Previous Challenge Entry
Topic: Whispers (01/26/04)
|
TITLE: Whispers in the Sand By John Whitfield 01/27/04 |
 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
|
But, that was yesterday. And last night.
But not today.
For today, he had done the unthinkable. He had come upon an Egyptian taskmaster dealing harshly with a slave, and, in a responsive passion, the young Prince had lept in to defend the slave. His strong arms and hands found their way around the neck of the whip wielder. Snap. He, the Prince, had killed a man!
Panic. Run. Hide. Bury the body in the sand. He did it all. And now, he was fleeing. Fleeing for his very life.
Out through the desert sands, far from any friend or help. Driven away. Tormented by his sin. Fear. Terror. Guilt. Parching thirst. Hot blistering days. Cold freezing nights. On and on he pressed. And, finally, near complete and total exhaustion, he falls, face down, in the cruel sand to die.
The sand that had hidden a body now clawed his own face.
But, he cannot die. He'd rather die, but he can't die, because of the Whispers. Nothing he had physically endured was so terrible a malady as those Whispers. They were all the same. Just one word, repeated over and over and over hauntingly again and again.
It was his name.
His given name.
One drawn from the water.
The name Pharaoh's daughter called him.
The name Jochebed called him.
The name Amram called him.
The name Miriam and Aaron called him.
The name the throngs of people called him.
It was . . "Moses!"
"Moses. Moses" The Whispers taunted. Each one accusing him. Not Moses the Prince, but Moses the murderer.
"Moses. Moses"
Broken, beaten,battered, bruised. Crushed to a pulp of a man. Squeezed until the only thing left was his essence.
"Moses. Moses."
In shear frustrated desperation,, he gave up. He, the Prince, broke.
Now, at last, he was nearly ready to be used by God.
Moses would survive the night.
He would somehow persevere.
He would go on, and tend sheep for a time.
Until another day.
Another Day.
Another Day, when he would hear the Whispers.
But the Whisper did not come from the crowds of people, from the sand, or even from his own mind. These Whispers came from God, Himself.
HE whispered, "Moses. Moses."
Again, Moses fell on his face in the sand.
"Moses. Moses. Take off your sandals." Now, Moses was ready.
The still, small voice of God had made a man. A man's man. One Whisper at a time.