Give Me a Minute, I am Meditating

It was my intention to post this blog on Sunday, however I was blessed with an unexpected visit by my sister and her three sons (whom I hadn't seen in 3 years). So needless to say, I put my writing aside for a couple of days to spend time with them. But I am back on my regiment of writing daily. Below is an excerpt from Chapter 2. This is the beginning of the "other" story within the book.

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CHAPTER 2

Father Michael is one of the fortunate young priests to have a window in his small and humble quarters. All that is in his room is a small bed that consists of an overused mattress and a few blankets that were of course donated years ago. He has his treasured cross with Jesus hanging just above the headboard. Next to his bed there is a small table with a half burnt candle in a simple wrought iron candlestick. Near the window is an old chair made by a parishioner some years ago. Father Michael loves to sit in this chair near the window after he has completed is morning and evening daily prayers.

As part of his evening routine, he had just settled into his chair when he was suddenly interrupted from his evening post prayer contemplation by a banging on his window. He tried to ignore the loud banging and to remain focused on his cherished time with God, but whoever was banging on his window was not going away. Father Michael sometimes still struggled with his duty as a priest to serve others first. And having his contemplation time interrupted exacerbated this challenge. He reluctantly got up from his chair and opened his window to see what was so important that his sacred time alone with God must be disturbed.

Upon looking out the window, he was quite surprised by whom he saw. It was his dear childhood friend John. John’s face clearly told Father Michael immediately that something was very wrong. As Father Michael continued to look at John, he could see the blood stains on his clothes, face and hands.

“You must come with me right away Father Michael” was all John could manage to blurt out. Father Michael loved John dearly and did not even question why. He put on his collar, robe, and shoes and left his quiet sanctuary without question. He quickly returned to his room to grab his small travel bag. A quiet voice in his head told him that he may need it.

John had arrived in his carriage pulled by his two best horses. And for a man of John’s status, this style of travel was not uncommon. What was odd was that John himself was driving his carriage. “Get in” John nervously yelled. As Father Michael got into the carriage he couldn’t help but wonder why John was driving his own carriage. Where was John’s driver thought Father Michael?

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~quote~

"Somewhere along the way, we must learn that there is nothing greater than to do something for others." Martin Luther King Jr.,