The Blacksmith

Standing before the forge, hammer in one hand, tongs in the other, the blacksmith holds the long metal piece in the fire. Sweat glistens his forehead, with some of it making its way into his eyes. The dust, long settled in his leather tunic, helps to chafe his neck and arms.

He leans his head back and his throat constricts, making him cough. The heat is overwhelming, but he's used to it.

Pulling the metal out and placing it on the anvil for the hundredth time, he begins beating and shaping it with all his might. A grunt escapes with each, "ding", as his mighty arm swings through the air. The glowing blade, slowly taking form.

Back to the forge, he lays the steel directly atop the burning coals. He puts the hammer down and takes long gulps from the wooden goblet that rests on his workbench. The water burns its way down his throat, barely touching his thirst, and his stomach growls reminding him how long it's been since his last meal. Wiping his brow, he picks up the steel and examines it. Satisfied with the look, he sets it in a long thick cloth, wrapping it up until dawn when it will be cool enough to finish.

The next morning, the blacksmith grabs the unfinished sword and smiles. Walking over to the grinder he unwraps it with gentle care, as if he were unwrapping a baby. Working the edges, he shaves off tiny bits at a time, sharpening it with each pass of the tool. The top, he pushes harder, whittling the metal away until it's nothing more than a sharp, deadly point. With expert hands, he chisels and files, adding the marks of his trade. A Scripture verse that wraps the sword just above where the hilt will be.

Isaiah 44:12
"The blacksmith stands at his forge to make a sharp tool, pounding and shaping it with all his might. His work makes him hungry and weak. It makes him thirsty and faint."

He laughs. A million swords made, and you would think this was the first. Picking it up, it's time to strengthen it, make it ready for use. Back in the fire it goes until it glows a bright orangish red. Grabbing the tongs, he picks up the blade and lays it in the quenching tank. The reaction is instant. The water boils and hisses at the steel invading its space. Lowering the temperature on the furnace, he repeats the process until it's strong enough for battle, yet flexible enough not to break when struck.

Placing the blade back on the work bench, he adds the pummel, guard, and hilt, and without a second to spare. Turning, the blacksmith senses the visitor before he even utters a word. He holds up the finished sword and the visitor takes it.

"Is it sharp?"

The blacksmith's smile is his only reply.

Michael tilts his head and closes his eyes, as if listening to some unheard voice. He grins, bows at the waist, "yes my King."
His eyes snap open. "I guess we'll find out soon enough. Thanks again Blacksmith."

Like lightning, he vanishes from sight. Suddenly, he's soaring in and through the skyscrapers above New York City. A blur, he cuts through each building as if they were made of butter. Watching the street below, vision like an eagle, he's able to see each person going about their lives, unaware of the invisible world around them.

"There you are." He descends, slowly at first, then goes into a dive, straight for the street below. He hits the pavement, passes through it, then levels up, making sure to stay below ground level, and out of sight. The pavement whizzes by like cars on a highway. He closes his eyes, praying for the right moment to emerge. The seconds tick by until...

Feeling the nudge, he shoots out of the street with blinding speed. Pulling the new sword, he smiles, and with deadly accuracy, swings the blade to within inches of the man in his care, slicing straight through the demon trying to lay claim of him. The fallen angel evaporates into black smoke before it has the chance to scream.

Michael holds up the sword with pride.
"Good job Blacksmith! This'll do just fine." He puts the sword in its scabbard, as he falls in behind the pastor, whose making his way to Church for Sunday worship.



Repent before it's too late!

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All Tied Up

The two burly guys grab the chains and start wrapping them around me. I wince when the cold steel touches my bare skin and when the links pinch my arms as they circle my body. Upside down, I feel the blood rushing into my head, a slight thumping sound in my ear reminding me that my heart is beating. They finally finish, put padlocks on the chains, then step back to watch, smiling from ear to ear.

How do I get myself into these things?

Suddenly a trap door opens and water splashes onto my face as a tank rises up and begins to engulf me. Deep breathes, one, two, three, hold! My head penetrates the water and within moments, I'm completely submerged.

Opening my eyes, I see a blurry clock counting down from three minutes. It's at one minute, forty seconds. Where did the time go?
I begin shaking, trying to loosen the restraints tied around me, and as I do my body is losing precious oxygen. I close my eyes, wiggle my arms, loosening my left shoulder just enough. Rocking back and forth until I feel my body hit the glass enclosure, once, I gain more momentum, twice, my back hits the other side, and slam! I hit the glass with my left shoulder as hard as I can. A scream almost escapes, but I catch it before I inhale gallons of water.

My shoulder, now dislocated, screams at me for being so cruel. But it works. I feel the slack in the chains and I start to wiggle hard and fast.

From outside, they must think I'm drowning, convulsing as I breath in water.

My lungs are burning and I feel my strength begin to ebb.
Just a little more Lord. You know all glory is Yours.

I look at the clock, forty-five seconds left. I better hurry.
The chains slide down my body, their weight working for me, as I continue to shake and wiggle. Finally, I feel them give and begin to fall. One of the locks hit me on the brow, hard. Dizzy, but I can't stop now. Time is running out.

I try to bend up and realize a part of the chain is still hooked onto my pants, holding me down. Panic! My heart pounds and I know I'm seconds from death. I grab a hold of it with my right hand and jerk, I feel the pain in my left shoulder but I ignore it. I jerk harder and it falls.

I bend up, grab ahold of the lock at my feet, pull the pin in my shoe and begin to work the lock. As I do, I look at the clock, fifteen, fourteen...

The lock jerks free and falls onto the chains below. I pull myself up, slip, pull again. I break the surface of the water to the sound of the cheering crowd! I'm alive. I look at the clock just as it turns zero.

"Thank You Jesus," I pray.
One of the helpers comes over and helps me down. "Good job Jacob, another great show."
He gives me a towel and a mic. I walk to center stage and raise my hands. The crowd goes wild! I motion for silence and it takes a few moments for the applause to die down.

"The chains that bound me tonight, are like the chains that tie us to this world and the god of this world would like nothing more than for you to believe that you will never be free. But I'm here to tell you, just like I was freed from these chains, you can be freed too. Jesus said in John 8:36, 'So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free.' If you put your trust in Him, and turn away from your sins, you have God's promise, you will be saved!"
Looking at the crowds, I smile. Despite the pain and the fear of death, it's all worth it if just one will come forward.

"Jesus also says in John 7:37, 'Anyone who is thirsty may come to me.' So come!" I watch. No one is coming forward. No one's heeding the call.

The disappointment begins to rise, but then, a single person begins to walk down the isle. Like the angels, I rejoice over just one who comes to the altar to be set free from the ties that keep them from God's grace!

Repent before it's too late!

CreationSwap

The Accent Wall

Staring at the wall, Joy asks, "when did the realtor say this house was built?"

"1992," I reply.

"I would have thought the 70's by the look of that wallpaper. It's a good thing we're painting it then, huh?" A smile played around the corners of her lips.

"What fun," I mutter.

"This is going to be the accent wall. So I want to use this paint," she hands me a can labeled, Bordeau Brown, and walks away.

"You need to hurry. It won't be long before your precious tv gets here."

I go to set the can down and something on the wall catches my eye. I walk over and see part of the wallpaper peeling back. It looks like something's written behind it. I pull it back and uncover the words, Seek And You Will Find.

"What are you doing?"

I jump like I was shot! "Woman," I say but quickly laugh it off. "You scared me."

"I see that. But that doesn't explain why you're tearing up the wall instead of painting it," a smirk across her face.

"I'm not tearing it up. The paper was peeling and I saw something. Look."
She walks over and reads it.

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know," I say.

We both look at it as if the answer will jump out at us.

"Whatever," I say, giving up. Joy looks at me and pushes a roll of tape into my chest. "Here you go, handsome. I'll start on the other side."

I bend down and start taping off the baseboards. But halfway through I notice another part of the wall peeling. Reaching over, I rip it back to see something else written.

"Honey, look at this," She leans over me and reads it out loud, "Knock And The Door Will Be Opened."

"Okay, I know I've heard that before. I just can't think of where."

"It does sound familiar," she agrees.

Again, we both stare at it, trying to figure it out. On a hunch, I reach over and knock on the words. A hollow metal sound erupts.

"Honey, grab my knife out of the toolbox." I start to strip away the hideous wallpaper.

"What do you think it is?" she asks, returning with the knife.

"We're about to find out," I say grabbing the blade. "But I'm guessing its a door."

I knock to find its edge. Then I take the knife etch along the edge of the metal.

A few minutes later and the door's revealed. Puzzled I ask, "Where do you think it leads?"

Joy steps back, concern etching her face as she points to the door. "I'm hoping nowhere without a handle."

Sure enough, not even a space for one. I rub my hands across the metal but I don't feel anything. Looking at the words again, oddly placed where the door handle should be, I knock.

There's a small creaking sound as it opens slightly. I step back, examining it.

"Well, what do you think?" I ask.

"I don't know, honey," her eyes dart from me to the door.

"Oh, come on, don't chicken out on me now. We have to check it out." I grab the side of the door and pull. It resists a little, but opens up to a dark hallway.

I run over and grab a flashlight. I shine it into the hall. It goes back a little but then stops at another wall.

A dead end. I take a few steps, Joy right behind me. The air is musty, and cobwebs are everywhere. But right before the wall I notice a staircase.

So we make our way down and at the bottom is another metal door with the words, Ask And You Will Receive, written on it.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Joy whispers. "lets just go back upstairs."

"We have to find out. Who knows, maybe it's a storm shelter or something."

"It's the, 'or something', that worries me," she says.

"At least this one has a handle," I say, reaching for it.

I open the door to a large room. On one end there's a bookshelf that stretches across the entire wall. At the center is a table and a few chairs.

I notice a light switch and flick it on. Light pours into the room. Joy walks over to the book shelf and pulls one of the books.

"It's a Bible," she says as she looks at more. "They're all Bibles!"

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Repent before it's too late!

The Dingy

Two pages in, I'm finally able to sit back, relax, and read. Reading has always been my first love. Adventure on every page, it's easy to get lost in a book for hours at a time. I do enjoy reading my favorite sea adventures as I bask in the sun, listening to the rolling waves crash on the shore. I like being close to the shoreline, but not too close, and have the tide tell me when it's time to head back inside.

I know most of the other kids my age wouldn't be caught dead reading a book if they didn't have to. But I'm not like most kids and besides, I hate surfing and that seems to be the only thing anyone at school wants to do. No, I'd rather read about my old friend One Eyed! They say he has two good eyes but no one was afraid of a pirate named Two Eyed. So he put on a patch and the rest is history.

A loud smack and a "humf", pulls me from my book and I look up to see a man picking himself up out of the sand. Behind him is a small boat. He's dressed in tall black boots, dirty grey pants, and a tattered white shirt. Sand falling from his mangy beard, he readjusts a black patch over his right eye. I gasp! looking at the cover of my book and then the smelly guy in front of me, I manage to breath out, "It's you, you're, One Eyed!"

"Aye son," he begins shaking the sand from his clothes. "That be my name boy. What's it to ya?"

I drop the book and stare. "How is this possible... I mean, it's not possible. Is it?"
"Listen up me lad, ya can keep yer yappin' or ya can give me a hand with me dingy."

I jump to my feet. No way am I going to pass this up. I grab one side of the old boat and One Eyed grabs the other. We pull it further up the beach and the old pirate sits down.

"I can't handle this alone. If yer itchin' for an adventure, I've a proposition for ya."
“What is it," I ask.

“I have a treasure map that's doin' me no good as I can't read it me self. I need a pair of eyes who can read it for me. 50/50 split mind ya. What do ya say, ye in?"
My eyes glisten at the thought of finding buried treasure. I can't believe my luck. One Eyed, here, asking me to help him find buried treasure!

“Yes,” I shout, not caring to hide my enthusiasm. I jump up, eager with anticipation. He smiles and slowly rises to his feet. Reaching out his hand, I take it. We start walking along the beach and I giggle with delight. I look up and squeeze his hand, “thanks dad."

"No problem son, I mean, Arr, nothin' to it!"

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