The Way of the Cleft
A short story on the power of choice and the reach of Grace.
Blessing sat still in the dark, she could hear the rain falling steadily outside the cleft in the rock she was in. Staring out into the darkness she wondered how far off the path she’d fallen, she wondered if Prince Immanuel would forgive her for her outburst – and those terrible words she’d shouted at Him.
“Leave me alone! I’m tired of this journey -It’s too hard! I’m not making any progress, so just leave me alone!”
He had responded so calmly – not a word, just turned around and started to walk away, but she had been too angry – too bitter… Ahh Bitter she sighed to herself; that had been her name before Prince Immanuel had given her purpose. I suppose that is who I’m doomed to be.
After Bitter had parted from Prince Immanuel she started on “her own path” the one she chose was called Self Pity it was broad and paved and sloped gently downward. Her steps came easily and quickly as she started down it thinking about all she wasn’t going to put up with anymore.
Suddenly the path became very steep and she slid down so fast she hardly knew what happened.
She found herself stuck in a miry pit with mud up to her waist. Wallowing in the mud she fumed while thoughts ran through her head like: Why me? I have it harder than others. Why did the King make the path too hard to follow? Why can’t I do anything right?
At last she realized she couldn’t stay in the mud any longer. The more time she spent there, the further down she sunk. By this time, the mud was all the way up to her chest. She struggled to free herself from the mire but it held her fast.
In desperation, she looked for relief. She even dared to look up, half-hoping Prince Immanuel had come for her. When she looked up she noticed a rope labeled Self Control that went up as far as she could see.
She grasped the rope and found it was rough to the touch and trying to pull herself up hand over hand was quite painful, however she chose to keep going no matter the sting in her hands and how tired she was. She had several failed attempts where she slid right back to where she started.
By now it was dark, and as the rain began to fall, it became too difficult to hold onto the rope. Just as she thought she was going to fall all the way back down, She found a crevice in the rock much like a small cave, and climbed in.
She thought back on her outburst with shame and wondered if Prince Immanuel would ever forgiver her and take her back. Oh how she longed to just cry on His shoulder or beg forgiveness at His feet, But I strayed too far. She wiped a tear from her cheek. What have I to lose I’ve already lost everything?
“I’m sorry,” she spoke softly into the dark, “Please forgive me, I want you back. Please show me Your Way and I will take it now.”
Her words seemed to be lost in the wind and rain. She curled up in the furthest driest corner of the crevice and slept.
She awoke to the soft light of morning and saw none other than Prince Immanuel watching over her. His hands were raw and bleeding and the rope was coiled at His feet.
Tears of shame filled her eyes. She understood. Prince Immanuel had been the one who let down the rope. He Himself had held the other end and been the rope’s anchor – her anchor.
He held out His hand and gently admonished her, “I came to give you the power of choice. I can’t choose for you, but I have prepared the way before you. I will hold your hand and you will have what you need to finish the journey.”
Blessing took his hand and whispered “I’m sorry. I’m ready now.”
Immanuel pulled her into a warm embrace and she cried on his shoulder. He held her and told her she was forgiven and he would help her and together they would make it through the land of the enemy.
“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast, and which entereth into that within the veil; Whither the forerunner is for us entered, even Jesus…”
Hebrews 6:19-20
Behind the Story
A few months ago, I shared my testimony of waiting on God’s timing for a husband. I mentioned a time when I felt so discouraged that I spoke words of doubt I later regretted. Recently, I came across this short story I wrote during that season of waiting.
If you’ve ever felt like the path was too steep or that you’ve yelled at the Prince one too many times, I hope this little allegory reminds you who is actually holding the rope.
If you’re currently in a season where waiting feels too hard to hang on anymore, I wrote a deeper reflection on how to embrace the “now” here: Seasons of Waiting.
Help me decide what’s next!
I’ve been considering expanding this world and the journey of Blessing into a larger work—perhaps for “Novel November.”
I’d love to know if you want to hear more of her story. Could you cast your vote in the comments
- I want to see more of Blessing and the Prince!
- I’d love to see more allegories like this,
but try a new story next time with different characters. - I’m just here for the boots and aprons! (Keep the focus on the farm and home).
Your feedback helps me decide where to focus my writing next!
