A slightly longer story than my usual. Less than 1000 words, so a lovely quick flash-fiction read that I hope will convey my heart about children with special needs and (dis)abilities. I have been wanting to write this for such a long time. My son is autistic and as most parents who have walked the... Continue Reading →
He was not afraid of the walls around her heart. Her defences were not to be conquered; but gently dismantled. One rock at a time. Until the light shone into her darkest places, and she could find her way out. - Stepping Stones.
For twelve years you bled. Every day. Twelve, long years you watched helplessly, as your lifeblood flowed away. Unquenched. Nothing could stop it. No doctor, no healer, no remedy. Nothing worked. Nothing. You must have been tired. All the time. The Bible speaks not of this, but it’s true… you would have been chronically tired.... Continue Reading →
I looked across the room and there you were. Even then I saw that you were broken in the same places that I was. For a brief moment it gave me hope that I was not alone. Our scars linked hands that day. How beautiful it has been with you at my side.
The old man reached up with feeble hands. His unseeing eyes briefly lit up. A weak smile broke on his face, "You've come," he breathed, as his life finally escaped the diseased chains that had held him captive. "It happens," the nurse gently comforted the old man's inconsolable wife, "chemicals in the dying brain sometimes... Continue Reading →
Her legs, muscles atrophied, were useless by day, but when she stepped over the threshold of sleep; pushing the veil between worlds aside, she ran through the meadow of sweet grass until the moon bade farewell. Her withered legs wet with dew in the morning.
Darkness was falling. The shadows alive with evil. Her strength failing, she had been struggling to free herself for hours. Abandoned by the others, she had given up too. But then scarred hands found her, the lost one, and carried her home. Luke 15:3-7
"Look at my scars," she whispered, "I feel so ugly." "Don't hate your scars," He gently replied, "Your scars are guiding lights that draw those who are still bleeding from the same wounds. Your scars give them hope."
Their anger was alive. Spitting and frothing it bayed for her blood. Her sin exposed. "Our purity demands her life", they screamed. A trap for Him, but He held their hearts up like a mirror. Who could throw the first stone? Her shame covered by His love. Redeemed.