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By the time I had survived to about eight or nine, Rappahannock County and my family were in the throes of the “Great Depression.” Our two older sisters made our Christmas brighter by bringing us many gifts from Washington, D.C., as both of them had jobs.
My older brother got another bright idea. Why not build our own “Speed King” weapon, with some wheels he could get. It would go at least 95 miles per hour down the hills, if we greased the axles thoroughly, he said. And so I was supplying the “boy power” (as usual) down the steep hill behind our house; Granville (in his glory at the “steering wheel”) was yelling back at me: “Harder, Josh! Push harder!
“My feet were flying until my left one came down with such force on a large rusty nail in a short piece of board that it was driven clear through my foot and out the top of it! I tumbled down, over and over, spiked to that board!
Terrible to relate, the only thing I could think of in that moment Was of Jesus nailed to the cross! Needless to add, I displayed none of the Savior’s bravery and resignation but screamed bloody murder as Dr. Browning lanced the nail hole to widen it for the cloth drain he inserted and deluged with pints of pure iodine! Fortunately, I was not silenced by lockjaw afterward!
As I lay in bed for many days, lapping up all of the attention and sympathy I received, I had lots of time to think and to finally ask myself why all of these things were happening to me at Christmas time? I
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