A Dance with a King (Story)

This story was passed on to me by a 17-year-old. I wanted to share it with my readers. ~ ESA

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A Dance with A King 

I sat on my bed, curled up in a ball; my jet black hair masked me and all my melancholy glory. My eyes burned from all the tears that came out, my nose was running so much I gave up sniffling it back in. My lips were chapped; they tasted salty from the tears. My face was sticky from it, but warm from the flow coming out.

I held my arms tightly around my knees; I drew them closer as if they were my last life force.

My boom box played “Oh Darling!” by Plugin Stereo. I cried even more thinking of joyous thoughts, all the happy times we had together.

“She lied!” I cried as the fresh tear flow began. “She lied.”

I buried my face deeper in my dark kneecaps to the point where I started seeing a format of shapes behind my closed eyelids.

Maybe if I squeeze tight enough, I will leave this world. 

“Elizabeth.” A soft voice called. It sounded like bells ringing, it was deep yet comforting.

“Yes?” I said not picking my face up.

“Look at me.” The mysterious voice said.

I was afraid to pick my head up, I didn’t want anyone to see me so broken. But how could someone get in? My door is locked. 

Who is this man? 

I looked up slowly, in front of me, by my room door, stood a glowing figure. He was glowing gold; he was smiling. He looked about five foot, seven, with a smile that made me feel like I could touch the sky if I jumped. He stood still as his eyes assessed me.

Who are you? I thought to myself even though I already had a hunch.

“You know me,” he said warmly. He didn’t move.

“I know you?” I said slowly testing each word. I took my eyes off of him and looked at my bed, studying the floral patterns on it. They swirled, they became pink, the leaves turned green leading into a crème color. 

I know you? But I’ve never seen you a day in my life. Or maybe I have and I just don’t remember; after all, didn’t I read somewhere that the mind does this? Remember things you don’t pay attention too? Hmm . . . 

“I know you,” I said louder now, sitting up and staring at him.

I sniffled.

“You know me,” he said evenly.

“I don’t remember you.”

He shrugged and walked over to my bed; with three strides he was right next to me. I placed my feet on the floor looking at this glowing man. I had a better look at him now; he had shoulder length brown hair that looked soft, the gentlest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Yet he looked big and muscular. Can a muscular man be gentle? 

I bit my lip.

“Jesus,” I said trying not to sound crazy, but somewhere in me, this fit.

He smiled. 

Unholy everything, this is Jesus! In my room, this is awesome! I felt happiness surge through me. 

 “I need you.” I said quietly. I placed my head back down.

He sat near me, looking at me.

“I need you Jesus, sometimes I feel like you’re not there, like you’re not listening, like you’re busy with others. But that’s okay if you are, I’m sure other people have bigger problems, bigger than mine.” I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat signaling a new shed of tears. Not in front of Jesus I chastised myself.

“Why not in front of Jesus?” He pushed my hair behind my back so he could get  better look at me.

“Because I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“What way?”

“Unhappy.” I felt the tear roll down my face.

“I have nothing but time, and if I can’t see you this way who can, Elizabeth? Who do you trust more than Me?”

I stayed quiet.

He continued; “I am always here, I will come to those who believe and call upon My name. I am a King, that is correct, but I am also yours. I gave Myself for you; you are precious to Me. I have all the time for you.”

“And what about others?”

“I have time for them too. I am God.” He smiled at me; His eyes twinkled.

It was the most beautiful sight ever. 

“My best friend hates me.”

“Why?” He folded His hands in His lap.

“Because she thinks I’m a slut.” I choked back the tears.

“Cry if you need to; I’m here,” He said tenderly, “Did she call you a slut?”

I laughed. Jesus using the term “slut;” that’s one for the books. 

“No, but she didn’t need to. She thinks every guy she likes, I like as well just because we’re friends, and I think it’s because I’m friends with them and she doesn’t like it. I mean she’s so beautiful, how can she think that I’d do something so vile as to take the one she’s interested in?”

He stayed quiet for a while.

I just looked at my hands.

“Does she know she’s beautiful?” He asked quietly.

“She should.” I bit my nails.

“Yes, but sometimes what you think people know, they don’t really know.”

I looked at him. “So she’s insecure because she doesn’t know she’s beautiful?” I thought about it for a moment. “Well Miranda always did have problems with guys; but this You already know.”

He nodded. “So you see, maybe she’s not angry with you, but jealous because of you.”

“Why?” I looked at Him as if He sprouted a second head.

“See that goes back to what I just said: you are beautiful. I would think you knew it, but you don’t; otherwise you would’ve seen this is the problem.” He placed His hand on my shoulder drawing me closer to Him. 

He smells like a carpenter; like wood and sawdust, but like olive oil and cocoa butter. I inhaled deeply closing my eyes. I’m out of tears to cry, that’s a new one. 

“I want to show you something.” He stood up as I looked at Him confused. He pulled me up gently and wrapped His arms around my waist, with a flash of blinding white light we were in a different place.

It looked like a ballroom, it was round and huge, the white pillars looked like they were Greek, the floors reflected my face perfectly; they were marble with a large locus flower in the middle. The balcony was decorated, it looked ideal for a wedding.

“Are You getting married?” I asked as I looked up at the balcony. I knew we were in Heaven; I didn’t know how, but I guess from the atmosphere, and the way things looked: this had to be Heaven. No way was marble this beautiful; no way could you find pillars as large as the twin towers and perfectly taken care of; the balcony was large as an opera house’s balcony. If this wasn’t Heaven, then this has got to be the closest thing to it.

“I am.” He held His hand out, I walked over to Him. When did my clothes change? I was wearing a puffy white wedding gown it hung loosely off my shoulder, as my hair was pinned up in a princess bun. I wore white gloves like Cinderella; I could hear my heels click on the floor as I walked slowly towards Him.

Music started to play. Where was it coming from? I looked around as He pulled me closer to Him. “Where is this music coming from?”

“Worry yourself with nothing but me right now.” His voice sounded so close, I could lean in and kiss Him, but I met His steady gaze with shaky breaths. Is He trying to dance with me? I can’t dance.

He smiled lovingly.

“And nothing compares to your embrace, light up the world, forever reign.” The lyrics went as He twirled me gently. As my dress twirled with me, He began to pull me closer with one hand on my waist, the other in mine. 

I had one hand on His shoulder and the other in His, we were waltzing. 

I’m dancing, I can’t dance but I’m dancing. How is this possible?

“Anything is possible with God.” He said telepathically.

We moved faster, it was like we were hopping now, as we danced in a slow circle, as the music picked up.

“My heart will sing, no other name, Jesus!” The singer cooed passionately in the song.

My heart sings His name only.

“Oh I run into your arms; I run into your arms; the riches of your love; will always be enough; and nothing compares to your embrace,” the song went.

The song continued to play; we never took our eyes off each other. He tightened His grip; He kissed my neck; I rubbed His cheek. I felt as if this were a fairytale.

“Now you must return.” He said after the song finished and we took our bows.

“I know.” But I was so happy that I didn’t mind.

With the same flash, we were back in my room. He hugged me deeply, and then backed up as He disappeared.

I awoke with a jolt; my room was the same. No sign of Him anywhere. Was that a dream? Was it my imagination, or was it real?

I looked around for some sign that it wasn’t my imagination but actually something real. I got nothing.

I stood up and walked to my closet. When I opened it, I saw the same gloves I wore in the dream, in there.

I smiled to myself.

The song changed; it now played “Pray” by Sanctus Real. I guess He wants me to pray.

I got on my knees, holding the cross between my palms, and began the Lord’s Prayer. Thank you God for sacrificing your son for me and for the whole world.

Two Wolves (Story)

There is a beautiful story that possibly originated by the Cherokee People. There are two versions that I've found.
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An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. 
 
"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight between two wolves. 

"One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. 

"The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. 

"The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too." 

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?" 

The old Cherokee smiled and simply replied, "The one you feed." 

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An old Grandfather said to his grandson, who came to him with anger at a friend who had done him an injustice, "Let me tell you a story. 

"I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. 

"But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times." 

He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him, and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. 

"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. 

"He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing. 

"Sometimes, it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit." 

The youth looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?" 

The Grandfather smiled and quietly said, "The one I feed."
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~ESA

Weeds and Wheat (Parable)

There once was a field planted with the finest seeds of grain.

The sun shown down gentle and warm. The ground, freshly tilled, remained moist with the gentle washings of the rain.

Soon the spouts began to grow, bright and green, as they stretched toward the sun.

As the spouts grew, the weeds snaked their roots under the tilled soil and sprouted their own kind in the field.

Concerned for the grain, the field hands took action.

They heated the plants hoping to scorch the weeds. Many wheat stalks withered. The ground became dry and bitter; roots were pulled up when the wind buffeted the field.

The field hands spread poisons hoping to kill the weeds that way. The wheat itself also sickened, many stalks never gaining the head that grain reaches in its maturity.

As a last resort in their vendetta to kill the weeds, the field hands viciously attacked the field, cutting down stalks of wheat as well as weeds, leaving both to wither and die rootless on the side.

At last the weeds were gone. A fraction of the wheat remained in the field, ready to be harvested.

When the landowner arrived, he looked dismayed at the remaining wheat.

His eyes tearfully moved to the piles of wheat cut and cast with the weeds on the side, the lines of wheat that had sickened and never matured, and the remnants of the wheat that were scorched so badly, they never had the chance to grow.

"What became of the crops I planted?" he inquired of his field hands.

"The weeds had gotten into the field, Master. But don't worry," they added proudly. "We got rid of them."

The landowner wept bitterly...

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Let those who have ears, hear.

~ESA

From Tears to Tools

Two correspondents are dealing with judgmental people, in particular ones that feel that it is their right and responsibility to tell others how to live. Sadly, there are some who believe that if people do not follow their particular religious beliefs and/or practices, they are "damned." I've heard the frustration and tears from those attacked, and offer some tools.

To the Judges, remember: "Judge not lest you be judged." If you tell anyone else to toe the line of a particular law, YOU will be the one accountable for every law, from shellfish and polyester, to burnt sacrifices at the Temple in Jerusalem at the appropriate time and date. Instead, I plead with you: Love and Forgive. For in doing so, you are also Forgiven.

This post, however, is addressed primarily to those who suffer from judges.

We cannot change or control how another thinks or acts. We can only change how we respond to that person. I will acknowledge that this can be hard, particularly when that person is a friend, spouse, or family member. They know how to push our buttons, and can hurt us more deeply.

In every situation we encounter, there is only one decision that needs to be made: Do we want to share God's Love, or do we want to be right? One speaks to the spirit; the other to the ego.

When angry, frustrated or upset, we speak and act through our ego. Only an ego can talk to another ego, and they do not communicate at all.

The ego insists that we fight, defend, issue "pre-emptive strikes" in the name of defense, and that we are right and all others are wrong. My ego even had the gall to tell me that Yeshua/Jesus Himself is wrong! That's a pretty highly-inflated mindset we can have.

But we are not in our right mindset when we think like that. The ego is also how the adversary /devil/negativity influences our minds and skews our perceptions. So we need to learn to be more spirit-minded.

While WE cannot change a person's perspective, God can. Thus we should pray in the silence of our heart, and be patient, allowing God to work things out in Divine ways and timing. There's a much bigger picture than we see.

The reason I add "in the silence of our heart" is that people toss into a heated argument, "I will pray for you." Or better yet, "God make this person UNDERSTAND that (s)he is wrong!" Even with good intentions, this only triggers more anger and defensiveness.

We should also pray for ourselves; God helps us think with the right mindset (spirit vs. ego) when we ask.

If we find that we cannot get into the right mindset, especially if the other person knows just how and when to hit those hot buttons, there is another simple tactic we can use.

We need to see the other person through God's eyes. Our ego tells us they are wrong, judgmental, rude, etc. Our spirit sees that at least one perception has been skewed; perhaps both, as it takes two to argue.

God looks upon the person and sees a beloved son or daughter.

While the image to the left comforts when we face life's challenges, it can also be a tool. When someone hurts, angers or frustrates us, we can picture that person in God's arms too.

It's amazing how this changes heart, mind and perspective.

The human mind is capable of a lot more than most understand. We can use it to harm one another, or help one another. We choose between spirit-mindset and ego-mindset.

When someone attacks me, saying how their way is the only way, I try to step back and see how God views this person. They are loved. They may be perceiving through the ego at the moment. But they are loved. So I offer my prayers to God and love to that person.

Let go; Let God
It's in better Hands
~ESA

Planting the Seed (Story)

Written four years ago, it's time to re-post this. Enjoy! ~ ESA

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The early morning sun rose gloriously as two walkers strolled down a quiet New England Main Street. As they passed a new eatery, the woman grinned mischievously when she read the name: Mustard Seed Cafe.

She sipped her coffee and commented, "That sign reminds me of something. Maybe something you said once, about a seed...."

The man laughed, white teeth showing through his beard. "And what did you take away from that one?"

She glanced about, looking for something to inspire a witty reply. "Wasn't there a parable involved...?"

A little bird dove to the sidewalk before them, picked at the concrete block a moment, then fluttered away.

"No," she admitted with a wry grin, "The parable in mind involved seed being tossed in different places, each failing save the seed that hit fertile grown and produced hundredfold or something like that."

He chuckled nodding, "...something like that. So what about the mustard seed?"

She grinned as she took another sip. "Little seed becomes big plant. Right?"

His deep brown eyes took on a blend of challenge and mischief, "Maybe you can write a story about it?"

She smirked, "Yeah, right."

He gestured expansively with his arm, "You are a writer; you were given that gift. Write a story about it. Maybe then you'd understand it better."

She took a good swallow of her coffee, while she wrapped her mind around the challenge, knowing there was something there that maybe DID make a good story. As the story shifted to her mental back burner, the conversation changed, covering a broad range of topics.

Before she knew it, they arrived at the topic she needed to broach. Part of her shyly wanted to hold back and digress, but another part knew this is why she asked her companion to walk with her this morning. She really needed his advice, his guidance. She rolled the still-warm metal travel mug between her palms as she searched for the words.

"I... I really don't know what I should be doing with my life. All these little projects get started, and then... they just seem to peeter off into nothing. I feel like I start so many things and just can't seem to finish them. What is it that I should do?"

He draped his arm lovingly across her shoulders and smiled gently. "Plant the seeds."

"And then?"

"Nurture them a little until they sprout."

Her hands paused as she glanced quizzically at him. "And then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

He grinned, seeing she wasn't getting it, but - with infinite patience - gave her the time to think. "Nothing."

She knew that look on his face, she'd seen it before. She walked wordlessly at his side for a spell, fingers wrapped around the warmth of the mug and her shoulders snug in his embrace.

"But if I do nothing, what will happen to all I started? It would just unravel, wouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily."

Again she shot him an inquiring look, raising one eyebrow in his direction.

He laughed at her expression, but didn't say a word.

"Well?"

He paused and turned to face her, with a mischievous smile of his own.

She stopped and faced him with a look that clearly read, "Tell me or stop teasing me."

He playfully poked the bridge of her nose and quietly replied, "That's my job."

The challenge in her eyes faded as comprehension dawned in her mind.

Smiling, they resumed their walk.

She nodded and tossed back the last of the coffee. "You're right. I really should trust you more often."

Companionably the two continued their stroll down a New England Main Street. Two pairs of sandals tapped quietly along the sidewalk: one pair worn below jeans and a T-shirt, and the other beneath a desert robe from a bygone age.