Guest Blogger, Ruth Armstrong, Author, Shares Short Creative Piece - You Are Too Young! ...And A Prayer For Writers...

 

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A creative piece of writing

"You are too young."

"You don’t belong here.” A voice, gravelly and cruel hissed in her ear as she stood at the edge of the crowd.

“Why not?” She asked, confident moments before, now questioning if what he was saying were true.

“You’re a child, what do you know about these things?” He spat, looking her up and down in disgust.

“I was invited.” She said, somewhat sheepishly now, shrinking back.

“Invited? By who!” He threw back his head back and laughed, “Who would invite a child to a place like this?”

She searched the crowds of people gathered in this place where she had been longing to come as far back as she could remember. Sitting on the end of her bed, she’d fall asleep to her father’s many stories of his encounters here. Now here she stood, standing perhaps in the very place her father had, she could almost feel his presence there with her.

He’d pull her duvet up right under her chin, dim her bedside lamp and kiss her on the forehead then he’d ask her which story she would like. She had always asked him to tell her a story of the place she’d become so intrigued by, his weary, heavily lined face would become so animated as he pulled up memories to share with her.

“He did.” She pointed to a familiar face in the midst of the throngs of people, “He invited me.”

“And why would He invite you?” He asked, slinking closer toward her, “Now I know that you are lying.”

Her eyes widened as he drew himself up to full height. The pastel colours of the s

pring day were blurred by the darkness that surrounded him, in grey, darkest of navy and black. She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her, a heaviness punching her in the square of her chest.

“He asked me to speak.” She said, in barely a whisper, wanting to step back but frozen to the spot.

“You are a liar.” He said and jabbed her hard with a long, gnarly finger.

His face was contorted with a mixture of anger and disgust. He was so close to her that she could smell the stench of what could only be described as rotting flesh so strong that she found herself heaving in his presence.

“You can’t speak if you’re wearing those.” He said, pointing at her shoes, a smirk on his face.

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” She asked, feeling tears coming to her eyes, the back of her neck burning with embarrassment at being so scrutinised.

“Do you see anyone else wearing shoes like that?” He turned to look at the crowds of people, “Well? Do you?” He asked, turning his face back toward her.

She looked at the shoes of the men and women gathered before her, shoes were not something she paid much attention to but now she couldn’t help but look at their feet. It was odd that they all seemed to be wearing the most battered old shoes, some even had the soles half hanging off. Why, she’d bought these shoes especially to come here today, her mother had always told her how important it was to make good first impressions.

“Just go away, leave, before you embarrass yourself any further.” He said, shaking his head.

“I won’t speak then, I’ll just listen?” She suggested hopefully, not wanting to go home without at least spending some time here as she’d been so looking forward to coming.

“This place isn’t suitable for a child, it gets violent you know. Why would He invite you to such a place? If He did, as you say He did, then He doesn’t care much for you, does He?” He said, stroking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Please don’t touch me.” She recoiled with a cry, overwhelming feelings of sadness and pain stirring deep within her at his touch.

She wanted nothing more than to just go home, she didn’t want to be here any more. She thought of her father and apologised to him in her heart, she couldn’t possibly match up to a great man like he had been. She didn’t have what it took to stand here and speak like he had so brave and so bold. No, she was but a child, what did she know really, except what her father had taught her? She hadn’t lived, not like these people here with their old, broken shoes that had trod many paths. She hated her new shoes.

She bent down and unbuckled her patent shoes she’d spent all her wages on. She would rather walk barefoot than stick out in this crowd of old timers. How could she have expected to be heard in a place like this, who would listen to what she had to say, why, they would just laugh at her! No, she would come back when she’d worn in her shoes and then they would listen. The man was right, even though she couldn’t bear to hear it. Oh, what had she been thinking?

A hand clamped firmly down on the man’s shoulder, spinning him around and away from her. It was Him, the man who had invited her.

“It is written…” the rescuer said, ‘“Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you.”’

The man turned back to look at her, his eyes bearing into hers as though he were looking into her very soul. He scowled. She looked into his face and thought how beautiful he would be if he weren’t so unkind, if he smiled. She could see that he must have been a sight to behold once upon a time. Her mother always said that the prettiest of people could be ugly if their heart was bad.

The man yanked his arm away from her rescuer and spat on the ground in front of him a disgusting green bile. He disappeared into the crowd and though he kept turning to look at her, she averted his gaze and looked instead into the face of Him who had saved her.

“Did you invite me?” She asked him nervously, for she had to know.

“I did invite you.” He smiled kindly at her as He handed her a package wrapped in a purple cloth and tied with twine.

“For me?” She asked, surprised.

Nobody really bought her gifts, only her father when he had been alive. Her mother was too poor but she’d been working to have nicer things. It was such a treat to be given something wrapped so beautifully that she almost felt unworthy.

“I need you to go and speak.” He said, bending down to get down to her level. His eyes were brown, like her mother’s.

“I can’t, I don’t have the right shoes.” She said sadly, holding out the shoes she had removed just minutes ago.

“Why don’t you open your gift.” He said, a twinkle in His eye.

She sighed and untied the twine carefully, putting it in her denim jacket pocket for keeps. It would be good to reuse it for a gift for someone else, she thought. She unfolded the purple crepe paper slowly, it crinkled and crisped beneath her fingers as she uncovered the gift He had given to her.

“Old shoes!” She exclaimed, careful to keep hold of the wrapping for she would fold it neatly and save that too.

“These are some of mine.” He said, “They will fit you perfectly. So now, you can speak can’t you?”

“I will, I will!” She said, throwing her arms around Him with joy.

“Can I explain something to you?” He said, drawing Himself away just slightly so that she could see His face.

She nodded, clutching the shoes to her tightly.

“I have walked ancient paths in those shoes that I have given to you today. Though you, in your lifetime have not walked those same paths, when you wear My shoes it is as though you have also. Do you understand?” He asked her softly.

“Yes, I think so.” She replied, her brow furrowed in thought.

“I saw and heard what that man said to you.” He said, His face etched with concern, “He is the liar, not you. I did invite you and you are not too young to speak. Look at the soles of those shoes and tell me what is written there.” He said.

“Power, authority, boldness, wisdom and truth.” She said, turning over the shoes and reading out loud what was engraved there.

“That man waits on this corner to prey on those who come here to speak, like he did to you. To you, he told you that you were too young. To others, he tells them that they are too old. But with my shoes, none of those things matter.”

She nodded, understanding and put the shoes on her feet. He was right, they fit her perfectly.

“I am going to stand right beside you and tell you all I want you to say.” He said, “And if you ever see that man again, all that you need to do is remind him of what I said.”

!!!

You know, of course...Yeah... I'm going to tell you about the latest God Incident--that of finding Ruth Armstrong, someone who I do not know, she doesn't know me, and yet, through the words she wrote and posted the day I happened to go to that site... Well, you get the idea... You know, folks, if we just open our eyes and ears, we will find Him there beside us.

I loved the story, Ruth builds a bit of suspense and mystery, while never really naming any of her characters--did you notice that? She leaves it open so that each of us can place ourselves into the main character...the one who has been chosen to speak for Him... Do you often find that you want to speak out, but stop yourself from doing so? I did, until during this last decade of my life. Just as this little girl finds, she is not to young... I am a reminder that we are never too old to start speaking out our words...and, as the story suggests, He will provide you the words if you just listen...

When I first read the story, I was reminded of the poem or song(s) which tell of when our footsteps sometimes have a another pair alongside of our own, and sometimes not... Remember what comes next?

*

This piece of writing was inspired by a famous place called, ‘Speakers corner’ in England, Great Britain. Though the girl in the story is going to speak, this is true of anyone who expresses the things the Lord has laid on their heart to share in whichever way He leads them to. This can be through; Writing, singing, speaking, dancing, photography and the list goes on.

Speakers’ Corner is located in the North East corner of Hyde Park near Marble Arch tube station. It is the oldest living free speech platform in the world. It is also a traditional place for rallies, protests, and marches to assemble or to end.

Our unique community gathers in Hyde Park every Sunday from about midday till long after dark. Everyone is welcome to join in the debates, discussions. You are permitted to speak anytime during the park's opening hours but as a rule people only speak on Sundays.

So if I may, I'd like to select and share one of the songs that I've often sung that sends God's message to all who will listen...

~~~

I don’t know who needs to hear this but do not give up writing. You have it on your heart to write, so this is what you must do. God does not put something on our hearts unless it is for a reason. The call on our life, our divine purpose, correlates with where our joy is found and what we long to do. Even when we find little success, writer's block, frustration, or an inability to put on paper what is in our heart to write, still write we must.

1. Consistency. Write every day, even if it’s for half an hour. Make writing a habit. The more we write, the better at it we will become. This goes for anything as practice makes perfect.

2. Stay in the Word. Keeping the Word in front of our face means we will never lack inspiration to write, we plug in to pour back out. It also means a better knowledge of the Word which is important when we are writing for Him to accurately represent His character and the truth.

3. Reading. To build our vocabulary and to learn to write more effectively, reading is as important as writing.

4. Encouragement toward others. The Kingdom of God works backwards to the World system. To be lifted up, we must first lift others up. Not only that but as writers we know how easy it is to be discouraged, kindness goes a long way.

Focusing on the Great Commission as opposed to our own success is important. Other people’s writing will reach people we cannot, we want as many to come to the knowledge of Christ as possible therefore we should endeavour to get behind other writers to help achieve this. Encouraging other writers is sowing into the Kingdom of Heaven, so let’s do it.

5. Pray against distractions. Remain conscious of distractions.

When you are writing for God, you will be plied with distractions with the main objective to thwart you in writing the things He has called you to write. Always ask the question, “Is this pulling me away from writing for God or is it encouraging me to continue to do so?” This will give you the answer as to whether it is a distraction or not.

6. Cling to God and cling to writing in all seasons. When there are storms, keep writing. When it’s sunny, keep writing. When there is a blizzard, keep writing. Never, never stop writing. In every season, there is a book in you that others need to read or hear. It is difficult to write when life throws up some curve balls, especially when said curve balls knock the breath out of you. Some of the most powerful pieces of writing has come from men and women who have felt they are at the utter end of themselves. Use your difficult situations and circumstances to create something beautiful, let God give you beauty for your ashes in this way.

7. Pray. Always. I have pinned a prayer to the top of my page that may help you in your journey as a writer. Feel free to use this prayer as it covers everything.

8. Positive affirmations. Remember that your words are powerful, that we eat the fruit of our lips. Tell yourself, “I have been called to write for the Lord. I am a writer for the Kingdom of Heaven. I am (name) an author of the King! Remind your flesh about what God says about you and all He has called you to be, just in case from time to time it forgets 

I hope this has blessed you today. Please don’t give up.

Ruth
And I thank you, Ruth, for helping to bring His Spirit to Us Today...
Gabbie