One of the reasons I began this blog was to become more proficient at writing.  So far its been book reviews, thoughts on famiy, etc.  Today I am launching out in a new direction.  I have found that writing fiction has sometimes help me solidify my thoughts or even bring new insights.  I will sporatically be including short fictional naratives in blog posts.  I have no desire to actually write any kind of fictional work, but to grow as a writer and a thinker.  Your feedback and comments are especially welcome.  This area is new for me and I can always improve.

This is the beginning of a thought on Indwelling sin and Sanctification.

The Path

Her feet raced down the way, her mind ahead of her body tracing every step she would take along the path.  Steps she once took lightly, steps that were once quiet and silent now pounded out a loud rythm through the forest.  The once unfamilar path through the forest was now a well worn trail.  She had been this way many times before.  The undergrowth that had once impeaded her journey was now dead under the continued wear of her feet.  The journey was once tread with fear and trepidation over hours.  Now she easily covered the distance in a few minutes with boldness and practiced agility.

She hated this path. She hated the place that it took her.  She hated herself for running this way again.  She had wished in vain that the path would be forgotten and grow over, yet now she found herself on the path again.  She knew the despair that this path would bring.  Never the less she pressed on, a victum held hostage by her own behavior and choice.  She was a slave running back to a master.

The tragedy is that she had been set free.  Yet, she had figured out a way to create a path back to the bonds she once wore.  It is true that her former master had no legal hold over her, she felt at times a longing to be back under his yoke of slavery.  She had never known freedom before and it frightened her.  So she formed this path through the woods to be in a place that she hated because somehow the comfort of the familiar was more important to her than her freedom or the one who had freed her.

To be continued…