The Spy Who Shoved Me - Part 2

Hi guys! Again, I'm sorry for the long delay in posting... I have been quite busy lately - we have recently gotten an iPhone, desktop computer, and a smartphone gimbal (a device used for filming), because our family wants to go into a video ministry; things like sharing Christian testimonies on Youtube and suchlike.  So I've been doing all the research for that, and that has been fun but time consuming *rubs neck which is aching from hours hunched over a screen*. Anyway, here's the last half and conclusion to my short story, The Spy Who Shoved Me! I did a bit of an intro to the story and explained why I wrote it in my last post, so if you haven't checked that out I encourage you to do so!

As I said before, it does have three questionable words; moron, brat, and stupid; I would never want anyone using these to deride a fellow human being, but I did include them in my story to highlight the sin of one particular character.

So, please enjoy; I hope you are encouraged in some way by my little story! :D

The Spy Who Shoved Me - Part 2

“Sacha!”, yelled a male voice impatiently from somewhere else. “I'm coming!”, hissed the blonde. “The brat is still waking up.” Tamsin was just about to indignantly say that she wasn't a brat, and she was; but again, something made her stop.

“Wait.. is your name Sacha?”, she asked almost breathlessly. “What else would it be? Anyway, I didn't think we were on a first name basis yet!”, Sacha said sarcastically. “No, I mean – is your name Sacha... MacMurrell?”, Tamsin said in a fever of excitement. The woman looked at her suspiciously. “How did you know that?”, and then, under her breath “I thought we picked a kid who knew nothing about -”

Tamsin did not hear this. She had fallen flat on her back in an ecstasy of delight, and was oblivious to the world around her. I actually get to meet her! This is so amazing!, she thought. A firm yank on her arm brought her back to reality. Sacha was inches from her face and glaring angrily.“Will you get up or not?”, she growled; which Tamsin did, a little surprised that her hero would be so... mean!

Still, it didn't affect her much as she was way too excited to care.

Exactly 32 minutes later, Tamsin, now fully dressed, and Sacha, the Sacha MacMurrell of her dreams, were walking normally down the street. At least, they should have been walking normally down the street. Tamsin, lost in adoring hero worship, was doing her best to copy Sacha's every move. This meant stumbling over herself trying to copy Sacha's peculiar smooth gait, turning her head to stare exactly where Sacha stared, and even blinking in time with Sacha. Sacha herself was fuming, face red as she tried to control herself and this embarrassment by her side. They were supposed to look like ordinary civilians walking down the street. They were supposed to be inconspicuous as they made their way downtown to do a small errand for the Secret Service. They were supposed – aargh, what was she even thinking when she signed up to mentor a child to be trained up in the way of a spy?

She abruptly turned and pushed Tamsin into a side alley off the main street, and ducked behind a protruding bin, which she only just restrained herself from throwing the unfortunate Tamsin in.

“Listen up, squirt,” Sacha hissed, her face blotchy in anger, “Stop being such a stupid idiot, you moron. If you don't pull your head in and stop being so stupid, then I'll take your stupid family and... and...” She stopped and released her death grip on poor Tamsin, who was quite frightened by this stage. She had certainly not expected this from her idol. Sacha gave her a final shove, and then marched her quivering protege back onto the street. Tamsin nearly burst into tears, and strangely more for her dashed dreams than for the shock of her encounter. This certainly wasn't the wonderful Sacha she had invented and strove to copy in every way! Or... was it?

Sacha heaved a sigh of relief. They were only a few minutes away from their destination, a courthouse, where she would hand in some important information to the receptionist, who was really a fellow agent and would in turn give it to her superior. Sacha was satisfied to see that her young charge was walking meekly by her side, as they passed an old woman sitting by the side walk in her wheelchair – in her hands she grasped a cardboard sign which she held up for passers by to see. “Give an old lady some loose change to help her buy some groceries”, she croaked as the two went past. Tamsin forgot her vow of complete silence, and stopped, moved with compassion. The old woman's wrinkled face broke into a gap toothed smile, and she was just about to say something when Sacha scowled, and yanked Tamsin's outstretched arm away. Five cents were thrown in as an afterthought, as she muttered something about “stupid old beggars” and then hurried on.

They were turning onto the courthouse street, a quiet, deserted place at this early time of morning, when Tamsin became aware that they were being followed. A man, dressed in a suit and and carrying a briefcase was walking behind then, and had been doing so for a few blocks. Tamsin twisted her her head around and saw him turn his gaze away nervously. She noticed he had only four fingers tightly clutching the briefcase. Sacha had obviously seen him too, for her whole body tensed and she quickened her pace. Tamsin wanted to cry out in pain at how tightly her hand was being squeezed, but she dared not, and instead held her breath until her head pounded and her insides were twisted in a knot of fear.

The strange man started walking faster too, and his shiny shoes clicked quickly, echoing off te narrow street's walls. Without stopping, Sacha bent down and whispered in Tamsin's ear. “When I tell you to, run as fast as you can, without stopping. Turn left when you get to the courthouse and don't stop. Just do it!:, she commanded. Tamsin could not disagree, so she nodded slowly, panic rising up like a wave. Their pursuer seemd to have slowed a little, and was staring intently at them, eyes darting up and down. He seemed to be fumbling in his pocket for something. Sacha pinched Tamsin hard, and she snapped her head back from staring over her shoulder. “Don't look!”, Sacha hissed, her blonde hair flicking jerkily as they walked.

The man quickened his strides again until he was almost running, as he clutched an object tightly in his hand. He was gaining on them, coming closer, closer, till when he could have touched Sacha on the back, she reached into Tamsin's jacket pocket and pretended to put something in. “Now run!”, she barked.

"No..." Tamsin whimpered, clinging to Sacha's arm in a sudden paralysing agony of fear. But a hard shove made her stumble forward , and so she started running, her legs and arms moving mechanically, heavy as though running in a dream. The man started sprinting too, throwing his briefcase aside and tearing off his jacket. She looked back and saw Sacha slipping away, leaving the man, breathing hard as he pumped his arms, to chase her.

Adrenaline kicked in, and she knew nothing but that she must run faster or die. The courthouse was just in front; she drew a deep gasping breath and skidded left as Sacha said she must, terror giving her speed. He was gaining on her, she knew it, and though she was sprinting as hard as she ever had, the gap was closing in between them. She could run no faster. A hand grabbed her shoulder; she lost balance and fell down with a choked scream as she hit the pavement hard.

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Tamsin blinked. Her face felt cool and damp, and the musty, earthy smell of dirt and mown grass filled her nostrils. She lay still for a few more seconds, breathing heavily, before rolling over onto her back. The sunshine was glaringly bright on her eyes, so she squeezed them shut and let the dappled light pattern her eyelids. Opening them again revealed a wide blue sky, and a swing, still arcing lazily back and forth above her. The chains wobbled crazily, like someone had fallen off, unbalancing it. Maybe it was her who had fallen.

She remembered nothing but a chase – the four fingered man – running – falling – falling. Oh, yes - but where was Sacha, the courthouse, the cobbled streets? In a flash, she remembered. Sacha, her hero had failed. Failed utterly and miserably. She hadn't wanted to see it, but now the facts stared down her sugar coated sandcastle into oblivion. She sighed. Sacha, or whoever it was she had invented, was angry, inconsiderate, and selfish, and had left her, Tamsin, to fend for herself, so that she could escape unhindered. Or maybe worse; had she deliberately used Tamsin as a decoy to lure the man away?

Either way, Tamsin knew something was for sure; she would never try to copy her fallen hero again. All her confidence had been placed in this figment of her imagination, and when Sacha somehow materialised, Tamsin saw the foolishness of it all. An unsaved role model was no role model at all, she thought ruefully. In the future, she would try to emulate someone forgiving, loving and sacrificial; a person worthy of respect. She could think of one already – Tamsin smiled. The real role model had been right there all this time, and she hadn't even noticed! It was Jesus.

That night, in Tamsin's dreams, a single white lamb came running across the fields and joyfully nuzzled her hand, and happiness filled her completely.

"It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man." ~ Psalm 118:8

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So, that's it, folks! It really is wonderful to have godly role models; God has worked amazingly through the lives of many Christian men and women, and their stories and lives can give us so much inspiration and encouragement. Hebrews 11, the "hall of faith",  is a great Bible chapter to read. Some of my favourite Christian heroes are Corrie Ten Boom, Kate McCord (the pseudondym of a brave modern day Christian who served as a misssionary in the Middle East), and Amy Carmichael, who daringly rescued Indian children destined for a life of misery as temple slaves. These men and women are wonderful people to copy, and, like as Paul said, we can "Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ." But the even better thing is that it doesn't stop here! We shouldn't idolise these people or place them on a pedestal - the purpose of having godly role models is to lead us to Christ, who we are ultimately striving to be like! Everything in a true hero's life should point back to Him, the "fount of every blessing". Everything we do should be a reflection of Him. Everything! Him, and His life in others, should be our only and true lifesource.

So, what are your favourite Christian role models, and why? How do you feel you could copy them in your daily life? Did my story inspire any thoughts? I would love to hear in the comments!

Blessings,

 ~ Jemima