Podcast Sprint 3.27.20

I’m going to start keeping my writing sprints for The Christian Indie Writers’ Podcast here. Join in if you’d like! Take a stab at the prompt then post to TCIW’s social media accounts.

REMINDER – the rules state NO EDITING before sharing, so this is likely rather rough. For example, this week, people’s names change.
Here Goes:

PROMPT – RE-WRITE a Bible story.

Silence like a shroud, covered the village.

Marisol crept from her hiding place and peered through the blind, trying to look beyond the grim display the son had shown her in all its radiant glory earlier that day – Ma in her rocker, taken blissfully unaware by an early ricochet, and Papa, struck down before he could aim his rifle to avenge Ma, draped over the porch rail like one of the drunks he used to visit on Sunday afternoons, bearing a dishtowel-covered plateful of potluck.

He’d come bursting into the house from the back door as that first bullet sent Ma home to glory, commanding Marisol get to the safe space, which she’d dutifully done. She’d silently prayed through God only knew how many hours as the sounds of war raged on in the nearby valley. 

How has it gotten so bad? She wondered. The uprising had been mostly contained to the city and the valley between it and her village.  No one had expected any disturbance to their peace.
God, protect me, she now prayed, aloud, over and again, as she paced the floor and considered what her next step should be. 

She was heading for the desk where Pa kept his important papers when her front door exploded inward. She shrieked in surprise.

“Hello,” the man’s voice was thick and phlegmy, as though he had not spoken to another soul that day.

He circled the room like a shark, examining its contents before pressing himself uncomfortably close to the shrinking Marisol.
“God give me strength,” she silently prayed.

“I am Captain Shalaza. I will be commandeering your home. 

He tipped her chin upward with two long, bony fingers.  “And its contents.”.

Marisol swallowed hard. She was young, but not too young to understand the consequences for young ladies possessed by the enemy.Almost without thinking, her hand flashed out and snatched Pa’s letter opener. With a movement faster than a chicken on Sunday morning she swung her hand up in a wide arc. The tip of the opener made contact with the Captain’s right eye.
Marisol did not have time to scream. She gathered her Papa’s papers and ran out into the night.

2084 – 3.?.02 (Charlie’s ramblinGs)

I long to now understand is to what degree it is acceptable to “love oneself.” Not in the narcissistic way, nor in the “treat yo’ self,” sort of way (at least not exclusively; I love me a good day of retail therapy, lol), but in the true spiritual sense of the word…sheesh…this feels like a whole lot of justification

What I’m saying is:

God is majestic and powerful and all knowing and sovereign and he made me just like he made a sea star and a scarlet macaw and
In the world.

It is not possible to justify my loving every other creature of god and not myself without turning myself into some sort of idol.


When I “try” to “love myself,” I end up vaulting myself to the forefront of my life, instead of letting the spirit hang out there, in the driver’s seat (where everyone is much safer, trust me. LOL).

So I’mm trying something new. I’m going to believe for a while that loving myself is not my job. I am going to put it on the holy spirit’s plate. I would just as soon not think about myself and try to love myself.

Because when I function in this way, I discover that I love to paint, and that I enjoy decorating my home. I have opened my heart to new relationships out of love and not obligation.


Even though I know the outcome is good, even though I know that this course is the right one, I know I can anticipate my occasional drift away. I mean, I’ve lived with myself longer than anyone else. LOL. So my plan is to have grace and mercy with myself in those times. After all, that’s what Jesus would do.

I just need some time to get used to this new pattern of relating to myself. For example, I had no clue that painting and home decor would feel like loving myself. I don’t know what else there is. I have the old patterns and not many new things to replace them with. I’m working on it.


I hate, LOATHE all this talk about self and self worth and self help and self love. HATE IT!
It confuses me! I am supposed to DECREASE so CHRIST MAY INCREASE!
Aren’t I supposed to disappear, or at least be smooshed down to as tiny of a pinpoint as I can be?

BUT I REJOICE as I make my own “pinpoint” ever smaller! Even here, I’m trapped within a bondage of MY WORKS.

So much better to believe the holy spirit is the driver. So much better to let them call me what they will.

Lord, I love existing in this place of bounty.

Lord, help my unbelief.

2084 – 3.0

Okay so how do we start?
I don’t know, It’s your mission.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Seriously, you have to stay out of the way.
Right. Got it. But I have to say this is a great starting point.
Right. Now you’re where you’re supposed to be.
Backseat. Right.
NO. Not backseat. Knock it off.
Right. Navigation. Got it.
Oh God, please no, not you navigating.
Oh, right. Lol.
Come on. Be serious.
Sorry. We’re frozen now.
No, no it’s okay. Let’s take a moment to think.


Check your posture.
Go message.
What if, inside each and every one of us…oh…
“oh,” what?
“Oh, now i get why this does not work.”
What do you mean?
You know what I mean.
They are not ready to hear, are they?
Too bad.


Stella frowned at the words of her Mother’s screenplay displayed on the monitor before her in “strike-through” formatting.

“Go on. Write it.” The little voice in Charlie’s head urged her.
“But it sounds too preachy,” Charlie argued back.