~A short story about forgiveness, written from the perspective of an unfaithful, ambitious husband
“Sharon,” I mumbled as I slipped in and out of consciousness.
“Rose,” I heard a sweet voice reply. My eyes slurred beneath my eyelids. Rose of Sharon, I thought wistfully, remembering Song of Solomon. It was her intimate name…the name I had called her when we consummated our marriage. The smell of vaporous pear butter soothed my senses. My body was sweaty and achy. Pain licked up my back as I tried to shift.
“Shhh, rest now,” the soft voice said. My eyes were crusted close.
“I want to see,” I groaned, pleading inside for sight. I heard shuffling in the room and a shaft of light moved—curtains were being drawn back.
“I know,” Sharon replied, tears coating her voice, “I’ve prayed for you to see for years now.” Her uttered words were like a palpable force leaving me wondering how deeply I had hurt her.
A tea kettle whistled and for a moment I could sense her peaceful presence no more. Water was being poured. Moaning weakly, I felt for her with my hands, craving the comfort of her touch. She drew by my side and took hold of my hand. Her supple fingers were smooth like running cream. She lightly caressed my fingertips before she intertwined her hand in mine. She sat beside me and plush lips moist with tears met my perspiring forehead.
“You’ve been in the dark too long,” she whispered.
She released my hand, dipped hers in a bowl of oiled water and gently rubbed her thumbs across my eyes. I breathed deeply as the scent of frankincense and myrrh created an aromatic fog around my face.
“It’s anointing oil,” Sharon soothed.
My eyes fluttered open and the golden sunlight pouring in from the window almost blinded me. Translucent curtains waved as a fresh breeze seeped in from the cracked windowsill.
My eyes squinted as Sharon dipped a floral towel in the steaming water. It was the same towel she had worked on for weeks. I had called it a “rag” in the past—considering it drab and ugly. Only now could I see the delicate detail she had put in it. Bright red apples danced like rubies across the cloth.
Sharon smiled tenderly at me as she carefully wiped the sweat from my brow and dabbed my neck and chest with the towel. I relaxed as she worked, feeling a healing presence gently warm my body through her fingertips. For a moment, the sunlight formed a halo behind her silhouette.
Why was she doing this?
I had walked out on her and fully intended to take all of our marital assets, given time. If it hadn’t been for that potentially fatal car accident last week, that temporarily had me bedridden, I would have done so by now. I knew how to swindle the system well—banking, no greed, had taught me that. Greed for wealth had made me a cunning swindler…a breaker of her heart.
The words she had oft spoken to me came back, “Love is patient…it keeps no record of wrongs…God’s love in us does not fail.”
I peered at her. Her eyes were like the richest cinnamon glinting with flecks of amber. Her glossy raspberry lips and cheeks were awash with tears. I could see the trail of them on her chin and neck. She moved to massage my scalp when I caught her wrist. A small gasp escaped her lips and she stared at me.
I’m sorry. The words burned to escape my throat.
I only looked back at her. My jaw clenched and my eyes twitched.
Why couldn’t I say it?
What held me back?
Her beatific eyes rained rivers of love on me and something in my heart broke free like water crashing against a dam.
“Why?!” I wept brokenly, surprised to find myself crying.
“Because God’s love never fails.”
My eyes widened as the empyrean light behind her became a Man. Like a balmy song, a cherubic voice spoke in the air, “I’ve prayed for you to see for years now.”
~This short story was taken from my book Visions of Celestial Love
“Ashley presents us with a true cornucopia of modern psalms, personal testimonies, and short stories. She has set out to reveal and unravel some of the most complex heart issues mankind faces in our quest of understanding what true intimacy with God really looks like. Prepare to have your soul massaged and worked on as you read Visions of Celestial Love.” — Jeremy Minard, Founder of Servant King Apparel, Active U.S Navy
