A HOPE WORTH WAITING FOR – A Short Story of Life

I wrote this back in 2011 and then re-posted it again in 2013; but it reminds me of my mom so I decided to post it again for anyone that has not read it yet. Hope you enjoy it.

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The gnarled hand, bent by years of hard labor and arthritis, lay against the thin pages as she read the words printed there.

“For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.”

Pale blue eyes lifted from the Book to the horizon where the first rays of the rising sun were just peeking above the hills.

Hope.

After all these years of living, what was there to hope for? she asked herself.

She had lost a baby girl at birth. The pain of that loss still crept into her heart if she allowed it.

One son had died in an auto accident shortly after graduating from high school, leaving a grief almost too sharp to bear.

Then, just last year, her husband finally lost his years-long battle with cancer leaving an emptiness that had been filled with love and laughter for 50 years.

So many losses, so much pain.

Hope?

Where was that in all of this heartache?

She lowered her eyes to the pages before her and continued to read.

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

What good had come from her life, from the pain of missing loved ones that have gone on before?

What did she have now?

An aging body that gave her continuous pain and a bone-deep tiredness that was never-ending. An empty house that echoed with silence.

She thought for a minute, waiting for her heart to find the answers.

She looked back over her life, comparing her faith before and after each loss, each trial; and saw the good in the growing of that faith. Each time she drew closer to the Lord, strengthening her trust and her walk with Him.

She looked back down and her eyes fell on other verses.

“… in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

She sighed deeply.

There was the hope.

She loved God. Jesus was her Lord. Nothing could ever separate her from Him. She had the promise…the hope…of an eternity spent with Him.

That was all the hope that a body needed, one that was worth the pain of this life. A hope that would be patiently waited for.

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© Drusilla Mott and https://drusillamott.wordpress.com, 2011, 2013, 2018

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Commit Thy Way Pt. 2

Read part 1 here

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Beth Johnson was shaking so hard she could hardly stand up. Memories came flooding into her mind, swift and debilitating, and she felt her knees begin to buckle under her. The man that towered over her moved swiftly as she started to sway, and settled her into the chair he had been occupying.

“You alright?”

Beth nodded, gripping her hands together tightly in her lap to still their trembling. She waited a second, forcing the fear and anxiety down deep, and then braced herself to stand.

Jed reached out and gripped her wrist, intending to help her to her feet, but when she gasped and pulled away, he looked down at the bruise that was already forming there. He lifted her hand and shoved the cuff of her blouse up to examine the discoloration; but it wasn’t the bruise that had the blood rushing from his head. The scars that circled her thin wrist had his eyes rising to hers in shock.

Beth shrank back onto the chair and yanked her arm away from the stranger. She pulled the sleeve of her blouse down over the faint white lines that reminded her every day of a past terror that still had the power to awaken her in the middle of the night.

Jed dropped his hand and stepped back, mind reeling. What had happened to this girl? The answer seemed to be all too obvious and Jed wasn’t quite sure how to handle the revelation.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He spoke the first words that entered his mind, as he swept his gaze over her and then looked into her tormented brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

Beth dropped her eyes from his penetrating gaze and darted a glance at the doorway to the kitchen. She wished with all that was in her that she was back there, in the safety of the cozy warmth with Margaret.

The pile of broken dishes was all but forgotten as she eyed the distance between her and that gateway to sanctuary, weighing the advisability of pushing past this mountain of a man and rushing across that expanse of floor.

As she sat there, contemplating escape, something suddenly rose up within her and strengthened her spine. She had survived all those years ago, she was not about to let this man intimidate her into hiding in the kitchen like some weak-kneed ninny.

“Yes, I am quite alright,” she answered with a quiet dignity that seemed so far beyond her years, it almost had Jed smiling.

Almost.

He studied her, seeing the strength and resiliency that had taken up residence in her lifted gaze. He had watched the transformation with amazement, wondering which was the real girl. The trembling, terrified child that had dropped her tray of dishes, or this young woman with a backbone to rival that of a grown man.

The paradox had a fleeting wish to remain in town to find out skipping through his mind.

And then she stood, forcing him to step back, and he was once again struck by how small and fragile she looked.

“Excuse me. I must clean up this mess.”

She stepped around him and bent to begin picking up the pieces of pottery that had scattered across the hardwood floor, and Jed knelt next to her, gathering up the larger pieces and laying them on the tray.

“Do you have a broom?”

His quiet question rippled through the silence that had fallen between them and she nodded as she stood to go into the kitchen. Jed could hear the quiet conversation through the door and a minute later he heard the door swing on its hinges. His back was to the door and he did not see who had joined him.

“Young man, what are you doing?”

The sharp question would have brought Jed to his feet with an explanation; but it was the voice that had his head turning and his eyes widening in shock for the second time in the past thirty minutes.

The tiny gray haired woman stared at him in amazement.

“Jedidiah? What are you doing here?”

Jed was reaching for her even as she stepped toward him, arms out in joyful welcome.

“Aunt Margaret?”

© Drusilla Mott and https://drusillamott.wordpress.com, 2018