Sitting At His Feet

I wrote this devotion years ago and wanted to share it now.

One day I kept hearing the words, “Sitting at His feet, sitting at His feet.  There’s no other place I’d rather be, than sitting at His feet”.

I have often imagined myself sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to Him share the Word.  I think of the two sisters Mary and Martha.  How very different they were.  The Bible gives an account of what happened one day when Jesus visited them.  As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a village where a woman named Martha welcomed them into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught.  But Martha was worrying over the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”

But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are so upset over all these details! There is really only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it-and I won’t take it away from her.”

A lot of times we are like Martha fussing and fretting over things and not taking the time to spend with Jesus.  Just recently, I realized that I had gotten so caught up in doing the Lord’s work that I was neglecting Him.   I missed my early morning devotions with Jesus.  I missed sitting at His feet so I made a point of setting aside time each morning for Him.  When I sat at His feet, allowing His words to fill my mind, I was overwhelmed by what He had done for me on the cross.

The reality of what Jesus has done for me—for all of us sank in.  And like Mary I don’t want anything to take this away from me.  I don’t want the worries and cares of the world or the demands of my daily life to rob me of the truths I learn when I take the time to sit at Jesus’ feet.

Martha had placed more importance on the preparation of dinner rather than on the guest while Mary had done the opposite.  The words Jesus taught were food for Mary’s soul—they filled her and satisfied her more than any dinner could.  Martha needed to partake in that spiritual food too.

Like Mary we need to take time to sit down and be fed by Jesus.   I can almost hear her singing the words, “Sitting at His feet, there’s no other place I’d rather be than sitting at His feet.”  Jesus invites you and me to leave what we’re doing for the moment and come and sit at His feet.

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A Vision of Beauty

She was leaning against the building, a vision of beauty.  Flaming curly red hair framed a beautiful face.  She was obviously waiting for someone–a friend or a boyfriend?  He hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

As he stood there, trying to figure out whether or not he should approach her, she moved away from the wall and started walking towards him.  His heart began to pound and although on the surface he appeared calm, he was nervous.  Was she coming over to tell him that she didn’t appreciate him staring at her?  How embarrassing would that be?  Well, there was a first time for everything.

Just as she got close, she smiled and he felt relief wash over him.  As far as he knew a woman didn’t smile at you before she put you in your place.  He waited with bated breath to see what would happen next.  For the moment, he smiled back.

“David Corbyn?” she said.

He was surprised now.  She knew his name.  “Yes?”

“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked.  “I guess you wouldn’t because the last time we saw each other I was a scraggly kid in pigtails and glasses.”

He stared at her and then exclaimed, “Lexi Davies?”

She laughed, making his heart skip a beat.  “Yes!”

“Wow! You’ve changed.”  He couldn’t believe that this was the same little girl who used to hang about him.  She was his best friend, Erick’s little sister.  “Little Lexie is all grown up now.”

“You haven’t changed much,” she remarked.  “You’re as handsome as ever.  I had a big crush on you, you know.”

He felt his face go hot.  “I didn’t know that,” he confessed.  “I thought you just liked being around me because I was always bringing treats and lending you books.  You used to read a lot.”

“I still do.  As a matter of fact, I work at Daunt Books.”

“So, how are your Mom and Dad?”

“They are doing well.  They recently retired and are planning to go on a Mediterranean cruise next month.”

“What about Erick?  The last time I heard from him, he was in Jerusalem.”

“He’s busy juggling a family and his job as a photojournalist.  He couldn’t be happier.”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Well, I was waiting for my friend, Veronica.  We were supposed to go the The Jazz Café to see Atlantic Soul Orchestra.  I thought she’d be here by now.”

“I thought you were waiting either for a friend or a boyfriend.  I was hoping that it wasn’t the latter.”

She smiled.  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

She started to say something when, her cell rang.  “Maybe this is Veronica.”  She answered the call.  It was her friend and from what he overheard, it sounded like she wasn’t going to make it.  “Something’s come up so she isn’t coming,” Lexi explained a couple of minutes later.  “Say, do you have any plans?”

He shook his head, thankful that he didn’t and even if he did, he would have cancelled them in a heartbeat.

“Would you like to go to the concert with me?” she asked, sounding hopeful.  “I know it’s short notice–

“I can’t think of a more enjoyable way to spend my evening,” he said, his expression serious now.

She blushed.  “Me too,” she said, sounding a little breathless.  “We’d better go now before we’re late.”  She went over to the wall and grabbed her knapsack from the sidewalk.  He joined her and they walked to his car which was parked nearby.

The concert was amazing.  It was the best band he had ever seen.  Afterwards, Lexi and he walked to a nearby restaurant where they enjoyed a tasty dinner and each other’s company.  It was the first of many dates and the beginning of a lifetime together.

 

 

 

Sources:  Careers Portal; Wikipedia;

Back in the Saddle

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

Initially, she had been nervous going to the JP Morgan’s Re-Entry Program, a 14-week training experience for women like her who left the workforce but after being encouraged by family and friends, she decided to go for it.  Besides, she missed working.

She had left her job to be a stay at home Mom of three but now that her husband was deceased and the kids were grown, she longed to be among the working class.  Concerns about ageism had prevented her from venturing out before now.

Here goes.  Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs.

97 Words

This was written for Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here. To read other stories  based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Gender Fair

Waiting on the Docks

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Photo by Michelle De Angelis

As the boat neared the docks, he looked for her and his heart leapt in his chest when he saw her.  She was leaning against the warehouse, waiting for her father.  He hoped one day that she would be waiting for him.

She turned when she heard them approaching.  Flaming curly red hair framed her beautiful face.  He knew that it was foolish for him to feel this way about a girl who was not yet twenty and still in school but he couldn’t help it.  Maggie had gotten into his system and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  He knew because he had tried.  He had tried to get over her with other women but soon realized how pointless that was and how unfair it was to them.

Maggie’s father was the skipper and he was the engineer.  They got along very well.  The other man treated him like a son but he wasn’t sure what his reaction would be if he knew how he felt about his daughter.

172 Words

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Infatuation

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Photo by Sue Vincent

“With all the money this latest book is raking in, we’ll be able to go on an extended holiday in the South of France,” Roz Taylor remarked to Valentijn Liske after he signed the last copy.  He was book signing and having his picture taken with fans at Waterstones Piccadilly.  It had been a busy but very pleasant afternoon.

Valentijn didn’t reply.  He stood up, stretched and donned his jacket.  He was ready to escape to his home in Yorkshire.  After thanking and having a few words with the organizers of the event, he left the bookshop.

“I think this is your best novel, so far,” Roz said when they were in the car.  She glanced down at a copy that was on her lap.   “I can see it being made into a film like the others.  Can you imagine how much money will roll in?  We can use some of it to buy and develop the land which is featured here on the cover.  You’ve always entertained the idea of owning a home in Queensland.”

Valentijn turned to her, “You keep saying ‘we’,” he muttered.

Her head shot up and snapped to the left, her eyes wide as they met his.   “What do you mean?” she asked.  “This book was a collaboration.”

I wrote it,” he informed her coldly.

“Yes, but the idea for the cover was mine.  You wanted to have a dead body with a smoking gun next to it but I suggested that you have a skull lying in a field to add mystery to it.”

“And for that suggestion you think you’re entitled to everything?  You’re beginning to sound like my greedy ex-wife.”

She swallowed hard.  “I thought we were in this together.  I thought I was more than your agent.  I thought we had something…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he snapped.  “From now it will be strictly business between us.”

“But, why?”

“I’ve grown bored with you, Roz, it’s that simple.”

Color flooded her pale cheeks and her eyes flashed at him.  “It’s that little tart I’ve  seen hanging around you lately, isn’t it?”

“I presume you’re referring to Alina?”

“Yes!  I notice the way she’s been throwing herself at you and you encourage her.”

“She’s full of spirit which I rather like.”

“Have you and she…?”

“Slept together?  No, not as yet.  But I promise you it wouldn’t be long before we do–” He was interrupted by a hard slap across the face.  He rubbed his smarting skin, his gaze narrowing.

“You disgust me,” Roz cried as hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks.  They were stopped at a traffic light.  “Find yourself another agent.  I’m through with you!”  She tossed the book at him, grabbed her bag and pushed open the door, slamming it hard behind her.

Valentijn watched her go, shrugged and then, tapping the glass partition, he said to the driver, “Turn right at the next intersection.  I’d like to stop by the florist.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Valentijn settled back in his seat, smiling slightly as he looked out of the window.  He could just picture Alina’s face when she saw the lavender gladioli.  Lavender was her favorite color and the gladioli symbolized his infatuation for her, a girl almost half his age.  And the girl who had cost him the best agent he ever had.  He hoped she was worth the trouble.

Infatuation is the most fragile kind of love – C.S. Lewis

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Bone at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Take the Fall

“This is madness,” he thought to himself but yet here he was parked outside of the university, waiting for her.  Sometimes she would be with a friend or in a group and other times she was alone.  And each time, when she saw him, she would look at him without making it obvious.

He had no business being here.  “I should be heading back to the office and finish marking the stack of term papers sitting on my desk.”  Yet, he remained, his eyes scanning the drove of students for her.  Would she be alone today?  He hoped so.  And if she were, what was he going to do?  He hoped she didn’t think that he was stalking her.  He was no stranger to this campus.  In fact, it was at one of his lectures where he first laid eyes on her.  She was sitting in the second row.   He could still remember what she was wearing that day.   And he remembered thinking that her lipstick was way too bright.  How he managed to get through the lecture, he had no idea.

At the end, while other students were crowding him and asking questions, she stood beside the chair where she had been sitting and watched him.  Their eyes met and held for what seemed like eternity before she turned and walked away.  He watched her go, wondering if he would see her again.  For the rest of the afternoon, he could think of nothing else but her.  What was her name?  What was she studying?  Did she have a boyfriend?

Driven by a compulsion he couldn’t explain, he found himself outside of the university the following day, hoping that he would see her.  And he did.  His heart pounded wildly against his ribs when he saw her walking towards his car with a friend.  She was laughing at something the other girl said when she spotted him.  Without missing a beat, she met his gaze directly, making him blush before she walked past the car.

He broke out of his reverie when she appeared now.  She was alone today and when she saw him, she stopped and stood there, staring at him.  Today, she was wearing a black hat, black jacket over a white tee shirt and jeans.  Her hair was pulled together in a side plait, making her look much younger and her lips were bright red.  And then, she moved.  She’s coming towards me, he realized.  Nervousness and excitement filled him.  He ran his hands over his hair, straightened his clothes before getting out of the car.  He leaned nonchalantly against the car and waited.

When she reached him, she smiled and held out her hand.  “Hello, Professor Remington,” she said.

She remembers my name.  He cleared his throat, smiled and shook her hand which felt very small in his.  “Hello, Miss–?”

“Sydney Bradshaw”

“Pleased to meet you, Sydney.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed your lecture.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said.  “I have another one coming up next month.”

“Where?” she asked.

“The University of Roehampton.”

“What’s the lecture about?”

“Self-victimization or victim playing.  I will explain what it is, the reasons why people engage in it and the signs.”

“That sounds very interesting.  I’d definitely like to come.”

“I hope you do,” he said.  “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

She shook her head at once.  “No, I don’t.”

“Good.  And I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.  I’d like to continue our conversation more over cappuccinos.”

She smiled.  “I’d like that too.”

He walked around to the passenger-side of the car and opened the door for her.   They went to a nearby cafe where they the rest of the afternoon, talking over cappuccinos and the following evening, they had dinner at a charming French restaurant.   By the end of the year, they were engaged.

…ignore the risk and take the fall. And if it’s meant to be it’ll be worth it all – Daniel Seavey

Sources:  Genius; Wikipedia; The Daily EvergreenRate Speeches

Abandoned and Rescued

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Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Retired officer Patrick Miller was sweeping his yard when he thought he heard what sounded like a baby crying.  He stopped and listened.  It was a baby crying and the sound was coming from the green dumpster.  Dropping the broom, he rushed over and threw open the top to peer inside.  The naked infant was inside of a garbage bag.

Patrick called for his wife who ran out to see what the commotion was.  She was shocked to see him inside of the dumpster. “What on earth are you doing in there?” she exclaimed.

“There’s a baby in here.  Bring a blanket to wrap him in.  Then, call 911.”

She raced into the house, got the blanket and when he handed the child to her, she wrapped him snugly.  When he climbed out of the dumpster, she handed the child to him then rushed off to phone 911.

As they waited for the police to get there, she, being a nurse, examined the infant.   “He’s suffering from hypothermia but once he gets to the hospital, he should be fine.  Poor little thing.  Who would abandon a baby?”

“You’d be surprised,” Patrick said.  “It happens more often than you think.”

199 Words

This story was inspired by a true story of a baby who was found in a dumpster with his umbilical cord still attached.  His mother had left him there and it turned that the man who found him was his biological father.  He didn’t even know that his girlfriend was pregnant.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Sources:  CTV News