Friday Fiction - Amar's Message

I wrote this story as a Faithwriter Challenge (topic: India). It breaks my heart to hear of thousands of Christians giving their life because they love the Lord. Pray for them. 

To find more great stories, go to Fiction Fusion (Be sure to leave some encouraging comments.)





Amar's Message

The black jungle vibrated with sound, the rumbling of the big cats, the screeching of monkeys, and the roaring—the crackling roaring that drowned out all other sounds. The drooping branches hung heavy with the misty rains that never stopped. Amar huddled under the broad leaves of the peepal tree. His mother whispered against his head. 

“Amar, you must go to the mission compound. You must go tonight. They must know.”

He turned to look in her face. He could see the fires reflected in her round eyes. He turned away, for he didn't want to remember. He didn't want to hear the men shouting at his Papa. He didn't want to see his father's face. 

“Amar, listen carefully. You must find the missionary and tell him.”

He looked again into her eyes. “Mama, how will I find him?”

“Follow the smooth path of the elephants over the mountain.”

He peered into the inky darkness. Even the moon dared not reveal their hiding place. He knew the way to Raikia but had never walked alone in the jungle. The the tall teak trees wavered threateningly in the flickering shadows.

“Mama, I am afraid of the tigers and the cobras.”

“God will protect you. You must be a man. You must be like your father and not be afraid.”

A wailing scream from the village pierced the throbbing, roaring, raging night. They both looked and instinctively pulled back farther into the darkness. Mama's hand cradled his shoulder against her side, and she laid her soft lips upon his young head. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“You must go, Amar.”

He felt her grasp him in pain. “Mama?”

“Do not turn back, Amar.”

“Mama, what am I to say to the missionary?” He looked at her bruised cheeks, then turned away. He didn't want to remember.

“Tell him these words, 'Many faithful have fallen, but we will not turn back.' Keep them in your mind.”

She laid her head back and shut her eyes. He could not see the fires in her face. 

“Mama?”

He felt the damp soil beneath his knees. He tasted salty drops upon his lips. He smelled the choking smoke in his nostrils. He could not see his mother's face.

“Mama?”

She sat up. 

He saw the flames again. 
“Say it to me, Amar. Say the words.”

“Many faithful have—Mama, I can't do it.”

“Say it!”

“Many faithful have fallen, but we will not turn back.” He closed his eyes, and he saw his Papa, Sudhir Raman, once a member of the head counsel of the province of Orissa, but now the pastor and leader of a Christian church. His father had stood tall, with head held high, with feet firmly planted, and with heart unmoved. The boy squeezed his eyes tight. He didn't want to remember.

“Say it again.” The last word mingled with her breath.

Amar repeated the words and wrapped his bare brown arms around her. He felt the silky soaked sari clinging to her body. He smelled the sweet jasmine in her hair. He lay there like he had when he was little, like baby Surhi had done just this morning. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to see the angry men. He didn't want hear his sister 's cry. He didn't want to remember. 

With sudden realization, he pulled away. “Mama, you must come with me!”

“No, Amar. I can't. You go. You must be strong,” she whispered. 

Mama's eyes were closed. She did not move. Amar stood. He wiped the droplets from his cheeks and turned his face toward the mountains. 

(Although this story is fictional, there are many around the world tortured and martyred for their faith. Please pray for the Christians who are giving their all for their Lord.)

LORD's Day





"High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'n's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all."

Treasuring the Value of Our Freedoms


With the advancement of technology, we can know what is happening around the world as it occurs. This is a blessing and a curse.

I hear of fellow Christians persecuted and executed for their faith. It grieves my heart. I can let it depress me, or I can let it strengthen my faith. I pray for them, and I pray for our country. I pray that we will be strong in our devotion to the Lord.

I pray that we will treasure the value of our freedom of worship and speech. I pray that we will treasure the privilege of owning God's Word and being able to teach it without fear.

If our freedoms were taken from us  . . .

Would we suddenly wish we had attended church more faithfully?
Would we wish we had memorized more Scripture?
Would we wish we been bolder witnessing to our neighbors?

I was reminded of a story of a boy who regretted not paying attention to his lessons in school when he found out that his country had been taken over in war. Suddenly, he loved what he had lost.



"The Last Lesson" 
by Alphonse Daudet (1840-1897)


Are we using the gifts that God has given us? 
Are we treasuring the value of the freedom? 

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