Pencil in His Hand: A Mother's Journal of Stories, Thoughts, and Poems.

  Dear Readers, I hope that you are having a blessed and Jesus filled day. :) Thank you so much for reading my stories and poems. It is such a blessing to think that they are being read.  I pray that they will encourage you on your journey. Going forward, I hope to post one longer post each week on Monday. God willing, posts will contain stories, poems, chat, and writing and publishing updates as God leads. I have two more Rapture stories, plus a Rapture poem waiting for you. At the moment I am also busy writing what will hopefully be a short story trilogy. I am enjoying the story so far. It is an inspirational romance set in the countryside. The rest is a secret for now. :) God willing, the series will be available on Amazon in e book format. Pricing will be very reasonable. Now Available: (e book and paperback.) My novella, The Mocha Mermaid, has been sitting around in Google Docs for a while. Now it is time to get it out there. I'm pretty fond of this sweet story which is s...

  Comfort And Hope Anna laid her Bible carefully down on the kitchen table. For some years now, she'd glossed over the passage that lay highlighted in yellow before her. "For the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words." ( 1 Thessalonians 4: 16-18) "Comfort one another with these words." I haven't even been comforting myself with these words... Anna sat at the table for a long time, chores forgotten. She took time to pray and to think. "Do you think the Rapture's going to happen soon?" She asked her husband Nolan when he ambled into the room in search of coffee. "What made you think of that?" He poured himself a cu...

  Odette sank into one of her mother's creaky wooden kitchen chairs and sighed. "Sometimes I just don't understand people." Her mom smiled sympathetically as she turned the kettle on. "Nasty customers again?" "Yup. And there seem to be more and more of them these days. For every nice customer, there seem to be five rude ones. I wish they'd leave their bad attitudes at home or send someone else to do their shopping." Odette's mom took down a couple of sunny yellow teacups and poured water into the round teapot. "It certainly sounds like you need a cup of tea. And a slice of apple pie." "Sounds wonderful." Odette's eyes brightened. "There's nothing like your apple pie to cheer a person up." The two women sat companionably at the table. Odette put the day's troubles out of her mind, and they chatted about other things. When it was time for her to leave though, her mother suggested they have a quick tou...

  After The Harvest A Short Story by Alison Lawrence When Avi broke through the dark blanket of sleep on the morning of her twenty-first birthday, she knew for certain that she could not marry Dac. Time marched on callously in the busy household, but she took some moments to pray. Somehow, she felt peaceful; liberated. And terrified all at the same time. *** Her sister Fern looked up from her place at the range, where she was frying eggs. "Happy birthday, Avi." She said softly, before focusing once more on her task. "Thank you, Fern." Avi smiled. Her mother, Maya sniffed. "There's still work to be done on birthdays. You can butter the toast." "Yes, you were a real lazy bones this morning," Ivy, a younger sibling grumbled. "It's my birthday." Avi said sweetly as she started buttering. "No big deal." Ivy huffed. "No. It's just another day. Life goes on." Maya kneaded her dough with powerful movements. ...

  The woman stoops to pick up a perfectly formed shell and holds it to her ear: sea music. She smiles, and feels like a girl again as she remembers a long ago beach outing. Her mother had placed a shell over her ear and told her to listen to the sea. Now, she listens once more and watches the blue-green waves as they gallop towards the shore. They crash noisily and drown out her seashell-ocean-music.  She sits on the warm sand and hugs her knees. The scene before her is achingly lovely. Who made the sea? She wonders. How did it and the shells, sand, and sky come to be? She studies her toes, now covered with a myriad grains. So strange, she thinks, that she should be sitting here on this beach; breathing and living this life. For what? To just die like the little shell creatures? Why? Why? Why? The word echoes through her brain in time to the calls of the seagulls. She finds no comfort in the thought of evolution. So purposeless. And anyway, she muses as she caresses the shell,...

  Years have gone by, yet the phone call still plays clear as a bell in my mind. "He needs to come home. Please tell him. There isn't much time." The thin, frail voice of the caller lent weight to the urgency of her call. No, there couldn't have been much time. "Daddy, a lady called. An old lady. She said there isn't much time." I tiptoed up to his armchair. I spoke softly, hesitantly. I was only a child, and I knew nothing of his past. "She says, she says, you must go home." "No!" The armchair shook with the force of his rage. "No! And don't talk to that woman again."  No further calls came from the frail-voiced lady. At least, not that I know of. *** Daddy was nearing the end. The end of a long, long battle. I was in my forties, married, and with children of my own. "Who was she Daddy?" I asked gently, hoping with God's help to bring him to a place of peace and forgiveness. But his face tightened and he t...

  Every month we would walk down to the bus stop, then catch a turquoise blue bus into the big city. A little girl, her sister, and their mother.  It was easily my favourite day of the month. Our first stop was the big bank where Mom would join the queue, her old-fashioned bank book in her handbag. After that, we would head to various shops. The material shop was high on Mom's priority list. She loved to sew. We'd get bored quickly, although we'd try to make the minutes pass by paging through pattern books. Sometimes, we'd pop into the bookshop: Adam and Griggs. All three of us loved books, so I'm not sure how we managed to get out of there! And then, there were payments to be made of course. A highlight was having lunch, just the three of us at a restaurant: toasted cheese and tea for Mom, hamburgers and milkshakes for us. So many happy memories, all lovingly entwined around our sweet mother. As far as the places go, one of my favourites was Colombo. A very old-fa...

  I opened the billfold. Another generous tip from table five. And the guy had just had a coffee. Again. "What's up with him, Lord?" I prayed. "If he's a weirdo, could you help him right?" I looked at the guy. He was closing his laptop and leaving. He seemed normal enough. And cute. Oh well. *** The next day, I opened the billfold from table number five again. Once more, the guy had left a tip far beyond the usual ten percent other customers normally gave. A piece of paper was sticking out from under the money. A tract. Quickly, I walked over to my customer before he could leave. I needed to clear this up. I flipped my ponytail over my shoulder and coughed. "Um, thank you, but the tip. It's too much. You only have coffee." The guy's friendly eyes met mine. "I know. I was a waiter once. You deserve it." I smiled as I looked at the tract. "Thank you. And thank you for the tract. I'm a Christian too." He smiled again wa...

  Warning: contains suicidal references. Lyddie looks up: billions of lights on a black velvet background.  Endless. Mysterious. Later on, she would realize that something deep inside of her changed in that moment, but right now, she remains unaware, merely registering their presence as they look down on her in her desperation, as she paces round and round the swimming pool a girl of seventeen, alone, her family fast asleep. After a while, she stops walking, and stares and stares at the quiet, deep water. The water lures her softly, the same friendly daytime bright blue water, now dark and dangerous. But that she doesn't see. She hears only the voice of the water calling: jump, jump, jump, I will help you end everything, you will feel nothing. Come, come, come. A frail looking teenager  with freckles and straight brown hair, swinging her legs slowly in the water. It feels silky, tempting, welcoming. Almost. A breeze begins to blow beneath the starry sky, a breeze that mak...

  The King's Son A Short Story King Zidon watched as Prince Ari rode off on his stallion, Kiaron. He gripped his staff tightly. Surely the trolls would not harm his son.  The king's advisor, Beneniah, stood at his side as the drumming of the hoofbeats faded. He said nothing to the King, but he was concerned. He shuddered as he thought of those who had been beaten or murdered by the trolls. He had cautioned the King against sending Prince Ari, but the king was convinced it would work. The trolls had long been a troublesome problem. A blot in the beautiful, otherwise peaceful kingdom. King Zidon had hired out a vineyard to them, but so far, collecting the King's due had been perilous. "Sire, I can't help thinking that we should have called on the giants." "No, Beniniah." The King sighed. "That would only lead to war. The trolls would view the arrival of the giants as an invitation to take up arms. It's better this way. We need to keep the pea...

  Dear God, are You there? Do You see me, are You real? I hope so, because You see, I need to get this out, to dump all of  these thoughts on someone. Andy sure doesn't care, and I don't think anyone else does - definitely not the children. They all just take, take, take  I am empty, empty. Dried out, dried up. Nothing left to give, just one long scream and a dripping  and a moaning, that's me. A wife, a mother, a nothing  all around noise, shouting, yelling,  screaming, sometimes them and sometimes me, and the never-ending piles of washing, dishes, toys, where will it end? Where can I find a moment of peace, a pleasant place, my sanity. And Andy, he is like one of the  children; demand, demand, demand, 'til all I want to do is run, run, run. But that's not what good wives  and mothers do, is it God? Are You there? Do You hear me  calling, calling, calling. Please help. I can't  do  this  anymore. Do You care? About a nobody. A...

  Nia grabbed her hat and her notebook and pencil. "Make sure to get all the particulars: the names of the hymns, speakers, and the number of people who go forward. And do your best to interview Mr. Roberts." "Yes, Mr. Morgan." Nia had always felt a little afraid of the newspaper's editor. Recently, though, she'd noticed a softening in her boss. And it was seemingly due to the Welsh revival. Not long after it had begun, the editor had made a couple of surprising changes: space was made for a weekly article about the revival on both the front and back pages. Unheard of in the history of the newspaper. I am going to see Mr Roberts with my own eyes, and witness these strange events for myself. Something beyond her editor's orders was drawing her to the meeting. *** Nia walked quickly through the drizzle, past gray stone cottages and shops towards the chapel. Many others were headed in the same direction; their faces serious and determined, almost as though ...