The Hill of Beran

It was almost like the Garden of Eden, this little valley where they lived. The petals of each bloom were succulent in appearance, filled with fragrant oils and life. The Clan K of four tended their plants and marveled at how the God of the universe had blessed them.

As the day faded into another beautiful evening, the mother spoke.

“You know,” Elle K said as her eyes embraced the fields and moved upward, “the top of the Hill of Beran looks to be a lonely place. No one ever goes there. The climb is so steep, and there is no reward awaiting. Just a plain crest surrounded by thin branches and trunks of trees that have lost their desire to grow. We should take seeds from the beauty we have sown here to the top of the Hill of Beran and plant them.”

The Clan K was blessed with two fine young men who were always eager to help tend the fertile Valley of Florae, but the thought of trudging up to    place where no one ever went just to share some of their precious flower seeds brought many grumbles.

“Now, boys. Don’t be too quick to think badly of your mother’s idea. She rarely requests anything of us. If this is something that feels important to her, we should give some serious thought to her idea,” cautioned their father, Papa K.

But Papa K’s heart was far from his spoken words. He had traveled to the top of that hill before; he knew the journey would be long and demanding. He had seen that crest up close and knew it to be void of any nutrition for their precious pips. But he would not deny his lovely bride of anything within his power to deliver.

By morning, Elle K had filled each seed sack with some of the best nuggets ready to be planted. The sacks were heavy on their shoulders. They left their fertile Valley of Florae and started the climb to the Hill of Beran.

The longer they walked, the steeper the climb became. Their seed sacks rubbed against their waists and thighs until tiny holes began to wear into the coarse burlap. The Clan K were too busy struggling with their footing to notice that as they climbed higher, more seeds fell to the ground.

When at last they reached the top of the Hill of Beran, they lifted the seed sacks from their shoulders. That’s when they noticed that they were no longer heavy. Most of the seeds had fallen out along the way.

“Papa, look! Our sacks are almost empty. We’ve climbed all this way. My shoes are nearly worn through from the rocks and crags, and now we’ve practically nothing to plant!”

Elle K examined her own flimsy seed sack that had been filled tight. She sighed. She could not let her husband and their boys feel their trip had been in vain.

 “Look at the seeds,” she implored. “The smaller ones fell through the tiny, worn places, but some seeds did survive our trek. Let’s find the very best spots to plant them. We’ll pray for the God of the universe to bless them. Then they will be in His hands.”

The Spring thaw had left a few shallow ponds among the thin trees, and there would be at least some shade there to protect the flowers, if they grew at all. The Clan K went to work and tenderly set the seeds just below the surface of the soil nearest the water ponds, then made the long trip downhill to their beautiful Valley of Florae.

Fall came, then Winter. Life settled back into their routine with few thoughts of their venture to the Hill of Beran.

Then Spring arrived.

After an afternoon of watering and tending their lush florals, Elle K rolled back onto her heels and stretched her neck upward.

“Look!” She exclaimed.

The path they had taken to the top of the Hill of Beran was alive with blooms, just like the Valley of Florae. And the top of the Hill of Beran was afire with color as the sun provided the spotlight for God’s blessings on those few surviving seeds.

Clans from far and wide now make the journey to the top of the Hill of Beran. The once barren crest is now covered with beauty. Every year the flowers increase in number and size, especially at the very top.  

And God smiles.

“How lovely on the mountains

 Are the feet of him who brings good news,

 Who announces peace,

 And brings good news of happiness,

 Who announces salvation,

 And says to Zion,

‘Your God reigns!’”  (Isaiah 52:7 NASB)

A fable to honor a special family. 

Dead Sea Rising Review

       Dead Sea Rising is an invitation to experience two worlds: The first, the Bermans', a modern-day Messianic Jewish family. The second, Terah's family in biblical Mesopotamia.

        Jerry Jenkins has his feet firmly planted in both worlds, and he intertwines the two with intrigue and danger that will make you willing, eager even, to travel with him through Dead Sea Rising.  If you enjoy serials, hang on. This one is going to be big!

       Hurry now to Barnes & Nobel or Amazon to get your copy before they're gone!

Change

It was time to say “Goodbye.” The dream of building our own home in the country and sharing that experience with our two daughters had been realized. Our little girls had made the transition from life in the city to country living and survived the culture shock of trading next door neighbors for a patch of land far removed from everything familiar – far removed from just about everything, actually. 

They were now young women and had left their rural nest in pursuit of their own dreams. It was time for my husband and myself to vacate that same nest and return to the city to begin a new chapter in our own lives.

What an adventure that 20 years had been. We would officially move into our almost-finished rock and rough cedar ranch house in 1980 during the hottest summer on record in our state. Anything that stayed in place for more than 20 seconds either dried up or was devoured by grasshoppers numbered by Biblical standards. By mid-July we were walking on crispy grass that would remain brown until the following spring.

After the initial excitement of building and moving into our new home had worn off, I was left with the reality that I was literally living in the middle of nowhere with all manner of creepy crawlies that were certainly much smaller and less lethal than the ones that existed in my imagination. A reality that meant many hours of alone time and facing many small emergencies that inevitably came when my knight/cowboy could not be there to resolve them.

My husband would travel the 60 miles to the city to work, adding a two-hour round-trip commute to an already long work day. This city girl would survive by staying active in our new church and investing in the girls’ world of basketball and cheer leading in their rural school and even more church activities.

We would experience sudden downpours of rain that would wash out the low-water crossing on the only trail from the county road to our front door. The expression, “Lord willin’ and the creeks don’t rise” was a statement of fact for us on more than one occasion. One of the heaviest snow and ice storms on record would mean four days of intermittent power outages and lots of family togetherness until the snow stopped long enough for my husband to clear a path with our tractor. I was actually a little disappointed when the school buses were able to reclaim miles and miles of dirt and gravel roads and my husband would reclaim his lane on the highway to his two jobs.

I miss the simpler pleasures of that time: A roaring fire in the over-sized fireplace and the wonderful smell that only charred firewood can offer. Along that same vein, I miss the beginning of fall and spending long afternoons raking leaves and twigs from around the pond into huge piles that would also fill the air with aromatic cinders and smoke. Our front door faced the west, and the sunsets seemed to be an inscribed love letter from God to our small family. Rainbows would come and go as they hovered just above the tree line that encircled our remote piece of the rock.

Most importantly, that time in the country was marked by a dependency on God that would not have happened at any other time or under any other circumstance I’ve experienced. The isolation within the walls of that remote haven meant my spending many more hours with Him than a busier lifestyle could have accommodated. Our stay there meant my faith became more of a commitment than a convenience.

When the time came for the new owners to begin living their dream on our farm, my final walk over the cleared front half of the 80 acres was as serene as any place on earth. A new-fallen snow blanketed the thirty-five acres of pasture surrounding our home and glistened peacefully among tree branches heavy with the moist powder. I was careful to photograph and video ahead of each step to keep from spoiling the untouched serenity. It was a still and quiet “Goodbye” that I never wanted to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NASB) says, “There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven.” Whatever our future may bring, living in rural America was that defining season that will forever remain deeply etched into my heart and mind.