First I would say that the rough draft of the first book of Hadassah's Watchman is now finished. The first book is called First Cry and it can be found on wattpad at the following link: http://www.wattpad.com/611228-hadassah%27s-watchman-trilogy-first-cry
It began with one single idea, the prologue, I had nothing else, I had no idea where this story would go, in fact I thought it was just a fifteen minute writing excercise. I remember the day clearly, I was driving to work thinking of my dad as I often do. A song that he often sang came to my mind "On Your Walls Oh Jerusalem", with the song images flowed through my mind with a vivid clarity, and my imgagination burst. It was as if God was giving birth to a wonderous idea, in my mind. That day I got to work about an hour early I think, and I took out a paper and my favorite pen and wrote as if my life depended on it, I felt an urgency that this idea must not be forgotten even if it never goes anywhere. For many weeks after that nothing else was added this, I thought it was done, no more would come. But the more ideas followed with the exact same thunderbolt intensity.
Questions were brought to the surface... what if a broken woman would be chosen by a prince? What if the battle for our souls is greater then we think? What if there are Watchmen among us, those given the gift...or curse to intercede? What if some of the Watchmen could fall? Could there be redemption for one such as he? Oh... and what if, just what if across the ocean a group of youth, zealous for Christ feels the battle raging and discerns how great the power of prayer is when one or two come together in the name of Jesus Christ? What if the Holy Spirit trully has the power to unite, casting away all discord, casting away and making the darkest of demons flee? What if an ultimate sacrifice would need to be given to save many more? How many hearts would that break? How many would turn away? How many would come ever closer to the One who loves them so?
The story still surges through my veins like a tsunami and I can't wait to start the next book called Hadassah's Watchman: An Awakening... but for now I am making myself slow down and be patient as I start the rewriting of the first book and with it the editing. Will this book ever be printed and published? Will it make the NY Times best seller list? Will I ever conduct book signings? Will these book make a difference in peoples hearts? I don't know. I dream, but I don't know. But I won't stop writing because I know God has a purpose for this book. God has given me a purpose with this book, He has given me a new reason to hope and that is good, He is awsome to do that. Ultimately all that matters with this book is that it lifts up and leads another to the only One who loves them so much. Perphaps the most important thing of this book is to write freedom in their hearts, the freedom only Christ can give.
So if you choose to read it (and I would be honored if you do) I hope it encourages you, and makes you dream God sized dreams (as a special friend told me in a very encouraging message). Also I would like to thank each and every single one of you who have taken the time to leave a comment on the story, vote on it and share it with others, I don't know if you will ever know how much that means to me... my family and I have had a lot of hard times (as many people do) and through the hardest times, the most hopless of times your comments kept me going..thank you and I pray God blesses you and rewards you for each word you lovingly wrote me. I love you all.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
chapter 18
Hadassah's Watchman Trilogy: First Cry - CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - starring Ian Somerhalder Kristin Kreuk Jude Law - Wattpad
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Please Vote for Hadassah's Watchman
I would like to ask you my dear friends to please help me win a contest I have entered called the Watty Awards, I have already made it to the second round of this contest (only a hundred people have made it so to me it is a big honor) Here is what you can do to help me:
1.) Vote for each chapter by going to this link: http://www.wattpad.com/611228-hadassah%27s-watchman-trilogy-first-cry
2.) Comment on each individual chapter on the same link by clicking CONNECT WITH FACEBOOK (if you have a facebook account)
3.) Click on LIKE if you like the story (on each individual chapter)
4.) Click on SHARE to share my story on your facebook (on each individual chapter)
5.) If you have Twiter click on TWEET.
6.) MOST IMPORTANT: go to the following link: http://www.wattpad.com/watty choose MOST POPULAR PARANORMAL then next to HADASSAH'S WATCHMAN click on the radio button, then at the bottom click on VOTE.
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL WHO ARE HELPING ME WIN THIS AND FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ MY STORY, IT IS A STORY I TRULLY BELIEVE IN, I KNOW GOD HAS A PLAN FOR IT AND YOU ARE HELPING WITH THAT, GOD BLESS YOU ALL!!
1.) Vote for each chapter by going to this link: http://www.wattpad.com/611228-hadassah%27s-watchman-trilogy-first-cry
2.) Comment on each individual chapter on the same link by clicking CONNECT WITH FACEBOOK (if you have a facebook account)
3.) Click on LIKE if you like the story (on each individual chapter)
4.) Click on SHARE to share my story on your facebook (on each individual chapter)
5.) If you have Twiter click on TWEET.
6.) MOST IMPORTANT: go to the following link: http://www.wattpad.com/watty choose MOST POPULAR PARANORMAL then next to HADASSAH'S WATCHMAN click on the radio button, then at the bottom click on VOTE.
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL WHO ARE HELPING ME WIN THIS AND FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ MY STORY, IT IS A STORY I TRULLY BELIEVE IN, I KNOW GOD HAS A PLAN FOR IT AND YOU ARE HELPING WITH THAT, GOD BLESS YOU ALL!!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Hadassah's Watchman
Tangible desperation was imprinted on her face, a hazelnut haired beauty with penetrating blue eyes. I could see through her window, those eyes almost crazed with pain. It was a beautiful day and I was sitting on my usual bench in front of her apartment building, this was supposed to be my time to unwind, my time for relaxation, but I just could not concentrate on the usually captivating Eric Wilson's, Jerusalem’s Undead book. It was amazing how eerily close he grasped the reality of the principalities struggle. But when desperation as paramount as this filled another human being, I was cursed, or was it blessed?… to also feel it.
Through her large kitchen window overlooking the small park on the first floor I could see her rummaging through her drawers, looking, looking, but thank God not finding what she was searching for. Still she was weakening by the second, the pills she had already ingested were beginning their grizzly effect.
Tears, malevolent tears stained and shimmered on those perfect cheeks. Love rejected, love scorned I knew was as fatal as cancer, and from what all could plainly see she was once too many times rejected. As I was thanking God that her search was producing only futile results, I drew in a sharp breath, Oh No!
Swiftly passing in front of me, not even sparring me a glance the blond that had befriended her in her loneliest times ran up the steps into the building not even bothering to shut the hallway door. My heart sank at this, the devil’s sick, evil provision.
“Hey Laura,” I could hear the blond say to her as the door reluctantly opened, “How’s it going? Mind if I check my email on your computer?” she cheerfully asked.
Silence, no answer, Laura was swaying.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You okay?” asked the blond with just the right touch of concern inflected in her milky voice.
“Gota headache is all, you have any asprins?” Laura slurred.
The golden beauty was reaching for her purse to search for what all in the complex new she carried. As she was doing so, another image invaded my vision.
He was immense, his feathery fearsome wings spanned out and filled the entire hall. Dressed in pure white found nowhere on this earth, his robes were flowing, he looked ethereal. At first I thought it was her guardian angel here to put a stop to this ludicrous pain. But as his face turned to me his eyes blazed, aflame with fire and sorrow. From those fiery eyes, if it could at all be possible icy tears made their treck down his strong chiseled face. He was the one, the same one who thousands of years ago visited wrath, God’s wrath upon Egypt, upon each and every single unmarked home. It was his call, his purpose, and today he had been called.
Setting my book aside I sighed, then as so often when this dreadful type of trouble passed before me, I began to hum. Soon my humming took on a soft melody, and soon words also shaped and flowed:
“Redeemed how I love to proclaim it,
Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb,
Redeemed by His infinite mercy,
His child and forever I am!”
The sky responded with a rumble, like that of thousands and thousands of trampling horses, although I doubted mortal eyes and ears could see or hear it. I looked once more to the fearsome holy angel and saw behind him dark shapes also beginning to advance, perhaps as a defiance to the rumble. Their wings were not white like his was, they were dirty and dripping blood. The Angel of Death unsheathed his sword, keeping them at bay, “Not yet, you may not proceed yet!” He commanded as he searched the heavens as if waiting for permission from the One he faithfully served, though clearly it was an order he did not want to carry out, for if he did, wouldn’t he have swiftly done it by now?
Grizzly terrifying growls were the response from the dark ones and the sky rumbled again as my song never ceased to raise like incense to the heavens.
Streaks of light began to rain down and the dark ones squirmed and tried to hang on to this realm. But the holy legions were coming, and at that moment as if a command had been received by the fearsome Angel of Death, he whispered in the blond woman’s ear, “No you may not, she has been marked.”
“No I have no medicine.” She said to Laura, retreating her hand from her purse.
Laura motioned the woman in and they went into the kitchen. The woman took a seat in front of the computer with her back to Laura. Laura however made her way back to the drawers, she reached for a knife and aimed it towards her own pain filled heart. So yet the battle raged, with the dark ones reaching for her mind even as the holy ones arrived. The battle for her soul had just begun. This melody of praise in this unmerciful storm was making the devils squirm and the angel of the Almighty were being strengthened by the purity of praise.
Laura hesitated and looked at the pictures on her kitchen walls, they were spread out all over, images of her beloved children and the battle was at a climax in her mind. She began to lower the knife as the pure ones, the holy ones began to surround her one by one, each with their swords unsheathed. One in particular lovingly covered her ears and the whispers of the dark ones faded from her mind. The knife cluttered back into the drawer and silent tears of resignation spilled and were caught in a precious bottle by one of the angels who promptly flew towards heaven. The holy one would see the face of God and that bottle would be put before His throne, just as the tears of the Israelites had been put in times long past.
The blond was ignorant to all it seemed as she tapped away on the keyboard of the computer. Laura silently looked outside her window, our eyes met for only a moment then she looked towards heaven, and for a moment I thought she may have seen and heard and felt all that I had. She sighed and looked away.
Yes indeed, it seems the battle has begun, it seems the rescue of this anguished soul has begun once more with a song. Yes, I would keep watch, for that is what I am, that is my gift, or curse take it as you may. I am a watchman, and as David sang to Saul and caused each demon of hell to flee, so I would lift my voice in a battle song. I will sing, yes I will watch and sing until the dark haired beauty would see the beauty the Master put in her. Vigilantly I will watch until she would open her eyes and see that she is this world’s Esther, Hadassah who must go before the King for her people. My melody would continue on and on until her rescue and redemption would be complete. For I am Raphael, I am her watchman.
Through her large kitchen window overlooking the small park on the first floor I could see her rummaging through her drawers, looking, looking, but thank God not finding what she was searching for. Still she was weakening by the second, the pills she had already ingested were beginning their grizzly effect.
Tears, malevolent tears stained and shimmered on those perfect cheeks. Love rejected, love scorned I knew was as fatal as cancer, and from what all could plainly see she was once too many times rejected. As I was thanking God that her search was producing only futile results, I drew in a sharp breath, Oh No!
Swiftly passing in front of me, not even sparring me a glance the blond that had befriended her in her loneliest times ran up the steps into the building not even bothering to shut the hallway door. My heart sank at this, the devil’s sick, evil provision.
“Hey Laura,” I could hear the blond say to her as the door reluctantly opened, “How’s it going? Mind if I check my email on your computer?” she cheerfully asked.
Silence, no answer, Laura was swaying.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You okay?” asked the blond with just the right touch of concern inflected in her milky voice.
“Gota headache is all, you have any asprins?” Laura slurred.
The golden beauty was reaching for her purse to search for what all in the complex new she carried. As she was doing so, another image invaded my vision.
He was immense, his feathery fearsome wings spanned out and filled the entire hall. Dressed in pure white found nowhere on this earth, his robes were flowing, he looked ethereal. At first I thought it was her guardian angel here to put a stop to this ludicrous pain. But as his face turned to me his eyes blazed, aflame with fire and sorrow. From those fiery eyes, if it could at all be possible icy tears made their treck down his strong chiseled face. He was the one, the same one who thousands of years ago visited wrath, God’s wrath upon Egypt, upon each and every single unmarked home. It was his call, his purpose, and today he had been called.
Setting my book aside I sighed, then as so often when this dreadful type of trouble passed before me, I began to hum. Soon my humming took on a soft melody, and soon words also shaped and flowed:
“Redeemed how I love to proclaim it,
Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb,
Redeemed by His infinite mercy,
His child and forever I am!”
The sky responded with a rumble, like that of thousands and thousands of trampling horses, although I doubted mortal eyes and ears could see or hear it. I looked once more to the fearsome holy angel and saw behind him dark shapes also beginning to advance, perhaps as a defiance to the rumble. Their wings were not white like his was, they were dirty and dripping blood. The Angel of Death unsheathed his sword, keeping them at bay, “Not yet, you may not proceed yet!” He commanded as he searched the heavens as if waiting for permission from the One he faithfully served, though clearly it was an order he did not want to carry out, for if he did, wouldn’t he have swiftly done it by now?
Grizzly terrifying growls were the response from the dark ones and the sky rumbled again as my song never ceased to raise like incense to the heavens.
Streaks of light began to rain down and the dark ones squirmed and tried to hang on to this realm. But the holy legions were coming, and at that moment as if a command had been received by the fearsome Angel of Death, he whispered in the blond woman’s ear, “No you may not, she has been marked.”
“No I have no medicine.” She said to Laura, retreating her hand from her purse.
Laura motioned the woman in and they went into the kitchen. The woman took a seat in front of the computer with her back to Laura. Laura however made her way back to the drawers, she reached for a knife and aimed it towards her own pain filled heart. So yet the battle raged, with the dark ones reaching for her mind even as the holy ones arrived. The battle for her soul had just begun. This melody of praise in this unmerciful storm was making the devils squirm and the angel of the Almighty were being strengthened by the purity of praise.
Laura hesitated and looked at the pictures on her kitchen walls, they were spread out all over, images of her beloved children and the battle was at a climax in her mind. She began to lower the knife as the pure ones, the holy ones began to surround her one by one, each with their swords unsheathed. One in particular lovingly covered her ears and the whispers of the dark ones faded from her mind. The knife cluttered back into the drawer and silent tears of resignation spilled and were caught in a precious bottle by one of the angels who promptly flew towards heaven. The holy one would see the face of God and that bottle would be put before His throne, just as the tears of the Israelites had been put in times long past.
The blond was ignorant to all it seemed as she tapped away on the keyboard of the computer. Laura silently looked outside her window, our eyes met for only a moment then she looked towards heaven, and for a moment I thought she may have seen and heard and felt all that I had. She sighed and looked away.
Yes indeed, it seems the battle has begun, it seems the rescue of this anguished soul has begun once more with a song. Yes, I would keep watch, for that is what I am, that is my gift, or curse take it as you may. I am a watchman, and as David sang to Saul and caused each demon of hell to flee, so I would lift my voice in a battle song. I will sing, yes I will watch and sing until the dark haired beauty would see the beauty the Master put in her. Vigilantly I will watch until she would open her eyes and see that she is this world’s Esther, Hadassah who must go before the King for her people. My melody would continue on and on until her rescue and redemption would be complete. For I am Raphael, I am her watchman.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I'm trash, lower then that, I'm a doormat... hit me
Perhaps the title of this particular blog is a little harsh, but it is a harsh world we live in and a harsh reality we need to face. This harsh reality exists because often we turn a blind eye, we are often ignorant though not always, most of the time we are just afraid to step in, uncertain of what we should do.
Just imagine living in a home where you constantly walk on egg shells, if you step the wrong way, breath the wrong way, say the wrong thing you encounter fists, pounding you down... or hands strangling the life out of you. In some cases you find yourself being punished for being unsubmissive, or annoying your spouse in one way or another. What am I rambling on about? This is not you, right? If it isn't they you are blessed, but there are many women, some we may know and we would be shocked to know faces this almost on a daily basis. Abuse. Harsh, soul shattering abuse. Some of it happens with beliteling word that tear down our sense of wroth... and we believe we are trash, lower then that, we are a dormat, we start believing we deserve to be hit, or torn down with condescending words... we forget we are daughters of the King... becasue the one we love on this earth suggests with so many actions we are not.
This has been a subject that has had a personal impact in my life, I have been abused. But I was lucky, I got away before it got worse. But the sad menacing truth is many, many women don't... they never ever escape. Here are some statistics that may open your eyes and motivate you to action:
50% of offenders in state prison for spousal abuse had killed their victims. Wives were more likely than husbands to be killed by their spouses: wives were about half of all spouses in the population in 2002, but 81% of all persons killed by their spouse.
---Matthew R. Durose et al., U.S. Dep't of Just., NCJ 207846, Bureau of Justice Statistics, Family Violence Statistics: Including Statistics on Strangers and Acquaintances, at 31-32 (2005), available at http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/bjs/pub/pdf/fvs.pdf
---In 2005, 1,181 women were murdered by an intimate partner.1 That's an average of three women every day. Of all the women murdered in the U.S., about one-third were killed by an intimate partner.
---Domestic violence can be defined as a pattern of abusive behavior in any relationship that is used by one partner to gain or maintain power and control over an intimate partner. According to the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, women experience about 4.8 million intimate partner-related physical assaults and rapes every year. Less than 20 percent of battered women sought medical treatment following an injury.
---Every 9 seconds, a woman is battered in the U.S.
Family Violence Prevention Fund, 1994
Here's ones that REALLY got me:
---Domestic Violence occurs in 60% of marriages and is the most underreported crime.
National Crime Statistics Report, 1993
---90% of battered women reported that their children were present when they were beaten.
Okay so according to these statistics this means that presumably only 40% of women who are married are not being abused in one way or another, right (and this was a survey of REPORTED crime in 1993, imagine what it is now). Also keep in mind that many of the women being abused do not report it. The bravely put on a Sookie Stakhouse smile, put makeup on their wounds and paint their husbands as saints, they go on hoping for a better tomorrow. These brave souls think that if they just clean better, cook more, not say anything to agitate their spouses and be submisive it will get better, but the loathsome truth is that unless God radically changes that man inside out it never gets better, only worse.
What am I getting at here? I want us to step it up and be bold, be aware of the signs of abuse. I want us to look abuse straight in the eye and offer shelter somehow. I want us to equip these women with hope, shelter, self defense and point them to the Lover of their precious souls. I want us to show them that they are not trash... they are priceless jewels paid for and redeemed in the blood of the Savior. I want us to step it up and show them they are not a doormat. God never meant 'submit to your husbands' to mean 'be his doormat'. God said for men to love their wives as Christ loved the Church, Christ gave up His very own life to redeem His bride (The Church) from satan. He SACRIFICED Himself, He HUMBLED Himself (he left heaven to come to this painful earth for us), He HEALED our wounds... oh and when a woman was about to be stoned by a bunch of men (yea she was caught in adultry, but where was the man... it takes two to tango) He came to her rescue. Yea, Christ COMMANDS that the husband love his precious wife, as He loves the church... that is the kind of man the wife is supposed to submit to... not the kind that pounds with heavy fists upon her or orders her around as a slave, or belitels her with condescending words to steal her worth.
So what is the purpose of stating these facts? Action, please! Lets start something, I want one thing if you know a battered woman or suspect she is battered, stop. Don't just go on, just stop, sit with her, embrace her, listen to her, offer her solutions one of which should definately be her pressing charges against her spouse. Another solution is learning to defend herself, a great tool for that is found at this website: http://ataonline.com/ , yea its karate, it sounds cheesy... but I have to state that if I knew half the things I know now that I've learned I would not have been a victim. Other solutions? Visit your woman friend often and unnanounced at her home, this is what a pastor in Sweden often did once he saw the marks on my neck from being chocked, and also other congregation members. If you are a pastor, offer counseling to the husband and also the wife, if you see signs of abuse continue don't turn the other way (perhaps not knowing what your next step should be), a life may be in danger, report it, don't ask what if's... tomorrow those what ifs may not matter.
On a closing note, if you are someone going through what I've written about, I am not a counselor but I will do everything I can to help and seek help with you, please feel free to email me at: evangheline@gmail.com .
Please dear woman, remember you have been lovingly been made in the Master Creator's Image, you are His princess, you deserve to be loved and you are loved by Him so very much...
Just imagine living in a home where you constantly walk on egg shells, if you step the wrong way, breath the wrong way, say the wrong thing you encounter fists, pounding you down... or hands strangling the life out of you. In some cases you find yourself being punished for being unsubmissive, or annoying your spouse in one way or another. What am I rambling on about? This is not you, right? If it isn't they you are blessed, but there are many women, some we may know and we would be shocked to know faces this almost on a daily basis. Abuse. Harsh, soul shattering abuse. Some of it happens with beliteling word that tear down our sense of wroth... and we believe we are trash, lower then that, we are a dormat, we start believing we deserve to be hit, or torn down with condescending words... we forget we are daughters of the King... becasue the one we love on this earth suggests with so many actions we are not.
This has been a subject that has had a personal impact in my life, I have been abused. But I was lucky, I got away before it got worse. But the sad menacing truth is many, many women don't... they never ever escape. Here are some statistics that may open your eyes and motivate you to action:
50% of offenders in state prison for spousal abuse had killed their victims. Wives were more likely than husbands to be killed by their spouses: wives were about half of all spouses in the population in 2002, but 81% of all persons killed by their spouse.
---Matthew R. Durose et al., U.S. Dep't of Just., NCJ 207846, Bureau of Justice Statistics, Family Violence Statistics: Including Statistics on Strangers and Acquaintances, at 31-32 (2005), available at http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/bjs/pub/pdf/fvs.pdf
---In 2005, 1,181 women were murdered by an intimate partner.1 That's an average of three women every day. Of all the women murdered in the U.S., about one-third were killed by an intimate partner.
---Domestic violence can be defined as a pattern of abusive behavior in any relationship that is used by one partner to gain or maintain power and control over an intimate partner. According to the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, women experience about 4.8 million intimate partner-related physical assaults and rapes every year. Less than 20 percent of battered women sought medical treatment following an injury.
---Every 9 seconds, a woman is battered in the U.S.
Family Violence Prevention Fund, 1994
Here's ones that REALLY got me:
---Domestic Violence occurs in 60% of marriages and is the most underreported crime.
National Crime Statistics Report, 1993
---90% of battered women reported that their children were present when they were beaten.
Okay so according to these statistics this means that presumably only 40% of women who are married are not being abused in one way or another, right (and this was a survey of REPORTED crime in 1993, imagine what it is now). Also keep in mind that many of the women being abused do not report it. The bravely put on a Sookie Stakhouse smile, put makeup on their wounds and paint their husbands as saints, they go on hoping for a better tomorrow. These brave souls think that if they just clean better, cook more, not say anything to agitate their spouses and be submisive it will get better, but the loathsome truth is that unless God radically changes that man inside out it never gets better, only worse.
What am I getting at here? I want us to step it up and be bold, be aware of the signs of abuse. I want us to look abuse straight in the eye and offer shelter somehow. I want us to equip these women with hope, shelter, self defense and point them to the Lover of their precious souls. I want us to show them that they are not trash... they are priceless jewels paid for and redeemed in the blood of the Savior. I want us to step it up and show them they are not a doormat. God never meant 'submit to your husbands' to mean 'be his doormat'. God said for men to love their wives as Christ loved the Church, Christ gave up His very own life to redeem His bride (The Church) from satan. He SACRIFICED Himself, He HUMBLED Himself (he left heaven to come to this painful earth for us), He HEALED our wounds... oh and when a woman was about to be stoned by a bunch of men (yea she was caught in adultry, but where was the man... it takes two to tango) He came to her rescue. Yea, Christ COMMANDS that the husband love his precious wife, as He loves the church... that is the kind of man the wife is supposed to submit to... not the kind that pounds with heavy fists upon her or orders her around as a slave, or belitels her with condescending words to steal her worth.
So what is the purpose of stating these facts? Action, please! Lets start something, I want one thing if you know a battered woman or suspect she is battered, stop. Don't just go on, just stop, sit with her, embrace her, listen to her, offer her solutions one of which should definately be her pressing charges against her spouse. Another solution is learning to defend herself, a great tool for that is found at this website: http://ataonline.com/ , yea its karate, it sounds cheesy... but I have to state that if I knew half the things I know now that I've learned I would not have been a victim. Other solutions? Visit your woman friend often and unnanounced at her home, this is what a pastor in Sweden often did once he saw the marks on my neck from being chocked, and also other congregation members. If you are a pastor, offer counseling to the husband and also the wife, if you see signs of abuse continue don't turn the other way (perhaps not knowing what your next step should be), a life may be in danger, report it, don't ask what if's... tomorrow those what ifs may not matter.
On a closing note, if you are someone going through what I've written about, I am not a counselor but I will do everything I can to help and seek help with you, please feel free to email me at: evangheline@gmail.com .
Please dear woman, remember you have been lovingly been made in the Master Creator's Image, you are His princess, you deserve to be loved and you are loved by Him so very much...
Friday, August 13, 2010
Word from the author...
Let My Daughter Go
This is my story, my captivity and ultimately my freedom. I am that prodigal daughter… and by God’s grace and unfathomable love, I have returned home into His loving arms that will never ever let me go. It is good to be in His arms, none compare to the safety of His. Yes, this is my story, my love story written lovingly by God’s strong hands, but perhaps it’s your story too. If so, as you read, learn also and may you also be free indeed.
When I first picked up a pen and chose a special notebook to write this story in it was at my daddy’s suggestion, Emanuel is his name…God with us. I started it really more to humor him and now I write each day and hope that when it is finished I honor him, and also my heavenly Father. I also dedicate this to my mother Margareta, my sister Noemi, and of course to my dearest sweetest children, Joshua, Amalia and Nathaniel.
You make my feet so light
That I bound across the plains
Like an antelope in flight…
You make my feet so light…
That I’m dancing on the wings of the wind
B’Rauch HaKodesh (In the Holy Spirit)
I’m dancing on the wings of the wind…
I’ve been released at last
Like a bird out of a snare
Battered wings flee from the past
I’ve been released at last
I’m winging, soaring free
I am flying on the wings of the wind
I am gliding, I am soaring
Like an egret on the wing
Flash of white upon blue sky, Elohai… Elohai! (My God)~~~by Zemer Levav
This is my story, my captivity and ultimately my freedom. I am that prodigal daughter… and by God’s grace and unfathomable love, I have returned home into His loving arms that will never ever let me go. It is good to be in His arms, none compare to the safety of His. Yes, this is my story, my love story written lovingly by God’s strong hands, but perhaps it’s your story too. If so, as you read, learn also and may you also be free indeed.
When I first picked up a pen and chose a special notebook to write this story in it was at my daddy’s suggestion, Emanuel is his name…God with us. I started it really more to humor him and now I write each day and hope that when it is finished I honor him, and also my heavenly Father. I also dedicate this to my mother Margareta, my sister Noemi, and of course to my dearest sweetest children, Joshua, Amalia and Nathaniel.
You make my feet so light
That I bound across the plains
Like an antelope in flight…
You make my feet so light…
That I’m dancing on the wings of the wind
B’Rauch HaKodesh (In the Holy Spirit)
I’m dancing on the wings of the wind…
I’ve been released at last
Like a bird out of a snare
Battered wings flee from the past
I’ve been released at last
I’m winging, soaring free
I am flying on the wings of the wind
I am gliding, I am soaring
Like an egret on the wing
Flash of white upon blue sky, Elohai… Elohai! (My God)~~~by Zemer Levav
Chapter 1 Sample
“Why must you open the floodgates of love before you are ready?” ~~Song of Solomon
Chapter 1
It envelops me, I am submerged as if in deep water or as if warm blanket is safely wrapped around me. It is protective, vivid yet surreal, yet somehow so much more real than life itself. It comforts me when all comfort has perished, it gives birth to hope when no hope should be left. Somehow it loves, when my mind says love is dead… when my mind insists love is nothing more then a fantasy. But then it’s snatched away, it’s gone, and once again I plummet.
Such extreme passion burns within me, so fierce and persistent, ever present, even though the whispers says it is gone. Adrenaline rushes through my veins awakening my entire being. A life giving breath fills me, it’s His breath, I know. Somehow these bones of mine begin to move, and flesh comes back upon them, soon I feel my heart begin to beet once more like it did before, and I know I want to dance. This joy that fills me makes me want to sing, and dance and sing and never ever stop, after all how could a dead person given life anew ever stop dancing?
I twirl about like a little child and suddenly I stop, His eyes are upon me, He is admiring me, oh my Creator is admiring me, He enjoys this I know, seeing this dead creature be born once more, feeling joy once more… breathing once more. His heart seems to beat within me, and maybe, I think just maybe that is why I am alive now, because He has given me His heart. Could such a thing be? Who would give His own heart to make me live?
“Are you ready, my Beloved?” He asks, His voice resonating in every corner of my soul and the farthest parts of the universe.
“Yes, here I am, I am ready.”
And so I sprint towards Him, light as a doe, towards the prize which I know nothing can destroy or ever snatch away… this amazing, indescribable race, an amazing race that drives me to the very limit to serve Him, the One, the only Lover of both my heart and soul. He is the One, I recognize Him, for it is He that saved me from chaos, from utter darkness and despair.
~~~~~~~
The summer breeze tenderly kissed my face as I looked at the crowd gathered around my aunt Miriam’s courtyard and all around the L shaped old wooden porch that overlooked the courtyard, even down to the iron gates. Some of them even had to squeeze into the rooms to make room for the others. A multitude of downcast faces were gathered here from all around the small city in honor and remembrance of my great-grandmother. It would have been such a privilege to have known her better, but my home country had not been my home for almost two decades and the ocean between us was indeed a great divide. Still this great multitude of people spoke to me of who she was, I see her life’s story in every face for each face shows she was indeed one of this city’s beloved and respected women.
Integrity was a word that often was repeated and whispered among this faithful crowd in attendance this day. Great-grandmother Lidia had learned to be strong even when she was weak, and she had lived long and loved hard. Her aging eyes had seen so much, even so many of her most beloved going before her, leaving a hole in her heart, this hole of separation. The greatest thorn in her heart, no doubt was the passing of her daughter Margareta at the still young age of forty six, my father’s beloved mother. Before that she had seen her son-in-law Emanuel pass at the exact same age, both Emanuel and Margareta had died of the same disease that ate away at both of them for which there was no cure, it was cancer and this cancer broke more then just one heart. My father who’s name was also Emanuel just like his father’s, was only sixteen when his father died, and after he had married my mom Margareta, all too soon his mother also died… just a little after I was born. Yet still they all pressed on, my great-grandmother Lidia somehow held on to faith in the midst of the worst heart break, knowing she must hold fast in her faith in the One who could and would one day re-unite her with the ones she loved. Aunt Miriam was her youngest daughter, the one who had survived who had diligently cared for Lidia until the very last moment.
In return for her grand heart and unshakable faith, God had seen fit to crown her with a long meaningful life, even though she may have preferred to enter heaven’s gates much sooner then she did. The faces surrounding me displayed a deep longing to have her back, yet they celebrated her life.
Yet many had not understood what drove her on, they could not understand that bottomless faith she kept even toward the very end. Her love and passion for her Savior went beyond simply following the numerous traditions found in the Roman Catholic Church of Romania. Truly, Lidia’s love for Him was as deep as an ocean. Lidia’s daughter Margareta had also mirrored this faith a hundred times over and this deep healing love and faith was filtered into the very heart of my generation, although most of our relatives did not embrace this gift of life giving force. I remembered daddy telling me what his mother had told my aunt Miriam on her own death bed, and somehow it was a prophecy that came to pass into painful reality. She had told her younger sister that if she doesn’t turn to God she would suffer much in this life, and so Miriam had come to meet those words. My grandmother Margareta also told her little sister, that if she ever wanted to meet once more, it would only be in heaven, and to get there she must come to find the One who gave His life for her to get there. But aunt Miriam had been stubborn, and life had taken her through many twists and turns, abuses and heart aches. Now, she was strong, seemingly thirsty to find Him, sometimes coming so close, yet stopping just a step too far from Him.
So perhaps then this crude family feud over who should perform her funeral was after all understandable. The family had argued unabashedly, my father had even called from the States when he first heard of his grandmother passing. He had a warm and kindhearted soul and when he heard this news it must have taken a piece of his heart, almost like the last trace of his mother that was surely evident in Lidia, was now gone too. He must have remembered the last time we had visited Romania a few years back, my tall father had embraced my great-grandmother in a tender hug and he said that she was his “little dwarf grandmother”, and she had smiled at their little joke, for indeed age seemed to have shrunk her.
So when my father called he spoke with determination and love, he said “Miriam, she was Pentecostal, at least call the Pentecostal church and let them know, “ he had begged. So on it went, would the Catholics perform it? After all the vast majority of her family was Roman Catholic, and in the last few years it was indeed the Catholic Priest who had remembered to visit her and encourage her, while the Pentecostals seemed to fade into the background, visiting her on occasion. Should the Pentecostals get this honor? To them it made perfect sense to perform it, for it was in that church that she truly dedicated her life to Christ and there she had stepped into the cleansing waters where she was born again. It was because of this small church that even in her last hour, this last journey on this earth, Lidia said goodbye to this world with a look of blinding radiance and peace on her face, it was almost as if she was smiling a secret knowing smile. Looking at buni Lidia’s face, in her last moments of life, no one could mistake the luminous look in her fading eyes, there was no mistake, she was seeing the gates of heaven being opened for her and all the angels were eagerly waiting to lead her home and embrace her.
I sighed, in the end a truce of sorts was reached, perhaps not quite to everyone’s liking, but still it was a truce. The Pentecostal brothers and sisters in faith would honor her at the viewing with preaching, singing and praying. The Catholics would give her a grand ceremony at the small Roman Catholic church just a little further up the hill from aunt Miriam’s house. Perhaps it was fitting to be buried by them, for the church was ancient, even more so then Buni Lidia, and it too stood on a hill like a beacon to the world.
Once more, and not for the last time a pang of regret struck me and my sorrow was not diminished, but this was life. However great our desire had always been to visit our birthplace, it wasn’t often practical to visit as often as we would have preferred. The memory of the lush forests in the summer, the roaring river in the spring rain, the snow covered mountains in the winter, and the sweetness of a neighbor stopping just to chat throughout the lazy days… oh these memories often made us homesick. It had been especially so in the early days and years of immigrating with my parents and younger sister, and later my grandparent’s from my mother’s side to the United States of America. Romania was indeed only about the size of a small state in the United States, but what it lacked in size it more then made up for in culture, traditions and picturesque country sides and mountains. My home city Cugir was even smaller with a population of about thirty thousand people, and if ever you visited it you would quickly conclude that it was perpetually frozen in time, except for perhaps the ‘boulevard’ where the young people would emerge at night especially and stroll from one end of the city to the other, like vampires who could not or would not sleep.
“Evanthia come here,” with a strained smile aunt Miriam beckoned to me, wrapped her arms around my shoulders and turned back to the crowd, at the same time she handed me my little book where I had written all my favorite songs, she smiled at me in encouragement, “Go on, sing for her my dear.” Then quickly she stepped aside and looked at me expectantly.
My heart fluttered with a million butterflies as it always did when facing a rather large crowd. But I lifted my head and took a deep breath, and slowly walked over to where the polished cherry casket lay, no microphone, but the courtyard was enough to amplify any voice and echo throughout the entire neighborhood perhaps as well. A slight chill surged through me as I looked at Buni Lidia’s pale lifeless face, what a mystery death seemed! Yet still a calm swept and washed over me at the peace that could be plainly seen on her face, for she had gone in peace. So, reverently, I began. Softly at first I began to sing a song of life, not of death. My voice grew stronger as it always did with this song, for the words were planted deep inside my very heart, they dispelled all darkness, replacing it with hope. It felt as if the angels were singing this song somewhere in the heavens, certainly with more beautiful voices then mine. These heavenly beings were welcoming her home, where even now she was receiving treasures and rewards for her faithfulness.
“Amazing Grace… how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”
As the last note of this hymn of devotion trailed off, a peaceful silence settled, and tears glistened even in the hardened eyes, especially in those of the elders of this farewell gathering. They knew, they remembered with clarity that she had lived that song. Silently I stepped away, aware and embarrassed by the eyes fixed on me, particularly the eyes of one who’s gaze followed me as I walked to where my sister Radiana and my cousin Dariel sat.
This one stranger, who’s look was so intense, like fire burning, like the hottest part of a flame seemed to be taking notice of me. I shook my head, my imagination was getting ahead of me, why would he even look at me twice, after all he looked like a prince among this crowd the way he carried himself.
The reassurance of the song still ran through my soul and I sighed in contentment, that was all I needed. A warm breeze swept through Dariel’s black hair and his ebony eyes sparkled with pride and enthusiasm as he looked at me.
“Didn’t realize you could sing like that cuz,” he said as he patted my shoulder.
Blushing I nodded, “Thanks, that’s about the only song that I can sing that well.” I laughed.
“Ha, I doubt that.” He replied.
All the while I could still feel the eyes of the tall handsome stranger from across the courtyard studying my every move. At one point it seemed that he would make his way to us, but just then a beautiful tall blond caught his attention instead and so I knew then and there that he had not really been looking at me. But why would I care?
A quiet, respectful chatter, almost like humming began around us as the people began to mingle. They began to help themselves to the fragrant tantalizing food in the small antiquated kitchen at the other end of the courtyard. In the Roman Catholic tradition the traditional food was made in honor of the deceased, and of course with the food came the tuica, a drink that was quite strong that was politely refused by the Pentecostals among us.
Radiana was strangely quiet, in the few weeks we had been in Romania she had fallen in love with our little great grandmother, our buni Lidia. Death had never visited our family at least not when we were old enough to remember, and Radiana seemed to have a far away longing look in her eyes that scarred me, as if she would like to join buni Lidia.
Just then the tall stranger started to make his way towards us and Dariel left us to meet him. “I’ll be back.” Was all he said.
As Dariel met him they seemed to fall into a comfortable conversation right away, the blue eyed still nameless, yet breathtakingly handsome stranger kept stealing glances my way. They walked out of the court yard into the dusty street, his head was held high in confidence, or was it arrogance? I couldn’t decide but I was mesmerized non the less. His posture was straight and regal, fully knowing the power he commanded from those around him, as a few others followed them out, one of which was a beautiful skinny blond. David, yes, he reminded me of how David must have looked, unshaken before Goliath with curly golden brown hair being tossed about by the wind, but his height resembled more Goliath then David.
As my grandmother who had come as our chaperone with us to Romania helped Miriam with the cleaning as the guests slowly one by one disappeared through the iron gates, I kept looking in that direction. But Dariel and the stranger with the rueful smile did not return and I sighed. Oh well, I thought.
The sun was quickly fading as I thought of the next few days that would come, of this coming Sunday when buni Lidia would be buried. I looked towards Radiana and a nagging fear intensified. This was not supposed to be how our trip was supposed to unfold, there was not supposed to be a death to further depress her, and I wished I could shield her from the harsh reality of life. Before we left the states we were so excited, a mission trip is what this was supposed to be, not anything else. It was just me, my sister and my grandmother three women with a purpose.
Radiana and I had been so inspired, after the year before we had gone an intense mission trip with a singing group called Speranta throughout all of Romania and the Republic of Moldova. Where ever we had gone we had seen chilling scenes of deep poverty, street children, orphans, and so in our hearts was born a passion and a determination. Once we had come back to the states we had saved up money, asked for donations, went from store to store asking for items they may want to donate for orphans. We knew what we would do, we would come back with a vengeance of mercy and bring hope to the fatherless of Cugir, and the poor who had no hope, and we would show them the way, the truth and the life.
“Sis, lets go home.” I said, bringing her out of her far away zone.
She nodded, “Yup, ok.”
My grandmother Martha made her way towards us when she saw us get up from our bench. “Plecam?” She asked in Romanian.
“Yes, we’re ready to go.” I answered.
So we set out for our walk to her house that she had. It was the house that I had always loved since I was a little girl, it was cozy and filled with pleasant memories.
“You’re not staying focused Evanthia,” my sister said sharply. She always seemed to have that bite in her tone now a days that I didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
“We came on a mission, not to find yourself a boyfriend.” Yup, straight to the point and straight to the heart it went, for a few seconds.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I insisted.
“Oh yea, well what was that between you and David?” she retorted pointedly.
I let out a frustrated sigh, “Urgh, you know he’s the one who wouldn’t leave me alone, and I’ve told him I don’t want to talk to him anymore, that I have to focus.” I said in my defense.
David was the guitar player from the small Pentecostal church we’d been attending every Sunday since arriving in Cugir. He had dark hair and olive eyes and a distinctive bad guy look that I had fallen for, a brief time though it was. I hated to admit that my sister was right, she had a way of being my compass even when I wanted to put my compass aside.
“Uhhhhuuu,” she said skeptically.
“Well that’s over with and I’m back on track, in fact Miriam will take us after the funeral to a poor town just half an hour away from here, she knows of someone who really needs help.” I replied with my strong lawyer-like defense.
“Yea, well what was that? You were practically drooling over that blue eyed guy at the funeral.”
“I was not!” I exclaimed.
“Whatever.”
And so as always she had the last word, because if I said one more word I knew I would be on the verge of exploding, mainly because she was right.
My grandmother was silent of course, she didn’t speak much English even though she had been with us in the states for over ten years. For her it was harder to learn, but in this instance it was just fine with me that she didn’t understand, I certainly didn’t need anyone else accusing me and pointing out my weaknesses.
So we walked briskly the rest of the way as evening was descending on us quickly. We reached Valea Dai in record time and soon we were inside the cozy kitchen with the ancient gas stove having a light dinner of warm fresh milk and bread and home made raspberry jam.
Soon enough we were each entering the world of dreams, and the tall blue eyed stranger did not elude me there… or so I told myself that the ethereal being in my dream was indeed him, that God Himself was giving me a stamp of approval, and he was the one….
Like a movie being played out before me there I saw myself. I was standing before a tall iron gate sweeping the dirt off of the threshold. The clothes I was wearing were old and worn like rags worn one too many times. An apron was tied snuggly over the old fashioned dress. People were walking past very purposefully with a clear destination in mind. My curiosity was piqued, and I desperately wanted to set aside my worn out broom and follow them, they looked so free… while I was not. I looked behind me fearfully, if I left my stepfather would know, he would pursue me fast enough I somehow knew.
Yet cautiously I set aside my broom, I left it there leaning against the iron gate, and followed this endless crowd. The excitement welling up in me could not be subdued, and soon each of us one by one entered and ancient building that had a look about it that gave the impression that it was a castle and yet as holy as a cathedral. Inside there was a long wooden table with wooden benches just as long on either side of it. There was all sorts of delicacies filling the length of it an my mouth watered. The people taking their seats were looking quite comfortable, they had been invited to this feast it seemed, and I was in rags looking longingly, yet uncertain as to what I should do, for clearly I did not belong at this table.
She got up before I had a chance to notice her, the way she held her head alerted me that she was someone of importance though she was simply dressed. She beaconed with her hand towards me, and once I reached her a tremendous peace engulfed me.
“Come, eat.” she said. And there I sat right beside her, and her arms were around me as I chose from the elaborate choices before me. Her demeanor radiated pure love, acceptance, even protection. But what did I need protection from?
Just as I remembered my stepfather, the other guests began alerting me, warning me, “He’s coming, he’s coming for you.”
I jumped up from the table desperately looking around, not knowing which way to run. The lady calmly touched my shoulder and pointed, and on the opposite side of the entrance I saw a doorway and also steps leading up, up, up.
I ran not even looking back, hardly breathing, hardly thinking, up the stone spiral steps that soon lead to a tower. From the window of the tower I looked down, there was no way out and I knew that he was close behind. My heart was hammering letting out sparks of fear, once more I looked down from the tower window and there below was a dark haired man with determined eyes.
“Jump, I’ll catch you.” he promised, and there was no other way. He looked like a prince I could trust, and what other choice was there I thought convincing and talking myself into the jump. And so I put my faith in a man, I jumped and tumbled upon him, he did not catch me and the fall hurt. His eyes were different now, filled with lust, and I knew I had just dived into a worse danger then before. I struggled against him, gaining deep bruises, but somehow I escaped and ran and ran and ran until there was no breath left in me…. I blinked and in the next moment there was a beautiful twilight around me…
There was a soft sound of gentle water all around me and a slight rocking like being rocked in a cradle beneath me, though I felt my feet stand on a solid but peacefully rocking surface. I opened my eyes a bit wider and had to blink several times as the beauty of the One before me filled me. He was dressed in the pure bright white of a star, with a crown of gold resting on His regal head. His hair matched almost perfectly the color of the pure gold of the crown. Oh, and oh His eyes! Loved engulfed me the moment our eyes met, love at first sight was no exaggeration, blue, oh how I loved the blue. He was standing at the opposite side of what I now realized was a canoe, an oar in his hand, which he dipped in the water with such grace.
We passed under an ark of water that sprinkled like morning dew around us both and made us shimmer in the night. Finally I took notice of my own garments, it was a robe, matching His in color, when I lifted my hands the light fabric of the sleeves spread in the wind almost as if they were wings. I lifted a hand to my head where I felt a delicate crown resting there perfectly in place. I lifted my eyes up to Him gingerly and He nodded, with clear satisfaction at my wonder.
Time, I didn’t understand the meaning of it in this place, but still it seemed to flash by like lightning for soon He had guided us to the shore. There he secured the canoe by the dock made of wood that seemed to sing with life if that were even possible… and there on that dock were a few people waiting, some faces I didn’t recognize but one was unmistakable. My father, my daddy, he was there, no, not my step father that cruel one who kept me heavy laden with burdens, oh no, this was my birthfather. This Prince gently and gingerly took my hands and I gracefully stepped out of the canoe, a humble pride shone in his eyes each second that he looked at me dressed in such enchanting white. But soon He turned His attention to my father, lifted His own regal crown off of his head, bowed to one knee and laid it before my father with such reverence that made me feel so precious for Him to love me so much to give up His own crown for me.
“Beloved, my Beloved, remember always that you are that to me.” He whispered tenderly in my ear, “My Bride, My Queen, will you follow me?” His fading voice was vaguely familiar as it trailed farther and farther away until it was no more then a whisper.
But as I opened my eyes the peace did not fade as His voice seemed to pass as I came back from that world, into one much less peaceful, to the one with more uncertainty then the clarity I had seen there. As the morning light filtered through the window and I heard a rooster crow somewhere far off, that face was not as familiar as it was only moments ago, and my mind soon thought it the face of another.
CHAPTER TWO
The other world, the dream that seemed more real then life lingered throughout the days that seemed to pass swiftly by. Buni Lidia’s funeral passed by in a daze, bits and pieces of them left a little imprint on my heart. At the church, I remembered an angelic voice echoing from the rafters where the handsome nameless still stranger sang and played the old pipe organ. His voice was smooth and strong and pure it seemed, and my mind kept going to him, which was ludicrous since I didn’t even know his name.
Soon it was Monday and my sister and I came to my aunt’s house, to speak of our next steps and where we could go with the supplies that had been donated. I was sitting comfortably on the worn out couch that had been set against the wall of the porch, my sister was staring somewhere far off on the chair next to the couch when Dariel and he walked up the rickety wooden steps.
Of course the thud in my heart must have been heard in the entire city when blue eyes met my eyes and sat right beside me, and I could not find a cure for my sudden blushing silence.
Dariel glimpsed my reddening face and winked, I could have slapped him.
“Alex, I forgot to introduce you, this is Evanthia my cousin and Radiana her sister. They’re visiting from the States.”
“Buna ziua,” the one who was no longer nameless greeted, “Great that your cousin finally had the genius idea of introduction.” he smiled his rueful smile.
Still mute and blushing me simply nodded and smiled a bit too brightly, and almost in a whisper said my hello. My sister not as susceptible to the charms of blue eyes since her own were the color of a clear summer sky, found it more wise to be direct and to the point.
“You like my sister don’t you?” she said not even blinking an eye, not saying hi, just that, nothing more. Though I kept my smile pasted to my face, I was silently scolding her with my eyes at the same time looking for a great big rock to hide under.
“Yup.” he said.
So that rock seemed to be no where near big enough by the flowers, um wait, what? There went my imagination at the speed of lightning once more telling me he said yes.
“What?” I nearly chocked.
“Yea I do.” he replied just as to the point as my sister had chosen to be.
Well, that was good and dandy but since I knew next to nothing of Alex, my ever creative mind could not create the next word. So thank God, literally thank God for aunt Miriam who just at that amazingly perfect moment came out of the kitchen across the porch with refreshments and some budinca, also known as pudding (but only as she could make it) to be set before us on the coffee table. This part of the porch served as a type of living room as well since there was no living room in the house.
“Okay my dear, tomorrow we will go to see the woman I was telling you about who’s husband just died. She’s very poor, in fact she’s had to give some of her children to the orphanage here in Cugir because she can’t take care of them.” She said matter of factly as she put the pudding mixed with fruits on a plate for each of us to enjoy. “But until then you should all go to the river since it’s too hot to be on the road now.”
Chapter 1
It envelops me, I am submerged as if in deep water or as if warm blanket is safely wrapped around me. It is protective, vivid yet surreal, yet somehow so much more real than life itself. It comforts me when all comfort has perished, it gives birth to hope when no hope should be left. Somehow it loves, when my mind says love is dead… when my mind insists love is nothing more then a fantasy. But then it’s snatched away, it’s gone, and once again I plummet.
Such extreme passion burns within me, so fierce and persistent, ever present, even though the whispers says it is gone. Adrenaline rushes through my veins awakening my entire being. A life giving breath fills me, it’s His breath, I know. Somehow these bones of mine begin to move, and flesh comes back upon them, soon I feel my heart begin to beet once more like it did before, and I know I want to dance. This joy that fills me makes me want to sing, and dance and sing and never ever stop, after all how could a dead person given life anew ever stop dancing?
I twirl about like a little child and suddenly I stop, His eyes are upon me, He is admiring me, oh my Creator is admiring me, He enjoys this I know, seeing this dead creature be born once more, feeling joy once more… breathing once more. His heart seems to beat within me, and maybe, I think just maybe that is why I am alive now, because He has given me His heart. Could such a thing be? Who would give His own heart to make me live?
“Are you ready, my Beloved?” He asks, His voice resonating in every corner of my soul and the farthest parts of the universe.
“Yes, here I am, I am ready.”
And so I sprint towards Him, light as a doe, towards the prize which I know nothing can destroy or ever snatch away… this amazing, indescribable race, an amazing race that drives me to the very limit to serve Him, the One, the only Lover of both my heart and soul. He is the One, I recognize Him, for it is He that saved me from chaos, from utter darkness and despair.
~~~~~~~
The summer breeze tenderly kissed my face as I looked at the crowd gathered around my aunt Miriam’s courtyard and all around the L shaped old wooden porch that overlooked the courtyard, even down to the iron gates. Some of them even had to squeeze into the rooms to make room for the others. A multitude of downcast faces were gathered here from all around the small city in honor and remembrance of my great-grandmother. It would have been such a privilege to have known her better, but my home country had not been my home for almost two decades and the ocean between us was indeed a great divide. Still this great multitude of people spoke to me of who she was, I see her life’s story in every face for each face shows she was indeed one of this city’s beloved and respected women.
Integrity was a word that often was repeated and whispered among this faithful crowd in attendance this day. Great-grandmother Lidia had learned to be strong even when she was weak, and she had lived long and loved hard. Her aging eyes had seen so much, even so many of her most beloved going before her, leaving a hole in her heart, this hole of separation. The greatest thorn in her heart, no doubt was the passing of her daughter Margareta at the still young age of forty six, my father’s beloved mother. Before that she had seen her son-in-law Emanuel pass at the exact same age, both Emanuel and Margareta had died of the same disease that ate away at both of them for which there was no cure, it was cancer and this cancer broke more then just one heart. My father who’s name was also Emanuel just like his father’s, was only sixteen when his father died, and after he had married my mom Margareta, all too soon his mother also died… just a little after I was born. Yet still they all pressed on, my great-grandmother Lidia somehow held on to faith in the midst of the worst heart break, knowing she must hold fast in her faith in the One who could and would one day re-unite her with the ones she loved. Aunt Miriam was her youngest daughter, the one who had survived who had diligently cared for Lidia until the very last moment.
In return for her grand heart and unshakable faith, God had seen fit to crown her with a long meaningful life, even though she may have preferred to enter heaven’s gates much sooner then she did. The faces surrounding me displayed a deep longing to have her back, yet they celebrated her life.
Yet many had not understood what drove her on, they could not understand that bottomless faith she kept even toward the very end. Her love and passion for her Savior went beyond simply following the numerous traditions found in the Roman Catholic Church of Romania. Truly, Lidia’s love for Him was as deep as an ocean. Lidia’s daughter Margareta had also mirrored this faith a hundred times over and this deep healing love and faith was filtered into the very heart of my generation, although most of our relatives did not embrace this gift of life giving force. I remembered daddy telling me what his mother had told my aunt Miriam on her own death bed, and somehow it was a prophecy that came to pass into painful reality. She had told her younger sister that if she doesn’t turn to God she would suffer much in this life, and so Miriam had come to meet those words. My grandmother Margareta also told her little sister, that if she ever wanted to meet once more, it would only be in heaven, and to get there she must come to find the One who gave His life for her to get there. But aunt Miriam had been stubborn, and life had taken her through many twists and turns, abuses and heart aches. Now, she was strong, seemingly thirsty to find Him, sometimes coming so close, yet stopping just a step too far from Him.
So perhaps then this crude family feud over who should perform her funeral was after all understandable. The family had argued unabashedly, my father had even called from the States when he first heard of his grandmother passing. He had a warm and kindhearted soul and when he heard this news it must have taken a piece of his heart, almost like the last trace of his mother that was surely evident in Lidia, was now gone too. He must have remembered the last time we had visited Romania a few years back, my tall father had embraced my great-grandmother in a tender hug and he said that she was his “little dwarf grandmother”, and she had smiled at their little joke, for indeed age seemed to have shrunk her.
So when my father called he spoke with determination and love, he said “Miriam, she was Pentecostal, at least call the Pentecostal church and let them know, “ he had begged. So on it went, would the Catholics perform it? After all the vast majority of her family was Roman Catholic, and in the last few years it was indeed the Catholic Priest who had remembered to visit her and encourage her, while the Pentecostals seemed to fade into the background, visiting her on occasion. Should the Pentecostals get this honor? To them it made perfect sense to perform it, for it was in that church that she truly dedicated her life to Christ and there she had stepped into the cleansing waters where she was born again. It was because of this small church that even in her last hour, this last journey on this earth, Lidia said goodbye to this world with a look of blinding radiance and peace on her face, it was almost as if she was smiling a secret knowing smile. Looking at buni Lidia’s face, in her last moments of life, no one could mistake the luminous look in her fading eyes, there was no mistake, she was seeing the gates of heaven being opened for her and all the angels were eagerly waiting to lead her home and embrace her.
I sighed, in the end a truce of sorts was reached, perhaps not quite to everyone’s liking, but still it was a truce. The Pentecostal brothers and sisters in faith would honor her at the viewing with preaching, singing and praying. The Catholics would give her a grand ceremony at the small Roman Catholic church just a little further up the hill from aunt Miriam’s house. Perhaps it was fitting to be buried by them, for the church was ancient, even more so then Buni Lidia, and it too stood on a hill like a beacon to the world.
Once more, and not for the last time a pang of regret struck me and my sorrow was not diminished, but this was life. However great our desire had always been to visit our birthplace, it wasn’t often practical to visit as often as we would have preferred. The memory of the lush forests in the summer, the roaring river in the spring rain, the snow covered mountains in the winter, and the sweetness of a neighbor stopping just to chat throughout the lazy days… oh these memories often made us homesick. It had been especially so in the early days and years of immigrating with my parents and younger sister, and later my grandparent’s from my mother’s side to the United States of America. Romania was indeed only about the size of a small state in the United States, but what it lacked in size it more then made up for in culture, traditions and picturesque country sides and mountains. My home city Cugir was even smaller with a population of about thirty thousand people, and if ever you visited it you would quickly conclude that it was perpetually frozen in time, except for perhaps the ‘boulevard’ where the young people would emerge at night especially and stroll from one end of the city to the other, like vampires who could not or would not sleep.
“Evanthia come here,” with a strained smile aunt Miriam beckoned to me, wrapped her arms around my shoulders and turned back to the crowd, at the same time she handed me my little book where I had written all my favorite songs, she smiled at me in encouragement, “Go on, sing for her my dear.” Then quickly she stepped aside and looked at me expectantly.
My heart fluttered with a million butterflies as it always did when facing a rather large crowd. But I lifted my head and took a deep breath, and slowly walked over to where the polished cherry casket lay, no microphone, but the courtyard was enough to amplify any voice and echo throughout the entire neighborhood perhaps as well. A slight chill surged through me as I looked at Buni Lidia’s pale lifeless face, what a mystery death seemed! Yet still a calm swept and washed over me at the peace that could be plainly seen on her face, for she had gone in peace. So, reverently, I began. Softly at first I began to sing a song of life, not of death. My voice grew stronger as it always did with this song, for the words were planted deep inside my very heart, they dispelled all darkness, replacing it with hope. It felt as if the angels were singing this song somewhere in the heavens, certainly with more beautiful voices then mine. These heavenly beings were welcoming her home, where even now she was receiving treasures and rewards for her faithfulness.
“Amazing Grace… how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”
As the last note of this hymn of devotion trailed off, a peaceful silence settled, and tears glistened even in the hardened eyes, especially in those of the elders of this farewell gathering. They knew, they remembered with clarity that she had lived that song. Silently I stepped away, aware and embarrassed by the eyes fixed on me, particularly the eyes of one who’s gaze followed me as I walked to where my sister Radiana and my cousin Dariel sat.
This one stranger, who’s look was so intense, like fire burning, like the hottest part of a flame seemed to be taking notice of me. I shook my head, my imagination was getting ahead of me, why would he even look at me twice, after all he looked like a prince among this crowd the way he carried himself.
The reassurance of the song still ran through my soul and I sighed in contentment, that was all I needed. A warm breeze swept through Dariel’s black hair and his ebony eyes sparkled with pride and enthusiasm as he looked at me.
“Didn’t realize you could sing like that cuz,” he said as he patted my shoulder.
Blushing I nodded, “Thanks, that’s about the only song that I can sing that well.” I laughed.
“Ha, I doubt that.” He replied.
All the while I could still feel the eyes of the tall handsome stranger from across the courtyard studying my every move. At one point it seemed that he would make his way to us, but just then a beautiful tall blond caught his attention instead and so I knew then and there that he had not really been looking at me. But why would I care?
A quiet, respectful chatter, almost like humming began around us as the people began to mingle. They began to help themselves to the fragrant tantalizing food in the small antiquated kitchen at the other end of the courtyard. In the Roman Catholic tradition the traditional food was made in honor of the deceased, and of course with the food came the tuica, a drink that was quite strong that was politely refused by the Pentecostals among us.
Radiana was strangely quiet, in the few weeks we had been in Romania she had fallen in love with our little great grandmother, our buni Lidia. Death had never visited our family at least not when we were old enough to remember, and Radiana seemed to have a far away longing look in her eyes that scarred me, as if she would like to join buni Lidia.
Just then the tall stranger started to make his way towards us and Dariel left us to meet him. “I’ll be back.” Was all he said.
As Dariel met him they seemed to fall into a comfortable conversation right away, the blue eyed still nameless, yet breathtakingly handsome stranger kept stealing glances my way. They walked out of the court yard into the dusty street, his head was held high in confidence, or was it arrogance? I couldn’t decide but I was mesmerized non the less. His posture was straight and regal, fully knowing the power he commanded from those around him, as a few others followed them out, one of which was a beautiful skinny blond. David, yes, he reminded me of how David must have looked, unshaken before Goliath with curly golden brown hair being tossed about by the wind, but his height resembled more Goliath then David.
As my grandmother who had come as our chaperone with us to Romania helped Miriam with the cleaning as the guests slowly one by one disappeared through the iron gates, I kept looking in that direction. But Dariel and the stranger with the rueful smile did not return and I sighed. Oh well, I thought.
The sun was quickly fading as I thought of the next few days that would come, of this coming Sunday when buni Lidia would be buried. I looked towards Radiana and a nagging fear intensified. This was not supposed to be how our trip was supposed to unfold, there was not supposed to be a death to further depress her, and I wished I could shield her from the harsh reality of life. Before we left the states we were so excited, a mission trip is what this was supposed to be, not anything else. It was just me, my sister and my grandmother three women with a purpose.
Radiana and I had been so inspired, after the year before we had gone an intense mission trip with a singing group called Speranta throughout all of Romania and the Republic of Moldova. Where ever we had gone we had seen chilling scenes of deep poverty, street children, orphans, and so in our hearts was born a passion and a determination. Once we had come back to the states we had saved up money, asked for donations, went from store to store asking for items they may want to donate for orphans. We knew what we would do, we would come back with a vengeance of mercy and bring hope to the fatherless of Cugir, and the poor who had no hope, and we would show them the way, the truth and the life.
“Sis, lets go home.” I said, bringing her out of her far away zone.
She nodded, “Yup, ok.”
My grandmother Martha made her way towards us when she saw us get up from our bench. “Plecam?” She asked in Romanian.
“Yes, we’re ready to go.” I answered.
So we set out for our walk to her house that she had. It was the house that I had always loved since I was a little girl, it was cozy and filled with pleasant memories.
“You’re not staying focused Evanthia,” my sister said sharply. She always seemed to have that bite in her tone now a days that I didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
“We came on a mission, not to find yourself a boyfriend.” Yup, straight to the point and straight to the heart it went, for a few seconds.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I insisted.
“Oh yea, well what was that between you and David?” she retorted pointedly.
I let out a frustrated sigh, “Urgh, you know he’s the one who wouldn’t leave me alone, and I’ve told him I don’t want to talk to him anymore, that I have to focus.” I said in my defense.
David was the guitar player from the small Pentecostal church we’d been attending every Sunday since arriving in Cugir. He had dark hair and olive eyes and a distinctive bad guy look that I had fallen for, a brief time though it was. I hated to admit that my sister was right, she had a way of being my compass even when I wanted to put my compass aside.
“Uhhhhuuu,” she said skeptically.
“Well that’s over with and I’m back on track, in fact Miriam will take us after the funeral to a poor town just half an hour away from here, she knows of someone who really needs help.” I replied with my strong lawyer-like defense.
“Yea, well what was that? You were practically drooling over that blue eyed guy at the funeral.”
“I was not!” I exclaimed.
“Whatever.”
And so as always she had the last word, because if I said one more word I knew I would be on the verge of exploding, mainly because she was right.
My grandmother was silent of course, she didn’t speak much English even though she had been with us in the states for over ten years. For her it was harder to learn, but in this instance it was just fine with me that she didn’t understand, I certainly didn’t need anyone else accusing me and pointing out my weaknesses.
So we walked briskly the rest of the way as evening was descending on us quickly. We reached Valea Dai in record time and soon we were inside the cozy kitchen with the ancient gas stove having a light dinner of warm fresh milk and bread and home made raspberry jam.
Soon enough we were each entering the world of dreams, and the tall blue eyed stranger did not elude me there… or so I told myself that the ethereal being in my dream was indeed him, that God Himself was giving me a stamp of approval, and he was the one….
Like a movie being played out before me there I saw myself. I was standing before a tall iron gate sweeping the dirt off of the threshold. The clothes I was wearing were old and worn like rags worn one too many times. An apron was tied snuggly over the old fashioned dress. People were walking past very purposefully with a clear destination in mind. My curiosity was piqued, and I desperately wanted to set aside my worn out broom and follow them, they looked so free… while I was not. I looked behind me fearfully, if I left my stepfather would know, he would pursue me fast enough I somehow knew.
Yet cautiously I set aside my broom, I left it there leaning against the iron gate, and followed this endless crowd. The excitement welling up in me could not be subdued, and soon each of us one by one entered and ancient building that had a look about it that gave the impression that it was a castle and yet as holy as a cathedral. Inside there was a long wooden table with wooden benches just as long on either side of it. There was all sorts of delicacies filling the length of it an my mouth watered. The people taking their seats were looking quite comfortable, they had been invited to this feast it seemed, and I was in rags looking longingly, yet uncertain as to what I should do, for clearly I did not belong at this table.
She got up before I had a chance to notice her, the way she held her head alerted me that she was someone of importance though she was simply dressed. She beaconed with her hand towards me, and once I reached her a tremendous peace engulfed me.
“Come, eat.” she said. And there I sat right beside her, and her arms were around me as I chose from the elaborate choices before me. Her demeanor radiated pure love, acceptance, even protection. But what did I need protection from?
Just as I remembered my stepfather, the other guests began alerting me, warning me, “He’s coming, he’s coming for you.”
I jumped up from the table desperately looking around, not knowing which way to run. The lady calmly touched my shoulder and pointed, and on the opposite side of the entrance I saw a doorway and also steps leading up, up, up.
I ran not even looking back, hardly breathing, hardly thinking, up the stone spiral steps that soon lead to a tower. From the window of the tower I looked down, there was no way out and I knew that he was close behind. My heart was hammering letting out sparks of fear, once more I looked down from the tower window and there below was a dark haired man with determined eyes.
“Jump, I’ll catch you.” he promised, and there was no other way. He looked like a prince I could trust, and what other choice was there I thought convincing and talking myself into the jump. And so I put my faith in a man, I jumped and tumbled upon him, he did not catch me and the fall hurt. His eyes were different now, filled with lust, and I knew I had just dived into a worse danger then before. I struggled against him, gaining deep bruises, but somehow I escaped and ran and ran and ran until there was no breath left in me…. I blinked and in the next moment there was a beautiful twilight around me…
There was a soft sound of gentle water all around me and a slight rocking like being rocked in a cradle beneath me, though I felt my feet stand on a solid but peacefully rocking surface. I opened my eyes a bit wider and had to blink several times as the beauty of the One before me filled me. He was dressed in the pure bright white of a star, with a crown of gold resting on His regal head. His hair matched almost perfectly the color of the pure gold of the crown. Oh, and oh His eyes! Loved engulfed me the moment our eyes met, love at first sight was no exaggeration, blue, oh how I loved the blue. He was standing at the opposite side of what I now realized was a canoe, an oar in his hand, which he dipped in the water with such grace.
We passed under an ark of water that sprinkled like morning dew around us both and made us shimmer in the night. Finally I took notice of my own garments, it was a robe, matching His in color, when I lifted my hands the light fabric of the sleeves spread in the wind almost as if they were wings. I lifted a hand to my head where I felt a delicate crown resting there perfectly in place. I lifted my eyes up to Him gingerly and He nodded, with clear satisfaction at my wonder.
Time, I didn’t understand the meaning of it in this place, but still it seemed to flash by like lightning for soon He had guided us to the shore. There he secured the canoe by the dock made of wood that seemed to sing with life if that were even possible… and there on that dock were a few people waiting, some faces I didn’t recognize but one was unmistakable. My father, my daddy, he was there, no, not my step father that cruel one who kept me heavy laden with burdens, oh no, this was my birthfather. This Prince gently and gingerly took my hands and I gracefully stepped out of the canoe, a humble pride shone in his eyes each second that he looked at me dressed in such enchanting white. But soon He turned His attention to my father, lifted His own regal crown off of his head, bowed to one knee and laid it before my father with such reverence that made me feel so precious for Him to love me so much to give up His own crown for me.
“Beloved, my Beloved, remember always that you are that to me.” He whispered tenderly in my ear, “My Bride, My Queen, will you follow me?” His fading voice was vaguely familiar as it trailed farther and farther away until it was no more then a whisper.
But as I opened my eyes the peace did not fade as His voice seemed to pass as I came back from that world, into one much less peaceful, to the one with more uncertainty then the clarity I had seen there. As the morning light filtered through the window and I heard a rooster crow somewhere far off, that face was not as familiar as it was only moments ago, and my mind soon thought it the face of another.
CHAPTER TWO
The other world, the dream that seemed more real then life lingered throughout the days that seemed to pass swiftly by. Buni Lidia’s funeral passed by in a daze, bits and pieces of them left a little imprint on my heart. At the church, I remembered an angelic voice echoing from the rafters where the handsome nameless still stranger sang and played the old pipe organ. His voice was smooth and strong and pure it seemed, and my mind kept going to him, which was ludicrous since I didn’t even know his name.
Soon it was Monday and my sister and I came to my aunt’s house, to speak of our next steps and where we could go with the supplies that had been donated. I was sitting comfortably on the worn out couch that had been set against the wall of the porch, my sister was staring somewhere far off on the chair next to the couch when Dariel and he walked up the rickety wooden steps.
Of course the thud in my heart must have been heard in the entire city when blue eyes met my eyes and sat right beside me, and I could not find a cure for my sudden blushing silence.
Dariel glimpsed my reddening face and winked, I could have slapped him.
“Alex, I forgot to introduce you, this is Evanthia my cousin and Radiana her sister. They’re visiting from the States.”
“Buna ziua,” the one who was no longer nameless greeted, “Great that your cousin finally had the genius idea of introduction.” he smiled his rueful smile.
Still mute and blushing me simply nodded and smiled a bit too brightly, and almost in a whisper said my hello. My sister not as susceptible to the charms of blue eyes since her own were the color of a clear summer sky, found it more wise to be direct and to the point.
“You like my sister don’t you?” she said not even blinking an eye, not saying hi, just that, nothing more. Though I kept my smile pasted to my face, I was silently scolding her with my eyes at the same time looking for a great big rock to hide under.
“Yup.” he said.
So that rock seemed to be no where near big enough by the flowers, um wait, what? There went my imagination at the speed of lightning once more telling me he said yes.
“What?” I nearly chocked.
“Yea I do.” he replied just as to the point as my sister had chosen to be.
Well, that was good and dandy but since I knew next to nothing of Alex, my ever creative mind could not create the next word. So thank God, literally thank God for aunt Miriam who just at that amazingly perfect moment came out of the kitchen across the porch with refreshments and some budinca, also known as pudding (but only as she could make it) to be set before us on the coffee table. This part of the porch served as a type of living room as well since there was no living room in the house.
“Okay my dear, tomorrow we will go to see the woman I was telling you about who’s husband just died. She’s very poor, in fact she’s had to give some of her children to the orphanage here in Cugir because she can’t take care of them.” She said matter of factly as she put the pudding mixed with fruits on a plate for each of us to enjoy. “But until then you should all go to the river since it’s too hot to be on the road now.”
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