LOVE OF THE FATHER
I heard a story once, on television. It was a news item. There had been a flood somewhere in Asia. It was a major disaster. Thousands of villagers died. One village was completely buried under a giant mudslide. Perhaps a day or two later, rescue teams arrived and with them newspaper and television journalists. Virtually everyone in the village had been buried alive. I watched the journalist, covered in mud, tired and emotionally drained, summon up the last ounce of his energy and deliver the story of a small child who was found alive, buried in mud up to her mouth.
The rescuers began to dig to free the child. As they dug to the child’s feet, they noticed a pair of hands underneath, which were clutching the child’s feet. Astounded at this finding, they continued to dig. They found that the child was standing on the fully outstretched arms of her father who stood dead underneath her holding her up.
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