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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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!"

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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

A Look Back at 2017 - My Favorite Faith Posts

I did this on my fashion page so I thought it would be good to do on my faith page as well. Since we are into a new year, I thought it would be fun to look back at my favorite posts from 2017. I picked one from each month. If you haven't read them and are interested, just click on the link below the picture. 

It is good to look back at where we have been, so we can get a better feel for where we need to go. As far as my faith posts are concerned, I want to keep writing and posting things that I hope will be an encouragement to you. We, as older women, are such a valuable part of society. We are capable, strong and worn, and that is just where God wants us to be. 

Here are my favorite faith posts from my blog from 2017.

January

Dear Lamb

February

What Do You Believe? 

March

A Letter to You

April

How Do We Bloom, When Life is Tough?

May

A Father's Perspective

June

Live With Intentionality

July

Deep Waters

August

Ashes

September

What Trees Say to Me

October

Ever Insult a Rhino?

November

Mulling It Over - Part 10

December

Lessons Learned from Miracle on 34th Street

I hope you enjoyed this look back at my favorite blog posts from 2017. As we move forward into 2018, I hope to grow my blog in various ways, while still being true to my belief and faith in Jesus Christ. 

If you have any suggestions or things you would like to see me talk about on the blog, please leave me a comment in the comments section or you can send me a message on Facebook. I appreciate all your input and support. I am looking forward to what this year will bring and hope you will join me on the blog! 

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. 

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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."

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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

Ashes

The ash lay everywhere. The city, what was left of it, was covered, as if during the night a snow storm had come through, but this snow was not white and it certainly wasn't pure. It reeked of death. Life, once vibrant and pulsing, now lay dormant, black with burnt flesh and blood, brick and mortar. Everywhere the eye turned, nothing but ash, feet and feet of ash.

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The dragon had watched for a long time, waiting. He knew, as long as the city was strong, he could not take it.

Gradually, over the long walk of time, tick, tock, tick tock, those who stood guard became less vigilant. They ate and became sleepy. They drank and became slow. They walked away from their posts. 

They had been told the stories of the dragon, that he would return. They knew the tales from old, of how the dragon hated all creation and sought only to burn it into the ground. They heard the testimony of their fathers, how they had fought the dragons, keeping the city safe.

Gradually over the long walk of time, tick, tock, tick, tock, they forgot the stories, they mocked the tales of old, they no longer listened to their fathers. 

Now the dragon waited. He would come. He would wait until they were all asleep, comatose in their drink and pleasures, then he would swoop in. 

His breath would light the night. The inner, glowing embers of his evil heart would spew forth from his jagged mouth. All that felt the heat of his hatred would melt and burn. All that would be left was ash.

That is what he did. The dragon.

All that is left is ash. 

“They do not know nor understand;
For He has shut their eyes, so that they cannot see,
And their hearts, so that they cannot understand.
And no one considers in his heart,
Nor is there knowledge nor understanding to say,
“I have burned half of it in the fire,
Yes, I have also baked bread on its coals;
I have roasted meat and eaten it;
And shall I make the rest of it an abomination?
Shall I fall down before a block of wood?”
He feeds on ashes;
A deceived heart has turned him aside;
And he cannot deliver his soul,
Nor say, “Is there not a lie in my right hand?””

— Isaiah 44:18-20 (NKJV)

““The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me,
Because the Lord has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord,
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.””

— Isaiah 61:1-3 (NKJV)

The first portion of this post is a fiction piece written by Amy D. Christensen.

The Labyrinth

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The labyrinth, one passage way leading to another, leading to a room, leading to a garden...up, down, left, right, over and over, the same, but always different. Some days, I felt as though I was walking for hours. Following each bend and turn like some sort of human river flowing towards a destination of which I was so sure, but of which I knew nothing. 

That was the way of the One. All those who committed their lives to His service went through the labyrinth. There were those who committed with enthusiasm, but when they started to penetrate deeper into the layers of the maze, they were driven mad. The walls and passages closed in on them and they became frustrated and overwhelmed, sometimes running blindly trying to find a way out. Others became fixated on a place or lesson, one which they could not get past. Then, there were those like me.

I'm no one special, except maybe, to the One. It was an adventure at first. Maneuvering through the labyrinth was something of a game. Sometimes, in those first days I would run, for the sheer joy of running. Once I signed my life over to the One, I felt a freedom, that I had never felt up to that point. I would run through passage ways and paths until I came to a garden with a bubbling stream. Here I would tarry. I would eat from the trees and bushes that held their fruit like beckoning jewels. Then I would lay down and rest, sleeping so deeply I was as one dead. 

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Then the lessons started. My first lesson occurred in a small room, that looked like a school class room. Every chair was taken. An instructor stood at the front and lectured on the words of the One. The words themselves were living. Over time, as I have delved deeper in the labyrinth the words have changed me. They have made my commitment to the One that much more firm and solid. 

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Lessons didn't always come in the form of a lecture. Often times the path would venture off through a dark valley or a small village where interactions with others would serve to bend and mold us, more to the image of the One. These were the hardest lessons. Others were often dealing with their own journeys in the labyrinth. Sometimes, an individual would feel his or her opinions about the One and walking the labyrinth were superior to everyone else's. Those always made me feel small and insignificant. But then, the One would lead me from that lesson and set me back on my path, not someone else's, but my own. 

It was always in that time, when I was most alone, that I felt His presence most sharply. It was like looking at a picture of someone and then seeing that same person face to face. It seems, the further into the tangle of paths and rooms and lessons and places, the more difficult the journey has become. There have been moments where I have simply sat down, numb from the walking and the endless turns and twists. I lowered my head into my hands and cried, or I shook my fist and yelled.

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"I can't do this! I am not strong enough! I can't take one more lesson. I can't walk one more foot!"

Without fail, the One would send someone along, who would sit down beside me. They would put an arm around my shoulders and simply say, 

"It's going to be alright! You are going to make it! The One will help you. Don't give up!"

After a series of very difficult paths and even more trying lessons, I felt completely shattered. I lay on my back beside a small stream in a particularly beautiful garden. The sun overhead lulled me to sleep, but I felt its glow suddenly blotted out. I opened my eyes and someone stood over me. Wearily, I rose to my feet trying to see the face of the one before me. When I saw His face, I collapsed to my knees. It was the One!

"My King!" It was all I could mutter as my face nearly touched the ground. 

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He took my arm and gently raised me back up to face Him. Putting His arm through my own, He led me to a bench beneath a very large and very old apple tree. We sat together. For a long time, neither of us spoke, but He put His arm around me, pulling me into Himself, my head coming to rest on His shoulder. 

After some time, He began to speak.

"Do you know under what tree we sit?"

I pulled away and looked up. "It is an apple tree, my Lord!"

"You are correct. Did you know that many years ago, this garden, was nothing but a barren spot of earth, void of anything that would be considered beautiful or satisfying?"

I shook my head.

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"No one who walked by, knew that I had a plan for it. I knew what this garden would look like, long before you ever committed your life to me. I knew that one day there would be an apple tree on this very spot and that beneath it I would have a bench, just like this, so that many weary travelers in the labyrinth, could rest and find repose."

I said nothing, not wanting Him to stop talking. His very voice, seemed to draw the fatigue from my limbs and the weariness from my soul.

"Do you know why I planted this apple tree?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Simply, because I wanted to and so that it could bring glory to the one who planted it. You committed your life to me. I knew you before you ever entered the labyrinth. The difficulties you encounter along the way are each an opportunity to make a choice. A choice to raise your hands up and glorify the one to whom you now belong, just like this tree."

I felt tears filling my eyes. "But why does it have to be such a long journey and why does it have to be so hard?"

"This tree represents the passage of time. You see, I didn't plant the seed and the next day it was a full grown tree. It took years for that little seed to stretch and reach and grow. Sometimes those years were difficult. Storms, drought and even mankind sought to bring this tree down. It is because of those very difficulties that you now see this beautiful tree before you, still bearing fruit every season. When I planted that seed of belief in you, many years ago, I knew you wouldn't mature over night. It would take years. Every turn you make, every lesson you go through, every garden you rest in is a chance to submit. That is the way of the labyrinth, but when you come to its end, you will see why it is all worth while."

"What is at its end, my Lord?"

"Why, that is where my throne room is, and there I will be waiting." He pulled me close once again and whispered. "Rest now. I have made you strong and tomorrow, the path will be there to walk again."

I fell asleep, my spirit at peace. Tomorrow, the path would be waiting and so would the One.

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