Story of a Broken Handmaiden

By Ernestine Triplett

Louisiana author Ernestine Triplett shares her tale of weakness, temptation, and spiritual strength in Story of a Broken Handmaiden, giving you a glimpse into a life that many wouldn't believe was so near.

Wanting a life free of wickedness, Ernestine fights the demons that plague her, learning that hard times and valiant sacrifice are but tests of faith for a soul steadfast in its beliefs.

Included is Ernestine's poetry, songs of joy and praise that could only be written by one inspired by God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ernestine Triplett
• Release date: Oct 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301842797

Book preview

Story of a Broken Handmaiden

by Ernestine Triplett

Story of a Broken Handmaiden

Copyright © 2012 by Ernestine Triplett

ISBN 9781301842797

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

For information, contact Ernestine Triplett at [e-mail]

or Lunaregnum Press at:

113 Industrial Park Road, Larose, LA, 70373

[e-mail]

http://www.theballadofcoreyrobichaux.com

Cover art by Lea V. Dautreuil

Cover design by Lunaregnum Press

Printed in U.S.A.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my sister,

Verla Triplett,

a true handmaiden of God.

Table of Contents

Foreward

The Poor Hath Hope

I Once Was Young

Loving Mine Enemy

In the Twilight, in the Evening, in the Black and Dark Night

I Have Loved

I Have Hated

All Day Long I Spend With Jesus

There is a River

Author and Finisher

I Choose To . . .

The Deep Calleth

A Time to Rest

The Beauty of Holiness

Again From the Depths

Return to Thine Own House

Excerpt by Dana Gaar

A Vessel

There is Hope in Israel

On a Journey with the Master

Foreword

It was in the early 1990s when Ernestine and I began attending the same church. I remember going to her home one year with our pastor and some of the church folks to bring a Christmas tree and some gifts for her boys. I didn’t realize before that day that she was a single mom struggling to raise her two sons.

I saw her as a woman of faith who was always ready to talk about the word of God, and how to bring others to His kingdom. One of the most inspiring things to me was when Ernestine and her sister Verla, another single mom, teamed up and taught Sunday school in Ernestine’s apartment. I’m proud to know this great woman of faith who through all the tough times of life has always remained focused on her Lord and His will.

Michel Verdin,

Pastor of Pentecostals of South Lafourche

The Poor Hath Hope

"For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden…"

Luke 1:48

Opportunity walked away disappointed in me. When I drew the line on selling cocaine, the expression on the dealer’s face was one of actual concern.

Are you alright, Ernestine? he asked.

I nodded, though . . . I wasn’t alright; I didn’t know why. I only knew I couldn’t continue on this path. I had made a decision. One based on what? Hope? In this community there was no hope for anything but poverty, if not for dealing drugs, and I had just turned down a great opportunity. I only knew for whatever reason, I could not go down that path. But which path should I take? Something should be different, but I didn’t know what.

I knew this man was trying to help me, and I might have been more agreeable while basically telling him I’d rather live in poverty than lead the life he led, but I had my own inner struggle to deal with at the moment. He hesitated, looking anxious, but didn’t seem to know what else to say. He needn’t worry, I didn’t want to die, but I certainly didn’t want to live this way any more.

Watching him step off the porch and walk away, I was sorry for him. Oh, I knew he’d have another seller before he went back to New Orleans but I knew he was missing something too. Is this really all he wanted from life?

What was wrong with me? What made me think that I could have or even deserved a different life than everyone else around me? I allowed this to disturb me for only a few moments before it seemed to melt from my mind. This little tiny hope didn’t make sense to me but it seemed to be in control, and I let it have its way.

The drugs I used were no longer enough but I realized harder drugs couldn’t satisfy that yearning for something more. To the young people the drugs were a status symbol, but I didn’t need a lifetime of mistakes to understand there was something better. At eighteen years of age and fresh out of high school, I sat on my grandmother’s porch and pondered what that might be.

As I stared numbly, wondering what now? a young man that lived in the back of our lane was walking by and stopped to talk a minute. Though I knew of God and had attended church, I listened in amazement as he began to tell me of the things of God I’d never known. I sat with tears running down my cheeks as he ministered to me. He quoted John 3:16, and I wanted this love of God very much. I readily agreed to go to church with him. This was quite an experience for me because I had never been to a Pentecostal church service.

I began to attend church with his family every service. They were very dedicated and we drove from Larose all the way to Isle de Jean Charles, south of Houma, Louisiana, to a little shotgun-style, wood-frame church. The area seemed poor and had little shacks everywhere. Most were on stilts