Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on friday 11 january 2019
She is my friend
As the late summer sun rose, its rays slowly filtering through the misty haze, Benedicto climbed steadily up the steep, rocky slope in the foothills just outside his village. After walking for an hour or so, the nonagenarian stopped to catch his breath. He looked into the distance to take in the magnificent view before him. While he rubbed at his grey, gristly beard, his mind wandered off to the days when he was a young boy.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on tuesday 11 december 2018
Kindle your inner power
From the very beginning, I followed the Way of Love with them, Yeshua and Magdalena. Together with her, I stood by him as he hung on the cross. And afterwards, I sailed with her to the shores of the Languedoc to spread his teachings from the Book of Love. I am here to guide those in need of healing, so they may rediscover their inner power and reawaken.
From: The Story of the Black Madonna
Tears of joy flowed over Sarah’s face when her newborn baby boy, wrapped in a warm blanket, was placed in her arms. She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. The scent of new life and purity. For a few moments, she was able to forget her life of destitution and loneliness. All that mattered to her now was her son. A strong and healthy boy to whom no gift could compare. Filled with gratitude, she closed her eyes and let her weary body rest.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on wednesday 21 november 2018
Click here to read this story from the beginning!
Episode 27
The next morning, Deborah was woken from a deep sleep by her phone ringing loudly.
“Oh, blast,” she groaned drowsily while trying to grab it. She missed, sweeping it off the bedside cabinet and on to the floor. Reluctantly, she got out of bed, but it was too late. The moment she got hold of the phone to answer the call, it stopped ringing. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she swiped the screen with her thumb to see who had tried to contact her.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 12 november 2018
Gavin’s heart grew heavier with every step he took in the silent forest. The looming darkness of night seemed to reflect his gloomy thoughts. Thoughts and memories of his early childhood when he had taken a walk in the same forest with his late father. As he trudged onward through the red and golden autumn leaves that covered his path, he began to speak out loud as if he were composing a letter.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 15 october 2018
With a glum look on his face, the young Aboriginal hunter, Manimanuk, looked out over the plains from the rocky outcrop where he was standing. Angry words had been spoken earlier that morning in the camp of his people. To Manimanuk it seemed as if there were two camps. One, led by one of the elders, was determined to move on to better hunting grounds before the dry season came. The other camp felt it was better to wait until one of the mothers fully recovered after breaking her leg while foraging for yams.
