The Essence of Life's Journey: What Makes for the Joyful and Fulfilling Life?

By Kayan Smith

Have you found and experienced the essence of lifes journey?

In all your pursuits, you can never find any greater reason for living than this. Outside of this experience, you can never really possess endless, boundless joy and fulfillment. All that gives life its true meaning, purpose, and value is wrapped up in The Essence of Lifes Journey.

This book unlocks the very key to our existence on Earth and throughout eternity. It points to the solution that will unleash spiritual blessings beyond even what your human mind can now conceive. It offers the very solution to living life at its highest altitude and exploiting the very best that life can ever offer.

Isnt this everybodys greatest need and desire? Isnt this truly your heartfelt desire? Isnt it what your life demands and need? Why not take this opportunity to explore the essence of your lifes journey?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449753610

Kayan Smith

KAYAN S M I T H is a follower of Jesus Christ. Her renewed life has brought her so much contentment that it overflows into her writings. She believes that these blessings from the Lord are like tentacles, having the potential to reach out and touch the lives of others in spectacular ways. Smith currently lives in the Caribbean.

Book preview

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For Sharon A. Browning

My Mother

Introduction

MACAYLA MARIE MONE’ WAS BORN in America. She lived in Georgia with her parents and brother, Joshua. Her father was a French aristocrat that moved his family to America to make political alliances. Macayla idolized her elder brother and followed him everywhere mimicking the things he did. Running around with her red hair shoved under a cap she was often mistaken for a boy and made it clear she had no desire to wear dresses and frilly lace. The other young girls her age avoided her with upturned noses and disgusted looks on their face. It was for this reason that Macayla’s father agreed to let her mother send her off to polishing school. They would be returning to France someday soon, it was her parents’ intent that she would marry someone of equal reputable status. The school head master promised she would come back home after one year a refined lady. Determined to make the best of things, Macayla did well. The year flew by, a few weeks from graduation a letter came for her announcing the arrival of her grandfather. His arrival brought tragic news her family had been killed, murdered while they slumbered, by thieves. He had come to retrieve her to take her home with him to Arabia.

Leaving her dresses behind, Macayla, boarded a ship with her grandfather and never looked back. She discovered that she loved the desert and immediately made friends with a boy named Ahmed. Macayla’s grandfather and Abdul, Ahmed’s father, approved of the friendship. The two were soon inseparable. It seemed only natural, when a few years later Macayla’s grandfather became ill and died, that she stayed close to Ahmed and his father. Abdul accepted her like a daughter and was pleased when she and Ahmed asked him to teach them the heritage of the Ground Warriors. He was surprised at the fierceness and intelligence of the young woman who overcame every challenge presented to her. Word of the young warriors’ victories soon spread across Arabia as they traveled from village to village to compete.

Arabia was fast becoming a place of danger and a time of war. The vast small tribes in the region were restless many were in search of power and wealth. All knew that there was strength in numbers some thought that those numbers were to be gained by possession and fear. It was during this time that Macayla and her adopted family found themselves thrown into a war, fighting side by side with other warriors, women, and children as their village was being brutally attacked and plundered…

Chapter One

A STICKY WET FILM OF moisture hung in the air. This muggy humid day was unusual even for this desert. The entire population seemed to have melted into the sand and turned to dust. One lonely rider galloped across the dunes. The great white stallion seemed to float effortlessly across the sand, his breaths puffing out in short snorts. Astride the great white beast rode an erect figure encased in thin, billowing, black cloth. Piercing, golden eyes squinted against the sun’s glare. Just under the eyes, tiny beads of perspiration formed on dark tan skin slowly trickling its way under the black filmy cloth that covered the face from the nose down. One black drooping curl defiantly escaped its casing.

The lone rider approached the seemingly empty town. A sour stench of blood, sweat, and death clung to the air. The hard golden eyes devoured all there was to see. A slight movement caught his eye as the young girl came out of her hiding place. She looked no older than sixteen covered with dirt and sand, her red hair unkempt. Immediately, his heart went out to her. He slowly lowered himself from his mount. He searched her face a hard calculating glare from the depths of violet eyes made him hesitate for only an instant. Stretching his arms open wide he stood still and offered her a refuge. Golden eyes flecked with green, open wide from surprise, stared into the glint of cold hard steel.

With one swift motion the small dagger was sprung from her fingers and she was in his arms. Softly crooning to her in his native tongue he tried to sooth and calm her struggles. Gently he lifted her and placed her upon his mount, keeping one strong muscled arm around her waist as he pulled himself up behind her. Clinging to the silver mane of the Arabian stallion, she fought to keep conscious, but the gentle sway from his smooth gallop rocked her to sleep.

Feeling the girl relax in his arms, the contours of her soft body molding into him caused a pleasant tingling in his loins. Angered with his body’s reaction he grumbled under his breath, Get hold of yourself, fool, she’s merely a child. Looking off into the distance, he watched the sun set. We must hurry little one, he whispered, It will be getting chilly soon.

Macayla Marie Mone’ snuggled deeper under the warm cover. She was having a lovely dream about home. It was a crisp clear January morning. A fine white powder, two foot deep, covered the valley. The nine year old Macayla and her elder brother, Joshua, frolicked in the snow. Giggling with joy they threw themselves into the snow and made angels. Suddenly, the giggle turned into screams of terror as the snow melted into red running streams of blood. There was blood everywhere and Joshua was gone. Macayla tried to run, but a strong unseen force encased her body, she could not move. She awoke shaking and sobbing. He was there, cradling her in his arms, cooing to her in that sultry native voice that sent shivers down her spine. She looked up into his soft golden eyes. What she saw there was a loving gentleness that touched her very soul. Ever so gently he reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Wrapping her arms around his neck she brought her body closer to his and nuzzled her face gently against his solid chest. Her shaking subsided, she felt herself floating in and out of consciousness at one point, opening her eyes and falling into a golden lake, swirling around and around in the golden water. Listening to a deep sultry voice sing an Arabian love song.

How long he held her like that he did not know. His feelings for her he could not explain. Never had he felt so drawn to someone before. Looking down at her peaceful sleeping face, and knowing what he must do to protect her, made his heart ache. Soon she will awake and his questions will return her to her nightmares. He must find out, at any expense, who it was attacking the towns. It was the third town slaughtered this month. After each attack his tribe had tracked the marauders, but had been unsuccessful in capturing them. Each trail seemed to disappear into the sand every attack made the marauders’ more wealthy and powerful. This beautiful young girl was their only hope of discovering the identity of the