not speak immediately.  Instead, she poked at the fire to urge the flames a bit higher.  Finally she asked, “What makes you think I am not?”

—Mitchell Hegman