The iron chains rattled as the heavy links dangled from the gnarled, twisted old oak. My wrists were peeled, cracked and dripping blood down my forearms and in between my clenched fingers. Every bone in my body ached with agony.
“They are calling in an ambulance to take you and your son to the main hospital in Oslo.”
The sentence crashed in around my weary, beleaguered postpartum brain as I clutched my husband’s hand. I sat blinking in shock at the young tall pediatric doctor dressed in blue who had just spoken. Twelve hours ago I had delivered what we thought was a perfectly healthy 9 lb. baby boy.
We went into the wilderness without Him. I don’t know what I was thinking. We all knew there were people dying in the wilderness every day. Their hollow and broken cries echoed up the deep ravines and dry riverbeds, bouncing against the stone hewn walls of the ancient fortress that sat just at the foot of the great northern mountains.
Something I find so much more meaningful to write instead of blogs about a current life experiences, is to instead take those experiences and rewrite them as a creative short stories. I am saying this because I’ve decided to make this blog primarily about short stories now. I know many of you have sent me messages or left comments in the past asking me to write more of this type of writing. So I am starting a new chapter to do just that.
The trees were dying.
Tawny trunks peeling curled fragments of uneven bark, dropping in scattered patches in between the exposed roots. Each leaf, once emerald green, was rapidly losing vitality as they shriveled darker and darker into fragile amber, where only the whisper of a wind could rip them from their stems. There was a stillness in the air of the garden, except for the silent moaning of death, that seemed to come from the very earth itself, wet and heavy from the toxic rains.
In the thin places of morning, right before dawn, between dreams and waking He walks into the room. He brushes our skin and our hearts with His healing warmth. “This is my beloved, this is my friend.” His heartbeat pulsates through the skin of this world to make this reality known. He wants us to know what He feels and what He thinks, yet He also knows the magnitude of such intimacy is more we can hold because we are but man. So He graciously gives it to us in glances, in touches, in whispers and in laughter.