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The Curse Is Broken
by Sandra Wells 
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The old woman sat, as she did every morning, before a humble hut. Home to herself, her daughter, and grandson. Her aged eyes watched, with little joy, the young child running among rocks and weeds, laughing with a glee saved for the young of heart. Her daughter, older than her years, stooped with hoe in hand, unsuccessfully battling the ruthless choke-vines, which threatened to overtake the fragile, green shoots of life.

Her eyes traveled across the cruel, harsh terrain. Jagged rocks, dry brushwood, slithering creatures. And but a short distance from where she sat - a distance which narrowed with each new sin-filled generation - lay the sharp toothed chasm of death.

Beyond this vast abyss, arose beauty beyond comprehension. A land washed in light, green meadows, golden roads, and gems of every hue and color, adorning the kingdom as sweet flowers of spring. A crystal blue lake flowed upon the meadow. Its surface shimmered as the purest of glass. And around the lake, stood angelic beings, whose voices the old woman knew were lifted in ancient songs of praise. Their voices however, became barely a whisper as they traveled the vast chasm.

The old woman's heart ached, for a time long ago. A time her ancestors spoke of, when all around was green and lush. A time before the black, dragon toothed abyss. A time when the sound of a cool, babbling brook - fed by the crystal lake - danced softly upon the breeze. Her heart ached for a time, she knew would come, when the chasm would finally be bridged.

"Grandmother," her grandson's voice interrupted the old woman's forlorn reflection. "Grandmother. Something is happening."

The young boy ran to his grandmother's side, his eyes wide, his small hands waving with excitement.

"What is it my little one?" the old woman questioned.

The boy pointed toward the distant east. "Grandmother, I hear shouting. I see three crosses on the mountain. What does it mean Grandmother?"

Taking her young grandson's hand, the old woman rose from the bench upon which she rested, her eyes following the young boy's gaze. Could it be? Was this the time the prophets of old foretold? Or, merely more unfortunates suffering the cruel death of the cross?

"Daughter, come." the old woman called, as her eyes focused on the distant image.

The three stood side by side, each holding the other. Though they had each witnessed the cruelty of the distant mountain - a mountain called Golgotha - each felt that somehow this day was different.

"The prophets of old spoke of a man who would come. The very Son of the Great Creator. He would suffer and die upon a cross, bearing the sins of all man. It is through His death. Through His shed blood, that the chasm of death would finally, and for always be bridged. This great man will, as it is told, carry our sins within his battered body. Through his shed blood, we will finally be set free from the curse of the Evil One." The old woman's voice held a hope she had feared to be long dead.

"How will we know Grandmother?" the child asked.

"We will know little one."

Even across the miles, the mountain's cries could be heard. Shouts of "crucify him." The anguished cries of those who fell before the horrific sight. The cruel taunts and curses, thrown as daggers, at the man guilty of no crime. The old woman's eyes never veered, hope grew anew within her breast. Please let it be, she begged silently.

Then it happened.

Though it was mid-day, the sun disappeared. All around became as midnight. Time seemed to slow to a infant's crawl. Hour upon excruciating hour.

"Hold tight to me my children," the old lady warned. Fore she knew with all her heart that prophecy was in fact coming to pass.

The mountain shook. The three crosses twisted violently. Lightening flashed. Thunder rolled. The earth beneath the old woman, and her loved ones, lifted and moved, sending them to their knees. Tears ran freely down her canyoned face.

Across the great distance another sound could be heard. A sound faint, yet thunderous. The sound of a veil being torn.

"Children, look to the chasm. Quickly." the old woman shouted with a voice renewed of strength. "This truly is the Son of our Creator. Hurry, look!"

As the three turned their faces toward the chasm of death, each grasped their pounding chests. He stood above the abyss, great in His magnitude. A crown of thorns still embedded in his torn flesh. Blood coursing from wounds in his hands and feet. A great gash in his side, from which both blood, and water flowed. His arms stretched wide, reaching from one side to the other of the abyss. As the three watched, a bridge formed beneath His feet. A bridge the purest of white, embracing each crimson droplet which flowed from the Creator's Son.

From the depths of the black abyss, arose a shriek, more hideous than any ever heard by man. A shriek more demonic than human. The shriek of the one who knew the curse was finally broken.

The deep canyon walls shuddered, casting shards as sharp as razors at His feet. Its depths flashed as angry lava. The hideous shrieks, turned to pathetic wails.

The Son stood, bloodied feet planted, upon the glorious bridge, His arms stilled outstretched. His countenance gleaming. His face, which held a love beyond words, turned to the small family. His eyes filled with compassion. His smile radiant.

In his excitement the young boy, broke free from his mother's arms, and ran as fast as he could toward the bridge - to Him. The women watched in amazement as the Son stooped before the boy, motioning the boy not to touch Him, but welcoming the child's love into His heart.

The women watched in silent awe, as He and the boy laughed, and talked. They wondered, as they saw the boy point to his mother's garden, and the forlorn patch of ground which was their home. They marveled as they watched Him, smile, nod, and stand tall - before He stepped His bloodied barefoot from the bridge, onto the very ground the boy now danced upon.

At the touch of His foot, new growth sprang forth. Green and lush. What had been barren of life, now exploded with the new life of Spring.

He once again spoke to the boy, then placed His hand over the child's outreached palm. A single drop of crimson blood fell gently onto the boy's hand, before turning into the most beautiful scarlet gem. The boy closed his small hand around the gem, still listening to the Son's words. He then turned and ran across the soft green grass, throwing himself into his mother's arms - his face aglow.

"He said he loves us Mama. He said not to be sad, fore He must go into the grave. But in three days He will rise again. He promised, that we would see Him rise. He told me that He has bridged the gap between us and The Creator, and that the curse is now broken. Grandmother. He called The Creator, Father, and said that from this day forward we can also. He said that we can now go to the Father, through Him."

The boy opened his closed hand, so they all could see the magnificent gem he held. "This is His blood. He said that we are saved by His blood, and that it is His promise, that we will live with Him for all eternity. And Grandmother. He told me that He will prepare a place in the Kingdom for each of us. And that He has a very special place for you because of your great Faith."

All three fell to their knees, knowing all would be as the Son had promised.

God Bless
Sandy Wells

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