Genieve Dawkins's Blog, page 16

Weekly Photo Challenge: Broken

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Broken.”

Elise in a reflective mood.

Psalm 51:17

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.

WPC: Enveloped in Thick Darkness

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Enveloped.”

Lantanas, peppers and otaheite apple blossoms enveloped in a thick sea of molasses.

Isaiah 60:2

For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the LORD shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee.

WPC: The Sunrise After The Fire

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Early Bird.”

I finally found myself awake at sunrise, outside, with a camera so I now have a submission for the “Early Bird” Weekly Photo Challenge, as well as a visual record of how I spent this morning.

This is the stunning scenery resulting from a massive bush fire at Swanswick as seen in the soft morning light at sunrise.

WPC: Force of Nature – Consuming Fire

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Forces of Nature.”

Hebrews 12:28-29

Let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear: For our God is a consuming fire.

Writing 101, Day Sixteen: Third Time’s the Charm‏: The Lost Note & Murder Most Foul

Today’s Prompt: Imagine you had a job in which you had to sift through forgotten or lost belongings. Describe a day in which you come upon something peculiar, or tell a story about something interesting you find in a pile.

This is the third of a three-part series on things lost and found. Read parts 1 and 2.

I had to read the note several times in order to decipher its meaning. The name at the bottom seemed vaguely familiar. The name at the top I knew all too well. I groaned inwardly when I saw the latter. Anything involving him was almost certainly trouble.

There were numbers on the faded piece of paper, as well as what looked like dollar signs. The amounts were sufficiently huge to pique my curiosity and I wondered just what the whole thing was about. The ink had been washed out by the morning rain, but I guessed my newfound note to be some kind of agreement or written contract. It seemed important. I wanted to make sure it was reunited with its owner.

I was out walking the goats when I happened upon that lost piece of paper. If you’ve ever tried walking goats you’ll know that their definition of “walking” is a little different from a human’s, so I basically had to toss the note at the first sensible person I encountered and shout at her to get it back to the owner while I ran past her at a fair few miles per hour.

“It belongs to my niece!” she shouted at my receding back as the goats and I disappeared into the lower sections of the dry lake.

I could only kind of shake my head in acknowledgement as I raced off, hoping she would notice the movement. Finding a relative of the note’s owner in this wilderness was such a lucky coincidence.

The very next morning, I heard the sound of raised voices close to the place where I’d found the note. My lucky coincidence wasn’t so lucky after all, and it seemed my business with the note wasn’t quite over.

The unpleasant individual whose name had been at the top of the note was responsible for most of the racket. He was threatening the lady’s niece, whose name had been at the bottom of the note, with murder most foul. Not to be outdone, she was screaming insults back at him. It seems the innocent, faded note had caused an ugly scene. My pounding head wished it had just stayed lost. Why did I, of all persons, have to be the one to find it?

I got the answer to that question not too long after. A neighbor of mine who happens to have inherited a vast estate drove past my house early one morning on his way to visit the unpleasant person. I needed some technical advice from him on one of my projects. As if he could read my mind, he slammed the brakes when he saw me and shouted across the fence at me to come up to his place at 10:00 as he had some technical advice to offer and would be available then. I knew he was an incredibly busy person, so I was happy for the offer of a free consultation. Another lucky coincidence. What were the odds?

Ten ‘o’ clock found me gaping in awe at the long, tree-lined driveway leading up to his house, which sat alone at the top of a little hill overlooking his vast estate. It was the sort of place that very few can afford anymore: no neighbours clinging to the sides of your property, lots of privacy, lots of peace and quiet. It was the sort of place where no one can hear you scream.

It took a few minutes to drive from his gate, which I noticed was open and required no buzzing in or security checks, to the main house, which was not as spectacular as I’d expected, but was appropriately charming for its age. I was so lost in taking in his manicured garden and all the ancient birdbaths everywhere that I failed to notice the old car parked next to his front door, even though the car’s doors and trunk door were open and the car was filled with all sorts of metal tools, including a very sharp machete.

I called out a greeting so my neighbor would know I was waiting outside and I’m sure I heard him respond in a non-committal sort of way. I could hear men’s voices coming from the house, so I settled down in the driveway and waited. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but my neighbor failed to emerge from the house. I checked my watch and realized I was running late for my errands. Concerned, I decided to alight from the car and barge into the house to check on the goings-on. I didn’t get that chance.

I heard raised voices coming from the house. The voices were similar in tone and tenor to those of the previous day’s fracas, but much louder, fiercer and angrier. I felt a chill pass through my body in that warm morning sun as I heard those loud, unpleasant tones. I couldn’t make out any words, but I could hear the threat of murder most foul in those harsh, maniacal screams.

I bolted out of the car like greased lightning, but I wasn’t quite fast enough. In the car’s side mirror, I could see the feet of a man, but those feet appeared to be floating some three feet from the ground and they were floating at a very odd angle. The screams had ceased and the place was now expectantly silent. I felt my stomach turn to jelly. I managed to get around the back of the car on weak knees to find Mr. Unpleasant holding my neighbor in the air like a shiny-headed little rag doll. He had one arm clamped around the little rag doll’s chest and was swinging him into position so his shiny little rag doll head was perfectly aligned with the hammer Mr. Unpleasant was holding aloft in his other hand. I looked at Mr. Unpleasant’s face and saw Mr. Totally-Insane instead. I lunged forward and screamed for murder most foul.

Mr. Unpleasant/Totally-Insane was undeterred by the noise, so intent was he on murder. I don’t think he even heard me. My neighbor just hung there like limp pasta, apparently in too much shock to resist his attacker. Fortunately, someone faster than me had also bolted out of the car and managed to bear down on them and wrestle the hammer away from Mr. Unpleasant before he could bring it down on my neighbour’s shiny bald pate. Mr. Unpleasant dropped his little rag doll and screamed for murder most foul. He rushed round to the back of his car and feverishly tried to grab the machete from the open trunk, but we got there in time to slam down the door before he could find a new weapon. He was still intent on murder, so we had to pray, loudly. Very loudly. That drove the fear of God into him. He put away his murderous intentions and simply sobbed like a baby.

“Have nothing to do with this man,” he cried. “He is a devil.”

I think that lost and found note was a warning. I think the cryptic advice Mr. Unpleasant gave when he was sobbing down his murderous rage was a warning. What these warnings mean, I really don’t know, but I’ve dialed down things with the neighbours as a precaution.

Writing 101, Day Twenty: The Things We Treasure‏

I seem to have here yet another post on treasuring things. I see someone has a mindset that’s going to get them into a lot of trouble one day, so I’m happy to write a treatise on the dangers of treasuring things in the hope it will help somebody.

Treasuring things sounds so simple, almost inviting and certainly innocuous, but is it really?

“What things do you treasure?” the devil asks.

The simple fail to see the subtile nature of this question and is punished.

Not satisfied, the devil wraps the subtile question up in a slightly different package and asks it again:

“What is your most prized possession?”

The simple cave in and is punished.

“What are you going on about?” you ask. You roll your eyes and sigh, because I’m just making a big ado about nothing (and saying things about the devil, to boot).

Well, it really is simple.

Matthew 13: 44-46

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Your treasure leads your heart, not the other way around. Your heart leads your actions and decisions. Your actions and decisions affect your life. A treasure is no simple thing to have. Your sweet little treasure can tie you and handcuff you to a place or situation you really ought not to be in. Your innocent treasure can lead you astray from what’s best for you. Your treasure will corrode, or decay, or be broken or be stolen. Since your heart lies with your treasure, what happens to your treasure will also happen to your heart.

Would you trust so important a part of your life as your heart to a material possession? I certainly hope not! What’s more likely is that you’ll invest your heart in your interpersonal relationships and treasure the people that are important to you. While there’s nothing wrong with loving your loved ones, considering them your treasures or, even worse, most prized possessions, should be a source of deep concern to you. Possessions? People? Really? Possessing people really does call for some serious self-examination.

The problem with holding relationships as treasures is that your treasure is temporal. No relationship, no matter how precious, how strong, how loving or how fulfilling, lasts forever. People and situations change. Feelings change. People, even your children, the fruit of your loins, lead their own lives, chart their own courses and will one day have to depart this earthly frame and give an account for the deeds done in their bodies, whether they be good or evil. In other words, someday you’re going to lose these precious treasures in jars of clay. How will you cope when that day comes?

The Bible tells us clearly not to lay up treasures on earth, material or otherwise. God understands that any treasure on earth will hold your heart, but not for long. You, on the other hand, will continue for a very long time past the lifespan of your earthly treasures. How empty you will be with your heart rent from you along with your temporal treasure while you’re facing eternity. Eternity is a very long time. Don’t think you’ll be around that long? What if you’re wrong? Dead wrong?

Lay up for yourself eternal treasures, the kind that will go the distance. Clearly, these eternal treasures can’t be things or possessions. They can’t be material and most certainly can’t be temporal. You are instructed to lay up treasures in heaven. You’re even given clues to the nature of your true treasures. They must be incorruptible and unstealable. So what are they?

Your first and most precious treasure is the gift of salvation, freely given by Jesus when he died on the cross as the sacrificial lamb to take away the sins of the whole world. Once you’ve accepted this gift, you’re ready to start living a meaningful life on earth that will gain you heavenly rewards. As you obey Jesus’ commands and start seeking the kingdom of God and all his righteousness, all the treasures you could desire will be added unto you. You’ll see your earthly relationships become richer and more meaningful as you grow in love. You’ll have hope, so you won’t need to cling to anyone or anything and hold them/it as your “treasure.” You’ll be able to see beyond the temporal and start understanding your true priorities. You’ll grow in grace and abound in all things. You’ll lack nothing, so you’ll have no need to treasure the material things of this life. You’ll gain perspective and you’ll grow, grow, grow.

Of course, if you grab on to your earthly treasure for dear life and refuse to relinquish it, you’ll be stuck in the same spot for a very long time.

Someone once told me, “If you don’t release what you’re holding on to, you simply won’t have space for God to fill your hands.”

That profound statement struck a chord. I released everything. I stopped treasuring things. I let go and I let God. Just like He promised, I’ve never regretted letting go of things. I’ve gone from rags to riches and from riches to rags until I learned to be rich in heavenly treasures. I have everything I need for life and godliness. I have material things and I have rich, deep, meaningful relationships. I have no regrets.

My heart is seated with Christ in heavenly places. I have here no treasures and no prized possessions, yet I have everything.

Writing 101, Day Eighteen: Hone Your Point of View‏

She looked so pretty, but so frail. Tears streamed down her wrinkled old cheeks. I was young, almost too young to understand, but I could see fear in her bright eyes, even from this distance. I pushed my glasses back up my nose and screwed my eyes tight, trying to see more clearly. Yes, there was pain etched in the deep furrows on her face and I could sense her worry and despair.

I’d heard whispers and snatches of conversation as my mother and her friends gossiped in hushed tones, throwing furtive glances my way over their large glasses of evening wine.

“Poor thing,” my mother crooned, looking out the window towards Mrs. Pauley’s house across the street.

“She has nothing, you know,” her annoying friend informed her. I heard an undercurrent of glee in her simpering attempt at pity. I was young, but I knew a town gossip when I heard one.

“Yes,” she drawled. “She didn’t get a cent of his pension.”

My mother said nothing, but her friend was undaunted. This was too sweet a piece of gossip to let disinterest deter her.

“They had six sons, all gone abroad now.”

Her voice dropped an octave.

“They didn’t even come for the funeral.”

All the women fell silent at this. I guess having your children not show up for your funeral is a really big deal. The thought seemed to make my mother sad. I wish her gossip friend would find something better to do. I would never miss my father’s funeral.

Across the street, I could hear the old woman wailing plaintively, but no one ran to help her.

“Please,” Mrs. Pauley implored in a broken voice. The men in uniforms looked at her with faces of stone.

“Please,” she cried, “I have nowhere else to go. This is my home. This has always been my home.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the stone-faced man replied.

He didn’t seem sorry to me.

I lost something in that moment. I think it was my faith in humanity.

I cried for Mrs. Pauley.

My mother came and took me away.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Intricate

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Intricate.”

The subtle, intricate beauty of the flowers of the banana plant.

Writing 101, Day Nineteen (Don’t Stop the Rockin’‏): The Voice of the Oppressor

Job 3:18

There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor.

She first heard the voice of the oppressor on a hot day in May, right at the turn of the century. It called her and beckoned her and frightened her. Little did she know that by giving ear to that voice, her suffering would go unabated for a time, times and half a time, plus time without end. The oppressor has mocked her, tortured her and tormented her every moment of her life since she first heard those fateful tones. She has spent the last fifteen years in a living hell, cursing her day, like Job, who thought it better to be dead than to hear the voice of the oppressor

The oppressor reviles her and he taunts her. His voice is like nails scraping down a chalkboard. His screams and his utterances tear at her brain like fetid talons, threatening to rip away her sanity. She takes pills and medicines, but they only seem to strengthen the voice of the oppressor. She turns the music up as loud as she can bear, but this only causes the neighbours to join the oppressor in their raucous chorus. If only everyone would JUST. SHUT. UP. But they don’t shut up.

There is no peace. There is nothing but noise. Everyone is the oppressor. They all speak, much too loudly. The noise of their music makes her brain hurt. The sound of their voices attacks her and causes her so much pain. When she screams they look at her like they don’t understand and the oppression starts all over again.

“How long?” she wonders.

“How long?!” they scream.

The oppressor laughs and it is terrible. His voice roars in her ears like thunder. His mocking tears at the core of her very soul. She speaks, but the only voice that escapes her mouth is the voice of the oppressor.

The oppressor tells her things. Terrible things. Things too terrible to repeat. She knows the oppressor is a liar, but he has her tongue now and sometimes it is his voice that screams things when she opens her mouth. She abhors lies, but they slide from her lips like liquid silk. She wants you to know that what you hear is the voice of the oppressor.

Please. Please God, make the voice of the oppressor cease. Silence the oppressor and let peace reign on the earth. Grant her rest from this torment. Grant her peace in the midst of the storm.

Writing 101 Day 17: Your Personality on the Page – Conquering Fear

Today’s Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears.

Fear. The bane of mankind. The enemy of love. It eats sleep and fuels disease. Fear probably causes more problems than most anything else on earth.

What am I scared of? What are my worst fears?

I’m afflicted by the same anxieties as are common to man. Fear of loss. Fear of lack. Fear of embarrassment. Fear of death. So many different flavours of fear. However, I’ve found the key to conquering fear, so the common affliction doesn’t affect me much anymore. The fear now comes when I take my eyes off Jesus and put them on my problems. I often have to remind myself that I am more powerful than fear.

2 Timothy 1:7

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

How do you conquer so formidable a foe as fear?

1 John 4:18

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

It is perfect love that gets rid of fear.  If I’m afraid, I know I’m outside the bounds of perfect love. I know I need to go back to Jesus and that I need to pray.

What is this perfect love that stamps out fear? How do I find such a wonderful thing?

1 John 4:7-10

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.

He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.

 In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.

Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.

1 John 4:12

No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.

1 John 4:15-17

Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God.

And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.

Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world.

In spite of all this, there are times when I still feel afraid, but I know that God is bigger than any fear. No fear holds power over me anymore.

Psalm 56:3

What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.