Creating New Worlds – The Golden Thread

There is something about writing that makes my entire body restlessly ruffled up. Like a feather stuck in the ground, immovable and yet unable to prevent itself from swaying against the billowing wind. Somewhat of an oxymoron isn’t it? Immovable yet swaying? Picture that why don’t you.

Recently I’ve been going through a horrible spat of events that both inspire and dissuade me to write. At times I sit in front of the computer, begin to etch characters into the fabric of a fictional reality and feel goosebumps ooze over my arms as worlds unfold in front of my eyes then suddenly; Nothing. Just nothing. Who ARE these characters? I ask myself. This is followed by a torrent of related questions: where are they headed and why? What is their purpose? What am I trying to get to with this? What is this story actually about? And the conclusion I come to each time is; I have no idea.

Yesterday I touched on a burden of mine that has been troubling me for…well since my conversation, and the desire I have to present God in every aspect of my life including my writing has been my source of inspiration since. I find that without God, life is painfully meaningless and void; we endure life, pain, death, love and all other aspects of humanity in vain. What good is morality if in the end we as dust return to it without consequence;  let the lions endure the pain of regret and the hardship of prison for the death of the zebra. Let them contemplate their purpose in life and lament over their murderous, sinful hearts. Ridiculous isn’t it? Well then ask yourself this question; What is the difference between them and us? Is it our minds? Our ability to talk? Is it because we are highly evolved animals that no longer conform to our bestial nature? No! It is because we are made in the image (likeness) of God (Gen1:26).

Creating New Worlds

Although there haven’t been any  new posts on this blog for a while, this doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. I just haven’t written anything good enough that it is worth sharing here. In fact my WordPress “Posts” page has a few unpublished drafts  that I have been working on. Unfortunately they all are missing the Golden Thread that weaves them together, binding them to the crux of my convictions or thoughts; they are hanging on a bare thread that is as brittle as dry twigs.

Thankfully, writing for Gamecca (a Gaming magazine) has helped keep my sword sharp and I do feel less guilty about my lack of publishing any posts. However during this continuous search for the Golden Thread and with all that I have written so far, things have began to roll into place like solving a Rubik’s cube. Previously written stories and currently drafted ideas, pieced together like a well written detective story that has started dotting its i’s and crossing its t’s. I mean this has come together so well that I’m laying out a foundation for a “new” world in which my characters will live, incorporating previously unrelated characters and events into a single environment. Just writing this and the ideas formulating in my mind as to how I’m going to go about it has me intensely excited. I already have a plausible idea for what my Golden Thread will be!

The Golden Thread

What then is the Golden Thread? It is the glue that holds everything together; the cause that drives the hero forward, the intention hidden within the villain, the inspiration that holds the village together. It is the hinge on which everything hangs; without it, all becomes naught. Love may be the Golden Thread of a romantic novel but who is the author of love? Where does the conviction that drives the actions of the “good guy” stem from? Morality? Good works? Love? Justice? Righteousness? Vengeance? Anger? They all stem from one Being who displays all these characteristics perfectly and without sin!

Where does all this lead me? Well keep on visiting the blog and you shall find out! In the mean time, may you have a glorious time worshipping the One true God…Who is One in Three persons.

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In Need of a Saviour

A single plume of steam, slowly writhed its way up from the coffee mug, on the large wooden table she sat behind. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the mug, keeping her icy fingers warm. She sat silently, her convoluted thoughts bouncing back and forth in her mind. The kitchen was cold and gloomy. The winter sun remained hidden behind dark clouds yet letting in enough light, to illuminate the barren trees in the garden… and  the freshly dug hole. She’d been outside. Four in the morning. Robe and all. She’d held the cold steel handle of the shovel. With each hard thrust into the soft ground, her hair swung forward in disarray, swinging back as she threw dirt back behind her. Her once lime green robe turned a shade of brown, the same shade as her eyes, that stared blankly at the ground. Her mouth moved but no words formed as she ceaselessly worked the shovel into the soft earth. In her mind her past played out like a movie; the characters her family, friends and acquaintances, the protagonist herself and the story…her life. An endless loop of episodes past and present, all intermingled into one, making it difficult for her to distinguish between the time frames. There she was as a little girl, twirling in her yellow sun dress lined with white frills, her bare feet sweeping across the softness of the green grass below, the lace tied around her waist spinning along  behind her. The sun shone, making everything glimmer that fine spring afternoon. A shadow fell over her, making her look up to see who it was, squinting against the glare of the sun to see a manly figure. She could not make out the face of the man above her, but she knew it was her father..however, when she could make out features of his face…she became certain, that it was her husband. He proceeded to lift her up by the waist, making her giggle in glee then laughter as he spun her around..and around…and around until her twirling younger self spun fast enough to make the face of her father…husband… blur across her vision. Her laughter turned to screaming, the soft warm gleam of sun became the cold harsh beam of headlights and the crackle of bending, twisting metal swallowed up every other sound.

She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip of the bitter coffee. That seemed to soothe her slightly. Her thoughts began to dwindle into single occurrences, events that made her heart in her chest pang with regret and anguish. Her past was like a dark cave, hiding a malicious creature that thrived off the darkness in her heart. With each hurtful memory came that deep anguish, one that struck a cord so deep her whole body shivered; and that creature wallowed in her displeasure. She knew, wholeheartedly, that there was nothing she could do about those past events, no place to hide them both within her mind or in the world.  Even with her mud caked robe and dirt streaked face, even with all her husband’s possessions scattered haphazardly within the shallow grave, she would not be able to erase her past; she felt burdened and heavy-laden. Burdened and heavy-laden. The phrase sounded familiar, somewhat nostalgic yet foreign, like a familiar yet unrecognizable face in a dream. She grasped for it, something of it, yet her mind brought up blanks each time, no closer than she was when she started. She took another sip of her coffee, allowing the thought to filter out and into the dark abyss that was her mind. She was lost, well and truly lost.

Dennis van der Berg stood outside the large wooden door, smoothing his dark grey suit down with one hand. It was a habit he’d developed in the early years of his ministry, one he was yet to break. Nervousness, as usual before these kinds of works, filled his stomach with a queasiness that both excited him and made him sick. He recited his exhortation softly to himself, silently mouthing all the main keywords that would help direct his conversation. When he was satisfied, he raised his hand towards the doorbell and pressed it. Nothing. He waited a while, listening for any sort of sound that would let him know that someone had heard him. A full minute passed before he pressed the doorbell again. When no one opened the door he lightly rapped on the hard wood, knocking louder with each passing minute. Finally he heard the shuffle of feet behind the door and with practiced ease, placed a friendly smile on his face. The rattle of keys came from behind the door, followed by a soft cry of frustration, some more rattling and then the tell-tale click of a door unlocking. Dennis opened his mouth to greet, a smile still across his face, but instead of a greeting his mouth remained agape, his smile faltering then drooping into an “O” of shock at the figured that appeared before him. He quickly tried to cover the shock with a smile but he found it hard to smile at the ghastly, face that peered at him from behind the slightly ajar door. She was half hidden within the darkness of the house, yet he could make out the bedraggled locks of hair that draped wildly over her face, the streaks of dirt that lined her cheeks, broken by a clear trail leading down from what was most assuredly tears. The bags under her brown eyes added ages to what should have been a young face. Dennis’ face softened, the shock wearing off as quickly as it had appeared and in its place, sorrow took hold. He felt his heart drop in his chest, weighed heavily by emotion and without thinking reached towards the door and softly whispered within her hearing,

“You look burdened and heavy laden…come to the Lord for He will give you rest.”

Sketching it out

It’s not that I haven’t been writing, it’s just that drawing has been my focus recently, trying to visualize my characters from my Walking by Faith post : Walking By Faith. Here are the sketches

Faith

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aaron

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been trying to capture the personality of my characters in these sketches and so you will see that the drawings aren’t complete. The focus is more on the facial features or recognizable features like the hint of the straw hat Faith wears or the look of anger/sadness/despondence on Aaron’s face.

Please do keep visiting the site as I work on finishing my stories and novels. Thanks!

Walking By Faith

Where do we go, nobody knows. We go wherever the wind blows.
~Faith – the spirited Adventurer ~

Faith hoisted the large, heavy backpack higher up on her shoulders, placing it in a more comfortable position on her back. She gripped the backpack’s dark straps firmly; they came across the front of her mud stained blouse, the blouse no longer a sunny yellow in colour but fading into a shade of yellow and brown. Her large straw hat hid her from the scorching heat, and the flow of long, light brown hair coming from it covered her ears, framing her demure face and reaching her shoulders. She looked ahead, her clear hazel eyes sparkling with excitement as she gazed across the empty, ridged landscape of the desert; there was a large tower ahead. It stood erect, rising from a sand dune that covered the bottom quarter of the immense structure. There was an eagerness within her. It seemed to bubble right through her as a large grin spread across her face and she began to rise up to her toes and drop back down to her heels in an energetic rhythm. She glanced down at her partner and snorted softly.Unlike her, young Aaron sat crossed legged on the coarse ground; despondent. His short golden brown hair lay matted to his head from sweat. The heat had taken every ounce of his energy, regardless of the short swim he had taken, at the oasis Faith had managed to direct them to. The mud had helped cool them off too but the prospect of traversing the sandy terrain with mud baking on their skin did not appeal to him at all, even if that would have cooled him down. He gazed up at the tower in the distance, shielding his light brown eyes from the sun so he could look at it without going blind. He sighed dejectedly; that was the last thing he wanted to do.

The travelers, completely unrelated, had been making their way across the desert for a week and a half now, each with their own personal goal. Faith sought adventure, yes, she lived with almost eccentric motivation that had led her to many different parts of the world. Yet this journey had become spiritual more than adventurous as she trekked through aesthetic landscapes varying from mountains and valleys to forests and jungles. Each region she traversed filled her with awe and wonder, a deep longing as well as a desire to know not only about its creation but also about its creator. Aaron on the other hand was an orphan, abandoned as a young boy by his parents claiming they were not ready for a child; he was pulling them down. He’d met his parents again later on and they had rejected him again. In his sadness and anger at his parents and a deeper bitterness for his unfair life, he lost all will and purpose to live. At the apex of the apartment building where his orphanage was located, he’d found himself on the edge of the building and gazing glazed eyed at the inevitable below him. Had Faith not appeared at that moment, Aaron would not have been alive this day. He found a new desire at that moment, a desire to figure out his purpose and know more about this ultimate Being that Faith spoke of so reverently yet so mysteriously about. Who indeed was the creator of those marvelous places Faith had traveled to? Where was He now? What purpose did He have for him? This journey had to have answers, just had to.

“Come now, enough rest let’s go!” Faith exclaimed as she grabbed the younger boy’s arms and pulled him up to his feet. Aaron grunted his disapproval but let himself be pulled up to his feet.
“Are we seriously going to climb that?” Aaron asked, unable and unwilling to alter his despondent tone of voice.

“Of course! This tower will challenge you beyond anything you have ever faced!” Faith exclaimed, falling back into her excited rocking, “In fact, there is a historical record of a young man, a little older than me, who not only climbed the tower but leapt from its top!” Aaron had a moment to remember his once strong desire to jump from his own high tower; so much had changed since then that the idea disturbed him.

“Not only did he jump, but he landed safely on a bale of hay at the bottom…he called it…the Leap of Faith. Exhilarating!” Faith’s face seemed to glow under her straw hat, her lips unable to contain the large grin that filled her face. Aaron, however, was skeptical…and fearful. It was as though Faith had saved him from one jump only to propel him towards another only this time…he was not looking forward to it. Not at all.

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I hope you enjoyed the little excerpt from one of my short stories called Walking by Faith, playing around with that theme of walking by faith by having a character named Faith. The basis of this story is the idea of self discovery and also how God reveals himself in nature. Within the course of the story itself you will see that outworking of revelation through the eyes of energetic, optimistic Faith and the skeptical, despairing Aaron.

As always, please feel free to leave a comment, message etc. Thank you for taking the time to read and visit my blog. May you have a blessed week!

Beyond Heroic

What defines one as a hero? Is it the actions an individual makes…takes…succeeds or fails in? Is it doing something extraordinary for someone else? Selflessness, courage, morality; doing what the good guy would do in any situation including life or death. I do want to pose the question, what defines a hero.

Hero:
Pronunciation: /ˈhɪərəʊ/
noun (plural heroes)

• a person, typically a man, who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities: a war hero
• the chief male character in a book, play, or film, who is typically identified with good qualities, and with whom the reader is expected to sympathize:

From this Oxford dictionary definition, the qualities of a hero are attainable. If we are courageous, go out to do outstanding achievements and have noble qualities which can be classified as having high morality in character, courage, generosity, honor etc, then we too can become heroes. So there you have it! Go be a hero!

Oh wait…how can we display these characteristics in everyday life? Well…

There you are in the kitchen, quietly rummaging the fridge, when out of your peripheral view, you see one of your siblings buttering a piece of toast. You hunger senses kick in as the unmistakable smell of toast reaches your nostrils. Suddenly, a phone rings, your keen hunger senses slow everything down around you. You notice your startled sibling in mid recoil; eyes wide, mouth agape, hands thrown forward. Empty. The buttered knife is slowly spinning in mid-air to drop onto the counter top. You mind screams: The Toast! You turn away from the fridge, swaying your hips to the side in nonchalant elegance, shutting the fridge door. You ceremoniously dive forward, hands outstretched, your mouth forming the words your mind had echoed across to your reflexes: The Toast! You land sideways, sliding across the kitchen floor careening towards the side drawers, barely an inch from your recovering sibling, to crash into the wooden furnishings.

Suddenly the world runs at normal speed and you are aware of your sibling shouting something about what in the world were you thinking but you are also aware of the buttered crunchiness that is caught between your teeth. Indeed that is warm toast in your mouth and one word overrides every other thought that comes up. Success.

Heroic? Neh. However if there was a change in the situation…

There you are within the dark confines of an abandoned storeroom, quickly yet deliberately rummaging through a suspected weapons repository. From the corner of your eye, you see a glare that catches your attention. You see your comrade sifting through contents on a workbench, when suddenly a loud bang erupts around you. Your comrade, in his recoil, nudges the object that had caught your attention close to the edge. In that second, just as the object begins to tilt over the edge, you realize what it is. Your reflexes kick in before you can even think and with a dive, reach out to catch the object. You careen across the floor, knocking your comrade down in the process before crashing against the wall, which, inadvertently, causes your hand to clench. As your comrade begins to shout various obscenities at you, you gaze down at your hand, having already felt the object click. Your comrade’s eyes follow yours and the room becomes dead silent; in your hand, is now an activated bomb.

What do you do?

Beyond Heroic

Grace Unbound

Josiah fell to his knees before Micah, his head hung low in shame, his heart heavy, his chest tight and his eyes glistening with approaching tears. It was an unavoidable situation and he knew it; his past had eventually caught up to him. All things in the end had led him to this point, in front of his master, on his knees, ready to accept his punishment. Micah looked down at the boy, an undeniable look of sorrow etched on Micah’s face, for it displeased him greatly to have to punish his servants. Yet it had to be done. Micah clasped the hilt of his sword and in one swift movement, released his sword from its sheath.

At the sound of the sword being unsheathed, Josiah’s body slumped in resignated defeat; this was it, the punishment he deserved. Death. Micah laid his hand upon the boy’s head, and uttered word’s that would resonate deeply within Josiah’s heart.

“I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion… mercy on whom I will have mercy.” Josiah lifted his head up to gaze at his master, suddenly filled with a deeper anguish at having disobeyed his gracious master. Yet no words would form on his quivering lips. A single tear trickled down his face as master and servant faced one another for a moment.

A moment later the sharp blade in Micah’s hand pierced the boy’s chest; straight into the heart.

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           Grace. Getting what you don’t deserve. What we don’t deserve….What I don’t deserve. Is each day not a manifestation of grace by the Almighty Father, who continues to give us a new day even though we use these days to dishonour Him. Surely that is grace unbound. Not restrained or tied down by bonds. Unchained. A merciful grace. It is this same grace that has taken our sins and placed them upon the head of Christ Jesus, the Messiah, the Saviour and took our Saviour’s righteousness and clothed us in it. Undeservedly! What grace! By Grace Alone! Is that not amazing? A quote from Richard Sibbes says “God knoweth we have nothing of ourselves, therefore in the covenant of grace he requireth no more than he giveth, and giveth what he requireth, and accepteth what he giveth.” Sola Gratia!

        How is all this related to my excerpt above from a story I am writing entitled Grace Unbound? Well apart from the fact that the title includes the word Grace, the concept of the story comes from the idea of grace. My Sunday mornings have been spent looking into the past, at a man who is a picture of our Lord Jesus Christ, who interceded for Israel; Moses. In Exodus 32 we see the Israelites worship a golden calf, disobeying God’s command to worship only Him. They then proceed to engage in immorality, having the audacity to place His holy name on the golden calf they had made, saying that it is what brought then up out of Egypt.  We then witness, in Exodus 33, God tell Moses and the Israelites that He will not go with them, though He will send an angel before them and He will drive out the tribes that occupy the land that God promised to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, which is the land flowing with milk and honey. This is distressing news to the Israelites for they realize that God’s presence is more important than the promised land. Moses meets with God in Moses’ tent pitched outside the camp and in there Moses intercedes for the Israelites. Moses then asks God to show him His glory. It is here where God says to Moses: Exodus 33:19 – And He said, “I Myself will make all My goodness pass before you, and will proclaim the name of the LORD before you; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show compassion on whom I will show compassion.” In my excerpt above, Micah tells Josiah (only he tells him in the New International Version way hehe) “I wil have mercy on whom I will have mercy…compassion on whom I will have compassion.” In Exodus 34 we see God re-establish His covenant and again write down His commandments for the Israelites. Is He not a gracious God? After all that happened with the golden calf and the revelry that occurred, blaspheming His holy name, He still remains loyal to them and proceeds to be among them with the tabernacle.  Is that not a picture of grace unbound? Indeed! I am hoping that my little story can reflect how God’s grace is without boundary how it truly is a grace unbound.

Journey of the Heart

Dusty broken shoes walk unhurriedly across the gravel on the side of the road, on what was a sorry excuse for a pavement. They walk with the ease and casualness of someone who is off on some trivial errand. The frayed, once white, sneakers slow down as they approach the grey pole of a road sign.

Cape Summits 10 ↑

Kaaphoekstad 20 ↑

            With a slight shrug of the shoulders, the walker adjusts his backpack on his shoulders. The contents within are not light, but the journey has strengthened him. Before moving on, he looks about at his surroundings, noting the green that surrounds him. The cape has been known for its lush green locations, the same ones that stretch a little into the distance where they fall off over a cliff. Further beyond is the bright blue of the endless ocean, shimmering in the distance. The breeze cools him off considerably, for the sun has been out full force burning the light brown skin to a slightly bronze shade. More than once the idea of shedding his shirt had crossed his mind, wishing to feel the cool breeze against his sweltering skin but he could never bring himself to do it. After a brisk wiping of his forehead, his dark eyes drinking in the ocean view one last time, he turned away from the viewpoint and continued to walk on.

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“At Cape Summits huh?”

“No ways you gonna make it that far…quit now.”

“I can’t quit…not now.”

“Is this person so important to you that you are willing to walk all the way to another province for them?”

“Several provinces actually.”

“What!… how far are you going?”

“Far…very far.”

“You are crazy you know that?”

“Maybe…But I have to. I have to”

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This is an excerpt of a story I’ve been working on inspired, funny enough, by a song by a band called 30 Seconds to Mars. I have an outline for this but now its a matter of the details. The song by 30 Seconds to Mars is called “From Yesterday” and it has the following lyrics:

He’s a stranger to some
And a vision to none
He can never get enough,
Get enough of the one

For a fortune he’d quit
But it’s hard to admit
How it ends and begins.

Now I don’t listen to 30 Seconds to Mars these days but I think the idea behind my inspiration can still be used. Hopefully I’ll be able to post a full version of the final piece. In the mean time, any feedback will be appreciated. Thanks!