From Dust To Grace – Page 2 – Full-of-Grace

Full-of-Grace

faith-driven lifestyle

Category: From Dust To Grace

Stripping sacred stories to their beating hearts.

Asher day 6: From afar

Dawn paints the shore in pearl and gold. Peter's muscles quiver with sweet exhaustion as he guides the boat's bow onto sand. His body remembers every wave they fought, every strike of water against wood, but now – finally – he can breathe. The morning air fills his lungs like a gift, and he lets his head fall back, savoring the simple pleasure of solid ground beneath his feet. "Another day," he whispers, a fisherman's prayer of gratitude....

Asher day 5: Be still

Stone kisses flesh. Asher's moan echoes against tomb walls as he drives his fist against unyielding rock. Pain blooms like fire through his hand, racing up his arm, setting every nerve alight. "Yes," he breathes, voice thick with something between pleasure and desperation. His body arches into the hurt, seeking more. Again. The impact sends sparks behind his eyes. Blood warms his skin, and for one blessed moment, the noise in his head quiets....

Asher day 4: Don’t you care

Salt stings Peter's eyes as he hauls against the oar, every muscle screaming defiance at the storm. The boat – his livelihood, his inheritance, his second home since boyhood – betrays him now, bucking like an unbroken colt. His feet slide on the flooding deck, but his grip never falters. The fisherman's body knows its business, even when his mind riots. Through sheets of rain, he watches the Master sleep. The sight turns his gut to stone....

Asher day 3: Smashing the fetters

"No, no, no—" The word pulses through Asher's body like fever, each repetition forcing his spine to arch against cold stone. Rain needles his exposed skin, but he's burning from within. His bound fists clench and unclench in desperate rhythm, like a heart trying to burst from ribcage prison. The scream builds low in his gut, coiling like a serpent. His throat works against it, muscles straining visible beneath filthy skin. Lightning flashes...

Asher day 2: The other side

Peter's knuckles whiten against the oar, muscles burning with each pull against the churning sea. Sweat mingles with spray on his weathered face, trickling down his neck despite the biting wind. The boat pitches beneath him – familiar motion turned treacherous – but his feet plant wider, finding balance even in chaos. His jaw clenches, tasting salt and frustration. The Master's choice to cross tonight makes his teeth grind – not that...

Asher day 1: Among the tombs

The setting sun bleeds into the sea, painting waves in copper and crimson. Asher's fingernails dig into his palms as he watches white tombs emerge from gathering darkness – pure, untouchable, mocking his uncleanness. His chest constricts with each ragged breath. "This night is going to be better," he whispers, the words bitter ash on his tongue. The iron chain scrapes against bare skin as he wraps it around his torso, each loop a familiar...

Seven Nights with Asher: Laws written in blood and stone

Last chances pile up like stones in my hands – each one heavy with promise, sharp with failure. I've built monuments of them, these final attempts. Each morning whispers "today will be different," and each night echoes with familiar defeat. My tongue knows the taste of these promises, bitter as gall, sweet as temporary relief. The mathematics of temptation is brutally simple: so much effort, so little satisfaction. Hours of resistance crumble...

Asher of Gerasa: From Tombs to Freedom

This story is for you. You know that space between midnight and dawn, when your own heartbeat sounds too loud in your ears? When promises lie broken like shells on the shore of another failed day? Come walk among the tombs with a man who tried everything – except letting go. Watch Jesus cross a storm-mad sea just to reach one soul drowning in darkness. Feel the chains fall, not because we finally got strong enough to break them, but because...

Ruth day 7: THEY NAMED HIM OBED

Ruth gave a sigh that seemed to come from her very marrow as her newborn's first cry pierced the air. Every cell in her body sang with a joy so fierce it bordered on pain. "A son," she breathed, her flesh remembering every step of the journey that had led to this moment - from Moab's heights to Bethlehem's fields, from widow to beloved, from stranger to mother. Through the haze of exhaustion, her eyes followed Naomi's weathered hands as they...

Ruth day 6: REEDEMER

The predawn air clung cool against Ruth's skin as she hurried through the sleeping streets of Bethlehem. Her body felt different somehow - awakened, yet heavy with memories of the night. The weight of grain Boaz had given her pressed against her hip, but it was the weight of other memories that made her steps unsteady. His warmth still lingered on her skin. The way his breath had caught when he found her beside him. How his voice had roughened...