In this one,
I am a single woman in her mid thirty’s or so,
In a group of maybe fifty or so people.
In my other life, (when things were normal,)
I used to be a nurse/caregiver/systems administrator of some kind,
Or at least in that kind of field.
But that life had passed, and now survival was what was most important.
Our little group was isolated somehow,
The weather was temperate, and the sun seemed to be always shining.
We had water to drink, but no food.
People were fighting and killing each other,
Over just the thought of a tiny scrap of food.
Seeing this, caused anger to well up from within me,
For I knew it was unnecessary and a complete waste.
I tried to stop them from bickering,
But no one would listen to me.
So, disgusted, I turned and left the group,
Grabbed a small hand shovel, a gun, some bowls, and a flat gardening cart,
And went off a short ways and began to pray to Jesus.
The Holy Spirit soon led me to a place not too far,
Where the ground still had some vegetation growing from it,
And as I prayed, the Holy Spirit led me to pull up some of the vegetation.
He blessed me with potatoes and carrots.
I cooked them, divided them into individual servings,
A half of a potato, and a small baby carrot sitting on top of it, sat in each bowl.
I filled up the bowls and the cart the best I could,
And with one hand I pulled the cart towards the group of fighting people, and with the other, I held a bright silvery shiny hand gun.
They smelled the food first, and came towards me,
With crazed eyes and open mouths.
The closest ones were about to fall upon the cart and eat everything on it,
When I pointed my gun on them, and told them that I would shoot them if they did.
This caused them to pause. I could tell what they were thinking; was her gun really loaded? Would she really shoot me if it was?
I then told them that there was enough food for everyone,
But that we all had to take our turns eating, and that the children and those weakest,
Would eat first.
They argued with me, claiming there was not that many bowls on the cart to feed everyone. But I told them that there was more where that came from, and that they would simply have to trust me, or face my gun.
Others upon hearing this, (especially the men who had children,) helped to keep everyone there under control, which allowed me to distribute the food on the cart to the mother’s first, making sure they gave it to their children and not themselves, and then giving it to those too weak to move.
I then went back and made more of the potatoes and carrots, and I even found and added in a spoonful of some kind of milk or creamer, with a sprinkling of some kind of dried seasoning (parsley?) on top. The people mashed them all together, till it smelled and tasted like mashed potatoes.
I kept doing this, till everyone had eaten. I then ate some myself.
This caused some to be upset, and claimed that I must have eaten a double portion.
But I told them that I had not yet eaten, so they let me eat a serving myself.
This process took the whole day.
This became a routine for me; I got up in the morning, gave thanks and praise to my God Jesus, went to where He led me, pulled up the roots that he told me to grab a hold of, and then baked the carrots and potatoes, and sprinkled more of the powder on it, and gave it to all to eat.
There were times when I would give my portion to someone else who needed it more, and this caused others around me to become distrustful of me. So the group made sure that there was always an assistant with me. I thought it was to help me, but in reality, it was to make sure I wasn’t eating more than my fare share.
I remember telling one of these helpers, a girl a bit younger than I, that I found it ironic, that in my other life, I had been overweight, and had tried so very hard to loose weight, but could not, and that it was this extra weight that had allowed me to survive for so long.
The helpers lost interest, when they realized that I was not stealing extra food, and that I was indeed telling the truth.
Before I gave the food to the people, I would ask them to please join hands, and then I’d lead them in prayer, thanking Jesus for the food, and then blessing it. This was not always easy, as they all gathered themselves on the long rows of picnic benches to eat, and those farther away could not hear me speak.
Those who were closer to me, quickly complied, but those farther away from me, (ones who had trouble hearing me,) did not. This bothered me, but I didn’t know what else I could do to make them comply. I had decided that all my prayers to Jesus, would be out loud for anyone to hear, and in this way, I would be a living example of my faith in Christ. I figured that seeing this, others too, would be drawn to Christ.
But so far it wasn’t working out that way.
There was just one of my assistants, who at my insistence, tried to pray to Jesus and then listen to the Holy Spirit, while searching for food, but she kept pulling up weeds and soon gave up.
Our group of people kept slowly growing and growing, as more people would stumble into our camp. Most who did, were too weak to do anything except accept the free gift of food given to them in grateful astonishment.
Until one day, a young man, a stranger to our group, stumbled upon me digging up the food from the ground. I could tell he had journeyed long, and he was crazed from lack of food. I tried to promise him that he would get some of the food, but he refused to even listen to me. I pulled out my gun, (still always kept by my side,) but even the sight of this did not stop him. He pulled out a knife and ran towards me. I shot him in self defense, hoping the bullet would slow but not kill him. But he had also managed to injure me, before the others had arrived. They quickly overpowered the young man, and disarmed him. They then tended to our wounds.
I could hear some of them talking to the new guy, telling him how wrong he was, and that I would have defended his right to eat with my own life. I could hear the disgust in their voices, as they confronted his disbelief. His fighting was ‘such a waste’, as they put it. The man could hardly take in what was being told to him. So, many of the other newer members of our group, came to him to share with him how I had given each of them, a stranger, free food. He simply couldn’t believe it all. Why would the woman so freely give to him?
I had wanted to speak up, and tell him that it was because of Jesus, but I found I could not, due to my injury.
I heard them then, tell the man, that it was simply what I did, and that that was the way I was.
My heart ached then, hearing this. What happened to Jesus? Did these people really think that it was all me and not God? I heard a moaning sound of grief, and realized it must have come from me. Another more specialized in first aid suddenly turned and came up to me to examine me closer. When she spoke, her voice sounded very concerned. “Guys…she needs help! Hey! I need help here!”
It was the last thing I heard before loosing consciousness.
I then woke up.
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