Ethel's Writing's

 

The Book (c) Ethel Hiday Wicksey

 

THE BOOK

            Just before I woke up this morning, I dreamed that my mother had come into my room and handed me a huge book. It was a heavy book.

            As I usually do, I opened the book to the last page without reading the title. On the pages, I saw two photos. The one on the left was of my puppet, 4R Dot Com, and me putting on a puppet play.

            As I looked closer at the photograph, it started to move. It became alive. The picture had turned into a movie. I was watching my puppet 4 R Dot Com and myself, Butterfingers the Clown, putting on a puppet play.

            I looked at the other photograph and saw the audience. They were acting so funny! About thirty Senior Citizens were sitting, with puppets on their hand, laughing. The puppets were waving at me.

How could this be? The video camera I had taken to church had not been turned on. How could a photograph in a book turn into a movie?

            I flipped back a few pages. I saw two more photographs. One was of a young mother in a rocking chair. She was holding a little girl. The little girl tightly clutched a “Jump for Joy Puppet” in her arms. As I looked closer at the photograph, it turned into a movie. I heard the little girl crying. The mother was rocking her back and forth. The little girl had a cast on her arm, her hair was in tangles, and her right eye was turning a deep purple. I listened closely as the mother whispered, “Your daddy will never hurt you again.” Above their head, I saw a reflection of a sign in a mirror. It took me a few seconds to make out the words, “Women's Shelter.”

The other photograph was taken in a hospital room. As I looked at it, I saw a nurse give a little boy some pills. His head was covered in bandages. He was holding one of my, “Jump for Joy Puppets” in his arms. The nurse was telling the little boy he could go home tomorrow. She held him as he started to cry. “I want my mommy! I want my mommy! Mommy where are you?”

  A young man walked into the room. The nurse walked over to him. They started to whisper. I heard the man say, “car accident,” and “funeral for his wife tomorrow.” I saw the tears in their eyes. The father walked over to the little boy and gathered him into his arms.

I flipped back several pages in the book. What was happening? How could photographs in a book turn into a movie?

On this page was a picture of my friend. She was sitting in her easy chair. Her husband had died the month before. She had been crying. I looked down at the book she had been reading, “DIVINE LOVE” by Ethel Hiday. 

            As I looked closer, I herd her talking on the phone.

            I quickly glanced at the other picture. It was of me sitting in my recliner. I had my turquoise housecoat on. There was a phone in my hand. As I looked closer at the picture, I heard myself talking. I was telling my friend, “I have been praying for you.”

            She said, “How are you feeling after your operation?”

            I said, “I am feeling better. They removed all the cancer. No radiation or chemotherapy needed. Thank you for your prayers.”

            My friend said, “I just read your book. I have had a stressful week. Your writings have comforted me. I just wanted to thank you.”

            We said a prayer for each other then, hung up.

            I turned back some more pages. They contained two photos. One was of a Hispanic family. They had puppets on their hands. A beautiful girl was holding a twelve-string guitar. I recognized the puppets. They were the ones I had given to Hazel Macdonald to take to Honduras a few years ago. The people in the photo started to move. I recognized the tune that the family was singing. The words were different. “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.”

            I quickly glanced at the other photograph. It was of a dark room full of water. The objects in the room started to move. Furniture and several things were floating in the water. A twelve-string guitar was bobbing up and down with one of my puppets sitting on it. The puppet was all wet and soggy. The hurricane had destroyed all the possessions of this family.

            I closed the book. My hands were trembling. I looked down at the book cover.

THE BOOK OF ETHEL’S LIFE

RECORDED by GOD

With trembling hands, I opened the book to a page near the beginning. There was a picture of children sitting in Sunday School. The second page was blank. As I took a closer look, the children on the page began to sing. They were singing, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.” I recognized the little girl with the pink smocked dress. It was me Ethel, at nine years old. I had just been baptized the year before.

            I glanced at the blank page. I could faintly make out a picture of myself as a little girl. I took a closer look. I could see that I had been into mischief. 

            Then a strange thing happed. A cross appeared.

Below the cross was a sign. It said

SIN

PAID IN FULL

BY

JESUS

As I read the words “sin paid in full by Jesus,” the picture of me faded into the background. The page became white as snow.

I quickly fanned through the book. I saw several blank pages. When I took a closer look at one of the pages, I could faintly make out an incident in my life that I did not want to remember. It was soon replaced by a cross.  

The sign under the cross read,

SIN

PAID IN FULL

BY

JESUS

I prayed and asked God, “What is the meaning of this book?” 

He whispered into my ear, “Ethel, I want you to remember that Jesus died for all your sins. When you repented and ask Me to forgive you, I remove the record of your sins, from your book of life. Those pages are white as snow. I do not remember the sin but see your life through forgiving eyes. Your sins have all been paid for in full, by the shed blood of My Son Jesus Christ, when He gave His life on the cross. Remember Jesus died to wash away your sins. This is what I remember.”

YOUR BOOK OF LIFE

RECORDED BY GOD

May God bless you as you read this writing, is my prayer.

(c) Ethel Hiday Wicksey

ethel_hiday@live .ca

http://ethelswritings.yolasite.com/ 

 

Make a Free Website with Yola.