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H20ms
Female, 50, Canada
"". . .never tire of doing what is right." (2 Thessalonians 3:13)"
2:12pm, September 14, 2009
(Frank's on leave.) The key to the Door Mood
Thursday, October 16, 2008 | A Poem/Artistic story

she strides right over and grabs the door knob.  a bolt of lightning throws her back onto her bottom.  her right arm sears with pain from her fingers to her shoulder.

 

so there she sits facing that blasted door,  seated on a rather nice piece of grass.  dazed and disorientated, in itself not unusual.  often when she lands (wakes up?) she is temporarily bereaved of her senses.  after a bit, her head clears and she continues with her day.

 

she's not big on the astral travelling business,  she refers to her  dream travels as walk abouts.  this is most unusual however.  to begin with, she's not ever been NOT able to open the door.

 

she knows she cannot move.  something has to be done though. doesn't it?

 

she determines she ought to retrace the events that brought her to this, this place.

 

problem solving is not her forte.  analysis always leads her down avenues she'd prefer not to go.

 

o.k.  she recalls her ritualistic steps to be sure that no thing, no body is watching her.  ah ha! there weren't any walls this time, in the past she simply looked through them.

 

that's right too!  the outside world was devoid of any semblance of life.  no sounds, no air.  all she felt was a felicitous warmth belonging only to her. she knows she was anxious, almost afraid to open the darn thing.  sure, in the past she'd been hesitant.  sometimes because nothing special was calling her and she had chores anyway, other times she'd hesitate to prolong her excitement.

 

is this what they call problem solving?

 

she recalls schools she's attended, cities, small towns, caves and tents she's lived in.  a memory surfaces of her as a wee one.  in a room full of adults speaking in montones, " she's not so much as, ah, troubled, she just has an over active imagination."

 

oh this is far too taxing. 

 

when did that f***ing door start following her around, wherever she went?  in half way houses, basement suites, other peoples' homes---it was there.  alright, she was in her teens. another ah ha! she was thirteen when she accepted Jesus Christ as her personal Lord and Saviour.

 

she succeeds in swivelling her head like an owl, unaware that her eyeballs fit the metaphor.  furtively she takes in her surroundings.  rising tentatively, her right foot is asleep, (the burning arm has seceded)  she stands.

 

the door at her back,  she faces an azure sky, snow capped mountains.  a torquoise coloured river spilling below a majestic waterfall.  wait.  nothing is spilling, she cannot move; she is part of a photograph.

 

attired in her jeans and t-shirt (what the heck was she wearing that abhorrent skirt and blouse ensemble for?) she delights in the grass betwix her toes.

 

she senses a scuffle and a fetid smell assaults her nostrils. she smiles unbidden.  who else but Beelzebub, of course!  master of disguise, trickery and cunning.  shift changer, hideous carnal capable of sickening charm.  who else but the Snake would haunt and flaunt her with a door beholding secrets untold?  who else attacks the weak and the vulnerable?

 

GET THEE BEHIND ME SATAN!! she screams in anger.  the scuffle stops.  a fragrance like no other feathers about her,  sweetness indescribable.  she smiles and gives thanks to her Father.

 

eyes closed, in her mind she kneels before Him, begging forgiveness.  knowing that He will.  she is ashamed it has taken her so long to reach up and ask, "Dear Heavenly Gracious Father, what is it You try to teach me?"

 

His answer fills her with awe and fear and love.  He put her here with the dying man.  a weight is lifted from her weary back.  she no longer resents the man for taking away her life.  God shows her---this IS her life,  to be here with him.

He wants her to persevere.  the worst is yet to come,  the tests will be harder.  all He asks is that she praise and adore Him and remember that this is His Will for her.

she'll be going home soon.  the dying man will be happy to see her.   he will continue to die, she will continue to live through the blood of Christ.

God has the Key.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

dear reader. this is for the folks at the Tavern, and for my friends. numerous failed attempts to put this on the story board, i decided to finish it here.  i'm used to writing several drafts before penning anything, but this came out of my tired head. thank you all for helping me on this journey. i started scribbling, not knowing where i was headed. now i do.

and that is because of you guys. sincerely

 

 

RATE THIS ENTRY:
Inspirational
Moving
Helpful
Creative

Comments

  1. Tekoa

    I hope you are not mad at me but I copy and pasted it in the group. I wish i hadn't now because I hope no one thanks I wrote it and you might miss out on credit for such a unique story filled with adjectives that delight and visual images of that door knob and that photograph. I hope that you are filled with strength and hope and passion to keep on writing and dreaming. And you are right Jesus is the key!


    Tekoa

  2. mrcoffee

    I thought it was going a few different directions in the begining but you tied it up rather nicely at the end and it all made sense.


    mrcoffee

  3. mooseyinn

    Wow! the visual imagery is amazing. It makes me feel that you were at peace long before you wrote this. You are an amazing and very strong woman. Your "ex" is one lucky man! Forgive me for being presumptuous.


    mooseyinn

  4. ChuckDG

    I love the sudden contrast between the "fetid smell" of Satan's precense, and the instant replacement by God's "fragrance - sweetness indescribable." How wonderful when the old burden is gone...when we accept God's plans.


    ChuckDG

  5. LilMargie

    Oh, look at the room of friends you now have, Jo, I am so happy to discover this. Please forgive my arrogance, but I feel a little like I sprinkled a smattering of spare seeds on the ground and a tiny little flower has sprung up and is just now beginning to open herself towards the sunlight. Thank you, dear Jo, this journal and your readers make me smile. *M


    LilMargie

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