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.

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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?”

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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.

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“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 5: Rock Bottom

“Laney! What are you doing?”

Laney heard her boyfriend’s voice, but she couldn’t remember where they were. Were they at home? Where were the dogs? She suddenly felt Steve shaking her.

“Laney, what did you do? You killed our baby…my baby…” Steve shook her harder. “Open your eyes, damn it! Look at me!”

Laney forced her eyes to open. She tried to smile, but her face didn't seem to want to respond to what her brain was telling it to do.

Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay

“…hey, babe…what…time is it?”

Steve shoved her back into the couch. She usually didn’t make it that far after a binge.

“I’m done, Laney. You are on your own. That’s really what you wanted anyway, wasn’t it. You aren’t selfish, you are lost.”

Steve left, slamming the door.

Laney tried to say something, but nothing would come out. She tried to sit up, but she was so hungover she knew that wouldn’t be a good idea.

What was his problem anyway?

“It was my choice…” The words rang out into the empty room sounding like a hollow bell. “Myles? Sophie?”

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“It was my choice…” she muttered as she fell back asleep.

When she woke some time later it was dark. Not merely the darkness of night, but an inky, thick blackness that seemed to suck the breath out of her. Laney felt paralyzed, but she knew it wasn’t the alcohol and drugs, this was the paralysis of fear.

“Was it your choice?” A smooth voice whispered out of the blackness.

Laney forced herself to sit up. She knew her eyes were open, but why couldn’t she see anything. She felt the fear, like a leggy spider crawling up the back of her neck.

“My body! My choice!” She barked out the words like an angry, caged beast.

“My, my, so adamant, so angry, so vulnerable.” The voice taunted her, like a calm, stoic bully.

“Go away! Leave me alone!”

“But where would the fun be in that? My friends and I have been watching you, following you, waiting for you. You may have the King’s seal, but we can still make your life miserable. That’s really what you want anyway, isn’t it? To be miserable?”

Laney thought the voice sounded strangely like Steve’s.

“You are pathetic. You sold those dumb, four legged beasts to support your growing addiction, and then, last week you sold your own fetus.”

The voice began to giggle. The giggle turned into maniacal, stark raving hysteria. That voice was joined by another, and another, and another, until Laney was sure the laughter was coming from inside her head.

Image by Rebecca Martell from Pixabay

She covered her ears and dropped to her knees on the floor her screams becoming the crazed harmony to the unhinged laughter.

“You aren’t real! You’re just some sort of delusion from the alcohol and drugs. Go away!”

The laughing slowed, but it was replaced by whispers that sounded, oddly, like the hissing of a snake. Laney thought she had finally taken too many hallucinogenics, that her brain would no longer be able to tell the difference between the trip and reality. But then the voice started speaking again.

“I’m just a delusion? A monster of your own making? Tell me, Laney, what would the perfect enemy look like? A man with a funny little mustache who commanded armies and almost took over the world? Or how about a man who took his lovers home, then killed and ate them for dinner? No, no, no, my dear girl. I am perfection. You see I have convinced the world that I don’t exist. I can go about my business of manipulating and destroying lives without anyone ever being the wiser. You have talked yourself into believing a lie, and you even have the King’s seal. All of humanity is pathetic…”

Laney heard what the voice was saying, but she couldn’t make sense of it. “Go away!”

“Come now, Laney. The party is just getting started. You know what, I am a rather busy Being, why don’t we just get this over with. Get that bottle of pills that you have hiding in the cereal box in the cupboard. If you take them all, it should be over in just a few hours.”

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Laney gasped. How did he know about the pills? She smirked. Well, of course he would. He was her made up delusion.

“Why not,” she said as she struggled to crawl across the floor towards the kitchen.

“That’s right, Laney. You have nothing left to live for. No dogs, no family. Even your boyfriend, who had bought a ring, left you.”

Laney stopped. “Steve, bought me a ring?”

She felt something begin to twist inside of her. She ignored it and kept moving in the direction of what she thought might be the kitchen. She had to get those pills.

The voice dug in again. “He wanted to marry you. Can you believe he loved you? You made the right choice, you know. You would have never been a good mother.”

“He loved me?”

Image by aleksandra85foto from Pixabay

“Oh, come on Laney! You know he was only marrying you because of the baby. But, even that you have thrown away…the pills are waiting my dear. They will make all of this go away.”

Laney was frozen in a prostrate position when suddenly a thought whispered through her mind…you are loved with an everlasting love…you are the daughter of the King…you matter.

Laney touched her forehead to the floor. “Forgive me, my King…my Lord…my Savior. Rescue me.”

“Do you really think He’s going to listen to your prayers now? After all the weeks, and months, and years of your rebellion?” The voice was becoming angry.

Laney felt the air begin to move. It started like a soft summer breeze and built into a gale force wind. Her hair was whipping around her face. She was sure she could hear thunder, and the hissing and whispering grew tumultuous. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she couldn’t breath.

I’m going to die, she thought.

“ENOUGH!”

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Immediately the darkness was overtaken by a beautiful light. A light so warm and comforting that it caused Laney to weep. She felt her heart, iced over from so many years of pride and rebellion crack. From within it, began to seep all the darkness that she had allowed to consume her life. She cried and cried. As she remembered all the choices, her choices, she felt something like steel wool begin to scrub away the grime of manipulation and deceit.

Time passed. Her tears ebbing and flowing from her place on the floor, then she heard a different voice. She looked up.

“Laney.”

All around her home stood warriors in shining armor of light. Each one nodded at her, their faces full of compassion and joy. In front of her stood the elderly man from the park and at his feet sat Myles and Sophie. He made the motion and the two pups bolted for Laney smothering her in doggie kisses.

Laney couldn’t speak she was so overwhelmed. Then she noticed the young woman standing next to the man. She was shining, like the warriors in their armor. She came to Laney and knelt down beside her. She touched Laney’s cheek where tears had moistened it.

“Mom, I love you, and you are going to be okay.”

Relentless - Part 4: The Pursuer - The Prince

He paced the floor, as he often did when things weighed heavily on him. He could feel the cool night air filtering in from the open doors that led to the balcony. He could smell the fire as it flickered brightly, seemingly without a care in the world. There were moments he wished he could be that free, but he cared too deeply.

Image by Jazella from Pixabay

He could not get her off his mind. She was his sister. She had become thus when she gave her heart to his father in the oath; an oath that could not be undone. Why did she not want to return to them? Why did she run away in the first place? Why did she not see how much they cared for her and wanted her to come home? Didn’t she know how her actions tore at his father’s heart? Didn’t she know the shadowed ones were always looking for an opportunity to destroy her?

The more he meditated on it, the faster he paced.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Come!”

His father entered. His face, always alight with passion and energy, was shadowed with care.

“Father! Do you have news? Has Laney returned?”

His father moved to the plush, oversized chair near the fireplace and fell into it with a sigh.

He quickly took the other chair next to his father and waited. It was never wise to push the King for information. He knew him like he knew himself. The King would speak when he was ready. The fire grew dim before the King finally spoke.

“These next few weeks are critical. While she cannot see it, she has crossed into their territory. They will take advantage of every single bad choice she makes. It will be dangerous for her. I need you to post a small company of the Guard around her. They are to watch and keep the darkness at bay, but not interfere.”

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

“Father! Why can’t we just pull her out? Why must we let this go on, leaving her to her own will; watching her dive deeper and deeper into destruction?”

“You know why, my son. Her will is strong. Almost as strong as yours.” The king smiled gently. “But you used your will to accomplish my purposes. She is not there yet. It must be her choice. To take her back by force will only cause her to rebel more earnestly. Believe me, I know her inside and out.”

The king rose from the chair and he followed suit.

His father grasped his shoulders. “I know how hard this is for you. You have been there living among them as one of their own. You are intimate with their limitations and struggles, but you know I am trustworthy. You placed yourself at my behest, even though it involved great sacrifice.”

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He looked intently into his father’s golden eyes. He saw what he always did. Mercy, patience, forgiveness, and a love so deep it was unfathomable.

He nodded. “I know, father. You are right. I know that she is there by her own choice, but it pains me to see her suffer.”

“You are not alone in that, my son.” He turned to go. “When you are done gathering the Guard, go to Arabella. Together you can pray.”

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.

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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.”

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

The Making of Giant Stew

They were coming. The giants. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel their footsteps. Every step shook the earth. I could see the chain reaction of each large foot, even though I couldn’t actually see their physical forms. Trees shook, streams sputtered, even rocks seemed to shake in their places as the vibrations of those giant feet reached the ground all around me.

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I was terrified, running away from the sound, but knowing it was only a matter of time until they found me. They were hunting. The prey they longed for was me. They wanted to crush my bones and drink my blood. The thought, kept my feet moving, though my lungs were ready to collapse from the effort.

I stumbled to the ground, tripping on a branch that had fallen and become buried in the long grass. Breathing, panting, I got to my knees. What was I supposed to do? I had nothing left. I couldn’t run any more.

I heard His voice, “Head for the high ground!”

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I looked frantically around me. There were not many places to hide. A few trees dotted the landscape, but they would only become like broken down fence posts once the giants came through. I looked ahead of me. Off on the horizon, there appeared to be a small rise. It didn’t look like much, but It was a direction to go.

I stood up and felt myself collapse as pain shot up my leg. My ankle! I must have injured it when I tripped over the branch.

Thump! This time, I not only felt the vibration, I heard the sound of their feet hitting the ground. I had to get up. I had to move. The alternative was going to hurt a lot worse than my ankle.

I stood up, cringing and started to limp. Each step hurt, but eventually I knew It was this pain or death. I started to run.

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The small rise on the horizon didn’t look like much, but He had said to head for the high ground and it seemed to be the only hill around. I would like to say I ran without questioning, that I completely trusted His voice, and His wisdom, but I doubted. All the way there, the doubts in my mind were like the fire in my ankle, lapping at my confidence, trying to tear it down and make me falter.

But hadn’t He always proved himself faithful? Hadn’t He always been there in every difficulty and tragedy? Hadn’t He told me to be strong, to have courage, to not be afraid, because He would be with me.

I was Joshua, going places I had never been before, and I was afraid. Afraid of the giants that were after me, but more afraid that He wouldn’t come through for me.

I could hear them more loudly now. Their steps creating small quakes in the earth that threatened to throw me off balance. I reached the bottom of the small rise.

“What do I do now,” I shouted, my voice angry. “You lead me here. How is this supposed to end well?”

“Trust me.” His voice was just a whisper.

I stopped. Every fiber in my being wanted to lash out at Him. I was going to die. I was going to be giant stew, What was the point? Why had He brought me here?

I took a breath, remembering, when things were at their worst that was the time to breath and focus on His voice. I closed my eyes and breathed in. I could smell the earth, the trees, the grass, all around me and I could smell water.

“Take the high ground.”

I moved as quickly as I could up the grassy hill. There were only a few scrubby trees that would provide no place to hide. Going to the top of the hill would, in reality expose me further. I had made my choice. I was going to trust Him, no matter what the outcome.

At the top, I found a small brook, just barely as wide as my body. It was as clear as the sky was blue.

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The footsteps! Now I could smell their rank breath. They had to have seen me by now.

“Enter the flow.”

I looked at the stream, then I was in it. I laid back in its deep coolness, feeling it wrap around my tired, sweating body like a cocoon. My whole body was covered, except for my face.

“Enter the flow.” His voice was persistent.

Once again, I doubted. He wanted me to completely submerge? Once again, I was afraid. This was a place I had never been before. Is that really what He wanted me to do? What was going to happen to me if I did what He said? Would I die?

One thing was sure, if I didn’t do what He said, I most certainly would die and it wouldn’t be a pleasant death. To just lay back and enter the water…and enter His flow, I closed my eyes and went under.

When I was under, I began to count. How long could I hold my breath? Long enough for the giants to pass my little hill by? What if they decided to use the hill for a seat to rest.

But no! He was faithful. He always had been and He always would be. Even as I, once again, made the decision to trust, every part of my body exploded with fire. I thought perhaps one of the giants had stepped on me, but I soon realized this was not a crushing, weighted feeling, but a feeling of complete release and freedom.

“Go beyond belief, dear one. Go from belief and obedience to child-like trust!”

I had believed in Him, and He had always been there.

I had obeyed Him, and He always rewarded.

Child-like trust….

Even though I was submerged, I took a breath.

The fire entered my lungs and I was flung upward out of the stream. In my hand was a sword and on my body was armor that felt lighter than clothing. Through my body coursed a wind of fire that made strength move outward into every limb.

Now I was David and I was going to make my own giant stew.

(This was a work of fiction by Amy D. Christensen)

The song below is an oldie, but goodie. Petra has always been one of my favorites because their words are so sound. Enjoy!

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.

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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.

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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. 

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"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

Beauty from Ash

There it was. A single, dark green leaf, beginning to unfurl. It had been conceived in darkness. A tiny seed that lay dormant, not dead, merely asleep in the cozy warmth of the dark earth. While it was sleeping the dragon had done his damage. He had ravaged the landscape, burning every tree and every living thing until all was nothing but ash. He thought he had destroyed life, but what he had meant for death, the One had meant for life. 

The ash lay heavy on the earth. It became, not a grave blanket of death, but a rich, comforting layer of warmth and nutrients. Gradually, over time, the rains came and the ash cooled and lingering life seeped into the black earth below. 

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The seed drank the death life and began to swell. Swollen and full, it opened, releasing a shoot into the fertile soil above. Pushing, struggling, reaching, it climbed upward. It knew, above the darkness there was light and the light was what it wanted. The light was what it needed. The shoot didn't know how it knew, but it knew it had to reach for the light. It knew the light would help it grow. It knew the light would give it life.

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Soon the pushing, struggling and reaching paid off. At the very tip of it's furthest point the shoot felt an odd sensation, warmth. It had only ever known the coolness of the earth in which it lay. It had only ever known the darkness, but now...now it reached. With one last ambitious push it poked through the earth and ash and found the light.  

*          *          *          *           *

Are we not like the seed? Were we not conceived in darkness? Did we not, when we were full with the nutrients of our mother's womb, the womb that would die after our life, death life, did we not move toward the light? We knew when it was time, as our mother's womb knew when it was time to help us, push, and reach and struggle, that we must find the light. We needed the light. 

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Why then, when we know the light is good, do we stop seeking it? Why, when we know the light gives us life and helps us grow, do we we hide from it? Why do we prefer to cover ourselves back up with the dragon's ash, trying to hide rather than growing to the potential that the One had meant for us? 

It is because we are afraid. 

Do not fear the light, or the One from which the light has its source. Rather, push, struggle, reach for Him. He will tend you like a tender shoot and raise you up into a mighty tree.

He alone can bring beauty from ash. 

(Written by Amy D. Christensen)

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.)

Return to Battle

She stood, looking at the expanse of land that rolled out from the castle walls. Her balcony overlooked the picturesque river valley and as the sun began to set she could see its fire glinting off the distant liquid ribbon. She felt rested, still there were moments where she wanted to stay in the soft bed that stood closer to the fireplace. There, the fire always seemed to burn cheerily in its stone dwelling. 

The battle had been fierce. Had she foreseen the damage that happened on that particular day, she might have run. But she didn't. She stood her ground and fought, just as many others did beside her. Some fell at her feet and she had to step over them, still fighting, raising her sword over and over and over. Her arms grew so fatigued she no longer felt the sword in her hand, only kept the repetitive movement; lift, swipe, strike, jab. She had no idea how many her sword had taken down. She didn't need to know. They were all enemies of the King.

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The only wound she received was one of the heart. No one could see it, but it was there and it was deep. One she loved most dear had been taken by the enemy. A captive, taken, she knew not where; tormented, she knew not how, though she could easily imagine. The vileness of the enemy was obvious in the land. He had no reason to be subtle. He was powerful and prideful. She knew one day, that pride would be his downfall, but until then, they'd continue to fight against him and to fall.

She turned when she heard footsteps. A servant approached her tentatively. He bowed.

"His Highness, the King wishes to see you in the library." The young man kept his head lowered.

She thanked him and he left.

She put on her shoes and wrapped herself in a warm bulky sweater. Closing her door behind her she moved soundlessly down the hallways of the castle. She knew how to move without making noise. She had been trained in all areas of covert and overt combat. Before she entered the library, she took a deep, calming breath.

She loved the library. It wasn't just her love of reading and books that drew her here. It was the coziness and peacefulness of the place. The walls were made of rich, dark mahogany. The carpeting which ran wall to wall was plush. Sometimes she would take off her shoes, just to feel the softness of the rug beneath her. The curtains hanging at the windows were made of deep red velvet. Interspersed throughout the room were luxuriant furnishings of all sizes. Her favorite was an over sized chair and its companion footstool that sat close to the grand fireplace. It was in this chair that the King sat. His feet were up and his eyes were closed.

She stopped. If she didn't wake him, she could skulk back to her room and put off for a little while longer this conversation she knew was coming. That wasn't going to happen. His voice carried clearly from his comfortable position.

"Come, dear one. Sit."

His blue eyes looked at her. She moved closer to the fireplace, but didn't sit. 

He put his feet on the floor and patted the foot stool. She smiled at him, feeling like a lost sheep, but instead of sitting she began to pace.

"You know it is time." His voice was gentle.

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She looked towards the fire blazing furiously in the hearth. She didn't want him to see her fear. She didn't want him to know how her heart cowered. Silly, she knew. He could always read her like one of the many books surroundng them.

"I know you do not feel ready. I know you are hurt, inside, where it is so much harder to heal. But you are one of my best warriors. I can't let you stay here any longer. There is too much at stake. There are too many at risk."

The gentle tone of his voice was almost maddening. She knew he was right, but she needed more time. She couldn't go back out there. Not yet. She couldn't go back to that war, that enemy. That one who ripped something, someone from her who was so precious. She just wanted to forget. To pretend none of it ever happened....but she couldn't. She knew it and so did the King.

"I...I can't my Lord! I...I...am not ready."

He sat forward in the plush chair and once again patted the footstool in front of him. She sat, their knees almost touching.

He put a hand on her cheek and wiped the tear that had fallen there. "Daughter, this is about a much bigger war than the one we fight on this plain. You know that."

She was up again. Pacing, back and forth in front of the blaze, like a caged lion, looking, always looking for a way out. "You don't understand! This enemy...he's different! He's vile....you don't know! You weren't there!"

He stood and in one step was in front of her, his graying beard becoming straggly from lack of time for grooming. He stopped her and took her hands in his. 

"I was there." Again the gentleness.

She looked at him questioning. "What do you mean? I would have known if you were there."

"Do you remember that battle, back in the winter? There was a certain warrior wearing animal skins and donning a helmet with horns. You laughed when you told me about him....said he was a Viking by any other name?"

Her eyes widened.

"And don't forget in the spring, when the rains came, the warrior whose face was so covered in mud you couldn't tell if he was of light or dark skin..."

He paused. 

She felt the coldness that had accompanied her for so long begin to melt away. He had been there. Of course he couldn't come out looking like himself, or the enemy would have recognized him. She looked into his piercing blues, questioning....

"The time will come, when I will come out as the King, but not yet...this war is not just about the child that was taken from you, but about all the children, and all the souls that are ensnared by our enemy. I need you back at the front."

She took a deep breath and shuddered. She could say no. She was his daughter, after all. She didn't have to go back and he would still love her. Of that she had no doubt. But his words about the children got to her. Her child was taken. Stolen from her by that enemy. Even if she was still alive and they found her, she knew her daughter would have scars. 

She squeezed the strong, calloused hands that hung on to hers. They were the hands of a warrior, a king and her father. She knew they would always follow her into battle, fighting beside her until she took her final breath. 

She went to her knees before him. "I am ready, my Lord."

“ Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.””

— Joshua 1:9 (NASB)

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
With all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints, ”

— Ephesian 6:10-18 (NASB)

(This is a fictional work written by Amy D. Christensen)