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February 23 I am a CrossI hang delicately from a silver chain that hangs around my wearer’s neck. She dons me every Sunday to accent her fine clothes or match her quaint earrings. I glimmer in the sunlight and collect the compliments towards my beauty, from those whose eyes look for good appearance. I am a cross, whose meaning is shallow. Imprinted on a smooth leather cover, I am carried all over town, proudly displayed on an open table, a car’s dashboard, or in the hand of my carrier. The pages beneath me are never opened, keeping my looks ever new without wrinkle or crease. I show the world that a Christian character exists, even if the words inside of me go unread. I am a cross, molded by two-facedness. I stand on a pedestal before the long row of church pews. I am adorned with gold and rubies, shimmering under the lights. The faces of those who come to seek clean consciences are reflected in my glowing frame. The crowd is drawn to me as I remain an unfailing symbol of wealth. I am a cross of pride. My home is a dark pocket, shared with loose change, a broken watch and an occasional scrap of lint. Once in a while I am allowed a breath of fresh air, but only before being tossed into a jewelry box to keep company with other forgotten pieces. My days are dreary as I represent a light hidden from the world by someone more intent on being accepted than sincere. I am a cross, suffocated by fear. I cast a long dark shadow on the ground from my position on the hill. I am worn and old, yet stronger every day. My limbs are scarred with holes from brutal nails, and a twisted ring of thorns remains embedded in my fibers. A sign still hangs from my highest point to mock the One who was killed on me. I am not a beautiful sight, yet the weary find rest at my feet. I don’t reflect the sun or sing of wealth, but my stains of blood give hope to searching souls. I am not an instrument of pride, flashiness or hypocrisy. My purpose is to stand as a reminder of time past, when a Savior of the world was sacrificed upon my wood - when the earth trembled and thunder shook the skies. I remain the humble symbol of salvation to keep alive the everlasting message of the One sent by God to take away all sin. I am the cross of Jesus Christ. …Which cross do you revere? February 05 Lucifer's Battle“Sire! Your Majesty, Oh Great -” “Enough!” The dark creature trembled at the roar. “A-a-p-pologies, Your Greatness.” “What is it, Gossiper?” “I bring you news.” A smile creased Gossiper’s face as he eagerly flexed his claws. “News of him, whose name we do not speak.” “Oh?” The great body shifted in his granite throne, his yellow eyes flickering with curiosity. “Go on.” Gossiper leaned in closer. “Crucifixion,” he whispered. “That’s what they’re predicting.” “Ahh…” Lucifer stroked his black beard in thought, while stirring a stale breeze with his wings. Gossiper looked at his master’s face expectantly. “Well aren’t we…I-I mean, will we…you know…get to him first?" “Of course not!” Lucifer retorted. “Let him die on a cross! I want to see him suffer! I want to see the Creator turn his back on him for once.” He angrily spat at the floor, making the stones steam. “But…the prophecy.” “Prophecy, smophecy. It will never work.” Lucifer lit a fire in his hand, illuminating the room with an eerie glow. He stood and hurled the flaming ball to the opposite end of the hall. Sparks flew in all directions until the wall burned a dull red. Gossiper’s jaw dropped as he stared at the lifelike mural that writhed with Lucifer’s own vast collection of souls. “See that?” Lucifer asked. “That is what will make the Creator’s plan fail. He thinks he has it all under control, but this is what I have. Whatever I command, my followers obey. In no time they’ll overtake that pathetic earth and I’ll be the winner.” Lucifer sank down in his throne again, as the room returned to its original dark state. “Let him, whose name we do not speak, die. It shall be my pleasure to watch.” Gossiper swallowed hard, hesitance shaking his hideous form. “But…” Lightning flashed in Lucifer’s eyes. “But what?!” “But…the prophecy says he will rise again. Shouldn’t we kill him off ourselves to make sure it’s done right?” Lucifer laughed, sending tremors through his throne room. “He can raise others from the dead, but how can he raise himself? Even the Creator has limitations. Besides, those are my people controlling this chain of events, not the stupid prophecy. I don’t care what the prophecy says -the Creator’s plan won’t work. I’m the one in control. He, whose name we do not speak, is dying because of me, not because of any ridiculous plan. I called the shots on this one.” Lucifer continued to sit on his throne throughout the night and the next day, gazing upon the earth. The sounds of nails piercing Christ’s flesh echoed through the darkness, and the demon breathed a contented sigh. More than two days later, the grave was still silent. “It’s over!” Lucifer shouted gleefully. “I have won! The earth is mine! The Creator’s one and only is dead! I told you his plan wouldn’t work! I told you the prophecy was rubbish!” He quickly called his swarm of demons. “Come! Today we celebrate. Tomorrow we begin retrieving our plunder.” Gossiper timidly looked out to see the earth as the party raged on behind him. Something was happening. A strange wind blew, signaling death - but not a human’s death. All at once, a flash of white light temporarily blinded Gossiper, and suddenly he saw the horror he knew to be true. Fear surged through his body. Unable to control himself, he collapsed onto the floor. “Hey, Gossiper.” Deceit staggered over to the limp form. “Hey.” He kicked his fellow demon. “What’s with you?” Gossiper could only manage a whisper. “He’s back. We shall all perish now.” Deceit took a haphazard look out the window, but shrieked as he saw the truth. “No!” “What’s going on?” Lucifer joined the other two, a strange sense of fear creeping into his veins. Deceit pointed. “The Creator’s plan, my master…it has worked. He, whose name we do not speak, is walking again. And the people are following. The prophecy is being fulfilled.” Lucifer threw himself onto the floor, pounding his fist into the stones. “No! It was my plan! His can’t work! It just can’t!” Rising in a burst of anger, Lucifer halted his celebration and summoned his army. “Fine,” he seethed. “If Jesus wants a battle, he’s got one.” Gossiper looked up from the floor, still unable to move. “It’s no use,” he whispered. “Your plans will never work.” |
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