by Noble Robert W. Pinkerton (Zenobia Shriners, Northwest Ohio), (1925-1994), courtesy of Masonic Poets Society.
I’d like to tell a story
It’s a happy episode
of a miracle that happened
to a family down the road.
They lived a block or two away.
It doesn’t matter where.
A man, his wife, and three young kids
with one in a wheelchair.
They’d go for walks and wave to us.
We’d smile and say “Hello.”
Why one was in a wheelchair,
for years, we did not know.
Another neighbour said the boy
was born with bones deformed.
They took him to a clinic where
some tests had been performed.
The doctors who examined him
said, “There are indications,
your boy may some day walk if he
has certain operations.”
Said one who diagnosed him
when the boy was only four,
“It may cost ninety thousand,
if we help him...maybe more.”
When they were told about the cost,
they knew it couldn’t be.
Those people struggled just to feed
and clothe their family.
“Why, it would take a miracle,”
said his father, “Who could spend
the money for such treatments,
that would cause his bones to mend?”
“Our hopes were all for nothing,”
cried his mother in despair,
“It looks like he will spend his life
inside that old wheelchair.”
Now a man his father worked with
was a member of the Shrine.
He said, “We’d like to help him,
And it won’t cost you a dime.”
“The hospitals,” he told him,
“that the Shriners operate,
are well equipped and proven;
So, why don’t we set a date?”
Within a month their child
was examined and accepted,
then sent for consultation
where the Shriners were connected.
With surgery and treatments
and the many years of care,
the best of specialists worked with
the famous doctors there.
His every cost was paid for;
his meals and transportation,
as well as for his parents,
there were free accommodations.
Today, that boy is seventeen.
Ten years of therapy
and at the cost of Shriners,
he now walks like you and me.
He plays with kids outside our door.
He runs and rides his bike.
I’m awed as I remember what
before, his life was like.
And he’s just one of thousands
of that burned or crippled hoard
of children who need treatments
their parents can’t afford.
The Shriners gave a new life
to this crippled boy, but then,
I know it was a miracle
from G-d through hands of men.
I’ve always known that Shriners
seemed to have a lot of fun,
but I had never realized
the noble work they’ve done.
And since I was a witness
to this miracle divine,
I pray each night for blessings
on this boy … and on the Shrine.
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