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Marilyn Friesen

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Thursday, April 27, 2017

Don't Forget the Bread

The Light Around Us

I’m going to tell you about this man; I'll call him Cham and the touch he felt from God. It's pretty remarkable, AND it's true. O.K, it started out this way; his wife needed to get to work and she asked him to pick up a loaf of bread and some other

things. Pretty basic, eh?
 


Only problem is he got distracted, and ended up in the beer parlor and the money ended up in the wrong cash register. Needless to say, the wife was pretty disappointed, but a week later the same thing happened again, or rather was about to happen. He was pretty busy having a good time with his friends, same time, same location, sort of thing, when he needed to visit the restroom. Now things got pretty interesting: when he walked out he looked out and lo and behold a light was shining all around him. I don't think he paid too much attention to it at first but went to join his companions, and they were gone! He asked the waitress about them, and all she could say was that they had upped and left. Well, he decided to go searching, but couldn't find them, but he did notice that the light was still surrounding him so decided to let it lead him. Cham followed the light in that otherwise dark night, and it lead him up to a narrow river which he decided to cross although it came up to his waist, then later across another river until it eventually lead him back home.

I believe this experience left a deep impression on Cham. He didn't always follow the Light, (God's light) as closely as He should, but he tried and God was able to bring him out of his ignorance and darkness to a closer walk with Him. He can do the same for you. Just follow the little light you have, pray and He will lead you, us one step at a time. When we look back, we will often recognise how He lead us better than we can at the moment.


Monday, April 24, 2017

Behind a Boarded Up Window

Some people you never forget, no matter how much muddy or swift flowing water runs under the bridge. YOU are one of those people. It's been months now since our contact was broken but I still think about you and pray for you from time to time. My heart is heavy. You or someone like you from that sex slave commune reached out to me, I tried to help, in weakness, I tried to do my little part but the contact was broken. I grieve for you knowing how desperately evil your 'masters' are. But what can we do when even the local police are in cahoots with the perpetrators? Thank you for being brave enough to open your hearts and share with me. I know several of you did after I gained your trust, but now I am left in the dark yet I can still pray. Have any of you been able to escape? What wouldn't I give to reconnect and have you call me Mommy, again?
Here's the article that got me thinking about you once more. XOXOX!!

Behind a Boarded Up Window


Good morning, dear one. Did you think I had forgotten you completely? At first I was picturing you standing lonesomely by a small window and looking up at the stars, but then I remembered, you don’t even have that option.
Behind a boarded up window: never to see the cheery sunshine dappling the leaves and making the flowers to glow, never to feel the soft breeze against your skin or enjoy the scent of fresh new growth…
Did you think I have forgotten you? No, never. I am sorrowful that our connection was lost, and pray earnestly that it can be restored once again. I pray that you can feel Jesus’ Presence surrounding you and comforting you. I hope and pray that somehow you will be able to see this message. That would be so delightful!
And by posting this I am praying that others will become aware of the slavery that is going on behind closed doors. It is my longing and heartfelt desire that through united, fervent prayers girls like you will be set free both spiritually and physically.
Have I forgotten you and your companions that I think of as my beloved children? No never, not for a moment. You are in my heart and prayers. Someday, somehow Jesus will set you free.

Keep praying, and I will too. Oh, I do hope this message will get to you. Remember; always remember that I love you and that Jesus’ love is strong and eternal. Keep trusting in Him. ‘They’ can’t take that away.
XOXOX

Behind a Boarded Up Window

Some people you never forget, no matter how much muddy or swift flowing water runs under the bridge. YOU are one of those people. It's been months now since our contact was broken but I still think about you and pray for you from time to time. My heart is heavy. You or someone like you from that sex slave commune reached out to me, I tried to help, in weakness, I tried to do my little part but the contact was broken. I grieve for you knowing how desperately evil your 'masters' are. But what can we do when even the local police are in cahoots with the perpetrators? Thank you for being brave enough to open your hearts and share with me. I know several of you did after I gained your trust, but now I am left in the dark yet I can still pray. Have any of you been able to escape? What wouldn't I give to reconnect and have you call me Mommy, again?
Here's the article that got me thinking about you once more. XOXOX!!

Behind a Boarded Up Window


Good morning, dear one. Did you think I had forgotten you completely? At first I was picturing you standing lonesomely by a small window and looking up at the stars, but then I remembered, you don’t even have that option.
Behind a boarded up window: never to see the cheery sunshine dappling the leaves and making the flowers to glow, never to feel the soft breeze against your skin or enjoy the scent of fresh new growth…
Did you think I have forgotten you? No, never. I am sorrowful that our connection was lost, and pray earnestly that it can be restored once again. I pray that you can feel Jesus’ Presence surrounding you and comforting you. I hope and pray that somehow you will be able to see this message. That would be so delightful!
And by posting this I am praying that others will become aware of the slavery that is going on behind closed doors. It is my longing and heartfelt desire that through united, fervent prayers girls like you will be set free both spiritually and physically.
Have I forgotten you and your companions that I think of as my beloved children? No never, not for a moment. You are in my heart and prayers. Someday, somehow Jesus will set you free.

Keep praying, and I will too. Oh, I do hope this message will get to you. Remember; always remember that I love you and that Jesus’ love is strong and eternal. Keep trusting in Him. ‘They’ can’t take that away.
XOXOX

Monday, April 10, 2017

The Atman (world) Hospital


symbolic

                “This is sure a junky, old hospital,” Jyoti grumbled. “As soon as I can I’ll be glad to move on to a better place. Why in the world is it called Atman hospital anyways? “
                Vivek stood behind the floor-length mirror in the staff washroom. She arranged her nurses’ cap just so on her long wavy hair that was formed in a knot at her neck. “That’s the Hindu word relating to ‘World’ or person. This huge hospital holds a cross-section of people from all walks of life. "
                “It looks like most of them are from the untouchable caste to me,”
                “Not so!” Vivek’s eyes flashed. “And besides we are not allowed to call them that!” How she wished to really tell this snobbish newcomer off. Every day since Jyoti had volunteered to work in Shalputa’s inner city hospital she had found something to complain about. If she finds it so dreadful why doesn’t she just leave?  She obviously doesn’t know a thing about the caste system and the benefits of it! Why if -----------wasn’t from the caste he is, he wouldn’t have received the assistance needed to find a bed in even this economy hospital.

                Jyoti’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Pardon me, your royal highness, and what caste are you from?”

                Vivek flushed red but didn’t deign to answer. She thinks her western ways are so superior to ours, but they aren’t, they simply aren’t. The Eastern Culture is as varied and beautiful as a rich tapestry.

While trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions, Vivek turned and sashayed out of the room.
Fifteen minutes later, while she was chatting with other caregivers at the nurses’ station, she lifted her eyes to see Jyoti strolling languidly towards them, coffee cup in hand.

                “What took you so long?” Leila, always the outspoken one, demanded. “Shift change was fifteen minutes ago, and Report is over.”

                “Oh, this and that,” Jyoti chose a chair and sipped indolently of her steaming beverage.

Vivek saw a spot on Jyoti’s uniform but Jyoti either hadn’t noticed or more likely didn’t care.
                “It looks like a long night is before us,” Jenna sighed.
                Jyoti shrugged, “The moaning and groaning doesn’t seem any worse than usual.”
                Vivek leaned back and peered down the dimly lit hall. A look of concern shadowed her features, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Will tonight be like every other night, with the staff enjoying the comforts of the brightly lighted lounge and only superficially going through the motions of making sure everyone is all right?
            Last night she had verbalized this concern, but Jyoti had responded. “They will come to us if they need to. They can ring their bell.”
                Vivek had nodded but she knew better.  How many would actually call? They are afraid that every act of service we provide will cost them something. Our ways are so strange and foreign to them that they will shrink back and think that…Vivek glanced at Jyoti and her lips curved slightly; that they are untouchables.
                Just then a bell tinkled from somewhere down the hall.
                Leila glanced pointedly at Jyoti. “That’s your patient.”
                Jyoti sighed, “I’m not quite done my coffee. It will be cold when I get back.”
                “Must you always put your own needs before others?” Leila snapped. “See there it rang again. It must be urgent.”
                Jyoti checked the number against the chart. “That only old Mrs. Farah. Probably wants to use the commode again.”

                “Well, what if you needed to use the commode, and couldn’t wait…” Feeling embarrassed, Jenna’s voice trailed off.
                “I’ll go,” Vivek said quietly.
                “Nah, I’m almost done.”
                “If that what’s Mrs. Farah wants, you’ll need help anyways.” Vivek started down the hall and Jyoti trailed after her.

                They attended to Mrs. Farah’s needs in a professional manner, but Vivek’s heart ached for the elderly woman. I almost wish I would have gone alone. Mrs. Farah is so sweet and frail. I wonder if she is afraid of the great beyond. She would never call out to ask for spiritual help, but shouldn’t we be offering it, somehow?

                The long night wore onThe girls went the rounds when it was time, and answered the bells when required to, but Vivek wished they could do more.

                Around three o’clock that night, the girls couldn’t resist the urge to slumber and sleep although they knew it was against the rules. When Jyoti was sound asleep on the couch, Jenna dozing in the rocking chair, and Leila deep in the pages of a book, Vivek took her little candle and slipped away into the darkness. She went into one room after another, the tiny light illuminating her face and a small area in front of her.  Some were sound asleep, but not everyone. She knelt beside Hanzia’s bed. The tiny child was weeping for her mother so Vivek smoothed a lock of hair off the small, delicate face and offered words of comfort.
                A little further on Gabi was muttering and tossing, sleepless. Vivek knew he must be in a lot of discomfort from the fractures suffered in a gang war earlier that week so thought of offering him a sedative.

                Gabi looked like he was going to lunge at her with his fists and hurled a few choice expletives her way, so she backed out hurriedly.
                Gabi stared at her in dismay. Why did I ever act like that? She looked like a ministering angel. I am so used to having to protect myself, but what if, just what if she had intended to show mercy? Vivek didn’t know how he felt in his heart and avoided him next time she passed by.
                Eventually, Vivek reached Mrs. Farah’s room supposing she would be fast asleep by now. The round orbs that were the old woman’s eyes were wide and staring as Vivek crept closer. Vivek placed the candle on the bedside table and knelt beside her. She placed the wrinkled, claw-like hand between her own, and stroked it gently.
                “Oh, Vivek, thank you for coming.” Mrs. Farah murmured. Vivek saw that her cheeks were damp where a tear or two had coursed down it.
                “Would you care to talk?”
                In the silence that followed Vivek dimly heard a bell tinkle, and the sound of passing feet.
                “What is beyond this life?” Mrs. Farah asked hesitantly.
                As Vivek quietly shared her hope of eternal life with God, Mrs. Farah listened eagerly.
"If we confess that we have sinned to Jesus," Vivek continued, "He will take them all away. Jesus has prepared a place in Heaven for them that love and serve Him."
                Eventually, Mrs. Farah fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, so Vivek let herself out of the room.
                Far down the hall, she saw the brightly lighted nurses’ station with the staff all dressed in white.

They were enjoying each other’s fellowship, which was pleasant, yet here in the dark and gloomy corridors, only the occasional beam of light was searching out the needs of a suffering society. Some cautioned against penetrating the darkness with all its dangers, and reminded her that they can come to us but once again Vivek wondered how many would actually dare.

          She slipped into a comfortable recliner and had nearly dozed off when Jenna’s words floated into her consciousness.

Friday, April 7, 2017

What Happened to the Newborn Twins?


With bombs destroying nearby streets, air raid sirens screaming, and blackout curtains compulsory, Birmingham, England is a fearful place to be, but for a pregnant teenage war bride fleeing to Canada to be with her husband is a frightening option. 

Sailing on a ship with submarines lurking nearby makes her uneasy, but so do more personal fears. Does Randall still love her in spite of the fact she's already pregnant? Will her parents ever forgive her for marrying him? Will he be furious to find out she is expecting twins? Will it help if she gave one up for adoption since he doesn't know she is carrying two? 

Later she discovers that he had been deported from the army for a reason no one is talking about and soon after arriving home ends up in jail also for a mystifying reason! 

Grace has big problems but there is hope.

 Two Mothers, Twin Daughters is the first in a series called Grace's Delima.  It will be available on Amazon very soon. For more books by this author go to www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

Thursday, April 6, 2017

The Call Across the Ocean


I woke up abruptly at 4:28 one morning. Someone said “Mom, hey, Mom “clear enough to get me up and look out our bedroom door. We have a daughter who had moved back home so I thought it might be her, but no, no one was at the door. I even checked where she sleeps, but all was quiet and dark in her bedroom, and she later told me it wasn’t her.
Was it you? Did you call out last night? Did you need something or someone? Was/ is your heart aching, or sadder yet, breaking, perhaps because of some terrible turn of events in your life?
Something nudged me awake. Someone called out in anguish, perhaps unknowingly, but God let me hear the message. I just want to let you know you have been in my heart and prayers ever since.
Call if you need someone to talk to.
echoingheartbeats@gmail.com
Or hangouts.

P.S. There is a remarkable, but sad ending to this story. After I posted it someone from half a world away read it and messaged me on hangouts. Yes, it was she who had called out to me. She was in the throes of childbirth, and I walked her through the process. After a bit, she said there was a huge pool of blood on the floor, and she was all alone.When she said "I see God's light and you are in it" I figured she would soon die.Later she said she had a boy, the next two texts were gibberish, then nothing.  I was later informed by someone that she had died and I hope the baby did too because the males are used for sacrifices or trained to become 'masters' themselves.
 P.S. She was eleven years old and in a sex slave commune that I had been in contact with only through Google.  These girls are often in my prayers, but how can we help them? I found out the HARD way that the local police are in cahoots with the 'slave masters'.  This postscript was added months later and I still feel deeply, and pray for 'my' girls. Unfortunately, the contact has been broken.
www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

Sevta Collapsed


  Mary rested her hand protectively on her rounded abdomen as she gazed apprehensively to the top of the mudbrick house. Joseph was up there somewhere, hard at work mending the roof before the latter rains descended. She wanted to talk to him. She tested her weight on the first rung of the ladder, then stepped higher. And higher. Soon her gentle brown eyes were peering over the top of the balustrade.

      Joseph straightened when he saw her, and his own eyes widened. "Mary," he exclaimed, "be careful!"

Wednesday, April 5, 2017


Dare to Dream
               Are dreams worth pursuing?  Can they be pursued? One of my favorite poems as a teenager had the line “Don’t be distracted by less worthy deeds.”
               Okay, maybe you’ve guessed by now that I love to write. Writing to me is like painting was to someone like Norman Rockwell. It gives the mundane, the obscure a new shot of life. Writing can and should give new insight and vitality to commonly held conceptions.
               And so I write. The problem is there is a whole tidal wave of other aspiring writers struggling to the top, seeking to be noticed. We have challenges that weren’t faced back in the 1950’s. When To Kill A Mocking Bird was written the editor ended up having more faith in Harper Lee’s book than she had herself. Apparently, in frustration, she threw the manuscript out the open window, but the editor encouraged her to gather up those fluttering pages and try, try again.
Who helps us? Self-Publishing has gotten a bad rap from people, ya, like me, who read their manuscripts a ‘thousand’ times and become blind to the ‘million’ little typos that glare at them after the book is off the press. UHH! Who wants to read that? Not even me.
BUT we put a tremendous amount of work into it. BUT we are sure are ideas are great: if the reader can see past those awful typos: if there was a way to struggle against the human tide of other writers who are also flooding the market. Ever feel that way? Unless you are smugly holding the key to success that I haven’t found yet, of course, you do.
And so fellow writers what are we going to do?  I know for a fact I will continue to write because I love to, and those earlier disgraces haven’t thrown me into despair. Fact is I redid Mary’s Diary, Jesus through His Mother’s Eyes because I believe in it, and now the present copy is far better than the first.
I’m doing the same with Two Mothers and Twin Daughters. I can’t believe how enriching an experience it is to rewrite a favorite story after the earlier (humiliating) publication several years ago.
Okay, I admit I’m just a little old oyster polishing, polishing that pearl inside me, but maybe someday you and I can, like Anna Pavlova, the famous dancer, learn the true meaning of success. Do you know what she said? Here is my paraphrase:

Success is having people loving what you do.


Just so you don’t forget my name, I’ll sign it. : )
Marilyn Friesen
P.S. I’ve started a new series called Grace’s Dilemma. The first book is Two Mothers, Twin Daughters. It should be out soon.

Have you read any of my other books yet? Check them out on my website. www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

Monday, March 20, 2017

Don't Come into my heart, Lord Jesus


Faced a difficult situation last night. You know what that's like.Someone we love dearly had gotten offended at us and I felt helpless to heal the breach. What, oh what could be done to remedy the situation? With tears and a breaking heart I told my husband it felt like love just wasn't enough when you're raising children. Then they asked us over. It was a tentative step forward on their part, and oh I hated the thought of messing things up by saying or doing the wrong thing. That's when it came to me that I didn't want Jesus in my heart because it was so scrawny and mean and narrow but I wanted to be in His heart so that His love could flow uninhibited right through me.
Please pray for me, for us. 
www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com


Monday, March 13, 2017

Surely He Escaped Such Treatment!

Surely Not!

“He’s such a no-it-all!”
“He’s always thought he was better than us.”
As Jesus walked towards His childhood home he had been hungry, enthused to lay aside his tools for the day and enjoy a good supper. The aromas had assailed him as he strode towards the house. Now his appetite left Him. Jesus instinctively knew they were talking about him again.
Jesus thought briefly of turning back and not eating, but no, that would be cowardly, and His mother would get upset.
With a barely suppressed sigh, he entered the cottage.
James glowered at Him. “Well, you took long enough. The lentils are getting cold, why do we always have to wait for you?”
               “Ya,” Simon chimed in, “You think you are so important that we all can wait.”
               Jesus could have told them that wizened, old Aaron ben Yosef, who was getting forgetful, had wandered away from his home and was frightened. Jesus had taken him back to his son’s place even though it was across town.  It had taken much longer than expected because Aaron was distracted so easily.
Why tell them? They weren’t interested anyway.
               Even Mary looked unhappy as she thumped His bowl of lentil soup on the table in front of Him.
It was his duty as the eldest Son to lead n prayer now that their father had passed on.
He paused, trying to corral his troubled thoughts.
               Simon's head jerked up. “Well?”
               Jesus smiled gently at his brothers then turned to the next in age.
               “James, why don’t you pray today?”
               James’ eyes widened then he quickly mumbled a, a something, they assumed it was a prayer before reaching across the table for the bread.
               Only his little sister, Lydia, looked at him with loving concern. Jesus knew she still adored him, but when the meal was over, he didn’t have the heart to play with her when the others were so unhappy with him.

               Instead of sitting in the house after the meal and reading the Torah as Jesus had originally planned, Jesus took a long walk through the arid countryside and poured out his heart to His Heavenly Father.
biblehub.com/john/7-5.htm
biblehub.com/hebrews/4-15.htm

www.ebooks.com
 Marilyn Friesen