PenSieve

An old old tale is told, of an equally old but sprightly missionary who began a small mission on a perpetually misty, cold and isolated mountain-top deep in the heart of Africa. Dedicated and full of faith, he engaged the help of five strong young converts and set to building a beautiful church in the Mission Compound that would seat 500. Alas, Sunday after Sunday, the old but sprightly missionary would preach to his 5 converts and their families alone. But his faith never failed – he believed that one day soon, every bench and pew would be taken. Thanking the Lord for the 5 converts and their families, he devoted his time joyfully teaching them about God.

Now it happened that every single month on the exact 25^th day, the old but sprightly missionary would travel for 5 days through jungle ,valley, plain and river, through days that were wet and cold, hot, dry and windy, to the nearest ‘post’ – one can hardly call it a town – to buy supplies that would last a month for the Mission Compound. And so it came to pass that on this particular 25^th day, he packed his mule, said goodbye to his faithful 5 and their families, and set off on his monthly journey. This routine journey to the post being mostly downhill - would take the old missionary man a day and a half. But the return journey - him and his beast being heavily laden – usually required him to spend 3 nights on the trail – for alas! one can hardly call it a road.

As is common in any country or land worldwide, there were, in this place deep in the heart of Africa, a group of 12 bandits, who came into the knowledge – handed out in a dark and dingy watering-hole – one can hardly call it a bar – of the foolish old pale-skinned man who, with no company or protection other than his donkey, would travel for 5 days through jungle, valley, plain and river, through days that were wet and cold, hot, dry and windy, to the nearest ‘post’ deep in the heart of Africa.

Sensing easy prey, the 12 bandits set it upon themselves to travel to the post to see for themselves the truth – or lie- of this knowledge. Lo and behold! On the 26^th day, an old pale-skinned man arrived riding on the back of an equally old donkey, into the bustling market place. The bandits, as instructed by their leader, spied upon the unsuspecting old but sprightly missionary man as he approached vendor after vendor in the market-place, buying and placing his huge purchases on the back of the poor old donkey.

Finally, at sunset, the 12 bandits followed the old missionary man to a cheap lodging, where he paid for a stall and feed for his donkey and a room for himself. Early on the silent morning of the next day, while the mists from the river still swirled in the one street and deserted spooky market place, while stray dogs scavenged for scraps of rotting meats and food, while beautiful cockerels raised their crowned heads and called out towards the unseen rising sun, the bandits huddled in their dark cloaks, carefully gathered together and followed from afar the old missionary man as he left the lodging and made his way to the trail – alas! one can hardly call it a road – that led towards his Mission Compound.

The first part of the old missionary man’s journey took him across river and plain, but the 12 bandits did not attack and merely followed, for long ago, after much discussion with their corrupt leader, they had declared never to perform their evil acts of banditry during the day when the Sun ruled the Heavens but instead chose to execute their evil acts under the protective cloak of dark nights, for the bandits were cowardly men despite being in a rude crowd, and were terrified of retribution from local villagers lest they be seen and become marked men. For they lived a lie, pretending to be wealthy merchants and traders.

And so they followed the old missionary man for an entire day as he foolishly walked beside his heavily burdened donkey in the blistering heat of a hot tropical sun, he stopping only for a drink of water, until at the end of the first terrible day, as the sun reluctantly set far to the west in a blazing fiery show of colour, the trail entered the cool dark trees in the valley bottom. The bandits 12 watched as the old missionary man removed the sacks and baskets from the back of the old donkey, led the donkey to a nearby stream to drink water, watched silently as the man lit a fire to cook his evening meal, then watched him as he prepared his bedroll so as to lay down to sleep.

The bandits 12, under instructions from their evil and corrupt leader, decided that the best time to set upon the old foolish man and take from him all that he had bought from the market-place, all that he carried in his leather pouch tucked into his waist band, and the old donkey - was as he slept, especially that special time as he entered his ‘ third dream’. Leave the donkey? No! After all, the old foolish man wasn’t even riding it!

So it came to pass that the old man, being totally unaware of the wicked eyes that spied upon his every movement, stood under the stars next to his bedroll, raised his hands and face to the heavens and the stars and uttered words that the bandits did not comprehend - and then proceeded to walk around the campsite in a circle that included the donkey, his purchases and his bedroll. Finally, he threw a small log into the fire, curled himself into his blanket and slept.

Excited, the bandits hid in the bush waiting for the old man to enter his ‘third dream’. Time passed slowly, the nocturnal animals in the jungle around them screaming and screeching out to each other, there – a scream of death as one victorious animal killed its’ meal for the night, a thrashing of branches heavily laden with leaves snapping back into place nearby as something big passed that way slowly, but there in the clearing, all was still and quiet.

As the Bandit Leader slowly arose from his hiding place at the appointed hour, he heard a muffled scream from behind him and to the right. It was one of his men. Quickly crouching down again, the cowardly leader looked at his man and saw that his arm was raised, finger trembling, to the far side of the edge of their little clearing. As the leader looked, his heart began to thud and rock within its cage of bone and sinew, blocking his throat and stopping the scream that lodged there. For on the far side of the clearing stalking towards them was the largest, most terrifying Lion that the Bandit Leader had ever laid his thieving eyes on. Even the lion’s teeth that his feared Chief back home in the Village had on his opulent necklace did not compare to the size of the teeth that this Lion possessed.

The massive beast roared once at the quaking 12, then marched regally to the old sleeping missionary man who had not stirred, even though the roar was as loud as that of 4 Bull Elephants’ angry trumpet calls. Fear settled and froze solid in the hearts of the bandits as they watched in mounting horror as the Lion ambled to the old sleeping missionary man and sniffed at him. Then lay down beside him. Facing the bandits. What witchery was this?? they whispered amongst themselves in terror?

When the leader made a quick motion to turn and run from these unsettling events, the Majestic beast rose up and roared once, then lowered its’ head and through the bushes and trees and vines and undergrowth of the jungle, looked right into the eyes of the terrified Bandit Leader in his hiding place. Trembling, the bandit made a motion with his hand, signaling that the 12 must not move. Those eyes! he whispered, they blaze fiercer and brighter than the Sun at Noon, they see into my wicked cowardly soul. We cannot leave!

And so the 12 bandits, hearts cold and frozen and limbs frigid in their terror, spent a wakeful night observing the Majestic beast as he lay next to the sleeping missionary until eons later, the jungle became quiet about them and the first signs of day began to show through the tops of the massive trees.

As the old man began to show signs of wakefulness, the Majestic beast rose, shook himself and walked to the left but towards the group of cowering bandits. As they followed him with the whites of their eyes showing in a terrible fear, the Lion sat on the trail – one can hardly call it a road – directly behind them.

There was no option – they had no way to go but to follow the old but sprightly Missionary Man. So with beating hearts and sore painful eyes that had not once closed the entire night, they watched him as he awoke, washed his face in the cool waters of the tiny stream, pack his burdens onto his donkey, and set off again up the twisting muddy trail – alas, one can hardly call it a road!

The Bandit Leader instructed one of the 12 to watch their rear, and to inform him the moment they were out of sight of the Massive Lion, but word came back that as soon as they set off, the Lion had risen and was following them at a discreet distance. Cold and tired, hungry and thirsty, the 12 bandits followed the slow walking missionary man who led the donkey step by careful step along the wet muddy trail – one can hardly call it………oh, okay, you can finish it yourself?? Thank you, don’t have to type it in….

So, where was I, yes … aha! … the 12 exhausted bandits had no option but to follow the old missionary man until at the end of a long, weary, wet, muddy and dreary day, darkness slowly overcame the jungle as the unseen sun settled in the west. And it came to pass that before it was dark, the old missionary man found a 2^nd clearing in which he could pass the night. Once again, as this old tale was told, the bandits 12 watched as the old missionary man removed the sacks and baskets from the back of the old donkey, led the donkey to a nearby stream to drink water, watched silently as the man lit a fire to cook his evening meal, then watched him as he prepared to lay down to sleep. And, as he watched, heart filled with evil, the Bandit Leader decided that this night they would attack the old missionary as soon as the man lay down, for the Majestic Lion had disappeared from their back some time during the evening as the shadows in the jungle deepened - and somehow the Bandit had knowledge from deep in his corrupt lying heart that the terrifying beast would not be back this night.

It was thus that once more, the old man, being totally unaware of the wicked eyes that spied upon his every movement, stood under the stars in the clearing, next to his bedroll, raised his hands and face to the heavens and the stars and uttered words that the bandits did not comprehend and then proceeded to walk around the campsite in a circle that included the donkey, his purchases and his bedroll. Finally, he threw a small log into the fire, curled himself into his blanket and slept.

Immediately, there grew in a circle, up and around the campsite, a wicked thorn bush, so entangled was it, so thick in branch, so sharp and long and filled with poison its’ thorns, that not even the sharpest machete welded by the man with the longest arm could cut away at it. The bandits 12 leaped back, crying in fear, what witchery was this??

Annoyed, weary and hungry, the Bandit Leader commanded the man with the longest arm to weld his machete upon the thorn fence, but alas, the machete shattered into a dozen pieces as soon as it hit the thorn bush, leaving the welder holding only its’ handle. Hurling it down, the man ran like a terrified hare down the trail – alas! one can hardly call it …. (oh ok) - in a dark and suspicious fear – until he espied the Magnificent lion at the bottom of the trail, lying down and licking its’ paw. The bandit, tall and muscular of build, a hero in his Village and much adored and fawned upon by females of all ages, blubbered like a young babe in its crib and thrashed his way through the jungle, back to his fellow bandits, throwing himself onto the wet stinky jungle floor and begging his gods and ancestors for mercy.

Whereupon the others in the band of bandits did the same, wailing and screaming for mercy from their unseen gods of the night. It was thus that the 12 bandits, again cold, frozen and frigid in their terror, spent a wakeful night observing the Majestic beast as he lay on the path behind them and the curiosity of the thorn bush that encircled the sleeping missionary until eons later, the jungle became quiet about them and the first signs of day began to show through the tops of the massive trees and the thorn bush surrounding the man slowly dissolved in the early morning mist arising from the nearby stream.

Once more, as the tale goes, there was no option for the 12 terrified bandits– they had no path forward other than to follow the old albeit sprightly missionary man. So with beating hearts and excruciatingly painful eyes that had not once closed for two nights and a day, they watched him as he woke, washed his face in the cool waters of the tiny stream, pack his burdens onto his Donkey, and set off again up the twisting torturous muddy trail – for alas! one can hardly call it a road – and for the 3^rd time now - after a wet, horrendous day spent barely crawling through the wet, muddy and dreary path - darkness slowly overcame the jungle as the unseen sun settled in the west. And again, it came to pass that before it was dark, the old but sprightly missionary man found a 3^rd clearing in which he could pass the night.

Dear Reader, if you were one of the bandits, would you not have given up, climbed a tree and left the old missionary man with his strange witchery alone??

Alas! as this old tale was told, the bandits 12 did not heed the wise readers knowledge and instead watched as the old missionary man removed the sacks and baskets from the back of the old donkey, led the donkey to a nearby stream to drink water, watched silently as the man lit a fire to cook his evening meal, then watched him as he prepared to lay down to sleep. For, his heart filled with evil, the Bandit Leader had decided that on this last night they would attack the old missionary man before he stood up and uttered his strange words to the Heavens, for it seemed that those words brought a strange and eerie witchery. And the Bandit Leader had no fear in him, because once again, the Majestic Lion had disappeared from their back some time during the evening as the shadows in the jungle deepened - and somehow the Bandit had knowledge from deep in his corrupt lying heart that the terrifying beast would not be back this night.

So it came to pass that the old man, being totally unaware of the wicked eyes that spied upon his every movement, stirred his pot of food and uttered strange words that the bandits could not understand into the pot, whereupon immediately there flared a fire, so red in colour, so impenetrable, so fierce, so hot that burned in a circle around the missionary man and his campsite in that small clearing on the edge of the trail (one can hardly call it a road!!) that all the bandits ran in fear back down the slippery muddy trail.

But Lo and Behold! Yet again they found the Majestic Lion lying on the trail, licking his paw. Agony and indecision flamed bitterly in the heart of the Bandit Leader. He halted in his headlong rush down that treacherous mountain path, and summoned his 12 thieving bandits around him. ‘My knowledge comes from my lying cheating thieving heart’, he spoke in a hoarse harsh whisper, ‘ and the rest from lying wagging tongues in a dark and dingy watering hole that one cannot call a bar - and we are undone! Between this man and his strange albeit magnificent Lion, thorn bush and fire! I desire knowledge of how he has done this, so, on the morrow, I shall follow this man to his Mission compound, not to beat, kill, maim or part him from his burdens, and his old donkey, but to ask him for the terrible truth of that that lies in those words that he utters but which we do not know!’

And. So, on the mid-morning of the 6^th day, as the old missionary man entered the mission compound, the faithful 5 and their wives and children ran into the large open grassy field laughing and singing in greeting to the old but sprightly man, for they loved him, and while they sang and danced around him, they relieved him of his burdens, thanking him for the supplies, thanking the Lord for his long but uneventful journey and dancing in joy for there was more than enough for yet another month – no one would go hungry. Until a high pitched scream from one of the young boys cut short all merriment. They looked to the boy then followed with their eyes, turning their long graceful necks towards where the boy stared - towards the Beautiful Mission church and the top of the mountain trail. There stood 12 of the most evil men they had ever seen, muddy and wet, ragged clothes filthy and torn, holding machetes and crude knives, spears and axes, faces contorted into terrifying masks, leering teeth and red sore eyes that looked like they had not closed or blinked for 3 nights and 3 days.

As the now fearful inhabitants of the mission centre quietly moved away from the evil bandits, the Bandit Leader stepped forward and shouted – whispered rather – in a hoarse voice – ‘We have come for knowledge of the Word that this man speaks and nothing else. We will not harm you, do not fear us!’

When the old missionary man heard these words, he asked them, ‘Which Word?’

‘The one that brought the Magnificent Lion on the 1^st night, the Thorn Bush on the 2^nd night and the Encircling Fire on the 3^rd night when you were upon the trail – alas! one can hardly call it a road – from the valley below. We had wicked hearts and wished to set upon you to relieve you of your burdens, but your Words, uttered to the Heavens and into your cooking pot, summoned strange magic which we wish to learn!’

The old missionary man knelt down on the ground, thanking the Lord through tears of joy, thanking the Lord for 12 warrior disciples that had been sent to him, then gave instructions to his 5 converts and their wives for food and water to drink, bathing water and clean clothing, and to prepare a place for the bandits 12 to sleep. As the community hastened to welcome the wicked bandits into their midst, the old missionary man spoke to the 12. As he spoke, he spoke to them, not as the evil Bandits 12, men in a crowd to be feared, but with gentleness as if they were honorable men:

‘Each night as I traveled, I prayed to my Lord. On the first night I asked The Lord Jesus to be remain with me and protect me from all harm: spiritual and evil. That first night, I prayed and asked My Lord to be my strong tower and Lion of Judah, for I was very fearful. The following night I asked my Lord to Cover me with a Hedge of Protection from thieving eyes that had murderous intentions, for again I was very fearful but knew the Lord would protect me as I laid me down to sleep. On the Third night the Spirit of the Lord came upon me as I cooked my meal, Thanking the Good Lord for His abundance and His protection and I remember asking for the Comforter to be close to me that night’.

It was why the next morning, cold and misty on the isolated mountain-top, that the bandits 12 threw their weapons into a deep pit that they dug on the side of the mountain. It was why they ate and rested and each day they listened with amazement to the Words of the old but sprightly missionary man. After a few months, the Leader of the xBandits took his men aside and announced in a strong clear voice,

‘Fellow xBandits,

we are no longer bandits,

cowards within a Thug group,

cowering in the day

and thieving and stealing,

maiming and killing

in the lying cover of the night.

We no longer fear the Sun and its Light.

We threw away our weapons carved by human hands,

Yet, we have been given by God,

Weapons which can cut through bone, sinew and marrow,

With which we can fight

and destroy the enemy within this world!

We knew the ways of lying and wickedness,

And now we know the way of Truth.

Let us disband!

…and each take upon himself this task:

To walk no more than 3 hours away from this Blessed Place,

Telling others of this wonderful man and his teachings,

Telling them to come and be a part of this great thing

called a Church,

For if all men knew this Word

And heeded to its truth

As we have done,

How abundantly full of joy would this place be!’

And thusly, so the old tale goes, did the Beautiful Church that the old missionary man and his 5 converts had built on a perpetually misty, cold and isolated mountain-top deep in the heart of Africa came to have over 500 converts, every bench and pew taken, each and every Sunday.

Not the End

Here.

The END

(all puns intended)

Pen Sieve

All Grown Up

Bird In The Kitchen

The Old Man