Creative Christianity - The Widow's Quest: Part 1

The following piece begins a series based on the passage found in Luke 18:1-8. It presents a fictional account with allegorical aspects which coincide with the parable told by Jesus in those Scriptures. This is a fictional story with a world, and characters built by me. I hope you enjoy it.

Constance made her way through the narrow, muddy streets, thankful it was raining. A constant downpour washed away some of the surface filth making her feel there was a modicum of cleanliness here in the Rift. She kept her head down, the hood of her coat concealing her face. She didn’t want anyone to know where she was going. If they found out she was on her way to the Manor of Minward they would beat her until she was no longer recognizable. The Black Needles didn’t appreciate the people of their ward asking for help. They didn’t need help. They could make it on their own.

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Constance smirked beneath her hood. Neoplo “The Builder” De Caro wasn’t just known for building the run down, decaying ruins the people of the Rift had to live in, but for raising up the crime syndicate that preyed on the very people it was supposed to protect. She had seen enough; enough suffering; enough struggle; enough darkness. If the Lord of Minward was truly just, as she had often heard through her fourty-three years, why didn’t anything change? She was going to find out.

She was going to have to get past a few of De Caro’s check points. He wasn’t fond of people leaving his barony. He had an intricate web of knowledge woven together by his army of groveling lackeys. Constance learned from the time she was very young to blend in. She didn’t want to stand out. Being noticed by Neopolo, meant you became one of his, either that, or you conveniently disappeared. She felt bad for the younger people. De Caro’s appetite wasn’t just reserved for food and drink.

Constance felt bile rise in her throat, but she swallowed it, and clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to become just another of De Caro’s appetizers. She had to have hope; hope that the Lord of Minward would be able to make a change. Maybe he just wasn’t aware of how bad it was in the Rift. As the Lord of an entire city, he must be very busy, and maybe information wasn’t getting through due to De Caro’s influence.

The first check point loomed ahead. Her training in boiler maintenance should be able to get her through this one. She felt the tool bag by her side, then slid her hand into her coat pocket where the forged work papers printed on union stationary, and folded neatly, stayed dry from the down pour.

Image by Anna Veronika from Pixabay

Constance wasn’t alone in this quest. There were a few others who wanted a better life, and knew De Caro’s empire building wasn’t going to benefit them. She and Amos had formed a small group of other “believers”, which now was up to twenty members. They rarely all met together, but stayed in touch using messages sent via trusted couriers. Since the steam movement, and its subsequent advancements in communications, things like sending handwritten messages on foot had become obsolete. Now things were moved along through vast tubular networks both above and below ground pushed along by the compressed power of steam.

Amos had been like a little boy, completely enamored with the advent of the new Steam Era. He loved the machines, the gears, the noise and the power behind something so simple as heated water. She missed him terribly. It was coming up on five years since his death, but grief was relentless where darkness bred, and the Rift was a breeding ground for all that was dank, and miserable.

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Constance took a deep breath and moved confidently to the first check point. Each check point held a small booth barely big enough for one person, but often occupied by several of Neoplo’s goons. There were three of them in this one. They were chatting and laughing. There were several other people in line.

When her turn came, Constance pulled the papers out of her pocket and quickly shoved them through the small opening in the window.

The man looked down on her, from where he sat in the dry, heated booth.

“You in a hurry there, lass?”

Constance wanted to quip back she was old enough to be his mother, but didn’t reply, just shrugged. She found the best thing to do was not engage. Once you started talking, they became interested. She waited, turning to look at the line that was forming behind her. That was a good thing. The more people waiting, the less time they would take to push you through.

The man stamped her papers and passed them back through the window. As she reached to take them, he wouldn’t let go. She looked up at his scruffy face.

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“Smile, Sunshine. Life ain’t so bad. Doesn’t old De Caro take good care of his people?”

Constance swallowed the retort brewing in her gut, gave a shy smile and nodded her head.

“There we go! You have a good night now, lass!”

Constance placed the papers back in her coat pocket. As she walked away she let out a deep breath. One more check point to go.

The Bee Keeper

This is a fictional work. These are my musings on the work of the Holy Spirit in prayer as written in Romans 8:26 - “In the same way the Spirit also helps our weaknesses; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings to deep for words.”

The man stood in the open watching the light bees streak across the darkening sky. As they fell, their luminescence began to fade. He had to capture them quickly before they went dark. He could still catch them after they fell by listening for their unique buzzing. He darted this way and that, scooping the bees into his sack which began to glow and buzz softly from within.

Image by Oscar Portan from Pixabay

“There are a lot of you tonight.” He said it out loud, in part to remind himself of this responsibility the Father had given him.

While the light bees weighed nearly nothing in their glowing state, he knew when he pulled each one from the sack it would weigh heavily on him until he had finished the plea. Each petition was different. Many were not heavy, but more the stuff of wishes and dreams. However, as time passed it seemed that more and more of them were bloated so full of pain and sadness, he often had to go to his brother to ask for help bearing the weight.

When his sack was full, he made his way back to his room. He lay the sack on the table near the window then began to prepare his floor and bed. He always made sure he had plenty of blankets and fluffy pillows. The Father spared no expense for he and his brother, because he had given them the most difficult tasks.

Image by David Greenwood-Haigh from Pixabay

It was an odd conundrum, to be so powerful as to create a world, but to know the depths of pain and suffering because of their love for the creation.

He went to the table and opened the bag. He pulled out the first bee. It was completely dun, but it buzzed softly. He sat on the floor and held it in his clasped hands. Raising his hands to his mouth he blew gently over the bee. The transformation was instantaneous. The bee became light, and sound, and color. It blossomed into whispers, tears and then rants. In that instant he knew for whom he was to pray. In that moment he was driven to his face on the floor where he began to groan and tremble.

There were times, like now, when the prayers were so heavy he could not stand under their weight. The more incoherent the prayer, the heavier it weighed. So many did not know how to pray, not because they lacked the knowledge, but because their hearts were so entangled with the ones they prayed for. Their prayers came out like mumbled, tear filled whisperings, or loud, frustrated, pain filled moans.

Image by Rebecca Martell from Pixabay

“Lord, God Almighty…my daughter!”

“Creator in heaven…my marriage…help!”

“Father…when…when…when?”

As his heavenly breath breathed over each bee, their rants, moans and tears turned into the purest and sweetest prayers. He knew each and every need, want and desire. He lifted them up, his own body taking the toll of bearing each and every request.

He finished a particularly difficult prayer, his body still trembling from the weight of it. He was sweating, yet chilled. He heard the door open to his room, then felt a gentle hand on his soaked back.

“Brother, your work is heavy tonight. Let me help you bear these dear ones to our Father’s throne.”

He nodded as his brother knelt in front of him. His gentle face was filled with empathy. He knew what it was like to bear this weight. He had born their weight on a rough, wooden cross. He knew them in a way that he was only just beginning to understand.

“Their stings are potent tonight, Brother!”

He smiled. His smile always could light up the world around them. “I am all too aware of their stings, but they do not understand what they ask or what they do. It is in part due to the constraints their flesh puts upon them.”

“But why is it so hard for them to believe, to accept, to have faith? We know our Father is fully good.”

His brother nodded. “We do, but we abide with the Father. It takes them time to grasp the idea that they too can abide with Him…and truly, one day shall abide with us…for those who believe.”

He nodded in agreement. “For those who believe. Thank you, Brother.”

The brothers sat knees to knees cherishing each and every light bee pulled out of the sack. Their unity bore the pain, their brotherhood embraced the hurting, and their love turned all of it into a stream of light and rejoicing, a sacrifice of worship to their Father, the King.

Relentless - Part 6: Home

Laney, could hear the steady beep, beep, beep of the machine monitoring her heart. She knew where she was, and what was going on. She was dying, but an amazing peace surrounded her, a living, breathing presence. She thought back to all those years ago, the night Steve walked out on her; the night the Shadowed Ones tried to get her to take her life; the night she met her unborn daughter. That night she had given her heart back to its maker; the King.

Image by OsloMetX from Pixabay

“GG?” A sweet, young voice called her name and she could feel the tender hand on her own. She opened her eyes.

Her youngest great grandchild stood next to her hospital bed. He was only eight, but his faith in the King was as strong and as deep as a mighty tree. She smiled at him.

“Silas.” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper.

“GG? Are you going to see Him? Are you going to see the King?” His eyes were wide with hopeful, childlike anticipation.

Laney managed a nod. “Yes, sweetheart. Yes I am.”

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Laney turned her head and saw the room filled with her family. She could see Steve in every single one of them. The thought made her smile. Steve hadn’t really given up on her, just like the King and His Son, he relentlessly pursued her.

For a long time she carried the guilt of her abortion, and it made seeing Steve even harder, but gradually, time, and the King’s soothing words reminded her she was forgiven. She was made new, and nothing ever captured her attention again, like His love.

Silas squeezed her hand. “GG, when you get there can you tell Gpa I miss him? Can you also say hi to Cocoa, and Nut?”

Laney managed a soft chuckle as she thought about the last two dogs she and Steve had rescued. The grandkids had been a little older than Silas when they adopted a dark brown puppy from a puppy mill, and a fluffy, white, very busy puppy from the Humane Society.

Image by carpenter844 from Pixabay

“Silas, I will tell them, and I’ll tell Myles, Sophie, Frito, and Chip.”

Silas’ brow wrinkled. “Were those your doggies when you were younger?”

“Oh, yes, Silas. Myles and Sophie were the dogs who helped rescue me. Frito and Chip were your dad and Aunt Evi’s dogs as they grew up.”

Steven Jr. stepped forward and put his hands gently on Silas’ shoulders. “Come on, bud. We need to let Gram rest.”

Silas squeezed her hand one more time then let his father lead him a way from the bed. Laney looked at all of the blessings the King had given her. His grace and mercy showed in every single face that stood in that room.

She lifted her hand towards her son. “Steven, come.”

Steven stepped to the bed and put his arm around his mother lifting her so she could see everyone.

“I love every single one of you, and I know you love me. You all know my story, because I never want you to go down the road I did…to run away from the King. No matter what happens in your lives, only He is truly trustworthy, and loves you completely. He alone makes you exactly who you are supposed to be. Always remember.”

Laney leaned back weakly on her son’s arm, and he gently placed her head on the pillow. “Good bye, Mom. We’ll see you again.”

Her daughter, Evi, came over and kissed Laney’s forehead, her tears anointing her mother for her last journey.

Laney closed her eyes.

* * * * * * * * *

When Laney woke, the first thing she felt was warmth. It was as though she was laying on a glorious Mediterranean beach, the sun beaming down on her with a gentle breeze blowing across her skin. She took a breath and realized she could breath without pain, and she could smell. A million different scents blended together filling her with a joy she had never known. She opened her eyes.

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

She found herself in a garden, one that caused all the Better Homes and Gardens winners to look faded and tiny in comparison. She sat up. She was on a blanket, and laid out beside her was a picnic complete with gingham napkins, a wicker basket, and food that looked like nothing she had ever seen before. She felt her stomach growl. What a glorious feeling after years of having no appetite.

“Laney.”

She looked up. There stood Steve, and her daughter Elena. They had decided to name her, after they had gotten back together. Both of them looked radiant. Stepping out from behind them was the King, His Son, and their presence, Arabella. Arabella was luminescent, as though a million stars filled her very being.

The Son came to her and reached out His hand. “Laney, we are so glad you are here. We have been waiting for you.”

Love, all at once a force, a thought, a breath, a place, an entity clothed her as His hand touched hers.

She was home.

Relentless - Part 3: The Pursued - Mercy upon Mercy

Laney had just brought the pups in from their walk and all three of them were wet. It had turned gray early in the day and soon after started to rain. She didn’t like having to walk the pups in the rain, but she knew it was good for all of them. Laney had become very disciplined in her life. It was something she was proud of.

Image by Gundula Vogel from Pixabay

“Okay, guys, no jumping on the furniture until I get your feet wiped off.”

She grabbed a towel she left hanging by the door for just that purpose, and began to wipe Myles’ paws. Sophie sat obediently waiting her turn. Myles gave her plenty of kisses, then padded into the living room where he jumped up to his spot on the couch. Just after she finished Sophie’s paws and hung up the towel, there was a loud clap of thunder that made her jump. Both dogs barked. The lights flickered.

Laney spoke gently to calm the pups down. “It’s okay. It’s just a little thunder. You know it happens a lot when it rains.”

It went dark.

She looked out the front window and the whole neighborhood was dark. The rain was coming down in sheets, while thunder and lightening rumbled and flashed simultaneously.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

She looked at her phone, thinking she had better log the outage with her electric company. It lit up for one second then it went dark, just like the neighborhood.

She felt panic, the same kind she had felt in the bar on that night over two years ago. She could still hear the whispers. She clenched her teeth.

“Alright, guys! We need to find the flashlight and get some candles lit.” She forced her voice to be calm and upbeat.

It made her think of her dad. He had always been buying candles at garage sales for just those occasions. Her mom would light them all over the house when the lights went out and it always made her feel safe, so she was going to do the same.

Image by Obsidain Photography from Pixabay

The pups padded along behind her as she found the flashlight and then grabbed a variety of candles and their holders from various places in the house. She soon had the living room and kitchen looking like a bright fairy festival at Christmas time.

She gave the dogs their dinner, then scooted down the hall with a candle to her bedroom to change into dry clothes. She looked out the bedroom window and was stunned by how hard it was raining. It looked like there was a wall between her and her neighbor whose house was only a grassy patch and a driveway away.

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

She noticed the reflection of the candle in the window, but there was someone standing next to it. She whirled around fear catching in her throat. There was no one there. She nervously pulled the curtains closed without looking back at the window, quickly changed her clothes and went back out to where the pups had curled up on the couch.

She closed all the other curtains as well, then sat between the dogs pulling a blanket over her lap. Myles yawned and rested his head on her lap, while Sophie put her back against her leg. The dogs were her salvation. She did not know what she would do without them.

She began to doze, hoping the rain would stop and the electricity would come back on soon.

Image by Waldryano from Pixabay

Laney woke with a start. Blinding light filled the room and in front of her was the silhouette of what looked like a man in a suit. Both Myles and Sophie had gotten off the couch and were sitting by the man and looked to be licking his fingers.

“Who…who are you?” Laney’s voice trembled. “What do you want?”

Myles barked. The man bent his head towards the dog, then said, “Oh…yes…you are so right, Myles.”

The piercing light diminished. Laney could see the candles she had lit around the room. The light continued to recede until it was just a warm glow around the man. She saw him smiling as he looked around her home.

Laney grabbed her phone still laying in her lap from when she had dozed off, but of course it still had no charge. She stood up.

“What are you, some sort of utility worker? It’s great that you got out here to fix the power so quickly, but you really shouldn’t be coming into people’s homes without being invited!”

The man chuckled. “Well, Myles and Sophie said I was completely welcome. Besides, I was sent here to talk to you.”

Image by Lalo Viamontes from Pixabay

Laney glanced towards the front door. If she could make a mad dash, she might be able to get out of the house. She could run to a neighbor’s.

“Laney.” The man’s voice was gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you. I am here at the request of the King. He wants you to come home.”

Laney rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. Why does he keep bothering me? Doesn’t he understand I want nothing to do with him or his silly kingdom. He doesn’t own me.”

The gentleman moved towards one of the chairs opposite the couch. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Laney was about to say of course she minded, but he sat.

“You say he doesn’t own you, but you gave him your heart oath and in turn he placed his seal on you. Let me show you. Myles, Sophie, here.”

Laney was aghast as the dogs moved obediently to wear the man sat. He raised his hand and it began to glow brighter. He lifted up Myles’ ear. Placing his hand behind the dog’s ear, Laney could plainly see something that resembled a royal seal glowing.

“Sophie’s is embedded near her heart, and yours…” He stood and moved towards her gently taking her wrist.

“You wanted yours on your wrist so it looked like a tattoo.” He smiled as the glow from his hand revealed the same royal seal on her arm.

She pulled her arm away angrily. “You need to go! Now!”

The man’s face looked sorrowful. He turned towards the door, but stopped and said. “Laney, it is easy to cling to bad things that happened in your life, but it blinds you to all the times mercy was extended to you in the form of his protection, his provision, his love. Open your heart to him again. Even this evening, this storm…it was his way of watching over you.”

He turned towards the pups. “He knows you are doing everything you can and he is so pleased. Don’t give up on her. He isn’t.”

Myles and Sophie barked and followed him to the door. He opened the door, his glowing silhouette backlit by a flash of lighting, then he was gone.

Laney rushed to the door, slamming it and turning both of the locks. She even went to all the other outside doors and the windows and made sure each one was locked.

Image by PublicDomainArchive from Pixa

“Stupid, weird utility man…” she muttered as she finished.

* * * * *

Laney woke to the clock on her bedside table blinking, and the sun shinning through a slit in between the closed curtains. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps the whole incident with the stranger in her house was just a dream. She decided it must have been and began her morning routine.

She turned on the TV, starting her healthy morning smoothy. As she cut up the fruit to throw in the blender her ears tuned in to something the local news anchor was saying.

“…Late last night police finally caught the Urban Exterminator, notorious serial rapist and murderer. It seems the Exterminator was looking to take his next victim from one of the neighborhoods near 8th and Dernst Avenues and stalled out his vehicle going through a flooded area near a plugged up storm sewer drain…”

Laney’s jaw dropped. Hers was one of those neighborhoods. The stranger’s voice echoed in her head. “…it is easy to cling to bad things that happened in your life, but it blinds you to all the times mercy was extended to you in the form of his protection, his provision, his love…Even this evening, this storm…it was his way of watching over you.”

Relentless - Part 2: The Pursued - The Gift

“Where are they? Myles? Sophie?” Laney called and whistled, but the dogs did not respond.

She had come to the park, their evening routine after she got home from work, but something had caught their eye, or their nose, and they had nearly pulled her down on her face before the leashes slid roughly from her hands.

She felt herself beginning to panic. What if she couldn’t find them? What if they didn’t come back? They were her constant companions. She couldn’t live without them.

“Sophie! Myles! Come!” She called loudly again as she jogged in the direction they had zoomed off.

She pulled out her phone. Her friend Jeremy would know what to do. He was always there to help her out. After a second he answered.

“Hello?”

“Jeremy, this is Laney. Hey, I’m at Preston Park. Myles and Sophie got away from me. Can you come help me look for them.”

“Um…well, I…I’m kinda busy right now, Laney. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Just hang out for a bit and they’ll probably come loping back in a few minutes.”

Laney was disappointed, but she didn’t let on. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks. See you at work tomorrow.”

She kept walking, but slowed her pace. Jeremy was probably right. They would come back in just a few minutes after they were done stimulating their noses. She headed toward the wooded area because she knew the pups loved to rummage around in the leaves.

Laney was proud of herself. She’d finally stopped messing around and started to take life seriously. After that last weird encounter at the bar, she decided to keep her drinking confined to her small home, and only when she had friends over. She had finally gotten an administrative position at work, got a great raise, good health insurance and a title that made her finally feel worth something. People came to her for advice and looked up to her.

Why was it then, she felt so alone?

Image by Werner Heiber from Pixabay

Still, he pursued her. She could feel it in the quiet moments, which was exactly why she didn’t allow the silence. She had a routine. As she got home she was greeted by the barking of Myles and Sophie, the two rescues she adored. She changed her clothes, put on her headphones, cranked up the music and took the pups for a long walk. When they returned she turned on the TV to have a show on in the back ground as she made herself a healthy meal. It stayed on until she either went to bed, went out with friends or had friends over.

Her life before she left Him was becoming a blur, almost as though it wasn’t real. She had just about convinced herself it was just some sort of weird dream, a fairy tale of sorts, or it had seemed like a fairy tale until something bad had happened; something that He had not stopped. The question always nagged at her, if he really loved her why hadn’t he protected her?

Laney followed the path that wandered into the heavily treed area of the park. Just as she came around a corner she saw Sophie and Myles sitting in front of an elderly man on a bench.

“There you are! You two are in so much trouble.” She reached them and picked up both of their leads.'

“I am so sorry,” Laney said to the man. “They just took off. Just about dragged me with them.”

The gentleman chuckled. “Oh they were zooming for sure, but I could tell they belonged to someone who cared for them very much. I told them they had to sit with me until you came.”

Laney wasn’t sure what to think of the man, but he seemed quite harmless. Plus it was still daylight and there were people around. She sat down next to him.

She smiled. “You told them?”

He was looking off into the woods. He started, as if noticing her for the first time. “What was that?”

“You said, you told Myles and Sophie to sit with you until I came.”

He smiled gently as he patted Myles on the head. “Oh, yes…yes. This one is all for fun. He wanted to keep running, but his sister told him to listen. She’s the one with the deep desire to please you.”

Laney let out a small laugh. “You understand them…who are you Dr. Doolittle?”

The man smiled. “Oh no, no. That was just a made up story. I…well….I have a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Some would call it discernment. Others might call it knowledge…whatever it is I just know I’ve had it since I was seven years old.”

Laney looked at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. She suddenly felt worried for the man. “Are you okay? I mean do you need me to call someone? Do you live around here?”

He gently put a hand on her knee and patted it. “Now don’t you worry. I am perfectly sane, if that’s what you are wondering. I just know things, that’s all.”

Laney was intrigued. “What sorts of things? Has Myles told you he wants another sibling, because I cannot afford another…”

The gentleman burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling with mirth. His smile seemed to make the shaded path burst into light.

“I can tell you that Myles and Sophie were both rescues. Sophie has always loved to submit. It makes her happy to do her owner’s will. She is gentle and peaceful. Myles…well, he’s a lot like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. He likes to run. He has very little patience for sitting still. Some days he wants to run and run and never turn back.”

Laney looked at Myles. “What? You would do that?”

Myles barked. The man continued. “Oh, he won’t ever leave you. He has a seal.”

“A seal?”

“Yes. Both Sophie and Myles have it. It was given to them by someone very important. You see, Myles and Sophie were both severely treated and abused. He gives them the most important job, to watch over the lost ones…You are very fortunate. He must love you a great deal. Myles and Sophie were created just for you.”

Laney sat there stunned, a tiny pin prick poking her heart. She took a deep breath and willed her mind to override the feelings. She stood up.

“Well, that’s all very interesting. I really need to go. I’ve got friends coming for dinner. Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?”

The man patted Myles and Sophie again and whispered something only they could hear, then lifted his head to Laney.

“Thank you for sitting with me, even if just for a minute. It means the world to me.” He smiled again.

Laney had to pull the pups away from him as she moved down the path out of the woods. She turned back one time to see if the old man was going to try to follow her, but he was gone.

Tended Dreams

This is a fiction piece by Amy D. Christensen

So many coffins! Why were there so many coffins?

Image by Lisa Yount from Pixabay

The One who stood beside me looked out over the vast area filled with every manner of death box imaginable. There were pine boxes, reminding me of the Old West, golden sarcophagi, dark cherry wood polished until it shimmered and many, many more. It would take days to count how many coffins filled the valley: literally a valley of dry bones. Here and there I could see beings of light, I assumed were angles, tending to the coffins.

“Who are they,” I asked looking up into his dark eyes.

They were brown, but seemed to be edged with golden light; a light that came from deep within His heart.

He smiled at me, though I could tell there was a deep sadness behind that smile. “Not who, but what?”

“I do not understand.”

Image by Jackson David from Pixabay

He took my hand, squeezing it firmly. It felt as though just a bit of strength tingled from his fingers into mine filling my whole body with warmth. It was as though someone had just draped a warm blanket over my shoulders.

“These coffins hold dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Come. Let’s walk and I will show you.”

I was afraid. I had always been afraid to be around death. I never liked going to funerals and walking through grave yards was fine during the day when the sky was blue, but when the sun went down and the mists began to creep along the ground, no thank you! I planted my feet firmly.

He turned to look at me. “It will be alright. You are with me, and I would never let anything hurt you. Not any more.”

His eyes took in the depth of my soul. It was then I knew. He knew everything about me and yet, it was completely obvious how much He loved me.

“Come.” He smiled again and I let myself be pulled along.

We moved in among the elongated boxes and I couldn’t help but admire how intricately beautiful some of them were. Many were very simple and completely unadorned, while others had been carved and embellished with decorative swirls and etchings, some of which looked to be letters in various languages.

He stopped before a dark box whose wood was so polished and smooth I could see myself in it.

Image by composita from Pixabay

“This one belongs to a man who took great pride in his work. He built his own business from the ground up. When he met his wife, he knew he wanted to have a family. He wanted many children, hoping that a few of them would one day carry on the family business. His wife died in child birth. He never remarried and eventually sold the business.”

He moved me along to another box a little ways away. This one was much more ornate than the last one. It was covered in beautiful scroll work.

Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay

“This one belongs to a woman who married young. She had dreams of becoming an archeologist, but her husband said her place was in the home with the children. She had a brood, and when there were no more children to be birthed, her husband left her for a younger woman.”

“How terrible!”

The next coffin he stopped before was smaller. Not the size of a child, but not a full adult either. It was white and decorated with pretty pink and yellow flowers.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

“The girl whose dreams reside here was only 16 when a drunk driver took away her ability to walk. She wanted to be a dancer hoping that sad people would find joy in the movement of music and dance.”

He stretched out his hand and rubbed the top of the pretty box, as if remembering.

I felt my eyes sting with tears. He began to walk again and I pulled my hand from His.

“Why are you showing me these things?”

He did not speak. I could see tears in his own eyes. He held out his hand.

Once again, I placed mine in his and we walked for a while in silence.

The next box we stopped in front of was rather simple and unassuming. In fact as we had walked it occurred to me there were many coffins like this. They weren’t plain and simple like an Old West pine box, nor were they richly adorned. They were, in fact plain and unnoticeable.

“Why are there so many like these?”

He looked out over the valley, turning his head from one side to another. “These are the dreams of mothers for their children; wives for their marriages; grandmothers for their grandchildren. As is so often the case these go unnoticed. Mothers go about their lives, most often never asking for the help they need, the desires that go unmet and the thanks they so deserve. Unlike many, who have one major dream of what they want to do with their lives, mothers, wives and grandmothers often have the most dreams and, as you can tell by these coffins, so very many of them must be laid to rest.”

Image by Richard Mcall from Pixabay

“Well, if that’s the case, why aren’t their coffins more ornate and noticeable? Why are they so plain?”

“Because their desires were simple. They wanted their children to grow up without damage and problems. They wanted their husbands to talk to them. They wanted their families to get along…simple things really, yet so important. Unfortunately, very few take into account the dreams of a mother. They love her and are glad for her, but they rarely get to know the woman that she is underneath all that she does: the writer, the singer, the artist, the leader, the warrior. So very many dreams that had to die.”

“But why?” I was beginning to feel upset. “Why should they have to give up their dreams?”

“Because they knew what was really at stake. They knew that the most important part of life was relationship. They were willing to give up everything else, so that relationships with their children, husbands and grandchildren could continue. You see life is not about the dreams that come true, it is about the relationships that are built, or abandoned, along the way.”

He stepped away from the box. “Come. I have one last thing to show you.”

Again, he took my hand and once again I felt the mild tingle of His strength moving me forward and warming me.

The sight we came to next took my breath away. A sea of tiny, infant sized coffins, each adorned with a small, flickering candle, floated silently on a huge glassy lake. The light on each coffin produced a shimmering reflection in the surrounding water. It was all at once beautiful and horrifying.

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

He sensed my discomfort and putting his arm around my shoulders, pulled me close.

“Even a baby has dreams. In the world as you know it, when babies are born they do not have language, but the truth is, all that are conceived have the imprint of heavenly language. It is in this realm that they dream. They dream of small things, but still they are dreams. Smiles, green grass, blue skies, their mother’s face, their father’s laugh, the feeling of human touch, but alas, none of these dear ones ever got to realize their dreams.”

I gasped, as the sea of coffins seemed to go on forever. Tears slipped down my face.

He turned me towards him.

“You have dreams too. I showed you all these things because I want you to know that each and every dream you have is important to me. Each and every dream that you must give up, I will know about and I will tend to. That is how much I love you!”

* * * * * * *

Often, when I write a piece like this, I feel it is God giving me a way to express my own feelings and thoughts, but in the form of a story. An allegory tells a story in the form of imagery. I hope that the picture I painted above shows you, that Jesus loves you with an everlasting love and that every single dream you have achieved, and every single desire you have had to give up, He is aware of and He holds in the palm of His hand. I write, because I need to remember this, and maybe you do too.

You are deeply loved!

Fire of Reckoning

This is a work of fiction, by Amy D. Christensen

Darkness had fallen, like a veil. No, more like a shroud. It was the covering that brought death. How could life continue without light? Light was as necessary as breath, yet humanity embraced the darkness, taking no thought for the cost. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, they cared not that it was dark, because darkness was cheap. Oh, but the cost of striving in the darkness and never again turning to the light. Eventually it would cost them their lives.

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

She drew the curtains, the things themselves much like hanging shrouds, thick and weighted, but a necessity to keep the darkness without, from noticing the light within. There would come a time, when the light would no longer be hidden. They would raise it on the high towers in the form of fuel and flame. It would signal the beginning of the end. The battle for the light would begin, but for now they kept the light among themselves.

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

After the drapes had been drawn, the keepers of the flame drew their striking rods and simultaneously struck them resulting in a brief fireworks display followed by the gentle flare of multiple candles. Each lit candle was then used to light several more. Eventually the entire living space was full of light, including a fire in the large stone fireplace.

Image by Vladimir Maric from Pixabay

She knew that was the only way things would change, one flame at a time. She also knew that change depended not on a single flame, but on multiple ones. Light after light, after light, illuminating the dark places of the world. But it had to start with a single flame.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Forest fires started with a single ember, whether it be a lightening strike, a flicked cigarette butt, a discarded match or a purposeful addition of fuel and spark, but it still resulted in the same thing. The small spark would become a flame and the flame would become a blaze and that would sear everything in its path. The world would burn, just like the forest and one day life would return, sprouting forth from a tiny seed. The only way for new growth to come, was by the reckoning of fire.

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

“This is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the Light, for their deeds were evil.”

— John 3:19 (NASB)

A Lesson in Weaving

She watched her through the open window that looked down on the small balcony. The young girl looked out over the river that lazily wandered past the castle. The child was hers, but she was no longer looked like a small girl. She had grown in those years she had been held captive by the enemy lord. She felt a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. The girl, her girl, didn’t want anything to do with her, her very own mother, nor her grandfather, the King.

Image by DarkWorkX from Pixabay

When they had first found her in the enemy’s castle she was like a caged animal. The room they found her in was filled with waste and squalor. The girl did not recognize her mother at first and when she tried to take her in her arms, which ached to hold her again, the girl screamed. That scream had pierced her soul. They were finally able to get her out of the castle by coaxing her out with sweets. The thought of it still made her shudder.

Eventually, the girl saw that they were not going to hurt her and in fact were going to provide for her pretty clothes and good food, things that she hadn’t gotten when she was a captive, but still, she kept asking when she could go home. It galled her to think her only child thought of his palace as her home, even after how she had been treated.

A noise from behind her caused her to turn. Her father, the King, approached. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

“Father, I don’t know what to do. I feel absolutely helpless…I know she is hurting, and probably angry at me. I let it happen. I let her get caught by that evil man. I am to blame and now, I can’t even look at her without feeling utterly hopeless.”

The King took in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. She often saw him do this when he was thinking before he spoke, a practice he always thought wise.

“Daughter, you know how very much I love you, so I can understand those feelings of helplessness and even hopelessness. Did you know that I could not sleep at night when you were being courted by your late husband? It terrified me to let you go, knowing each step you took towards independence took you further and further away from me. But, I had to learn to trust the One. I knew that He would always take care of you, no matter where you were. Even when I eventually sent you into battle.”

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

She pulled away from him, suddenly feeling angry. “This is not a simple courting session that my daughter went through. She was beaten, starved and we don’t even know yet, if he did other vile things to her. She was just a child. Was the One with her, when that was going on, or has He abandoned her…has He abandoned us?”

The King sat heavily in a chair that stood near the fire burning cheerfully in a brazier. He pulled the footstool in front of him and patted it.

Once again, he wanted her to sit, to listen, to learn from him.

As she did so often, she began to pace. “No! I am not going to sit at your feet, like a little child and have you explain to me, how I need to trust the One. He let my little girl get hurt. He let her get caught by that vile enemy.”

“Now wait a minute. Is it your fault, or is it His fault?”

She stopped and stared. “Well…I….I….I don’t know! All I know, is that little girl is not the same person I knew before she was taken.”

“Are you the same person you were before she was taken?”

She inhaled, trying to practice the same technique he did, not speaking until she was sure she was in control.

“No. I am not.”

He patted the foot stool again and smiled.

Reluctantly she sat.

He leaned forward and took her hands in his own large ones. She could feel the callouses there. He was no show piece. He was a king who fought and bled beside his own men for the causes he believed in. How could he keep his calm demeanor? He always seemed at peace, no matter what.

“How do you to it? How did you send me into battle, knowing full well, I might never return?”

“Do you remember how your mother used to love to weave tapestries?”

Image by MrsBrown from Pixabay

She smiled, remembering her mother, the Queen working tirelessly into the night weaving various colored threads together. “She used to hang it, so that when we came into the room, we could not see what the finished picture would be.”

The King let out a chuckle. “Oh yes. Once time I tried to sneak in when she was away and she had the loom booby trapped! I suddenly found myself doused by a bucket of honey mead. I couldn’t get the flies away from me for weeks.”

She laughed, remembering her father taking bath, after bath, after bath, but unable to get the sweet ale completely washed out of his hair.

He squeezed her hands. “Your mother always had a purpose for everything she did. Why do you think she presented the tapestry to us only from the back side, until the work was done?”

She shrugged. “I had always assumed she just loved the surprise on our faces when we finally saw it.”

“Oh there was definitely that! However, in addition to that she wanted to remind us of what real life is like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Life is made up of all manner of threads, some beautiful colors and others dull and even ugly. If you didn’t know that the front of the tapestry was going to be made into a beautiful work of art, you would have thought the piece merely an ugly, jumble of random colored threads and knots where the threads had been tied off. It is that jumbled mess that makes up our lives. The ugly threads and the beautiful ones are all necessary to make the completed picture.

The One is weaving those threads. He is making all of it, even the threads we don’t understand or want to understand into a picture of such great beauty that it will be declared a masterpiece, when we finally see the finished product.

Your mother was an artist and she taught you those same skills before she passed on. What are you going to do with your threads? You can use them to create beauty, or like our now dead enemy, you can use them to weave chaos.”

The King leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then he rose to his feet and quietly left the room.

She stared into the fire, that slowly claimed the fuel it was burning. The fire was chaotic, yet it served a purpose to provide warmth and cook food. It was even beautiful in its dance of flame. Could it be, her father was right; that beauty could come from the chaos of life?

She knew what she had to do. She would teach her daughter the loom. She would teach her the dance of light and flame, darkness and chaos and pray the One would bring healing and beauty for them both.

This is a fiction piece by Amy D. Christensen

In 2010 Ravi Zacharias wrote a book titled, The Grand Weaver. It was this book and the images he shared of God being the grand weaver of our lives that inspired the imagery revolving around the tapestry in this story. If we can grasp His divine plan for our lives, in which He uses all the good, the bad and the ugly, how much easier would it be to let Him have control. I hope you enjoyed this story.

You can see the previous parts to this story by clicking on the links below:

Part 1: Return to Battle

Part 2: A Father’s Perspective

Part 3: Waiting

Part 4: Ready to Die

Ready to Die

Dust and smoke rose into the air, creating a haze so thick the sun could barely penetrate. They had been fighting for days. Days that seemed to go on forever. They would push forward, but the enemy's forces always seemed able to push them back. She thought they were prepared for this battle. Her father, the King had thought they were ready, but now she wasn't so sure he had been right.

Pixabay

The enemy soldiers were not like any other she had fought. They had battled against them previously, but something had happened in those months since that prince of darkness had taken her daughter. She wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was because they were in his territory. Maybe it was due to the long journey their own army had to traverse to get here. Whatever, it was, she did not feel confident in their ability to win this battle. 

The thought made her cringe. How could she even be thinking these thoughts. She had never struggled with doubt before. She always had been confident in her Father's abilities as both a King and a commander. Now, however, doubts seem to plague her like some sort of blister on her foot and she had a lot of those. Her feet hurt. Her legs were stiff and her arms felt like lead. Fatigue filled her being from toes to fingertips.

Pixabay

Now, her small battalion was surrounded. She was not even sure how it happened. They began the day's fighting in the clear, but now they were backed up against a canyon wall. They were hemmed in on every side. The only thing that kept them from being slaughtered was that they were on the high ground. Every time the enemy tired to attack, they sent a volley of arrows flying and the enemy retreated, but their arrows were running out. 

Pixabay

"Your highness?" One of her men had come up behind her.

"Yes?"

"We only have enough arrows for one more attack...then..."

She knew the time had come. She had to make the choice to surrender or to go down fighting. She turned to face the soldier.

"I want you to bring the men together. I want to speak to them."

The soldier nodded, bowed and quickly left her.

She went to her knees. "Father, I know you cannot hear me, but wherever you are, I want you to know how much I love you and how much I look up to you. I know that I have been angry, frustrated and impatient in this mission to rescue my child, but you have never wavered and for that I am thankful. I know there is no way out of this. My child might be dead and soon that will be my fate as well, but I will never surrender to that vile, son of filth. I will go down fighting. Thank you for never giving up on me."

Tears, brimmed her eyes. She clenched her fists rising to her feet. Turning, she went to where the men were assembled. She was shocked at how very few of them were left. She stood before them, her head high.

"I would like to offer you hope. The hope that I give you is not hope for life, but hope to die with honor. Today, we are going to die, but you have a choice in how you do it. You can go out cowering, or you can go out, sword in hand, taking as many of those cursed vermin as possible before you fall. If you do that, I will be proud. If you do that, my father will be proud."

Her voice grew loud and her words were clear. "Today, let us die, for the sake of our King!"

She raised her sword and the men raised their's, voices matching hers; a chorus of rebellion they hoped the enemy would hear.  

It was not long before they saw the dust of their enemies' horses, filling the small valley below their sacrificial high ground. She instructed the men to form two lines. The first line was made up of the remaining archers. They went down on one knee, nocking their arrows as they did. The second line was made up of what was left of the battalion. She knew they had no chance, but they would die with honor, fighting for their King, her father. 

"Hold steady archers!" Her voice rang out even as the noise rose ushered in by the approaching chaos. "Hold until I give the order!"

Closer the dust came and along with it the sound of pounding hooves, a battalion of enemy riders bringing death.

Her heart beat rose and sweat mingled with the dirt and grime trickling down her neck. It felt itchy. Funny, she thought, the things one thinks about before one dies. 

Suddenly, the sky seemed to turn dark. She lifted her eyes up and saw shadows coursing through the sky over her head. She felt confused, but then those shadows became the solid forms of horses and their riders. Her heart sank. They were surrounded...

But wait! Those riders wore the King's colors!

Her men looked just as confused as she felt, but more and more shadows flew overhead, diving straight into the approaching storm. She heard a shout.

"Daughter!"

Pixabay

A dusty figure on his steady mount appeared behind her. It was her father, the King.

He smiled at her, then held down his hand. Pulling her up onto his horse, he commanded others of his battalion to take up her remaining men. Once all the were mounted with other soldiers, the King raised his hand and his voice.

"This ends now!"

(This was a fictional work by Amy D. Christensen)

*     *     *     *     *      *

This fictional work is meant to remind you, when all seems lost, the King is behind you. When the dust storm of the approaching enemy brings you to the end of yourself, the King is above you. When you are severely outnumbered and you have very little left to fight with, the King is diving in ahead of you. He will be there for you, every day, every hour, every battle and especially when you finally lay down your weapons and face the last enemy of death. 

“ ....I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

— Matthew 28:20 (NASB)

For the other parts in this fictional series, click on the links below. 

Part 1: Return to Battle

Part 2: A Father's Perspective

Part 3: Waiting

Waiting.

She walked with purpose through the camp. Her waiting had turned to worry and her worry had turned to anger. Why weren't they moving? Why were they just sitting here? The enemy's walls were within sight, which meant her daughter, who had been in his filthy grasp for more than two months, was within the reach of her arms. Her arms longed to hold her once again, to look into her sweet face and see those blue eyes smile back at her. 

Pixabay

She saw the King's tent ahead. Two guards stood outside the entry and just as she made to move past them, they blocked her way with their long spears. She backed up angrily.

"What is the meaning of this? I am here to see the King."

The two guards didn't even flinch. Staring straight ahead the one said, "The King is not to be disturbed, by anyone."

Pixabay

She stepped up to the one who spoke and looked up at his face. He was at least a foot taller than her, but she was not going to be intimidated. 

"I am the King's daughter. He will most certainly see me."

The guard did not move, his expression stony. "He will not be disturbed by anyone, not even you, your Highness!"

She fumed, but she also remembered her place. She was the King's daughter, but He was the King. Ranting and raging would only make her look a fool and would not serve to get answers to her questions any sooner. 

She took a deep breath. "Would you please tell my father, as soon as is convenient, that I need to see him?"

The guard did not speak, merely gave a curt nod.

She moved away, ranting and raging on the inside. 

*           *            *            *             *

The small brook she sat beside had a calming effect on her tumultuous nerves. As the sun began to slide behind the horizon she heard a voice behind her.

"So I have found you."

Her father joined her on the fallen log that she was using as a bench. 

She stared at the stream, willing herself to be calm.

"I was told you wanted to see me."

She made no response.

"Here I am!" His voice was almost jovial.

She sprang to her feet, whirling on him as if he was the enemy himself.

"How can you be so calm? The enemy is within sight and yet here we sit! My daughter is within reach and yet we have been camped here for days. You have been distant from me, even telling your guards to not let me, your own daughter, in to see you. I am mad with the waiting!"

He patted the log beside him. "Come. Sit beside me."

She started to pace. It was her default, to keep moving. Moving meant she was doing something and doing something was far better than doing nothing at all. She said as much.

"I do not want to sit. I want to go get my daughter. I want to go in and kill the man who has no doubt violated her by now. We don't even know if she is still alive."

Once again, he patted the log next to him, his voice a bit more forceful.

"Sit!"

She took a deep, steadying breath, then sat back down. 

"You have been trained to be a warrior. You know as much about tactics and battle as I do, maybe even more. You also are aware, that this enemy is not one to be trifled with. He has his own tactics, many of which have taken husbands from their wives and fathers from their children. I will not go into this battle on anyone's timeline, but my own."

Now it was his turn to stand up and pace. 

"You don't think I've lost sleep over the fact that my grand daughter is in the hands of that beast? Do you think I am unaware of the ramifications of delay? That little girl is never going to be the same, but to rescue her alive is my only goal. Our enemy will have no qualms about taking her life. My goal is to keep that from happening...but it must be done with great care."

He went and knelt before her. This time he took her hands in his own.

"You must trust me. You must believe in my ability as you father and as your King."

She felt her anger recede to a dark corner of her mind. As tears filled her eyes, she said, "Help my unbelief!" 

She leaned into his strength and sobbed.

“for the Lord your God is the one who goes with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.’”

— Deuteronomy 20:4 (NASB)

This was a fiction piece by Amy D. Christensen. You can see the first two parts to this series by clicking on the titles below.

Part 1: Return to Battle

Part 2: A Father's Perspective

A Father's Perspective

When the enemy took my granddaughter I knew it was a well thought plan. This vile one, knows how to plan. He is always plotting, and scheming. He knew by taking her, it would unleash a chain of events in my kingdom that would shake it to its very core. My daughter had been there. She had seen him take her child. Her first instinct was to chase after him and his vicious horde. Of course I could not let her go. She was too valuable to me, to all of us. 

Pixabay

My decision to leave my granddaughter to the vile whims of the enemy was not met without disagreement. My closest advisors looked at me as though I had gone insane when I said to let him go and to retrieve my daughter. They didn't know the torment that was going on inside of me. My heart was tearing into a million little pieces and yet I knew there was a greater plan, a greater purpose. One that had to play out before we could rescue my dear one.

My daughter struggled when they went to retrieve her, but eventually my warriors subdued her and she was taken back to the castle. I knew she was strong, but this was the biggest test she had ever undergone. She needed to rest. She needed to heal.

The first week was torture. I could not eat, for knowing the decision I had made had put my own kin at the mercy of the enemy. In addition, my daughter would not talk to me. During the daylight hours she would sit in a chair on the balcony of her room, with nothing on but her dressing gown. Her lady's maid would put a blanket around her shoulders to try to keep her warm, but she continued to sit, staring out in the direction of the battle where her child was taken.

Eventually, she fell ill. Her body could not cope with the trauma and her mind had shut down. She lay in bed at night, her mind clouded by the touch of evil the enemy had forced on her. I would sit next to her every night, praying. I knew that the One was the only one who could bring light to this darkness. She would thrash and cry out as the fever raged. Our attendants did their best to get water down her throat and cool her fever, but we all knew there was only One who could heal this sickness. 

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One night, her fever was so high I did not even have to touch her to know I was dangerously close to losing her. I laid myself out on the floor next to her bed.  I wept and raged at the One. I argued that He could have prevented all of this. He could have kept my grand daughter from the enemy's claws and in turn He could have kept my daughter from the edge of the dismal abyss on which she now teetered. But, He hadn't. 

That night, I suddenly realized I was not only close to losing everyone left that I loved, but I was close to giving up on the faith that had become such a vital part of my being. It was that faith that helped me to rule with honor and integrity. It was that faith that enabled my to be just and fair. It was that faith in the One, that kept me from taking my own life when my wife had died. Over and over I had seen His faithfulness. Why now was I doubting? 

Because it was too close to me and it hurt.

As I wept, and prayed I realized I could give up my faith, but then where would I be? Everything I had come to believe as right and true would be meaningless and that would be the end of me. The One had never said this life would be easy. He never promised that terrible things wouldn't happen. He only promised to be there through it all, and I knew without a doubt He always had.

Getting to my knees next to my daughters bed, I took her hand in mine and I promised the One, that from that day forward, no matter what happened I would never doubt again. It was as if a weight, the one that had sat solemnly on my chest since my grand daughter was taken, was lifted. I took a deep breath and then I felt it.

My daughter squeezed my hand.

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I looked up at her face and she smiled. I realized then, we had both just fought a battle in a world unseen, a world that one day He, would overcome. I knew at that moment, the way ahead was going to be long and hard, but He would be with us.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom.”

— Luke 12:32 (NASB)

(This was a fictional piece by Amy D. Christensen)