snippet from The Heretic By Jocelyne Storm–Part 1
The Heretic By Jocelyne Storm–Part 1
I heard the coffee maker gurgling, confirming that my savory brew was nearly done. Quickly I race to put away the last of the dry dishes, having washed them hours earlier and started the next load of laundry. Force of habit caused me to glance at the microwave clock which announce that I had only a few minutes more before the prayer-line would commence.

Having tidied my humble abode, I made a quick trip to the privy and relieved myself, lest the conference should run long and I become uncomfortable – unable to focus on praising The Lord, while squirming in my seat and feigning to hold my bladder.

With clean hands I drew ice from the freezer and filled a tumbler, sat it on my desk, along with the coffee decanter and a bowl of snacks. I was ready to fuel my day and my faith-walk with powerful intercessory prayer and teachings of the Gospel.

Per the customs of our group, the session began with greetings, pleasantries, testimonies to the Glory of God and Prayer Requests. The day had found me bubbling with joviality as there was much on my heart for which I wanted to give thanks and honor unto God. All during the day I had enjoyed moments of shear elation – indeed, every time my thoughts floated to the answered prayers which I had received only the night before and though I wanted to keep quiet (should have kept quiet) I simply felt the news too good not to share with the very people whom had been a part of my spiritual growth over the course of nearly four years.

Not that they deserved to know the source of my joy or that I felt any compensatory need to convey my blessings – but I simply thought that sharing my good news might encourage someone who was waiting patiently to receive answers, blessings or a word from God that the delights of their hearts might lay just around the corner.

How was I to fathom the disgust, loathing and indignation that sharing my testimony would elicit? How could I, in my darkest nightmares have foreseen the uproar it would cause. I must admit that I had not sat quietly and meditated on the subject of sharing the progress of my long-held dream, but I was happy and I wanted – expected – others, who say they love me, to be happy for me too.

After all, mine was a joy that had not been manifested via an idea which had sprang-up over night – it had been categorized among those imaginings slated as “Wildest Dreams,” since I was fifteen years old. The thing that I had wanted to do since my youth, planned and plotted as a young adult, now had come to fruition – at least the beginning steps were about to be taken; and for this I was demonized.


This author has released some other pages from The Heretic By Jocelyne Storm–Part 1 :


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