The Middle

The Middle

The Middle, by David Blankenship “You can’t just start in the middle!” he yelled as he stomped both feet in a kind of bent over jump.  “You have to have a beginning.”  He was genuinely mad.  Not the kind of mad where your face turns red and you raise your voice.  He was the kind of mad where they take you off for seventy-two hours and watch you.  And after seventy-two hours they take you to a place surrounded by acres of mowed lawn but you can’t go out and walk on the grounds.  They say, “It’s for your own good” but you know different.  He was that kind of mad. http://wholesomeprose.com/hp_wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/The-Middle.mp3 “Now maybe you just skipped the beginning.  Maybe the pages were stuck?”  He stopped jumping and started coming toward me his, stubby, calloused fingers crawling the air. Speaking slowly and so quietly I needed to lean forward to hear him.  “There was no beginning you fool.  Look at the left hand bottom corner.” I looked and saw the forty-two for the first time.  At least I think it was the first time.  For some reason I don’t remember. I tentatively replied, “I see a forty-two?” “Do you remember forty-one?”  I shook my head.  “What happened on page Thirty-three?” “I don’t know,” I said hoping he wouldn’t explode. “You don’t remember because he never wrote a beginning!” He slowly folded to the ground and giggled.  I usually enjoy it when people giggle but this was a giggle of a different sort. “And what about her?” he asked, pointing to a young lady sitting on the sofa crying silently. ...
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...