Pawel Writes More

Excerpt:

Have you ever watched a tiny seed transform itself from the inside out into a beautiful plant? The seed is cast off from the living vine to which its fruit has clung and

then it is buried in the rich soil of the earth. The moisture of the earth and the warmth of the sun envelop the tiny seed until its shell softens and its insides expand. At

just the right time and in just the right way new life pushes free from its weakened outer skin and stretches itself upright emerging from the ground. It is awakened to

new life under the watchful eye of the sun, and is rooted deeply within the nourishing bosom of the earth. From that tiny dead seed will come an entirely new vine, a

new creation, a new life, and abundant new fruit.

I am that seed. I am Lazarus. And this is my record.

Excerpt:

I am at the beach, everyday, making castles. I don’t make mudpies anymore, I make sandcastles! I left the mudpies back at home, where they belong. They were so dirty anyway, and even though they are not really made to be eaten, I tried one once when my imagination got the better of me. Before I knew it, it was in my mouth and I had tasted and even swallowed some! You can imagine how disgusting it was, I thought so too. From that point on the reality of what I was making and the inadequacies of the material that I was working with were discontenting, and I went off in search of a better material.

Excerpt:

The traveler breaks free from the tangled undergrowth of the Forest. After a long and arduous journey he finally stands upon the edge of a vast and open land. The wood he has just left snarls and grumbles behind him and its boughs and leaves bristle together; they scratch out his name and call him back. He hurries ahead to a safer vantage point and turns to look back. The Forest stands there, dark and sinister, deeply foreboding and yet strangely tempting. It was all he had ever known and all that he thought he would ever need. It used to be his home. But now it is his enemy. With a conscious set of his shoulders Pawel turns away from what once was and looks out upon what might be. Before him lies the Plain that he so long ago set out to find.

Excerpt:

There once was a man with a tremendously large head. It was his burden to carry, and carry it he did, as best he could. With that head the man began to look around, swinging it first one way and then the other to see what he might see. Try as he might, and he tried mightily, the man was never able to see both ways at once and at the same time. He was able to see down the way a bit and then up ahead a ways, and that was a start. For a man with such a head could not ask for more than that, could he?

Excerpt:

Pawel quietly rubs his hands together, repeatedly covering first one and then the other. He was not prepared for what he was feeling today; not by the bible studies, not by the baptism class, not even by the writing of his testimony. He looks around the room at the faces of the others waiting with him and he chuckles cynically at the absurdity of it all. Here he is sitting in a room full of strangers with perfect hair and perfect lives in a room seemingly designed to offer as little inspiration as possible. “What does all this have to do with real life?” he mutters to himself, “These people have never had to live in the real world.”