In His Hands

In my last post I alluded to life happening. For instance, our refrigerator broke and the house now smells of rotting food. But of a deeper concern, a loved one went to the hospital yesterday. She might well have died, and her husband said she was in “excruciating pain.”

There have been a few other issues this week that have given all of us reasons to shut down, but life doesn’t always afford us that opportunity.

I know I have mentioned Ecclesiastes more than once on this blog, and think it is about time to bring up my other favorite book of the bible, Esther. It is a short narrative, you can read it in under an hour, but it highlights a wonderful aspect of God.

For as long as I can remember, I have been enthralled by the tale of Esther. Life happened to her too, and one of the best quotes to keep in mind when facing adversity comes from Mordecai, “…if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place…Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

In one of the most ironic twists in literature, the day appointed for the Jew’s destruction becomes their day of victory, and the gallows appointed for Mordecai breaks the neck of their architect. Everything falls into place as if it were all part and parcel of some larger plan.

I don’t know what the future holds, neither did Esther, but I choose to walk with God, trusting His hand to see me through.


I am working on another short story to post, and had hoped to finish it yesterday. Here is a snippet:

The executioner dons a black hood, his bartered price for this deed, and leaps from the helicopter. The torrents of wind whip around the unnamed man as the vehicle ascends into the skies’ haven. Deserted, he pulls a little white cord from his breast and absently unties the knots it’s in. With a glance at his watch the executioner makes his way west. Reaching under the mask, he inserts the untangled earbuds.

Looking down, the man skims through a playlist while his watch starts a fevered beeping. He cross-draws, unwilling to relinquish his mp3, and feels the hard click of a drawn hammer reverberating through the metallic handle. He settles on a song. An orchestra of strings begin their penitent cries, drowning out the screams of Sergeant Major Thomas.

He is far gone. The face, shriveled beyond recognition, looks like a mummified skull with bleeding eyes. But, pined above his heart, lies the name of this forgotten solider. Someone had tried to bury him—the others?—and now a scrambling torso claws its way out of his grave. The executioner puts a hole in the creature’s head. It stops screaming.

The pleading wails of Lacrimosa floods his mind as he fiddles with the watch. The little electronic display counter goes down to five, silencing the beeping. A little arrow indicates the next closest target. Holstering his magnum, he paces toward the lifeless meat and kneels beside it.

“Tom,” he says folding the arms across the chest. “I’m so sorry.”


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