Bekah Ferguson – Page 4 – Catching Nuance

The Viking

A Short Story by Bekah Ferguson.

(35 min read)

The midnight sun hovered over the sea horizon like a glowing pumpkin.

Stian anchored his clinker-built sailboat out of sight from the mainland and jumped onto the rocky shore, scrambling up over the outcrop on all fours and keeping cover behind spruce trees and towering pines. It didn’t take long to reach the sleeping village through the forest: a fenced-in cluster of longhouses surrounded by fields, forest, and highlands. Smoke billowed from holes in the thatched roofs and spitz dogs with pointed ears and curled tails roamed about behind the fence, keeping guard. Stian passed the village and went toward the nearest sheep pen where the night watchman lay fast asleep in his covered bed box. A roaming spitz dog served as a second set of eyes and ears.

Keeping cover, Stian pulled a poisoned chunk of whale meat from his tunic and tossed it near the bed box. It didn’t take long for the dog to sniff it out and eat to his demise; he soon lay in a heap in the grass, the hairs on his stilled shoulders twitching in the breeze.

Stian approached the sheep pen with slow steps, careful to avoid any sounds that might alert the shepherd, and took a little lamb from the group; killing it with a seax dagger. In the green shelter of the woods, he gnawed on the lamb’s body enough to make a mess, and pulled a vial from a pocket in his woolen tunic, filling it with blood. Tossing the carcass out into the open, he went back to the fence surrounding the longhouses, and set the dogs to barking. He then retreated to the forest to wait, inhaling the metallic scent of blood on his chin.

The village came to life as men left their homes and gathered together with the dogs, heading for the fields where they soon found the mutilated lamb. Knowing they would suspect a wolf or a bear rather than a man and would search the woods, Stian scaled the fence and went straight for the longhouse he’d scoped out days before.

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Pages: 123

Experiencing God’s presence through our senses

We live in a physical world of matter, so much so that naturalists believe this is all there is, that there couldn’t possibly be a supernatural realm as well. But what if the two are intertwined? God is omnipresent, which means he is everywhere: all at the same time. Have you ever pondered the infinity of the universe? The scientists say the universe is expanding – yet how is this possible? There is no “space” outside of space, so where does the room come from to expand into, so to speak?

Well, think about it this way: if the universe exists within the omnipresent God, who is infinitely big, the universe can expand forever and ever and never come up against a wall. It’s fascinating to think about. But what’s my point? My point is that if you want to experience the presence of God, why not consider the senses as a gateway of sorts?

The omnipresence of God could be why pagans throughout history have been so inclined to worship nature. They sense (feel) the presence of God in his created things, but don’t necessarily look any further. So they worship the flower rather than the One who made it. It was God who created all matter and space – even linear time (the universe had a beginning). As C.S. Lewis said, “He likes matter; he invented it.” Being made of matter is what enables us to have a physical existence in a physical universe. It is also what makes it possible for us to feel the presence of God.

To be close to someone physically, we need to be in their presence.

Think of the infant whose attachment to mom is entirely through the senses. We need to either see the person, hear them, touch them, kiss them, smell them, or feel their spirit, to maintain a connection. The ways to achieve this are obvious with people and animals, but it may not be quite as obvious with God. Or so one might think.

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Diary of a Former Hypochondriac

When I was eleven, I developed an anxiety disorder which manifested itself primarily as hypochondria; with depression as its cousin companion.

I was not, however, the stereotypical sort of hypochondriac child that one associates with verbally fretting over every ache and pain, scrape and bruise; analyzing each sniffle and cough; feeling for lumps; or sighing and fainting with weakness. No, I was nothing like Colin in The Secret Garden. At least, not on the face, that is.

I kept it all a big secret.

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Garrin

Read on Wattpad

A Short Story by Bekah Ferguson.

(16 mins)

A fast-moving cloud passed in front of the moon.

Garrin crept forward through wet brush, lying low as he made his way toward the looming factory building where two fifteen year old boys, using smartphones as flashlights, had just disappeared through an entrance door hanging off its hinges. Their crunching footfalls soon faded, swallowed up by the stridulation of crickets. Before entering the same door, Garrin looked over his shoulder first, and peered in through a broken window pane next to the door. The corridor beyond was empty, save for bits and pieces of debris, so he went inside, careful not to kick or scuff any litter, or to step on any loose tile. Though his steps could be loud as thunder if so chosen, tonight they were light as snow.

Many doors flanked the left side of the hall, but muddy footprints made a straight path to the farthest one. Garrin closed the gap with swift strides and stood with his back against the wall next to the door.

He listened.

In the room beyond, the boys conversed in undertones, laughing at times. He guessed them to be about a hundred feet away.

Before entering, he looked through the door window and scanned the area. It was a large room, the ceiling some three floors above, and two parallel rows of windows on the far wall overlooked a forest crowding up against it; industrious branches growing through the fragmented panes here and there. Silver beams shone through the windows along the left side of the room, suffusing the contours of ancient equipment and myriad trash, along with tables and conveyor belts whose surfaces had collected dirt, dead insects, and chunks of machinery for many years. Moss and rain water filled the cracks in the slanted cement floors; peeling paint hung in strips from the walls.

Garrin ducked down and entered the room without a sound.

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Pages: 12

Why pocket change is nothing to brag about

Col. Pickering: “Have you no morals, man?”

Alfred P. Doolittle: “Nah, can’t afford ’em. Neither could you, if you were as poor as me.”

~ My Fair Lady (Alan Jay Lerner)

It creeps up in political debates or when you read the comments after an article about the atrocities going on worldwide or that took place in history: The idea that we’re better people because we know better.

We look with disdain at drug addiction, mental illness, domestic violence, thievery, racism, religious extremism, and the shedding of innocent blood. We shake our heads, click our tongues, and mutter, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers.”

It’s like we think we can take credit for what the Victorian’s called “good breeding.”

I have tried many a time over the years to imagine what type of person I would be if I was born in another country, family, regime, social class, or time period. I can imagine myself recreated a thousand times over, like the theory of parallel universes where in some worlds you’re better and in others much worse. But this can be overwhelming, so let’s start with something seemingly small. Consider your good manners:

Were you born saying please and thank you, putting others first, and observing the Golden Rule, or was social etiquette grilled into you by parents and teachers over the course of many years?

I can think of many examples from my own childhood in which my natural inclination was the wrong one, and someone had to correct me.

To share just one, my parents were looking after a mentally disabled man who needed 24/7 care and couldn’t speak beyond the odd mumble. One day he was trying to eat an ice cream cone and was making a mess, struggling to get it in his mouth. A mere child, I began snickering as I watched. Immediately filled with righteous indignation, my mother took me to another room and admonished me for my behavior. I was ashamed and sorry for what I had done. And from that time onward, my heart successfully softened, I was very careful how I treated people with special needs. Yet if my mother hadn’t reacted that way, if she’d ignored my behavior or even condoned it – what then?

Victorian writers spoke of “good breeding” and the genteel class. These were carefully groomed and primed men and women of noble birth, who spent their childhoods being tutored in academia, learning perfect etiquette, proper English, how to draw, play musical instruments, and how to dress fashionably. In contrast to them were the tradesmen and laborers, the common people; many of which were illiterate. Then, as it still is today, those born into the upper class had access to incredible privileges that could only be dreamed of by the lower.

In his treatise on manners, Jonathan Swift said:
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Is Everything Grey?

I once overheard the following:

“There is no such thing as black and white, everything is grey.”

Do you see the irony in this comment?

It’s a black and white statement. There is no elbow room, no negotiating, no degrees of grey, just one single shade of it: the unbending opinion that there are no moral absolutes. Clearly it is a self-contradicting statement, for if everything is grey, what of the statement itself? How could it be the unquestionable truth that all things are grey, if one thing is not? That is – the black and white belief that all things are grey.

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The Peach Comes With a Pit – how the curse is the cure for ingratitude

The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it. (Psalm 89:11)

In my last post, Pt.3, Good Himself, I looked at mankind’s love of storytelling and heroes. The same theme is used again and again of a good man, a saviour, willing to sacrifice his very life in order to save the lives of others: Good must always triumph over evil.

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn

Should never crave the rose.”

~ Anne Brontë

What we refer to as the Curse, the Fall, might also be the cure. The cure for ingratitude.

Ever wondered what an ideal life would be like? An Edenic existence?

Would it be like a luxury vacation, drinks on hand; housekeeping fairies to make your bed and put fresh towels in the bathroom; gourmet chefs to prepare your meals, staff to wash the dishes. Would it be like Downton Abbey where you don’t even have to dress yourself?

If yes, then many people already enjoy this ideal life. But are they happy?

Substance abuse, eating disorders, infidelity, divorce, and suicide rates amongst the very rich suggest they are not. Furthermore, those housekeeping fairies are actually real people who have to work hard. Not everyone can live the life of Riley, because Riley requires a host of servants.

Adam and Eve, however, led the original Edenic life, and they did not have servants. Nevertheless, they were required to tend the garden. And anyone who has tended a garden knows this is grubby work involving soiled knees and dirt-caked hands. “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15).

Were Adam and Eve thankful to have all their needs provided for, working for pleasure rather than sustenance? Were they content? It seems they were not. Why else the forbidden fruit? Why does anyone taste forbidden fruit unless they hope, deep down, that this is the final thing they need to be fulfilled?

Ann Voskamp, best-selling author of One Thousand Gifts, says the first sin stemmed from a spirit of ingratitude. C.S. Lewis said it came from pride, just as it did for Lucifer. But these are not contrary statements, since pride and ingratitude go hand in hand: when we have a sense of entitlement (pride), thinking we deserve better (discontentment), we become ungrateful.

So, what happened to Adam and Eve when they became prideful and ungrateful, setting themselves up to be gods, and ate the forbidden fruit?

“Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” (Genesis 3:17-19)

1) Tending a garden before the earth was cursed must have been a very pleasant thing, despite the labor involved and the grimy hands. Climatic conditions meant a perfect amount of water and sun to keep things growing optimally. Indeed even today many people enjoying gardening and consider it therapeutic. But after the Fall, this burden to produce all our own food became back-breaking labor for many people; particularly in unfavorable conditions like heat and drought. It would seem all the joy was sucked out of it.

2) The very thing (dirt) that brings us life is the very thing that will one day absorb the life out of us too (death). The peach comes with a pit.

3) What we refer to as the Curse, the Fall, might also be the cure. The cure for ingratitude.

Why? Because everything was handed to Adam and Eve, hassle-free, on a platter, and they were not content.
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The Gospel Message in Nature Series

The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it. (Psalm 89:11)

In this series, I explore ways in which the Gospel message is revealed through creation.

Pt. 1, The White Witch – how the gospel message is shared every year between the winter and summer solstices

Pt. 2, The Great Migration – how animals, birds and fish do every single year what each Christian does in a lifetime

Pt.3, Good Himself – On why one can’t be evil for the sake of being evil

Pt. 4, The Peach Comes with a Pit – how the curse is the cure for ingratitude

Good Himself – On why one can’t be evil for the sake of being evil

The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it. (Psalm 89:11)

My last post in this series, The Great Migration, was how a Christian’s treacherous and lifelong journey to reach the Promised Land is annually portrayed in the harmonious voyage of migrating birds, animals and fish who must cross land and sea against all odds to reach their own promised land. God has scattered Truth abroad for those who have eyes to see; has woven the Gospel message into the very fabric of life. And that is what this series is all about.

For example: Good triumphing over evil is the thread of gold in every epic story.

Continue reading Good Himself – On why one can’t be evil for the sake of being evil

The Great Migration – how animals, birds and fish do every single year what each Christian does in a lifetime

The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it. (Psalm 89:11)

My last post, The White Witch, was about how the winter and summer solstices represent moving away from the sun (the Son) causing cold, death, and decay; and moving closer to the sun resulting in new life and rebirth. I’ve decided to make a series of it since I see the Gospel in many other aspects of nature as well.

Recently, I watched the BBC miniseries, Nature’s Great Events, and one episode in particular stood out to me: The Great Migration.

It occurred to me suddenly, like a rush of wind, that animals, birds and fish do every single year what each Christian does in a lifetime.

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