THE BEAUTIFUL GATE
THE MAN AT THE BEAUTIFUL
GATE AND HIS GAZE
BY
ENGINEER
LUCKY GOODNESS MMESOMA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication should be reprinted or rewritten in any form or manner, such as; mechanical, electronics, photocopying or whatever, or stored in a retrieval machine or system without the permission of the owner and publisher.
©
ENG.
GOODNESS MMESOMA
LUCKY
Call: +2348147280284
(@GOODY’S DIGITALS)
Owerri, Imo State, Nigeria
Published in Nigerian by
GOODNESS MMESOMA LUCKY (GOODY’S DIGITALS)
Owerri, Imo State Nigeria.
Tel: +2349076706893
E-Mail: goodysdigiital751@gmail.com
🌐 https://goodys-digital.carrd.co/
ISBN: 978-978-691-168-7
DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to the Divine Trinity, the only source of ability and inspiration, through whom this work can equip and impact individuals for success and excellence.
I also dedicate this book to my family—my parents, my siblings, my friends, and all my relatives.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
First and foremost, I want to appreciate God for granting me the wisdom to write this book. It is by His grace that this work has been completed, with the hope that it will impact the masses with the true and sound knowledge of what is happening in the world today.
I also wish to acknowledge the assistance of my beloved mother, Mrs. Priscilla Lucky. Mommy, you are indeed wonderful. I equally extend my gratitude to my amazing editors and to everyone who supported me in one way or another. Thank you all.
PREFACE
Gates do more than open and close; they divide those who are seen from those who are ignored. In the village of Longhill, a shining palace gate separated gold and hunger, silk and sweat, the celebrated and the simple. Yet from that very gate rose a story of love and courage—the kind that stitches a torn land back together.
This book is about a boy who believed that destiny is not a river you drown in but a bridge you cross; a girl who learned that a crown without compassion is only a tired circle of metal; a queen who whispered wisdom through her wounds; a carpenter who hammered proverbs into his son’s bones; and a people who discovered that the heart of a nation beats strongest where mercy lives.
The Beautiful Gate is a timeless love story of David, a humble dreamer, and Debbie, a princess bound by tradition. What begins as an impossible romance grows into a journey of courage, sacrifice, and destiny. From rejection to the throne, from love to legacy, David’s life teaches that true greatness is not defined by birth but by the strength of character, resilience, and love that endures through trials.
May this story meet you like evening wind at a quiet doorway—soft, patient, and true.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
PREFACE
- The Village of Longhill and Its Beautiful Gate
- The Carpenter’s Son and His Mother’s Toil
- Princess Debbie and the Silent Tears of the Palace
- The First Encounter at the Beautiful Gate
- The Secret Meetings and Dreams of Love
- The Wrath of King Adora
- The Forgotten Room and the Seven Days of Pain
- The Gift of Healing and the King’s Sickness
- The Breaking of Chains and the Rise of David
- From the Beautiful Gate to the Throne
- The Shadows of Leadership
- The Enemy at the Gate
- The Wounds of Victory
- The Birth of a Promise
- The Legacy of the Beautiful Gate.
CHAPTER ONE
The Village of Longhill and Its Beautiful Gate
Longhill was a place where the sunrise carried two different faces. On one side of the village, laughter rose with the smell of roasted corn and the clatter of wooden pots. On the other side, silence sat heavily on golden plates inside the palace. Between them stood the Beautiful Gate — tall, glittering, carved with bronze lions, its hinges heavy with history.
For the poor, the gate was a wall. They stood outside, their eyes pressed upon its brightness, dreaming of what lay beyond. For the rich, the gate was pride, a reminder that not all were born to enter. Children chased one another near its shadow, mothers carried baskets past it, fathers sighed as they returned from farms — always stopping for one last look.
Among these villagers was David, the son of Shadrach the carpenter. His clothes were patched more times than they were whole, yet his heart burned brighter than the torches that lined the gate at night. Where others saw division, David saw destiny. He often whispered to himself, “Even walls have doors; even gates can open.”
Behind that whisper lived a boy who often stood alone, staring at the gate until the moonlight wrapped it in silver. Other children ran home when the sky turned dark, but David lingered, his small hands tucked into his torn pockets, his eyes fixed on the barrier that seemed to laugh at his poverty.
But the whispers of the boy often carried more power than the speeches of kings.
Many laughed at David, yet something in his eyes silenced mockery. He would stand there until the stars appeared, his lips moving as though speaking to the heavens.
The villagers often mocked him gently.
“David, why waste your eyes on what you cannot touch? A lizard may dream of flying, but it will never become an eagle.”
David would smile faintly and reply,
“Even the eagle began as an egg. Who says the lizard cannot climb higher than its shadow?”
The elders often shook their heads.
“Dreams are sweet, my son,” one said, “but remember: a chick that challenges a hawk will end up in its claws.”
David bowed respectfully but answered with quiet strength:
“A hawk may soar higher, but even a chick knows the way back to its mother’s shelter. One day, this chick will learn to fly.”
He carried in him a courage too heavy for his young shoulders. When the moon was full, he would sit on a wooden stool by the roadside, whispering to himself:
“The poor man’s shadow is long, but it does not cover the sun. One day, I too will walk through this gate, not as a beggar, but as a man of worth.”
And though hunger often bent his back and patched clothes mocked his body, his spirit stood tall.
The Beautiful Gate was more than bronze and hinges; it was a symbol of the world’s injustice. But David saw it differently — not as a cage, but as a promise. To him, the gate was saying, “If you dare, you may enter.”
For David had a secret—he believed the Beautiful Gate was not built to divide, but to test who had the courage to dream beyond it.
CHAPTER TWO
The Carpenter’s Son and His Mother’s Toil
David’s father, Shadrach, was a man of timber and wisdom. His hands were rough from years of chiseling wood, yet his words were smooth with proverbs.
He was a man carved from wood and wisdom. He could shape a crooked timber into a straight stool, yet his greatest skill was shaping his son’s soul with words. His hands were rough like tree bark, but his speech flowed like water on stone. He often told David his son:
“My son, gold may glitter, but it is the heart that makes a man shine. A rich fool is only a decorated beggar, but a wise poor man is a hidden king.”
“A man is not measured by the weight of his pocket, but by the weight of his heart.”
Esther, David’s mother, was the silent strength of the family. Each morning, she rose before the cock crowed, before dawn, her knees aching, her palms hardened by years of grinding maize.
Yet her lips never stopped humming hymns and her voice gentle as she hummed hymns while grinding maize. She carried baskets of firewood and cassava to the market, her wrapper soaked with sweat, but her smile steady like dawn.
At night, David often massaged her tired hands, his young heart swelling with both love and sorrow.
“Mother,” he asked one night, his voice trembling like a flute, “will life always be this hard for us?”
Esther looked at him, her eyes weary but her spirit unbroken. She smiled, though her smile carried both love and sorrow.
Esther smiled through her exhaustion. “My son,” she said softly, “poverty is not a curse but a season. Even the dry land waits for the rain. Remember this
‘A broken roof still sees the stars.’ Your kindness will be your wealth, and one day the world will see it.”
Those words sank deep into David’s heart like seeds planted in good soil. The words became like oil in David’s spirit. He carried them everywhere — to the workshop where he worked beside his father.
David worked with his father in the workshop, learning how to carve wood into beauty. Yet what touched him most were his father’s sayings:
“Wood may resist the chisel, but with patience, it yields. So is life, my son — hardship is only a stubborn wood waiting for a master’s hand.”
David often repeated this to himself when his stomach groaned with hunger.
At the market, he watched his mother barter with dignity, never begging, always standing tall though her wrappers were faded. He once heard her tell another woman:
“It is not wealth that makes a queen, but how she carries her basket.”
Through toil and struggle, David learned something deeper than carpentry or trade — he learned endurance.
Deep within him, a fire burned. It was not greed for riches, but longing for a world where dignity was not divided by gates, and where a boy like him could walk freely without bowing to shame.
CHAPTER THREE
Princess Debbie and the Silent Tears of the Palace
Inside the palace lived Princess Debbie, daughter of King Adora. She had silk robes and golden bracelets, yet her heart was often heavier than the poorest girl outside the gate. For though her father ruled with power, he lacked tenderness, and her mother, Queen Ashanti, carried sadness in her eyes.
Debbie would walk to her window each night and look beyond the gate. She saw the villagers, their simple joys, their laughter around fires, their songs in the evening air. Sometimes tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, “What use is a crown if it keeps me from love that is real?”
Queen Ashanti often comforted her. “My daughter,” she said softly, “a palace without compassion is nothing but a golden cage. But remember — even cages can be broken.”
Debbie listened, her fingers tracing the gold on her wrist. “Mother, sometimes I envy the girls outside. They may have little, but they have freedom. Their smiles are not painted.”
Ashanti sighed deeply. “Your father’s crown gave me this palace, but it also stole my laughter. I pray your life will not repeat my sorrow.”
In the silence of the palace halls, Debbie’s tears fell unseen. Wealth had clothed her, but loneliness stripped her heart bare. She dreamed of one day finding love, not arranged by titles, but chosen by hearts.
CHAPTER FOUR
The First Encounter at the Beautiful Gate
It was at the gate that two worlds first touched. David had gone to deliver wooden stools his father carved for a palace servant. His eyes, curious as always, lifted toward the palace balcony. At that very moment, Princess Debbie was passing by, her steps graceful, her gaze restless.
Their eyes met. Time slowed. The busy noises of the market dulled into silence. Debbie’s heart pounded — here was not a servant bowing, not a soldier saluting, but a boy looking at her as if she were not a princess, but a girl.
David quickly lowered his eyes, yet the image of her lingered. For days he returned to the gate, pretending to sell wood, but truly hoping for another glance.
And Debbie, though forbidden, began to linger by the balcony whenever she heard voices outside. Destiny had stretched its hand through the bars of gold.
That night, Debbie whispered to herself at her window, “His eyes were not afraid. How can a poor boy look at a princess and see more than a crown?”
And David told himself as he worked in the workshop, “Her beauty is not her crown. It is the sadness in her eyes, calling for someone to understand.”
From that day, both carried each other secretly in their hearts.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Secret Meetings and Dreams of Love
Love is stubborn; it finds cracks even in walls of stone.
Debbie and David began to meet in secret — near the gate at dusk, when torches flickered and shadows grew long. At first, their words were timid. She asked about his village; he asked about her dreams. Soon their conversations became rivers flowing into each other.
One evening, Debbie whispered, “David, what if the king finds out?”
David took her hand gently, his fingers trembling. “The heart does not ask the king’s permission before it beats. Love itself is a kingdom, and today we rule it together.”
She smiled, tears glistening in her eyes. That night, under the quiet watch of stars, he leaned closer, and for the first time, their lips met in a kiss. It was soft, stolen, trembling — yet it carried the weight of two worlds daring to touch.
From then on, they dreamed of a future where gates no longer divided them.
They spoke often in proverbs, like secret codes of love:
Debbie: “The flower that blooms in a cage still longs for the wild.”
David: “Then let me be the wind that carries you out.”
And though fear lingered, love gave them courage.
CHAPTER SIX
The Wrath of King Adora
But secrets cannot remain hidden forever. One night, a guard reported seeing the princess whispering with the carpenter’s son.
King Adora’s rage thundered through the palace. “How dare a peasant lay eyes on my daughter! He will learn that love is not for the poor!”
He summoned David, and in front of the court, humiliated him. “You are dirt beneath my sandals. If you ever step near this gate again, you will taste chains.”
Debbie wept, falling at her father’s feet. “Father, please, he has done no wrong. He loves me!”
But Adora’s heart was stone. “Love?” he spat. “Love is for kings, not carpenters’ sons.”
David was dragged away, and Debbie was locked in her chambers.
As David was pulled away, he looked at her one last time. “Do not cry, Debbie. Even chains cannot bind love.”
And she, through tears, whispered, “Even if the gate closes, my heart will remain open.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Forgotten Room and the Seven Days of Pain
David was thrown into the Forgotten Room by the king’s order — a dark, damp chamber beneath the palace where light never entered. For seven days he endured hunger, thirst, and the sting of rats. Yet even there, his spirit refused to break.
He whispered his father’s words: “A man is not measured by his pocket but by his heart.”
Debbie, locked away, cried each night, her tears falling into her hands. Queen Ashanti, too, suffered silently. She remembered her own youth, when love had been taken from her by Adora’s ambition. She visited David secretly, bringing water and bread, whispering through the bars:
“Hold on, my son. Darkness is but a passage; light waits at its end.”
David replied weakly, “Tell her I will endure. Tell her love is my strength.”
The queen nodded, her heart breaking. “Love is a fire, and even kings cannot quench it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Gift of Healing and the King’s Sickness
Soon after, King Adora fell gravely ill. His strength waned, and none of the royal physicians could cure him. Fear spread through the palace.
In desperation, Queen Ashanti reminded him of David. “The boy you despised carries a gift — the gift of healing hands, passed from his forefathers.”
At first, Adora refused. But pain is a stubborn teacher. Finally, David was brought, still weak from his prison days. With gentle prayers and the laying of hands, he cared for the king. Slowly, Adora’s fever broke. His strength returned.
The proud king, humbled by sickness and by the mercy of a boy he had scorned, wept. For the first time, Adora embraced David, whispering, “Forgive me, my son.”
Debbie stood in tears, her heart overflowing. Queen Ashanti smiled faintly, whispering,“A crown shines brighter when it bows before love.”
CHAPTER NINE
The Breaking of Chains and the Rise of David
With the king’s healing came the breaking of chains. David was freed, his family honored, his love with Debbie no longer forbidden.
The villagers rejoiced, for they saw in David not just a poor boy, but a leader who had faced injustice yet chosen forgiveness.
King Adora, transformed by his suffering, declared before the people: “A gate that divides its children is not beautiful at all. From this day, let the gate be open, and let love rule more than fear.”
David’s name spread beyond Longhill, and the people began to see him as a rising star, a future hope.
Fathers lifted their sons on their shoulders, saying, “See him! A carpenter’s son can become a king in spirit.”
And mothers whispered to their daughters, “Love is stronger than chains.”
CHAPTER TEN
From the Beautiful Gate to the Throne
Years passed, and when King Adora finally laid down his crown, the people cried out with one voice: “David shall be our king!”
The poor boy who once gazed at the Beautiful Gate now walked through it, not as a beggar, but as a king.
Beside him stood Princess Debbie, no longer weeping, her hand clasped in his — their love a living bridge between the palace and the village.
Queen Ashanti, smiling through tears, whispered: “Love has broken the gate, and mercy has built the throne.”
And so David, the carpenter’s son, ruled not with pride but with compassion. His reign was remembered as the season when Longhill’s heart finally beat as one.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Shadows of Leadership
Though the crown rested lightly on David’s head, the weight of the throne was heavy on his shoulders. For the people had chosen him, but leadership is not feasting; it is fasting.
At first, Longhill rejoiced in his reign. The palace doors opened to the poor, and the Beautiful Gate became a place of gathering, no longer of division. But soon whispers began to rise. Some nobles murmured, “He is but a carpenter’s son. Can he guide a kingdom?”
One evening, Debbie found David sitting quietly, staring at the gate that had once been his dream.
“Why so silent, my love?” she asked.
David sighed deeply. “Debbie, the people sing my name today, but tomorrow they may curse it. A crown is like fire — it warms, but it can also burn.”
She placed her hand gently on his. “Then let us walk through the fire together. Remember this: a tree that fears the axe should also remember its roots still grip the earth. You were born to lead.”
And in that moment, David remembered the words of his father:
“A man is not measured by the weight of his pocket, but by the weight of his heart.”
He straightened, ready to bear the weight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Enemy at the Gate
Peace is sweet, but peace often invites envy. Beyond Longhill’s borders, a rival king named Baruk heard of David’s rise. Jealousy gnawed at him. “A carpenter’s son turned king? If such a story spreads, my own throne will be mocked. I will crush him.”
One dawn, smoke rose from the horizon. Baruk’s soldiers marched toward Longhill, their armor glinting like fire. Panic spread through the village. Mothers gathered their children, and fathers clutched their hoes like weapons.
At the palace, Debbie clung to David’s arm. “What shall we do?”
David’s voice was steady, though his heart thundered. “Love built this throne, and love will defend it. But a king must be both shepherd and lion.”
He stood before the people at the Beautiful Gate and cried,
“Fear not! A gate is not strong because it is made of bronze, but because it has men and women who guard it. Today, we fight not for gold, but for home. Even if the enemy comes with swords, remember: the courage of one heart can silence the noise of a thousand spears.”
The people roared in unity, for they had seen his life and trusted his words. The gate that once divided them now became the wall behind which they stood together.
The battle was fierce. Swords clashed, arrows flew, and cries shook the earth. David fought at the front, not hiding behind soldiers, but leading like a true king. Beside him, Debbie tended to
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