Jaycee: A HEROINE'S JOURNEY /: A

By Robert Kowalski

Consider how the world would react or the concerns that would be raised if Jesus were a woman teacher and prophet today.

That is a question I address in my book Jaycee

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Kowalski
• Release date: Jan 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9783347359840

Book preview

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Jaycee

A Heroine’s Journey

Second Edition

by

Robert J. Kowalski

JAYCEE: A HEROINE’S JOURNEY / SECOND EDITIONJ

COPYRIGHT 2022 by ROBERT KOWALSKI

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the publisher and/or author(s.)

This book is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are not the depiction of any person, place or event, and its entirety is the creation of the author.

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 does not reflect the views or opinions of the publisher.

ISBNS:

Paperback - 978-3-347-35982-6

Ebook - 978-3-347-35984-0

This book is dedicated with love….

To all the strong women throughout the world, who have—for centuries—been relegated to a second-place role in the churches of most organized religions.

You are our greatest and best hope in growing our compassion for each other and spreading the truth.

I would like to thank my mother, Elizabeth, for being her sweet self; Kristen Holly Thorsten Kowalski, who is the inspiration for Sister Kristen; my sisters Marylynn, Deb, and Michele, and my sister-in-law, Maryanne.

Thank You to my glorious son, Jacob, for his support, and my brother Jim Kowalski for all that I have learned from him. Thanks also to Brightstar and Wes Hamilton and Ron Bear Cronick for their guidance along the way.

All have been strong and smart influences on my life, and I have endless admiration and gratitude to them.

~ Robert Kowalski

Introduction

_______________________________

A woman, however learned and holy, may not take it upon herself to teach in an assembly of Men.

~ The Synod of Carthage 398 A.D.

_______________________________

There are many paths to God and religion is just one of them. Imagine what the world would think or the questions that would be raised if Jesus lived now and was a woman teacher and prophet?

In my book, Jaycee explores that question.

This tale takes place in the small town of Serenity, Minnesota.

The issues and challenges Jaycee and her friends face are modern and connectable to us now.

I have often wondered why women are not allowed to be priests and are not celebrated in the Catholic Church to the degree that men are and have been for centuries.

I tell this very profound and complex tale in a lighthearted and hopefully thought-provoking way.

My goal is to fuel our collective goodness and to help fuel the church toward gender balance.

~ Robert J. Kowalski

Forward by God

_______________________________________________________

Man can hardly even recognize the devils of his own creation.

~ Albert Schweitzer

_______________________________________________________

Why tell this story?

I get it. It’s a valid question.

Throughout my time, which coincidentally is all time, I have been known by many names: Jehovah, Allah, Yahweh, but most of you simply know me as plain old, God.

I created the universe and all the planets, but earth turned out in such a perfect way that it is rare for me to have to investigate what has gone wrong. Or, more fittingly, what is about to go wrong and will ruin my creation. However, from time to time, it does happen. People are amazing, and believe me, I know amazing. Yet, it is certainly within them to destroy each other. Previous generations would say bummer, the current one would say sad.

Throughout time, I have given out trinkets of hope. Take for example a box I had delivered to a young and strikingly beautiful girl named Pandora. I know you’ve heard that story. A messenger of mine, dressed in rags, handed her the box and gave her one simple instruction:

Never open the box.

But it is so beautiful; how can I not open it?

You can enjoy its beauty. But, if you royalties she sent it open it— He stopped short, remembering my instructions not to tell her what was in the box. You should enjoy the beauty you see. Because the beauty you see is the true value.

Surprisingly, Pandora did not open the box. She admired it, held it, and occasionally shook it to see what she could hear inside. Of course, she heard nothing. What lay within was silent and stealthy.

For many decades, she was wise and followed my messenger’s warning not to open the box. But, in the end, her curiosity got the better of her. She could no longer withstand the pressure of waiting. So, in the dark of night, while the world around her slept, she walked to her table and lifted the box. For a longtime, she simply admired the box. She held it. She slid her fingers around the jewel-encrusted sides. And, before opening the box, she closed her eyes, not knowing what to expect.

She took a deep breath. Then she opened it.

Nothing more than what seemed like a puff of air escaped, and Pandora was confused. The box appeared empty. She sat it back down on the table, and walked away, disappointed.

Unlike the stories you have heard or read about Pandora’s box, she was quite unaware of what she had unleashed with that mere puff of air. But all that is bad in the world had escaped. She released jealousy, hatred, fear, anger, betrayal, and violence to prey upon mankind. But, like most gifts, I pass on for humans to hold, I also included a glimmer of hope. The last thing to escape from the box was a fragrant scent of jasmine. Pandora smiled at the sweet aroma that suddenly filled her nostrils, not even realizing it was the final gift from the wretched box.

The scent of jasmine was the scent of hope, which with my unending grace, escaped along with all the evil.

There are times when I wonder if hope still exists. The crusades were not of my devising, yet they claimed to be in my name. The holocaust was also not mine, yet the embellishments I passed onto man, such as the Ark of the Covenant and my son’s chalice (as simple as it was), were highly sought after. Perhaps, I would have allowed them to be found had so much evil not been in search of them. In the end, I pushed forth the water, and a steady stream of cloud cover to allow the allies access to a beach and a battle they could not have won without my help.

And so, it was a tense world. I had been pushing man forward for so many millennia, that even I was becoming tired. Then it was man’s turn to surprise me. They began to fight evil . . . and win. I stepped back and have not had to intervene as the world appeared it would finally find peace and defend itself from evil.

Until I received a poem.

Yes, a poem. You may not understand the power of a mere poem, or for that matter, the power of a young woman. The poem I will share now and more about the young woman, the author of the poem, in a moment. She was questioning her faith; in fact, she was questioning all faith.

It was I who shot the arrow through your stained-glass window

I stood silently listening for the rattle of fletching as it chromed off your frozen statue of three miracle myths

You could not see me in my wrap made of leather from the gifts of Earth.

My bow would not fit in your collection plate, I fear,

My lawn exceeds the acquired length of one-quarter nap

I surely cannot contain my Gods in your tabernacle trap

There is no need for me to confess my sins

In a darkened screened coffin to a silhouetted grin

It was I who stood on that hill and watched your procession of luxury cars,

Vying for the coveted first row pew of religious stars

All straining to catch a glimpse of the next row’s sins

Like cattle you respond to the bandleader’s cue to rise, to kneel

Breathlessly, you wait for that grand moment when you can march in line,

Head solemnly bowed hoping to take a part of God home with you this time

It was I who watched and turned to the sky

An uncivilized savage

I began to cry

She has faith in me, yet little faith in the men who claim to spread my word. It is the right of man to question. Yet, when those who invoke my word do not exemplify their meaning and intention, how does my flock not question them?

This gives me pause to act. A simple poem. One of the most powerful weapons I have given to man.

As infrequently as I visit earth, I truly do enjoy it. My creation, if I say so myself, is quite enviable. As you can guess, if I were simply to come upon someone in human form and said, Hail, for I am God, they would undoubtedly run away. Or maybe they would lunge at me with a sword, which of course would do nothing but irritate me. That’s what I get for giving humans the ability to think. So, when I venture to earth, I choose the form I feel best fits my motive. Say for example, I must get someone’s attention. I may arrive as, well, a burning bush. I hear that’s a popular story.

I come in many shapes and forms, and when I really want to test the human race, I will simply whisper my words, which indeed must be whispered, for if I were to speak in a manner more befitting The Almighty One, you would be torn to shreds by the mere force of my words. In my whispers, words flow more gently (yet powerful) in a soft rhythmic and intoxicating beauty I call poetry. Are you now seeing the value I place on poetry? It has impact! Yes, poems reflect me. They, like Homer’s muses, hold man mystified and share with the spirit of man, not the mind, how I would like the world to change. Many have received my poetic messages. Perhaps, you recall the story of a rather lazy man named Noah who rose above criticism and shame to build a great ark. One that save humanity. And, there was Moses and the burning bush. There have been many more such stories; all true. Some you have heard, but there are many you have not. Sometimes, it is a subtle change, which influences the most.

One might ask why I don’t simply fix earth and correct its problems myself, instead of sending a messenger. There are a couple reasons: first, I gave humans the ability to resolve their own issues. I may drop a few helpful hints—breadcrumbs to follow, or help pave a path, but without defeating the evil Pandora let loose millennia ago, humans will never survive alone.

Secondly, if I were to fix the earth’s problems, I would have to destroy it and start over. And I did that once already with the Great Flood. Of course, as questioning humans, you debate whether one of my most amazing events even took place. Well, yes, Noah did hear me, and he honestly exceeded my expectations. His animal gathering was quite a feat. Good man, that Noah. Opposed to what man will glorify, he was no doubt one of the laziest men I’d ever created, yet he turned into one of the hardest working. That was his own doing. I had nothing to do with it. He had a genuine fear of snakes, which he did a pretty good job working out for himself. Noah is one of the few who I like to say, did a decent job of putting the cover back on Pandora’s box.

As you can see, if I am on Earth, it is because there is a problem. What most people don’t realize is that it is the small things that make up the big picture. Like the tiniest pixels that make up the digital images you stare at all day. Even the smallest change can affect bigger changes ahead. For example, if you wake up five minutes late, you can either accidentally bump into your future spouse, or miss that same person, which leads you in a new direction in life. Take another poem, one of hope and change. One written by the same young woman who questioned my messengers.

She wrote:

Decades of togetherness are to time but a whisperin the winds

None of the time spent wasted, and surely none of that time a sin

When life’s review is glimpsed

and we turn to look back on our path

We will see that time spent with each other

was meant to be, but never meant to last

Knowing this, we should hold each other gently in our palms

Bless the times we share and ignore any wrongs

Lift our souls skyward, spread our wings once again

Sing our earthly human songs and let our hearts begin to mend

This young woman, Jaycee, is my next Noah. She is the symbol for change. Her humble and poetic nature will show you that it is not the question of faith people should concern themselves with, but rather the actions you pursue to find your faith.

What this young girl, Jaycee Woods, does not realize is that I have been with her for some time now. Watching for the moment she was ready. And that time has come, as it is now her turn to step away from the safety and protection of her shell and change the world. Jaycee lives in the small town of Serenity, Minnesota. And that’s not happenstance either.

Serenity is a quaint town where everything just seems to right. Where even the worst person, isn’t that bad. Until, that is, the sleek black limousine with the Whale mart emblem on its doors slowly and quietly glides down Serenity’s Main Street in three . . . two . . . one . . . bump.

I bet you didn’t feel much there. But neither did Pandora when she opened her beautiful jewel-encrusted box. A puff of air