Hope no one minds that I’m posting something different today. Here’s a little story I wrote. Enjoy!
“I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl,” the woman said.
“I’m a girl—from day one! I was, I am, I always will be a girl!” Shelby shouted at the top of her lungs and kicked her tiny foot.
The woman laughed and pointed out the thumping little foot to her friends, who all called it adorable.
“She can’t hear you,” said The Friend. “That’s because you’re on the inside, and like many people on the outside, she often can’t hear the voices within: yours, Mine, or even her own body’s voice.”
“She can’t?” Shelby’s forehead tried out a little worried crease. “How does she know I love her? How does she know You love her?”
“She doesn’t,” said The Friend. “That’s part of the reason I’ve sent you. She thinks she knows My love. But as she sees your love, and learns to love you, she will begin to understand My love.”
“I understand Your love,” Shelby bragged.
“You do now, little one, because you are still so fresh from my heart,” The Friend said gently. “But you will forget. When you arrive outside, the cares and distractions will begin to blur and dim your memories of Me.”
“But I don’t want to forget!” Shelby wailed, and her eyes felt the tiny prickle of her first tears.
“I won’t let you forget Me completely,” The Friend said in His gentle voice. “I will follow you and remind you. I will smile at you in the sunrise, wink at you in the stars, and whisper to you in the wind. My arms will always be encircling you, just out of sight. And I will speak to you in your inside, and in My Book.”
“I hope I remember,” Shelby worried.
“I will help you remember,” The Friend promised. “I will visit you and call your name. But the day will come when remembering is a choice. Then you must choose to hear My voice and to recognize it. And now, the day has come for you to go outside. How quickly our time has flown.”
“I wish I didn’t have to go.” Shelby smiled sadly. “But I will remember. I will come back to You. My heart will know You, because You loved me first.”
And she slipped from her little room into the outside.
As a child, Marcia Gunnett Woodard was an avid reader, often disappearing into a book for days at a time. By her late teen years she realized that she wanted to be able to use words to weave a spell that drew the reader into the story, like her favorite authors did. Since then, she has enjoyed trying her hand at a variety of writing forms, including fiction, poetry, and theatre scripts.
Although she still lives less than 100 miles from her birthplace, she has traveled internationally and has shared her thoughts with groups as near as a local university and as far away as Vladimir, Russia.
When she isn’t writing, she enjoys camping, traveling, sewing, playing word games, and surrounding herself with family (her husband and their children and grandchildren) and friends (both real and imaginary).
Marcia firmly believes in the power of story. Since learning that the words parable and parabola have the same origins, she considers her writing to be a catapult, using the parabolic arc of story to launch projectiles of truth into walled-off hearts and barricaded minds.
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