The Wings of the Dove

By Jim Crompton

The dove is a universal symbol of peace, most commonly recognized as a metaphor for the Holy Spirit.

In a collection of inspirational short tales, retired minister Jim Crompton provides a glimpse into the lives of diverse characters attempting to resolve a wide variety of conflicts, internal or external, with help from God. Lenny is a happy-go-lucky boy who hates going to school. But when a man speaks to his class one day about Jesus, everything changes for him. Life has been hard for Halina, an elderly Ukrainian woman who survived Auschwitz. On Christmas morning, she becomes young once again as she rises to enthusiastically greet her final visitor. When an unfortunate event lands Steven Peters in jail, he finds reassurance in a sweet voice dragged from the depths of his memories of Sunday school.

The Wings of the Dove shares short Christian tales that explore how God the Holy Spirit brings restoration and peace in both obvious and hidden ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665588966

Jim Crompton

Jim Crompton comes from Lancashire, England. He had a vast array of jobs from farm laboring to metallurgic technician, baker to delivery driver. He eventually found his calling with the church, working as a teacher and minister. After being ordained, he ministered in Baptist and Congregational churches but has spoken in churches of just about every denomination.

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2021 Jim Crompton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/28/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8895-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8894-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8896-6 (e)

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.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Lennie

Halina

The Greatest Of These

Joy: A True Story

Shalom—Peace In The Battle

Patience

What A Bit Of Kindness Will Do

Goodness

Faithfulness

Gentleness

Self-Control

No End—The Same

PREFACE

Why did I call this short story collection On the Wings of a Dove?

In many nations and cultures, the dove is a symbol of peace-bringing—negotiation rather than conflict. The dove is also the most used and most understood metaphor of God the Holy Spirit.

These short stories are all about situations of conflict, whether externally from forces beyond the main character’s control or within the mind of the character. They explore how God the Holy Spirit brings restoration and peace in either obvious or hidden ways.

Overtly happy endings are rare in the stories, as are physical escapes from problems; there is no magic wand. The escape is always emotional and spiritual as the main characters come to terms with their situations.

I have written the stories as deliberately short and spare, as they were originally designed for reading aloud. They have been tried and tested in schools, churches, old peoples’ homes, and celebrations—and as a theological dissertation on worship.

I hope you, the reader, find them both entertaining and thought-provoking.

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LENNIE

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Spring percolated through the smoky air. It seeped down from the hills and into the town, and it crept around under the chimney stacks, oozing through the ill-fitting doors and windows and into the houses.

It insinuated itself finally into the consciousness of Lennie as he trudged to school. He found himself whistling. He skipped. Even his wellies seemed lighter. Then he stopped. His smile vanished. His mouth turned down. He remembered. School! That was enough to strangle spring altogether.

In through the grey wire-surrounded playground. Colditz! muttered Lennie automatically. Then no more spring sunshine; he would have to go into the dank, echoing, green-tiled corridor and into his class. Tall nineteenth-century windows, frosted, dirty, impervious to sunlight. Tall nineteenth-century Miss Smith, her face permanently set in disapproval. The class reckoned she tried smiling once but gave it up in pain. Chalk dust. Tattered books. Squeaky ink pens. Horrors!

No! said Lennie. I can’t do it! Locked up like an animal all your young life! No! He growled, I know, I’ll skip school. I’ll go down to t’ canal an’ fish for jackies. People said there were piranha in the canal. Might see one. Eh, no though, he thought. I’m known in this town. And if me ma finds out, she’ll skelp the backside off me! He sighed.

The bell went. He stood still and then moved slowly into 4B’s line—into his doom. Inside was Old Smithy, at least 102, with a face like she gargled vinegar, a voice like a fingernail on a windowpane, and a classroom manner like that of a Bengal tiger with toothache. And in front of him stood Fatty Green, who looked and acted like a pig and thought he was one of the Kelly Gang. And fat enough for all of them, Lennie mused. I’m gonna have to give ’im a thump.

Spring had left, overcome by the winter that school put into Lennie’s heart. All around, sparrows chirped and fluttered; the tired, dusty trees showed a timid, hesitant green cast, and the sun shone bravely through the smog. But Lennie had his own personal black cloud.

The line lurched and then moved reluctantly into school, in through the door in the high brick wall and across the grey tarmac playground, as the students muttered Hiya to this friend and that. Smithy, all grey hair and steel spectacles, stared at them.

Bet she wears iron corsets! Lennie whispered to Billy next to him.

Carry on, girls! said Miss Smith. The line, shuddering and moving spasmodically, shut out the sunlight. Into the classroom. Down the aisle to his desk, sitting obediently when told, banging the desk lid down rebelliously. Then, at a glare from the Smith Dragon, he sat up straight with arms folded. Quiet. The register. Then relax. Quick natter about Wigan’s chances in the Cup.