Short Stories

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Jesus
spoke these
words,
and lifted
up His
eyes
to heaven.
[John 17:1]
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The night air has cooled,
and the smell of summer
grass is sweet, and strong.
Only the light chirping of
a quieting bird can be heard,
amidst the softly waving
branches of the shadowing
trees.

Jesus and His disciples
have made their beds,
out under the dark expanse
of sky. Several long hours
have passed, since their
light supper; now and then,
a lone spark of the dying
fire crackles in the midnight
air. The pungent smell
of burning wood still scents
the air. The night is
very quiet; a long way off,
a sheep can be heard
softly bleeting before
settling down to sleep.
Everyone, under the deep
shade of trees, has long
since nodded off.

Jesus is awake. A thin
blanket cushions His head
against the thick, rough
tree roots underneath.
He turns, and faces away
from His exhausted followers.
He closes His eyes,
and cups His hands:
bending His face forward.
A tiny brown spider crawls
across His blanket.
Jesus smiles, and
begins speaking
softly.

Peter stirs, and sits up:
alarmed.
_______________________________
"MASTER?"

[PAUSE.]
[GENTLE VOICE.]
"What is it,
Peter?"

"Who are You
TALKING to?"

[PATIENT SILENCE.]

"Who is OUT there?
Is someone BOTHERING
You?"
(Peter throws off his
blanket, and immediately
stands up.)

[SMILE.]
[SOFTLY WHISPER.]
"No.......
no,
My Peter.
Go back to sleep."

(Peter remains standing,
and alert; he narrows
his eyes against the darkness:
turning his head,
this way and that.)
"I'll go, and
take a LOOK."

[PATIENT VOICE.]
"Lie back down,
Peter. You have
a long day,
tomorrow."

"But.....LORD!"

[GENTLE WHISPER,
WITH AN EDGE OF
FIRMNESS.]
"Go back to sleep,
Peter."

(The disciple turns
his head once more,
squinting in the darkness.
He frowns. Then he
sighs, and sits back down
on the thick grass.)

[PATIENTLY WAITING.]

(Peter grabs his blanket,
and stuffs it under his
head, impatiently.
He frowns, again:
mumbling.)
"Are You,
SURE....
You are ALRIGHT?"

"Yes,
child."
[SMILE!]
"Go to sleep."

(Mumble.)
"Goodnight,
Lord."

[SOFTLY CHUCKLE.]
"Goodnight,
Peter."

(Peter frowns
again, and bunches
up the scratchy blanket.)
(Mumble.)

(The night air is quiet
once more, except for
a barely audible Whispering
in the stillness of the
starlight.)

(Peter is just nodding
off to sleep. His eyelids
flutter open. In the
light of the last spark
of dying embers
of their campfire,
Peter sees a butterfly
alight on his Lord's
cupped Hands,
and then onto one
Shoulder......
before flying away:
its wings gently caressing
the air as it slowly disappears.
As Peter closes his eyes, he
hears a Whisper.)

[TENDER WHISPER,
CHOKED WITH TEARS.]
"I love
You,
Father."
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...You
have sent
Me,
and have
loved them
as
You have
loved
Me.
[John 17:23]



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*Spanish:
butterfly.

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