Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts

Monday, 11 April 2016

Mom, Hey Mom!!

Mom, Hey, Mom

I woke up abruptly at 4:28 this morning. Someone said “Mom, hey, Mom “clear enough to get me out of bed and look out our bedroom door. We have a daughter who has moved back home so I thought it might be her, but no, no one was there. I even checked where she sleeps, but all was quiet and darkness in her bedroom, and she later told me it wasn’t her.
Was it you? Did you call out last night? Did you need something, or someone? Was/ is your heart aching, or sadder yet, breaking, perhaps because of some terrible turn of events in your life?
Something nudged me awake. Someone called out in anguish, perhaps unknowingly, but God let me hear the message. I just want to let you know you have been in my heart and prayers ever since.
Call if you need someone to talk to.
Or hangouts.
P.S. Several hours after posting this, a girl read it and messaged me on hangouts. Yes, she had called out to me, screamed actually. She was totally alone, and I walked her through the process of giving birth!!!

Monday, 7 December 2015

The Flood From a Child's Viewpoint

The Flood from a Child’s Viewpoint

Have you ever gotten the feeling that there were things in the Bible that didn’t seem right but you thought you should bury your head in the sand and pretend you didn’t notice? One question you might have asked yourself is: why did God allow man to have a free will then destroy him with a flood?

Shaba’s eyes rounded in horror and he clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting, or worse yet screaming. He couldn’t keep from staring at the charred bones in the pit of ashes. At first he was totally frozen to the spot then completely involuntarily his foot nudged at the bones. Yes, it was a skull, a tiny human skull. He knew it was, had known it would be. A shadow felt across the pit, a huge black shape holding a machete. Before he had a chance to flee or even scream he was yanked by his hair and dangling a foot above the ground.
                “Ha! I knew your curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later! Yup, that’s your kid sister alright. Made a mighty good sacrifice, she did, but not as good a one as you would have.”
                Shaba wanted to wriggle and try to get free but was too terrified. The monster-like man whipped the machete within a hairbreadth of his neck then slowly pressed it closer, drawing blood.
                A small crowd was gathering around, some cheering him on.
                “What do you think guys? Should we take this one?”
                “Nah,” one of his companions drawled. “He’s too skinny. One brute a night is plenty or it will get too common.”

                Faintly over the breeze they hear someone with a strong voice speaking.  Shaba saw the crowds’ attention shift from him to the distance preacher. Mobid’s grip slackened and Shaba fought desperately to get away.
                “Hey, I didn’t say you could go!” But Shaba had vanished, a ripped piece of his tunic dangling from Mobid’s hand. Mobid lunged after him but he didn’t have a chance.  Shaba was fleeing for his life.
                “You okay, Shaba?” The small boy shrank back in terror into the dark recesses of his thatched roof hut. He was pretty sure who was looking in on him but wasn’t about to let his presence be known. Not yet.
                “C’mon Shaba, you’ve been hiding here most of yesterday and all night. Mobid and his gang are picking on other prey. Let’s go find out what Preacher Noah is talking about. It’s pretty safe if we get up close to the ramp.”
                Shaba knew that was true. People hurled insults or even rocks from a distance at the old man but they seemed afraid to do it within twenty feet of him. Did they think he would strike them dead or something? It took a long time for Raibo to convince him to come out, and when he did it was only because Raibo had slashed open a pineapple and coaxed him to come out and help him eat it.
                The boys slipped stealthily through the lush, over-grown jungle, ever keeping a wary eye open for vicious animals and even worse humans.
                Raibo pushed his way through the restless, scoffing multitude hanging around the ark that was being built, with Shaba at his heels.
                Shaba felt his tension slowly ease away when he gazed into Noah’s kind, gentle eyes.
                Most of his sermon was hard to understand but he knew that Noah was pleading with the people to repent of their wicked ways. Shaba knew what wicked meant. He saw it every day. Every day someone was being abused. He didn’t know the words to describe what was happening mainly to little kids like himself and Raibo, but he knew it was evil, very evil, and terror haunted him wherever he went. He looked longingly at Noah and his wife, his three sons and their spouses and knew with a certainty that they never ever had treated each other in the way that every kid and women in his village were molested.
                Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.
                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  The crowd quickly parted as his dad shoved his way through and flung Shaba on the ground. A woman tittered nervously as Jakal thrashed him.
                A sharp cry came from the Ark’s doorway. Jakal rose and shook his black hair out of his eyes, glared at Noah then continued beating the lad.

                Another stern command came from above, and Raibo said later he thought for sure Noah and his sons were going to plunge into the crowd and break up the fight, but just then Jakal yanked Shabo to his feet and dragged him away. Raibo didn’t dare follow, he was sure Shaba would be killed anyway. 

Friday, 13 February 2015

A Certain Sister Fell Among Thieves

Fern cradled the cordless phone under her chin while deftly forming cookies for the Annual Charity Auction.
"Hi, Ruth! So what are you doing today?"gossip cookies
"Oh, sewing. Sewing for my grandchildren. You know how it is with children. They grow so fast."
"They sure do. Say, did you hear what Susan has been up to the last while? "
"Uh huh!"
Fern didn't seem to hear her as she plunged on with her story.
"I can't believe she would 'fall in' with that sort of companions! And did you hear what she was doing just the other day?"
"Who were her companions?"
"Oh, you know. The unusual. Doubt, Unbelief, Luvof-deeworld. I don't know their real names.She really fell hard."
"Yeah, I wanted to go talk to her, but didn't know what to say."
"She should have known better. After all she came from a good family."
"Did you hear who did go and talk to her?"
"No, who?"
" You know, the one who started coming to church awhile back!"
"Oh, her! I haven't met her,yet! You'd think she would be ashamed to come around with her outlandish hair color and those awful tattoes!
I wish you wouldn't keep sewing while I am talking!"
"They say she has met the Lord." Ruth gazed longingly at the garment in her hands. Chatting with Fern always took soo much time.
"Really? Well, seeing is believing. I wish she would change her ways if she is going to persist in coming to church. Think of the influence she could be on the young!"
A faint dinging sound could be heard in the background.
"Oh, there goes my timer. I'm making my famous Orange Buttermilk Cookies for the sale. Iced and decorated, of course.I do hope we rake in lots of money towards building a new church in El Salvador. It's a good cause."
" Maybe I should donate these dresses I'm making. Breanna and Kayleen have plenty."
" Sure, that's a good idea. I hope that, uh, What's Her Name doesn't put strange ideas into Susan's head. The poor girl. I bet her mother must be so embarrassed to have Her hanging around."
Ruth was silent. She had heard that Susan, and her mother had been deeply touched by the compassionate, non-judgmental attitude Diedrie had shown.
"I wish I could be more understanding...." She said softly.
"Oh, you do fine. Look, you offered to give those dresses, after all that work and money you put into them! Well, I got to run along. Ta de da! Have a good day." Click!
Ruth sat there lost in thought. Why is it so much easier for some to show compassion than others?

Books by Marilyn Friesen are available

Saturday, 25 January 2014



A message to the young

In her cupped hand
She holds your heart;
Holding it gently
From the start.
She sees such beauty in the clay
And tenderly fashions it
Day by day.
No artist could
More careful be
Than the mother who cares
Most lovingly.
And if perchance
You make mistakes
And your poor vessel
Cracks and breaks
She'll gather the pieces

Though scattered and sharp
And mend them with prayers
That come from the heart.
But mothers, as potters,
Are clumsy and weak;
Their touch, though imperfect
Is of love strong and deep.
Her hands are enfolded 
In God's Hands kind and strong
That will temper her efforts
All your life long.

Thursday, 19 September 2013

Enemies All Around and the Children Are Not Back!

This is an excerpt from one of the books I am writing.

Lydda wrung her hands and peered out of the low doorway of the dark, underground home and into the endlessly long tunnel, then once again dropped to her knees beside the pile of furs shoved off to one side.
“Please, God,” she entreated, “Please keep our children safe. Oh Father they have been gone all night. Stephanos is so little, and Tayletha a defenseless female. The shadows are lengthening once more, and they are still lost! Oh loving Heavenly Father, where are my children? Please, God, I need you to watch over them! Blind the eyes of our enemies so they will not recognize them as children of the catacombs. Oh, Father if they have somehow lost their way, send someone with a kind heart to give them direction. Oh, Lord, how will they ever find their way back home if they are lost? There are so many hidden entrances to this underground city!”

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

Just Another Nameless Face??

Based on a true story.

Does Jesus care about that little child way out in the boondocks somewhere that hardly anyone knows? What about that little one dwelling in one of the thousands of high rise apartments throughout the country? Does He care about them? Or are they just another nameless face in the throng? Does He care about you?
               Lora was just little when this happened, but boy, she will never forget it.