Direct Answers and I Need Feedback, Please

The other day I had a statement about a student in second grade directed at me. I don't know this child, but it seems he is a handful to put it mildly. My response was that I won't be getting him because I won't be teaching by the time he is a fifth grader. I hadn't meant to come right out and say that, but I did. I almost smiled because I realized it was true. At least I won't be teaching as I am teaching now, if I am at all.

Today I was asked if I was going to start writing. My answer, if just the briefest of hesitation, was "yes". Yes, I am!

So now is the hard part, put out there a sample of something I am working on. It is one short story in a series of them that I am writing. What I need now is honest feedback. So here, goes my few blog readers, please read and please let me know, honestly, what you think. Talk about being open and vulnerable! :)

Those Who Mourn

The grayness began to soften to light as she laid there willing the sleep to remain. She grasped at it. Sleep meant the sweet bliss of no pain, no shame. The harder she tried to hold onto sleep the more alert she became and the pain rushed in causing a gasp to escape her lips. Yet she refused to open her eyes. She refused to let go of these last few moments, even as the pain spread, she tried to remain still. The sounds of a rising betrayed her wishes and she sighed deeply and slowly opened her eyes.

            The room was dull and cold. She blinked at the thought that so was her soul. The walls of stone closed in on her and the soft noises from the adjoining room lifted her from her bed. With no joy, she pulled the gown from the peg and pulled it over her head. The rough fabric fell into place and she wrapped the belt around her waist. Running her fingers through her hair she breathed deeply and the pain took complete hold.

The ache so real, so constant, and seemed to be the only thing she ever felt. She tried to remember a time before the pain, but it was only a memory. The voices in the other room spoke quietly and she knew it was for her sake. She loved them and hated them for it. She didn’t want their pity. The shame she felt was already too much, she couldn’t take on their pity as well.

Pushing back the curtain she stepped out into the center room and moved quietly toward the table in the kitchen. No one spoke a greeting, but hopeful eyes sought her face. When they saw only pain they turned back to their own tasks. She picked up the knife and cut the goat cheese into pieces and placed them on a plate. Turning she grabbed the pitcher of tea in her other hand. She placed them on the table and sat upon the bench. A plate of dried fruit and bread were set next to them and then her mother joined the family at the table.

The prayers were spoken and the food was quietly divided. She knew she had to eat her portion. The young girl and even younger boy could use more nourishment, but it went to her. She looked up briefly at Sarah, her sister, and regretted the fig she had placed in her mouth. Her gaze lighted on the child of promise, Eli, as he ate his breakfast. She saw the words that wished to pour forth from him as he struggled to keep silently. She dropped her gaze in shame. Oh, how she wished that it was she who had died.

Yet, here she sat, taking precious bites of food from her family’s table. She should be sitting at her own table, in her own home, with her husband’s family. Her father-in-law should be talking excitedly about the promise that their crop would bring at market. Her mother-in-law should be busy serving more food to her growing sons, and she should be quietly serving as well. Her husband, how the pain that word scorched through her heart, her husband should be stealing looks of affection that would cause her to blush. His brothers then take their turns teasing their beloved brother. Instead she sat here, at her father’s table, and burned under the oppression of her lose.

First the youngest brother became sick. His fever raged for two days before her father-in-law joined him in the throws of anguish. Her mother-in-law sought to comfort both while her two remaining sons took to the fields to care for the crop and she ran the house. Death came early one morning as she heard the crying of a mother holding her lifeless son. That evening the weeping came as the wife of many years became a widow. The sons tried to comfort their mother but she insisted on preparing her husband and son for burial before she would allow herself time for that.

As the dawn of the next day spread across the sky, so did the illness as it claimed the other two sons. Both women tended to them. The bathed them with wet clothes and tried to fill them with herbs and medicines. By the evening she alone tried to care for three as her mother-in-law became feverish and weak. They found her three days later with her dead husband’s head in her lap and her mother-in-law and brother-in-law dead beside them.

Her family came. They helped her prepare the body of her husband as her mother-in-law’s sisters prepared the others. After they were buried her few things were gathered and she returned to her fathers home.

That had been only a month ago and she was sure that her pain would never lessen, would never cease. As the breakfast meal was finished and the dishes cleaned and put away, she picked up the empty jug. Her mother gazed at her quickly before turning back to her tasks. She knew the look. She knew it meant that it was late in the morning, too late, for a trip to the town well. It meant that only the unclean went to the well at this time.

She felt as cast out as the unclean and she knew those women wouldn’t look at her with pity. They wouldn’t look at her at all. She didn’t want others to look at her. She didn’t want to be seen.

            Moving along the dusty streets she let her mind wonder. A smile played at her lips as she thought of the first time she saw her husband. He was still a young man and she merely a girl. He was busy in the marketplace selling his family’s produce. As he haggled with a customer he looked up and saw her. Their eyes met and she felt the color rise in her cheeks. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen and he was smiling at her. It wasn’t long after that the marriage was arranged between their fathers.

            She hadn’t heard the voices, the crowd that was moving down the streets of the town. Now she saw them. They were pressed tightly around a man. She tried to move into the shadows of the building, she tried to hide. She watched the crowd as it moved towards her. She did not know the man that they followed, but she heard them calling out to Him.

            The crowd grew so thick that they came to a stop right in front of her. She pressed herself as close to the wall as she could. She felt panic and desperation rising up within her. She couldn’t get away. She looked around trying to find a way to get away from the crowd. And then she saw Him. She saw Him looking right at her.

            Hope welled up inside and stole her breath away. She tried to break contact but the eyes of compassion seemed to seize her. They looked inside of her, into the depth of her aching soul.

“Beloved, I can make you whole.”

She gasped for breath.

“Beloved, I know your pain. Let me make you whole.”

The crowd grew thicker, crying out to Him, eager for His touch yet His eyes remained on her. “Beloved, I love you. I am the Way. I can bring you healing. I can heal the hurt of your heart. Just come to Me and I will give you rest.”

She couldn’t see anyone else. She couldn’t hear the growing noise of the crowd. All she saw was his eyes and all she wanted was to believe their unspoken words. She feared blinking, feared it would silence the hope.

Within her came a cry, a cry so desperate, a cry so painful she feared breaking into pieces. “Yes, Lord, yes!”

A smile touched His lips and joy overflowing filled her being. The crowd started to move again. They passed by her and disappeared around the corner of a building. The street became quiet again. She stood there alone. A smile on her lips. A joy filling her soul. A freedom from the pain. A word. Jesus!