The Mustard Seed

By Ponch Oswald

The Mustards Seeds is a collection of short stories based on well known bible stories but taken from unique perspectives; like Judas’ narcissistic attitude as he recounts his valued role in Christ’s ministry and Peter’s consuming fear and doubt as he sinks needlessly into the stormy sea. John has added a fun and modern element to these ancient narratives while working hard to capture the real life feelings and emotions behind these people’s experiences. Perhaps you will find new insight and relevance to God’s word as you experience it anew through the minds and hearts of the Mustard Seeds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664197411

Ponch Oswald

It’s an autobiography so…read the book.

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Copyright © 2021 by Ponch Oswald.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Rev. date: 10/27/2021

Xlibris

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This book is dedicated to my parents who lovingly

walked through the valley with me.

PREFACE

The purpose of this book is not to add to, embellish, or modify God’s Word in any way nor is my intention to breed any amount of controversy as I am deathly allergic. My intention is merely to take obscure passages and generalized chronicles and inject them with the feelings and emotions that were most certainly experienced by the characters.

There are myriad passages in the Bible where very little detail is given as to the thoughts and emotions of its unwitting participants and they can be scrutinized to this end to help make them feel more relatable and applicable. Many of the stories and parables that are written in the Bible either inadvertently, purposely and/or for the sake of brevity, gloss over the intimate details of how the people were feeling and what they were thinking as extraordinary events unfolded around them. My hope is that this book of short stories will bring a deeper meaning and a new and thought-provoking perspective to many of the abbreviated accounts that were recorded.

The shortest verse in the Bible can be found in the book of John chapter 11 verse 35 which simply states: Jesus wept. John, the author of the book, used nine letters and three syllables to describe, what we know to be, a very painful and emotional experience; grieving the death of a dear friend. We’ll never know Jesus’ exact thoughts or how He daily dealt with the grief, but I have found it helpful and beneficial to ponder these things and to put those thoughts into words and carefully crafted sentences. And to the Praise of His glorious Name, I have found that it has done nothing but draw me closer in my daily walk with the Lord.

When I ponder the scriptures I can’t help but wonder ‘What was Abraham thinking and feeling as he wielded his sword over his son’s head? And what was it like for him in the days and weeks prior to the ordained sacrifice? What was going through Aken’s mind as he and his family were being executed? What was going through Joseph’s heart and mind on the day that he got to finally meet his brother Benjamin? How did the demon possessed man wind up living in the tombs and catacombs outside Garadenes? What happened in his life that could have put him there and why?’ And the one question that we all would love to have the answer to: ‘What in the world was Judas thinking?’

I have also taken the liberty of adding modern-day elements to make the reader feel more connected and in touch with the events that occurred so many centuries ago. It has helped me make a seemingly inapplicable passage become more relevant and pertinent in a new and personal way. And it has been very enjoyable for me to create characters around people that we know existed but that we know little or nothing about. For example, the Scripture tells us in Genesis chapter 7 that Noah, his wife, his sons and their wives entered the ark. We know that Noah’s sons had wives but we know virtually nothing about them. So I created a relatively-fictional character around Shem’s wife, who I named Beth, then proceeded to write a story from her perspective, a woman’s perspective, about the day they entered the ark through a maelstrom of public scorn and ridicule. I tried to capture her feelings about leaving everything she knew behind and trusting God for His promise of safety from the ensuing judgment. I was able to experience the story in a new and wonderful way when I allowed myself to see it from a totally different perspective, albeit, hypothetical.

I have worked very hard to maintain scriptural integrity as I wrote these narratives and scenarios; taking small and seemingly insignificant clues from the passages and building simple, emotion-filled stories around them. I hope that they will inspire you, as they have me, to dig deeper into God’s word and the innumerable spiritual truths and personal applications that often lay hidden between the lines.

Ponch Oswald

FOREWORD

In the following story ‘The Mustard Seed’, a young woman throws herself at the feet of Jesus in a last-ditch, desperate attempt for a healing from a malady that she had endured for over a decade. She had heard her well-meaning uncle relay the parable of the mustard seed and was armed with Jesus’ own words when she courageously approached Him on that fateful day. But the story had inadvertently taken on a life of its own because it had lost its original meaning in the numerous translations it had inevitably undergone when it was passed from person to person.

The young woman’s only understanding of the story was that Jesus wanted His followers to be Mustard Seeds instead of having faith like a mustard seed as Jesus had taught in his parable. And in a moment of sheer desperation, when she felt that she had exhausted all arguments and explanations as to why Jesus should heal her, she boldly declared that she, too, was a Mustard Seed as though she were a bona fide, card-carrying member of His group. She had a vague idea of what Jesus wanted and if Jesus wanted His followers to be Mustard Seeds, then she was going to be the most faithful little Mustard Seed He had ever seen.

But what is a Mustard Seed? To me, and for the purpose of this text, a Mustard Seed is a young Christian who most likely doesn’t know all of the deep theologies and complicated doctrine that a more seasoned Christian would know. A Mustard Seed is someone who is unconditionally sold out for Christ without the pretense or presumption of earthly rewards or heavenly gain. A Mustard Seed is someone who doesn’t care about the social consequences of being a Christian and is amazingly uninhibited when the Spirit falls. A Mustard Seed is someone who knows that they are a sinner and believe without question that Jesus loved them so much, that He suffered and died on the cross just for them. A Mustard Seed is someone who has been inexplicably and miraculously changed by the power of the Holy Spirit and could care less about any earthly repercussions.

We’ve all seen them; the young man who wears his dark, heavy metal T-shirt to Sunday service because he’s simply unaware of its inappropriateness. The teenager on the street corner with piercings and pink hair who has far more impact on her peers for Christ than the burned-out pastor of the mega-church down the street. A new convert who takes an ill-advised leap of faith only to land flat on his or her face, as predicted, but is unfazed by the embarrassment and keeps on walking with the Lord.

I was born and raised in the church and I’ve been a Christian for over 45 years. I have studied God’s word and have a pretty good grasp on some of the heavier theological themes. I have had mountaintop experiences and painful belly flops from many ill advised leaps of my own. But it wasn’t until I stopped competing, humbled myself before the Lord and sought out His wisdom that it became crystal clear to me that what He wants and expects from His children isn’t complicated or difficult to understand. It’s simple. Very simple. And although I am grateful to have had the opportunity to receive Christ at such a young age, I feel that I have inadvertently made things much more complicated and seemingly unattainable than they actually are.

That’s why the concept of the Mustard Seed fascinates me so much. A Mustard Seed has a simple, childlike perspective on their relationship with the Lord. They are grateful to Him for His saving grace and forgiveness and their passionate, daily love affair with Him is enviable. While Biblical understanding, cultivated wisdom and trial-by-fire faith are great things, I never want to forget how to boldly approach the Throne of Grace as a simple, humble . . . Mustard Seed.

INDEX

The Mustard Seed

‘X’ Marks the Spot

Oh Beth!

The Pit of Despair

Shadowland

Stir Crazy

The Scarlet Rope

Martha, Martha, Martha!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

The Earl of Great Price

At the End of My Rope

Abracadabra!

The Minority Report

Indecent Proposal

Hurricane Andrew

Shadow of Doubt

Oh Brother Where Art Thou?

Silence of the Lamb

Here I Am!

Since You’ve Been Gone

The Sky is Falling!

Three Strikes and You’re Out!

Divining Grace

Pork Bellies

THE MUSTARD SEED

Matthew 9:18-22 Mark 5:21-34 Luke 8:41-48

Sari jumped up from the breakfast table and flew over to the window. There was commotion in the street down below, the narrow street where hurried people quickly sandaled their way down the dusty alley toward the center of town.

What’s going on? she whispered under her breath, which caused her sleeping sister to stir. Down below, rogue chickens flapped their way to the relative safety of rooftops and nervous mothers plucked their children to one side lest they be washed away by the flood. Sari had never considered herself to be a ‘follow-the-crowd’ type of person. She had always found it to be a tragic sign of the times how people would flock to see the innocent being accused, the accused being tried and the damned being punished.

Vultures! she muttered. Her sister slid from her bed and apathetically joined Sari at the small earthen window.

What’s happening Sari? she asked over a yawn, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Who knows, another stoning I’m sure, she exclaimed, rolling her eyes in dissidence. Sari turned from the window with the sole intention of finishing her breakfast when one barely discernible word rose from the crowded street below.

Did someone just say Jesus? she asked her sister Shemesh rhetorically. It had come on a whisper; a murmur; a rumor. Sari returned to the window, her head craning to hear their muffled conversations.

Jesus is back! He’s come back to our town! she heard an excited woman declare to another as they quickly passed beneath her window. Shemesh had sat down at the table and was nibbling on Sari’s uneaten toast, her sleepy head resting in the palm of her hand. A burst of excitement blasted its way through Sari and she frantically began preparing to leave.

Where are you going? Shemesh asked over her mouthful of food. Sari was reluctant to answer knowing all too well the flack she would surely get from her sister.

Jesus is here and I have to go, she replied curtly as she pulled her shawl over her unkempt hair. Shemesh bellowed out a sarcastic laugh.

What makes you think you’re going to see Him this time? she condemned. Sari shrugged her shoulders as she combed her thick hair with her fingers. "How many times have you run out hoping to meet this Jesus guy only to return all frustrated and disappointed?" Sari ignored her as she pulled the door open, a streak of morning sun flooding the room with unwanted light.

I have to try Shemesh, He’s my only hope! Sari disappeared from the doorway, painfully descending the steep stairs to the alley below. Sari could hear Shemesh’s chair slide across the floor and her skeptical voice yelling down at her.

He’s not a doctor you know! she yelled then slammed the door shut.

Sari just shook her head as she merged into northbound traffic trusting that this game of ‘follow-the-leader’ would take her to Jesus and not some public display of humiliation that she’d voted against in the last four elections. Sari clutched her swollen stomach as she raced along, gladly enduring the pain that each step produced. She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. There wasn’t time. Her mind raced with thoughts of the myriad ways this could all go down, trying to formulate some kind of plan—a strategy.

How was she going to get His attention? How would she convince Him that her need was greater than the next guy’s? How would He do it? Would He touch her? Would it hurt? Sari flashed back to the series of most ill-fated so-called physicians that she had trusted to help her and to heal her; the humiliating examinations and horrible procedures that had left her feeling violated, dirty and cheated; the crazy diets that kept her weak and malnourished and the spiritual guru that had her burning pungent incense 24 hours a day to ward off evil spirits, which only warded off her friends. Then there was the naturist that had her exercising so much that she thought her insides would fall right out. The last straw was the holy man who claimed that he, for a price, could provide her with the miracle that she needed. How ironic that the price was exactly every last cent that she had in the world. Needless to say, she was in a far worse condition now than she had ever been, living hand to mouth in her sister’s humble home.

Sari grew tired and had to slow down, her cramps threatening to double her over in pain. She was frustrated because she couldn’t keep up with the pace of the crowd and people were spilling around her, filling in the small gaps where she was trying to get to. Sari lagged painfully behind the crowd as they poured out into the center of town, a large open space good for town meetings or divine appointments. Her discomfort forced her to stop and lean against a warm stucco wall. She hadn’t walked that far in ages, at least not all at once. Her wavering heart sank as she surveyed the crowd that had gathered, a sea of heads waiting, like her, for a glimpse; an opportunity; a miracle. The only way to fend off her discouragement was to press on. She took a deep breath and pushed her way into the crowd, politely at first, becoming more determined and resolute the further she went. But the people were mean, cold and selfish.

Sari thought about the story her uncle had told her recently, one he’d picked up third hand from a fellow he worked with. It was a story about a faithful mustard seed, a story Jesus had told to a large gathering on the other side of Galilee. She wasn’t sure what it meant: ‘A faithful mustard seed.’ She repeated it under her breath over and over, which seemed to provide her much needed fuel to propel her into the unknown.

She’d gotten close once before not that long ago. She’d heard a rumor that Jesus was teaching in the synagogue so she agonizingly made her way up the grueling hill, a ten minute trek for most, two hours for her. But by the time she got there He’d already departed. But this time was going to be different, she could feel it, and she wasn’t going home without her miracle…period.

Sari slammed down on a bench, exhausted, and waited; waited for the rumors to become reality. She watched jealously as young couples strode by hand-in-hand and sometimes in-hand with a little one or two. Her reality was that no man would ever want her. Love her. Choose her. Not even as a side-order or a worst-case-scenario backup plan. As far as marriage and children were concerned, she was socially and physically exempt. But that had become unacceptable. Jesus was going to heal her or else she’d . . . No. He was going to do it. He had to do it.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the crowd. A small group of men, commanding men, were pushing their way through the market place out into the town square; men flanking the famous face that she had come to see on all sides. Her heart pounded and her breathing became difficult. A thin layer of perspiration formed on her forehead. She was closer than she’d ever been before, close enough to see His compassionate smile and His forgiving eyes. Sari stood up and made a painful stride toward the moving target, her insides burning from overexertion.

SLAM!

Unexpectedly a well-dressed man collided into her shoulder overtaking her from behind.

Oh! I’m sorry! the man cried with distracted concern. He gently grasped her elbow to keep her from toppling over. Are you okay? He glanced impatiently towards Jesus then snapped his attention back to her. I said, are you okay? Sari nodded, concealing the additional pain he had accidentally caused.

Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, she lied.

Very well, good day then, he exclaimed hurriedly then turned and headed in the same direction she was going.

Jesus! Jesus! he yelled out, hurting her ears. Please! Wait! He was desperate, frantic, a line jumper! He’d cut right front of her! This man was unwittingly trying to steal her chance, her only chance not that he was aware of her need anymore than she was of his. The high profile group stopped and Jesus turned and watched the man as he approached. Sari moved in closer so she could see.

Jesus . . . he started in out of breath, my daughter, she’s dying. The man fought emotion as he spoke. Please, if you would, come. Come to my house. I know you can heal her that she might live. I’ve heard the stories. I believe! Please Lord, come quickly! The distraught man was practically begging, his posture ready and willing to fall on bended knee if he thought it would help. Sari wondered if he was a ‘mustard seed’ too. There was a brief moment of silence then Jesus, looking back at the man, smiled receptively.

Lead the way, He replied compassionately without the slightest hint of hesitation that His schedule was being interrupted or His agenda compromised. No. The line jumper had just become the priority.

Thank you Lord. Thank you! he declared gratefully after hanging on suspensefully for Jesus’ response. This way, please, he exclaimed, leading them back the way he’d come.

Sari’s heart sank. That was it. That was her chance and he had taken it. His boldness beat out her timidity fair and square and there was no way she could chase them back up the hill. She was fortunate to have made it this far. Jesus and his disciples pushed past her as they followed the man to his house. She was very desperate now, at least as desperate as he had been for a miracle. And maybe it wasn’t as dramatic as bringing a child back from the brink of death, but it was to her. In many ways she was dead too and needed her own resurrection. Sari reluctantly stepped back as they passed, the disciples behaving more like over-zealous bodyguards than servants of the Most High God, she thought.

Oh, she wanted to cry out to Jesus but couldn’t. What if He rejected her? What if He rebuked her, publicly scolding her for being outdoors with such an abominable condition? What if He made fun of her embarrassing malady?

Get behind me Satan! she muttered.

A small break in the crowd miraculously opened up a spot right behind the group, the group that was about to vanish into the throng. In a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity, Sari slipped into the opening and found herself almost close enough to touch Him! Close enough to take in the smell of His sweat, of His hair. She knew she was too tired to keep up and too weak to continue. She had to do something and fast before He slipped away with her miracle still tucked in His pocket.

‘Take a chance Sari!’ You have to risk it all this time!’ she admonished herself. What was she so afraid of? Embarrassment? Ridicule? Failure? She already had that. In a flash, her memory produced images of her scandalous practitioners, the young family living now in what used to be her house living the life she wanted. Images of her loneliness and shame as she sat imprisoned in her sister’s house as everyone her age was out having fun, adventure and lives. No more! Her heart screamed and Sari suddenly found herself hurling through the air, her outstretched arms aimed directly at Jesus’ feet. Everything was in slow motion; the blurred faces in the crowd, her hair flying in her face, the distorted sounds of jumbled voices and children laughing. Suddenly it all came crashing back up to speed as she collided with the hard, packed dirt road; the soft hem of His robe slipping through her fingers as Jesus himself slipped away, just like everything else in her life.

A heavy foot struck her thigh as momentum pushed the crowd over and around her. Another foot stepped painfully on her hair; not one soul offering her a hand as they marched on. Sari just lay there motionless, her hope dissipating like the evanescent mist off Lake Galilee every morning. Then everything stopped. Everything grew strangely quiet. No more conversations. No more dirty feet patting by her tear stained face. Just silence. But something was different. Oh yes! Something had changed. She felt pain where she had been kicked in her thigh and pain where her hair had been pulled; pain where her hip had struck the ground when she had fallen and pain in her little wrist that had done the best it could to break her fall. She’d had other pains before but the pain in her stomach had always monopolized her attention trumping everything else. But the endless cramps in her stomach had been replaced by the sweet pain of other hurts in other places. She didn’t want to move in case it was all a bad dream or a sick coincidence.

‘What just happened?’ she wondered as she lay like a corpse in the dusty street, her breathing heavy and her spirit pensive.

Who touched Me? she heard Jesus whisper to his disciples who were all stopped on the road about twenty feet ahead. Oh, she was in trouble and she knew it. She had crossed a line, breached a boundary. The disciples all looked at each other with looks of bewilderment, each denying involvement in Jesus’ unusual indictment.

What do you mean who touched you? one of the disciples replied with a mocking whisper. Look where we are! We’re in huge crowd of people all of whom are here to see You! It could’ve been anyone! Sari tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she sensed the gap