I really do appreciate being nominated for various blog awards.
However, in 2019 I will continue to keep Riverside Peace as an award free blog. Your visits and comments are thanks enough.
Thank you for your understanding. – Chrissy
Matthew 7:7 tells us to: Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.
1 John 5:14–15 says: And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us: and if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him.
Matthew 6:6 also tells us: But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.
Prayer has to be my favourite topic and many related verses come freely. Prayer is an important part of my life and I wouldn’t survive without it. My months of pain last year brought me closer to the Father than I could ever believe possible. Prayer had a remarkable impact on my healing and recovery, and on those who prayed and believed with me.
Through prayer we have direct access to the throne room of God the Father, the almighty and living God. We can take anything to God in prayer and He hears us. Sometimes we need to wait for answers and sometimes his answer is no, but He does answer. Whether it is prayer for healing, finances, or salvation of a loved one, whatever the need, we ought to be diligent in our prayer requests.
Whatever is on your heart right now, tell Him. God already knows your need but we need to tell him what’s on our hearts and also give thanks for His answer, even before he gives it.
Father, you are my rock and my salvation. I hand all my circumstances over to you. Teach me how to pray. Give me the desire to draw closer to you so I may give all things over to you, believing your will and plan will be fulfilled in your perfect timing. Amen.
© Chrissy Siggee
Scripture Verses used are from the King James Version of the Bible
Historian Albert Winslow sat at his desk in a sparsely furnished London office. Using two large wooden tweezers, he gently unrolled the manuscript. Faded calligraphy on tea coloured paper revealed its age and fragility. With a magnifying glass he studied the almost illegible signature confirming the author, John Keats.
Winslow peered over the top of his wire-framed spectacles and studied the gentleman sitting opposite who repeatedly wiped his balding head with a handkerchief. ‘Sir, where did you say you found this manuscript?’
‘Well… I didn’t exactly find it. It was… um… part of my inheritance.’
Removing his spectacles, the historian studied the gentleman sitting on the other side of his desk who was fidgeting in his chair. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Kent. Michael Kent.’
‘Well, Mr Kent, this signature doesn’t appear to resemble a Kent.’
‘Oh, um… it was handed down on my mother’s side. My mother changed my surname name when she remarried.’
‘I see. Leave it with me, Mr Kent. I’ll have it valued for you by tomorrow. Leave your details with my secretary on the way out.’ He rose and shook his client’s hand.
Winslow’s secretary entered his office the following morning. He looked up as she reached his desk.
‘Miss Harwich, could you please place a call to a Lord David Keats of Hampstead? Give him my name and switch him through to my office. Give me a few minutes though, I need to talk to Scotland Yard.’
‘Yes, Mr Winslow.’
It took just moments for Lord Keats’s voice to be heard.
‘Yes, this is he.’
‘I believe I have in my possession your great grandfather’s missing manuscript, ‘Endymion’.’
The line was quiet for so long that Winslow thought he had been disconnected when suddenly Lord Keats continued.
‘How can that be? It disappeared after he died, in 1821? It’s been almost a century?’
‘Yes, I know. I also know that your father, Lord Alfred Keats, passed away last week, my condolences.’
“Thank you, but how do you know and what does his death have to do with my great grandfather’s manuscript?”
‘Your father paid me to know. You see I’m a historian and a private investigator. Your father visited me here in London on December sixth last year. The manuscript had apparently resurfaced and he hired me to investigate its location. I sent him a wire last Monday about my findings before his heart attack. He didn’t mention it?’
‘No, and I’m not sure why he would hire anyone. Until Christmas my father and I had been investigating the mystery disappearance together for almost a decade.’
Winslow carefully chose his words before proceeding. “Perhaps, Lord Keats, your father discovered he hadn’t been told when someone had found it. That someone decided to use it for his own financial gain.”
‘What are you implying, Mr Winslow?’
‘Let me refresh your memory. Two years ago your cousin, Michael Kent, inherited a meagre bequest. While clearing out his mother’s writing bureau, Kent discovered a key to a safe deposit box that contained a letter from his grandfather—your grandfather’s younger brother. With that letter was your great grandfather’s manuscript. The letter described in detail how your grandfather cheated him out of his share or their father’s estate. Your great uncle stole the manuscript after your great grandfather’s death in 1821— before he could have it published. Are you following me, Lord Keats?’
‘Continue, Mr Winslow. I find your hypothesis intriguing.’
‘Late last year, your cousin decided it was time to show his hand by attempting to blackmail your father. Because your father didn’t want his conniving nephew to get his hands on his money, he came directly to me. We thought it was an open and shut case until I discovered that Michael Kent had an accomplice—someone who wanted revenge for an unrelated incident years before. Unfortunately, that piece of information inadvertently killed your father. The accomplice was you. Am I right, Lord Keats?’
‘You’re very clever, Mr Winslow. There’s one thing you haven’t explained. How did you get your hands on the manuscript?’
‘That was the easy part. After your father’s death, you and your cousin initiated plan B: to sell the manuscript to a publisher and split the profit. However, your cousin decided to have it valued first. Unfortunately for you both, he came to me. I advertise my professions separately and I only display my name on the door.’
There was another notable silence followed by a murmur of voices at Lord Keats’ end of the line. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Mr Winslow. Apparently, I have visitors.’
‘Ah yes, my friends from Scotland Yard. Blackmail is a serious crime. Good day to you, Lord Keats.’
© Chrissy Siggee
English poet John Keats, born October 1795 in Moorgate, London, died in February 1821 at the age of 26 from tuberculosis. His works had been the target of much abuse including his last epic poem ‘Endymion’. John Keats never married, which should indicate that the contents of: “The Mystery of Keats’ Missing ‘Endymion’ – Solved” set in the early twentieth century, is completely fictional.
‘Bartholomew, is that you?’
‘Bartholomew, it’s hard enough to get six babies to have a nap after Sunday School without you coming home late. This floor shook all the way through the singing. The entire ruckus has given me a headache.’
‘When I catch my breath, *pant* I’ll explain.’
‘Bartholomew, were you chased by the janitor?’
‘Mildred, he’s on to us again.’
‘Well it’s no wonder. Your snooping around those Sunday School classes is going to get us into trouble one of these days.’
Bartholomew ignored his wife and continued. ‘I got right up close to the piano. It was awesome. They were singing Jesus loves me; my favorite. I managed to sneak in behind the young ones going into class. Mildred, their new Sunday School teacher, Miss Cooper, is delightful.’
‘I thought you were going to find us some Sunday lunch, not check out the girls.’
‘I did. Anyway, I was captivated by the way she presented the Noah’s Ark story—pictures of the ark, birds, animals, even Noah. Young Tommy asked if there were any rats on board and everyone laughed. Miss Cooper assured Tommy that if there are rats around now; they would’ve been on the ark. She spoke with enthusiasm about our Maker and His promises. Oh Mildred, you’d have loved it. It was a perfect morning.’
‘So why were you panting?’
‘I was coming to that. You see, Billy was about to leave the room with his Bible still on his chair.’
‘Again? His parents must have replaced his Bible a dozen times.’
‘I know, and I thought if I could get someone’s attention before they left, they’d see it and return it to him.’
‘So what did you do, scare poor Miss Cooper half to death on her first morning?’
‘No, I simply marched over to the Bible and stood on it… only I didn’t see the janitor passing the door with his broom. He saw me about the same time as Billy did. Billy stood between the janitor and me so I could get away.’ Bartholomew chuckled. ‘You should’ve seen me run, Mildred. I slipped out the door as quick as a flash with that broom coming mighty close.’
‘OK, so where’s lunch? Maybe we can enjoy some of His gifts before the babies wake up.’
Bartholomew removed the pack from his shoulder and began to unload his findings.
‘I found a couple of potato crisps in the foyer. A gummy bear with his head removed in the cry room and a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the Sunday School Hall. All while they were busy singing themselves silly.’ He chucked again.
‘Oh, this is great, Bartholomew. We won’t go to bed hungry tonight.’
‘I’LL FIND YOU, RAT!’ A voice bellowed through the walls.
Mildred began to shiver. ‘Bartholomew…’
‘Mildred, take the babies through the side door to the end of the stage. Take the underground route to Uncle Moses… and don’t stop until you get there.’
‘Bartholomew, don’t leave us. Where are you going?’
‘It’s all right. I’ll distract him and meet you at Uncle Moses’s later. I’ll be fine. GO!’
‘WHERE ARE YOU, RAT?’
Bartholomew scurried back through the hole and across the stage. His feet skidded beneath him on the varnished boards, causing him to slide sideways and crashing into a pile of electrical cables. He scanned the stage and the hall just as one of the cables hit the floor below.
‘I HAVE YOU NOW.’
As fast as his little legs could carry him, Bartholomew scampered into Miss Cooper’s classroom, raced past Noah and the ark and up the drapes on the other side of the room.
There he waited.
It was dark when Bartholomew reached Uncle Moses’ place, tired and hungry. He listened, but there was no sound. He tapped lightly before entering.
‘Bartholomew, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. The babies wore out poor Uncle Moses. They’re all curled up with him on his bed.’
‘I’m fine. I told you I’d be fine. I know that place blindfolded. We can return in a few weeks once the exterminators have gone and the air is clear again.’
‘In the meantime, Bartholomew, you can help me with the babies. When we return home, I want you to take them to Sunday School, but no more adventures.’
‘All right, Mildred, no more adventures for me.’
© Chrissy Siggee
Author’s note: No rat or any human being was harmed during the writing of this story.