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Fiction, some thoughts and more fiction.

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Saturday, 4 September 2010

An Answer To Prayer

I'm going to die'' he thought as his life flashed before his eyes. ''Surely, my time has come''.

He was a missionary in Africa, called to bring the good news of the gospel to the many that had never heard it.

His friends had tried to talk him out of going. ''It's a big step, out there on your own. Are you sure you want to do this?''.

He had responded by packing his essentials and confirming his flight out of London.

Upon arrival, the village inhabitants had been friendly at first, adapting to the new found help and genuine friendship, but they began to fear when they heard rumours from those that disapproved, that the white man was out to kill.

As he went on his daily ritual to bring food and clothing to those that were in need, on this particular occasion he found a gathering outside one of the familiar huts.

He heard chanting and shouts and as he walked closer they drew spears, hissed at his newly un-welcomed approach.

Two of the men he had come to know very well ran over and grabbed him in a headlock as he was dragged away and tied up by a tree.

He knew then that his life was in danger. Their once friendly smiles had turned into twisted contempt a he was met with looks of disapproval.

He heard the cricket sound, and smelt the freshly lit fire ready to cook the bush meat that had been caught earlier with his help.

The women and children hid inside the huts looking outside, seeking comfort and solace in the safety of their humility.

Their eyes revealed the fear they felt for his own life.

''I'm going to die'' he thought ''Surely, my time has finally come''.

He closed his eyes and did what he knew best. He prayed a simple prayer.

As his newly found enemies drew closer, their grimaces emphasised their intent.

He closed his eyes and waited for the what was to come.

And then he heard it.

He opened his eyes in surprise, for it was faint at first, he was unsure if what he so longed for had deceived him. He cocked his head to one side as it was roughly pushed back.

'Sit still''. His captures spat.

He cowered in his makeshift prison, tied and bound and listened.

It was a definite sound. A sound met with the softly blowing wind, and an echo that seemed out of place.

He looked up and saw, not one, not two, but a few hundred men running towards him. At the sound of the rush, he prayed the simple prayer.

The strangers rushed forth and raised their weapons as they invaded the space. The inhabitants ran forth ready to fight, but eventually turned and ran in defeat faced by a number not to be conquered. These tall strong strange men they raged against were no match.

He was untied and lead away to safety. His salvation had come.

''What happened that day?'' his friends asked when he was back home in London as he recalled the story. ''Where did all those men come from''?

''I don't know'' he replied. ''I simply prayed, and there I found my rescue''.

''What did you pray exactly?'' One friend asked.

''I simply prayed', he recalled ''For You have commanded Your angels concerning me to guard me in all Your ways''.

''Psalm 91'', his friend whispered the colour draining from his face.

''What is the matter?'' he asked concerned at the change he saw.

His friend took a deep breath. '''For on that same day that you were in trouble, I and these few here got together feeling the need to pray for you. We stood in agreement and prayed that as the Lord has commanded His angels to guard you in all of your ways, that He surely should''.

He was stunned into silence.

''We asked that you be surrounded, not by one, not two, but a few hundred men''.

On his knees he fell, and gave thanks to the God he believed in, the one who truly was his salvation.