Tag Archives: sword

by | May 30, 2021 · 6:02 pm

Be The Lifeline to Others

From C.S. Lewis, From A Grief Observed, “But she was near death; near enough to make a good shot. She used to quote ‘Alone into the Alone.’ She said it felt like that. And how immensely improbable that it should be otherwise! Time and space and body were the very things that brought us together; the telephone wires by which we communicated. Cut one off, or cut both off simultaneously. Either way, mustn’t the conversation stop?”

Howbeit, that once this mortal body was obtained, through the spark of life, it was only a matter of time until the consciousness of being awakened. We, being created from other beings who likewise were created from God’s design, through the conception of copulation, we continue his plan. Further on, as the mind developed fully, or even before, there was a sense of being part of a creation beyond one’s self. This adoption of the soul into the greater being of God became realized fully later in adulthood. All the while, we were in the palm of his hand without realizing it. It is in this time, space, and body, as Lewis put it, that we then learn to communicate with God.

Fraying Rope – Photo Credit: Ropes Direct

This morning, although the sense of others around me finding themselves overwhelmed seems to be more apparent this week than ever before, I feel a deep sense of calm and comfort. For it is God that provideth this peace, not as the world knows peace, but tranquility beyond all comprehension. As the waves of life’s tumult swirl in what may seem chaotic despair, God wants me to be the rock upon which they may crash. Seeing how the Master works through me, their spirits can be comforted using my reactions to life’s challenges to perpetuate his will.

As the Apostle Paul wrote in Romans, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?”

The older I get, the more I can realize how God uses us. Handing over the reigns to his control is never easy, but with time, those of us who have given him complete control begin to understand how things work in this mindset of circumvented power.

I was reading Francis Chan’s “Letters to the Church” last night, and a statement he made really struck a chord with me. “True compassion takes into account far more than what a person feels today; it takes into account what he or she will feel on judgment day!” He was making the point that we allow our acceptance of sin, of how people feel today, to influence our witnessing. When we weaken the message, we weaken God’s ability to reach them fully. Their salvation depends on receiving the true Word of God without filter, without alteration.

Think of this message as a lifeline, a rope used to save a person from drowning. If we manipulated that line in any fashion, say to make it lighter and not so heavy to carry about, and we replaced it with a less sturdy material, its strength becomes compromised. On that fateful day, when the plea for help comes from those dark waters, the new rope is then thrown to save that frantic being. When they go to grab onto the weaker rope to be pulled to safety, it breaks. That soul that we meant to save is now lost and drowns dying a needless death. When we water down the message, we predispose our lifeline to be less than what it is meant to be. Those very fibers we intend to use to pull the victim from the clutches of eternal death are those which the Master’s hand had created long before our existence. How is it then that we feel obligated to alter them, sugar coat them so that they would be more readily accepted, when in fact, we are altering their eternal purpose?

When Jesus spoke to the woman at the well, he said of this very thing, “But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”[1]

Simon Peter answered Jesus when asked if he too would go away like those disciples that turned back and walked no more with Jesus when he said, “to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life.”[2]

We cannot change God’s word, His purpose, or His meaning least we doom the very people he meant for us to reach so that His grace may abound.

When the waves of life begin to flood the boats of those around you, reach out and comfort them with the same comfort which Christ has given unto you. “Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”[3] Each of us was created for a time, space, and body. Let us use the time we have left wisely.

Your mission field is just all around you. Open your eyes and see that the fields are indeed white, ready to harvest. Gather the fruit of them into life eternal, and know that you are finally doing God’s work.

Thanks be to God.

[1] John 4:23-24 KJV

[2] John 6:68 KJV

[3] 2 Corinthians 1:4 KJV

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by | January 26, 2020 · 9:43 pm

Spirits in the Sky

This evening, the news of a famous retired basketball player dying in a helicopter crash has caused many in our nation to take pause. He was only 41. His life, one of a truly, gifted and amazing athlete, was followed by wealth and fame. Sadly, it is now all gone. What will remain are the memories and legacies to which he may have imparted; be they good or bad, as a two-edged sword, we may never know.

Each morning we awaken, we are afforded another precious gift; another day of life. We should never take one of them for granted, for we never know when this may be our last.

Today I was afforded the blessing of meeting a friend at a church on the mountain, one that he was looking at possibly joining in the future. As I drove along the winding road, there was much to reflect upon. Overhead, the skies were a crystalline clear as the John’s river’s icy waters. Their reflection of earth’s outer sphere, like a deep cerulean blue, gave the rising sun something with which to compete for the beauty and majesty. As my car drove up the mountain, the sunrise cast long shadows behind me, forcing darkness in pockets upon the eastward facing slopes; behind them, the veil of white lay waiting. As I made the crest of the mountaintop, the morning’s first light made the snow-covered forest come alive. Like a multitude of angels at Jesus’ birth, so too were the trees enshrouded by the luminescence of an untold number of diamond-like snowflakes.

Here and there around each bend, chimneys spewed forth slender columns of woodsmoke, each rising like tendrils into that azure blueness above. Each a signal of life within. Inside the humble cabins, the morning coffee had begun to percolate as the fire cracked and popped. Somewhere nearby, bacon sizzled in a cast-iron skillet. Some would be preparing for church while others would simply be rising to live another day of life, one with the hope of a tomorrow and the other just wishing there was one.

For every portion of living, there is a double-edged sword with which we must contend. One side of the blade, as my friend put it, is Mercy; the other side Justice. Life cannot have one without the other. Justice without mercy is a formidable and a fearsome judgment to any who have received it. Mercy without justice is like giving freedom without having any fear of retribution; there is nothing for which to be freed if there is nothing for which to fear. Yet, God hath given us a sword for which the balance between justice and mercy is perfectly balanced. In fact, on the traditional broadsword, the center of the sword is slightly raised, giving height to the intersection of the two opposing sides, taking the high road, if you will.

Through God’s love for us, we are afforded the perfect balance of Justice and Mercy. For with each gradual trial we weather, by His Grace, we grow stronger in our faith. For if we find ourselves facing the proverbial headwinds in our daily walk with Christ, we must know that we are going in the right direction. For faith without trials is a faith untested. “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.”[1]

Just as each edge of the blade could be considered to stand for justice and mercy, so too could they stand for Thoughts and Intent of the human soul. “For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”[2]

Just as the word of God is quick and powerful, so too are its intention. Like a playbook on how to live life, its instructions are clear, succinct, and powerful. Yet, to the unbeliever, the words are only that, just printing on the page. As God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”[3] He gave us Christ, with whom we were spared eternal damnation and the expected end we deserved, with that ultimate justice; his death was the punishment for our sins.

To the unbeliever, the Bible is nothing more than theory; conjecture of good intentions.

As I was speaking to one of our department’s professors this week, the difference between theory and application came to mind. While we are immersed in the pursuit of education at our institutions of higher learning, most of what we achieve is theory. It is not until we go out into the “Real” world, get jobs, and start careers that we actually apply that theory. That application becomes the tools of whatever industry we pursue, sometimes for the rest of our lives. However, God has allowed me to return to the place from whence I began so long ago. As I listened to the very well-meaning professor describe the course layout, I found my mind jumping from the theory he was describing to the applications I had used in my nearly two decades of working in the industry. From that life of experience, from the applying of theory, I once more made the jump back to the present and was able to interpret his descriptions, but far from the conventional line of thought to which he was used to instructing.

For those of you who have learned or are trying to learn to speak a foreign language, you can relate. You at first have to think of the foreign word’s meaning in your mother tongue and then speak the foreign word. Slowly, as you become more proficient, eventually, you can skip the literal translation because you just know the foreign word, has finally become one of your own, no longer foreign. So too is the word of God. Like many who are lost and haven’t come to know or accept Christ into their lives, the words in the Bible are only that; words. But Jesus told his followers that they would not be alone; that he would send a Comforter. He also said that he would never leave us nor forsake us. That Comforter, that being with whom he spoke, was to be the Holy Spirit.

Through the Holy Spirit, we are made anew, “And that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and rose again. Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more. Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. And all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation; To wit, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them; and hath committed unto us the word of reconciliation. Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.”[4]

From whence we came, is to which we shall return. For once we have walked in the way, we are made anew, and from there, we can speak to those who have yet to find the way, the truth, and the light. From our experience in the application of the word, we have become wiser, and with this wisdom, we are then able to help those who are lost. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and unbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”[5] From theory, as some may say, to become one with the Father through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are changed. Walking in Christ, we are no longer living in theory, but rather, in the application of what it was meant to be, where Justice and Mercy meet in that high rounded middle of the blade, to which nothing can prevail; neither spirit nor soul.

As the finger-like wafts of smoke rise into the morning sky from their hand-hewn stone chimneys below, so soar the spirits of many who have breathed their last. Don’t go another day without seeking out that friend, that neighbor, or even that family member who might be lost. Seek them with all your heart.

And remember, for, by the Grace of God, we go.

We are all but a heartbeat away from eternity.

Live each day as if it were the most precious gift. You never know when it will be your last.

Thanks be to God.

[1] 1 Peter 4:12-13 KJV

[2] Hebrews 4:12 KJV

[3] Jeremiah 29:11 KJV

[4] 2 Corinthians 5:15-20 KJV

[5] James 1:5 KJV

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by | January 18, 2018 · 9:45 pm

A Silver Lining…

A Silver Lining

by Timothy W. Tron

“But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.”-Psalm 37:11

For all that we do, we should seek to share the light within, so that someday we may stand before our creator and answer to what we did with our purpose in life. Somedays there are never-ending, uphill battles. We find ourselves consumed by seeming floods of overwhelming tasks, lists that are never completed, or papers that didn’t get graded. And then one day, out of nowhere, there comes that still small voice with a heart of gold that speaks to you, melting away everything else that has gone on before until it is the barest of essence, the beauty of the truth before you. It is in that instance, you realize God had placed you where you need to be.

It had been the end of a long week. Exams had finally taken place after countless delays due to inclement weather. As my footsteps took me back to my classroom, my mind was still reflecting on the unexpected witnessing that had just transpired. It was another memory for another line of keepsakes to collect, to place upon that shelf of life’s precious moments we someday will take down and hold carefully in the palms of our hands, turning over and over, exploring all the grace it had to offer. Nearing my classroom door, I realized my students had yet to be released after having taken their final exam. They instantly saw me and began telling me how each of them felt they did on the test. We were all relieved to have it over. Before we could finish saying goodbye, the bell rang and the instinct to flee set in. Before I knew it, the room had been fully evacuated save for a few stragglers. We said brief goodbyes, as my focus was on their last assignment to be turned in, one that I had futility reminded them as they barged for the exits, “Don’t forget to turn in your Dragon Flippers.” Part of our final review was a project we called, Dragon Flippers. Each student was given a chance to earn extra credit points toward their grade by completing the flip-page style folder, where we had the theme of the dreaded Math Dragon as part of the cover. The rubric required the cover of the review packet to have the image of a dragon and the words, “Math 2”. The artwork alone was the largest part of the points of the rubric, allowing my more artistic students a chance to finally shine.

Staring down at the small pile, it was obvious many of them hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to add more points this semester. There had been that long delay between when we started the review, and many had told me they had literally lost their packet. Yet, the ones that were in my “Turn-in” box were encouraging. Picking them up, it was then I realized I was not alone. Looking up ever so slightly out of the corner of my eye I noticed one last student who had remained behind. My eyes, still looking down at the completed projects in my own hand, followed their image to another one, but in the young man’s hands who now stood next to me.

“Oh, hello,” I said to him, a little surprised at him still being here. He had been one of the bright students from my fourth block class. He often would lag behind the others, never in a hurry, always with a pleasant goodbye. He was one of those whom we always think of when we speak of the ones that can make your day. The hallway was now that empty calm that follows the evacuation of students from school.

“I hope you did well on the exam?”

“Yes, Mr. Tron,” his hands were nervously holding his Dragon Flipper, “me too.” He smiled, looking down at what he held. He then presented his project to me and continued. His demeanor did not depict a sense of joy. There was a troubling mood that seemed to be covering something he wanted to say but was unsure of how to say it out loud. Before I could ask if something were wrong he quietly said it a serious tone, “I wanted to write you a letter, but I didn’t get time.” He handed over the work. Before me was the image of a young man standing with his back to you, looking into a mirror on a dresser before him. In the reflection of the mirror was the picture of the dragon, cleverly drawn looking back at the boy. His artwork was exceptional. As I admired his skill, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you what this meant,” he said, nodding toward the piece of work now in my hands. “You see, you taught me a lot more than math in your class this semester. I learned about life and about myself.”

At that moment, the sounds outside my room diminished to nothing. The world around us seemed to stand still. My eyesight found his staring back at me. As I fought back the rising surge of emotion in my throat he continued, “I followed your writings outside of class and was inspired by all that you said. You helped me understand that I was living not like I should and that the dragon was me.”

Inside, my heart was pounding. I could hear the words he said, but it didn’t make sense. Before me stood the meekest, quietest student, I had ever taught. He worked hard and only spoke up in class when he had questions. His work was never late, and he nearly had an A before he took the final exam, so how could anyone so seemingly perfect on the outside struggle so within? It didn’t add up. At some point, I had handed the packet back to him to explain. He then opened the cover and began to show me how and why. There before me at the top of the page, my eyes instantly fell upon the Bible verse, “Ephesians 6:10-18

“Can this get any more precious,” were the thoughts that raced through my head?

“You see, the dragon was me, and I had to learn how to control the beast within.”

In complete awe, my eyes took in the beautiful artwork the young man had carefully created.

There drawn as the rubric had asked, were the various armaments described in the scripture passage of Ephesians, “The breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, the shield of faith, the sword of the Word (or Spirit as he had written), and the belt of truth.” To him, these were all the implements of war that he had used to rage against the demon within his own being. Through my tear-rimmed eyes, he shared with me the remainder of the project. There was little I could add, nor could say at the moment, so choked up was I with compassion for the young man. In many respects, he was me at his age; yet, he seemed so much more advanced and in control of his destiny than I had been. The questions still poured out of my head faster than I could grasp.

“I also wanted to tell you goodbye. I will not be returning to school next semester. My family will be leaving the area, so this will be the last time I see you.”

I was speechless. The dragon within, the scripture of Ephesians, he had been inspired beyond my classroom; it was all so much to take in. I could feel the hand of God upon us both at that moment.

“The meek surely shall inherit the earth, for peace is upon his soul,” came the words to my mind.

Through my choked voice, all I could squeak out was, “You’ll have to stay in touch, you’ll just have to stay in touch.”

He pulled his backpack closer around his shoulders, then reached out his hand. We shook goodbye, and he walked out the door of room 3212 for the last time. With him, my prayers followed.

My mind was numb with the grace of God.

In teaching, we yearn for those, too few, precious moments when it has all come to fruition; those tender scenes when we receive thanks in ways we had never imagined. Knowing that as with any position of servitude, we aren’t here for the monetary gains. With each day that passes, we seek to find that cloud with the silver lining in a world of ever-increasing clouds.

Somedays, we find that perfect cloud, and like those fleeing images above, for a moment we find God’s grace among us.

In all that we do, may we continue to give God thanks.

Thanks be to God.

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armor 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,
”-Ephesians 6:13-19

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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 | 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)

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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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