We find ourselves in Nebraska, in the year of our lord, 1899.
This decade had been plagued by drought, but 1899 was the driest growing season on record.
In fact, this was the driest growing season that anyone could remember, including the oldest of the old timers.
Johannes Westenskow X, was a sixth generation Dutch farmer working his family farm.
It was 10pm, and he stood in the bedroom doorway of his four children.
His wife was tending to the youngest Johannes XI, aged 7. Johannes was starving, as they all were. The room was dimly lit by a lone kerosene lamp.
In good times, farmers could get loans against their future crops, and keep their family fed during the growing season.
The drought had been so bad the past few years that most Nebraska farmers’ savings were depleted, and they needed these loans to feed their families prior to harvest.
But the banks’ underwriters were watching the weather. Most loans, such as a home mortgage, have existing valuable collateral.
In the case of farmers, the collateral banks relied upon were crops yet to be grown, which, even in a wet year, made these loans very high risk.
The weather models and forecasts painted a grim picture for the 1899 Nebraska crop. And so, the bank underwriters declined the loans, knowing full well lives would be lost.
But, banks are in the business of making money, not saving lives.
Many people forget that.
When the kids were all asleep, Johannes, his wife and the kerosene lamp went into the kitchen. She broke down in his arms and wept with her head buried in his neck.
Terrible thoughts were racing through her head. She felt a complete failure. She was sure Johannes XI was going to die. They hadn’t eaten in two weeks. He was frail to begin with. What kind of mother was she? How could she not be able to feed her children? She was sure she was going to burn in hell.
Johannes X held his wife. Silent tears racing down his cheeks.
He stroked his wife’s back and said “There, there.. We are all going to be alright. God will not let our boy die. Let’s go to bed now.”
He was lying to his wife with the most confidence he could muster.
His faith in God had long since left him.
How could he have any faith left in God? He had done everything a good Christian man was supposed to do, and his youngest son was barely clinging to life in the other room. And his other children would be following him shortly.
He believed Lucifer was running things for a while now.
He would never truly know, though, how much faith his wife had in him. She believed in her husband. She knew, if anyone could save them, it was him.
They climbed into bed. He held her as she wept and then eventually she fell asleep.
He doused the lamp, laid on his back in his pitch dark bedroom, and stared up at a ceiling he couldn’t see.
He double checked that his wife was asleep.
Then his own terrified sobbing began. He cried so much he thought it would have been enough to water all of his 1000 acres.
He sobbed because he was a total failure. Tears streamed down each side of his head and onto his pillow.
What kind of father was he? How could he allow his son to waste away? Worse, what kind of husband was he, allowing his wife to watch her children waste away? He was sure he was going to burn in hell.
Before they were married, his wife had many suitors, as she was a fetching woman. All the other men were more wealthy and had greater prospects than him.
She saw him the first time when she was 14 and he was 20.
Every Saturday he would come into town with his father and brother to come to the supply store her family owned. It was love at first sight.
All week she would daydream about seeing him on Saturdays. She woke up early and made herself look as pretty as possible. She made sure she was there when her father opened the store at 5am in case he came early.
Once he arrived, she immediately dropped everything to assist them.
She flirted in a cute way but he didn’t seem to notice.
On days he didn’t visit the store, she would cry herself to sleep.
The first Saturday after she turned 16, she finally had to ask him to marry her.
She did it loud and clear at the cash register.
She had said: “Johannes Westenskow the tenth! What’s wrong with you?
Don’t you notice me waiting for you every Saturday? And also showing up wherever you are in town? Don’t you notice I am always with my dad when he brings a delivery to your farm?
I am 16 now so we can be legally wed.
From the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be my husband.”
She moved to the front of the cash register and got down on one knee.
She grabbed both of his hands in hers and bellowed:
“Marry me now or lose me forever!
I have scheduled with the Justice of The Peace next Saturday, 2pm. Wear your Sunday best.”
And he did.
That was 13 years ago and this woman lying next to him had given him a life he couldn’t have dreamed of as a young man. Her loving looks, confidence and adoration never waivered, even during the most difficult times. She was too good for him, and he knew it.
He rolled over and hugged his wife tight and wept into her beautiful hair.
He whispered: “I am sorry Grietje. I don’t know what to do… I have failed you and our children.”
He got out of bed, knelt down and prayed. His entire body was shaking.
“Dear Lord, I haven’t prayed in a long time but I don’t know what to do. For the longest time you have ignored my prayers. Please don’t ignore this one.
Please don’t let my boy die. Please don’t let my perfect wife lose her son. Take me instead. Take my soul instead.”
He was only answered by silence.
He got back into bed, fell asleep and had a dream, no, more a vision.
God spoke to him: “Johannes, you are a good man. Your son is not going to die.”
In his sleep, Johannes smiled, believing God was going to take him instead at that moment. Knowing he was giving his own life to save his son made him feel like a good father once again.
Still asleep, he said: “I am ready. Please watch over my wife and children.”
He prepared for his soul to leave his body.
He woke up with a start and stared at the blackness and realized he was still alive, and his crops and his children were still dying.
God had forsaken him and his family again. God was a liar.
He fell back asleep.
At 4am, the house was shaken by thunder.
Johannes woke up and turned to sit up, his feet firmly on the floor.
He hadn’t heard thunder in over a year. But had he dreamt it?
Then it rumbled again, louder this time.
He began to cry, tears of joy this time.
Lightning soon followed.
Then the heavens opened and rain came down in sheets.
He put his hand out of the window to prove this was not a dream.
It was immediately soaked.
He whispered: “Lord, I'm sorry I doubted you.”
A clap of lightning landed a few feet from the window, splitting a 100 foot tall oak tree in half, and knocking him off of his feet and onto his bedroom floor.
He took this as God accepting his apology.
The 1890s midwest U.S.A. drought was over.
He signed loan papers that same morning.
Johannes Westenskow XI, now aged 103 years, is surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and great great grandchildren on Christmas morning.
They all were gathered in the same kitchen in the same farmhouse where his father had tried to console his mother by the light of a kerosene lamp, almost 100 years ago.
Although he has told it to them hundreds of times, they all wanted to hear the story again.
They wanted to hear how his parents met, his mother’s proposal of marriage and how they all escaped death when the 1890s drought ended suddenly.
They especially wanted to hear about his father’s conversation with God and how it ended in a rainstorm and God slicing the great oak tree in two and knocking his father on his arse.
He leads everyone to his parents’ former bedroom.
Johannes Westenskow XI stares out the window at the great oak’s split stump. Just for a moment tears filled his eyes as he thought about how much he loved his parents and all they went through. He thought of what a great man his father was and how much his parents loved each other.
Then he turns towards everyone, sitting on the window sill, and starts speaking and all present grow silent.
“We find ourselves in Nebraska, in the year of our lord, 1899.”
