Showing posts with label author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label author. Show all posts

Thursday, 11 August 2016

Which Time was Easier Theirs or Ours

This story is in the second part of my little book called The Glass Castle. In this section, I have related true incidents of people who have suffered for their faith.

Which Time Was Easier,
Theirs or Ours

I have adapted the following story to relate to our time. To my knowledge no one had a vision similar to this.
Mariken hovered in the back of the crowd.  For many weeks she had been smuggling food to her father while he was in the dungeon and now was compelled to watch him be burned at the stake with many others. Her spirit was weary, discouraged. Every day they suffered from the threat of persecution.

She didn’t know how she could bear it much longer; this fleeing, this worrying, this fellowshipping in secret in the dead of night, in the storm and the cold, lest someone would reveal their whereabouts and tell the authorities.  

One by one the fires were kindled in the rushes at the bottom of each stake. When the smoke began to curl up around her father Mariken fainted.

Mariken felt a gentle hand stroking the hair off her forehead and cheeks. She opened her eyes and instantly recognized the strong, compassionate face of her precious Saviour and Friend, Jesus.
“Mariken, you have become, weary and discouraged because of all the suffering around you. I am going to transport you to a time far into the future, so you can see what other Christians in another time, are going through.”
Mariken’s eyes widened when she saw the immense church building. Why it was as big, as or bigger than the state church that was filled with many of their sworn enemies.  
Everyone was dressed in such fine, rich garments. Surely they weren’t followers of the same humble Jesus, they followed?  

Dozens of people were strolling into
the building from various directions and she followed them, her heart thudding nervously. Many were clustered in small groups, talking softly and frequently smiling. No one was looking towards the doors as if afraid the authorities would come in to disrupt the meeting and seize the leaders.
After they were seated, someone at   the front announced a song number and to her surprise, there seemed to be plenty of songbooks to go around.

 Because it was all so strange and new, Mariken had chosen a seat near the back and off to the side. She was frequently distracted by latecomers coming in and people whispering long after the service began.

Mariken was grateful that she could understand every word and was touched when someone gave out a song that started something like this:’ faith of our father’s living still in spite of dungeon, fire, and sword. Maybe they are of the same faith although living in a different time.

She again bit her lip nervously when the assembly separated into smaller groups but found herself following several girls who appeared to be about her own age.

Her face paled.  Why were they going behind a closed door? Were they going to be interrogated now?  

Mariken was glad that they didn’t pay extra attention to her. They seemed so relaxed and comfortable in their soft, pretty dresses: she wondered how they could focus on Jesus when they had such nice clothes to wear.
Mariken missed the fervency of spirit that was so much a part of their tiny services ‘back home.’
Sure, several of the sisters seemed concerned, but it was almost as if they were talking in their sleep, and didn’t truly realize the dangers around them.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mariken cried inwardly, “Take me back home! I would fall asleep spiritually if I had to live in this time! I would fall in love with the luxury and lack of persecution and it would be so difficult to really put you first in my life. Take me back, please take me back!
  As Mariken awoke she saw that her father’s pain creased face was radiant with joy. Just then someone near her burst into song, and throughout the crowd others joined in, too happy to care who might hear and nab them next.
As the suffering ones expired one by one, she knew their songs were mingling with the songs of the redeemed and that the Father in Heaven was welcoming them home.

Her earthly father gave her a weak smile just before his head fell forward, his eyes shut. 

“I’ll meet you there!” she called and joined in the singing.

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Mary's Diary

Some of you have been so good about buying Mary's Diary, the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes, even with it's blah, blah, blah cover. Did I tell you already that I'm getting it redone, and reedited, and I think those of you that haven't bought a copy will like it better than ever. Meanwhile, I will dole out a pre-Christmas preview! So here' the beginning!

By the way, I'll need to think of another title. What do you think of these ideas.

Mary'am Muses
   about her son Jesus

Mary's Journal

Mary's Memories
  of Jesus

More suggests and votes would be most welcome!

April 2nd
10th Nissan


will always be grateful to my dignified, elderly Uncle Zachariah
for teaching me to read and write that long ago summer when I was
ten. There are some thoughts that are too personal; too profound to
give voice to, but they must be shared, and writing is the best way.

How can I get close to HaShemYet that is what I am striving for.
HaShem means The Name, and is the most respectful title I know to
call The Holy One. We hesitate to speak His Name out loud, but I pray
He will pardon me if I write it from time to time. There is something
About  Adonai , hallowed be His Name, that is dreadful, but I long to have a
more meaningful relationship with Him.

This week I have been thinking much about the sacred prophecies
concerning the Mashiach. (Messiah,) What kind of woman would Yahweh choose
as the mother for His Son? It would be such a delightful honor, and
a privilege! I wish it could be me.

Did you hear my tiny sigh? I suppose hundreds, nay, thousands of talitha(girls), more honorable than I have longed to cherish the Holy Child as their own, but they were not chosen, so why would I be?
We are of the lowliest of the lowly. The Judeans, particularly the religious leaders, look down their long noses at us Galileans. Do they not think we are so dim-witted
about understanding the finer points of the law?

The Anointed One’s mother would be someone without the many
faults that I have! I imagine she will be someone like the virtuous
woman our noble King Solomon described many years ago. She would
diligently reach out to the poor, and needy, and in her tongue would
be the law of kindness. I have a lot to learn in that area!

I am guessing that the Mother of the Mashiach, (what elegant
sounding words!) would need to be someone of royal birth so she would
know how to groom her Son to become the future King.

 But I am of the right lineage! David is my ancestor. We have the precious documents right here in our chest to prove it. They have been passed down from generation to generation, and are among our most valuable possessions.

Yea, I must admit though, that thousands of others are of the same lineage.

Just this one last time I will confess it hurts deeply that I cannot
mother HaShem’s Son. He must be born of a virgin, and I am soon to
be married.

You will not ere in your thinking, no? I am joyfully planning to
wed my beloved Yosef, but when I do, this other dream will have to die
forever. It is most difficult to lie down. It has been a secret desire for
so long, but I will; I will lift a brave face, and cheerfully walk hand in
hand with my betrothed for all my days, and if perchance some other
aant’at ,(woman,) gets this blessing during my lifetime I will try to be
happy for her.

Perhaps it will be my own daughter!