A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Child,

I know what happened; I was there. Your innocent heart was like a rosebud, a pure white flower in a crystal vase. Then an evil hand came and smudged one of the petals. In your innocence, you were soon able to forget and go on with your play.  

You didn’t know this wasn’t normal, you didn’t know this was wrong but you kept it to yourself, why?

Maybe because it made you feel uncomfortable, maybe because you were afraid he would find out and get upset.  But it continued, one petal after another was smudged then crushed until one day the flower withered and died and the water of joy that had been feeding it had also drained away.

As a young child, you soon learned to be afraid of—him. By nature, you would have been carefree, but a shell that some called shyness was developing around you.

Time passed and you gradually became more aware of right and wrong. You saw younger children still carrying the beautiful bud of innocence but yours was gone, faded and dying. It was then you began to realize that the delicate vase that was in your heart had also been crushed and the broken pieces were piercing you, causing much pain.

Is that the end: a broken heart, a dying flower?

It seemed like. In fact, the cuts festered over the years as you learned this was not normal and many were going through life happy because no evil monster had snatched away the flower of innocence and left a broken heart.

By now, those pieces have embedded deep into your heart but you observed others were acting ‘normally’ so pretended to do the same. How can a person be ‘normal’ when the slightest memory brings pain and bad experiences would cause the old wounds to start bleeding away?

How can you go on like this? But you did, year after year, you raised a family, had a caring husband …and prayed…

I keep ‘seeing’ the Great Physician hovering over me while I write; He wants me to remind you how He removed those crushed shards one by one and poured in the healing balm of love.

I know: and am grateful for what He has done, but there are others who are still suffering. Give your heart to Jesus let Him remove the broken pieces. It will not be easy but will sure be a lot easier than having them remain there.

I may have lost that flower of innocence at too young an age but it’s okay, now, because the Great Physician gave me what feels like a Garden of Eden in return.

www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

The Number One Reason I Wrote It

So what’s really important to you? For me it is, was, and always will be to be a good mother. I think a lot of you can identify with that: being a worthwhile parent is a goal that we long to reach but at times seems unattainable.

So what do we do? We get help. By far my best assistant is the greatest parent of them all, the Heavenly Father. Have you found it so?

But, we still stumble and fall and search for more direction, right? Maybe we even find heroes that we admire. One of my favorites was Mary, the mother of Jesus. I think we all, Protestants, Catholics, Mennonite and Amish, or whatever, agree that she must have been a wonderful mother.

But what made her so special?  I think it was her humility, but had a consuming desire to learn more about her and possibly learn from her example.

So I wrote a book. Perhaps you have heard about it already: Mary’s Diary, Jesus through His Mother’ Eyes. I chose to write it in diary format because it seemed more personal, intimate.

And I prayed about it a lot, too. I really wanted to know how it might have felt to raise the most remarkable Son in the world. I’m telling you it was a real blessing delving into this topic.

Okay, enough for now. I’ll send you a few links so you can check out this book for yourself. I’m praying that, if you are a Mom, Dad, a teenage girl or anyone else looking for inspiration and direction, maybe this book will bless you just like it did me.

Take care!

Marilyn Friesen

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Behind Boarded Up Windows

Good morning, dear one. Did you think I had forgotten you completely? At first, I was picturing you standing lonesomely by a small window and looking up at the stars, but then I remembered, you don’t even have that option.
Behind a boarded up window: never to see the cheery sunshine dappling the leaves and making the flowers shine, never to feel the soft breeze against your skin or enjoy the scent of fresh new growth…
Did you think I have forgotten you? No, never. I am sorrowful that our connection was lost, and pray earnestly that it can be restored once again. I pray that you can feel Jesus’ Presence surrounding you and comforting you. I hope and pray that somehow you will be able to see this message. That would be so delightful!
And by posting this I am praying that others will become aware of the slavery that is going on behind closed doors. It is my longing and heartfelt desire that through united, fervent prayers girls like you will be set free both spiritually and physically.
Have I forgotten you and your companions that I think of as my beloved children? No, not for a moment. You are in my heart and prayers. Someday, somehow Jesus will set you free. Keep praying, and I will to. Oh, I do hope this message will get to you. Remember; always remember that I love you and that Jesus’ love is strong and eternal. Keep trusting in Him. ‘They’ can’t take that away. XOXOX

Bribes and Dates

The youngsters did go home but long after they had been sent to bed, and their mother thought they were asleep, the boys crept out and down the long tunnel-like hall to where they knew the men were confined, with their feet in stocks.

Their sister was already there, hiding in the shadows. Acts 16:20-24

Rufus bent closer to Zonya’s ear: “How did you get past the guards?”

His little sister shrugged her shoulders as if to say that wasn’t a problem. “I gave them some fresh dates.”

“You always were a favorite of theirs.”

“What about you?”

Rufus rubbed his thumb and finger together. “Coin.”

They all knew it wouldn’t have helped if they had wanted to see anyone but Paul and Silas.

“Shh!” Lucas leaned forward, listening intently. They heard voices, gentle voices, not loud, cursing, angry voices, not groanings cause by intense pain but…

“Singing!” Zonya peered around the stone-walled corner to get a closer look at their favorite prisoners and her brothers crowded behind her.

The singing, although feeble at first grew stronger and stronger until it seemed to fill the whole cell with vibrant, joyous sound.

The three children stared at each other with starry eyes.

“Surely God is here,” Lucas whispered.

They went back to their beds feeling greatly comforted, until…

Ten Minutes to Tears

“Hey, Lucas, look at the huge crowd gathering at the marketplace. Let’s go see what it’s all about.  Zonya, you had better stay home."

His little sister stamped her foot angrily. “You always say that when you want to do something exciting. “She lowered her small fists onto narrow hips to make herself look more threatening, “There’s no way I’m going to run home like a baby!”

“Come on,” Lucas urged, “We need someone to tell Mama where we are in case it gets late.”

But Zonya stuck her chin out defiantly and the boys knew there was no use arguing with her.

When they took off at a run, she knew they were trying to get rid of her but that made determined her more than ever to find out what was so exciting in the marketplace.
Eventually Zonya found an open in the crowd and darted in. Because of her agility and quickness she was soon well ahead of them.

Zonya was so stunned at what she saw that she when she slammed to a stop, she bumped into a burly Jewish man in a burlap coat who turned and scowled at her. Her eyes were wide with shock.

The preachers! They had torn off their robes and were giving them a lashing like they were common thieves!

That made Zonya very angry. She wanted to pound someone, they were good people, they were kind, how dare they whip them so cruelly? Zonya didn’t know she had been yelling and sobbing out loud until someone grabbed her from behind and clamped their hand over her mouth.
She struggled to get free.

 “You!” she sputtered when she saw it was Rufus. “You,” she shrieked, “How dare you be so mean to me?”

Lucas put both hands on her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eye, “Zonya, you’ve gotta be quiet.”

There was something about his look that told her he meant business.

Zonya did what she was told, but the tears were streaming down her dirty little face. ‘Whip! Whip! Whip! When were they ever going to stop?’

“What did they do wrong?” She asked her brothers in a piercing whisper.
Lucas shrugged his shoulders and hung his head. Rufus glowered.

As if things weren’t bad enough, they handcuffed the prisoners and Rufus, who had crept a little closer, heard someone say they were going to be thrown into prison. The children fled like they were being chased by a herd of wild elephants.

“Papa, Papa,” they cried and managed to spill out the story to their father who was the jail-keeper before the crowd surged after the bleeding pair of preachers.

Because they understood their father so well, the children knew that it upset him that good men were going to be jailed during his shift. They could tell that he was faking anger when he yelled at them to go home and spoke harshly to the prisoners. Later he admitted locking them in the deepest, darkest part of the dungeon.

The youngsters did go home but long after they had been sent to bed, and their mother thought they were asleep, the boys crept out and down the long tunnel like hall to where they knew the men were confined, with their feet in stocks.

Their sister was already there, hiding in the shadows. Acts 16:20-24

Better Than a Fairy Tale? Not Yet

A continuation of my spiritual journey.

Thank you Google Images for the wonderful snapshots.

So what happened next? There were many things of course, but what is really important? Eventually Mom and Dad separated and Dad took some of us younger ones to a runty little shack he built himself and we were supposed to start school in a new, far distant area. I was appointed, or rather accepted the job of head cook and clothes washer. With wood heating, which I wasn’t familiar with and inexperience combined, well, let’s just say it was a new experience for me.

I was introduced to a new ‘religion’ also. I wasn’t used to his new way of worshipping which included speaking in tongues that reached a higher and higher crescendo and numerous people walking in and out of the building during services and it made me fearful.

I did a lot of searching and praying during this time. It is still precious to me how God illuminated the Word for a sincere young teenager. I can still clearly remember how various Scriptures came to life for me and I knew He was giving me direction.

While I was holed up with my younger siblings in that out of the way homemade ‘trailer’ I got really sick with Hepatitis which must have lasted at least three weeks. Not a fun time, too be sure, but there was not only a silver lining in the clouds after this happened, but better than that it was like a rainbow in my memory.

It was the fall of the year so the leaves were turning color. One afternoon while I was still weak, but slowly getting better, I went for a walk in the woods and they were graced with natural autumn beauty. This meandering stroll was a time of communing with God. I felt him so close amidst His creation that later I wrote a rather long essay about it. Had I found ‘heaven’ at last? No, but it was another oasis of peace in a troubled lifestyle. I treasure to this day those little touches from God that kept me going.

Mom had found her way back to ‘her own people’ and their quiet, peaceful, loving ways were a drawing to me. I had a cousin my age who reached out to me but when Dad intercepted one of my responses to her there were dire consequences.

S. Please check out my book. (Link below.) If you want to escape from a troubled past and hope for a better future, this may be the most comforting book you will ever read, 

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Better Than a Fairy Tale? Well Not Yet

Okay, I promised to tell more of my life-story so here goes.

So here I was just a young teenager with my heart torn and bleeding. I didn’t know it at the time, but that impassive indifference between me and the pastor of the church we had always attended had started a rift.

Things didn’t get better, right away, they worsened. Soon I was facing the worse day of my life, and that is not a trite statement! I still think it probably was, and it became a pivotal point in my journey. Dad asked, no, rather expected me to go along with him on one of his numerous electrical trips to far flung communities. I had gone along before with a certain amount of trepidation because of what he had attempted to do to me in the past. (Ya, and had done when I was younger.)

So here I was in some little farmhouse in the middle of Who-Knows-Where and I walked into the pale, non-descript kitchen, and stopped. They are talking about me. I froze. Dad was talking about giving me away, abandoning me like an unwanted kitten or puppy. Oh, sure, it was called fostering, but I didn’t think of it that way. I just knew he wanted to tear me away from the only family I knew and loved.

I don’t remember how I arrived there, but suddenly found myself in the woods across the graveled road with tall, very tall fir trees surrounding me. To say I bawled my eyes out isn’t trite, either. Don’t know how long I stayed there, but common sense told me I had to go back eventually, so I did. No one had missed me.

I wandered around, looking into the spare bedroom, etc. and wondered if this would be my new home.

Time was moving along so I looked in on ‘them’ in the kitchen. They were still talking, but I got the drift of it, the farm wife didn’t think it would be a good idea to take me in. I didn’t linger to hear more.

The news was too little, and too late. The damage was done. I went to the car and sooner or later Dad joined me. We drove off leaving my innocent childhood behind.

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Better Than a Fairy Tale

Do you want to hear a story that is so marvelous that you’ll think I made it up? I know for a fact that it is true ‘cuz it happened to me over forty years ago and the results ripple right down to the present.

Okay, where shall I start? Guess what, I have something in common with a lot of you. I come from a broken home. I know the anguish of seeing a marriage torn apart right in front of my eyes and feeling the effects in my own soul because it was my Mom and Dad.

Ours was one of those old-fashioned homes where you didn’t tell others what was going on behind closed doors: gotta put on a good front, y’know. So what was the result? Pain and heartache and groping in despair.

But I did reach out: I was not as reserved as some of my siblings so talked to our pastor, or at least tried too. He listened impassively, or so it seemed. I got more desperate: our home was falling apart right in front of my eyes, Mom and Dad didn’t love one another anymore, and I and my hapless brothers and sisters were caught in the vortex.

So I did what only a writer would do, I put my heartache in words, in poem form actually, and gave it to him when I had the opportunity. What did he do? He gave it back and said: “that’s very nice.” Did it help? Nope. (Wish I still had that poem.)

I see that this is going to end up being a whole lot longer than I had expected, but I promise you it does have a happy ending. What a trite word. Come on give me a better one, joyous, blessed, comforting,-- gratifying? No one word seems to describe what I went, and am going through.

But I know you have places to go, and things to do, so stay tuned until tomorrow, and yes, I’ll keep writing while you face your day.

 P.S. Please check out my book. (Link below.) If you want to escape from a troubled past and hope for a better future, this may be the most comforting book you will ever read, 

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The Flood From a Child's Viewpoint (concluded)

Another stern command came from above, and Raibo said later he thought for sure Noah and his sons were going to plunge into the crowd and break up the fight, but just then Jakal yanked Shabo to his feet and dragged him away. Raibo didn’t dare follow, he was sure Shaba would be dead anyway.

Several weeks went by and Shaba slowly mended but made sure he never, ever came near the village where he grew up again. He would rather be torn by the claws and jaws of a lion than face another adult human. Raibo eventually found him, because he wanted to, then he went away and brought back three or four youngsters who were in just as dire circumstances as themselves.  The children hid out in the jungle but close to the Ark so that they could glimpse and hear Noah’s earnest pleading.

One day everything changed. The children stared transfixed as not one pair but two, they more and more animals filed out of the nearby woods and distant plains and up the ramp in a most orderly fashion. The children, forgetting their fear, rushed out to get a closer look at this strange phenomenon. The whole crowd grew silent, and the news must have been spread by runners because soon the surrounding hillsides were swelling with the marveling throng. 

As the animals came the sky grew dark and there was the occasional flash of lightning and loud clap of thunder. Shaba saw many look nervously at the sky, but the threatened rain didn’t come.

Soon the animals had all filed in and Noah started to speak once again.  All around him men and women were muttering then beginning to disperse. 

Shaba lifted his arms in longing.

 "Please, please, let me come," he begged, but Noah didn’t hear him because a burly giant next to him knocked him over and kept him down with his foot.

The giant eventually walked away and Shaba sat up, and rubbed the dirt out of his eyes. His companions had all snuck back to the safety of the undergrowth and before Shaba’s tired eyes he saw the doors slowly shut.

Shaba hung around with his friends the next few days but they were all strangely silent. 

If they were terrified of the earthquakes that repeatedly shook the earth they didn’t mention it. More and more innocent young children who had been brutally treated somehow found their way to them. Shaba became their unspoken leader.

“Shaba, I am so scared,” Kenzy murmured. Eight year old Shaba brushed the hair from the little girl’s eyes.

“We all are, Kenzy,” he replied.

“I’m afraid he was right,” Loto whispered.

“Who was?”

“Noah.”

Shaba nodded.

“And we’re all going to drown.”

Shaba put his hand on the little lad’s trembling shoulder.

“Ya I know we will.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“A little.” The earth trembled beneath their feet and they hung on to each other for support.

“But I’ve listened carefully to Preacher Noah for many days and I think I understand what he was saying,”

Right then the unnatural stench from a non-wood fire reached their nostrils. Terrified, the youngsters clung to Raibo and Shaba.

“They making more and more sacrifices to appease their gods,” a newcomer announced soberly. “There was five thrown into the fire last night.”

So they believed Noah, Shaba thought, but don't want to admit it.

“What was Noah trying to tell them?” the newcomer asked a moment later.

Shaba took a deep breath and looked at the sky. He reached out his hand as the first raindrop fell. 

“That the earth would be washed clean of all wickedness,” He looked at each child in turn. “You know what wickedness is. “ They shuddered and stared into each-others frightened eyes.

The rain fell faster. 

“Shall we go to higher ground?”  Raibo asked.

Shabo hesitated then shook his head. “The bad guys will be there, and some of them will be meaner than ever,”

“What shall we do?” Kenzy wailed.

“We will pray,” Shaba decided, “To Noah’s God.

They did, and then Shaba told them that God was preparing a happy place for all the little children: a place where they would have plenty of food and playtime with no reason to ever fear again.

For some reason they became intrigued by how much water was gushing over the waterfalls and walked over to see it. All around people were yelling, screaming and pushing their way to higher ground, but the seven little children watched the  cascade with rain gushing all around them.  When the ground gave away beneath their feet they were swept away to Heaven’s gate.

The Flood From a Child's Viewpoint

Have you ever gotten the feeling that there were things in the Bible that didn’t seem right but you thought you should bury your head in the sand and pretend you didn’t notice? One question you might have asked yourself is: why did God allow man to have a free will then destroy him with a flood

Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.

                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  The crowd quickly parted as his dad shoved his way through and flung Shaba on the ground. A woman tittered nervously as Jakal thrashed him.

                A sharp cry came from the Ark’s doorway. Jakal rose and shook his black hair out of his eyes, glared at Noah then continued beating the lad.

                Another stern command came from above, and Raibo said later he thought for sure Noah and his sons were going to plunge into the crowd and break up the fight, but just then Jakal yanked Shabo to his feet and dragged him away. Raibo didn’t dare follow, he was sure Shaba would be killed anyway.

Several weeks went by and Shaba slowly mended but made sure he never, ever came near the village where he grew up again. He would rather be torn by the claws and jaws of a lion than face another adult human. Raibo eventually found him, because he wanted to, then he went away and brought back three or four youngsters who were in just as dire circumstances as themselves.  The children hid out in the jungle but close to the Ark so that they could glimpse and hear Noah’s earnest pleading.

One day everything changed. 

The Flood from a Child’s Viewpoint

Have you ever gotten the feeling that there were things in the Bible that didn’t seem right but you thought you should bury your head in the sand and pretend you didn’t notice? One question you might have asked yourself is: why did God allow man to have a free will then destroy him with a flood?

Shaba’s eyes rounded in horror and he clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting, or worse yet screaming. He couldn’t keep from staring at the charred bones in the pit of ashes. At first he was totally frozen to the spot then completely involuntarily his foot nudged at the bones. Yes, it was a skull, a tiny human skull. He knew it was, had known it would be. A shadow felt across the pit, a huge black shape holding a machete. Before he had a chance to flee or even scream he was yanked by his hair and dangling a foot above the ground.

                “Ha! I knew your curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later! Yup, that’s your kid sister alright. Made a mighty good sacrifice, she did, but not as good a one as you would have.”

                Shaba wanted to wriggle and try to get free but was too terrified. The monster-like man whipped the machete within a hairbreadth of his neck then slowly pressed it closer, drawing blood.

                A small crowd was gathering around, some cheering him on.

                “What do you think guys? Should we take this one?”

                “Nah,” one of his companions drawled. “He’s too skinny. One brute a night is plenty or it will get too common.”

                Faintly over the breeze they hear someone with a strong voice speaking.  Shaba saw the crowds’ attention shift from him to the distance preacher. Mobid’s grip slackened and Shaba fought desperately to get away.

                “Hey, I didn’t say you could go!” But Shaba had vanished, a ripped piece of his tunic dangling from Mobid’s hand. Mobid lunged after him but he didn’t have a chance.  Shaba was fleeing for his life.

               

                “You okay, Shaba?” The small boy shrank back in terror into the dark recesses of his thatched roof hut. He was pretty sure who was looking in on him but wasn’t about to let his presence be known. Not yet.

                “C’mon Shaba, you’ve been hiding here most of yesterday and all night. Mobid and his gang are picking on other prey. Let’s go find out what Preacher Noah is talking about. It’s pretty safe if we get up close to the ramp.”

                Shaba knew that was true. People hurled insults or even rocks from a distance at the old man but they seemed afraid to do it within twenty feet of him. Did they think he would strike them dead or something? It took a long time for Raibo to convince him to come out, and when he did it was only because Raibo had slashed open a pineapple and coaxed him to come out and help him eat it.

                The boys slipped stealthily through the lush, over-grown jungle, ever keeping a wary eye open for vicious animals and even worse humans.

                Raibo pushed his way through the restless, scoffing multitude hanging around the ark that was being built, with Shaba at his heels.

                Shaba felt his tension slowly ease away when he gazed into Noah’s kind, gentle eyes.

                Most of his sermon was hard to understand but he knew that Noah was pleading with the people to repent of their wicked ways. Shaba knew what wicked meant. He saw it every day. Every day someone was being abused. He didn’t know the words to describe what was happening mainly to little kids like himself and Raibo, but he knew it was evil, very evil, and terror haunted him wherever he went. He looked longingly at Noah and his wife, his three sons and their spouses and knew with a certainty that they never ever had treated each other in the way that every kid and women in his village were molested.

                Noah was begging them to find safety in the Ark because a flood was coming to drown all the bad people. Shaba didn’t need anyone to tell him what a flood was. He would never forget how some older boys had thrown him over a small waterfall and he had thrashed and screamed his way to shore. How he had survived he would never, ever know.

                “Shaba!” The barked command made Shaba’s knees buckle. Was it Mobid? No, but it was just as bad.  

to be continued...https://www.createspace.com/4837922

Based On a True Story

“What do I care if they are hungry?” Comrade Snezhana scoffed.  “We've put up with them all day long, and are taking a well-deserved break.”

Lyosha could hear whimpering down the long halls in the orphanage and it made her feel uncomfortable. She knew how little the children had to eat today, and it wasn't any better yesterday, or last week either.

A half hour later Comrade Roksana handed her a glass of wine to go with the expensive white chocolates that were topping off the meal but she felt too full, or was it sick, to take another bite.

A toddler’s fretful whimpers were turning into lusty wails. Lyosha knew she should go comfort Klava before Comrade Snezhana strode over there and started slapping her around. But Lyosha didn’t dare. She knew she had the reputation of being too soft on the ‘brats’ and didn't have the nerve to make a scene in front of all the other comrades including hardened officers who were partying with them.

I suppose you are horrified that something like this really did happen in Russia during the war. Why is it that we can sympathize with physical needs and want to do something, yet hardly hear the hidden cry of the heart?

How many children, young people, and churches are starving spiritually while those of us that should be helping them are feasting on what the world has to offer and barely take enough spiritual manna to keep our own souls alive?

When’s the last time you or I have had a truly satisfying hour of studying the Bible? When is the last time we fasted, not to be seen of men, but because we had such a deep longing to pray, that food or earthly pleasures just didn't seem important? I fall so far short but oh I pray that I can do better!

A Certain Sister Fell Among Thieves

Fern cradled the cordless phone under her chin while deftly forming cookies for the Annual Charity Auction.

"Hi, Ruth! So what are you doing today?"

"Oh, sewing. Sewing for my grandchildren. You know how it is with children. They grow so fast."

"They sure do. Say, did you hear what Susan has been up to the last while? "

"Uh huh!"

Fern didn't seem to hear her as she plunged on with her story.

"I can't believe she would 'fall in' with that sort of companions! And did you hear what she was doing just the other day?"

"Who were her companions?"

"Oh, you know. The unusual. Doubt, Unbelief, Luvof-deeworld. I don't know their real names.She really fell hard."

"Yeah, I wanted to go talk to her, but didn't know what to say."

"She should have known better. After all she came from a good family."

"Did you hear who did go and talk to her?"

"No, who?"

"Diedrie."

"Diedrie?"

" You know, the one who started coming to church awhile back!"

"Oh, her! I haven't met her,yet! You'd think she would be ashamed to come around with her outlandish hair color and those awful tattoes!

I wish you wouldn't keep sewing while I am talking!"

"They say she has met the Lord." Ruth gazed longingly at the garment in her hands. Chatting with Fern always took soo much time.

"Really? Well, seeing is believing. I wish she would change her ways if she is going to persist in coming to church. Think of the influence she could be on the young!"

"Yeah!"

A faint dinging sound could be heard in the background.

"Oh, there goes my timer. I'm making my famous Orange Buttermilk Cookies for the sale. Iced and decorated, of course.I do hope we rake in lots of money towards building a new church in El Salvador. It's a good cause."

" Maybe I should donate these dresses I'm making. Breanna and Kayleen have plenty."

" Sure, that's a good idea. I hope that, uh, What's Her Name doesn't put strange ideas into Susan's head. The poor girl. I bet her mother must be so embarrassed to have Her hanging around."

Ruth was silent. She had heard that Susan, and her mother had been deeply touched by the compassionate, non-judgmental attitude Diedrie had shown.

"I wish I could be more understanding...." She said softly.

"Oh, you do fine. Look, you offered to give those dresses, after all that work and money you put into them! Well, I got to run along. Ta de da! Have a good day." Click!

Ruth sat there lost in thought. Why is it so much easier for some to show compassion than others?

Books by Marilyn Friesen are available from:www.prairieviewpress.com    

http://www.authorsden.com/marilynffriesen

God Knows My Size

How many years is it since Darwin presented the evolution theory to the world?  It must be well over one hundred by now, am I right? So how many students in that time have been taught that humans evolved from monkeys, or even lesser beings? It would take a more mathematical mind than mine to even make a rough guess. Anyone want to chance it? 

The point I’m getting at, is, if evolution has a solid base of truth and there wasn’t so many gaps in the theory, wouldn’t we all be convinced by now that everything just happened?  Why are there so many, even those that proclaim themselves as atheists, plagued with doubts from time to time?

Back in Russia where teaching about God were mocked and scorned and stomped on possibly more viciously than almost anywhere else there was a young student who also had questions about the existence of God. Sure, her parents and a few others were ‘devout believers’ but she was feeling unsure so started to talk to the ‘God’ her parents seemed so well acquainted with.

She didn’t make it easy for this ‘God’ to convince her that He was real either. They were living in a two room shelter at the time, and ‘they’ included eleven others in her family. That shouts poverty, right? Well, winter was coming on, and she wanted a new coat and a sweater. Could God provide that for her; her, just one little girl among the millions of other poor children throughout the world?  From a girlish viewpoint there was something else that she wanted almost as much if not more than that comfortable winter clothing. She wanted shoes, feminine shoes. It was no fun at all clomping off to school in her brother’s boots that she had to stuff with newspaper to keep from falling off.

Well, she prayed, and prayed, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming. I guess she must have started finding comfort in her nightly chats with God because she kept on for several weeks.

Then one day Daddy came home from work carrying a big package. You can be sure all those children were excited and curious to know what it was, and their parents couldn’t even guess.

Sit back and picture that girl’s thrill of awe when first one, then two, then three items were pulled out of the box and they were just what she had asked for. There was a beautiful burgundy coat, a gray sweater, and brown shoes with little heels and a design stamped on the tops. Were they new? Yes.  Did they fit her perfectly? Absolutely.

“I hadn’t even remembered to tell Him my size,” she whispered with tears in her voice. 

Afraid in the Catacombs

Time for another quick peek into my upcoming novel. Around Smoldering Coals.  Two children and their mother are trying to find their way back to their home in the catacombs. This is part of what I added today, so I haven't had the time to do a whole lot of editing on it.

Tayletha took two, then three candles from a stash near the door. After such a harrowing experience she wanted the comfort of light surrounding her. The fosser saw them studying the map Cedric had made for them and looked over their shoulder.

“I can draw you a quicker route,” 

Lydda and Tayletha looked at each other. Then Lydda saw the exhaustion in her son's eyes.

“Where is it?”

He took the wax tablet and started to erase it. Tayletha snatched it back. “We don't know you! Our pateras made this map and it's good enough for us.”

Creating a Fabulous Gift (part one)

  The staff had never seen their beloved King, so excited, so motivated before. His son would soon be coming home and the King had been spending every spare moment in preparation for that very wonderful day.

      Everything would soon be in order.

    “Do you think Manley suspects what I am about to give him?” The King asked more than once.

     “Not a chance, “Michal replied. “He couldn’t.”

     The King toured the grounds leisurely. Every rose bush had been carefully pruned earlier, and now was blooming profusely.

All the other flowers were also at their brightest and gayest. He smiled in satisfaction then toured the orchards. Because of the ideal climate within the splendid walls of the kingdom, a remarkable phenomenon was taking place. The process of budding, blossoming and bearing fruit was going on continually.

Just Another Nameless Face?

Based on a true story.

Does Jesus care about that that little children way out in the boondocks somewhere that hardly anyone knows? What about that little one dwelling in one of the thousands of high rise apartments throughout the country? Does He care about them? Or are they just another nameless face in the throng? Does He care about you?