Category Archives: Pure Fiction

by | September 12, 2021 · 8:33 pm

An Unsettling Dream…

The convoy of yellow DOT trucks pulled into the neighbor’s drive across the street. Mr. Burns had fought a long hard fight, but they, the government, had finally won. They, like vultures, were now circling to collect what little remained of the poor man’s belongings. He had never been much for this world. His meager existence was foretold by the home, which had the furnishing of bare necessity. His house had been one of welcome and comfort rather than one of putting on airs for the delight of fashion. In other words, Mr. Burns had little left to this world. He lived day-to-day but refused to give in to the demands of the State. He lived for God, not unto man.

So, after his passing, it was no surprise to see the Agency vehicles piling into the rough gravel drive. Their trucks were hybrid robotic machines. There wasn’t any human interaction, which made it seem all the more wrong. These mechanical beasts were there to process everything that belonged to the now deceased man, including his own being. There was no funeral allowed, for he had become an enemy of the State.

The trucks were box-like in construction, but each contained a massive, flat, stainless-steel metal plate built onto the bed. Beneath this daunting shining platform were a series of hoses, pipes, and storage containers. As they lined up, one by one on the deceased man’s property, an arm would reach from beneath each vehicle and grab items, placing them onto the mirror-like platform. There those real-life items, from chairs, desks to the deceased Mr. Burns, would lie for a moment. Then, suddenly, a surge of blue energy would dance around each item. The air crackled with electricity, and then with a flash, everything would vibrate with increased velocity until it seemed to shake out of existence.

Then, poof, the platform would be empty, and the arm would already be reaching for the next parcel of belongings to process.

Far, far away in another part of the country, deep within the bowels of the distant processing headquarters, the analysis of every stick of wood, every sheet of paper, and every fiber of DNA was recorded. The State’s claims against the deceased, old farmhand were crimes against the State – failing to comply with the Federal Mandates.

As I stood in my side yard watching the scene unfold, there was the feeling of another being. Feeling uncomfortable, I moved to the back of my house, where I found my back door standing open. Someone or something had indeed snuck around behind me without me knowing. Slowly and with great care, I eased onto the back steps and peered into the kitchen, which was just inside.

My eyes were still adjusting from the bright sunlight as I peered into the darkness. Thankfully, it was empty.

Without hesitation, I moved inside, listening ever more closely for returning footsteps. On my kitchen table, there was a weapon that looked like something from a Science Fiction movie. Curious, I picked it up and quickly found the ammunition release mechanism. Out into my hand popped a clip containing tiny metal vials that appeared to be bullets. They were shaped like bullets, but instead of gunpowder, their middle section contained fluid, which could be seen through the transparent material in which it was encased. One end of each cartridge had four tiny prongs. It was then I realized what this was – the force injection weapon of the State Medical Enforcement Squad.

Quickly, before the owner of the weapon returned, I angrily began smashing the needles back into themselves. Rage, upon rage, poured through my hands as each bullet was pounded into useless submission. “The next person that is shot by this weapon will at least have a chance of survival,” my thoughts rambled as the adrenaline rush caused my hands to begin shaking as I loaded the now harmless bullets back into the chamber. I had just clicked the clip back into place and laid the weapon back on the table when the sound of approaching footsteps pierced my heart. Before I could flee, the shadow of the agent darkened the backdoor of my house.

It was too late to flee.

The agent looked at me, then at the weapon. “You realize you could get into a lot of trouble if you make the wrong choice,” the thing said? Their speaking apparatus had not yet been perfected, for there was still a hint of mechanical hesitancy to the droid’s speech. They appeared fully human in form and movement, but we all knew their purpose.

“Yes, I know.” I moved my shaking hands behind my back because the adrenaline rush had returned. I fought the urge to make a run for it, but I knew without a doubt that if I was lucky enough to somehow outrun this robotic being, my farm would soon be surrounded by all manner of drones and other robotic police. Obvious resistance was indeed futile.

I smiled and obligingly, but slowly, picked up the agent’s weapon and handed it to it.

“You’ve made a wise choice,” it responded and quickly turned the weapon to point at me.

It was then I awoke.

It was Sunday morning, September 12, 2021.

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by | March 10, 2018 · 6:52 pm

The Beast We Face…

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”-Eph. 6:12

As the distant separates the miles, the golden rays of fading sunlight cast their last hopes upon the sullen clouds that lie amongst the foot of the mountains. There is nere a day that remaineth the same. What man can say he hath known the works of the Almighty when he can scarcely recall one from another, twixt the hours of time that passeth understanding.

His charge, one of Keeper; to watch over those in his domain and protect them from the darkness. As the fog of ancient tomes drifts across the driven land, he is called to another such place; a memory gone by, faded from view as the vines envelop the work of one long passed. The natural world reclaiming her own. He is there to see what is needed to bring the old place back to the living. With him travels another soul, one he cannot see, but he can sense its presence. It is a gentle, kind spirit like himself; but strong in ways he cannot match. They are connected as father and son, a bond that goeth deeper than the flesh which covereth mere bone and sinew. Together, their force is nigh to the Master they serve, but neither would dare compare to their creator, for each dwelleth only to serve Him more.

As they arrive, their first visit is to an outbuilding lying on the edge of the estate, just inside the front gate. Farther up the drive on the hill sits the dark, somber decaying mansion. Once this place was an exuberant, alive institution where all manner of animals, food, and life thrived. The building in which they now stood was once a stable and maintenance shed. Now, the rusty veins of disrepair peek through swollen arms of branches and vines that have devoured its once formidable shell. As the Keeper walks beneath the sagging overhead door, the smell from within causes the hair to stand up along his spine.

Beneath the myriad of branch and leaf, there is something of a dire will that lurks. An evil being lies waiting. It has recompensed its own soul for a void it can never fill; a wickedness beyond compare. The gentle spirit is alarmed, and at once is put on guard. Both Keeper and gentle being begin to back away, but before they can reach the light of day, the swift sound of earthly flesh sliding across the antiquity of concrete splits fear into, cleaving sanity from flight, as the beast seeks to devour the good son. A sense of cunning overwhelmed the Keeper as the serpent sought a weakness from which to attack. It was as if it had known they were coming and was welcoming their offering, their sacrifice of body and soul. A feeling of pain, horror, and unfathomable power surges through the Keeper as he suffers the feeling of the gentle spirit being torn asunder. But there was no sign of physical attack. The gentle one stood prepared for battle, but there was only the feeling of the onslaught.

Each being stood waiting, each with heightened senses. Their enemy, nothing of this world nor principality, circles; watching, waiting.

Then without warning, it strikes the gentle one from behind, out of nowhere the beast sprung, its massive coils instantly engulfing the young being. There was no time to scream, so quick were its Satanic sinews entwined about his body. Incredulously, there was nothing they can do to stop it; nothing of this world.

Lightning pulses through the Keeper’s veins as he is blinded by rage. His heart falters as he falls to his knees. At once, the prayer of supplication is lifted to the Master’s realm, and as quickly, there is an answer.

The sound of rushing wind blasts past the Keeper’s ears, until he cannot restrain his body in place. As he feels the world around him begin to summersault, head over heel, all countenance of space and time passes. His eyes are closed in the transition until there is calm. A feeling of warmth surrounds him, and slowly he peers through squinted eyelids to see himself bathed in sunlight upon a freshly mown lawn. Looking up, he sees the previously decaying manor, now aglow in the setting sun. It’s alcoves, and trim are perfectly painted and shining like new. He turns to see all manner of life and activity as servants, workers, and guests come and go in their daily rituals. Below him, he watches as a young man of slender build leads a team of horses into what was before, the overgrown stables. The man disappeared from view. At the same time, from behind him, the Keeper hears the sound of an elder speaking to one of the workers, “Have you seen Jackson?”

The Keeper turns to see the well-dressed elder speaking to one of his servants. The former is dressed in tan pants with a matching vest. His girth protrudes beyond his belt line as it appears his wealth is more than just in the land around him. The black man to whom he speaks is dressed in the worn clothes that belie his position. His likewise worn hat, sits comfortably on his nearly bald but graying head, shading his eyes from the fading light of day.

“Nassuh,” replies the servant, “Last I seed him he was walkin da horses to da stables. I’se can git him if you need-ssuh?”

“No Eugene,” the elder replied, “I just wanted to see if he was about ready for supper or not.”

“Yessuh, I’se can run down to da stables and let him know if yuuz want?”

“Well, on second thought Eugene, that might be a splendid idea.”

“Yessuh, I’se be right back.”

And with that, the black man ran toward the Keeper, not straying nor altering his path as he headed straight toward him. The Keeper put his hands up to block the servant’s charge fearing that the collision would send them both reeling, but before he could blink, the man had passed through his person and was gone on heading down the hill. Not quite understanding what had just transpired, he stood, turning to watch the black man disappear past the manicured hedges that lined the drive between the manor and the farmland beyond.

He blinked and once again, he had to refocus his eyesight. The darkness of the room caught him off guard. The smell of sweat, leather, and tack filled his nostrils. The doors of the barn opened, and the whinny of the horses broke the silence.

“Easy ladies,” the young man called. “Why you girls acting so skittish?”

As the Keeper watched the young man work, he opened the stall doors for each Percheron, placing the gentle giants each into their own paddocks. The horses pranced, for something was causing them to stir. The Keeper thought it must be his own presence that created their disdain. But as the thought passed, so did the sound of that earthly scrape along the floor. The darkness had found its way into the realm, and he was not alone. The youth was unaware, but there was little the Keeper could do. For some reason, there was no way for him to call to the boy. His voice was void of his mouth. The demon slid along the corner post and cunningly wrapped itself around the beam as it climbed aloft. The thirty-foot-long python was an enigma. It had survived the train wreck when the men who had claimed it from the jungles lost it in transit to one of the city zoos. They had no idea that those who had extracted it from the South American jungle never lived to see it board the train north. Their skeletal remains long ago excreted from the beast as their souls became one with its darkness. The rescuers who were the first on the scene of the twisted train never found the brakeman or engineer. They too succumbed to the beast. The warmth of the summer had buoyed its life force until it now found itself savoring its next meal below. The yellow slitted eyes watched the boy as he worked, waiting for the opportunity to feed.

Unaware, the youth continued to try to ease the tension of the horses, but to no avail. He had backed his way out of one of the stalls when he felt the strand of straw drop from above. Just as he brushed it off his shoulder, he looked up to see what might have caused the disturbance. Before he could react, the beast sprung its massive coil onto the man. Horses screamed in unison as the lad was knocked to the floor. His hands fought against the massive sinews that intertwined his body. The youth fought to find any form of breath as the evil began to squeeze each time he exhaled until his ribs began to crack beneath the strain. His desperate hand found the wooden handled of the nearby ax he had used earlier in the day to break off a piece of rope. In a last futile act, he swung toward the lethal muscle that now engulfed his body, swinging blindly, he struck again and again. The blood of the sinister beast began to flood the stall below, but only increased the fervor for which its coils tightened about the boy. Bones began to crush as the heartbeat of the innocent began to slowly ebb.

The Keeper watched in revulsive fear as he saw all that transpired, helpless to stop the horror before him. He fell once again to his knees and wept as the sound of the human body was slowly drawn into the gaping mouth of the slithering demon. The last thing he heard was a whimpering voice cry out its last breath, “Mother.”

In an instant, something inside that paddock changed. The feeling of a spirit of evil grew. The damned had devoured the precious son, their only child, the one that was to become the heir to all that was, and now, nothing remained lest the beast allowed it. For once the soul of the boy was exchanged from one to the other, its evil and intellect were magnified tenfold. All of the envy and hate the lad had contained for the contempt of his parents forcing him to carry on the work of the plantation now transferred into the dark being. The bitterness was like sweet essence to the beast as it supped upon the hatred like honey from the comb.

About that time, the door of the barn opened, and the loyal servant peered into the darkness.

“Jackson, my boy, is you in here?” The black man shaded his eyes from the bright light from the outside trying to obtain a focus into the dank cell of death before him. He had seen the boy grow from childhood into a young man. He had come to know the boy as if he were his own. The horses continued to cry as the smell of blood spewed utter fear into their nostrils.

The Eugene timidly pushed the door aside and stepped in, pulling the cap from his forehead. The Keeper wanted to call to him, but again, it was not his time, nor could he speak. The coils of the evil one now silently slid into the shadows awaiting its next victim.

The old man wearied of the silence and called again, raising his hand to the fearful horses trying to calm them as he walked further into the lair of the darkness.

“Jackson, is you here?” He reached the paddock door and started to turn, but the sheen of red on the floor caught his eye, and his breath was taken away. At that instant, before he could think to run for the door, the feeling of cold death, wrapped around his body from above, and like his master before, Eugene began to fight for his life. Heavy, black cold flesh wrapped about his body, tightening until the air escaped his lungs. As his life force ebbed, the years of toil and arduous labor for his Master began to surface, like a black tide. The demon drank it forth, as venom is extracted from the wound, pulling it further from within the servant’s soul. The long years of utter despair culminating to an anger that fed the pulsating muscles that rippled along the beast’s frame as he finished the last breath of the old man. There was nothing left of the faithful servant, as he too joined the combined souls within the evil. The Keeper watched in utter horror as the insatiable appetite of the beast grew. He culled the darkness from each victim before their souls had passed, retaining each as an energy upon which it grew. Before he could manage to escape the macabre scene, each magnificent horse was eventually drawn down into the ever-growing beast’s coils, until they too had become one with its dark powers.

From that day forward, man, beast, and life of the plantation began to disappear as the evil grew with each soul it recompensed. Dawn after dawn, there were fewer who breathed the air of the day, while the night was filled with screams of horror and fear.

The Keeper now understood what he faced. For this was no earthly being with which he fought.

Again, the sound of rushing wind churned in the air about him, and he had returned to the sodden space from which he had left. The beast was still there, as was the gentle being, both neither had diminished nor had their battle continued, for it was as if they had been frozen in time. No matter the length of his recent escape, it was as if it were only a blink of an eye that he had returned. The Keeper called out to the son and warned him of what it was to which they now fought. From within, both instinctively called upon the only one with whom they knew could save them in this darkest hours. Meanwhile, the coils of the beast continued to attempt to suffocate the life from the gentle one.

Dropping to his knees, the Keeper began to seek God in ultimate prayer, bowing his hands upon the earth.

The darkness heard him and lurched for the chance to devour them both at once, sending its tail around the Keeper, pulling him into the maze of death.

As the serpent surged, the sudden force of energy from beneath its coils shocked the beast, stunning his advance. Pausing, it couldn’t understand what had happened, so the beast pulled at the Keeper again, this time forcing all the guile within to his surface, throwing the massive coils into one colossal force which no terrestrial being could withstand.

Once more, the power from above stunned the beast until its deathly grip lessened.

At this moment, the Keeper and the gentle one stood, shedding the grip of evil and turning, they both now faced the beast.

Eyes of blood red, with a screaming rage, the demon surged once more, massive jaws agape as the fangs dripped with deadly venom, at the two beings of faith.

The horrific screams squealed into the air, reaching a pitch that caused any living thing to cower in fear. The beast retracted as its flesh began to sizzle and burn away from the power that now flowed through the pair; Keeper and son.

The demon, feeling its skin begin to fall away, revealing bleeding sinews and bone, lurched again, only to find the force against it growing stronger.

The screams continued until the smell of burning flesh overpowered the dying sounds of the evil beast.

It was hours later as the sunrise began to break across the new day, the charred remains of the demon could be found before the weary Keeper and his son.

Exhausted, worn and spent. Each dropped to the soil below and gave thanks to the Lord.

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed at the coming day.

Once more, the darkness had been defeated, as the Keeper added another dwelling to his charge.

As we go through this life, we face demons of this world that seem unstoppable. Alone, we cannot defeat them as stated in Ephesians, “principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world.” As Paul writes to Ephesians, he shares with them that we must “put on” the armor of God. The Greek word for “put on” is also “enduo,” as if to clothe or put on a garment. If we go back to Luke 24:49, we see again where he tells his disciples to go back to Jerusalem and wait, “And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.” In other words, Jesus was telling his disciples, that first before you go out into the world to evangelize, yea first must receive the Holy Spirit. In this story, we are allowed to visualize ourselves within the Keeper. Some may see this as being one with the Holy Spirit. If we are one with the Holy Spirit, then we can assume the “Gentle One” in the story would then be the Word. Either way, we are not alone in our battles, if we choose to accept Christ into our lives. Without Him, we cannot defeat the powers of darkness. But the good news is, we know how the story ends, we have victory in Jesus. We may not win the battle, but through Christ, we have won the war.

May the Lord’s will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

Hallowed be thy name.

Thanks be to God.

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints; And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel, For which I am an ambassador in bonds: that therein I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak.” -Eph. 6:13-20

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by | August 22, 2016 · 9:58 pm

Leviathan Dreams…

The darkness surrounded me. sinkhole

I was somewhere deep in a rain forest standing before a hole that had somehow opened up on the floor of the jungle. Perhaps an ancient sinkhole had formed and over time, filled back in with water.

“Why am I here,” I asked myself.

An ancient tree grew along the upper rim of the watery depth that lay before me. Its roots twisted and turned from centuries of growth winding in and out of the earth and rock ledge which hung precariously above the hole where the clear water beckoned. The trunk of the tree disappeared into the mist above the labyrinth of foliage from where nothing returned, the sounds of cries echoed from its shadowed terror. I felt a multitude of eyes watching from beyond the border of leaves which kept the darkness at bay.

Before I knew it, I was submerged into the abyss swimming into deeper and darker haunted corners. What lay ahead beyond that murky brine of life; I could not tell but felt an urge to go onward, farther, deeper into the unfathomable pit.

Then the thought came to mind, “What if this is the home of the Rahab of old?” Suddenly, fear of the deadly monster appearing from the bottomless depths caused my heart to jolt. My heartbeat thumped in my ears as I tried to calm myself. “There’s no such thing,” I tried to reason. “It was defeated by God during the creation, it’s gone…gone forever.”

The water was losing its light as silt began to cloud the scene before me. Something was disturbing the environment; something massive.

The image passed by before I could catch a glimpse; its body the color of the aquatic surroundings, a perfect camouflage. The sullen void quickly enveloped the image. The last trace was the massive tail fin that swooshed past me with such force, the wake nearly rolled me over. My source of oxygen was constantly a concern, but I never surfaced. My fear was only of the beast that now eluded my horrified gaze.

Black limbs and roots created a maze that illumination from the world above was barely able to penetrate as I swam on trying to regain the leviathan’s presence. “Why was I searching for something so fearful, when all I had to do was climb back to the world above?”

Yet, I continued on.

When all hopes of finding the enormous fish seemed to be lost, there was the feeling of being watched come over me; the one that crawls across the back of your neck and into your soul.

It was suddenly there; appearing before me out of the nothingness.leviathan

I kicked to propel myself skyward, back to my own world, back to the surface to replenish my lungs; lungs that were now void of all air as I screamed useless bubbles of horror. Below me, the mouth of the massive fish now encompassed both my legs as he began to swallow me whole.

I could feel the pull of the suction from its throat pull me down.

There was no escape; I had gone too far.

“Why was I here,” the voice screamed in my head?

It was then I awoke to the gray light of day streaming in from the forest outside.

I was still alive.

It was then that I realized I had been holding my breath. My lungs exhaled just in time to take in another breath as if I were preparing to dive back in.

I rolled over and tried to let it go. The feeling of the fish loomed before me. My mind drifted off, but not before I was pulled back in, back below into the depths of that which has no name.

Sleep did not come gently.

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by | August 8, 2013 · 3:13 am

A Flightful Vision…

My first memory of thought was the climatic change.

I could feel the coolness on the back of my neck go from a dry, high altitude feeling to that of a humid-moist climate; sailingshipyet the temperature remained the same. What I saw before me was a loading ramp, reaching out to a dock, upon which the boat we were on had just docked. The boat itself was an old sailing ship with dark timbers for a hull. I was in the middle of a pack of mules, large Percheron types with blonde colored bodies and dark manes. We rode out of the hold of the ship in a thundering stampede, immediately reaching the outskirts of the city in which we had made port. As we ran west, the sunrise was to our backs, ahead the mist of the rising morning dew. There were others riding in our cavalcade but I could not see them; I could only sense that they were riding behind me. As we passed through the countryside, there were fields of pastures on both sides of the road, lined with fences and separated by occasional rows of trees. The road we ran upon was not paved but packed dirt; an ancient thoroughfare worn smooth from countless hoof prints.

wildhorsesThe farther we ran into the landscape the more the mules became horse-like, until they eventually turned into a graceful herd of horses, all thoroughbreds. I was still riding the same animal I began with, the wind blasting past me as we now increased speed as the agility of the animal was became altered. The farther we ran; the closer the fencerows came toward us until the wide open road became a lane. Ahead of me was a wide open pasture that had large towering trees on its backside, up a tall hill. There, sitting on the edge of the pasture, just inside the trees was an old home; weathered and gray.

The roar of hooves shook the ground as we left the lane and ran across the tall green grasses of the pasture toward the darkforesthouse, up the field of swaying green grass to the dark tree line ahead.

Darkness began to fall as twilight began to ebb.

I suddenly began to get concerned for our safety for fear the horses would not slow down and we would be torn to shreds as the panic stricken animals would race through the forest, maiming themselves and us in the process. I looked around and still could not see anyone, but continued to feel as if there were others following. Ahead of me was only rider-less horses, running in unison, their manes flowing in billowing wave behind as they flew across the solemn ground.

I reached down to my horse’s side, touching its shoulder and felt the fear within. My thoughts of calmness sought to speak to the animal as it continued its mad gallop toward the old homestead that was fast approaching. I searched deep within the beast until I was able to grab its attention, speaking to it letting it know there was no need to flee. The calming affect began to ripple like waves from my mount to the other surrounding horses who too now began to slow their pace. The tension from the moment began to release from their nearly expired muscles until they all began to walk cautiously into the dark woods, up the hill, past the old house.

abandonedhouseAs we passed by the old homestead I could see there was nobody there; the windows long ago knocked out, doors missing. The roof was still intact, yet there was no life still inhabiting the home. There was a whinny of a horse nearby I turned to see, but then when I turned back toward the house, it was alive and well with lamplights lit, glowing an amber light into the ebony night beyond; inside were people still making it their home. Confused, I blinked and tried to refocus, but we were now beginning to get far enough into the woods that the trees would block my view off and on; each time the house would change from alive to dead.

Then I noticed the riders coming behind; then ones I had sensed all along. They carried torches and were moving in adarkrider2 very determined manner. The horsemen carried swords at their sides. Those without torches had already drawn their sabers and rode with them raised high, ready to attack. Shadows covered their faces, but their bodies spoke anger as their horses, lathered and tired from the chase, ran with weary hooves, I realized we were in danger and called to the others to run once again; for now I understood the initial flight. I jumped free of my mount and slapped its flank, encouraging it to join the others as they all raced off into the distance, up the mountain and out of sight, beyond the forest in which I now stood. Into the darkness I dove, seeking shelter from the oncoming horde of evil that advanced up the hillside below.

Then nothing…

Quiet stillness…

A glimpse of hiding and the fear of being found as heavy footsteps drew near…

Then I awoke.

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by | April 25, 2013 · 12:02 am

Confluence of Me…

[Disclaimer: This is meant to be a humorous look at a sleep deprived perspective of life. Enjoy…]mental_dstruction_350

Today as I loaded the car, I had to think about all the various parts of my mind that needed to get it together in order to pull off tonight’s speaking engagement. It wasn’t so much what I was speaking about; rather, it was just the fact that I was going to perform a song that I wrote, speak about a book that I’d written and then present a slide show to back up the research that I’d done in order to write the book. In other words, I had to get all the confluences of thought streaming into the same direction.

I realized all this when I fortunately remembered to grab the binder full of genealogy research my Aunt June had given me. It then dawned on me; we needed to get all of me into the car and go.

As we backed out of the garage into the brilliant sunlit day, I had to laugh to myself at all the various thoughts that were attempting to run through my head simultaneously; Artist, Writer, Musician, Engineer, Farmer and Preacher of sorts. Artist wanted to behold the loveliness of the day, the beautiful blooming trees and flowers with the green grass strong and vibrant in the pastures. Writer agreed with the Artist and wanted to recall the splendor on paper, to describe all of the magnificence the Artist was seeing, but in words.  Musician, full of the exuberance of the moment could only think of how it all made him want to sing, but one look at Engineer glaring back at him quickly dissipated any further melodies that tried to emerge.

All of this talk of glorious beauty only annoyed the Engineer, who now decided it best that he sit on the hood of the car facing us as we drove, so that he could make sure we kept ourselves on track and didn’t wander off into no-man’s land mentally and forget to turn when we needed to do so. At the moment, Engineer simply glared at Musician who wished someone would at least turn on the radio.

Meanwhile, the Farmer, who had quietly and patiently listened to the Artist and Writer describe the scenes around them as they rode, could only think of how well the green grass was growing and that the weeds could use one more spraying of herbicide. It comforted the Farmer to know the cattle would be well sated today and that there would be little fear of them pushing the fence lines. All the while, the Engineer kept reminding us as we drove, that he wanted to make sure we stopped by the church to pick up the projector that we would need to run the slide show which was to be part of tonight’s presentation.

The Preacher, concerned for the well-being of everyone, simply wanted the Engineer to be safe out there on the hood of the car, yet realized that someone had to make sure we paid attention and kept us on time, so he prayed for us all, especially Engineer.

It was apparent, all of us were dependent upon one that had little to no personality at all; our body, the Animal. Yes, Animal instincts and needs overcame any other personality simply because the body in which they lived had to be maintained. So it was today, that as we drove down the road toward Goldston to the church, Animal began to let everyone know that he was beginning to get hungry. After all, we had not eaten anything of sustenance since early the previous morning. It was now nearing six o’clock in the evening, a good twelve hours since the last meal. So it was only fair that he send a sharp stabbing pain to our stomach which indicated his conviction to getting his way while sending a throbbing pulse to our temples warning of a potential headache lest he get his way. Yet, there was no time, said the Engineer, who was still keeping track of time.

I quickly grabbed the water bottle sitting in the console.  It was warm to the touch from having been in the shut-up car all day, and drank down several gulps of hot water. Artist, Writer and Musician all noted the lack of pleasure from drinking warm water and all yearned for a cool sip instead. Farmer quickly let them know, any water, hot or cold was better than no water; they all concurred. The pain subsided briefly, diluted enough so that Animal could wait a little longer to eat.

Meanwhile, Writer was secretly thinking of how funny this would all be if he were to make all of this into a story.

Engineer, who continued to watch us all from outside on the hood, soon caught wind of Writer’s plan and realized he had to regain control from the Writer lest we miss our turn. He broke in; reminding us all that we had to make sure we got all the parts for the projector so that we didn’t get there and find something missing. Engineer again reminded us of the turn into the church parking lot, where we finally arrived. Preacher got out and opened the door for us as we quickly found the projector and easily loaded it into the car with all the parts included, which was confirmed by Engineer.

Then, we were off again…boy were we ever.

As we drove down the road there broke out a huge argument over who, what and how the presentation should go. Preacher tried to calm everyone and told us that if we didn’t work together, we would all fail, yes, all of us. It seemed music was needed to help calm ourselves, so Preacher found the Rhonda Vincent CD and put it into the car’s CD player. Almost immediately the Artist and Writer came back together, reuniting in spirit, joining the Musician who had finally achieved his only wish. Engineer realized the collective result of the action and approved, but remained on the hood, just to be safe. Preacher and Farmer also felt at peace with the beautiful strains of Rhonda singing “Old Rugged Cross” and like the others became one in spirit. Animal, now seeing all the others fulfilled thought of how in times of difficulty it was often better to go into battle hungry rather than full and he too lay down for a brief respite, allowing us all too finally relax.

As we traveled down the road to our destination in the little blue car with Rhonda Vincent singing sweet melody after melody to us, everyone was finally at peace with one another and all was well …with all of us.

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by | February 2, 2013 · 1:40 am

The T-120 Thread…

weboflifeI sometimes wonder how many threads of life can be unwoven if we take the time to consider all the possibilities?

Yesterday I had tried to return a phone call to a radio station that I am trying to make connections with in order to start my book ministry for “Bruecke to Heaven”. I had called them earlier in the day and left a message on their recording device. Unfortunately, they tried to call me back after I had already layed down to try to get some sleep for my next night-shift. Once I got up, after not sleeping nearly enough, I tried returning their call. I kept getting a fast busy signal, meaning either their phone was off the hook or there were transmission problems with the phone connection. As I drove toward Goldston, heading for our Thursday JAM classes, after having just attempted to call the station for the fourth time, it was apparent the fast busy was not going away and that I was not going to get through; at least not today. When these road-blocks get in my way, I look at them as God intended; meaning, there is a higher purpose as to why I’m not able to do what I’m attempting to do.

For fun, I began to look at how the fast busy could have been God-created.

Having worked in telecommunications for many years, I know the technical aspects of what it takes to create the fast busy signal we hear on the phone when our call is not able to connect. The particular signal I was hearing was not a “Busy” signal, but rather, it was what we call in the industry a T-120, which means there is a network blockage or tranmission problem. As I thought about this, my mind continued to follow the thread, and how some poor engineer had possibly made a mistake and either entered the wrong information into the network equipment or made some other mistake and inadvertently caused the outage. In the industry, that’s a big deal since lots of revenue can be lost; time is money. In some cases, if the error is great enough, the engineer could lose their job.

In my thread, the error had cost the poor guy his job and he had been dismissed early from work. Disheartened and afraid to go home and tell his family that he was without a job, he headed for the local pub to drown his sorrows. A few hours later, he emerged and began to make another poor judgement and decided to drive himself home. Eventually, after swerving and running off the road since leaving the pub, he crashed headlong into a telephone pole, destroying the transformer that fed half the Tinytown, the little town in which he lived. The power instantly went off in hundreds of homes and the Tinytown elementary school.

Ms. Jones had been diligently working on her dissertation for her Masters degree in education. She had nearly completed the paper and was about to hit the “Save” button when the power went off. Her class had been taking a test while she worked and now there could be heard a collective sigh of relief from the students as the power died, darkening their classroom. Ms. Jone, overcome with frustration, stood up scooting her chair back loudly, startling some of the students who had been nearly in a trance-like state during the test. Some of the students even seemed as if they had nearly fallen asleep in the warm room. It was not uncommon for Ms. Jones to keep her room heated. She was originally from Texas and loved to keep her thermostat near 80 degrees. Today, she had the room furnace cranked up to keep the chilly spring air from freezing her feet. In addition to fighting fatigue, all of her students unknowingly had slight headaches which they believed to be from too much thinking.

“OK class,” she said with a bit of anger in her voice which was not directed at the students as much as it was at her own recent loss of effort, “Lets all put down your pencils and turn over your tests.”

There was a rustle of papers and clicks of the sounds of pencils being placed on the desks at her command. Still standing she looked outside for signs of storms or weather and only saw the brigh sunshine. “Hmmm,” she thought,”Another day of power interruption in Tinytown,” she scoffed. Ms. Jones wasn’t one to dwell upon the negative though and since it appeared the power wasn’t about to come back on anytime soon, she realized an opportunity to enjoy some beautiful spring weather and decided to take her class outside for an early recess. The students were more than overjoyed to hear of their early break and all eagerly lined up and quickly exited, following Ms. Jones out the door.

Little did they know, as they left, there had been a slow gas leak in the room. It was discovered afterward that the sluggishness and dazed feeling the students had experienced during their test time was not from the overwhelmed thought processes of testing but rather, the gas slowing poisoning their bodies. The janitor stopped by Ms. Jones room shortly after they had gone outside to catch up on some housekeeping and unfortunately created a spark when he touched a metal bucket in the closet, having shuffled his feet along the carpet to reach the door inside the classroom. The fireball that followed created an explosion that could be heard clear across Tinytown. The firestation nearby quickly dispatched trucks to the school as the remainder of the schools population, all unharmed, quickly evacuated the school to join their other classmates in a joyful afternoon long recess.

The engineer who experienced the car wreck was airlifted by Life Flight from the scene to the nearby big city hospital The chopper would quickly return to pick up the janitor who was also taken to the same emergency center. Both the engineer and janitor would survive, both with life debilating injuries. The janitor, who was also a deacon at the Tinytown Baptist church, would get to know the engineer while in the emergency room and both would share the same hospital room, each becoming life long friends. The engineer would find salvation through the janitor and his life would turn around when he began to find strength in the Lord and no longer through the bottle. Each man, the janitor and the engineer would come to realize that their lives, previously separate, had become intertwined and that both of them had inadvertently saved the lives of many others who unknowingly had been caught up in the same thread of time.

And so it goes…God weaves the thread of our lives, whether we want to believe or not.

The radio station returned my call today and I was able to answer. God once again has answered my prayers and we take another step forward in the journey.

So the thread continues…

For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.
– Romans 8:14

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