Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  

Four Ways For A Christian Writer To Win A Publishing Package HERE



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Illustrate the meaning of “Don’t Try to Walk before You Can Crawl” (without using the actual phrase or literal example). (01/17/08)

TITLE: A Time to Heal
By Ann Grover
01/24/08


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

“Simon, I have errands to tend to in the village this morning. I’d appreciate it if you’d cut the basil and sage while I’m gone.”

“Yes, Brother Haelan.”

“And, perhaps, you could strain some of yesterday’s rainwater into clean flasks.”

“Absolutely, Brother Haelan.”

“Make sure you cork them tightly.”

The apprentice watched intently as the tall friar sniffed the contents of several pouches of herbs and powders, fastened them carefully with leather strings, and stashed them in his satchel.

“I shall return before noon, Simon,” continued Brother Haelan, “but if you complete the tasks I’ve given you, make yourself busy in the herb garden and apothecary.”

Taking up his bag and cloak, Brother Haelan swung open the heavy door and gave Simon a quick touch of farewell before entering the silvery dawn. Simon watched him walk away from Heavensbrook Abbey, crossing the bridge, becoming smaller until he disappeared from view around a bend.

Simon got the broom and swept the room; it was redolent with the fragrances of ointments, oils, and tinctures. Dry bouquets of herbs hung from the blackened ceiling beams, and bottles and pots lined the shelves.

When the sun dried the dew on the herbs in the garden, Simon snipped sage and basil, bound the bunches carefully, and suspended them with the others. He cut dead flowers and twigs from shrubs and bushes, gathered the rubbish, and tossed it on the compost heap. Finding squares of clean linen, Simon strained rainwater into rinsed flasks. He was corking the last bottle when there was a knock on the door.

It was Mistress Jenett, a woman from a nearby farm, and in her arms, a moaning bundle. “I need Brother Haelan,” she cried. “My boy, Oswoulde, is sick.”

“Come in.” Simon made way for her, showing her the comfortable bench Haelan had for his patients. “Brother Haelan isn’t here. He’s gone to the village.”

Jenett pulled back the blanket to reveal the child’s flushed face. Oswoulde whined piteously and burrowed his head closer to his mother, and she rocked him, crooning softly. Simon took up the stoppered bottles of water and put them away.

“Would you like a drink of something hot while you are waiting, Mistress Jenett?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you. How long will Brother Haelan be?”

“Before noon.” Simon stoked up the fire and set the kettle on the flame. He filled a cup with a mixture of rose hips and berries while waiting for the water to boil. He looked on with pity as Oswoulde coughed, his tiny cheeks crimson with fever.

“What’s wrong with the lad?”

“Fever, cough. He’s limp as a rag.”

Simon poured boiling water into Jenett’s cup and set it on the worktable next to her. Jenett took a long sip. Simon thought quickly.

“I’ve been apprenticing with Brother Haelan, Mistress Jenett. I could make wee Oswoulde a tea for bringing down his fever right away.” Simon scanned the jars on the shelf until he found what he needed.

“Chamomile, laurel, feverfew.” He pinched out a few leaves of each onto a piece of muslin, then twisted and dropped it into a clean cup. He poured water over it, then searched the shelves for the honey. Squeezing out the herbal sachet, he spooned in the amber liquid.

“Do you think Oswoulde will drink this?”

Mistress Jenett propped up Oswoulde who immediately began to cry. Tears poured from his red-rimmed eyes, and his sobbing was broken by sputtering coughs. Simon squatted in front of him, cup and spoon in hand and spoke in a gentle voice, “Taste, Oswoulde. You’ll feel better.”

Oswoulde turned away from the steaming spoon, hiccuping and weeping. Mistress Jenett tried to coax him with promises of barley cakes, but Oswoulde would have none of it. The tea grew cold, yet still Simon sat near Oswoulde, hopeful the child might take a healing spoonful.

When Brother Haelan returned, he examined the child, then reached for the cup and smelled the concoction, frowning. He made little envelopes of herbs, giving them to Mistress Jenett with brewing instructions. The woman thanked him and left with her sleeping child.

“Simon, do you know what you did?

“I made a healing draught.”

“You used foxglove. It’s next to the feverfew. If Oswoulde had taken the tea, he’d have died. God has been merciful.”

Simon’s eyes widened.

“It’s not your time to heal yet. But you will. You have the heart.”

Brother Haelan smiled kindly. God had been merciful, indeed.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 891 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Lynda Schultz 01/24/08
Very good story—kept me on the edge of my seat.
Holly Westefeld01/26/08
Whew, that was close! I'm so glad that the worst did not come to pass.
Catrina Bradley 01/26/08
I thought an error on Simon's part was coming, but I like this ending better than the one I had imagined. Lovely writing, lovely ending. Enjoyed reading this very much.
Karen Wilber 01/27/08
Whew! I was really hoping this would turn out OK. I like the way you ended it - gently, with a good lesson.
Jan Ackerson 01/28/08
Yikes--this one scared me, a little. And I learned a new word: "tincture." A lovely illustration not only of the proverb but of grace.
Sally Hanan01/28/08
You have some beautiful descriptions, as always. There's always a sense of peace that envelops me when I read your work :)
LauraLee Shaw01/29/08
Touching. And a great reminder that GRACE covers us when we fall flat on our faces.
Beth LaBuff 01/29/08
It was fascinating to read of all the herbs, some familiar some not. Your story is wonderful and a perfect illustration of the topic.
James Dixon01/30/08
A nice story and great illustration of the topic.

I couldn't place the character's names somehow. They didn't seem quite right if they were meant to be English Medieval.

I noticed some good research with the herbs. Foxglove ( Digitalis pupurea ) is the source of the heart drug Diglin and would grow in an apothecary’s garden. Laurel ( Prunus laurocerasus ) contains cyanide and is also very poisonous. I wouldn't make it into tea or eat the cherry like fruits!
Temple Miller01/30/08
Lovely story. And I loved the presence of God watching over and protecting the characters.
Dee Yoder 01/30/08
This story reminds me of the scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" where the grieving druggist nearly sends the wrong medicine to a child. Good illustration of the topic and I always enjoy the historical settings and characters you create.
Sara Harricharan 01/30/08
Oh I so liked this! I wanted the story to go on and on to see what happened next! This is one of my favorite kinds of stories. Excellent writing-especially with the dialouge and the descriptions of Simon helping with the chores and the ending was just right. ^_^
Sharlyn Guthrie01/30/08
Excellent voice and beautiful language in this piece.
Beckie Stewart01/30/08
This ending reminded me of "It's a Wonderful Life" a bit and how a mistake was prevented and a life saved because of George Bailey. Glad the boy did not drink it and the young apprentice learned a valuable lesson without taking a life!! This was well written indeed.