Chapter 1 - I Walked with Jesus, book two

As promised...

The Handmaid.

The story of Mary after her son's ascension to heaven, begins this second book of stories from the New Testament. 

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The Handmaid

Luke 1

Mary loved her son even before he was born. Like most mothers, she found if she rested, fed her soul as well as her body, and made time for reflection, the energy she received at the hand of God was more than sufficient to carry her pregnancy even at the last. 

Though she was not always treated kindly as a young girl by her friends because of her timidity, as she grew, she discovered the wisdom in this. If she had something to say, she would say it, and others would listen. Her mother and father treated her kindly, and her brother and sisters spoke well of her. Her family didn’t have much in the way of worldly goods, but they had each other, and that’s what mattered.

Mary had learned about God at a young age, and, like most girls had been shown her place in Jewish society. She respected this place, though she often thought about being equal to the young boys with whom she associated. It wasn’t until Mary grew that she began to see the truth of the matter.

When the angel came, Mary was at first surprised as anyone would be. But her heart calmed as she spoke with the angel. She wasn’t alone. Others walked passed her, but she could not hear their voices. It was like she’d been brought to heaven while still kneeling on the earth.

“Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women,” the angel began.

She was amazed. Not only at the bright clothing the angel wore but the manner in which he saluted her.

“Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shall call his name JESUS. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.”

“How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” she asked after a moment of reflection.

“The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God. And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren. For with God nothing shall be impossible.”

The words of the angel spoke volumes of love to Mary’s soul. How could she doubt what God could do? Her heart burned as the words came: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.”

She’d gone to see Elisabeth after the departure of the angel, and the truth she’d known even before her arrival there became a second witness. Truly God could do all things.

Her son was born six months later, and they named him Jesus as the angel had spoken.

He was a beautiful baby. As his chubby hands reached for her face, she would kiss them, and speak to Jesus of God’s love. He grew into a good, kind, son. He was always thinking of her, teaching her the ways of God. And as he continued into manhood and her husband, Joseph, left the earth and returned heavenward, Jesus was a great comfort to her in her loneliness. The first few months after Joseph’s passing, He consoled her, His loving arms surrounding her, His voice soothing her aching soul.

By the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, she’d made His teachings a part of her life. She knew the truth of the resurrection. He was here! They’d eaten together at his arrival, and He’d shown her the marks of the nails in His hands and feet. She’d touched His side – the babe she had carried in her womb. He lived!

At first, she thought He’d returned for good. But then the news had come. His teachings were nearing an end. He had many things to do, to help His father. Not Joseph – He smiled as he’d spoken it – but His Father in Heaven.

She dared not ask if He’d seen her Joseph, but Jesus seemed to know her thoughts.

“I have seen many loved ones. And others are waiting to hear the gospel. Missionaries have been sent to the waiting spirits in prison.”

“Can it be so?”

“Surely, Father is well pleased.” He took her hand in his. “And you, how are you, Mother?”

“I am not eager to have you go,” she said.

“But the 40 days of teaching, of preparing hearts and souls for the greater work, are almost spent. It is time.”

“I know… And yet…”

“You will miss me, as I will miss you. But my spirit will be here, and the gift of the Holy Ghost…”

“I know.”

“It is the greatest gift of the Father. The Holy Ghost will teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.”

“Still…”

He embraced her then and, as the tears fell, her heart ached for the separation that would soon come. Only when she met His eyes again did she see tears in His own.

“You will always be my mother.”

She sobbed then, huge gushing tears, and He held her tighter.

“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” words given over an outdoor fire some two weeks past, filled her soul long after Jesus had ascended to heaven. How could she give now that He was gone?

 Her children spent time near her; her grandchildren pulled at her skirt for attention, and she had given it. At home, it wasn’t difficult. When she was away from home, that’s when giving became more difficult. But she would do it.

For weeks, she dreamed of her son. And as the months passed and the dreams dwindled, a softening returned, and she was able to live again. She hadn’t experienced the transfiguration for herself, but Peter, James, and John had spoken of it often. They had seen Jesus, her very son, as he looked in his glorified state. As she closed her eyes on those lonely nights when her children and grandchildren had returned to their own homes, she could see Him as He was during the 40 days – as she remembered Him.

And she was carried forward.

I Walked with Jesus - first chapter!

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 Have you ever considered yourself as one of the least of these?

The Rabbi

John 3

Since the first time he’d spoken with the Rabbi of Galilee, Nicodemus’ heart had burned. There was something about the man called Jesus of Nazareth that made him want to change his heart, maybe even his life.

            His home was large with many rooms, but he’d chosen to visit with the Rabbi outdoors, near the great well where places for sitting in the cooler evening air were appreciated. Jesus must come at night, when peering eyes slept, and when his leadership duties were not so pressing. If his neighbors saw his visitor, he could merely remind them that it was the law to study at night – besides, it was expected. He need not worry about his place in the social and political arena.

            Still, as Jesus entered, Nicodemus’ heart skipped more than one beat. He was curious to know the truth, but he was also deeply afraid of what he would hear. Jesus was a great teacher, but he was not a prophet.

            Or was he?

            Because it was dark the torches had been lit. The dripping of water within the well where they spoke reminded Nicodemus of the cleansing of his soul – what he feared the most.

            The sound of Jesus’ sandals padded toward him. He stopped and sat. Nicodemus followed.

            “A drink?” he asked.

            The Rabbi shook his head.

            “Well, then, I will begin,” he offered.

            The wind was blowing softly and easily, and Nicodemus was glad he’d chosen the location he had. But where should he start? He’d gone over the conversation a million times, and now that Jesus of Nazareth was here, he was at a loss.

            The man was looking intently at him, so Nicodemus began:

            “Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.”

            Jesus smiled. “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

            Born… again? Nicodemus thought. “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?” he asked.

            Even in the dim light, he could see that Jesus’ eyes were blue, the color of the sea of Galilee where he sometimes walked to clear his head.

            “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.”

            Children were born of the water from their mother’s womb. And there was a spirit that dwelt inside every man.

            “That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.”

            “How can these things be?” Nicodemus asked, taking a sip of the wine he had poured for himself. “Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, we speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness. I have told you of earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?”

            For a moment Nicodemus thought of the wind in the trees, but the thought forming in his head escaped him as Jesus continued:

            “And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: That whosever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.”

            Nicodemus knew of Moses and the serpent he raised up. He knew the law of Moses and had lived it since he was young. But who would come down from heaven and be lifted up? Was Jesus speaking of himself?

            “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosover believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

             A trickling of warmth found his soul.

            “For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.”

            Did he believe? Was this truly the Son of God?

            “And this is the condemnation,” the teacher continued, “that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.”

            Was Jesus saying his deeds were evil?

            “For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.”

            Suddenly, Nicodemus was thinking of his sins. He had many, but so did others in his position. In his duties as a ruler of the Jews and a member of the Sanhedrin, he must set an example of strength.

            “But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be manifest, that they are wrought in God.”

            Nicodemus took another sip of wine, but he could not meet the eyes of the teacher. Both were silent, and as Nicodemus listened to the wind through the trees, and the dripping sound of the water in his well, he was anxious to go inside to his family.

            Jesus stood.

            “Follow me,” he said. 

            They were at the front of his house before Jesus spoke again. “Follow me. Learn of me.”

            The wind brushing against Nicodemus’ face, and the rustle of leaves above his head seemed to speak words of comfort. Could he do it? Could he leave his home, his profession? He had felt something warm prick at his chest. Could he deny now what he thought to be true?

            Tears glistened. “I believe thy words are true,” he said.

            “Then, come, follow me.”

            The repeated entreaty was followed by a smile and a touch of a hand to his shoulder.

            “When?”

            “Tomorrow. We leave tomorrow.”

            Nicodemus breathed in slowly and as his breath escaped his lips, he looked into Jesus’ eyes. They were still looking at him, watching him lovingly. He had never before seen such eyes. 

            “I don’t… know,” he stumbled. “You say you are leaving tomorrow?”

            “Tomorrow. Will you be there?”

            With all of his heart, Nicodemus wanted to say yes, but the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. “I don’t know…” he began.

            “Think about it?” Jesus offered.

            “I will,” he answered.

            A sob escaped Nicodemus’ lips. “Master?” he asked. “If I don’t come, will you yet love me?”

            Of all the things he could have said, these words were the hardest. He knew that tomorrow he would not come. He would eat, he would go about his duties, he would walk the grounds of his beautiful home and the synagogue, but Jesus would travel without him.

            Still, watching the man who some believed was God, there was no question in those heavenly eyes about his answer.

 

NOVEL CONTEST!! Get your book published!

The beginning of the new year brings added news from Idea Creations Press.

We're holding our first - ever - novel contest! There is no entry fee only plenty of opportunity, so send in your book!

Here are the rules:              

1^st Semi-Annual Writing Contest

 Contest Rules

·        Contest Runs January 1 – April 30, 2016.

·         Round one, January 1 – February 29, submit a synopsis of your book and the first chapter.

·         Round two, March 1 – March 31, finalists of the first round will submit their completed manuscript.

·         Round three, April 1 – April 30, personal interview and judging.

·         We will pick 2 different authors to receive the Winner’s Prize.

·         Author must not have previously published a book.

·         Author must live within the Ogden to Spanish Fork area. If you live outside this area, you will be considered, but you must be willing to travel or tele-commute for sessions.

·         Author must have the stamina and creativity to market, thus the interview.

·         Idea Creations Press will provide the first 10 books as part of your winnings. The author must be willing to invest the money to purchase any additional books. The estimated cost of a 250 page book is $4.36 each landed. We use a print-on-demand printer; as such there is no need to have a large quantity of additional copies on hand.

·         Idea Creations Press will place a one page ad on the back inside page of your book.

·         Idea Creations Press will announce the final winners on or about May 1, 2016.

At Idea Creations Press we are excited to welcome new authors to the publishing arena and hope you find this creative experience an exciting and life changing adventure. It is our desire to hold this contest twice yearly, so if your book is not yet ready, get it ready for the next contest. Our second semi-annual writing contest will begin June 1^st, 2016.

We would love to publish your book if it teaches positive morals and values. It can be a fun read, too, but ultimately, good must triumph over evil; readers must be left with a positive message.

Generally we publish the following fiction genres:

Middle Reader

Young Adult

Christian

General

Women's

Romance

Fantasy

Historical

Mystery

Western

If your book doesn't fit in any of the genres or categories listed above, know that we are still open to hearing about your project. As long as the book follows the guidelines listed above and does not include bad language, adult oriented material (erotica) or excessive blood and gore, we would like to hear from you.

Although we are not a Christian publisher, we subscribe to Christian values, and feel like a great book doesn't have to include negative 'world views' in order to be accepted by readers.

Current and Previous clients of Idea Creations Press are not eligible.

What are you waiting for? Time to make your dream come true.

WINNER’S PRIZE		Value
Full Editing of Book		$750.00
Expanded Book Publishing		$899.00
eBook Conversion (Mobi & ePub)
Trade Paperback Format
Custom Cover Design with Author's Photo or Artwork
Interior Customization
Black and White Interior
Unlimited Book Size and Format Choices
10 – Image Insertions
Electronic Proofs of Your Book
One-on-One Author Support
Company Online Bookstore Availability
Online Distribution through Amazon and Other Retailers
ISBN Assignment
REGISTRATIONS
US Copyright
Library of Congress Control Number
COPIES
10 – Paperback Author Copies
MARKETING
Amazon Look Inside
"Marketing Your Book on a Budget"
PROMOTIONAL MATERIALS
500 – Postcards
NON-EXCLUSIVE CONTRACT
Author Owns All Rights
Author Sets the Retail Price
Standard Press Release
TOTAL VALUE		$1,649.00

Enter our contest by emailing us the following:

Full Name

Phone Number

Email Address

Book Title

Genre

1 page synopsis of the book (preferably in MS Word)

First chapter of the book (preferably in MS Word)

Email entries to authorsupport@ideacreationspress.com

Day 2 of the Scrambled Deal

Hey readers and writers,

Today is the final day to get Scrambled for $6.49. Haven't picked it up yet? Well, it's not to late.

Besides this good news, I wanted to thank you again for your support. I love writing, but I also love sharing what I've written.

If you haven't had a chance to read the first chapter of Scrambled, here it is.

Love,

Kathryn

Eating Out

 

Six months later a thought occurred to her that the fat man had been the catalyst; her last straw, her wake up call.

“Are you open?” the man had asked. His voice had been deep and yawning like the Grand Canyon.

“Of course.” She looked up. The man was fat—even more endowed than her own husband who’d gained a mere seventy pounds since their wedding day 20 years ago. Fat oozed like soft butter from his great waistline. His black and white checkered shirt, though buttoned, gaped to his belly, revealing a matted mass of hair. She tried not to stare at it. The word “pig,” came to mind.

“Did you find everything all right?” she asked.

“Just ring me up,” he growled, scratching his unshaven face. “I have an appointment.”

If someone had said, ‘Make a wish, Susan,” she would have wished for freedom in that moment—freedom from the customer, and all those to follow; freedom from her horrible job and marriage, freedom from unavailable friends and broken down cars. She would work a bit somewhere else, and then travel to some exotic location. Perhaps Paris or Hawaii…

“Miss!”

Susan felt the crisp dollar bill in her hand. “Sorry, sir,” she said, handing the disgruntled customer his change. She watched his back-end leave the store. Blubber, bump. Blubber, bump. Blubber, bump…

It was the fat man who had finally given her the courage to take care of herself for the first time. Perhaps it was not a conscious choice, but it was definitely a choice. She left work that day never to return, got on a bus, leaving her rotten car in the parking lot—her fat husband wondering where she’d gone. She hadn’t looked back.

Occasionally, like today, when the hotel lights burned deeply into her skull, and her eyes felt heavy from the tasks of serving, she would remember. The terrible times when she tried to get pregnant. His anger about her job, or the way she folded his underwear. She would think about the way he spoke to her; hardly, and then, harshly, as if the words he had meant to say to her long ago needed to come out now in one heated rush.

Also, the short moments of tenderness—her broken-down heap of a car that had still managed to get her to work, the doughnuts and candy bars that always made it into the kitchen cupboards and then quite naturally were fed by him into her open mouth—because he always shared what he bought for himself. All those moments that made her life one with him. And now she was left with an aloneness she couldn’t begin to understand.

“Jenny?” The pounding on Susan’s front door made her blink. She would never get used to her new name even if she lived to be a hundred years old. She stood, walked to the solid piece of wood called her door, and peered wearily out the keyhole even though she didn’t need to.

“What is it this time, John?” Tonight, John seemed to be wearing some sort of pullover sweater and blue jeans. His short, red hair was combed down the middle, and splayed to either side like the opening entrails of a fish. She might have laughed if she hadn’t cared for him. He was the dorkiest man she’d ever met, albeit the nicest.

“Cup of sugar?” She could see the white cup held eagerly in his left hand. He pushed it forward to the keyhole.

“I’m tired tonight.”

She removed her eye from the keyhole, wondering if he blushed. He always turned red whenever she spoke of anything having to do with sleep, or darkness, or her new down comforter. She wasn’t sure why unless certain words created in him a desire for something he would never get from her. Was it her imagination, or could she feel him going red beyond the door? And he was probably grinning too, now that he’d managed to breathe a little more evenly.

“Come on Jenny.”

“Oh, all right.”

The dead bolt cracked heavily, the double set of chains flicked to the sides of the heavy door, and she turned the knob of her upstairs room. The Hotel Camaro, once a manor in the town of Walnut Hill, city of Hampshire, had plenty of solid wood even where it didn’t seem needed—above her bed, on one of the walls in the living room, even above her head on the carved cornices seen throughout the building. Everything reeked of oldness and renovation—though change would probably not happen in her lifetime—if ever. The owner, Carter Childs, held his money like a tight fisted kid with his only penny; except Carter had many pennies though he told everyone otherwise. The tramps that lived at the hotel were a continuous reflection of the future of the hotel and it’s lower than life standards.
John smiled. His slightly yellow teeth reminded Susan of the eggs she had boiling on the stove.

“You don’t mind getting the sugar yourself?”

“No problem. But are you sure you want eggs?” She could hear his large feet clunking to the pantry as she stirred the boiling eggs with a spoon.

Yes, the egg bomb incident. How could she forget? What had she been doing? Oh, yes. Carter wanted to see her, an overflowing toilet in room 10, he’d said—John’s room. And she’d left the boiling eggs on the stove. When the eggs exploded an hour later she was finishing with the water overflow mishap and had just re-entered the hallway. Carter was beyond angry when he heard. Her hotel room smelled like rotten eggs for days and she’d spent weeks walking outside and breathing in the musty city of Southern Hampshire before permanently returning to her room.

“You do look tired.”

John had the sugar in his white bowl, but like always, he was not returning to the door. “What can I do?”

“I just need some sleep.”

John blushed. “Okay,” he said, looking for a place to sit on the old brown couch—her only couch in the very sparse room.

“You’d better go.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“You promised.”

John rolled his large blue eyes. “I know,” he said, “but you need someone.”

It had taken Susan six long months to trust John with a few facts about her life; others she had made up to cover her identity. Her real name was one of them. That she’d never been married was another—a sure fire mistake she would later see more clearly. Perhaps John would have been less interested in her if he knew she had simply run away from her husband. She wondered what he would think of her if he knew of her shallow thoughts of him that had created this mess in the first place. She wondered if he’d understand that all of her thoughts weren’t shallow, that there was something else she never spoke of with anyone, the surest reason for her departure. Was he searching for her? Would she turn on the television one day only to discover her face on the small screen? Or would he be grateful? Was he pleased that she had left him? Would he want to find her simply to file the divorce papers? She wondered how long it had taken before he’d discovered she was missing. She was glad they had no children, but only for this reason; there would be no family missing her.

Except her mother of course; her father was dead, and her sister who lived in Virginia. Kate would have a fit, perhaps even look for her for awhile, and then she’d get caught up once more in the corporate life and forget all about her. Just like when they were kids and the doll collection was replaced by fake dollar bills and glittering coins purchased as a set from the grocery store. Kate would later become a teller, and then she would work her way up the company from Payroll Manager to Director of Human Resources. In addition to bossing all the people around, she would get her degree in management, leaving Susan behind to take on the menial jobs.

Susan would never attend college, would marry the first man who even took a look at her—her husband, Bob, and they would try to have children—without success of course. In the end, they would sit together, watch T.V. and he would eat and feed her what he’d bought.

Nothing stuck on her bones. But with him, it was almost like, by getting fat, he was getting pregnant instead of her. At first she’d joked about it. And then the joking made him watch television alone in the basement, sneak food at odd hours, and make excuses for his sorry life.

Susan turned to look at John. He had been silent for an unreasonable amount of time. “Sorry,” she started and then realized he was gone.