Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: DAYDREAM (12/08/16)
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TITLE: Heaven Scent | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
12/13/16 -
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His wife walked into the kitchen; a cigarette dangled from her lips. “What’cher problem?” She picked up the paper and shook her head. “Now you’ve gone and done it. You’re such a loser.”
He wanted to strike back. How could she expect him to pay for everything with the kind of jobs he was able to get? Besides, all she did was watch her big-screen TV all day that had cost a fortune and helped get them in this mess. Rather than yell at her, he hung his head and slunk out of the room.
Within a month Jackson was on the streets, living wherever he could find shelter. Sometimes it was under the bridge down by the river; other times uptown in an alley. It was a constant effort to find enough food each day. He’d become adept at dumpster diving and hated every minute of it. Seldom did he think of his old lady; she’d dropped him and shacked up with some guy the moment the sheriff tossed their belongings on the street.
Mornings were particularly hard. Jackson struggled awake, sore and hungry. He tried to grab at the fleeting images of his dreams, but could never snatch them back. As he walked from place to place foraging for sustenance or a place to crash, the days merged into those nighttime visions. There were times he wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep with the daydreams so vivid yet impossible to grasp.
This existence erased his self-awareness. He moved about in a trance. Moments of perception returned when he saw the sneer or helpless compassion on someone else’s face. Often he approached people for a handout, and they pulled away, their nose wrinkled in disgust. Did he smell that bad?
Many times, he found himself in a strange part of town with no recollection of his day, just a vague unreality of wishes and regrets. Jackson knew he had to do something the day he awoke in a puddle of his own urine. Through bleary eyes he saw empty wine bottles stood sentry over him.
The big church on the corner was the only place he could think of to find help. He sat in the service that Wednesday night, alone in the seating area. People who came near recoiled and sat far away.
The service finished, people filed out, and the pastor sat on the stage with his legs dangled over the edge. Jackson thought he looked tired. Their eyes met. Reluctantly the pastor beckoned him over. When Jackson got close, the pastor seemed to have trouble breathing when he looked straight at him. He continually turned his head to take in air.
After a couple minutes of small talk, the pastor pulled out his wallet and retrieved a bill. Jackson reached out and laid his hand on the pastor’s arm. He flinched from the touch.
“Don’t want no money, Pastor. Tell me more ‘bout this Jesus.”
The pastor’s face turned red. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult day, but you don’t deserve this.” He still turned his head to breathe from the side.
The pastor told him the Good News, and Jackson’s heart broke. “I need Jesus, Pastor. What I gotta do?”
“Repent. Trust in Him. Call on His Name.”
With no hesitation, Jackson did. In that moment, something broke inside. He wrapped his arms around the pastor. After a slight hesitation, Jackson felt the man’s arms around him. With that, the darkness clouding his vision disintegrated. The black cloud that held him so tight vanished. Clarity returned, and the nightmare of the last year lost its power.
The pastor pulled back slightly. “What is that fragrance?”
“I smell bad, Pastor.”
“No, you don’t. You did before; now it’s like the sweetest smell I’ve ever known, like the aroma of heaven.”
Jackson began to laugh. The pastor joined him. Christ had set him free, truly making him a new creation.
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This is a true story, appropriated with my own POV twist, that I heard Jim Cymbala, Pastor at Brooklyn Tabernacle, tell recently at a seminar. This man, “Jackson,” went on to serve in Brooklyn Tab and later moved to another state where he currently serves as a deacon.
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Well written. I hope it does well this week.