Mackenzie stood by the sliding glass door. Raindrops tapped on the glass, beckoning her to come and play. A smile crept its way onto her face. She turned the lock and pushed the door open. She stood for a moment in the door’s frame, the rain tickling her toes. Giggling, Mackenzie turned around, shut the door, and ran into the back yard, arms stretched out to the heavens.
She had so many hurts she was holding onto, but in her act of running through the rain, Mackenzie realized something.
Like rain washes away dirt, so God’s love washes away hurt.
Sitting in their rocking chairs on the front porch, Girard turned to look at her.
Age had yet to take its toll on Ellen’s skin. Her blue-green eyes still sparkled the same way that they did when he first met her at the diner forty-two years ago. Her hair had since turned salt-and-pepper in color, and had also grown a considerable amount. Her smile always lit up the room, and her laugh was contagious.
Girard loved these things about Ellen, and he fell more in love with her every day.
One more day would mark their fortieth wedding anniversary.
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a continuation of Word Nineteen: Gray and Word Sixteen: Questioning. Please read those two stories to understand more of what’s going on here…)
When Dean died, my world went gray.
I remember the moment I first heard the news. Mom sat me down in the living room. Tears streamed from her reddened eyes, her lips trembled as she tried her best to explain to me, a nine-year-old at the time, that Dean would not be returning home…
I didn’t believe her at first. I got angry. I threw a fit and cried and screamed and kicked and yelled. But then it really sunk in…big brother Dean was not coming home…not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.
The pain of this loss wrenches my heart.
The city was dark, the roads a mess. Homes with one rooms, most lit with just a candle, and with tin sheets nailed to mud walls. Streets not only carried commuters during daylight, but they doubled as sewage dumps at all times. Trash cluttered any semi-grassy area, and no playgrounds were in sight. Children walked around unclothed, and without shoes.
Stacie looked at her surroundings, and with the passing of each second, the more her feelings of discomfort and distrust rose. At nineteen years of age, Stacie had never left the comforts of her home in the United States.