Pearls and Presence, Chapter Four- Hope

If I looked out the windows of this tower I would see the ocean from here, and I could watch the gulls swooping and gliding, and see the beauty that is sparkling on the surface of the water below. The sun is shining through red stained-glass, and it tries to reach me. But I never look up, I never look out, because I am too busy worshiping. I come here often to honor my idols. The Accuser always follows me here- it’s his favorite place also. He watches me closely but never says a word. His eyes glow with desire, and they never leave me for a moment. They stare at me unblinkingly and wait. I have seen these haunting eyes in my dreams.

~*~

Mara was intrigued by the treasure. “Where did this come from?” she wondered. 

Nobody ever visited the island. She wondered briefly if Achor might know something about it. But she quickly pushed thoughts of him away.

She tugged at the side of the strand of pearls that had the word on it, trying to wipe it clean with her hands. She moved it this way and that, trying to free it from the kelp. The pearls were smooth and white and perfect, and they were hopelessly stuck.

Mara became lost in thought, remembering what this could mean. 

There was something from the past….something about perfume, anointing, baptism, purity, community and the forgiveness of white roses. 

She remembered a Presence, one before she walked through the Valley of Achor…

…a time before she took refuge in isolation. Before she became bitter.

And she felt a reminder of Hope that surpasses understanding, one that comes on the wind with the spray of the sea, the one that smells sweet like peppermint and deep like lavender and sounds bright like freedom and feels safe like home.

 “That name, this pearl.” She looked up at the seagulls and directed her words to their curious beady eyes. “This was a gift from Someone, and there is something I must do, something I need to surrender.” She looked out towards the sea, but she knew not what she saw, because she was watching a distant memory from her past. 

“There is someone I must meet with, a story I still need to write. I should talk to Him about it. But where is He?” She hardly knew where these thoughts were coming from or that she spoke them aloud.

The gulls listened closely, heads tilting from one side to the other. One by one they began returning to their nests, settling in and comforting their frightened young.

Rousing herself, Mara came to her senses and realized with urgency that she had a great deal she needed to record in her journal.

          Throwing the stick down on the mess of seaweed, she stood up and brushed the wet sand off her hands and knees.  She looked down at the pearl necklace one last time, realizing she could not bring it home with her until she freed it from the kelp. Reluctantly Mara stepped back and glanced towards the embankment, knowing that she couldn’t waste any more time or her inspiration would be lost. 

She decided to come back later after she was done writing. She piled several large rocks around the seaweed to secure it down safely and then began to carry out her original intent, to launch her tiny fishing boat and catch a meal.

          After a quick harvest of clams and fish, she took one last look at the strange treasure, making a mental note of its location in order to return to it later with tools to untangle it from the mass of heavy seaweed. Then she departed with an eager yearning to return as soon as possible.

          As Mara was pushing her laden cart up the hill, she heard a small avalanche of rocks cascading down towards the beach on her left.  She stopped and stared, but there was nothing unusual to see among the large rocks from where she was standing.

A strange feeling came over Mara, and she longed to search among the caves and crevices in the side of the hill to see what had made that noise.  Without a doubt it was not Achor- he always looked warily upon the sea with distaste in his eyes. One place that Mara knew he would never follow her was the beach- he had an aversion to water and vast open spaces. He never set foot on the sand- he preferred the confines of his dark Valley filled with idols.

  So maybe the disturbance had to do with the pearls she had found?  But she knew that Achor would probably start searching for her in her vineyard if she took any longer coming home, so Mara forced herself to continue walking. She must keep him away from her roses.

She consoled herself with the promise that she would return later in the cool of the evening, just as soon as she had finished her chores and, most importantly, her writing.

~*~

The quick pace at which she was pushing the heavy cart up the hill soon warmed her, and she was panting by the time she pushed it into the small shed next to the house. 

“You’re in quite a hurry this morning,” a smooth voice said behind her, startling Mara out of her activity.  She turned around to meet the familiar face and dark prying eyes staring down intently into hers.

“Achor.”  Mara blushed and backed up slightly.  She didn’t know what else to say, remembering their last fight not so long ago. She stood next to her cart and awkwardly leaned against it, wiping the perspiration from her brow. She stared at the ground by his feet, avoiding his face.

She didn’t want to admit she was relieved to see him again, nor did she want to tell him why she was in such an excited rush.

“What is it? Something happened.” Achor prodded for an answer. Since he could not enter her mind, he read her face, studying her every move quite intently and hanging onto her every word.

“Oh, it’s nothing interesting” Mara said with a tinge of annoyance that he was endlessly asking her personal questions.  “I am running low on supplies, so I just wanted to see if I could gather some clams and do some early fishing.”  She paused, hoping he wouldn’t ask if she had another dream about the storm.  She didn’t want to talk to Achor about her dreams.  But he evaluated her face and seemed to be satisfied with the impression.

“So,” he dismissed that conversation and smiled down at her with benevolent swagger, “can I walk you to the house?  I don’t have to be anywhere in particular, and I could use some company. I won’t talk too much, I promise.” He smiled coyly, falling into step beside her.

“Well, ok,” Mara responded, hiding her uncertainty.  Although she wanted to believe that his offer was friendly, she couldn’t help the doubt that rose up inside her.  It made her feel vulnerable, and she did not like it.  She knew Achor presented himself as a gentleman, but still she never fully trusted anything he said, although she wanted to and tried.

In her memory Mara could hardly recall a time when he had not been a constant presence in her life of isolation.  They sometimes walked together on the trail in the evenings and made up fanciful stories about what lay beyond Empire Island.  She never felt any direct imposition during these conversations, because he knew when to respect her insecurity.

 This was why he now watched her face both when she spoke and when she was silent, so he would know exactly what to say to make her feel safe with him. He always made suggestions that resonated with her deepest fears in a way that short-circuited her judgement.  He seemed to know her even better than she knew herself, which was daunting. 

“What was so interesting out on the bay, anyhow?” he asked as they walked side by side towards the house together.  “I have noticed you watching it closely the past few days. You are starting to make me very jealous.”  At this, Achor tilted his head, ran his fingers into his hair and put on a dramatically sad expression on his face.

Mara surprised herself and laughed out loud at his unusual display of comedy, which made Achor drop his act and laugh, too.  She composed herself and corrected him.

“You know, sometimes I get tired of you accusing me, mister!” Mara shook her head, smiling to hide her confliction.  He may sometimes joke about his jealousy, but there was interrogation beneath his light words. She wasn’t sure how to answer his initial question, so she remained silent for a long while. He didn’t ask her again.

The two walked slowly, as the path between the shed and the house was not far. 

They stopped in front of her door.

“This is my stop.  I really should hurry, so I can collect my baskets and start cooking all those fish. I have a lot to do.”  Mara turned to push open the door.

“Allow me to help, won’t you? I will wait here.” Achor stood obediently with his hands clasped in front of him, feet firmly planted on the doorstep, with a demure and obedient countenance.

“Well, alright.” Mara hesitated, seeing his attempt at persuading her through easy compliance. She hurried inside, gathered up several woven baskets in her arms, and came back out to where he was standing. She handed him one of the more cumbersome baskets and they carried them across the lawn.

Working side by side in the dim light of the shed, Achor and Mara worked to shell the clams and prepare the fish for cooking, separating the different kinds and cleaning them. After her entire collection was attended to, they carried the full baskets back to the house.

Appreciative for his help, Mara smiled up at Achor when they returned to her door. She set her two baskets on the table and returned to get his. As she reached for the largest basket to take inside, their fingers touched. His eyes flickered and he put his hand on her shoulder when she took it from him. She hesitated, debating whether to look at his face, and when she did Mara saw him looking at her in that unsettling way again, with his handsome and searching eyes.

“Thanks for letting me help you with this, Mara. I love to work with you. You are always so busy and I want you to know that I am always available to assist you. You spend so much time in your garden or doing chores.”  He paused, choosing his next words carefully.  “You should take a break once in a while and come visit me in the Valley. Like old times.”

“It has been a while,” stammered Mara, debating whether to rebuke his remark. She decided to pacify him this time with a gentler approach.  “I just don’t ever think to come and visit. The Valley just never comes to mind anymore. I can hardly remember it now,” she added, careful to give that particular qualifier.

“I still would welcome you any time. You used to adore the Valley, when you were in your prime of happiness. I still have all your idols exactly as you left them last. I preserve them for you. I know you will want them again someday.” Achor spoke boldly.

“Oh. Well, um, thank you,” she responded lightly.  She would never visit him there again, nor her idols, ever. There was too much shame in the memory. The influence of desire was still too intimidating to her wounded heart and mind. 

His hand left her shoulder, though his eyes didn’t leave hers.  “Well, see you later, then!” He said brightly.  He threw her another crafty smile that would have made her laugh again if she didn’t know him better.

          She remembered the pearls.

Mara knew she would make quicker time now that Achor was gone, since she was no longer locked in a discussion with him.  She was in such a distracted state that she fumbled with the last basket and almost spilled it.  She set it down, and then she ran over to the kitchen window and looked out.  Before she began her morning chores, Mara wanted to pause and recall her discovery of such a strange and beautiful treasure.

But she kept her emotions in reserve, because now was not the time to feel. It was time to accomplish the tasks at hand.

She had a whole day ahead of her before she returned to the beach. She had to prepare her meals, preserve the remaining food, and tend to her rose beds. And she wanted to write something more in her journal.

 She needed to be present with herself and leave the excitement of her finding at the beach where she left it. Taking a deep calming breath, Mara stepped back from the window and looked around her.  

The room was still and quiet and filled with hope.

~*~

Join me next time for chapter five! 

www.persuasiveabundance.com

To go back to the beginning of this story, click here.

To read my personal confession of redeeming love, click here.

With deepest gratitude for all my readers- 

Rebecca

Pearls and Presence, Chapter Three- Remnants

In the tallest room of the tallest tower are my precious idols. This is where I spend most of my time in worship. I fashioned these idols carefully so that they would be everything I ever wanted, and I wait for them to love me back. I pick them up and turn them over and over in my hands, trying to make them love me. I press them to my heart and kiss them and speak words of adoration. I serve them, I devote my time and energy to them, I sacrifice my life for them. But it is never enough, and I keep giving more and more and hoping for them to reply. But these idols are made of stone. They are perfect, beautiful, cold, and lifeless. They are also safe, because they cannot hurt me, they cannot walk away from me, they cannot reject or abandon me.  They are on a pedestal, and they are mine.

Who will love me?

~*~

Mara pushed the heavy cart away from the house, over several mounds of sandy, grassy earth to the well-worn stone path, rolling the squeaky, wooden wheels over the rocky path towards the beach.  She moved rather quickly, wanting to avoid the guilt which followed closely behind.  Mara turned back just once to see if Achor had left.

  He was still standing in the same spot looking after her, a satisfied look on his face. Several rejected flower petals were scattered on the ground at his feet, glowing bright white and abandoned against the dark soil. Achor stood there by her vineyard, watching her until she was out of sight. Then he turned and walked silently back to the shadows of the Valley.

Mara looked down at the broken, mangled roses. She felt conflicted. She realized she might not see him for several days now. When he retreated, that was always when her vigor for writing returned to her in full measure. But then, eventually, the absence of Achor would make her lonely and she would run out of things to write, and then like clockwork he would return to her side without a word, somehow already knowing that she was lonely and missed his influence.

Mara was loath to admit that when she sent him away it left a hole in her life. She had come to depend on his attentive presence. At times she was secretly glad for the way his criticism motivated her to attain perfection.

And now she couldn’t shake the haunting truth of the words Achor had said to her before Mara departed. “You mismanage the white roses and make so many mistakes with them.”

The shaming words followed her with every step she took. There was so much truth in his condemnation. Painful truth- the kind that goes unaddressed for many years through denial and avoidance.

That night when she got home, Mara was able to compose many powerful words in her journal, ones which told the story of past hurts and present hopes. Writing was the healing balm for the doubts that Achor had inflicted on her heart.

~*~

A few days later Mara was feeling especially motivated and got an early start towards the beach. It was then that she noticed that more seagulls were in the air than usual. 

She was going to her normal spot to search for breakfast, and brought along her cart in case she found any unusual treasures to carry home. She never knew what the ocean would leave behind on its shores- rare rocks, shells, or driftwood, pieces of lost treasures- delightful relics of ancient stories that she would never know...

…broken and fragmented remnants of the past that had been broken and refined by the intentional and consistent pressure of the rolling sea. 

Bits of worn-out stories that had been made new by a powerfully destructive love.

She pushed her cart across the stony road while avoiding precarious ruts and rocks on the path. On each side of the pathway stood tall seaside grasses which moved with even the slightest breeze.  The trail came close to the shores of the bay, and the familiar smell of seashells and driftwood reached her nose as she came closer to the beach.  A gap between the rolling hills allowed a wide view of the coastline. 

Mara looked out on the water, remembering again the floating object she had seen there several nights ago.  Had it been a whale, or was it indeed a boat?  She found herself slowing down to study the rolling motion of the water, searching for the unexpected.

          As the empty wooden cart bounced over the sandy road, she thought again of the wild and majestic man in white from her dream.  Though she knew it was an empty curiosity, she stared intently in all directions, walking slower to take everything in around her.  What she was looking for, she didn’t know for sure. 

          Forging ahead, she turned away from the tiny path and continued on her way down the hill through uncharted grasses.  As Mara approached the sand, she noticed a group of seagulls suddenly take flight into the air on the opposite side of the beach, squawking loudly in protest.  They flew up from their nesting area, which was blocked from her view by another grassy hill on her left.  The tall dry grass tickled her ankles as she strode down the hill. 

As she came closer to the water, a sudden gust of salty air blew her gold-spun brown hair off her shoulders. With brazen freedom her dress billowed out, molding to her legs in front and trying to take flight behind her.  She put her hand on her head to hold down her over-sized tan sunhat, which she always wore to keep the sun off her face, and pressed her other hand to her heart. Her eyes closed and she paused to honor the current of the air. 

She was a picture of regal repose.

          The ocean stretched out before her so far that she couldn't quite differentiate it from the sky where they kissed on the horizon.  A light mist hovered over the water, the ghost of clouds which had been there in the early morning, before being burned off by the heat of the morning sun.  Several feet below the bluff on which she stood lay the sandy beach, where the waves crashed freely against the shore, unrestrained and powerful.

She felt the familiar longing to dig her toes into the warm sand and just sit idly by, watching the endless ocean stretch out before her.  She wanted to lay there on the sand and simply enjoy her existence within the natural world. She wanted to stand with her hands lifted up to the sky and sing. She wanted to sit and meditate on the vastness of the sea. 

The shore had always been her inspiration for writing, and perhaps, thought Mara, that was just what she needed to find something new to compose.

Glancing up at the sun and shielding her eyes, she saw that she still had time before the day was too warm to forage the shore. So feeling suddenly ambitious, she took off her shoes and abandoned them and the empty cart at the top of the bluff so she could wander freely and unhindered along the beach.  

She jumped down the short, rocky embankment to the sand below, and the sand crunched delightfully under her bare feet where she landed. The pressure of her steps made cracks in the soft dried sand and left a trail of imprints behind her.  She walked across the beach until her toes met the foamy edges of the tide.  

She paused and stood there, breathing in the fresh, salty air and listening to the sounds of the waves breaking on the shore.  She tilted her head back so that her profile was kissed by the bright sunlight.

She closed her eyes, brought her hands together at heart center and raised her soul up to the surface of her awareness, drawing it out into the light. And for a moment she was at peace and all was well. She smiled with deep joy. 

But then, pulled by the weary habit of worn repetition, her mind drifted back to Achor, and her soul receded and her countenance fell.

And then without warning something cold and clinging touched her feet, enveloping them with a groping heaviness.

          Gasping and stepping back, she saw that there, swishing back and forth in the tide, was a large, broken stalk of seaweed. Tangled in its mass of cold tentacles was a discarded string of pearls, bright and shining, peeking out from within.

          “When did this thing get here?” she asked out loud. Curious, Mara reached to pick up a stick of driftwood that lay a few feet away on the sand and used it to drag the massive stalk away from the tide.  It was heavy, a great clump of water-logged kelp leaves, so that she had to drag it very slowly and with much effort. 

When it was on higher ground away from the water, she caught her breath and paused to stare down at the string of white which peeked out from within. It stood in stark contrast to the dark oily green of the plant. Mara slowly got on her knees and bent cautiously over the tangled mess, using the stick to lift some leaves up in order to reveal more of the strange treasure. 

It was radiantly bright, and it was crafted so expertly that Mara couldn’t imagine how human hands could have done it.  Nothing on the island could explain this. She sat back on her heels and stared in wonderment. Her mind raced to understand. She blinked several times in confusion and then continued to poke and prod the entangled necklace this way and that.

She discovered small letters on one of the pearls- Tirzah.

“Tirzah” she read it aloud. She had meant to whisper, but it came out abruptly as a loud and powerful declaration which echoed and bounced back at her off the rocky cliffs. 

And as she spoke the word it was startling and invasive, like a foreign voice that breaks and shatters the total silence.  

The entire flock of gulls on the other side of the beach took off suddenly from their nesting ground, abandoning their young and calling shrilly to one another in excitement. They flew up to land on the cliffs above and settled in to observe Mara from a safe distance, watching her with curious animal eyes to see what she would do next with this mysterious and tangled remnant from the past...

~*~

Join me here next time for chapter four! 

www.persuasiveabundance.com

To go back to the beginning of this story, click here.

To read my public confession of redeeming love, click here.

With deepest gratitude for all my readers- 

Rebecca

Pearls and Presence, Prologue- Longing

I have built an empire next to the sea. It is a beautiful empire, custom crafted by my own strength to include all the things I have ever wanted.  The foundation is fear, and it rests firmly upon the sand. It is built up with my well-worn tools of desire, control, ambition, jealousy, envy, pride, and obsession. It is enclosed by walls of insecurity, doubt and fear. These are strong walls that nobody can penetrate, and the door of weakness is locked. I once had the key, but I don’t remember now where I left it last. It doesn’t matter, because I never plan to leave. This is where I live, this is my home.

Dear God. What have I done?

~*~

The sun was sinking into the watery horizon of the bay, marking the end of another day.  The feathery clouds that stretched across the pale sky were stained with pink, red, and copper traces.  The ocean extended to the horizon, and tiny sparkles glinted across the gentle rolling motion of its surface.  On the shore, small crabs scuttled away from the lapping waves, hurrying to bury themselves in the grainy sand before prying seagulls snatched them up.

A light breeze played across the bay, gently cooling everything in its path with a soft, sighing touch as it traveled across the air.  Intricate patterns of brown and gold and tan shifted ever so slowly in many directions across the sandy ground, guided by the wind.  Palm trees, old and weathered, stood proudly in abundance along the winding shore.  Waves crashed on the beach with power and prestige, slowly wearing away the rocks and shells that rolled back and forth in its tide.

The sound of the sea could be heard to varying degrees from any vantage point on the small island, with the exception of the Valley. In that place, there was no evidence of beach life- it was devoid of the sea breeze and the gulls never frequented its shadowy confines. It was frequently shrouded in fog. The only signs of life here were stone faces which looked down upon their altars with immobile passivity, waiting for a suitable sacrifice. This godforsaken piece of land was called the Valley of Achor, named after its master. The inhabitant that dwelt here carried himself with well-practiced patience and gallantry, for the prince of darkness is indeed a gentleman.  The Valley was meant to be the source of all bitterness and the birthplace for the dark night of the soul. Here was found the key to death.

With the exception of the Valley, all other living things on Empire Island were calm and existed simply.  All things worked in unison just as expected, every day, for an easy and comfortable existence.  In such an isolated world here, life was simple and safe.  Not a particularly enjoyable way of living, but a steady form of survival.  There were no undue surprises, no interruptions in the daily routines of adequacy on this island.  There were no shameful reminders of pagan idols, as those were all hidden discreetly within the confines of the Valley. And over time, this predictability and comfort had become the definition of peace.

          The sun finally sank below the water, leaving traces of silver ripples which traveled outward into the ocean, to be lost from sight.  Seagulls came to rest on their rocky beds, and the frantic crabs by day found sleepy refuge in the dark cover of night.  Several seashells, unbroken by the tide, rocked back and forth on the sand in the foamy edges of the water, creating a subtle clinking chime as they were pushed together and pulled apart by the tide.

          The stars came out, twinkling in their black velvety beds of night sky.  The clouds were no longer shades of red, but reflected the white, pale glow of the waxing moon.  One of the sandpipers somewhere below the jut of rocks gave a last call before silence settled in on the small bay.

And in the distance, there was a disturbance of ripples in the swaying ocean which only the silvery fish noticed. In the peaceful silence, a small boat floated quietly into view, far out on the moonlit horizon, traveling across the water towards the shore – towards the sleeping island.

~*~

We are worlds, we are bodies
Empires of dirt and grace
Silhouettes and reflections
Caught in His holy flame

–Empires, Hillsong

The inspiration was escaping so rapidly that she couldn’t capture it in words. Her blue eyes were filled with uncanny longing, and her light-brown hair was escaping from her long braid in defiance of her best attempts.

The blank pages were increasingly frustrating.  Each empty sheet seemed to represent a wasted day, a mark of shame, or perhaps a lack of control.  The white space in front of her reminded her of a willing laziness and self-destructive selfishness.  All these things were combined and made tangible in a single and very heavy sigh.

For years and years she had known what needed to be done, but as it grew from an idea to a realization, her resolve moved from a place of hope to one of apathy. She needed to give up her idols, but she couldn’t find the words. She needed to write her story, but she didn’t know how to begin. Something held her back from writing- a lack of self-awareness, a fear of looking too deep inside her own mind. Instead, she remained always on the outskirts of her motivations, in a place of unconcerned acceptance where there was no need for asking any troubling questions. She danced around her own thoughts, keeping to the edges in order to avoid offense.

This was perhaps the biggest problem, and the reason why she couldn’t find any inspiration.  Apathy is quite possibly a writer’s greatest enemy, and it was certainly hers in this moment.  And yet, though it stopped her from pouring herself onto paper, it also helped her to walk through the hard days with her head held high in a queenly state of dignified denial.  For the princess of light is indeed a lady. Her writing was meant to be the source of all introspection and the birthplace for the freedom of the soul. Here was found the key to life.

This is why she felt such tension and resistance when she sat at her desk. So Mara pushed her chair back and placed her journal back into the desk.  Instead of writing, she decided to take a walk down to the seashore, hoping for some kind of discovery in the smell of the salty air and the sound of the crashing waves.  The eternity of the ocean was always somehow calming, a soothing balm for the unquenchable desire that she carried with her each day.  Her mind would wander often to the troubling idols of her past, but the sound of the sea would always pull it back again.

She tugged her knitted sweatshirt over her head and slipped on a pair of worn sandals.  The sun was setting and she knew the temperature would drop, but something about the feel of the warm pebbles and cool sand prompted her to approach the beach with sandal clad feet no matter the weather.  She liked the sensations when she removed her shoes and walked the shoreline; the smooth pebbles and sea stones retained some warmth from the sun for a short time, contrasted against the coarse sand which had quickly cooled. She liked the inspiration that crashed upon her there, wave by wave.

It was as if she was able to steal the last bit of warmth from the seashore every evening and keep if for herself, like a coveted secret.  For the seashore often called to her with promises she couldn’t articulate in words, but which spoke to her spirit with an eternal perspective. The feeling of walking the shore was a calming ritual, one that could transport her to any memory in her life, to times before she had worshiped lifeless idols in the Valley of Achor.

She walked the shoreline every evening, longing for Someone she did not know, and trying to articulate the words she would like to say to Him. She was waiting for a treasure of great price to wear around her neck and a crown of beauty to place upon her head. These called to her soul…

~*~

Join me here next time for the next chapter!

To learn more about my personal story, click here.

With gratitude for all my readers- 

Rebecca