Cousins
Illustration
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Cousins" by Larry Winebrenner
"Setting an Example" by Larry Winebrenner
"Fight Status" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
Cousins
by Larry Winebrenner
Deuteronomy 18:15-20
The two teenage boys wandered away from the crowd. The old priest didn't have any children but John. His wife's cousin had children like kittens underfoot.
John said, "Yeshua, I'm sorry about your father. I know we all sorta murmured our condolences when you arrived, but the hubbub...."
"That's all right John. We're about over it. As over it as you can be."
"Strange. Your father was young. My father is old. He claims he's not going to die until he sees me fulfill the angel's prophecy."
"So you're going to be a prophet," commented Yeshua. "I thought prophets were made, not born." He smiled at his own joke. John smiled weakly.
"Prophets are called, Yeshua," he said. "And you know it good and well." He gave his cousin a playful poke in the ribs. "I was called before I was born," he added.
Yeshua looked for a spot where the sun didn't pour down so mercilessly. There were no trees. Beside the house likely would get them sucked back into family stuff. He finally walked over to a large rock formation and found a large shadow. John followed.
"We should have brought a waterskin," commented Yeshua.
John jumped up, ran over to the well, and returned. He held out a waterskin to Yeshua. He took a grateful sip and handed it back to John.
"I didn't see you draw water," Yeshua said as John took a sip of his own.
"We always have a couple hanging inside the well in case a stranger comes by."
"That's very thoughtful," said Yeshua. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "How will you begin your ministry as a prophet?"
"I don't know," answered John. Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up. Amos was tending sheep. So was Moses for that matter."
Yeshua picked up a pebble and tossed it lightly in the air and catching it.
"What if God never calls?" he asked.
John locked eyes with his cousin.
"He will call."
Yeshua didn't answer. He just kept tossing the pebble.
"It's scary," said John.
"The warnings from Isaiah?"
"Not the prophets. The law. It says, 'any prophet who speaks in the name of other gods, or who presumes to speak in my name.' "
Yeshua joined in, "a word that I have not commanded the prophet to speak -- that prophet shall die."
"That's not just death," said John. "Not just the body dying. Soul... memory of... any essence."
There was what might properly be labeled deathly silence.
Yeshua broke the depressing mood with the solemn comment, "I'm going to miss you, John."
John started! Alert. He jumped up, grabbing Yeshua in an arm lock around the chest. He threw his cousin into the dust and the two rolled across the ground.
"You won't miss me," yelled John. "I'll take you with me."
Suddenly John was on his back, his arms pinned to the ground, his cousin staring into his face.
"You'll never take me with you," said Yeshua. He stood giving John a hand. He told his cousin, "But I'll go with you if you need me."
They brushed the sand off themselves and each other.
"You'll be a good prophet," predicted Yeshua.
"And I'll be following you," said John.
The two teenage boys, now considered men in their culture, walked off into the hills, talking about the future.
Little did they know the next time they met, John would indeed be a prophet. He would be speaking the words put into his mouth by the almighty. And he would be baptizing his cousin as the Spirit descended like a dove and the voice of God would echo from the heavens. [Yeshua is Hebrew form of Joshua, translated into the Greek as Jesus.]
Setting an Example
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Murray was tired of his eight-year-old brother, Jack, following him all over the place.
"Go home, Jack," he said, "quit following me."
"Mother told you to look after me," reminded Jack.
Murray was on his way to the five and dime store. He didn't want Jack following him there. He'd seen a pocket knife he wanted. He had figured out how to get it.
But Mother's orders were Mother's orders. "Okay," he said, "but stay out of my way."
He entered the store, Jack tagging along behind him. He sauntered over to the counter with rubber bands, paper clips, and other neat things. He had picked up a package of rubber bands and slipped them into his pocket unnoticed just last week.
Next, Murray drifted by the notions counter. Just looking. After examining needles and thimbles without picking them up, he wandered over to the pocket knife counter.
The knife he wanted was a four-blade, pearl handled knife. One of the blades was created to drill holes. It would work well punching extra holes in a belt. It could be used to bore holes through thin boards, like those on orange crates.
Murray didn't look at the knives near the pearl handled one first. He gradually worked his way toward his prize. They were in the bin closest to the front. When he reached the spot he wanted, he reached with his left hand for a pocket knife at the back of the counter. It was a cheap one-bladed knife an ugly green handle. While leaning over the counter, his hidden right hand grabbed the knife he wanted and slipped it into his shirt. He looked at the green handled knife, shook his head, and tossed it back into the bin where he had gotten it.
"C'mon, Jack," he said, "let's go home."
On the way home he slipped the knife out of his shirt and looked at it with admiration. He slipped it into his pocket and whistled on his way home.
As he walked into the house, Mother called him back to the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. The odor of backed sweet potatoes was unmistakable.
"Let me see the knife," she said.
"What knife?" asked Murray.
She stood there with outstretched hand. Reluctantly he pulled the loot from his pocket and handed it to her. She held it up and examined it carefully. She rubbed her thumb across the pearl handle. She held it so she could see how many blades it had.
"This is an excellent knife," she said.
"It has a blade that can punch holes in leather," Murray said excitedly.
"Too bad you can't keep it."
Murray's heart dropped.
"Mr. Gray called me," Mother continued. "He was watching you through the lattice that separates the office area from the rest of the store. He almost missed it. He said if you hadn't slipped it into your shirt, you could have walked out of the store undetected."
Murray felt a surge of pride. Mother continued again.
"He said that if you returned the knife to him personally and said you were sorry and promised never to steal anything again, he wouldn't report you to the police."
Murray took the knife back and with hanging head, he turned to go. Jack spoke up.
"Do I have to give mine back, too?" he asked.
Murray's mouth dropped open. So did Mother's. Mother was right. Jack copied everything his older brother did. Even when Murray didn't know it.
Before Mother could speak, Murray answered his little brother's question. "Yeah, Squirt. You copy everything else I do. Now you can copy this."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Flight Status
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 111
Silence can be golden... but more often than not it's just uncomfortable.
There had been no words exchanged, other than a brief introduction, since the young man entered Wu's office. As the minutes crawled by, Wu became more and more acutely aware of the silence -- noticing, now, the rattle that skirted audibility when the central heating fan kicked in; the gurgle in his stomach that reminded him he'd skipped breakfast. When he shifted in his seat, the sound of his pants rubbing against the soft leather of the chair seemed loud.
Enough, he thought finally, when the first quarter hour had drained away. He leaned forward in his chair -- the springs squeaked, the cushion hissed softly -- and folded his hands on the desk blotter. "You're never going to fly again, you know," he said conversationally, as though they had been speaking the whole time.
The young man didn't flinch, didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He licked his lips, hesitated, and said carefully, "I thought that's what this interview was supposed to determine."
Wu nodded, picked up a pencil, and held it between thumb and forefinger of both hands, rolling it slowly. "Indeed. Officially, that is the purpose of this meeting. Unofficially, the decision has already been made." He hesitated, hoping that didn't sound disloyal to those who were listening, and dismissed that thought with a shake of his head. "You have been the subject of some discussion here at the administration, Major Zhou. But I'm sure you know that, already."
There was a ghost of a smile, then, on that lean, serious face. "I'm not surprised, Doctor Wu."
"That's because you're an intelligent young man, Zhou. If you were not an intelligent, educated, exceptional man you would not have been chosen to be the first representative of the People's Republic to orbit the moon. So you are obviously intelligent enough to understand that the Space Administration can't have its people -- particularly its astronauts -- doing and saying ridiculous things. Bad for the image, you know. Yours and ours."
Wu paused, looked closely at Zhou; there was no reaction. He shrugged, went on. "Certainly, as the Space Administration's chief psychiatrist I am the one who makes the final decision about a return to flight status after your unfortunate breakdown -- but there has been much careful, sober discussion about what my decision must be."
Zhou frowned. "And do you agree with that -- with having the outcome predetermined? Doesn't that interfere with your medical judgment?"
"Predetermined is an incorrect word, Major -- it carries a certain amount of prejudice with it. The outcome of this interview is not predetermined, but it is fair to say that my decision is a foregone conclusion, based on the indisputable evidence."
Again, the ghost of a smile. "Fair to whom?"
"Your question merely reinforces the validity of the decision. What happens to you has nothing to do with what is 'fair' or 'right' for the individual -- the fate of the individual is secondary to the needs of the State. In this case, the State's need is to not have its heroes spouting off superstitious nonsense." He gestured again with the pencil. "Seventy years we have struggled against the common citizen's primitive need for religion. We have yet to stamp out the outdated legacy beliefs of our ancestors. Surely, we can at least stop Western religions from contaminating our people."
Zhou leaned forward slightly. "Can you, now? And what I did posed a danger of 'contaminating' our people?"
"It could. You circled the moon, Major -- a fantastic scientific and technological achievement for the National Space Administration, and the people of China. Not to mention a significant personal achievement on your part. And to mark this great achievement of science and reason, this victory for the State, what was it you said?" He leaned even closer, raised his voice slightly. There must be no possibility that those listening would miss what he said. "What was it you said, Major?"
Zhou inched forward in his chair, leaned toward Wu. "Have you ever been in space, Doctor Wu?"
Wu frowned. "You know I haven't, Major."
"Then I doubt you will understand -- but I'm going to tell you anyway." He moved closer, and his expression became animated. "It is one thing to look at the earth around you, and even to sit here on the surface and look up at the night sky, and consider the vastness of the universe above you. You can do that and enjoy a certain amount of detachment. It's all... academic. But it is something very different to actually fall through space, to reach another world and soar above the alien landscape of the moon, and know that it's really there, close enough to touch. Not just an image on a television screen or in a telescope, but there."
His eyes shifted from Wu, looked past him. "And then to look back at the earth... no longer just the ground beneath your feet, but a... a perfect sphere, hanging there in space. The home of humankind... the birthplace of humanity. A thing of indescribable beauty. I can't -- nobody who has seen it could ever believe that it all happened by accident. A sudden explosion of energy and time, from nothingness somehow created this wonder? Once you know in your soul that the earth is real, then you know that all the planets, all the stars, and all the galaxies are real... and how could that have all come about from a random dance of atoms?"
His eyes snapped back into focus, then, looked closely at Wu. "I know you don't understand -- you have spent your whole life believing that it's all just chance -- that we are just chance. That there is no higher law, no plan, no destiny... just the State. But I tell you this, Dr. Wu. I have had the privilege of seeing the world, from the outside, of seeing the cold light of the stars and the fury of the sun with nothing between me and them but a few millimeters of plastic. No combination of random events could create all that beautiful order -- not in fourteen billion years, not in a hundred and forty billion years. I have seen the truth and can no longer believe the lie."
You are mad, Wu thought with some sense of triumph. No question about it. "A marvelous epiphany, Major -- and what was it you said when the 'truth' came to you, up there?"
"You saw the broadcast or at least heard the recording. It was something I heard my brother read, once. 'Great are the works of God, they are pondered by all who delight in them. Glorious and majestic are his deeds.' " He paused and flickered a smile. "From the Bible -- a Psalm I think."
Both men were leaning toward each other, then, on opposite sides of Wu's desk. There was a long silence while Wu studied the major, then he finally said, "You have made the decision about your flight status yourself, Major. By believing -- and speaking -- such nonsense, you show that your competency is in question."
Zhou nodded, his face showing no surprise.
"And as you contemplate a life outside the military, outside the agency, you should know it was all for naught," Wu continued. "Nobody heard you, Major. A billion people were watching that night, but fortunately the Space Administration has a twelve second delay on all broadcast communications. An alert member of the ground crew understood what had happened and silenced your little mistake."
Zhou shook his head. "Mistake? It liberated my soul, Doctor. I didn't say it for those billion people, I said it for me. I spent my life living among God's wonders but took them for granted because they're familiar. I had to see them from outside to understand their magnificence. I will always thank the Space Administration and the State for that." He paused and then added with a smile. "And God, of course." Then, still smiling, he stood up and walked out of the office, walked away from Dr. Wu, walked away from his old life, feeling a little more free with each step.
Grounded, yes -- but now he was free to soar.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 29, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Cousins" by Larry Winebrenner
"Setting an Example" by Larry Winebrenner
"Fight Status" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
Cousins
by Larry Winebrenner
Deuteronomy 18:15-20
The two teenage boys wandered away from the crowd. The old priest didn't have any children but John. His wife's cousin had children like kittens underfoot.
John said, "Yeshua, I'm sorry about your father. I know we all sorta murmured our condolences when you arrived, but the hubbub...."
"That's all right John. We're about over it. As over it as you can be."
"Strange. Your father was young. My father is old. He claims he's not going to die until he sees me fulfill the angel's prophecy."
"So you're going to be a prophet," commented Yeshua. "I thought prophets were made, not born." He smiled at his own joke. John smiled weakly.
"Prophets are called, Yeshua," he said. "And you know it good and well." He gave his cousin a playful poke in the ribs. "I was called before I was born," he added.
Yeshua looked for a spot where the sun didn't pour down so mercilessly. There were no trees. Beside the house likely would get them sucked back into family stuff. He finally walked over to a large rock formation and found a large shadow. John followed.
"We should have brought a waterskin," commented Yeshua.
John jumped up, ran over to the well, and returned. He held out a waterskin to Yeshua. He took a grateful sip and handed it back to John.
"I didn't see you draw water," Yeshua said as John took a sip of his own.
"We always have a couple hanging inside the well in case a stranger comes by."
"That's very thoughtful," said Yeshua. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "How will you begin your ministry as a prophet?"
"I don't know," answered John. Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up. Amos was tending sheep. So was Moses for that matter."
Yeshua picked up a pebble and tossed it lightly in the air and catching it.
"What if God never calls?" he asked.
John locked eyes with his cousin.
"He will call."
Yeshua didn't answer. He just kept tossing the pebble.
"It's scary," said John.
"The warnings from Isaiah?"
"Not the prophets. The law. It says, 'any prophet who speaks in the name of other gods, or who presumes to speak in my name.' "
Yeshua joined in, "a word that I have not commanded the prophet to speak -- that prophet shall die."
"That's not just death," said John. "Not just the body dying. Soul... memory of... any essence."
There was what might properly be labeled deathly silence.
Yeshua broke the depressing mood with the solemn comment, "I'm going to miss you, John."
John started! Alert. He jumped up, grabbing Yeshua in an arm lock around the chest. He threw his cousin into the dust and the two rolled across the ground.
"You won't miss me," yelled John. "I'll take you with me."
Suddenly John was on his back, his arms pinned to the ground, his cousin staring into his face.
"You'll never take me with you," said Yeshua. He stood giving John a hand. He told his cousin, "But I'll go with you if you need me."
They brushed the sand off themselves and each other.
"You'll be a good prophet," predicted Yeshua.
"And I'll be following you," said John.
The two teenage boys, now considered men in their culture, walked off into the hills, talking about the future.
Little did they know the next time they met, John would indeed be a prophet. He would be speaking the words put into his mouth by the almighty. And he would be baptizing his cousin as the Spirit descended like a dove and the voice of God would echo from the heavens. [Yeshua is Hebrew form of Joshua, translated into the Greek as Jesus.]
Setting an Example
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Murray was tired of his eight-year-old brother, Jack, following him all over the place.
"Go home, Jack," he said, "quit following me."
"Mother told you to look after me," reminded Jack.
Murray was on his way to the five and dime store. He didn't want Jack following him there. He'd seen a pocket knife he wanted. He had figured out how to get it.
But Mother's orders were Mother's orders. "Okay," he said, "but stay out of my way."
He entered the store, Jack tagging along behind him. He sauntered over to the counter with rubber bands, paper clips, and other neat things. He had picked up a package of rubber bands and slipped them into his pocket unnoticed just last week.
Next, Murray drifted by the notions counter. Just looking. After examining needles and thimbles without picking them up, he wandered over to the pocket knife counter.
The knife he wanted was a four-blade, pearl handled knife. One of the blades was created to drill holes. It would work well punching extra holes in a belt. It could be used to bore holes through thin boards, like those on orange crates.
Murray didn't look at the knives near the pearl handled one first. He gradually worked his way toward his prize. They were in the bin closest to the front. When he reached the spot he wanted, he reached with his left hand for a pocket knife at the back of the counter. It was a cheap one-bladed knife an ugly green handle. While leaning over the counter, his hidden right hand grabbed the knife he wanted and slipped it into his shirt. He looked at the green handled knife, shook his head, and tossed it back into the bin where he had gotten it.
"C'mon, Jack," he said, "let's go home."
On the way home he slipped the knife out of his shirt and looked at it with admiration. He slipped it into his pocket and whistled on his way home.
As he walked into the house, Mother called him back to the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. The odor of backed sweet potatoes was unmistakable.
"Let me see the knife," she said.
"What knife?" asked Murray.
She stood there with outstretched hand. Reluctantly he pulled the loot from his pocket and handed it to her. She held it up and examined it carefully. She rubbed her thumb across the pearl handle. She held it so she could see how many blades it had.
"This is an excellent knife," she said.
"It has a blade that can punch holes in leather," Murray said excitedly.
"Too bad you can't keep it."
Murray's heart dropped.
"Mr. Gray called me," Mother continued. "He was watching you through the lattice that separates the office area from the rest of the store. He almost missed it. He said if you hadn't slipped it into your shirt, you could have walked out of the store undetected."
Murray felt a surge of pride. Mother continued again.
"He said that if you returned the knife to him personally and said you were sorry and promised never to steal anything again, he wouldn't report you to the police."
Murray took the knife back and with hanging head, he turned to go. Jack spoke up.
"Do I have to give mine back, too?" he asked.
Murray's mouth dropped open. So did Mother's. Mother was right. Jack copied everything his older brother did. Even when Murray didn't know it.
Before Mother could speak, Murray answered his little brother's question. "Yeah, Squirt. You copy everything else I do. Now you can copy this."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Flight Status
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 111
Silence can be golden... but more often than not it's just uncomfortable.
There had been no words exchanged, other than a brief introduction, since the young man entered Wu's office. As the minutes crawled by, Wu became more and more acutely aware of the silence -- noticing, now, the rattle that skirted audibility when the central heating fan kicked in; the gurgle in his stomach that reminded him he'd skipped breakfast. When he shifted in his seat, the sound of his pants rubbing against the soft leather of the chair seemed loud.
Enough, he thought finally, when the first quarter hour had drained away. He leaned forward in his chair -- the springs squeaked, the cushion hissed softly -- and folded his hands on the desk blotter. "You're never going to fly again, you know," he said conversationally, as though they had been speaking the whole time.
The young man didn't flinch, didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He licked his lips, hesitated, and said carefully, "I thought that's what this interview was supposed to determine."
Wu nodded, picked up a pencil, and held it between thumb and forefinger of both hands, rolling it slowly. "Indeed. Officially, that is the purpose of this meeting. Unofficially, the decision has already been made." He hesitated, hoping that didn't sound disloyal to those who were listening, and dismissed that thought with a shake of his head. "You have been the subject of some discussion here at the administration, Major Zhou. But I'm sure you know that, already."
There was a ghost of a smile, then, on that lean, serious face. "I'm not surprised, Doctor Wu."
"That's because you're an intelligent young man, Zhou. If you were not an intelligent, educated, exceptional man you would not have been chosen to be the first representative of the People's Republic to orbit the moon. So you are obviously intelligent enough to understand that the Space Administration can't have its people -- particularly its astronauts -- doing and saying ridiculous things. Bad for the image, you know. Yours and ours."
Wu paused, looked closely at Zhou; there was no reaction. He shrugged, went on. "Certainly, as the Space Administration's chief psychiatrist I am the one who makes the final decision about a return to flight status after your unfortunate breakdown -- but there has been much careful, sober discussion about what my decision must be."
Zhou frowned. "And do you agree with that -- with having the outcome predetermined? Doesn't that interfere with your medical judgment?"
"Predetermined is an incorrect word, Major -- it carries a certain amount of prejudice with it. The outcome of this interview is not predetermined, but it is fair to say that my decision is a foregone conclusion, based on the indisputable evidence."
Again, the ghost of a smile. "Fair to whom?"
"Your question merely reinforces the validity of the decision. What happens to you has nothing to do with what is 'fair' or 'right' for the individual -- the fate of the individual is secondary to the needs of the State. In this case, the State's need is to not have its heroes spouting off superstitious nonsense." He gestured again with the pencil. "Seventy years we have struggled against the common citizen's primitive need for religion. We have yet to stamp out the outdated legacy beliefs of our ancestors. Surely, we can at least stop Western religions from contaminating our people."
Zhou leaned forward slightly. "Can you, now? And what I did posed a danger of 'contaminating' our people?"
"It could. You circled the moon, Major -- a fantastic scientific and technological achievement for the National Space Administration, and the people of China. Not to mention a significant personal achievement on your part. And to mark this great achievement of science and reason, this victory for the State, what was it you said?" He leaned even closer, raised his voice slightly. There must be no possibility that those listening would miss what he said. "What was it you said, Major?"
Zhou inched forward in his chair, leaned toward Wu. "Have you ever been in space, Doctor Wu?"
Wu frowned. "You know I haven't, Major."
"Then I doubt you will understand -- but I'm going to tell you anyway." He moved closer, and his expression became animated. "It is one thing to look at the earth around you, and even to sit here on the surface and look up at the night sky, and consider the vastness of the universe above you. You can do that and enjoy a certain amount of detachment. It's all... academic. But it is something very different to actually fall through space, to reach another world and soar above the alien landscape of the moon, and know that it's really there, close enough to touch. Not just an image on a television screen or in a telescope, but there."
His eyes shifted from Wu, looked past him. "And then to look back at the earth... no longer just the ground beneath your feet, but a... a perfect sphere, hanging there in space. The home of humankind... the birthplace of humanity. A thing of indescribable beauty. I can't -- nobody who has seen it could ever believe that it all happened by accident. A sudden explosion of energy and time, from nothingness somehow created this wonder? Once you know in your soul that the earth is real, then you know that all the planets, all the stars, and all the galaxies are real... and how could that have all come about from a random dance of atoms?"
His eyes snapped back into focus, then, looked closely at Wu. "I know you don't understand -- you have spent your whole life believing that it's all just chance -- that we are just chance. That there is no higher law, no plan, no destiny... just the State. But I tell you this, Dr. Wu. I have had the privilege of seeing the world, from the outside, of seeing the cold light of the stars and the fury of the sun with nothing between me and them but a few millimeters of plastic. No combination of random events could create all that beautiful order -- not in fourteen billion years, not in a hundred and forty billion years. I have seen the truth and can no longer believe the lie."
You are mad, Wu thought with some sense of triumph. No question about it. "A marvelous epiphany, Major -- and what was it you said when the 'truth' came to you, up there?"
"You saw the broadcast or at least heard the recording. It was something I heard my brother read, once. 'Great are the works of God, they are pondered by all who delight in them. Glorious and majestic are his deeds.' " He paused and flickered a smile. "From the Bible -- a Psalm I think."
Both men were leaning toward each other, then, on opposite sides of Wu's desk. There was a long silence while Wu studied the major, then he finally said, "You have made the decision about your flight status yourself, Major. By believing -- and speaking -- such nonsense, you show that your competency is in question."
Zhou nodded, his face showing no surprise.
"And as you contemplate a life outside the military, outside the agency, you should know it was all for naught," Wu continued. "Nobody heard you, Major. A billion people were watching that night, but fortunately the Space Administration has a twelve second delay on all broadcast communications. An alert member of the ground crew understood what had happened and silenced your little mistake."
Zhou shook his head. "Mistake? It liberated my soul, Doctor. I didn't say it for those billion people, I said it for me. I spent my life living among God's wonders but took them for granted because they're familiar. I had to see them from outside to understand their magnificence. I will always thank the Space Administration and the State for that." He paused and then added with a smile. "And God, of course." Then, still smiling, he stood up and walked out of the office, walked away from Dr. Wu, walked away from his old life, feeling a little more free with each step.
Grounded, yes -- but now he was free to soar.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 29, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
