Skill Alone

Golden rays shot across the sea as the group set sail.

“There’s a cloud over there,” Peter pointed to the horizon as he picked up his oar.

“So? It’s just one little cloud.” Matthew yawned in disinterest.

James turned around in his seat to see it better. “I don’t like the look of that.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. We should be to the other side before it becomes a problem,” said Andrew.

“You said that last time too,” Thomas jabbed.

“Jesus was with us that time.” John gazed back in the direction of the shore where Jesus had sent them away.

Nathaniel put a hand on James’ shoulder. “Don’t worry. You guys are the best fishermen ever!”

“Yeah! That’s right!” Andrew smiled.

“We ain’t afraid of no storm, are we brother?” Peter joined in.

“We know our craft better than any fisherman on this sea!” boasted John.

James, son of Zebedee brightened up too. “We’ve seen every kind of weather to ever cross the Sea of Galilee!”

Simon the Zealot stood up clumsily from his seat. “Alright, men, we need to focus all efforts to reach our destination before the storm reaches us.

“Forward! Raise the sails!” Jude stumbled as he jumped up.

“But we don’t have sails,” Philip pointed out.

Matthew remained sitting. “Nope. This is a fisherman's craft, not a sail boat. The taxes are cheeper, but you have to row instead of letting the wind carry you.”

“Taxes. Those Romans ‘ll tax the lining out of a man’s pocket!” Judas Iscariot huffed.

A cloud seemed to come over the group. They all grew quiet in the tension that hung in the air. The fishermen settled to steadily rowing while the others settled back into their places.

Finally, Philip spoke up. “Is it just me, or does it seem darker than it was a minute ago?”

Peter shrugged and kept rowing.

James, son of Alphaeus, added, “I think a drop just hit my arm.”

“It’s just your imagination,” Andrew kept his eyes forward as he rowed, but still looked tense.

Suddenly, a sharp gust of wind struck them.

Peter shouted, “Quick! Everyone, grab an oar and start rowing! That storm is moving fast! We gotta make it to the other side!”

The boat began rocking as the clumsy non-fishermen scrambled to grab oars and do their best to help. In a flash, all twelve men were rowing for all they were worth. Still, the fishermen were confident they could beat the storm.

Fear began to seep into the boat as the waves grew in size and number. The crashing waves drowned out any attempts at communication.

“The storm came quicker than expected!” Thomas tried to yell, only to get a mouthful of water as a wave crashed over them.

All twelve rowed with all their might, but the storm was too strong. They were only about half-way across the sea when the storm hit. Now, short of a miracle, they had little chance of making it to shore –and the miracle-working Master of the Seas was not with them like He was last time they had storm like this.

The night wore on, and the storm grew stronger. The twelve began to despair of ever seeing land again. Not even the skilled fishermen could outrun this storm.

“What was that?” one cried out in terror.

Thomas nearly dropped his oar.

All of the twelve screamed in fear at the sight of a figure walking across the sea as if it were land.

“It must be a ghost!”

“We’re doomed!”

"Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid."

They knew in their hearts it was Jesus, but fear still gripped them in disbelief.

Peter cried out, “Lord, if it is You, tell me to come to You walking on the water.”

“Come.”

Peter jumped over the side of the ship and started walking towards Jesus. A wave caught his attention and he looked around at the storm raging around them. Terror seized him as he began to sink into the water upon which he had stood.

“Lord, save me!” Peter cried out.

Jesus reached out His hand and pulled Peter up. "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

The two returned to the craft and climbed aboard. Immediately, the storm dispersed. The twelve ceased their rowing and worshiped the Son of God who had saved them when man’s greatest skill was powerless.

(based on Matthew 14:19-33 KJV)

Trust in the Storm

     The storm came quicker than expected. Seth and Kira were thankful their new house had a basement. The siblings huddled close to their parents as they all listened to the storm outside. Dad had always told them that tornadoes sounded like a train, but until now, they had never heard the sound for themselves. It was a frightening sound. One they would never forget.

    “How long is it going to last, Dad?” Seth wanted to know. 

    “Yeah,” added Kira, “I don’t like that noise! It’s scaring me.”

    Dad put a strong arm around each of them.

    “I don’t know, you guys. Sometimes tornadoes pass by quicker than others. I’m just thankful we’re living here, in this new house with a basement, instead of the trailer we were living in.”

   “Yes,” agreed Mom, “a basement is a much safer place to be during a storm like this.”

    For a while, the only sound was the howling of the wind outside. At last, seeing the fear on her children’s faces, Mom smiled.

   “You know, this reminds me of a story in the Bible.”

   “What story’s that?” wondered Kira.

   “It’s a story about a storm. Not a tornado like this, but a big storm just the same.”

   “Would you tell it to us?” questioned Seth.

    Mom’s smile was illuminated by the flashlight situated on the floor in the middle of their circle as she began her story.

    “One day, Jesus and His disciples were in a boat on the Sea of Galilee. All of a sudden, a big storm came up. The water got rough and waves crashed against their boat.”

    “Was it a big boat?” asked Kira. “”Like the cruise ship Grandma and Grandpa took us on last year?”

    Mom shook her head.

    “Oh no. This was just a little fishing boat. Suddenly, water started leaking into the boat. The disciple were terrified.”

    “Didn’t they have their life jackets on?”

    Again, Mom shook her head.

   “There were no life jackets back then, Seth. I’m sure they knew how to swim. Most of them were fishermen for a living, but they were still very scared.”

    “Was Jesus scared too?”

    “No, Jesus wasn’t afraid. As a matter of fact, he was sound asleep in the boat. The disciples woke him up and said, ‘Look at this storm, Jesus! Don’t you care that we’re going to die?’ But, Jesus asked them why they were so afraid. He stood up and told the wind and waves to be still. As soon as He said that, the storm stopped! Just like that!” Mom snapped her fingers for emphasis. “See, the disciples were human just like us. Sometimes, we all get scared and forget to trust God.”

    “So, you’re saying we should trust Jesus to keep us safe, like He kept the disciples safe?”

    “That’s right, Seth.” replied Dad.

     Just then, they realized how quiet it was. Was the storm over? Dad went up the steps and peeked out the basement door. When he came back, he was smiling.

    “It’s over. And it looks like everything’s fine.”

     Mom, Seth, and Kira came up from the basement to see bright sunshine coming through the windows. 

     “God kept us safe. Just like the disciples.” smiled Kira. 

Rob gently unscrewed the wobbly leg from the old wooden chair that had been passed down for generations. He reached for the new leg he’d just cut in the garage, the scent of fresh wood still clinging to it.

It needed sanding. He took a strip of sandpaper and began smoothing the edges.

Mary, his wife, sat at the kitchen island, her phone buzzing against the marble. Each time it lit up, she glanced toward the window, watching the dark clouds thicken as they crept closer. Unease sat plainly on her face.

“The weather station says it’s going to get really bad, Rob.”

He kept sanding, then lifted the chair and gave it a shake, testing the wobble. He glanced at her with a faint smile.

“Is that so?” he said, brushing the dust from the wood.

“Yes, it is. Don’t you think you should stop working?”

He ran his hand over a small engraved detail, grinned, and blew the remaining dust away.

Mary stared at him, her expression slipping into disbelief. Her phone buzzed again.

“Rob! It’s a warning now. An actual warning.”

“We’ll deal with it when it hits,” he said.

She grabbed her phone and started scrolling.

“Look—Steve and Jess are going to the basement. They just posted it.”

He waved the phone away.

“Please, can’t you take this more seriously?”

His hand caught on a rough patch. The friction slowed him, and he focused there, smoothing it out.

Outside, sirens cut through the air. Wind struck the siding in heavy bursts, and rain began to roll hard across the roof.

The sky dimmed until it felt like night. Lightning split across the fields, thunder following close behind, rattling the walls and the framed photos hanging from them.

Then, briefly, it quieted. The rain softened.

A leak appeared in the hallway, each drop hitting the floor with a steady, hollow tap.

The lights flickered. The microwave blinked to a flashing 12:00.

Mary’s unease sharpened.

“The storm is getting bad,” she said, her voice rising. “Our house could be destroyed.”

A flash. A crack of thunder. Their wedding photo fell from the wall, landing in the spreading water.

The lights went out.

Mary screamed.

She checked her phone again. No signal.

“We can’t even call for help. We’re stuck.”

She began pacing the kitchen island, glancing at her phone every few steps, as if the signal might return if she moved enough.

Rob set the sandpaper down. He crossed to the screen door and secured it with a bungee cord. He moved small appliances into cabinets and slid a bolt across the cabinet doors.

The chair, now steady, the new leg fitted clean, was set aside. It still needed staining.

Mary kept circling, her breath shallow, her thoughts racing.

“I knew it,” she muttered. “I knew it.”

The wind surged again, louder this time. Thunder pressed closer.

At last, she stopped and dropped into the chair.

She leaned forward, her head in her hands, trying to settle.

The storm intensified. The walls groaned. The windows hummed a low, pulling sound, like the air itself was being drawn out.

Mary sat rigid, hands tucked beneath her legs, her feet tapping against the floor. The chair held firm beneath her, solid and unmoving.

She still watched the window, but she no longer paced.

Outside, a tree tore free and twisted in the wind. When it slammed into the house, cracking the glass, she jolted upright.

The storm came quicker than expected.

“Oh, my God. This is it. This is how I die, this is—”

She stopped.

Rob moved through the room without urgency, steady, as if nothing inside him needed to rush.

She watched him.

Something in her began to follow.

Her breathing slowed. Her grip on the chair loosened. Her hands went still before she realized they had. The need to check her phone faded.

Rob leaned against the counter, looking out toward the broken door. He reached for her hand.

His grip was warm. Steady.

The roof’s shaking eased. The windows fell silent. The storm began to pass, the clouds thinning as light pushed through.

Then came the quiet.

No birds. No wind. Just stillness.

Outside, the damage stretched across the property. The gutter hung loose, scraping the ground. A fallen oak blocked the driveway. Part of the roof had given way over the bedroom.

The kids’ swing set was gone, scattered beyond recognition.

In the distance, warning lights blinked from barns and neighboring houses.

Inside, the kitchen stood disrupted but standing.

And in the middle of it, shifted only slightly from where it had been placed, stood the wooden chair.

Mary looked at it, the smooth lines, the carved detail, the newly set leg.

Then she sat back in it, slower this time.

It held.

"Quiet Evening Storm" by Rachel VH (466 words)

The storm came quicker than expected. Like storms always do, whether they are inside your mind or spanning the heavens. Jean could imagine the storm taking up its parasol, hefting a suitcase onto the other arm, and stomping across the clouds in order to break through the cloud barrier and enter, what had been a peaceful evening an hour ago.

She frowned as she surveyed the debris from her faded green armchair. Branches littered on her lawn, wrappers tossed to and fro, the neighbours’ trash can blown over and threatening to roll onto the street. She prayed that nobody would come speeding down the road and hit it, and that the power wouldn’t go out.

The storm was like a rowdy neighbour, banging upstairs, shining a flashlight through your windows, flicking it on and off again. Jean huffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose and lowering her eyes to the pages of her book. Normally, Scraps, her cat, would be curled up on her quilt-covered lap but today he was occupied elsewhere.

That creature must be hiding, she mused. I ought to be as well.

Nothing stirred her heart like a storm. The electricity roamed through her veins, and she set the book down. No reading could be done. Instead, she rose, brushing several crumbs off her lap from an earlier devoured blueberry muffin and waddled to the window, pressing her wrinkled hand to the glass like she did when she was still in pigtails.

She was braver now. Mr. Storm clapping above didn’t cause her to run from the windows yet her heart still wanted to.

It’s a wonder we can’t hold the heart of a storm, she mused.

She would sure like to try. She would wade into the rain, to get shocked silly like Wile E Coyote. No, thank you.

“Only one person should hold that kind of power.” she remarked to herself. Another roar came from the storm outside.

Jean shuffled into her kitchen, going to the cupboard and getting out one of Scraps’ favourite meals. Her joints groaned as she turned the can-opener, and she was glad to see the orange cat scamper to her feet.

“Not too scared to eat, are you boy?” She chuckled when he meowed again, and set down a plate for him.

Scraps fell on it like he’d caught his prey, and Jane looked on, laugh lines forming around her face.

You’re master of the skies, God, and I’m the lady of the house to this one here. I see how it is, she thought.

Yes, the storm was difficult, but she knew the One who told it where to walk and when to stop playing so loudly.

She stooped to give her little lion a pat on the head, then busied herself with dinner.

NO QUESTIONS

Clara knew that she’d never get away with this horrible slouched position at home, but only Four was here now, and besides, they’d been driving in this rotten old jeep through this rotten old desert for who knew how long. No one cared about anything anymore. She removed her oversized sunglasses and tried to wipe the dust from them with her shirt for the millionth time, only to nearly drop them as the jeep hiccuped through another row of hens’ nests.

“Watch it, Four,” she said irritably, “I nearly lost my glasses out the window.”

“Why were they so close to the window?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the road, or what remained of it. He might as well have been a dust bunny, and Clara supposed she didn’t look much better. She sighed.

“I was trying to clean them. But I think it’s in vain.” She put them back on her face. “They need windshield wipers on the lenses.”

“You need to invent that.”

“I’m twelve years old. I don’t care about inventing things.” She slouched down into the seat again, trying to avoid the slant of sun burning across the dashboard. “Maybe when I’m twenty. You can help me.”

“I think you’ll be able to figure it out just fine.”

“I don’t think we’re just going to get ice cream, are we.” She coughed.

Four blinked. “Sorry?”

Clara turned to him. “We’re crossing a freaking desert, and I’m pretty sure there was at least one ice cream parlor back there in Renville.”

“Okay, first, this isn’t a “freaking desert”, this is Utah, where I grew up, so a little respect here,” Four said mildly. “And secondly, where we’re going we’ll get all the ice cream we want.”

“I’m not eight, you can’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“You’re concealing something.”

“I’m concealing lots of things, you know that. You promised you wouldn’t ask questions.”

“Dad was always a proponent of asking questions.”

“Asking the right questions.”

“I still think you’re being deceptive.”

Clara draped her arm out the window, hoping to catch a breeze, but instead scorched herself on the black door of the jeep and swiftly retracted her hand. “I’m bored.”

“Didn’t you bring a book?” Four asked.

“Yeah.”

“You could read to me.”

“Fine.” Clara sighed the word as she reached back and pulled a book from her backpack. “The beginning or the middle?”

“The middle.”

She flipped through, then cleared her throat. ““Chapter Nine. The tempest arrived with greater alacrity than anticipated -””

“Wait,” Four interrupted. “Is this book in English?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “It means “The storm came quicker than expected.” What did you grow up reading?”

“Instruction manuals.”

“That explains a lot of things. Get ready for your education to commence.” 

“See, you don’t need me. You’re smart as a whip already.”

“Yeah, but who’ll write me a patent for windshield wiper sunglasses?”

“There are professionals who do that.”

“You’re a professional. In what I don’t know, but you’ll inform me someday.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Right?”

“I said no questions. That’s a question.”

She closed the book with a snap. “I guess I can’t ask you if you want to hear more of the story then,” She conceded loftily, tossing the book over her shoulder into the back seat and crossing her arms.

It took two hen’s nests and a donkey back before Four sighed. “Okay, look,” he said, turning to her. “All your dad wanted was for you to live life like a normal kid. I am not normal, so the less you know about me, the better.”

“Well, too late for me. It’s not normal to have your dad murdered.”

“No,” Four said slowly, “but I’m doing my best to honor his wish. Got it?”

“How’d you and Dad to get to be friends?”

“Question.”

Four slowed the jeep, and Clara looked out to see a sprawling wood house surrounded by patches of brown-green grass. Her knuckles grew white on the edge of the window.

“Wait, this doesn’t look like an ice cream parlor.” She turned quickly to Four.

“You can still get ice cream here,” He said, squinting out at the house. “My friend Lili lives here, and she’s always liberal with that stuff.”

“What are you talking about, Four?” She flung the words at him. 

He looked down. “Me and a normal life don’t go together.”

“So you’re just going to dump me out in the boonies with a stranger?”

He rubbed the steering wheel. “Lili has a daughter about your age. You’ll fit right in.”

“I don’t want to fit right in!”

There was a creak and Clara spun to see a middle-aged woman step out onto the wrap-around porch, shading her eyes against the sun with her hand and closely followed by a brown-haired girl.

Clara clutched at Four’s arm. “Start the car! Drive!”

He grabbed her hand. “You’ll be happy here, Clara. Happier than with me.”

“Just drive!”

“Listen, listen Clara.” Four clasped both her hands as she shook his arm. “You need to stay here. For your dad.”

“Why? I’m happy with you!” She choked.

“Yes, but you aren’t safe. There are people after me.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s a honking huge question, you know.” He said with a faint smile. “Here comes Lili.” He released her hands, reaching into the back for her bag.

“You’re coming back, right?”

Four put her bag into her lap. “Lili’s daughter is named Lisa, just so you know.” He reached over and pushed open her door.

“But you’ll visit?”

He gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the door. “Watch for potholes.”

“Four.” She stood, bag in one hand, the other on the door. “You still need to write a patent for me.”

He gave her a small smile. “There are professionals who do that.” And then he hit the gas, snapping the door from under her hand as he disappeared in a cloud of dust.