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HOMEPAGE |
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DEAR GRANDCHILDREN.... |
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COWBOY'S ANGEL GIRL |
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THE OLD MAN |
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MR ANCIENT |
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A RANCH MANS WIFE |
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HANDS ACROSS THE BAR |
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CHRISTMAS...not Winter Holidays |
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I WANT TO BE A WILDFLOWER |
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NATIVE AMERICAN TRIBUTE |
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HOMEPAGE
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Please be aware my new email is now: wordpaintervs@live.com. Thanks for visiting my page
I hope you enjoy the words and graphics. My stories and poems will change from time to time so please check back. Share the different pages with your friends. All writings unless otherwise shown are my own and subject to my copyright priviledges.
Thank you for visiting my website. Please take time to click on the guestbook below and leave me a note.
Remember God doesn't want us to rush through life. He wants us to slow down and show His love for others through our actions each day.
*****
Here is one of my newer stories. If you wish to read others, please click left upper left hand side for others.
A KNOCKING ON THE DOOR (A love story)
© Vickey Stamps 1-4-10
The knock came softly upon the door of the home. Inside sat a woman of middle years,her family grown, having finally left the nest. She’d been a faithful wife, mother and housekeeper for many years. Now the empty rooms sang silent songs to her. She had learned to speak to herself of the memories within the walls. It had not been easy
she thought, to do all she and her sweetheart had done over the years. They’d had more than a few difficult days, than for awhile all had become better. Now hard times had hit them and their grown children. The economy seemed to be spiraling downward so rapidly. Her faith was tried. She was determined to hold on somehow.
The knock came again, less softly. This time she heard its beckoning. A beautiful face sat upon the person at the door, its hair glistening of color and pleasant to look at. The person smiled. “Can I help you? Asked the woman of
middle age, wondering what had brought this person to her door. “I represent the world,’ it spoke. “I have many names. You can call me ‘Joy’. Let me in and I will show you real Joy.” The woman of the middle years thought she certainly could use some joy in her life at this point. They were in such a difficult position that erhaps they would lose nearly all they’d gained over the years. Yes indeed, they could use some joy in their home. “Certainly and welcome to my home. Come right in. Can I get you some coffee, or tea perhaps?” Now they sat together at the table that had become far larger with the children gone. It made her wish for a holiday that the children might come and fill the empty chairs again. “Your home is quiet,” spoke the person of the world. “Indeed spoke the woman
of middle years. All of a sudden, in came bands of music players, cymbals blasting, drums beating and behind them trumpeters playing. This followed
by the softer sounds of clarinets and flutes and finally soft strains of a violin. The colors of the uniforms the players wore, were mostly bright by comparison to the drabness of the walls of the home that were badly in need of a painting. The woman of middle years found it somewhat overwhelming and thought she might prefer to usher out the loud cymbals and drums and sit in the comfort of clarinets, flutes and perhaps the violinist, but she kept these thoughts
to herself. The person of the world began to speak of all the worldly things she could enjoy and all the sorrows she could put aside for a later time when she could than ‘pay the piper.’ It was indeed tempting and as she sat looking
at the possibility of foregoing hardships and joining in with the world and all its promises of pleasure. She gave it serious thought. Perhaps she would just sample a bit of this and a trace of that, for just a day or two, perhaps a week and maybe a month. The person of the world looked upon her and smiled. Surely this woman of
middle years was tired of the heavy burden she’d been given to bear. Surely she might consider walking away with her and out into the world. Now another voice came to visit, softly knocking upon the door of her home. Despite the pleading of the woman of the world to ignore it, she felt herself rise and walk to the door. A Plain and simple, but sturdy face full of character and wearing a look of caring in its demeanor, waited there on the porch for her to make Him welcome. “Hello. How may I help you?” The person spoke.
“I am not of this world, but I could be your world. May I come in and speak to you of it?” She stood aside and the person walked in, sitting at the table. How strange that the beautiful face of the person of the world began to change,
to become much less beautiful. The cymbals and drums increased in volume, trying to drown out the voice of the newcomer, but were ignored. Finally the loud noises grew silent. “Had you forgotten me?” spoke the person not of this world. “I was in your room the other day. You called me by my name and I came. Perhaps you were
so distracted you did not sense my presence, but that is okay. I am back now. You surely did not think I would stay away when you needed me so, did you?” The woman of middle years recalled the earlier plea she’d made for help. She felt a peacefulness stir within her. This was the one who had come to her and her husband when things had been so difficult, the one who gave strength to continue on, despite the barriers to what seemed happiness and prosperity. He was the giver of hope and the bringer of love. She felt his gentle touch upon her and bowed her head in sorrow, that she had even thought of walking
out and into the world . Startled by the sight of the person of the world, who now looked much like an ugly old crone, she turned away and back to the man not of this world. “Are you tired? Can I fix you something? I’d love to have you in my home whenever you want to come. We’ve lots of room.” The One not of this world smiled and agreed she had only to call His name and he would be there. For now he would go, but he would definitely be returning. He frowned upon the person of the world and in the blink of an eye, the marching bands that had made such great noise disappeared, along with the representative of the world. The flute stayed on to play a gentle tone along with the clarinet and the violinist.
LIFE WAS GOOD
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