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: Appointment (02/09/12)

TITLE: Freedom Day
By Lisa Fowler
02/12/12


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

FREEDOM DAY

“Git a-way down child, Massa’s comin‘,” Papa whispered.

Papa reached into the wagon and scooped up an armful of musty, damp hay tossing it over my head completely. I stifled a sneeze.

I snatched a glimpse of the blue and red tumbling blocks quilt Miss Hattie had tossed over the clothes line to air, more than a week ago. I knew from Mama’s lessons around the fireplace the quilt’s pattern meant a conductor was in the area prepared to transport slaves up north, to freedom land. Heavy footsteps approached the wagon. I feared to breathe.

“When shall I expect your return?” Master Benjamin asked. Papa took in a deep breath then cleared his throat.

“I prays to be back a-fore sundown Massa Ben,” Papa said.

I knew of no plans to return, only to sell the fruit and leave the Master’s money with the wagon in town. I gasped then quickly buried my head in my sleeve, lest even the tiniest of sounds eek out. I’d never heard Papa lie before and especially not to Master Benjamin. I was sure the lying hadn’t come easy to Papa and the clearing of his throat must have meant he choked on the words as he said them. I closed my eyes. Please God I prayed, forgive my Papa for lying.

“See that you don’t tarry and that you get a fair price for the fruit.”

“Yes Massa,” said Papa. “I do’s ya right.”

The wagon lunged backwards as Papa cracked the leather reins against the horses rumps. Hidden deep in the bottom of the wagon under crates of fruit and layers of hay, we rocked and swayed back and forth with every clip, clip, clop of the horses hooves along the dusty path. With a quick snap of the straps the horses quickly pulled the wagon free from the Master’s great plantation that had been home to us for twelve years, two years longer than I’d been alive. Nestled in the bottom of the wagon I drew comfort in feeling Mama’s hot breath against my shoulders. As the wagon bumped along I remembered the night before we left.

“What is it, Mama?” I asked. “What is this… this freedom?”

“It is the greatest gift on earth,” Mama said.

Quiet, and prone to few words, when Mama spoke it was mostly in hushed, almost whispered tones.

“But what does it mean, to be free?” I asked.

Sitting in a straight backed chair pulled close to the popping fire, Mama rocked from side to side. I studied her movements, praying to remember every second leading up to our freedom day. She folded her calloused, sun dried hands and placed them gently on top of the quilt blocks in her lap. She smiled at Papa then back at me and I knew I‘d done a good thing asking about this freedom.

“Oh child, I can’t tell it all but I’s try. You listen, ya hear?”

I nodded. I’d never seen Mama like she was that night. It was as though her spirit was suddenly loosed to float and flit around us there in the one room cabin we called home. She breathed a long sigh, like she was surrendering all the weight she’d toted on her shoulders for as long as I could remember, then she started in again.

“To be free is to run through open fields, laugh without being quieted, to own our own land, sow our own seeds, and rock our babies to the melody of our lullabies. To be free is to kneel when we need, pray when we want, and love without fear. Oh child, freedom is… life.”

I fixed my eyes on Mama as she talked. Tears rolled down the worry lines years had etched deep into her face, yet I knew in an instant the tears were not of sadness. My heart skipped its beat. She’d made me want it too - this freedom thing of which she spoke. Mama stopped talking and gazed a-way off into the distance, like she was looking into a far away land as she spoke and I knew our time was here. After months of preparation and prayer, our appointment had finally arrived - our appointment with freedom.


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 184 times
Member Comments
Member Date
CD (Camille) Swanson 02/16/12
Beautiful and poignant entry. I truly enjoyed this, and felt strong emotions during my whole time reading it. Great job.
God Bless~
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 02/16/12
Oh this was so good. I felt myself holding my breath, afraid of being heard. This was outstanding from beginning to end.
Noel Mitaxa 02/17/12
Very evocative treatment of a shameful era. Well written.
Kathleen Langridge02/17/12
Golden words from a hay and stubble time not quite gone by. The story flowed and held me as I also held my breath. If you develop it further you might want help with just a bit of fine tuning on the speech patterns, though it does read well.
Leola Ogle 02/17/12
This reminds me of the movie Amastad where the slave, who knew no English, boldly shouted in court "Give us free!" - in the only words he could. It made me cry, and your story was as profound and poignant. God bless!
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 02/23/12
Congratulations for ranking 6th in level 3!