STAINS ON THE CROSS | PART ONE
The late afternoon sun rested gently on the compound of Higher Ground Ministry, casting long shadows across the tiled ground.
White-painted church walls reflected the fading light, and a mild breeze moved through the space, carrying distant worship songs from an open window where a few sisters rehearsed softly.
The air felt clean, restrained, disciplined—like a place trained to breathe holiness.
This was a ministry known for one thing above all else: holiness, inward and outward. Spoken of with reverence, it was believed to be a place that could guide a soul safely toward heaven.
Among the sisters was Jimmi.
Jimmi stepped out through the church gate with calm grace, her modest dress moving lightly with each step. A Bible was tucked close to her chest, pressed as though it were part of her.
Her face carried a quiet glow born of long hours in prayer, the kind that settled into the eyes before it ever touched the lips.
Brothers passing by greeted her respectfully—some lowering their gaze, others offering restrained smiles filled with admiration they dared not voice.
She acknowledged them kindly, her nods gentle, and continued down the road without breaking her composure.
They admired her from afar, not only for her beauty but for the spiritual weight she carried. She was known, respected, and quietly desired.
Outside the walls of the church stood her closest friend—Jemimah.
They loved each other deeply, like sisters born of different mothers, bound by years of shared laughter and unbroken loyalty.
Jimmi had tried many times to draw her into the faith, speaking of Christ with patience and conviction, but Jemimah always smiled it away. Still, their bond remained strong.
That afternoon, Jemimah visited Jimmi. Inside the modest room, the atmosphere shifted.
The light coming through the window felt dimmer, the air heavier, as though something unseen had entered before her.
Jemimah’s shoulders sagged. Her hands clenched and unclenched, knuckles whitening, until she finally released a breath. Her voice cracked through the silence, raw and strained.
Jemimah (frustrated):
“Jimmi! I’m tired… I’m honestly tired of all this.”
The room stilled. Jimmi’s lips parted as if to speak, her concern rising before sound could form. Her gaze fixed on Jemimah, steady and attentive, as her tone followed gently.
Jimmi (calm):
“What is it? You sound heavy. Tell me—what have I done? If I’ve offended you, I’ll apologize. You know I value peace.”
The air tightened. Jemimah’s jaw locked, and she waved her hand sharply, slicing through the moment like a blade. Her tone snapped—tight, impatient, already bristling.
Jemimah (irritated):
“Wait. Let me talk first. Can’t you let me finish before you take over from my mouth?”
Silence returned, thicker than before. Jimmi drew in a slow breath, her shoulders easing as she folded her hands together, grounding herself. Her response came softly, measured.
Jimmi (gently):
“Alright. I’m listening.”
Jemimah leaned closer, her shadow stretching across the tiled floor.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the open Bible resting on the study table, its pages unmoving, then back to Jimmi’s face. Her voice lowered, trembling under the weight it carried.
Jemimah (hurt):
“You know we love each other like sisters. But people… people keep talking. They mock me because of you.”
The breeze slipped through the open window, stirring the pages of the Bible as if reacting. Jemimah swallowed and continued, the words spilling faster now.
Jemimah (resentful):
“They say I walk with someone who doesn’t know life, someone who dresses like people from ancient days.”
She swallowed hard, breath catching as if the words themselves were heavy. Her tone wavered, pain breaking through the edge.
Jemimah (pained):
“It hurts, Jimmi. Put yourself in my shoes.”
The room seemed to hold its breath. Jimmi froze for a heartbeat, her eyes widening slightly before softening.
She lifted her chin, resolve settling over her features like armor, and her voice emerged firm and unshaken.
Jimmi (firm):
“So their words should matter more than my conviction?”
The atmosphere shifted—quiet but charged. The distant worship song faltered for a moment, as if the sound itself paused. Jimmi’s tone deepened, steady and unwavering.
Jimmi (unwavering):
“Listen to me carefully. I will never lower the biblical standard of holiness—inside and outside. Not for mockery. Not for friendship.”
Jemimah let out a sharp scoff, shaking her head as bitterness rose to the surface. Shadows moved along the wall as she spoke again.
Jemimah (bitter):
“That’s exactly it. You never consider how I feel. All you know is holiness, holiness.”
She lifted her chin, arms folding slowly as a measured breath steadied her voice. Her words echoed faintly in the room, bouncing off silent walls.
Jemimah (challenging):
“Let me ask you—do you think it’s even right to be friends with someone who isn’t living holy like you?”
A hush fell. Jimmi shifted her weight slightly, the breeze brushing against her scarf, lifting it for a moment before letting it fall back into place.
Her voice came calmly, deliberate, anchored in conviction.
Jimmi (measured):
“There’s nothing wrong with befriending people who don’t live holy, as long as you don’t join them in what is unholy.”
Something in Jemimah snapped. Her eyes flashed, and she rose abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. She turned away, her back rigid, her tone colder than before.
Jemimah (coldly):
“Just leave me alone.”
The worship song outside resumed, distant but persistent, clashing with the heaviness in the room.
Jimmi remained still for a moment, watching Jemimah’s back. Her voice softened, carrying tenderness rather than defense.
Jimmi (tender):
“I still love you. Don’t forget—we have our final exams next week. When I’m free, I’ll come so we can study together. Take care.”
The tension lingered as the door closed behind Jemimah. Slowly, Jimmi bowed her head in reverence, the room quieting around her.
Her lips moved in silent prayer, the air subtly shifting—as though something unseen listened.
When she lifted her head again, the heaviness had not fully left, but a quiet purity remained, steady and unbroken.
That evening settled slowly, the kind that stains the walls with fading light.
Jemimah sat alone in her room as the sun dipped lower, its orange glow slipping through half-drawn curtains and stretching across the tiled floor.
The air was quiet, heavy, broken only by the soft scrape of her footsteps as she paced. She stopped now and then before the mirror, her reflection staring back—tight-lipped, restless, simmering.
Her voice slipped out low and bitter, cutting through the stillness before the thought could retreat.
Jemimah (resentful):
“This holiness of hers… it makes everyone look at me like I’m nothing.”
The words lingered in the room like smoke. She held her own gaze in the mirror, eyes narrowing as something darker took shape behind them.
Slowly, almost reverently, a smile crept onto her lips.
Outside, the last birds called into the evening, unaware of the shift that had just taken place within the walls.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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