Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Write for the FANTASY and/or SCI FI Genre (10/16/14)
TITLE: My Dream Is A Wish My Heart Makes
By Judith Gayle Smith
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Breathlessly happy settling into our sweet new bungalow, I enter the living room, enchanted by the homey, almost familiar aura enveloping us.
We start our inspection of where God placed us, mulling over the sto serve Him in our "replanting."
Odd - two sets of three steps flanking a platform? The living room is sunshine-sparkling, wonderfully large, yet intimate. What purpose does a stage have in our home?
Curiosity compels me to investigate a brightly painted hand-carved cupboard holding special treats, positioned just beyond the reach of hands eager to paw it open.
The delightful elderly husband and wife, builders of this little dream house, are visiting and inspecting US. The only setback we have is they insist our house not be used as a church.
The enormous living room could house quite a few folding chairs, the "stage" is perfect for a preacher's "preaching spot."
And we so wanted to preach.
They tell us they originally designed this home to serve as a chapel, a sanctuary for folks rushing to and from the railway station further down the street. Their descriptions of buggies and wagons draw me back to less hectic times.
Why object to starting a ministry here again?
Albert and Louise Zimmerman, cognizant of our ministry on various social medias, worry if men read what I write, they might change their ways. Paul didn't encourage women preaching to men.
I quietly reply that in Jesus we are neither male nor female.
Cringing under their furrowed frowns, I add "if my writing impels a wicked man to accept Christ - hallelujah. More power to him and thanks be to God."
A quaintly patterned stair tread catches my eye and I bee-line to it. Large red poppies with green leaves frolic up the stairs, beckoning me like a child's peals of laughter.
We climb the narrow stairway, clinging to each other and the railing, crowding to be the first at the top.
Five big rooms split the landing - aromas from crockpots simmering, mixed with incense and suffocating perfumes I could slash with a butter knife.
Eager ushers invite us to the overflowing spacious room; unfamiliar songs lilting and lifting varied spirits. We're urged to refresh ourselves, but we aren't easily persuaded.
Other doors lead to other worship services, popularity preachers, success and prosperity preachers, self-serving agenda preachers. We all feel coerced into something unhealthy, and hang back.
I regret not having my Bible in hand to have Scriptures ready for any and all dominating souls greedy for our time and tithes.
The request, nay, demand not to use our beautiful home as a church is beginning to make sense. Who will we serve? A plethora of people-pleasing bodies for the hearts of men, or a God Whom we swear undying allegiance to honor Him in truth and holiness?
Uncomfortable, we head silently back downstairs to the cheery front room. What's wrong with this picture?
Exhausted, our new friends plead for understanding, apologetically excusing themselves for the brief visit, visibly eager to head back to their comfortable little home.
Checking the protective fence for escape holes, we let our hyperactive pup out for much needed relief. We are embraced, captivated by Heaven-scent flowering fruit trees abloom with yummy surprises to come. Rounding the bungalow's corner, we discover a large extension adjoining it.
A flung wide-open door beckons us, and we, going inside, are immediately enchanted. The picture window frames ice skaters singing and dancing merrily to the rousing music of a small brass band.
We slowly become aware of people threading through this large room, queuing to join the skaters outside One red-faced belligerent fellow confronts us, demanding to know who we are and what are we peddling?
Unnerved, we bravely explain we are the new occupants of the attached bungalow, believing this addition is also our property. He huffily snorts he wants no part of the religious goings-on at our house. We tell him we understand, cautiously awaiting God's perfect timing, not ours, to introduce him to Jesus - our Lover, our Life.
Fifi purrs loudly, demanding her breakfast, wrenching me from my incredible dream, suffused with The Book of Revelations streaming into my ear-gates through my Go-Bible.
Reluctantly awakening from my dream, I joyously realize this dream fantasy is a gift from Him, fortifying me with His strength for another day of happily living His Word.
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