I’ve had fun reading the Kisses for God submissions, and I thought I’d share one of my own:
We lived in Tahoe Donner, California, for the first two years of my youngest son’s life. Tahoe Donner is the area traveled by the famous Donner party, so you can imagine the pine trees, steeply inclined streets and heavy winters.
Because of the snow load, more homes were used as a cabin or second home than a primary residence–as ours was. It’s a wonderful place to live, if you don’t mind fighting all year to keep raccoons and bears from spreading your trash down the street.
Another perk: your neighbors are the irregular, distrustful city-type who pull into their garages Friday night—not to be seen or heard until Sunday, when they drive away. For the most part, you don’t have neighbors at all.
One afternoon I took a walk with my children. I was probably paying more attention to the bird song and smell of pine than my surroundings, but suddenly I noticed a dozen deer across the street staring at me. I believe I’d surprised them as much as they surprised me.
A mere 30 feet separated me—pushing a four year old and a two year in a stroller with an infant strapped to my back—from a full grown buck who had turned his body so he was in front of his harem.
I was afraid to turn my back to him (that’s where the baby was) and afraid to progress further if more does were ahead. About the time I cried out to God, a propane gas truck turned the corner. It was my husband’s coworker. He’d noticed me, and decided to turn around to say hello.
Before I knew it, the utility truck was a wall between me and a (possibly) territorial male deer with a herd to protect.
My husband’s coworker drove my walking pace until we were around the corner and near my street. I didn’t know the man well, I can’t say I’d ever talked to him before—or since, but I believe his arbitrary turn to say “Hey,” might have saved my life.