You Are Mine Forever! PART 3

You Are Mine Forever! PART 3

  I block his way, he lands a punch on my nose, all blackens, feel myself tumbling helplessly head over heels down the staircase, Brett lounges at Father!” Ya stupid old man! …Ya think I won’t hurt ya ‘cause y’ er a damn priest?” To read along as you listen click the first track below and scroll to the top of the page to begin.  As you scroll through text, the subsequent tracks are located at the beginning of the corresponding passage.   http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-20.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-21.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-22.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-23.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-23.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-24.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-25.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-26.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-27.mp3 Hank squirms, blurts out, “Let him go Brett! … The Father has a vault in his office full money from the last mass! … Let’s git it!” “Shut yer trap!. .. I’ll deal with ya later traitor! … l’ lI finish off the priest first!” I gain consciousness, stagger to my knees, feel wobbly, climb the stairs anyway. On the first step see Father Mulligan’s back bent over the top choir loft railing, by the third step his head droops down toward the marble floor below, half way up, Brett dangles Father by the feet! Brett’s bulging eyes glaring, his Satanic raging mania lets loose: “Ha-a-a-a-a! … Ha a-a a-a-a-a! … Hi-i-i-i-i! … I’m gonna drop ya on yer shiny bald head-d-d-d! … O most holy one! … Ha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! …Y ’er gonna die-e-e-e-e!” “Hank! … Stop Brett! … Hold on to Father before it’s too late!” Heinous frosty breaths chant through the broken window pane coaxing their incensed leader on! … “Drop the priest! … Drop the priest! … Drop the priest!” Brett, ravishing in his power over life and...
You Are Mine Forever! PART 2

You Are Mine Forever! PART 2

You Are Mine Forever! Dedicated to: “God’s Divine Will”  By: Richard David Briggs PART 2   Most Christians have already stopped going to church!… Heck! … Christians are too ashamed or too scared to talk about God for fear of offending their friends, other religions, and lawsuits! … Even parents don’t teach their kids about You! … Look at the Diables!” To read along as you listen click the first track below and scroll to the top of the page to begin.  As you scroll through text, the subsequent tracks are located at the beginning of the corresponding passage.   http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-10.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-11.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-12.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-12.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-13.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-14.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-15.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-16.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-17.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-18.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-19.mp3 “Yes Brian, people are in rebellion against the Father! They want to do their will just as Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden, … and just as you do!” “Well man, you got that right! … And Christian families? … Huh! … What a laugh! … Living together has become the bloody accepted norm! … Bonding in the sanctity of Holy Matrimony has become a real joke! … It’s disappearing and will soon be gone forever!” “Have more faith Brian! This is the result of the Church crumbling and the beginning of the necessary decaying process to make way for My Second Coming!” “You would have me believe that the damn onslaught against Christianity by TV. broadcasts, movies, talk shows, documentaries, books magazines is God’s Will too!” “No need for sarcasm Brian! The ways of the world are not God’s ways! Yet, those who choose to justify sin by man’s laws are spiritually dead just like the Pharisees...
You Are Mine Forever! PART 1

You Are Mine Forever! PART 1

You Are Mine Forever! Dedicated to:  “God’s Divine Will” By:  Richard David Briggs (© 2013 Richard David Briggs – All rights reserved. Written material may not be duplicated without permission.)     Raw experience teaches us effectively about our brutal reality. We are the sole interpreters of our own life’s meaning. And, mine only makes sense when it is based on belief in our loving Almighty! Whatever leads us away from Him, we must get rid of it, or remain spiritually removed. Jesus challenged His disciples too, “Where do you stand?” To read along as you listen click the first track below and scroll to the top of the page to begin.  As you scroll through text, the subsequent tracks are located at the beginning of the corresponding passage.   http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-1.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-2.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-3.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-4.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-5.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-6.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-7.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-8.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/YAMF-Track-9.mp3 So then, those, who choose to disbelieve, are the walking dead! As a result, you atheists and agnostics will never enter Heaven but Hell is waiting for you with its wide door agape unless you repent and make a firm commitment to Christ! Or perhaps, you believe that the concept of the Holy Trinity is simply a cleverly fabricated lie like I once did!  A sly politic used by ruse leaders to manipulate us, the innocent and the ignorant! Friend, … come … come closer into my former world, if you dare! … See how the fluffy snowflakes fall steadily, … stealthily upon our vulnerable market square? Spiteful unexpected storm gusts deepen drifts, impair visibility, mask increasing cold, intimidate the spoiled rich shoppers, forcing them to take refuge in their luxurious homes. Ah!...
Carneseca – Or The Great Mr. Valencia

Carneseca – Or The Great Mr. Valencia

Carneseca – Or The Great Mr. Valencia by Eduardo Delgado When I was about 12 years old my stepfather, who worked on construction gangs laying concrete around the Los Angeles area, began coming home talking about a friend he knew at work, and he always spoke of him with great affection. “Carneseca this, Carneseca that.” One Saturday he took me along to the work site, and for the first time I saw the famous Carneseca. He was a tall thin man, in his late thirties. The first things I noticed about the man were his eyes, like black pearls and a beautiful smile in them – eyes always smiling. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Carnesica-Part-1.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Carnesica-Part-2.mp3 I then began to see the rest of him: his shoes high top and untied, he had two or three days’ growth of beard, his hair had not been combed that morning, I’m sure. My stepfather walked up to him, “Carneseca, this is my boy, Lalo.” Carneseca reached out, shook my hand – first time anyone had EVER shook my hand. I felt like an adult, big. “Well, Lalo, I see that we are going to be good friends, ’cause I like a man with a good handshake.” Then he just smiled at me, turned around, and walked away without saying anything. And, the rest of the morning I just spent playing in the dirt, throwing rocks at imaginary enemies. Every now and then, I would look to see where Carneseca was working. Without realizing that time had flown by, in the background, I could hear someone whistling, calling – – – I stopped and looked around, and...
Self

Self

SELF © 2010 Wendy B McLain People, PLEASE, listen to me, if you choose to live wildly free,   An unruly mind of depravity’s kind will engulf you like a sea.   As you choose your own, you’ll reap what you’ve sown; sorrows and woes will not leave you alone.   They will cripple your mind and in time you will find, you have injured your very own soul.     Don’t let this be, PLEASE, take it from me; a reprobate heart will tear you apart,   I’d been down this road and I also was told, these very same words I impart.   I did not heed those who would plead, who’d been there they before I,   So now, here I go, I want you to know, to your own way I urge say goodbye! http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/SELF.mp3.m4a For I’d been a fool, to think I could rule, living my life my own way,   How wrong my thought, for my mind I had taught, to believe whatever I say.   So clever my mind and crafty to find, a resolve for each choice I made,   I stuck to my way, in the course of each day, then alas’ passing time betrayed. Self, was my rule, not knowing how cruel its effects would be from the start,   Blame would remain my number one game until Christ came and showed me my heart!   I’ve been on my knees, asking God PLEASE, since the day He took over my life,   To take all of me, and make me to be His living sacrifice!     I’m walking each day in humility’s way as I strive for the ultimate goal,   In service to Him, Who redeemed me from sin, that this life lived for Him...
Peter

Peter

Peter By David Blankenship John 21: 9-17 “The fish is almost done! You’ve been working hard! Take a break!” I hollered to the men as they came near the shore. “Bring a few more fish up here!” Peter headed back to the boat and helped the others pull the net of fish onto shore. They started sorting the fish immediately.  “One hundred fifty three keepers,” said Peter with a big grin on his weathered face. “And I thought we were going home empty!” http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Peter.mp3 It was good to be together again. We ate the fish I’d cooked and the loaf of bread I had purchased on the way. It was a little odd that no one asked about how I came to be here. When we had finished I called to Peter, “Peter, I want to talk to you. Alone.” He followed me to some rocks next to the lake. The water splashed near our feet as we sat on a large flat rock, just high enough to keep us dry. We just sat in the quiet of the morning, the sun warming our backs. I pushed Peter’s shoulder with mine and asked, “Peter, do you love me as your God?” He looked startled; it’s not a common question. “You’re my best friend. I respect you. I want to learn from you,” said Peter. “Take care of my people,” I said, hoping he would understand. We sat in silence a few minutes and then I asked again, “Peter, do you love me as your God?” “I have no friend closer than you,” Peter responded. “You’re like an older brother...
The Towel

The Towel

The Towel By Connie K. Cameron I had a basket of dirty laundry in the kitchen, ready to go out to the washing machine. I noticed a red drink spill on the kitchen floor and absent mindedly, I picked up a towel out of the pile and wiped up the wet mess. I threw the whole pile right into the washing machine. I washed all the towels with detergent and hot water, but the towel came out of the dryer, stained. What could I do, I folded it and put it away with the other towels. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/The-Towel.mp3 After a shower a few days later, I picked up that same towel off the shelf to dry myself. I noticed the stain and felt uneasy using that towel, it still looked dirty to me. I thought back, the towel had gone through the same process to get clean as all the other towels, that stain was brand new, it might lighten up in time but the towel was clean. Drying myself with this stained towel made me think of how I feel about forgiveness. When I sin, I ask for forgiveness, and God forgives me. But sometimes I still feel the stain of my sin that is left behind and I feel as though I‘m still dirty. God has forgiven me but I haven’t forgiven myself, I still feel guilty. So I have to remind myself that what God has made clean is clean indeed. Then I need to accept the fact that I am clean. Jesus is our cleaning process, and I am the towel. And as the towel I...
The Cracked Guitar

The Cracked Guitar

THE CRACKED GUITAR By Anil Z. Mathew Made in Korea the guitar had belonged to Vinay his brother who had died of a heart attack and it had passed on as a legacy to him four years back. He had grown attached to the guitar. He would lead the singing in church the guitar notes blending so well with the consummate skill with which he strummed as they worshipped and sang together the hymns and choruses with passionate intensity, eyes closed ecstatically raising their hands, feeling the presence of God in their midst. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/The-Cracked-Guitar-1.mp3 http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/The-Cracked-Guitar-2.mp3 Pastor Soman was a young man in his early thirties. He had dedicated his whole life to the cause of the good news of Jesus Christ. A popular and indefatigable pastor who literally went about like Jesus doing good wherever he went, living out his faith in a needy world, and almost everybody in the church and neighbourhood commented on the pastor’s exemplary commitment and dedication. Until his wife Minnie died of cerebral malaria. The high grade fever had come on with convulsions and three weeks of hospitalization and Minnie went into a coma never to recover consciousness. But the day she died something cracked inside the Pastor. People said that he seemed to have lost his equilibrium. The congregation of St. John’s Church observed the change in Pastor Soman with dismay. He had been such an extraordinarily gifted Pastor with such a deep commitment. The day Minnie died Soman also stopped playing the guitar. The rumour went around that he had given the guitar away. Nobody knew the truth, but people complained that...
The Raspberry Post

The Raspberry Post

THE RASPBERRY POST By Eduardo Delgado It must have been the summer of 1925 or early 1926 when I was just one or two years old. Of all the summers to come, this one keeps coming back to me. Many years have elapsed since. I was in the care of my grandmother most days for the first few years of my life. Her best friend was Doña Pasquelita. Grandmother’s friend was an old Indian woman who was less than five feet tall and lived with rabbits, goats and chickens. She would grind corn every morning for the fresh tortillas she sold that day. She also had fresh eggs, goat’s milk and live chickens to sell. You only had to pick the chicken or rabbit and she would have it plucked or skinned when you returned. Everyone in the barrio knew Doña Pasquelita. She was an Apache Indian. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/Raspberry-Post-Final.wav Every summer when raspberry season came, Doña Pasquelita and I, my grandmother, and my cousin Caroline would walk about two miles starting at daylight every morning to pick raspberries for Mr. Nakamoto’s berry farm. I was sitting on the ground next to the first post at the beginning of the row of raspberries. My grandmother took a yellow rope from her bag and tied one end to the post and the other end around my waist. She would say a few words, pick up her raspberry tray and start picking berries. I could see as she worked her way to the other end and back up the other side. When she returned she would wipe my nose and the dirt from...
The Change

The Change

The Change by Hans Lillegard Michael Kaspinsky stood on the cusps of a revolution, though he remained ignorant of it. There was a tension in the air like the tension before a thunderstorm except rife with the likelihood of results that could be good or bad. He was full of himself and didn’t see the hard world around himself. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/The-Change-Part-1.mp3   http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/The-Change-Part-2.mp3   http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/The-Change-Part-3.mp3 Friends and acquaintances that he had formerly chanced to see while writing papers in the computer rooms or grading papers in the coffee houses began falling away. He knew that others around him were becoming angry by the rigid way they walked. He was a graduate student and he only listened to his students and the politics they espoused. He had of course superficially agreed with his students but in a disguised way he sacrificed his honesty. He sidestepped their clamor over the recent budget cuts and how it was nothing more than austerity. Like many of the graduate students at university he had played along with the radical notions of the younger students so that he wisely became the hypocrite, avoiding what he thought to be their circular thinking and so preserved the sanctity of a clear mind and direct thought. It was when he went to the registrar to take care of the next semester’s graduate payments that the reality came home for him. The woman at the counter stood opposite him impassive at the tuition hike so that he felt bludgeoned run headlong into a brick wall. He started to make his way from the office glancing at the ceiling in the...