wordpaintervs

Here is a story I wrote today. Dedicated to all sick children in need of healing and comfort, but mainly because I sent little Georgia a doll. See her at the bottom of page 18 with her doll. I hope you like the story.

Vickey Stamps

A BIT OF COTTON
© Vickey Stamps 4/27/11
The cotton lay within the hard somewhat sharp container from which it had sprang forth. The day was warm. Having just been given birth, it looked all about itself, and at its parents, sisters, brothers and cousins, as they lay in their neat rows. They knew soon would come the pickers of cotton. Now it took a second look at its own frame. Had a bit of cotton been allowed to do so, it surely would have begun to cry. It was smaller than the rest; its stem was somewhat misshapen and bent, almost gnarled like in its appearance. It thought perhaps it would be left behind, never worth anything at all…of little if any service to mankind, for which it had been grown.
“Do not fear, little bit of cotton.” Came a soft voice,from out of the air around it. “Out of little will come much. Never fear. You will serve a special purpose. Wait and you will see.” The cotton did its best to nod its little head in acknowledgement, as best it could, in the breeze that came to sooth and comfort it.
Now the pickers had come, plucking the bit of cotton out of its container, tossing it into a long sack that trailed behind those hoping to earn enough to meet the needs of themselves and family. The small cotton plant had almost been overlooked, but at the last moment, the small bit of cotton was pulled forward and thrust into the long sack.
Now the cotton was sent to a sorting factory. The small bit of cotton was removed from its larger family of cotton fluff as it rolled along a factory belt. Not it got tossed aside into to a separate container. Was it to be thrown away? Was it of no use? The cotton tried as best it could to roll away and into a deep section, near a corner. Perhaps no one would notice it, and it could continue on, even though its existence might be lonely. The box in which it had been thrown into was carried away.
“Oh no!” thought the cotton of little importance. “I am to be called a ‘ second’ or something of lesser value. That means I can still serve, but perhaps no one will cherish me with this new title I am called.” Again, from where it did not know, the voice came once more “Have faith. Remember our conversation when you waited out in the fields, and felt yourself of little value? All will be well”
Eventually in the process of becoming more, the cotton became fabric, stretched to its limit in all directions, with the yellows of sunshine, of clouds, of earth tones, of grass and all colors in between. Designs were pressed into its surface and it became quite pretty. Now, even as it perceived itself as something of lesser value, the cotton fabric sat, wrapped round and round, upon a cardboard bolt in a small store. It waited to see what would happen next.
A lady came to the fabric clerk, explaining she made dolls for sick children, and might there be something she could afford, to brighten up a child’s life. She was brought to the selection of such as the bit of cotton, so lacking in faith in itself. “Oh my! This is just what I was looking for. It is just perfect. I can buy more of this then the more expensive cotton, and the child who gets it will never know or care. Instead of one doll, there shall be two dolls. “ The lady hugged the fabric to herself, taking it away to be cut to size, while she found ribbons to decorate the future doll and compliment its colors.
Far away in another state, a young child lived each day in the love of her family. Blessed she was, for she had a loving family who did all they could to make each day important for her. She had been born with a bad heart and liver and had been through so much already, in her struggles to survive. Because of love and care from family and medical staff, she had lived to be almost three years old. She wasn’t the size of others her age, for her health had slowed her growth. She was a happy child. One of her family members heard of the lady who made dolls for children like theirs. and asked for a doll. Now it had arrived and would become a friend to her. “Just my size” she thought, and using her difficult to speak vocabulary, the little one named the cotton doll Sis. Where she went, the doll would also go. They would be a team.
Who is to say in the solitude of quiet times of either day or night, that the still voice did not come to sit within and with the owner of the voice? Who is to say He did not sit upon the Childs bed and that of Sis? Who is to say He did not smile upon the doll, made from a bit of cotton thinking itself of little value?. Who is to say that peace and comfort did not come, that He who see’s and knows all, did not gather the small little girl and her Sis into His arms, sit with them in a rocking chair within the room, and croon a loving lullaby. Who is to say that in the middle of sorrow and tears, does not spring forth joy and happiness? Who is there of common sense….that could ever deny that….
LIFE IS GOOD.