by Sarah Earlene Shere, Hosanna Heralds, ©2022
(Nov. 18, 2022) — [See Part 2 here.]
Sarah laughed as Snicklefritz tumbled off her desk, tangled in red satin ribbon, sending envelopes flying. He lowered his head as she bent over to pick up the letters. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” The elderly lady smiled as she consoled him that no harm had been done. Sarah and Snicklefritz had been friends since her early childhood. They first met on a summer day when her mother had set her in the laundry basket, in the backyard, to play, while she hurried to answer a knock at the front door. The pixie and his boyhood friends came out from their hiding place to introduce themselves. They kept her quietly entertained and watched over her while her mother was absent.
Sarah explained, “These are just copies of some old letters and articles I’ve written over the last fifteen years, always proposing the same thing: a national day to be declared in which we can all join together, as one, to give thanks. I always received the most kind approvals, but there are obstacles not possible to be overcome without legislative aid. And now, with the war, no one is in the mood to celebrate anything.”
Snicklefritz, having climbed back up onto the desk, looked at one of the letters she had pulled out for him to see. He spoke thoughtfully, “It seems to me this kind of a day is needed now more than ever. Why not send a letter to the president himself?”
“The president has enough on his mind. It’s possible he wouldn’t even see it. I’m just one old lady. I’m afraid my youthful faith that I can make a difference in the world has passed long ago.”
Snicklefritz laid a small hand on hers with a twinkle in his eye. “You just write and send the letter; I’ll make sure the president sees it!”
Laying down his paperwork with a sigh, the president removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. Softly he muttered, “Too much bloodshed. Almighty God in Heaven, how much longer?” Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the open window and sent the papers on his desk flying. While he closed the window, a small pixie, dressed in a suit of blue and gray, ran across his desk and shuffled the letters till one in particular was on top. With a smile of satisfaction, he disappeared into the shadows as the president turned back to his chair.