Lisa Wiles Frameworthy, also known as ‘Gravel,’ a young lady in a red prom gown of acetate, finds that she can no longer find the inspiration to write her short stories for God anymore. As a believer, she used to write Christian stories about her man character named “Proffery,” who was to her a dream man. But now her writing muse has left her. And she finds loneliness in her walk with Christ. A real man named “Flanders,” comes up to visit her from the apartment below, and he is a Christian as she is. And God needs him to bring back her writing to her worship life.
GRAVEL—A FABLE
By Mr. Morgan P. McCarthy
The fair young woman stood in her living room before her balcony door, looking upon her reflection in its panes in the night in the light of her lamps behind her. This door that opened out onto her rickety old balcony was wooden with fifteen panes of glass, three across and five down, and there was not an additional door beyond this door, neither screen door nor storm door. And she praised God for her attire, and she doubted herself for her face. Her attire this day was a lustrous sexy red prom gown that she had bought at the Deb Store just for herself at the mall some time ago, and this was what wore everyday all day; and it felt good on. All of the men said good things about her features; all of the men also said good things about her dress as well. The year was 1990. and it was now September. This lady then went on to spontaneously thank her God for yet another thing, praying now, “1990 is a great year for prom gowns, Lord.” This girl was a born-again Christian, living for Christ and faithful in her walk with God. “The Lord’s elegant lady in her elegant dress,” said the girl to herself. Her name was “Lisa Wiles Frameworthy,”and though she loved this prom gown, she did not choose to go to the prom; as a Christian, she doubted whether a believer like herself should really go to and to enjoy
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such a dance. She had already decided to wear this nice red prom dress everywhere else that she went instead. It was quite new yet, and it had a most savory smell of fresh new fabric—the fabric called “acetate.” She knew about Song of Solomon 4:11 in the Holy Bible that said this, “…; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.” This was for her the aroma of brand new acetate here and now thousands of years after this verse was first written. This prom dress had two pieces. First of all was the prom dress jacket, red and shiny, complete with padded shoulders and long sleeves and reaching halfway down her torso to just below her–. And mainly was the rest of the dress, again lustrously deep red with thick comfortable strings that climbed up and down her shoulders, a bodice portion with those plastic liners within the material that prom gowns had these days, a Basque waistline in her middle, and a skirt portion of two flounces of this red acetate that reached to halfway down her calves in a hem in the shape of a “V.” Turning to examine her backside in these little panes in the door, she definitely admired the long zipper and that traditional big red bow tie just above her rump and at the end of the zipper. Besides this prom gown she also had on black tights and red pumps. She knew the inside of this prom dress just as well as she knew the outside of this prom dress, from her very much admiring of it. It had four tags inside it: one read, “Int. Ladies Garment Workers Union”;
one read “Made in U.S.A.”; and one read, “Size 9/10” and one read, “Made of 100% acetate.” Satisfied with her critique of her brand new dress, she then went on to critique her thirty-year-old face.
“Do you think that I am pretty, Lord?” she asked. Men all told her so. But she was not so confident in her own attraction. Her eyes of brown were vivacious and rife with the light of the Holy Spirit of God indwelling her as a born-again believer. “I am glad that You had not made me with blue eyes, Lord,” she prayed. Her tresses were most straight and thin and wispy and with full bangs and reaching down to her shoulders, and they were a dark brunette color. She spoke again and said, “Thank You, Jesus, that You made sure that my hair is not blonde.” She went on then to judge her light white complexion and her nose and her chin and the curve of her cheeks, her eyebrows, her eyelashes, even her ears
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within her wispy strands. Yes, she was truly pretty, after all—even despite her doubts. Lisa Wiles Frameworthy weighed one hundred twenty pounds and stood five feet eight inches tall. Her frame was most worthy among young women, and her face was that of a girl full of pleasing female wiles. And, herself a born-again Christian, she had God living within her in His Holy Spirit.
Lisa Wiles Frameworthy also had another name, a nickname, given her by her two sisters one day in an accident at a quarry that had a good ending. It was “Gravel.” That day, big sister Gretchen and middle sister Lisa and little sister Grandy were playing at a quarry where they did not belong. Gretchen was in the little lake splashing around. Lisa was atop a mountain of gravel stones looking for corundum rocks. And Grandy was atop a mountain of sand making somersaults. After a while, Grandy spoke and said, “Lisa, Gretchen, I’ve got sand in my shoes.” Then Gretchen spoke and said, “Lisa, Grandy, I’ve got water in my shoes.” And, of course, herself in the gravel stones, Lisa sought to add to this merrymaking with words by saying, “Gretchen, Grandy, I’ve gravel–” Just then a little landslide in this mountain of gravel began to carry Lisa down the mountain with it! She panicked as she began to slide, and she screamed out to God and to her sisters. And Lisa and the avalanche of gravel went all the way down the slope right down to the ground at the base of the mountain. But Lisa was all right.
Her legs were buried in gravel up to her knees, but she was not cut or bruised, and nothing was broken.
She lifted her legs up and out of the gravel, stood there, and said, “God is good. I am okay!”
Afraid for her big sister, and yet still holding on to their jokes of just before this accident, Grandy said, “Gravel, you’ve got Lisa in your shoes.”
Correcting her, Gretchen said, “What you mean is, ‘Lisa, you’ve got gravel in your shoes.’”
“I was almost a goner,” said Lisa.
Then the little sister said, “Gravel would make a neat new nickname for you, middle sister.”
“Yes,” said Gretchen. “Think about it, Lisa. We three sisters—Gretchen and Gravel and Grandy.”
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“A kind of alliteration thereby of ‘G’s,’” said Lisa. “Or should I say of ‘Gr’s?”
“Big sister Gravel, what do you think?” asked Grandy.
“Little Sister,” said Gretchen. “Do you like it?”
“Call me ‘Gravel!’” declared Lisa Wiles Frameworthy in ready assent.
Pondering this name, Lisa Frameworthy left the balcony door to come back to the kitchen, her prom gown swishing as she walked, and she did look upon what she had upon her kitchen table. It was a piece of yellow legal ruled paper with a handwritten title on top–”Gravel–A Fable”–and with the rest of the sheet all blank. This kitchen had always been her place in this apartment wherein she did her writing. As for her bedroom, that was always the place here where she prayed. And the living room was always where she did her Bible-reading. The bedroom and the living room continued being places of great delightful worship for her of her Lord and Saviour. But not this kitchen anymore. Her writing of short stories had died here in this kitchen at this table some time ago. Every time since that she had begun a story, it never got finished. And after each new story, each demise of that story happened after fewer and fewer pages of work. And finally it had come to this: Here on her kitchen table was a story with only a title and nothing else. Her joy of writing had left her. She could no longer glorify God with short stories. The muse had left her forever. And she sorrowed once again here before her kitchen table. And to think that her creative writing had begun so favorably and so wondrously for her just a few years ago. The stories started with a sweet dream in the night. Mighty in the Lord already by that time, before turning in to bed, Gravel prayed for her first time the words, “Lord, what would You have me to do for You?” And the Lord answered her prayer that night with a dream man. She found herself joyously alone and walking down an endless hallway of wood and of incandescent wall lamps left and right, far from each other and quite dim and comfortably cozy. Looking ahead she could see the walls seemingly converge up ahead like when one looks down the railroad tracks; and she knew this to be an optical illusion. She refused to turn back to see from where she had come. She chose to go forward
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and onward for her Jesus in this dream. She walked and walked and walked in this great hallway full of the peace of the Holy Spirit, and after a mile, she came to the end of this great hall. There stood a closed door with a sign that read, “’Yes,’ or ‘No,’ or ‘Wait.’” With her wisdom as a daughter of God, Gravel knew that these were the three words that God did use in answering the prayers of a believer.
She then saw a doormat upon the wooden floor that read, “’…: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’ Joshua 24:15.” Lisa felt welcome here at this place at the end of the hallway. Upon seeing a brass door knocker, she went ahead and knocked with it. And a man’s voice answered her, “Do come in.” And Gravel confidently opened the door and went in. There sat a man at a desk, his back turned toward her, and he looked to be writing something most busily.
“Sir?” she called forth, inquisitive and not afraid.
And he turned around, turning his desk chair with him, and he looked at her with kindness and
warmth. In his right hand was a yellow pencil. And on his desk was a yellow pad of writing paper.
A nice desk lamp with a swivel arm and a little shade gave light to this man’s desk. And whether there were any more rooms for this man’s dwelling here at the end of the hallway, Lisa Frameworthy could not tell.
He then spoke to her again, saying to her this time, “Do inquire, miss, of my activity.”
In obedience she asked him, “What are you working on?”
He replied, “I’m writing for Jesus.”
“Are you writing a commentary?” she asked him.
“Nay, O lass,” he said. “I write fantasy.”
“I love to read fantasy,” she said to him.
“Christian fantasy, fine girl,” he said, “where a man can dream dreams and live lives.”
“Do you write novels, good sir?” she asked.
“I write short stories, inquiring lady,” he said, pleased with her attentions.
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“Stories about God, I’d bet,” she said.
“Stories where souls get saved and where God answers prayers,” this writer at the desk told her.
“With lots of Bible verses in them. I do hope,” she said.
“King James only Scripture for sure at that,” he said.
“The Good Bible,” she agreed.
“Milady, do ask me my name,” he said.
“What is your name, O writer for God?” she asked.
“My name is Proffery Rule Coins,” he told her.
Getting clever with this affable and mysterious man, Gravel told him, “Now ask me my name, O Mr. Coins.”
“You name is Gravel,” he said with an angel’s knowledge.
“You know me, O man of God?” she asked, taken aback and pleased by his familiarity of her.
“It is written, O Gravel, ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ Hebrews 13:2,” he told her a cryptic Bible verse.
“Angel of God,” she said. “I’ve prayed that God show me what He wants me to do in my life.”
“God’s answer is, ‘Yes,’ my young lady,” said Proffery.
“God says, ‘Yes?’” asked Lisa Frameworthy.
“As you see me do at my desk, go and do even likewise,” he told her in a subtle reply.
Having told her this, Proffery Coins then turned back his chair and his self back to the desk, and his back was toward the girl once again.
And Gravel woke up. She then knew that God wanted her to write religious/inspirational short stories for Him as her special ministry to God. And she found an even happier joy in life. She then sat down and began to write her first short story for God. She called it “Angel at a Desk.” She wrote a note page, then the handwritten full story complete with eight scenes, then typed it up on her electronic
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typewriter across twenty-five pages of hard copy. This first story for God, as one can tell, was all about
that dream from God. She wanted to tell all the world about this Proffery. Everybody had to read about her knight in shining armor who rescued her his damsel in distress. She had to tell all about her handsome prince of an angel. And after that first Christian story, she continued to write many more Christian stories. And this Proffery Coins was the leading man, and she the leading lady in every one of these short stories for God. And he was the hero in all of these divers and sundry stories. Women would find her Proffery a real cute guy. Men would want to be just like Proffery. And children would look up to Proffery as a role model of Christ. This was what Gravel sought to do with her many stories that God had given her to write. And all of this was then. And none of this was now. Her Proffery stories no longer could get even to the first line. Proffery no longer inspired her to write. And God was no longer in her stories. And her ministry as a Christian author had died for her at this kitchen table before where she was standing now. And she was lonely without Proffery Coins to write about.
Just then a knocking came upon her apartment door. Unsure about wanting unexpected company in her dolefulness right now, Gravel hesitated to go to the door. But the knocking came again a second time. And she sighed and went to the door and opened it. There stood a handsome man with what looked to be a Holy Bible in his hand.
“Hi?” she asked.
“Hi,” he said.
“Are you an angel?” she asked, hoping that this could be Proffery.
“No. I’m just a born-again believer spreading the Word of God,” he said.
This was not Proffery. Then she said, “I know the Word of God, too.” Then she paraphrased a Bible verse, “Forever is His Word settled in Heaven, O good man.”
“Psalm 119:89,” said this stranger. “I believe God sent me here to talk to you about God.”
“Oh, I also know God,” she said. “I am already a Christian.”
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“You are also born again?” he asked.
“That I am,” she said. “But I do always enjoy a little more fellowship.”
“I wonder why God brought me here,” said this man. This guy was really kind of a handsome fellow.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I am Flanders Arckery Nickels,” he said. “What is your name?”
“I am Lisa Wiles Frameworthy,” she said. “But you can call me, ‘Gravel.’”
“Gravel, I am your new neighbor from the apartment below,” said this Flanders. “Sorry for barging in on you like this. Usually the Holy Spirit leads me to the lost to tell them of their need for the Saviour. He never led me to a saved person who already found Jesus as Saviour before.”
“Maybe God sent you to me to glorify Christ in a different way than to convert a lost soul,” said Gravel, thinking out loud.
“Maybe He wants me to be used by Him to answer a prayer of another believer,” said this Flanders, himself now thinking out loud.
“I could use some help from God in my life right now,” she confided to this guy from the apartment below.
“If you would, allow me to help you in any way that I can,” said Flanders in true compassion.
Humble before this brother-in-the-Lord, Gravel said, “I think that I would like that very much, O Flanders.”
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Oh, do come in and see my humble little apartment of God, Flanders,” she said, glad now for company. And he came in and walked around and admired all the things of God that she had in her apartment.
“Ah, magic marker posters of praises and thanksgivings to God. Bibles everywhere. Crosses
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on all these walls. Portraits of Jesus. A hymnbook over here. A concordance over there. A shelf of Bible commentary books in the hall,” summed up Flanders Gravel’s apartment of God. “I see the Good Lord everywhere in your apartment, O Lisa. I feel quite at home here.”
“Do you like it, Flanders?” asked Lisa Frameworthy.
“Quite much, Gravel,” he said.
“God has blessed His daughter with this humble little apartment,” said Lisa.
“These windows in your kitchen both face west,” he said.
“So do my two living room windows,” she said.
“I think that west is my favorite direction,” he said. “One can see the sunset in your apartment up here.”
“Uh huh!” she said. “Sunset is my favorite time of the day.”
“Mine, too,” he said. “But my lower apartment keeps me from seeing the sunset like you can in this upper apartment.”
“That is my favorite thing about this apartment,” said Gravel. “I have always wanted to write stories with the sunset shining down upon my table as I write. Here, finally, I could do that. Fun! Fun! Fun!”
“Do you get to read your Bible and pray in here also with the sunset shining upon you, Gravel?” he asked her.
“Yes! Yes!” she said. “And Bible study and praying is even more fun for me that writing.”
“A girl could take pictures up here of the sunsets of De Pere,” he said.
“This girl already has,” said Lisa Frameworthy. The corner of Michigan Street and George Street here where she lived was a great vantage point for taking pictures of all the sunsets. Being a small city, De Pere did not have tall buildings that blocked the sky from this apartment. A full service gas station was right across the street toward the west, and that was a low building. Taller buildings
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lined the streets farther off to the west, but they were only two-story buildings. “I do not take pictures just of the sunsets, Flanders,” she went on to say, “but also of all the dusks, too.”
“Dusk!” said Flanders. “I do not know what I like better—sunsets or dusks.”
“Would you like to see these pictures, Flanders?” she asked.
“Oh yes! For sure, Gravel,” he said.
And they sat down upon the table which had once been her magical writing table, and they looked at her box of pictures of the western sky of fading daylight here in the kitchen.
Then Flanders took notice of a single sheet of yellow paper. He read out loud, “Gravel—A Fable.”
She said, “Yes,” in a not positive tone.
“Do you write fables, Gravel?” he asked.
“Not fables so much,” she said. “But I used to write good Christian stories.” She tried to sound cheerful. But he discerned discouragement in her voice.
And he asked, “Then what happened?”
“I think that people call what I have ‘writers’ block,’” she said.
“Has it come upon you for a long time, Gravel?” he asked.
“For a very long time, Flanders. Yes,” she said.
“Do you think that God has taken away your love for writing?” asked Flanders.
“I never thought to see the Lord as the One Who took away my stories from me,” said Gravel.
“It is good that you never blamed God for such a loss,” said Flanders. “When things go wrong in a person’s life, it is always to him or her, ‘God’s fault.’”
“But if God were the One Who made me to stop writing, maybe it is a good thing that I move on from my short stories,” said Gravel, waxing wistful.
“At least for now,” said Flanders. “Maybe He will bring it back gloriously for you in the future,
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and your stories can be bigger and better than they were before.”
“How kind you are for giving me such hope, Flanders,” said Lisa “Gravel” Frameworthy.
“I believe that writing for Jesus is a gift from God,” said Flanders.
“Would you like to see all of them, Flanders?” asked Gravel.
“I love these sunset pictures, but I think that I will love your stories even more,” he said.
And at once the former Christian writer went to her bedroom closet to get out her writings to show to this neat guy from the apartment below. She came back with a volume of hard copy bound in a
report cover of a binder. And she set it upon the table before him. She asked this handsome Christian man, “Could I sit next to you?”
And he said, “I’d like that, Gravel.” And he pulled out a chair for her to his left side, and they sat down together at this end of the table to look at her collection of short stories. This little binder was black. Its binding was one in which one little metal piece had two narrow prongs top and bottom and in which another metal piece had two holes top and bottom with two little sliding flat rings that moved about freely upon this piece. Binding up all of these papers thus, these narrow prongs went through these holes from the back of the pages and out to the front of the pages, and were thus folded down in the front flat and were held flat by the flat sliding rings in the front. He said, “I never saw a binder like this before, Gravel. It is quite something.”
“It is a far cry from heavy awkward three-ring binders, which I abhor,” said the writer.
“What kind of binder is this called?” he asked.
“It is called a ‘report cover,’” she said.
“Report covers, I can see now, have class, girl,” said Flanders Nickels.
“I use only report covers,” she said.
“I can see your title page here inside,” he said. And he read this title out loud, “Of Horsetails and Cattails.”
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“My twenty stories written by me and God,” declared Gravel.
“It says ‘horsetails and cattails’ with a ‘tail.’ in them,” he said. “T-A-I-L.”
“Yeah,” she said in gladness of remembrances of writing days.
“Shouldn’t it be, maybe, with ‘tale’ in those two words instead?” he asked. “T-A-L-E?”
“You mean like ‘horse tales’ and ‘cat tales?’” she asked him, intrigued by his query.
“These twenty stories are all good tales,” he said.
“You’ve got the wrong ‘tale.’ ‘Tail,’ as it is in the title of the book is the way it needs to be for me,” she said.
“Then you do not write about horses and cats then,” asked Flanders.
“Never,” she said.
He thought for a moment then asked, “Then these stories are probably not about horses’ tails and cats’ tails, either.”
“You’re right right there, Flanders,” she said. “Otherwise they would be two different pairs of separate words.”
“Like ‘horse tails’ and ‘cat tails,’ he said. “Two words each.”
“Aye, Flanders,” she said. “They are both one compound word each.”
“What does this mean that you put it on the title of your precious book?” he asked.
“Horsetails and cattails are my favorite two plants made by God,” she said. “Horsetails look like little hollow green stems about one foot high all divided up into partitions. And cattails look like real big green plants about five feet high with a big brown furry head on its top.”
“I know about those,” said Flanders, remembering these two plants that grow in the wild.
“So that is what they are called.”
“Do you know why these are my favorite two plants, Flanders?” she asked.
With a most uncanny savvy, Flanders guessed, “It is because of something that you wrote?”
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“Flanders, how did you know?” she asked in great surprise and gladness. “Who told you?”
“I just thought about it. Nobody told me,” he said. “Tell me the rest, O Gravel.”
“It all came about from a paradise that I had written in one of my stories. This paradise was called ‘the land.’ And it had a magical creek that flowed throughout it. And at the start of this creek of the land was a utopia unlike any utopia that I had written anywhere and anytime. And there was a garden of horsetail plants on one bank of this beginning of the creek, and there was a garden of cattail
plants on the other bank of this beginning of the creek. That is why I now call my stories for God collectively, ‘Of Horsetails and Cattails,’” explained the former writer in sweet recollections.
“You definitely think like a writer,” he praised her in the Lord.
“Look at the end of my book and see the page number of the last page, Flanders,” she said
He turned to the last page and read at the bottom out loud, “Page 500.”
“That’s half of a thousand,” she said.
“Twenty-five pages average per story,” he said, working with mathematics in his head.
“My beloved hard copy,” she said. “All typed up neat and clean with my electronic typewriter.”
“This title page I see here on the table without any writing on it is all handwritten and on yellow writing paper,” he said. “It is not a typed up story like all of these in here.” He pointed to her report cover hard copy when he said this.
“My stories always first start out with paper and pencil, and they always end up with the typewriter and typing paper,” said Gravel.
“This story called, ‘Gravel—A Fable,’” he said. “It looks like you have another story in this to go ahead and write up and then to go ahead and type up.”
She said dolorously, “I cannot.”
And he remembered. And he said to her with empathy, “You cannot.”
“Let’s talk about good things,” said Lisa Frameworthy. “Let’s talk about how we got saved–
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you first and then me after that,”
“We can do that,” agreed Flanders Nickels. And he began to tell this red prom gown girl the testimony of his salvation. The following is a narrative of his so-great conversion: It took place for him at Voyageur Park by the river. More accurately it took place just outside the northern edge of this beautiful park. This northern edge of Voyageur Park was landscaped with big flat rocks, and it bordered this section of the Fox River. Where Flanders had become born again was the little sandy shore of the Fox River just to the east of the river and just to the north of Voyageur Park and right up against it. It could well have been private property, but Flanders never found out. Flanders loved to go to this tiny unknown beach and splash around in the Fox River in all of his clothes—shoes and blue jeans and shirt. But this one day for him, he was thinking religious thoughts when he was there. And he saw a stick in the sand of this shore. And he saw it as a writing stick. And he picked up this stick, pondered mankind’s greatest question, and wrote it in the sand with his new writing stick: “Who is God?” After having written this query in the sand, he then went ahead to draw a box around it in the sand to emphasize his question. Then he set down the stick and awaited a sign from God. Nothing happened. He waited long and expectantly. Still nothing happened. Then, forgetting his type of prayer in the sand and giving up on an answer from God, Flanders went ahead and walked out into the river to enjoy another fun time alone in the water. He waded out to his thighs in his street clothes and sat down in the river. Sitting in the Fox River, he was now up to his neck in the water. And once again he faced north to admire the large Highway 172 Bridge a couple miles from here. Where he sat was in the city of De Pere. The big bridge he was looking at was in the village of Allouez. And the big river he was in the midst of stretched wide west and south and north from where he was. He could see the cars upon the bridge. He marveled at the engineering that went into making such a bridge. He reveled in the privacy that was so much a part of his times here at “his own little beach.” Just then he heard a big bark from a big dog coming from that little beach of his. He looked, and, lo, a large handsome
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and kingly German Shepherd full of black and brown. Flanders thought that he saw a stick in that dog’s mouth that looked just like the stick with which he had written that question. And Flanders remembered his mystery of God. Then Flanders heard a big voice of a big man saying, “Amen, Blitz. You can do it!” Behold, a big hirsute fellow with a stem of long green grass in his mouth between his teeth. This German Shepherd’s name must have been, “Blitz,” and this big guy must have been Blitz’s master. Flanders stood up and began to walk to shore to get a better view of these two newcomers to “Flanders’s place.” The dog had his head lowered and tilted as he held the stick in his teeth, and he was
methodically moving his four legs about as he held this stick for some reason. Then this big guy told this Blitz, “Good boy, you are emphasizing my statement.”
Flanders called forth to the two in friendship, “Hello there, sir and your dog.”
The man and his dog looked up at him and saw him now. This big man called back to Flanders, “God bless you, sir,”
Now Flanders could see what this German Shepherd was doing with Flanders’s writing stick. The dog was finishing up drawing a box around a message in the sand no doubt already written by the master. This dog of most uncanny canine savvy then approached his encouraging master, the stick in his muzzle, and dropped the stick before the master’s feet. And the master hugged him, and he and the dog wrestled each other in unique male bonding. And the master praised his dog, saying, “Very well done, my boy!” Then Blitz turned to Flanders, looked him in the eye, and then turned to the work in the sand that he and his master had written. Following the cue, Flanders read what this man with the wild grass in his mouth had written with Flanders’s writing stick in the sand. It said, “It is written, ‘For
whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.’ Romans 10:13.”
Flanders said, “A Bible verse!” He was not displeased.
The man said, “I believe an answer to prayer.”
“That is an answer to prayer?” asked Flanders, in lack of spiritual insight.
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“Would you tell the nice man what I mean, Blitz?” asked the good man.
And in obedience, Blitz came up to the other boxed message in the sand, of course, the one that Flanders had written, “Who is God?” and duly put his fore paw upon the sand right underneath it in indication.
This guy then summed up the work of master and dog, saying to Flanders, “My Bible verse in the sand is the answer to your prayer in the sand.”
Gaining spiritual insight with the convicting work of the Holy Spirit of God, Flanders learned a first truth about this God Whom he had inquired about, asking this man of God, “Is the Lord also a Saviour?”
“Aye,” said this man. “He is my personal Saviour.”
“What does this Saviour save you from, if I may ask?” asked Flanders.
“He has saved me from the fires of Hell to come,” said this man. “Look again at my Bible verse, and tell me what else it says all about salvation.”
Flanders looked down upon it again, and the Holy Spirit edified him further. With the wisdom of eternal truths, Flanders asked, “For me to never end up down in Hell, do I have to merely ask the Saviour not to let me end up down there, and He will then keep me out of there?”
“For forever,” said this man about salvation.
“That sounds too good to be true,” Flanders said.
“Only believe. Only pray,” said this Christian guy the simplicity of getting saved.
“What should I believe about this Saviour God?” asked Flanders.
“Only believe that He died for you and rose again on the third day,” said this mentor.
“I believe,” said Flanders. “How should I pray to this Saviour God?”
“Only pray for the free gift of eternal life,” he said to his disciple.
“I want to pray,” said Flanders.
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And right then and there, all three standing up on the sand between Flanders’s message and this master’s message, the master led Flanders line-by-line through the sinners’ prayer. And when the master said, “Amen,” and when Flanders said, “Amen” after him, Flanders had now become a born-again believer.
And Flanders Nickels said to Lisa “Gravel” Frameworthy now at her writing table, “And that is how I got saved.”
“I am happy now for having heard that, Flanders,” said Gravel. “The story of how I first found Christ as personal Saviour is a happy true tale, also.”
“Tell me your good news of so great conversion, Lisa,” said Flanders.
“It all started to happen for me that day that I first saw this at the Deb Store in Bay Park Square,” said Gravel, lifting the bottom edge of her red prom gown jacket in indication of this prom dress. “I fell in love with it at first sight. I tried it on in the dressing room. I felt better in this than in any other thing that I had ever worn before. And I came out of the dressing room with it on. And Mom and Dad and all the family praised me up and down for how good I looked in it. We went through the checkout lane while I still had this on, Mom and Dad paying for this for me. And then we drove back home. I even told my family that first night, “I shall never be unhappy again.” And I did not take it off until I went to bed. I was surely going to put it back on again first thing the next morning. And I had a dream that night. I dreamed that I stood before two doors in a hallway. The door to the left had a sign that said, “Life without Christ,” The door to the right had a sign that read, “Life with Christ.” I was very unsaved yet in my real life. So in this dream I still thought as a lost person would think. I did not care for Christ then. So I picked the door that said, “Life without Christ.” And I opened that door and went right through. Behold, a store window with three red prom gown mannequin women all side by side! Wow! I had to check this store out, Flanders! Being a dream, I could not see these prom dresses very clearly through the window. I came to understand that this whole store inside was all full of only
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irresistible elegant red prom gowns. Oh, I couldn’t wait! And I quickly saw the entrance to this store off to the left, and I raced through this door to get inside and see my new paradise. Woe! I found myself in a department store sales floor that was empty and had no lights on and which was illuminated somewhat only by the daylight that came through the big windows in front. There were no red prom dresses anywhere on the racks in here, and there weren’t even racks in here. Seeking to assuage my discouragement of trouble in paradise, I came up to where the three mannequins had been standing. But the mannequins were all gone now, too. I had lost everything so quickly, Flanders. It was suddenly all gone. I had almost had it all for just a moment. And in utter despair, I said to myself, ‘I shall never be happy again.’ And then I woke up. And I came to understand all about the end of life without Christ. What a bad dream! But I shook off my disappointment. I still had my own happy red prom dress. And I put it on for the day, and I felt better. But I did not feel good. I felt that something vital was missing in my life that I needed to have in my life. I was not content. I was not satisfied. And I was not fulfilled. I knew that my new red prom gown was a good thing—not a bad thing—for a girl like myself. But now it no longer seemed to be my answer to happiness. And I did not know what to do.”
Lisa Wiles Frameworthy continued the testimony of her salvation: “But God gave me another chance, Flanders. He gave me the same dream the next night—the beginning part, that is. I dreamed again that I was standing in a hallway with the door that said, ‘Life without Christ’ on the left, and the door that said, ‘Life with Christ’ on the right. I had not taken one thought about this Jesus all that day.
I was still not seeking Jesus. But in this dream I began to wonder about Him. And I did not take long to decide and to go through this door on the right. And I went through the doorway to search for God.
Lo, I was ‘being raptured’ allegorically. I had heard about the rapture of the believers a few times from born-again believers. They had told me that in this rapture, that they would get to go right to Heaven without having to die first. But the rapture that I was in in this dream was a rocket ship ride. There
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were other people in the rocket with me. And I strangely felt wondrous anticipation at soon seeing Jesus in Heaven for my first time. I oddly felt as a born-again believer felt about the rapture. I never felt joy like this before. It was a Holy Spirit rejoicing that only Christians could feel. It was wonderful. I was coming Home. And I began to sing the hymn, ‘My Jesus, I Love Thee.’ there in that rocket on its way to Heaven in my dream. I was going to sing that same song right to Jesus for real when I got There, and He would hear me singing that to Him. Then, Flanders, I woke up.”
“What was going through your mind when you woke up from that dream, Gravel?” asked Flanders.
“I said to myself, ‘Life with Christ is the answer to life.’ And then I said to myself, ‘But I do not have Christ,’” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“What happened after you got up?” asked Flanders.
“I put on my red prom dress for the day, and I went searching for the real God of the real rapture,” said Gravel.
“Where did God lead you, Gravel?” asked Flanders.
“He brought me to the Baptist Pastor’s parsonage down the road a little way,” said Gravel.
“Ah, good Pastor Parsons,” said Flanders.
“I asked Pastor when I got there, ‘Would you tell me about the Lord Jesus, Pastor?’” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“The right question to ask the right man,” said Flanders.
“And he told me everything about Jesus,” said Lisa. “And then he led me line-by-line through the sinners’ prayer. In doing that, he got me born again, Flanders. I was so happy again. In Jesus I found the only thing better than my red prom gown. And He is much more than the red prom gown.
He is everything; my red prom gown is only something. The red prom dress never died for my sins, Flanders, as Jesus did.” She then said, “Then I asked Pastor Parsons if we could sing together
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that good old hymn, ‘My Jesus, I Love Thee.’ And he went and got his hymnbook from his study, and we sang it together to my new Saviour.”
“The God of salvation be duly praised!” said Flanders.
“That, as you now know, is the testimony of my salvation,” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“Wonderful!” said Flanders Nickels. “Wonderful!”
Here at this table Gravel looked upon her report cover book of writings, and she turned pensive in her features. She said to herself, “Hm.” She picked it up in both hands, hugged it, set it back down upon the table. Then she did the same with her yellow sheet of title page of her last story attempt. She gazed upon it, said, “Hm,” picked it up in one hand, hugged it, set it back down on the table.
He said about this second item, “It is entitled, ‘Gravel—A Fable.’ Lisa.”
“My fable is but a fable,” she said about its not coming upon fruition and reality as a story.
“Aesop used to write fables,” said Flanders.
Gravel got up and went to the next room and came back with a Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary.
She looked up the word, “fable,” and read its definition to Flanders, “Fable: a fictitious narrative or statement: as a: a legendary story of supernatural happenings. b: a narrative intended to enforce a useful truth, esp. one in which animals speak and act like human beings. c: falsehood, lie.”
“’Fable’ means something most personal to you because of this last attempt at writing for you, Gravel,” said Flanders.
“It is a real neat word,” said Gravel in earnestness and in sincerity.
“It is my real neat word, too, Lisa,” said Flanders.
“How come?” asked Gravel.
“Because ‘fable,’ to me in my own little lonely world means a girl in a prom gown just like yours, full of acetate and from the 1990’s.” he told her. “I call prom gown girls ‘fables.’”
“That would make me a fable,” she said. “I am your fable.”
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“Is that okay with you, Gravel?” he asked.
“It is okay with me,” she said. “I like being a fable with that definition, Flanders.” A silent moment passed; then Gravel asked, “Do you like my prom dress a lot, Flanders?”
“I love your prom dress, Gravel,” he said.
“You are kind to me, Flanders,” said Lisa Frameworthy.
He then told her, “Did you know that I have never had a girlfriend in my life?”
“You never had a girlfriend?” she asked.
“I have not had even one date with a pretty girl,” he said.
“Are you lonesome?” she asked.
“I was. But I am not right now,” he said.
“Could our get-together right now become our date, Flanders?” she asked.
“That would make me not lonely this day,” he said.
“I am not lonely with you, too, Flanders,” she said.
“And my life also put a special second meaning to the word ‘fable,’ in my heart,” he said.
“What is your other definition to your word ‘fable,’ Flanders?” asked Gravel.
“To me a ‘fable’ also means, ‘a girlfriend,’” he went and told her.
“I understand. A fable is something not real, and to you a girlfriend was something not real,” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“Is that all right with you, Lisa?” he asked.
“It is very all right with me, Flanders,” she said. “I would be glad to become your fable in that second definition as well.”
“You wish to become my girlfriend then?” asked Flanders.
“If you wish to become my boyfriend, Flanders,” she said.
“That would make my life happy, Gravel,” he said.
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“And that would make my life happier, also,” said Lisa “Gravel” Frameworthy.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I know so for sure, Flanders,” she said in truth and sincerity to him.
“I have found my fable twice over,” he said about Gravel matching both of his definitions of “fable.”
“I am your fable both at once,” said Gravel in satisfying both of his special meanings of that word.
“My elegant lady in her elegant dress,” praised Flanders his new girlfriend-in-the-Lord.
“You make a girl feel special,” said Gravel.
“I will pray for you for your writing to come back for you, and I will not stop until God says to stop,” promised Flanders.
“Our Heavenly Father is a prayer-answering God,” praised Lisa the Good Lord.
“It is written, Gravel,” he said, “’And he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint.’ Luke 18:1.”
Translating this Scripture verse to her self, Lisa Frameworthy said, “Women ought always to pray, and not to faint.”
“Pray for your story and don’t quit praying unless God says to stop,” said Flanders.
“I have to admit that I have not prayed enough for that,” said Lisa Frameworthy. “I just thought that it was the Lord’s will that I quit my short stories.”
“Maybe it is the Lord’s will that you quit your writing only for an interim, Gravel,” he said.
“Why might that be?” she asked.
“Maybe you have to learn something now in order for God to bring back your precious writing life for you,” he said.
“What might it be that I need to learn?” she asked. “I suddenly have hope now because of you
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and what you’re telling me.”
“It could be that He wants you to repent.” said Flanders. “Maybe you were sinning in your story writing, and God is chastening you for that sin by taking away your muse, Gravel.”
“That sounds rough; but it is good for you to say that—very, very good.” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“And maybe, when you get right with God again in your writing ministry for Him, if that be the case, then He will bring back your muse stronger and better than it was before,” said Flanders.
Upon hearing all of this, Gravel went on to say, “I so miss Proffery.”
“Your cute guy in all of your stories,” said Flanders.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe, if I make the ultimate sacrifice and give up something near and dear to me for God, maybe then He will bring back Proffery for me.”
“That is not quite what I was saying about repenting, Lisa,” he said. “Sacrificing something of your own choice will not bring back your stories for you.”
“She got up and went to her next room and looked into the mirror upon herself. And she said, “Maybe, Flanders, if I give up my pretty brown hair for God, then I can write again for now on.”
“Nay, Gravel. You look beautiful with all of your hair,” he said in warning.
“If I have my head all shaved, and I can give my hair for a donation to some cancer woman out there, then God will surely let this girl here with you now to write again to her heart’s content. I would like that. Would you like that, Flanders, were I to sacrifice my hair to a woman with no hair? Would God look down from Heaven, see what I did for Him, and let me write again?” asked Gravel.
“I would not be happy, and God would not be happy,” said Flanders. “And that would not convince the Father to bring back your muse to you.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked
“Oh I know so,” he said, “God does not approve of women shaving their heads for any reason
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whatsoever, even if it is for another girl’s benefit.”
“Is that in the Bible, or is it just something that you are telling me?” she asked.
“It’s in the Bible,” he said. “It is in I Corinthians 11:15.”
Gravel took her Holy Bible and searched this Scripture verse and read it out loud: “But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.”
“Well,” he said.
“Scratch that idea,” she said. “I will keep my wispy tresses as they are.”
“Good, girl,” he said, making her feel good about her long straight brown strands.
“Maybe I should think of something else to give up for God for God to bring back my boyfriend of paper and pencil Proffery Coins,” said Gravel.
“It is not meet for a daughter of God to think to make a bargain with Him,” said Flanders in more warning.
Heedless to Flanders’s good counsel, Gravel went on to say, “I must make the ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate ends,”
“What are you thinking?” he asked, afraid to find out.
“If I give up my red prom gown for God, surely God would bring back my life of short stories again,” thought Lisa out loud. “How could God not give it all back to me with Proffery again after I go and do something like that?”
“Surely you do not mean that, Gravel,” he said.
“I have a little scissors,” she said. “I can irrevocably cut this prom dress up with my little scissors, and, who knows, maybe I can go on to write my fable that never got started. The scissors is in my bathroom medicine cabinet, Flanders.” She stood up. “Should I go and get it, do you think?” she asked.
“Gravel, what makes you talk this way?” he asked.
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“I think that I have fallen in love with Proffery Rule Coins,” she said now in a surprising turn of events upon Flanders.
“Do not do such a foolish thing with what God has given you,” said Flanders sternly.
“The Lord had given me my prom dress just before I got saved,” she said. “But now I need Proffery instead.”
“God will not give you back your Proffery, Gravel, if you go and cut up the prom gown,” said Flanders. “It is written about that prom dress, ‘Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.’
James 1:17.”
“It is a beautiful prom dress,” she said, not running to get her scissors yet.
“I have never seen a more beautiful prom gown that that, Gravel,” he said.
“It must be something else that I need to give up in order to get my Proffery back and all of my stories about him,” said Gravel in great contemplation.
“It is I. Isn’t it?” asked Flanders.
“You, Flanders?” she asked in reluctance.
“There is nothing left for you to sacrifice for that Proffery than myself that remains more important to you than your hair and your prom dress.” said Flanders Nickels.
“But you are my first real boyfriend,” she said.
“But Proffery is your dream man,” said Flanders. “No real boyfriend can make your woman’s heart dream like Proffery does when you write about him, Lisa,”
“Do you mean that if I give you up for my short story boyfriend that then I can write my old romance stories once again like always?” Gravel asked.
“Do you believe that fantasy romance is more exciting than is real romance, Gravel?” asked Flanders, ready to be forsaken by his first girlfriend in life.
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“No, Flanders! I shall never do that to you!” promised Lisa “Gravel” Frameworthy in the passion of this moment.
“Do you just say that to say that?” asked Flanders.
“Flanders, you have the care for me of a real boyfriend-in-Christ,” she did say, coming to see clearly now. “Proffery never had such patience with me in my stories as you have with me throughout this day. You have every reason to be jealous with your new girlfriend, but instead you are willing to let me choose between my short story man and you. You are a true real Christian, and I can see that in you. I choose you. I give up Proffery. Would you choose me? Would you forgive me?”
“I may not be jealous with you. But Jesus is jealous with you,” he said.
“You mean that the Lord is jealous with what I did with that Proffery?” she asked.
“You turned your short story character into a false god.” said Flanders. “It is written about your unbridled love for your make-believe Proffery, ‘For thou shalt worship no other god: for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God:’ Exodus 34:14.”
“I did that?” she asked.
“Yes, Gravel,” he said. “I can see that now after the way that you’ve been talking about your writing ministry that God had given you.”
“I did that,” she said, understanding everything now. “God had given me my love for writing so that I may glorify Him to all of my readers. But instead I went on to glorify a handsome boyfriend for all of my readers.”
“You began to write about Proffery Coins, and you stopped writing about Jesus Christ,” said Flanders.
“I made a false god out of the imaginary Proffery,” she confessed. “And I forgot about the real God Who had given me my muse for writing in the first place.”
“Short stories for the Lord must emphasize the Word of God more than they do kissing and
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hugging a handsome fellow,” said Flanders.
“Christian authors are supposed to point their fans to the Saviour of the world, to tell them how to get saved, and to tell them how to live the Christian life,” said Lisa Frameworthy.
“Are you willing to do that for God for now on, Gravel?” asked Flanders.
Looking up to Heaven, Lisa prayed and confessed all of her sins with her writing ministry to God Above. And with tears she then said, “Forgive me, Lord.” And she repented in most honest and sincere penitence before Jesus and before Flanders, praying Up to Heaven, “I shall never write about Proffery again.”
Forgiving her her former ambivalence toward himself, Flanders went on to answer her recent question to him, “I choose you. I forgive you.”
“In you, dear Flanders, I have showers of blessings from the Good God,” said Gravel.
“It is written, ‘…for thou blessest, O Lord, and it shall be blessed for ever.’ I Chronicles 17:27,” recited Flanders wondrous Scripture for this moment.
And Lisa Wiles Frameworthy began to sing a most due hymn before Flanders and to Jesus:
“1. ‘There shall be showers of blessing’–This is the promise of love;
There shall be seasons refreshing, Sent from the Saviour above.
Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.
- ‘There shall be showers of blessing’–Precious reviving again;
Over the hills and the valleys Sound of abundance of rain.
Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.
- ‘There shall be showers of blessing’–Send them upon us, O Lord;
Grant to us now a refreshing, Come and now honor Thy Word.
Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.
- ‘There shall be showers of blessing’–O that today they might fall,
Now as to God we’re confessing, Now as on Jesus we call!
Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.”
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It was now two weeks later. And Gravel and Flanders had shared together fourteen dates in these fourteen days. Some of these days they had not gotten together; and some of these days they had gotten together two or three times that day. And this was the day wherein Lisa “Gravel” Frameworthy had first finished her brand new story here in her revival of writing for God after her true repentance.
“It took me two weeks,” she said, “just as my short stories always had,”
“I know you, Gravel,” he said. “One week for the handwritten version. One week for the typed version.”
“I’ve got my hard copy here for you to look at, if you would,” she said.
“Your boyfriend-in-Christ is very eager to read it,” said Flanders. She handed it to him. It was stored in a yellow envelope with a metal clasp, in turn in a manila filing folder.
“You’re in for a big surprise when you get further into my new story, Flanders,” said Gravel.
He began to read: It was entitled, “Gravel—A Fable.” And underneath the title were the words “Written by Lisa W. Frameworthy.” And Flanders Nickels began to read this first short story of the rebirth of her writing ministry for Jesus. Then he saw a most indicative and novel little dialogue in this story:
“’What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘I am Flanders Arckery Nickels,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I am Lisa Wiles Frameworthy,’ she said. ‘But you can call me, “Gravel.”’”
“Do you see it yet, Flanders?” asked Lisa.
“Girlfriend, you honor me. You went and put me in your story,” said Flanders flattered most pleasingly.
“Do you like it that way?” she asked.
“You put me in your story as your boyfriend, and not Proffery, Gravel,” he said. “I like it! I like it!”
“And I still made sure to make it Jesus’s story and not your story,” she said.
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“Amen! Amen!” he said in great glory to Christ.
“Now read all of it till the end, and tell me what you think of this new author with this new story, O Flanders,” she said.
And he read this story unto its end. And he said, “You are quite the writer for our Saviour, Gravel!”
“Does the Word of God show in this long fable that I wrote, Flanders?” she asked.
“It does much!” he did say. “A reader can tell how well that you know the Holy Bible. And not only that, but the words that you use and the way that you put these words make this story surely look like it were God Himself Who wrote this.”
“The Holy Spirit helps me to write my stories now that I write to honor and praise only God,” she said.
“This revival for you in your stories for God make me to think about what Jeremiah said in Jeremiah 20:9, girlfriend,” said Flanders.
“I know that verse,” she said. “It goes like this: ‘Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.’”
“I can see you writing more and more stories just as good as this one, maybe even better, for now on, Lisa,” he said.
“Like maybe another twenty stories just for starters,” she said.
“Enough short stories for another book of short stories like this first book here on your table,” he said.
“Ah, Of Horsetails and Cattails—Volume Two,” said Gravel in sweet reverie.
“That means, you do know, another five hundred pages at the electronic typewriter,” he said.
“Half of a thousand, boyfriend,” she said.
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“Bring it on, O Gravel!” said Flanders Nickels in avid good cheer.
“Bring it on, O Saviour!” said Gravel to Christ Jesus her Inspiration.
“You will lead many lost souls to salvation, and you will edify and build up in the faith many who are already saved, Lisa,” he did tell her the best thing.
“That is exactly what my canon of stories is meant to do for my readers,” said Gravel.
“To God be the glory!” he said.
“Why, Flanders, now I know what God had been trying to tell me in Psalm 25:4-5, my great mystery in the Psalter about why He had me to write,” she said.
“Psalm 25:4-5?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. He looked it up to see it, and she recited it accurately as he looked upon it: “Shew me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths. Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation: on thee do I wait all the day.”
“Your great mystery passage in the Bible, Gravel?” he asked.
“I loved to write, and I wrote all the time, but I never knew why God wanted me to write all of these things. Now I know,” she said. “Now these two verses make sense to me.”
“I am your first reader of many more readers to come,” said Flanders.
“Praise Jesus for this revelation to me this day,” she said.
“What volume one lacks, volume two lacks not,” said Flanders about her writing mission.
It was written about Gravel’s writing in her revival: “’Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.’ Proverbs 16:3.”
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