Trials and Tribulations

Given the events still unraveling in Japan, and the even more recent string of devastating tornadoes in the US ~ let alone the many major events that have occurred since I posted this originally here almost two years ago, I felt it time to re-post it.

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Tribulation

I've debated about whether or not I should write what I have. But some days you just have to follow what's in your heart, roll the dice and face what comes from doing so.

Tribulation is a subject on many minds and in many articles, movies and books of late. I'll try to be brief as possible on the subject (brevity is not my forte, so please bear with me. :D).

WHAT
Tribulation is considered by many as the "end times" or "end of the world". While it may be "the end of the world as we know it" as one song goes, I believe Tribulation is essentially a period of change -- as brutal as puberty can be -- but not the end of the world. It’s the end of one period and the start of another. Any change is turbulent. But the next era will be something of Peace and Wonder.

HOW
Pick a subject from a long list: earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, strong/violent storms, tsunami's, cyclones, war, famine, pestilence / pandemic, meteor strike, volcanoes, cats and dogs living together... You can find any of these in places ranging from the Bible to Blockbuster Video, from the neighbors to the nightly news. So I need say no more here.

WHY
What I would like to point out is that it doesn't matter so much what happens, but how humanity responds to what happens. Human beings can grow / change once pushed to our limits. What if that push is on a much larger scale than an individual, family, company or community? What if we're pushed on a global scale? How BIG would that change be?

The other question is what would that change be? My belief is that if we looked to our own needs and developed a bunker mentality, this will only lead to isolation and a "get them before they get us" attitude that could spell the fall of humanity. :(

Or, we could reach out to each other – from next-door neighbors to others in communities around the world. It's been proven that the combined efforts of human beings bring greater results than the sum of individual efforts. What would happen if we expanded our efforts, joining hands with those around the world? What kind of change would that bring?

WHO
There's been much debate about Rapture as a means of escape from Tribulation. But from what I've researched, my conclusion is that if there is an escape clause somewhere, it's certainly NOT before the start of Tribulation. There are six of seven seals broken before the 144,000 are sealed in Revelation. So that means there are some events that will happen before that point. In one of the Gospels, Christ mentions that, even though it's going to be a time of grave horrors, "it will be shortened due to the elect." That makes me think the elect will still be around on this mudball at the time or why would it matter...?

For myself, suffice to say that I'd rather prepare my heart to go through Tribulation and meet Christ face-to-face on the other side with my head held high rather than saying "I believe" only because it will give me a ticket out of the horrors.

WHERE
I believe we shall see many horrors, but not necessarily all in one place at the same time, unless the sun blows up then all points above are null and void (save the paragraph above, of course).


Let's see, we have Who, What, Where and How... what's missing...? Of course, the first question everyone asks...

WHEN
I don't know. I don't WANT to know. I'm a person that will fixate on a date and needlessly waste the time I have. If I take it day-by-day, living like it's my last moments, does it really matter when?

Also, something else came to mind on the subject. Clocks and calendars are man's creation to mark time – not God's. All said and done, it's in God's hands, no matter what we do, say or predict. But God may not see time as humanity does.

I believe the true timing of "when" is similar to one of those little puzzle games where you have to line up the holes to get the ball to drop through. In other words, a series of people and events must line up just right for things to happen. If a person is not there or something does not quite happen in "just the right way" or in the proper sequence, the ball is still "trapped" and the major events are delayed. There have been hypotheses that the "end times" may have happened already. But I believe these were the times when things started to line up but then something changed – perhaps a change in policy or way people handled the situation before them.

But when all does fall into place and the BIG event happens, it will be a bumpy ride. But at the end is something and Someone wonderful. I think that's worth going through what may come our way.

WHAT CAN WE DO
The answer is also found in the good book: pray. Christ instructed people to pray that it does not happen in the winter (at a time when local food is short, shelter is desperately needed and transport is difficult). I don't hear many people preaching that one. Repent, yes. Believe, certainly. But pray that the end times don't come in winter? No. Why? It makes a LOT of sense to me. That's why it's in my prayers.

In addition, there's some common-sense stuff. The CDC and FEMA have many guidelines and has been trying to get people to read them. Prepare a grab-and-go bag. List your medications. Have the family become familiar with a fire-drill. Plan an evacuation route to high grounds. What would you do if you know a storm is coming - stock up on batteries and essentials. That's stock-up not stockpile – there's a difference; hording is not helping unless you plan to share with the neighborhood. And a room full of supplies isn't useful if you've been evacuated from your home. Again, common sense and reasonable preparations are recommended.

Lastly, get to know those around you. If a major disaster hits, phone lines and other contact with the outside world will be cut temporarily. Even cell phones are worthless if the tower is out of power or taken down – or the switchboard overwhelmed as seen on 9/11. Face-to-face contacts will be the front line to recovery immediately after the disaster. Start now and get to know people and things will run a lot smoother if you find a friendly, familiar face rather than a stranger working beside you.

In the years following Hurricane Katrina, more and more communities have developed Emergency Response Plans and have started training regular civilians with some First Response skills to many different adverse events that can occur in our local area, from blizzards to bombings. It will be a still needed more and more in the future, I believe.

Well, I've tried to keep it short. I don't know who or how many will read this. But I hope some of the advice above will be taken going forward. Thanks for reading.

Prepare and pray
Not prey
Today

- ESA

Ant and Grasshopper (Story)

(c) 2008 - Free to share or copy/paste provided story is not changed and you do not receive any funds in doing so.

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Ant and Grasshopper

Anita Ant and Gabrielle Grasshopper were cousins from the same town. Like many in small towns, they attended the same schools when they were younger, worked at the same place and lived near each other. But the one major difference between these two cousins is what they did with their spare time.

Anita would often walk around the neighborhood, stopping whenever she spied a neighbor out on their front porch or yard, and would wave to them as they went past in their cars. She always had a friendly smile and an open ear for anyone she came across, friend or stranger.

Gabrielle – Gabbie to her friends – spent all her spare time in the electronic world. If she was out for a walk, she had her cell phone to her ear and chatted with someone a great distance away. She also spent a great deal of time chatting with people online from around the world. She had many good friends online, almost more than the entire population in the small town they lived in.

One Monday, Anita saw Gabbie walking past her cubicle on the way to the restroom, she smiled and waved. Gabbie just walked right by obviously caught up in the conversation on her cell phone and she never saw the wave. Anita thought about this a moment and realized it had been weeks now since she actually traded more than two words with her cousin. She knew her cousin wasn’t mad at her or intentionally ignoring her, but was just caught up in her friends outside the town.

At lunch, Anita grabbed her plastic container from the pile of similar containers in the lunchroom fridge. She noted that Gabbie had yet to get her lunch. So she grabbed her cousin’s container and walked it back to her cousin’s cubicle. Gabbie was there, chatting online with three people via IM and holding a fourth conversation with someone on her cell phone. Anita placed the container to one side of the keyboard and patiently waited for her cousin to take a break and say “hi.”

The half hour passed quickly, and Gabbie didn’t even look up. She did nab the container, pulled a plastic fork from her drawer and started to eat, however. At the end of the lunch break, Anita, sighed and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the way her cousin behaved all the time.

As the days of the week passed, Anita realized that Gabbie treated all her co-workers the same way. Anita would take the time to get to know them and exchange news or stories with them during the breaks, but Gabbie was so wrapped up in people elsewhere, she had even stopped smiling and nodding greetings to her coworkers that saw her everyday.

Week by week, Anita realized this was also the case with people in the neighborhood and even when they both attended family gatherings. Gabbie was there physically but mentally she was in cyberspace or deep in conversation with someone miles away. Anita finally decided to bring this to Gabbie’s attention.

One Saturday morning – VERY early in the morning, Anita went over to Gabbie’s apartment and pounded on the door. She could hear a half-asleep Gabbie fumble around inside the apartment. The door swung wide and a disheveled head stuck out. She opened her mouth but only got out a startled “What the – ” before Anita jammed the door open with her foot and shoved a hot cup of coffee into her cousin’s hand.

“We really need to talk, Gabbie.”

Gabbie’s eyes widened in panic. “Someone died?”

Anita smiled. “Not quite, but close. You haven’t talked to anyone around here in almost two months now.”

“Whaddaya mean? I see you at work everyday?”

“See, yes. But we haven’t spoken in ages. You’re always on your cell phone and computer. Heck, girl, I even hear you in the bathroom stall! You really should take a moment and talk to the people around here too.”

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me, Anita! People around here are boring! Heck, we’ve all gone to the same school, had the same teachers, live the same lives. You and I even have the same jobs, for crying out loud! I want to connect with people from different backgrounds, different countries, different lives! The world is too wide to just keep yourself in one small town your whole life.”

“I agree with you there, I do go out online from time to time too. But I don’t sacrifice my life here, my contacts with those in this town. Gabbie, you didn’t even talk to anyone at Jimmy’s birthday party last weekend.”

“I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but you talked on that cell phone the whole time. You even had the laptop out a good part of the day. Couldn’t you have at least stopped talking on that cell phone long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with the rest of us?”

“So you’re upset that I didn’t sing???”

“You’re not getting it at all, are you?!?” Anita’s temper flared. “I give up! I tried but I don’t think there’s a way I could get it through your thick skull!” Anita stormed out of her cousin’s apartment.

Gabbie, shrugged, sipped her coffee and opened the laptop to check her email and see who was online. Even at this hour, someone in the world was awake.

Weeks turned to months. Gabbie and Anita’s uncle passed away and willed the duplex he owned to the two girls. Both were thrilled as their rents were rising faster than their paychecks.

When the day came to move, most of the company where they worked and a good part of the neighborhood showed up at Anitia’s apartment early to help her move. With the number of hands and vehicles they had, they were able to haul all her belongings over in one collective convoy and had her settled within three short hours.

As they passed the pizza boxes, beer and soda, they noticed Gabbie pulling up before the duplex. Anita looked around, no one had offered to help her cousin move. She tried to encourage a few of her closer co-workers and neighbors to go out and help, but many offered excuses such as being tired or that they had other plans for the afternoon. Some offered no excuse at all but simply refused to help.

After thanking everyone for their help and encouraging them to eat up the pizza, Anita went out alone to help her cousin with the first of many carloads.

While the two girls were wrestling a mattress onto the car’s roof for the third trip, Anita huffed, “What happened to all the friends you have? Couldn’t any of them help?”

Gabbie laughed and nearly slipped off the curb from where she wrestled with a rope, “Are you kidding? They’re thousands of miles away! They’re not going to come out here just to help me move!”

Anitia looked sadly at her cousin, “Who else is there to help you then?”

Gabbie froze as if the thought had taken hold a moment. Then she shrugged and replied, “Well, I have you, so I guess I can always depend on my family. Right?”

Thus Gabbie didn’t change her ways. The months became years. One day on the way home from work Gabbie was talking on her cell phone and didn’t hear the nearby car out of control. The driver’s side door of Gabbie’s car was completely crushed. Her cell phone flew from her hand, completely destroyed upon impact.

Gabbie woke up in the hospital. No cell phone. No laptop. No visitors.

Doctors and nurses came and went. The administrator said that both her place of work and family had been notified.

Hour by hour the time dragged. The little TV on the wall near the foot of her bed was definitely not as stimulating as being connected to the world had been. She was lonely – very lonely.

Hours turned around the clock once, night was over and day started again. Gabbie jumped a little when the phone rang beside her bed. Anxious to connect to someone – anyone – Gabbie answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi, Gabbie, it’s Anitia. I’m so sorry to hear about the accident. I just got the message this morning when I got into work. I’ll swing by after hours today, OK?”

“Is anyone else coming?”

“From here, no. Has anyone else from the family called?”

“No. Nobody since I woke up here yesterday. You’re the first.”

“Oh….. Well, you should see all the virtual cards that are pouring into your inbox. IT had to ramp up the server.”

“Swell…” Gabbie replied sarcastically as she sadly looked around at the empty white walls around her bed. She could see past the curtain all the cards and balloons and flowers her roommate had.

“Well, I need to get back to work, I’ll see you later. Bye….”

“… Bye.” Tears welled up in Gabbie’s eyes. All the friends she had. Where were they? Why hadn’t anyone come yesterday? Why is Anita the only one coming today? Where are her family members? Her co-workers? Her friends from the neighborhood and school? The people she saw everyday?”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tugged the curtain between the beds a little to one side and smiled warmly to the stranger on the bed beside her. “Hi, there, my name is Gabbie Grasshopper. What’s yours?”

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-ESA

Looking Ahead

I can not write the Looking Behind post without also adding this one. While I believe it's important to listen to the stories and connect with those who have gone before us in life, I also believe it's critical to connect with those who are to follow.

While this world makes our lives ever-increasingly busy, and our schedules are overwhelmed with appointments, meetings and events. We need to take time out, unplug from the non-stop stream broadcasting from the radio, TV, computers and internet. Instead, spend some time with others.

There are untold treasures in the quiet moments.

• A young babe sleeping curled up on a father's chest.
  
• An adult re-living the joy of finger-paints with a young child.
  
• Building things together with leggos, without using the directions that came in the box.
• Passing on baking and other traditions around the holidays.
  
• Sharing stories, and listening as they tell you ones of their own.
  
• Helping as they struggle to learn school lessons (and digging frantically through internet sites and other resources so we don't let them know how much we've forgotten since our own school days).
  
• Trying not to leave fingerprints embedded on the passenger side of a car when a teenage driver is behind the wheel.
  
• Connecting over a cup of tea or coffee with a younger adult as you listen to the trials and tribulations that you have been through yourself - though they may seem so strange compared to the way things were in the "our days."

These are some of many moments that impact both the elder and younger people who share the experience. These are the building blocks of life that connect us to each other, both before us and behind us. These are what we take with us, and what we leave behind.

What do we leave for the future to find?
Do we leave loving memories,
Or say we don't have the time?

-ESA

Looking Behind

Following the death of someone, it's amazing how memories of ones who have passed earlier come swirling to the forefront of the mind. There are many nuggets that pass from generation to generation in my family.

While many can not picture Long Island (near New York City) without the infamous bumper-to-bumper, traffic-packed Long Island Expressway. My father shared his childhood memories of riding his bike with his friend over to the construction site in the late 1940's and early 1950's when they were building that highway for the first time.

While my father, brother and nephew share identical names, my father received his name from his uncle. The uncle and his father also shared the same identical name. My dad's uncle had no kids of his own, having died in Pearl Harbor in 1941. In my mom's basement, a US Navy sea chest bears that name. In a twist of "lost luggage" my great-uncle made it to Pearl Harbor, and his sea chest was delayed. The sea chest came home; my great-uncle didn't. Two generations later, my brother spent the last 23 years in the Navy, being stationed TWICE in Hawaii. The sea chest with his name on it still has yet to get there. :P

I once asked my paternal grandmother to tell me stories of her visit to the New York World's Fair. I knew of the one in 1964. She gushed over her outfits, the food, the sights and many other details, particularly the way the young man (her boyfriend) was a proper gentleman. I was a bit confused until I looked it up online. She wasn't talking about the 1964 Worlds Fair; she was recounting the 1939 New York World's Fair! :D

While many know about the Great Depression and devastating mid-west "Dust Bowl" from history texts and John Steinbeck's books, my maternal grandfather shared a different story. He and his elder brother attended college in the 1930's. They were not rich; they were just two of many kids on their parent's North Dakota farm, where the drought did not reach them. Colleges were so desperate for students that four-years of tuition, room and board, plus all text books and lab fees was $200 each. One became a doctor and my grandfather became a chemist at a paint company in Brooklyn, NY. After moving there, he attended a "dance-till-you-drop" event, where he met my maternal grandmother. My grandmother, also from a large family, was at that time the only one in the family who had a job. She worked as a switchboard operator in New York City. Those were the days when phone numbers started with a word or place name, and you used a real-person operator to connect your call. I recall her home phone number when I was a kid still had the "Ivanhoe-6" prefix (IV6-3015), the last remnant of a long-gone past.

There are many stories of immigrants coming to America. My family is no exception. One of my great-great-great-uncles came to America via a Philadelphia port. He found a coal company recruiting and moved to North-Eastern PA to work in the anthracite mines there. After working for a year or two, and seeing most of his earnings disappear into an ever-growing debt at the company store, he literally walked away from the job. Moving to New York City, he eventually found a job manually sweeping the city streets and shoveling horse manure (pre-automobile days) in Manhattan. To his dying day, or so I've been told, he swore that was the BEST job he ever had. He had sunshine, fresh air and could breathe without the impending roof of unpredictable rock over his head.

I learned that nugget when I, myself, lived in the same PA town generations later. A check into the town records showed that a great-great-grandfather of my friend there was the foreman of the coal mine shaft where my great-great-great uncle worked. Small world.

The reason I share these little snippets from the past with you today, is I hope you find some of your own. Even if it's not your own family, there are many elderly in the neighborhood that are quite willing (some are even desperate) to tell their stories before they no longer can. Do we take the time to listen?

Take a moment to look behind.
Listen while the story is still there
Before time passes and the nuggets disappear

-ESA

Words and Worms

In the days following my brother's death, my husband and I went out to his house (different state) to help watch his kids: putting them on the school bus, greeting them as they were dropped off, helping with homework and then playtime before their mom picked them up in the evening.

On one of these mornings, while we fed the kids breakfast, the youngest read to us from one of her books. Having read books to my eight nieces and nephews, it's a sweet treat when one reads to you.

Following that, we stepped outside to walk to the school bus stop. After torrential springtime rains the night before, the driveway and roadway were covered by innumerable worms, all dying as the fickle sunshine slowly cooked them.

When I saw the near-carpet of worms, I could not help but think of Japan and many other major disasters. This morning's news contained continuing coverage of the tornado damage in Alabama and other parts of the US, which brought this memory fresh to mind again. Like the night's storm for the worms, these major devastations adversely affected the lives of countless people. It leaves one feeling pretty helpless...

Like my brother, we were helpless to help those gone. But there were the ones left behind, and we bent down with fingers and sticks to save the worms we could.

That afternoon, we helped with homework, listened to the youngest read from her book, and made paper boats which we tested in the bathtub. (Apparently they work well until you drop a My Little Pony on them. :P) While my brother is gone, these kids are left behind. The laundry could wait; the household sorting could wait. These moments are precious to us.

And hopefully with the worms we left a mark in their young minds ~ that even in the face of mass devastation, there is something you can do to help those left behind.

When the world make you feel small and helpless,
There is still that flickering light of hope,
Even the smallest hand can help.

-ESA

Canceled Plans

Like many who work through grief following the sudden death of a friend or family member, I've been plodding along numbly the last few weeks, following the passing of my "kid" brother, who was only 38.

While the wake and funeral are behind us, my family kept busy between our own lives and cleaning out his house, helping his ex-wife with the kids (he had joint custody), closing bank accounts, canceling credit cards, subscriptions, memberships and appointments, returning work property, paying his bills, and dozens of others little things that follows one in life.

Then there are the moments of silence...

And in those moments, you realize that all the plans you had with that person are no longer going to happen. Pinned to our bulletin board at home are season passes my husband and I purchased for the local amusement park so we could take my brother and his kids there this summer. There were also all the events we planned: the fireworks, the bar-b-ques, birthday parties, vacation, visiting an old abandoned rock quarry to find quartz, and many other plans...

I realized the same thing created a lump in my throat and tears following both my dad's death and the miscarriage of our only pregnancy a few years ago. They are all plans where my life was interwoven with another's -- and that thread was suddenly cut, leaving me to feel suddenly alone and disconnected.

We never know what the future holds. We don't know when our last moments with loved ones are. We don't know what will cancel the plans we make for our life. The only thing we can do is make the most of the present. That is the only thing we truly have in our hands.

The last time I saw my brother alive was a simple weekend visit - less than a week before. We laughed, we joked, we helped him with some work around his house, and we watched some movies while chowing down pizza. Not a major event in anyone's mind, but the last moments I interacted with him face-to-face.

I spoke with him not more than 40 minutes before; none of us had any indication it would be our last words. I called him with a quick question, we traded a few more words, and ended with a laugh and "talk to you later." Fifty minutes later, I received the call from my sister that he had a major stroke and was en route to the hospital. There was no "later" for more words.

I consider myself very blessed that the last visit - the last words - were with smiles and laughter. I recall many who lament that if they knew it would be the last, they would not have said the words they did, would not have fought, or yelled, or told someone they didn't have the time...

I am very blessed indeed. Even though what I planned for the future will never come to fruition, I had made the best of the present. And I now have good memories that will last forever. :)

Plan for the future.
Live in the present.
We never know.

- ESA

Awaiting His Return (Story)

Amit was jostled by the crowds near the city gate. Short for her seven years of age, she couldn’t see what the commotion was about, but her young ears caught the exclamation, “He’s returned! Rabbi Yeshua (Jesus) has returned to Jerusalem!” Her heart leapt in joy. He came back! She vividly remembered the last time she saw him; the gentle voice and smile that lit up his eyes as he told stories to the children.

Squirming her way through the myriad thicket of legs, she dodged her way through the crowd, toward home. Dashing headlong across the small courtyard, she threw all her weight against the heavy wooden door to open it, stumbling into the cool dark interior.

Rushing to the hearth where two small bread loaves cooled from the morning’s baking, she carefully wrapped the better of the pair in a clean cloth. Cradling the still-warm loaf, she stepped out of the two-room home into the bright desert sunlight, pulling the door closed behind her.

She ran through Jerusalem’s narrow streets back to the gate, but the crowd was gone, leaving only dust motes sparkling in the sunlight. With a rising panic, she glanced around and discovered a path of palm branches strewn in the street, clearly indicating the procession’s direction. Green branches crunched under her worn leather sandals as she panted up that street. The scent of newly cut palms rose from the dust, mingling with the scents of humanity and animals common to the city of her birth.

When she finally caught up with them, Yeshua was dismounting the young donkey he rode into the city, and a great crowd of followers and curious onlookers gathered. Using her small stature to advantage, she clutched the loaf close to her heart and ducked between the people, pushing her way to the front where he stood. When one of his followers stopped her, Yeshua spied her and said she could come forward. With reverence and the unconscious grace only the young can exhibit, she approached smiling and held out her gift. “Here, Rabbi, it’s the first I’ve ever made!”

The cloth was now dusty from its journey, but warm to his fingertips as he accepted it; the aroma of fresh baked bread drifted out from the folds to greet his nose. He smiled kindly with twinkling eyes and lowered himself on one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Thank you, Amit.”

“I’m glad you came back, Rabbi Yeshua. I knew you would return to Jerusalem.”

His smile broadened and he placed his hand lovingly on her slim shoulder. “I tell you this, child. I will always return to those who believe.”

She grinned back and replied, “Thank you, Rabbi.” She bestowed a kiss on his bearded cheek and then simply turned and pushed her way back through the crowd towards her awaiting chores.

The following days passed in bliss; she rushed through chores as her father attended Yeshua’s teachings. Then she gathered with the other children to hear wondrous stories. At night, her family listened as their father recounted Yeshua’s teachings.

Four days after the memorable entrance, she helped her mother clean and prepare their home for the Pesach (Passover). She loved this holiday and even helped bake the matzoh and set the Seder Plate for that first night. Her father read from the Haggadah (Exodus) and asked the youngest child the traditional questions, starting with “Why is this night different?” The family prayed together and sang the familiar songs, eating with the dishes reserved for this special holiday. While she hunted for the Afikomen with her younger siblings, Amit wondered where Yeshua celebrated the Seder that night, and how long he would be in Jerusalem.

The next day arrived with a tumult in the streets. Her father departed early and returned quickly, demanding that she stay home with her siblings. “Do not even venture beyond our gate, Amit,” he admonished, knowing her tendency to be headstrong.

“Honor your father’s wishes, Amit,” her mother added as she draped her head-covering over her head and shoulders, following her husband down the street.

With her mother gone, she drew the water, tended the fire, baked the matzoh, ground the grain into flour, and other household tasks she could do. Her curiosity grew as the hours passed. At one point, she heard a great crowd moving through the city. Laboring to get the ladder against their home, she clambered onto the rooftop. But the crowd was too distant to see anything of interest as it traveled down the hill and out the gate. The girl sighed disappointed and returned to her chores.

Three hours later, she shivered and looked up from the small grinder in her lap. The sky had grown ominously dark, moreso because sunset was three hours away. Fearing a storm, she told her siblings to shutter the windows. She also prayed to God that if the storm was bad, her parents would find shelter; they were away a long time.

Gathering the grinder and bowls with wheat kernels and flour, she started across the courtyard. But before she reached the doorway, the ground violently shook, throwing her to her knees; bowls and grinder clattered to the ground, spilling her day’s work. Heedless of the loss, she shouted to her siblings above the unknown roar and frightening shifting and explosions of stone and mortar from the surrounding buildings as though she suddenly found herself beneath a giant’s grinding stone.

Hearing dismayed cries, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over heaving ground to the doorframe, bracing herself there. Her two siblings inside clung to each other, crying with wide, terrified eyes. Maintaining her grip on the doorpost just below the Mezuzah, Amit threw an outstretched hand toward them and grabbed a sleeve, yanking the pair through the door with a strength she did not know she possessed.

As the three tumbled to the ground, the earthquake ended as abruptly as it started. An eerie silence surrounded them; their coughing exceedingly loud in the air thick with dust under a dark, ominous sky. As the event began to register in her seven-year-old mind, she clung to her siblings and wept with them.

Not long after, their parents scrambled up the rubble-strewn street, entering their courtyard. Relieved to find their children alive and their home relatively intact, both parents clutched their offspring to their breasts and thanked God.

After a while, Amit found her voice and asked, “What happened, Abba?”

Her father gently grasped both her hands, meeting her curious gaze. “Today they crucified Rabbi Yeshua.”

She stood there, shaking her head wordlessly; silent tears streamed down her dusty cheeks. She mouthed the words “No” and “Why” but no sound escaped past the lump in her throat.

He embraced her, stroking her hair as the words sank in. After a few moments, she snuffled and pulled her head back, asking, “But Rabbi Yeshua will return, won’t he?”

He gently shook his head, tears welling in his own eyes. “He’s gone, child. He died today.”

“But… But he said he’ll always return to those who believe…. He said so….” The last words were a whisper fading into the dusty silence.

He tried to draw his distraught daughter back into his embrace, but she pulled away. With all the determination she could muster, she marched to the side of their home and uprighted the fallen ladder, climbing back onto the rooftop.

Shaking his head, he mounted the ladder and poked his head above the roofline. The child stared toward the city gate through which Yeshua was escorted to Golgotha. Evening fell early under the dark sky, but there was an inner light shining in his young daughter’s eyes. He gently asked, “What are you looking for, Amit?”

“I’m watching for Rabbi Yeshua’s return, Abba.” she quietly replied.

Tears rolled over his cheeks into his beard as he climbed onto the rooftop, standing beside her. Wordlessly, he placed his hand on her slim shoulder, watching with her as the environs slowly grew darker. Sunset approached; it was time for his wife to light the candles and for them to recite the Kiddush. He helped his daughter down from the roof and inside.

All through the Shabbat (Sabbath), Amit was quieter than usual, much quieter. She was deep in thought with a determined look that never left her features.

When the first three stars appeared that evening, she approached her father, “Rabbi Yeshua has been gone for over a day now,” she started matter-of-factly. “He’ll be hungry. Let’s prepare some food we can leave out for him to eat when he returns.”

Her mother was about to countermand her wishes, but her father solemnly nodded his assent. She practically skipped to the chicken coup in the courtyard, gathering the eggs to boil. As the hearth fire cooked the eggs and slowly heated the baking stones, she helped her mother prepare the matzoh and the evening’s meal.

A few hours later, Amit wrapped a warm shawl around her head and shoulders and gathered the basket containing a skin of wine, the hard-boiled eggs and matzoh. Her father held a lit lamp aloft, illuminating the dark road before them.

While she had been out after dark before, for some unknown reason this night felt different, and her skin pimpled with a chill as the words of the first Pesach question echoed through her mind, *Why is this night different?*

The familiar streets and known lamps in their stands, as well as the flickering light in the unshuttered windows and open doorways did not appear changed, but it felt as though she was seeing it all for the first time.

He escorted her down several streets; the aromas of the evening meals and fresh-baked matzoh filled the early night air, mingling with the scents of woodsmoke and heated lamp oil. Those scents faded as they exited through the city gates lit by smoking torches and made their way into a nearby garden.

There he paused and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Child, I’m taking you to the place where they laid the body of Rabbi Yeshua after he died on the cross.”

She nodded gravely; her determination only growing stronger. So he gestured with the lamp which path they should take. In a quiet part of the garden, there was a freshly-hewn tomb with a large stone rolled before the entrance, sealing it shut. Two bored guards entertained themselves with a dice game under the light of fluttering torches on poles to one side.

Her father gestured for silence and took the basket from her, passing her the lamp while indicating that she should hide its flame. Hugging the ground, he slowly and carefully made his way along the rocky outcropping opposite where the guards sat. Still several feet from the tomb, he gently placed the basket in a nearby bush and quietly retreated to his daughter’s side. Firmly grasping her hand, he led her quickly away from the guards.

When they were a safe distance, she returned the lamp and whispered, “Did you leave the basket where Rabbi Yeshua would find it, Abba?”

He smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Child, if God in his wisdom led a serving woman to find the infant Moses in his basket among the river reeds, I’m certain God can help Rabbi Yeshua find that basket we left for him.”

She studied his face in the lamplight as they walked quickly. “You believe Rabbi Yeshua will return too, Abba.” It was not a question.

He paused and lowered himself to one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Amit, my daughter, I have heard of the many wonders Rabbi Yeshua has done. I believe he was, indeed, sent by God to our people. If he told you he’d return, perhaps… just perhaps he will. We shall see.”

He stood upright, affectionately squeezed her hand in his and together they headed home in mutual peace and understanding through the night air filled with Pesach songs.

In the darkness before the dawn, someone gently touched Amit’s cheek, awakening her from a deep sleep. A soft voice whispered in her ear, “Be quiet, child, and come outside.”

Careful not to disturb her siblings sleeping in the same bed beside her, she slipped out from under the warm covers and shivered in the chill desert night air. Barefooted, she left the sleeping room and padded across the main room past the banked hearth fire and out the open door.

Under a moon only days past its full face, Yeshua stood smiling at her as he stood there in brilliantly white robes. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and drew her unkempt hair away from her face. “Rabbi? Is that you?” she whispered.

His teeth showed clearly in his beard as he grinned broadly. “It is I, Amit,” he whispered back. He held out the empty basket. “Thank you for your gift.”

She accepted the basket and was about to reach up to bestow a kiss upon his cheek, but he stepped back. “Touch me not, child, for I have yet to go to my Father.”

She pouted. “You are leaving Jerusalem again?”

“For a time, but I will Return to those who believe. I will always return.” With another smile and a friendly wave, he passed through the courtyard gate.

Racing to the gateway, she looked up and down their street, but he was nowhere in sight. Closing the gate, she clutched the basket to her heart and told herself, “He’ll return someday, and I’ll be waiting.”

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The above story is free for all to copy/share, provided you do not make any profit from it nor change it in any way.

-ESA

Innocence of Eggs (Story)

The fat hen opened one eye and glared at her husband, “What’s a-a-all that ru-ru-ruckus?” she clucked.

The rooster pulled his head out from under his wing and stretched his neck toward the wall. “I’ll g-g-go see,” he replied and fluffed his feathers against the cool desert night.

With a few awkward flaps, he crested the stone and mortar wall and looked down into the courtyard. “I-i-i-it looks as i-i-if they’re br-br-bringing a cr-cr-criminal to the high pr-pr-priest,” he reported to his wife.

Before he could turn around to return to their warm nest, the hen was beside him, feathers equally fluffed against the coolness.

“Th-th-the eggs!” the rooster reprimanded.

The hen shrugged and stretched her neck as far as it could go toward the gathering crowd. “I wa-wa-want to see this,” she hissed in reply.

The majority of the crowd moved into the building, but a number of people remained outside in the courtyard, building a charcoal fire to keep warm. While the gathering outside remained peacefully quiet, there was a rising ruckus within the building.

The rooster fluttered to an open window to witness the scene inside. The sounds of buffets and cries of “Prophesy!” drifted through the window where the cockerel sat, the glint of battle and bloodlust sparkling in his eyes.

At that moment, a woman left the building on some errand. Spotting the small group gathered near the fire, she eyed one of them closely and remarked, “You also were with Yeshua (Jesus) of Nazareth.”

The man shook his head vehemently, shrugging his head deeper into his head-cloth. “I neither know nor understand what you are saying,” he replied.

Seeing a seed of potential for more conflict and violence, the rooster alighted onto the courtyard wall and crowed, “His words are tr-tr-tr-tr-TRUE!”

The hen was shocked. She knew as well as her husband that those words were a lie. Could his desire for a fight drive him to this?

She kept silent, for she didn’t want the fight brought to her nest. What would her friends and neighbors say? No, it’s best to stay silent and let the fight go on elsewhere. She turned her attention back to the group around the fire.

The woman had now turned to the others around the fire; gesturing to the man she had spoken to and said, “This is one of them.”

Again, the man denied it.

By now the rooster was hopping from foot to foot; a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watched the scene unfold below.

One of the others turned toward the man and added, “Surely you are one of them, for you are also a Galilean.”

The accused man began to curse and swear at the others gathered around the fire. “I do NOT know this man you are talking about!” he shouted at them.

With glee, the rooster tossed up his head and crowed again, “His words are tr-tr-tr-tr-TRUE!”

And the hen remained silent.

Upon hearing the rooster’s crow a second time, the man paused as if poleaxed and then broke down and wept, fleeing from the courtyard in tears.

The rooster and hen did not see what became of that man, nor of any of the others gathered around the fire, nor of those still inside the building. For at that moment, an angel of the Lord wrapped in the brilliance of Heaven appeared before them both.

Turning wrathful eyes to the rooster, the angel proclaimed, “Because you have crowed such blasphemy not once, but twice, you shall not live to see another sunrise.”

Then the angel’s glare fixed upon the hen. “Because you knew his words were false and you did NOTHING and said NOTHING, you shall also never see another morning.”

In her horror, the hen finally remembered her nest of eggs cooling in the night air. “I-i-i-if I go, wh-wh-who will ca-ca-care for our ch-ch-chicks? Wi-wi-without one of us he-he-here, how wi-wi-will they sur-sur-survive?”

The angel’s eyes moved to where the nest lay at the foot of the courtyard wall, and the wrath in those eyes became tempered with mercy. “Your chicks are innocent of these crimes. The children should not bear the burden of the sins of the parent. So I will take these with me and they will be kept safe.”

With these words, the angel gathered up the eggs, nest and all and vanished. Where they went, neither hen nor rooster knew, for they did not see the next sunrise.

But we know what became of those eggs.

For you see, on the very next Sunday morning, a very special One walked out of a lonely tomb into the rosy light just before sunrise.

Nearby, a rabbit was nibbling quietly on some greens. This rabbit paused and shyly approached Him. The fact that His feet were pierced, as were the hands that lovingly petting it, did not disturb this rabbit at all.

He smiled and said to the rabbit, “Because you are the very first of My Father’s creatures to greet me this day, I have a very special task I will ask of you."

As He straightened, an angel appeared at His side. In his hands, the angel held the nest full of eggs, but this time additional branches had been added to the nest, woven in an arc over it. This handle enabled one to carry the nest as a basket, gently keeping the eggs safe.

He took the basket from the angel and handed it to the rabbit saying, “The world is full of children as innocent as these eggs. I ask that you bring these eggs to the children everywhere. Do this every year, in memory of this morning.

"In their joy of innocence, they know Me. But as their innocence fades, they must strive to seek Me, for the world will try to hide Me from their eyes. So you must hide the eggs so the children must seek them. Perhaps in this way, when their innocence fades, they will remember these mornings and seek me with the same enthusiasm and joy in their hearts. Do this in memory of Me.”

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The above story is free for all to copy/share, provided you do not make any profit from it nor change it in any way.

- ESA

Farewell Dan (Eulogy)

Some friends of my brother missed the eulogy yesterday, so I'm posting it online with a link from his FaceBook page.

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As some of you know, my brother Dan was born with a condition that affected his brain. My family was given the diagnosis when Dan was still in grade school. My parents had to make the difficult decision between high-risk surgery that could extend his life, or do nothing and possibly lose a son before he reached adulthood.

They opted for the surgeries – many of them.

My parents scheduled these surgeries just before extended school breaks, so Dan would not miss much class time. Given a choice, my brother would have preferred to miss school…

He was in the hospital during Christmas break, which left our family scrambling to shop, gift-wrap and decorate. I believe this is where our family’s Christmas Eve dinner tradition came from ~ Chinese Take Out.

But there is something else; each Christmas became a reminder for me ~ we were blessed with one more year that we had my little brother with us. I learned early to appreciate the time I had with Dan, and – in later years – I started to appreciate the time I had with family and friends as well.

I believe Dan also appreciated the time he had, and made the best of it. Instead of lamenting his pain or inconvenience and limitations of his condition, he preferred to share in whatever joy, laughter and – of course – mischief he could find.

After one of his neurosurgeries, he woke up in I.C.U. beside someone who was crying loudly in anguish how bad his head ached. Danny called over to him, “Hey! You’re still alive, ain’tcha? You can still talk and see, can’tcha? Count your blessings! Beisdes, *I* have a splitting headache too!” Then he reached over and re-arranged the wiring of the various monitors, much to the chagrin of the I.C.U. nurses. Rumor has it that once he was able to make a heart monitor go backwards.

Even when his daily life was affected and he couldn’t do all he wanted to, eventually needing to use a cane for balance, he’d still joke about things and wholeheartedly enjoyed others sharing his sense of humor.

Dan taught me, the time any of us have here really is very short. Far too short to hold grudges, or to perpetuate animosities that really should be set aside. That I should instead embrace the love and laughter we have all around us. I don’t know when my last day will be, nor my last interaction with those around me. I hope I can be like Dan, rather than griping about pain, or lamenting that life is not going the way I want, I want to choose to share the laughter with others in my life. I can truly say Dan did this, and his life shone brighter because of it.