Little Boy Lost.
The little boy
is sitting amongst the scrub, his fringe dangling across his eyes, as he draws
in the mud on the ground around him. For some, the dense bush is a scary place,
full of wildlife, spiders and snakes, but the boy isn’t scared.
Some might
think, perhaps he should be scared, as he does realize he somehow became
separated from his parents, during a hike through the mountains. Right at this
moment, he’s doodling on the ground, trying to work out where he last
remembered seeing them.
He thinks
back to when his mother threw the ball for him. He missed and the ball bounced
off a rock, before rolling over the edge of the hillside and out of sight of
the footpath. He ran to get it and then became distracted by a little green
tree frog. Cute thing, with big brown eyes and slimy, bright green skin. He
watched it, until it hopped away. The little boy then retrieved the ball, but
by this time he couldn’t remember which direction he’d come from.
The little
boy called out, numerous times, but heard no reply. He wandered around, trying
to find a way back up the slope, but couldn’t quite make out which was the best
way forward. It seemed to him, every direction was sloping, no matter which way
he looked.
Nevertheless,
the boy isn’t scared, because he knows if he walks to the top of a mountain, he
can find his way. That’s what his parents always told him: ‘Son, head to the
top of the mountain, if you ever get lost. You can always see something from a
mountain top.’
Raising
himself up off the ground, he begins to climb. Higher and higher he climbs,
skirting boulders and fallen logs, getting caught in snags and tree roots and right
as he believes he’s approached the mountain pinnacle; he finds he’s on the edge
of a precipice. What appeared to be the top of the mountain, isn’t actually the
mountain he could see from the bottom. Somehow he’d misjudged it.
Now he sees
a valley and the mountain he thought he was climbing, is on the other side of
the valley. And that mountain is big, very big and the boy does become a little
afraid at this moment, as he realizes he is quite lost.
Isn’t that
the story of our lives? We think we’re almost there and a hurdle comes along.
The hurdle is greater than anything we foresaw, greater than anything we
imagined our lives to be and it sets fear into our heart. A fear that tightens
and grips at us, squeezing the joy out of every moment.
As the boy looks
down into the valley, he sees a deep ravine and he becomes a little more frightened.
How is he going to get to the other side of that ravine? He knows now, his
family will be worried about him, as he won’t be home by nightfall. He can’t go
back the way he came, it’s too far and anyhow, he thinks he’ll get lost if he
goes back. He hadn’t planned on going back. In his youthful ignorance, he
didn’t take notice of where he was. He understands though, all he needs to do
is aim for the top of the mountain. From there, he feels, he’ll know what to
do.
Isn’t that
all we need to do? Aim for the top of the mountain? Or as some say; shoot for
the moon and if you miss, you’ll still end up in the stars. Don’t we all want a
life of interest and fun, not one of boredom and stress? Isn’t that what we’re
aiming for in life?
Aiming for
something great, gives us that interesting life, which many of us crave. Aim
for that mountain top, before fear locks you inside your safely created domain,
doing as little as possible to rock the boat, for fear of the repercussions
which may, or may not follow you in life.
With his
eye on the prize, the mountain top across the valley, the little boy begins his
descent, down the other side of the mountain he’d already climbed. As with all
valleys, they’re hard work and time consuming.
All we want
to do, is get where we’re going. But isn’t that half the fun of the journey?
The destination is only a moment in time. It’s the journey, with all its highs
and lows, that we talk about for years to come, not so much the destination.
Sure, the destination has a feature in our story, but it’s what happens to us
along the way, which makes the story interesting.
The little
boy has to keep going now, there’s no turning back. Once committed, we all have
to keep going. We have to face the trials set before us, on the way to our
destination.
The descent
down the mountain is quite treacherous, with tree roots set to snag us and loose
rocks, which roll out from underfoot. The boy can hear the loosened rocks, as
they crash and bang their way to the valley floor, hundreds of feet below.
As darkness
fell, the stars rose. The air became cooler and the young boy kept walking,
until he could see no further in the pitch black of the forest floor. He was exhausted.
He was hungry. It was dark and there were scary noises all around him. Oh, how
he wished he had better night vision.
He nudged
his way into the crevice of a rock, as the darkness engulfed him. He hoped the
crevice would provide some protection from the animals and with his back pressed
firmly against the rock wall, he waited for the last remaining warmth in the
rock to penetrate his thin t-shirt. He strained his eyes to see something,
anything. But then the thought occurred to him; what if he saw a bunyip?
Have you
ever seen a bunyip? A bunyip, also known as a yeti, is Australia’s version of
“Big Foot,” or “Sasquatch.” I’ve never seen a bunyip. It’s my understanding they’re
very rare. Truth be told, I don’t know if a bunyip is real or not, and I don’t
expect many people have seen a bunyip.
In all
reality, the boy knew there were no bunyip’s in this part of the world, but the
thought still scared him. As his imagination took hold, he pictured in his mind
the bunyip clawing at him, trying to tear the skin from his bones. He closed
his eyes to shut out the picture he’d conjured up.
Tired and
weary from his stressful day, he soon drifted off into a restless sleep. He
awoke frightened; what was that noise he heard? For a minute, he thought he
recognised it and then it was whisked away from him, like trying to remember a
dream upon first waking. He strained his ears to hear more, but there was
nothing and he fell back to sleep, not awakening again, until the first dawn rays
of light appeared.
Once awake,
his thoughts turned back to his sleep. He wasn’t scared now. Why was he so scared
in the dark? This is Australia. There’s not much out here to threaten people. Sure,
there were deadly snakes and spiders, but they didn’t attack people, not like a
bear, or a lion (or even a bunyip) would.
Isn’t it funny
how in the dark of midnight, fear takes hold and yet always in the light of the
morning, whatever it was that frightened us, never seems quite so bad? Darkness
brings fear, light; courage to face another day. We won’t make good decisions,
while in the dark hours. Wait for the light of day to come, when we can think
things through properly. In the light of day, we can make good and intelligent decisions,
not fear based ones.
Now that he
was awake, the little boy felt his tummy grumble. His was mouth dry and his tongue,
raspy. He’d only made it half way down to the gorge. He knew there was water at
the bottom. There’s always water at the bottom of gorges, this much he knew and
anyway, he could hear the bubbling trickle of water flowing, in the hushed
silence of early morning.
He
shivered. He was damp from the air, which carried dusk to dawn and he decided
not to delay any longer. The sooner he got started the sooner he’d warm up. The
thought of a cool drink caused his mood to lift and he began to whistle a
nonsensical tune, as he clambered over fallen logs and skirted around large
boulders.
His mind aimlessly
wandered and he thought of his family. His parents would be frantic by now.
Surely there’ll be people looking for him. Perhaps he would find an open area
today and then he could set out the word “help” using sticks, or stones.
Though he
was young, he wasn’t silly. He knew what he should do in situations such as
this. He tuned his mind inward and listened to his heart. He thought and
listened and leaned into the years of training, of bible study, and of the
instruction from his parents.
“Listen to
the words of the Holy Spirit.” That’s what his parents taught him. He knew,
with all the hiking he’d done with his family, he had to take the time to
listen to the Holy Spirit, if he ever got separated from his parents, or lost.
He felt he
could almost hear the Holy Spirit say; First things first - Don’t panic. Keep
your head about you. Think it through. Fear is your greatest enemy. Hold tight
to what you know. There’s always a way. Now, this is some advice we could all
use, don’t you think?
To keep our
head, no matter the situation. To think things through clearly and not let our
imagination carry us away into utter despair. Listen to the spirit within. Keep
hold of courage and don’t give way to fear.
First
things first, the boy thought; water and food.
As he
clambered down the steep slope, sliding at times on his bottom, the young boy
looked for anything resembling food; berries on the bushes, or mushrooms (which
he hoped wouldn’t be poisonous) in the undergrowth. Perhaps even a piece of
native fruit, if he could find one. There are all kinds of fruit in the bush,
if we know what to look for. Forage was on his mind. He needed to keep his
strength. He needed not to panic.
It wasn’t
long before he found a bush of native berries. A small, green, round berry,
which tasted like granny smith apples. Juicy and slightly bitter, but sustenance just the
same. The boy filled his pockets and ate as he went.
With
scraped knees from a stumble and blood coursing down his left leg, the boy limped
his way to the depths of the gorge. Thirsty now, he was relieved to finally
reach the bottom. He waded into the water’s edge. He cupped his hands, dipped
them in the water and lifted them to his lips, drinking his fill.
Oh, that we
could all drink our fill, during our time of need.
The boy
started to laugh. Food, water, the great outdoors. Life was good. He sat on a
rock with his feet dangling in the cool, refreshing water. Socks and shoes
resting upon a rock beside him, he contemplated his next step. Looking ahead,
he could see the climb out was not going to be easy. But it never is, is it? It’s
never easy getting from one place to another, no matter what the journey, if the
journey’s big enough.
Deep in
thought, mulling over his next move, something caught his eye and he stared
harder, trying to make out what it was through the dense bush. A hut! It was a
hut! ‘What’s a hut doing all the way out here?’ the boy thought to himself.
Well camouflaged, but right there by the sandy river shore, stood a little
shack. He climbed across fallen logs and boulders, in an effort to reach it.
Tired, run
down and weathered boards, blended unfalteringly into the surrounding trees.
Tatty, dirty hessian bags hung from holes, where the windows should be. One of
the bags swayed faintly, in the gentle midday breeze. There was a dreadful
smell of decay, floating through the air, from the direction of the windows.
The door, slanting
at an angle, was a rusty, corrugated sheet of iron. The damp air of dense humid
bushland by the river, had corroded it into a holey mess of rough, tarnished and oxidized
metal.
Cautiously
the boy walked up to the door and knocked tentatively. No answer. “Hello,” the
boy called out, almost in a whisper. The hairs on his arms stood on end, as goose-bumps
arose. He could feel the prickle of his hair raising on the back of his neck.
This place gave him the creeps.
A little
louder this time, the boy called “Hello, is anyone here?” Still no answer. The
anxiety of the moment gave way and relaxing in the silence that surrounded him,
the boy pushed gently on the rusty door and the creaking of a broken and rusted
hinge sounded incredibly loud, against the hushed stillness of the hot midday
sun.
The boy
couldn’t quite shake that creepy feeling; like someone was watching him. He
stood in the solitude for a moment, stepping back and glancing around to scope
out if anyone was there. Slowly he turned, trying to see into every dark shadow,
here at the bottom of the gorge.
An almost
imperceptible movement caught the boy’s eye, as he scanned the area around him,
but he didn’t have chance to make out what it was, when he heard it: “GET OUT
OF HERE!” With an all too vivid memory of his recent thoughts on the bunyip,
the boy’s heart pounded sharply, as he quickly became terrified.
Startled by
the ferocity and volume of the cry, the boy turned to run and ran smack-bang
into the scruffiest, dirtiest, man he’d ever seen. Red, bloodshot eyes glared
at him, as the man stabbed a long, bony finger into the boy’s chest. “Go!” the
unkempt man demanded. “Leave me alone,” the old man touted sharply, his long
grey beard bobbing up and down as he spoke. The boy couldn’t see the man’s
lips, for the grubby, foul, tangled mess of beard. Maybe this is what a bunyip
actually looks like, the boy thought briefly, as his legs almost buckled
underneath him, from fright.
Finally,
his legs started working. Running hard, the boy stumbled backwards, as he tried
to get away, falling heavily onto rocks and catching his feet in tree roots.
Scrambling as fast as he could the boy took off. He knew something wasn’t
right. Why didn’t he listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit? Why did he
choose to go in that direction, when he felt he shouldn’t? These questions were
fleeting, as he raced off, looking to get as far away as possible, as fast as
possible.
Why don’t
we listen to the promptings of that ‘still small voice’ inside our head? If we
didn’t fob that voice off so readily, life would be much easier. The Holy
Spirit is always talking to us, guiding us, giving us direction and it’s up to
us to stop, listen, pay attention and act on what He says.
Gasping for
breath the boy ran and ran, until he had gone as far as he could go. Collapsing
further up the river, by the water’s edge, the boy finally stopped, doubled
over and breathed harsh, shallow breaths.
Finally he gathered his wits about
him, and took stock of his situation. His ankle hurt, where he’d caught it on a
tree root when he fell and he still had to cross the river. He could see; to
get across the gorge was going to be an ordeal. The current was swift and the
water deep. The boy was frightened of being swept away.
And the
mosquitos! They were huge and nasty, down here in the bottom of this gully.
More welts accumulated across his body, as they gorged themselves upon his
flesh, even getting into his nose and ears.
He flapped his arms wildly about his head, in an effort to stave them off, but they were oblivious
to his movement. Seemingly as if to taunt him with their high-pitched buzz,
whining about his ears, he even ended up with a swollen eyelid, after one bit
him in an unguarded moment.
It was as
if they could strike more than once too. It appeared to him as if they bit and
bit and bit. Many, many welts had come up, all across his body, arms, legs,
face, nose and ears, whether he was covered in clothing or not. His shorts and
t-shirt not being of much use, against their attacks. The itch becoming more
and more maddening, by the moment.
He needed
to get out of here and fast he thought, as his imagination once again took hold
and he envisioned himself dying in a pool of gore, after a barrage of blood
sucking mozzie attacks.
Often, it’s
the little irritants of life, which get under our skin, making life unbearable.
Our job is not to let it. Our job is to work out the best plan of action and go
from there.
The boy
looked around and found a log, which had fallen across the gorge, a little
further upstream. Gingerly he pushed on. Gingerly, because in his haste to get
away from that terrifying man (bunyip, maybe?), he’d left his shoes on the
rocks by the river. And there was no way he was going back for them.
Once at the
place of the fallen log, he shimmied cautiously across. Quite a fearful time.
In fact, he was so terrified at this point, he was ready to quit, and yet he
didn’t. He continued on, in spite of how frightened he was. He quivered and
wobbled his way along the log, but he made it. He took his time and slowly, but
surely crossed the breach, as he tried not to think about the swift current
beneath him (and the shamble’s he’d got himself into).
We can all get
into a mess, in life. It’s always easy to get into the messes of life and
always harder to get out of them. If only we’d taken the right course from the
start. If only we didn’t start that journey into drugs, alcoholism, smoking,
stealing, affairs and all the rest.
Had we
followed the teachings of greater men and women, had we listened to the sage
advice of our parents, life would have been much easier. And yet here we are,
stuck between a rock and a hard place. What to do? What to do? There’s no time
like the present, to look ahead and determine a plan of action.
And so devising
a plan, the boy chose the best direction he could see from his vantage point
and after submerging his t-shirt in the water (the only thing he had with which
to carry water), he started the hard slog, the big climb out of the gorge. He
nibbled the berries from his pocket and sucked on his shirt, whenever he felt
he needed to and slowly made his way, towards the top of the mountain.
The climb
was rough, tough, hard and boggy after the recent rain fall. He cut his hands, his
feet were torn and bleeding. He scraped his knees and at one point, the boy
started to cry. Would he ever get out of here? Isn’t that what we all think,
when we’ve got ourselves in a turmoil and tangle in life? Will we ever get out
of this mess?
The boy
didn’t allow too much time for self-pity though. Pity isn’t going to get him
out of the situation. The ordeal was difficult, more difficult than he
expected. He shed a tear and then got on with it. Slowly, step by step, he
climbed. At times, he didn’t even want to think about where he was and what he
was doing. He fixated on the task at hand and kept moving in an upwards
direction. One step at a time, one foot placed ahead of the other, he
continued.
Like
descending the first mountain, it took all day to climb down the mountain and
back up again, only reaching the half way point of this next mountain. By now
his shirt had dried and he’d eaten all the berries. The boy was on the look out
for more food and water, because he knew, even if he made it to the top, he
still had to go on from there and he needed sustenance for strength, to do it.
Eventually
he spotted a rock ledge, which had a puddle of water. The water wasn’t pure and
fresh, as the ravine below had been, but some was better than none. Again, he
soaked his shirt and the relief of the water, gave him more energy to keep
going.
He found
more green berries and a handful of purple ones too and ate his fill, before stuffing
his pockets to the brim. This kept him going until nightfall. As it became
darker, the boy looked for a place to curl up for the night.
He hadn’t
found a clearing at all, throughout this ordeal and accordingly, hadn’t left
any ‘help’ signals. Briefly he wondered how his parents were. Distraught, I’m
sure, was what came to his mind.
The
inexperience of youth caused him to further consider how his parents would yell
at him, once (if) he made it out of here alive. He didn’t stop to consider they
would be beside themselves with joy, should he make it back to them.
Often in
life, we feel we’re in trouble for one thing or another, but seldom are we.
When we make mistakes, and we will make them, we often conjure up the worst-case
scenario in our mind. At times we allow our imagination to run away with us. But
we do need to ‘face the music,’ so to speak. To come clean. And to forgive
ourselves.
At this
point however, the little boy felt he’d be well and truly yelled at, for doing
such a stupid thing as to get lost in the bush. But I reckon, he’d be welcomed
with open arms, don’t you? I reckon, if we admit we were wrong and try to make
amends, many would be forgiven. If not forgiven, we can at least know we tried.
Occasionally
the little boy heard a helicopter, although from his position, half way up the
other side of the mountain, he didn’t see any fly overhead and the boy wondered
if they were looking for him.
Another chilly
evening to dawn, was spent in the crevice of a rock. This time though, the boy
covered himself with leafy branches, to help insulate from the frigid air.
In the wee
small hours, a storm began to brew. The stars disappeared behind a black mass
of billowing cloud. A crack of thunder and simultaneously a bright spark of
lightning appeared as if to cut the sky in two, causing the boy to awake with a
start and jump in fright.
Rain pelted
down and the rock cleft became a torrent of water. More thunder and lightning
followed, then large pellets of hail hit the lost boy, as he pushed himself
further into the rock fissure, protecting himself as best he could. It was too
dark to see. Too dark to move anywhere else. Cold and wet, the boy shivered
through those wee hours and didn’t get much sleep.
His hands and
feet were sore and bleeding, from the climb the days before. His muscles ached
all over his body. His torso, arms and legs began to welt from the overnight
hail, adding to all the other bruises and welts he’d accumulated through this
ordeal. His knees hurt from all the scrapes, but the next day he pushed himself
on. His mind now was starting to question and doubt, whether he’d make it
through another day.
He cried
often that day, as fatigue, hunger and thirst took their toll. The heat of a
summer’s day, dried the water from the forgoing storm. It’s hard to be upbeat
all the time, when going through our trials in life, wouldn’t you agree? He did
try though. Whenever he thought of it, he continued to chant, just like the
little train that could: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…
Still, he
had no choice; continue, or perish. For another day he stumbled ahead, eating
what he could, drinking when he could. His pace quickened as he approached the
summit. And then he made it. He made it to the top of the mountain! As he
arrived at the ridge of the mountain top, he jumped up, gave himself a cheer
and a fist pump in the air. Smiling from ear to ear, his relief was almost
palpable.
He knew; it
was perseverance. It was digging deep, rehashing in his mind all his teachings
from his parents, from his bible, and listening to the Holy Spirit within. It
was not giving up. It was defeating doubt, with uplifting words, that saw him
reach the summit.
And what
did he find at the top of the mountain? Exactly what he was hoping for. From
his vantage point on the mountain top, he could see down to the valley below; farms
and houses and people going about their work. Men feeding cows, riding horses,
with children and dogs, with laughter and fun and the little boy cried tears of
joy. He made it. He didn’t quit when the going got tough and he made it!
Three days in
the dense bush and he found his way out. Ups and downs and obstacles overcome. Life
is like that, don’t you reckon? And, when you think you can’t take any more,
another tragedy strikes. Despite everything, you get through it; one way or
another, you make it. But only if you don’t quit.
Only if you
keep putting one step in front of the other, will you see a positive end come.
Only when you continue, despite the odds stacked against you, will you see the
success you’ve dreamed of.
If you fall
down, don’t have a long pity party. If you must, have a short one and then pick
yourself up and get moving again and you will eventually realise your dream. Start
over if you have to, but don’t quit. Be like this little boy, who persevered
until he received the prize. Just as he was able to do it, I know you can do it
too. We are all capable of so much more and if we’re determined, we will get
there.
Are we not
all lost and looking for direction? Remember to follow someone who’s been there
before you, someone who has the skills you can draw on, to become a better
person than you are right now. A good mentor, or teacher, will aid you through
the difficult parts of life. For we can all do better in life. Even if we’re
doing well, there’s always room for improvement.
I’ve heard
it said; a person who won’t risk change, is a person who fails to grow, or move
forward in life. It’s an interesting thought, wouldn't you agree?
And when it
comes to a mentor, you don’t actually have to meet them. You can read a book on
how they got through their dilemma, or watch a clip on you tube, or even a
movie, so there is no excuse.
In life we
always hear more “no’s,” than “yeses.” We’re often told we can’t and seldom
told we can. This limits our belief in ourselves and as we become older, we
tend to try less and less new things, for fear of failure. We encase ourselves
in the safety of our own little cocoon, not daring to try new things.
However,
once you learn how to overcome your obstacles, once you overcome that first
obstacle, it becomes easier to overcome many.
There is a
key to getting things right in life and that key is: consistency. It’s in perseverance,
through the difficult moments, which see us make it to the end. Keep going,
until you get it right.
Like I said:
One of the beautiful things about overcoming obstacles is, once you’ve beaten
one obstacle, it’s easier to beat the rest. Once you’ve climbed one mountain,
it’s much easier to climb the next.
Sure, there
will be challenges. Anything new which we undertake, comes with challenges.
Once we learn how to overcome those challenges which are stopping us at this
moment, the challenge we didn’t know how to rise above initially, the rest is
easy.
When we're
comfortable with old troubles, finding new solutions seems dangerous and risky,
however, if you know where you're going you can strategize on how to get there.
Make a plan. Believe in yourself. Trust that you can do it and just like the
little train that could, you will make it.
About the author:
Alexandra Grose –
An investigative photojournalist and author for over twenty years. Writing is
her passion and her dream and helping others achieve their dreams, through her
written work, is Alexandra's greatest aspiration.
#Integrity;
truthfulness, honesty and reliability, in all things.
I believe one
should....be truthful in everything you say and do. Keep all relationships open
and honest. Be reliable, punctual and organised and if you say you'll do it -
do it.
If you want to soar
like an eagle, make an effort, not an excuse.
alexandragrose@amazon.com
