[Faith-talk] Chapter 4 of my unfinished novel

[Poppa Bear]

I haven't visited this particular novel in a year or two now and I am
surprised to notice how much work I actually put into it. I hope that some
on the list who have a desire to perhaps write a story would feel encouraged
by me sharing my attempts at one. It is a vulnerable position to share this
stuff, at least for me. I haven't had really anybody read my work, but
weather it is good or bad I appreciate the feedback so far.

Chapter 4

 

    It didn't take long for Luke and Marvin to develop a strong friendship.
Aside from being Christians, both had a heart for people, enjoyed the
company of children and liked the simplicity of life without all the  myriad
of gimmicks and gadgets that just seem to take the effort out of daily
living. They both could sit for hours strumming guitars with the family
singing old hymns until all of the children had dozed off to partake in the
sleep of the young and hopeful.

    Both Luke and Marvin possessed a healthy respect and appreciation for
the outdoors. They spent many a long hour hunting and fishing. They both
found an almost religious contentment in the solitude of the sparse ruff
landscape without the clutter of mans props and house hold gods consuming
every inch of the horizon. The challenging work of facing the harsh
elements, the choppy icy waters dragging in nets with large catches of fish,
kept their hands busy, their lungs full of clean air, and allowed them to
participate in the circle of life hands on.

    As often as not they shared vary few words, and seemed to feel at home
with the mutual silence that accompanied many of their hours together.
Occasionally they would exchange stories from their past's. They both drew
their stories from a past full of joy, pain, mistakes and many losses.

    The most solemn story for either man to allude to was the greatest story
of all, the story that captured their whole being, made them brothers of the
eternal promise. It was greater than any earthly event that either had
experienced; it was the moment that God called them out of a blinding and
suffocating darkness into a light of grace and truth. God had literally
opened their eyes and brought them into a new world, a new life and now both
shared in this reality with a mutual gratitude that was vary heartfelt and
completely authentic.

    Luke's six month stay quickly evolved into a year with no set date for
departure. Every day he awoke his goal was the same, to bring the reality of
a life with Christ to this village of drug abuse, alcoholism and rampant
cases of suicide. By the second year in the village Luke and Marvin had
managed to obtain the old library and turn it into a small church, which now
had about a 45 member congregation. They were also able to start two support
groups for drug and alcohol users, which were attended regularly. They also
had been able to bring back an old tradition of gathering families together
during the fall to jar and store fish in the church for people who ran short
of food throughout the harsh winter months. 

    Beyond any amount of numbers, new groups or programs, there was another
change. The village had taken on a new posture. It was no longer hunched
over, bent down by the constant on slot of despair and hopelessness. By no
means was the large weighty cloud of hopelessness completely dissipated, but
the light of hope that now shined in more than one set of brown eyes
testified to a joy that was deep, sincere and abiding even through the dark
depressing cold nights of winter.

    It was the inborn joy of many Christian believers in the small community
that spread a soft pleasant melody of healing over the land, signaling the
sound of a new song to a hand full of the most depressed in the village.
Marvin was one example himself. His initial depression after the loss of his
wife was palpable and evident to all who had known him, but shortly after
the arrival of Luke his song of morning gradually was turned to a song of
hope as him and Luke spent more than one night in front of an old cook stove
poring over the bible. Luke insightfully and gently landed on passages
pertaining to the life to come, and the pleasures and promises of the heaven
bound saint that reminded both of how fleeting and disappointing the shadows
of this life are in comparison to the life on the other side of the Jordan. 

    A week after Luke had arrived he had seen the affects of the unforgiving
northern elements and alcohol abuse first hand. He had been called to visit
a woman who had lost her son the night before. His name was Ernest, he had
been found lying on the doorstep that morning by his younger sisters as they
were about to step out of the house to go to school.

    He had got drunk on home brew, a concoction of fermented fruit and yeast
that after sitting for several days becomes alcoholic. In this case Ernest
had allowed the mixture to sit for three weeks in a 5 gal bucket and had
drunk a whole gallon in a matter of hours. Luke was to find out quickly
enough that the notorious home brew was an infamous plague that was accepted
in many native villages.

    Once Ernest had become inebriated, he attempted to walk to his mother's
home in the middle of a snow storm with no coat, hat or gloves. The storm
was so fierce that he was hypothermic before he was half way to her house.
He stumbled and staggered through the dimly moonlit night over a narrow and
uneven trail.

    The 2 mile trek in a harsh northern snow storm was almost phantasmal to
his drunken mind. With every shaky foot fall the wind seemed to scream
terrifying sounds into his ears. The dark shadows cast by the nearly hidden
moon playing on the gnarled bushes looked like misshapen wolves lurking,
waiting, ready to pounce on top of him. The fear caused him to strike out at
the images with closed fists that only cut into the cold air and clouds of
thick swirling snowflakes. Soon the affects from the cold began to plunge
him into further darkness than the night could account for and he started to
run, wildly pumping his frozen limbs in a feeble effort to outrun the
horrific screams and darkening visions. All his poor drunken mind could
think about was looking into the warm familiar face of his mother.

    He was nearly lost in the thick drifts of snow that gathered along the
trail, but after a torturous thirty minute walk that felt like hours He
finally arrived and flung himself down on his mother's porch in sheer
exhaustion. His face was completely numb and the only thing he could feel
was a fierce pulsating in his eyes from the stinging on slot of the wind and
snow. At this point a heavy lethargy attacked his spent frame and he quickly
forgot the throbbing in his eyes, the screeching wind screaming into his
frostbitten ears, and where he even was. Ernest, now aware of nothing else
except an intoxicating, overwhelming and irresistible wave of tiredness,
curled up into the position of an infant baby before coming into a new,
strange and cold world, and now quietly, painlessly and sadly all alone,
left the same strange and cold world forever in that same vulnerable fetal
position of the unborn.