Rapha and the Breath of Life He Gave to Man...

Updated on August 13, 2019
David Frank Lopez profile image

I am a published author of the book The Accounts of Benny's Diner and Other Stories, novel of sixteen short stories available on Amazon.

It began when He fashioned the clay on a cool day. And looking with a smile...

He was inches from him. And He breathed. A flutter of life awoke in his closed eyes. And then his eyes opened. A smile. Blurry at first, before the light could form things. And the man was alone. For the Creator withdrew. To the man no one was there. Only stars, slowly moving clouds, and only sounds he never heard. This was his first breath. And he remembered everything.

The walk continued through time...

And man walked though time naked for centuries. Soon he shed all memory of a garden, of a paradise. And slowly through time his skin would deteriorate little by little. His understanding of the Breath-giver was but shadows. And then those shadows grew a thousand shades of grey until those shades almost disappeared altogether.

Until man needed a healer. Rapha watched on. His creation began to wander into the cracks and crevices where life flourished and life died. And the man looked curiously into life's withering soul and touched it. And fear was born.

Somewhere, somehow, man became afraid. The future somehow stripped his vision after a point. A door was approaching. And beyond it man could not see. And at every step man's pain grew, and he ached a little more.

Life and its pains continued...

Man's body was broken. Centuries of time created tears and stiffness which would slowly resist his steps. Walking with pain became natural. Soon Divine Health was a myth. People expected pain. People expected to one day pass. It was considered a part of living. And it was.

Yet the Breather of life shook His Head. He waited for the Truth He had hidden in His Stories to be revealed. And He watched as man danced about its pages. But skipped those words which spoke. Because when He spoke He did so quietly, still and soft.

The first taste of the children's Bread

Man said nothing as he leaned on his cane waiting to die. The cancers in his body had consumed him. He had fought bitterness and resentment his whole life. Now it had entered his veins and gnarled his flesh. And like weights he was being pushed into the ground. Nothing was left of him... But.

And as his hand slipped away from his cane, something reached out to him. No, it was not a Hand to embrace his. It was a thought. A memory he had forgotten about a garden. Green, vibrant life which once danced in his soul. And he remembered a bite of an apple. And then as he rocked on his cane, cancers bitterly gnawing him to death, he remembered the Breath and his eyes seeing for the first time. Then at his old age, when old and new swirled in his broken mind, he reached forth to grasp against the still air. He remembered a story long ago about how healing was the children's bread.

The living note...

And the man died. Rapha, the Creator winced, feeling the last pains sitting beside His old friend. And Rapha looked at His man and noticed something in his hand. The Rapha opened it revealing a note. A smile. And upon it the note said "And He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement for our peace fell upon Him and by His stripes we were healed..."

The promise kept...

Rapha, enamored by the mans faith leaned close and blew into his mouth. Man arose. His body scar free. His mind clear. His soul, forgiven. It had taken years for the words on the note to root deep enough to call on Rapha. But Rapha remembered his creation was but clay.

Rapha, who had many Names, had reached into the clay to man's soul, and breathed again.


I walked into watch shop in downtown Houston. To my amazement I found several watches priced over $90,000. And I thought to myself, imagine our worth, working in such a watch shop. Imagine the greater vision having spent a lifetime in such a place. My, how my perspective must have changed. Image the people I could reach. Imagine the souls brought home. The artist's work I located is vibrant with life. But notice not the drastic difference between the text and the art? Finding Christ, the vivid life He brings, compared to our very condition without Him. Even now I long for the breath of His Life...


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