are not sick?” she asked. “I’m all right,” Debbie an swered. “I want to go to my room.” “Didn’t the children like the chimes?” asked Mrs. Graham. “Yes, they thought they were wonderful,” said Debbie, running up the stairs. When she reached her room, Debbie picked up her little red New Testament in which there were so many beautiful colored pictures, and lay down upon her bed. She shuddered as she remembered what had happened in school and she wished she were back in California. There she had friends. Sh.e didn’t have to show off to make people like her. Why did they ever leave their pretty little town even if Daddy’s work did bring him to this place? She was so quiet all the evening and the next day that Mrs. Graham confided her fears to her husband. “Something is bothering the child.” “She is just lonesome, dear,” Mr. Graham said, “She will adjust as soon as she gets to know some of the children. And by the way, a pleasant thing happened to me this morning. One of the men in the car pool asked me if I would speak at their Men’s Fellowship meeting at the church. It was funny, though . . . they want me to talk about Japan, the influence of communism, etc. I don’t know much about Japan. But I guess I can read up on it. One of the men said I ought to be an expert. I don’t know what on earth he was talking about.” Mrs. Graham looked startled. “Why, how odd! One of the women from the church called me on the phone and asked me if I would be willing to help them plan a Japanese-style luncheon. She said she understood that we had lived in Japan and would know just how to do it. I told her she was mistaken; that we had never been out of the country; that you had been in defense plants all the time. She seemed surprised. How did such a rum or pbout us get started?” “I can’t imagine,” replied her husband, “But I shall certainly put the fellows straight tomorrow. I don’t want to pose as an eyewitness to anything that has been going on in Japan.” Still puzzling over this dilemma, Mrs. Graham went upstairs to tuck in for the night her eight-year-old. As always, she wished that the Lord had seen fit to give Debbie a brother or sister, for the child lived too much in a world of her own. As she opened her daughter’s door, she heard sobbing. Quickly she turned on the light and found Debbie in tears. “Darling, what is wrong?” she asked, sitting down on Debbie’s bed, and for the answer the little girl threw her arms around her mother’s neck and wept bitterly. “Debbie, tell me,” begged Mrs. Graham. “Oh, Mother, I can’t! I can’t! I did an awful thing yesterday.” “What was it? Maybe I can help.” She held her daughter tightly and pushed back the hair from her eyes. Through sobs, Debbie finally got it out. “When my teacher asked me where we got the wind chimes, I said in Japan, when we lived there. Oh, Mother, I wanted all the kids to like me, and to talk to me, and be my friends . . . and they did after I said that . . . but Moth er, its terrible . . . it’s a lie . . . and what shall I do?” Mrs. Graham was shocked- and disturbed. She was aware of the extent of Debbie’s imagination but the child never to her knowledge had resorted to deception before. She was silent for a moment, praying in her hear.t for guidance from the Lord to know what to say. Then she spoke gently. “Debbie, first of all, you must ask God to forgive you.” “Oh, Mother, I have, I have!” “All right then. You must believe that He has. You remember the verses you learned in First John in Daily Vacation Bible School: “. . . The blood of Jesus Christ
his son cleanseth us from all sin . . . If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” “Yes, Mother. I believe He has forgiven me. But I know you have to punish me.” “I am not going to punish you, Debbie. You are going to punish you.” Debbie looked up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen. “How can I do that?” “By making right what wrong you did. You will have to tell Mrs. Warren and the class the truth.” Debbie’s crying broke out afresh. At that moment Mr. Graham came up the stairs, and hearing the com motion, came into Debbie’s room, where he was told what had occurred. “So that is why we were asked to make speeches about Japan!” he exclaimed. “Well, that was a tale that grew and grew and grew. And it went mighty fast too, didn’t it?” He patted his daughter on the head. “No great harm is done, Debbie. Just tell the teacher you made up a tale to go with the chimes. They will think it was funny.” Debbie stared at her father. “Daddy, they will hate me! They will think I was trying to show off. I wanted them to think we were important. Now they’ll know I don’t even tell the truth.” Mr. Graham pulled his little daughter onto his lap. “Listen, dear,” he said, “Have you forgotten that the Lord helps us when we do that which is right? Hasn’t He answered prayer after prayer for this family? You remember how we escaped that car accident on the way out here? Don’t you remember when Mother was so sick and had to have that emergency operation and the Lord gave her back to us? This is not hard for Him. Let us talk to Him about it right now.” They bowed their heads while Mr. Graham asked God to enable Debbie to set this matter right. Mrs. Gra ham had sat by her daughter’s bed until she fell into a troubled sleep. The next morning Debbie got up earlier than usual, took her bath and put on a fresh pink cotton dress and combed her hair carefully. When her mother kissed her goodbye, Debbie said in a choked voice, “Pray for me, Mother,” and then set off courageously for the school. She had planned to arrive before the other pu pils, and she went right to Mrs. Warren and told her the whole thing. There were tears in Mrs. Warren’s eyes when Debbie finished. “You are a brave girl, and you must be a real Christian,” she said. “Of course I’ll give you a chance to tell your room the truth. Don’t feel bad. Many grown-ups have a hard time to tell the truth all the time. By the way, Debbie, where did the chimes come from?” Debbie found it hard to speak. “We bought them in Chinatown in Los Angeles on the way out here,” she said. Mrs. Warren smiled, and when she announced that Debbie wanted to say a word to the class, she added: “When she finishes, I want Debbie to describe China town to us. We don’t have anything like that here.” Debbie did not falter in her confession. The children sat perfectly still and not one person laughed. Then as Mrs. Warren had requested, she told about the wonders of the Old and New Chinatowns and the children seemed a% interested as they had been in the wind chimes the day before. At recess, Debbie had planned to stay in the third- grade room and read. But half a dozen of the girls came in, calling out, “Hi, Debbie! We need you for this game! Come on!” Suddenly she was happy again. The tale that grew, and grew, and grew suddenly had stopped growing.
FEBRUARY, 1962
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