More Than Dreamt Of

There are more things in heaven and earth, . . . than are dreamt of in your philosophy

Prisoner 1225

Written for today’s Flash! Friday challenge, prompted by this photograph.


Prisoner 1225

“So, Friday, four weeks ago?”

Prisoner 1225 anxiously glanced up at the detectives flanking him.

“I don’t remember. You can’t seriously . . . it was four weeks ago!”

“Black Friday. Witnesses saw a man fitting your description inciting the violence and looting that night.”

The prisoner began to feel uncomfortably warm in his thick red coat, and nervously tended his cascading white beard.

“What about the early hours of the 25th?”

” I was . . . working . . . Making deliveries.”

“Enough. Book him – Santa Claus. a.k.a. Father Christmas: accomplice to the theft of the true meaning of Christmas. You’ll be tried for crimes against humanity.”

“But . . .”

“You’ve got one certain hope. Just confess, testify, and the D.A. will see the Judge forgives you.”

“If I don’t?”

“Life. No parole.”

“Ok, Ok , , , I’ll confess . . . tell the D.A. I want the deal.”

The D.A stepped out from behind the prisoner, smiled, and confirmed, “IT IS DONE.”



The Treasure Special

Written for today’s Flash! Friday challenge, prompted by this photograph, to include reference to ‘treasure’.

Chef at the Trans-Siberian rail wall, between Moscow and Khabarovsk. CC 2.0 photo by Leidolv Magelssen.

Chef at the Trans-Siberian rail wall, between Moscow and Khabarovsk. CC 2.0 photo by Leidolv Magelssen.

The Treasure Special

I stepped up into the first carriage, but many on the platform didn’t seem to realise that the train had arrived.

“Leave your baggage behind, ” the Conductor suggested with a smile, “I’ll stow it for you, no trouble. This end is full, but head through and you’ll find plenty of room further back.”


“Thank you, Sir . . . and welcome to the Treasure Special”.

The murmur of contented travellers enjoying the warmth and light, sharply contrasted with the cold dull platform. At Compartment 3, I was confused to be greeted once again by the Conductor.

“How did you . . . .?”

“Oh,” he smiled, “I’ve known my way around this train all my life – it’s the family business. We have room for you in Row 7.”

I passed more welcoming faces and then was greeted again by . . . the Conductor.

“Here you are, Sir.”

“But this seat card says, ‘Saved’.”

The Conductor’s face beamed, radiantly. “Yes, Sir, that it does.”


Be Mine Forever

The following was written for Christian Flash Weekly Event #28 – please click through to see the other submissions.

God's Creation

“That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life.”
– 1 John 1:1


. . . and it began. A home was born, which provided everything: warmth and comfort, food and drink, shelter and security; but though there were parts where the light shone, yet there were others where shadows were cast. The children who lived there wanted to cower in the shadows as much as bask in the light, and the home began to decay, bearing the scars of infestation and neglect.

But the Father made a promise – a new home for those who chose it: those not too proud to return his love and obey his rules. A new home with no shadows, no marks of decay, no infestation; a new home and a loving family which would never go away.

Some children dreamed of it, and told of it, of the new home and the father’s promise of it, and when the time came he reclaimed them and assured them they were . . .


To prove it the Father tasked his Son: to show all the other children the way to hold the promise, and how one day to find their new home. He told them stories and memories, and more about the Father than they had ever known. He showed them the Father’s love, and in return . . . they rejected him. They imprisoned him, and accused him, they punished him and tortured him; and after they had hurt him in every way a man can . . . then they killed him, and tried to bury the truth.

But the Father had made a promise, and nothing could prevent it being kept. The only question would be, who would hear and accept the promise of that new home one day. A new home, with a loving family and the father’s promise lasting:


Time to Run

The following was written for Christian Flash Weekly Event #27 – please click through to see the other submissions.

Listen, Israel: Today you are about to cross the Jordan to go and drive out nations greater and stronger than you, with large cities fortified to the heavens.
– Deuteronomy 9:1 (HCSB)

Time to Run

I crouched in silence, hiding in the darkness behind my eyelids. Adrenaline poured through me, and time slowed. A man’s voice was shouting, pausing, shouting . . . and then a gunshot rang out and my world accelerated into a wall of noise.

The stadium wasn’t huge, but this college meet was the biggest of my life. Coach’s words ran around my head, “You have this Izzy. Yours is a God-given talent, and this is your time. Jordan is your marker – stay with her around the bend . . . then let go, and Go. “

Rising out of the blocks, I released of all of the tense energy I had concentrated into my muscles. As I lifted my head, I saw the familiar form of my nearest rival moving fluidly in the lane outside me: “Jordan is your marker . . .”

“You will likely see older girls still ahead of you, like a mountain range getting closer to you, because you will be gaining on them. You have this. God has this. He put wings on your feet and when you fly, you will feel his pleasure.”

Blink. A year later, the college vests of the athletes around me switched to university colours. The stadium had grown taller, louder. Entering the home strait, I began to reel in those mountains ahead.

Blink. The stadium had transformed again – an eternal flame ahead of me, the unmistakable rings on the flag flying in pride of place. The other athletes now bore the colours of their nations, as I closed, drew level, passed, and dipped at the line.

Thanks, Coach.

Thank You, God.

Christian Flash Weekly winner Event #20

Time to Leave

Written for this week’s Flash Friday challenge.

St Kilda, Scotland. CC photo by Neil Wilkie

St Kilda, Scotland. CC photo by Neil Wilkie

Time to Leave

“It’s time.” whispered Rob.

Time. After hundreds of years, and generations of my family living in the same croft, climbing the same hills and cliffs . . . now was time for us to leave. My Ella would be the last baby born on this island. My kind-hearted, innocent, bonny wee St Ella of St Kilda would not know her home.

Daddy always told me as we walked to the church meeting house each Sunday morning that we were caretakers of the island: “God gi’ us this land t’ mind. We tek care o’ the land f’r Him, and the land will tek care o’ us.”

We hadn’t taken care of it. We killed the land when we changed the way we farmed, and now it would no longer sustain us.

The last of us left an open bible and pile of oats in each house, and boarded the boat for the mainland, our eyes laden with tears of repentance.


The following was written for Christian Flash Weekly Event #22 – please click through to see the winning submission, judge’s comments and this week’s challenge.

On the contrary, we speak God’s hidden wisdom in a mystery, a wisdom God predestined before the ages for our glory.
– 1 Corinthians 2:7


“Thank you for coming at such short notice Jay . . . It’s good to see you too, Eli.”

“You knew your message would intrigue me Douglas, but to be honest I didn’t need much of an excuse to get away from the university and come – you also know full well that this place has been on my bucket list for a long time.”

Douglas’s message had been short:


Douglas always had a talent for easily grabbing my attention, ever since we were freshmen. A petrified tree turning up at his Kadesh dig deep in the Negev desert? He also knew better than to waste my time, so asking me to bring along my research assistant Elijah proved that what he wanted me to see was worth paying for two airfares.

“I won’t waste time with the usual pleasantries,” he began. “We unearthed this lone petrified tree trunk amid the ruins of the city – it seemed to occupy a position at the centre of what we assume to be a market square fronting the temple.” He looked agitated, anxious even.

“Okay,” I said, “So this is big, but what made you send such a cryptic message? No denying it’s a great and unusual find, but . . .”

Douglas cut right across me mid-sentence, “Yeah, ok – ‘unusual’ . . . Jay, this is way beyond my team, and the paeleo-biology specialist used by BGU. The tree doesn’t look native. When we began to take samples from the trunk, there was no obvious evidence of insect damage, and it appeared to have no rings whatsoever in the cross-section. None . . .”

Hence Douglas’s need for a palaeo-botanist he knew and trusted: me.

“Even the heaviest degradation would leave some internal structure intact . . .”, I began to muse. Another thing Douglas knew about me from old was my irrepressibly impatient need to begin processing problems immediately.

“That’s what the BGU guys said, so, I sent a section back home for analysis.”

“Why not direct to me to begin with?” I asked, with mild indignation.

“I had to try my own staff first – it’s university policy to keep one institution’s name on the press release if it can be helped. My guys thought it was a fake which I had sent them as a practical joke. But, either because they thought it was such a very good fake that they had to be sure, or because I insisted so vehemently that it was genuine . . . they decided to break policy and send it on to the STEHM microscopy team at the University of Victoria in Canada, to get a more detailed image. They got very excited when the Canadians produced this.” He opened a file sleeve and handed over a photo.

“What resolution is this?” I asked, my pulse beginning to race.

“They refused to confirm – claimed commercial privilege, so you know it’s got to be higher than they officially admit to in their blurb.”

I was astounded. “The rings are so tightly packed that they are barely distinguishable – this tree must have grown incredibly slowly, and lived for – I don’t know – tens of thousands of years! This is incredible! This is Nobel prize stuff!”

Douglas smiled a nervous smile. “No, Jay. This is what is incredible, and I need to know how on Earth it can be possible before we share it. This is from the base of the trunk, and we took this image with a regular digital camera. Only my most trusted core team members here have seen this.”

He handed over another photo, and to my surprise, this time gave it direct to Elijah.

Eli’s jaw dropped, and so did the sheet. As it glided to rest on Douglas’s desk, I saw what were unmistakably words, but in a language I did not recognise; burned, engraved (I still don’t know how to properly describe it):

אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה

“Ehyeh ašer ehyeh.” Eli read.

“This is why I asked you to bring Eli – because I trust you, you trust him, and because he can read ancient Hebrew.”

“What does it mean Eli?”

“Literally, it means, ‘I will be what I will be’ . . . but your Bible translates it as ‘I Am who I Am’.” It’s what God said to Moses at the burning bush.

Below the first phase was a second, longer one:

בטרם היות אברהם אני הייתי

“Beterm heyot avraham ani hayiti”, Eli slowly continued, “It means, ‘Before Abraham, I was’ . . . That isn’t in the Torah.”

“Indeed.” a voice behind us calmly agreed, “It is not.”


The following was written for the Christian Flash Weekly Event #21 – please click through to see the winning and other submissions.

God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.

Psalm 46:5

Ezekiel 47

River awoke abruptly. Light streamed through the gaps between her drapes, and dazzling patterns danced across the wall as it reflected off her favourite glass ornament.

Her skin felt clammy, and her heart raced. The memory of her dream remained fresh in her mind.

Her mind’s eye held the after-images which replayed themselves in the waking world. She had been lying peacefully on the floor at the centre of the church, her face warmed by the sunlight shining through the windows. Slowly her body lifted upright, and she glided toward the large double doors which revealed the outside world. As she approached, she felt herself begin to separate into two distinct entities. One River left the church and roamed the surrounding streets, singing to the people she found; the other remained inside the church, steadily growing taller and wrapping up gifts addressed to the homes around the church.

She’d had similar dreams before, but now she understood. She was ready to face the tasks today would bring. God was both the source and the object of her faith, and where the world prompted fear, following His will would uphold her in fearlessness.

For River, today truly was a new day.

The Promised Land

Christian Flash Weekly winner Event #20

The following short story was my rule-compliant entry in Christian Flash Weekly Event #20, after the earlier ‘Waiting’, and it was judged to be the winning submission (!) – so thank you to Christian Flash Weekly’s host, Charles W. Short, and thank you in particular to this week’s judge, Whitney L. Schwartz. Please click through to see judge’s comments on all of the submissions, and this week’s challenge.

‘He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.’
– Ecclesiastes 3:11

Martin Luther King 'Love' Quote

I remember the first time I heard Dr King’s ‘Mountain Top’ speech. I was no longer a child, but not quite a young man. I was naive, and impressionable. I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know who God was. Yet still I was moved: moved by Dr King’s passion; by the plight of the African-American community; moved by the civil rights movement’s untiring ambition for change and a better future for the little black boys and girls and little white boys and girls of these United States. I was stirred, and I was inspired. Dr King spoke to my rebellious nature. I was shocked and sickened (we all were) at the dreadful news which broke the next day.

Not so many years later, God found me, and thankfully I no longer had the will to run for a hiding place. As I submitted to Him, I began a new chapter of a new adventure, a new season in a new, more meaningful life which it would take me a lifetime to even begin to understand. That’s the beauty of God’s mystery: each time I think I understand, He takes me to a new time and a beautiful new place; a new revelation of Him.

It took some time, but eventually I realised that Dr King hadn’t just been speaking to my rebellious side, or maybe that my rebellious nature wasn’t as simple as all that. We are all rebels at heart – we all rebel against authority; we have all rebelled against God: that is our sinful nature. The part of me that wanted to climb to the mountain top that day wasn’t the anarchist rebel, but that best part of me: the part which cries out at injustice, which cares that there is a difference between right and wrong. That’s all well and good, but without love, without the love for my God, and for my fellow man, those cries against injustice were just hollow. It was God who gave my righteous anger meaning.

I used to want to live a long life, but then I began to understand what I really craved was to live a significant life. Longevity has its place, but it is relative – some taken young have lived more significant lives than others who reach beyond three score and ten. Significance comes from who we are in Jesus, not what we do: when we are in Jesus, when His Spirit lives inside us – wow, the world better watch out for how significant we can be!

I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to learn as it has done, yet I’m grateful that I’m still learning. Sometimes I wish I had someone to look up to earlier in my life to help me understand the truth which I took the long route to reach. But then I wonder if my journey would have been devalued in some way if I had found that short-cut. Maybe some lessons really are best learned the hard way, because then they stay with us.

But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will; and His will is that I tell you this story, that I give you this steer – towards the most beautiful person you will ever know.

He has allowed me to go up the mountain top Dr King spoke of, and in my dreams I looked over and saw that Promised Land. I saw and I believed: we, His people, have a Promised Land. I know that I have a place amongst His people, and I want you to be there too. You’ll have lessons to learn of your own, as I had, but you need to know the difference God has made in my life – never, ever take his grace for granted.

I want you to know that I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I have nothing left to fear, certainly not death. I have lived that craved life of significance because Jesus lives in my heart. As the man said, “Mine eyes have seen the coming of the glory of the Lord”, and now I am ready to go to Him.

Shed only tears of joy, child, when I am gone – I am going home to be with my Lord and Saviour, and I pray you’ll see me again, either when He returns, or when your time comes to be called to Him.

I am always, always,

your loving Papa


The following was written for the Christian Flash Weekly Event #20 – please click through to see the eligible submissions (this is ineligible for the event itself as it borrows its characters and setting from the play ‘Waiting for Godot’ by Samuel Beckett).

‘He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.’
– Ecclesiastes 3:11

Waiting Tree

“How long have we been waiting now?”

“Oh, for some time, to be sure . . . it has been a while.”

“Will He come soon do you think? We’ve been waiting a good while.”

“Oh yes, very soon, I’m sure. It has been a while.”

“The tree looks a good deal healthier now. It doesn’t seem that long since it was just bark, and twigs.”

“Indeed. Those leaves certainly give this whole place a bit of colour, a bit of life.”

“Some of the leaves look different. Smaller, duller somehow.”

“Those are the buds, my old friend. They shall not remain dull for long.”

“How long have we been waiting?

“I don’t quite recall. It’s been a while. Long enough that I’m not quite sure what we were doing before.”

“Before? Weren’t we here before?”

“Oh, yes, but before that?”

“Well I’m sure I don’t remember. I’m not even sure that I remember why we are waiting for Him?

“Why? Why we are waiting? Because He is coming! We have to wait for Him – it is our purpose. He said He would meet us here.”

The two paused in a moment’s silence.

“Didi, why is there only one tree here? Isn’t that a bit . . . absurd?”

“Not really Gogo, not really. It has always been this way.”


“Oh, yes. Well, for as long as I can remember anyway.”

“I wish I had a memory like yours. I don’t even really remember yesterday.”

“Yesterday was much like today; although I do remember a yesterday which was slightly different once. A while ago; when the tree was all bark and twigs. When there were others.”

“Other trees?”

“No, my old friend, other people.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Oh, sometimes we’re not meant to, I expect. All shall become clear when He returns. We must be patient, and make sure He finds us here waiting for Him: as we agreed; as we promised.”

“The buds are breaking open! I don’t remember ever seeing colours like that!

“They were worth waiting for, weren’t they? The bark and twigs are beautiful in their time, in the season to which they belong . . . but when the buds emerge, the blossoms appear, and an even greater beauty blooms into life.”

The two friends enjoyed the scene in beguiled silence.

“Didi, sometimes I feel like I want to go . . . somewhere else.”

“That will pass. Why would you do that anyway? What other place is there?”

“I don’t know.”

“We agreed to meet Him here.”

“Oh yes, I forgot.”

“That, old friend, is also part of my purpose – to help you remember. So you can be here with me, when He returns.”

“You know, Didi, I don’t think I have ever seen anything more beautiful than this tree; the blossoms, I mean. And the fragrance . . . the fragrance of those blossoms . . . it’s heavenly. It’s changed the whole atmosphere of this place.”

“Heavenly . . . yes, that is the word, I agree. . . ; this is the season for that fragrance: this is its time.”

“Will it ever be our time, Didi?

“When He comes back, I expect. We must be patient – He is due to return.”

“Didi! One of the petals has fallen. It’s still beautiful on its own, but it won’t last will it? All of the petals will fall, and none of them will last.”

“Within the seasons, time can be fleeting. There is a time for everything; but the blossoms may last forever, some day, when He returns.”

“But when will that be? We’ve already been waiting a long while.”

“Oh, soon I hope, very soon. When the time is right. When it is a time . . . of His choosing. But I confess, I do hope that time shall be soon, my old friend . . . very soon.”



The following was my entry in Christian Flash Weekly Event #19 – please click through to see the winning, and other submissions.

‘You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.’

– Psalm 23:5


The militia came to our city three days ago. Today, they came to my home. They came for me, in my family’s home. My name is Daud.

Our church was destroyed on the first day: burned, in ‘holy’ fire. We prayed at home, my family and I; we prayed for protection, for the Comforter to come. We prayed, and we trembled.

Today they came to my home. My family was dragged to our bathroom, and locked in.

I was taken to the kitchen, where I saw our table raised up at one end. I was taken to the raised end and made to lie back. My arms were tied to the legs at the other end, and my own legs bound.

“You choose to live in this ‘Christian’ city?” the ringleader spat.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You choose their false God over your own?”

“There is only one God”.

A tablecloth was spread tightly over my upper body and face. I heard the faucet running, and the buckets beginning to fill.

“The Lord is my shepherd, ” I began to whisper, “I shall not be in want.”

Sooner than I expected water began to pour onto my face. It quickly soaked through the cloth, poured across my mouth, and as I felt it enter my nostrils I tried to breathe out to force it away. My lungs began to burn until I could not help but gasp to take in breath. Water flowed in as I tried to breathe and I choked violently, gasping for more air, only to receive yet more water. Then the water slowed and stopped and I could hear the faucet running again. The shouting resumed.

“There is one God! Our God, not theirs!”

“He makes me to lie down . . . in green pastures . . . he leads me . . . he leads me beside . . ”

“You think your God will save you? He is a false God! There is one God!”

” . . . beside . . . beside quiet waters”

“You want more water? Is that it? You want us to baptise you again?”

“He restores . . . ”

Water began to pour once more, and I felt my pulse racing as the flow increased. My lungs burned more quickly this time, and I gasped hopelessly for air through the constant stream hitting my face.

“He restores my soul . . . He guides me . . . in the paths . . . in the paths . . . in the paths of right. . .eousness”

I struggled to catch any brief mouthful of air.

“For his name’s sake . . . . . . . Even though I walk . . .”

Pain struck me like a sledgehammer from nowhere. My knees . . . my knees . . . I was in agony . . .

“You want to walk? Deny the infidel God!”

“Even though I walk . . . through the valley . . . of the shadow . . . of death, . . . . . . . I will fear . . . I will fear no evil!”

“You call us evil, blasphemer?! We are servants of the one God!”

Another blow rained down on my legs, from the other side. Another rifle butt I thought. I had never known pain like it. I could hear my family screaming through the bathroom door.

I raised my voice louder, in the feint hope they might hear and take heart, ” . . . For you are with me! Your rod . . .your rod, and your staff, they . . .”

“So, you have been baptised, and now you want we should anoint you?”

At that moment I recognised the sound of our stove burners igniting, the familiar sound of the pan placed upon the hob. In horror, I realised the sickening truth of my enemy’s words: they were heating oil.

“And after you, your family, we swear it! Now, denounce the false God!!”

“Your rod . . . and your staff they comfort me.”

“Deny Him!!!!”

Then I heard a new, commanding voice: “Stop! STOP NOW!!”

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