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Standing over the grave of Memphis Tennessee's most famous resident, Elvis Presley, in the conclusion of Eternal Flame (Xlibris, Corp, 2007), Samantha Lynn Bennett sheds one last tear. She'd wanted to be strong, and trust God to mend her broken heart. But the healing power of time was not her friend. Samantha lacked patience. She loved her gaurdian angel as she loved no other man and she'd waited for him longer than she had any other. Now, with the cascading water from the fountain in the gardens center comforting her, and the night invigorating her, she vowed to get her angel back. When a dashingly handsome stranger stepped out from the shadows, a plan formed.
This work is not authorized or endorsed by the Estate of Elvis Presley or by the estate of any other person. All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writting from the copyright owner. Author's proceeds are donated to a charity of her choosing.
Someone once said, “If you truly love someone, you should be willing to set him free.” As far back as I can remember, I have never been good at letting go. No matter the object of my affection, if I loved it, it should be mine forever.
I can recall being six years old and tearfully refusing to climb into bed one cold, fall night. My night-time bear and protector from the prowling monsters that lived in my closet, Mr. Jigs, had gone missing. I cried for more than a month.
My parents searched for another button-nosed friend that would soothe me, but no substitute offered comfort. How could just any stuffed animal, plushy soft and fully intact possibly be seasoned enough to ward off whatever lurked in my room after the lights went out?
At the time, the loss to me felt as big a burden on my young soul as I could ever withstand. Of course, my age blissfully sheltered me from even suspecting that a much greater loss was on the horizon that would rock the very foundation on which I was raised.
One would think that after nearly thirty years of Godly upbringing, the daughter of a Baptist minister would have been prepared for the unavoidable moment when a loved one passes on. However, my faith was tested and, sadly, failed when my mother succumbed to a merciless cancer.
My strong will quickly turned to a wilted spirit, and an anger ignited in me so intensely that my soul was gradually engulfed with rising flames of bitterness. A wall of darkness surrounded me. I became an exaggerated version of that scared little girl. No childhood bear was strong enough to fight off the adult-sized demons that threatened me.
Over time, I crafted a wall around my heart. Each brick was strategically placed. The barrier had a purpose. Like an imaginary friend, it gave me comfort, and I grew accustomed to its lingering presence. I needed it. At least that was what I believed before God sent me a blue-eyed handsome angel who had a tender way with women.
Like an earthquake, this angel shook the stone walls around my heart. He reminded me that our ability to love someone else more than we love ourselves is what makes us unique in this sometimes disheartening world.
I was happy for the first time in two years. Like a flower enjoying the first warm rays of sun after long spring rains, I had opened up. To love so freely was pure bliss, and I thought that surely this love would never leave. After all it was not a love of the earthly kind, but of a heavenly nature. God would allow me this love that he himself gave. I held tight to my dream with clinched hands, refusing to consider that one day, just like my mother, my angel of love would have to leave.
Did not a poet say that love, once departed, may return? And, if he did, could he then be mine forever? I had to find out.