I wonder if when you die, if that's it?

"I wonder if when you die, if that's it? I mean, do you know nothing anymore. No more eating, enjoying, you know living." My eyes got real big. Where did this come from I wondered? He acted like he was waiting on me or my other co-worker to say something. I had only being working with the other guy a couple months. I spoke up,"I believe is more to what we can see. When my father was in the hospital, he told me of so many wonderful things he was experiencing. He was terminalyet, his faith never waivered." I went on to talk about all the things we went through. "I don't have an answer for it all. It's all a matter of faith. I could tell you about it all day, and you might think I'm crazy. Words don't do justice for it. A man has to make up his own mind. But I know what I seen and heard. My assurance lies in Someone else's hands. Dad gave me a glimpse of heaven's treasures. In turn, he left me a legacy." All was silent after that. Nothing was said the rest of the break. The hours rolled forward on that factory floor. I wonder if something I said soaked in with him. I'm still lost in my soul searching in someways. I still seek answers. I still won't be satisfied until I see for myself. God will decide if and when I do in this life. But I sure can't wait to take the guided tour with Dad when I get there. by Lance Gargus

Coy Girl

With a deep sigh, I shake my head. "Why doesn't she get it?" comes my upset thoughts to myself. Wind lifts her hair in long strands,as she just slowly trots down the soccer field. More interested in the butterflies in the grass than what's going on around her. I rub my hand across an already worried brow over the financial cares of the day. Struggling to relax and watch the game, I wish so hard that it came easy to her. She never has been outgoing. Always shy and timid, almost like a doe. I become so frustrated at her in my heart. Other kids are just running around her on the field. I know she's young, but I'm so scared that somewhere in life others will run her over. "Lord, what can I do then?" I won't always be here to shield her from the cold realities of life. Her coach has made numerous attempts to get her to kick the ball. She walks up to the ball at the line. With a coy look, she barely draws back her leg and tips it. It slowly moves up the field before being picked up by a quicker player. She hangs back in the background, almost trying to hide on the open field. This goes on like this for an excruciating hour on my part. I encourage her, applaud her, and pep talk her. All to no avail. When the prayer is given toward the end, the gentleman who stands up speaks with a soft voice. A voice coming from experience as he recounts a personal story. In the story, he speaks of a sick patient he cared for. The patient realized toward the end of her terminal illness that her accolades, glories, and superiority to other people didn't matter at the end. He then made reference to some children may be better athletes than some, and parents push this as the most important thing. But he reminds us of the small child who struggles. God gives them the ball, and their small effort is mightier than all the trophies accomplished by the gifted. In this moment, I think of my daughter. How many disadvantages she's overcome is quite a feat for her. I feel his prayer was put in my way to get me to think. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required:Luke 12:48 Her efforts are monumental in comparison to others. Is this where her destiny lies with soccer? Probably not. Is this where God makes me realize things about my soul searching? Definitely, yes. Can fathers be wrong? You bet. Most of all I'm still a son in need of guidance from a Heavenly Father's invisible hand.

by

Lance Gargus

I Don't Mind Waiting For You

Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him

Psalm 37:7

As I sit at the Barnes Crossing Mall, I sprawl out my legs to stretch them. "This bench ain't getting any more comfortable," I think. I look at the clock and wonder where she's at in this place. "She's suppose to meet me right here," impatiently tapping my foot. People walking by in a sea of faces, but none of them are her. Finally, at what seems like forever, she shows up. I'm mad cause she took so long. She goes on and on about why she was late.

Pulling away from the parking lot I realize how many times I've had to wait on her. Like on our first date I told her I'd be there at 8. Do you think she was ready? Oh, no it was 8:30. Showing up she explained,"She didn't like a single thing she tried on." But now that I think about it, she sure looked pretty. I guess I didn't mind that much that day after all.

Yeah, but there was the talk of the wedding one day, and all the stuff she planned. It may take up to a year. Man, I sure would have to wait. But, you know, I don’t mind waiting . And the honeymoon, there won’t be no waiting there. Lol. 

The fact is I don't think I've been anywhere she hasn't made us late. Sometimes I believe she does it just cause she can.

Statistics say the man is always the first to go. That makes sense cause I know she won't be ready. So when it comes my time, and I get to the other side. I'll just find me a bench, and wait for her with roses in my hands. I'll softly whisper to the breeze,"Honey, take your sweet time, cause I don't mind waiting for you. Our Lord waited for me, I can wait for you."

by

Lance Gargus

The Most Perfect Of Chairs

To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.

Revelation 3:21

Even after all these years, my daughter still remembers the chair my father sat in at the kitchen table. "It is the most perfect of chairs," she exclaims as she puts the chair at the head of the table. The chair is made like the others, but is different because it had been reupholstered. The other chairs are worn and look quite rough. This one was quite ragged at one time. Not too long before my dad passed on it was redone. Looking better and stronger than the day it was made. I'm still amazed she remembers which chair considering she was only 5 at his death.



I've learned that when my faith is shaken, and when I've almost given up, God speaks. I can't hear Him like I should. As I jokingly told a friend at work that I could barely hear over the noise of the shop, my wife accuses me of having selective hearing, hearing only what I want to hear and not what I need too. To some extent, that's true about us all, especially me. What I can't hear over all the noise, my child hears perfectly. Her beautiful, long auburn hair that glistens in the sun with its blond high lights hides ears that pick up the Holy Spirit's voice. Only when she puts it into words and I stop what I'm doing do I hear. "Be still and listen," the Bible says.



In that small statement and small action, it spoke volumes to my soul. The chair placed at the head of the table tells me that our Heavenly Father sits at the front just as my earthly father had. The chair being made new was of the resurrection that is to come. The statement of it being "the most perfect of chairs" reminds me of the perfection we can only achieve through Christ. And the understanding of a child points out to me how far I have to go in my soul searching road.



by

Lance Gargus

Grandma's Hands

Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK. Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she said in a clear voice strong. 'I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,' I explained to her. 'Have you ever looked at your hands,' she asked. 'I mean really looked at your hands?' I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making. Grandma smiled and related this story: 'Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.'They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war. 'They have been dirty, scraped and raw , swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse. 'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. 'These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ.' I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and wife I think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

Psalm 23 (For The Work Place)

Psalm 23 (For the Work Place) The Lord is my real boss, and I shall not want.He gives me peace, when chaos is all around me. He gently reminds me to pray and do all things without murmuring and complaining.He reminds me that He is my source and not my job.He restores my sanity everyday and guides my decisions that I might honor Him in all that I do. Even though I face absurd amounts of e-mails, system crashes, unrealistic deadlines, budget cutbacks, gossiping co-workers, discriminating supervisors and an aging body that doesn't cooperate every morning, I still will not stop--- for He is with me! His presence, His peace, and His power will see me through.He raises me up, even when they fail to promote me.He claims me as His own, even when the company threatens to let me go. His Faithfulness and love is better than any bonus check His retirement plan beats any 401k there is!When it's all said and done, I'll be working for Him a whole lot longer and for that, I BLESS HIS NAME!!!!!!

I Took Your Place

One day, a man went to visit a church, He got there early, parked his car and got out. Another car pulled up near thedriver got out and said, ' I always park there! You took my place!' The visitor went inside for Sunday School, found an empty seat and sat > down. A young lady from the church approached him> and stated, 'That's my> seat! > You took my place!' The visitor was somewhat> distressed by this rude> welcome, > but said nothing. > > > After Sunday School, the visitor went into> the sanctuary and sat> down. > Another member walked up to him and said, ' That's> where I always sit!> You took > my place!' The visitor was even more troubled by> this treatment, but> still He > said nothing. > > Later as the congregation was praying for> Christ to dwell among> them, > the visitor stood up, and his appearance began to> change. Horrible scars> became > visible on his hands and on his sandaled feet.> Someone from the> congregation > noticed him and called out, 'What happened to you?'> The visitor replied, as his hat became a crown of thorns, and a tear fell from his eye, 'I took your place.'

A Love For The Ages

A Love For The Ages

The dawn was yet to break, but with each passing moment, more and more emerged from the shadows of the night. Fruit trees in full bloom now stood where a veil of darkness just hung, and a mist hovered above the surface of the lake.

Yes, the time was indeed at hand, and all eyes were trained upon that mist. For no one wanted to miss an ignition of the fire cloud.

No, it is not that the mist was about to actually catch fire, but it was still aptly named. For it would go from a swirling mix of gun metal blue and battleship grey unto a hundred different shades of orange and pink in a twinkling of an eye if everything was just right when the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon a few days each year.

Adding all the more unto the wonder was the reflection of the fire cloud upon the surface of the water. For every ripple would take on the appearance of a tongue of flame, and one could even see the fire race from the east unto the west across the lake if they stood in the right spot.

Still hardly seems adequate to describe the atmosphere as the sund crept ever closer. For it was as if all of nature held its breath in anticipation, and the silence was deafening.

Finally, a collective gasp could be heard as the cloud began to erupt. This was followed by the sounds of singing birds, croaking frogs and the hearty cheers of the throng of people in attendance. Fish jumping out of the water added some rhythm unto the chorus. Be assured that joy abounded.

Then, the piercing cry of an osprey soaring high overhead signaled the end of the show, which had lasted but for a moment or two. Nonetheless, it was a memory that would surely last for a lifetime, and no one left disappointed.

Clayton was certainly glad to be there, but it was not in regards unto the fire cloud that he felt that way. In fact, he paid less attention unto it than anyone else. For his eyes were trained upon a much more beautiful sight unto him.

He did appreciate how much the fire cloud complimented the brilliance of her eyes, however. For it literally took his breath away when its spectacular display of oranges and pinks reflected off of their emerald green centers that were each encircled by a deep blue sapphire ring.

He also appreciated how it enhanced the natural iridescence of her hair. For each strand varied from reddish-brown unto honey blond, with light brown and strawberry blonde mixed in for good measure, and in the light of the fire cloud, it appeared to glow.

Her name was Cassandra, and she was indeed quite a sight to behold. For from the top of her head unto the soles of her feet, she was a vision of physical perfection, and the most beautiful part about her was her heart!

It was Clayton's duty to protect her from harm, but he did not see it as such. For he had fallen in love with her, and he never wanted to leave her side.

"Stop staring," Cassandra whispered. "It's embarrassing."

"Just doing my duty, my lady," Clayton answered with a twinkle in his eye.

Cassandra's efforts to stifle a giggle failed miserably, which caused some heads to turn. "See what you've done!" she scolded under her breath.

Clayton just grinned, and Cassandra shook her head as if thoroughly disgusted for the benefit of the crowd. Nonetheless, she actually delighted in the attention that Clayton constantly lavished upon her. For he always made her feel so very special—even almost worthy of her station in life, which was to be the future queen of the land.

This had been her station since birth. For her marriage unto Prince Victor had been arranged long before she came to be, and in accordance unto the custom of the land, he would become king, and she would become his queen, as soon as they took their vows.

Unto her credit, she did not take it for granted. If anything, Cassandra took her destiny more seriously than she should.

No, it is not that she considered it a burden, but she did have her concerns. For she had not even met the man yet, and she worried about what Prince Victor would think of her when it was time for them to meet for the first time, not to mention—for the rest of their lives.

Now, logic would dictate that she had a good reason to have her concerns about him, but she was actually quite confident in that respect. For Clayton's other duty was to serve as a bodyguard for the prince, and she had been told that one of the main reasons for being chosen for such a great honor was on account of how similar he was unto Prince Victor—both in appearance and mannerisms. In fact, it was said that the only thing different about them, as in regards unto appearance, was a heart-shaped birthmark in the center of Prince Victor's chest.

Yes, Cassandra understood that it was what was on the inside that really counted, and that being similar was not the same as being identical. After all, the prince might not see her in the same light as Clayton appeared to. She had hope, however, and that hope was in the possibility that Prince Victor was as much like Clayton on the inside as Clayton was supposed to be unto Prince Victor on the outside.

True to form, Clayton had been watching her the whole time, and he could see that Cassandra's mind was no longer on where they were. So, he leaned down and softly asked, "A penny for your thoughts?"

With a broad smile, Cassandra answered, "Oh, they are worth far more than that!"

Clayton then asked, "How much then?"

Cassandra closed her eyes and replied, "Priceless. They are absolutely priceless."

This brought an equally broad smile unto Clayton's face, and he hated having to tell her that it was time for them to go. The call of duty was paramount, however. Therefore, he was obliged to say, "The others have all gone, my lady, and there is much to do."

"Alas, the burden of my responsibilities is indeed great," Cassandra sighed.

Clayton immediately let out a laugh that could be heard on the other side of the lake, and he was still chuckling as they made their way back unto the mansion that had been prepared for Cassandra to reside in before the wedding. Cassandra just smiled, which added even more unto Clayton's delight.

The path that they were taking was near the bottom of a deep hollow. Mighty oaks dominated the corresponding hillsides, and weeping willows hung low over a babbling brook.

Nary a word was spoken as they walked, but this is not to say that they traveled in silence. For a murder of crows sounded out with what someone with enough imagination could consider as being like a procession march.

Several squirrels in the area also had their part to play, but from the tone of their barking, they did not appear to be very happy about it. Squirrels can be rather cranky at times, I am told.

Cassandra's abode soon came into view, and the captain of the guard was waiting on them at the front door to announce, "Prince Victor has requested the pleasure of your company, my lady. He would like to see you as soon as possible."

Cassandra fainted dead away, but Clayton caught her before her head could hit the ground. He then carried her inside, and laid her gently upon her bed.

Immediately upon regaining consciousness, Cassandra could tell that something unusual was going on, and a quick look around the room confirmed her suspicions. For Clayton was not sitting next unto the door, which is where he had always been when she awoke since before she could remember.

A knot was steadily growing in the pit of her stomach. For it appeared to be dark outside now.

An eerie silence hanging in the air like a pall was not helping any. For the big house was usually buzzing with activity at all hours of the day and night.

After taking a moment or two to collect herself, Cassandra made her way down the hallway that led unto a small alcove located near the kitchen. For this is where the servants liked to gather when they were taking a break, and she figured that if anyone was still around that this is where they would be.

She was overjoyed to finally find someone when she first saw the captain of the guard and four of his soldiers sitting at a table in the center of the room, but this quickly faded. For they did not look very happy to she her at all.

Cassandra blinked, and when her eyes refocused, the scene was quite different. For the captain and his men were now standing at attention. Furthermore, they were all now looking at her with deep concern, and she knew that this was concern over her welfare instead of their own.

"Would you like to sit down, my lady?" the captain asked.

Cassandra nodded her head yes, and he then walked over and pulled out a chair for her to sit in.

When she was seated, the captain asked, "Would you like some hot chocolate, my lady?"

Cassandra again nodded her head yes, and the captain motioned for one of his men to go get her a cup.

Cassandra eagerly reached for the steaming cup when he returned, and after taking a couple of sips, she started feeling a little better. This too quickly faded. For she then looked at the captain of the guard and asked, "What has happened?"

"Do you remember fainting when I informed you of Prince Victor wanting to see you as soon as possible, my lady?" the captain answered.

Cassandra responded with a meek, "Yes."

"Well, the prince was very upset when you did not arrive that evening, and Clayton has taken your place in prison," the captain told her with an ever so slight tremble unto his voice.

Cassandra instantly leapt unto her feet and demanded, "Take me unto Clayton now!"

"It is very late, my lady, and it would be better if we waited until after sunrise. In fact, it would actually be even better if you did not go until sometime in afternoon," the captain informed her.

"I don't care!" Cassandra exclaimed with a very uncharacteristic sternness unto her voice.

"Surely you must be hungry, my lady," the captain countered. "For it has been almost three days since your have eaten anything that I am aware of."

Visibly shaken, Cassandra managed to stammer, "What are you talking about?"

The captain took a long breath in an attempt to steady his nerve, and then he said, "It was almost three days ago when I first informed you of the prince wanting to see you as soon as possible, my lady."

All color drained from Cassandra's face, and she gingerly sat back down in her seat. Then she gathered her resolve, stood back up, and told the captain in no uncertain tones, "No, I am not hungry! Now, if you and your men are not willing to escort me, I will just have to go there by myself."

Without hesitation, the captain motioned for two of his men to lead the way. He walked alongside Cassandra, and his other two men trailed behind.

On a good night, a walk unto Victor Castle from there would be a very pleasant experience unto most. For it was not all that far away, and the sight of its four ivory watch towers gleaming in the moonlight is nothing short of spectacular. This was anything but a good night, however.

Cassandra sorely regretted refusing to eat something before they left when the putrid stench of the dungeon invaded her nostrils. For it is always better to have something to vomit when the urge hits you than to have to suffer through dry heaves.

Monstrous rats watched Cassandra's every move, and they seemed to be daring the soldiers to kick at them before scurrying off in every direction when they got almost close enough to do so. She burst into tears when she saw Clayton chained unto the wall inside of a cell that was made of heavy iron bars that were covered with rust, along with a thick greenish-black slime that also coated the walls.

"Please do not cry, my lady," Clayton softly told her.

"I don't…understand…why this is happening," Cassandra replied in between sobs. "I know…that I upset the prince, but…why are you in chains down here?"

"I am down here doing my duty. For I am charged with protecting you from all harm unto the very best of my abilities," Clayton answered.

"But how can you protect me from anything in that cell?" Cassandra asked with a very confused look on her face.

With a look of great pain, Clayton answered, "I am taking your place in here, as I will also being doing at dawn."

"What happens then?" Cassandra asked.

"I would rather not say," Clayton replied.

"Please, do not seek to protect me from this. For not knowing would surely do more harm than good," Cassandra pleaded.

"I will be placed in a pit where I will be stoned to death, and then hogs will be let in to feed upon my carcass," Clayton calmly answered.

Abject horror would be the best way to describe the look on Cassandra's face after she heard Clayton's explanation. She tried to speak, but no words would come.

Then she found some more resolve, and she asked, "Surely Prince Victor could not be so vain and vindictive—could he? For I can understand how he could feel insulted when I failed to show up for dinner that night, but considering the fact that I took ill, can he really justify such a harsh punishment?"

Clayton quickly answered, "Be assured that the prince does not need to justify anything unto anyone. That is, except for unto his father, the king, of course, and since they are as one in mind and heart about everything, there is never any question of him doing just exactly as his father would have him to."

"Woe is me," Cassandra moaned. "For both my prince and his father are monsters."

"You should never think in such a way!" Clayton responded rather harshly. "For it is just not true!"

Again, Cassandra burst into tears, and then let out a mournful wail that should never be heard coming from such a lovely young lass. For it was a sound that belonged coming from lonely mountaintops and echoing down deep canyons in the middle of dark nights. Be assured that it brought tears unto the eyes of even the battle-hardened soldiers standing guard on the outside of Clayton's cell.

Clayton stifled a wail of his own enough to gently reply, "Be assured that it is not their fault. For they both love you very much, and neither have any desire to harm you."

"So, what's the problem?" Cassandra managed to ask.

"The problem is that one of the ministers knew of a statute that had been enacted long ago, when such rules were necessary in order to promote order, that decreed that anyone found guilty of disrespecting a member of the royal family would be stoned to death, and then have their remains fed unto hogs in order to add all the more unto their disgrace," Clayton answered.

"Being the supreme ruler over all of the land, why couldn't the king just do away with such a law—especially since it is no longer necessary?" Cassandra asked in a much steadier tone.

"Under normal circumstances, the king would just forgive the penalty, but since this involves his son and his future daughter-in-law, he did not want any accusations of impropriety to tarnish the union," Clayton explained.

"Could I go and speak with them before it is too late?" Cassandra pleaded.

"No, that is not possible. For they are both indisposed at this time," Clayton answered.

Cassandra let out another wail, and then fell silent when she heard the sound of heavy boots headed their way. For she knew what was about to happen.

"The time has come!" the captain of the guard announced.

Cassandra then turned toward Clayton, and when their eyes met, she said, "I love you, and I will always love you."

Clayton collapsed in a heap when they unchained him from the wall, but it was not because of the confinement, nor the thought of what was yet to come, that he did so. For it was hearing what Cassandra said that so overwhelmed him. For it was something that he had longed to hear since the first day they met.

The soldiers who had been standing guard helped Clayton unto his feet, and then they led him out of the dungeon unto a pit about a half of a mile outside of the castle. Following along behind was Cassandra, with the help of a couple more soldiers.

No, she did not want to be a witness unto the death of her beloved Clayton, but Cassandra couldn't get her legs to work. Adding all the more unto her horror was a thought about her being at the mercy of the circumstances at hand.

Then another thought crossed Cassandra's mind, and this was about how she could save him by taking his place. This made perfect sense unto her. For it was, after all, her punishment that he was facing.

Cassandra quickly discovered that she was indeed trapped in something that felt like a nightmare that would not end, however. For not only were her legs not working—she found that she could not say a word, nor make a sound of any kind. Neither could she even wave her arms in order to get someone's attention.

When Clayton reached the center of the pit, he turned to face Cassandra. Their eyes met and locked in an intense gaze that seemed to peer into the very depths of the other's soul. He then told her, "I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will."

Their eyes remained locked in that intense gaze until a fist-sized stone struck Clayton in the temple. He reeled backwards, but managed to remain on his feet. He doubled over when several larger stones struck him on both sides of his rib cage, and then an even larger stone sent him unto his knees after smashing the lower part of his right leg.

After a hail of smaller flint stones succeeded in shredding his shirt, along with removing several large chunks of flesh, a well aimed toss of an incredibly sharp obsidian battle disc by the captain of the guard mercifully hastened the end of Clayton's suffering by severing both the jugular and carotid arteries on both sides of his neck. This brought a howl of protest from the minister who had forced the issue by bringing up the matter of that arcane statute, but he quickly quieted down and slithered away from the pit after it looked like several of the soldiers were about to start chunking stones his way.

Arterial spray covered the chalky white clay soil at the bottom of the pit for about six feet all around Clayton before he collapsed on his back, and this made the imagery of the scene complete. For it could be clearly seen from the top of the pit that what the arterial spray had painted was an exact match for the heart shaped birthmark that could still be clearly seen in the center of his chest.

Cassandra awoke in a really good mood. For aside from some lingering thoughts of a very disturbing nightmare that she had just had, she felt generally refreshed.

As was her custom when first waking, Cassandra stretched her arms out wide and arched her back while yawning loudly. This was as much meant for Clayton's benefit as it was for her own. For he seemed to always get a big kick out of her carrying on so, but when she looked over at his chair by the door, he was not there.

Cassandra let out a blood-curdling scream when the thought hit her that her nightmare just might be real. This brought servants and soldiers rushing into her room from all directions.

"Has something bad happened unto Clayton?" Cassandra pleaded.

"That is yet to be determined, my lady. For it all depends upon what you want," a familiar voice spoke from the back of the crowd that had formed at the foot of Cassandra's bed.

"Clayton?" Cassandra called out with a shaky voice.

When he stepped unto the front of the crowd, Cassandra leapt into Clayton's arms, and he held her oh so very tight as she sobbed quite uncontrollably. After a few moments of that, she leaned back and looked deeply into his eyes, and then he leaned down and kissed her in the way that troubadours sing songs about.

By the time the kiss had ended, they were alone in the room. Without saying a word, Cassandra stepped back a little and started unbuttoning Clayton's shirt. She gasped, "Prince Victor?" when she saw the heart shaped birthmark in the center of his chest.

"Yes, it is I," he gently answered.

Cassandra immediately recoiled, but he caught her by the shoulders before she could get more than an arm's length away. Tears welled up in her eyes, and were soon streaming down her face.

For what seemed like an eternity unto her, Cassandra could not do anything but cry, and look at him in horror. For she had no idea if any of this was real, or just a continuation of the nightmare about the stoning that she thought she had awakened from.

"Would you like to lay down?" he asked her.

Cassandra nodded her head yes, and he gently helped her lay down on her bed. He then sat down beside her, and waited until she was ready to talk.

"Was any of it real?" Cassandra finally asked him.

"Oh yes, it was all very real," he answered.

"Even the part about Clayton being held in the dungeon, and you being stoned to death," Cassandra queried.

"Well, not exactly. For Clayton and I are one and the same person," he answered.

Cassandra was instantly overwhelmed with shock and disbelief, and all she could manage to mumble was a meek, "What?"

"My full name is Prince Victor Clayton. Well, at least that is what it is at this time. For it will change unto King Victor Clayton, if we wed, of course, but I much prefer being called just Clayton," he replied.

Cassandra did not say a word. She just stared at Clayton, and then slowly turned her head to look out of the window near her bed.

As if on cue, a couple of bluebirds lit on Cassandra's windowsill, and started singing. Quickly afterward, a bright red male cardinal landed on a branch of dogwood tree a few feet away, and joined in. The choir was fully assembled when three yellow canaries announced their presence from a magnolia in full bloom just to the south of a stand of silverleaf poplars, and Cassandra felt herself being lifted above her troubles.

All too soon, a knock on her bedroom door brought Cassandra crashing back down unto earth. Fortunately, it was not the bearer of more bad news. For it was just one of the kitchen staff, and Clayton took control of a covered cart that she had rolled down the hall.

"I know that you have many questions, but it would make me feel so much better if you would eat something first. For it has been quite some time since you last ate anything," Clayton told her with great concern in his voice.

Cassandra was about to shake her head no when she caught a whiff of what was on that cart, and her stomach immediately sounded its approval. For the cook had prepared biscuits stuffed with sliced ham, onions, green peppers and three different kinds of cheese.

In accordance unto her prerogative, Cassandra changed her mind. For it was one of her favorite dishes.

When Clayton saw that Cassandra was going to try to eat some, he exclaimed with a big grin, "Good! For I sorely dreading having to tell the cook that I had her go unto all of that trouble for nothing."

That brought a smile unto Cassandra's face, but she was not really in the mood for conversation just yet. So, they enjoyed the biscuits in silence, along with a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

They continued to just listen unto the songbirds singing for almost an hour after they had finished eating. Cassandra also watched a pair of very young bunnies played tag on a lush green carpet of bermudagrass under a massive live oak tree that was covered with Spanish moss in the middle of the yard.

Then Cassandra's eyes welled up with tears once again, and with a voice cracking with emotion, she finally asked, "How is it possible for you to still be alive?"

"Would it not be better to ask about the reason why rather than how?" Clayton countered with a question of his own.

"Okay," Cassandra's voice was little more than a whisper now. "Why?"

Clayton took a deep breath, and then answered, "It has to do with obtaining something truly special for the both of us."

"What?" Cassandra exclaimed, with her voice sounding much more like normal.

"Well," it was Clayton's turn to hear his own voice crack, "I wanted you to know, beyond any and all reasonable doubts, that I loved you enough to die for you. For with being involved in a prearranged marriage, I did not want you to have any concerns about just how much I truly loved you."

"So, this was all about you wanting to prove yourself unto me?" Cassandra asked quite incredulously.

"Not entirely," Clayton answered.

Cassandra just stared at him.

After clearing his throat, Clayton continued, "Please, understand that I know that your character is beyond reproach. Therefore, there is no questioning of your resolve to always honor your marriage vows unto the best of your abilities. Furthermore, I know that you do indeed genuinely love me, and that love goes way beyond any reasonable expectations of honor and duty. I have always wanted to receive a very special kind of love, however. For it is relatively easy to love someone who can provide everything that you desire—both materially and emotionally, and almost always does so when you want him or her to, but it takes a very special kind of love to want to stay with someone who has wounded you deeply. After all that I have subjected you unto, that would be the kind of love that I would be receiving from you if you would still have me as your husband."

After taking some time to absorb what she had been just told, Cassandra asked in a distant tone, "So, this was also about me proving myself unto you?"

"Please forgive me," Clayton replied.

Cassandra again looked out of the window, and spied the two tiny bunnies still romping about under the live oak tree. She sighed. For she envied their apparent innocence.

Then Cassandra saw a rather large snake on a low hanging branch just above where the bunnies were playing, and her heart filled with terror when the snake came off of the branch and landed a few feet behind them. She was about to cry out something in an attempt to warn the bunnies of impending doom, but they scampered off before the snake could get close enough to strike.

Cassandra continued to watch as the snake slithered off into a patch of big bluestem grass, and she thought of the minister who had brought the charges of royal disrespect against her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two bunnies kicking up their heels like nothing traumatic had just happened, and this made her wonder about what the future may hold for her and Clayton.

"Whose idea was it?" Cassandra asked with the same distant tone that she had used before.

"My father and mine," Clayton answered.

With the tone of Cassandra's voice becoming a little chillier, she asked, "Was the minister also in on it?"

"Unwittingly," Clayton replied.

The answer caught Cassandra slightly off-guard. So, it took a few seconds before she could ask, "What do you mean?"

"My father and I were well aware of the treachery that the minister harbored in his heart, and this is why we made sure that he knew about the arcane statute, which was left standing in order to facilitate our plan. Therefore, it can be said that the minister did indeed have his part to play, but the truth is that he had no idea what was really going on," Clayton explained.

"I cannot imagine going unto such great lengths," Cassandra replied with her voice trailing off ever so slightly.

"What I wanted for us was worth paying any price," Clayton answered quite resolutely.

Cassandra then knew what she should do, and without saying a word, she leapt out of her chair and landed in Clayton's lap. The next step in her plan was to engage in a kiss that would make the one that they had shared before look like a simple peck on the lips.

Their wedding took place as had been scheduled later that spring. Both the bride and the groom looked radiant, and the festivities lasted for days. Needlessly to say, theirs was a love for the ages, and they lived happily ever after. Two hearts beating as one, never missing a beat.

The Moral Of The Story

Unto those who can accept it, the moral of the story is that A Love For The Ages is about so much more than Clayton and Cassandra. For Clayton represents the Lord Jesus Christ, and Cassandra represents us—as in all of mankind, and the entire story represents what is commonly referred unto as being the meaning of life.

Yes, just the thought of such a premise is utterly ridiculous unto even most Christians. For the story was written in parable form for broad appeal, and there is much about reality that is vastly different than what was alluded unto in A Love For The Ages.

Nonetheless, I hope that you will be willing to at least listen unto what His Holy Spirit has to say unto your heart. For He is the source of all knowledge and understanding, and He can tie up all of the apparent loose threads.

Be assured that this is also the hope of our Heavenly Father, who truly is the Lord God Almighty and the Creator of all that exists apart from Himself. After all, where do you think that this story came from in the first-place?

As I Hustle Along

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.








Psalms 32:7
"Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished".

Lao Tzu








As I hustle along life's busy pathways,






My blind heart fails to take notice of the days.






Never taking heed of God's ethereal displays,






Completely set in my ways.













In such a hurry am I,






To never note the birds in the sky.






Oblivious to the Creator on high,






As my time slips by.













Rushing through to get to where I want to be,






Not a second to look at the rainbow in front of me.






Too busy to look at the Master's awesome guarantee,






Unaware of the Heaven's jubilee.













But Jesus in a moment stops me some how,






Leaving me to reflect on the here and now.






Reminding me to enjoy the tears and laughter He endows,






For each heartbeat is a gift He allows.






by Lance Gargus