He could thunder with the best of them, drew crowds from all across the county. His Bible was cracked with the whacking it took upon the pulpit. His fingers were gnarled from curling them heavenward to draw down the fire upon men who drank too much and woman who cackled like hens behind their husband’s backs. His eyes were fixed in that perpetual stare of hard earned judgment that can only come from the self-indulgence of over-fasting.
His posters got the saints to whispering about the coming revival and the back-sliders to mocking about the coming judgment which in the hubris of both parties was really the same thing gone sour on both ends like an overripe banana.
In the end when everyone stood before the judgment seat: The preacher found his sermons were hay; The saints discovered that their revivals were straw; And the backsliders found that false repentance leads only to the fires of Hell; But one soul…one soul found humility in between the thunder and the gnarly fire. That soul bent his knee. The King Of Ages nodded his head in approval toward that one soul and with the voice of many waters said “Well done!”
It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill. 16The latter do so out of love, knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel. 17The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing that they can stir up trouble for me while I am in chains. 18But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Phil. 1:15-`18
each one should build with care. 11For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw,13their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work. 14If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. 15If it is burned up, the builder will suffer loss but yet will be saved—even though only as one escaping through the flames. 1 Cor. 3:10-15
If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.2 If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing.3 If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it;but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing. 1 Cor. 13:1-3
This post was written in response to “All In A Word’s” writing prompt: HUBRIS
Merrit wound his way through the tangled forest praying with every step that he would find the lost sheep. Father had promised Merrit could keep the profits from the wool if he could be responsible for the newborn. Of course Merrit had lost the lamb and with it his father’s respect.
The boy wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Unmanly” he cursed.
A wail pierced the dale. Alarmed Merrit ducked under a snarl of vine-trees and moved into the clearing. There nestled in the soft down of the missing lamb was a babe.
For those of you who may not be familiar with it, C. cada is the artists community of Cornerstone Church our mission is to: give artists from every genre an opportunity to come together to discover, develop, and deploy their talents in ways that will better the church and the community.
The C.cada Cross. One of our collaborative projects
I haven’t written much about our doings because we have been so busy doing them but God has been good! We are currently working on several projects as a group:
1. A group of our artists is in the planning stages of redoing the pediatrics play room at our local hospital.
2. One of our artists just finished collaborating with a local elementary school on the show, Aristocats. In fact, I have to unload our portable sound system, which they used, after I am done here.
3. We are in the midst of preparing for an outdoor art show in honor of our town’s 250th anniversary. Here is our link if anyone out there is interested
4. Plans are underway for C.cada to be a collaborator with many other town committees on a town Makerspace project.
5. One of our artists is preparing to lead worship for a Frontiersmen Camping Fraternity Fellowship in May
6. One Desire, our church youth band is cutting its first album.
7. Clayton Phelps, one of our artists is playing out several times a week reaching people with the gospel through his guitar. In fact yesterday he played at GALA another art association’s art show.
That is just a taste of the exciting stuff going on. Books are being written. Music is being played. choirs are singing. Paintings are being prepared for shows and galleries around the area. GOD IS GOOD.
A few months ago our group project was a short story writing prompt. I have already shared Deb Maciorowski’s offering with you and mine but here is another from our very own Charlotte Dorais
First Day
The flashing school bus lights warned me how late I was. My first day teaching Junior High was causing me enough anxiety without being the last one to arrive in my class room. I had planned on time to pray and make final preparations for the day before the first students arrived, this day would only be blessed if I depended on God to lead me. I prayed God this is your day and I need you more now than ever. Thank you for your peace.
Last nights dream was playing like an old silent film in my mind. Still shots of the class room and each student flashed one by one. I knew a few of the kinds personally from church, but so many of the faces were strangers and the fact that this class was special needs excited me. God see potential where no one else does. He would lead me to the best plan for each student.
The parking lot was filled and late comers like me were left to the back 40. Shouldering my heavy bag I trotted the length of the parking lot. First bell rang as I entered the class room door and most of the students were paired up and talking excitedly to one another. As the final bell rang I turned to close the door Jeff rushed past and slide into an empty seat. Jeff was one of my church kids and I counted on him for support. My greeting to him was ignored and he kept his head down and eyes averted.
These students would spend the day with me, one by one we would get acquainted and develop an individual teaching plan. I looked forward to the challenge.
Marie stood in the front by my desk and introduced herself to me, she knew all the students and offered to assist me in any way I needed. I knew God had sent her. As I turned to get material to pass out I saw Jeff slip out the door. Rule number one broken the first hour of the day, no one leaves the room without permission. I decided to step out and look for him and he was right outside the door with his face to the wall praying, God make it stop.
My quick pray was give me words, and I ask Jeff to tell me what had to stop. His said a line from a book:
He heard the crunch of leaves behind him, he turned……
was playing nonstop in his mind and he couldn’t turn it off. I suggested he finish the thought, when he turned what did he see? All fear left him as he replaced the lie with Jesus. God’s power is always work and He never fails us when we cry out to him. I was where He meant me to be.
Charlotte L Dorais
I can honestly say what we are doing is hard work but it is so exciting! I am convinced that God is in this because the results are beyond us. We are offering what we have. We know it is not enough and yet He is multiplying us even as He multiplied the fish and loaves.
This post is written in response to the weekly photo prompt from Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers. The rules of Fictioneers are as follows:
THE RULES:
Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH.
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
When you are done here check out Rochelle’s other subscribers at
I was born the seventh son of a seventh son. Mother said my blood was magic.
Yet the seer foretold my doom if I ever stood higher than the pillar in the temple garden; So father gave me to the priests to ward by their magics in the stone circle.
But I was young and grew tired of the forest. I wanted the sky; So when I ran it was to the highest place.
I first saw her by God’s twins at her prayers before a wooden cross. Something whispered across the hillside and blew away all I knew of life. Magic abandoned me to love.
Hearts and flowers, chocolate candy… hardly the stuff of true crime or civil disobedience; But the legend behind Valentine’s day tells the story of a man who dared to stand up for his faith in the face of overwhelming political obstacles and who paid the ultimate price for his stance concerning Christian marriage.
“Saint Valentine: Holy Priest of Rome: The date of this Saint Valentine’s birth is not known. Along with Saint Marius and his family, Saint Valentine assisted the martyrs during the persecution they suffered under the rule of Claudius II (also known as Claudius the Goth and Claudius the Cruel). In addition, since Rome was at the time involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns, the emperor found it difficult to recruit the male populace into joining his military leagues. Believing this to be because Roman men were adverse to leaving their loved ones or their familes, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements within the City of Rome. Saint Valentine and Saint Marius, however, continued to perform wedding ceremonies in secret. When is was discovered that Saint Valentine was defying the emperor’s decree, he was apprehended and dispatched by Claudius to the Prefect of Rome who, being unable to force the saint to renounce Christianity, ordered that Valentine be clubbed, stoned and then beheaded. According to tradition, while Valentine waited in prison for his execution, he corresponded with those under his care by sending letters and love notes to his parishioners. It is also believed that while incarcerated, the Bishop fell in love with a young woman who visited him during his confinement. According to some sources, this was the blind daughter (whose name may have been Julia) of of Asterius, the jailer. It is said that God enabled Valentine to miraculously restore the girl’s sight. Popular belief indicates that Valentine’s farewell message to his love contained a closing that has now transcended time: “From Your Valentine.” The saint was executed on February 14 in either 269 A.D. or 270 A.D. In 270 A.D., Pope Julius I is said to have built a church near Ponte Mole in the saint’s memory at a location once known as Porta Valentini and now called Porta del Popolo. The relic bones of this Saint Valentine, who may also have been a physician, are now housed within the Church of Saint Praxed in Rome.”
Excerpted from http://www.novareinna.com/festive/saintval.html
At any rate, for me Valentine’s day is really about the enduring power of love and marriage in the face of terrible obstacles. To that end I offer this story up for the Daily Posts writing challenge found at
The October sun set over the mountain bursting into a penumbra of red and purple as it careened into the pointed apex of rock and forest.
John brushed a weary hand through his salt and pepper hair letting it stray to his aching shoulder. He sighed and heard in the exhalation of breath the reminiscence of steel grating on pavement. The memory of fire danced before his eyes as the sun sang its final song over the landscape.
A crow screamed in the trees.
He heard in the bird call, “Daddy! Daddy help me!”
He knew the raven’s cry was just a call to worship for the murder. He was a regular congregant of Nature’s mass. It was the only release from the condemnation he clung to with the shadow strength that grief had left him.
The murder gathered in the highest branches of the pinions. As the last rays of day surrendered to the violent grip of night, crow calls filled the air. Louder than a city traffic jam they screamed in Autumn’s voice, “You let her die!”
His whole life was a haze: There was before the accident which he could only behold with the most conscious of efforts and there was after which started with a white room in the hospital. Black-out faded to dim understanding. He wept with the agony from his broken shoulder and the image of his little girl slumping into unconsciousness as smoke and flame consumed her.
What he needed was absolution. What he got was the forever scream of crows that spoke with Autumn’s voice. What he got was an empty apartment returned to after a month’s stay in the psych ward. What he got was the weariness and the Prozac migraine that kept suicide at bay. What he got was the catharsis of sunlight sprayed across mountains burning into the interminable silence that had become his life.
He came daily to relive, through sun fire and crow scream, the events that had brought him here. He hoped that someday his Sisyphean devotion to the act would set him free. Yet, no penance could ever satisfy hungry guilt. Somewhere inside he knew it would never be enough but it was the only payment he had to make.
As always the avian cantata rose suddenly to a deafening crescendo and then without warning fell dead siphoning away with it all his dreams.
The stars were up. He felt the whisper of the moon’s breath upon his neck. Blame, held at bay for the few moments of Nature’s symphony, came rushing back in with an audible groan. He waved good bye to the tree tops and rose to go.
He heard the crunch of autumn leaves behind him. He turned and gasped. Autumn stood illumined by the street light. Tears streaked her leaden features. She held out her hand.
Well it is time for another dose of Friday Fictioneers with Rochelle at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/08/14/16-august-2013/. The challenge is to write a 100 word piece of fiction with a beginning, middle and end. Let me encourage you to take the challenge for yourself!
Reaping the Whirlwind
Momma used to sing me a lullaby… “If God is for you, sweet baby child, who can stand against you?”
I always liked that, thought; But what if God is against you ?
I knew joining Billy’s “business” was not wise but my honey-tongued friend can make murder sound friendly. Besides , the street was deserted. The keys were in the ignition. I was gone in under thirty seconds.
A block down the road God blew on the tree.
When the police arrived I just admitted “Momma always told me, ‘If you sow to the wind, you’ll reap the whirlwind’.”
Here is our prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. This exercise in flash fiction is a great way to get the creative juices flowing! So let me encourage you to jump on over to Rochelle’s page at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/08/, read the rules and join in the fun.
Here is my take on this week’s prompt.
Wannabe
My name’s Jake. The chick on the right is my sister Norma Jeane. Yep that’s right Norma Jeane Mortenson. The Mortenson clan were big fans of the blond bombshell. One of the families had to fall on their swords and create a namesake. We drew the short straw.
Actually it wasn’t all that bad until Aunt Orli bought Norma that stupid white dress. Now she insists on wearing it out every time we go to the grocery store.
Mom built the hive with money from the divorce settlement. Always a back to nature girl, she went positively granola after dad took up with the surgically enhanced Barbie doll who answered his office phone. A little reactionary if you ask me but who can judge?
I can that’s who! You try being the kid who lives in a giant plastic beehive.
When the football team stuffed me through the eye hole of our giant bee lawn ornament I decided I’d had enough. They don’t zone for bee hives in Florida, but they have great beaches.
I watched as the Hyangadi Tide made its way across the Dead Mountains. . This thick band of mist that spanned the poles of our desert planet had come again as it had every two months since we had arrived here twenty years ago.
My frown deepened until I could feel it scratch the dry cracked corners of my mouth.
The moisture gatherer at my side,our only salvation, sat quiet like the rest of the sleeping village below. I pressed the ignition once more. Nothing.
“
Lillie-Put 