Creative Christianity: The Widow's Quest - Part 4

(The following story is based on the parable in Luke 18:1-8. It is a fictional account with allegorical aspects. This is a fictional world with characters and events created by me.)

Connie, Rocky, and their little band of pups continued along through the manufacturing district until they entered another area of residences. This neighborhood looked a little better off than the area she had found Rocky, and substantially better than the Rift, but it still looked worn and weary. Connie wondered if that was how she looked?

She knew they needed to get something to eat, but toting along a pack of pups probably wasn’t going to let them in to very many places.

“I think we need to find a place to rest for a little while.” Connie spoke out loud.

“And get something to eat. I’m starving, and I think Isabella is too.” Rocky looked behind them.

Image by Lenka Novotná from Pixabay

“Isabella?” Connie looked to where the mother pup was following at some distance. She looked ready to drop. The two puppies who were walking still seemed to have plenty of spunk.

Rocky nodded. “Yeah, that was my baby sister’s name.”

Connie’s heart hurt. The boy had been through so much loss. She had too. She decided they weren’t going to lose Isabella. She stopped walking so the the pup could catch up, and as they waited she noticed a young woman pushing a stroller down a side street.

She handed Rocky her side bag with the two sleeping pups and said, “Stay right here. I am going to see if we can get some help.”

She jogged towards the woman. Trying to not look threatening, she slowed to a walk and smiled while still a few yards off.

Image by Patou Ricard from Pixabay

“Hello,” she began.

“I don’t got any money, so don’t try to sell me anything,” the woman clipped.

Connie could see as she got closer, while the woman was younger, she looked tired, and not particularly clean. She quickly attempted to put her at ease.

“Oh, I am not a sales person. I was just wondering if you might help me, you see I am new to the area, and my nephew and I have been walking for a while and wondered if there was a park nearby where we could rest for a bit.” She felt bad lying about Rocky, and she also didn’t mention getting food. She didn’t want the woman to think she had money.

“You got that dog’s papers?” The woman jutted her chin out towards where Rocky, Isabella and the two puppies waited.

Connie tried to think fast. “Well, I would gladly get her papers, but as I said I am new to the area and we actually just found her today. I felt so bad for her and her little pups.”

The woman drew closer, and Connie could see a little boy in the stroller, probably about two. “Do you think I could show them pups to my boy? He just loves animals, and they are such a rarity around here, since they all need to be papered. We can’t afford the fees, let alone the food to feed one.”

Connie relaxed a little. “I understand. Everything is so expensive. A pet is a big commitment. I am Connie, by the way.”

The woman finally smiled. “I’m Maribelle, and this is my boy Adam.”

Connie bent down. “It is very nice to meet you and your momma, Adam. If you don’t mind walking over, the mother pup is very tired. She needs food, but I wasn’t sure where to go.'“

She and Maribelle started walking and the young woman said, “If you need food there is an old church on the corner of Rawls and Jones. They serve lunch and dinner. You just have to sit and listen to the pastor talk about his religion.”

Connie took that information and filed it away. When they reached Rocky and the dogs, Maribelle picked up one of the puppies and showed him to her son. The boy laughed and wiggled in his seat with joy.

Maribelle stood up and asked, “You a steamer? I see your bag there.”

“Well, I uh…yes, I am.”

“If you and your family want to come to my house, I’ll give you food in exchange for work on our water heater. It stopped working a few weeks back. Sure would be nice to have hot water again.”

Constance looked at Rocky who nodded enthusiastically. She knew she was taking a chance. She had long ago stopped trusting people and knew this could be a trap. Desperate people did desperate things. She knew that fact well from living in the Rift. She looked at the young mother and her little boy and thought something about them felt right.

She nodded. “That would be nice, and I will take a look at your water heater.”

Image by Andreas Lischka from Pixabay

Maribelle smiled brightly. “Wonderful! Adam, did you hear that we are going to have company and you can play longer with the puppies.”

Adam clapped his hands and said, “…upppies!!”

They all laughed. Connie picked up her bag of tools, where the two smaller pups were just starting to wake up. She pulled each one out. Rocky took one, and Maribelle, much to Adam’s delight put the other one in the stroller with him. They made their way to Maribelle’s home.

Connie found herself marveling at feelings that rose inside her; feelings she hadn’t had for a very long time. Gratitude, joy and hope. Still, the Rift part of her wondered how long it would last. How long before she was, once again, disappointed, let down, and hurt? How long?

Creative Christianity: The Widow's Quest - Part2

(This is a fictional piece based on the parable of the widow and the judge from Luke 18. I wrote this piece for entertainment purposes only.)

By the time Constance got to the second check point the rain was torrential. Her coat felt heavy as it took on water, and her tool bag was completely soaked. Thankfully, there was a long line of people which, she hoped, would make it easier for her to just slide through without much notice.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

As she stood in the line, she noticed the other people waiting. It was a hobby of hers, people watching. She had always enjoyed sitting in obscure places to watch people. People were so interesting and unique. That was how she and Amos had met. He had been sitting on a different bench a little way away from her at the small park near her parents’ home. Apparently, he enjoyed doing the same thing. It wasn’t that unusual. If you weren’t part of DeCaro’s network, there wasn’t much else to do.

She noticed him sitting there, and he noticed her. Eventually, they noticed each other noticing each other. One day when she arrived at her spot, he was sitting on her bench with a bag. Inside were two sandwiches. His pick up line had been, “I made too many sandwiches this morning. Would you mind eating one so I don’t have to throw it away?”

Image by WikimediaImages from Pixabay

They both laughed. No one ever threw anything away in the Rift. Every morsel, every scrap contributed towards keeping you alive.

The people in the line were mainly workers, but there were a few Hy-Breds. These were people from the upper echelon that came into the Rift to gamble, buy drugs, and abuse whoever they could, just because they had money. One couple in particular was getting impatient and tried to cut ahead of others in line. This caused a small fight to ensue.

Check points at the perimeter of the Rift were actual guard stations, all employed by DeCaro. Several guards came out to break up the fight. There were at least two people who scooted past the check point without getting their papers stamped. The problem with this lay in the fact that if they got caught outside the Rift without their papers in order they would be sent back to DeCaro, and from there most likely sent to the Extermination Yard.

Constance kept her head down and stayed out of the way while the guards took control of the situation. The Hy-Breds were taken inside to warm up while they waited for a ride to take them home. The others who fought back were beaten and not allowed to cross.

It was all so incredibly unfair. That was exactly why she was willing to risk an audience with the Lord of Minward. She had no idea what sort of a man he was, but she knew she had to try to get his attention focused on the Rift and the people who were being preyed on who lived there.

Image by gregkorg from Pixabay

“Papers!”

The man behind the window was angry, Constance assumed, for having to deal with the fight. DeCaro’s employees preferred to not have to work. She quickly presented her papers. He barely even looked at them before he stamped them and shoved them back at her. She fought the urge to grab them and run. Instead, she began to fold them while she still stood in front of the window.

“Move along!”

Constance moved slowly as if she was still struggling to get her papers back into her coat pocket before the rain completely soaked them. What she was really doing was trying to make herself look as inept as possible. She walked away, breathing a sigh of relief.

Just because she was no longer in the Rift, didn’t mean she was out of danger. Not everyone in the city of Minward were law abiding citizens. She kept alert. She was thankful once the rain slowed eventually stopping. She crossed a few streets, but at the next corner she knew she was being followed.

Image by 652234 from Pixabay

Running was not an option, so she decided to confront the person. She whirled, coming face to face with a young man, probably not more than twelve or thirteen. Startled, he stopped, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Can I help you, young man?”

“I…I…thought…maybe, I could help you…you know…for a little coin.” He gave her a sideways smile trying to look hopeful.

Constance sighed. “I’m sorry, lad. I don’t have any extra coin.”

The boy didn’t give up. “Well, what do you have in that bag? There’s got to be something valuable in there.”

Constance felt bad for the boy, but she also knew she wasn’t in a safe place. He might be working with a gang, and she could be surrounded before she knew it. “This is just my tool bag. Do you live around here?'“

“Here and there.”

She looked around, noting the windows, doors, and side streets. She didn’t notice any movement, so she started to relax.

“Where’s your family?”

“Dad left a while ago and hasn’t come back. My mom said, that’s because he’s no good. My mom….” It was plain to see the boy was grieving. “She got sick. Without a job, she couldn’t afford to go to the doctor. She died a few months ago.”

Constance’s heart broke for the boy. “You don’t have any other family? An aunt or uncle? Grandparents?”

He wiped at his eyes with his ragged shirt sleeve, and shook his head. “I had a baby sister, but she died when I was little. I never knew my grandparents.”

What could she do for this boy? She lived in the Rift. She was just as bad off as he was…well, that was not entirely true. She had been raised by two loving parents. She had known the love of a wonderful man. She had friends, and she had a purpose. An idea came to her; a crazy, but wonderful idea.

“Since I would be negligent to leave you alone would you like to come with me? I am going to see the Lord of Minward.”

The lad’s jaw dropped. “Do you have an invitation? I heard he don’t see anyone without an invitation.”

Constance was quiet for a moment. “Well, no, but I am going to see him anyway. I have to see him.” Her voice grew stronger. “Besides I could use the company, and you look like you could use a decent meal.”

“Hey! I thought you said you didn’t have any extra coin!”

“I don’t, for someone who is trying to take advantage of me, but I do have coin to share for someone who is a friend.”

The boy thought for a moment, then he smiled. “I can be your friend.”

“Good! Let’s be off then. I want to get to the upper city and the Manor of Minward by the time the sun is high over head. What’s your name, by the way?”

“My mom named me Peter, but you can call me Rocky.”

“Rocky it is. I am Constance, but you can call me Connie.”

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Constance wasn’t sure if she believed in God or not, but for some reason this young boy had wormed his way into her heart and her mothering instinct took over. She and Amos had tried to have children, but never did, and then he died.

Maybe, just maybe she was being given a second chance.

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.

Image by Lucent_Designs_dinoson20 from Pixabay

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.

Image by Peter H from Pixabay

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.

Image by Sammy-Sander from Pixabay

“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.

Creative Christianity - Midlife Battle Cry by Dawn Barton - A Book Review

This book review was done in exchange for the book. No money has exchanged hands for this review.

About a month ago I was contacted by a company who does marketing for Christian books and movies. I was asked if I would post a review of a book in exchange for the free product. I have been asked before to do these, but this is the first one that really pulled at me. I said yes. What follows are my thoughts and opinions on Midlife Battle Cry: Redefining the Second Half by Dawn Barton.

I had never heard of Dawn Barton until I received this book. A blonde, southern gal, Dawn has an infectious smile and an earthy sense of humor that pokes fun of life in all of its beauty, and ugliness. Dawn is no stranger to success, she left a thirty year career in sales marketing to become an author; and she is no stranger to difficulty, she has been through the loss of a child, divorce, rape and cancer. Anyone who has been through that much bad stuff and still has their sense of humor, has my attention.

The premise of the book assures us there is more to come once the kids are grown and retirement is looming. Many of us who have reached mid-life, and are moving into our late forties, fifties, sixties and beyond feel like we are done. We are done raising kids, retirement is not that far away and we feel like we have nothing to offer a society that looks at youth and beauty as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. We are afraid, as Dawn says, “of becoming irrelevant to the world.”

“The story is always the same: look younger, dress younger, eat younger, just BE younger. The message is clear: old bad, young good. Thanks for coming. Good night.””

— Midlife Battle Cry by Dawn Barton (p. 13)

Dawn is encouraging us to get out of the “irrelevant” mindset through practical steps, exercises, and entertaining stories, all with her sassy, southern comedic voice. This is Dawn’s second book and she is an Evangelical Christian Publishing Association best selling author.

When I am reading Dawn’s book I feel like I am sitting down on a lovely wrap around front porch, with a gentle breeze blowing. I am chatting with a close friend, one who gets me, and really understands the hard bits of life. This friend is one who gets to the point quickly and though her honesty is sometimes hard to handle, she accepts and loves me immensely.

Here are a few of the chapter titles from Midlife Battle Cry:

1 - Did the Fat Lady Sing?

2 - The Shift

3 - Hello You

4 - The “I Love Me” Challenge

5 - The Black Hole of 45+…..

and more.

If you order Dawn’s book at midlifebattlecry.com you get a free Book Club Kit, which is good wether you use the book in a group, or use it for individual study.

This book spoke to me. It came into my life at the precise moment that I needed the reminder that I am still important and I still have something to offer the world, even though at the moment I feel I am in the chapter where Dawn talks about God forcing us to rest, to prepare us for the next thing (Chapter 16 - Hello, God, Remember Me?)

“He needs you ready for the next thing, and in order for that to happen you need rest. You need to recharge, and you need to pour into your soul, you mind, and your body. Remember, a season of rest is not because you are forgotten or that He doesn’t love you; it’s because He does love you.”

— Midlife Battle Cry by Dawn Barton (p. 171)

I hope you will check out Midlife Battle Cry. It is a book worth your time, especially if you are entering the next phase of life and feel unsure how to proceed, or that you are done.

“I’m not sure if we’ve done the damage ourselves listening to generations before us or if it’s the rambling of social media and society, but we are a huge group that for the most part has become silent during a time when we are profoundly needed in this world....This is not our time to stop being wild participants of life and just become mere spectators...It’s time for us to lead.”

— Midlife Battle Cry by Dawn Barton (p. 184)