'Gem of the North' needs healing

Once upon a time there was a small city by a lake, a true northern beacon set by a hill; a quaint hamlet surrounded by such beauty it was world renowned! Hearing of its splendor, legions of folks from distant places would find themselves visiting there. These outsiders took notice of more than just the pristine environment, but also of the fine, friendly, hard-working inhabitants. And often, in short order, those visitors would also find themselves relocating to that slower, simpler, throw back in time place. The town and surrounding area saw tremendous growth and prosperity. Some called it "The Gem of the North," a real modern day Camelot.

Then one day, arriving almost unannounced, a divisive strife; a contentious gust blown upon them like a paralyzing winter wind. Some embraced silence, others defiance, and still others with rearranged alliances. Until progress stalled and the 'Good Ship Peace' broke free from its mooring, sailing for a season from that wonderful place. All watched and wondered how things would be resolved.

A rather precocious child, a resident of that place, heard of the dilemma and immediately began sorting through his deceased grandfather's large chest of belongings that graced a corner of the century-old attic.

The boy was looking for a rather large, old-fashioned looking book from which grandpa used to read. The boy surmised it to be of too much importance to have been discarded when grandfather had passed on. After digging and dusting and sorting, the boy found the treasure he sought.

Even in such a young, undeveloped mind there resided a thought, a clue perhaps of what a particular set of words could do if put into motion, in order to break, or at least loosen the log jam of debris now clogging the free flow of friendship that once possessed the people of that place.

The lad opened the book, only to be overwhelmed with the seemingly infinite amount of words. It truly was a case of looking for a needle in a haystack. Tears began rolling down his dusty cheeks. In between mumbling discouragements under his breath, an illuminated mental interjection suddenly pierced his darkness, reminding him of the colored piece of chalk grandpa would use to mark certain, even more important stretches of words. The search was on, page by page, chapter by chapter, until he located a spot so chalked up, the boy just knew, "This must be it!" He began to read:

"Love is not proud. Love is not rude. Love is not self-seeking. Love is not easily angered. Love keeps no record of wrong. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. And these three remain; faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love!"

The boy slowly closed the book trying to absorb the meaning of such profound words. Then he shouted, "That's it! That's what the townspeople need to hear to sort out their differences. It always worked for grandpa, and he went through things far worse than this! But how do I get them to listen? Grown-ups make everything so complicated! I'm too young to speak on the radio, and it would take me forever to spell all these words in my own letter. What can I do?" Turning toward the opened chest again he spotted a scrapbook of faded newspaper articles. "I know, I'll send it to the newspaper!"

With a look up, and a prayer begging for forgiveness, the grandson carefully tore that page from the ancient manuscript. He neatly folded it, placed it in an envelope from mother's antique writing hutch. He then asked her if he could buy one of her stamps with his chore money. He watched his letter disappear just before early afternoon nap-time when their neighborhood mailman made his rounds. He silently wondered how long the letter would take to get there. Then he wondered, would the people at the newspaper think it was important enough to publish, for all the townspeople to consider. It was nearing summer now, and he just wanted his town to be normal again. As sleep finally overtook his waking reality, the most important thing he could recall is how much he loved the people and the city by the lake!

Dan Cooper is a Post Falls resident.