15
I awoke the day that I was born and did not fear my death.
For I was young and just a year behind my son.
Weary though, I was, from building a new life for both.
My wife approached with coffee and a kiss.
The Last Word…
I feel the pages above me ripped from their spine. Where have they flown? A crackle; a dashing flash of red and orange on the ceiling above me. My velum breathes in the draft. A dark shadow now covers me.
I see the face, drawing into focus.
NO.
NOT ETHAN.
Not the face I was expecting. He cannot hear my scream.
I’ve lain here in wait for so long. For ADAM, not YOU!
I see the flash of fire in the angry eyes. They grow darker as that fire burns.
The Shepherd
Benjamin's jaw ached. It did that a lot now. Especially since the weather had turned. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the socket where his eye tooth was missing. It pushed out the scar on the lip above, beginning another dull pain.
Benjamin felt a lot older than his 20 years. He shifted to his side to give his hip a rest. David played his harp to keep his mind off this hind side, he supposed. The tumbling hills below Bethlehem were certainly no more comfortable in David's day.
It was the last watch and the darkest of the night. Benjamin's eyes had fully adjusted to the unpolluted darkness. He could see the sheep and their starlight shadows. Some stirred but most were still. The strange convergence of stars above seemed to be growing in intensity and continued to disturb the shepherd. For weeks the strange and undoubtedly bad omen had assembled itself in the sky. And now? The greens, blues and reds were converging in colorless light, almost like the startling flash of midday sunlight off the tops of rolling waves. He'd seen those once up in Galilee when a storm from Jordan stirred the sea from afar. The waters had seemed almost alive and certain of themselves, driving mystery, light and darkness of depth his way. Why did this strange new star remind him of that? Benjamin looked back down to his group's flock.
He caught sight of the one lamb he felt most responsible for. The one he dreaded most. He drifted away to the memories of one terrible day. The one to which his jaw and lip gave testament...
*****
The Tomb
“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb very early, long before first light and saw the stone had been removed…” from John 20:1-2
She RAN. The others followed as fast as they could. All the way across town to the safehouse.
“Peter! John! WAKE UP!! The tomb…” And then her throat closes off. She can’t seem to choke out the rest of the horrible thought: “Someone’s stolen his body.” She blubbers on and on about what must have happened. The other women plead with the Disciples to DO something. Peter and John are suddenly awake and rushing out the door.
View from the Porch [a Christmas Story]
At midnight, Anna stood at the ramparts in fervent prayer, still looking expectantly to the East. She was certain the signs would continue, as they had for weeks. Last night was so close…
All morning, a heavy cloud had sorrowed on the Temple Mount, shrouding Solomon’s Porch in mist. Anna had waited all day for the weather to break before stepping across the Women’s Court to the covered path high above the Kidron Valley. 500 of them. Stunted, slow steps, nearly the entire furlong across Herod’s Court. She had served 70 years as the Asher Priestess, half of them in this very place. Even as her eyes began to fail, she had witnessed the daily progress as Herod’s artisans raised the New Temple. Stone by stone, planted over Zerubbabel’s rubble. The last distinct thing she remembered seeing with her earthly eyes was the flash of gilding being soldered in place atop the columns of Herod’s vanity. Doubly gold in the last light of a Fall day. Anna’s eyes had been dark for almost 20 years now, even as her ears followed the constant and furious progress on the Temple and the great pavements beyond. She heard the scraping of metal on stone as the altar was moved into the Courts. She heard the hiss of heavy velvet as the veil was hoisted to seal the Holy of Holies. Her mind painted the blue, purple and scarlet yarns on the back of her eyelids. She swayed her hand, dreaming of sewing in the golden thread that embossed the cherubim to the color-shifting fabric. She knew this Temple to be a sham, at least compared to the Temple of Solomon. Yet the design was grand. She had heard rumors that Herod’s men had even been compelled to manufacture an imposter ark to complete the fiction.
Retrace
The straightest of Mississippi roads meander
Traced out by one with more time than direction
Lined with turkey and dogwood
They were the rivers of my youth
From high springs in Tennessee I followed the flow
Down to the flats and hollers below
And collected myself at the bottom
Through fog to a deep pool of grace
SACRIFICE - [a Christmas Story]
Isaac’s knuckles scraped across the rock, smarting. The
burden on his back shifted forward, almost sliding over shoulders and taking
his tunic with it. The tip of a rough branch dug into the nape of his neck.
“Steady, boy!” The old man’s voice was ragged as he stumbled
forward to catch his son from falling face first into the boulder. “You don’t
want to…” The voice trailed off to silence.
“To what, my Father?” Isaac looked back under his arm to
Abraham’s weathered face. It seemed
suddenly drained of color. The first glint of sunrise shone blood red in the
patriarch’s eye. He didn’t answer the boy.
I Am Receding
I am receding
rushing down meridians to the lower pool
at the bottom of my world
the rest of my little school waiting for me there
Crashing through cataracts and eddies
and earthquakes of leaving
I grasp my love’s hand for the long slide
our conversations strangely forward
raw and hopeful still
The Big 'Win.'
Aunt Edna’s Money - Writer's Digest Writing Prompt - August 12, 2016
[Your wealthy Aunt Edna has died and left you all of her money. At first you’re excited, as you’ve been living paycheck-to-paycheck your whole life, and this newfound money offers you endless possibilities. But, in her will, Aunt Edna left one big catch—and, if you don’t do it, all of the money is to be given to your most unlikable cousin, Wilfred.]
Nelson adjusted his pince-nez and cleared his throat. Again. He looked up with that self-righteous disgust that simmered below that polished professionalism. He cleared his throat. Again.
"...the sum of $895,000 shall be transferred to escrow and assigned to the account of James Reagan Wilson immediately upon full hearing and acceptance of the following terms..."
The Cave [A Passover Story}
The boy introduced himself to the blacksmith.
“’God Saves,’ huh? Well He can save us from the Prefect then. Please - Go right ahead. Look around all you want. You won’t find much after Rufus’ goons made off with everything. And I’ll be gone all day working off this tax bill.”
The grizzled man pulled a few Tiberius coins from a pouch behind his belt, spalled and speckled with burns from countless hours behind the anvil. Before he handed them over to the deliveryman, he faked a sneeze. Yeshua clearly saw him spit on the image of the Emperor. The teen handed over the reins to the rented cart and mule; even helped to load some of the beastly heavy boxes into the bed. The load of spikes, nails and shoes clanged loudly as they landed, as much from the anger of the blacksmith as the shifting bed of the cart. The mule began to protest.
A Star in the Sky [a Christmas Story]
Cyrus leaned back on the throne of Babylon as the words swirled in his mind. The scribes record he ‘inclined his face to the heavens as in transport.’ All the satraps and diviners, the wise men and captured princes stood at nervous attention, while the old prophet of the Jews noisily rolled up the old scroll and returned it to its ornate ark. The lid lowered and the hasp swung closed. All seemed to hold their breath.
"Teh..."
……….………………..“Ta, ta, ta, teh, teh, teh….”
The misshapen mass in front of him stuttered and shuddered. As far as he could tell, that is. This cloying darkness swallowed everything. Even his sanity, it would seem. How could it be THIS dark at THIS hour? The sun should be halfway to the horizon putting these jagged beams in stark relief. Now, nothing.
Your Story #55 Submission
Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above.
“The first to fall was a 14 year-old redhead from Waukesha, her left nostril trickling and the convulsions crumpling the hand-made “LOVE YOU, JUSTIN!!” poster.”
All Wet
WRITER'S DIGEST "Your Story #54" Competition entry
Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above.
Your whisper slayed me and you did as you promised, leaving her at the altar -- so I waited for you till the tide came in.
The Hunt
WRITER'S DIGEST "Your Story #52" Competition entry
Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above.
"With their eyes on the prize, he fingered the axe knowing he had a choice to make: The best Christmas tree, or they disappear forever..."
Flip for it
WRITERS
DIGEST "Your Story Competition #51.
Prompt: Write a short story, of 750 words or fewer, that begins with the following line of dialogue: “Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”
*****
“Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”
Bill observed the silver dollar through rheumy eyes. The 1899 Lady L stared blankly off to his left, betraying none of her feelings. The only hint, her lips - slightly taciturn, maybe disapproving. Still, she didn't argue or object. A stoic, unwilling to face him. A face that would decide Bill's fate, whether she cared or not.
Memorial Day
NPR Three-Minute Fiction 50 Word Challenge: "Memorial Day"
She sips her juice box while her father faces the wall. Her hand holds a black crayon and slightly crumpled rubbing.
Writer's Digest Contest April, 2013
[Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above...]
"His depth perception was failing, or the sky was literally falling - either way he wanted answers and he wanted them NOW..."
Good Friday
Bending, submitting
Falls to a breaking, shattering
Hope crushed, mingled with a serpent's blood
A gaping maw devours
Gnashing, hellish teeth throw sparks
A sea of black smooths over the hole
A rain of darkness descends
A reign of darkness ascends
And those left above the sea are drowning
Writer's Digest Contest February, 2013
[Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above...]
"Ripples of Scarlet and alabaster shimmered before him as he lowered the gun slowly to his waist."
Tracks
Writer's Digest Short Story Contest Entry, 2013
The man froze in his tracks. His weren’t the only ones pressed into the fresh fall of snow. A scuffling trail of sneakers - a child’s sized 7 - led from his front door, between his own, turning left down the sidewalk.
He panicked, dropping the shopping bag, splitting the milk jug and soaking the newspaper and paper bag of fresh-ground coffee. The cherry twizzler hung limp from his lips, an indecisive weathervane in the still air.
Escape
2013 "Beat the Clock" Contest Entry - Bookrix.com
Lucy reached forward to poke her finger through, thinking that maybe she could see better. Jimmy yanked his four year old sister’s hand away from the door.
“Don’t do that!” he hissed. “Be quiet - and still.”
Translation - Chapter 13
Chapter 13
(Sunday, 3:30PM - Canyon West, TX)
Mitch finds
himself back at The Colpoys home. He writes down what he knows up to
this point and the spirtual counsel he gains in La Grange. C.R. &
Sylvia arrive home after an emergency cell group leaders meeting.
They are disturbed about what they hear. There has been a tragedy in
the Pastor's household. Together they start investigating Mitch's
suspicions. Mitch takes a walk to decompress a bit. He meets people
that induce flashbacks from his subconscious. A geocacher leaves
Mitch with a thought that continues to nag him - 'when you find
something in the box you take it and replace it with something else.'
The carpet wasn't as
hard as Mitch expected. In fact, much more plush. The room had
suddenly grown quiet, hushed. Mitch raised his head from between his
hands to see what the quiet was all about. He saw a bedspread. It was
the guest bedroom of the Colpoys house and he was lying on the floor.
His fists dug into the thick pile of the carpet as he slowly pulled
in a deep breath. He closed his eyes again. He focused on the soft
hum of the old, 80's bed-side digital clock above his head to the
left; the even softer scent of some non-descript Glade plugin. Mitch
finally rose to his feet deliberately, the cheap faux leather of his
new belt squeaking as he straightened himself out. He looked down at
the outfit. The cheap tie was beginning to choke. He sat on the edge
of the bed and stared at his new shoes, trying to make sense of the
past 10 minutes. Then he thought about the past 18 hours.
The Submission
She hit ‘snooze’ for the third time but her bladder trumped her plans. With a groan, she swung her feet to the cool oak boards, still slick from her 7th waxing this week.
Her cellphone erupted with the bridge to ‘Imagine’. She stabbed to disconnect. Her numb middle finger hit ‘speakerphone’ instead.
Without waiting a beat the voice blared at her – “Have you seen yet?? Have you heard?? I can’t login for another hour!! Finalists ONLY until 8am. WHAT’s HAPPENING???”
The Shot
(Drabble contest entry - bookrix.com)
I did this.
A twitch in his palm; a rustle of feathers. The dove jerks and rolls over. Will it fly? A nail scratches his wrist, drawing a drop of his own.
A noise closes from behind. “Good shot, son!"
The Drawer
(Drabble contest entry, bookrix.com)
“Freeze! Police!”
The Devil's Wife
(Drabble contest entry - bookrix.com)
Dirt and sky. She looks up as the shadow passes. Her whole life has been a shadow. Now the late afternoon sun returns as a delayed rain pelts her forehead. The devil’s beating his wife.
“Well, now he’s got someone else to beat,” she says bitterly. “This devil’s done with his beatings. I’m free.”
The rain hardens, threatening hail. The trickle down her arm creates a streak of brown between her fingers. She opens her palm and stares at the wettened soil. She lets the rain wash it into the gaping maw before her. Splatters thump the plain casket below.
The Kiss
The blurred light grew. The man felt his eyelid open slowly, tentatively. He was floating - on what he could not be sure. Something below and within stirred, expanding. A sound - a slow wind - sounded around him. 'Within' continued to rise. A soft click murmured and 'within' began to deflate.
It's my body…
The man listened keenly to the sound of, what, exactly? Air - flowing from his lungs. It seemed to go on forever. Then, another soft click. 'Within' began to rise, again.
I'm alive… Why?
Why wouldn't you be?
Because, I…
The man searched for an answer. None came. And it didn't come ever… so… slowly. Each click echoed down a long tunnel to his mind's ear. Each moment rushed and lingered for an eternity at the same time.
Where am I?
Unrepentant Surrender
On the passing of J. Keith Miller...
Keith Miller has been tapping energy for 60 years. Today he tapped into the mother lode. He went Home this afternoon at the age of 84 in the arms of his wife, Andrea, and at the insistence of an enemy - pancreatic cancer. He died faithful, and in the only kind of faith he believed worthy - Expectant. He pursued a surrendered life with a maddening obsession at times. He expected God to meet him when he did. He chased after God passionately, sloppily, even in anger. And he journaled his failures. Later in my own life, I came to understand how merciful God is to me by watching Keith crawl back to the foot of the cross after some spectacular personal crises. Expectant faith is desperate. It was the only kind he ever seemed to live. It is the only kind that matters. When it came to surrender, Keith was adamant and unrepentant. It shows in his final blog entries.
Once upon a time, Keith drilled the earth of Texas and Oklahoma looking for his meaning as a man. As an unsettled, lonely and driven member of the 'Greatest Generation' he doggedly pursued wealth and the American dream across the American South as an entrepreneur in Oil Exploration. He worked for the biggest names in Energy and launched a number of successful related businesses.
By the late 50s, he was on his way to the top. And he found it profoundly meaningless...
Once upon a time, Keith drilled the earth of Texas and Oklahoma looking for his meaning as a man. As an unsettled, lonely and driven member of the 'Greatest Generation' he doggedly pursued wealth and the American dream across the American South as an entrepreneur in Oil Exploration. He worked for the biggest names in Energy and launched a number of successful related businesses.
By the late 50s, he was on his way to the top. And he found it profoundly meaningless...
The Appointment
- Bookrix 2012 Flash Fiction 3rd Place Award!
- NPR Weekend Edition "Three Minute Fiction" Submission, Round 7 -
(Prompt: Submissions must have a character come to town and someone leave town. Each piece of writing has to be read in less than three minutes, so no longer than 600 words.
More info at: http://www.npr.org/series/105660765/three-minute-fiction)
Here's a link to the NPR Round 7 Winners program:
http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=142264396&m=1422750433
**************************
“Jack, did you say?
You're probably asking for me. John Wilson. Right there – line
number 7. What's that? No, sorry, don't know him. Not personally,
anyway. He disappeared about 6 months ago, from what I've heard. The
same day I arrived in town, as a matter of fact.
“I look a lot like him?
Yeah, I get that a lot. That gets pretty annoying sometimes, let me
tell you! By all accounts he was a loser. How do I know? I looked
into it a bit. He had the same dead-end job for 25 years. Nervous,
hypertensive type. Didn't have many friends. And those he did have
were anchored to the same row of barstools every night.
Falling Forward - 9/11/11
Pillars of Smoke and Fire
Unprepared sacrifices seized
Thrown on raging altars
An offering undemanded
Souls unwilling hurled Heavenward
Our Standard and Shield
Pierced by fresh transgression
The perimeter torn and ragged
A fiery incursion
The general's tent aflame
The Union soil bereft
Bears the final hammer blow
Travelers in a moment warriors
Stop assaults at rolling ramparts
The wound a field of heroes
A battleground around, within
Nowhere to turn from sorrow
A 'we' deformed, defined by mourning
A generation born of widows
Ten years witness - still the silence thunders
Paradise
The flesh under the hole in Akil’s shirt was burning. Literally. He rolled to the ground to smother the phosphorus ember. He ripped off the night-vision goggles and blinked hard from the flash and now the total darkness.
“Ten, Akil. You have ten seconds. Get to the trigger.”
The voice crackled in his right ear. The one that could still hear. He still couldn’t see.
“Eight... Seven...”
Akil could make out a green blur next to his face. The goggles were blinking back to life. He grabbed them and held them to his face with his bleeding left hand. He swung up his head to see the green blaze of gases still heating the atmosphere around him.
“Six...”
There. The trigger. The switch to end it all. Still mounted on the fake mailbox. One of seven placed among the districts of Gaza and the West Bank. Yawm al-Qiyāmah has come. Al Dajaal almost deceived them all. The self-proclaimed peacemaker had united Palestine. Made Peace with the infidel. And what did it bring? This. Surely he had to die. It had been spectacular. The Sons of Mercy had dealt the blow as the devil signed away their destiny. His blood for the blood his pen would spill. Alas, it mingled with the blood of the Israeli devil. One bullet; two hearts. Not intended, but a fitting end to the both of them.
“Five...”
Death Mocks Her
"Doom am I, full-ripe, dealing death to the worlds, engaged in devouring mankind." Lord Krishna
For two cycles now, Katniss Everdeen has stared straight into the maw of death… and let it consume her. There's only a shell left, yet this irrepressible teen has become immortal by becoming the dealer of death. "I’m running on hate. When the energy for that ebbs, I’ll be worthless," she groans. At first she had to kill to survive. Now she must hate and kill to survive. What kind of survival is this? It's not. And to think, all she ever wanted was to settle down and spend her years angst-ing over which high school crush to marry. Well, dear soul-weary reader, if you've persevered with her this far (and millions have) there's no choice but to see her through until she flames out and rises from the ashes.
Twice Around the Sun
Today my new morning dawns
I am alive to see it.
A hazy white above
A summer's burn below
Wisps of coffee steam
Now rise within my grasp
The Island of Misfit Troikas
Katniss Everdeen has a problem. Everyone who admires her wants her dead. Everyone who loves her soon will be. So what's a girl to do? Fight like Hell. It's all fatalist frustration, because she just can't seem to die. And it's not for lack of trying. She's determined to see her one and almost love survive another round of sporting mayhem if it kills her. Unfortunately, it doesn't.
The Hunger Games have become the Hungrier Games. The unprecedented happens. The victors of previous Hunger Games must square off to appease the Hunger Gods one more time as they luxuriate in their plush vomitoriums. They're getting dyspeptic and a tickling feather won't help. Rebellion is ravaging the slave districts like a cruise ship virus. And it's putting a dent in the Capitol's menu. Used to satiating every gluttonous pang, the grumbling of a million starving bellies has become an annoyance that surround sound and 3d special effects can't drone out.
Darker by Day
Welcome to the Heart of Darkness. Only this darkness has no heart. It's lit with high-watt tungsten - camera ready. It comes with a cast of thousands, and thousands more to do their hair, nails and wardrobe. Live from the Capitol! It's Running Man 24/7 on every network!! You can't miss it! By law you may not avert your eyes. Let the killing of children begin! Better yet - we'll have the children do the killing!!
The most sinister Stephen King novels are set in broad daylight. The Twilight Zone episodes that linger in your mind for years were more 'zone' than 'twilight.' So it is with The Hunger Games. Yet this is no allegory or cautionary tale - at least not in a way accessible to young minds. In the adrenaline-doused diary of Katniss Everdeen, it's a present progressive universe. More unrelenting than urgent. We're stuck in the unending infinitive. How else is a teen girl to document her own demise? the world she observes is all objects to her gerunds. She's 16 years old and there's nothing sweet about it. It's all acid, bile, blood and burning. She's the noble savage and coy flirt. Sounds a lot like High School. The only relief is a twitching retreat into your own troubled dreams.
The Nail
The man pushed up against the nail as long as he could stand the pain, pressing the palm of his foot more firmly into the splinters of rough wood behind it. His calves burned. God how they burned. His chest leapt to force in the air one last time before collapsing along with his knees. The burning began anew in his wrists.Why??
*****
“Where’s Joshua?” His mother asked, handing the sack filled with lunch to her husband.
“Down at the shop. Why?”
Joseph stooped to grab the sack and sneak a peck on Mary’s cheek.
“You left him there with your tools out? He’s seven years old!” There was a little alarm and scolding in her voice.
“Really? You’re worried? Has he ever climbed up and grabbed a tool without permission? Come, woman. Your son’s practically Noah in his obedience. He’s in one of those trances of his, anyway, studying something new on the bench.”
“What is it this time?” She asked.
“A nail,” he replied. “The Legate wants that Roman-style table done by Shabbat.” Most of his work was done the traditional way, but this official wanted his table built in the Roman way, slammed together with iron pins. They had fascinated Joshua. Perhaps he’d never seen them before.
What's so 'Good' about 'Good Friday?'
"Then Jesus said "When you should be exalting Me, you will 'lift Me up' instead. Only then will your hearts be pricked enough to admit that I am the One; that I do nothing out of selfish ambition; that I simply brought the God-breathed Truth to you." John 8:28 TDG
God's intention, plan and action are always genuine surprises. Is it any wonder? He is so unlike us in so many fundamental ways. Yet His surprises are always good . Not of the 'pleasant happenstance' kind - but rather of the world-shattering, foundation-shifting, terrible, heart-crushing, beautiful holy sort.
On Good Friday God executed judgment on Sin once for all, meting out on His own flesh the penalty of all. He experienced death. He became fully human. With all its loneliness, guilt, shame and despair.
Once.
And forever.
Surprising, isn't it?
The Shepherd
Simeon's jaw ached. It did that a lot now. Especially since the weather had turned. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the socket where his eye tooth was missing. It pushed out the scar on the lip above, beginning another dull pain.
Simeon felt a lot older than his 20 years. He shifted to his side to give his hip a rest. David played his harp to keep his mind off this hind side, he supposed. The tumbling hills below Bethlehem were certainly no more comfortable in David's day.
Simeon felt a lot older than his 20 years. He shifted to his side to give his hip a rest. David played his harp to keep his mind off this hind side, he supposed. The tumbling hills below Bethlehem were certainly no more comfortable in David's day.
Trail of Tears
On first read, 'The Road' is all ending with no beginning. The world has long since descended into madness. Nature has abdicated. Abbadon has cleaned the table and cashed in his chips. The universe has shrunk to the flickering flame of one father and his only son. Unable to separate his identity from his only remaining responsibility, The man sets off to the South and his rendezvous with oblivion. As long as he moves the long scythe cannot take its final swing. Yet he knows he must prepare his son for the inevitable, one bleeding cough at time. Their language is sparse, poetry, but only of the free verse kind. It's the visual language of full-faced tenderness that is the world's final sonnet. They profess love till there is no breath left to bear the words. We've reached the endless sea.
Islamaphobic America?
This is just too fine a piece to not reprint:
Islamophobic America?
Gary M. Burge, Ph.D., Professor of New Testament, Wheaton College.
Evangelicals for Middle East Understanding (EMEU) Advisory Board
Are we all becoming – as Time Magazine suggests (Aug 30, 2010) – Islamophobic? According to one of their recent polls, 46% of us believe that Islam is more likely than other faiths to inspire violence against nonbelievers. 34% of us don’t want a Mosque in the neighborhood. According to an August 19 Washington Post poll, 30% of conservative Republicans who dislike Obama claim that he is a Muslim. Is “Muslim” the new political slur?
I’ve just returned from two Muslim countries in the Middle East. And as exposure goes, I’ve probably worked alongside more Muslims than I ever expected I would. I’m in the Middle East at least once each year, usually visiting multiple countries. I belong to an “Evangelical-Muslim” discussion group which meets annually and hosts 30 scholars from each side for 3 days of interfaith discussion. These are pious, brilliant, generous Muslim scholars whom I count as my friends. And when a topic like “Islamophobic America” comes up, I share intense personal emails with them.
The Lovely Bones
This movie has been savaged by the well-meaning and those who don't know well what they mean.
What are 'the Lovely Bones?' Ah, now the answer to that will take a fair viewing to sort out. And the closing paragraphs from the lips of Susie Salmon will mean nothing to the viewer without the story that precedes it.
What of all the talk of Heaven? There is no Heaven here - just the longing for one. We peek over the rim from Neverland at the very end, but since we're not supposed to go there, we're not allowed more than a glaring obscurity. Some criticize the imagination of Peter Jackson for bringing us a techno-color CandyLand, all sugary sweetness and no nourishment. But that complaint completely misses his genius. This is Susie Salmon's time of bright shadows, not Peter's. Ripped from a world of polyester, psychedelic daisies and David Cassidy posters, we're entering a very different inner world than our 'today.' It's one of a 14-year-old young lady of the 1970s. It is groovy and timeless. Yet the horrors that preceded it bust in with alarming rudeness proving this is no Nirvana. Just when we've grown accustomed to this playground and think it will resolve, it crumbles to dust. As it must. It was never meant to be something of substance. Susie's looking glass is the quick blog of a soul beginning a much larger adventure. A tweet from the unending song.
Lost:The End - Much ado about NOTHING...
WWJD?
What Would Jack Do, that is. And that's what LOST comes down to.
The Finale was 'emotionally rewarding' to some and a 'total bust' to others. How can it be both? It depends on what you expected.
Most of us surmised all along that LOST was some kind of quasi purgatory. The Finale certainly confirmed that guess with a heavy dose of 'quasi.' Many presumed that the 'purgatory' theme meant that the series would eventually take on a more overt Christian bent, after wading through a morass of New Agey mysticism. But purgatory is not Christian theology and is found nowhere in the Scriptures. It was invented to gloss over the 'troubling' aspects of redemption doctrine and speak into those places the Logos chose to remain silent. The Gospel is indeed steeped in paradox. God as man and distinct from the Father and Spirit, for one. That God as Man could die, for another. That a virgin should give birth to the One who created her. That he who loves his life will lose it. It goes on and on. Some are stronger contrasts than others, yet the parlor of Christian faith is richly papered with them.
Translation-Chapter 12
Chapter 12 (Sunday, 11:30AM - La Grange, TX)
Somewhere outside San Antonio, a meeting takes place between a powerful businessman and his lieutenants. He expresses his anger at a 'situation' that is getting out of hand.
Simultaneously, Mitch seeks out the pastor and elders of the Living Way Church, asking them to pray over him. After a Sunday dinner at the pastor's house, prophecy is spoken and words of knowledge affirm Mitch's prayers for clarity and guidance. Mitch is translated during prayer and laying on of hands.
Translation-Chapter 11
Chapter 11 (Sunday, 9:30AM - La Grange, TX)
After a makeshift breakfast, Mitch parts ways with the immigrants. He finds himself walking along another desolate stretch of highway. Dialogues with himself about what has been happening to him. Prays for understanding.
The road blends into the heartland Texas town of La Grand. Mitch steps into a Black pentecostal church for the service. The preaching is from Acts 8 and the story of Philip's 'translation' to meet the Eunuch along the Gaza road. The sermon convinces Mitch he's not crazy but he still feels lost.
Translation-Chapter 10
Chapter 10 (Sunday, 2AM - Rio Grande, near Quintano, TX):
Mitch sees a group of illegal immigrants ready to cross the river. Another group prepares to ford the river, looking far more dangerous. Young, muscular and not speaking Spanish. Mitch tracks them after their coyote deposits them by the river. Soon one of the men is swept away by the current. Mitch instinctively rushes to rescue the man. He's stopped by the cries of another victim of the current - a young Mexican boy. Mitch has to make a choice. He ends up spending the night in a makeshift camp of the immigrants.
Translation-Chapter 9
Chapter 9 (Saturday, 12AM - I35, Canyon West/South of Austin, TX):
Sylvia Colpoys was somewhere buying the finest pair of shoes she had ever seen. They fit marvelously. They flattered her legs. There was only one pair left. Best of all, they were on sale. It was a marvelous moment and it was being ruined by someone - her husband - jabbing her ribs with his elbow. Leave me alone, she thought. I haven't bought these yet.
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