Tag Archives: Destruction

by | March 22, 2022 · 6:01 am

The Blood of the Martyrs

“For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows. Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name’s sake. And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.” – Mt. 24:7-14

Visar Kryeziu/APVisar Kryeziu/AP
A father hugs his daughter as the family reunite after fleeing conflict in Ukraine, at the Medyka border crossing, in Poland, Feb. 27, 2022.

What you are about to read is based on a true story. The name of the mission and its members have been changed or omitted for safeties sake. May the Lord speak to you through this message.

The men walked with their families, wives, children, and the elderly. Some held hands with their loved ones. Others carried babes in arms, cherishing the last moments that would forever be etched into their hearts. As they approached the border crossing into Poland, they could see up ahead the checkpoints created to secure those passages to freedom, to safety, a place beyond the horror of war that they had just escaped. Yosef could feel the lump in his throat grow as he watched those with him become ever more anxious. Everyone knew that when they reached the border, Yosef would have to return to their village, leaving them, possibly forever.

Each able body man was asked to return from escorting their family to the border to fight for their country, their freedom, their lives. Yosef was no different. He knew that he could not escape with the women and children, that he and the other survivors of his village would do all they could to defend their country, their homeland, and their faith. Standing up for what is right was easy back in their town when they still had a home. But now, the shelling and destruction forced them to abandon all they knew and loved. It seemed that all they had left of their former life was their faith, for everything else had been stripped away.

Yosef and his brother Caleb had both worked with missionaries from America, training to become evangelists in Ukraine. Their work was to seek out others and share the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although they had worked regular jobs during the day, their eventual goal was to become full-time evangelists traveling around their country and becoming missionaries in their own way. But weeks before Russia attacked Ukraine, the American mission teams were asked to leave for safety’s sake. The missionary leaders and their families were as heartbroken as were their trainees, but everyone knew it was for the best. Besides, it would just be a precaution, and they would all be back together continuing their ministry before they knew it.

That was over a month ago. For Yosef, it seemed like an eternity.

It was Friday morning, the day before Sabbath, and Yosef could remember getting ready to go to work. The small hospital where he and his brother worked continued treating patients even though the attack on their country had begun. Yosef and Caleb were only orderlies, but due to the recent influx of war injuries, they were asked to help bandage and care for the less severe wounds. He was just about to go out the door when his daughter rushed up to him and begged him to come back and help her put on her boots for school. “Mommy’s busy with little brother,” she said, pointing to the back room of their small but modest home, “I need you to help me, Papa.” Yosef knew his wife, Evette, was busy with their newborn son, so he was happy to oblige.

“It’s okay, baby. Papa’s got you covered.”

She smiled as he knelt down to the ground, pulling the boots up as she pressed her little feet into the pink unicorn galoshes. Her hand rested on his back, and he could feel the tender touch of her sweet disposition, warming him through and through. When he finished, he lifted her up and gave her a big hug as she wrapped her little arms around his neck, returning the embrace.

“Now, I am off to do God’s work. You be a good little girl and have fun at school. You hear me?”

“Yes, Papa,” she smiled ear to ear, waving as he turned to walk out the door. Across the street, near the newly constructed apartment complex, Caleb waited in his car. He and Yosef always rode together, and today was like any other. Although Caleb was always there, always on time, he hated being late. So, when he saw Yosef emerging a second time from the house, he waved toward him as if to say, “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

Yosef smiled and waved back. It was all too funny. His brother could never relax, even when they were witnessing to others. He seemed to never be content with just learning the verses their mentors had asked them to memorize. No, Caleb had to push himself, learning entire chapters that contained those verses. He was always driven to give his all. It was just who he was. It was this thought of his dear brother that remained when the flash of light suddenly erupted before him.

Out of nowhere, a sound like thunder ripped through the air. The ground folded under itself as the rumble of the earth shook Yosef to his core. One minute, Yosef was waving at Caleb, the next, he was blown backward, his feet trailing behind him as he watched his body being lifted up by the force of the blast. All Yosef could see was the image of his brother, smiling and waving, and then it was as if the screen on the television had gone blank, and the silhouette of the ghostly image of Caleb remained. His brother’s soul was burnt into his eyes.

Clouds of smoke, dust, and debris began raining down. The light was broken, and darkness had prevailed. Somewhere a dog barked as car alarms started blaring. Yosef didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, nor where he was, when he finally sat up. People ran before him in all directions. There was no sound in this landscape of destruction, just the images running through the fog of silence, interspersed with mouths that had no voice. Across the street, the entire structure of the apartment complex that once stood was now gone. The road beside it was a crater. The cars there were now either blown to pieces or burning embers. Yosef realized that Caleb would not be waiting anymore.

Painfully, he turned to look at his own house. The entire front of his home and all the others on their side of the street were caved in. People poured out, frantic, screaming, yet their lips were muted by the searing pain that shot through Yosef’s head. It was as if the world had gone insane, and nothing made sense. Softly, and gently, from behind him, he felt the touch of a little hand. He turned to see his daughter, still wearing her little pink unicorn boots. Her eyes were rimmed with fear as tears fell down her rosy cheeks.

“Papa, papa,” she sobbed. Yosef’s hearing began to return like a wave of emotion as he reached for his baby girl wrapping her in his arms as she sat on his lap. Soon, Evette emerged with their son in her arms, weeping and crying. There they sat amid the rubble as the world around them spun out of control. It was then Yosef realized he only had one thing left he could do and began to pray. His heart poured out to the Lord as the tears fell down his face.

From that day forward, their lives were never the same. It seemed that each day, more lives were lost, more arbitrary destruction, none of it made sense. Finally, when the shelling became so dire, they realized to stay would mean certain death for everyone, so Yosef did what all the others in their village had decided, to take the women, children, and elderly to the border then return to fight, until the end.

Yet, each day, since they had begun their painful march to exile, they felt the hand of God on them, protecting them, delivering them from harm. Yosef knew that had he not listened to the voice of his daughter that fateful morning when Caleb was killed in the bombing that he too would have died. It was as if God had spared his life for a reason. God had spoken through a child to save his life. How much more could he do to return the favor? Each day, Yosef could feel the faith inside him growing. Evette seemed to sense it as well and encouraged him by reading from their tiny Bible she had brought along. The scriptures spoke to them more and more each day.

Reaching the crossing, Yosef turned and embraced Evette. He didn’t want to let go, for he knew when he did, it would be the last time. “Yosef, you will make a difference. Don’t forget who you are, and take this,” she passed the little Bible into his palm as she leaned into him; close now, face to face, “You’re going to need this more than ever before,” she whispered as they kissed goodbye.

Down by his side, he could feel the tiny hands holding onto his pant leg. As he bent down, his heart began to melt. The tears filled his eyes, and he realized this would be their last time.

 “Papa, you are going to do God’s work, right,” the little voice said, sincerely and without fear?

“Yes baby, yes, papa will…,” and he stopped, choking back the flood of emotion.

He hugged one last time and turned to leave.

It was his time. This would be the end.

He would not look back.

The Bible in his hand reminded him that this was all that made sense. So, mustering every ounce of strength he could find in his weeping soul, Yosef silently began to pray. As his voice lifted up to the heavens, a tingling sensation began to rise from the earth, pouring through his legs, up through his spine, until it reached the top of his head. It was an energy that made him want to shout, Amen! It was a sense of urgency, a sense of purpose. It was something that finally made sense.

It was time to do God’s work.

Unexpectedly, those strained, war-weary faces became the pulpit, their souls became the fields white ready to harvest, and his voice began speaking words of faith and encouragement. The voice of God began speaking through Yosef like a runaway freight train. He was a man on fire for the Lord. If he were to die, he would go out doing what he was meant to do. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain.

From the corner of his eye, as he made his way through the crowd, loving, praying, and finally evangelizing like he always hoped he and his brother would do someday, the flash of a familiar color caught his eye. A tiny flame of hope. The diminutive form in the bright pink unicorn boots was waving her encouragement from the top of the steps of the train station.

Like a man in the middle of battle, he paused, and he returned the motion. The little face smiled and gave a thumbs-up gesture and turned to leave. His heart melted in two. In the pause of the moment, Yosef heard a voice from somewhere up above saying, “It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”

And onward he pressed…until the end.

Pray for Ukraine, Pray for the World.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 8, 2019 · 9:38 pm

Make a Way in the Wilderness

The old path had been obliterated by the multitude of floods sweeping through the valley. Over the course of the late winter and early spring, the rains had fallen heavily upon the mountain. The water had nowhere to go but down into the valleys below. Massive logs had been strewn this way and that, like straws spilled on a table, their remains were all that was left, like bones upon the shoreline of a distant war. Now, there were only piles of dark, entangled webs of roots and logs. Their bulk lay wherever the currents had subsided.

John’s River, Collettsville, NC.

One such testament to the disasters of this past season had now blocked the old trail which was once where my weekly crossing of the river would lead. It had been over a year since my last venture. Like a blanket of comfort, vines and forest growth had already claimed their new patron as their own. To once more scale the opposite shore would require finding a new way, a new path; blazing a trail once more through the wilderness. It was as if God was speaking to me this past week when all the events had fallen into place such that there was finally time to seek out this new pathway. Much like many of our lives at this moment, you too might be waiting on that next door to open. You might feel like those prayers you have lifted over and over again are not reaching through your own ceiling. In this time of waiting, there is learning. In this season of pause, we must seek what we have yet to find in our faith.

One might ask, “Is it even worth the effort to reclaim that old path?” or if your congregation has lived through a natural disaster you might ask, “Is it worth the money to rebuild the church after the storm?” To those fallen on even the direst of life’s circumstances, the question may arise, “How can I even go on living?”

God tells us through his prophet Isaiah, when he states, “Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”

We often cannot see beyond the next hill or bank of the river. God has put before us the opportunity to blaze new pathways, leaving the old behind. When we find our way is blocked by circumstances beyond our control, or have a tragedy strike, we must first seek Him. When we find God, we must then listen, for when we receive him, his indwelling will become our guidepost. When we learn to listen for that still small voice, we shouldn’t be surprised to find guidance and direction, and often in the most unlikely of places.

The afternoon thunderstorms had been heavy, so it was no surprise to find the river was up. The sandbar, covered with all manner of stone, was now under water; it being my gauge as to when it is safe to cross or not. Having already decided that this would be the day to find out if there was a way possible, I went ahead with the plan. A wiser man might have simply passed for another day; not I. The first few footsteps into the murky turbulence proved my intuition was correct, the current was tearing away at my footing. Scarcely had not one step been taken before the next was nearly washed out from underneath. The crossing was not going to be easy. Not to mention, the distant shore, now covered with a network of vines and briars, would be even more daunting. I had just begun, and it seemed as if all was lost. In the back of my mind, the question arose as to, “Why, why are you doing this?”

Many times, when we are in the midst of our trial, even though we may be within the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death, we are not alone; God is with us. As we take that next step, there are those in our lives watching, like the boats surrounding the ship upon which Jesus had fallen asleep. Each small vessel carried passengers who also wondered if this may be their doom, waiting for a sign from the boat upon which Christ had found passage. To their amazement, from a distance, they watched as Jesus rebuked his disciple’s unbelief, and then calmed the raging seas. Those too, who are with us each day, watching our demeanor and response to the hardships through which we travail, are likewise inspired by the sometimes seemingly insignificant details of decisions we make; regardless, if it is something we find as trivial or something as horrific as the loss of a family member through a tragedy, each event elicits a similar revelation.

So, as I fought the raging currents to reach the other shore, it was with admirable satisfaction that when I embarked upon scaling the steep embankment, there was already an opening made by the hand of God. The force of the flood had caused not only trees to be washed away, but also the shape of the briars and vines had been swept into uniform patterns, causing them to lay one upon the other, like matting upon the earth. I easily found footing and barely had to cut back but just a few thorny green briars, here and there, until the paved trail of the Collettsville Park was in sight. All of my apprehension and fear had already been taken care of by the Master’s hand. All that was asked of me was to try, to take that first step into the raging torrent and trust in Him.

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”-Isaiah 43:2

When we find ourselves in these times of trial and waiting, we must forge new forays into God’s Word, turning pages we might have never sought before. We are often taken aback at how direct the word may speak to us. Who hasn’t sought an answer from God, and in so doing, opened the Bible at random and found the very text to which your eye had cast upon answering you? But even in our doubt and struggle with waiting, we must keep every present in our mind that He will not leave us in our struggle. The wrath of destruction through which we survive, be it spiritual or physical, is not unnoticed by our Heavenly Father. When we pass through the storm, we will be blessed with the most loving promise, “Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;”

In the silence, God is working on answering your prayers.

Be ever vigilant and patient. It takes time, at least from our humanly perspective, for rivers to emerge from deserts. From the driest and most arid of the human soul can the fruit of the Holy Spirit spring forth, bubbling up unto the presence for all to see; a testimony of having battled through hell and survived by the Grace of God to tell the story.

Step into that torrent, blaze that trail once more and never give up. Christ didn’t die for your sins for you to throw away your life.

You can make it. You have His promise.

Thanks be to God.

“Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;”-Psalm 103:4

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”-Isaiah 43:2

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”-Isaiah 43:19

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by | March 13, 2013 · 3:19 am

Protected: A Dream That Would Not End (Final Act)

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by | · 3:16 am

A Dream That Would Not End (Act VI)

clouds

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Dimitri took certain care not to rush things, but the more he saw Kerima, the more she became attached to him, seemingly wanting to see him more frequently than he felt comfortable. He shared with her during this time the story of Christ and the salvation that he affords anyone who confesses their sins and accepts him into their life. She seemed to drink it all in, but never seeming to understand that she needed to actually take that step, that leap of faith. He knew he also had to be careful not to overstep his bounds, lest he provoke her to think of him as she had always been taught. After all, he was beginning to love her like no other and she him. They soon realized their love for one another and with this, Dimitri put his foot down, telling Kerima one late spring afternoon that the day she turned eighteen, they would marry. She nearly squealed with delight at the news, hugging his neck and giving him a deep passionate kiss. He tried to slow her down, but her youthful desire was far out pacing his careful tentative steps to do the right thing.

The closer the day came to her Birthday, the more she became elated at each visit. Dimitri would have loved to have taken her out of this slum of a home she lived, but that would have been overstepping his beliefs. He did not want to spoil anything that would make their wedding day the glorious event it was to be. Once, when they had stopped by his apartment to try on some new clothes he had bought for her while she had been back in school. She stepped out of the bathroom having just taken a shower, with only a towel wrapped around her. Dimitri was stunned at her beauty. Kerima knew in her heart that she wanted Dimitri beyond anything she had known. Yet, she wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. With as much respect and dignity as he could afford, he asked her to please return to the bedroom and dress properly, for they didn’t want to spoil what God had made precious. This would be something else they would share together on their wedding day. It took all the strength of his faith and years of military training to manage the emotions of his physical being to tell her no, but deep inside, once he did, he was grateful for the wise decision.

She was worth waiting for, this he was certain.

He spoke with her freely now about his faith and he knew she understood the story of Christ, but she had not yet made that decision, the one that mattered most; if she would accept Christ into her heart or not. This, more than anything, made him wonder if he was making a difference at all.

“Was he doing the right thing, or was she just using him to escape her miserable life?” He would know soon enough.

So, it was with great expectation when Kerima’s eighteenth Birthday arrived; their wedding day. She dressed in her finest new clothes and matching attire along with the purple sash he had asked her to wear. Her one and only bag was packed and the few pictures of her family were stored neatly away in her belongings which she easily carried with one arm. In the other arm, she carried her pretty white leather bound Bible. She had a surprise for Dimitri, which she knew might be the icing on the cake; she would finally tell him today that she was ready to accept Jesus Christ into her life, confess her sins and become a Christian. As she walked out from her shell of a home, she could barely feel the ground beneath her feet. She had just read another chapter from Revelation, “Let us be glad and rejoice and give Him glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His wife has made herself ready.” She had been enthralled with the Word of God ever since Dimitri had given her the Bible. She was certain that God was smiling upon her as today she walked from the shambles of her previous life toward Dmitri’s waiting vehicle.

Kerima looked back briefly spying Mrs. Kushka peeking from beneath her frayed curtains, smiling and waving goodbye. She nodded toward her, waving with the hand that held her Bible in return. She turned to continue on and noticed the man-beast was not under his tree. “Odd,” she said to herself, but didn’t give it a second thought and continued on toward the awaiting black sedan.

[Thank for reading “A Dream That Would Not End” thus far. Due to the nature of the last Act, I ask that you contact me either via email, inbox or some other method to receive the link to the last Act. I apologize but cannot take a chance in inciting someone with extremists views. I hope you understand and Thank for your patronage. ( twtron@live.com )….-Timothy W. Tron]

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by | · 3:10 am

A Dream That Would Not End (Act V)

 

The car continued to speed along until it arrived at their first destination, an upscale clothing store that had recently reopened. It was one of the first in Sarajevo to rebuild and was furnished with the finest clothes Europe had to offer. Dmitri escorted Kerima inside and directed the salesmen in the dress department to help her find something suitable for this beautiful young lady. Kerima felt as if she were a princess that afternoon. She picked out a plain but elegant dress and matching head scarf. They next sped away to a fine upscale restaurant, where Dimitri spared no expense to feed her the finest food the city had to offer. She could not remember the last time she sat down at a table that was fully decked out, restaurantcomplete with dishes, table cloth and matching napkins. The waiter kept her drink glass full and was there at every beckon call for when Dimitri demanded. They talked about the lighter side of their former lives, making it easy to enjoy while they ate.

It was nearing evening when they returned to the point where they had met earlier in the day. Kerima indicated to Dimitri that this was not her home, rather she’d prefer if he could drop her off in front of her building, or what was left of it. Dimitri told the driver to carry on, which he did, soon arriving in front of her bombed out building. Dimitri was shocked to see the rubble in which this precious young woman called home. He quickly got out and came around, opening her door for her. As he rounded the back side of the car he noticed the odd character at the far end of the building. The man-beast watched him from his perch under the barren dead apple tree. Dimitri felt his skin crawl but brushed if off and opened Kerima’s door. She gracefully stepped out wearing her new dress, carrying a bag full of other clothes they had purchased on this trip. Dimitri handed her another gift package, like the one she’d opened earlier containing her new Bible. “Here, if you would, please give this to Latia. I had one for her too. If you think she might be offended, then never mind but I…,”

“I’ll be happy to give it to her,” Kerima interjected before he could finish.

“Oh, ok,” Dimitri was a bit surprised at her sudden offer.

“And Dimitri, I want to thank you for being such a gracious host. I was truly blessed today. I only hope that I didn’t bore you with my childish banter.”

“You were no such thing,” he replied instantly, “I can’t wait to see you again, if you wouldn’t mind?”

She paused, smiling sheepishly. It had been a long time since there had been anyone or even the thought of dating someone. Yet, here was a man, established in life, ready to take another step with her. She felt a little embarrassed, but then looked over his shoulder at the utter destruction in which she lived, and then her eyes saw the man-thing under the tree, glaring at them.

“Yes, definitely,” she replied. The sooner she might someday leave this place the better.

“Well then, how about sometime next week after you are out of school?”

“We are off now for a couple weeks on break, so anytime next week will be wonderful.”

“How about Monday then, same time as today?”

“Yes, I will be looking forward to it,” she smiled.

Dimitri extended his hand to shake hers, but instead of grabbing his hand to shake it, she tip-toed up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He blushed, which made her giggle at the sight, which made him seem all the more attractive.

“I’ll see you then,” she said as she hurried into the bombed out shell of a building. Next door the little old lady was peeking out from beneath her tattered curtains, curious as to who was dropping of her neighbor.

“Ok, take care and remember, look up John 3:16 if you get time,” he said as she turned to go inside, “It will change your life.”

She looked back at this and smiled, “You already have, …you already have.”

[Look for Act VI to continue the story…]

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by | · 3:05 am

A Dream That Would Not End (Act IV)

clouds

The next Saturday, true to his word, Dimitri pulled up at the meeting point where he said they would be. Kerima stood alone, waiting for him, dressed in the same outfit she had worn the day they met; they were her best clothes. As the long black sedan pulled up, she could sense that she was being watched, but did not turn to see by whom. She had become accustom to eyes of the deprived and how nothing was safe anymore. Yet, she prepared to go with someone who was nearly a total stranger, someone who had before, during the war, been an enemy of her people. He was a Christian and she, a Muslim. “How in the world was this going to work,” she thought to herself as the door opened and Dimitri, stepped out, grinning broadly in the bright morning sun.

“Good morning my fair lady,” he said slightly bowing as he spoke. He was dressed in a smart casual dress shirt and jacket, looking younger than the first day they had met. “I see you remembered our lunch engagement.”

“Yes sir, I did,” she replied meekly, smiling at his overt gesture of kindness. He was holding the door open for her, but looked around.

“Where is Ms. Latia,” he said with a sincere but inquisitive look on his face?

“She changed her mind,” besides, she continued, “She has a group of women she has been starting to hang out with on Saturdays. They mend clothes and talk about men in their lives. I can’t sew and I really don’t like the gossip either.”

“I see,” he replied softly. “Well then, shall we,” as he gestured toward the open door. “Sarajevo waits.”

She smiled and slid into the backseat of the car. She could see the driver looking at her in the rearview mirror. She hadn’t noticed him before. It was the same elderly gentlemen from before. He never said anything other than when he needed direction. To some degree she felt more comfortable him being there, yet then again, she felt that he was like having a chaperon along and that this was like a date from her high school days. The thought of her father escorting her in those days that seemed so long ago bothered her, so she quickly brushed it off; today was about enjoying life now, not reliving the past.

Dimitri got in, closing the door quietly and gave directions to the driver. The car pulled away and she watched as the bombed out surroundings she had come to know as home faded into the distance. It felt good to get away, even if it were for an afternoon.

They had not driven far when Dimitri pulled out a package wrapped in gold foil. “A gift for you,” he said, holding it out for her to take.

“For me,” Kerima said shyly?

“Yes,” he smiled genuinely, “Go ahead. It’s something I feel you may need.”

She took it into her lap. The gold foil reflected her smiling face. She could see herself in the reflection. Her hair was pulled back into a braid behind her head today, showing all over her beautiful face. Her lips were full, but without makeup. There was nothing like that around anymore, so what men saw was the true beauty within.

She shyly opened the pretty packaging, revealing a book with a white leather binder. She held it up and read the title, “Holy Bible,” she said out loud.whitebible

She looked at Dimitri with a questioning glance, “You know I’m Muslim, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said with an apologetic tone, “I knew that when I picked you up the other day and I have no problem with that at all. We are both survivors of a terrible war that was due in part to our religious beliefs, yet I wanted to be open and up front with you about it. Besides,” he said with compassion, “I felt you might have not ever had the chance to read the Word of God for yourself.”

It was true; she had never read a Bible. All she knew was the hate and slander that was preached by the local Imams and political leaders against the Christians as long as she could remember. Yet, here was a man, as gentle and kind as she had ever known. His hospitality the previous trip was unwarranted, yet gentile in nature. “Even if he was a Christian, he was certainly a gentleman.” She thought to herself before responding.

“Why, thank you. It is true; I have never read the Bible. Perhaps I might find something in it that might change my mind. I’ll pray to Allah for it to be so.”

“That is good,” he said smilingly. “I’m sure God will smile upon you as you do.”

She returned this last with a slight chuckle. It was then she noticed the scar on his left cheek. The light was just right, making it stand out. She had missed it the other day; perhaps because most of the previous car ride, there and back, she had been seated on his right. Regardless, it was not a grotesque disfiguring type as many people that had survived the war wore; painful reminders of the anguish that came with surviving. It made her wonder how he might have suffered or what circumstance that caused him to be wounded.

Dimitri noticed her staring and was quick to respond, ‘Oh, don’t mind that,” he said now running his finger along its tract; obviously he could feel its route, “That’s just an old battle scar that looks worse than it really was.”

He was lying of course. He had spent months in a hospital bed after the attack on his unit. He was only a young lieutenant at the time and their position had come under mortar fire. There were only a few survivors left. Those that did live all had badges of courage to remind them of that day. The scar on his face was only a small portion of the signs that his body had to be put back together in pieces that fateful day. Following the battle, he was promoted to captain; why, he never understood other than their own captain had died in the attack. War was an odd commodity, one he never came to accept or fully understand.

Dimitri quickly turned the conversation to lighter topics and soon they were laughing and enjoying the ride as if the previous trip had never ended.

[Look for Act V to continue the story…]

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by | · 2:59 am

A Dream That Would Not End (Act III)

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The long black sedan pulled away, leaving them standing in the glow of the red taillights. The pair turned and walked back toward the ruins of the apartment complex that stood farther down the street. The rubble was all that was left of their homes. Like their lives, nothing could seemingly get much worse.

Kerima walked back toward the place she called home. The dwelling was barely inhabitable. It was once a two story apartment building before the war. All that remained were part of a room where she stayed, next to one complete apartment where an elderly lady lived, Mrs. Kushka. She watched out for Kerima, taking treats to her when there was enough food to eat. She was Kerima’s guardian angel. Although she had a roof, nobody had windows, so curtains were the only thing that added any privacy or shelter from the outside winds. Mrs. Kushka’s curtains had been blown and whipped so much that they were mostly shreds of faded cloth, little more. It only added to the sullen appearance of the place.

At the far end of the bombed out complex lived a man that was nothing but skin and bones. His hair was long and scraggly, having the look of not having been washed as was the rest of his body. The man looked as if he could have easily crawled out of a grave, such was his haggard appearance. He sat on the ground during the day under a dead apple tree that was on the far end corner of the building. He had spent so much time under the tree the ground was worn bare. The trunk of the tree was also void of bark from where he had continually hugged it, as if being chained to the dead wood. When he fell asleep, he curled up like a dog and slept head against his knees that would be pulled up into the fetal position. All the man wore was an old dirty burlap cloth sack. His private parts would hang out in disgusting displays of sheer destituteness of being; for the man was no longer human.

Each time Kerima would walk up the broken walkway to what use to be her front door, the man-beast would stop whatever he was doing and run to his tree, hugging it and watch her intently until she disappeared from his sight into the remains of the building.

She gave him the creeps.

Kerima made it to her little room, barely free from the elements, but covered enough to provide shelter for her to sleep, rain or snow. There was a small cook stove that had a chimney which was vented just above what was left of her ceiling, which now sagged and hung limply from the few rafters that remained above. There in the stove she burnt fragments of whatever wood she could salvage from great heaping piles of bombed out buildings in their area, which there multitudes to choose from. The UN Peace Keeping forces had left the year before and with them, the international clean-up crews had also departed. Now it was up to the local authorities and their fellow countrymen to put a country torn apart by war, back together with little or no resources to do it with.

She had been away at school when the Serbian army came through her neighborhood and apartment by apartment pulled all the inhabitants out and marched them down to the city square where they were shot and then piled in massive mounds of death and set afire. Mrs. Kushka had been away visiting her sister when they came for her husband, a retired carpenter. He along with Kerima’s family were all slaughtered that sad day. In many ways Kerima had wished she had been there with them.

After she got the fire going in the stove, she lit a small candle on the sink near her bed. She looked out through the boarded up window in the corner of the room as the light in the sky faded. “May Allah find me something better in this life,” she prayed openly as she took a small piece of bread from her pocket that she had wisely saved from their unexpected trip into town. She sat there on the edge of the tiny bed, eating the remnants of another meal and then quietly and softly tucked herself into the bed, alone; so all alone. In the hopes of a distant dream, she wondered if the Dimitri had been a dream or if she really would see him again on Saturday.

Nothing seemed for real anymore except the grim realities of life; these were all too painfully obvious.

[Look for Act IV to continue the story…]

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by | · 2:55 am

The Dream That Would Not End (Act II)

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Dimitri watched her as she pointed, giving directions. She was the essence of beauty, reminding him of his former wife. She too was an attractive woman, beyond compare to any other. His heart ached for the loss but could not help to feel as if this young lady was simply the embodiment of his late wife. Her mannerisms even resembled his dear beloved Katrina. He couldn’t help himself when he blurted out, “We are going shopping in Sarajevo and we would love you to join us. Maybe you and one of your friends might light to escort us?”

Kerima was bit stunned by the sudden proposal. It must have shown in her face because he came back quickly with, “I’ll be happy to pay you for your time.”

The thought of women who were known for working the streets after dark, preying on innocent soldiers came to her mind and she was disgusted by the comparison. She dropped her arm and stepped back in disgust. Again, he tried to show her he meant no harm, “I mean it, I don’t want anything from you other than your company and conversation. You can bring anyone with you that you want.”

Kerima looked behind her to see who might be interested, if anyone. Latia stepped forward, a stocky dark skinned girl with thick black hair pulled back in a pony-tail, who like Kerima, had lost everything in the war, including her fear. She too was dressed in a skirt with a shawl draped about her shoulders which did little to cover the ragged sweatshirt she wore. She had found it in a trash pile somewhere among the many mounds of refuge that were all over the city. She didn’t care how it looked. Latia was about function, not style.

“I’ll go,” she said, jutting her chin out at the fancy car before them, “What do we have to lose. Besides, we could use the money. C’mon, I’ll protect you.” She grabbed Kerima by the arm and stepped forward.

Dimitri welcomed them into the back seat with him, gladly scooting over to make room. Latia stepped inside first, scooting close to Dimitri, followed lastly by Kerima, who softly closed the door behind her.

Dimitri called to the driver once they were safely inside to carry on. The car sped away as the remainder of the girls scattered, some heading home to tell of the latest event that had just transpired before them. Others merely followed the others to the places where they had found shelter; homeless since the war.

As the car sped back to the main road as Kerima had directed, Dimitri got to know more about the young ladies as they traveled toward Sarajevo. Latia was only sixteen at the time, but very bold and determined for her age. Kerima, just a year older, was the class act Dimitri had envisioned from the curb. She sat mostly quiet, interjecting in Latia’s tales only when requested. She smiled politely and offered little more than what was asked of her, which left Dimitri wanting to know more. Latia was glad to tell enough about them both, so that Kerima merely had to nod in agreement for the most part.

It was from Latia that he learned they were both Muslim, which he expected, both had lost their families in the war and both had lived alone since, surviving on the kindness of their neighbors and friends. They too, like himself, had suffered much and were still trying to recover; as were they all.

The drive was mostly uneventful along the country roads, passing by the occasional wreckage from the war, remnants of a bitter history. They finally reached the shopping district of Sarajevo, an area that had been restored since the war. Here, vendors sold everything from food to clothing and everything in between. Dimitri asked the driver to pull over where they could get out and made arrangement for him to pick them up after a couple hours. They spent the remainder of the afternoon going from booth to booth, sampling various foods, clothing and enjoying the time away from the harsh realities of the recent past that still remained as vivid reminders all around them. The light soon waned reaching the edge of the mountains that surrounded the city and the driver was waiting for them when they returned to the rendezvous point. They all loaded back into the car, and where soon whisking along the roadways back to their home, enjoying cups of ice cream along the way. It was nearly dark when they pulled up to the end of the street where Latia had directed them to go. Dimitri honored his deal with the two, pulling out two crisp twenty dollar bills, handing one to each of the young ladies whose eyes widened at the sight of money. They thanked him and as they slid out of the car, he motioned to Kerima to come close again.

“Please don’t think it rude of me, but I would be thrilled if you would do me the honor of joining me for lunch this coming Saturday. I will take you to the restaurant of your choice in Sarajevo. All I ask is that you be my friend.”

“What about Latia,” she asked, looking back over her shoulder at the brash girl who now stood waiting with her hands on her broad hips.

“Certainly she is welcome to come along,” he said smiling and nodding toward her.  Latia smiled back acknowledging his attention.

“Ok, we’ll meet you here. What time?”

“How about eleven in the morning,” he said grinning broadly.

“That will be wonderful.”

“Great, we’ll pick you both up then.”

“Do we need to wear anything special,” she asked, knowing in the back of her mind that her wardrobe consisted of only a couple other pieces of clothing. Nobody had much of anything left, so what they did have was scavenged from the debris that littered the town.

“Whatever you chose will be fine,” he replied, “We’ll have a wonderful afternoon, like today.”

“Great, we’ll see you then,” she said, stepping back from the car and waving goodbye.

[Look for Act III to continue the story…]

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by | March 9, 2013 · 8:40 pm

A Dream That Would Not End (Act I)

The young girls had been playing on the street corner, lingering in the warm spring sunshine as they made their way home from school. Life was just beginning to return to a semblance of normalcy bosniafollowing the bloody Bosnian-Serb Civil War. The school had opened for the first time since the end of the war in Sokolac, a small town on the outskirts of Sarajevo. For most, returning to school was something to look forward too; a return to something that felt concrete, something that felt as if life would finally begin again. Many had yet to heal, physically and emotionally from the brutal conflict that left most of the country in total destruction. And so it was, with the young seventeen year old Kerima.

Kerima was tall for her age and strikingly beautiful. She was slender and carried herself in a mature manner, placing her demeanor well beyond her youthfulness. It was this mannerism which singled her out to the onlooker, who was passing by in the chauffeured officer’s car. Colonel Dimitri Dogov was a retired officer of the Serbian army, having commanded troops in and around Sarajevo. He was living alone, like so many in this war torn region. He lost his entire family to artillery shells one afternoon while he was away serving his country. He lost everything in the blink of an eye; all that he fought for had been taken away. A shell of a man, he continued on like the others, but when the war ended, his life seemed near its end. So it was on the bright spring afternoon when he saw the beautiful young lady amongst girls on the street corner, his heart skipped a beat; a flicker of life returned to the gray soul of despair.

“Stop the car!” he demanded of the driver. Fearful something bad was about to happen, the paid driver slammed on the breaks. The screech of rubber on the road caught the attention of the youth; all looked in the car’s direction.

Dimitri shyly lowered the window half way, peering over the tinted glass, his face partly obscured by the dark tinting. The girls collectively were fearful that they had done something wrong and were about to run when Dimitri called out to them.

“Hello, can you please help me,” he shouted as he rolled the window all the way down, calling out to them trying to relieve their fears, “We are a bit lost and need some directions.” He of course was lying but wanted to calm the nerves of the frightful youth that stood before him. Most of the girls were Kerima’s age or younger. None looked as mature as her, which is why he felt compelled to call to her directly.

“You, young lady in the pretty purple shawl,” he said now pointing toward Kerima, “Please come closer so we might speak to you without having to shout.”

Kerima realized this was an official, in what capacity he was here she did not realize, but with her covey of friends behind her she boldly stepped toward the car. Standing there, she could see herself in the reflection of the shiny black exterior. She looked awkward, stretched as if her body was out of proportion. Her head scarf had slipped behind her head now exposing her long brown hair that she kept in place with braids. She bent slightly toward the man, whom she could now see was obviously someone of wealth or position. He wore a dark gray suit and tie, his hair was neatly trimmed and was graying at the sides, while thinning on top. He looked to be in his mid to late forties, but then again, the war aged people, so his true age might be even younger.

“Where are you going,” she asked, while placing an outstretched hand on the car, balancing herself as she stood on one foot.

“We are headed into Sarajevo and must have gotten turned around somewhere at the last crossroads. There were no signs so we were trying to remember from past trips which way to go.”

“Oh,” Kerima replied, now somewhat relieved to hear he really was asking directions.

She pointed in the direction of the road to their left and said, “Follow this street up for two blocks then take a left. That is the road to Sarajevo, as far as I know.”

[Look for Act II to continue the story…]

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