Role-Play

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My name is Ezra and I’m an Angolan woman married to Francisco, a Portuguese businessman.  We have been married for ten years.  We have two children, a boy named Bento and a girl named Mafalda.  We live in Luanda.  During the week, I’m at home alone because Rodrigo is at the office and the children are in school.  I’m a housewife and I love it.  I love taking care of my family.

From the time I was seven years old, I knew that I wanted to be a homemaker when I was older.  My mother, God bless her soul, was my inspiration.  I watched her work tirelessly and happily to take care of the home, my father, my siblings and me.  When I was old enough, I helped around the house.  She taught me how to cook and keep a clean house.  She told me that one day I would be a wife and it was best to start learning how to do things as early as possible.  Sadly, she didn’t live to see me get married or hold her grandchildren.  My father and my siblings were at my wedding.  They were happy for me and warmly welcomed Rodrigo into the family.  They weren’t upset that I married a European man instead of an African man.

Rodrigo and I met when I was working as a cook at a restaurant owned by a family friend.  He came in there one day to have lunch with a client.  After having my Fish Calulu, he wanted to meet me to personally compliment me on the dish.  Feeling a little self-conscious after being in the hot kitchen all morning and not having enough time to fix myself up, I went into the dining-room.  He stood up as I approached.  He was tall and very attractive in his expensive looking grey suit.  I was immediately attracted to him.  He smiled and said in Portuguese, “I wanted to personally tell how much I enjoyed the Fish Calulu.  It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

I smiled shyly.  “Thank you.”

His client had left so we were alone.  “My name is Rodrigo,” he said, extending his large hand.  I looked at it before placing my hand in it.  The long fingers closed over mine in a firm handshake.

“I’m Ezra.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ezra.  I wonder if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

I gulped.  He was asking me out on a date.  I could hardly believe it.  It took a moment for me to say, “Yes.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you here at eight.  “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”  I watched him leave and then returned to the kitchen.

The following night we went for dinner at a popular Portuguese restaurant.  Afterwards, we went for a drive.  We saw each other regularly after that and the following year, we got married.  I quit my job at the restaurant after learning that I was pregnant with Bento.

Life with Rodrigo ideal.  Our sex life is amazing  and sometimes, we indulge in role play which add a little spice to the marriage.  Lately, I have been dressing up as a slave girl while he pretends to be my slave master.   But this is happening way too often.  He wants to do it for every lovemaking session.

Last night, he pulled my dress down about my waist and turned me around so that my bare back was to him and had me hug the bedpost.  He got the whip he had bought from one of those sex stores and started to use it on me.  It didn’t hurt but Rodrigo wanted me to pretend that it did.  When he was done, he dragged the dress off and threw me down on the bed.  I lay there while he ravaged me, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if this nightmare would ever end.  What had started out as harmless fun had become something I dreaded and desperately wanted to stop.  I wanted to be his wife and lover again not his slave.

I’m sitting here in the kitchen, staring out at the window.  I have made up my mind to tell Rodrigo that I’m not going to be his slave in the bedroom anymore.  And if he cares about me and our marriage, he will respect my wishes.  Worst case scenario, I will pack up and leave.  And of course, take Bento and Mafalda with me.

Hours later, I’m in the bedroom and Rodrigo walks after taking a long, hot shower.  He’s stark naked and by the looks of him, he’s in the mood.  I’m standing by the bed, wearing one of my nightgowns.  The slave girl garb was tossed in the garbage along with the whip.  I was very determined not to subject myself to that again.  Before he could say anything, I said, “Rodrigo, I’m Ezra, your wife, not your slave girl.  I don’t ever want to play that role again.  I didn’t mind doing it the first few times but you want to do it every time and it’s no longer fun for me.  It has become degrading.  I refuse to do it any more.”

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Rodrigo stared at me.  Silence filled the room and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to say something.  He came over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders, he said as his eyes met mine.  “Me desculpe, querida.  I’m sorry.  I should have realized that this particular type of role playing would affect you.  It was very insensitive of me.  Please forgive me.”

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave and I hugged him around the waist and buried my face in his chest.   He will never know how close I came to leaving him if he had not respected my wishes.

Role-play in marriages is healthy and exciting but make sure that both of you are having fun. Never indulge in role-play which will demean or devalue either of you.

No Aptitude

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Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 

“Why can’t your painting be beautiful like the rest of these?” Jonah’s mother demanded.

“I’m not good at painting,” Jonah replied and was rewarded with a censorious look.

“That’s because you don’t put much effort into it.  How do you expect to be good at something when you don’t try hard enough at it?  I’m sure the kids who painted these tried hard.  And, I don’t know why yours is up here.  It looks out of place.”

Mrs. Richards bristled but she tried to remain calm and professional.  “All of the pictures are put up, Mrs. Marshall,” she said.  “I don’t want any of the children to feel left out.  Not all children are artists.  Jonah is excellent at Math and Science.”

Mrs. Marshall didn’t look impressed.  “He can be excellent at Art too if he were to put his mind to it.”

“As I mentioned, not all children have an aptitude for Art…”

“My other son has an aptitude for every subject, Mrs. Richards.

“I’m sure he does, Mrs. Marshall, but Jonah isn’t his brother.  We really shouldn’t compare children, especially siblings.”

“Why don’t you stick to teaching and leave me to sort out my son?” was the retort.

 

200 Words

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

The Intruder

A storm was raging outside.  The rain was beating relentlessly against the windows.  The lightning flashed across the sky and soon followed by the loud thunderous clap.  She hated storms. And being alone in the house didn’t help the situation.  She chided herself for coming ahead of the family to this place which been closed up for a year.  It feel strange being on her own in this large house.  So many rooms.  So many stairs.

She had come down to check the windows to make sure they were securely locked.  She was half-way down the hall when she heard it.  It was during the intermission between the clap of the thunder and the next flash of lightning.   At first she thought she had imagined it and continued walking.  There it was again.  She froze.  Her heart pounding now with fear.  She hadn’t imagined it.  She heard the jangle of keys.  She wasn’t carrying any keys with her.  Someone else was.  Who was in the house?

Then she heard the footsteps.  They were coming down the hall behind her.   Terrified, she darted into one of the rooms and locked the door.  She leaned against it, shaking like a leaf.  Again she wished she hadn’t come here tonight.  What on earth had possessed her to do so?  Why her parents and siblings were sleeping peacefully at the inn, she was here hiding from an intruder.  All sorts of terrifying thoughts assailed her mind.  It could be an escaped convict and the jangle she heard were his chains.  He had some how gotten into the house.

She heard the footsteps stop outside the room she was in and she almost dropped the candle.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath was coming in short gasps and her legs had turned to jelly.  “Oh please, go away,” she whispered.

Then she heard the key turn in the lock.   She ran away from the door, her eyes darting wildly about the room for some way of escape.  The windows.  She could open one of them and climb out.  She and her brother used to do that when they were children. Climbing down the trellis in the pouring rain and possibly slipping and having a bad fall was preferable to what was going to come through that door.

She quickly blew the candle out and dropped it on the rug.  She ran to the window just as the door opened.  Frantically, she tried to unfasten the latch on the window.

“Who’s there?” a voice boomed.  “You are trespassing on private property.”

She swung around to face the speaker and just then lightning flashed across the sky and she caught sight of a tall figure wearing a raincoat. He was carrying a lantern which he now held up.   In its glow she could make out his features.  This was no convict.  It was Mr. Crawley, the caretaker of the property.  Relief washed over her and she stumbled over to him.  “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Crawley.”

“Miss Catherine?”

“I heard someone moving about in the house and I was dreadfully afraid.”

“I saw a light on in the house and came to investigate.   I didn’t expect anyone to be here until tomorrow, Miss.”

“I know,” she said.  “I decided to come ahead of the family.  I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss.  Will you be all right?”

She nodded.  “Yes, I’ll be all right.”

“You can take my lantern, Miss.  I can find my way all right.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawley.  Good night.”

“Good night, Miss.”  He bowed and left her.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the storm, no longer afraid.

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Baby in Dumpster

When my father and my mother forsake me, Then the LORD will take care of me – Psalm 27:10

For most parents, it is love at first sight when they see their newborn.  Not so for baby Jansi.  When her father saw her, instead of feeling love toward her, he felt shame.  As he looked down into that tiny face, he didn’t see a beautiful baby.  He saw a baby who wasn’t pretty,  was too skinny and not looking right.  The doctor concurred that she was abnormal.  Jansi’s father didn’t want an abnormal baby nor did his wife.  Filled with disgust, he threw the 2 day old baby in the dumpster and the couple walked away, not looking back nor shedding a tear.

Baby Jansi lay in the garbage, wailing until two arms reached into the dumpster and drew her out.  Those arms belonged to a woman named Pranaya Chopra.  Pranaya worked as a tutor to help the children with their academics at Gospel for Asia (GFA) supported Bridge of Hope center.  Pranaya learned through preaching at Church and reading the Word that children are a gift from God.   It was Pranaya’s sister who had Jansi and when Pranaya discovered she and her husband had tossed their newborn daughter into the dumpster, she went and found her.

Pranaya took the baby girl home with her and named her Jansi.  Pranaya and Jansi’s grandparents cared for her and nursed her to health.  To the Jansi, Pranaya was “mother.” Pranaya was there when the little girl crawled and when she became a toddler.  She was there every step of the way, showing this abandoned child how much she loved her.  When Pranaya got married, Jansi remained a part of the family, even when the couple had a child of their own.  For Pranaya, “It is a great blessing for me to adopt my sister’s daughter into my family.”

When Jansi became school-aged, she was enrolled in Bridge of Hope.  School work was difficult for Jansi but with the help of the staff, she soon improved.  Jansi thrived and her biological parents saw how well she was doing and their attitude toward her changed.  They wanted her back.  They saw their daughter the way God and Pranaya did–a precious gift to be loved and cherished.  It made it easier for Pranaya when she and her family had to move away.  She knew that Jansi would be well cared for and safe with her parents.

Jansi lives with her parents and two younger siblings.  She continues to attend Bridge of Hope center where she is learning about Jesus’ love for her and doing well in her studies.  Her mother attends the monthly parents’ meeting at Bridge of Hope where she hears about Jesus.  What a wonderful end to what started out as a very sad story.  Although baby Jansi was discarded by her parents, God had plans for her life.  He rescued her from the dumpster and placed her in the care of a woman who loved her as if she were her own daughter.

This story has taught me that we must never discard anyone because of their appearance, gender, culture or race but love them as Jesus does.  He died for them too.   He died for the unloved, unwanted, abandoned and rejected.  It is His desire that they too may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly (John 10:10).  Thanks to Him, Jansi is now enjoying a life filled with hope and joy and tremendous blessings.

For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb – Psalm 139:13.

 

Source:  Gospel for Asia

Children Find Hope

Gospel for Asia’s children’s ministry, Bridge of Hope, helps bring hope to many children in South Asia. Currently, more than 72,000 children are enrolled – Gospel for Asia

I have heard and read so much about the Bridge of Hope program and the wonderful work it has been doing to transform the lives of children.  At the centre, children receive quality education, healthcare and nutritious meals.  They are in a safe and loving environment where they learn Bible verses, stories and songs which tell of Jesus’ love.

My son attends a Christian school where they learn Bible verses, read stories and sing songs.  He has his own Bible which he reads at school and takes with him to the chapel.  Some Saturdays we worship together.  He enjoys singing songs and listening to me read stories from the Bible.  He enjoys watching Bible movies and drawing pictures of animals and people from the Bible. There is nothing more incredible than seeing children come to know and love Jesus.  I have often told my son that God likes it when he prays to Him and that He smiles when he sings. There is nothing more precious than to hear the sweet voice of a child as he or she praises the Lord.

Bridge of Hope is a wonderful place for children.  Jesus is at the centre of everything the staff does. Sharing the message of His love is their highest priority.  This love is expressed in practical ways and the children in turn take the message home to their families.  The centre also offers Parent training sessions which are an integral part of their program.  The Gospel is shared and lives are changed.  In homes where the Gospel was initially met with resistance, hearts were opened to receive it, thanks to witness of national missionaries.

I encourage you to read more about the Bridge of Hope program and to consider what you can do to help Gospel for Asia bring hope to the children of South Asia and their families.

There is nothing more powerful than prayer.  Programs like the Bridge of Hope needs your prayers. Here are some requests to get you started:

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Source:  Gospel for Asia