THE STORY OF A LITTLE THIEF

 

“After nourishment, shelter and companionship,

stories are the thing we need most in the world.”

Philip Pullman

 

Many of us know Admiral McRaven as the gutsy Commander, who oversaw the secret military operation of raiding the hideout of Osama Bin Laden and killing him. Some of us know him for his forthright and fearless criticism of former American President, Donald Trump. But, many, like me, know him for his inspiring speeches…

Admiral McRaven is a great storyteller; by his own admission, like his father. In fact, like most men and women from the armed forces are. I have shared Admiral’s famous speech – ‘If you want to change the world, start making your bed’ – many times, before, in my Blogs. If you have missed it, here I share it again…

 

Today, I came across this one:

“Life is all how you remember it.” How true that is!

What are stories, after all? Why are they passed on from one generation to another?

Today, when I heard Admiral McRaven recalling what his own father had reminded him of, I stared relating it to my own life. I asked: Why do  I keep weaving stories from my own life… from my childhood, back in our village  -  from my school, college and neigbourhood, from my early struggling days here in this mega city, from my years and years of teaching and training young ones and little ones… How is that I end up weaving a fresh story, almost from nowhere, every day?

Though it sounds like a mystery, actually, it is not. Like Admiral McRaven’s dad would remind his little son, I, too, feel reminded, that my life is all how I remember it…

Remembering the stories in our lives is one of the purest joys of life. It’s a very refreshing experience, a very healing one.

And, this: No story from our lives can be slotted as ‘pleasant’ or ‘unpleasant’, ‘worth remembering’ or ‘worth not remembering’…   Life is how we remember it… as it is, Sir!

 

THE STORY OF A LITTLE THIEF

 

Probably, I was in fourth standard. Like every other kid around me, I was fond of toys to play with  and little gadgets to fiddle with. Those were sixties… and, with the kind of situations we were growing up, you can imagine what kind of toys we were able to play with and what kind of gadgets we were able to fiddle with!

So, one afternoon, while loitering around our church compound, my little head was attracted towards the pumphouse. The reading meter (I still do know its technical name) looked very pretty; so, I went to feel it… The next moment, I was checking if anybody was watching me… Parish priest, Fr. Robert Pinto, and his assistant, both must’ve been taking their afternoon siesta… There was not a soul around. Thus, I started twisting and twirling the reading meter. Surprisingly, it came into my hands within a minute or two. The next thing I remember doing was tucking it in my short-pant pocket and disappearing from the ‘crime spot’!

Not a soul saw me doing this act. Probably, God did; more so, because, I was committing a ‘crime’ at the church compound! But, I knew one thing even as a 10-year-old. That, God would judge me only when I died… A long time to go, that’s! At home, I had no courage to talk about it or show the new toy/gadget to anyone… I played quietly in hiding.

The next day was a Sunday. Mom had just returned from the first mass. She said, “Father made a shocking announcement. It seems, a thief had stolen the reading meter from the church pumphouse. He made us pray together for the thief to change his heart!”

I turned cold and started trembling! Fear of God, coupled with a deep sense of shame, made me confess before my mom. For a moment, she was dumbfounded! But, then, she was my mother… She wanted me to own up, make amends. “Son, go and return it to Father, today itself,” she instructed. She added, “Say sorry and, I am sure, Father will forgive you.” But then, I was too scared to do it. The next best thing I could do, as per her advice, was, to put the stolen stuff in a bag, go to the church when nobody was around, place it near the altar… say in my heart, genuinely, “Sorry Father” (both Heavenly Father and our church Father) and come home cleansed…

I did that. Once again, when Father and his assistant were taking their afternoon siesta and not a soul was around…

The next day, at the end of the morning mass, Father had a new announcement to make:

“My dear brothers and sisters, I am happy to tell you, that God heard our  prayer. He made the thief change his heart and return the reading meter. Let’s say, together, an Our Father and three Hail Mary’s!”

I had not found enough courage to confess about it either in my church confessions or before anyone in my life. The only person knew who the thief was - was my mom and my Heavenly Father… I mean, the-good-kind Lord. And, because it was He who encouraged us to repent and ‘come home’, through the story of the Prodigal Son, I was sure, He wouldn't condemn me to the hell-fire when I died…

 

Admiral McRaven and his father were great storytellers. Life is how we remember it… Right?

I have told ‘the story of this little thief’ many times in my Blogs, before... with no shame, guilt or fear whatsoever. Yes, it’s because of what the protagonist did ‘after’ that little theft…

And, I believe, that it’s a story worth remembering, for whatever worth it is!

 

GERALD D’CUNHA

 

Pic’s: pixabay

 

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