Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you (Proverbs 2:11).

"Don't worry, man, we've got your back."  Mr. D's tone was measured and unemotional.  I knew that his words represented a statement of fact -- not grandiose rhetoric or empty promises -- but I still needed to hear it, as I was gearing up for a knock-down, dragged-out, kicking-and-screaming fight with an enemy of unparalleled venom and resourcefulness.

"We're right here beside you," said Mr. U, reiterating and reaffirming the strategic support.  With these two guys flanking me, I felt powerful and prepared.  But still, I knew we were in for all-out war.

My father had introduced me to Mr. D, back when I was quite young; but we had gotten to know each other through the years, to the point that he felt more like MY friend than "my father's friend."  During my high school years, I had foolishly distanced myself from him a little bit -- my gangly awkwardness and insecurity getting in the way of just about everything good in my life -- but he had not held it against me, when I came back to him and re-embraced our relationship.  On the contrary, he had become one of my closest companions.  He considered it his personal mission to accompany me and protect me in these most difficult moments of conflict and confrontation.  And I was glad to have him on my side.  Sure, he was a bit older, graying at the temples, a lean face, deep laugh-lines around his mouth and his eyes -- but his strength was nevertheless evident.  His light blue polo shirt tightly hugged his thick, round shoulders, and his forearms were all muscle and sinew.  His eyes were penetrating, as if they alone were one of his most deadly weapons in a fight.  I knew and trusted Mr. D deeply, implicitly, and his presence had given me great strength for a long time.

I didn't really get to know Mr. U, on the other hand, until later in life.  He was always kind of around.  There was never a time when he was not visible, in the background of my life.  But it wasn't until after I had finished my education, after some traveling, after I had gotten married, and after my children had been born, that our friendship really started to develop.  But with time, he became every bit as close as Mr. D, and his accompaniment was every bit as meaningful in my times of need.  He stood a head taller than me and Mr. D, with a thinner, more wirey frame.  He wore a neatly trimmed beard and spectacles -- but there was no mistaking the fact that he also knew how to fight.  There was a long, obvious scar across the right side of his neck, just below the place where his beard started growing, and there were a number of smaller scars visible on his forearms.  Just the way that he stood suggested a readiness to take whatever punch was thrown at him and turn it into a submission hold.  So with him on my left side, and Mr. D on my right side, I knew -- even though my stomach churned involuntarily -- that we were ready for battle.

We arrived at the street corner where the enemy was supposed to meet us -- a strategic crossroads on the way into the center of the city -- but there was no sign of him or any of his goons.  Mr. D kept his arms crossed, and Mr. U leaned up against a lamppost.  I crouched down on my haunches, peering down the long streets on either side.  It was several minutes before Mr. D made the first sighting.  My enemy was sliding down the street off to the south, headed in our direction with what appeared to be two of his thugs, wielding baseball bats and chains.  But when they noticed the three of us, standing on the street corner, they stopped.  Still 50 meters away, we couldn't quite see what they were doing; but it appeared that they were having an argument and were making no further progress in our direction.

"Should we go meet them over there?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

"No, let's just stay here, where we can see them and they can see us," said Mr. U with a tone of confidence and clarity.

"Don't worry," said Mr. D.  "We've got your back."

As we stood and watched, we saw one of the thugs drop his baseball bat and stomp off in the opposite direction, away from our street corner.  The other two called out after him, but we couldn't understand what they were saying.  Eventually, they turned around and started walking in our direction again.  They never did cross over to our side of the street, however.  When they got about 10 meters away, they called out to us -- challenging us to come over to them and take a licking.

We didn't budge.  Mr. D said, "They're afraid.  They're not going to cross that street because they know that they're at a disadvantage.  We have nothing to worry about from them."

"Don't say anything," said Mr. U.  "Just let them do their trash-talking, and if they really want to make an issue of it, they'll come over here."

So we waited, wordlessly.  And sure enough, after a few minutes of them calling curses at us, they simply turned tail and disappeared.  It was cowardly on their part, but really just par for the course, based on everything that we had observed from them.  Mr. U suggested that we go back home, and I was happy to agree.  So we started back, with Mr. D on my right side and Mr. U on my left side, and I never felt more fortunate to be surrounded by friends.

O my son, O son of my womb, O son of my vows, do not spend your strength on women, your vigor on those who ruin kings (Proverbs 31:2).

Does anyone else notice the unusual juxtaposition of this Proverb?!?  It's nestled within the 31st chapter of Proverbs -- which is best known for its description of the "Wife of Noble Character," explaining, at quite great length, the incalcuable value of a godly wife.  It's immediately preceded by a reference to the fact that King Lemuel (the advice-giver in this chapter) got all of his best material from his mother.  And it's advice that is specifically directed at the king's son, the offspring presumably produced from the king's own marriage.  And yet -- King Lemuel has the gall to suggest that his son should avoid women, and watch out for them as people who destroy kings and kingdoms!  Doesn't that seem ridiculous and hypocritical?!?  It certainly makes you wonder...

I think it comes down to the verse's use of the plural and its overall context.

First of all, it seems significant to me that the prince is warned to not spend his strength on women.  Not woman.  Not a wife or a mother -- but women.  The plural noun seems to me that the verse is directed at the dangers of womanizing, not the dangers of women themselves.  Surely, this is at least something to consider.

And then there's the context.  The beginning of Proverbs 31 is a conversation between a king and his son, who will presumably rule after him.  They talk about how kings should (or, rather, should not) use alcohol (verses 4-7).  They talk about the king's responsibility to care for the disadvantaged and downtrodden within the kingdom (verses 8-9).  Thus, it would make sense that the second verse is talking about the dangers of women because of the ways that kings had traditionally shown themselves to be so easily sidetracked by womanizing tendencies.  It's very interesting, in this regard, to note that this particular handful of verses is delivered by the otherwise unknown King Lemuel and not King David or King Solomon -- who both had significant difficulties during their reigns because of problems with women -- even thought these two wrote the vast majority of the rest of the wisdom literature in the Old Testament.  Consequently, I wonder if the warning about spending one's strength on wisdom was originally intended more for kings than for ordinary guys.

Even so, I think we do well to take these warnings to heart, today.  Because of socio-economic dynamics, broader cultural trends, and the unprecedented availability of por nography -- today's men have a temptation that was previously available only to kings like Lemuel and his son.  The availability of "women" today can be such a tempting opportunity that we forget the dangers that go along with them.  Naturally, there's something beautiful and empowering about healthy relationships with key women (such as an advice-giving mother and a wife of noble character); but if we ever let our interests stray too far and too frequently, we put ourselves in danger.  Danger of wasting our strength (notice the parallels to Proverbs 5:7-11) and coming to ruin.  And I, for one, don't want that any more than King Lemuel did!

Who has gone up to heaven and come down?  Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands?  Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak?  Who has established all the ends of the earth?  What is his name, and the name of his son?  Tell me if you know! (Proverbs 30:4)

I love it when the Proverbs reference, illuminate, and reference other parts of God's Word!  The more I've studied the Proverbs, the more I've noticed this cross-pollination that occurs -- with the Proverbs serving as these tiny little bees, buzzing from flower to flower in seemingly random patterns of flight, only to realize that there's a much bigger picture to be seen if I just step back and observe.  It's really beautiful to behold.

Proverbs 30:4, in particular, has strong suggestions of two major biblical figures:  Job and Jesus.

In case you're not too familiar with the story of Job, he was a very prosperous man who lived in ultra-ancient Palestine (many scholars believe that the Book of Job is the oldest book of the Bible).  He had great wealth, a large family, and a strong faith in the LORD.  But then disaster struck.  Everything was taken away from Job in a very short space of time -- a sort of test of Job's faithfulness, in the midst of pain as well as prosperity -- and then Job was left to wrestle with the consequences.  Everyone who remained in Job's life (namely, his wife and three friends named Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar) processed the tragic series of events in Job's life and concluded that the difficulties must be the fault of either Job or the LORD Himself.  Eventually, Job was also brought to the point of questioning his faith and challenging God to explain Himself.  And when the LORD finally responds, he doesn't come with answers -- but with questions.  He comes with questions that are remarkably similar to the questions of Proverbs 30:4.  "Who has gone up to heaven and come down?" (see also Job 38:19-20).  "Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands?" (see also Job 38:24).  "Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak?" (see also Job 38:34).  "Who has established all the ends of the earth?" (see also Job 38:4-7).  The point of this line of questioning seems to be putting Job back in his place, remembering that he is just a small part of a much bigger story that's being written, remembering that God is ultimately in control, and reminding Job -- and us, by extension -- to surrender ourselves to God instead of living by our own "wisdom" and will (see Job's ultimate response to God's questions, in Job 42:1-6).  These lessons ring as true today, as they did way back in Job's time.

But these lessons -- and Proverbs 30:4, which echoes the refrain -- point to something even bigger and better.  They point to Jesus, the physical incarnation of God Himself.  All of the questions of Proverbs 30:4 point to Jesus, who was there in the Beginning (see John 1:1-18):  blazing the trails between the heavens and the earth, charting out the course for the world's weather systems, establishing the earth.  The last question of Proverbs 30:4, though, is especially poignant -- asking "What is his name, and the name of his son?"  It's a question that the writer is desperate to have answered:  "Tell me if you know!"  And again, the answer is Jesus.  He is the culmination of all history, putting all the parts of our story in place, demonstrating God's control and care for us, giving us someone to whom we can surrender (in a very, very good way).

Isn't it amazing to find all of this in one, single verse from the Proverbs?  Like I said, it's a really beautiful thing to behold.

Whoever flatters his neighbor is spreading a net for his feet (Proverbs 29:5).

Dear Readers,

This is a momentous occasion in the history of Flash Fantasy Fiction.  For this is the day that I set out to become the world's first author specializing in this budding genre of literature, which has resonated so deeply with the DOZENS of readers here at FlashFantasyFiction.blogspot.com.  This is for all those who love the witches and warlocks, the dragons and dwarves, the mythology and magic of fantasy books -- but who just don't have the time to read all those 400-page epics.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, from this day forward the world shall be able to find quality, bite-sized, fantasy fiction of 1000 words or less -- much like what can be found here at FlashFantasyFiction.blogspot.com -- immediately available in their local libraries and at their local bookstores... because I have finally decided to blaze the trail as a pioneer in this brave new world of literature.

That's right:  As of this afternoon, I've quit my programming job MegaTech in order to focus FULL-TIME on developing my craft and seeking publication, circulation, and celebration of Flash Fantasy Fiction.

I'm a little bit nervous.  But thanks to the encouragement that I've received from all of YOU, I know that this is the right thing to do.  I still remember the first comment that I received from my best friend in the world, a.k.a. ThunderTroll27, responding to my story about the Elfish Alliance of Elindria, telling me -- and I quote -- "This is so cool!  Who would have ever thought to combine Fantasy Fiction and Flash Fiction?!?  You should totally focus on this and invent a new genre."  A week later, one of my associates from MegaTech added to the comment chain, saying "Now we just need to watch and wait for you to climb to the top of the New York Times Bestsellers List! :-)"  Several weeks after that, I asked my brother what he thought of the project, and though the can be quite cynical at times, he actually told me that my Flash Fantasy Fiction project was "very interesting."  And this even though he's not regularly a reader of neither Fantasy Fiction nor Flash Fiction!  When he said that, I knew that I was onto something.

My parents, too, have been a great support and encouragement, as I've considered this step of launching myself into a full-time writing career.  My mother, in particular, has always praised my writing -- incessantly wondering where I come up with all my ideas.  And basically, everywhere that I've turned, I've found compliments and critical acclaim which has encouraged me to continue.  I guess it's true that some have wondered if there really is a strong market for Flash Fantasy Fiction.  But mostly, I've gotten positive feedback as I've gone along -- so I figure that if it's good enough for my friends, my family, and the readers of FlashFantasyFiction.blogspot.com, then it's good enough for mainstream publication, too.

So here I go, stepping off into the world of writing, editing, publishing, and promoting.  I will certainly keep all of you informed of my progress, right here at FlashFantasyFiction.blogspot.com.  Thanks again for your support.  I never would have taken this step without all of you spurring me on!

Tally-ho!

Alex Dussel
Editor-in-Chief
FlashFantasyFiction.blogspot.com

P.S. - As always, please feel free to leave your comments below!

A man tormented by the guilt of murder will be a fugitive till death; let no one support him (Proverbs 28:17).

He'd completely gotten away with it.  Now 84 years old, John Murphy had managed a lifetime of guilt following the death of Bill Tyler.  No one else knew that "the accident" which took his co-worker's life back when they had both been 19 years old was not an accident at all.

They'd been working out in the fields and arguing about a girl:  Sarah Wyler.  Murphy had been infatuated with her since grade school -- a fact which Tyler knew full-well, having discussed the situation endlessly as the two boys worked as farm-hands for Clarence Liggety over the previous two years.  Even so, Tyler asked Sarah Wyler to the Saturday night dance.  And when he mentioned the fact that she'd said yes, he said it as an afterthought, an indifferent assault on Murphy's honor and ambitions.  Murphy was furious.  The whole day, he seethed with rage and jealousy, and whenever he thought of Tyler dropping by Sarah Wyler's house on Saturday night, commenting on her lovely polka-dot dress, and walking arm-in-arm to the dance, he went blind with hatred towards the man who had betrayed him and cut in on him.

So when Tyler was caught up in the combine while working with Murphy to clear a jam in the blades, it was easy for Murphy to claim ignorance.  His mind truly had been elsewhere.  And since such farming accidents happen all too regularly, nobody blamed Murphy for what had taken place.  In fact, most folks went out of their way to comfort and console Murphy on the fact that he had witnessed such a gruesome scene.  But Murphy knew better.  It was he who had not killed the power to the combine.  It was he who had knowingly watched Tyler's arm go up into the blades to clear the obvious obstruction.  It was he who had derived a moment's satisfaction in knowing that the arm would become permanently unavailable to Sarah Wyler.  And it was he who kept silent and accepted the role of victim -- not perpetrator -- when the news of the tragedy worked its way through the community.

This was, in fact, how John Murphy and Sarah Wyler managed to come together.  That Saturday, instead of a dance, there was a funeral.  And when Sarah Wyler had approached Murphy at the wake, to offer her sympathy, they fell into the kind of conversation that Murphy had dreamed of for years.  She saw him.  She understood him.  She comforted him.  And he, in turn, comforted her, even as the guilt of his crime had settled about him like a leaded apron.

The two of them were married the following spring, and they established a household, raised children, and served the community together for 53 years before Sarah died and was buried in Oak Crest Cemetary, just on the other side of the hill from where Bill Tyler had been buried so many years earlier.  But in all those years of "wedded bliss," Murphy was never truly happy.  He couldn't slept well, plagued by nightmares of blood and dismemberment to the point that he and Sarah eventually had to sleep in separate rooms.  He could never look his children in the eye, so they grew distant and rebellious.  Although his life was relatively uneventful following the accident back on the farm, and he was generally viewed as a benign presence in the community, Murphy lived in torment of the day that he had allowed Bill Tyler to die, while he watched.

In spite of the constant emotional anguish, though, Murphy never told another soul about what really happened on that day in the fields.  He couldn't let anyone else support him, not after what he had done.  But when the stroke hit, and the room went red, he felt the presence of Bill Tyler there beside him.  As he careened towards the floor, he had the sensation of falling into the strong, young arms of his childhood friend.