My son has been sheltering in two places, our home and the home of my business partner, since for the past four weeks, he has been traveling back and forth between the two from the day when Maria's husband Edward was life flighted by helicopter to the hospital to treat his cardiac issues, climaxed by cardiac arrest from which he was jolted back to life. He was hospitalized for more than three weeks, and moved from one hospital to another when the coronavirus cases began descending on the first hospital's Intensive Care Unit. Eventually, Edward had a pacemaker and defibrillator implanted and finally came home a week ago. My son helped out by staying at their ranch, and taking care of their three dogs and three cats when Maria was at the hospital or staying with me so she could go back and forth more easily when Edward had the surgery. Just before Edward came home, Gilbert helped Maria tile their bathroom sink so it would be done when Edward returned.
When my son was home this time, he was telling me some stories about Edward's various ventures in life, including designing helicopters, drones, and other similar items for the military. He then ventured into some stories my father had told him, and the chronicle of the Samurai sword was one that I had never heard. At some point when I was a child, my father had showed me the sword that a Japanese friend had given him when he was part of the occupying army after World War II. It was a curious looking object for a child who had seen European swords. In its case, it looked like a long, slightly curved cylinder, ivory colored with what I had thought were drawings, but I am now assuming might have been Japanese.
When my father pulled the sword out of its case, the top part was the sword handle and the sword emerged from the rest of the case. My father never let me touch the blade, but I assume that it meant business.
I remember that when my father died and we were starting to clear out their part of our home, I wondered why I never found the sword. I found one of his rifles, which I gave to a cousin who was a hunter. Well, Gilbert told me that my father had told him when he was still a little boy that when my father's friend had told him that he had had a son, and my father realized that the sword he had was probably a family heirloom, he sent it back to his friend. I felt so happy knowing the end of that story, because I knew from the fact that my parents got a Christmas card from his friend every year until my father died that their friendship crossed cultures and radiated from a very deep respect on both sides.
How interesting that my son told me this story twenty years after my father died and it was something I had never heard. Although my son is now an adult, it reminded me that "a little child shall lead them (Isaiah 11:6).