Backward Footprints | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Backward Footprints | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kayla Stoltzfus
07/23/16
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Jason grimaced as he touched a new blister on his palm. Who would have ever thought that he, a son of wealth, would one day be toiling under the burning sun, with slaves his only companions? He twisted another bunch of grapes off the vine and tore a fingernail to the quick. Swearing under his breath, he sat down to wipe the seeping blood on his tunic.
Alexandros knew his family had no want of gold or silver, and still he had sent him to work in his vineyard like a common slave. The indignity!
Ignoring his throbbing finger, Jason jumped to his feet and began to tear grapes from the vine with angry speed.
“Easy, son,” said a voice behind him. “You will bruise them.”
Jason flushed. He neither slacked his speed nor looked behind him.
“I have seen your hands,” continued the voice. “You are not accustomed to work.”
“My family is wealthy,” spat Jason, between his teeth. “Menial work belongs to slaves.”
“You say you are from Thessalonica?”
“Yes.”
“Have you heard of a man called Paul?”
“Snatches.”
“Do you know what he taught?”
Jason shrugged, slowing his frantic picking. “No.”
The quiet voice proceeded to tell him of the Prince of Peace and the work He had once done and continued to do in men's hearts.
“Incredible,” said Jason when the man had finished. “I don't believe such fables.”
“It is truth. I have experienced the peace He gives.”
Jason looked at the man for the first time. He was middle aged, his dark hair sprinkled with gray, and worked with a quiet, unassuming air.
“What is that to me, slave? It does not seem to have profited you any.”
“I have peace. You do not.”
“How dare you!” Jason faced the man with burning eyes and clenched fists. “You have no claim to me!”
“God does.”
Jason snorted and plunged back into his work.
“My son,” said the man. “Choose peace. This bitterness will destroy you.”
Jason left his basket where it sat and walked away. He did not attempt to see Alexandros, instead leaving a message with one of the slaves.
The sun had dried the road to choking dust. When Jason reached the end of the vineyards, he stopped and looked back at the sprawling fields, the villa a smudge of white against vibrant green.
My son... this bitterness will destroy you.
It was, or it had. He already felt a shell of a man, his soul black and gutted by smoldering hatred. How would it feel to have the peace the man in the vineyard had spoken of? Jason had argued with the man's words, but he could not argue with his aura of peace.
Closing his eyes, he felt the living fields, the broad sweep of a cloudless sky. Neither could he argue with God. Had he really been offered peace, and refused it? What a fool! With a deep breath and a firm step, he started back, treading in his backward footprints.

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