This week’s Sunday Writing Prompt: Shape-shifter

I’d always wondered about my grandfather’s proclivity for understanding Nature. I’d assumed it was his Native American heritage on his mother’s side. You’d think his tales of the “Thunder God” would have contradicted his Christian beliefs, but they didn’t.
He’d say when asked, “Does speaking of atoms negate the idea that God created them?”.
So, Grandad explained that Nature’s many abilities had no bearing on his belief in one intelligent designer of the universe. In fact, he admitted they were the clues to it.
I recall one summer that Grandad and I spent together. He lived in a trailer on the edge of the desert. I was 14 and my mother decided getting away from peer pressures while reconnecting with Grandad was a great idea.
I wasn’t happy. No television… no internet… NO MC DONALD’S!
Well, Grandad was thrilled with my company and we began daily hikes into the local caves. I have to admit that we had a great time and the cave paintings from his ancestors were mind blowing! He had a lazy eye which gave him an otherworldly appearance and made every single story come alive.
Grandad explained many legends and I felt such a pride in that heritage that I insisted upon registering as a full tribal member.
During one excursion, we happened on an altar deep inside the mountain. Grandad was surprised, himself, to discover it!
Suddenly, the mountain shuddered and a part of the ceiling crumbled trapping me (but fortunately not crushing me) beneath a large rock. After not being able to budge it, Grandad decided to seek help. He left me with his crucifix and told me to pray. He PROMISED that I would be okay.
I thankfully dozed between prayers because my legs had lost feeling and I was losing hope.
A snort awakened me. There beside the ancient alter was the largest, pure white, mountain goat I had ever seen!
It may have been my physical pain playing with my head but, to this day, I know that goat winked at me with an extremely familiar lazy eye.
Then it proceeded to dig into the dirt floor with sturdy hooves, lowered its head, and pushed with great might, easing that rock off of me. I passed out with relief only to awaken to my grandad carrying me over his shoulder into the trailer with the crucifix still wrapped around my hand.

After days of care and recovery, I was my old self again, except for some deep purple bruises. At our final campfire, the night before I was to leave, we prayed together. A rumble came from the mountain once again, but this time it was from a distance. Grandad placed the crucifix in my palm and closed my fingers.
“Keep this with you, always, for safety and as a remembrance of your spiritual awakening at Waneta Mountain.”
It wasn’t until Grandad passed that I fully realized what I had experienced.

[The name Waneta means Shape-Shifter, and is of Native American origin. ]

Sunday Writing Prompt, May 30/21 – Shape-shifter | Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie (wordpress.com)