The wintry smile of the moon did little to cheer up a gloomy night. Surf roiled in consternation and in their agitation crashed furiously against unfeeling rocks on the beach. On the balcony of a high rise building, the mood of the man standing in the dark mirrored the disturbance taking place below. In his shorts and singlet, an unseen chisel carving worry lines deep into his face, he cast a forlorn shadow where he stood. His scanty clothing offered little warmth against the cold breeze that whipped up goose bumps all over his body.
It all seemed to be falling apart! He was on the brink of losing everything and comprehension was not within reach. With the emergence of the recession, he had felt like relocating with his family to the UK, far away from all the madness; however he had had no peace about the move when he prayed about it. Hence he decided to stay and dig in his roots.
He had acquired acres of land and had gone into cassava farming. He did not just stop there but developed a system where he could process the harvested crops within 24hrs which made it possible for it to be used as bread flour. Since cassava flour was cheaper than wheat’s, his bakery had made a killing within a very short time. There was also enough to export and with the recent exchange rate, his profits skyrocketed. It was suddenly like he had an orchard where money was plucked from trees.
Considering he was one who believed in multiple streams of income, after thorough due diligence, he got a licence to prospect some old oil wells that the big oil brands had given up on. To his amazement, he struck oil in amazing quantities but some big boys in the corridors of power rose and started contending with him when they saw how richly the well was producing. The people who envied him for his success were many. Rumour also had it that he was into money rituals. Since his papers were intact, he fought back but the litigation fees were fleecing. He abandoned the well and moved on to another farther down in the delta region. His Midas touch showed up again and he hit a gusher but contention had reared its ugly head again. The drilling had cost him tons of money and if something did not happen soon, he was going to be in a real pickle. Unconsciously a big sigh of despondence escaped his lips.
The French window to the balcony opened and Becky, his wife came and hugged him from behind. Her body and night gown coupled with the fragrance of her perfume enveloped him in warmth that suddenly kept the fangs of the night chills at bay.
“Zeke, let’s go inside, it is all good,” she murmured into his ears. He followed her lamb like into the cosy house. Outside, the wan light of the moon got drowned within a sea of angry, dark clouds and the winds started howling like ravenous wolves but nothing mattered in the world anymore as she comforted him…
That same night he dreamt…..
It was a cold night in the desert and the stars were a having a twinkling party against the backdrop of a night devoid of clouds. Cold winds tugged at the flaps of tents made of sheep skins. In the open space between tents, two men sat on mats, camels lying around them adding to warmth that was so welcome. Between the men was a dead lamb on a stone slab, congealed blood running from its slashed throat unto the cooling deserts sands. One of the men was very old with a snowy white beard reaching all the way down to his knees. The other was a young man barely approaching thirty. A covenant had just been reached, a spiritual coalition, a pact that would outlast generations. They stood up and hugged for countless minutes before packing up their tents and climbing up their camels, the old man leading the way.
They finally got to a very arid part of the desert and the ancient looking man alighted, very sprightly for his age. He helped the young man down and showed him a wide expanse of land.
Gesticulating with his hand in a wide arc, he said, “it is all yours. What was mine is now all yours…All,” he emphasized.
The young man was wondering what he was going to do with an arid land full of thorns and cactus bushes when he heard an intense and rushing bubbling sound. He looked again and saw wells. Wells that brimmed over with crystal clear water. Thousands and thousands of wells stretched into the distance beyond what his eyes could see. They seemed to have a force within, a life that could not be quenched. Funny thing was the old man treated them like living things by giving them names but they were so many that the younger could not keep up. As the bubbling water hit the ground, the whole area transformed and became an oasis. Date palms and other fruit trees began to grow in colourful profusion. The whole region blossomed into thick greenery with exquisitely beautiful flora and fauna.
Far from where they were, beyond sand dunes and endless quicksand, a swarthy sheik sat on his throne, the one known as the dark, desert Prince. He was infamous for his raging destructive tendencies. Eyes hooded over a beaked nose, dark storms of anger clouded his face as his minions narrated the story of the oasis to him. He rabidly hated all the people that were friends with the Ancient One. Keeping their lands dry and fruitless was what he used to subjugate them. Hearing of the wells made him beside himself with wrath, veins popping to almost bursting point. He knew what most did not though. The wells could not be stopped, clogged nor plugged but he knew what to do. Subterfuge almost always works…anything that would generate doubt, fear and despair. They were a volatile combination that would generate depression and pessimism. Pessimism was dynamite that blows up the wells, cause the people of the wells to get discouraged and turn their backs on The Ancient One. He sent his demolition experts……
He woke up feeling refreshed and with a deep confirmation that he was blessed. His life was not dependent on the desert winds and dust swirling around the world but on the spiritual wells he had within. They were living wells from an eternal source that functioned under the covenant of the blessing. The blessings change everything, turn deserts of hopelessness into oasis of good fortune. They never ran dry! The only thing was not to give up, to persevere, and hold on to faith for dear life…..
A few months down the line, he struck oil again, now in such copious quantities that he named the well….BROAD PLACES…
Genesis 26:22 And he removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, For now the Lord hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.
This is a rendition of Genesis 26 (Juicy tale!)