06 Friday Sep 2019
Oh God, what if –
I were to You obey –
With all my life, through all my days,
endure my cross, obey Your will,
regardless the pain or strife I feel
Bear humiliations and sorrow’s
cold breath
Brave disgrace and live bereft
Face the choice of a martyr’s short, short life
Just to live my life for Christ?
24 Wednesday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Short Story
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Shana raised her voice to get over Daniel’s loud demands, “Mommy, what’s that cooking on the stove? I want some too! I want some, mommy.”
Nancy and Tom looked over and saw a very large pot steadily bubbling on their kitchen stove.
———————————————————-
The Musicians and Choir were just finishing their last stanza of Steven R. Harrel’s, “You Lift My Soul”.
Today was Johnathan and Annika Cole’s first service at Shire Community Church on the outskirts of Williams Arizona.
Dr. Freddy Anderson was standing near the church’s lunchroom chatting with Pastors Tom and Nancy Redic. Continue reading
19 Friday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Love, Short Story
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
When he awoke, Tom wasn’t sure where he was or how long he’d been unconscious. All he knew was that he was waking up to the blinding light of sunlight directly in his eyes.
Reflexively he reached up and pulled down the car’s sun-visor. Thoroughly disoriented, Tom found himself sitting in the front seat of his car in the driveway of his Williams Arizona home. He had no idea of what happened since the moment he’d passed-out or how he could have traveled nearly two-thousand miles while utterly unconscious. “How can I be home” he muttered to himself?
For just a moment Tom wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing. “What a crazy idea.” he thought. “Maybe, just maybe I fell asleep in the car before starting the trip or somehow dreamt every one of those crazy, impossible events? What other explanation could there be?” he wondered.
“Whatever really happened,” he wondered, “could he trust what his memories were now telling him? Maybe it was all some strange influence from that watch?” Continue reading
16 Tuesday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Love, Short Story
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Tom cautiously crossed a derelict bridge, one leading into the small ghost town; a bridge which at one time reasonably conveyed horses and wagons across a flowing river. Sadly now, only a tiny creek remained. On the far side Tom saw a rotted out sign-post with an old bronze colored sign, hanging askew. The sign read, “Welcome to Shire”.
Without question, the first building Tom explored was once the town’s school house. Decayed books, chalk writing tablets and a few antique children’s desks littered the floor. An old chalkboard still hung precariously from one anchored corner and touched the floor with another. Dust covered the few fragments of glass which remained in the damaged windows; dust and grime marking the passage of weather and time. An old-fashioned stool also sat off to one side, in what remained of a corner in the Schoolhouse; Tom assumed it was where students once donned those funny coned dunce caps, a punishment designed to elicit shame. It only took Tom a few moments to scan and assess the dilapidated structure before bounding to the next derelict building. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but look he must.
After nearly an hour of rummaging through shops, homes and run-down stables, Tom found himself standing at the center of what was formerly the old town’s square. Continue reading
12 Friday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Just Poems & Prayers, Love, Short Story
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Tom pulled Joe up eye to eye and said to his face, “Joe, I’m ordering you to take me to Shire; it’s of the utmost importance!”
“Yes sirs, Mister Tom.”
“I means, yes Sirs Captain Tom sir”. Joe just shrugged his shoulders and then left the powder-cart on the side of the road. “Comes dhis a way Captain, we haves ta go up dhat dhere road to reach Shire”. Joe points up the road to where many of the refugees were heading.
As Tom and Joe began walking towards Shire, the Sergeant intercepted them, inquiring with his deep Southern accent, “Pardon me Sir!” The sergeant salutes Tom, “May I ask where you’re takin’ my Powder-Nigger?”
At first, Tom was offended, even set-back by the callused manner in which the sergeant referred to Joe; still, after a moment’s thought he remembered when and where he and Joe were. Tom replied, “I have need of this nigger, Sergeant! You will get someone else to resupply your powder cart. Is that understood?” Continue reading
09 Tuesday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Just Poems & Prayers, Love, Short Story
Tags
Pa pushed Tom back into the barber’s chair. “Now sits still so I can finish shavin ya, boy. Ya can’t goes no-wheres till I’s done and finished”.
It was all Tom could do to sit still while Mr. White finished his shave. When Pa finally lifted the barber’s cloth and brushed him off, Tom felt he had to look to Pa’s scrinchie face for approval before getting up. Pa just nodded; then and only then did Tom spring from the chair and dash to the window.
Pulling his arms back to avoid Tom’s quick extrication, Pa raised his voice, “Boy, you’s wound tighter dan an ole Timex. You’d better settles yourselfs down fors you gives yourself a correlary.” Continue reading
04 Thursday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Just Poems & Prayers, Love, Uncategorized
Tags
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Though not surprising, neither Tom nor Nancy could find Shire on any Alabama State map. Nancy did remember her grandmother saying Shire was in the back hills of Southern Alabama, somewhere near or south of Montgomery where her great‑grandmother’s daddy was buried after the Civil War. So, Montgomery Alabama would be Tom’s starting destination.
For the next few days, Tom traveled the highways and back-roads with that Erie voice echoing in his mind. He couldn’t quite shake the overwhelming feeling of being guided by some other-than-natural force. While driving Tom dared not touch the watch in his pocket for fear it could spell disaster, Tom did however clutch the watch to his chest each night before falling asleep.
Tom was three long days on the road before he finally pulled up to the Courthouse in Montgomery Alabama. The pillars at the front of the Municipal-Building made the structure look almost palatial. Continue reading
01 Monday Jul 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Just Poems & Prayers, Love
Tags
Part Three
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Suddenly, as Tom’s fingers brush the old timepiece, Tom swoons and falls back into his chair. In his head, at what seemed something akin to a great distance, Tom hears a liquid voice, “You must be filled before she can be healed!” The voice echoed several times and then faded into his soul…
Nancy catches Tom before he falls out of the chair, “What’s the matter Thomas! Are you all right?”
Clutching the watch, Tom’s mind clears as he finds himself looking down at the old timepiece in a trembling hand. As if bitten Tom drops the watch on the table and backs away. “You didn’t hear that” Tom’s exclaims? Continue reading
29 Saturday Jun 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Just Poems & Prayers, Love
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(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
“Oh my God! Oh my God, no!” Nancy’s cries stung as she buried herself in Tom’s chest. “What about my babies” Nancy wept? What are we going to do about my Shana and Danny?
Tom envelops his wife attempting to shield her from the world of pain. Deflated he turns pleading eyes on his friend. “There has to be something Freddy. There just has to be something we can do?”
“Not That I’m aware of Tom. There’s not even an experimental drug or treatment program available, and I’ve looked. Continue reading
25 Tuesday Jun 2019
Posted in Fiction, From the Heart: Poetry, FYA, Hope, Just Poems & Prayers, Love
Tags
(A short story by Steven R. Harrel)
Dusk settles over the sleepy little western town of Williams, Arizona; light fades as a cold northerly sweeping down Billy William’s Mountain bringing a chill to the already cool night air.
Dr. Frederick Anderson, family physician and friend, shares the long awaited test results in whispered tones, “The prognosis is grim, Nancy.” Continue reading
