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Mielikki 2

Running from Christmas

Luc , son of Roland and Marthe “Not worth it. Don’t be rash. Your life is more important. Why not go home for the holidays? You’ll feel better once you’ve had a break.” Gary meant well, but… Home? The word normally comforted his gut. But Luc’s father had passed last February. The idea of seeing long familiar streets, only hollowed his belly. Nothing would be the same. He craved quiet. A chance to sink into solitude and heal. And not his just torn muscles. “I could use a rest,” Luc agreed, “but in a cabin by the lake.” He was thinking of summers as a kid when my Dad used to take us out by Walton Lake. Though busy in summer, the Wild Daire Lodges ought to be deserted at Christmas. Which was what Luc wanted. He needed to get away. After being on tour most of the year, crowds and loud music haunted his dreams. Dancing was an upside down life. Work started when everyone else finishes. Sleep was found as everyone else woke. And holidays? Everyone else’s time off was when entertainers are busiest. At least his injury gave him an excuse, as his heart and soul were as aching. Luc needed time to think, breathe and find his Zen. Flying into Moncton, Luc rented a jeep and started driving. He didn’t even stop for supplies. Once checked in, he’d know better what he needed. The petal beneath his foot felt glorious as he fled the cold concrete of civilization for surrounding snow covered forest. All he wanted was to breathe in fresh air and look at stars instead of streetlights. Wild Daire was perfect. The closest store was outside of the small town of Vebecasis, which was twenty-five minutes away. Snowflakes were falling and the lake was starting to freeze, and there was only wilderness for as far as he could see. Luc had never felt freer. Travis would have hated it. Luc could have laughed, imagining his reaction. But why think of him? Dad died in February and Travis, complaining of his moping, left in March. Travis had little use for fathers, his having walked out, before Travis turned two. The old guy who checked Luc in must have thought him odd. Who’d go alone to a hunting camp at Christmas, especially as he wasn’t hunting? But Luc didn’t care. Feeling like in a Jonna Jinton film, he set suitcases inside, locked up and headed for Vebecasis. It was a beautiful drive along the Vebecasis River to the small town. Drifting snow melted on hitting the windshield. Bells on the door jangled when Luc entered the small town Fresh Mart. Shaking snow from his hat and coat, he saw a row of plants by the window. There was a rack of seeds beside them. Sticking his hat under his arm, Luc rubbed warmth back into his fingers and looked around. It was a typical convenience store with lottery tickets under glass and chocolate behind the counter. There were newspapers and magazines by the door, and a paneled wall that likely hid cigarettes. Needing food, Luc took a cart and headed for the few isles. The muffins, bread, and deserts looked homemade.  And there was canned food, milk and a few produce items. But coffee? There were rings about bottom of a pot that looked to have been sitting all morning. In the isle there was only instant. Fanning himself to keep down rising panic, he stared horrified. Luc hadn’t even taken time to see if what sort of coffee machine was in the cabin. Roughing it was one thing, but could he survive three weeks without good expresso? A man in the next isle, wearing a red and black lumber jacket, stared at Luc with slit eyes. He wore a hunting cap, and Luc sensed hostility. Suddenly, he was too aware of the delicacy of his hands and clamped his fingers about a box.  Tea! Tea would do.  As much as Luc had wanted escape the city lights, there were reasons, (safety) why he’d first sought bigger cities. On tour with his people, he gotten used to feeling safe. And forgotten. Out here, he was on his own.  And felt it. Putting tea in his cart, Luc broadened his shoulders, trying to make myself larger. More masculine. Just finish the groceries and get out of there. Glancing behind him at the cash, he saw the man exchange a glance with the cashier. Before he’d cleaned the snow from his car, the lumber jacket man followed him out. Should he buy a gun? There had to be a Canadian Tire in Vebecasis. Not caring if he was being paranoid, he headed for town. It was ridiculous. What did he know of guns? Could he even get one without a permit? The clicking of his whippers no longer soothed. Driving around Vebecasis he began to relax. Everything was different than he remembered, but familiar. Like every town, there was a Shopper’s, McDonald’s, and Tim Horton’s on the corner. Luc even saw a sign for his bank. And beside that Mel’s Tea Shop. That was where his Dad took them for hot chocolate after skiing. His mother didn’t ski, but would spend the afternoon shopping, writing, or something, and they’d all meet at the tea shop. Maybe he should have told Mom he was coming. It seemed cruel not to have. But. Signalling, Luc pulled into the drive-thru. Tim Hortons seemed to be the best coffee. Cruel or not, he wasn’t ready to face her. Not on his own. Without Travis’s support, she’d likely try to set him up with some fat lady next door. *** Marthe , widow of Roland and mother of Luc Like every morning, Marthe finished her rosary and set her beads back in their case. They were the same words she’d been saying since Roland got sick, whether anyone listened or not. Holy Mary, Mother of God Pray for us sinners Now and at the hour of our death. Faith is believing. That if not well in this world, at least Roland was safe in the next. But this was going to be a hard Christmas. Marthe understood Luc had to work. Sometimes she regretted ever letting him study gymnastics. Luc had loved the lessons. Tumbling and vaulting. Flipping through the air as though flying. And she’d been so proud. It was amazing what he could do. They say gymnastics has nothing to do with it. Marthe had never thought anything, but staring at his picture, his arms wide in happy ‘ta da’ after landing, she wondered. Roland seemed to have known. At least he was less surprised. Marthe knew she’d handled it badly. Mothers are supposed to know their children. But homosexuality was nothing that she’d imagined. She didn’t even believe it. Luc was still in high school. Still a boy. How could he make such a decision?  When he sat them down, instead of accepting and telling him she’d love him no matter what, Marthe refused to believe. What was he sixteen? Seventeen? How could he know he was gay! “Do you even have a boyfriend?” she’d objected. In her mind, it didn’t make sense. How could he be gay without a boyfriend? Wasn’t homosexuality relationship based?  How could he have same-sex-attraction, without person he was attracted to? Roland had to pull her from the room to calm down. And Marthe was baffled by his calmness. Weren’t men supposed to be terrified of their son’s being gay? But Roland acted as though not even surprised. Like he already knew. Straightening Luc’s picture, Marthe wondered if he’d ever forgave her. *** After a night of sleeping in the cabin under a field of stars, Luc felt different. It was still dark when he woke, and quiet. The only sound was eerie forest magic as the wind creaked through the trees. Walking down to the lake, Luc couldn’t help wonder what he was doing there. As a teen, he’d longed to escape, dreaming of the life he was now living. Through some magic of fate, he made money dancing. Even with tiring nights, having to appease divas, and painful pulled muscles, how many people were so fulfilled? Ice formed where the current was mild. In videos, Jonna bathed in such rivers, but Luc felt chilled looking at how it glistened like crystals. Back in the cabin, he boiled water, but didn’t feel like tea. When travelling, cafés were always steps away, so having to drive for thirty minutes for the closest brew? What had he been thinking? Still what else had he to do? Deciding to head for town, Luc unplugged the kettle. After he getting his coffee, there was still a lot of day left, but the sun was out.  It was a good day for driving. Luc decided to head toward Hampton, but had no specific plan. Hampton was cool, why shouldn’t he visit? If he changed his mind, he could always turn the jeep around. By the time he reached Hampton, he needed a bathroom, so stopped at Tim’s, and then had to get another coffee. It was vicious cycle. At the nearby Cedar Hill Park there was a monument to human rights activist John Peter Humphrey so Luc walked the trails there for a while. He was so close, it seemed wrong not to stop. The St. Alphonsus Cemetery was just across the Oxbow River. Parking behind the church, he wandered down. It looked different and bigger, but he was only there for the burial, last spring. On finding his father’s marker, Luc saw a woman knelt there. A flower bouquet lay beside her. She looked to be talking to the dark stone. “Mom?” Marthe looked up disbelieving. She thought Luc had to work. Did he so hate her that he’d not even told her he was visiting? Tears blinding, she looked back at Roland’s grave, and said, “I thought you had to work.” Luc took too large a slurp of his coffee burning his tongue. “Got off for good behaviour,” he joked. Marthe made a choking sound and Luc realized she was crying. Going to her, he helped her off the cold ground. “Oh Mom. I wasn’t sure I was ready to see you.” That made it worse. Marthe cried harder. Setting down his coffee, Luc wrapped his arms around her. “I am glad to see you, Mom,” he said.

nxiw8o

Paul is Alive

Its Christmas eve in Anchorage, Alaska it’s a beautiful snowy evening. Its quiet outside, snow is falling like hard rain drops. The time is 7 pm. Mr. Michael and Samantha McCain are in the kitchen thinking the good times they have had during the holidays. Michael and Samantha are from Brooklyn, New York. They moved to Alaska right after they graduated from college. Both of them attended Columbia University. They have two sets of twins, one set is fifteen years old, the other set is twenty-five years old. Monica and Erica are fifteen-year-olds. The other twins are Melvin and Kelvin, they live not to far away in their grandparents’ home. "Honey, both of our parents are dead and gone. I am so glad all four of them moved here to help take care of the children and then we ended up taking care of them." Samantha said. "I don't what we would have done without them." "Yes, it was selfless of them to move from one side of the country to another. If you think about, it made sense, grandparents spoil grandchildren and they can see them all the time by living here." "Yep it does, those flights can be expensive." "The holidays are different without them." "We lost each one about a year apart. And Paul Jr. died six months after my father." Michael said. "That train wreck was something else. Paul will be missed." "Honey I read in the paper they will have statue or something for all the victims in the train wreck. Each person's name will be on it." "That will be nice." "Honey, I'm going to bed I'm tired. The twins are doing something who knows. The boys should have made it down the street by now. I'll check before I go to bed." "I'm going to finish baking while I listen to Christmas music." Samantha continued to bake her sweet potato pies, cakes, and cookies. About an hour later after her husband went to bed there's a knock on the hard glass window. She looked in the direction of that window, but the knocking stopped. The knocking started again it sound as though someone using something like a stick to make the knock loud. "Should I wake up Michael? No, I'm going to the door it’s probably a neighbor." She headed towards the window which is next to the front door. "Whose there?" She asked. "It’s Paul Jr." "Sir you have the wrong house. I know a Paul Jr but he died six months ago." Paul looked bewildered. "Aunt Samantha, this is your nephew Paul Jr. I'm alive. Look out the window it’s me!" Samantha looked out the window and started screaming. She opened that front door so fast. They hugged each other so tight. "What do you mean I died?" "Son, everyone died in the train crash that you were on." "I did not know that about a train crash. I was able to catch a earlier train that had a shorter route for me. Wait a minute, so you didn't receive any of my letters?" "No, we have not! Let me wake everyone and tell them you are alive." "I'll wait right here between the kitchen and living room. I hope we don't scare them." "If we do not scare them, they will be in shock for sure." She went to get everyone. "Michael, Erica, and Monica, please come to the kitchen. I have a surprise for you!" "What's up mom?" Erica asked. By then Monica and their father were in the kitchen too. "I'm alive!" Paul yelled as he came around the corner. Everyone screamed. "Paul! You're alive!" Erica said. "Thank God!" Monica said. "Paul you've risen from the dead. We memorialized you. What a miracle!" Michael said. "Talking about excited, I'm so glad I heard the knock on the window!" Samantha shouted. "Mom, let's call Melvin and Kelvin and tell them to come. Tell them it’s an emergency!" Monica said. "I'll do it!" Michael said. "Yes, let’s celebrate with cake, pie, and ice cream." Samantha said. "We'll help you mom! “Erica said. While waiting on the male twins, everyone was having great conversations. Ten to twenty minutes has passed. "Mom! Dad! Where are you? What's the emergency?" Melvin and Kelvin yelled. "You can hear the frantic in their voice." Paul turned around to look at them. "Am I looking at a ghost you died six months ago!" Melvin said. "It is a ghost!" Kelvin said. "No, it’s me, I caught an earlier train, it is a miracle I'm alive. Family I apologize, i should have called. I've been so busy. I regret that you thought I was dead. From now on I'll do better with communicating with you family." Samantha began speaking. "No one cares about what happened in the past. You are alive and that's all that matter. Now let' eat drink and be merry!" "You don't have to tell me twice!" Michael said. Everyone rushed over to the food. They filled their plates with all the desserts. “Tell me more about this train crash you thought I was in.” Paul said. “Well son, it happened about an hour after the train left Anchorage. It collided with another train that didn’t have any passengers aboard it. The conductor somehow survived but everyone on the train you were on died. Your train caught fire and fell over the tracks. They were on one of the bridges that had no land near except for over a thousand plus feet. And if I remember correctly ice was on the tracks which caused the wreck to be worse.” Michael explained. “I kept telling myself I need to check on the news at home. I have been extremely busy working sixty plus hours.” Paul said. “You wouldn’t have missed the train wreck news if you tuned in. They talked about it for more than thirty days.” Melvin said. “I cried for days.” Samantha said. “I’m glad I heard your knock on the window, Michael and I had spoken of you earlier about how different the holidays will be without you and other family members. So glad and thankful you’re still here with us.” “Paul you being  alive is something worth celebrating, mom must be happy if she’s letting us eat her desserts before Christmas.” Erica said. Samantha chimed. "Yes, I am, what a difference a knock on the window makes. Let's continue to celebrate." The family continued the celebration until two am on Christmas day. They created more family memories on that special Christmas day.

aqk3st

Bet

As soon as I had touched the divorce papers in my hand, I really felt the necessity of going to the supermarket, a block away from the court building. - I think it is a good idea to take some bread, coffee and perhaps some milk home - as it was around five o'clock of a freezing winter afternoon. So I got into, and started to choose all the items I needed. - but there is no milk - I said, a bit disappointed well , anyway, I have the bread I want to buy and instant coffee for keeping it in a termic bottle, so I could drink it the whole working shift, one hour ahead from me. I opened the backdoor of the house, and prepared some coffee for the termic bottle. My sister in law came in, waving her just washed blond hair for the Christmas supper. - what's up, sister Susy? - she asked me, smelling the luxurious scent of coffee spreading all over the kitchen. ' I asked for the divorce. I wanted it , so, I am more than happy. ' sure. how about pensions I am going to have it  for personal expenses as we had no kids. Is not much, but it helps.. - So, I think I have to congratulate you - kissing me I my chubby cheeks.. - Especially because I am officially divorced right now - I said to my sister, Marion, who showed me a little smile between her tight closed lips. - are you o.k.because of that ? - she asked me, taking the bread i bought from the market  , and putting it on the table, exactly beside the coffee termic bottle. - well , maybe we should do something . ' something? yes. you still have time so sit and have a ni e cup of coffee. - yeap ! She scrambled the places of the cups, and put them beside her, solemnly saying : - I have one idea. it will take just ten seconds of your precious time. - what is that? - let me explain ... Anx she started to explain the whole thing. - if is easy, and you can make money . She was laughing a lot while speaking, so, I could not understand a thing she said. Af the end of the explanation, I looked at her with my ordinary question mark face. She even made some demonstrations, using the bread and the coffee. - if is just a game. Don't get nervous - she said to.me, Fine, so let me check out if I understood the whole thing : I will have to take some coffe from the termic bottle and take a loaf of bread for my breakfast and help myself without pouring a single drop on the table ? she must be nuts - I said to myself, considering that I do not like coffee and I do not eat just one loaf of bread but two. Or , thinking a bit more about it, she could pro ably do it. but not me . But ,.let me try, as I can make a ten dollar bill, freely. - fine. ten seconds. - I said to my sister in law -- starting the countdown, three !, two ! , one ! so I took the termic bottle, and helped myself with some coffee - at the count of one, I will do it . At two , I will go it, at three, I will do it, at four I can do it, and also at  five seconds, I can do it. so I still have five seconds left - I said to myself , keeping the positive thinking mind and trying to convince to myself that I was going to win, I will do it, I will do it , I will do it - repeating the mantra without taking my eyes off the table . But I realized that my hands were shaking in a slight tremor . Furthermore, i thought that a damned drop could fall at any moment and send all my efforts to hell , oh shit! , and if it happens, i loose the bet. loose the bet? what is to loose the bet ? ' that question came to my mind, twisting my solid way of thinking and throwing it to the trash can of my not so developed but in reality broken - yes, broken after a separation - heart. my forehead started to sweat, oh no! that is too bad! but even worse is too fell that my fingers were sweating too. if it goes on like this, I am gonna loose ! I took a look at the watch  that was hanging in the front wall . it was going to tickle the next second ! oh no! why am I so incompetent? - I asked to myself, thinking that , after all, it was such an stupid thing to do. and if I loose, what happens next ? Am I going to be a better person because of it? or, maybe, I am going to loose my personal integrity and die after that ? Or nothing is going to happen??? I think that nothing, absolutely nothing is going to happen, seriously. That was just a game. A  funny one, maybe, but ?, just a game! I do not need it - I reached the conclusion that decided the destiny of the next move that I needed to do : taking the bread out of the plastic bag. Should i do it ? six - should i do it ?  opening the plastic bag seven - should i do it ? trying to reach a loaf of bread, but almost taking my hand out of the plastic bag. eight - i finally made up my kind and took a loaf of bread. no e, I took a bite of the bread and swallowed it. ten , I sipped the coffee. yes it was a question of defending my pride and honourability that my ego could not overcome at all. And, more than that, j realized that i did not needed to win, but a satisfaction was important for my ego in that moment. You reader, may probably want to ask me what exactly I did after that moment. It was not an easy decision, as I had to fight against something so difficult, as the all mighty ego is. -you do not have to loose - it kept saying to me, with a fearciful voice that could really force me to win, despite the fact that there was another inner voice repeating that it was not important at all. So, I took a decision. Z difficult one. And took my cup of coffee to put it on the table and made coffee squirt j,ust a little, on the table. The reader may probably ask me why I have done that Firstly, I think if was a decision in favour of my family ties. And secondly, it was Christmas. -

e5x9gg

Styx 'n Stones

Shoulder to shoulder, musicians mingled. Tuxedoed waiters served drinks and escorted people to their reserved tables. White elephant gifts, large and small, stacked high under the tree, waited to be opened. Those participating in the exchange eyed the gifts as people added to the growing pile. The anticipation of the opening and fighting over preferred gifts occupied the minds of one and all. Christmas music drifted in soft tones as the guests conversed before the Christmas concert this evening on the delta. The restaurant overlooking the water had a bustling business and had booked a new up and coming band for their Christmas party.            Randy, once called Stoner Stones, but since he gave his life to Christ, now preferred Steely Stones, and his older brother Steve, also known as Steppin’ Stones, awaited their youngest brother, Scott, Slick Styx Stones, the third member of Styx’ n Stones, a tribute band for The Rolling Stones and Styx. Scott preferred playing smooth jazz, but the brothers played classic rock well together—Steve on guitar and vocals, Randy on bass and vocals, and Scott on drums. So classic rock it was. The Stones family had been booking and playing their own gigs for years, but not together as most would think. They each had their niche, and they were good. Steve had been doing solo gigs out of town, uptown, and downtown in their hometown, where he played guitar and sometimes banjo. People tended to say that he reminded them of a mixture between Ray Stevens and Heywood Banks. The man told the funniest stories as part of his act and never lacked invitations to parties.            Randy played with Chose Him, a Christian band, for several years, but played in rock bands since high school days. Randy played often. Loud was his middle name. ‘If the music isn’t loud, what’s the use in playing?’ was his mantra. The cops showed up at nearly every gig he played. Usually, they just stuck around to listen. Also known to play an old country set, Randy was known to serenade women and yodel for the enjoyment of all that heard him.            Scott didn’t play much when he was younger, but now, you couldn’t stop him if you tried. He played drums for several bands in town and a few in San Francisco, where he played smooth jazz—Slick Styx Stones, the hippest jazz drummer in the city.            Although their sister, Kaci, hadn’t played with them but once since they became a group, she played her own gigs—playing piano and singing standards, show tunes, and originals, anywhere and everywhere, wherever for whoever would ask, after her career in the opera.            But this year, the brothers had started playing together. Many paid them top dollar to play at Christmas parties this year, so they were making a killing.            Slick Styx walked into the party to the beat of his own drum. Unlike some drummers who walked to a rat-a-tat-tat, or a ba-dum-chee, or during the Christmas season with a rum-pum-pum-pum, Slick Styx Stones walked in smooth, like jazz brushes. He wore a black fedora and long wool overcoat with a silk red scarf--the only bit of color for this cool cat. It was a Christmas party, after all.            “You’re late, Scott. We go on in 15 minutes,” complained Steve.            “Then, I’m not late. We’ve already played five gigs this week. We don’t need to practice. Besides, I set up my drums earlier.”             “Well, glad you’re finally here,” Randy said. “Same set as last night, okay?”             “Sure. No prob.” Scott said. “They want carols, too?”             “Yeah. Kaci’s helping out tonight. She and I will do Silent Night with Cattle Call at the end like we did last year for our family Christmas party. Oh, and they want O Holy Night. Kaci and I practiced this afternoon. It’ll be just her singing and me on guitar,” Randy said. “Unless you have your chimes, they would sound great.”             “Yeah, They’re in my bag. I’ll set ’em up.”             “Since Kaci’s here, she can help with the rest of the carols,” Steve said.             “Fine by me,” Scott said.             “Me, too. Figure, we gotta let her sing with us once in a while. She’s always wanted a family band. Besides, it’ll give our voices a rest,” Randy said. “We got six more gigs before Christmas.”            “And we’re doing White Christmas, so you can use your brushes, Scott,” Steve said.                   “Right on. I’m ready. Let’s get this party started.”            The gig went off without a hitch, but Scott had a hankering for cowbell, so he used it for Jingle Bell Rock. Kaci played the jingle bells and other small percussion instruments for the party. Though her voice did not lend well to classic rock, it rocked on the classic carols. The gig ended up Styx’ n Stones with a bit of rock opera thrown in. A sound not heard very often, but had the crowd raving, and the four of them added three more Christmas gigs, which would include Kaci.                When they finished their set, Steve said he thought they could all use a little more cowbell. The reference wasn’t lost, and it brought the house down, especially when Slick Styx added the proverbial ba-dum-chee, using the cowbell for the cymbal.            All in all, the evening trended well. Although each had their own style, they played well together tonight, unlike when they were kids, and they fought tooth and nail like cats and dogs.        “Mom and Dad would be proud,” Scott said.            “Yeah, we didn’t kill each other,” Randy said.            “And we liked it,” Kaci said.            “That’s what you think,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Did you have to wear a long evening gown, for Pete’s sake?”            “Better me than you! Don’t forget the purple flowery number you bought in New York, and danced in, on top of the dugout.” “Hey, my legs looked great in that dress,” Steve countered. “Good for you, hairy legs. At least I shave mine,” Kaci replied.            “Well, it was for a good cause,” Steve said.            “Well, I wore this just because,” Kaci said, laughing.            “Well, you’re just sore cause I look better in a dress than you do,” Steve said, bantering with Kaci like an old married couple. (Uh, awkward pause. –Or, rather like a house full of siblings.)            “They’re gonna start calling me Kickin’ Stones, ’cause I’m gonna kick your butt,” Kaci warned cheekily.            “You said butt! I’m telling!” Scott said.            They all cracked up.            The crowd hushed. The Stones’ siblings looked around and then at each other and laughed hysterically. It felt great to have the family back together—all doing what they loved—teasing and all.

m1iaii

Christmas bird

-         Today is the 20 th of December – I  reminded  my husband , and it makes exactly  a month since we just   moved from a big city . -         Having a Christmas party in  the countryside  is going to be fun – my husband John said, looking for “ the twelve days of Christmas”  vinyl disc  to play on his old Philips disc player with diamond ring. ? And we both started to dance, moved by the rhythm . -         I think I have a good idea now that we warmed  up . -         You do ? So, tell me dear. -         Why not having a gift exchange  for the night of  24 th of December ? -         That is a good idea ! - we both  happily sealed the deal with a kiss. -         I am sending the messages for my sister and her family , your brother and your parents, aunt Mary. I think it is enough – I told John, -         So, for four days , we started to get the things ready. John went to the local market to buy fireworks.. I went to the local mall to buy gifts, like a sweater for my husband, toys for the kids, pajamas for my sister and little Christmas favors for everybody. That same night, my sister sent a .message in the cell phone: -         How about the food ? -         you bring potatoes . Each person will bring something to eat. The next four days simply run away. And when I realized, It was the morning of the 24 th , Christmas Eve. My six- year- old  daughter,  Melissa, picked flowers from the garden, to decorate the table And we also decorated the Christmas tree with pine cones, red ribbons and a huge Bethlehem star on top of it. So the guests started to come. One by one, bringing potatoes, salad, fruits, cookies ,  roasted chickpeas,  candies for the kids, rice, besides the turkey that aunt Sophie brought – as she insisted. Men were in charge of the beverages . Everything was on the table, ready. At that night, my sister arrived at about ten,  bringing the gifts that were supposed to be exchanged – that, according to her was so difficult to find in the country. She also had brought a special gift for Jonathan, my eight year old son, afraid of birds. It was   a box wrapped in red paper  and tied up with  green bows . -          It must be a Christmas gift  - I thought,  due to the occasion. After greetings, my sister decided to talk : Because  this year  we   thought about and took into consideration  your new  life  here in the countryside,  something that I consider amazing .   So, that is why I thought about something different and special for this occasion. And  my sister  handed the green box to Jonathan, my son - whom was desperately waiting for the best moment of the night and maybe the best moment of all his life , receiving  a  gift, like almost every single child would do : taking the gift to just tear the lovely pinkish wrapping. Of course, mom would  look at them so fiercely that even without wanting , they should stop, in order to thank them. -         Thank you auntie! – he grasped. Without missing any minute,  he immediately unwrapped the box, not before shaking  it and smelling  it. -         It is not  a toy  – she explained  in the same exactly moment he ď, and it seems to be moving. Then, he realized that it has some holes on it, from where he could see something moving inside it. -         Is it an animal ? – he asked with some normal curiosity in his words. -         Kind of. And so a bluish ringneck  parrot  came out, in the middle of  that holes, tearing the box with his beak. -         You son of a bitch ! – the bird  yelled, in his first time that he put his head outside the box.  were just astonished for seeing such a talkative bird. -         Help me some soda, as I am still  trembling for staying in this degrading situation –  the parrot demanded, walking on the table that the box was left by my son. All of us  were sat   sitting around  the table, and all of us run to help it some soda. In the rush of taking the bottle, we hit our heads, bumping. The parrot, laughed  and laughed and laughed . So and so much that he pooped  in his feathers, singing “ the twelve days of Christmas “   , dancing on my husband shoulder .. He got surprised jumping and yelling : -          go away ! Go away before I cook you ! – aamazed. -         Do you really think you can cook a rebel parrot like me ? – he asked , with a sarcastic look in his eyes – you better give me some soda before I laugh. That was a  no  answer question. -           We all laughed together with him. After that, we gave it some soda – as it asked , while my husband looked at his badge, -          Its name is  Tippy – he said without any objection. -         Nice to meet you , nice to meet you – it repeated for more than five times, jumping from a plate to another, something that my husband wanted to stop it from doing it, but the bird would never stop. -         What am I going to do with you ? – he a kept asking, totally out of control. The parrot laughed.8 Its eyes were wide opened, trying to understand the fuss all around him,  as  my dog was barking as crazy , and the kids running after the dog, all over the birthday party. My son, the happiest boy in the whole world, tapped the head of the parrot, that was singing  the national hymn with its wings wide opened. And it flew away, for some ten minutes, making kids jump to catch it. -         Come back ! !  -  we all  screamed, thinking he would never come back – as we were already affectionate with it. But  Tippy got tired of flying , and landed on the table, near the salad. We all closed our eyes for a moment. However, zi was the only one to run and take the food away from the table, putting it over the stove,  behind the chair.  Suddenly, the  bird asked me in a violent voice : What the hell do you think you are doing, crazy bitch? Crazy bitch, crazy bitch, - repeating until he could fly to the stove and steal a lettuce leaf from the salad, jumping from it. We all saw it walking back to  the direction of the cage, with the lettuce leaf in his beak.. -         As a fact, it is a cage – my sister commented, nodding her head to ask : -         What are we supposed to do with such a naughty bird ? It listened to what she said. And this time it really  got angry, asking : -         Don’t you think you need to get divorced from this fat and bold man beside you? I knew it was just a bird. But too daring. -         What are you talking about ? – I asked, while it was hiding its lettuce in the cage, like a dog. -         Nothing. Do nothing. This is the best way to forget such a fag and bold man like your useless husband. -         Stop! You have to stop right now- I said to it, looking angrily  to  it. -         I cannot stop . I am a robot ! – and the parrot turned on a dim  light inside the package   closing the narrow entrance between the lettuce and the cardboard. you have to keep the bird inside the cage, he is not used to parrot stands. -         Ok. I will do it –  blocking the entrance of the cage. Jonathan, my son, took the cage back  to the package. And stayed inside the cage for the rest of the night. I  went to see the parrot  , from time to time, with a leaf of lettuce in my hand. -         C’mon, boy ! The dramatization is enough !  - clapping. -         But I think it is not . So you better bring more lettuce and some soda to me…. -         What ??!!   I  asked, furious and taking the bottle of soda to pour it into his beak thirsty and dried. -         Thank you madam But I think I am drunk – showing me a bottle of gel of alcohol my sister  had  bought for the pandemic. -         I think it is a bad idea to give you any sort of animal. -         Yeap ! I agree with you. -         

p6hexm

Bittersweet Cookies of Memories

Bells, chimes, carollers, ring in my ears as I walk down the street. The smell of pine and that oh-so-familiar cold winter breeze overflow all my senses, overtaking me, filling every inch of my body, all of which screaming the same thing -- Christmas. Perhaps one ought to be jolly in this season, with all the presents and hot cocoa and tree corpses flooding in the streets -- and oh, one shall not forget -- cookies. But Christmas was just never it for me -- recurring every year only to open up and sprinkle salt in the wounded memory of that one Christmas night. Jangling my keys from my bag to open the front door, I forced myself to pull myself together and shook my head to push away all the negative, traumatizing things-- "Mommy!" my 6-year-old shouted as she ran towards me as soon as I step foot in the house. The warmth of my house, combined with the sweet, pleasant scent of baked goods immediately engulfed me, greeting my face like a painful slap in the face. "Are you baking?" I asked. "Yeah," my husband answered from the kitchen. "Lucy's having a bake sale for school tomorrow. Besides, I thought it'd be a good memory." I grimaced at the thought, the scent further triggering my fight-or-flight response, every inch of my body willing myself to shut down the idea once and for all. But something about the scent drew me to the kitchen, somehow inviting me to draw close and stitch the wound up and make peace with Christmas. I smiled. Perhaps it was long overdue. I kneeled in front of my daughter. "All right then, wanna make cookies? I have Grandma's secret recipe, and it's by far the best I've tasted." My daughter cheered excitedly, jumping up and down. "Let's go!" Walking to my closet to retrieve the recipe, my daughter followed close behind, willing me to be brave and to face the wounds of my past, the only reason my feet kept taking another step towards the box. I picked up the box, opening the lid ever so cautiously, ready for the contents inside it to open up the wound once again, bringing tears to my eyes -- only the recipe wasn't there. The yellow, torn-at-its-edges paper that I grew up seeing constantly laying around in the family-owned bakery wasn't there. I turned to my daughter, unwilling to burst her little bubble of excitement, but knowing deep down I had to. "I'm sorry sweetie, but Grandma's recipe seems to be gone." "Well, that's no problem, Mommy," she replied, maintaining her cheery atmosphere, and yet keeping a timid voice. "I'm sure you can remember it." I wanted to say no, to shut the idea down -- there was no way I was reliving that dreadful night just to retrieve the recipe.. "I'm sorry honey, but it was 30 years ago! I couldn't possibly--" "Well, let's start with the basic ingredients, Mom," her optimistic voice responded. "First of course, there's flour, and eggs, and sugar, right? Hmm, what else? Butter?" "Yes, I suppose that's about right. There's probably a little bit of vanilla extract there, too. But I can't seem to remember Grandma's secret ingredient. If only I could--" Bang! I gasped as my husband entered the room, slamming the door running from an insect. Immediately the memories came flooding back to me. Gunshots. Christmas night 30 years ago. The scene from 30 years ago unwinded right before my very eyes, replaying instantly, a memory that had seemed to be lost forever suddenly back and found and unwinding to replay, to replenish my faded memory. All of a sudden I was in the family bakery owned by my parents, baking cookies with my mom at the back of the shop, while my dad manned the store for any customers. Looking down at my tiny fingers covered with flour, I laughed. Oh, to be a kid baking cookies with my Mom again. Suddenly I heard the usual bell chime that usually meant someone was entering the bakery. I smiled; the last customer before we closed shop for Christmas. But then suddenly: shouting. "Open up!" "Hands where I can see them!" "Give me the money!" And then shuffling. A few seconds passed. And then: Bang! I looked up to my mom, whose brows immediately furrowed, evidently concerned, but still trying her best not to show it to her daughter beside her. "What was that, Mom?" "Nothing honey," she replied, the tremor evident in her voice, but still as calm and soothing as ever, now chopping something much, much louder on the chopping board, obviously an attempt to overpower the sounds of the bangs outside, before stopping abruptly when the bangs stopped. Now what was she chopping? It was white, I remember. White and somewhat jelly-like-- "Coconut!" I yelled. "Mom?" my daughter's voice filled my ears, shattering my train of thought. "Are you okay?" "It's coconut! One of the secret ingredients is coconut!" "Oh that's great! What's the other one? Can you try to remember?" I glanced nervously at her, about to say no, but her gaze continuing to encourage me otherwise. The scene continued to unfold. Now I'm back in the bakery kitchen, in my mom's arms. "You stay here, okay? Don't go out until I say it's okay to go out. It's probably nothing, but I'm just going to go out and take a look and grab the last ingredient, okay? You stay here." My mom broke from our embrace, slowly going outside of the kitchen. I nodded slowly. "Be careful, Mom," came my timid voice, encouraging and braving my mom to take the next step, just as my daughter's did only a short while ago. I wanted to stop her. Something about that moment didn't feel right. The commotion outside didn't seem right. Something bad was about to happen. I could feel it. I started to run after her, about to go out of the kitchen door and into the bakery when-- Bang! Bang! I froze, shock and fear overtaking my body, the atmosphere absolutely surreal, time seemingly standing still. I waited. Five minutes. I heard the familiar bell chime usually heard when the bakery door was opened. Things must be alright, I reassured myself. But still I didn't dare go out. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. My mom never came back. Tears streamed down my face, and all at once I was back in my bedroom, my husband now shaking me to get me out of my trance. "Are you okay?" "Y-yeah." "Why are you crying?" "That night," I said. "That night." "Hey, stop remembering that. It's okay." "No, let me. I have to make peace with my past." My husband frowned at me, clearly worried, but knowing he had to let me. He nodded reluctantly, my body still in his embrace. Back at the bakery. Waiting Begging, praying for my mom to walk through that door and hug me, tell me everything's fine and to apologize for taking so long. But that moment never came. Mom never came to me. So I had to come to her. I braced myself for the worse, pushing open the kitchen door. Immediately I wished I hadn't. My eyes flew around the room, seemingly never able to focus on one thing, every single bit of that scene too grotesque, too intense, too traumatizing for one small 6 year old to take in. My Mom on the floor. My dad on the floor. Pools of blood surrounding them. A wound to their chests. The cash register open and empty. The bakery deserted. I gasped, my eyes big as saucers, the jolly Christmas decorations pointless around me. Anger towards them built up. My mind raced with excuses and reasoning as to why this happened to them. My parents were good people. Our family has never done anything really wrong. But no matter how hard I wrecked my brain trying to come up with reasons just to stay sane -- nothing came. The only thing I could blame it all upon: Christmas. Maybe if it wasn't Christmas there'd be more cops and this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if it wasn't Christmas there would be more people on the road passing by and this wouldn't have happened. The urge to look away stronger than ever. But there was something that caught my eye. My eyes drifted there. My mom. Her hand. Covered in blood. Holding a box. What box? What could be so important? Finally I got it. The last secret ingredient. "Oatmeal!" My daughter hugged me as her tiny hand wiped my tear-stained face. My husband wrapped me tighter in his embrace. "It's all over now. Everything's fine." I nodded and shook my head. Everything was fine now. I've made peace with my past. It was never Christmas's fault. It was simply coincidence. Change. Things beyond my control. And that was fine. I just had to move on. "Now let's bake some cookies now, shall we?" I took her by the hand and ran downstairs. She laughed. And that was Christmas Eve. The coconut-filled cookies sat on the counter, the oatmeal adding the perfect chewiness to it. Overall, probably wasn't the sweetest Christmas ever. But the slight bitterness made it perfect. Just like a cookie. Bittersweet.

3vbfxy

Its Christmas After All

I slump in the car seat with my arms crossed over my chest, glaring out the window. Familiar houses sped by as we approached Aunt April’s house. Usually, I was always so cheerful this time of year. Christmas is My Time. But, not this year. When Mommy pulls into the driveway, Daddy turns around and gives me his best smile. I won’t look at him. “Come on, sweetheart. This is going to be fun!” I clicked the button of my seatbelt and dropped out of the car with Fluffy, my favorite unicorn stuffed animal, tight in my grasp. I head towards the front door. All I want is to go home but Mommy and Daddy insisted that we come. They say that it's Christmas and we should be with our family. But, not everyone is here. Grandma and Grandpa are stuck t home all because of stupid COVID-19. It’s just a cold, that’s what Mommy says. I’ve gone to school with a cold before so why can’t they come to Christmas? It’s not fair! I storm into the house, ignoring my Aunts and Uncles and Cousins as I head upstairs and into the spare guest room, where I sleep when I’m spending the night at Aunt April’s. I don’t look at the presents or the tree that I had helped decorate a week ago. One week ago, Grandma and Grandpa said they were coming to Christmas. The guest room is plain, a bed with blue sheets, white walls, and an empty closet. I flop down on the bed, holding Fluffy close to my chest. I had insisted on bringing her so at least I wouldn’t be completely alone in my anger. I curl up on the bed with Fluffy, thinking about past Christmas’. Every year, Grandma makes her special sugar cookies in the shapes of little snowmen, snowflakes, candy canes, and Santas. I love the little candy buttons on the snowmen. Every year, Grandpa reads The Night Before Christmas . I love his funny voices and how he would let me sit on his lap while he reads. Christmas isn’t the same unless everyone is here. It’s not the same. I want Grandma and Grandpa. I want them here, but they’re not and I just wanna go home. I curled up tighter on the bed, clutching Fluffy to my chest. “Why did they have to get sick?” I ask her, sniffling. “I just saw them and they were fine. I want them here!” I started to cry. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. “Emma?” I shove my face into Fluffy’s back, refusing to look at Mommy. “Emma, it's okay. There’s no need to cry.” “They aren’t here!” I sob. “This isn’t Christmas!” The bed dipped as Mommy sat down behind me. In her soft, soothing voice, she says, “Of course it’s Christmas. I know that you want them here but-” “It’s not the same!” I scream into Fluffy’s back. “I know, honey. I know.” Her hand gently began rubbing my back. Fluffy is wet now and I hold her tighter. “I want them here, too. But Grandma is really sick and she didn’t want to get the rest of us sick, too. It’s okay, we can go see them as soon as she’s feeling better.” “No! I want them here now!” I sit up. “I want Grandma and her cookies! I want Grandpa and his story!” Mommy’s hazel eyes softened. “I know how much you love that. But Grandma gave Aunt April her recipe and those same cookies are waiting for us downstairs.” “But it’s not the same! Everyone should be here!’” “I know, they should be here. But, even though they aren’t, we should still celebrate. It’s a time for happiness. Come on, stop crying.” Her soft hands wrapped around my face as she rubbed away my tears. “Don’t cry. I’m not supposed to tell you this but…” she looks around like someone could hear and lowers her voice to a whisper. “There’s a special surprise from Grandma and Grandpa waiting for us downstairs. And if you don’t stop crying, we’re going to miss it.” I sniffle. “Really?” She nods. “Yes. It’s really special. But you can’t go downstairs with a runny nose.” I pulled away from her and furiously scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hands until my face hurt. When the tears stopped coming, I asked, “What’s the surprise?” “Well, I can’t tell you that or it won’t be a surprise,” she teases. I hug Fluffy to my chest. “Can Fluffy come, too?” She grins brightly. “Of course, Fluffy needs to be there, too. Now come on or we’ll miss it.” Mommy takes my hand and we walk back down the stairs. I clutched Fluffy to my chest, trying not to cry. Downstairs, everyone was gathered in the living room. Mommy led me up to them and had me sit with my cousins in front of the big TV. “What’s the surprise?” I ask Danny, who is a year younger than me. He shrugs, his eyes glued to the black screen as we waited. “Some movie, I guess,” he says. “I hope it has Snowmen!” Abby exclaimed from my left. “Or Unicorns!” Milly squeals beside her. Mommy handed me a cookie and went to sit with Daddy on the couch behind us. I look down at the cookie. It looked just like the ones Grandma makes, right down to the frosting top hat and candy buttons. I take a small bite of the top hat and I’m surprised when it tastes the same, too. A few seconds later, the black screen turned white and focused on two people acting like they had never used a camera before. “Grandma! Grandpa!” I shout, getting up on my knees and holding Fluffy in a death grip, the cookie in my other hand. “Is that little Emma?” Grandpa says cheerfully. “How are you doing sweetie?” “Good!” I say happily. This is the surprise. Grandma and Grandpa are here! “Now, kids. Since we can’t be there in person we thought that we could at least Skype and read The Night Before Christmas, ” Grandpa says, his wrinkly face breaking into a wide grin. All of us kids start screaming in joy as he pulls out the old, familiar book. After the adults finally get us all calmed down, Grandpa begins to read like only he can . “Twas the night before Christmas…”

y6twhl

Just Like Gran Used To Make

I grew up telling people that my gran was the greatest baker in the world. Sugar and spice seemed to bend to her will and everything that she made was nothing short of a miracle. I don’t think it was in her to make something that didn’t taste good. I was convinced that she could boil an old shoe and somehow make it a palatable experience. Her apple pie could bring a tear to your eye and her Sunday supper biscuits were something so divine that they gave birth to a whole new religion that I heard is still practiced to this day in a small town twenty miles northeast of Escanaba, Michigan. If perfection ever existed it did so in my grandmother’s kitchen. When it came to gran’s goodies everyone had their favorite treat. My ma never could seem to get enough of her chunky maple walnut fudge and I do believe that both of my brothers, if allowed, could have sustained themselves exclusively on the buttery sweetness of her honeyed rolls. Out of every ambrosial confection that filled my childhood nothing was nearer and dearer to my heart than the sugar cookies gran would make every year for Christmas. I used to wait in anticipation for the day their intoxicating aroma would fill the house with warmth and bathe it in a sugary glow. Over the years I have accepted that I may have in-fact held somewhat of a biased opinion about my grandmother’s culinary capabilities, but to me those cookies were famous and there wasn’t a man alive who could tell me otherwise. They were simply perfect in every sense of the word and I couldn’t imagine celebrating a Christmas without them. I found that my freshman year of college was a particularly hard one for me. Everything was so strange and new and for the first time in my life I was spending the holidays away from the comfort of home. I tried telling myself that it didn’t bother me much and that I was getting too old to be burdened by such childish concerns, but as the days ticked down and Christmas grew closer it became more apparent that I was clinging to a lie. Everyone around me seemed to be beaming with the joy of the season and I wanted so badly to feel the same, but it did not come as easy to me as it had the years before. Christmas just didn’t feel like Christmas without gran and her sugar cookies. Christmas had always been my favorite holiday and I was bound and determined to not let something as silly as being halfway across the country ruin it for me. I tried everything that I could to pull myself out of my slump, but all the twinkling lights in the world couldn’t fill the cookie sized hole that was eating away at the remnants of my holiday spirit. I needed something bigger and better than a cheap string of garland and the same six Christmas songs the local DJ insisted on looping. So on December twenty fourth with six hours left until Christmas I allowed a half of a pint of rum to convince me that, even though I hadn’t baked anything outside of a frozen pizza in years, whipping up a batch of my grandmother’s sugar cookies was at the very least a manageable feat. A brief and clumsy rummaging through my cupboards had cruelly brought to my attention that I did not in-fact have a single thing that I would need to make those cookies. In that moment I had almost let defeat wash over me, but once again the liquor coursing through my bloodstream took over and before I knew it I was walking the three blocks to AJ’s convenience. AJ ran a small shop, but it had most of your basic pantry staples and it was always open so I felt as confident as I could that they would have everything that I needed. I decided that if all else failed I still had a half of a bottle of rum in the freezer. “Merry Christmas!” a disembodied voiced called out, almost in unison with the artificial bell chime that whined when I passed through the breezeway of the party store. “Merry Christmas” I responded as I rounded the corner and saw AJ standing there stocking shelves, dressed from head to toe in a cheap crushed velvet Santa suit. “Well, someone is enjoying the holiday” I chuckled. “Always” AJ said with a smile. “Hey, so if I were cookie ingredients and I were somewhere in your store where would I find me?” I asked, hope dripping from every word. “Isle three, all the way at the end” he said, pointing with the bottle of pop in his hand. “Thank you thank you” I responded with a bow of my head, shooting passed him and down the third isle. As I paced the baking needs section contemplating the two shelves of goods that I had to pick from it became abundantly clear to me that I didn’t actually have any idea how to make those cookies, or anything even resembling them. I had made them with gran before, but I was young and most of my memory consisted of playing with and eating the batter so the bulk of the recipe was lost on me. Never really being the type to allow the lack of know-how to prevent me from doing something, I came to the conclusion that muscle memory and a push in the right direction was all that I needed. “Hey AJ, you bake?” I yelled across the store. “Yea, sometimes.” He responded as he walked towards me, bridging the two isle gap between us. “What choo need, Sis?” After several minutes of over sharing my Christmas woes, I selected a handful of ingredients that we both agreed were probably almost definitely in someone’s sugar cookie recipe and I was on my way. “Ppfftt, Pillsbury” I grinned as I unloaded what I considered to be “real” cookie ingredients on to my counter. I appreciated all the help AJ gave me, but I found the fact that he thought a bag of pre-mix cookie dough could hold a candle to a good old fashioned batch of something homemade almost laughable. I didn’t want some cheap knock off. I was in search of the real McCoy. I wasn’t really sure where to start, but staring down at an empty mixing bowl in an attempt to conjure a memory proved to be a fruitless endeavor. Butter and flour were the only two things that really stuck out in my mind and even then I wasn’t sure of the proper proportions. I couldn’t believe that I had lived my whole life without ever asking gran how she did what she did. It was selfish of me in a way. “Flour, butter, sugar . . .” the words continuously passed over my lips until I robbed them of their meaning. I twirled handfuls of hair and paced the floor, but that didn’t seem to help much with my memory either and when the oven finally reached temperature it began taunting me with its incessant beeping. I knew that I would most definitely destroy any and all innocent ingredients that I put my hands on, so I decided to do what I should have done before even going to the store. I called gran. It was really the only solution. “You want to know how to make my sugar cookies?” gran laughed through the phone, each word cracking with amusement. “Oh Honey, you make an old woman blush. Them ain’t nothing special.” Gran was very humble. I always found that to be such an endearing quality. She had the sweetest way of over simplifying things and underselling herself sometimes. That was not one of those times. The words that followed “them ain’t nothing special” have haunted my mind ever since they were first uttered. “Honey, those are just Pillsbury”, gran snorted. Even though my grandmother’s sweet little voice was still coming through the phone the only thing that I could hear was the soft hum of my childhood crumbling to the floor. I had been living in a cookie house of lies. It caused me to wonder what other falsehoods I held dear. What else was she hiding? Was I really her favorite? Was her name even really gran? I grew up telling people that my gran was the greatest baker in the world and for the most part I still believe that to be true, but now I know that she was also one hell of a con-woman. 

0e07ly

Here Today

Everyone has heard the expression, "Here today, gone tomorrow." Well, when my grandmother died, this was the first time I could really relate to this. Grandma was one of the healthiest people I ever knew  She was the only athletic-type person in our whole family. Also, she was also the only thin-type person in our whole family. All the rest of us would rather sit and read a book or something, not run on an exercise machine down in the basement. So when Grandpa called that Saturday morning it was surreal. I answered the phone on the wall in the kitchen. "Hi, it's Grandpa," he said. "I'm at the hospital. Grandma died." Well, what happened was when they got home from the shop Friday, Grandma had said she was tired and thought she might be getting the flu. She laid down on the couch. Grandpa fed the dogs and let them out. He went back into the living room to see what she wanted to do about supper. She looked white and was breathing funny. It scared him. This is not the kind of thing you would expect Grandpa to do, but he got her into the car and took her to the emergency room. She died there from a blood clot. Anyway, things keep going on. Grandpa was back in the shop the next week. He had to be. When you own a pet shop, it is very consuming. The shop is supposed to be opened and closed at certain times. Sometimes people are waiting out in their cars when Grandma and Grandpa get there. They never start to even act like they are getting ready to close until everyone in the store has paid and out the door.  Customers have to be taken care of, and merchandise shipments are always being delivered. There are also living creatures there that need to be taken care of day to day. There is Rita, the big old black cat that wanders around free in there all day. Not often, but once in a while, Grandpa and Grandma would take in a litter of kittens to find them homes. They would just give them to good homes, not charge for them. Also, there is Beanie, the parrot.  As I understand it, Grandpa and Grandma got Beanie at some kind of trade pet show. This was long before I was even born. They got him because a bird like Beanie, they thought, would add to the atmosphere in the shop. He is a military macaw, one of the loudest birds on earth. They planned to sell him, but they never did. Beanie, as mean and noisy as he can be, kind of grows on you. So, Grandpa was back there in the shop, doing his job, almost right away. He seemed to be okay. Grandpa is not a person to talk about his feelings a lot. Grandma was just gone. We all just went along as usual those weeks in the fall, without her. Let me tell you, it is an incredibly sad thing when someone you love dies. You think maybe it's your fault. Maybe if you had done something different it wouldn't have happened. I said this to Mom. She looked at me mad and said she thought this was ridiculous. She said, "Everyone dies. People die. Animals die. It's nobody's fault." Usually, Grandma took me shopping before school started to get my clothes. Grandma thought clothes were important. As I mentioned, she was thin. She was thin and beautiful. I guess every friend I know wants to be thin and beautiful like her. Anyway, Mom took me shopping instead. I got what I needed, but it wasn't as much fun as Grandma and I always had when we went together. On our way home, we stopped in to see Grandpa at the shop. It was pretty busy in there. People were pushing their buggies around, buying big bags of dog food, cat litter and everything else. Grandpa was checking people out at a register. He doesn't usually work at a register, but as I said, it was pretty busy in there. A new lady was working at the other register. I had never seen her there before. Most of the people that work at the shop have been there a long time. I never saw her before, but that isn't that unusual. People come and go. It is a nice place to work, but they go back to school, get another job, and have other reasons to leave. So when Grandpa saw us, he finished with the customer at the register. He came over to Mom and me, smiling. It was nice to see him smiling. He hugged us. "It's good to see you ladies," he said, very jovially. "Let me introduce you to Ingrid." The new lady at the other register was Ingrid. "Ingrid just started with us yesterday," he continued. "I think she will be a real asset to the shop. A real animal lover and lots of experience in retail." That year at Thanksgiving, it was quiet at our house. It seemed weird at the table. Mom cooked all day, and the food was really good. Not of course like usual, but it was all there --- the turkey, the stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, all of it. Grandpa was quiet. Everyone, I know, was thinking about Grandma.  Then on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the phone in the kitchen rang. I answered.  "Hi, it's Grandpa," Grandpa said. "I'm at the shop. I just got married." To me this was surreal. It turns out that Ingrid had been a customer at the shop for a long time. She has this little dog, part chihuahua, and had been living in the apartments across the highway from the shop. So Ingrid and Grandpa had got married, and she and the chihuahua, Julio, moved into the house with Grandpa and the big dogs.  The weekend after, on Sunday when the shop is closed, Grandpa and Ingrid invited us all out to eat. Ingrid is a small lady and talks with an accent in a high, kind of chirpy voice. She comes from Norway. Ingrid came to this country with her husband she said, "as a bride." Her husband had died two years before this. Everyone had a nice time at the restaurant. Ingrid is nice. You have to give her that. She smiles and pays attention to every word anyone says. My little brothers, who are twins, talked a lot to her during lunch. She answered them like they were grown-ups. Grandpa seemed happy like his old self. After lunch when we were going back out to the cars, Grandpa and I walked together.  "You know, honey," he said, "Ingrid doesn't replace Grandma. Nobody could. Ingrid is a very good person. I love her, and she fills the space." On the way home in the car, I said, "Ingrid makes me think of a little lady leprechaun." Dad made a kind of gulping hiccup noise but he just kept driving. Mom smiled and said, "Maybe, sweetheart, but let's just keep that between us." So on Christmas Eve, Grandpa and Ingrid came to our house. The next day, Christmas, they were going to Ingrid's daughter's house. Her daughter lives upstate. Ingrid brought the dessert. There was a big tray of all different kinds of cookies that she had baked. Some of the kinds of cookies I had never seen before. It was not just your usual chocolate chip cookies. Ones that I especially liked were like little vanilla stripes with raspberry jelly down the middle. These particular cookies taste like butter. And there was this big bowl of rice pudding. My brothers and I do not really like rice pudding, but we of course were trying to be polite. So we each got a bowl of it. "This is something that we do in Norway every Christmas," Ingrid explained. "In the pudding, there is one almond. Whoever finds the almond in their bowl gets a prize!" Well I got the almond. Ingrid pulled my prize out from under the table. It was a kind of lipstick that changes to a color that is different and perfect for each person. I cannot tell you how much I love this lipstick. Well the twins, who are only eight years old, looked a little disappointed that they did not get the almond. For a minute there, they looked very disappointed. Then Ingrid, in her chirpy little voice said, "Since we don't know who will find the almond, there is a prize for everyone. One that they would like!" The twins each got a kaleidoscope, a kind of tube that you look into and see all kinds of different designs. Mom and Dad got a box of tiny colored glass Christmas ornaments in all different shapes. Grandpa got red suspenders. It was a very nice Christmas Eve. Peaceful and happy like it's supposed to be. It was much, much nicer than I thought it would be without Grandma. Even though Grandma is gone, every one of us, I think, is glad that Ingrid is here today.   , 

vasla2

The Shift

Was that blood? Everyone in the crowd had stopped cheering for the match. Joshua was on the floor, his face looked like something was wrong. Her son didn’t look like himself. There was an audible gasp in the stands. His teammates rushed towards him. Marcus was beckoning the coach to come. Her son’s best friend seemed frantic. Ada felt like her breath was starting to simmer. Her son didn’t look like himself. Her strong boy was in pain. “Coach! We need a medic!” Marcus screamed now. The coach came closer and when he saw Joshua he ran to the bleachers calling out to the medic. Ada started walking towards the field from her place in the stands. In a few moments, an ambulance was there and Joshua was being piled in. Ada got to them just in time. “Wait, wait! He’s my son!”, she jumped in before they closed the doors. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” “Ma’am it looks like his leg is completely broken. We don’t know the extent of the damage but it looks pretty bad. It also looks like he might have some internal bleeding.”, the medic responded. Internal bleeding?  “Joshua, Joshua, can you hear me?” Her son wasn’t responding. “I’m here baby. Please stay with me”. Dave was a principled man, but this morning he was contemplating the one thing he didn’t think he ever would. He was thinking of ending his marriage. He didn’t know how else to end the loneliness he was starting to feel on the inside. Nothing seemed like it used to and his wife didn’t seem to notice. Like any good woman, she took care of her family, loved him and tried to meet his needs, but he couldn’t explain it. He just didn’t care for her like he used to. Now he needed to do the needful. The boys were gone to soccer practice and it was just the two of them at home. There was not going to be a better than now. He stood up from his seat on their porch and decided it was going to have to be now or never. “Ada, can I talk to you?”, Dave said to her. “Yes baby, go ahead. Let me just get these chickens turned over.” “Ada you’ve been everything to me the last 17 years. We’ve built a solid life together and our boys are thriving, and I owe it largely to you. You’ve been our rock. You’ve loved us deeply and held us together in the toughest times. I know I can be quiet and distant sometimes and you’ve rode with me in spite of it. I just wanted to thank you for that.”, Dave said to his wife. “Dave, you know I’ll do anything for you and the kids”, Ada came closer to give her husband a hug. He wasn’t always so emotional so this was a welcome change. “Ada, I just… I want to say… I..I.. I think we should get a divorce.” Ada froze. Her hands slowly fell off from him. “I’m sorry, what?”, Ada responded, shocked. “You deserve better Ada, and I’m not happy. The kids are older now and…”, Dave paused. “I just want us to have a shot at true happiness.” Ada was stunned and completely silent. Dave didn’t know what to do. He walked away and retreated to the porch. “Ma’am, ma’am, you can’t be here.”, the doctor said to Ada. “Joshua! Joshua! I’m right here baby!” Her son was being wheeled into surgery. It was worse than they thought. They needed to stop the bleeding ASAP. She didn’t know how to describe the day she was having. Suffice it to say it was relentless. Everything was happening at once and she had no control whatsoever. She looked around, so much chaos as she stood in the emergency room, yet she never felt so alone. Should she call Dave? No, not right now. It was too much. She found an empty seat and just sat. Her face was a wet mess. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Did she make a mistake? Choosing all this? She loved her children to pieces but in moments like this she didn’t know if she made the right choice. If she chose the right life. It was weird but she was remembering her time in Newport. Southern California was always so beautiful this time of the year. Her youth, full of life and buoyant strength. Everything seemed so good. Yeah, she partied too. Rich girl, rich home, rich family. What more could a kid in Orange county ask for. Ah and Brad. He was the cream of her youth. They were going to get married. She was happy. But then there were the drugs. Southern California was everything, but the drugs. She didn’t know how to stop them in that environment and Brad didn’t help. Her parents had tried everything. It wasn’t until her third time in rehab did she meet the one who changed her life forever. Her roommate at the time, Marlin. Ah, Marlin. Marlin and her didn’t keep in touch much over the years but she would never forget Marlin. Marlin introduced her to Jesus. It was one night when she was about to give up. Her body had been in intense withdrawal for 48 hours and she didn’t think she would make it this time. Running into a wall kept getting more appealing by the hour. Marlin could sense the shift in her that night, so all Marlin did was talk. She wasn’t much of a talker but she just said, “you don’t have to do this alone”, and that was all Ada needed. She told her about Jesus and how He was helping her get better everyday. At that moment, Ada couldn’t explain it but it was like a balm came over her. Marlin told her how to speak to this Jesus and she spoke to him for the first time. All she knew was that when she surrendered her heart to him, it was like the symptoms completely disappeared. Jesus gave her the reprise she needed in that moment and every moment after. When she got out she didn’t struggle with drugs anymore. She was whole. She learned more about Him when she got out and found a bible believing church. It was in that church she met Dave. Her husband. In six months, Dave and her knew they were meant for something more. So on a faithful evening after bible study, he took a knee and proposed to her, and she said yes. That kicked off the rest of her life. As much as Southern California felt like a breeze and joy at the moment, she couldn’t forget what happened to her and where she was coming from. It hurts that nothing makes sense right now, but she wouldn't regret her life. Jesus has given her a new life, though part of it included Dave, it was still a life of salvation. In so many ways. Without it, she wouldn’t be free from drugs. Without it she wouldn’t have her boys. It was Missouri, it wasn’t Southern California. The shift from these two places that seem like two completely different time periods was a marriage proposal. But she would never trade where she was now for where she was coming from.

ry6poy

Edge of Evening

“Mommy, where’s daddy?” My little brother, Anthony asked which made everyone silent. He’s four and doesn’t know what’s happening around him but it makes me happy when he asks that because it means that he doesn’t consider Vincent as a father but it also reminds me that it’s because mom hasn’t told him that dad will never come back. She just changes the subject, instead of telling him which is very unfair for Anthony; imagine having to wait for your father to come home every night just to wake up on the couch the next morning. “Do you want some more broccolis?” Vincent asked, offering him some. We were having our first Christmas with them but it’s less fun and more awkward than what we’re used to, in short, the worst Christmas ever. The only thing that’s making it worst is Vincent and Wayne, his son and I hate them both. Reasons, one Wayne is annoying and has been teasing me nonstop since they moved here. Second, he broke my science project which I worked on for a month and mom didn’t even do anything about it. Third, he thinks that he’s good looking but really, he looks like the blob fish. Fourth, he steals my homework. I didn’t even accept his father to our family but he already accepted mom as his mother, probably because his father didn’t tell him what he did to his mother. Vincent’s not as worse but he’s a challenge. No matter how hard I try to avoid him, he still find a way to talk to me and I heard, not just heard, I know that he left his wife for my mom which is the same as what my mom did to my father which makes me think that they’re so perfect for each other. It would be better if they went back to their own house. “Anna, don’t play with your food,” mom said. “It’s disgusting,” I whispered in which Vincent heard. Traditions doesn’t need to be changed, they need to stay and be passed on from generations to generations. I just don’t understand why we need to change what we do just because they want to fit in our life. “Can we open the gifts now mommy?” Anthony asked. Opening our gifts after eating is one of the things we do, dad usually wakes up near noon since he really, really needs rest. “We’re going to open our gifts at tomorrow honey,” mom answered. She’s joking right? “But why? Daddy said that we should always open them after dinner.” Anthony asked. Awkward. “Come on Tony, let’s open our gifts,” I said, helping him get down the chair. I have been wanting to get off that chair since I sat on it. “Sit back down Anna,” mom said but I didn’t listen. I want to open my gifts and help Anthony open his. It’s not like I’m doing something bad, it’s just opening gifts and following our tradition. “Which one do you want to open first?” I asked when we got to the living room. We sat in front of our tree that has been up since last year, the one we decorated with dad. “This one,” he said, pointing at one tiny gift. I took the gift and looked at who it was for. “You can’t open this Tony. This one’s for me.” From dad. Is Vincent click baiting me? Or is this really from dad? “Open it then.” Do I really want to? “I’ll do it later,” I answered as I placed it in my pocket. Mom suddenly burst into the room with Vincent and Wayne behind her. “Anthony, go to your room. Your sister and I are going to talk,” she said and Tony did as he’s told. “You’ve been disrespecting me and your father since they got here,” she said, pointing at me. I don’t understand why she needs to scold me. “He’s not my father,” I said, looking back at her eyes. “Take that back.” I won’t. I only have one father. “No, he’s not my father. Don’t even try to push me to like him because I will never like a person like him “Apologize,” she said while Vincent and Wayne just stood behind her, silent. “No, I won’t apologize. I just said the truth.” It’s not like I’m lying. “You hurt his feelings so apologize.” How can I hurt his feelings? I just said what I had to say, something that they can’t seem to understand. “The both of you hurt his ex-wife’s feelings, did you apologize? As far as I know, you didn’t. I don’t even think she knew about your affair,” I said. “What? You cheated on mom?” Wayne asked, I knew it. “He didn’t even tell you. Well, that’s who your father is,” I said and Vincent slapped me. “Why did you hit her?” Anthony asked. He was peeking through the door of his room. I smiled at Vincent as he looked at Anthony in shock. “This is why I don’t and will never accept you as a father,” I stated and walked away, going into my room. I took out dad’s gift and opened it as soon as I got into my room. It was a necklace, a beautiful butterfly necklace. It was laying on a piece of paper, a note. ‘Dear Anna, I know you’re reading this now that I’m gone. I wrote this as soon as I knew that I won’t be with you for long. That butterfly necklace used to be your grandma’s. I wanted to give it to you when you’re 19 but that probably won’t happen. I’m sorry if I’m leaving you so early, I’m sorry for everything. I was hoping to see you grow up into a beautiful young woman but I know I won’t last long. I love you; tell Anthony that I love him too and that I will miss you both. I will always be by your side, no matter what.’ Dad, why did you have to leave? Why did you have to die?

hu4m32

Stepmother

December 20th, 2017 Christmas is approaching, but for the second time in my twenty years, I am not looking forward to it. The first time was when I was seventeen, right after my parents split. It was in the summer, but I had not yet gotten over it by Christmas, and I spent the holiday crying into my pillow. This year, I will be spending the happy holiday with my father and his unknown bride. I’ve never met the woman that is now my stepmother. Father was engaged almost before I knew he had been dating, and I told him that I was taking important exams on the day of the wedding and couldn’t attend. This, in fact, was true. I was taking exams. But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t show. After my parents divorced, I wasn’t expecting either to remarry. My father had been forty when I was born, my mom thirty-six, and had been married for eleven years. So when I was seventeen, I figured my parents had been out of the dating pool for too long, and were too old, to ever remarry. Obviously, I was wrong. My stepmother has been married before as well, but I’m tired now. I’ll explain tomorrow. December 21st, 2017 When Father explained my stepmother’s history a couple of days ago on the phone (by the way, her name is Peggy Brown, now Peggy Anders) I didn’t believe him. Apparently, she has been married four times previously. The first time, she was twenty, and the man was a cashier at the general store in their small town. Their marriage was very happy for eight years, but right after Christmas, tragedy struck. The husband was in a terrible car accident, and died. Peggy, now the mother of a young child, was heartbroken, and Father said she’s been a little odd ever since. Despite losing her husband, Peggy married two years later. I heard she is a little simple, and especially after her first husband’s death, she has been unable to handle a job. This time, she married a slightly older doctor. He ended up getting sick and dying seven years later, right around Christmas time. After this, a pattern began to appear. About one year after that, she married a lawyer, and was happy for five years, until he got sick on Christmas and died in early January. Her final husband was the manager of a company, and died eight years after marrying her, actually on Christmas Day. By this time, she was fifty-five, and had one grown daughter. That was two years ago. Now, she is married to my father, a very successful businessman. I asked dad if he wasn’t a little concerned, marrying a woman who had four previous husbands that all died during the Christmas season. Maybe she was cursed. “Lauren!” he scolded. “She is a wonderful lady, and I love her dearly. I don’t want to hear any more nonsense from you.” So I dropped the topic, and we began discussing my schoolwork. And now I will be spending the most wonderful time of the year with my father and his crazy, possibly cursed new wife. December 23, 2017 I’m currently on the plane going to my father’s big house (really, it’s a mansion) in California. I’ll grab something to eat at the airport, then Father will pick me up and take me to his home to sleep. Peggy, my stepmother, will be asleep by the time I make it to the house. Apparently, she goes to bed early. Before I boarded the plane, I received another call from Father. “Your new mother has some rather, well, strange Christmas traditions. Margo, her daughter, will fill you in the day after you arrive.” Oh boy. December 24, 2017 Today was very interesting. I awakened to the smell of fast food breakfasts. Now, I found this strange. My mother was a firm believer in home-cooked meals, and even though my father could have afforded a cook, she preferred to prepare the meals herself. After she was gone, my father still wasn’t a fan of restaurant food, and hired a chef (which I found rather ironic). We always had big, homemade meals each Christmas and Christmas Eve, save that one other difficult Christmas. Apparently, the chef had been fired. I headed over to the dining room. A lady I assumed was Margo, probably in her early thirties, smiled at me. I didn’t see Father or the older lady I imagine will be my stepmother. “Mother was very tired this morning. She usually is this time of year. Your father is eating in their room. How are you feeling this morning?” A lump rose in my throat at the reminder that her mother was now my father’s wife, not my mother. At least I was correct in assuming she was Margo. I sat down and told her I was feeling fine, and we chatted a bit. Eventually, I mentioned that my father told me her mother had some interesting Christmas traditions. She looked rather sad as she began to speak. “I mentioned before that Mother is usually pretty tired around Christmas. She is also pretty depressed. I think this is because of all of the deaths.” She paused. “Do you know about those?” I nodded, and she continued. “Christmas, I think, has been ruined for her ever since her first husband died. Now, she doesn't like anything that makes her think of the holiday. She won’t even go shopping after Thanksgiving. So, we try to celebrate accordingly. We only eat turkey and ham dinners. We only decorate on the top level, because she is usually too exhausted to travel to the third floor. We eat ice cream often.” I found this shocking. And Margo didn’t stop. She went on and on, about how they don’t give gifts, don't sing carols, and even put plastic palm trees in the front yard. I was horrified. My face must have been showing what I was thinking, because Margo quickly stopped talking about their “Christmas” traditions and instead started going on about how sweet her mother was, and how she is so excited to meet me, and how she really wants to make me feel at home. But all I could think was how messed up this lady will be. That was when she came in. Still in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, I was struck by how frail she looked. I knew she was in her late fifties, but she actually looked like she was in her seventies. She had a pleasantly plump body, with golden brown eyes, thin, light pink lips, and grey hair hanging to her shoulders that was curly to the point of frizziness. In the spacious, old fashioned dining room, she looked exactly like the rich, sweet grandma you would find in the pictures of a children’s book. “Good morning, dears,” she said to both of us, giving us a warm smile. Then she turned toward me. “Why, you must be Lauren!” I replied, saying yes, I am in fact Lauren, and we launched into a conversation. I realized that Margo wasn’t actually lying. My stepmother seemed genuinely interested in me, and seems to really want me to feel welcome. I discovered we both loved flowers, the color pink, pineapple cake, and horses (all of which Father dislikes). She seemed really sweet, but she did look exhausted. I no longer feel that she is evil or cursed. In fact, I feel very sorry for her. My father showed up, and all four of us spent an enjoyable day getting to know each other better and sharing stories from the past. Things would be a little awkward every time Father or I mentioned my mother, or every time Margo or Peggy mentioned one of Peggy’s past husbands, but besides that, we had a good time. However, I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong about not celebrating Christmas. We had all been very careful not to mention the holiday around Peggy. Before dinner, I went up to the third floor. I was immediately relieved to be surrounded by all the Christmas decorations of my childhood. I sat up there for a little while, thinking about how it is too bad that Peggy couldn’t enjoy the pleasures of Christmas. That was when the idea hit me. Perhaps Peggy doesn’t like Christmas because no one has exposed her to it. Perhaps Margo and everyone has assumed she wouldn’t like to celebrate it after the deaths, and therefore aren’t trying to celebrate. Maybe all she needs is a little reminder of how to have a Christmas. At dinner, I tried to bring up the topic of my favorite holiday. I ignored all the warning looks Margo gave me, and instead kept making remarks like, “I think red and green go together very well, don’t you?” and “I love the haunting tone of Carol of the Bells. It’s my favorite Christmas song.” By the end of the meal, Margo looked intensely worried, Peggy seemed more tired than ever, and my father seemed thoughtful. After Peggy went to bed, Margo came over to me and scolded me on causing Peggy so much pain. She seemed genuinely concerned about something, most likely her mother’s mental health. After she finished with me, my father came over. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I think it might be a good idea. I’ll see how it affects Peggy, then I might help.” Now that I have my father on board with the idea, I don’t really care what Margo says. When she sees how much better Peggy seems, she’ll help too. One last thought before I finish for tonight. We had turkey for dinner, with pumpkin pie for dessert. Margo didn’t have pie. She’s on a weight loss program. December 25th, 2017 (Christmas!!!) I arose early this morning with a wonderful joy in my heart, until the events from the past couple of weeks surfaced in my memory. I walked into the dining room, the sight greeting me very similar to yesterday's. Margo was alone in the room, a bag of fast food next to her. “Lauren!” She said with a very worried voice and expression. “Please, for your own good and Peggy’s, don’t mention Christmas again.” I gave a small shrug, surprised by the urgency in her tone, and quickly changed the subject. We talked about her favorite fast food places for a while, and then sat in silence until Peggy and Father arrived. Despite Margo’s warning, I persistently stayed on the topic of Christmas. My father gave me an encouraging smile now and then. Still, Peggy seemed only distressed by the subject. Eventually, she said she had to go into the kitchen. “I decided to make a special treat for tonight’s dinner!” she said, almost cheerfully. Margo smiled and told my father and me how much her mother loved to bake, but the entire time, I couldn’t help but notice something was off in her face. I decided it wasn’t a big deal, and soon, the whole family began to talk the same way we did yesterday. The only difference was that I began telling Christmas stories as well, and that soon changed the overall mood so that I quickly shut up and changed the subject. Father wasn’t helpful with my endeavor, but he at least didn’t shoot me dirty looks the entire time. Eventually, I began to get bored, so I excused myself and went to my room to write this all down. If anything exciting happens during or after dinner, I’ll include another entry for today. December 25th, 2017 (later) I’m not feeling well. I’ve vomited a couple of times tonight, and my stomach hurts horribly. I feel pretty tired. Overall, I am more miserable than I’d ever imagined on Christmas Day. The meal was fairly uneventful. I brought Christmas up again. My father stayed silent. Margo stared at me. I feel I am becoming rather boring, reporting the same things over and over again. Peggy seemed tired, but perked up a little when she brought out the treat she mentioned earlier. She had made pineapple cake, that dessert we both loved. I felt bad when she had to go to bed before she ate a piece. I hope I hadn’t made her feel too bad during the day. The pain is becoming too much to continue. I hope sleep will make it better. Good night. December 26th, 2017 I stayed in bed all day today. I tried to get up to go to breakfast, but Peggy quickly ushered me back to bed. She was up rather early today. It turns out, she is wonderful when someone is sick. She fed me every meal, and got me everything I could ever want (besides things Christmas related). For the time, I don’t really feel like continuing my Christmas mission. Margo visited me. She now seems more worried than ever. She asked how I was doing, and we talked for a little while, but she seemed a little distracted. I only just realized- maybe she is concerned her mother is cursed as well. Peggy is coming in with ham, mashed potatoes, and a large slice of pineapple cake to make me feel better. Talk to you soon. December 28th, 2017 Everything was the same as a couple of days ago. I’m not feeling better. I’m now confused sometimes and stiff. My breath tastes funny, and my skin seems pretty messed up too. We think we might call a doctor soon. My only comfort is pineapple cake and a wonderful stepmother. December 31st, 2017 I’m going to miss the New Year. I am too tired to type. January 1st, 2018 I know I said I am too tired now, but I must tell someone what happened before it is too late. I asked Peggy for medicine after breakfast. She said she didn’t have any. The pain was awful, though, so I crawled from bed in search of a pain killer. This wasn’t a good idea, but my brain is not working too well lately. I went to the master bathroom to search through the medicine cabinets. I found mints in Father’s and toothpaste in Peggy’s. I knew Margo’s bedroom was on the second floor, but I couldn’t climb stairs. So, I desperately went to the kitchen. The pain was unbearable now. I violently vomited on the floor, then began to search through the cabinets. Most were empty, but I found some cooking supplies. I was about to give up, but in the last cabinet way in the corner, I found a bunch of large bottles. Bingo. I quickly realized that the bottles weren’t medicine, or any medicine I recognized. They had handmade labels, with complicated names, brief descriptions, and in some cases, the names of men. One in particular stood out to me though, one closest to the door. Arsenic No taste or smell Moderately fast Lauren Anders Father, I emailed you this journal. Please, see this and try to call the police. If there is no evidence left, just try to save yourself. It is too late for me. While staring at the bottles, my stepmother found me and firmly guided me back to my room. “You don’t need to be walking in the state you’re in.” She continued talking, but I was confused again, so I could only catch pieces of what she was saying about me, husbands, our efforts, something unbearable, and how much her first husband loved Christmas. After she got me in bed, she went and grabbed me lunch. I told her I couldn’t swallow, but she managed to force down cold ham and, for some reason, two extra large pieces of pineapple cake. And it will be the last thing I’ll ever eat.

bg8wbl

The problem

But the problem lay no so much in the problem itself,he felt about his depression,it was that he was therefore depressing towards himself and all those around him.Sulking and raving about every corner of the rooms,sucking the life out of every happy moment ,projecting an aura of negative energy in a kind of feng -shui as as he continues to sulk and rave in the corners of his rooms.His friends tried to include as best they could,but this made him more depressed ,because they were the ones making the effort to drag this morbid behaviour sour less much of his own little world,when it was him who should have been making the effort.Why should they have to put up with the effort to having to put up with him.,eventually they would give up the ghost,that they no longer felt him burden them,he would arrive home to contemplate the way no longer felt left out,out of touch,disconnected,and misunderstood .Humour used to be a good mechanism ,defensive,but as soon as he had become aware it of being defensive mechanism he no longer felt comfortable using it. Better to face the facts that use a deflective irony .but with nothing to defect.,and acute awareness that an honesty about troubles would only be a burden upon the clearly and content people around him,he could only remain gravely silent and furrowed brow christening his chastity . And so he would remain. as he opened his door a last time to head for a walk,did not care for help with each passing friend ,he wanted to go and find a hobby to occupy him,he headed to a library and started to read a book and slowly and slowly he manages to self absorb himself in the book ,it was a crime murder story ,when finished the book he went out to the local mini street library and hoadsca thousands of crime books ,and shut himself in his home for days and no site or sound of from this eccentric depressed man and what did he having all crime murder story books all over his home,well days went by and all of a sudden loud shooting at midnight and people were running ,and screaming,and in full view of the early day hour police noticed four people hanging on a several lined lamp post s and the police shocked at who did this gruesome murder. .no one knew s the depressed mAn hid a good cover up,saying he had been reading in his home all night and would catch up on sleep through day light hours,.and weeks passed and more shooting at midnight as day early hours more bodies found hanging on lamp posts and them police warning every one in the town to be careful and on alert if happen to be out after midnight ,but each mid night the streets all quiet,no one outside all night and have heard no shooting at all .weeks and months went by as the depressed man no where in town found by his so called friends and his home left empty.people all wonder if he had moved out of town and what else or what the shooting came about of the killer hanging the bodies on lamp posts ,and all of a sudden friend of friend of the clinically depressed man had wrote his own crime novel and lived to his new name as a crime writer for many more books he.d written ,but still clearly not socialable with new people around and continued to seclude himself his new mansion home ..well this man now old and planned to die in his new mansion home ,no not suicide by just old age and with reading his novels of crime he.d written as a sort of his legacy.so it may be,,and what of the horrific crime of unsolved murderdpeople hanging on lamp posts and no suspects around ,and sio be it may be another horrifying crime of murder by shooting to be left unsolved,..well such is life who ever committed this shoot out and hung the dead bodies alll on street ;amp posts,and slowly the old depressed man now died om his own in his mansion and people around that town had all fled else where to live for for of more shooting at midnight and afraid of being hung dead on the street lamp posts .so now the whole town actually turned into a real ghost town for many many years,.and who knows when the town would re build into a much new town for a decent life of the new people to come to live there.maybe in the future and sudden a rows of take out shops and cafes had been newly built around the old town now a new town of the future and newly residents .all with the same problem as the first clinically depressed man who turned author based and died a recluse in his mansion home ,now the newly residents and the coffee shops with more high just coffee crowd and the shooting never stopped of the newly town re built and newly residents with same issues but no police could stop this newly generation of the 21st century future years, and so be it there ,and crime related there as the same as long years ago and more normal people having to flee the evil of the same old newly built town.such is there lives and more of a burdening to carry off there shoulders. the end , may this story conclude onto a better chapter of another new life.and of course no other murder crime left unsolved as no managed a good cover ups like the famous depressed author turned novelist which was his way of covering up the hanging of bodies on those street lamp post and no new gangs had thought of this part of shooting and the hung of bodies on the street lamp posts,so old loner and recluse depressed man wemt to die in pewace in his mansion home with his crime doing left forever unsolved,. well the ending had come.

gdpuzb

Nana

Mary looked down at the recipe card in front of her. Millimeters away was a broken glass, and a pool of water she didn’t have enough energy to clean up. The red ink was smudged. The writing was illegible. A tear rolled down her cheek when she remembered just one Christmas ago, her mother asking for a pen. It had taken her a while to find one. She shuffled through her mothers desk, in her purse, even asked one of the caretakers if they had one to spare. Alas there was no pen to be found. Not until Mary's daughter Julia, who could not even walk yet, held out something in her squishy little hand. A sparkly red gel pen. Then Nana, her mom, wrote down every last step of her favourite cookie recipe. One that had been passed down generation by generation. Nana took her frail and wrinkly hand that had in days past baked thousands of cookies, and wrapped it around Mary’s. She tucked the card into her palm. “Bake cookies for my grandaughter, Mary, because I’m afraid I won’t be around long enough to make them for her myself,” It had been a year since she lost her mother, but it still brought a wave of grief. After all, the only stable person in her life had been her mother. Her entire life they had not gone more than a month without seeing each other. No more than a day without calling. It felt as if a great big hole had been scooped out of her life. One she couldn’t lay her eyes on but was always there in the back of her head. Peering over her shoulder. Last season, her daughter, Julia had been too young to eat the cookies. Seeing the recipe card brought too many emotions for Mary to make them for herself. Now looking at the ruined card in front of her, she wished she had baked the cookies so many times she could whirl up a batch in a matter of minutes, just like Nana could. It had been so long she could not even remember the taste. Mary slid down onto the ground. She did not see how she could fix this. She wished, not for the first time that she had a time machine, so she could stop herself from pouring the glass. Far back in her memory she remembered making the cookies with her mom. There were a lot of kids in their house. But Mary was the only one that helped with the cookies. It was her special job. One time Nana leaned down in their farmhouse kitchen and whispered in her ear. “Mary, you're the one who has the touch, to make cookies that warm the heart like melted gold through the veins.” So she stood up and grabbed a bowl. After the first few steps it started to come back. She remembered to add this and stir that and stop when it was mixed in, and not to mix anymore because then they would be too tough. Still, she was missing something. She tasted the batter and knew there was a hole. For a while she stared at the card on the counter. It was maddening how just hours ago she could have checked on the card. Gold sunlight beamed through the windows. Mary had an idea and held the card up to the light. Perhaps it was Nana, or god himself, but in the light she could make out one word. Nutmeg And that was it. That was what she was missing. She stirred it in and put them in the oven for exactly eleven minutes. They would be a little soft but if she left a crack in the door and turned off the heat for another four minutes they would cook to perfection. She had a smile on her face. Not one that was forced, or that someone put there. For the first time in a year, she was truly content. The doorbell rang, hours later and Mary invited her siblings into her house. One year to the date she lost the most important person in her life. She knew she wasn’t the only one that had been thinking about it. Everyone was abit somber as they entered in from the snow outside. Julia ran up and grabbed her legs. Mary hefted her up onto her hip and showed everyone inside. It was a long night of talking. The girls sipped politely on wine and the boys, rather less politely on their gin. After they ate Mary brought out a tray. She set it down nervously and they all took one. It wasn’t until Danny looked at her over his glass that she knew she’d done a good job. Everyone talked around them, but did not hear as he said directly to her. “Exactly like I remember,” and nodded his head before going back to observing. Danny did not like to talk a lot. But when he did, it was always at a good time and needed to be heard. It was him who got the family through last december as a whole. Mary reached over and picked a cookie off the top and handed it to Julia. She lifted the cookie to her mouth and took a big chomp. It was hard to know what to expect from a three year old, so Mary held her breath as she chewed. Then Julia puffed up her chest and announced to the whole room, “These are the best damn cookies I’ve ever had,” It was one of those moments as a mother you both want to scold and laugh. Mary chose to do the latter. “She must have been around the boy’s too much today!” And the room erupted into laughter. For the first time in a year, Mary felt the hole fill and her shoulders ease. It was a different kind of happiness. Content that her world would never be the same, but knowing it could still be good. And when she saw her daughter, who had so rudely sworn in front of their company, her heart swelled. Somehow, Nana helped her remember the recipe. She made sure her granddaughter tasted what she was most proud of. Looking around the room at all of the people gathered, Mary also knew that she brought them together. Because, perhaps more than anything Nana valued Family. She valued those that catch us when we fall.

mx9452

Sweet and Sour

Once, there was these two rival bakeries. One was ran by a woman, and the other by a man. They were middle-aged people with great taste in treats. The woman's name was Betsy Miracle and the man's name was Greg Harmony. They both lived in Fairbanks, Alaska. Their bakeries were just three blocks away from each other. One day, all the bakeries in Fairbanks got an invitation to an annual holiday festival. They both thought they would bake treats for the festival, since Christmas day was only four days away. The invitation stated that the annual holiday festival will be held tomorrow afternoon at 3:20. The next morning, Greg and Betsy got up very early to start baking. Betsy started baking holiday cookies and gingerbread women and men. Greg started baking holiday cupcakes and whipped up some eggnog. They both finished baking everything at 2:00. They then packed up everything and headed back home to start getting ready. Betsy was stuck in traffic. And she got stuck right next to Greg. Once they both saw each other, they decided to roll down their windows. "Greg.." said Betsy, grumpily. "Betsy..." said Greg, grumpily. Greg was the first one to smell Betsy's treats. "Did you make..treats?" Greg asked. "Yes, I did indeed." Betsy said proudly. "Oh, well.. Um..I um.. I made treats, too!" said Greg. Betsy sniffed the air. "Well, I can smell it. And it smells horrible! I hope you know I'm going to beat you because I have the best treats ever! And maybe next time you can make your treats smell better. Oh, wait! There won't be a next time! Because you'll be shut down and I'll be the best baker ever!" Betsy said with such confidence. The traffic light then turned green and everybody started going back home. When Betsy and Greg both got home, they rushed to the bathroom and took a warm shower. Once they both got out they started getting ready. They both got out of the house at 3:15. They rushed to the festival and got there just in time at 3:20. They started setting up their own booths on either side of the festival, of course. People started flooding in to the festival with their kids and family. They started by getting treats from both Greg and Betsy. One person went over to Greg's booth and then over to Betsy's. The customer said "Hi! I just tasted Mr. Harmony's treats on the other side of the festival. Now I'm trying yours! To see which one is better." Betsy asked "Oh, okay.. Well, what would you like today? I have gingerbread men and women, holiday cookies, and caramel apples!" The customer was deciding what to buy. "I'll have... a caramel apple please! Are there any drinks?" Betsy said " One caramel apple coming up! But we don't have any drinks. Sorry. But there is a concession stand over there!" She pointed to the concession stand next to the apple bobbing activity. She started to get the caramel apple and wrapped it in a festive caramel apple wrapping paper. "Thank you!" said the customer. "Of course! That'll be one dollar please." said Betsy smiling. The customer paid and then left, heading over to the concession stand. On the other hand, Greg's booth was going well. He had customers lining up to buy his cupcakes. Time flew by and it was already 5:00. Betsy and Greg started to clean up their booth and started packing it up. Then, someone came out of the Security's Room and announced on a mega-phone that there was going to be a movie in the movie area, and wanted everyone to start going there to watch Polar Express. Greg and Betsy wanted to see the movie so they started hurrying up. The movie would be starting at 5:19 and it was already 5:12. They had 6 more minutes and a lot more to pack up. Once it hit 5:19 exactly, they could hear the movie starting. Betsy ran first to the movie area. It was a long run and then Greg had started running to the movie area. The movie was in the middle of the festival and Greg and Betsy were on opposite sides. So, when they both met in the middle they hadn't been watching in front of them, and they bumped into each other. Betsy had fell down while Greg stumbled back a little. Betsy said "Ow! Watch it, Gregory!" in a painful voice. Greg said "Oh, sorry Betsy. I didn't see you there." He held out a hand to help Betsy up. "It's okay. I wasn't watching, either." She grabbed Greg's hand and felt a spark. "Did..Did you feel that? It was like an electric spark.." Greg lifted Betsy up. "Yeah, I did feel that." Both of their hearts started beating fast. Betsy said "We'd better get going. We don't wanna miss any more of the movie. Do you wanna walk with me?" Greg nodded. "Sure, Betsy." As they walked, they started to have form a conversation. "So, Greg. Um.. about that spark.." Greg turned his head to Betsy. "Yeah, it was kinda weird. It felt like those....love..sparks..." Betsy agreed. "Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! It's weird that we have a lot in common." "Yeah." said Greg. The wind gushed by them. Betsy got goosebumps. "Wow, it's very cold out here. I should've dressed warmly. After all, I am only wearing jeans, a blue T-Shirt and a cardigan." Greg decided to lend her his jacket. He took it off and gave it to her. "Here, have my jacket. I don't need it anyways. I'm always warm." "Oh, wow. Thanks, Greg. You're really sweet." Betsy smiled. They started walking closer and closer together. Once they were close where they couldn't get closer, their hands started touching. Then they started holding hands. Both of them smiled. They walked in silence all the way to the movie, enjoying their bond. Once they got to the movie, they got a seat in the back. It was a good view. They could see the movie well. Their hands were still bonded together. Nothing could break it. At the end of the movie, Greg did something really bold. "Betsy Miracle, even thought we just started bonding together, I liked it. And I love you. So, I'm asking you to be my girlfriend. We could put our bakeries together and make one giant one. With my baking and your baking, we'll be inseparable. Everyone will love our treats. And we'll love each other. So, will you be my girlfriend?" Everyone stopped to look at this wonderful sight. Betsy started tearing up. "Oh, Greg! I'd thought you'd never ask! Yes! I'll be your girlfriend!" Everyone started clapping and cheering. They ended up chanting "Greg and Betsy!!" They kissed and lived happily ever after...

twkeq7

The Company

It was ten days before Christmas, the temps dropped and the sky was dark and uninviting as Kelly rushed out the door to go to work, her coffee canister in hand. She got into her car, an old Chevy that needed tons of work but she just couldnt afford it right now, her cashier job at Walmart didnt give her enough pay, she barely made ends meet. Her trailer also needed work, but sigh, that took some extra money too. "I know mom, the bills are piling in, i got my hours cut and i am doing the best i can." Kelly told Margaret, her mom who lived back in Boston with her big shot boyfriend Max Engels. Kelly didnt really like Max at all, who was callous and flirted with her behind her mother's back when she wasnt looking, and he was entitled!! Ugg, Kelly had never told Margaret about it either, Maggie would only scoff angrily at her and tell her what a little slut she was being. Maggie had been dating Max, a big slightly overweight clerk who worked for a medical billing company, and Kelly found him repulsive. "No mom, i dont want to move back there to save money, i like my independance, and the RV is fine, its warm enough and comfy." she thought not to tell her about the leak on the roof, the draft that came in near the bed, always giving her a sore throat in the morning even though she huddled under her comforter. Kelly would have loved to get herself a nice little bungalow in town, Providence would have been a nicer choice - the little shops and the people were so pleasant since tourists flocked there every summer to enjoy the seaside. "Ok mom i promise i will call you on the weekend, maybe come for Christmas if i can get the time off work. We are open until six pm Christmas Eve." Kelly sighed tiredly placing her cell phone into her purse as she started the car now, taking the 30 minute drive to the store. Kelly got the job at Walmart after she'd finally gotten the courage to leave her mom, after Max had flirted with her when Maggie was in the shower. The memory never faded, Kelly shivered with rage more than fear now, as snow began to fall heavily when she pulled into the lot of the town's only Walmart, which was always busy. She ran into the store, punched in her arrival on the clock, and went to check the roster to see which cash she was going to be at for the next 9 hours, the holidays offered extra time and she took advantage of that. "Kelly, Rossaland wants to see you in her office right now." Leona, her manager said to her abrubtly as she was about to go to the cash. "Ok, any reason why?" She conversed, hoping it was not anything serious, she needed her job, she knew a few of the other staff had gotten laid off last week due to poor performance records. Working for Walmart was not for everyone, it was a fast paced job that required a lot of energy. "Not sure she just asked me to tell you to go see her." Leona answered back huffing off to her station. Kelly went to the back of the stock area and knocked twice before entering the manager's office. Rossalind was bent over papers on her small shabby desk. "Hi Kelly have a seat." Rossaland motioned for her to sit at the chair in front of her. Kelly forced a tense smile but could feel her forehead warming with sweat from the anxiety in her stomach, she just didnt need to get laid off right now, she silently said a prayer. "Ok, i have been going over your record, you have been here for four years, your work performance is great, you get along well with your co-workers, and always punctual." Rosaland beamed at her, Kelly was a pretty young lady, red hair and big blue doe eyes, her face dusted with freckles, the girl next door, she mused at her employee. "I am going to make you an offer, you can think about things, accept or refuse and stay where you are in your present cashier position." Rossalind studied her. Kelly was bright, and she have a degree from a community college in business. That showed ambition on her part. Rosallind knew Kelly lived in the RV park full time, wondering if she liked it or would rather live in Providence. "I have an assistant manager opening coming up, its hard work, you will have to train of course, and a probationary period would be offered, it's more money of course for you, and i think you would be suitable for the area proposed. We need a retail assistant manager in the ladies clothing area - it's busy, and the responsibilities can be overwhelming, plus you have to take care of the employee's...." Rossalind went on to describe the duties, and she handed Kelly the sheets for her to read. "So, the bottom line is, the job is yours for the taking." ......Kelly drove home from her last shift that night, the snow falling heavily now, her scratchy old car radio playing some Christmas songs, and all Kelly could do was smile from ear to ear, - and was thinking about her new life ahead, the one she had dreamed about since she got to Providence. 'I will never ever go back to that house again and have to deal with him.' she said to the snow outside, and pulled into the lot of her RV - and she thought about moving to Providence, the commute would be longer of course, more like a 40 minute drive to the store, but that was okay, she didnt care about that. Now could get out, and she worked hard for it. "Are you serious kiddo, that's great, i am so proud of you." Maggie told her, after she had dinner and called her mom on her cell phone. "Thanks mom. I decided to take the offer, i can get out of here, get a new car or get this one fixed." she reported back. Maggie hung up the phone and was now thinking of that day, back in Boston - Max had cornered her against the fridge door. "Stop it, leave me alone." She'd cried, angered as he began to paw her with his grubby sweaty hands and the bitten nails. Ugg, he was a pig, through and through. Her mother wanst young anymore, she was in her fifties now, had gained weight, her hair greying from time and age. She thought the world of Max though, he had moved in and helped pay the bills, Boston was not a "cheap" city to live in, and their two bedroom flat had a fireplace. The damp winters was enough to make anyone's bones ache from the chill on a November morning, let alone January. "I can't tell mom about him, she would not believe me anyway." Kelly shook herself, always the idea of telling her mom what he did to her that day was there for the thought, but her instinct told her otherwise, she did not want to hurt Maggie. And now, she had a new position at the store, she could move on, and if Max did something to someone else, well then it wouldnt be her fault. But Kelly didnt want that to happen to anyone else either, what if Max did it to someone outside that they didnt know, what if he were a sadistic rapist or a stalker? Kelly had to tell her mother, she had to risk whatever the outcome was, because she knew she could not live with herself if Max struck, he was evil through and through, Kelly sighed, put her head in her hands tiredly, and picked up her cell phone.......Christmas was coming.

orylvf

Happily Every After

Happily Ever After Susan W. Hudson Becky and Anna were sitting at Anna’s kitchen table. Anna had poured them both a glass of Chardonnay as she braced herself. She knew Becky was going to share something dreadful. Becky looked like she had not slept in days; tears filled her bright blue eyes and spilled over onto her favorite shirt, which matched them. Her normally beautifully coiffed blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was just one deep pool of loneliness and close to hysteria. “I just can’t go on. I have to tell someone,” Becky gurgled and huffed through a cavalcade of tears. “I think Steven has been cheating on me with someone at his law firm.” Anna grabbed her hand and held it tight. She had always lived in fear of this. It was a plague that relentlessly bored holes into the brains of the girls who married their high school sweethearts and struggled to get the husbands through law school or medical school, only to be left in the dust when the established professional rode off into the sunset with someone he found more desirable. Becky and Anna and their husbands/coaches met in the hospital maternity ward. Both couples were in hard labor and pretty grumpy. Becky’s son was born about two minutes before Anna’s. In after-care and in nursing classes Becky and Anna became the best of friends. Becky, fair-skinned, blonde, and blue-eyed had married her high school sweetheart, Steven. Anna, olive-skinned with luscious dark brown hair and smoldering big brown eyes married her high school sweetheart, Brian. Steven did well at law school, and though he and Becky struggled to make ends meet at first, he worked his way up to partner at a prestigious law firm. Brian went to medical school, and though he and Anna also struggled for several years, he established himself as a reputable pediatrician quickly. Becky and Anna developed a close friendship with a small circle of friends. Five years after the birth of their boys, they each added a baby girl to their family within days of each other. They had joint birthday parties and shared other holidays together. They founded a cookie exchange for the winter holidays. It was an immediate hit and flourished over the years. After Becky’s breakdown, Anna came up with an idea. Why not extend the cookie exchange to Steven’s law practice and see if they would subtly sniff out the “other woman.” Becky agreed to this plan, and they began to act on their strategy. The firm was still small, and it would not add that much to their preparations. Anna and Brian owned the larger and most recently refurbished home, so that would be the location. They got a list from Steven and hand-printed invitations to his partners and staff and their spouses. Steven hand-delivered them and they responded with a resounding yes. Betsy and Anna put on the Ritz. They dug out all the silver, crystal, and fine china. They cleaned and scrubbed. The work kept Becky’s mind occupied. They decorated a huge tree in Anna’s living room and set up huge tables to display all the creations. The evening came. “Ok. You are the Commander in Chief of greeting, distributing name tags, and listening in on the gossip,” Anna told Becky. “Our goal is finding out who is who, and who’s doing who.” They had sent out little cards with their invitations asking anyone who wanted to share their recipe. If it contained a secret ingredient, of course, he or she could leave that out. The evening glittered on. The holiday music played over and over. The lights blinked against all the silver and gold holiday clothing. Drinks flowed and were heartily consumed. All was well. Lots of chitter-chatter ensued. Neither Becky nor Anna heard anything that gave them the clue they were seeking. Becky and Anna had prepared a huge array of heavy hors d’oeuvres for their guests to combat their sugar highs from the cookies. While everyone was indulging in the food and drinks, Becky and Anna were tabulating the results of the vote. They had set up a voting station to decide whose cookie was the winner. Once again, Becky’s Ho Ho surprise cookies won. They collected all the recipes and promised everyone another competition to come soon. Becky did not rejoice in her victory. She had not gotten the information she was so desperately seeking. All the guests left. Steven and Brian were having an in-depth discussion in the living room. Anna called Becky into the kitchen. “Becky, I can’t take it anymore. I have to tell you, it’s me. Steven and I have been in love for over ten years. We only recently consummated our love. We held off because of the children. I am so sorry, but I can’t go on with our secret.” Becky was perfectly still for one whole minute. Her eyes were locked on Anna’s. They turned from bright blue to steely gray. Finally, she stood up and turned around as if to leave. The party was over. Steven walked in just in time to see Becky slam her right fist into Anna’s left jaw. Steven went to Anna. Becky was a petite woman, but she put all of her angst into that punch. Anna knew immediately that her jaw was broken. Steven took Anna to the hospital. Brian took Becky home, gave her a sedative, and settled her into bed for the night. She was still upset, but very cooperative. Brian went home to wait. Steven called to say that Anna had been admitted to the hospital and was being prepped for surgery the next day. “I’ll be there,” Brian sighed. The next day, Becky took all of Steven’s belongings and dumped them on the front lawn with a sign screaming “FREE.” She had the locks changed on the doors and talked to her children about the future. Becky learned through “the grapevine” that Anna came through her surgery just fine, but would need more surgeries to fully restore her jaw. Steven grabbed as much as he could from the “free” stuff on the lawn. The children were absolutely mute. After months of negotiation, quarrels, name-calling and attorney fees, Becky and Steven finally reached an agreement and divorced. Their children were grown and went off to college. Becky went back to college to finish her degree, and then law school to do what she had always wanted. Brian caved and gave Anna a divorce quickly. Their settlement was amicable. Brian soon married another doctor in his field. Anna floated like a leaf in the wind. She watched the children go off to college and their new lives. She never fully recovered and was always embarrassed by the way her face healed. None of them lived happily ever after. .

hnmymb

This Too, Is Holy

The year I noticed wrinkles sprouting from the corners of my eyes, I realized I had to know the recipe to Thatha’s cake. Time no longer felt granted and endless, and when the end of December came I decided this time I would figure it out for good. As I drove to the store, large flakes of snow fell from the sky. The flakes were scatted for now, but by this point in the season it was expected that in the morning, trees and power lines would be lying down in rest. In the grayish white blur that came into view from the headlights, I could see my grandfather’s short hairs falling to the ground, wispy white tufts floating to earth. Before his body became an unfamiliar place, without hands strong enough to tug or feet sturdy enough to chase, there was time when he could delight us kids. I still wonder how he played along, why he bothered indulging our games when he could have easily demanded anything from us and we would have obliged. They were games that could only be amusing to a child, delightful because they inflicted pain and frustration on adults. For precious moments the balance of power tilted in favor of the smaller, stickier person and something about that early taste of authority seemed hilarious, like the best joke ever told. For one of our games, I walked closely behind the curved slope of Thatha’s back and reached my hands up to the thin cotton undershirt stretched snugly over his shoulders. Where the hemline of the undershirt dipped part way down his back, dark skin stretched over bumps where bones tried to join the world outside. I yanked the curly white hairs that sprouted from the skin one at a time. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” He kept his shrieks in line with the spirit of the game. Looking back I realize I never knew if I was actually causing him pain. His frame had already shrunken so much by then I imagine he felt each white thread being pulled through his hollow body. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouchieee!” Another game of ours was the mysterious disappearance of the TV remote. Somehow right when my grandparents wanted to watch their 3 o’clock soap on SunTV, the poor remote would find itself shoved deep into the abyss of the couch or somewhere thrillingly close to water in the bathroom. I didn’t mind watching our daily TV serial, but ever so often I thought myself clever enough to accidentally leave the channel on Nick Jr. while they searched for the remote and enjoy Dora the Explorer instead. My younger brother Muthu was particularly enamored by this daily ritual. If our regular show came on and both Ammamma and Thatha weren’t present, he’d waddle through the apartment on chubby legs and call for them until they took his small fingers in theirs and let him lead the way. * Thatha was also good at things that were serious, unlike my mother. I was always dissatisfied with her responses to my questions. “Where does the Earth come from?” “Space.” “Where does space come from?” “God created everything.” Somehow I sense her answers were just that – answers, not truths. They seemed to cover up the question rather than look it in the eyes. Thatha’s responses were different. “God created the universe from earth, fire, air, and water. Those are the ingredients he used to make everything.” I must have seemed unconvinced. He shuffled to the kitchen and returned with a match box. “I can prove it to you. This matchbox is made of cardboard. Cardboard is made of thick paper. Where does paper come from?” “Trees!” “And where do trees come from?” “The ground!” “Exactly, The Earth. So this matchbox is the Earth.” He struck the match hard and fast against the side of the box. “Earth creates fire.” He blew out the match and showed me the head so I could see it glow orange with a life of its own. “Watch what happens now.” He blew gently this time so I could see the orange glow become stronger, as if wanting to become enflamed again. “Like humans, even fire needs air to survive.” He picked up his drinking cup and dropped the match into the bottom of the silver tumbler. “And water puts out fire. So all four elements need each other. We cannot have one without the other, and that is why God created everything from them.” When Thatha told stories, I never knew what to say. I looked at the match floating in water and wondered why my mother didn’t know this. Hadn’t he taught her the same? * Once someone in my first grade class had explained the full story of Nativity in front of everyone during story time. His name was Thomas and he had cheeks that were perpetually red. I imagined the angel Gabriel with the same redness painted on his face. “And then Jesus Christ was born!” Ms. Hamilton took over. “Thanks for sharing that story Thomas.” She turned to the rest of us and provided a disclaimer. “But remember, not everyone celebrates Christmas.” This caused a stir. A few whispers went out among the fifteen of us seated on the mat in the corner of the room, the classroom library. “Some people celebrate Christmas and some people celebrate other holidays, like Hanukah and Kwanza. Christmas is only celebrated by Christians.” A girl with perpetually damp hands and brown pigtails raised her hand. “Yes, Marissa?” “I celebrate BOTH Christmas AND Hanukah.” She screamed “both” and “and” to rub it in. A boy with bright blue sneakers that lit up when he walked raised his hand. “Yes, Anthony?” “What do you call people that don’t celebrate Christmas?” Ms. Hamilton took longer than ususal to respond. “It depends on their religion, if they have a religion. They could be Jews, or Muslims, or…just people!” * For our Christmas party at school, my mother went to the Indian store and, as per my clear instructions, picked out all the green and red milk sweets. “Fifteen plus one for the teacher,” she said when she dropped off the box with me in the morning. In the classroom, a folding table was covered with treats. I felt my mouth turn wet just looking at the dark brownies and frosted white cookies and cupcakes with colorful sprinkles. Everything was red and green, or blue and white, and I wanted to live in this exciting world of sweets and songs. My favorite song was We Wish You a Merry Christmas, which I performed often enough at home that Muthu had started singing along using words of his own. When it was time for the party during the last hour of the day, everyone got in line next to the table so we could each pick our treats and carry sugar-ladden white paper plates back to our desks. I picked a brownie, a white cookie with green frosting, and a red milk sweet. After we ate, we sang carols with the music teacher and made colorful chains out of long strips of paper. As instructed by Ms. Hamilton, everyone took home whatever baked goods remained from what we had brought in. Almost everything was gone, except for a stack of napkins and a plate of milk sweets. I sat with fourteen plus one milk sweets in my lap, waiting for the bus to travel its daily route. My stop was one of the last, so it would be a while before I could get off. I opened the sweets and picked up a green one. It tasted like it always did, creamy and sugary. I tried another red one and found the taste was the same. By the time the bus pulled into the apartment complex, the tray was empty. When I threw up later that afternoon, the red and green had become a yellowish brown. Thatha let me sit on his lap when I told him what happened. He smelled of mothballs and the Dove soap we kept in our bathrooms. His vaishtee was blue, and something about the color was calming, like the water used to cool a smoking match. He was unlike my mother, who held me quickly and tightly if I was upset and used the same words to patch every wound. His hands remained at his sides. I finished speaking and when I started to cry again, he let me lean on his chest. * That Saturday there was a surprise waiting for me in a plastic Price Chopper bag sitting on the counter. Inside was a box with a picture of a yellow cake on it. Thatha seemed content. “Today, we will make our own cake.” I had never baked a cake before, but I liked it immediately. There were a lot of things to touch and pour and mix, and I felt it was the sort of activity I would usually get in trouble for. There was even a container of chocolate frosting to spread on the cake. Thatha playfully smacked me when I licked the spoon “Don’t make yourself sick again.” That night, everyone got a piece of cake. Muthu ended up covered in it, with chocolate frosting all over his face, even on the edges of his long eyelashes. * Five boxes of cake mix, three containers of chocolate frosting, and one bottle of wine accompanied me home. The snow had begun to stick and the roads felt crunchy underneath the car tires. I hadn’t drunk straight out of a wine bottle in years. I let the syrupy liquid coat my lips, cooling and drying them like paper. What is it about the taste of something adult that brings one back to childhood? For a moment, I am again small and the surprises of the world are no longer anxieties but delights and adventures. I decided to follow the ingredients listed on each box. No substitutions, though I vaguely remember something about us adding an extra egg. Once baked, the cakes look disturbingly uniform. The very same shade of yellow. What makes a yellow cake so yellow? The dark frosting spread unwillingly, and it took some force to cover each cake until no light spots poked through. Everything was again uniform and it seemed the deciding factor would be taste. I am not sure where the confidence came from, whether it was truly the taste or some unknown heuristic, but either way, Betty Crocker had won. For whatever reason I was sure this was a cake I had eaten before. Muthu and his girlfriend would be coming over tomorrow. I’d have to enlist their help eating the rest of the cakes. I wonder if Muthu remembers our tradition of yellow cake at all, he was so little for the years we kept custom alive. I took the whole Betty Crocker cake in its pan and sat in front of the Christmas tree in the corner of my house. I had put it together last weekend and was pleased with the twinkling lights I had found at the store. The cake became thick in my mouth as the lights blinked to the tune of songs I couldn’t hear.

rgguzp

New Times

Three months until Christmas " You may kiss the bride!" the sermon said smiling as an applaud erupted throughout the crowd. I had heard it twice now, the first time with Mom's marriage, and this time with Dad's new marriage The cheers could be heard for miles, I was sure of it. It used to be just Mom, Dad, and I, but now it is Mom, Josh, my step-dad, Andrew along with Dad, Emily, my step-mom, Sophie, and myself. Well of course it is in two different houses, but now my mom said that I would get two holidays and two birthdays. But I still wanted to be one family. Two months until Christmas " Happy Halloween!" Mom said to the three of us on our way out the door in our costumes. Josh and Andrew were in costumes that were of characters that were best friends from whatever show they were from, but I was wearing a costume I made with Dad when I was younger. Mom suggested that I get rid of but I would never. I know that they moved on way too quickly. I don't think that I could ever move on. One month until Christmas " Happy Thanksgiving! Start with smaller servings, okay kids!" Emily said as we finished our prayer and rushed to grab our plates and fill them with turkey and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. Except there wasn't any green bean casserole, Emily said that it wasn't healthy and that she wouldn't serve it in "her" house. I was so angry, but I was able to contain my anger until Emily's parents and my grandparents left. when they were gone I screamed at Emily for not making Mom's classic dish, and when Dad sided with her I was furious. The mext days I hid myself away in my room only opening the door when Dad gave me some food. He didn't even try to comfort me. One week until Christmas "Okay. So, you are going to your Dad's place on Christmas day and the day after you'll be at mine. You'll get double the gifts sweethart. Don't worry," Mom said with a sad smile. I was helping to decorate Mom's tree before I packed my bag for the three day stay at my dad's house. It would be the longest time their since the first few weeks after the divorce. Just before Dad picked me up I put my gift for mom underneath the tree for her to open on Christmas day. At Dad's house I left reluctantly but when I arrived at Dad's house and got to make cookies with Dad, it felt just like old times except Mom wasn't there to take pictures, after the cookies were in the oven we wattched a christmas movie and drank hot chocolate. About half way through the movie we ordered to pizzas, one cheese for Dad and one hawaiian for me. We ate happily until Emily and Sophie just had to ruin the moment. They came downstairs laughing loudly in their stupid matching pajamas. I wanted to run away and scream at them, but I knew that Dad would just take their side. So when Dad asked them politely to leave and that we were watching a movie, I was so suprised. We finished the movie, and took the cookies out of the oven and frosted/sugared them. I laughed as I smeared the bright red frosting up Dad's face. We laughed until are stomaches ached. We finished decorating the cookies and made some craftes and cards for the meighbors, since I wasn't about to not give cookie plates out to the neighbors, but Emily said that they didn't do that and I asked Dad but he, once again, sided with her. So, I took a small plate of the cookies up to my room along with some hot chocolate, and I watched Christmas movies until the sun set. When it was dinner time I came down in a slightly better mood and we had chinese takeout, Mom would never allow that to happen, ecspeaccially on Christmas Eve. But I knew it was no use argueing, so i sat there eating it reluctantly but happily. And after the meal we read a unch of old Christmas tales around the fire, another thing we never would have done if it were just Mom, Dad, and I. But I still sat still for the entirity of the boring stories. And just after we put the plate of cookies and eggnog out for Santa and some carrots for the reigndeer, we opened a gift that was already underneath the tree. Another freaking thing that we would have never done previously, but it was nice, I guess. It was different but nice. When we woke up in the morning we didn't rush downstairs since Emily "had to" make her and Dad some coffee, unlike when it was just the three of us, me and Dad would rush downstairs faster than the wind and start sorting out the gifts. So I waited patiently for what felt like forever until, Dad said that we could start opening presents. He sat by the tree handing out presents to us one at a time so we wouldn't rush. I was infuriated at this remark. So I, once again, waited patiently for Sophie to open all of her gifts, since the youngest goes first, and then I practically tore all of my gifts pen I was so impatient, as Emily put it, but in reality I was just angry that Dad fotgot about all of our traditions. During the meal, we gathered in a circle held hands and prayed, it was us, Dad's parents, Emily's parents and all of our aunts and uncles. It was packed, but after we finished the prayer, Emily said that the elders went first not the children. Again I was infuriated, but knew that there was no point in arguing. Mom came and picked me, and all of my gifts, up later in the evening. We drove for quite a while before pulling up to the house. At Mom's house Mom told me that she told her family that we would celbrate tomorrow. And I was glad because I loved Mom's family. We sent a letter to Santa that he would need to come tomorow as well. He sent a letter back agreeing and saying that he would happily make the trip to our house after Christams. I was exstactic. When we went to bed that night I was full on homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and so happy to be home, being with Dad and Emily was interestingand very different, but all-in-all okay. When we woke up the next morning me and Andrew rushed downstairs, and started sorting immediatly, once Mom and Josh got settled we opened gifts one at a time but we went in an order, like, I would open one gift, then Andrew would open one gift, then Mom would, and then Josh. After gifts we ate a breakfast casserole with orange juice, and when every one got here we got even more gifts from our grandparents, and aunts and uncles, and when it was time for dinner we said our prayer and then me and Andrew rushed in grabbed our plates and grabbed everything we could fit before grabbing seats with two others on each side since we both have our favorite relatives, and then stiffed oru faces with food while everyone laughed. Before I got my seconds, I looked around and saw tons of happy smiling faces, talking and laughing with eachother. It was an awesome thing to have so many loving faces in one room all getting along. I still don't think that I'll ever get over the divorce but at least it will be bearable for the coming years. Full of love, hapimness, and family, the things that we'll help me survive for at least a few years.

0ui9ew

Clouds from Both Sides Now

Mary Beth likes the feeling of everything nowadays. Her head has found a home in the crux of her boyfriend’s collarbone, and her new tennis shoes are just the right size, and the sky is open and blue as a robin’s egg. A blade of grass tickles the back of her neck as she traces a finger up above. “It’s a beautiful day,” she whispers. “Not as beautiful as you,” Farley tells her. He moves his hand from her waist to her breast. She is just sweet enough and just dumb enough to believe him. Mary Beth scoots her head up and looks at him. He has a blond beard with gaps at the chin and a big Irish head, one with many targets for kissing. She plants two on his jawline and one between his teeth. They’ve exchanged less than a hundred of these, and she knows this probably won’t last longer than summer, but she thinks there might be room for a home here. “Thanks for that,” Farley says. “I hope the whole quad saw it.” “Don’t worry.” Mary Beth repositions. “When the sun goes down, I’ll give them a whole lot more to talk about.” He kisses her head, and it reminds her of her dad, which both horrifies and convinces her. A little bundle of cotton drifts across the wet cerulean paint at the speed of a rowboat. “Hey,” Farley says. “Look at that.” “Where’d it come from?” Mary Beth asks. “Probably that lake by Saint Catherine’s. I’ve run by in the morning, and there’s usually a foot of steam fog over the basin. It goes away by noon, but I think they string it up like a cotton candy machine and just float it up and out of there.” She laughs, imagining swamp men with big paper cones scooping threads from the water. She also thinks of Saint Catherine’s, that old, garbage pail excuse for a church. Even reentering that place in her mind puts a damper on her fun. Her giggles stop, and in a voice a little too serious, Mary Beth tells Farley that he’s stupid. “I might be stupid,” Farley says, “but I might also be right.” “What’s it look like to you?” Mary Beth says. “The cloud, I mean.” Farley considers this and holds two fingers above him. They are his drafting tools- he opens and closes them and measures the white entrails that curl and spark like helium from the sun. He does this for a long time before concluding his studies and returning his hand to her body. “I think I see a hat. Like a fedora from those Frank Sinatra films.” Mary smiles. She knows the type- shorter brim, black or navy, with a silk ribbon along the base. They had one in her family, one her father wore at every Sunday Sermon. She remembered how sometimes he’d forget to take it off while the priest was speaking, and the priest would point it out with an audience of two hundred. “Mr. Murphy, please. No hats in God’s house, please.” Her father would raise a hand in apology, then grip the hat in his lap for the rest of the sermon. On the drive home, he’d hang the crumpled fedora on his rearview with a face that seemed spellbound by his own mistake, his stamped ticket to damnation. She always hated that hat, and all at once she began to hate this cloud, too. “Here comes another one,” Farley says. “Your turn.” It’s a little bigger with a harder tint than the last one- as if the threads are more concentrated, the vapor more dangerous. Mary moves her hand around the border of it and thinks of all the things it could be. A turning river, a tropical snake. Maybe a pipe from a Sherlock Holmes novel. These thoughts make her giggle, into the warm clutch of Farley’s forearm. But she’s not being truthful, is she? There is only one thing it could actually be. The way it curves outwards in a big S towards nothing, the way it swims and twists through the sky like fumes from a gasoline can… she’d know that shape anywhere. “It’s a blown out candle.” Mary whispers, and as she does, she sees it all over again. The red, beating tongues inside Saint Catherine’s, where patrons made donations to lost things- dying parents and children and crippling motivations to keep their body warm. She’d been observing them all, as they swelled and pushed light onto the stained glass story frames, dyeing the jagged head of Jesus into a soft maroon, when a withered nun walked towards the station. The woman held the form of a willow tree that had dropped all its branches. The woman held the form of passing winter. She moved atop the candles, and with a breath that was audible only by the dry friction of her lips, she blew. One by one, she exterminated the lights, leaving small wisps of smoke that curled and stretched and tried to become light again. At a point, there may have been fifty of those little wisps, black as her father’s hat, black as death, and Mary believed it might be death, for these were prayers, prayers left unanswered by a God that was too busy. A God that expelled any request of him. It took the woman only a minute to finish her task, and afterwards, the wrinkles on her face became very sharp and white in the dark. The faces of Jesus on the glass could not be made out anymore. There was a strong diesel smell in the air, and something like burnt lemongrass. Mary Beth was scared, and she had no answer as to why. The nun turned to her, the black of her dress a tunnel meant for sleeping in, the white of her veil a pillow meant for laying upon. She took two steps towards Mary Beth, so the pair were sharing the prayer space. Her eyes were a cauterized stone, not glossy at all but sharp and volcanic. They stared at each other for a moment, until she receded to the back office where the wafers and little wicker baskets lived. Mary Beth knew what that gaze had been about. The nun had wondered if Mary Beth had been aflame, had wondered if she was worthy of being blown out. Farley pulls a hand tighter on Mary Beth’s flesh, finding an entryway to the pale vanilla under her pink blouse. The callouses on his palm catch against the little ridges of her body, the tips of her breast and the raised moles that run across her ribcage. “A candle,” Farley says. “That’s a nice thought. Maybe we light some candles tonight at my place.” Mary Beth nods like her mind has been read. The grass feels spindly now, as if each blade has become harder, more angry. The two clouds are grazing close to another, stitching together into a satin tapestry. As they form, the white begins to dim. “You’re a good girl, Mary. You really are.” Farley says it, and immediately regrets it. He’s got more poetic shit he can say- maybe that’s why he’s never been able to hold on to the good ones. But Mary isn’t listening. There is a cold sweat that’s beginning on the back of her neck, in the spot where Farley’s collarbone is exposed. Her shoes feel tight and, despite it’s blueness, the world has become a strange liquid to Mary. Another cloud slides into the scene above her, and it holds the same descriptors as a large warship. The edges seem to cut the sky into ribbons that shower over her and Farley- not exactly rain but some type of dewiness. It’s glazed almost black, and Mary believes she can smell Saint Catherine’s again, tainting the quad like ash from a car wreck. “We should go,” Mary says. “It’s going to thunderstorm.” “It’s a little summer shower,” Farley says, smiling. “And it’s my turn to guess.” Mary recedes, her mouth held tight. It’s as if the eyes of the nun are staring down at her, at the girl being undressed in University of Hartford’s most public locale. She simply nods and tries to fish Farley’s hand away from her. “C’mon, let me keep it there,” Farley prods. Mary is ashamed that she listens- another crumpled hat to hang on her rearview. Farley puts his free hand out again and tries to measure the size of the oncoming front, but it is simply too big. His arm collapses and he closes his eyes, thinking. “I’ve got it,” he says after a few breaths. It’s cemetery-quiet, and there’s a rumble across her face and limbs that she has trouble settling. “It’s a mountain. A big, sloping mountain, fresh from the Andes.” A mountain. Slowly, Mary Beth’s tension slips outside of her through each blade of glass, each curious finger. A peaceful, benign mountain, she thinks, with gray rocks and a white peak meant for skiing down. That’s all it is, a mountain, competing with a pipe and an innocent cabaret hat within a canvas of blue. The corners of her mouth relax, and she feels a smile coming back to her. Farley notices the relief on his shoulder blades, and he mounts another kiss upon her temple. Mary Beth fakes a chuckle. “I was being dumb there, for a second.” Mary Beth whispers. “I was reading too much into things.” “There’s nothing to read into, babe.” Farley looks back towards the clouds. “It’s a very beautiful day, like you said. And beautiful days are not capable of being meddled with.” Mary Beth sighs. She’s beginning to love him, maybe. A fickle, necessity-based kind of love, but love all the same. His words curl mantra-like within her skull, creating a nice bed for her to sleep on. She closes her eyes and focuses on the weight of the atmosphere. “I’ll describe it all to you.” He strokes her hair as she breathes, the warm dark behind her eyes holding a shade of cobalt. “Our mountain rides further north, floating like an iceberg might. It is strong when compared to the other clouds, who have now converged into one. They are white and fluffy, two sheep left out in a dreamed-up pasture.” It is a lullaby. She’s both 13 and 43, young and old, apart of this life and far descended from it. Farley’s words sound stripped from someone wiser. “The sky is bending in a big blue arc. It holds the world the way a child might, fingers blessing each part of it.” His hands grope farther down to her waistline, and Mary Beth will never protest, as long as he keeps speaking. “And now, a winged visitor from the south. Metallic, wind-fueled, one of us. It’s finding cover in the pasture.” Mary hears it, the buzz of something she imagines no bigger than a pin prick. She’s inside of that vehicle, passing over the thousand greens of summer and the brick building they found each other in, and their two bodies strewn out amongst a hundred other students that live and die at the same pace. “The plane has moved through the cloudbank. It’s fast up there, and so free, and it’s heading straight for the mountain. It won’t be a challenge- we were invented to break these type of walls, bend them at our will.” Mary Beth believes him. Farley makes his move. Mary Beth grips her father’s hat between her thighs. “And as it goes…” Farley says, and the next words are muted almost entirely by the sounds of flame and screaming and God’s only son. “OH, CHRIST!” Farley screams. Mary Beth flicks her eyes open. The blue day is a tarpit. Bits of shrapnel fall to the Earth. She can hear a woman behind her throwing up as charred flesh takes a lesson in gravity. A stiletto lands eighteen feet away from Mary, the corners molten and warped. These scenes move very slowly, and yet they are instantaneous to Mary Beth. It’s in the name, she seems to understand. Her eyes are tired, and yet she keeps them open now. It is part of the premonition. The smell is the same, and the faces are, too. The diesel and the lemongrass and the fifty deserted flames. Farley falls away from her body, and Mary Beth believes that’s fine enough.  “HOLY SHIT!” he screams, and Mary Beth knows that house she dreamed of has been burned away, too. This has always been the conversation, and it was time to really have it. Mary Beth turns her gaze upwards, towards the mountain who is anything but, and sees the dark man she left that day at Saint Catherine’s cathedral. Mary Beth stares Jesus in the eyes, and she stares at her father, and the nun, and she wonders why she loves the feeling as she watches heaven fall above her. 

e9zlvk

The White Bird

Shannon went up to open the door of her house, a quaint country home in the village where she lived, She worked at the retirement home all day, and wanted nothing more than to put her feet up, have supper, and go to bed, doing three long shifts in a row, the patients antsy and difficult, especially now the holidays were here. The entire village was ready, the trees decorated, the shops lit up with pretty lights in their windows and tinsel strung. "Another holiday, just like the one before." she smiled to herself, not complaining but expectant, nothing ever really changed in Morrisburg, USA, pop. 5,789, a town of agriculture and little tourists. Every Christmas they went to midnight mass, and every Christmas morning the townsfolk held their annual parade, serving punch and baked goods after a morning out in the cold. Shannon Mulligan really didnt mind, and being a PSW here she knew everybody. "Hi honey, your dinner's in the fridge, meatloaf, and dont forget to go pick up your parcel you got at the post office tomorrow." Her mother told her from the living room, not bothering to get up to greet her, it was already 8 pm. "Ok mom, no worries, i have the next three days off now anyway." Shannon threw her coat on the chair in the kitchen, popped the tray in the microwave. 'Wonder what that package is.' She thought as she forked down the dry meatloaf. She gulped the milk down fast, and went upstairs to bed, her mother having fallen asleep in the big old armchair as the cinders of the fire burned low, the tree lights glowed into the darkness of the room, butterflying their soft shadows of pretty color. "Maybe it's a condo in the city." She laughed to herself, as she undressed and went to the bathroom to wash. It had snowed the night before, Leona made her toast and boiled eggs with oatmeal for breakfast. "OMG mom, i am going to be fat eating this stuff." Shannon pretended to cry out in exasperation, but she loved to eat all the same. She worked hard at the home, caring for the seniors there, Mrs. Johnson who was always so happy to have her read to her. And Mr. Collins, who never went without a tale or two of "back in my day......." He would always begin his stories of past life here in Morrisburg. So, then after breakfast and bundling up, she'd pulled on her boots quickly and grabbed her coat, she walked over to the post office. "Good morning missy, got your envelope right here." Connor said to her, a short man with big shoulders, too big for his build it seemed, making him look awkward. But he had a kind heart, and had been the postal clerk for many years, never growing past his 5ft 4 inches. "I have been wondering what this is all about, i havent had time to come until now with work and all." she reported to him. Connor nodded, she was a pretty thing although not glamorous by any means, Shannon had a handsome face, and thick black hair tied up always, one day he would like to see her with her mane down her back for a change. 'A man can only dream." he thought, she wouldnt date him anyway, he was just not the type women went for in a town like this. He was an odd one out, bullied by the boys through school days, the girls laughing and snickering at him as he would walk by to get to class. He was a funny little man now, but he had a heart of gold. "Oh my, now what in the Lord is this all about?" Shannon put her hand to her face shocked at the note in her hand. "I got a pet at the co-op to go and pick up, a cockatiel bird of sorts, oh dear, what in the world am i going to do with that?" She cried out to him. Connor laughed, throaty and deep. "I dont know, you will have to get a cage and take care of it." He snorted out. He shook his head in disbelief right along with her, who in the world would give her a bird like that? "I would like to know who gave me this outrageous gift in the first place?" She frowned and eyed him suspiciously. "Connor?" ....she didnt have to finish her sentence. Her answer was right there in front of her. "Connor i dont know how to care for a cockatiel let alone a budgie, what on earth were you thinking?" She asked him, as he sat in fear of her rejecting his gift of love to her. He always had a crush on her, he couldnt help it, and he got so lonely this tme of the year, it was impulsive he knew that. "I can help you learn how to take care of it, dont you worry about that, i have three days a week off now." He murmured tiredly, his back was not right and he was in pain most of the time now so he had to cut his hours down. "They cant be that hard to deal with, they need food and some love, it would be good company for Martha too." He kind of suggested rather than matter of factly, rubbing his chin with his hand. Martha was a widower after all, they were around the same age. This was a town he grew up in, his grandparents and greatgrandparents grew up in farmed, alfalfa to be exact. They worked hard, and the small community was tight knit, everyone knew everyone here, they were not exactly strangers, he thought. And it was Christmas, magical and giving, he shrugged. "it's just a bird, if you dont want it I can get a refund." He replied, as he got ready for the remainder of the morning, pulling out envelopes to sort through and putting them in their little boxed spaces one next to the other, one atop of the one below. What he did.

z47qo2

JUST FOR NOW

Who knew I would finally have the courage to look at myself in the mirror? And appreciate the cringe lines on my eyes and the brackets that was a substitute of dimples? I never knew someday I would twirl before a mirror and appreciate my height and the body structure I had shrouded with baggy clothes? I turned to the task at hand. If there is something that the Great Insecurity had successfully ripped away from me, was my creative mind which often, more than not, manifested itself through my handiwork. While I had naively let it set on me, prompted by handing over my heart on a plastic platter to a heartless guy, I was now on the perfect road to recovery. And lo and behold, the results was in the recipe cards I had complied. It's that time of year Leave all our hopelessness tears aside If just for a little while (Just for now, just for now) Tears stop right here (Tears stop right here) I know we've all had a bumpy ride (Just for now ) I caressed the recipe cards on the table and felt a sense of achievement I had forgotten. Up next was the guest list. I re-assembled the Wimbledon chairs again and ran over the printed guest name with a fine tooth comb precision. No name had been misspelled and neither had been placed on the wrong place. As my eye came across my own name, I felt a vise grip on my heart and took a deep breathe to easy the physical yet psychological related pain. Food for thought, what was I doing? “Trinity, you’ve got to stop re-arranging everything da-h-ling,” whispered Mama as she planted a kiss on my cheek. A mix and mingle of sandalwood connoisseur, cumin, cinnamon and jasmine perforated my nostrils creating a light headed-ness sensation. Somehow, it made the tensed muscles uncoil in a relieved motion. “Mama, the table runners look out of place. As well as the serviettes. The cutlery has been positioned on the wrong side…..” “Mon amour, mi amor, wachikondi wanga, mudiwa wangu, Sthandwa sami…. ” I laughed, “Mama, show off.” She enclosed me in her bosom then and cooed while patting my back, “Da-h-ling, you worry too much about details. I know, I know, but let Mama calm down your nerves. Everything is just amazing to the eye. Not everyone is thorough with the details like you Cherie. You see, once the color hit the eye, it excites the brain and make it have a temporary freeze such that it shuts the mind from pondering on what is wrong.” “But Ma, I will be in full knowledge of it.” “Shush child, now go dress up. Your guests will be here in a few minutes. Shoo, go on. I will stand guard now and make sure your fingerprints do not tarnish the finesse of this setting.” * * * * * * * * * * * It’s all your fault that I treat you that way. You are not flexible. You are like a log. You do not know how to respond. Sometimes I feel like I am dating a grandma. You are like a man in a female body. Having nails like a raccoon. What kind of woman has that kind of strength to make a man’s eyes pop out when she clenches his hand? I lowered my lids and flirtingly looked in the mirror. These lashes were so heavy but gave me that look I was going to convey. I would endure for the night. Yes I would. After all, I was upping my game. GO GAL! Bite. Tongue. Deep. Breaths Count to ten. Nod your head A knock interrupted my train of thoughts. “It’s open.” The door was opened and I looked at the reflection in the mirror and smiled, “Good evening my gorgeous man.” “You don’t have to do this Trinity. You know it.” I reached for my teardrops and felt my cheeks inflame with a forced smile, “Terence, I have to.” He stood framed on the entrance, arms crossed and leaning casually on one of the door frames, “Sis, you don’t have to. You really don’t have to do this.” I peered at my own reflection in the mirror and frowned, “You know, it’s not over until I declare.” Terence in a jiffy was behind my back, giving my shoulders a stiff massage, “ ‘Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.’ ” “You know I am not revenging. By the way, you look gorgeous.” He rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to say something then decided not to. He leaned forward and reached for my stress ball. With an elaborate flip of his right hand, the ball flew into the air and momentarily cast a shadow on me. He caught it into his left hand and grinned. He suddenly looked like the little imp he was in his pre-teen era while I was just six. I felt the urge to scream at him due to his antics of annoying me. Then zipped my lips, “Lil sis, I will borrow this for the evening.” I arose slowly, straining against my rising anger that wanted to attack him and rip his gorgeous suit, “You know I need that elder brother.” He then used his finger to poke my forehead, “Hey no. Oh no.” “Terence…” “Trinity.” “Trinity?” The acrimonious atmosphere zapped at once as there was an addition of Mama’s voice. My brother grinned and exited the room as Mama entered. A new light seemed to pierce the atmosphere and I felt every ounce of anger against my brother disappear. “Da-h-ling, you look so splendid. Shush, shush, don’t mention it. I know I am stunning but not as the host of this Cookie Exchange night. Anyway, the guests are here. Would you love to see your own collection of cookies?” ************* Chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisin cookies, gingersnaps, shortbread cookies, kiss cookies, biscotti, spritz cookies, macaroons and the fortune cookies. My Mama smiled at the loaded table as she helped me hand over cups and other finger licking good stuff. Terence in the background was smiling and charming one of my girlfriends. In seeing me stare at them, she waved at me and dragged an unwilling Terence to me. “Gal, you are on point. This place…” she snapped her fingers in our signature of approval. I smiled and did a mock curtsey, “Your Ladyship Opahh, I am highly honored.” “Get off the high horse,” she hollered giving me a slight shove. I laughed out loud then attracting the attention of all my guests. Besides me, Opahh stiffened besides me, “What is that animal doing here?” Terence came to stand beside me. I felt belittled and sandwiched between two overprotective bouncers. I felt the urge to snatch the stress ball out of my brother’s hand then as I felt a familiar pain streak on my forehead. “Please, do not belittle the animals,” I whispered. “Bah, bah, boo….just tell me what he is doing here before I ruin your night.” “And there goes my perfect night,” muttered Terence as we witnessed someone knock down one of Terence’s vase. Thankfully, it was not broken. He turned to me, “Who the hell brought out such an idea? Cookie Exchange?” I smugly smiled, “I cordially invited all sweet toothed chefs and wannabes. It’s close to Christmas guys. A little cheering and cheating calories will do. Look Mama is overdoing it now. Terence….” He muttered and detached himself from my side to intercept Mama as she twirled with Terence’s junior in the cricket team. The junior sheepishly looked at Terence and apologized. I looked apologetically at Opahh as she kept throwing daggers at someone in the room. “It’s time…” I spoke now nudging her. She stood to her full height. Oh, she had actually crouched to a predator position? She looked at me and raised her arms in the hands, “Time for what? It better be good.” How did you know? It's what I always wanted Can never have too many of these Quit kicking me under the table I’m trying Somebody make her shut up About it Can we settle down, please? ************** I cleared my throat and politely asked the attention of everyone. And by everyone’s eyes on me, I felt comfortable, except for one pair of eyes which seemed to be piercing me. In approval or annoyance? Love or hatred? I looked at Opahh then, Terence, Mama, Roland (the junior), Keisha (my other friend), Mulinah (Terence’s girlfriend), Palencia (my neighbor’s son), Harold (my mother’s assistant), Kerina (my friend) and her boyfriend Gerald. I took a deep breathe. “I count it all joy to see y’all gathered together with me at this Cookie Exchange. It is going to be an annual thing, getting bigger and better with age. I just wanna take this time to say thank you for coming today. I know and I do understand most of us have demanding jobs and businesses especially when we are approaching the festive season. But thank you for coming in to support my vision. “How about we start? I hope everyone brought along a container as we will be exchanging our cookies. We may all take our seas and leave the podium to Mama. She will be the first to give us an elaborate explanation on her Fortune cookies, what inspired her to make them. As for the recipes, there are right by your plates. If you do not understand any stage, you can ask her and she will answer. Thank y’all once again.” ************** As the night progresses, things were getting heated up. While the room was saturated by people cracking jokes and elaborating their recipes, I kept feeling a chilling moment of a pair of cold eyes staring at me. If only Terence could give me back my stress ball. I listened to all as they simplified their recipes. The party got gayer as people started singing carols. Mama this time did not twirl around with Roland but chose to dance alone in the circle we had created. I felt that failure vise gripping my heart and bent a bit to relieve the pain. Strong hands gripped my arms then. I did not dare fight, “Lil sis, you don’t have to do this,” whispered Terence compassionately this time. He quietly dragged me to the table and gave me another cookie and milk. I choked on the cookie and started spluttering and coughing. He rubbed my shoulders. Thankfully enough, no one noticed this scene, “Are you sure they didn’t poison their cookies?” “Trinity, stop,” pleaded Terence now kneeling before me. “I am not doing anything. Just being a host of a Cookie Exchange,” I spoke without conviction. “Trinity…” “I am dying and I deserve to do this.” Before he could stop me, I snapped out of the chair, fighting off the pain that was now gripping my heart. I fast sprinted to the center of the circle and immediately everyone froze. “TRINITY!” shouted my brother. I looked at the bewildered looks and hiccupped as I felt a sharp iron pierce my heart, “Thank you all for coming. I also have a special announcement to make. “But first of all, Gerald you are such a heartless person and definitely, definitely need exorcising of that spirit that makes you enjoy the pain of many people. Women especially. You know I loved you right? I had to let you go while I did still love you. Then you had to go ahead and torment me further by asking out Kerina. Who happens to be my friend in case you didn’t know? “I know I was naïve. Maybe one of us or both of us was a fake and acting like a canopy. Not wanting to come into another’s life and commit but neither be willing to let other people in. Oh but I learnt a valuable lesson for that. “I am afraid the loyalty between my girls and I is so much thicker than love. So with that said, I am so glad to announce that Kerina and Palencia are getting married tomorrow. They were so afraid to break it to y’a…..” The vision suddenly became bleary before me. I swiped for a cookie that now came rushing to punch me. I helplessly gave in to the pain that was now beckoning. A lot of knives pierced my whole being…..Who can stand such…..? Get me outta here, Get me outta here Get me outta here, Ooh Get me outta here, Get me outta here Get me outta here Would you get me outta here, Get me outta **************

eufqzr

Christmas With The Family

As Drianna descended the stairs, her new red dress made obnoxious crinkling and swishing noises. The color was festive, but distracting. She felt stuffy, not comfortable, like you’re supposed to feel for the holidays. Why her aging and old-fashioned mother insisted on Drianna wearing a new outfit every Christmas, she never knew, despite her persistent questioning and protests. The day after Christmas, her old outfits were in perfect, unblemished shape—and were at least a day worn in and starting to feel agreeable. But each year, that same day after Christmas, Drianna’s mother auctioned them away so she could buy another stiff, unused outfit the next year so Drianna would always be on trend. At least the proceeds go to charity, she sighed. Entering the foyer, she saw her uncle arriving with her cousins. This uncle was okay. He often gave his time, as well as his money, to charities and projects that were near and dear to his heart, and had taught her younger cousins the same ethic. They all smiled up at her as she entered. “Dri!” Emmalina yelled as she ran up and almost knocked Drianna over with a huge hug. Drianna was very glad she’d decided to wear flats instead of heels. At least her hidden feet could be comfortable, and she was at less risk of tripping and making a fool of herself. “Emmy!” Drianna hugged her little cousin. “How are you?” She couldn’t help but smile at the skinny little thing clinging to her. “I’m good, Dri! I bought you a gift!” Emmalina was hopping up and down a little as she handed the small, neatly-wrapped package to Drianna. “I’m well, thank you and I brought you a gift.” Emmalina’s older brother, Efram, corrected, rolling his eyes.  He reached over and gave Drianna a formal handshake. “It’s nice to see you again, Cousin.” Drianna rolled her eyes, grabbed Efram and wrapped him in a big hug that squished a giggling Emmalina in between them. “It’s nice seeing you too, Dork.” “DRIANNA,” a stern voice responded coldly. “You are not to use such words. You forget yourself!” “Moooom,” Drianna disentangled herself. “They’re family . They get it. And it’s a holiday. Please!” “Nevertheless,” her mother responded dryly as she led the party back to the dining room.  That was Drianna’s mom’s signature reply. It meant the discussion was over, even if you were in the middle of a conversation with her. Her mother didn’t believe in arguing—or even lively discussions-- especially in front of anyone other than Drianna’s father. Her cool unflappability left Drianna awestruck at some times, and frustrated at more times.­­­­­ “Nevertheless,” Drianna whispered to herself. Her uncle, her mother’s brother, giggled a bit. How he and her mother could be so different, she had no idea. Having never experienced siblings herself, their behavior had always baffled her. They at last arrived at the back of the house, in the main dining room. As always, it was very formally and tastefully decorated. The other, mostly older family members had arrived earlier—too much earlier to Drianna’s consternation. She had had to dress semi-formally in the morning —hours before the main meal. She’d been uncomfortable all day and may have been a bit cranky about it. Fortunately, most of this part of the family was either nearly deaf, too well-mannered, or just didn’t care enough to complain, or she would have gotten a speaking to from her mother. Or worse, from her father, which would mean her mother was too angry with her to speak to Drianna herself. Nervous Emmalina took Drianna’s hand as they entered the room where quiet grown-up conversation was happening. All eyes turned to them and the conversation stopped as Drianna entered the room. She hoped it wasn’t because of the somewhat gaudy outfit she was wearing. The men stood and nodded. Drianna nodded an acknowledgement, but bent down to Emmalina.  “Remember the puppets we made with our fingers last year?” Drianna whispered down to Emmalina. Emmalina nodded. “As everyone talks, make little finger puppets of them talking in your lap where no one can see.” Emmalina giggled and Drianna smiled and gave her a big hug. Efram quietly led Emmalina to her seat. The meal itself went its normal solemn way. The conversation drifted to the people who lived in the outskirts of town, with Aunt Tilda (her father’s well-bred sister) confused over why people would protest over the raising of the price of flour. “Really, the millers can charge any price they want. Given the high demand lately, they should charge more. Much more. That’s the basics of economics, isn’t it?” Drianna’s older cousin Derrick responded with a bit of an explanation for his aunt that was not as heated—or correct--as she’d expected. She watched the discussion transpire and stopped herself from shaking her head. Her mother was watching her reactions like a hawk tonight, she was well aware. Her father merely glanced at her, and then her mother, and then went back to silently eating his meal. He understood where his sister’s ignorance came from. He wasn’t far-removed from it himself. Taking in the scene, watching her relatives chat, snore, argue, laugh or stew, her eyes fell on young Emmalina, looking down at her lap and giggling madly. Efram caught Drianna watching Emmalina and elbowed Emmalina to stop. She just looked up at Drianna, who gave a hint of an approving smile, and then she went back to her game again. Drianna let a full smile escape her lips, which she felt should be acceptable to her mother, given the occasion. Growing up, she hadn’t liked many members of her family and frequently would argue with them or--at best--refuse to say more than the bare expected minimum to them. She didn’t understand how they could be so callous to others’ suffering. She also didn’t understand how they could be so cold—and occasionally mean--to one another. They’re supposed to be family . In all the books she’d read and discussions she’d had at college, family was supposed to be the one group of people where you could relax and be yourself. Maybe even laugh and have fun with them. Not her family, apparently, except for a precious few members. It wasn’t until she was fourteen and her mother started spending more time on her, shaping her, that she realized that her various aunts, uncles and cousins, most of whom rarely left their family homes and certainly didn’t go to college, were all simply ignorant to the realities of the world as products of their own strict shaping and upbringing. She decided to focus on those family members who were able to break free of their cultivation, learn about the people they lived among, and who could think and speak on their own.  However, both parts of the family had expressed support for her in one form or another, and she appreciated that greatly. The first two courses of the meal complete, a servant placed an orange sorbet in front of her. Sweets were something her mother rarely let her have, even at this age, and the cool tangy ball—with a pinch of salt on top, to her delight—was her most favorite entremet. As the last orangey bite melted slowly down her throat, a thought struck her: “Another, please!” She gestured maybe a little too drastically to the servant who was trying to surreptitiously refill wine glasses and clear the table for the next meal. She pointed down to the empty dish. She heard a fork drop, as various eyes turned to her, but she knew it wasn’t her mother’s fork. Her mother would never express herself so boorishly. Still, she avoided her mother’s eyes. It was Christmas, this was something she desperately wanted, and for once, she was going to get it. Manners, family upbringing, tradition, whatever it was that wouldn’t allow her to have her treat, be damned. The servant looked back at her a little confused at first. “I’d like another sorbet, please,” she clarified. “They are absolutely delicious.” “They most certainly are! I haven’t had anything this flavorful in years.” Tilda crooned, breaking the stifling silence. “Well, except the past two courses, of course.” The table erupted in polite laughter. Drianna was grateful for the support. “Then you should have another as well, Auntie,” Drianna joked. Tilda raised her glass to her in agreement and smiled. The servant glanced at Drianna’s mother, who showed no sign of approval or disapproval whatsoever. This was all Drianna’s call, he (and Drianna) realized. He looked back at Drianna and nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. Right away.” 

tl8aqq

ABC to Zoom

Harry sees his own face looking at him, hair crowned with tinsel, and a red tissue paper crown on top of that. A green Christmas cracker is on the desk in front of him, a red and white winter scene stuck on the front of it. A half-empty wine bottle is next to him with a half-full glass of red wine that he has been drinking. A square appears next to his face, with his mother's name in it, then his father's face appears sideways in the box. His father's mouth moves but there is no sound. Harry's speakers blast out Silent Night. “How appropriate” he thinks wryly. His sister appears in a third space on the screen now. She sends a message that appears across the screen. “Touch the sound icon so we can hear you!” Their father's hand appears across his face, fumbling at the phone controls. Then his face comes back sideways again with sound this time as he booms out “Happy Christmas” Another voice joins in the chorus of Happy Christmases and the family is gathered, as much as is possible this year. “ Does everyone have their presents ready?” Harry disappears offscreen briefly then holds up a basket of brightly wrapped mysteries. Everyone is waving things at their screens. “ OK, three, two, one – go!” “ Damn!” Dad has knocked the phone flat and fretting he might have broken it, but everyone reassures him it is still working fine and not to worry just stand it up again. Mum is scolding him for bad language on Christmas Day of all days. Cries of “Oh I love this” “Thank you” “Oh my god how did you know I wanted this” “What the heck? Hmm thank you” “Ooh socks. It's never Christmas without socks.” All distorted and bubbling chaotically as technology doesn't quite keep up. “ Did Jeannie like her doll?” asks mum. Her daughter assures her that Jeannie has gone to bed cuddling her new ragdoll. “Oh I'm so glad Margie” says mum “You know I put a lot of love into that – every stitch.” “ She ignored me though” jokes dad. “She was so busy all the time getting it finished, I didn't get no lovin'” He chuckles self-consciously. Margie and Harry are looking a bit discomfited but they laugh politely. Margie quickly relates that Jeannie had named the doll Dolly. “very original” she comments, and says that Dolly had been fed Christmas dinner “I had to stop her messing it up with real food, tell her if she didn't want it straight in the washing machine she'd just have to pretend” and that Jeannie had even read the doll a story. “It's going to be a great way to get her doing her schoolwork.” “ We got her a bike” she says. “Took her out to the park so she could try it on the paths. She did really well, managed to pedal ok and not fall off. Maybe soon she'll let us take the learner wheels off it.” “ Oh that's nice” says mum. “I remember when I learned to ride we didn't have those little wheels so I fell off plenty of times. It's when I got this scar.” She points to her nose but nobody can see the scar on their screens. They have all seen it before though so they nod and comment on mum's scar. “ So who ate all their sprouts?” asks Harry. Everyone groans. “ Bet you didn't” says mum. “I remember the only way I could get you to ever eat any was the time I dared you to eat them with custard on and you ate just the one. I couldn't believe you actually did that.” “ I can't believe you actually put custard on sprouts” retorts Harry. “It was disgusting. How could you do that to a child? It was abuse!” Mum's face reddens and she begins to retort but Harry quickly tries to correct the situation, suggesting they play their traditional game of decorate dad like a tree. “ How on earth can we manage that this year?” scoffs mum, still a bit cross about the suggestion of abuse. “ A-ha. I have here...” Harry disappears briefly for a second then is back, waving a box at the screen. A box game. “ It's kinda like Jenga” he says. “Oh, by the way dad, have you got stuff to put on?” Dad grunts and nods then breaks into a boyish grin. “ I'll set it up so you can see it, then you pick a letter. If the monkey doesn't fall off then it means you added a decoration and dad didn't wake up. Dad can put them on himself and we can all see him.” He is laughing as he explains but the others have to fake enthusiasm. Mum doesn't even go that far, she just grudgingly agrees to give it a go “even though it's silly” The game is set up. Mum disappears to find her glasses as she can't see the letters on the blocks. Some movement on Margie's screen and a little girl is waving a ragdoll around between Margie and Richard, hitting their heads a little vigorously. “ Oh hello” “Happy Christmas” garbled down the internet. Jeannie is grinning and saying something but can't be heard through the garble. Harry mutes everyone except himself then tells Margie to unmute so Jeannie can speak. “ Dolly ate all her dinner, even the SPROUTS! So then she was allowed pudding but she doesn't like Christmas pudding so she had ice cream, and she learnt how to read and” “and it's time to go back to bed” interrupted Margie “Goodnight” The little girl waves and says “goodnight” and everything is quiet. Margie sends out another message telling everyone how to unmute themselves. Dad's screen fills with his fumbling hand again and they wait until he and mum appear side by side and sideways again. “ Ready to start?” asks Harry. “I'll go first” A little voice is heard “I want D for Dolly” Margie turns back to her daughter, who is offscreen. “I thought you went back to bed young lady.” “ I want to plaaay” Jeannie begins to wail. Margie relents and let's Jeannie back onscreen “since it's Christmas, but you go back to bed properly once this game is finished. We're decorating Grandad.” Jeannie is giggling as Harry pushes out the letter D from the game and the little monkey on the top moves down but doesn't fall. “ You get to pick what goes on Grandad.” says Harry. “Dad, what do you have?” “ Oh, um, I need to go and find them.” says dad. Harry sips his wine patiently while dad goes off to find the decorations. Margie and Richard are laughing while mum looks fed up and grumbles at dad. Rummaging noises can be heard and dad still isn't back. “What are you doing Dennis? Everyone's waiting. Oh.” Mum disappears to go and find dad. “ Can I get some crisps?” asks Jeannie. Margie goes off with Jeannie to the kitchen, calling to Richard “Do you want anything love?” “ How about coffee and some mince pies” calls back Richard. “ I have wine” says Harry. “Don't you want a proper drink?” “ Make that a brandy.” calls Richard to Margie. “ OK love, d'ya want coke with that?” “ No thanks love, straight, make it a large one, since it's Christmas.” “ So how are you doing, really?” he asks Harry. “ Oh don't” says Harry. “I'm just trying to forget, just for today. Wasn't even going to mention it. Call me back tomorrow. I can't talk about it now. Let's make Christmas fun eh. Just the one day. I think we all need it.” Jeannie and Margie appear again. Richard takes a swig of his brandy and bites into a mince pie. Jeannie is rustling crisps and has a glass of cola. Margie sips coffee. It's quiet. They are still waiting for mum and dad. “ I'm bored.” says Jeannie. “Dolly wants to play.” She makes Dolly do a handstand and a cartwheel, knocking her parents heads again. “ Why not pick another letter” suggests Margie. “Dad, Grandad can put more than one decoration on when he gets back with them.” “ Got them” calls dad, waving a handful of assorted decorations at his phone before dropping them on the floor and disappearing again to retrieve them. “OK what's first?” “ Oh you.” says mum, and picks up a long piece of tinsel and throws it at dad. It hits his face then slides off, falling onto the floor and he disappears again to retrieve it, wrapping it around his head. “ You're supposed to be asleep.” mum comments and dad obligingly closes his eyes and makes a giggling snore. Everyone cracks up laughing except for mum who tuts. “ Next letter. Margie?” says Harry, and Margie chooses M. Out it comes and the monkey slides without falling. R, C and S follow. The monkey is getting further down but still unfallen. Dad is chuckling to himself with his eyes shut and making occasional snoring noises. Richard's turn comes and he is very relaxed and has to be given a nudge. He chooses B for Brandy and shuts his eyes. The monkey falls. Mum tells dad he has to wake up. “ What? Oh.” Dad startles everyone with such a dramatic wake up that Richard opens his eyes and asks what is going on. The decorations fall off dad onto the floor and he throws a paper snowflake at mum, who pushes him playfully. “ Back to bed” Margie tells Jeannie. “I'm going to go, get her settled back. It was nice. Happy Christmas.” “ Happy Christmas. Bye.” the calls are again garbled with everyone speaking together. People are waving and then disappear. On the screen “This meeting has been ended by the host.” and a countdown. 5 4 3 2 1. It's ended. Harry gulps down the rest of his wine, tips in the last of the bottle, gulps some more, begins to cry.

ci4721

snowy drive

Mason was driving on a country road to his aunt Felicia's house when a blizzard rose up. He suddenly hit an icy patch. “This is all for naught. I am going to pass away in this blizzard and no one will find my body,” he thought worriedly. He was suddenly in a ditch when his life flashed before his eyes and he said in a barely audible whisper, “Jesus, I know I have not been a perfect child and I so often forget what’s important in life. Please forgive me. I have sinned in thought, word, and deed. By what I have done and what I have left undone. I know I am not worthy to be called your child. But I know you are faithful and just if we confess our sins. I want to stay in this life and live with those I love but if it is Your will I will join You with a glad heart but please don’t condemn me to the pit. I know to live is Christ to die is gain. Please send help.Amen.” With that, he exhaled and closed his eyes, and waited for help. After an hour there was a wail of sirens that signaled that an ambulance was nearby. Mason Opened his eyes and he was pretty sure his left ankle was sprained. He adjusted himself in his seat and rolled down the window. He started yelling to attract the attention of the ambulance. He had tried to call the ambulance earlier but his phone had been smashed to pieces. The ambulance passed him by. He waited still because he saw more headlights in the distance. He started unbuckling his seatbelt and had successfully opened his car door when a large semi-truck stopped in front of a large burly chested man. He was wearing only a tank top and sweatpants. “What a crazy old man to wear only that in this weather,” Mason thought as the man got closer mason saw that the man had a flame torch for a right hand and that he had no teeth. He only notices this because the man was grinning creepily as he approached Mason's car. But the man's eyes were oddly white and blank. When the man was a foot in front of the car Mason closed his eyes and said "in the name of Jesus Christ I exorcise the demon inside you." with that the demon went out and the man fell to the ground. Another hour passed when the man finally awoke. "hey where am I how did I get this torch on my arm last I remember I was doing an ouija board with friends." Mason has crawled outside to check on the guy "you had somehow become possessed and were about to murder me but I am curious what is your name," mason asked. "My name is Jacob I seem to be about thirty years older than I remember. Please tell me what city is closest and where I can get some clothes," the man asked. Mason replied "the nearest city is 50 miles east and the best place the get clothes is about 25 miles west. I could take but my car is totaled. Can you check that semi you were in and see if there is a ham radio so we could get some help." I can try to get up and walk over there." Jacob said. Jacob got up and walk to his truck and in the truck, there was a dead body in the passenger seat. Jacob suddenly fell ill. "who was I with that demon in me," he whispered to himself. He looks on the dash there was a phone he grabbed it and dialed 911. "911 what is your emergency," the dispatcher asked. "there has been an accident," Jacob replied. "can I please have your name and location," the dispatcher asked. "my name is Jacob Davidson and I'm on Ornery Lane." Jacob replied. "thank you someone will be there shortly to assist you." The dispatcher hung up and called the police "The FBI's most wanted just, called he seems unaware who he is," We'll be right there." the captain replied. Meanwhile, mason and Jacob sat freezing waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive. After a while, they heard the wail of the sirens. Jacob stood up and started waving his hands when the police captain said "put your hands where we can see them and stay sill Jacob Davidson are you hurt mason." "I think my ankle is sprained but other than that I'm ok but why are you arresting him," mason asked. "this man has murdered 50 people to this date. he is dangerous. Please stay back the" captain warned. the police put Jacob in handcuffs and arrested him. The ambulance arrived and inspected Mason. "I'm afraid the ankle is much worse than we expected I think we will have to take you to the hospital for x-rays if you could come with us." the doctor told mason. "I was on my way to my aunt's house and my phone broke so may I use your phone to call her and tell her I won't be able to make it," mason asked. "you may when we get to the hospital I'm afraid the signal out here is too spotty." the emergency medical technician replied. The ride to the hospital was long but comfortable. When they arrived mason called his aunt but there was no reply. "that's odd she hardly ever leaves home," so he tried several times throughout the next day but no reply was given. When he arrived home he filed a missing person report when the police arrived at his aunt's house there was blood splattered everywhere. "let us go in first I fear for the worst sonny," the lieutenant said. when they went into the living room they found the aunt's body. The living room was torn apart. papers were scattered everywhere. "We think Jacob the guy we found you with did this, there is a trial on Monday on whether or not he's guilty," the officer said. "But if he is he'll be given the death sentence"

3ntnd9

Autumn conversion

Charlotte picked up her three year old daughter, Sally, stroking her silky fair hair, saying to her, “I will only be away for two nights and you will have the best fun with Grandma and Grandpa. I think they are going to take you to the zoo”. The child snuggled into Charlotte with tears coming from her large brown eyes, “But I want to come with you Mummy”. “I know you do darling, but this is a weekend for grown ups. You would be very bored and you definitely wouldn't like the food. Grandma's cooking is much better”, she said looking over at her mother in law. Hilda was a wonderful mother in law, nothing like the stereo type. She was warm, friendly with a head full of curly grey hair. In fact she looked just like the quintessential grandma. Sally always loved being with her grandparents but this was going to be the first time that she had been left with them for more than a night. Hilda came over to her darling granddaughter, gently easing her away from Charlotte, saying to her, “ Sally lets go and see what Grandpa is doing, he's outside with the chucks. He's waiting for you to help him collect the eggs”. With her usual knack of knowing exactly what would appeal to Sally, she had won her away from Charlotte, taking the little girl by the hand, leading her out of the back door, mouthing “Go and have fun” to Charlotte. Always grateful to these kind parents in law Charlotte picked up her case, going out of the front door to where her friend Anne was waiting. Thankfully she eased herself into the passenger seat, saying,”Thank God for Hilda, she was able to distract Sally with the promise of egg collecting”. They both laughed as Anne backed out of the driveway to start the 30 minute drive into the beautiful Adelaide Hills. Charlotte and Anne had become close friends in the last few years. They had met each other at a local church where Anne's husband of only a year was the Parish Priest. Both Anne and her husband James had been a tower of strength to Charlotte when her husband Ray was killed in a terrible car accident on the way back to their home in the Barossa Valley, one of the premier wine growing districts in South Australia. This had happened a year ago. Sally was only two so Charlotte had found herself on her own with a two year old daughter, a mortgage to pay off and no job and her own family in the UK. Luckily for Charlotte her parents paid off the mortgage for her. Charlotte's father was a very well to do business man , only too happy to help his daughter out in these tragic circumstances. So Charlotte went out job searching and had found , if not the perfect job, at least a job which was part time, but paid reasonably well, in a doctor's surgery. It meant that Sally only had to go into childcare two days a week. They were managing but it was a struggle and when Anne had suggested that they go away to this silent retreat together. Anne's husband James had organised the retreat though he wasn't running it. He had managed to get a very well known Priest, a Father Mark Garratt, to come and take it. Father Mark was well known throughout Australia for his spiritual and meditative silent retreats. Anne had been on one before and she had convinced Charlotte to come to this one. At first Charlotte had been very reluctant. “A silent retreat” she had said. “I am not sure I could cope with that, besides I have got Sally”. However both James and Anne had overcome any obstacle that Charlotte had come up with, even by approaching Ray's parents to look after Sally. They knew that Charlotte had been struggling with her faith, since Ray's death. Both hoped that this period of meditation might help her to start to find a way through her grief, also giving her a break from caring for Sally as a single parent. On arriving at the Retreat House which was in the picturesque town of Aldgate in the Adelaide Hills they were shown to their single rooms by Sister Maria. This sweet old nun was known to Anne, and welcomed her warmly, making Charlotte feel very welcome too. They were told that dinner was at six pm at which there would be an opportunity to meet the other participants. Talking was allowed, which made Charlotte feel somewhat more comfortable! After dinner, the silence would begin. They were to go to the chapel for the first of the talks by Father Michael. Their programme for the weekend would be at their dinner placing. All mobile phones were to be handed in to Sister Maria after dinner. When Charlotte had first heard about this, this was another excuse she had used for not being able to go. “What if something happens to Sally?” James had countered this argument by saying that he would be on call to Ray's parents for the whole weekend. “If anything happens I will come and get you immediately”' he said. Somewhat mollified Charlotte had agreed to go. The dinner was in a big old dining room with high ceilings and pictures from the Old Testament all around the walls. There was a good fire in the huge fireplace with a good supply of logs on the hearth. Even though it was October, autumn could be chilly in the hills. The dining table was laid for twelve, with a big vase of colourful hydrangeas in the middle of the table. Anne and Charlotte seated themselves at one end of the table where they were soon joined by the other ten. As drinks were being served, water or orange juice, Charlotte took stock of the other participants. There were only two men who seemed to be friends, middle aged, rather boring looking in countenance and not interested in talking to anyone else. The other 8 women were a very eclectic group . Two very smartly dressed women who looked as if they would have been better suited to an upmarket health resort. Three others probably in their thirties who were very earnest, possibly school friends, Charlotte decided. Two rather eccentric looking women dressed in what could be termed “Hippie clothing, sporting long grey hair. The last woman intrigued Charlotte. She didn't appear to have come with anyone, was nicely dressed in black pants and a very pretty pink jumper which suited her dark colouring. She was very attractive but to Charlotte , she looked sad. “Its funny”, she thought to herself, “When I was pregnant everyone I saw seemed to be pregnant. Now since Ray's death I seem to be able to notice the grief in other people”. She didn't seem to be reacting to any of the conversations around her and as soon as the meal was finished she up and left. Whereas the rest of them wandered around introducing themselves to other people before they were summoned to the chapel. Fr Michael Garratt was a tall imposing man with a great shock of white hair. However when he opened his mouth, it was mesmerising. He had the most wonderful warm voice which you could just listen to ad infinitum. Anne and I had heard him at one of James's Rock Masses, which is what had spurred them on to enrol in this retreat. He introduced himself, then explained the purpose of a silent retreat, which was, he said, to allow them to get acquainted or reacquainted with God and also to examine themselves. Something, he said, which we don't get a lot of time to do in this busy hectic world. They were given an itinerary of the retreat, detailing the talks themselves, the free time they would have, even a map of the walks around this wonderful property. Silence began as soon as they had had the night prayers after the talk . Everyone seemed to disperse in a moment and Charlotte went up to her room to unpack . The room itself was nothing luxurious but the bed was comfortable and each room had an ensuite. She decided she would have a shower , do some reading and have an early night. However no sooner had she got into bed, than she fell asleep. She was awakened in the night by the sound of sobbing. First of all she thought she was hearing things, but she got up, putting on her dressing gown, gingerly opening her bedroom dooor. Yes it was definitely sobbing, seeming to come from the room on her left. She knew Anne was on her right but she had no idea who was on her left. Within a couple of minutes, the sobbing had ceased. Charlotte waited a few minutes, but all was quiet, so although she felt somewhat perturbed, she returned to her bed, promptly falling asleep. When she awoke the next morning, Charlotte wondered where she was, expecting to hear Sally come creeping into her room asking her if she was awake yet. Then she came to properly, realising where she was. Also the memory of the sobbing came back to her. “I must find out who is in that room to the left of me”, she thought. Checking the time on the alarm clock , she found she would have to hurry to make breakfast.. As she left her room , the door to the left also opened. Out came the woman who had seemed sad to Charlotte last night at the dinner. Somehow she wasn't surprised that it was her. Her head was down, so it was impossible to make eye contact with her. The morning passed uneventfully with both breakfast and lunch eaten in silence. It was quite difficult Charlotte found not to come out with, “Can you please pass the butter or the salt”. It certainly made you very aware of your neighbour, trying to guess what they needed. Anne was sitting next to her, which made it even harder not to talk. She was trying to second guess what Anne would want on her toast, only to keep passing her the wrong thing. Both of them were trying so hard not to giggle when Charlotte passed her the third wrong condiment in a row. In fact Charlotte had to get up and help herself to more coffee to try and control the giggles. On the way back to the table she glanced down the row of people to see the “sad woman”, as she had come to call her at the end of the table, just pushing her cereal around her bowl without really eating it. Meals passed very quickly without chatter though there was pleasant classical music playing in the background. After lunch there was free time until five pm when there was a service in the chapel, then dinner followed by a talk. “Time to explore”, Charlotte thought. Taking the map of the grounds with her, she set off. It was the beginning of autumn so the weather had lost the sting of the summer heat, but was still warm. Wearing a light jacket, carrying her bottle of water, she decided she would take the track up the hill to where there seemed to be a wooded track. The leaves were starting to turn, and as always in the Adelaide hills the autumnal colours were spectacular, orange, russet, red, brown and yellow. “If only I could paint”, she thought. The wooded track was really very pretty, with lots of butterflies milling around. The track suddenly veered round to the left to reveal a little arbour of trees with a wooden seat in the middle of it. Charlotte stopped abruptly for there sitting on the seat and crying her heart out was the sad woman. She had her face in her hands, almost doubled over, as if she was in pain. “Crikey, what to do”, Charlotte thought, “she hasn't seen me, so do I turn around and creep away”. This seemed to go against the grain. This woman needs help and comfort, she thought. So she went up to her, gently putting an arm around her. The woman's head jerked up , her eyes wide with suprise, and also fear, Charlotte thought. Without saying anything, she kept her arm around her, letting her sob more quietly now. Eventually she stopped crying, got out a handkerchief, wiping her eyes, leaning back against the bench. They both sat there for several minutes, Charlotte removing her arm and just holding her hand. They both looked at each other not quite knowing what to do, as silence was supposed to be quite rigorously upheld. “However”, Charlotte thought to herself , “ I think this is a situation where the silence has to be broken”. She said very quietly, “What is your name? I am Charlotte”. “Helen” came back the whispered reply. “Well Helen, I am not going to pry into your sadness. But I do understand something about grief, as my husband was killed in a car crash last year, leaving me with a 2 year old daughter. “ At the mention of the word daughter, Helen started to sob again. Charlotte put her arm around her again. Eventually Helen spoke between sobs, “My daughter Mandy has just been diagnosed with Leukemia and it is terminal. She is only four. I dont know...” Then uncontrollable sobbing took over any more speech. Charlotte while having great empathy for Helen, felt unequal to the task of trying to comfort her. She squeezed her sympathetically, telling her , “I am going to get Sister Maria. We will be right back”. Helen nodded, putting her head in her hands, rocking backwards and forwards. Charlotte almost ran back to the retreat house, found Sister Maria's office, praying that she was there. Her prayers were answered and her knock was answered with a loud, but kind, “Come in”. She raised her eyebrows at Charlotte but gestured for her to sit down. She got the impression that Sister Maria knew her story because her eyes were full of compassion. “I bet James alerted her to it”, she thought. “May I speak”, she asked, receiving a nod from the Sister. She then explained what had happened. Without any hesitation Sister Maria got up and motioning Charlotte to take her to Helen they went off without any further words being spoken. Helen was still sitting on the bench, not sobbing now, but with her head in her hands and still rocking to and fro. Charlotte watched in awe as Sister sat down next to her, gently taking Helen's hands from her face and putting them into her own hands, saying “My child, tell me about it”. As Helen looked into Sister Maria's beautiful serene face, she took a deep breath and started to talk. Charlotte crept quietly away, feeling somewhat in need of a stiff drink but deciding that coffee would be the next best thing, no alcohol being available. She went to the cafeteria, made herself a coffee and sat down on the window seat overlooking the pictoresque Picadilly Valley with fields of vines stretching below, sporting their autumn colours. Cradling her cup of coffee, she found that taking on someone else's grief had in a way helped to alleviate some of her own sorrow. Obviously it didn't make it disappear but here was someone she could in some way identify with and who perhaps in time could identify with her. The rest of the retreat passed without incident. Sunday lunch was a festive occasion , the silence rule now over and there was much chatter while enjoying a delicious roast lamb followed by apple crumble. After some final words from Fr Michael everyone went up to pack up their rooms. Charlotte was just doing up her case when there was a knock on her door. Thinking it to be Anne, she called out, “Just coming, come in”. The door opened rather tentatively which made her turn around to find Helen standing there. “I just wanted to thank you...” she stopped. Charlotte came over to her immediately , hugging her saying, “If I can be of any help even if it is just to meet up for a coffee sometime I would really like to do that”. Helen was silent for a little while, but then she said, “Yes I think I would like that. Sister Maria told me a little of your story, just what you had told me”, she quickly added, “ and I feel I need to have a friend who understands a little of what I am going through.” They exchanged phone numbers, with plans to meet up the following week for coffee. As she piled herself into Anne's car ready to go back down the hill she turned to her friend, saying, “That was the best weekend I have had in a long time. Thank you for encouraging me to go”. Anne turned , looked at her quizzically, saying,” Wow, something must have happened”. Charlotte told her. As they drew into her parents in law's driveway a very excited little girl came running out to meet her saying “Mummy Mummy, I missed you and I have collected nine eggs.” Charlotte took her daughter in her arms, holding her so tightly that Sally begin to wriggle. All Charlotte could think about as she pressed her daughter's small body against hers was that she was so lucky to have a healthy child.   

7yr6ck

The Sign

The Sign “So, when you say about three months, Doc, are you thinking three to four months, or are you more of a two to three months kind of guy?” “Sorry, Fred, it doesn’t work that way. All I can say is you have about three months. That’s been my experience. It’s not an exact science when it comes to that part of it. I had one guy go for a full year, and another guy, he… well, it’s not an exact science. That’s all I can tell you.” A regular refrain Fred had heard from his Dad- “Life isn’t fair; get used to it.” Fred never smoked, never drank, ate healthy foods, and exercised regularly. This wasn’t supposed to happen to a guy like Fred, but in one short week, a pain in his side devolved into a death sentence with an expiration date just months away. On average, convicted murderers get nineteen years from date of judgement to the day they’re strapped to a gurney. Life isn’t fair. It hit Fred the moment he left Dr. Kelly’s office. At first, it confused him, then it annoyed him. Everything, the cars, the people, the birds, and the clouds in the sky all seemed disturbingly unaware of Fred’s plight. He was dying and no one seemed to notice… or care. It is a sad and sobering thought to realize the world will be unaffected by your departure. What does one do when death has a place on your monthly planner? Paint the garage? Pointless. Get that new pickup truck you’ve had your eye on? Even more pointless. Stock up on groceries? Even food’s function becomes uncertain. Amidst the flotsam and jetsom that was once a fully functioning brain, one crystal clear thought emerged. Fred would not tell his son and daughter. They would find out soon enough. Why saddle them with any more days of sadness than necessary? The Packers lost the following Sunday, and for the first time in forty years, Fred didn’t care. He consumed food, but there was no taste. He thought about mowing the lawn, but snow would soon be coming. Even Superman couldn’t clear out his attic and garage in three months. He fed his dog as he teared up knowing his faithful companion would miss him. Fred had decided he would burden no one with his prognosis, but it is hard to keep such sorrow to oneself. Maybe he’d pull a page out of a Checkov short story ; the old man had no one to tell about his son’s death so he shared his misery with his horse. Fred didn’t have a horse, but he always found Shadow to be a good listener. Fred sat on the floor and stroked Shadow’s head with a tenderness they both felt was special. “You’re going to be okay. I’m sure Tom will take you in. You’re going to love it there. He’s got two kids. You’ve met them. Man, they’re going to fuss over you!” Fred wiped away the tears. Dogs can sense things. If dogs could cry, Shadow would have. “I’m sorry, old buddy, I’m sorry.”  Susan was buried on a Tuesday, and even the impending doom would not break the routine. “Good morning, Martha.” “Good morning, Fred. It must be Tuesday. How about a nice red one today?” Susan reached into the cooler behind her and pulled out a bright red rose. “That’s perfect, Martha. Thanks.” Fred put a one-dollar bill on the counter and turned to leave. “Fred, you really don’t have to give me the dollar.” “I know.” Fred always parked on the street outside the cemetery. He didn’t like the idea of pulling up close to the grave, walking twenty-five feet, and visiting Susan’s gravesite. It felt too much like a drive-thru for paying one’s respect. The walk gave him time to reflect on the moment. He might think about their time together in high school or their long walks along the river. If the mood was comedy, it would be their bowling team (worst two averages in the entire league), or his vegetable garden which never yielded a pumpkin bigger than a softball. He always reserved a little time for reflecting on their time with the children. It is indeed a bit perplexing that survivors often think the departed would “like” the location of their final resting place, but those left behind often do harbor such sentiments. As he walked up the hill through a cluster of white birch trees under the morning sun, Fred knew Susan would have liked the spot. “Hey, babe, I’ve got news… big news. You know how you told me you’d be there waiting for me in heaven? Well, I guess I’m on my way. Cancer, just like you. I hated it even more when it was you.” “I’ll see you in heaven.” That’s what people say. How many believe, truly believe? Susan believed. Fred- not so sure. “I’m scared, Susan. I don’t have your strength, your courage. And… I don’t know if I have your faith. I’m sorry, I just don’t know. I…I want to believe, but I’m just not certain. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.” The shrill call of a cardinal caught Fred’s attention. He loved cardinals because Susan loved cardinals. He sometimes thought their sweet song was a sign Suasn was above always watching over him. Fred placed the rose at the base of the gravestone which read, “Susan Barnes- Blessed this world from 1954 to 2012; - Now in Heaven with the rest of the angels.” Fred hadn’t cried since the day Susan died, but today he did. “I miss you so much. I’ve sort of felt half-dead ever since you left so I just have half a journey to go. You have to be on the other side. Please be there for me. I need to see you again, Susan. I want to believe. Help me to believe.” The walk back to his car was always longer than the walk to the grave. “Hey, Dad, what’s happening?” “Hello, Tom. Same old, same old. How are you doing?” Normalcy. That was Fred’s goal for the next few weeks. He knew the time would come when his condition couldn’t be masked, but he wanted to cling to life as he knew it for as long as possible. He dreaded the time his kids and grandkids would know. “I thought you might be suicidal after the Packers lost to the Bears.” “That was bad, but I’m hanging in there.” “I’ll try to get over there to mow the lawn this weekend. I guess painting your garage will have to wait until spring.” Mowing the lawn… painting the garage… things that seem to matter, but really don’t. “I’ll see you at Becky’s for Thanksgiving.” “Just so you know, I told her if she doesn’t have her baked-in-the-bag apple pie, I’m not coming.” A laugh. Where will all the laughter go? There were so many great times, fun times. It didn’t seem possible that such powerful forces could be eclipsed by microscopic cells gone awry. Alone at night. Those were the tough times. Nothing to occupy the senses other than thoughts of the disease ravishing his body and the tearful goodbyes sure to follow. Even flipping through the pages of the family photo albums brought little relief. “Fred! What brings you by this time of night?” “Good evening, Father. I guess I’m looking for a little reassurance.’ “Reassurance. In what way?” “Well, Father, I hate to admit this… but the whole afterlife thing… heaven… God. I guess I’m having some doubts. I kind of want to know that when I die… there will be an afterlife for me… hopefully in heaven.” “I see. And tonight… at ten o’clock? Why tonight, Fred?” “I’m dying, Father. I only have months to live. It’s… hard not knowing. Can you help me, Father?” “I’m sorry, Fred.” The goodly priest studied the face of his friend of many years. “You haven’t told Tom and Becky, have you?” “Not yet, Father. I will… in good time.” Father Mel shook his head. “I understand.” “Reassurance, Father?” “I could tell you all night long that I believe, Fred, that I know God and Heaven exist, but I can’t give you any proof. No one could. I sometimes tell people like you to look around and ask yourself where did all this stuff come from? How did our Universe come to be? There has to be a power greater than ourselves… beyond our ability to comprehend. To find that answer in God? I think true believers have been touched by the Spirit, a special gift from God.” “How do I get touched by the Spirit, Father?” “Listen”. “Listen?”  “Yes, you listen. God, the Heavenly angels, and the faithful departed talk to us every day. Our job is to listen. Don’t stress yourself, Fred. Relax, pray… and listen.” Fred felt like he had gone to the bakery to get a dozen donuts and left with six. Father Mel’s advice sounded like, “You either have faith or you don’t”, and it was not all that comforting. “Listen.” That night in bed, Fred listened with all his might. He had as much success listening for a sign as he did as a child when he prayed he’d be two inches taller in the morning. There are some things you just can’t think your way through. Dying was bad. Dying with the lyrics of Peggy Lee’s song “Is That All There Is?” floating around in his head was worse. There had to be more than this worldly existence, but Fred wasn’t feeling it. Death was knocking at the door. Fred had so little time to find the faith that comforted Susan in her final hours. All he could do was pray, listen, and hope for a sign. Where did life go? Everything seemed like only yesterday. Fred's benchmarks of aging: 1- the girl behind the counter at the bank called him "sir"; 2- the bag boy at the grocery store asked him if he needed help carrying your groceries to the car; 3- the kid at McDonald's asked him if he qualified for the Senior Discount; 4- the abrupt end of the line when his doctor delivered his death sentence. “How long have you known?” “Just for a while.” “Jesus Christ, Dad, you should have told us.” “That wouldn’t have changed anything.” “Well, I’m packing a bag and moving in this weekend.” “Becky, you don’t have to…” “I’m moving in, and that’s it. I can get you to your doctors’ appointments, and do whatever you need done around the house.” “I guess.” The days passed, each longer than the day before. Fred lay in bed and listened. He sat in his rocking chair next to the fireplace and listened. Relaxing on the swing on the front porch in the evening, he listened. Listen, listen, listen, and he didn’t hear a thing. He was as troubled about what might lie ahead as he was the night of his disappointing counseling session with Father Mel. “How are you doing today, Fred?” “I’m okay, Doc, but I can’t lie to you. It hurts.” “I’ll see what we can do on the pain meds. That’s all we can do.” “I am so sick of doctors… sorry, Doc… and hospitals. Can’t I just stay home and die?” “That’s going to be an option, Fred. I’ll talk to Tom and Becky.” Tom helped his Dad up the hill at the cemetery and held him steady as he said his final goodbye. Fred handed a white rose to his son. “Tom, could you…” “Of course.” Tom placed the rose in the small vase, and put both hands on his father’s arm. “Babe… this might be my last visit. I just want to tell you one more time. I love you, Susan. I will always love you.” Tom’s tears matched those of his father. “It will be soon. I hope… I hope to see you then. Goodbye, my love.” As it had become second nature to him, Fred listened the whole way back to his house, and still nothing.  Tom and Susan had moved his bed to the living room as the stairs had become too difficult, and to give their Dad a view of the backyard, the place of so many happy memories. Bright sunlight poured through the picture window, but the room still darkened as the end was near. Fred had been drifting in and out of consciousness all morning, and his words were now meaningless. Tom and Becky comforted each other, and the grandchildren stayed close, Little Tom pushing a red fire truck around on the floor while the older children struggled to come to grips with the concept of death. “At least he’s not in pain, Becky.” “I’m going to miss him.” “We all will.” The movement and incoherent utterances stopped. The finality of the event hit Tom and Susan hard, and both wiped away tears. And then… the shrill cry of a cardinal turned their heads. “Oh, my God Becky, there’s a cardinal on the window sill!” “Mom’s favorite.” Tom and Becky will never know if their Dad heard the sweet song of the cardinal that day, but they did notice the hint of a smile that appeared on Fred’s lips as he made a peaceful exit out of this world… and moved on to the next.

jwk5uy

A Tale of Two Christmas’s

A Tale of Two Christmas’s "George, I can't wait until the family gets here, they are going to love you," Mary told him as they walked into the cabin. After their wedding took place after knowing each other for six months, they were excited and a bit apprehensive to introduce their new spouse to their children. They chose Aspen to celebrate Christmas and invited both of their families. It was neutral territory and they were hoping the expensive ski vacation would butter their families up. Sidney, Mary's oldest daughter, and her three children were the first to arrive. They were from Kansas so they were able to drive in. Alex, George's son needed to be picked up from the airport at noon from Washington, DC. Stan, Elizabeth, and Claire were flying in the next morning. Elizabeth had two small children and she was bringing her husband Steve. Claire was from Austin and was a high paid executive who chose career over family, at least for now. Stan was bringing his teenage children and wife and planned on skiing every day during the week long vacation. He was a real estate agent from Tennessee and didn't get much time off. One by one the children arrived and settled into their separate bedrooms. The cabin was gorgeous with rustic lodge decor and several fireplaces. There was plenty of room for the extended family. George and Mary were delighted with the accommodations. It was expensive to rent for a week but if everything went as planned it would be worth it. Mary and George were both in their fifties so they weren't worried about the children getting along as siblings in the same household but they did want to be able to spend the holidays with them. The evening started well with both families. The children were raised properly by both sets of parents and were very respectful of meeting their parent's new spouse. Mary and George were both widowed and they had waited an appropriate amount of time before dating so the children had no complaints or judgment of their relationship. Everyone was getting along well and Mary and George were thrilled. George rented a large van after he and Mary arrived at the airport from Las Vegas so the family could travel together, It would hold fifteen passengers. George suggested to the family that they go to the tree lot in Aspen after dinner and pick out a Christmas tree. Mary thought it was a lovely idea. She said they could pop some popcorn and string it like a garland around the tree and the entire family could add homemade decorations. The tree was decorated beautifully and Mary's family, Sidney, Claire, and Stan sang Christmas carols as the paper star was added to the top of the tree. What a wonderful evening Mary told George as they retired for the night. The next morning, all of the children woke early to head to the slopes, they still had a couple of days before Christmas and they were planning on getting as much skiing in as possible. Stan's children were old enough to ski unlike Elizabeth's but since George and Mary didn't ski they agreed to keep the small ones so she could enjoy herself. After a long day of skiing, everyone came back to the cabin to enjoy another dinner. Mary chose to cook for the family and prepared quite a feast. George had failed to mention that his granddaughter, Lindsey was a vegan. Mary tried to find something the poor girl would eat but knew little to nothing about what she permitted herself to eat. Christmas dinner would be different Mary thought. She enlisted the entire family to write down the food that they wanted for Christmas. She and George would go to the store and buy everything that was needed to have a wonderful Christmas dinner that pleases everyone. She also asked everyone to write what they wanted to eat on Christmas Eve night. This way, she told George everyone would be happy. George and Mary went to the store and picked up everything on the list. There was bologna, ham, sweet potatoes, Chex cereal, nuts, cream cheese, shrimp, anchovies, bacon, potatoes, cocoa, peanut butter, m, and m's. There was so much food and in very strange combinations. Mary wondered how they could bring it all together and make a presentable meal. After they carried all the groceries in the children got to work. The first thing that Elizabeth grabbed was the m and m's and Chex mix along with rice noodles. Sidney asked if it was a Chex mix recipe and Elizabeth told her she was making reindeer food. Sidney's mouth flew open, and she ran in where her mother was and asked her mother if she knew. Mary looked at her daughter and told her that George and she had never discussed it. Sidney said Mom, how could you marry a man and never discuss it. Mary said that this was their first Christmas and she hadn't even thought about asking him his views on Santa. George walked into the room as Sidney was leaving and Mary asked him how he celebrated Christmas. He said, well, we make reindeer food, leave Christmas cookies and milk for Santa and open our presents on Christmas morning. Mary went white like she had seen a ghost and asked George how he could practice such a lie. George was taken aback and asked Mary what did she mean. Mary told him the only reason for the season was the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ and wondered how he could ever lie to his children and grandchildren about a man that ran around in a red suit that had eight magical reindeer. George told Mary he believed in Jesus and knew that was the real reason for the season but felt it was harmless to let the little ones believe in the magic of Christmas. Mary told George she had to disagree and felt like if he lied to his children about Santa Claus and then they discovered it was untrue that they wouldn't believe him when he told them about God. They would think it was a lie also. It would be hard to convince them after such a lie of the presence of God who they were unable to see but rely on by faith. George told Mary that the children opened their presents on Christmas and they were happy and it didn't take away from Jesus. Mary told George that the presents were to be opened on Christmas Eve and were to be from the parents, not Santa. It seems we have come to an impasse stated George, we definitely should have talked about this before we got married. Mary stormed off saying you probably put the X instead of Christ in Christmas as she slammed the door and went to bed. George and Mary both went to bed wondering how they could fix the controversy. They hadn't known each other for very long before they decided to get married and wondered if they had made a major mistake. All of George's children‘s life he had taught them Santa existed and loved the magical time of year. He passed on his traditions to them and them to their own families. He loved Mary but didn't want to sacrifice his children's Christmas to her beliefs. Mary was feeling the same way as George, she loved him also but had always taught her children about Mary and Joseph traveling to Nazareth to give birth to Jesus in a manger, and talk of Santa was never allowed in their home. After sleeping on it Mary and George woke up the next morning and decided to make their Christmas happy for everyone. The house was large enough to accommodate two Christmas's. Mary's family could have their gift opening on Christmas Eve and never waiver from their religious beliefs and George's family could wait until Christmas morning to unwrap their presents with the joy that old St. Nick stopped by on their side of the cabin. It wasn't perfect for the family's first Christmas together but they realized they could come up with a better solution for the following year. Divorce was not an option, Mary and George loved each other but they realized that after the holiday in Aspen was over and everyone returned home, they needed to have a little discussion about EASTER.....

we40zh

Bourbon Balls

      It was nearing wintertime and every winter my great great grandmother would make bourbon balls and I had to deliver them to the neighbors. It was like an eleventh commandment I had to follow. I desperately wanted to make them myself and deliver them to the neighbors during this crazy time. Only problem was she had passed when I was twelve…and I could not exactly remember how to make them. I had been having memory lapses lately and not the good kind. I think it might have been the weather or something She had written down the recipe, but I couldn’t read her handwriting. I knew how to write cursive but I couldn’t read cursive. Maybe if I did what I remember her doing when she made them, it might help. After grabbing the ingredients that Mom had gotten me, I looked through my computer for clips from the Price is Right when Bob Barker was the host of it. She always had Bob Barker on the TV in the kitchen when she made them. After trying-and failing-to make the bourbon balls to that, I thought maybe listening to hymns could help. “Sweetheart do you need help?” Mom called from the living room “No.” I called back. “All right, I’m going to the grocery.” “All right, stay as long as you need” I regretted it. Sighing, I remembered suddenly that she used to boil the bourbon to make it less alcoholic. It wasn’t the Rebecca Ruth bourbon balls. This were child friendly or virgin bourbon balls. While that was distilling, I worked on melting the chocolate. But I couldn’t find the pot she did it in. Looking up, I smiled figuring out how to do it. The microwave! I should’ve looked up how long you put in the microwave for. I punched in 30 seconds The chocolate melted all right, and burned I felt tears burn in the corner of my eyes and I shook my head. No, I couldn’t cry! Not yet and not over this! I took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten. It didn’t work so I tried to think of my favorite moments from Steel Magnolias. That did not work. Then the alcohol burned on the bottom of the pot. I growled grabbing the pot and nearly slammed it into the sink. I ran water into the pot listening to the hiss of the water cooling it off. I took another deep breath, like my therapist had said to do. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Hot tears began slipping out of my eyes. If someone was coming in, like my biological mother,I was going to snap. Looking up at the window above the sink, I saw it had started snowing outside. Snow may seem like a nuisance and not very beautiful to some people, but to me it was always peaceful and lovely. “Silent night. Holy night.” I started singing grabbing another pan and added butter and confectioners sugar. “All is calm. All is bright” I slowly poured in the bourbon “Round yon virgin mother and child” I took the mixture off the heat, let it cool off for a few minutes before placing it in the fridge to cool and set “Holy infant so tender and mild” I got out what could only be described as a fondue pot. “Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace” I plugged it in letting it start to warm up and I poured water into it letting it start to simmer “Silent night, Holy night” Once it was warmed up, I grabbed the baking chocolate and cutting board. “Shepherds quake,” I began chopping the chocolate slowly “At the sight.” I scrapped the chocolate into the pot “Glories stream from heaven afar” I began stirring and folding the chocolate over each other “Heavenly host sing,” Once the chocolate was melted , I gently unplugged the pot and went to check the bourbon mix. “A-le-lu-a” It was ready and gently set both pots next to each other. I continued singing Silent night as I grabbed a baking sheet and lined it with wax paper.  I rolled the bourbon mixture into balls. I then began dipping it into the chocolate. If it wasn’t covered all the way, I took a spoon and gently poured it over it. After they were all dipped and covered, I set them on the baking sheet. After I finished that I put them in the fridge so they could harden overnight.            When I got them out the next day, they felt like hers. They looked exactly like hers. But when I tasted them, they tasted off. Like something was missing “What did I do wrong now?” I groaned to myself. I racked my brain over and over trying to remember. Then I had it. She had always added a secret ingredient when she was making these. But what was it? I searched and searched the kitchen and could not see anything that could even faintly resemble an ingredient that could go in the kitchen. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes again. How could I have been so stupid and think I could make her signature holiday treat? To calm down and stop myself form crying, I opened my iTunes app and began listening to music. The first song to come on was a love song Augh why? That is when I remembered! She was always poured on love from the jar on the kitchen counter. Now I knew this can of ‘love’ wasn’t real. However, when I was little and watching her make these and shake this jar over them, it seemed so real. I scooped it up and began shaking a vigorous amount of love onto there humming gently.  I tasted one and a smile that had not been on my face in quite a while, I could feel spread on my face. They were made, looked, felt, and tasted just like my grandmothers!  I couldn’t believe it Finally something in 2020 went right! 

eipzwv

Dream

I arise to find myself at a grand dining room table. But this mahogany, stained table covered in enough dust to question how long it's gone unused, doubles as a conference work surface. In the middle, lay a shiny, silver platter and utop, a mound of lime green grapes, which appear to be freshly chilled as if they had just been taken out of a freezer because they still have a frost on them. I can’t help but only see them as invitations to be crunched down on. Around me, three other students sit, all buttoned up in deep sea blue uniform jackets with blinding white polos under and metallic pins that signal a different letter of the alphabet; my pin reads “B.” The contrast between us and our surroundings glares like a deer in headlights. The room is dim, only lit by tall, foot-high candles scattered across the walls. There are none at the table. We are all the same—young men with Bibles perched in front of us like dinner, our faces glazed as if we were preparing for a fight with Vaseline, and our hair slicked back (which astonishes me considering my texture is not of the same quality as my constituents and remains as unruly as a schoolboy banished to the dean’s office). But, this is not a school, although it has the ominous, intimidating aura of one. And I certainly am not at the age where I need a formal education anymore. However, before I can process the scene in front of me, the gentleman to the right of me struggles reading the prose presented to us. There is a new man who appears at the head of the table that is now looking on, with a face that resembles the love child of Nosferatu and Jacques Brel, dressed like a sergeant general and adorned in the alphabetic metals that we are not wearing. He is grimacing with delight. I obviously assume that this is the beginning of a bad horror film and that I have been kidnapped and initiated into a cult, but the Bible that my fellow kidnappee treks through for our listening pleasure gives me hope that somehow I’ll be able to manipulate my captor into my freedom using the good word. While his words drown out my attempt to remain calm and level-headed at this disorientating reality, a command demands the attention of the audience and the old, mid-century paintings on the wall as well. “Again…” our instructor’s voice trails following the immediate impact of the first syllable. It must suck to be that guy, my mind wanders after he continues, to be the one who starts off this satanic journey. At least, we’re not actually down there with him, which means there’s still hope. The two faces in front of me, deeply entranced by his every word, let me know that I need to stop daydreaming about getting out until the opportunity presents itself. “To human is to air—to err…?” my illiterate partner asks. His jet black nail polish gently shivers against the table. I don’t remember that in the Bible. “Again…” When I glance over to see what he is reading, his long dark black hair suddenly becomes as unmanageable as mine, spiky and dry with a large splatter of blue on the front right side where it's parted. It covers the pages. “God! I- I can’t take it anymore!” Holy shit. Is he quitting? I’m not eating dead human carcasses after Hannibal Lecturer decides to maim him for speaking out of turn. I have to draw my line somewhere. But it is none of my business. From the moment the ensuing discussion begins, I crack open my Bible in search of my favorite scripture—Psalms 27. As I flip through, the characters dance along the page, first changing order, then language and finally, shape and form all together. Last time I checked, I was not dyslexic but also last time I checked, I was free from this nightmare. A thought scurries across my brain like the mouse that just hurried away with a fallen grape seed—our captor keeps this place immaculate. But I cannot remember who I was before being trapped here. “I’m leaving!” our blue-haired friend announces before storming towards the dark corner where I assume there is an exit. I have no thoughts, other than there’s no way he left. The grapes appear to have a deep, blood red color now, almost black and the spread is significantly smaller than before. We are assigned to turn to the book of Goliath, whose song reads of everlasting love, forever missing from his soul: O that thou is my brother, that sucked on the breasts of my mother! as I should find myself with thee, I would kiss thee; yea I should not be despised. I lead thee and to the house of my mother, who instructs me: I would cause thee to drink the spiced wine of the juice of my (mango/apple). His left hand wraps around my neck, and his right hand should embrace me. I charge you, O sons of Philistine, that ye settle down and rest in love, that he pleases, until it is no more, as is my circumstance… It feels vaguely familiar, but I cannot place where this deja vu feeling is elicited from. My life is on the line. My fear-producing co-workers toil in silent, nervous agony, shaking ever so slightly from the booming voice of our enslaver, who now informs us of a break—it is lunchtime. The room changes to become a true dining hall, with seven or eight more students suddenly entering the brighter area, filled with wilting shrubbery alongside the walls. I gloss over those surrounding me, even the girl singing in French, with a somber tone. I can see the paintings more clearly now, and they depict famous portraits slightly altered in color scheme—they all share fuschia and lavender accents. Following The Scream painting etched completely in shades of purple, I finally see my escape—a door. Outside, a familiar light strikes me comfortably, as it is my backyard back home and glints a lively and verdant green. The kudzu that enshrouds the proud pine winks at me, teasing me with its close touch. I see my target. Walking towards the door proves to be another trial, as the portal to my freedom steps away with each of my passing steps. As suddenly as I witness my exit, I am sat at a new table similarly staged to the original, but barely off the ground where my classmates anxiously await their sandwiches. I am served turkey and provolone and we all receive them all on croissants. We never eat, however, the sandwiches take a backseat to the hours-long, revolving door of people entering and exiting the room as we patiently watch on. We are not allowed to eat if all guests are not seated at the table. The final entrant arrives flanked with two other members of this secret society, and they remove the dish of red grapes and replace them with the original green grapes, now dipped in a sugar syrup and hardened to become crystallized. There’s an eerie sense that this ceremony is coming to a close shortly. Our captor flashes a single spoon, a rusty orange-brown that looks like it used to be a different color, but I cannot figure out what that would have been. The others giggle like the school kids we are dressed like. “He’s ready!” a young man appears from a dark corridor. His appearance is striking—classically tall, dark and handsome. “He’s not ready…” another argues. She was singing in French earlier, but has no hint of an accent now. It was me that was the lesson the entire time. They all grin with exasperated smiles—this is their only form of entertainment. He offers me a handkerchief, and I have to polish this spoon. Slowly, I attempt and realize the crude feels like it has been cemented on for centuries. He takes the spoon from me and shows me the proper technique. Precisely on the edge, he begins to carve out the platinum gray with his right thumbnail through the napkin. Once he is completed, the class marvels at his incredible ability and laughs in unison. They remark sarcastically about this moment. What the hell is going on? My reflection mocks me as he holds the spoon up to my crest-fallen face. “We know who you are.” He picks up a dark camera, the flashlight and lens comically enormous. They all whisper in hushed tones, making sure that I do not hear. “Picture time!” his sing-songy voice goes up a pitch for the first time. They gather around with their platter of grapes and it’s dessert, although I’m starved for real food. They assign me the plate, and I walk to what feels like my final resting place, a chair in the center of the room. No more tables in sight—everyone is on their feet. They nod as I take my first bite. The realization sweeps over my entire body in jarring motions. I’m in hell. 

ai8ted

Grandma Lied to Me

Grandma Lied to Me For the third time that morning, Charlie found himself chasing the mixing bowl around the kitchen. It had broken out of the stand and was making a lazy loping circuit around the island. He looked up, casting his gaze through the ceiling in an effort to communicate directly to the great beyond. “Would it have killed you to write down just one recipe?” A small voice in his head answered with it’s own question. Would it kill you to think before you run your mouth? It was the little voice that often spoke up just after he said or did something thoroughly stupid and undeniably avoidable. It sounded a lot like his Grandma. It would have been a simple Christmas cookie party, but he had to go and turn it into the Charlie show. His bravado and tongue wagging had put him on the hook for a batch of his Grandma’s famous double chunk mint melt away cookies. He’d talked them up until his mouth was dry, making half-baked promises before remembering that he didn’t have a clue how Grandma actually made the cookies. He picked up the bowl, studied the mix for foreign contaminates and tried to stick an exploratory finger into the batter. Concrete slurry was more flexible. He scraped the mix out into the trash where it landed with a meteoric thump, and began rinsing the bowl. His mother had to know the recipe. She’d gotten all of her mother’s cookbooks when Gram passed, but she wasn’t available to interrogate. Unfortunately, she was somewhere off the coast of Alaska with his step-father and wasn’t answering any of his frantic emails. Charlie eyed the phone. There was one other person who might help. She’d been in the kitchen with Gram same as Charlie. He looked at the clock. He had six hours to get this right and he’d already failed thrice. He swallowed his pride and decided to call for reinforcements. She picked up on the third ring. “Can’t you text like a normal person?” was all she had to say before the line went dead. Charlie would have preferred texting, but she’d just made it a requirement. That made it impossible for him to do. He called again, this time putting her on speaker. “God, you don’t learn.” “I need your help!” He shouted before she could hang up again. Silence filled the kitchen. “Say it again. Slower.” “I. think. That. I Might. Could. Maybe.” “That is painful to listen to.” She cut him off with a dramatic sigh. “What kind of trouble did you get into this time?” “Do you remember Gram’s double chunk cookies?” This time there was no teasing in Kate’s silence. When she spoke, she sounded much younger. “I remember.” “Did she ever give you the recipe?” “You cannot be trying to bake those. You’ll murder them.” “Yeah,” Charlie thought about the last lump he’d tossed in the trash. “So far that’s exactly what I’ve done. So did you get the recipe?" "No. I think Mom might have it.” “They’re on that cruise.” “Oh, yeah.” Silence stretched long. “As many times as she had us help, you should be able to remember. It can’t be that hard.” “Are you busy?” “You mean can I come make cookies for you? Yeah, I am too busy for that.” “I need these for tonight. I can’t remember everything. I thought, maybe, if you helped…” “I have to work later.” “So you’re not busy now then, right?” She gave him another dramatic sigh. “You owe me big time.” Two hours later they both stared together at the far too thick glob of putty that was supposed to have been cookie dough. “Obviously,” Kate said, pushing a curly strand of her dark hair behind one ear with a flour covered hand, “this is not right.” “I think I did better by myself,” Charlie admitted. “I don’t understand. We both remember the same steps.” “Mostly.” Kate scraped the latest failure into the trash. “We only have one more shot at this. I’m almost out of flour.” “We still don’t know when she added the mint chocolate chunks.” “We can’t even get the batter right. That’s got to be the priority. Besides, Grandma always added those without us. It can’t be that hard to add chocolate.” “You know what kind she used?” Kate’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Sort of.” Charlie pointed to a green box next to the fridge. “Andes mints taste close enough to me. It doesn’t matter if we can’t get this part though.” He gestured at the garbage which had been heaped with lumps of brown cement. “Now you kids run along while I add the secret ingredient.” Kate’s voice was an eerie approximation of Grams and they both laughed at the accuracy. “What secret ingredient!” Charlie bellowed up at the ceiling. Kate laughed, and the truth in it reminded him of when they had been much younger. They were not those people anymore. Life had jaded both of them around the edges, but her laugh brought some of their closeness back. “You should come over for Christmas.” Kate looked up from where she’d been googling cookie recipes. “Seriously, don’t you ever miss being a part of…” he trailed off, gesturing wildly at the mess the two of them had made. “Don’t you ever not talk?” “I mean it. Why don’t you ever come over for the Holidays?” “I don’t know,” she said in a sarcastic sing-song. “Will Chad be there?” Charlie started to shut down his invitation. She’d brought up their step-father, knowing it was the one thing he was guaranteed not to talk about. Knowing she knew this frustrated him. He turned away, anger welling inside him. He was mad at Kate for her obstinacy, mad at himself for promising to make cookies when he’d never actually baked anything that wasn’t breaded, and angry at his mother. He was distracted by hating in every direction, so his mouth did what came naturally. “He’s not that bad a guy, not really.” “Please don’t tell me you’re on team Chad now.” “You left so soon. Too soon. Have you ever actually talked to him? Like had a real conversation?” Kate began measuring out the last of the flour. “When you left it was just me and them when Dad-” Kate slammed the glass measuring cup down so hard the report echoed back across the room. The shockwave caused the strings on his guitar to sing out ghostly harmonics from it’s place in the corner. “Don’t do that! Don’t you put this on me!” Charlie was stunned by her ferocity. He leaned away, letting the words she’d never been mad enough to say wash over him. "SHE cheated on Dad! SHE did that. SHE broke his heart. And When Dad left, SHE moved HIM into the HOUSE! I couldn’t stay with that, especially not after…” She trailed off into a choked sob, then hung her head. One hand toyed with the flour that had spilled when she’d slammed the cup down. “He didn’t kill Dad.” “He didn’t help.” There was still anger dripping from her words, but it had lost its edge. She seemed to know this and batted a small pile of flour, spraying it into the air and across the kitchen island. “That was a drunk, Kate. Neither Mom nor Chad was anywhere near that bar.” “But why was Dad there, huh? Why do you think he was at that bar that night? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. About what if…”  “Did I ever tell you about the plaque?” Kate’s brow furrowed. She turned away from him and rummaged in the fridge for a moment. “Where’s your butter?” Charlie sighed and pointed to the last two sticks, already on the island top. “About a month or so after Dad’s funeral one of the guys from The Corner Pocket stopped by the house. Mom was out with Chad. I think she was getting groceries or something. Anyway, this guy stops by, really big guy with a beard. Not one of those cool bushy ones though, it was all wiry and mostly neck hair. But he knocks on the door and when I open it, he just holds out this plaque. They had Dad’s name engraved on a plaque to hang on the wall over his favorite pool table “in memoriam.” He told me this like I would be proud. The bitch of it is, I was. I still kind of am.” “Is that supposed to make me like Chad, because they hung a plaque on a wall at Dad’s favorite bar?” “No probably not. But, I’ve been there. They actually named the pool table after him. The Frank Hawkins Memorial pool table. How much time did he have to spend there to get his name engraved on not one, but two bronze plates?” He held up a hand to forestall her answer. “Yeah, Mom did him dirty and Chad was a part of that, but he was already going to be at that bar anyway. That’s what he did.” Kate opened her mouth to protest, closed it, and started measuring out the sugar instead. “I hated Chad at first too, just like you. I just wasn’t old enough to leave. And then two things happened. That guy showed up to show me that stupid plaque, and Chad showed up at my graduation. It hurt, because it wasn’t Dad, but Dad didn’t make it to your graduation either, Kate. And he could’ve.” Kate stopped measuring. The wooden spoon handle Charlie had been using for mixing stuck out of the bowl, bits of previous batters crusted along it’s length. Kate gave the shaft of wood a gentle flip and then went to the sink. “Why am I making your cookies, again?” “Because I talk too much and get myself in trouble and you are a good big sister and like to bail out your baby brother?” “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this. Just buy some cookies from the store. I’m sure you can talk your way out of this as easily as you got into it.” She started running water and then shut it off. “We’re a mess.” “You’re a mess.” He gestured to the smudge of flour in her hair and the ghosts of batters past that still clung to her shirt in places. “I’m just festively decorated.” “You’re so full of shit!” She laughed again, and for a time it was better. “So will you come for Christmas?” “If we can get these cookies right,” she sighed, “then I guess so.  I’ll come.” “Stop playing in the sink then. We have work to do.” They poured out the ingredients just as they remembered, adding a little extra butter to hopefully keep it from cementing so completely. “Moment of truth,” Kate said, her finger poised over the stand mixer’s on off switch. As Charlie started to nod his phone let out the piercing tone of a desktop bell. He had an email. He held up one finger in Kate’s direction and then went to his phone without a word. She stayed poised, a go to hell smile spreading across her face, her finger inching inexorably toward the switch. She stopped when Charlie started laughing. “Seriously?” He looked up and bellowed through the ceiling. “Seriously!” “What is it? Is it from Mom?” “I can’t believe I have to say this, but you were right.” “Right about what? Giving up? Being better than you? Or did Chad do something? What is going on over there?” Kate abandoned the mixer and stalked toward Charlie. Before she got to him, he began to speak using the same voice he’d always used to imitate their mother. “Oh my goodness. I had forgotten all about Mom’s double chunk cookies. Lol. She used to love making those with you and your sister. Are you sure you’re ready for the secret ingredient?" He paused and looked up at Kate, speaking in his own voice. "She put a billion spaces in here so I had to scroll, for suspense I guess.” He returned to his mom voice. “She would always make that mix with you guys and send you out to play. Then she threw that away and opened a package of soft batch cookies. She put two pieces of Andes mints upside down on top of each one and warmed them up just enough for the chocolate to melt.” “Are you serious with this?” Kate interrupted. Charlie held up one finger and finished. “I can’t believe you wanted to make these. How fun. Speaking of fun Chad and I are having a blast, it’s so pretty up here. We saw a whale! We’ll have lots of pictures to show you. Also, if you see your sister, tell her we’re fine. Love, Mom.” He finished with a flourish of eye blinks. “It’s all been a lie.” Kate sat down on the stool she’d brought over when they first started. “My whole childhood was one big lie.” “Yeah, but now I have a new problem.” “Aside from the fact that you talk too much?” “I have these mints, see. What I need is somebody to go buy some cookies for me to melt them on top of while I get ready for the party.” “Must suck to need stuff. I have work.” Kate started washing her hands. “What are you going to do with that?” She gestured at the unmixed batter, drops of water baptizing the room in tangential arcs. “Garbage, I guess.” “I’ll take it.” “What could you possibly want with that?” “It’ll make great lumps of coal.” They laughed. “So you’ll come to Christmas? A deal’s a deal.” “A deal’s a deal.” She raised a finger. “If I can bring the coal.” “Are you still here. Shouldn’t you be going to get my cookies?” She grabbed her keys, tucked the mixer, bowl and all, under one arm,  and flipped him the bird. “So, that’s a yes, right?” She closed the door on her way out, a go to hell smile spreading across her face. Charlie looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Grandma.”

doijk5

Pinot Grigio

I don't want to meet him, Dad. Paul pulls up in his silver Corsa, snow turning to slush under the tires. The gravel is muddy and his leather boots are flecked with dirt. He rubs them on the hessian mat and slips them off in the boot room, hanging up his coat on the empty peg. It's red - a dark, bloody colour. Lottie returns to the sofa, sitting down next to me. She fits perfectly. This is what home is - everyone fits. I start to stroke her hair as Paul’s footsteps pad down the hallway towards us. Dad stands up from his chair, picking up and downing his wine in one smooth motion. He walks to the table, a dark wooden rectangle with a stack of presents piled up on one end. The wine glass balances precariously on the edge as he pours more from the Pinot Grigio bottle. As Paul hovers in the doorway, Dad hands him the glass and opens the cabinet to find another one for himself. ‘Girls, this is Paul. Paul, this is Lottie, and Mel.’ Paul smiles. The lines around his eyes crinkle a little and one of his dimples is more pronounced than the other. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you girls! I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Dad told us about Paul a year ago. He told us he was gay about a year before that. It tore me apart. I would have preferred it if he’d cheated, if him and Mum had been fighting, if something had felt wrong - but it didn’t. Everything was more or less perfect. When he told us, it felt like my whole life just stopped. The family I loved was built on a lie; his relationship with Mum was a lie; he was a different person at all. It’s not homophobic to say that I wish he wasn’t gay, or hadn’t told us. I’m fine with people being gay - just not my dad. He ruined my life by telling us. If he can lie for the first fifty years, he could have at least waited until we were both in college before he decided to drop a bomb on our lives. So no, I didn’t want to spend Christmas with Paul. In fact, I didn’t really want to meet him. I feel a bit sick when I look at them together, especially this one photo where they’re kissing. It’s just… wrong. I wanted to spend Christmas with Mum. Well, I wanted to spend Christmas with Mum and Dad, but I’ve pretty much accepted that’s not going to happen. I definitely, definitely, definitely did not want to spend Christmas with Dad and Paul. Lottie is a natural conversationalist. As the snow falls thick and fast outside, she asks Paul about his job, his dog, his siblings: a lawyer, a dalmatian, two younger sisters. He says they’re a bit like us. She’s all smiles, laughs at his jokes, asks him more questions. Either she’s a great actress, or she’s really ok with this. I’m not. I stare out the window at the barren, frozen apple tree as Lottie stumbles towards the end of a sentence. Suddenly the room is silent. Dad sips his wine quietly and Paul fiddles with the hem of his jeans, nervously searching for something to do. Slapping his knees, Dad stands up and strides over to the table. ‘Present time, I think?’ Of course, Lottie got Paul a present. Really it’s for Paul and Dad, but she gives it to Paul to unwrap. ‘This is from me and Mel,’ she lies, ‘I hope you like it!’ He unwraps it neatly and puts the green crêpe paper to one side to use again, just like I do. It’s a small cherry-red wooden box with an engraving on top. It reads For Dad and Paul, from L and M xxx . Dad slides back the lid to reveal two small silver keychains, with dates engraved on the top. The engravings are neat, small black lines. One for Dad with Paul’s birthday, and one for Paul with Dad’s birthday. Paul beams, hugs Lottie. I can tell he’s a bit teary-eyed. I feel sick. The oven timer goes off and Dad gets out the mince pies. I hate mince pies, but they’re Paul’s favourite, and apparently today is all about him. They’re too hot and I can tell Lottie’s struggling to swallow. Paul’s oblivious. He looks over at me, smiling, and asks - ‘So, Mel, how’s school?’ I don’t really want to answer. I mumble ‘fine’ under my breath and go back to looking out the window. I can see Dad glaring at me in my peripheral vision. I don’t care; he lost his glaring privileges when he ruined my life. Obviously, Paul got us presents. Lottie opens hers first, tearing off the silver paper to reveal a small gold bangle. It has a tiny yellow daisy charm in the middle. It’s gorgeous. She slips it on over her wrist and it fits perfectly, the same colour as the earrings she’s wearing; the ones I got her last Christmas. Dad smiles wide, and holds out his hand to have a look at the bracelet. She shows it off proudly. As Dad draws back, he brushes hands with Paul and they share a look, smiling the same way Lottie smiles at her boyfriend. Dad looks genuinely happy. Taking a deep breath, I reach forward for the small silver box on the table, wrapped with a neat green bow. I slide my thumbnail under the sellotape to unwrap it neatly and put the paper down on the floor. Inside is a thin grey box. I remove the lid to reveal the daintiest, most gorgeous watch I have ever seen. It’s beautiful. The straps are long and silver, with tiny diamonds circling the face and hands. I turn it over, and see a tiny engraving on the back - For M, Merry Christmas 2019. Paul’s tense, inquisitive. I let go of the breath I didn’t realise I was holding and murmur ‘I love it, thank you.’ He looks at me and smiles. Dad looks overjoyed. ‘Did I choose the right thing then Mel,’ Paul asks, ‘do you like it?’ I nod gently and fasten it on my wrist. As the cold metal hits my skin, a shiver runs up my arm. Looking up at Paul, I smile and say thank you. It’s not really about the watch, though, and I think he knows that. He went out and chose it for me. He went out and chose something just for me, hoping I’d love it. He cares whether I like it or not. He makes my dad happy. The blanket of snow on the driveway is marked here and there by birds’ footprints, but mostly still and perfect. We’re watching Love Actually, and Paul’s favourite scene is in the lake - we laugh in unison, I’ve watched this movie every Christmas since I was ten. He yawns, stretching his arms high above his head and settling back down over Dad’s shoulder. He fits on the sofa perfectly. Lottie snuggles into my chest, half-asleep. This is what home is - everyone fits.

2dswaw

Ida Rose

Kentucky winters are fickle.  A snowstorm can be followed by a sixty-degree day filled with sunshine.  On January 24, 1979 a snowstorm was heading toward the Ohio Valley.  It was a Wednesday and chatter filled the school bus as Ida Rose and her friends anticipated the foot of snow that was predicted.  Homework took a back seat as they planned their winter escapades fully planning that school would be cancelled the rest of the week. The snowflakes began falling as the bus exited the interstate and merged onto Dixie Highway.  The flakes were large.  The bus driver was committed to safety as he proceeded cautiously down the major highway passing the malls and businesses and turned right onto Greenwood Road toward suburbia. The south end of town consists of small brick or wood frame homes generally owned by blue-collar families. The bus slowed and with the STOP sign firmly in place, Ida Rose and her brother exited and crossed the street.  Their small wood frame yellow home was near the end of the road and they were in good spirits, giggling as they ran and slid down the street in the freshly falling snow.  The tranquility of the falling snow and quiet hush of the neighborhood contrasted with the exuberant spirits of two elementary school kids giddy to hurry home positive that they would not be back at school this week. Jack would be eight in four days.  He was small in stature but large in personality.  Everyone liked Jack and he liked everyone.  He was the family comedian whose role was to make everyone laugh.  Sometimes Ida Rose was amused but other times she was jealous.  “Watch this”, he screamed as he dropped his math book to the ground and pushed it so that it slid several yards.  Ida Rose wasn’t about to be outdone and quickly yelled, “I can do better than that”. Sliding her social studies book down the street and running after it.  As she ran upon the book, she placed her right foot on the book and pushed off with the left foot thinking she would catapult herself forward like a skateboard.  But as she pushed off, her feet went in two different directions and she landed face forward clumsily trying to catch her fall with her hands.  Jack burst into laughter and started teasing her, “You’re not Ida Rose, you’re Ida Hosed!” Tears started down Ida’s face.  She was furious, angry, embarrassed and worst of all she was bested by her little brother as he pulled off the stunt perfectly.  Jack could instantly tell that Ida was getting ready to blow.  He had witnessed her temper before and contemplated whether he should run or help her.  She certainly would not have helped him.  Knowing he would likely regret it later, he walked over to her and held out his hand.  Ida refused to take it.  She was not finished sulking.  “Come on Ida”, we better wipe off our books and get home before Mom comes looking for us.  Jack started to walk away.  Ida lashed out at him, “well at least you could give me your hand!”  Jack shook his head and turn around extending his hand a second time.  Ida met his hand and as he pulled her up, he noticed the blood running down her nose.  “You are bleeding”, he informed her.  “Shut up Jack!  Leave me alone,” Ida picked up her book and tears continued to flow until she walked in the door. Bridgette was changing the baby’s diaper when she first heard Ida Rose crying as she navigated the driveway. “MOOOOOOM!   MOOOOOOOOM!” soon rang through the house followed by sobs and blubbering. “MOOOOOOOOM!  Where are you?”  Bridgette put the baby down and met Ida Rose in the kitchen.  “What happened to you”, she asked.  “Jack pushed me down,” Ida lied as she sneered toward Jack.  “I did not!” Jack insisted. “Why would I make that up?” responded Ida Rose.  “She’s lying, Mom!  She fell,” Jack replied.  Jack had been caught in many webs woven by Ida and he wasn’t going down without a fight.  Bridgette intervened, “ok, ok, enough!  Ida, go to the bathroom and get a washcloth to clean yourself up and go to your room.  Jack, you go to your room too.  We will deal with this when your dad gets home.  It’s Wednesday, go ahead and start on your bible lessons.”  “It’s snowing outside, and we are supposed to get a foot of snow.  Are we still going to church?” Ida contested.  “When your dad gets home, we will know if the roads are too bad.  Now get moving,” Bridgette nudged them toward their rooms. Bridgette busied herself making goulash for dinner.  It was 4:30 by the time she put it in the oven.  She had one hour to help the kids with their church lessons and homework before dinner was ready and Kurt was home from working on the railroad.  Dinner would be on the table at 5:30 as Kurt entered the back door.  He would ask one of the children to offer a prayer, eat with the family and have an hour before heading to Bible study.  This was their Wednesday night ritual.  Ida Rose cleaned herself up and went into her lavender bedroom.  She loved her lavender bedroom with the flower wallpaper on one wall.  All of the rooms in the modest, three-bedroom house were painted white except for hers.  She relentlessly begged for colored walls and her parents made an exception.  But they drew the line when she insisted on whitewash furniture that many of her friends had.  With Bridgette being a homemaker, they did not have the extra funds but they painted her furniture white which satisfied her, at least for now.  Her brothers shared a room.  She was so upset when her mother came home from the hospital with a second baby brother.  She wanted a sister so badly that she would not even look at baby Brady for several days, but she eventually came around and now she was happy that she did not have to share a bedroom. She sat on her bed with her Bible and lesson book on her lap.  She loved going to Bible class with all her friends.  She especially liked her teacher this quarter, Miss Cynthia, who was always very kind and loving to everyone.  She made Ida Rose feel special. Ida Rose read about Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5: “5 Now a man named Ananias, together with his wife Sapphira, also sold a piece of property. 2 With his wife’s full knowledge he kept back part of the money for himself, but brought the rest and put it at the apostles’ feet. 3 Then Peter said, “Ananias, how is it that Satan has so filled your heart that you have lied to the Holy Spirit and have kept for yourself some of the money you received for the land? 4 Didn’t it belong to you before it was sold? And after it was sold, wasn’t the money at your disposal? What made you think of doing such a thing? You have not lied just to human beings but to God.” 5 When Ananias heard this, he fell down and died. And great fear seized all who heard what had happened. 6 Then some young men came forward, wrapped up his body, and carried him out and buried him. 7 About three hours later his wife came in, not knowing what had happened. 8 Peter asked her, “Tell me, is this the price you and Ananias got for the land?” “Yes,” she said, “that is the price.” 9 Peter said to her, “How could you conspire to test the Spirit of the Lord? Listen! The feet of the men who buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out also.” 10 At that moment she fell down at his feet and died. Then the young men came in and, finding her dead, carried her out and buried her beside her husband. 11 Great fear seized the whole church and all who heard about these events.” Tears welled up in Ida Rose’s eyes again.  She was like Ananias and Sapphira.  She looked around her room and thought “please don’t strike me dead God.”  She knew she would have to face her dad soon.  If she told him that she had lied to her mom, he would surely spank her.  Ida Rose answered the questions at the end of her bible lesson and then pulled out her homework.  Dad arrived home and dinner was ready but two family members were not present at the table.  Mom filled him in on the family crisis of the moment.  Ida Rose heard dad walk into the boy’s bedroom.  She couldn’t make out what was said but her stomach dropped when she heard his footsteps and then her bedroom door creak open.  Dad was intimidating.  He kept a beard and maintained a strong physical presence.  He was not one to openly give hugs and kisses but was a stern man who was serious minded.  “Ida, how did you get a bloody nose?” he gently asked.  Ida Rose’s mind was doing somersaults.  She wanted to tell the truth, to be free of the lie.  She did not want God to strike her down.  Ida Rose couldn’t find the courage to tell the truth, “Dad, Jack pushed me and I fell.  I tried to catch myself but I tripped over a book and another book must have hit my nose as I fell to the street.”  She didn’t want to lie but she didn’t want to be punished either.  “Well,” Dad said, “that doesn’t line up with Jack’s story.  One of you is lying and if someone doesn’t tell the truth I’m going to have to spank both of you.”  Ida insisted she was telling the truth as did Jack so he spanked both of them and told them to come to dinner once they wiped away their tears. Ida tried to reason with herself about why it was okay that they both got spanked.  Surely Jack had done something that went unpunished and this simply made up for it.  Ida was quiet during dinner.  She drank her iced tea and ate her goulash and went back to her room until it was time to leave for church.  Her Bible was still open to Acts 5 and she reread it.  Why was she feeling so guilty?  She had lied before and it did not bother her.  She lied about stealing $2 from a girl at school and when her mom discovered the money that she knew was not Ida’s, Ida had told a fib that she won it at school at a lunchroom contest.  Mom was skeptical and called the school and was told there was no lunchroom contest so Ida told her mom that someone had dropped it in the schoolyard.  Ida Rose proceeded to claim that she didn’t know why she made up the lunchroom contest but probably because she just likes to win at things.  Then there was the time that Ida lied about poking holes in the lotion bottle.  She was sitting on the commode doing her business when she saw a straight pin.  She picked up the lotion bottle and poked the pin through it again and again and again, several times over.  Later that day, her mother found the bottle with the lotion oozing out from all of the holes.  Ida said she didn’t do it.  Jack said he didn’t do it. They were both spanked.  Ida Rose figured she was getting spanked either way so what good would it do to tell the truth.  Ida wasn’t new at lying but feeling bad about it was new.  Her conscious kept eating at her while she fiercely tried to squelch it.  Dad declared that they would attempt the snowy roads to attend mid-week Bible study and partly because it appeared that his children could use some godly direction after this evening’s fiasco.  They loaded into the maroon 1974 Ford LTD and started down the driveway and toward church. Ida Rose and Jack were mesmerized staring at the large flakes falling around them.  As the snow fell so did Ida Rose’s tears.  “Please don’t strike me down for lying God,” kept circling through her mind.  Ida Rose didn’t know what to do with her new found conscience.  She couldn’t shut it down no matter how hard she tried.  She closed her eyes and prayed to herself, “Dear Father in heaven, please forgive me for lying.  Please do not strike me down like Ananias and Sapphira.  I’m sorry Lord.  In Christ name, Amen.”  As Ida Rose opened her eyes, she heard her small voice speak up, “I want to get baptized.”  Kurt and Bridgette glanced at each other as Bridgette turned around and asked “what brought that on?” Bridgette did not have the quickest wit about her but Kurt knew exactly what brought it on.  Kurt expected that Ida Rose had lied earlier and he expected that lie led to this moment. “Ida, why do you want to get baptized,” Kurt asked. “Because I don’t want to go to hell” “Why do you think you will go to hell?” “Because I know I’ve done wrong and I don’t want God to punish me.” “Can you give me some examples?” Ida Rose was proud and did not want to give examples and broadcast her sins in front of everyone in the car.  Jack was staring at her trying to figure out where this next show would end.  Ida Rose took a deep breath and said barely audible, “I lied today.” A look of absolute smugness covered Jack’s face and upon noticing Ida Rose stuck out her tongue at him and looked away. As they pulled into the church parking lot, they noticed the weather was keeping several members from showing up tonight.  The preacher, David, was standing inside the door greeting everyone as they entered. Kurt shook his hand and said “Ida Rose has something that she would like to talk to you about.” “Is that right, Ida Rose?” David said with a smile as wide as Tennessee.  David was the nicest preacher that Ida Rose had ever met.  He made her feel special just like his wife, Cynthia.  “How about we walk in my office for a bit?” Ida Rose followed him into his office.  She could feel the heat buildup inside her.  She was not very good at expressing herself, mainly because she lacked the confidence to just be herself.  She started to get flustered and tears started down her face.  “It’s okay, Ida, now what is this all about?” David inquired. Ida mustered her voice, “I want to get baptized.”  “Do you believe that Jesus is the son of God?” Ida nodded sheepishly and said “Yes.  And I don’t want to go to hell for my sins.” “Okay, well then let’s go take care of this right away, darling.”  David led Ida out of his office to Kurt who was waiting outside the door.  “Dad, I think she’s ready!”  David said as he patted Kurt on the shoulder and winked. Bible class was cancelled due to the snowstorm and all the members were summoned to the auditorium to witness the baptism of Ida Rose.  The members sang a couple hymns while she dressed back into her clothes and after many congratulatory remarks, the Swisher’s started their return home. The car was quiet when Jack’s quivering voice broke the silence. “Is nobody going to say it?”  With all of Ida Rose’s drama, the fact that Jack was unjustly punished had escaped Kurt and Bridgette’s attention.  Bridgette furrowed her brow, not understanding Jack’s question but Kurt caught Jack’s deflated demeanor in the rear-view mirror and felt immediate remorse.  “I am truly sorry Jack,” dad offered. “Ida Rose, what about you?” Ida Rose rolled her eyes.  After a long pause, she crossed her fingers and smiled at her dad in the rearview mirror and then looked toward Jack, “I’m sorry too Jack.”

do0xih

The Price of Ambition

The city skyline shimmered in the distance, reflecting the success Ethan had craved since he was a child. He moved swiftly through the bustling streets, dressed in tailored suits, his steps echoing against the pavement. Everything he touched turned to gold—at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. Ethan had always been the ambitious one, constantly chasing after the next big thing. His older brother, Sam, was different content running their father’s modest repair shop, a family business that had been in their hands for generations. Where Ethan saw limitations, Sam saw legacy. It was a fundamental difference that had always divided them. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Ethan sat across from Marcus in a dimly lit, high-end café. The ambiance was chic—everything screamed success, and that’s what Marcus promised. A renowned investor with a talent for spotting winners, Marcus was the key to Ethan's long-awaited breakthrough. “I’ve heard about your tech startup,” Marcus said, his voice smooth and persuasive. He leaned in slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “It’s got potential, but it needs a serious investment.” Ethan’s heart raced at the prospect. He’d been working tirelessly, searching for someone like Marcus to launch his startup into the stratosphere. “What’s the offer?” Marcus smiled—a knowing, calculating smile. “I want your shares in the family business. Your brother’s been holding onto them like they’re worth something, but with me, they’ll be worth far more in a few years.” Ethan hesitated. The family business was more than just a repair shop; it was his father’s pride and Sam’s entire world. But the allure of Marcus’s offer was too strong, and the vision of his future—global, successful, untouchable—was too tempting to resist. “Deal,” Ethan said, his hand shaking slightly as he signed over his shares. In that moment, he believed he was securing the future he deserved. The Ascent The months that followed were everything Ethan had hoped for. His tech company exploded in value, attracting media attention and venture capital at breakneck speed. He attended exclusive events, rubbed elbows with the elites, and lived in a penthouse with sweeping views of the city. The world was his oyster, and he relished every moment of it. Each morning, he’d look out at the skyline and feel the satisfaction of a man who had won. Meanwhile, Sam continued to run the repair shop, blissfully unaware of the deal Ethan had made. Ethan visited home less and less, consumed by his new life of luxury and success. The few times he did return, the smell of oil and machinery from the shop felt foreign—an unwelcome reminder of a past he’d left behind. As the money flowed and his fame grew, Ethan pushed the gnawing feeling of guilt deeper. Sam had dedicated his life to the shop, while Ethan had soared to heights far beyond what his family had ever dreamed. He deserved this. Then, one night, Marcus called. His tone was clipped, and it sent a shiver down Ethan’s spine. “Meet me at the office tomorrow morning,” Marcus said, offering no further explanation. The Crash Ethan walked into Marcus’s skyscraper office the next day, feeling a strange unease. The vast windows framed the city like a picture-perfect success story, but today, the scene felt cold and distant. “What’s going on?” Ethan asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Marcus stood by the window, his back to Ethan. “The market’s turned, Ethan. Your startup’s valuation has plummeted, and our investors are pulling out.” Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean pulling out? We’ve barely scratched the surface of what we can do!” “We’ve hit a ceiling, and it’s too risky to stay in. It’s over.” Marcus turned to face him, his eyes devoid of sympathy. Panic welled up inside Ethan. “We can figure something out, use the shares in the family business—” Marcus cut him off. “Those shares? They belong to me now, remember? You signed them over months ago.” Ethan felt the room spin. His mouth went dry. He had handed over his father’s legacy for a shot at glory, and now he had nothing left. The ground beneath him seemed to crumble. In his mind’s eye, he saw Sam, working late into the night at the shop, unaware that Ethan had sold away everything their father had built. The weight of his choices hit him like a tidal wave. He had reaped what he had sown, and now he stood alone in the ruins of his ambition. The Reckoning That evening, Ethan found himself standing outside the family shop, feeling like an outsider. The warm glow from the windows illuminated the workshop, where Sam was still hard at work. The familiar hum of machines filled the air, and for the first time in years, Ethan felt an overwhelming sense of loss—not just for the business, but for the brother he had abandoned. Inside, Sam looked up as Ethan entered, surprise flickering across his face. “Ethan? What brings you here?” Ethan’s throat tightened. He felt small, insignificant in the face of Sam’s steady presence. “I messed up, Sam,” he said, the words choking him. He explained everything—the deal with Marcus, the shares, the collapse of his startup. Each confession felt heavier than the last. Sam’s face was unreadable as he listened. When Ethan finished, Sam sighed deeply, wiping his hands on a rag. “Dad used to say that ambition’s fine, but if it makes you forget what really matters, it’s not worth it.” Ethan’s chest tightened with shame. “I thought I was doing the right thing, that I was building something better…” “You were always chasing more, Ethan,” Sam said softly, his tone devoid of anger. “But sometimes what we have is enough.” Ethan’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered. Sam placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the gesture simple but grounding. “You can’t undo what’s been done. But you can learn from it.” In that moment, Ethan saw the truth. He had sacrificed everything that mattered—family, trust, his father’s legacy—for a fleeting dream. He had gained the world but lost his soul in the process. The workshop smelled of oil and metal, the same scent that had once seemed stifling, but now felt like home. For the first time in years, Ethan realized what he had truly lost—and what he might still have left. Sam nodded toward the kitchen. “Come inside. We’ll figure it out together.” As Ethan followed his brother into the house, he felt the weight of his choices but also a flicker of hope. He had sown his ambition into the wrong soil, but now, perhaps, there was still time to nurture something real.

7bg0v1

What's Missing?

Cathy couldn’t work it out. This was her third attempt, one each Christmas for three years since… She paused and smiled. This was the first time she could do this without sadness. Instead, she remembered her Gran, who had raised Cathy after her mother died, with tremendous love and gratitude. Granny’s Magic Christmas Pudding was supposed to be a tribute to the grand old lady. Cathy squinted at the spidery scrawl. She was doing everything exactly as the family favourite recipe instructed, using the utensils she had inherited, but once again, the finished article lacked -- something. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it; it seemed buried in her subconscious, more a feeling than a fact. What she had made would be perfectly edible but it just wasn’t Granny’s Magic Christmas Pudding. Cathy sighed. Perhaps Gran was the only person who could make this mysterious delicacy properly. Or perhaps it was only magical in Cathy’s memory. * She recalled being enthralled by this whole ritual as a little girl. A dozen pots of colourful, carefully measured ingredients. The wooden spoon with the star on its handle, that was only ever used on this one occasion, and the huge earthenware mixing bowl. Cathy stirred while Gran added the ingredients and they sang carols to get into the spirit. For Cathy, this  was Christmas, much more so than the turkey, the tree or even the presents. Bobo, Gran’s ancient one-eyed dog, sat under the scarred wooden table and waited for any scraps to fall. Cathy remember being scolded one year for finding things to feed him. “If it hits the ground, it goes to the hound,” Gran said, “but it doesn’t need any help.” This was true. Making the Magical Christmas Pudding was a wonderfully messy affair; clouds of flour, smears of butter and splashes of brandy all over the table, the flagstones and the cooks themselves. When it was finished, Cathy was rewarded with the ceremonial licking of the spoon and Gran would treat herself to “just a wee nip” of the brandy before putting it back on the top shelf of the pantry. * Right , Cathy chided herself,  I can do this. How hard can it be? She placed the pudding she had made earlier into a box, deciding that she would give it to her elderly neighbour. He always said that he hadn’t had a proper Christmas pudding since his wife died and shop-bought ones weren’t the same. Cathy hoped this would make a suitable substitute. She cleared the table and started again. Measuring all the ingredients into the little pots was the start of the ritual. As they were added to the bowl and stirred with the star spoon, Cathy realised that each one reflected a facet of her grandmother. Like the flour, Gran was a staple of life that could adapt itself to a plethora of purposes. However, despite her dependability, she certainly wasn’t whiter-than-white. In common with the mixed spice, she had a distinctly zesty side to her. Cathy remembered being told off at school for repeating one of Gran’s favourite fart jokes, causing her classmates to collapse in helpless giggles. Gran’s tongue could be sharp at times but her honesty was refreshing. Cathy always knew where she stood with her grandmother and that brought a great deal of stability to the life of the anxious orphan. The pot of sugar was poured into the bowl with a dark curl of black treacle on top. Gran was definitely very sweet. Her patient kindness had allowed Cathy the time she needed to come to terms with her mother’s death. While mourning for her own daughter, Gran had showed Cathy that it was okay to be sad, to be angry, to do whatever you needed to do to heal. Some nights they would both sit in the rocking chair and cry. Other times they laughed at old family stories about Mum. Everything, all of it, for as long as it took, was okay. The butter and suet caused Cathy to smirk. Gran was a ‘larger lady’, believing that at least a little of what you fancy does you good. Cathy remembered the flesh that wobbled beneath Gran’s arms but she also remembered how tightly those arms held her against that big, soft body. Nobody else on earth hugged as well as Gran. And, like those ‘unhealthy’ ingredients, Gran was was both authentic and proudly old-fashioned.. Nothing else (like margarine, that was actually banned from Gran’s larder) even came close. Cathy beat the eggs into the bowl. Gran, too, had a heart of gold even if it was sometimes protected by a hard shell. As the girl got older, she realised that Gran had had to fight for custody against her previously absent father. Gran argued that, unlike him, she had been around for the whole of Cathy’s life and could be trusted to be in future. It hadn’t been an easy battle but if Gran wanted something enough, she usually got it. The succulent mixed fruits that plopped into the bowl with a satisfying thud, reminded Cathy not only of her grandmother’s cherry red cheeks but also the delicate peach fuzz that covered her cheeks and chin. Fascinated by the fact that the freckled skin on the back of Gran’s hands stayed tented after pinching, Cathy had once asked the old lady if she was afraid of dying. Gran had just smiled. “I’ve had a long, full life,” she said, “full of some of the greatest joys.” She tapped her grandchild on the nose. “But this old body is gradually giving up the ghost. So, no, death is not something to be afraid of but I am  looking forward to seeing what, or who, is waiting for me on the other side.” She was as fiery as the brandy that drenched her pudding but like that spirit, Gran would warm your heart. And, in Cathy’s case, she had definitely been a lifesaver. Finally was Gran nuts?  At least a little bit  Cathy laughed as she added the last ingredient to the substantial mix. So would this be it? Would Granny’s Magic Christmas Pudding be reborn at last? Before she put the sweet, sticky mix into the basin to be steamed, Cathy turned Gran’s cooking box upside down, just to make sure that there wasn’t anything lurking in the bottom of the box that should be in the bowl. Nothing. Cathy gave the box a shake. Out fell a silver sixpence. Of course! Gran’s traditional symbol of festive love and luck that she would kiss before adding to the final mix. This practice had become something of a rarity in the days of Health and Safety. As if Gran cared about any of that “new fangled nonsense.” Kissing the sixpence herself now, Cathy added it to the pudding, tipped the mix into a basin and put it on for a long, slow steam. In the cot in the corner, the baby woke. Cathy gathered her up in her arms. “One day, you’ll be able to help me with this, darling. Who knows, perhaps in time, you’ll have a little girl of your own and the tradition will go on and on.” The smell of the pudding began to permeate the room. Cathy smiled. “Merry Christmas, Gran.”

k2dufe

It's Not That Simple

“He spoke to me on New Years Day”, Jonah began. It was now the 18th of January. “I was in prayer, Isra, after we hung up, and I prayed and prayed, asked and asked that I may see His glory. We’d read Exodus 33 that week in church, and I kept thinking about Moses. I kept thinking that the whole point to life was to know God. To build as intimate a relationship with him as possible. I kept thinking about how perfect He must be, that someone like Moses, who knew Him so closely, could see at most His back. I kept thinking these things, and I poured my heart out in prayer. I asked that I may be crucified alongside Christ, that He may live through me, like that passage you showed me a while ago. I asked and asked; I think I must’ve been on my knees for over an hour”, a dry chuckle escaped him, followed by a tired smile. He looked up at Isra, who– sat on his bed cross-armed and cross-legged– leant against the wall by his window; Jonah cowered on the very corner. Hunched over, and smaller than Isra, such that, though they were on a level surface, he had to look up. Isra did not look bemused. He was not listening with the usual enthusiasm or appreciation that came with talk of the scripture. He looked stern. And tentatively sad. Jonah’s shoulders buckled under the weight of his words. The weight of their consequence. The weight of Isra’s feelings and his own. He turned away, and spoke through a ragged breath “All of a sudden it was like the weight of the world was on my shoulders and my neck. I couldn’t lift my head, I couldn’t move a muscle. I was frightened, but also too frightened to be frightened, so I just waited. Like when you have sleep paralysis, but try not to panic. I don’t know how long it took, but I kept thinking I was hearing something around me. I couldn’t turn my head, but I kept thinking I could hear something around me and I strained my ears to make out what it was. It was like hearing a voice through a wall. I kept trying to make out what it was saying, but I couldn’t and I couldn’t and it hurt to remain in that position, and I was frightened, and I didn’t know what to do and then a resounding voice came from all around me and said “Jonah, Jonah”. “Then the spell was broken, and I shot up. There was nothing there, of course, and I heard nothing but the pulsating flow of blood in my ears. Then the fright that I’d felt was replaced by a kind of awe. And I knelt back on the ground and began to cry. I kept saying “here I am”, and I didn’t know why.” At this point Jonah, like in his story, stood up. Not looking at Isra, who refused to move, he started pacing around his boyfriend’s room, thumb between his teeth, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. His staple white Radiohead T-shirt hung more loosely over his frame. He had bags under his eyes. His skin looked grey; his hair: unkempt. “When I woke up, I was happy. I’d heard the voice of God. He’d spoken to me. I’d asked and had received an answer. But when I tried to get out of bed, Isra, somehow I couldn’t. There was this pressing feeling, this pressure. I kept thinking about this passage that says “The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abounding in goodness and truth”. It’s my favourite passage because what a God God is, that the very first word He uses to describe– to establish– to reveal who He is is “merciful”! A merciful and gracious, forgiving, all forgiving, longsuffering God. But you know what He says next?”, he asked, but he knew Isra knew. Much of Jonah’s knowledge of scripture had been imparted to him by Isra. “He says: “keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and the children’s children to the third and the fourth generation.”” He looked at his boyfriend. Battered and beaten. For a moment the tension in Isra’s body gave slack, and he wanted to reach out to Jonah, but he continued. “I have been cut to the heart. Cut to the heart, Isra, and I was made guilty before the Lord. You read these passages in passing, but you won’t know what it means until you’re feeling it. I was guilty before the Lord, Iz, and the weight pressed me deep into my mattress. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t pray, Izzy, I felt like I was dying. Have you ever felt the weight of sin?”, he stopped, stood, and waited for Isra to reply. But he didn’t. So he continued. “When the Israelites were cut to the heart Peter said to them “Repent, and let every one of you be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” This is what I was doing in that week you didn’t see me. That first week of January. My parents were thrilled about it anyway. They’d waited for me to bring up baptism on my own. “So that was that and I felt better for a bit. I told you we’d been at my grandparents’ because you know they don’t have wifi. A white lie. Nothing I haven’t done a thousand times. But this time, Isra, my spirit protested. Violently it overcame me, this crippling guilt and shame so intense I thought for a moment I couldn’t go on living. This keeps happening, Iz. It happens when I do bad things, say bad things, it happens when I listen to music now, and they say bad things and I always knew they were bad, it just never mattered much to me. A merciful God, gracious, Izzy– all forgiving, all forgiving. “Suddenly, Izzy, I was made guilty before the Lord, and I understood what Peter meant when he said that you’d receive the Gift of The Holy Spirit. “Only it didn’t feel too much like a gift Izra, I didn’t enjoy the shows I loved, the books I loved, the people… “Izzy, it started happening with you. It started happening when I’d hold you, when you’d–” he broke off there. He was facing into Isra’s room, so he could only see Jonah’s profile, toward his desk, eyes downcast, and his hunched over shoulders shook. He took a sudden inward breath, as though he were gathering strength, and said through a voice thick with grief and mourning “when you’d kiss me– It started happening because I love you, Isra and because I’m with you– it tastes like bile in my mouth to say this, Izzy, but I don’t know– I’ve been cut to the heart, Iz– cut to the heart and–” he’d stopped talking, but kept walking, gnawing at his thumb, occasionally glancing at Isra, his face streaked with tears, sweat and mucous. Isra wanted to go over to him, fold him in his arms and make him stand still. Let the crying stop and let this be over. But this whole thing wasn’t like Jonah. For him to say these things, to be like this, something must have moved him. They’d become best friends in elementary school and in secondary school, they had loved each other. To recall a time in his life without Jonah took effort, and it had never occurred to him to imagine a future without– “I can’t anymore, Izzy, I can’t, I just–” “Jo–” “It’s too much all at once, it’s too heavy, Izzy, I– I– can't bear– have you ever borne the weight of sin?” Israel kept silent. The frantic nature of Jonah’s speech had all at once left him. And he said in a weary, sober voice “I don’t want to sin anymore.” * Three years had passed since then, and it was Jonah’s 20th birthday. February 14th. The first birthday he’d spent without Isra, he’d made his wish, his only wish, that his life may be used to glorify God. He tasted from his slice of cake, and threw up on himself. All subsequent birthday wishes, including this one, expressed the hope that it might get easier. That night, like every night, he prayed. Father, I come to you with a heart full of gratitude. I am grateful, father, for the ground I walk on, fashioned by your hands. I am grateful, Father, for the sun you have hung in the sky you have painted. Father, I am grateful for the community you have placed me in, Father I thank you for salvation– I thank you for your mercy that you gave unto us, this wretched generation, your only begotten son, that we might be made holy through His sacrifice. I thank you, Father, that you have chosen your people to love and that I may be among them. I thank you Father, that you called forth Abraham, and kept the patriarchs, though they sinned. That you revealed your name to Moses and called him “Moses, Moses”, and he said “here I am”. Abba, Father. Abba, Father! Blessed be your kind heart. Your goodness, your glory. I thank you, Lord, that upon my creation, every hair on my head was numbered, Father, that you have set me upon a path of righteousness, guided me, that I may not dash my foot against a rock, Father, I ask for your strength and discernment, that I may not be tempted by evil, but delivered from it by your hand, as you brought out from Egypt your people by a mighty hand, Father; I ask for your strength, that the work given unto each day is sufficient. That those who take much have nothing left over and those who take little have no need for more. I ask for your strength, that I may bear my cross. I ask, Father, that you strip me of this need for love and companionship. Mine is not akin to a matter of lust, Father, where it is wholly sin. Mine is goodness intertwined with sin, Father, such that I cannot taste goodness without the stench of sin. As such I plead: strip me bare! That I yearn not for love, companionship, fellowship, trust, help, sharing, Father, family, that I yearn not for support, for closeness, for affection, Father, that I am not lonely, Father, though I am alone, I pray for peace upon my heart Lord, for this heart, cannot be given unto anyone, but you, Lord. I pray that I can manage, Father, to carry my cross over this path. Let thy will be done; let thy will be done. So let it be, amen. * Jonah Siziba was found drowned on the shore of a lake by the botanical gardens of his university in the first week of July. He had been studying theology. The young woman that had found him rushed to give him CPR. Caught by zeal and haste, she had ripped open his button up shirt to find written: Not everyone can live a fasted life. I’d sooner be dead, than live in sin.

w5r66z

Bridging Horizons: A Journey of Ambition and Identity

George Ogenah Jr. December 29, 2023 In a Flash Bridging Horizons: A Journey of Ambition and Identity In the lively coastal city of Lynn, Massachusetts, George found himself at a crossroads in his life. It felt like a warm hug, the familiar streets and the waves splashing on the shoreline. Despite that, a persistent yearning gnawed at him—a longing for more achievement and fulfillment. "I am strong in mind and body," George declared, gazing at the cityscape that he knew like the back of his hands. The historic architecture and cultural vibrancy were part of his identity, but a quiet frustration lingered beneath the surface. His aspirations reached beyond the city's borders, and he yearned for an environment that could amplify the rhythm of his ambitions.  "Ambitious and hardworking, embodying confidence and might," he continued, but the dreams that stirred within him seemed to outgrow the confines of Lynn. The city that had nurtured him now felt like a cocoon holding back the wings of his potential. "I am a role model, a leader, a voice of reason," George stated, yet the weight of expectations reverberated through the old city streets. While the younger community of Lynn looked up to him as a big brother and all-around leader, he felt driven to venture into unknown territory where his leadership might be felt on an even bigger scale. "A cherished elder sibling, a beloved son, and an affectionate member of my family and friends," he acknowledged, the closeness of his relationships grounding him. However, a repressed restlessness lurked inside him—a need to escape what was familiar and discover a world where his family connections could become a source of strength rather than a reason to remain in Lynn. "As a companion, I bring laughter and joy," George smiled, recalling his fun with companions at Red Rock on the Lynn water's edge. However, subtle loneliness persisted, realizing that the shared laughter and joy were fleeting, like waves departing swiftly. In that fleeting moment, he quietly entertained a selfish wish—for all those he held dear to share a common space wherever he ventured. Yet, he recognized the inherent complexity of this desire, acknowledging that each individual has their own independent life to lead. "Rooted in faith as a devoted Christian, a Nigerian man bearing an esteemed namesake," he pondered, his spiritual journey marked by the presence of the Holy Tabernacle Church of God in Christ Apostolic, Inc. in Dorchester, Boston . Still, George sensed a calling to traverse spiritual landscapes beyond the familiar steeples, longing to deepen his connection with God in unexplored ways. "I am understanding and intuitive, proactive and resourceful, always learning, constantly growing, constantly pushing forward," he declared, feeling the echoes of his growth in the evolving cityscape. However, a voice within him whispered that the pace of his advancement was exceeding Lynn's, encouraging him to explore opportunities outside the city's confines. "With a heart full of love, I am helpful and valuable, embracing emotions and being ever so grateful," George acknowledged, grateful for the support his family and city offered. Yet, a hidden call for appreciation, for the world to recognize the worth he could provide, came from the depths of his heart. "I strive for patience and discipline, following in my father's footsteps, embracing adaptability," he confessed, appreciating the resilience learned from his parents. Yet, the very adaptability instilled in him begged to be tested in new environments, to see if his wings could carry him beyond the familiar skyline. "As a high achiever, I chart my path, radiating handsomeness and strength in every step," George affirmed, but the concrete paths of Lynn seemed to confine his strides. The ambitions that loomed within him compelled him to seek ways where his accomplishments may be acknowledged in a more expansive symphony. "I seek to be stronger mentally, physically, and spiritually, surrounded by love and happiness, achieving success effortlessly," he voiced, yearning for success that transcended Lynn's city limits. The waves crashing against the shore whispered tales of boundless potential, encouraging him to venture beyond the shores he knew so well. "I aspire to inspire, to let my accomplishments speak for me, and to deepen my relationship with God, my divine decree," George declared, feeling a spiritual calling that transcended the familiar steeples. A longing for fulfillment in different settings called to him, prompting a sense of obligation to answer this call beyond the confines of Lynn's embrace. "Seeking discernment and clarity, a job that enriches me both financially and mentally," George admitted, the city offered him opportunities, yet he sensed that his quest for enrichment required him to explore environments where his skills could flourish in new, uncharted ways. "I yearn to be a loving son, brother, relative, great friend, and a devoted partner, till the end," he confessed, but the familiar cityscape seemed to envelop his relationships, urging him to expand the horizons of his connections. "In gratitude for my journey, my past, present, and future, I remain a strong, independent, God-fearing man with a purpose," George proclaimed, the city's history intertwined with his narrative. Yet, the call for a new chapter, a fresh canvas for his purpose to unfold, resonated within him. "With each passing day, I grow stronger, wiser, and bolder, a testament to the boundless potential within me, a life to behold," he affirmed, the waves crashing against the shore inspiring him to embark on a journey that would unfold a life beyond the known. Lynn, with its permanent imprint on his identity, now provided a launching pad for the limitless possibilities that lay ahead.  In the quiet moments that followed, as George stood by Red Rock, a profound clarity washed over him. The realization that his aspirations, like the waves that reached for the horizon, were destined for expanses beyond the shores of Lynn. With a mixture of gratitude and anticipation, he embraced the essence of his journey and prepared to set sail into uncharted waters, ready to navigate the currents of life with a renewed sense of purpose, anchored in the strength of his Lynn roots, yet destined for the journey that awaited the trajectory of his unique potential in life.

5lejd4

Wake up and Grow up Foolish Thinking People

GROW UP! The disconnection in our dysfunctional families are created by unlearned parenting skills cell phones science ect. and our own bad decisions to support the world wicked ideals as verity. It is a program agenda accepted too easily every second of the day without us having any real concern for each other image. When the image we all should be reflecting is the gift of God's image that is free which is ( ABSOULUTE GREATNESS). When we create negative behavior toward each other consequently we stay apart hating each other while seeking the other nations for love and approval to be a part of their prosperity scheme that has always been built on hatred and death. GROW UP! THEY DON’T HAVE THE POWER SOME OF US ARE SEEKING Too many of our people think by loving their oppressor more than they love their own people will change their current reality. But they can’t and they won’t because they don’t have the power or light that some of us need. The power of unity was born in you to create and build your family to be stronger. Maybe that’s why we are all still surviving thru this earthly hell lost until this very today. The respect you want and truly deserve by our family and the other nations must be the reflection you want to create in your homes. GROW UP! When we all can clearly see in this sinful empire that the other nations desperately try very hard to look and attempt to act like our people when we reflect our greatness and share our blessed talents throughout all the worlds. Every nation on this earth has proven to all the world's and all of us over and over to keep our people so low down on the ground by them stealing everything that we produce and create. They keep! And that's comes with some ignorant nigger’s not needed undeniable unconditional illiterate willing help. WAKE UP! AND GROW UP! UNDENIABLE FOOLISH UNLEARNED, SELF HATING, NIGGER COONS All of us have witness a few of our people escape out of our broken hoods. But what about the majority of our families who continues to drown in this wicked system. A planned program that was a designed to kill our righteous images we follow. By now we all should know that our footsteps are ordered together by our father holy commands. Everything in this life has happen for our Creator's good purpose and for all of us to rethink and consider our sins against him willingly. Every second that is lived is a moment that counts for any real progress to be free from this last captivity. GROW UP! See we are all in control of our own creations by our daily thoughts and our daily actions and that will control our behavior positively or negatively. YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF YOUR CREATIONS BY YOUR DAILY THOUGHTS See we all were born with the power of creation to create a better foundation in all the worlds for all our love ones. It is possible to build healthy families with change and that would be the righteous blessing to our people and the other nations. In this very moment it is very sad to “say” this about too many of our people have learned to love and worship dead things that can’t breathe or create our family unity. Today as we go forward we no longer have to blame ourselves or the misguided teachings of our true history or for the state of our hearts and minds. But we must exchange all the lies to remove the fear to finally live in truth. To give respect and receive respect from all nations is powerful. During our healing process as we grow wiser in our creative new thoughts, we must hold our brothers and our sisters including ourselves accountable for our behavior once we receive the Good News to change our direction in thought. WAKE UP! AND GROW UP! Then our positive actions within our homes and our communities will finally work together as one brilliant wise thinking people. When our people find the courage to care, help and learn how to share their hard-earned funds with each other without self-serving hate, we will create the power that’s needed to build our communities without having to march, beg or dance for our change that will never come without us all coming togather in thought. GROW UP! There is so much original talent and great visions in our nation of family that we don’t never ever have to look in the worlds for immoral, vile corrupt entertainment that most times creates our needs to stay in sin. WAKE UP! LOVING YOU LIKE I LOVE ME AND YOU LOVING ME LIKE YOU LOVE YOU Brothers and sisters this is the love and unity the nations fear and don’t want to have to deal with at all in their controlled programed system. The structure that they created for all of us to stay apart fighting is real clever. Not ever do they want all of us to wake up and grow up and unite our father image, talents or our green paper dollar bills. Here is another hidden secret to building back our nation of lost people in your hurt and pain- is when you don’t suppress truth with false made up lies. Fabrication that keeps our Creator from turning back around to us with his Almighty Power. WAKE UP! AND GROW UP! This new change in our thoughts changes our thinking that has the hidden power for grate actions and it can start with me loving you like, I love me and you loving me like you love you- as a nation of brilliant wise intelligent people. Our passion and compassion joined together connects to our daily decisions concerning our choices money, greed worldly goods and our learned feelings of hate that we sometimes feel toward each other unknowingly but willingly. GROW UP! Unity in a nation is tranquil and superior to all things created in the earth and it is having the authentic power of the Most High ways leading our path without Satan controlling our thoughts. Creating our unity in these last days is the most intelligent ingredient that the other nations have been displaying in the earth since we got off the Jesus Slave ships and it is the piece in our life that we are still missing. GROW UP! To throb with greater possibilities by walking into what awaits in our present-day awaking is.. THE AUTHENTIC POWER TO CREATE UNITY AND PEACE IN ALL THE WORLD'S! Kash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 198). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition. 

pgsghx

ULTIMATE SHARE

ULTIMATE SHARE By Day Parker 10-year old Jonathan walked solemnly by his father’s side. They were going to see and hear the man called Jesus. His message was so different than what Jonathan was being taught at school. He did not hear about the kingdom of God or about eternal life at school. Only sacrifices and feasts. This man’s message was all about the kingdom of God, eternal life and how God did not want sacrifices. He wanted faith in Jesus and trust in Him. Yet he was a Jew, and was schooled just like Jonathan. Jonathan was confused. He was not.the only one who was confused. By the looks on their faces, many were confused. There were so many people. And they were still coming. Jonathan.took his father's hand.so that he would not get lost.In the crowd. Holding his lunch in one hand and his father’s hand in the other hand, Jonathan was pushed towards the front of the crowd.  On the edge of the crowd, the disciples milled around observing the growing number of people. Jonathan recognized his uncles, Andrew and Peter. Jonathan had heard his uncles and his father go round and round about Jesus and his message. His uncles had believed everything Jesus had said about a kingdom of God and ignored their teachings from school. He didn’t understand how such devout people could turn their backs on the usual scripture teachings. Jonathan had the same schooling as they and the scriptures never changed. Turning his attention to what Jesus was saying and doing, he listened to Jesus talk about having faith that he was the son of God. And that he was the only way to have eternal life. As he walked among the crowd, he would touch someone and heal them. Or cast out a demon. His touch seemed so gentle and his voice so authoritative and compassionate. Jonathan wondered about his message. It grew late and the disciples admonished him to send the crowd away so they could find something to eat in the surrounding villages. Jesus told his disciples to feed them. The disciple, Philip, retorted “that 8 months wages would not be enough to buy bread for each to have a bite”. His Uncle Andrew had seen Jonathan open his lunch bag and could see the loaves and fishes he had in there. Mentioning it to Jesus he made the comment that it wouldn’t go far.  Jesus instructed the disciples to have the people sit in groups of 50 and 100. He motioned to Andrew to bring him the loaves and fishes. As Andrew turned to Jonathan to do as Jesus said, he noticed the boy hesitate to relinquish the food.  Surely Jonnathan did not choose to keep the food to himself. Andrew didn’t know what Jesus intended for the loaves and fishes but he was sure he didn’t intend for the boy to keep them.  Jonathan didn't know what to do. Should he give the food to his uncle or keep it for him and his father? He looked to his father for the answer to his question. He could see there was no answer there. His father shrugged his shoulders and his eyes were a confused blank like Jonathan’s. Jesus was not going to eat in front of all these people, was he? Besides there was not enough food for Jonathan and his father, although they would make do until they got home. There was definitely not enough food to begin to feed what appeared to be thousands of people. And they were still coming. Jonathan wondered what Jesus would do with five loaves and two fishes.  As Andrew reached for the food again, his eyes met Jonathan’s. Jonathan’s hesitation weakened. Jonathan saw trust in Andrew’s eyes and the quick nod of assurance that Andrew gave to Jonathon made him relinquish the food. Thinking of the miracles he had just witnessed, the healings and casting out of demons, and the simple message, he handed the food to his uncle. Jonathan made the ultimate share. He was curious as to what Jesus would do with it. After they were all seated in groups of 50 or 100, Jesus said a simple prayer over the five loaves and two fishes. Then he handed the food to the disciples to disburse them. Jonathan watched as the disciples started passing out baskets of food. He was astounded at the disbursement of the five loaves and two fishes. As the disciples handed baskets of food to each group, it seemed that the number of baskets did not diminish. Jonathan stood up to watch the disciples hand out food. He could see about half the crowd but could not see the end. However, he could still see the disciples and they were still handing out baskets of food. Each group received enough food to satisfy themselves. These were men and they did not satisfy easily. And there were women and children scattered among the men. Besides, they had been here all day and many had come from a long way.. When all the people had been fed, Jesus instructed the disciples to pick up the leftovers. There were twelve baskets of food collected. All had eaten until they were satisfied.  Jonathan had given ONE basket with five loaves and two fishes. He overheard two of the disciples mention that they had estimated that the crowd of men fed to be about five thousand besides the women and children. Over five thousand had eaten as much as they wanted and yet there were twelve baskets leftover. As Andrew gave Jonathan back his empty basket, he smiled at the boy for the look of awesome wonder on his face. Did Jonathan really see Jesus feed over five thousand people from one basket of five loaves and two fishes? His was the ultimate share. But what Jesus would do with it went beyond that. Jonathan was excited and elated at having been a part of this miracle performed by Jesus. He had turned Jonathan’s small ultimate share into a massive ultimate share. Jonathan was sure he had just witnessed history in the making, his small ultimate share of one basket with five loaves and two fishes into a massive miracle that fed over five thousand men. Incredible!! Just INCREDIBLE!! How did Jesus do it? Maybe he was the Son of God.

c3kwng

Why Am I Awake?

Why am I awake? I am an early bird but every morning my internal alarm clock opens my eyes during the 4 o’clock hour and I just didn’t understand why. My husband has already left for work and I have the entire bed to myself but for some reason, I can’t enjoy this time by sleeping until my actual alarm clocks goes off at 7am. So again, why am I awake this early every morning? Is it the millions of things I have on my mind that consists of bills that need to be paid, my son’s basketball schedule, my business that is definitely in the valley instead of on the mountain top right now, clients who have taken me for granted and played with my time, a friend or who I thought was a friend, who decided to lie on me and my character, or a recent death.  I don’t know which one of these reasons could be the culprit for my early mornings but I will say that it has brought me closer to God. You see I decided about a month ago that I would read the bible in a year and I found an app to assist me with this. Now I would be lying if I told you that I read it every day because I don’t and for the life of me I don’t understand why I exclude the weekends, but I do. I am about 37 days in and I will say that it has been during these 37 days that my life has taken a turn. When I say turn, I mean I have definitely pissed the devil off because he has been coming at me from every angle and at this point I am spinning on one heel….but I have not fallen. Why haven’t I fallen? Well it’s not because I don’t want to because I do. Yep, I want to give up and crawl under a rock until it all disappears but the thing is I don’t think it will and let’s face it, that’s not the adult thing to do. I have to face this thing head on and let the devil know that he’s not in charge nor the boss of me. Let me tell you, he’s no punk! He has hit me with his best shots that include ridiculous thoughts that he has put in my head to try and break me down.  Yep, I’ve heard everything from “you deserve all of this misery”  and “God isn’t going to help you this time” to “this is going to be your life from now on?” That last one stings when you actually don’t know how you are going to fix things. Satan is a master manipulator and his job is to steal, kill, and destroy…but not today Satan! The devil is clever though because I did feel like I was the cause of some of what is going on in my life and I was ready to accept that one with open arms and this is why I thought I was waking up so early. I’m up because I have to figure all of this out. I have to come up with a solution to correct everything that is going wrong in my life. Maybe I’m up to catch my favorite Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel or to clean the bathroom. There could be many reasons why I’m up at the butt crack of dawn every morning but the reality is there is really only one real reason and it’s God. God is who wakes me up every morning in the 4 o’clock hour. He’s not waking me up to worry about my problems, he’s waking me up so I can give my problems to him. God doesn’t want us to worry and be fearful. He wants us to trust him and to cast our cares and burdens onto him. He wants us to trust him and have faith and not just in our time of need but at all times. He wants me to spend time with him before my day starts with my daily routine. He wants to be a part of my routine but he wants my routine to begin with him in the morning. God is telling me that he wants a closer relationship with me.  Forget about everything else that is going on in my life because nothing is too hard for God. God is bigger than my problems and he can fix it immediately if and when he wants to. He wants my focus to be on him and him only. Now I struggle with this because I am a fixer by nature. If there is a problem I’m going to find a solution. The problem is going to stay on my mind until I have an answer for it. If this means I’m tossing and turning all night and up early then that’s what it is. What am I doing to myself? This can’t be good for my health. Is this why I have high blood pressure? Is this why my cholesterol is high? Is this why I’m prediabetic? Well guess what? It wasn’t good for my health. I was not supposed to be up worrying about my problems. If I’m up this early, it’s because God wants to tell me something and I can’t hear him if I’m sleep.  Am I an early bird?  Yes, and that’s why God wants that time with me in the morning. That’s when I’m most alert, fresh, and ready to tackle the day. He knows he will have my undivided attention at that time. Now the devil never sleeps and when he knows I’m about to pray and listen, guess what? Here comes the yawns and I have to go to the bathroom and now I’m hot or cold. Yea the devil is a trip and will do whatever he has to do to distract me but he will never win. I’m not perfect by any means and I get weak at times and let him get in my head but eventually I get my footing and stop spinning on that one heel and I put that other foot down, fall on my knees and listen to what my Father in heaven has to say to me.

zzy4vn

A Prayer for Peace

"Are you there God? It's me." I sat with a blanket around me on the hardware floor of my bedroom. The black bookshelf to my left, the closet curtain behind me, and the decorated dresser to my right made a cozy nook for me. Ever since I was a young child, I loved sitting on the ground. It made me feel connected to the Earth- balanced, safe, secure. I shared the room with my twin brother, William, who currently resided in the living room where he was sure to be on the computer. That left me to have a moment of peace and quiet in the busy household. I was at my dad's house this weekend, I spent half my time here and the other half at my mom and grandparent's home. It was one of my grandparents that caused me to speak to God that evening. You have to understand, I am not an overly religious person, strictly an Easter and Christmas Eve churchgoer. It was not that I didn't believe in God or any of the religious stories I had grown up with, or rather, it was not that I did not want to. As I had explained to my mother several times, I believed in a force of love and goodness, call it God if you wish. On that particular evening, I did choose that name. I pray rarely and so I was not completely sure of how it was done. I figured that I needed something to look at. A shell? A rock? A candle? Yes, that would do, a candle. I set it in front of me, staring at that unlit wick. I considered lighting it but did not wish to wander through the house to find a match. Unlit it is. Besides, isn't that what God is? An unlit candle? Ready to share its joyful flame to anyone it needs, patient, and humble. "Hi God. As you know, I don't do this as often as maybe I should. My mom tells me that prayer can help calm the mind. I promised her I would try and so here I am. I’ll start with what I’m thankful for if that’s alright with you. I’m thankful for my home, my family, my friends, my warm bed, my books, and all the other good things that make me smile. I know that you have already received a lot of prayers these past years about her, but I’m going to add to the pile. My grandma, who I call Nana, she’s sick. I’ve lived with her for almost my whole life and she, along with my grandfather, are like another set of parents to me. Needless to say, we’re connected. “As you know, she’s been fighting with pancreatic cancer for a long while now. She’s defied all the laws of science and nature by still being around today, maybe I have you to thank you for that. We were told that she had two weeks to live two years ago. I know I should be happy about that, and I am, but it’s been hard. I’ll get to the point. I know you’re not a genie with three wishes and everything, but like you know I’m inexperienced in prayer, so I’m going to go with that idea. “My first wish is for my mom. She’s so busy trying to make everyone happy but herself, I think she sometimes forgets that she matters too. My second wish is for my grandfather. Diving into perfecting his physical health, he tries to pretend like nothing isn’t happening. I see the pain he’s carrying around. He loves my grandmother. They’ve been married for over fifty years. My last wish is for my grandmother. She thinks she is going to win a medal or something for not showing her pain. She’s not. Anyway, I just want all of them to be happy. They are as much as they can, I know that. They’ve never stopped caring for me and my brother and being the best family the world has to offer. What I’m trying to say is that I want them around for as long as possible. “I’m not quite sure how to end this. I don’t feel like ‘goodbye’ is right. It’s rather final, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll just go the traditional route. Amen.” I refocused my gaze from the candle to my surroundings. The lowly lit room seemed less lonely. It was an odd feeling for me, the sudden comfort that washed through me like ocean waves on a rock. I was not sure how long it would last, and not wanting it to stop, I remained where I was. I could hear the sound of my sister laughing on the phone in the distance. I could hear my father whistling in the kitchen. I could hear the music from my brother's game. Despite all of that, all I really heard was the quiet that enveloped me like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Whether that was God granting me those long minutes or my own imagination I did not know nor did I care. All I knew at that moment was that I felt peace. I always liked that word- peace. I was raised with it all about me. It hung on block letters on a sign next to a picture of a dove, it was entwined on paper around ivy vines, and it was written in fine cursive on the pictures that hung on the walls. It was also the word I thought of when I saw my grandmother. She was the one who surrounded herself with peace in writing and in feeling. Peace was what I felt when I hugged her. It was peace that I heard in the melody of her voice. It was peace I felt when she walked into a room. It was peace I touched when I held her hand. Peace was all that I wanted for her that evening and all the rest.

6mc9ko

EARTHLY FATHER

EARTHLY FATHER Joseph sat in his work room, the cradle on his lap. One last bronze nail and he would be done making the cradle for little Ezra. Actually it was at his mother’s request. Sara, his cousin on his fathers side was all grown up, married, and now looking forward to her first child. Like all the Jews, she wanted a boy first. Hence the name Ezra. Since Joseph didn’t know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl, he had decided not to chisel a name on the head of the cradle. Besides, no one knew how many more births this cradle would go through. Joseph could remember his cousin’s birth. Sara’s mother had had a hard time birthing her. The lives of both mother and daughter were at stake here. He hadn’t made her a cradle as things were a little uncertain and he was busy building his carpentry business. Here he was, years later, making a cradle for her first child. He had made homes, windows, plows and yokes. All kinds of things. So that now he could take the time to make cradles. He didn’t like being old but he did like the skill and experience from so many years in the carpentry business. He was a good carpenter, reliable and honest. Too bad he didn’t have someone with whom he could share his knowledge. He heard somebody come in the shop and turned to greet his visitor. It was Benjamin from the temple. Sometimes Benjamin worked with him. He was 20 years younger, very reliable, and very strong.  Apparently they were looking for a husband for one of the temple virgins. Joseph, being a bachelor, a devout Jew, from the line of David, and a very Godly person, was always a potential prospect to them. He believed he was too old to marry a temple virgin. She would be about 14 years old. He wanted to decline Benjamin’s invitation but you didn’t say “no” to the High Priest. Laying the cradle aside, Joseph made excuses for not going with Benjamin. Benjamin stopped him in mid-sentence. “It is not for you I am asking. It is for me so I have some support.” he said. “I need someone to verify what a good husband I would be. You are my best support system. Please come with me.”  Joseph could not make an excuse for that so he grabbed his cloak and headed out the door. All the character traits that made Benjamin a good co-worker would also make him a good husband and father. Arriving at the temple, they joined the dozen or so men gathered there hoping to be betrothed to the virgin, Mary. She was not there but the High Priest had a sign from God to determine the recipient. His rod, gathered as they entered, would bud and a dove would land on the head of the owner. The High Priest said a prayer and the ceremony began.  As the High Priest confronted each man and gave him back his rod, nothing happened. At the end of the ceremony it was decided that God did not want anyone there to be this virgin’s husband.  Then the High Priest noticed Joseph and asked for his rod. He gave the High Priest his rod and immediately it began to bud and a dove landed on Joseph’s head. It was the heavenly sign that Joseph was the intended husband for the virgin, Mary. Joseph protested weakly that he was too old to marry. God had spoken and Joseph did what he always did. He obeyed the will of God. Betrothed. That was a contract. You didn’t just walk away from a contract. There were legalities attached. The Law of God said “you will marry this person.” The next step was to “take her as your wife.” Why would God insist that I marry her? No getting around that. God gave the sign and Joseph must follow after. But why did God want him to marry her?  Joseph took her to his home, packed his tools, saddled his donkey and left her there. He had a job to do in Bethany that would take several months. Maybe he would have an answer by then. First, he would drop off the cradle to Sara’s house, then go on down to Bethany.  He prayed all the way to Bethany. He didn’t want to get married. Especially to a person so young . His business was going good. He had money saved. He was settled and happy. God loved him. People loved him. But God had intended for him to marry her. That was so very obvious. She had been raised in the temple so she was very God-fearing. He liked that part as it would give them some common ground between them. Still, marriage? For the next 6 months Joseph asked himself these questions. He prayed about it. Then brooded over it. He did not want to marry. But this is what God wanted. His spirit told him this was right, but why now? The only reason to marry was to produce children and he didn't want that at this age. What did God have in mind? . When Joseph returned home, he noticed Mary was pregnant. She then told him about the angel and the message about the Christ that she was carrying. Joseph knew the baby was not his as he had had no intimacy with her to this point. Accusing her of being with a man, she vehemently denied it. Joseph left her and tried to think about the situation. If he concealed her crime, he would be found guilty by the Law of the Lord. Yet if she was really pregnant by an angel and he told the children of Israel, he was afraid he would betray the life of an innocent person. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the best decision would be to put her away privately. As night had fallen, Joseph went to bed. During the night, an angel came to Joseph in a dream and said ``Fear not to take Mary as your wife for that which is within her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.” Joseph awakened and began praising the Lord for showing him the path he was to take. The angel had confirmed Mary’s story. “Thank you God. Thanks an awful lot.” He would do as the Lord directed him to. He still did not want to get married but put his feelings aside. He knew God’s plan for him. He was excited and relieved and knew God had arranged this marriage because of his faithfulness to Him.. He was also humbled and honored to be chosen to be Mary’s husband. He was to be an earthly father to the Son of God. Joseph had only one question. How does an earthly father raise a heavenly Son of God?

jtr9ir

Beulah Land

Beulah Land By Cathryn Keller The blazing midday sun relentlessly beats on my head as I struggle to pull the stubborn weeds that dot the cracked sidewalk. I am part of a team of volunteers this “Make a Difference Day, 2023”, and our assignment is the one-block area surrounding the First Baptist Church and its neighbors, rickety shotgun houses that lean drunkenly on crumbling cinder blocks. From the open door of the nearby old red brick church, a tremulous voice can be heard accompanying the tinny piano. Hearing the familiar words, I am transported from the inner-city street with its cracked asphalt, litter-strewn empty lots and broken, staring windows to a little home on a tree-lined corner in southeast Texas. Beulah Land, I’m longing for you And some day on thee I’ll stand Where my home shall be eternal Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land            My Grandma’s soprano voice, high and clear, warbles through my dream-filled sleep to wake me. It is a bright Sunday morning, August, 1977 and I am ten years old. Golden sun streams in through the faded chintz curtains. The bed I wake in is sturdy and brown and covered in soft, worn sheets and quilts. I am in my very favorite place on earth with some of my very favorite people. Languidly I stretch and snuggle down for a few more minutes in my warm cocoon. It is early morning, and my nose tells me that my grandma is frying sausage. Soon she will use the grease to make the milk gravy that will cover her homemade buttermilk biscuits; of the many gravy variations in her repertoire, this is my favorite. In addition to biscuits and gravy, there will be fig preserves, sliced tomatoes from Grandpa’s garden, and scrambled eggs. Sunday mornings at my grandparent’s home in southeast Texas always begin this way. My grandma, in her faded housecoat and slippers, hair in the rollers my Auntie M. put in the night before, will be standing by the stove with a fork in her hand singing her favorite hymns. Coffee waits, hot and strong, in the old Mr. Coffee on the pink Formica countertop to be poured in the brown stoneware mugs. My grandpa, with his glasses perched on his narrow nose can be found reading the local newspaper, The Silsbee Bee , at the table that had belonged to his parents. As a boy, he’d sat at this same worn, rough-hewn table with his six brothers doing homework by lamplight.            When I can sleep no longer and my mouth is watering from the smell of biscuits and sausage, I leave the warm room with its familiar furnishings and head to the kitchen. My grandpa throws his strong arm around my waist as I enter the cozy, cluttered room. “Good morning, hon! Did you have sweet dreams?” my grandma calls from the stove. Contentment and warmth wash over me as I bask in their complete attention and love. Pulling out one of the mismatched wooden chairs from its place under the thumb-tacked bank calendar, I sit down and settle in for breakfast. There’s the crochet table runner made by my great-grandma, the brown tea pitcher with its faded blue stripes, the worn black Bible and my grandpa’s ever-present Kodak all cluttering the  hundred-year-old table’s scarred surface.            My grandma bustles around us, setting the table with mismatched plates and cutlery, old jelly jar glasses filled with milk, butter it its glass dish and platters of steaming food. After she sits beside me grabbing my hand to fold in her large warm one, Grandpa pushes his glasses up on his nose and begins the prayer, earnestly thanking God for the food and asking His blessings on the day ahead. After the amen, I slather butter and my Grandma’s homemade fig preserves on one biscuit and douse another in the creamy, peppery gravy. Always a big eater, I relish these meals at my grandparents’ table. Time slows as we enjoy each bite, and help ourselves to seconds (and thirds!). “Did I ever tell you the story about your daddy and the cow?” my grandpa asks. The answer is yes, a thousand times, but I answer, “No sir,” so I can hear it again. My grandpa is a born storyteller, and as one of seven boys, he had to learn early to tell a good one to be heard in the din of the tiny home where he grew up. The story of my daddy and the cow is told once again, with a few embellishments thrown in for good measure. I laugh at all the right places, and watch Grandpa’s face light up with the telling.            All too soon, the black and white clock above the white enamel sink tells us that it is high time to finish breakfast, rinse the dishes and get ready for church. A last gulp of milk and bite of biscuit and my plate is whisked away by Grandma. She smooths down my straight, dark-brown hair with her soft hand as she turns toward the sink, already beginning to quietly sing the next verse. I’m kind of homesick for a country Where I’ve never been before No sad goodbyes will there be spoken For time won’t matter anymore            “You about through with that section? I’m about to call this one.” The team leader’s words jolt me out of my reverie. As I straighten and turn, I am suddenly aware of the tears filling my eyes. I am back on the scorching city sidewalk, a pile of wilting weeds beside me, and the beginning of a sunburn stinging my bare shoulders. The woman in front of me is eyeing me with kindness in her eyes.  “I was just remembering my grandparents,” I say, smiling with the words. She gives me a pat and turns to round up the rest of the team. Hugging my memory to myself like a sweet secret whispered in my ear, I hurry to catch up. I can almost hear my grandma say, “Well, time it do march on!” Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land

jbv3g4

ULTIMATE SHARE

ULTIMATE SHARE 10-year old Jonathan walked solemnly by his father’s side. They were going to see and hear the man called Jesus. His message was so different than what Jonathan was being taught at school.  He did not hear about the kingdom of God or about eternal life at school. Only sacrifices and feasts. This man’s message was all about the kingdom of God, eternal life and how God did not want sacrifices. He wanted faith in Jesus and trust in Him. Yet he was a Jew, and was schooled just like Jonathan. Jonathan was confused. He was not the only one who was confused. By the looks on their faces, many were confused. There were so many people. And they were still coming. Jonathan took his father's hand.so that he would not get lost in the crowd. Holding his lunch in one hand and his father’s hand in the other hand, Jonathan was pushed towards the front of the crowd.  On the edge of the crowd, the disciples milled around observing the growing number of people. Jonathan recognized his uncles, Andrew and Peter. Jonathan had heard his uncles and his father go round and round about Jesus and his message. His uncles had believed everything Jesus had said about a kingdom of God and ignored their teachings from school. He didn’t understand how such devout people could turn their backs on the usual scripture teachings. Jonathan had the same schooling as they and the scriptures never changed. Turning his attention to what Jesus was saying and doing, he listened to Jesus talk about having faith that he was the son of God. And that he was the only way to have eternal life. As he walked among the crowd, he would touch someone and heal them. Or cast out a demon. His touch seemed so gentle and his voice so authoritative and compassionate. Jonathan wondered about his message. It grew late and the disciples admonished him to send the crowd away so they could find something to eat in the surrounding villages. Jesus told his disciples to feed them. The disciple, Philip, retorted “that 8 months wages would not be enough to buy bread for each to have a bite”. His Uncle Andrew, standing close by, had seen Jonathan open his lunch bag and could see the loaves and fishes he had in there. Mentioning it to Jesus he made the comment that it wouldn’t go far in this crowd.  Jesus instructed the disciples to have the people sit in groups of 50 and 100. He motioned to Andrew to bring him the loaves and fishes. As Andrew turned to Jonathan to do as Jesus said, he noticed the boy hesitate to relinquish the food.  Surely Jonnathan did not choose to keep the food to himself. Andrew didn’t know what Jesus intended for the loaves and fishes but he was sure he didn’t intend for the boy to keep them.  Jonathan didn't know what to do. Should he give the food to his uncle or keep it for him and his father? He looked to his father for the answer to his question. He could see there was no answer there. His father shrugged his shoulders and his eyes were a confused blank like Jonathan’s. What should he do? Jesus was not going to eat in front of all these people, was he? Besides there was not enough food for him and his father, although they would make do until they got home. There was definitely not enough food to begin to feed what appeared to be thousands of people. And they were still coming. Jonathan wondered what Jesus would do with five loaves and two fishes.  As Andrew reached for the food again, his eyes met Jonathan’s. Jonathan’s hesitation weakened. Jonathan saw trust in Andrew’s eyes and the quick nod of assurance that Andrew gave to Jonathon made him relinquish the food. Thinking of the miracles he had just witnessed, the healings and casting out demons, and the simple message, he handed the food to his uncle. Jonathan made the ultimate share. He was curious as to what Jesus would do with them. After they were all seated in groups of 50 or 100, Jesus said a simple prayer over the five loaves and two fishes. Then he handed the food to the disciples to disburse them. Jonathan watched as the disciples started passing out baskets of food. Jonathan was astounded at the disbursement of the five loaves and two fishes. As the disciples handed baskets of food to each group, it seemed that the number of baskets did not diminish. Jonathan stood up to watch the disciples hand out food. He could see about half the crowd but could not see the end. However, he could still see the disciples and they were still handing out baskets of food. Each group received enough food to satisfy themselves. These were men and they did not satisfy easily. And there were women and children scattered among the men. Besides, they had been here all day and many had come from a long ways. When all the people had been fed, Jesus instructed the disciples to pick up the leftovers. There were twelve baskets of food collected. All had eaten until they were satisfied.  Jonathan had given ONE basket with five loaves and two fishes. He overheard two of the disciples mention that they had estimated the crowd of men to be fed to be about five thousand besides the women and children. Over five thousand had eaten as much as they wanted and yet there were twelve baskets leftover. As Andrew gave Jonathan back his empty basket, he smiled at the boy for his look of awesome wonder on his face. Did Jonathan really see Jesus feed over five thousand people from one basket of five loaves and two fishes? His was the ultimate share. But what Jesus would do with it went beyond that. Jonathan was excited and elated at having been a part of this miracle performed by Jesus. He had turned Jonathan’s small ultimate share into a massive ultimate share. Jonathan had just witnessed his small ultimate share into a massive miracle from one basket of five loaves and two fishes. Incredible!! Just INCREDIBLE!! How did Jesus do it? Maybe he was the Son of God

fyvosh

A CONVERSATION WITH JESUS CHRIST

“Jesus, I would like to ask you some questions, if I may.” “Certainly.” “First, are you God?” “Why do you ask that?” “Because it’s a common belief among many who claim to be Christians.” “But is that what the Bible actually reveals about me?” “I don’t know.” “Well, let’s examine what I myself said in Scripture, yes?” “Sure.” “Do you have a Bible handy?” “No.” “Ipad?” “Yes.” “Wifi?” “Yes.” “Okay. If you go to biblegateway.com you could select the NKJVersion to look up what I said to Mary Magdelene after my resurrection. It’s recorded at John 20:17. What do I say to her there?” “Aaah, here it is. “Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God.’ ”” “Thank you. So, according to what I said there, who do I identify as being both my God and your God?” “Ummm... your Father?” “Correct. So does that answer your question?” “I’m not sure.” “Why?” “Because, growing up as a Presbyterian I was always taught that you are a co-equal part of a triune godhead.” “Yes, a common teaching, but is it Bible based?” “I don’t know.” “Unfortunately, mis-translations combined with faulty renderings of Scripture have served to muddy the divine waters of truth. For example, at John 1:1 the NKJV reads, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Now, in my pre-human existence I was the Word. So then, from that text it would seem that I am, in fact, God, true?” “Yes.” “But then note what it says in the very next verse, 2: “He was in the beginning WITH God.” If I am WITH God, how can I BE God?” “I don’t know. It’s very confusing.” “I agree. It is confusing when, because you have a preconceived agenda, you start messing with the original language texts.” “How do you mean?” “The New Testament Scriptures were written in Koine or Common Greek. When King James' Classical Greek scholars compiled the New Testament of the King James Version they did so with a preconceived agenda, attempting to justify the triune godhead teaching.” “Oh.” “If you look at the MOUNCE Reverse Interlinear NT at biblegateway.com you can see the Koine Greek text in the Latinized alpha digits that you use in your alphabet today.” “So, that means I will be able to understand it?” “Yes. Instead of the Greek letters they employ your alphabet letters.” “Cool. Let’s have a look here. Oh, I see what you mean... but it is still translated as “and the Word was God”.” “Yes, that’s because the MOUNCE translators are Trinitarians. But I want you to look at the Latinized Koine Greek words. Note, for example, how “ho logos” is rendered into English.” “Aaah... “the Word”.” “Correct. The Koine Greek word for “the” is “ho”. What about “ho theos”?” “God.” “Correct. It is rendered “God” even though, to be exact, it would be “the God”. Now look at the instance where I am referred to as God. Do you see “ho theos” there?” “No. Just “theos.” “Exactly. And because there is no indefinite article in Koine Greek, no ‘a’, the absence of the definite article, ‘the’, requires that the indefinite article applies. So that text properly rendered should be, “and the Word was a god”.” “So... you are still a god but not the God?” “Exactly. Type Psalm 90:2, select the KJVersion and see what it says about God himself.” “Psalm 90:2 reads, “Before the mountains were brought forth, Or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, Even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.”” “So, according to that text, has God always existed?” “Yes.” “Now, type Colossians 1:15 and see what it says concerning me.” “Okay. It reads, “Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature.”” “Let me ask you, is God a ‘creature’?” “Ummm, I don’t know.” “Common sense should dictate that a creature is something created, yes?” “I guess so.” “If God is from everlasting to everlasting is he created?” “Logically, no, but how can that be?” “You ask that because it defies everything you see around you, true?” “Exactly.” “Then let me ask you about something you can see around you: where does the universe start and end?” “Ha ha. Point made.” “Just because you don’t understand how something can be so does not mean it isn’t so. Now, you mentioned that you grew up as a Presbyterian, so as a Presbyterian which two Scriptural passages would you say were most frequently quoted?” “The Lord’s prayer and John 3:16.” “From the King James Version, yes?” “Yes.” “Look those two up, starting with John 3:16. What do I say there?” “It says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”” “Thank you. So, who do you understand to be the ‘only begotten Son’?” “You.” “Correct. And who does it say ‘gave’ me?” “God.” “So if God ‘gave’ me as HIS ‘only begotten Son’, how does that make ME God?” “Beats me.” “Let’s go back to the book of John so we can clear something up. Look at John 1:18 in the MOUNCE version.” “Okay.” “Now, what does it say in English?” “No one has ever seen God. The only Son, himself God, the one who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known.” “Let’s dissect that. First of all it states that, ‘No one has ever seen God’. Did people see me?” “Yes, of course, as a man.” “So there is an obvious inconsistency. Yet at 2 Timothy 3:16 the apostle Paul was inspired to record that, “All Scripture is inspired by God and is profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for instruction in righteousness.” That begs the question: how is Scripture ‘profitable for correction’ if it is inconsistent with itself?” “Umm, I don’t know.” “Okay, so let’s look at the Latinized Koine Greek text used at John 1:18 where the MOUNCE translators have rendered it as ‘The only Son, himself God’. There are two KGreek words used there, ‘monogenēs’ and ‘theos’. Note, it does not say ‘ho theos’. ‘Monogenēs’ means ‘only begotten’. So that text should read “The only begotten god,” not “The only Son, himself God”. ‘Son’ in KGreek is ‘hios’ not ‘theos’. And now, guess what?” “What?” “That Scripture makes sense, because now it reads, “No one has ever seen God. The only begotten god, the one who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known.” “Yes, that makes sense.” “Now, you mentioned earlier the Lord’s prayer or model prayer that I gave, as recorded at Matthew 6:9-13. Do you remember how that starts?” “Sure. “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”” “So what is our Heavenly Father’s name?” “I didn’t know he needed one.” “Okay, at biblegateway.com let’s use the American Standard Version at Isaiah 64:8. What does that tell us?” “Isaiah 64:8. “But now, O Jehovah, thou art our Father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.”” “So, according to that text, what is our Heavenly Father’s name?” “Jehovah.” “Correct. Now, aside from being our Heavenly Father, let’s see who Jehovah also is. Exodus 6:3.” “Okay. Exodus 6:3 reads, “and I appeared unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, as God Almighty; but by my name Jehovah I was not known to them.” “So, aside from being our Heavenly Father, Jehovah is also?” “God Almighty.” “Excellent. And if you want to further verify who Jehovah is you can also check out Psalms 83:18 and Isaiah 42:8 in the ASVersion.” “Okay. But how come I can’t check other Bible versions for God’s name?” “Because, for the most part, the name Jehovah has been removed.” “Why?” “Spreading discord and confusion is something Satan has proven to be very good at, as evidenced by the fact that the vast majority of Bible believers hold that I and my father, together with his active force, the holy spirit, combine to make a triune godhead, despite what is clearly stated at Genesis 1:27 and 6:7, for example.” “Okay. Genesis 1:27 reads, “And God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.”” “Is God there described in the third person SINGULAR or third person plural?” “Singular. ‘His’ and ‘he’.” “What about at Genesis 6:7? Try the NKJV this time.” “Okay. It reads, “So the LORD said, “I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, creeping thing and birds of the air, for I am sorry that I have made them.”” “Is that first person SINGULAR or first person plural?” “Singular. The LORD says ‘I’ four times.” “Correct.” “But who is ‘the LORD’?” “That is our Father, Jehovah.” “So why have they used ‘the LORD’ instead?” “Remember what I said about Satan and his designs? The producers of those Bible versions that use ‘the LORD’ instead of my Father’s name where it appears over 6,970 times in the Old Testament will claim that we cannot know for sure how to pronounce that name so it is better not to use it. But recall what I said in the opening words of that model prayer?” “Yes. "Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”" “What does ‘hallowed’ mean?” “I’ll google it. It says, “made holy; consecrated, greatly revered and honored”.” “How would it be possible to greatly revere and honor our Father’s name if we don’t use it and even deny it?” “I get that. But why do so many people not recognize the name Jehovah?” “Many scholars will claim that it is impossible to know for sure how the four Hebrew letters – Yod He Waw He - that comprise God’s name should be pronounced. Yet those same scholars have no difficulty in consistently rendering the first three letters – Yod He Waw – as ‘Jeho’ in English. Check any English Bible version and you will see names like Jehoram, Jehoshaphat, Jehohanan, Jehoash, Jehosheba, Jehoiada, Jehoaddan, Jehozadak, Jehoahaz, etcetera, that all commence Yod He Waw. Why would Bible publishers readily accept those renderings but then proceed to remove my Father’s name and substitute it with a title—the LORD?” “It sounds like they are unwittingly doing Satan’s bidding.” “Precisely. And showing Satan's influence do you know what I referred to him as at John 14:30?” “No.” “The ruler of the world. Indeed, at 2 Corinthians 4:4 the apostle Paul was inspired to label him ‘the god of this world’. So even Satan may be described as a god, as I am.” “But is that how first century Christians saw you?” “Excellent question. Check out 1 Corinthians 8:6.” “It reads, “yet to us there is one God, the Father, of whom are all things, and we unto him; and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things, and we through him.” So first century Christians believed in one God, the Father, and you are described here as ‘one Lord’, aren’t you?” “Correct. Indeed, verse 5 ends, “there are many lords and many gods”, so can you see how substituting Jehovah’s name with ‘the LORD’ would muddy the waters?” “I guess so. But when it says, “one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things” what does that mean?” “Ah, yes. You recall at John 3:16 that I said I am God’s only begotten Son?” “Yes.” “Job 38:7 reveals that there are many angelic sons of God. But I am the only one who was directly created by Jehovah himself, hence, God’s only begotten Son. So how did all those other angelic sons of God come into existence?” “Please tell me.” “In my pre-human existence Jehovah used me to create them as well as everything else in creation. That’s why 1 Corinthians 8:6 says, “one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things ”. Indeed, in speaking about me at John 1:3 even the MOUNCE version correctly renders the KGreek word ‘chōris’ as ‘apart from’ rather than how many Trinitarian inspired versions incorrectly render it, as ‘without’. Would you like to see for yourself?” “Sure. It reads, “All things were created by him, and apart from him, not a single thing was created that has been created”. Oh. Okay. So, apart from you yourself, you created all other things?” “Yes, although it would be more accurate to say that ‘all things were created through me’, as that other text makes clear. If you check out Proverbs 8:22-31 in the ASV you will see in verse 30 where it refers to me as Jehovah’s “master workman”. So then, is there anything else you would like to ask me?” “The obvious one, I suppose. What happens when we die?” “What do you understand happens?” “I was always taught that if you’re good then when you die you go to heaven and if you’re bad you’ll be tormented night and day forever in a fiery hell.” “Okay. First of all, 1 John 4:8 says that “God is love” and Deuteronomy 32:4 says that God is perfect in justice. So, consider this scenario. You have lived a quiet life, respecting your fellow man. Then, at age 50, due to your imperfection, you suffer a sickness that causes you to become emotionally unstable. You rob, you steal, and during one manic episode, you go out and shoot up half the town. The police track you down and, after a shootout, you are deceased. Your reign of terror has lasted on and off for five years, so based on your own understanding you will be consigned to everlasting torment in a fiery hell, correct?” “Hmmm. Not sure.” “No, you’re unsure because your own sense of justice tells you that five years of badness doesn’t equate to everlasting torment in a fiery hell, true?” “True.” “So why would a God of love and perfect justice, in whose image you were created with those same qualities, feel any different to you?” “Oh. Okay. Sounds fair. But where did that belief spring from?” “A misunderstanding of what my Father directed me to give to the apostle John in Revelation, where symbolisms have been incorrectly interpreted as having a literal application. For example, at Revelation 20:10 Satan is said to be thrown into the lake of fire, yet he is a spirit, immune to heat, as Exodus 3:2 demonstrates. Also death is said to be hurled into the lake of fire. How can you burn death? Instead, Revelation 20:14 states that the lake of fire means “the second death”, that is, one from which no resurrection is possible—permanent cessation of existence.” “So what really happens at death?” “Ecclesiastes 9:5,10 says that there is no consciousness in the grave. At John 11:11 I spoke about my friend Lazarus as being asleep when he had actually died. When, after four days, I resurrected him, nowhere did he remonstrate with me for having ripped him away from some supposed heavenly bliss. Why? Because he was dead. In verse 24 his sister, Martha, said of him, “I know he will rise in the last day”. She understood that her deceased brother would be resurrected at a time in the future. At Acts 24:15 in the KJV the apostle Paul wrote under inspiration that, “there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust.” Why the unjust as well as the just? Because Romans 6:7 says that “the one who has died has been acquitted from his sin.” The unjust are given the opportunity to be judged post resurrection according to their deeds at that time.” “But where?” “Right here on earth. That’s why Daniel 7:13,14 foretold my role as king of God’s Kingdom, over “peoples, nations and languages”. Let me ask you, where are “peoples, nations and languages”? Heaven or earth?” “Earth?” “Correct. That’s why in the model prayer I gave it goes on to say, “thy Kingdom come; thy will be done on EARTH as it is in heaven”. That wasn’t just wishful thinking on my part. I knew my Father’s unchangeable purpose for earth because at Isaiah 55:11 he states that when he declares something that he delights in, it’s guaranteed. At Genesis 1:28 did he bless the first human pair? Yes. Did he say in verse 31 that the creation was “very good”? Yes. If Adam and Eve had not sinned would they still be alive on earth today? According to Genesis 2:17, yes. My Father took delight in that original purpose for his creation of humankind. That purpose is unchanged, as Revelation 21:3,4 reveals.” “Wow! This is all quite liberating, isn’t it?” “Yes, as I said at John 8:32, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” “I want to be able to say, “I’M FREE.” “Then listen to those who come to your door in my Father’s name.” “You mean Jehovah’s Witnesses?” “Yes.” “But most people don’t listen to them.” “Noah had the same problem, as I alluded to at Matthew 24:36-39 concerning your day. The fact is they are listening to my direction at Matthew 10:14 where I say, “If anyone does not listen to your words, on going out of that HOUSE or that city shake the dust off your feet.” Did my disciples go to homes only when invited? If the householder didn’t listen, obviously not.” “Please, anyone but them!” “I cannot make you go against your heart’s inclination. You have been created with free will. But there’s a reason why I said what I did at Matthew 7:13,14...” “Tch!”

3gw1lp

The Labryinth

                                     The Labyrinth “Hey God, its me, Suni” “I was told I might find you here. Some say, this spot, this place is filled with you. At least more so than most other geographical locations.” “Is that true?” ……”I mean, are you really more in some places than you are in others? Some folks sure seem to think so. Enough to fight and kill or die for certain parts of land in different parts of the world.” I stand silent for a moment to breath in the forest air. Before me is a rather elaborate labyrinth. A path of bricks with eight distinct circles that lead to a concrete bird bath in its center.  I can attest to the fact that there is a difference, sometimes magical energy in the very air and ground that can be felt quite strongly in certain places. This is one of them. As I take in the birds chirping in the trees overhead, and the intoxicating aroma of fall, I have no doubts, this place is special. The beautiful smokey mountains surrounding me seem to stand in reverence and nod in agreement. The bright rays of the sun peak through the leaves highlighting the path before me. “Why?” I ask to the open space. “Has it always been so? That we need to travel at times to find a special spot, or place of consecration that enables us to reach you more clearly?” Perhaps , a voice in my head seems to say. My mind immediately wonders through the Bible of stories of special places consecrated for one reason or another. It occurs to me they were always marked with stones. Just as this place is now. Until this moment, I had thought a labyrinth to be nothing more than a mystical globe in a David Bowie fantasy movie. Now, here I stand, alone in a forest, ready to lay my souls burdens into a bird bath in the center of one. Rumor has it, all you need to do is choose an item as you walk the trail leading to the structure. It can be a leaf, a stick, a stone or flower. Any natural thing that you hold in your hand and lay your burdens on. Then when you arrive at the entrance, you must remove your shoes. Then ask permission from the guardian at the entrance. In this case, it is a small oak tree. After removing my shoes, and clinging tightly to the small pebble I had chosen in my left hand, I silently  lay my palm on the tree. Nothing is said, just simply understood. Although, I appear to anyone that may  be watching through the trees, to be calm and silent. What they would not see is the turmoil going on inside. I am struggling to write a novel about my parents. My dad’s stories are easy. He was a WWII veteran that survived horrific events that are enough to capture the minds and hearts of any reader. His sweet,  kind and stubborn demeanor, would be impossible for anyone not fall in love with. My mother, on the other hand, although her life was intriguing, it was also filled with something else. Something I have a hard time figuring out. She was lively, opinionated, loveable and very controlling. Also, she was a die-hard bona fide member of a notorious cult. As was I from the young age of 6 until age 25 when I finally broke free. Or, as fate would have it got excommunicated. She and I were at odds to say the least over my departure from the only church I had ever known. Did I mention, I had been raised to believe that it  was the only church God loved. If you were not in this church, he would not listen to your prayers and horrible, awful things were bound to happen to you at any moment. The main thing you always had to do was eat, drink, think as you were told by the leaders of the church. Never question, never doubt. Whatever they said was law. If for any reason you dared to question something, you were ‘spewed out’ from their mouth and of course, God’s as well. I walked away from that church very wobbly. I practically had to relearn everything I ever thought I knew. I can only relate it to how an average Russian citizen must have felt when suddenly they were  given the ability, responsibility even, to start thinking on their own. Its scary. A rug upon which you have relied and stood suddenly has been yanked out from under you. Its exciting! Now you have no one telling you how to think, or what you can and cannot do with your life. So, where the heck do you start? The world is now wide open. I have to admit, rules and restrictions make you feel safe. Even if you don’t like them. We are in fact, very much like puppies. If our kennel gets too big, its overwhelming and we can become frozen in fear. Or not. Even that is a choice. So, I step out. My mother is angry. She truly feels God has turned his back on me and I on him. That my future is bleak and hopeless. That my destiny is to end up in a lake of fire to be consumed and forever gone. Her fear is strong. Did I mention she is  controlling? I can only imagine how horrible it is for her to believe her child is lost to such a fate. I love her. She acts like she hates me. I understand though. I know it is only fear. She wants to force me back. She tries and this is painful for us both. It did not take me long to figure out my footing. My wobbling ceased. Slowly but surely, I found a path along my own spiritual journey. I visited different denominations. Became quite close to several. I basically ‘interviewed’ pastors of all beliefs. I studied. I interviewed members of other church organizations. I studied some more. One thing I had never been allowed to do was read books or attend services of other denominations before. We were absolutely not allowed to do such things as that. We read what our cult printed and put out for us to read. We lived a very sheltered life. As separate as possible from others. We were advised not to be friends with people outside the church but due to our rural lifestyle and the fact that my Dad, brothers and many family members did not attend the Church, that was near impossible. One of the most wonderful life experiences I had was to visit Israel. I had many questions. Some I felt, even though I am not sure I can tell you what those questions were exactly, could only be answered with a trip to Israel. I had a very low income so there was no way I could afford such a trip. So, I asked God for it. Yes, that’s right. I got down on my knees and asked God to make a way for me to go to Israel and that it be within my budget. I had no clue what that budget would be. I was in debt over my ears just trying to survive and raise four children. The house payment and insurance and gas and electric took more than I made. Want to know what happened? I received an invitation from the Israeli Tourism Board to tour their country. All I had to do was pay a $50 tax. How did they get my name? I have no idea. But I went to Israel for $50.00. It included my air fare, all ground transportation, hotels, tours and entrance fees, full breakfast every morning and some guy carried my bags for me like I was the queen of England. I’m sure they noticed I scarfed apples and such off the breakfast buffet for lunch. They did not seem to mind. I tried so hard to explain to my mother that God did indeed hear my prayers. She softened somewhat. I also tried to share my findings along the way. Such as scriptures in the Bible that completely refuted many beliefs the cult had. She would turn her head and scoff, for the most part. One time, she raised her hand back to slap me. I know the shocked look on my face is what stopped her hand midair. The conversations ended. The pain and emotional separation remained. Then she got dementia. I watched as her mind deteriorated to the point that she no longer remembered the cult. When she did not send them her hard earned money, they no longer had a use for her. Not one member ever called or came to check on her. Her children, well we stayed by her side. We cared for her until she left her earthly home. Her ‘pagan’ children, that is. At that point none of us were members of the cult anymore. What I struggled with was the resentment. Resentment that the cult stole my mother. Resentment that  she let them. Resentment that after they continued to treat her and her children terribly, she stood by  them. Not us. Not me, more specifically. My dad NEVER went. It’s odd, my brothers never went either yet, she loved them most of all.  My sisters had been out of it for years and they managed to have a good relationship with her. Can this little pebble in my hand really hold all that? I feel the crunch of leaves and slightly wet dirt beneath them. I try to concentrate on that. I touch my toes down slowly, mindfully and feel the earth. My other mother. I love you Mom. I lay my pebble, full as it may be, into the birdbath. I take a deep breath. Release. Then turn and retrace my steps the opposite direction. I follow the path carefully.  I take in every inch, dirt, stone. I mull it, I feel it. I breath it. I come to the end. Tears that had been held for so long began to pour. I sat on the bench and pulled out my tablet and pen and began to write. Words poured much like the tears. Suddenly, I could write her stories too. “Thank you, God. Thank you, Labyrinth. I love you Mom”

odj0th

Ash to Redemption

Ash to Redemption It was the second time the shed had caught fire. I was surprised that the Anderson's entire property hadn't burned down when another "accident" occurred on the 31st of October in 1995. And I knew from that moment when I locked eyes with Mr. Anderson's only daughter Sarah, that the fire was no accident. We were kindred spirits, Sarah and me. We were the only ones who hadn't been brainwashed by her father's wealth and her stepmother's lack of manners to the rest of us who didn't come from "money," as my father always put it. Like me, Sarah knew all about her family and how her ancestors led our own to finding this cheap glum town; Render Falls. She knew how her family to this day still dismantles anything beautiful into giant monumental buildings plastered with themselves and their surname that everybody overlooked the first time the shed went up in flames. Nobody bothered to report it to the police. Hell, the police knew about it and still shrugged it off as if it weren't any of their concerns. At the time, I ignored it too, trying to be like the others in this rural town; gullible and anachronistic, but still, I managed to break the cycle of stupidity and traditions that were far from my taste. I mean o ur taste. Sarah and I, we knew each other for a long time. Practically when we were infants as we lived next to each other, but I doubt she remembers that. She never was the one to reminisce- not since her mother died a year ago. It was hard on Sarah, especially since she was stuck in that gigantic house where Mr. Anderson kept her at bay with rules and "perfection". It was then, Sarah became isolated from the town and me. I hardly see her anymore. The only time I catch a glimpse of her is when she goes towards her window to peek through the outside world, long enough to reveal her faded smile and her brown Bambi doe eyes that longed to break free like a wild stag. Other times, I could picture her beside me, hugging and smiling until her tragic sorrow was no longer visible to meets the eye. And when she looked at me, it was as if we were small children once again, playing in my backyard in the early morning with our own imaginations, while our mothers sat on the porch behind us, sipping tea. We would play for hours giving our mothers a chance to gossip and catch up with each other just long enough for Sarah and her mother to escape from the dark reality that was happening behind closed doors next to me and my family. Now, all I ever do is go on with life, pretending it was every bit normal when I knew it wasn't. It never was for Sarah and me, nor will it ever be normal. Not until the town changes its way of life, not pretending we're still living in the 1900s where a young woman such as Sarah would be betrothed to a young man until marriage and then bare him with children – and the cycle to be repeated until someone put a stop to it. Or tried to like Sarah's mother did. At least someone in this town tried to change things, but it didn't do any good as the results remained the same even after her untimely death. Sometimes at night, I would sneak onto the Anderson property and pretend that I was Sherlock Holmes and that my partner Nancy Drew, would find the courage within to break free of the tight leash that both her father and stepmother had her on. I would fit the missing puzzle of the "accidents" the police would never solve and see if my theory was correct; that the Andersons weren't as presentable and worthy as they seemed. Most importantly, I would find out if Mr. Anderson himself, was the one responsible for the shed and the death of Sarah’s mother. It would make sense as a couple of days after the second incident, the Andersons built a new shed, still pretending as if nothing was remotely wrong or mysterious. Not even a little bit, not even when Sarah stood by her window, trying to conceal her face like a mask. And it was then, that I decided to act; I would set a trap for the next evening of all Hallows Eve, I would stop the massacre of destruction and change the way of the town's view. I would succeed in making sure the next October 31st would not upset Sarah any longer; to make sure the culprit would be caught. They would pay for making the town quake with fear; especially to my dear friend Sarah. I would catch them and stop them once in for all. Even if was the last thing I would do. *** And as expected, what had seemed to be thousands of years but only one; the day of 31st of October finally arrived. I stood by my window, looking back at my small, darkened room on the lookout for my parents who seemed to be asleep as I should've been. Yet, when the church bells chimed across Render Falls to indicate that the clock had struck midnight, I escaped and stood to guard behind my fence, pretending as if I weren't breaking the law. Nor was I aware of the obvious sound from the crunches of the autumn leaves in the Anderson's lawn, that I was no longer alone. "Freeze!" I waved my flashlight to the criminal, not expecting the sight in front of me; with the familiar figure being the same height as my partner in mysteries; Nancy Drew. "Sarah, it's you? You're the one burning your shed?" I asked, staring at the candle holder in her hand, the white wick of the candle, dancing to the call of the distant wind. "It's not any of your business Michael," She coldly remarked but before she brought the candle to the wooden shed, I grabbed the sleeve of her white cotton nightgown, stopping her from putting herself into harm's way. That was until I found a large burn on her wrist. "Don't Michael," She winced and widened my eyes at the realization. I had finally fit one piece of the puzzle and locked eyes with her. "Your father," I croaked. "He killed your mother in the shed, didn't he?" I frowned when I saw a tear roll down her flushed cheeks. With my index finger, I swiftly wiped them away. "This is your way of taunting your father; to remind him what he's done." Sarah lowered her gaze back to the candle. "I saw him burn the shed with a candle, while she was inside of it. And why? All because she was trying to change this town Michael," She looked at me- the tears of hers quickly formed from what I could see in the dark. "I failed before, but this time, I'll be with her. My father will be damned with himself," She formed a smile, turning away from me. Luckily, I caught her, stepping in front of her. "Sarah, you can't!" And before she could do anything the wind grew stronger and the wick of the candle died out, leaving both of us in a depiction of silence. Then the wind calmed down also once Sarah realized what she was planning to do; her petite body dropped the candle holder, letting the wick of her demons surrender while she clung to my body, holding onto me for dear life. "Oh Michael," she sniffled in my arms. While her frail body clung to mine, I kept my sights on the back of her head and the second floor to her bedroom window where I watched the other candle suddenly perish into darkness once and for all. *** That night I discovered two things: one, Sarah’s mother was a martyr, and her death drove Sarah to the very edge. And two; the Anderson's third shed rotting to the core from moss and all mother nature's creations, was cursed! But it wasn't because of us, but because of Mr. Anderson. I had my theories of the events, and I knew Sarah did too. The only thing that gave me comfort, was the idealization that the ghost of Mrs. Anderson was lurking from the other side, trying to keep her daughter safe and sound from her monster of a husband. Still, when Sarah and I looked back at the shed, we realized that neither the wick of the candle nor trespassers could destroy that third shed. Even though it's been years and I'm a man now, the people of Render Falls could probably find the shed back at the Anderson's place with the wood still rotten and haunted. And if they looked hard enough, they would find a small plaque with the initials of W.A. in the shed. However, that was only if someone dared to enter the place that was a disappointing reminder that my best friend and now wife tried to take her own life.  "Good riddance," I said as I turned around, and threw a lit match to the shed, burning the painful memories away, even though the building probably would never turn to ash.  When I got into my car, I drove back to freedom, enthralled that Sarah and I could finally live in peace without the reminder of the dreadful events that changed our lives.

k2d2c0

Daddy's Chair

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Her name was Rana, and she lived on a farm. Her family was made of a dad, a mom, six brothers, eleven cows (Bessie died last fall), two dogs, and three cats. This day started off quite ordinary. Her brothers were milking the cows. Rana took her little bucket and walked carefully to the first milking stall. Annabelle, the biggest cow, looked at her with big, solemn eyes. Randy, her brother who was leaning against the cow’s side with his hands working the teats, looked at her with sleepy eyes. “Go ask one of the other boys today.” “But they don’t give me enough. My kitties are thirsty all day then.” Randy sighed. “Hold your bucket closer.” She obeyed, and he filled it almost to the top. “My kitties will say thank you, Randy.” He mumbled something. She held the bucket with both hands and walked to the corner of the barn. Taffy, Shaggy, and Ruffles came to her right away, and she petted them while they drank their milk. When they were done, the boys were done milking, and everyone went inside for breakfast. Mama asked the same question every morning. “What are you guys doing today?” Randy said he and Rey were going to work on the treehouse. Ricardo was going to draw pictures of all the birds he could find. Rowan, Rudy, and Ryan were going to go fishing. Rana wasn’t sure. “Do you want to come grocery shopping with me?” Rana shook her head. “Maybe I’ll go fishing too.” Rudy protested. “You always splash around and scare the fish away.” “No need for loud voices at the breakfast table.” Daddy didn’t like arguments. “I noticed a weak spot in the fence this morning, so the cows have to stay inside today. I’m going to walk the fence and see how much lumber I need to get. We’ll need all hands on deck tomorrow for repairs.” Later that morning, Rana found herself walking down a deer path through the woods. She could hear the creek to her left. She followed the path until the trees opened up to a meadow. She could see the creek now, bubbling happily into the pond. Ripples made the reflected sky look magical, and she smiled. There were a lot of sweet williams blooming at the tree line. She picked a handful and brought them to the pond’s edge. She picked off the individual flowers, put them gently into the water, and watched them dance on the ripples. Farther away, the pond was as smooth as glass. She could see the boys across there, sitting on the bank with their lines in the water. She watched Rowan get up and hand his pole to Ryan. Rowan made his way to a big maple tree that grew close to the pond. He jumped for the lowest branch and caught it on his first try. Rana watched as he pulled himself up and wiggled along a big branch that hung over the water. He motioned for Ryan to hand him back his pole. Ryan held on to the tree trunk and leaned out with the pole. Rowan bent from his branch and reached. He grabbed the pole, lost his balance, and pulled Ryan into the pond with him. They made a wonderful splash. Their big ripples came all the way across the pond and fought with the little creek ripples. Rana giggled as they climbed out, dripping wet and shivering, and Rudy groaned about “for sure not catching any fish now”. All four made their way back to the house. Rudy cleaned up the poles while Rana ran inside for dry clothes. She came back and threw them into the barn, where Rowan and Ryan were changing. “What do we do with our wet stuff?” Rowan wrung out his tshirt. “Mama wouldn’t want it in the house.” Ryan shook out his hair like a dog. “We can hang them up in Bessie's stall.” “But it’s so humid.” “What if we turned on that little heater? Just until our clothes are dry.” This course of action was adopted, and the extension cord was run to Bessie’s stall for the little heater. The boys left to see how the tree house was coming along, and Rana climbed up to the loft to find her cats. She dug a little nest in the hay and waited. Soon Taffy and Shaggy were purring happily as she scratched around their ears. Ruffles curled up beside her and fell asleep. A weird sound came from down below; like popcorn, almost. Rana frowned and stood up, sending the two cats away. She walked to the ladder. “Boys? Are you down there?” She caught a whiff of air that smelled like winter: woodsmoke. The cats followed Rana as she clambered down the ladder into a haze of smoke. Annabelle and Clara were shifting nervously on either side of the empty stall. Rana could see tongues of fire licking up the straw around the heater. She unplugged the extension cord, then ran for her little bucket and filled it up at the water trough. She sloshed it over the heater, but the fire was spreading fast through the hay. She dropped the bucket. Rana ran for the big door and threw her weight against it. She pushed it all the way open, then grabbed the morning bell and rang it twice, the same way Randy always did when they were finished milking. The cows stirred and started backing from their stalls, but the fire had reached the wall and was racing up it. Barking caught her attention as Guardian and Lassie dashed past her into the barn. They pushed the cows, nipping at their legs. Rana watched in relief as the cows exited the barn one by one until Lizbeth was out and the barn was empty. The whole ceiling was on fire now. Rana sent the dogs, and thereby the cows, to the other end of the pasture. Then Mama got home from grocery shopping, and she got scolded for standing so close to the barn. It was all burning now. The boys came running, and Daddy came up from the field. Everyone wanted to know what happened, but Rana was busy coughing. The barn turned into a pile of ashes. Evening came. Daddy and the boys set up a makeshift fence to keep the cows from getting too close to the scene of the fire. They did the milking into extra pails from the garage. Rana got a container from Mama to give milk to her cats, but only Taffy and Shaggy came running. Rana suddenly remembered Ruffles, curled up in the hayloft. She burst into tears and ran into the kitchen. Mama let her cry until the boys were washed up, then dried her tears and led her to the table. They prayed. “I don’t want to eat.” “I want you to eat a little bit, at least. Do you want to tell us what happened first?” She told the whole story, but broke down when she got to the end with poor Ruffles. Daddy looked at her very seriously before getting up out of his chair. “Rana, I want you to switch spots with me.” She halted mid-sniff. “What?” “This spot is for the protector of the family. You did a lot of protecting today. Your quick thinking saved all the cows, and two of the cats.” “But Ruffles—” “Rana,” he pulled back her chair and gave her a hug. “You did everything you could. I’m proud of you. Go sit in my chair.” She felt very small in Daddy’s chair. The boys all looked like they wished they had been at the fire. Rana wished they would have been there, too. Maybe they could’ve saved Ruffles. But Daddy was proud of her. She wiped her nose and sat a little straighter. Maybe she could eat some supper after all. 

dx46zl

"Peace"

“Listen,” He whispered to me, “just listen.” “I am listening and I hear too much!” I answer desperately, hopelessly. “I am tossed on a violent sea of words, an ocean of phrases and utterances. On the horizon I see a billowing hurricane of political buzz words, cultural accusations, and inhumane testimonies tossing the sea, making huge waves across the dark depths. Each rotation of the massive word storm feeding on itself as it fights to stay in power, to stay relevant, to grow larger, and to wield more terror.” “Listen?” I ask? “All I do is listen.” “I hear the rolling thunder of protests because of racial injustice. I flinch as the clouds pour a deluge of tears from people being tossed in the sea of “progressive” speak. I brace as a tsunami of politicians’ lies feeds the giant wave as it crashes into a sleepy shore where unsuspecting people, just trying to get through their day, are convicted by the unforgiving tempest. Yes, I hear it all.” He said, “No, I’m telling you to listen deeper.” “What do you want from me? I listen to podcasts telling me how evil the other side is. I hear the pundits point their accusations toward plain parents trying to make good decisions for their children. The shouts through my earphones from the professor laying blame at people based on melanin levels are deafening.” “I hear the sounds like the roaring rapids of the cash register at the grocery store ring haggardly as it reveals a higher number than last week’s higher number and the gas pump tick faster and faster as it figures the totals and the college administrators’ adding machine clickity clacking as it adds up the cost of an education. I hear the waves crashing against the dam I build around my daughter, desperately trying to keep her out of the storm long enough for her to grow and face it herself.” “Yes, I hear plenty.” “I hear people with complete lack of perspective, gliding above the ocean of words on a tip-proof yacht, pointing out from its decks at those fighting to keep their heads above the sea of words and telling them how they need to learn that they have oppressed people and that is why life has been harder for them.” “’You are the reason I felt uncomfortable in my time at the university!’ booms the man from the bough of his ship down to the middle-aged woman who once was considered middle class but is rapidly sinking down into the abyss of inflation and will soon count herself amongst the impoverished, who never had one bit of power over any other human being.” “And then, I hear her tiny voice back as she reaches up out of the bogs toward the man on the ocean liner, ‘But I never even knew you’ as her mouth fills with hateful words from social media, drowning her with accusations of misogyny, bigotry, and racism.” “Yes, I listen all the time.” He said, “You only listen to what you are tuned into. Can you look out, beyond the stormy ocean and cling to a different message, one from peaceful, calm waters? Can you hear the silence that comes with contentment? Can you perk your ears to a different tune? I wince and reply, “I have heard about the quiet sea beyond the storm. I have searched for the calm myself, but no matter where in this world I look, I cannot find it. I listen for the peaceful, gentle roll of the waves from a quieted ocean, but the storm is too loud and big. I can’t keep my head above the crashing waves of disappointment.” “You cannot find that peace in this world. If you rely only on your fellow man, peace will always elude you. Look further out, further still. Do you see the sun on the horizon? Can you hear the voices quieting? Can you feel your body relax, your mind dance with hope, your heartbeat slowing, your soul stirring? Listen for the quiet. Listen.” My mind searches beyond the storm. I close my eyes and strain to hear the silence in all of the swirl of words around me. I ignore the social media posts blowing in like a Nor’easter and I suppress the hurricane of lies from politicians trying to scare me into giving them more control. I disregard the whirlpool of elitists separating us all by race and gender and victimhood. And there, just beyond all the cacophony of the storm, I hear it…peace. “There’s a small hum, what is that?” “Listen harder,” He says. “Is that singing?” Yes, yes. I can just make it out. There’s a swelling of it now, of many voices who have swum beyond the storm-tossed seas to…to what? To peace? I close my eyes now and keep swimming toward the joyful sound of voices singing. I begin to make out the words. But just as I am catching the chorus, crash, goes the thunder and swoosh goes the wind and for a moment, I lose the melody. “Focus now, keep listening.” “It’s so hard. I’ve lost my direction again. I can’t make out the singing now.” Another nor’easter blows in as we go through another political cycle and another waterfall of words into the dark, tossed seas, this time it’s the doctor giving me bad news and a family member in pain. Friends on social media ridicule in another tsunami of insults. I just can’t seem to… “I am right here. You’re closer than you think. Close your eyes, now, and follow my voice.” And then I hear Him. I hear the singing again. Oh, yes, I hear them all! I look out beyond the storm and the new gathering clouds and I see, again, the hazy sun on the horizon. And I see them, a giant raft with people on it singing. What is it that…oh, I can…Oh, I join in… “it is well, with my soul, it is well, it is well, with my soul.” Now I hear it loud and clear, all the beautiful notes from those who have a deep understanding of what they are singing. I swim harder toward the raft as if the storm were chasing me, because it is. I look back one more time and begin to sink when the lightning tears the sky and illuminates the enormity of the storm and the towering waves of the dark abyss. “Don’t look back,” he says. “Keep listening for Me.” I turn my head back toward the hazy sun and pull away from the storm that reaches for my ankles in a last-ditch effort to control me, to pull me back into the gulf. I begin to feel the sun on my face and the waters calm beneath me. I reach to my face to wipe away the sea spray and then realize they are my own tears. “When did I start crying?” I’m compelled forward with such determination to reach the raft and join the other survivors of the never-ending storm. Now I’m close enough to realize that the light isn’t the sun at all, but a glow from the Man who told me how to find Him. He stands there, shining like a lighthouse on a rocky shore; a solid fortress in a storm. “Now, you can hear me,” he said, smiling, seeming to be as happy to see me as I was to see Him. “Yes. I can hear every word now,” I cry, realizing that the storm doesn’t just sound far away now, but nonexistent. I turn once more to see the storm behind me. I realize that from this angle, the storm is somehow miniscule. I see the desperate people fighting for air as they are tossed and thrown about the waves. I see the looks on their faces as they look ahead to see another whirlpool before them and another wall of water behind them. I see the panic as they struggle to pull themselves above the surface, and I wonder why I didn’t grab more of them on my way toward the Peace? “They have to find their own way through the storm, but I am with them,” and then He whispers in my ear, “just as I was there with you.” 

7ml33s

A Mother's Secret Dream is your Destiny

"She said her children will be a Force to be Recon with" Pearl Fisher was born in the middle of a flowing field one golden morning of June sand clay to the Sante Estherville South Carolina. She learned the way her great-grandmother Nin 1894 til she transcended the invisible walls of captivity. Tuesday morning Aug 23 1977 and grandmom Angeline April 15, 1979, an Easter Sunday morning at the same time moments confusion left her life and brought her miraculous sight. The first of 13 gifts born to her parents, a blessing to enter their lives. Sunday morning June 29, 1941, close to the time the atomic mushrooms sent shock waves through time that are still vibrating in the atmosphere. My Black Pearl's of Wisdom The greatest mother a black child could be blessed to be born. Beloved as Black Pearl's of wisdom, Benin, the Black Butterfly and Grapes. A mother who just did not lived and cry for her own black children but she cried for the whole world. This sister danced in the sun, talked to the tree, birds, and babies. All this love she had inside her soul lead her footsteps to write Rhythmic Rays, A Color-less Reality, Geneva was my Home and No Second to Make Myself Real. She left this earth saying the best is yet to come ME. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day In the Beginning it was Black. A healthy living she shared with anyone who would take time out to listen. Her love for her Heavenly Father was the greatest my family had the pleasure to witness and be a part of the Most High blessings in her life. She went from a 6-grade education- to a cigarette, a lemon pie and a Pepsi soda, a typewriter, and a dictionary to become a poet, activist with spiritually blessed insight that has inspired throughout the globe. She wrote many letters, plays, and books. and sent them all around the world. This woman was a daughter of Zion who was  strong enough to be herself- no matter what anyone thought of her piculiar ways. She walked to the beat of the Most High trumpets in her heart and found her home with the son Christ. She carved her legacy in my hearts that inspired the Power of Creation born in ME She "said" Reach your fullest potential and ride the Black Rocket thru time awaiting your intellectual challenge Knock at freedom door. Knock Hard. It will open slowly but Fear not my Sons and Daughters for No Black Man ever walks alone As, I rose this morning and thought of this woman who love me from her warm womb. I was just thinking about the relationship between a mother and daughter. How it can be one of the most surprising and extremely difficult energy that are connected together. It can be a loving and crazy journey that is full of both positive and negitive energy. Spirt that's filled of love and hate emotions. Up and down feelings that establishes the pathway of their passion and compassion. It is so amazing to see how spiritual growth develops between the two searching confused girls that only time allows them both to become wise righteous. and powerful. My mother is the Black Butterfly and I am the Oak Tree The Oak tree that, I have learned to be today is strong as an Oak. Just like she said to ME , I would become. Sculpte by the strength of my mother's gift of power. She wisely shaped and molded my heart to be equal to my mind with the soft warm sweet comfort of her beautiful loving strong black wings. Sometimes she used very very harsh instructions to whip my little black ass. Not agreeing back then; but today, I know it was all done by her careful plans and wise decisions for my personal growth. Correction is what she knew, I needed to establish God's way of living on my path. I'm thinking my mother simply wanted ME  to be able to stand strong in the many stormy winds in life that she knew, I would face on my life journey. I Was a Hard Rock Headed Stiff Neck Rebellious Black Child My mother guided my direction to creatively think and taught ME how to seek for the light in darkness. Reliance was formed out of her actions that, I know was all done for the love she had for the Most High and ME ! She deeply loved all of God's natural creations in a special kind of way. Remembering her profound action, I pray someday I could do the same. My Black Pearl's of wisdom was my first teacher of aspiration and her crazy consistent ways lead me to see all the confusion in all the world's to find my needed answers. . Her Secret Dreams Was My Destiny I'm thinking maybe to her, I was the extention of her secret dreams. I mean a beautiful reality born in the image of her self that she was always trying to create a solid destiny in my life. A new baby girl that arrived to her as her special miracle baby. 7 months premature. Another start in life that came to her in a little version of her black unique beauty. I bet my mommies feelings of hope for my furture were so deep that she truly wanted me to have the ability to do better than the life she had lived many years in agony and pain. A Great Gift From The Most High I can only imagine through her loving eyes she seen ME as a great gift from the Creator. Laying in my bed in the still of the night, I could hear my mother singing and praying unto the Creator that, I have a better life than her own. The wisdom and knowledge my mother acquired on her long painful journey, I should definitely respect it. So every day as I live, I keep her comforting words of wisdom tucked close in my heart of mind to try to always shine the light, I seen in her that still after she's gone helps me to smile. A Woman Pain Runs Deeper Than What The Eyes Can See I learned that the experiences of a developing woman's hurt and pain runs deeper than what the natural eyes can see and sometimes their approach in life can be a little misleading to a young girl, who has not begun to live out her own gift of greatness. Still the advice given from a spiritual mother should be treasured and used when ever it's needed. I found out about life the long way when, I ran and hide from my mother's hurt and pain. In my beginning, I ran away without trying to understand the mass confusion created in her life. Road blocks created the downfall for me making too many mistakes. Balancing The Hurt In the middle of my painful journey, I grew and learned how to listen more and respect the position the Most High gave to her over ME and with that one humbling decision, I made a simple choice that gave us both the obedience to stop the fight and hear each other. We begin to balance all the hurt and pain and create unity with truthful open communication. Their was so many issues that had no bonding power for us to hold on to any longer. I let go of the hateful feelings then became free from my pride to respect the only woman on this planet earth who loved me from her warm womb. A Mother's First Thought For Your Destiny Living this system, I do realize that some mothers are not as wise as the other mothers we may see in the world's; but they all had a starting point of confusion and countless lies. This empire creates a long painful journey for us to seek and find our balance in life. Therefore we all live each new day to only learn that there are so many bad worldly influences and many road blocks that can affects a persons path and that may have clouded up their mothering skills. Then the judgement of their character may haunt and hurt you deeply. Forgiveness is always free. I'm thinking that it is always better to think and re-think your decisions about their journey before you act off hurtful emotion that may disconnect you from the womb that carried your life or at least try to find the secret or hidden answers to their life story that may have created the pain and disappointment you may feel in your life today. Because a mother's journey along with her hurt and pain may reflect your current reality. Knowingly or Unknowingly we hurt in silence. Forgivness I'm thinking maybe having these secret answers added to your life just might be the way to forgive the woman, who only had what was presented to her in life to survive. I strongly believe that no matter what else you get in this twisted up sinful world that is truly good. The greatest gift to your life was the gift from the Most High. The seed of your Father and the warm womb of your Mother. And. I would bet that you are so much greater in your life choices and decisions; because of their confusion and pain. The hurt you may feel from the disappointment in her ingorant actions, just may have caused you to manifest into her silent prayers and secret dreams. I mean her first thoughts of you and your destiny. The feelings she most likely had the first second she looked at you when you entered the earth as her baby girl. Im thinking we both can win when we desire to reach higher and use our power of creation to forgive the programming of ingorance. The Most High Forgives So We Can Too Kash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 200). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition. 

uebyns

BACKSTABBER

SHE LOOKED AT HER FRIEND, THEY WERE FRIENDS FOR MANY YEARS. LITTLE DID SHE THINK WHAT WAS IN HER MIND. LITTLE DID SHE THINK WHAT WAS IN HER MIND.HER BEAUTIFUL FRIEND HER DARK HAIR CURLING ONTO HER SHOULDERS. SOFT BROWN EYES SO INNOCENT THE PURITY OF HER SOUL POURING OUT FOR SHE KNEW NOTHING. INNOCENCE, CARLINE LOOKED AT HER AND SMIRKED FOR HIDDEN IN HER HEART WERE THINGS THAT NO-ONE COULD OF KNOW. FOR IS THAT NOT WHAT ALL OF US DO WE HIDE THINGS IN OUR HEARTS. THEU WERE BOTH SO DIFFERENT BUT THEY HAD KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR MANY YEARS. CAROLINE WAS SEEMINGLY HAPPILY MARRIED BUY JAY WASN' T SHE HAD TRAVELLED THE WORLD. WORKING WITH A MAJOR AIRLINE HER BEAUTIFULFRIEND HAD MET MANY MEN BUT NEVER MARRIED. IT WAS THE ONE THING SHE SECRETLY DESIRED AND HER FRIEND CAROLINE KNEW IT. THE SOFT SPOT INHER LIFE. THEY SPENT WEEKENDS TOGETHER WHEN CAROLINES HUSBAND WAS AWAY ON BUSINESS BASICALLY ENJOYING MANY YEARS TOGETHER. WHAT WAS THERE LEFT TO KNOW ABOUT EACH OTHER. CAROLINE TOOK THE CLOTTED CREAM OUT OF THE FRIDGE AND THEY HAD TEIR USUAL PERCULATED COFFEE IT SMELT WARM LIKE TOFEE AND WAFTED ARROUND THE ROOM. THE HOUSE WAS WARM AND COSY AND THEY CUDDLED INTO THE BLANKETS ON THE COUCH WATCHING AN OLD FASHIONED MOVIE. SOMETHING THEY BOTH LOVED TO DO. , SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING BLUE SOMETHING BORROWED AND SOMETHING BLUE AN OLD FASHIONED MOVIE BLACK AND WHITE. YOU KNOW THE TYPE THAT WOMEN LOVE TO WATCH. JUST COMFORTING. ITS HARD TO BELIEVE THAT THEY WERE BOTH ALMOST IN THEOR FIFTIES PASSING THROUGH THEIR TWENTIES, THIRTIES AND FORTIES TOGETHER. NOW STILL FRIENDS PASSING TIME AND PASSING LIFE TOGETHER. THEIR BODIES HAD CHANGED BUT THEIR HEARSTS AND MINDS HAD NOT FOR THEY BOTH FELT LIKE THE TWENTYSOMETHINGS THEY ONCE WERE. SOMETIMES THEY WOULD SIT AND GIIGLE AT THE PAST AND THE OF FRIENDS THAT HAD PAST THEM BY OR THEY HAD PASSED BY! IN THEIR BOX FULL OF MEMORIES THEY HAD MANY THINGS STORED UP GOPD, BAD AND INDIFFERENT. I SUPPOSE WE ALL DO. SO THEY GIGGLED AND TALKED LIKE WOMEN DO NOT GRACED WITH BELIEVING THEY HAD AGED BUT THAT THEY WETE STILL THE YOUNG GIRLS WITH HOPES AND DREAMS. CAROLINE HAD INTRODUCED JAY TO HER NEW GUY. SAM, HER NEXT DOOR NEIGBOUR, HE'D BEEN THROUGH A MESSY DIVORCE BEEN MARRIED TWENTY YEARS AND SHE UP AND LEFT HIM WITH TWO GROWN TEENAGERS. CAROLINE HAD WARNED JAY THAT HE WAS A VERY" MARRIED MAN", BURT JAY WAS QUITE INNOCENT IN WAYS AND SHE DIDNT QUITE KNOW WHAT SHE MEANT. SO PASSED THE CONVERSATION OVER. CAROLINE PROBED A LITTLE BIT MORE INTO HER NEW LOVE INTEREST EVERYTHING SEEMED TO BE GOING WELL. JAY SEEMED HAPPY AND CAROLINE WOULD PASS BYT SAMS HOME ON THE WAY TO HER BUS STOP AND OFTEN CHAT TO HIM. HE SEEMD HAPPY IN THE REALATIONSHIP. "YOU FANCY A GLASS OF WINE" CAOLINE SUGGESTED, THEY WERE COSY IN THE COOP. "OF COURSE JAY SAID, LOVELY AND THEY BOTH LAUGHED". SO SAID CAROLINE "WAHT IS SAM LIKE?" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S NICE, HE HAS BEEN STRUGGLING WITH THE DIVORCE, WE WENT TO THE PARK AND HE JUST LAID HIS HEAD CLOSE TO MY NECK AND NUZZLED IN, HE SAID HE FELT SAFE. IT FELT SO NICE, I REALLY LIKE THIS MAN". THERES JUST ONE PROBLEM HE IS SO PUSHY YOU KNOW PUSHY". "DO YOU MEAN SEXUALLY," "YES". SAD JAY AND I DON;T WANT THIS I DON'T REALLY KNOW HIM, HES' JUST GOJNG THROUGH DIVPURCE AND I DON'T WANT TO GET HURT".JAY SAID. "I WISH MY MAN WAS LIKE THAT, CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST IME WE HAD ANY INTIMACY IVE TRIED EVERYTHING BUT HE JUST DOESNT SEEM INTERSETED ANYMORE". CARLINE SAID. 'WOW, THATS SURPRISING YOUR A GORGEOUS WOMEN YOU NEVER HAD A PROBLEM WITH ANYONE ELSE". "I KNOW, BUT IT SORT OF STOPPED AFTER HE SAID A FEW THINGS PUBLICALLY TO FERIEDS OF HIS ABOUT US IWAS SOCROSS AND THINGS JUST WERE'NT THE SAME AFTER THAT! "IM SORRY CAROLINE THAT MUS T BE SO HARD FOR YOU, NO CHILDREN AND MARRIED FOR SUCH A LONG TIME I THOUGHT EVERYTHING WAS OKAY BETWEEN YOU BOTH". JAY LOOKED DOWN SHE FELT EMBARRASED FOR HER FRIEND. A HUSBAND WHO DOES'NT WANT HIS WIFE YET THEY WERE LIVING TOGETHER FOR YEARS. "WHAT CAN I DO IVE TRIED EVERYTHING, WORN THE LINGERIE, WALKED INFRONT OF HIM HAKF NAKED AND HE SAYS HE LIKES IT BUT THATS IT NOTHING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, I'M CELEBATE AND MARRIED". "HE JUST FREEZES WHEN I GO NEAR HIM". :YOUR LUCKY SAM FEELS THAT WAY ABOUT YOU", "YES MAYBE'SAID JAY. THE CONVERSATION STOPPED AND THEY WRENT BACK TO THE MOVIE. "YOUR PERFUME CAROLINE IT'S THE ONE YOU ALWAYS WEAR?" "YES DIOR". "I LOVE PERFUME". SHE FLICKED HER BLONDE HAIR BACK AS SHE SPOKE AND SHE LOOKED SO AVANTE GARDE. LIKE A 1930S WAR BRIDE. 'IM GOING TO SCOTLAND TO DO SOME TRAINIG WORK" SAID JAY. 'WHAT ABOUT SAM IS HE TRAVELLING UPTO SEE YOU FROM LONDON" "I DONT REALLY KNOW SEEMS A BIT OF A WASTE OF A JOURNEY ILL BE WORKING TWELVE HOUR DAYS" SAID JAY O"OH OKAY". " SO, WAHT ARE YOUR PLANS, I MEAN FOR SCOTLAND" SAID CAROLINE. "GOING FOR THREE DAYS THE MOJEUS GOOD AND IM FREELANCING". "GREAT, HAVE A GREAT TIME."I GUESS YOU NEED TO GET TO BED* "EARLY START". CAROLINE SLIPPED THE BOTTLE OF WINE INTO HER HABD AND PICKED UP THE NOW STALE GLASSES EDGED WITH WINE. "NITE , NITE" THE COURSE WAS BUSY, JAY HAD PREPARED WELL EDINBURGH wWAS ALOVELY DESTINATION. NICE PEOPLE AND SHE WAS GOING TO GET A NICE BIT OF MONEY FOR THE COURSE. SHE WAS HAPPY FOER THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME AND LIFE SEEMED AT THAT MOMENT TO BE GOOD, SHE WAS MISSING SAM HE HAD WANTED TO COME BUT SHE THOUGHT IT WOULD JUST BE TOO MUCH WITH WORK ADN HER SCHEDULE SO SHE SAID SHE WOULD MEET HIM AFTER THE COURSE. SHE WAS HAPPY ON HER OWN TOO ABLE TO AMUSE HERSELF AFTER ALL SHE HAD BEEN ALONE FOR A VERY LONG TIME. BEING WITH SOMEONE AGAIN WAS A BIT STRANGE AGAIN. HER ROOM WAS FIE A LOCAL HOSTEL SHE WAS HAPPY IT KEPT THE COATS LOW. SAM CALLED HE SEEMED FINE THEY TALKED, SHE WAS HAPPY TOHEAR FROM HIM AND HE SAID HE WOULD CALL TOMORROW. HE ALWAYS DID. SHE LOOKED FORWARD TO HIS CALL. OIT WAS 7PM HE SAID HE WOULD CALL, BUT SHE HADNT HEARED FORM HIM, SHE CALLED CAROLINE . "SAM HASNT CALLED, HAVE YOU SEEN HIM, IT'S NOT LIKE HIM, DO YOU THIN I SHOULD CALL HIM","HES PROBAVLY WORKING HE'S ALWAYS WORKING AT THE HOUSE" GIVE IT ANOTHER DAY AND THEN CALL HIM". THE WALK TO WORK WAS FINE AND SHE THOUGHT HE MUST BE CAUGHT UP WITH SOMETHING. IOY WAS 7PM SHECALLED HIM HE SEEMD OK BUT SOMETHING JUST DID NOT FEEL RIGHT, SHE COULDN'T EXPLAIN IT. SOMETHING. BEFORE GPOING BACK TOIRELND SHE HD PLANNED TO MEET SAM AND CAROLINE FOR DINNER. THE RESTAURANBT WAS BOOKED THE USAL INDIAN OTY WAS NICE AND CLOSE TO THE STATION. EASY TO GET HOME. CAROLINE WAS WAITING. "SOMETHING DOESNT FEEL RIGHT"JAY SAID, "I DOMT KNOW I JUST SENSE SOMETHING IS WRONG. THERES SOMETHING WRONG WITH SAM". "WHAT DO YOU MEAN"CAROLINE SAID. "I DONT KNOW I JUST FELT THERE WAS A DISTANCE , I DONT KNOW. " JAY SAID. "WHY DON'T YOU STAY OVERNIGHT "CAROINE SUGGESTED. "OK' JAY WOKE EARLY, SHE MADE A CUP OF TEA. CAROLINE WAS STILL IN BED HER HUSBAND AWAY AGAIN. SJE STIRRD THE TEA SLOWLY WONDERING, SENSING AND FEELING. SHE JUST FELT THAT SOMETHING WAS OFF. SHE GOT DRESSED,WONDERING WHAT WAS HAPPENING. SHE WENTTO PICK UP HER BAG AND KNOCKED OVER CAROLIES PHONE. IT BLEEPED OH NO THOUGHT JAY IT MUST BE BROKEN. SHE PICKED IT UP AND SHE PRESSED IT AS IT LANDEX ON PHOTOS, SHE OPENED IT AND THERE SHE SAW SAMS PHOTO, IN THE BACKGROUND WAS AHPPY BIRTHDAY, CAROLINE WAS KISSING SAM AND ON THE CAKE WAS THE DATE, THE DAY HE WAS MEANT TO CALL HER. SHE STOPPED, NO WAY , IT COUKDNT BE SHEKEPT LOOKING AT THE PHOTO IT WAS IN FROMY OF HER. HER FRIEND AND SAM, SHE LEFT THE HOUSE AND DIDNT SAU A WORD. CAROLINE CALLED HER SHE DIDNT PICK UP, SHE CALLED AGAIN.JAY AGREED TO MEET HER. "THE PHOTO CAROLINE THE PHOTO ON THE PHONE THE DAY SAM WAS MEANT TO MEET ME HE WAS WITH YOU:? "HE DOESNT LOVE YOU, HE DOESNT LOVE YOU"! SHE WAS SO CALLOUS IT SEEMED AS THOUGH SHE WAS ENJOYING HER PAIN. JAYS EYES FILLED WIH TEARS THE SOFT BROWN EYSE FILLED WITH WATER AND SHE COULDNT HOLD BACK. CAROLINE STARRED AT HER "HE DOESNT LOVE YOU"! JAY COULDNT SPEAK THE PAIN WAS TOO GREAT THIS WAS HER FRIED. AND THE WORDS WERE SPOKEN COLD AND CALOOUSLY "HE DOESNT LOVE YOU." TH ATMOSPHERE CHANGED, THERE WAS SILENCE, THERTE WAS BETRAYAL AND A NUMBNESS IN. THE SILENCE OF A FRIEND AND A LOVER .JAY WAS LOST HER EMOTIONS NUMB AND SHE SAT IN THE SILENCE OF A FREIND SHE ONCE KNEW NOW HER ENEMY HER BETRAYER. HER PHONE CALL AND THE SILENCE AND ALL SHE HAD WAS HER TEARS.

wl4yhf

Dear God...

God? YES, MY DARLING? I don't want to live any more, can you please take me to Heaven? I'M REALLY SORRY, SWEETHEART, BUT IT’S NOT YOUR TIME, YOU HAVE MUCH TO DO. WHAT ARE YOU STRUGGLING WITH? MAYBE I CAN HELP. It's just, you made me to do great things, I know you did. You helped me to excel in undergrad so that I got a degree in Special Education Cognitively Impaired. Then you helped me through a Master’s in Applied Behavior Analysis and a Board Certification to be a Behavior Analyst. I was gifted in these areas, and so prepared, but then you gave me a severe mental illness that made it impossible to live out. I think I literally have spent more time in hospitals and residential programs than I have working. Why would you give me these gifts just to take them all away when I needed them most? DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE FIVE AND YOUR WHOLE FAMILY SAT TOGETHER TO WATCH THE JERRY LEWIS TELETHON ON LABOR DAY WEEKEND AND I MOVED YOUR HEART? WHAT DID YOU SAY? When I grow up, I want to volunteer at Muscular Dystrophy Camp. AND DID YOU? Yes, I started volunteering when I was sixteen years old. I loved it so much. I prayed for you to cure muscular dystrophy so many times. I took phone calls on the telethon. I learned so many skills regarding medical care. And I fell in love with so many kids who were grateful for just one day. But it didn't matter. My bipolar started showing up and I was dismissed after just ten years. JUST TEN YEARS?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LIVES YOU TOUCHED IN THOSE TEN YEARS? HOW MANY PARENTS GOT TO TAKE BREAKS FROM GIVING TWENTY-FOUR HOUR CARE OR GOT TO SPEND SOME TIME WITH THEIR NONDISABLED CHILDREN? HOW MANY CAMPERS FELL IN LOVE WITH YOUR SMILE AND MOTHERLY PRESCENCE AND JUST KNEW YOU WOULD KEEP THEM SAFE? AND FOR GOODNESS SAKES, THE NUMBER OF FREE ICE CREAM CONES YOU ALL ATE JUST BECAUSE THERE WERE NO RULES? AND YOU KNOW THAT I HEARD YOUR PRAYERS BECAUSE THERE ARE SO MANY MORE TREATMENTS NOW AND PEOPLE WITH MD ARE LIVING MUCH LONGER. Oh... AND DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST DAY AT THE GIFTED AND TALENTED SCHOOL WHEN YOU DISCOVERED THAT THE OTHER HALF OF THE SCHOOL WAS MODERATELY COGNITIVELY IMPAIRED? I was terrified. YES, BUT YOU'RE DREAM WAS TO BE A SERVICE SQUAD AND ALL THE GIFTED CLASSES WERE FULL SO YOUR ONLY CHOICE WAS TO SIGN UP FOR A SPECIAL ED CLASS? I was even more terrified. YES, BUT I KEPT NUDGING YOU AND YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH IT. YOU SIGNED UP FOR A SECOND YEAR AND BY THE END OF YOUR TIME THERE YOU HAD DECIDED THAT WHEN YOU GREW UP YOU WERE GOING TO BE A SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHER. I know, and all through school I knew it was for me, but then I started teaching and my Bipolar got worse. I was hospitalized for the first times, and I was only able to keep teaching for about three years. I didn’t even make a bit of a difference. DIDN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE?? DIDN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE?! YOU WORKED WITH KIDS WHOM OTHERS HAD GIVEN UP ON. YOU USED EVERY SKILL YOU HAD LEARNED TO DESIGN INDIVIDUALIZED LESSON PLANS AND TEACH THOSE KIDS SKILLS THAT WOULD HELP THEM WITH THEIR DAILY LIVES. WHEN OTHERS CALLED IT GLORIFIED BABYSITTING, YOU WERE DETERMINED TO TEACH . EVERY CHILD THAT ENTERED YOUR CLASSROOM WALKED AWAY WITH SKILLS THAT THEY OTHERWISE WOULDN’T HAVE HAD, THAT MADE THEIR LIVES A LITTLE BETTER. THAT SURE SOUNDS LIKE A DIFFERENCE TO ME! Oh.. DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE THREE AND YOU WERE WATCHING CHRISTMAS EVE ON SESAME STREET AND YOU SAW LINDA TEACH THE KIDS TO SIGN THE SONG “KEEP CHRISTMAS WITH YOU”? DO YOU REMEMBER HOW MUCH IT MOVED YOUR HEART AND HOW DETERMINED YOU WERE TO LEARN AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE ONE DAY? Yes…I took an extra semester in college so that I could get as much ASL as possible. But what does it matter, I never used it, I don’t even know anyone that is Deaf! SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LOOK AT THINGS FROM MORE THAN ONE ANGLE. YOU HAVEN’T MET ANYONE WHO IS DEAF, BUT YOU USED THOSE SIGNS TO COMMUNICATE WITH KIDS WITH AUTISM WHO WERE OTHERWISE NONVERBAL. ALSO, WHEN YOU HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO GO TO AFRICA AND TEACH VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL AT AN ORPHANAGE FOR KIDS WITH SPECIAL NEEDS, YOU JUST KNEW YOU COULD TEACH THEM, EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN’T SPEAK THEIR LANGUAGE. LEARNING SIGN LANGUAGE WASN’T ABOUT SPEAKING WITH KIDS WHO WERE DEAF, IT WAS ABOUT REALIZING THAT THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS TO COMMUNICATE AND THAT YOU NEED TO BE OPEN TO WHAT WAYS YOU CAN REACH THE CHILDREN THAT OTHERS CAN’T. Oh… DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU STARTED A MASTER’S IN AUTISM, BUT YOUR MENTAL ILLNESS WAS AT A ROUGH SPOT AND YOU DIDN’T THINK THERE WAS ANY WAY YOU COULD FINISH THE DEGREE? I SENT YOU AN AMAZING PROFESSOR AND FRIEND THAT HELPED YOU SEE THAT YOU WOULD BE GREAT AT APPLIED BEHAVIOR ANALYSIS, AND THAT MASTER’S YOU COULD GET WITH A DEGREE ONLINE, WHICH WOULD MUCH BETTER MEET YOUR NEEDS? DID YOU THINK THAT I SENT HER TO YOU JUST FOR FUNSIES? I SENT HER TO YOU BECAUSE I KNEW THAT SHE WOULD DIRECT YOU DOWN THE RIGHT PATH AND HELP YOU SEE HOW TALENTED YOU ARE. But even after getting my Master’s and passing the boards I was only able to work for about three years. It was practically nothing. BUT IN THOSE THREE YEARS DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LIVES YOU IMPACTED. YOU TAUGHT MANY YOUNG ADULTS TO LOVE THE FIELD OF ABA SO MUCH THAT THEY WENT BACK TO SCHOOL AND BECAME A BCBA, TOO. AND YOU GOT SO MANY YOUNG ONES WITH AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER ON THE PATH TO START LEARNING LIFE SKILLS AND BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE IN WHICHEVER WAY WAS MEANT FOR THEM. I DON’T CALL THAT NOTHING! Yeah, but then I was in such poor shape that I had to go to a short-term residential facility. I was at my lowest of lows. It was like I was starting over from square zero. YES…BUT DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS LIKE AT THE END OF YOUR STAY. YOU WERE CO-FACILITATING PRACTICALLY EVERY GROUP YOU WERE IN AND YOU WERE RUNNING A SOCIAL GROUP SO THAT PEOPLE CAME OUT OF THEIR ROOMS AND PLAYED GAMES OR JUST CHATTED. I NEEDED YOU TO SEE THAT EVEN AT THE TIMES WHEN YOUR DISABILITY IS AT ITS WORST, YOU ARE STILL ABLE TO BE A TEACHER. YOU ARE STILL ABLE TO BE A MENTOR. YOU ARE STILL ABLE TO SUPPORT THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU AND SHOW THEM THAT THERE REALLY IS HOPE. Hmmm…but what about now. I’ve been on disability for a few years, I know that I won’t be able to work full time, I still have been in and out of the hospital, and now that I’m not making very much money I have to go to the horrible hospitals! ALL IN THE PLAN, MY DEAR. I NEEDED YOU TO SEE HOW DIFFERENT MEDICAL TREATMENT IS FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE ABLE TO WORK AND FOR THOSE THAT AREN’T, ESPECIALLY KNOWING THAT THE MORE SEVERE YOUR DISABILITY, THE LESS LIKELY YOU’LL BE ABLE TO WORK. IT IS AWFUL WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN THERE. I GAVE YOU THE POWER TO WRITE AND TO SPEAK, AND YOU ARE USING YOUR VOICE TO MAKE THINGS DIFFERENT. I KNOW YOU LOOK AT THE ANALYTICS OF YOUR WEBSITE, BUT THERE IS TRULY NO WAY FOR YOU TO KNOW HOW MUCH OF AN IMPACT YOU ARE HAVING ON THE WORLD. ONLY I CAN SEE THAT. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, AND I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU DO NEXT! SO PLEASE DON’T GIVE UP NOW. I KNOW YOUR LIFE IS DIFFICULT AND YOU ARE RUNNING LOW ON HOPE, BUT TRUST THAT I HAVE A PLAN FOR YOU AND THAT ONLY YOU CAN FULFILL IT. REMEMBER THAT IN MANY OF THESE INSTANCES IT WAS YEARS BETWEEN WHEN I GAVE YOU THE SKILL OR DESIRE AND WHEN YOU HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO USE THAT SKILL. MY PLANS ARE LONG TERM, WHILE YOU CAN ONLY SEE A FEW MOMENTS IN ADVANCE. YOU NEED TO TRUST ME, I AM ALWAYS PREPARING YOU FOR THE NEXT STEP…BIG OR SMALL. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? Yes, I think so. If I end my life now, it’s probably in the middle of a plan, and it could mean that that plan was never fulfilled. I have to keep fighting…but I know that You will be with me. I WILL. I LOVE YOU WITH A LOVE THAT IS SO BIG YOU CAN’T EVEN UNDERSTAND, AND I AM SO SO PROUD OF YOU FOR CONTINUING TO FIGHT. YOUR BRAIN WILL TELL YOU IT’S TIME TO GIVE UP MANY MORE TIMES BEFORE IT’S TRUE, BUT REMEMBER THAT I AM HERE AND WE CAN ALWAYS TALK THROUGH IT. I’M ASKING YOU TO PLEASE NOT GIVE UP, AND I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT WHAT WILL COME NEXT! Thank you, me, too. I love you. I LOVE YOU, TOO. NOW GO CHANGE THE WORLD!

aykgwu

What about me?

I’ll never know exactly why things turned out the way they did. Except for the fact that this time, I was exacting revenge out of bitterness. I’ve never been one to go looking for trouble. I didn’t realize the power this dude had to turn my mind and my life upside down. Now, I can’t get away from him. Momma’s always talking about God, reading her Bible, praying, and going to church.  Telling me to pray. I prayed. I swear I did. The whole God thing seems like a racket to me. I hate it. At church, the Reverend talks for over an hour about how wretched I am, and then they pass the plate again and again! Momma puts money in the plate every time. "It’s my tithe; I want my blessing." I’ve never seen that church give her a blessed dime. We just struggle.  Alone. I’ve got so many voices in my head. The brothers and the shorties in my hood say, "There is no God." Believe me, they have stories too. Hell, I’d be willing to believe in no God, if it would keep momma from forcing me to go to church on Sunday’s.   I already knew that telling her, "I don’t believe in him anymore," wouldn’t help. She has all her stories about how God saved her. I haven’t seen it, and plus, where’s he for me when I pray? Man, I know plenty of people who have disrespected him. What’s the difference between me and them? He doesn’t seem upset with the folks that had Black Americans in slavery for 400 years! He even allowed them to make it legal. Over 14 years of civil rights, and things still aren’t civil. Our oppressors are still rolling, and many of them are doing well off the backs of my ancestors. It seems like they always catch a break. Not me. I’m JD, short for Jordan Dammes. Hell, even my last name tells my end: damned. Damned if I do, and Dammes if I don’t! I got caught up about three weeks ago when I went to play hoops at the lot. I’m good at basketball. Everybody knows that. Jr., a new dude, joined us. He is different; I can’t put my hand on it, but there is something about this dude that everybody wants to challenge. During the game, there were some fouls. Another dude, Ray, who fellas say could be my twin, fowled on Jr. Everyone agreed that a free throw wasn’t to be made, except Jr. The fellas treated Jr. like an exile. I made a huge target of myself by defending him: "Come on guys, give him the free throw." All of the guys walked up to me, and Ray gave me a shove in my chest. Normally, one of the voices in my head would say what to do. Today, there were no voices. I just reacted. I punched back. We fought.   I threw tough punches and backed Ray down, but he swore this wasn’t over. Momma warned me plenty of times to avoid basketball with this group of guys, but I was agitated and needed to burn off some energy. Now, I’m in exile with Jr.   I supposed that this was one of those times when I should be praying. Not doing it! Dude ain’t listening to me no way. I’ll fight this battle myself; he doesn’t seem to give a damn about me anyway. Oh, and where’s Jr.? He ran at the first punch. Why did I defend this guy if he wasn’t going to watch my back? Now, the passion I had to defend him has turned on me. Dammes is damned again. Upon arriving home, momma realized I was disheveled and bleeding. "What happened, JD?" What happened?  I yelled.   What always happens? Your God pushed me into a fight! Without thinking, I defended a new dude in the neighborhood, and this is how your God left me. In fact, the guy I defended left me too! "JD, God never leaves you, son," "you turned away from him," "did you take a second to pray for his help?" "No!" "JD, when you began questioning God’s decrees, he allowed this to happen to draw you back to him. Trouble has a way of keeping us in touch with God." "I’ve shared with you before what His word says: "But in their distress they turned to the LORD, the God of Israel, and sought him, and he was found by them." "Momma, why does he have to work this way?" We struggle.  You pray.   We still struggle. You keep praying.   I’ve prayed that God would change our circumstances. I’m tired of being poor and black! I don’t see white people struggling like this. In fact, white folk don’t even want to be around us. They aren’t afraid anymore that our black will rub off on them. They don’t want our bad luck to rub off on them. Momma, you can say what you want, but God seems to like white people better than black people. I want God to leave me alone! "Son, until you seek him with your mind, body, and soul, you will never be able to get rid of him. "You belong to him." Let us examine and test our ways, and turn back to the LORD. Amen! The fight you feel inside is from wanting things to turn out exactly how you want them. God has a predestined plan for your life. Turn back for peace. He will never let you get away from him; you’ll only do that yourself. Why won’t this dude leave me alone? I’m so conflicted. I want to believe how Momma believes. She is so confident that everything happens for a reason. Well, I still don’t understand why the things in my life have turned out the way they have. Honestly, exacting revenge by rejecting God hasn’t turned out well for me either. I’m so confused. One thing I know for sure is that I’m going to have to come face-to-face with Ray again. Since momma said I can’t avoid God’s decrees, maybe, since momma has a peace about bad things; maybe there is no rule against confronting God’s decrees through momma’s faith until trouble makes me faithful. I believe Momma, but God, this dude I can’t see or confront face-to-face will either help me feel the confidence Momma feels or perhaps I'm just damned.

oh31cb

Sanctuary Peak

The wind was gentle, rustling the leaves softly and just barely stirring the surface of the water with its touch. Birds flew on this wind, singing their melodies with a cheerful voice in the brilliance of the sun, dancing in the air with graceful wings. A bee buzzed nearby as it flitted from one flower to the next between the reeds of the lakeshore and the calls of a duck guiding her little ones through their first dip into the water sounded from the farside. Altogether came each individual song, each individual beat, to form a beautiful symphony that could only be found in the wilds. It was one of the reasons he loved this place. He moved then, his arm flying forward as his weapon flew from his grip with the motion, piercing the lake’s surface with a soft splash a short distance away. The wind did not cease to blow, the leaves did cease to rustle, the birds' songs never failed and neither did their dance stagger. The bee continued about its work and the duck did not cease her command of her ducklings. Not one part of this song he loved faded or stumbled out of step as he strode forward, feeling the water as it rose past his knees and the reeds as they scratched lightly against the exposed skin of his torso and arms. Four strides took him to his weapon, his spear, as it wobbled in the water and a single grip and pull revealed his prize and brought a slight smile to his face. “You’re a beautiful one.” he mumbled softly to the fish that had grown still on the blade, his aim had been impeccable, piercing the creature’s eye and slaying it quickly so that it might not suffer. He turned then and strode back through the reeds to the shore again, passively working his prey loose from the spear as he broke through the brush and set his dripping feet onto the dry grass. A couple more strides took him to a lidded basket which he quickly opened before depositing his prize amidst half a dozen other fish that were the fruits of the cool morning’s labors. Bending low, he gripped the sides of the basket and hefted it upwards, resting it upon his right shoulder, leaving his left free for his spear. He moved then, away from the water and to his home, to the simple single room cottage that rested in the shadows of the nearby trees. Each wall was built from logs stacked one upon the other in an overlapping pattern, ultimately coming to a point at the tip of the roof. The roof itself was largely composed of a series of large grass and reed bundles that he’d harvested from the lake and the surrounding forest of the mountain he’d come to call home. He passed between the series of large stones that outlined a path to his door, and opening it, he stepped beyond the threshold. He didn’t spare a moment to glance about, simply leaning his wooden spear against the inner frame of the door and moving to the shelf that served as storage for his knives. Grabbing a thin blade carved delicately from a hard wood and simple wooden bucket shaped from a log before returning to the outside. Finding a favored stone just beyond his door, he sat down and went to work, his hands gliding through the familiar motions of descaling and cleaning the fish one by one. A task so simple, so familiar, that he did it without thought and, as always, with his hands occupied his mind was free. Thoughts and imaginings flitted here and there, shifting from one subject to the next a dozen times in a bare few moments. He pondered the reason for the birds' choice songs, why they sang one or another at different times, each of their melodies were beautiful but he couldn’t help but ponder on the differences between them. He contemplated also his upcoming meal, the herbs and spices that he might have to further flavor the fish he would be roasting this evening and what he would be drying for later. He planned the weaving of more baskets and the spinning of more string in the coming days, in hopes of finally finishing that net he’d started a few months back. All these and more passed before his mind’s eye as he worked, they were familiar thoughts that flowed freely back and forth as he set his first fish aside and moved to grip the second. It was as he set to work on this second fish, that his mind was drawn further afield. The glare of the light through the window was intense, harsh in the moment as it fell upon his closed eyes. The fine, red curtains were drawn as they always were, for he had long favored to rise with the sun and had always had love for the stars. He rose from the silken covers and quickly dressed, making himself presentable before departing from his chambers for, unknown to him then, the last time. He should have known something was off, when he opened his door and found Eliza, a nun whom he knew as friend, waiting at his door with a fearful standing. “The Knight’s Council has summoned you Daniel.” He didn’t nod, not yet, for he saw that fear in her gaze, “What worries you, my friend?” She trembled slightly as she answered, “They will not listen, they are too involved in what has happened, they-?!” He rested a hand on her shoulder, quieting her before her growing hysterics could echo into the hall and further to ignorant ears. “The evidence that Sir Pierce and I uncovered and brought before them is immutable, they will have to act, even considering the titles of the accused.” she shook her head, tears beginning to glisten in her emerald eyes, “You hold too much faith in them.” He sighed heavily, knowing quite well the source of his friend’s fears, “I know you hold no trust for them, I merely ask that you trust me and Sir Pierce.” Her gaze met his own, a note of urgency in them, “They will not go against the Pope, no matter how he has trampled over our doctrine.” Before more could be said, a maidservant stepped into the hall and spoke, “The Knight’s Council awaits you in the Chamber of Judgement, Sir Daniel.” He smiled at hearing that, setting his hands reassuringly upon Eliza’s shoulders, “Put your fears to rest my friend, for if the council has gathered in judgment then, to my knowledge, there is only one sin that they could be addressing.” she bit her lip anxiously, looking away for a moment before taking a breath to steady herself and raising her gaze with an unsteady smile, “I’ll come with you-.” the maidservant spoke again then, “Mother Nancy has called for you Eliza, so I’m afraid that will not be possible.” The anxiety was born again in her eye at those words and he took a brief moment to comfort her, “I’ll be fine Eliza, besides we still have to read the next chapter of Crimson Feathers together.” She chuckled slightly at his insistence, her unsteadiness fading, “I’ll see you in the library this evening then?” He smiled, “Wouldn’t miss it.” His words were spoken in jest and assurance, before he turned and marched down the hall toward his destination. He barely noticed as his movements grew harsher, more severe as he remembered, recalled what had awaited him the Chamber of Judgement. ‘ I should have listened to her.’ “What do you mean?!” he couldn’t help his shocked exclamation as he processed the councilman’s words, shocked at what was said, “As previously recounted, Sir Daniel, you stand accused of Slander, Forgery, Rape and Heresy. How do you plead?” He shook his head, barely suppressing a growl, utterly affronted at the false accusation, “Not Guilty! Regardless of that though, I know our laws well, who is my accuser? I am entitled, by right, to face them here!” the councilman responded quickly, harshly, “It is The Pope who accuses you.” He did growl this time, “The Heretic!? You would take the word of a proven heretic when he turns his own crimes upon-!?” “SILENCE!!” He froze, startled by the sudden interruption by Sir Anthony, who served as an elder of the council, “We are quite aware of your treachery ‘Sir’ Daniel! Sir Pierce has testified to witnessing you craft your, so called ‘evidence’, yourself!” The declaration staggered him, left him reeling, “No, I know my brother! He would never speak such deceit to you!” What he saw when he looked up into the elder knight’s eyes stunned him, the mirth that flickered maliciously in his pale gaze. “Truly? Do you truly think him so loyal to you that he would hide such things from us?” Lady Mala remarked then, tauntingly, “Why don’t you ask him then?” His blood froze in his veins at the sight, at the one who walked out from behind the curtain, looking a shadow of his former self. Gone was his cotton tunic and breaches, gone were his marks of honor as one of the greatest knights the order had ever produced and in their place was the harsh sack cloth worn by those taking penance, but these were minor things to Daniel’s eye. His posture was slouched and his gaze was low, as though he didn’t have the fortitude to look out into the room, he looked like a broken man, his valor stolen and his courage shattered. It was a sight that horrified him, to see one such as his brother in arms, a fellow knight of the order reduced to this… It was not something he would stand for. “Sir Pierce? What has been done to you?” He flinched at the question, though Daniel could admit that he’d let some of his anger into his words, so he didn’t entirely blame him. Still, what could he feel but rage? To see one he knew to be a strong, good man, reduced to this, a pale shadow of himself, like a lion with its teeth torn out and its mane sheared away. He clenched his fists and jaw at the sight, having a vicious desire to lay his hands upon those who had done this to his friend and fellow knight. A list whose names surprised in ways that left his heart wounded and blood searing. “Isn’t it obvious? He has acknowledged his sin and is now on the path to penance.” Lady Hill spoke this time, a smile like that of a serpent upon her lips as she mocked one far greater than she. Daniel didn’t get the opportunity to respond to the witch, for what else could she be having hidden such malice in her heart? Rather, another of the council spoke, “We can do the same for you, set you on the path to redemption.” Sir Berrick said softly, though his own eye held that same mocking edge as the others, “You need simply to recant, none aside from us know and your shame need not be made known to any other, you need only-.” He had had enough, “Never!” The council was taken aback, startled at his viciousness, Hill recovering first, “You should watch your tongue, ‘Sir Knight’, Pride is one of the seven deadlies after all.” He retorted her mocking accusation without hesitation, “It is not I who courts it, ‘Lady’ Hill.” her gaze flashed with fury, not indignation, that would imply there was some falsity on his part or ignorance on hers. No, he saw clearly now, she was a snake incensed at being discovered and, given how many other eyes shared that nature… he knew, ‘I should have listened to Eliza.’ Sir Anthony answered this time from his high seat, “You would sooner be sullied? Sooner see your entire line dishonored than acknowledge what you’ve done?” he continued, his tone attempting something of reason but failing to hide the accusing venom that was its heart, “You are the last of your family Sir Daniel. There are none who could regain the honor of your forefathers’ if you-.” He didn’t allow the snake to finish, “The only ones staining their fathers’ names here are seated across from me.” He pressed on before they could recover from his interruption, “You serpents, children of evil, you wear a valorous cloak but you’ve no courage, you’ve no strength of heart or spirit.” He saw their wrath building, but he wouldn’t stop, he would leave no truth unspoken, for he already knew his fate to be sealed, “Know this, I will never bow to deceit nor treachery, for I bow only to He Who Is!” He concluded a moment later, “And, as much as you might wish and squirm and scheme, you will never be Him, you will be lowly serpents for that is all you are.” He grunted slightly, surprised as a sharp pain pierced his dark recollections and looked down, the final fish was in his hand, the same hand that he had inadvertently cut in his growing anger. He took a breath, setting the fish aside for a moment and moving to wash his hand in the crystalline waters of the lake. Those memories knocked on the door once more, but he banished them, he had lingered in those shadows for too long as it was and it was well past time to move on. The cut stung as the water washed over the break in his flesh, the pain was familiar, the pain brought from the cleansing of an injury. It was a familiar pain, both in spirit and body as he stepped once more beyond his old wounds and felt that gentle balm to his soul. He recalled well his journey, the steps that carried him here, the near escape from his execution by Eliza’s hand and the subsequent flight she’d urged him to. He remembered the questions that had assailed him then, the doubts, the fears, as he fled beyond the borders of the kingdom and into the Deadlands. Finally, he recalled his trek up this very mountain, his desperate ascent which he didn’t remember finishing. He raised his gaze from the water, through which crimson roots of his blood now grew and looked about. Taking in the lush greenery to which he’d woken, the waterside by which he’d opened his eyes, the sanctuary to which he’d been ushered. He smiled then, recalling the peaceful years that he’d known here, the weeks spent building his cottage, chopping down and shaping the logs by his own hand, gathering up the bundles of reeds and grass that became the roof and so on. He rose from the waterside and stepped out from the lake, a smile upon his face as he strode once more to finish cleaning his dinner. Taking up the fish once more, his smile broadened and he uttered, “Thank You, O’ Lord, for saving me from my accusers, for carrying me here and providing me a home.” He reached in, removing the last of the more distasteful parts of the fish, before carrying them to the edge of the fire pit, setting them beside it as he lit the kindling. “Thank You, for healing of heart and body, for ushering me up my mountain.” he turned then as the fire began to spark, growing as a gentle breeze fell upon it, nurturing it as he grasped what had been removed from the cleaned fish. “Thank You,-” He began, before dumping the remnants of the fish back into the lake, to feed the others who dwelled in it, “-for taking the rot out of my life and the weight from my shoulders.” Finally, he returned to his fire, which had grown enough to begin cooking his meal and he concluded, “And Thank You, for providing food for the evening and I pray Your Blessing upon it. Amen.”

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The Epistle of Paul to the Present Church

The Epistle of Paul to the Present Church Chapter 1 1.     Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle by the will of God and separated according to the effective working of His power amongst the Gentiles 2.     scattered throughout the world, to bear witness of the grace and love of the Father revealed in Jesus Christ, His Son, 3.     To the present Church, beloved by God and called into fellowship with Him and each other for the eternal purpose of the Kingdom of God, 4.     made known by the Spirit of knowledge and revelation to His people, who stand according to His grace. 5.     Greetings, in the Name of my Lord, Jesus Christ. 6.     I thank God for each remembrance of you, fondly considering your place in the heart of the Father, 7.     knowing that you are precious in His sight, in attitude, word, and deed, always striving for the furtherance of His kingdom on the Earth. 8.     Though it was my intention to teach and preach among you to the continued benefit of both you and me, it seems the Lord had plans for me, not of any private revelation. 9.     For what I have faced in this life, I did so for the sake of the Gospel and not for any personal gain, whether of gold and silver or of reputation. 10.  I have learned to be satisfied with what comes from the Hand of God in either of these. 11.  Thus, I faced my certain demise with bold faith and trust in the Lord to do what He deems to be profitable for His Church. 12.  For this reason, my preaching must find listening ears only by the reading of my words. My voice, made bold by the confidence I have in the leading of the Spirit, though willing, has been made silent by the elevation of my service into the Temple, not made by hands. 13.  Therefore, I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from Whom all saints are so named. I 14.  n the Presence of God, I speak of you, both day and night, that He may provide for you the accoutrements of your warfare for the souls of those outside, 15.  that you may fight the good fight in the midst of the difficulties brought on you by the unbelief of those in the same present authority, 16.  who do not care to know the way of righteousness and peace, preferring their choices that lead to strife and heartache, as it has been from the beginning. Chapter 2 1.     And you also have been found wanting in this; that you let your heart be given over to double-mindedness concerning the things of this world. 2.     Have you not seen the sorrow that comes from pursuing these things that are openly destructive to your faith and purpose? 3.     Has it not been enough to turn your eyes away from the attractive things of Man that tarnish in the light of day? 4.     This observation I share with a heart made heavy by the surety of the end, known from the beginning by our Lord and revealed to us through the revelations to the prophets and apostles 5.     and made known to you through their writings; that the things you gather into your storehouse are the wild gourds of the flesh that brings death to the pot and not the delights of the Spirit which are well known by those who walk in the Spirit. 6.     Know this, that the Flour which will give life to the pot is Jesus Christ, which restoration Elisha, the son of Shaphat could attest, 7.     that there is no other who can provide such life. 8.     Without the Kernal of the Seed, ground into flour through the sufferings which were ordained from the beginning by the Father, the death remains. 9.     In like fashion; it is we who have the penalty of death upon us without the same Flour being mixed in because we also have pursued the double-mindedness of the world. 10.  I hear reports of multiplications of salvations amongst you all. 11.  Can it be true that you seek your identity apart from the risen Christ? 12.  Who, then, died for you? Who suffered the indignities of the Cross and rose triumphantly for you? 13.  Are you not named by the Lord of the Universe and claimed as His? 14.  Walk, then, in wisdom, and move a distance from the futility of the carnal mind. Know, assuredly, that life is found only from one Source, and He is enough. 15.  Let your mind be on heavenly things and renounce the earthy things of the flesh, in which is no chance of life. Chapter 3 1.     Husbands, endeavour to love and serve your own wives as Christ does the Church. 2.     Fulfill the promises you made at the altar, knowing that your Lord has fulfilled all His promises and His altar, 3.     when the Church was birthed out of the side of the crucified Lord, just as Eve was out of the side of Adam. 4.     Wives, respect your husbands as the servants of the Lord, given to you by the will of God. 5.     Supply support for them as partners in life, serving the Lord together, with gladness, rejoicing in the fruits of your union in the children and the children’s children. 6.     Children, hear the words of your parents and obey, that they are saved from the sorrow of a wayward child. 7.     You are not the future of the Church but are now active members in your own right, called to serve the Lord of Glory as we all are. 8.     Finally, Saints of God, be strong in the Lord. The enemy presses upon you with his worldly wisdom, which leads to the precipice. 9.     Seek not for how close you can get, but flee its very locations, wherever they may be found. Eschew all that pertains to his drawing us to him. 10.  Pursue godliness without dilution, seeking the will of Him who loves you with everlasting love. 11.  Stand apart that your garments do not pick up the smoke of the coming conflagration. 12.  The eternal life of your loved one is in the balance for they also seek an example of Christlikeness in a world of bad examples. Be their light. Chapter 4 1.     Though I remain in the environs of Heaven, I think of you often, pleading with my Lord, 2.     Who has replaced my faith with blessed sight. 3.     I pray for you that you accomplish the tasks laid upon you by the Spirit of God. I pray that you love each other with the mind of Christ. 4.     I pray you walk in the righteousness of God, providing light to those who live in darkness. 5.     Some of you will come to me soon. The ones left behind still have the burden of ordination on you to do the will of the Lord. 6.     I cannot come to you, but my prayers penetrate the chasm. 7.     Until then, peace be to you and grace, in the Name of God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I have you in my heart. Amen

hzpnb3

COURAGE WHEN YOU NEED IT

Chapter one " It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood," I sing as I go out to hang the clothes on the line, and it truly is a beautiful day. Sun is shining, flowers blooming, all the new ones I have planted have settled in and are growing, buds popping out, really a beautiful day. I feel the baby in my belly moving, and I stop a minute to put my hand where the little foot or hand has pushed. Too little to do much more than make a fluttering feeling, but this baby is letting me know she/he is in there. Clothes hung, I head back to the house still singing, but now I sing a lullaby to celebrate baby. Nap time, work all done, and I need a rest. Seems like I'm always sleepy now, but a nap will fix me right up, I tell myself. I lay on the sofa, pull a little throw over my feet, and I am out. An hour later, I'm awake, wondering where Rob is now. Should be back from town soon. I get the things I'm going to fix for supper tonight, out, and ready to cook as Rob will be hungry for sure after all that driving. Wonder if he was able to get the loan we need for new equipment for the mine. Too bad our old truck died on us, it has to be replaced, as well as our excavator. Rob says our sluice box is good for several more years, and the little stuff we'll just buy. I'm still happy when I go out to see if the clothes are dry and start folding them as I glance over at the mine entrance and see Robs' truck parked there. Don't remember seeing it when I hung out the clothes, must have just gotten here. I put the basket on the porch while I walk to the mine. Hate the mine, never been in it, never plan to go in. So scary makes every hair on my arms stand up when I even walk close. I have a bad history with mines. Chapter two My dad was a miner, had his own mine, not too far from here and I played in and out of the mine with my brothers and sister. I got sick one day when I was about nine and had to stay in the house with mama while the rest of the kids went out to play. She had given me something to make me feel better, and I had napped, but something startled me awake, and I was all alone. I called and called for mama, but she didn't answer. Finally, I went running out of the house to find her. There was a lot of dirt, dust in the air, hard to breathe, but I didn't see mama anywhere, none of the kids either. I saw Mr. Bob, our next-door neighbor driving up in a hurry, followed by several others. "Penny, where's your pa, girl?" "Don't know. Can't find anyone. Mama's not here, can't find any of the others either." "God be with them please." I heard him whisper. He turned to the other men, "Mike, go sound the alarm, see how fast you can get help here, and maybe a woman or two for Penny. Tom, see how many shovels you can round up, and let's get busy." He picked me up, walked me to the porch and told me to sit there til someone came to take care of me. I was a bit resentful of his sending me away, but didn't feel good enough to argue, so I went back inside, lay on the couch and pulled a blanket over me. I felt so cold, was back asleep in minutes, never imagining what was happening outside, or what the rest of my life would be like. I woke to the sound of women talking in the kitchen. "Worst thing I ever heard of whole family taken like that. Don't know what they were thinking of letting the children play in the mine. Won't ever catch one of mine playing in ours." I listened for a few more minutes as they talked, then it gradually sunk in that they were talking about my family. I screamed, kept on screaming, until finally, blessed oblivion. The doctor was called, my fever was high, high enough for concern, so after Mr. Bob had gotten in touch with my moms' family to tell them about the mine cave-in, he had to call them back to tell them they might lose me too. They had already packed to come and promised to be there in a few hours if someone would just stay with me, take care of me til they could get here. Arrangements were made, but I was too sick to care. I wanted my mama. The family came, I recovered, and, after the funerals they took me home with them. I grew up of course, went to college to get my teaching degree, met Robert who was studying mineralogy, and that was that. Never looked at another man and Rob said he was just as smitten. We managed to graduate, got married and worked for a few years saving our money like crazy. Rob had big dreams, wanted to try his hand at mining. Not for gold, but for semi-precious jewels. Rob had found a natural cave in the area we wanted to search, with a small house on the place, a little barn and a chicken coop. It was mostly fenced in, just what we needed. We managed to scrape up enough for a good down payment, and he started working in the nearest town, while I tutored at the local high school. It was close enough to our house for me to walk back and forth, and I did love to watch those kids that needed a little extra help catch on to what we were working on and take off with it. Did my heart good to help them. Chapter three As I near the mine entrance, I can hear something, sounds like it is coming from the bowels of the earth. A groaning, moaning sound with a bit of mewing like a kitten or some such. I jump back several feet, nearly falling when my feet land on loose gravel. I gingerly approach the entrance, but just can't get closer than 5-6 feet. My hands turn to ice, and my heart is beating out of my chest. Feel like I will faint away. "Rob, Rob, are you in there?" No answer. I ease closer, call again, and hear the moaning, groaning sound again. I turn and run away, crying now I'm so scared. "God, help me, God, give me strength, God, PLEASE give me courage." I march back toward the mine entrance, wringing and shaking my hands, my feet are stumbling and dancing as I fight to keep them moving in the way I need to go. I manage to get just inside the entrance and yell loud as I can "ROB ARE YOU IN HERE?" This time I hear "help me Penny, need help," followed by groaning. "Oh Lord, it's Rob in there and you know I love him, you know he needs help, but right now, I need help worse. I can't go in there alone, no use pretending. I'm scared, scared bad. If you don't help me Lord, I won't be able to do this." I shut my eyes and run straight into the cave. I don't know how far back in the cave Rob is mining, so I start calling him as I start walking. Every time I hear the slightest noise, I think the roof is going to be falling down on us. Can't stop shaking. Finally, I hear a groan. It is so dark in here; I am beyond where light comes in thru the entrance. Around another bend, and I see the glow from a lantern. I rush toward the light, gasping for breath, and see Rob laying there, leg under him at a weird angle. He looked at me and tried to smile. "Wasn't sure you would be able to come in here, Penny. Thank you." He knows my history, and that I fear mines, caves, anything underground. "Not for a million bucks, but our baby needs a pa, so here I am." My heart is still racing, but I am so much more confident with Rob in here with me. "What can I do to get you out of here?" "There is a big wheelbarrow just beyond me. Think you could push it with me in it?" "Won't know til I get you in it and try." I ease past him and find the wheelbarrow and push it up close to him. He tries to pull himself up, but shrieks with pain and is momentarily unconscious. "Here are a couple of boards," I mutter as I tear the bottom off my shirt, then another strip. "Good strong cotton. I can do this." While he is out, I straighten the broken leg amidst more groaning, put the boards along the sides of the leg, and tie it tight with the pieces of my shirt. Need more rope or something. I find an old shirt hanging where he had been working earlier and manage to get several long strips. It is nearly rotten, not strong, so I braid three of the pieces together then tie them around the boards and his ankle. "Rob, Rob, honey, I know you are hurting, but I can't get you in there by myself, you will have to help me." He rouses at my voice, and somehow, gets into the wheelbarrow with me holding the splinted leg steady. It was a long way to the entrance. Rob is holding the lantern to guide me, but it seems like I hit every bump as I push us thru. "Thank you, Lord, for your mercies, and for the truck being parked right here." Rob is pale, in pain, but determined to do most of the lifting as I get us by the truck door. We work together and get him in the truck, then I look at my shirt, not much there, better get a different one on before we go. I drive up to the porch, grab a clean shirt, have it on in seconds, grab my purse, and we are off to the hospital. Pain medicine, x rays done, and the doctor came in to tell us it will require surgery. I think this is the longest surgery ever. I have been waiting in his room for three hours now, and I'm tired, hungry, and ready to see him, see that he is ok. One of the nurses brings me a dinner tray, how kind. "Thank you, you must have known I was hungry." "Saw you were pregnant and remembered how hungry I always was. The operating room just called, your husband did well, and will be back in here in about 30 minutes, so finish your dinner and I'll pick it up before he gets here. He won't be allowed to eat tonight, and we don't want to tease him, do we?" She smiles and walks out. I hurry thru eating and freshen up before Rob comes back to his room. Don't want him to see me all frowsy headed, no lipstick. "Hi honey, sorry you had to go thru this, but thank you for loving me enough to come into the mine. It had to be hard." "We'll have a great story to tell baby when he gets here. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without God giving me the courage and the strength." "Are my dirty clothes in here? Would you please look in the pockets?" I pull out some dirty looking rocks, and ask "what are these? And if we have a little boy, will I always be finding stuff like this in the pockets?" "I am pretty sure those have some rose red, possibly some purple garnets in them. We have a lot of mica schist, containing biotite and bronzite back in the mine and there is an underground stream running thru there. That is where I picked up the rocks." He gave a mighty yawn just as his nurse came in. "Ok folks, times up. You, young lady, skedaddle on home and get some sleep. I'll be here all night to watch over your hubby." Being totally exhausted, I didn't argue, just kissed Rob, grabbed the rocks, put them in my purse, and went home to shower, then to sleep. Chapter four Rob is right, and when we took the stones, cleaned them up and showed them to a guy Rob knew, they were garnets. Not precious stones, but not bad for semi-precious. I know that as days go by and the baby comes, I will have to visit the mine again, just to show God how much I appreciate the love, strength and courage he gave me when I needed it most. The end.

l0j65n

MY MOTHER FOUND JESUS FOR THE FIRST TIME AND I AM SO HAPPY

MY MOTHER FOUND JESUS FOR THE FIRST TIME AND I AM SO HAPPY I can't sleep-I just cannot sleep--I am so worried--I am at the airport now--I've been here for three hours--I am here to see my Mother--She is coming home.--Thoughts have come into my mind and I have not slept. My Grandmother -My Mother's Mother is with me--She brought me here--I got her up early -I was anxious and I could not sleep.--My Grandmother is the one who raised me when my Mother could not.--My name is Tim--My Mother's name is Julie--I am 8 years old--My Mother has struggled with drugs and alcohol most of her life. Many times people have tried to help her. She has been to many programs.--It has not worked--She keeps going back.--She had me -I don't think she wanted me . My Father is not around. I do not know who he is. He may have been told he has a Son. But he don't care. My Mother is on her own. We live with my Grandmother. My Mother cannot live by herself. She cannot take take of me. I wish she could -I think she loves me and wants me. But the drugs and alcohol are more important. She cannot stop-she cannot stop.--She is now gone to another place. People will try to turn her life around. Give up drugs and alcohol...She has been there for six months.--What can they do? Can they make her better? My Grandmother is worried and so am I.--I need my Mother. A real Mother who will love me and take care of me. My Grandmother and I go to Church every Sunday--We pray. We ask Jesus to help my Mother .I have not seen or heard from my Mother for six months. But now it is time for her to come home. I do not know what I will see when she comes home. I am so worried. I hope she is better. So we wait at the airport for three hours---I walk and I walk--I look down the runway -The aisle in the airport where passengers arrive and leave. I cannot sit.-- I walk to another level and I watch all the people. Where are they going? Are they missing someone? I touch the rail--I look up and I look down. I am not alone--I feel the presence of Jesus. My Grandmother tells me to sit down and rest. I have been praying--Jesus has made her better. I know He has.--A woman sees me walking all over. She calls me over . She asks me--Are you alright-are you lost.--Are you looking for someone?- I tell her I am waiting for my Mother to come home. I tell her the story of my Mother--The lady tells me -if you have asked Jesus to make her better --then He will.--I feel better for a little while.--it's getting close -it's almost time for the plane to arrive.--I look to the sky-Somewhere out there is my Mother.--Will she be better? Will she be clean--Has Jesus come into her life and filled her with the Holy Spirit?--She has told her Mother--it is too late for Jesus to help me. I have been a bad daughter . I have caused you so much grief --so much pain. I have been a bad Mother. How can God forgive me --I am so sorry.-Her Mother told her--it does not matter what you have done--Jesus will forgive you. He will heal you and make you clean. Just put your trust in Him and pray to Him.--He has given you a Son--He is telling you to take care of him and love him. -I am looking outside and it is raining --My Mother will get wet.--The plane has landed -The passengers are walking in--I wait at the end of the aisle-And I look for my Mother -What will she look like? I will know if she is better just by seeing her. --Jesus is with me and I have put my trust and faith in Him.--In the distance -I see a beautiful woman--it is my Mother-She is wearing a dress-Her hair is fixed -her skin is bright--her eyes are wide open. She is looking for me-She knows I have been waiting. I say Mom-I say it loud-everyone hears me. My Mother hears-She looks toward me--a smile comes to her face -I can see the joy. -She is crying now. She runs toward me -and I run toward her and I begin to cry. She falls to her knees and I run into her arms. Her hair is wet, but it feels good -The water runs down my face and mixes with the tears in my eyes. She says --Love You--It is so good to see you--I am so sorry -I say Love You Mom--it is so good to have you home. My Mom says -I was lost but now I am found. I know Jesus loves me. He has filled me with the Holy Spirit and made me clean. He has given me you. I am so blessed--Her Mother comes and we all hug--We are so very happy.--God is good.--His goodness and His grace He has bestowed upon us. He has given me a Mother who will love me and care for me. Walking out we pass the woman who asked about me. She calls me over . She tells me she has been waiting for the moment I would see my Mother. She says she is so very happy for me. I say Thank you--On the way home we pass our Church-I say Grandma -Can we stop here -Can w go in and say--Thank You Jesus . The Church door is not locked --We go in -The altar candles are burning --We go to the altar and we kneel. We bow our heads. We say Thank You Jesus for bringing Julie home --Clean and well--filled with the Holy Spirit. We walk out of the Church -The rain has stopped . I do not know what tomorrow will bring. I am not concerned-My new life with my Mother has begun.

bjiiyl

Good and Wild and Wonderful

This endless void has remained long enough. It is time to begin—time for the light. Let there be light. A watery orb is suspended in the dimness—shapeless, lifeless, so still, and dark—a murky drop in the void of the universe. Oh, the things I can do with this, what a wonder it will be, this liquid sphere of potentiality. It hovers, quiet, waiting, yearning for its beginning. Now, I will begin. I shall push the waters down, pour them away from the great beyond, and fill the gap with atmosphere —air—nitrogen, oxygen, the perfect components for life—yes, life—to thrive and multiply. The waters below, the air all around, oh so many ideas of how to fill them, but first—land. It sleeps, submerged beneath the still waters, but I will call it up, rouse it from eternal dormancy, where its surfaces will touch the new air and there, I will let it settle—let it dry, let it breathe. Oh, this land will be wild and wonderful—some parts I will raise up, carve ridges in its rock, and shape it into spears that pierce the sky. Some, I will flatten, spreading it out thin and low, laying across the waters. It will be rich, layered, yes, this land will have depth—variation—rings of dirt and soil and bedrock down to its molten core. It will have mountains and valleys, cliffs and caverns. A sightless hand could glide over its surface and know it by its rises and dips, like the face of a lover in the dark. Yes, yes, this is good. But there must be more. It should be filled with life—plants spreading their seeds and flowers unfurling in dazzling color and trees bursting with fruit and grasses spanning the flat lands and mosses blanketing the mountains. Like a sea of green, life will cover the land—and the waters too—yes, growth will spread to the deepest parts. It will cling to the ocean floor and waver and dance in the moving waters. It will sustain itself—all of it—spreading and multiplying and thriving in its place. Oh, what a sight. Yes, yes, this is good. But there must be more. There will be order, lights up above to rule the passing of time. Time . Yes, time has begun. A great light, placed just so, will warm the new life—tell it when to sleep, where to look, and when to bloom. It will be the planet’s obsession—the unfailing center of its cyclical journey from season to season. This great light will burn—a heat so fervent and boiling and bright that it cannot be touched, it cannot be looked upon. It will hang in the great expanse and sustain all that orbit around it. There will be many such lights—a number beyond notation—scattered as far as the darkness stretches and then further still. These lights will arrange themselves in clusters and patterns and will burn for eons. They will sustain order, marking time and tilt and turn around the great light, visible to all those on the land. The land . Yes, the land: There will be creatures—swimming, slithering, and flying creatures beyond the wildest imagination. They will have gills, scales, feathers, wings, tails, and they will be marvelous! Some will own the sky and hug the clouds, light shining upon their backs. They will glide on weightless wings, high above the earth below—below. Yes, some creatures will live below. They will bask in warm, shallow waters, close to the comfort of land’s edges, and they will fill the silence with a bubbling chorus of hisses and croaks. Others will lurk like mysterious shadows in the darkest, greatest depths of the seas, ruling the waters in all their enormity. Yes, yes, this is good. But there must be more. There will be creatures on the land—lumbering, leaping, slinking creatures of all shapes and sizes. They will have skin, fur, hooves, horns, stripes, and spots. They will traverse the tallest trees, burrow in the ground beneath, roam wild and run free, yes, yes. From the wondrous beasts of land and sea to the smallest insect with invisible wings; they will share the planet and live in harmony, in order with one another. It is good, all good, but there must be more. There must be one—a creature unlike the rest—who is more than skin and fur and fin, who appreciates the beauty of this land teeming with life and bursting with color, one who comprehends the order in the orbit of the lights above. One who thinks, who feels, who loves, who sets its mind and its hands to create and sustain and nurture and retain all there is to see and know of this new world. Someone who can reason . Someone like me . This creature will walk like the animals but will stand erect and upright beside them. It will run like the animals, with strong legs to carry it to and fro. It will be covered with skin, on its back, on its hands—skin delicate enough to find the edge of the smoothest grain of sand, strong enough to grip rock and tree and climb to where the land and sky meet. These hands will learn through touch—speak through touch, and it will speak with words—not bellows and caws and growls, but with tongue against teeth, with precision, with intelligence. This creature is special, it will be nothing like the rest. It will learn and grow and adapt to where it goes, it will be sustained by the land, but it will subdue the land—cultivate it, nurture it. Yes, yes, this is good. And oh, he is marvelous. He stands tall, blades of grass bending beneath his feet. He walks, uneasy at first, but his legs are strong. He runs through the garden scented with fruit and flowers and herbs and honey. He follows the sound of birds singing and sees them perched in pairs on branches. Deer and gazelle pad in the mist. Lambs graze, and wolves bask in the warm morning light. Lions tussle and nuzzle their young. They all gather at the river, and he counts them, two, three, twelve, fifty, too many. He strokes their fur, learns the curves of their bodies, the twist of their horns and snouts and hooves and bones. He knows them all, names them all, speaks to them all. But they never speak back. He is alone. No, no, this is not good, something is missing. There must be more. There must be another. A creature like this one, who stands upright and walks on strong legs. It will be covered with skin, on its back, on its face, on its hands—hands that will wield strength and grace. This creature will learn and grow and adapt to where it goes. It will be special—discerning, divining. It will be one who thinks, who feels, who loves–one who sets its mind and its hands to create and sustain and nurture and retain the beauty of this new world and know its mysteries. Someone who can reason . Someone like me . And oh, she is incredible. She stands tall, blades of grass curling between her toes. She walks, unsteady at first, but they can walk together now, run together. She is life itself, as lush and green as the ground beneath her. The other creatures come to greet her, welcome her, breathe her in and nuzzle her skin, and she laughs. Yes, yes, she is perfect. It is all good, so very good.  They will lie in beds of clover and gaze up into the great beyond, counting the lights that shimmer and shoot across the endless black sky, unable to number and name them all. They will close their eyes against the evening and sleep until morning brings a new day. And I think I too will rest now.

4eq0x5

A Very Real Conversation

“I’m gay!” she said, breaking the awkward silence at the dinner table. Only moments before she had told my wife Raschelle and I that she had an important announcement to make. “Okay.” I simply answered, staring at my fifteen-year-old daughter with many thoughts running through my head. I had six kids after all, it was likely that one would be gay. “I’ve always been gay. I just didn’t tell you or Raschelle because you are ‘homophobs’ and hate gay people.” Again, her words surprised me. Celeste had always been my rebellious child, with the spirit of an activist adventure. This was the same child who had told me last week that I was a racist because I was in law enforcement and claimed that all American law enforcement officers were racists. I had chuckled at the time, because she is of mixed races, as my first wife was not white. I didn’t let her know that deep down her comment bothered me. I had a friend who drowned trying to save people of a different race. He didn’t do it for glory or fame. Those are earthly things that don’t follow you into death. He did it because it was the right thing to do. I found it offensive that she was calling men like that racist. This was also the child who told me that she would be trying heroin and mushrooms when she turned eighteen, because they sounded cool. But those are conversations for another time. Still, this child had attended counseling for suicidal thoughts, so I needed to tread carefully here. “So, do you know what homophobia is?” I asked her. “Yes, you hate gays.” she answered. “Not exactly.” I replied, “Homophobia is a fear of gays.” In my career as a federal agent, I had arrested a wide variety of ornery fellas. I had arrested rapists, murderers, gang-members, cartel members, hitmen, and even terrorists. There really aren’t a whole lot of people out there that I fear. “Well, you don’t fear gays, you hate them. Because you are Christian.”, she smiled, satisfied that she had made her point. Again, I just stared at her. Most people who are Christians understand that the faith doesn’t come from a place of hatred, and in fact is supposed to be a religion of love. My fifteen-year-old was receiving much of her information from the internet. I could have tried to defend myself with stories. Like the time that I kept a gay man from throwing himself off a bridge. Or maybe the last time that Raschelle and I went to Traverse City and checked out the local clubs. While in one particularly crowded one, we saw two transvestite males walk in. Most people gave them a very wide birth. They had nowhere to sit, and since we had two extra chairs at our high-top table, we invited them to join us. It turned out to be one of the most interesting conversations of my life. I learned a lot. Seems Francene and Paula (Frank and Pete) were dating each other, dispelling the myth that I had heard that cross-dressing was not about being gay. For them it was part of their gay lifestyle. They explained that it was situational with many cross-dressers being straight, while others weren’t. When we left, I told them that we loved them, because we were Christians. It was the only time that our beliefs came up. They took photos with us and hugged us goodbye. Nobody was offended by the other’s beliefs. Perhaps I could tell her about my uncle who died of cancer. He was homosexual his whole life and had a boyfriend of forty years. His final wish was to drive down State Route 1 in California. It is 656 miles of breath-taking beauty. At the time I was stationed in California, so I offered for them to stay at my home when they arrived from Indiana. I wanted to help make this journey happen for him and his partner. My uncle died shortly after the trip. These aren’t just Christian acts. They are acts of humanity and love, not hatred. We can’t claim tolerance if we don’t except all beliefs and lifestyles. By accept, I do not mean to change your own belief system. I mean to accept the fact that everyone has the freewill to choose their own path. Still, I didn’t think that these true stories would carry much weight with a feisty activist teenager. So, I would try a different approach, “Your older sister Alexis is twenty-six. She and I have a great relationship. She has had relationships with men at various points and is even married now. Yes?” “Uh…yes”, she looked at me suspiciously, wondering what I was up to. “Do you think that she and I discuss her sex life?” I asked. “Um…no, why would you?” Celeste answered. “So why are we? I don’t care who you sleep with. That is your business. What I do care about is that you don’t sleep with anybody at your age. If I find out that you are, you will be in big trouble.” I stated. “See, you are against gays.” “Celeste, gay or no, as long as you live under my roof, you will follow all of the same rules that the other kids have to follow.” I explained, sounding an awful lot like my old man used to. Now she changed tactics, “Dad, when I was eight, I asked you what you would do if one of your kids were gay. You said that you wouldn’t respect them.” I had to think long and hard about how to answer that. It was seven years ago. I don’t even remember the conversation, nor the context of what was said. I guess that I could have said it, but I just didn’t remember. It certainly didn’t sound like anything that I would say. “I don’t remember saying that Celeste, it was seven years ago.” I answered. “You said it.” She raised her eyebrows, wanting more of a defense from me. “Well, I don’t remember that conversation, but if I did say it, I apologize. If you ran around with multiple partners and swapped lovers like you change your socks, then I think that I would not respect you,” I answered. “Besides, you are, by far, my most creative child. Your drawings are fantastic, not to mention your paintings. Plus, you write wonderful pieces. The fact that you are a multi-talented child gives me great respect for you.” She sat and twiddled her thumbs for a few seconds, seemingly unsatisfied. “I need you to say that being gay is okay and not a sin. I need you to say that there is nothing wrong with being gay.” she said. “It is against my beliefs Celeste, but that has nothing to do with my love for you. I accept that you are gay.” I answered, pained that she wanted something that I could not give her. “Can you accept that I am a Christian?” “No! You are all a bunch of haters. Hate is unacceptable,” she answered, angrily. “Look. You are my daughter. I will always love you, gay or not. You are a special child and nothing you do could stop a father’s love.” I stated truthfully, knowing that my own God gave us this great example to follow in our own lives. Thus ended the conversation at dinner. Nobody had eaten much. I had really hoped that I had gotten through to her, but I sensed that nothing short of a complete angry anti-gay rant or a one-hundred-percent acceptance that my beliefs were wrong would have appeased her emotional storm. A couple of weeks later, she moved into her mother’s, breaking my heart. I had raised this child and now she was gone. She claimed that she could no longer live with homophobic gay-hating Christians. It was a very painful time for the whole family. A year has passed, and we now have a better relationship. We don’t discuss our sex lives with each other, and I think that maybe some of our conversation had planted seeds and taken root. She has matured a bit and I am hoping that we can grow closer over time. Tolerance, mutual respect, compromise, dignity, and love are all things that I tried very hard to instill in my children. But it must be a two-way street. There won’t be much of a relationship if only one side is making an effort. This is a polarizing issue and some of you may think that I am the villain while others may see my daughter as the villain. I submit to you that there are no villains in this story. Just a father and daughter, with different beliefs, trying to forge a relationship. This was written in love. If it offends you in any way, I apologize, but these conversations must be had. God bless. 

zja7o7

A PRAYER TO GOD.

                                                   A PRAYER TO GOD.           Could he hear her thoughts? For she had sinned. The stench and the screams early hours   of the morning, did she deserve this? For years she had let Duke dictate and bully her. Telling the  willowy kid in the diner that she could not cook gruel. “Only my joke darling.” He had said, as usual  like many times over the years, she had made excuses for him. The male menopause, watching as  he stroked the young waitress’s hand, as she collected their order with the five- dollar tip. After   Pamela Sue had smoked a cigarette, as Duke drove the waggon.” That won’t do you any good, look at the creases around your mouth, smoking that rubbish.” He had said.         Recently they had inherited her family’s farm a few chicken coups. It wasn’t much compared to her brother Jacks peanut farm in Alabama. The family had felt sorry for her thinking that she may get her life together. It beat living in a trailer on some caravan-park Duke spent all the money he earned on liqueur and other women. Pamela Sue had no pride twenty years on he had worn her down. Pamela Sue did not look thirty- eight with a lisp and missing front teeth. Why did she sit and take his lip? None of his conquests had lasted. Pamela Sue was five two, to Duke’s six three in height. At sixteen Pamela Sue had worked selling veg at her father’s farm, Duke had singled her out. They were going places. She had believed him. Putting up with his ridicule over the years. Climbing from the waggon she had followed him indoors. When Duke had bent down to pick up the television remote, Pamela Sue had jumped on his back with the bread knife squeezing his throat, he had tried to throw her off his back. Too late the blood had wheezed from his throat and mouth like thick dark red sauce. Plea bargaining had started people had come forward. Pamela Sue had sat in a corner of the shack that was her home, not able to believe what she had done.  For days she had sat in her in her prison cell unable to talk, wash or feed herself. The doctors and psychiatrists, could not bring her out of herself imposed trance. The journals and tabloids went crazy was it a cry for insanity? A cold-blooded murderess? Her brother had offered to pay for her defence, what was the point? She would settle for state prosecution and the legal team they had suggested. Soon she would be away from it all. The narrow bunk, no rail for her clothes, her dark little room escorted to the toilet, by two guards a male and female was it all worth the effort of carrying on? It was all a charade to show justice. They say, the screams in the night belonged to her? The scratches to her arms and legs she felt as if she had lice maybe she did. Her hair hung lank and greasy unkept. How much longer? If she had been a dog, she would have been put down, it was cruel. The light shone through the barred-up window her denim trousers were too big she could put her two hands down the front of them. A grubby T-shirt, no long-sleeved shirt in case she tried to use it to throttle herself. Pamela Sue was sure that her family had sent better clothes if so, she never saw them. The excuse being she was in solitary till the court reached a decision. What happened to free spirit? All her life she had read the bible and praised god. What had made her do the devils work? Was Derek Duke the devil that had come to tempt her all those years ago? Well, it was too late he was at rest ash and bone by now. Cis his sister still had a good word for him that was the hold up with the trial. Maybe Cis thought she would have the shack and land to go with it?  Pamela Sue’s brother Jack would keep that door firmly bolted where that was concerned. Jack would be free from worry justice would be done? Pamela Sue got down to pray. In prayer there was, no silence screams from others waiting their time, she could still hear them. Was she bad, like those, child molesters who did wicked things behind closed doors? The pimps and prostitutes who said, they we’re keeping men happy? The perverts who did not ever get caught? So many questions without answers now her time was coming near. The open prison wasn’t too bad where she went to first, people smiled and worked the crops early mornings, she had heard them coming and going. She was still kept separate from the others there. And there was the smell of carbolic soap she got to shower once a week. Sometimes more. She could not keep track any more. They had come one day and taken her to her final destination San Quinton. There would be no reprieve or retrial. The media had done its duty. The public had followed their view. Did her defence try hard enough on her behalf? There were so many to give a guilty verdict on that jury.  Her past had been laid bare, owing for goods at many at local stores, encouraging her husband to go off with prostitutes. She had wanted to scream it wasn’t me? It was the work of the devil Satan; Duke had built up those debts to pay for the whores, on Thirty second Street. They we’re tightening the noose around her neck? So that she could not breathe she had fainted, before being taken down to await sentence. There had been a retrial. The defence had been gentler than before, talking calmly as if they were friends. A nice man, handsome and understanding or so Pamela Sue had thought. He had used his weapon regarding the inheritance did she want it all for herself? A man who had stood by her who she could not give children, who kept coming back, how hard she was, planning to do away with him? Blatant lies had Cis told the papers? Journalists all this malicious gossip? Well the door was firmly shut, there would be a lethal injection.  Dear Jack he had kept trying right till the end. She would pray for his soul maybe god would be merciful in the next life? No, she must not blame him, she had fallen at the wayside into the arms of temptation and failed the test. There was a click of the key in the lock get it over quick? Each time they walked away, there was another dawn with the squeaking of rats, mice for company and another day.” Oh, let me go lord to be your worthy servant. I will sin no more.” She had said the same thing as a small child when she had been caught by the preacher taking Leanora’s ribbon from her hair in mass. Her parents had been called and she had been punished for being vain having to kneel on the floor and ask god’s forgiveness. All these memories come back, in no particular order.    Pamela Sue was being led along corridors by a team of six guards Why so many? For such a little woman? Had she anything to say? Would it really make any difference? She had Dukes blood on her hands. Pamela mounted the leather coach with the belts tied firmly in place, she had asked for the lord’s psalm to be read out. she had sinned. The stench and the screams early hours   of the morning, did she deserve this? For years she had let Duke dictate and bully her. Telling the  willowy kid in the diner that she could not cook gruel. “Only my joke darling.” He had said, as usual  like many times over the years, she had made excuses for him. The male menopause, watching as  he stroked the young waitress’s hand, as she collected their order with the five- dollar tip. After   Pamela Sue had smoked a cigarette, as Duke drove the waggon.” That won’t do you any good, look  at the creases around your mouth, smoking that rubbish.” He had said.         Recently they had inherited her family’s farm a few chicken coups. It wasn’t much compared to her brother Jacks peanut farm in Alabama. The family had felt sorry for her thinking that she may get her life together. It beat living in a trailer on some caravan-park Duke spent all the money he earned on liqueur and other women. Pamela Sue had no pride twenty years on he had worn her down. Pamela Sue did not look thirty- eight with a lisp and missing front teeth. Why did she sit and take his lip? None of his conquests had lasted. Pamela Sue was five two, to Duke’s six three in height. At sixteen Pamela Sue had worked selling veg at her father’s farm, Duke had singled her out. They were going places. She had believed him. Putting up with his ridicule over the years. Climbing from the waggon she had followed him indoors. When Duke had bent down to pick up the television remote, Pamela Sue had jumped on his back with the bread knife squeezing his throat, he had tried to throw her off his back. Too late the blood had wheezed from his throat and mouth like thick dark red sauce. Plea bargaining had started people had come forward. Pamela Sue had sat in a corner of the shack that was her home, not able to believe what she had done.  For days she had sat in her in her prison cell unable to talk, wash or feed herself. The doctors and psychiatrists, could not bring her out of herself imposed trance. The journals and tabloids went crazy was it a cry for insanity? A cold-blooded murderess? Her brother had offered to pay for her defence, what was the point? She would settle for state prosecution and the legal team they had suggested. Soon she would be away from it all. The narrow bunk, no rail for her clothes, her dark little room escorted to the toilet, by two guards a male and female was it all worth the effort of carrying on? It was all a charade to show justice. They say, the screams in the night belonged to her? The scratches to her arms and legs she felt as if she had lice maybe she did. Her hair hung lank and greasy unkept. How much longer? If she had been a dog, she would have been put down, it was cruel. The light shone through the barred-up window her denim trousers were too big she could put her two hands down the front of them. A grubby T-shirt, no long-sleeved shirt in case she tried to use it to throttle herself. Pamela Sue was sure that her family had sent better clothes if so, she never saw them. The excuse being she was in solitary till the court reached a decision. What happened to free spirit? All her life she had read the bible and praised god. What had made her do the devils work? Was Derek Duke the devil that had come to tempt her all those years ago? Well, it was too late he was at rest ash and bone by now. Cis his sister still had a good word for him that was the hold up with the trial. Maybe Cis thought she would have the shack and land to go with it?  Pamela Sue’s brother Jack would keep that door firmly bolted where that was concerned. Jack would be free from worry justice would be done? Pamela Sue got down to pray. In prayer there was, no silence screams from others waiting their time, she could still hear them. Was she bad, like those, child molesters who did wicked things behind closed doors? The pimps and prostitutes who said, they we’re keeping men happy? The perverts who did not ever get caught? So many questions without answers now her time was coming near. The open prison wasn’t too bad where she went to first, people smiled and worked the crops early mornings, she had heard them coming and going. She was still kept separate from the others there. And there was the smell of carbolic soap she got to shower once a week. Sometimes more. She could not keep track any more. They had come one day and taken her to her final destination San Quinton. There would be no reprieve or retrial. The media had done its duty. The public had followed their view. Did her defence try hard enough on her behalf? There were so many to give a guilty verdict on that jury.  Her past had been laid bare, owing for goods at many at local stores, encouraging her husband to go off with prostitutes. She had wanted to scream it wasn’t me? It was the work of the devil Satan; Duke had built up those debts to pay for the whores, on Thirty second Street. They we’re tightening the noose around her neck? So that she could not breathe she had fainted, before being taken down to await sentence. There had been a retrial. The defence had been gentler than before, talking calmly as if they were friends. A nice man, handsome and understanding or so Pamela Sue had thought. He had used his weapon regarding the inheritance did she want it all for herself? A man who had stood by her who she could not give children, who kept coming back, how hard she was, planning to do away with him? Blatant lies had Cis told the papers? Journalists all this malicious gossip? Well the door was firmly shut, there would be a lethal injection.  Dear Jack he had kept trying right till the end. She would pray for his soul maybe god would be merciful in the next life? No, she must not blame him, she had fallen at the wayside into the arms of temptation and failed the test. There was a click of the key in the lock get it over quick? Each time they walked away, there was another dawn with the squeaking of rats, mice for company and another day.” Oh, let me go lord to be your worthy servant. I will sin no more.” She had said the same thing as a small child when she had been caught by the preacher taking Leanora’s ribbon from her hair in mass. Her parents had been called and she had been punished for being vain having to kneel on the floor and ask god’s forgiveness. All these memories come back, in no particular order.    Pamela Sue was being led along corridors by a team of six guards Why so many? For such a little woman? Had she anything to say? Would it really make any difference? She had Dukes blood on her hands. Pamela mounted the leather coach with the belts tied firmly in place, she had asked for the lord’s psalm to be read out.       The lord is may shepherd        I shall not wont.        He maketh me lie down,        In pastures green, He leadth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.          Soon she would be at rest in pastures of green. Would she come back a better person? Was her story a lesson to be learnt? They had said the lord’s prayer at the end so the lords work had been done, the trees rustle, lakes shimmer, children play in natures beauty. While many cases of the people and the courts are dealt y, with. Did Pamela Sue deserve such a sad ending to her life.? Man’s humanity why did Duke have such a quick death?  Pamela Sue who was weak suffered in silence. Till she could take no more was she ignorant of her rights? Or just battle scared. So many unanswered questions maybe things will change if the death penalty was abolished. Did the lord think she had, suffered enough at the hands of Duke? Maybe one day soon these questions will be answered. Who knows? All her life she had been bullied always looking over her shoulder not knowing what to expect until one day all her feelings of resentment took over and stressed out, she finally hit out at the man who had held her captive most of her life with her self-esteem at breaking point she released her feelings.                                      

zgfh2x

WHAT'S IN A NAME

WHAT’S IN A NAME This was the first sunny day we had had in a couple of weeks, so the kids and I piled into my old pickup and headed out to the berry patch. Mary was pretty mad at me right now. I had been promising the boys a dog ever since our old Rusty passed away. Just kept putting it off. Never seemed to find a dog that seemed to fit our family, now she was nagging at me about a dog just like the boys. Blackberries should be ripe enough to pick, and hopefully we would have enough for Mary to make some jelly and a pie or two and calm her temper down. This dog situation is killing me. Seems Mary mentions that dog every day, and I’m really getting ticked off about it.  I could hear the boys arguing in the back seat as to who could pick the most berries, who could eat the most berries, and, in whispers, what each would do if we spotted a bear. Bears love blackberries, a well-known fact, and are always spoken about in awed tones whenever we started out to challenge the bears for the biggest and best berries. Our neighbor spotted one a week ago, almost in the area we were going to. Another was spotted not a mile from our house. Big one, taller than a man when he stood up, they said. “Ok kids, what do you do if you see a bear? Get in the truck and roll the windows up. Beat on your cans, whoop and holler and make a lot of noise once you get inside the truck. I’ve got my gun, but I sure don’t want to shoot a bear today. Out of season, no license, they’re hungrier than us, you name it, and it would make shooting a bear the wrong thing to do.” “But pa,” said my youngest son Buck, “what will you be doing while we are running for the truck?” “I’ll probably be racing you to get there first. Don’t you think that would be a good idea?” I heard snickering from Jimmy, the oldest, my namesake. “Pa, you ain’t scared of nothing.” “Wrong, I’m for sure scared of a big bear. You’d better be scared too.” We pulled up to the side of the road and could see the big old berries hanging down. The patch wasn’t far from where we were parked, just a matter of 20 feet or so, so I blew the horn a few times, and we eased out, looking around. We each had a berry bucket, and a big box to dump them in when our buckets got full. When I took over the farm from my dad, there were lots of syrup buckets piled in the barn and we use them for everything. We don’t buy syrup in buckets anymore, just plastic jugs. Shame, that. The jugs get thrown in the garbage, but the buckets are used over and over. We beat on our buckets as we walked to the patch, beating and singing ‘Jesus loves me, this I know’ as loud as we could. Seemed like a mighty fine song to sing when maybe facing a bear, but there were no bears, no growls, nothing, and we picked til our buckets got filled, dumped them and picked some more. Around noon, we stopped picking for a while and settled down to enjoy the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Mary had packed for us, and our little bottles of water. We weren’t really hungry, had been eating berries like crazy, but the resting was a blessing. “Just fill our buckets once more boys and we can head for home.”  They had been really good, kept picking long after I thought they would quit. Of course, this being the last bucket, I managed to pick a blackberry with a bee hanging onto it, got stung, and gave out a yell, a whoop and a holler. Had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something stronger in front of the boys. They thought it was hilarious of course and kept laughing while I pulled the stinger out with my teeth and popped my finger in my mouth to try to ease the pain. All picking had stopped during my shenanigans and the boys hung over my hands trying to see just how much my finger had swollen.  Out of nowhere Buck said “Pa, when are you going to get us another dog? You told us you’d think about it when Rusty died, and he’s been dead a long time now.” “Yeah, Pa, you know you said that, you know you did.” Piped up Jimmy. “Yes, but I just haven’t found the right dog yet. We looked at Mr. Bob’s dogs, and none of them seemed just right for our family, then we went to the pound in town, and some were too little, some were too mean, just didn’t find the one for us. I’ll keep looking. I know you miss Rusty, I do too, but with my finger hurting, mama mad at me about no dog, and being tired from all the berries we picked, it isn’t a good time to talk about a dog, boys.” We had finished filling our buckets for the last time and started for the truck when we heard a moaning sound, “bear, bear,” shrieked Buck and took off running toward the truck, berries bouncing out of his bucket all the way. Jimmy didn’t run, but he hung mighty close to me as I turned to see what was making that moaning noise. I could see the tall grass moving, as something made its way thru, coming slowly toward us. Urrrmmmm, urrrrmmmm, and then the grass quit moving. Buck had climbed back out of the truck, and was standing with us, holding onto my pants leg. I cautiously tiptoed closer, “boys go to the truck in case it’s a coyote or some such.” I took a long stick and reaching ahead of me parted the grasses. The moan came again, softer, fainter, loss of hope type moan. Fairly made my hair stand on end. Finally parted the last of the grass, and there lay a dog. Nearly starved, ribs sticking out, hip bones protruding, looked to be maybe some kind of hound. Had long ears like a hound, but the hair was so matted with burs, leaves sticks and such, I couldn’t get a good look. The ears couldn’t even lay flat there was so much stuff on and in them. Of course, the boys had slipped back out of the truck and were standing right there with me. They peeked around me, and I heard Buck whisper, “a dog.” “God sent us that dog, didn’t he pa? Sent her right to us, so I reckon she’s ours. Figured it would take a miracle for us to get another dog, and here she is. Can we name her Miracle pa?” “Good name Jimmy, we can call her Mira for short,” added Buck. “Woah boys, this might be someone’s dog already. Guess we better get her home, feed her something, and see if someone has put an ad in the paper for her.” I took off my shirt, wrapped the dog in it and carried her to the truck. She was quite willing to lay in the back, especially after we found another peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her to eat. We took off the jelly side, and she licked and chewed the peanut butter piece of bread, getting it stuck to the roof of her mouth. Both boys were laughing as they climbed in the back of the truck to keep her company on the short ride home. It took a good while, but we got her fed, let her rest a bit, and then set to work washing her and picking out the burrs, weeds and such. She didn’t like that at all, but never offered to bite.  As we got down to where we could actually see her, I discovered she was expecting. So emaciated, it wasn’t obvious at first glance, but there would be pups coming, for sure. The boys had been after their ma to come see their new dog Miracle, so after she put the baby down for a nap, she came out to see her. Goodness, it is a dog alright. So skinny though. Who does she belong to?” Both boys smiled and said “us. God sent her to us, so she must be ours.” “Now boys, hold on a minute. This dog must belong to someone. I’ll have to take her to the vet, have him check to see if she’s chipped, look at the paper for lost dog postings, may even call the sheriff, see if anyone has reported a missing dog.” When I looked at their little faces, and saw the disappointment there, I was almost tempted to say to heck with it, but what kind of example would I be setting for them if I did. Nope, do what’s right, and I’ll make another run thru the pound see if I can find a dog for them. The boys begged to have Miracle sleep in their room that night, saying, “please mama, she will be so lonesome without us, this is a strange place to her.” Their mother finally agreed, “ok, she can sleep in your room but not on the bed with you. Dog on the floor, not in the bed. Ok? Can you agree to that?” They both nodded and smiled. “Yes mam, not in the bed.” I sat on the bed with the boys, holding our baby girl for a nice cuddle while Mary read a Bible story to us all, then I listened, answered their questions, and prayed with them, but when they got to the ‘God bless’ part of their prayers, Miracle’s name was right in there with their mom and me. Hugs and kisses, and we got them tucked in, tired from the day’s activities, should be asleep in no time. After baby Susan had her bottle and settled down, Mary and I watched the TV for a few minutes, then started to bed ourselves. She stopped to check on the boys, and whispered, “Jim, come here, you’ve got to see this.” When I got to the door, both boys had taken their covers, made a pallet on the floor, and the dog was sleeping spread out right between them. So cute, Mary and I were both laughing as we pulled the door partly closed. “But she is not in the bed, Jim. You’ve got to get this dog for them, they love her already.” “Mary, I can’t believe we are arguing about this. You know I’ve got to try to find the owner. If he turns up and wants his dog someday, it will be that much worse.” I didn’t get a hug and kiss that night when we went to bed, that’s for sure. It’s morning, one of my favorite times of the day. I got the chores done while Mary cooked us a big breakfast and we discussed what needed to be done today, and what we would like to do. Mary’s plans included the ‘Ladies Helping’ group at church, they were knitting baby blankets to send to a sister church in Alaska, and warm blankets were top of the request list. “What are you doing today, Jim? Anything special?” “Going to the vets and the sheriffs to check on that dog, I’ll go this morning so I can be back before you need to leave. Man, I hate to do this, the boys will be brokenhearted for sure.” “Please don’t do this Jim. Let’s try to keep her somehow.”  “I tried to tell them she probably has an owner somewhere, but they didn’t want to hear that. Named her Miracle of all the crazy names, said God must have sent her to them and that was a Miracle.” I pushed back my chair, went upstairs and got the dog to follow me without waking the boys. Fed her good and took her with me in the old truck. First stop, the vet. Only one in three counties, so his place was always busy, we used him for all our farm animals too, good vet. I made a collar and leash out of a piece of rope and led Miracle into the office. She balked, clearly not wanting to go in, but I tugged a bit til she followed me, tail tucked down and under, slinking along, turning those woe-filled eyes up at me as if to say, “what are you going to do to me now?” The vet, Dr. Jones, ran the little wand over her shoulder, and sure enough, found the chip. He wrote the number down, said, “this little lady looks familiar to me, let me call and see who her owner is.” He returned in a moment; “I do know this girl. Her owner died a couple of months ago, his son came down and closed everything up, put the place up for sale, and went back to his home in New York. I don’t have the sons’ phone number, but I think my secretary might. She is related somewhere down the line.” “Sally, could you come in here a few minutes?”                                                      “Sure Doc. what can I do for you?” He filled her in, and “I do have the number, let me give him a call, and tell him about the dog”, she said. We could hear him sputtering loudly, “just what am I supposed to do with a dog here? In New York? My apartment complex doesn’t allow pets, it’s in the rules.” I broke in, “just ask him if he would be willing to sell the dog to me for my kids. I’ll give him $100.”  Thinking to myself, I’m crazy, lost my mind. How will I justify $100 for a dog when there are so many things need replacing or repairing on the farm. I opened my mouth to renege on my offer, just as he said to her, “let him have the dog. Dad would have rather have her go live with a family with children anyway. I didn’t see her but once after dad died, just never thought about her anymore, too busy. I thought I saw a glimpse of a hound at the cemetery, the day after we buried dad, but never thought about it being his old dog. She must be in bad shape if she has been missing for a couple of months.” Sally said, “She is. Managed to get pregnant somewhere in those two months. Very skinny.  Come back down soon, stay with mama and me, meanwhile, I’ll tell Jim to enjoy the dog with his children.” When I got back to the farm, the boys were sitting on the back steps, forlorn, sad, and it looked like Buck had been crying. Mary came out just as I picked the dog up out of the back seat of the truck and set her on the ground. She took off running toward the boys and they started running toward her. She was howling a howdy, and the boys were laughing for joy. Mary ran too, right up to me and laid a big old kiss right on my lips. After I finished telling them about how everything had worked out, Jimmy looked up at me, smiling, “see dad, when I saw her, I knew God had sent us a miracle, and that had to be her name.”    The End.

it8vq6

Feeling Lucky

We stood sitting outside the house with our dog Opey by our side. My little brother and I lived with our Grandma and Grandpa because our Ma and Pa died when our house burned down. Jeremy my little brother keeps having flashbacks and just stares at the wall for half an hour. Even though it was three years ago, I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a pretty cold night. Me, Jeremy, Ma, and Pa were all asleep. I don't know what happened, but I felt the wet and warm lick of Opey's tongue on my cheek. When I woke up, I smelled smoke. Then I realized that our house was burning, and it wouldn't be long before we had no house. I rushed to Jeremy's bed, startling him to wake up, but it wasn't working. I figured that he would have passed out from all of the fumes. I carried him to the door, rushing to get out of the burning house. But I worried. I worried about Ma and Pa and if they would make it. I wanted to go back in to save them, but it was too late. It was too late to smile. It was too late to be happy. Then, I looked up into the sky, and then I asked, "Why God, why?" I didn't know what to do, and I thought that there was no hope. We went to live at our grandparents' house because there was nowhere else to go. Jeremy was not the type of boy that would do nothing all day. He was very happy and active. But one thing that reminded him of that day, he'll go sit at the wall and stare there for thirty minutes straight. It's not that bad living on our grandparents' farm. I just miss Ma and Pa. It isn't the same without them. The way they used to tuck us in bed, the way they kissed us goodnight and hollered at us to do chores in the morning, it just isn't the same. Ma always made the best breakfast and supper, while Pa was a hard-working man who always wanted their kids to be happy. Grandma and Grandpa keep telling me and Jeremy that you don't always get what you want in life, and you just have to deal with it. I understand what she's saying, but it just isn't helping us get over losing Ma and Pa. When it was wintertime, it got cold around our parts. But, I did love Grandma's warm and delicious chicken soup. The way it warmed up your whole body, how it made you feel so cozy, it was just the best thing I had ever tasted. She worked hard on that soup for sure, but she loved seeing us smile when we took that first bite. Every day at Grandma and Grandpa's house, we would do our daily chores as we did with Ma and Pa. But this time of the year, it felt like it was too cold to even stand. We only did a few of our chores, because some of them made it life-threatening to do. The only chores we could do were milk the cow, collect eggs, and get water. Harvesting vegetables, corn, and wheat were very dangerous. For what felt like a few days, spring was here in no time. Spring was my favorite time of the year. I loved the rain, the flowers, and how all of the hibernating critters came out this time of the year. At our schoolhouse, we got a new teacher, and her name was Ms. Wood. She was very young, and it looked like she had never taught in a schoolhouse before. She was more kind than our old teacher, Mr. Rodgers. She always helped us individually, while Mr. Rodgers told us to pay attention the first time he explains how to do the material. Ms. Wood thought that I was a very good writer, and I had some great stories. She made everyone feel special and made every single one of us have a specific talent. This summer was one of the hottest summers that we have ever had. Everyone was very thirsty, and we were about to face a drought. All of the people in the town monopolized all of the water in town. We didn't have much water, but no one had enough common sense to realize that we would run out of water soon, especially if everyone kept taking it and monopolizing it. The heat was getting worse, and every day it kept getting closer to the drought. We barely had any water, which meant if this drought didn't end soon, it would be very bad for all of us. Grandma and Grandpa let us drink the cow's milk, which wasn't cold, but it was a drink, so at least we got a fluid down our throats. The drought didn't go as bad as we thought. It was only for a week, and it was okay only to drink milk. The next day, I was sitting outside of the house with Opey right next to me. Jeremy was inside, practicing his writing. I was wondering about how lucky I was. That, even though Ma and Pa died in the fire, Me, Jeremy, and Opey all made it out alive. That we were lucky enough that we had Grandma and Grandpa to take care of us. I put my arms around Opey and hugged him. Grandma called me inside for supper, and so I kissed Opey on the head and went inside the house. Grandma saw me with tears in my eyes and thought something was wrong. She asked me why I was crying, but I didn't say a word. I wrapped my arms around her waist and gave her a nice and big hug. I let go and went into my and Jeremy's bedroom, sat on my bed, and me, Mary-Smith Jones, prayed, "Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot."

k9wipb

The Light of Good

So many people are standing in a crowed room full of family and friends and still feel lonely. Especially when they truly need anyone to care. It's like having a dark shadow of separation and division that continues to haunt their path. In that moment they may need your time, money or great thoughts. But most times receiving only answers of promise. A promise that you know you will not keep- you give to them anyway. For it is always better to leave a person with a yes or a no then a wishful hopeful maybe. Living in this system we learned to cover the light of good with darkness when we create unnecessary pain to others with our false hope. Although our loving feelings from our heart to help can be real- we still know our abilities in that moment; but choose to give them hope without ever considering the pain caused out of that same promise. The words spoken of hope in the promise we leave behind us. Then they wait for nothing and that nothing has the power to leave that person speechless down on the ground in the last second to solve their current issues. In panic they will rise and still learning to create lighter outcomes is when you can truly imagine wearing the same shoes that hurt. Staying in the light of life is our hope to build. When you are truthful to say what you can and will not do in that same moment of need- truth allows the person to change their dark problem into light actions by them trusting the Most High while going forward quickly out of darkness to seek his light without us creating more pain with empty promises while they are in the dark. THE PROMISE YOU CAN’T KEEP Promises that create separation are mostly over our time and our money. This kind of division can stop when you are honest about your abilities then your truthfulness gives a person room to search for other solutions. Why not begin to communicate differently to preserve our relationships. Sometimes we create unnecessary pain with our promises from the heart knowing our abilities and most times not understanding the unknown. I lived a longtime holding on to dead promises and, I should have kicked my own self in my black ass. The unrealistic wait on a lie caused me so much disappointment, pain and hurtful emotions. The dishonesty created bad feelings toward the people, I loved and respected. But by my own rebellious ways, I created and supported this reality. I was reaching outside myself for help by trusting other people professional abilities and not the Most High plans or power for my destiny- which ultimatly created the separation in my personal relationships. I BECAME A LIAR TO THEM AND A QUITE FAILURE DEEP INSIDE THE SAFEST WAY TO CONTROL YOUR DARK EMOTIONS Understanding the power and dark force of paper money is one of the safest ways to control your emotions and the decisions you make in most money transactions. Promises or an agreement concerning money has the power to change once it hits the other person hands to deliver it to you after everything that has been said in the beginning of the agreement. Watch out for the sudden change of mind- to stay open to the way the commitment may change in the middle from the beginning. Money has an ugly funny way of changing a verbal commitment that was established before the funds are given to you, if still given at all and, if it is still given it may possibly be in a lesser amount then what was originally stated. In fact, paper green money has the power to change the perception of the receiver when it’s time for them to pay you back. They just might get mad at you for asking for its return. This is necessary and needed to look at all verbal money transactions as nothing until they are completely done and the main reason to stop giving away what you are not willing to give away freely, especially when you know that brother or sister is already down on the ground suffering in financial pain. .MOST OF US ARE ALREADY DOWN ON THE GROUND This is not to disrespect those who have integrity and some of us do exist on this planet and had to grow to get here by our negative experiences for personal growth. For whatever the reasons the commitments changes in the amount that was first addressed maybe understandable; but most people become very self-serving and greedy to rethink their own spoken words or even “say” that they did not “say” what you know you heard them commit. WE ALL MUST GROW TO BUILD FOR CHANGE When we use the power of creation over the money that is in our hands and create more self-control in our daily decisions then we create the solutions to the current problems within our communities. If we would begin to look at the Most High beautiful trees as the value- in which they were created it just might connect us back to respecting nature again- to see the live energy in all our living black souls to realize that the green paper dollar bills will be exactly what they are green dead paper that we use to survive in this empire. We truly need to begin to appreciate the lives of our brothers and sister that is standing right in your face- which is absolute greatness in thought. Then we could grow stronger together as one power- just like the many different trees we pass by every day. There are so many beautiful trees that produce so many leaves that lives and dies in the changing seasons- just like we are born and die in a never changing system. We could create the power needed to pass our black history and our wealth to the next generation to come and that will place us all in the position to bear good fruits- just like the many trees bare good fruit and supports our lives to live in greatness. RIGHTIOUS UNITY IS ABSOLUTE GREATNESS Kash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 191). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition. 

bpquw7

The Picture

I have spent half of my entire life trying to become an artist. I spend days upon days perfecting a picture that eventually ends up in the trash. I wish to change my thinking, but I fear that it is too late. It is already day 234 of trying to draw the perfect picture. I keep failing and failing, and I am starting to hate myself for it. But soon, that all changes . . . I am applying the orange paint to my canvas when he knocks, causing me to leave a streak across my canvas. I groan, throwing down my paintbrush angrily. I look at the clock. It's 2:34 a.m., and someone is knocking on my door. I walk over to the door cautiously, unsure of what to do. With shaky hands, I twist the doorknob, throwing the door open. A small boy stands in front of me, shivering from the cold. His clothes are tattered and his face is smeared with mud. He has a gentle smile on his face, revealing perfect white teeth. This confuses me, but I dismiss it. I grunt, folding my arms. "What do you want you, little runt?" I ask, my fingers growing numb. He clears his throat, taking off his cap. He brings his cap to his chest, looking up at me as if I’m king. "I was just wondering if I could use your telephone. Would you mind that?" He asks, his voice frail and almost fragile sounding. But I don’t care. I slam the door in his face, leaving him stunned. The audacity of this little boy! I was just about to finish my masterpiece painting when this stupid little boy came and ruined it! I snatch the canvas and throw it to the ground. The canvas snaps in half, paint smearing the ground. The boy knocks again. I stomp over to the door and swing the door open. The boy stares at me, his ember eyes penetrating my soul. "Please, sir! It's urgent!" He says, stepping forward. I slam the door once again, trudging over to my bedroom. I slam the door to my bedroom, sitting down on my bed. I hear the little boy continuing to knock on the door, yelling for my help. After ten minutes of this rubbish, it suddenly stops. I listen to hear if the boy is still at the door, but I don't hear anything. I get out of bed and walk out of the bedroom. The front door is wide open, cold air rushing in. The small boy is sitting beside the broken canvas, his gaze on me. "Why did you break this?" He asks, standing up. I stomp over to him, fury washing over me. I grab his shirt. "You are breaking an entering!" I yell at his face, anger washing over me. "I asked you a question. Why did break that canvas? It had a brilliantly drawn picture! Why did you break it?" He repeats, grabbing my arm with small, frail hands. I glare at him, my anger seething. "Because it's not good enough!" I shout, tears springing from my eyes. "Because I'm not good enough!" I let go of his shirt and he falls to the ground. I kneel down, tears streaming down my face. I sob quietly, my face buried in my hands. He stares at me, reaching out his hand. "Now why would you think that?" He asks gently, placing his small hand on my shoulder. "Because! Do you see that orange streak across the painting? You did that! It was almost perfect, and you ruined it!" I shout as a puddle of tears forms beneath me. He sits beside me, his gaze focused on the broken canvas. "I understand the need for perfection, but something my mum taught me was that it doesn't need to be perfect. You shouldn't create stuff just for the liking of everyone else. You don't just want everyone else to love you. You should also be able to love yourself," he says quietly, standing up. He picks up the broken in half canvas and comes back over. "Look." He says, shoving the canvas into my hands. I put the two halves of the canvas together and smile. "The streak of orange, it . . . it . . ." I try to say, tears stained on my face. "It looks brilliant, doesn't it?" He says, pointing to the streak of orange. A lone tree stands in front of a cobblestone wall. The streak of orange looks like leaves for the tree, a brilliant orange. I pick up my paintbrush and paint red, gold, yellow, and even more orange. The small boy watches in delight, grinning. In the end, a spectacularly colored tree stares back at me, the colors making the leaves look like they are actually waving in the wind. I smile, tears beginning to fall down my face again. I turn around to thank the small boy, but he is gone. In the corner of the room, the telly is on. I walk over to it. On the television screen is a picture of the small boy. The headline says: "Families claim to have had an angel come to their door and help them. Is it true?" I make an audible gasp, stumbling backward. After recovering from my shock, I smile. I look up to the heavens above. "Thank you," I mutter, overcome with joy. That next year, I end up fixing the canvas. I take it to an art show and end up winning first place. I am given 250,000 thousand dollars for winning. I give half of the money to my daughter in California, keeping the other for savings. Even after winning that money, I didn't stop painting. I painted hundreds and hundreds of paintings, all of which are sold. And even though I am rich now, I know that none of this would've happened if not for the little boy. So each and every night, I thank the small boy, even if he isn't here. The end.

hne15k

Abortion Liberty

I believe in Eternal God, the Eternal Father almighty who created heaven and earth. He sent He’s mediator who is His Eternal Son, our Lord, Brother, Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. He grew up and became a Roman Catholic’s High Priest. In Catholic priests they are commonly called “Father” representing Jesus Christ or Father Christ. Some people know that Jesus or Father Christ for reverence or respect acknowledging that He is indeed the High Priest. He had His twelve apostles who are also priests like Him. They went out to different nations and were sent out to spread Christianity where St. Peter became our first pope of the Universal Church which is now called Catholic or Roman Catholic Church that all people are supposed to be and be saved from their Venial Sins or Lesser amount of sins and Mortal Sins or greater amount of sins which are those against Ten Commandments. I think be it lesser or Greater amount, it is the length of time we have to suffer on the purgatory before going to heaven. As a Roman Catholic, I believe that all people will go to the purgatory depending on the sins they got that is why I’m saying that we should at least confess our Venial and Mortal sins. When you are on other churches, you do not have to confess and just alter your faith by getting the three most important Sacraments which are Baptism, Confirmation, and the Holy Eucharist or Communion then once u altered your faith you are starting your Christian life and will go on while you are living on earth. In praying and when we venerate Mother Mary or the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary we are duly acknowledging, honoring, glorifying and the Commandments of Eternal God, Jesus or Father Christ is observed. The Lord sent angels to say His message to His follower.  On February 2012, when Father Frank Pavone, director of Priests for Life were fighting/arguing/debating with the former President of United States about “obamacare”. I spoke to Father Christ in my mind to help me stop them from fighting. After lunch, I went back in my room on top of my bed fixing my letter to Planned Parenthood in an envelope and told them that (Eternal) God understand their hardship about abortion when all of a sudden there was a cute, Blonde and curly baby angel rolling and playing on the floor in front of my cabinet. When he saw me looking at him intently, he said to “Tell the priest that the babies are safe in heaven. (Eternal) God wants to give women chance (on the left ear) choice (on the right ear) to save themselves.” Then I saw the preview of my tragic car accident and my late spiritual director, Fr. Piers Lahey, pastor of St. Andrew Catholic Church, Daly City, California, who passed away told me, “It was the turning point of my life.”    What is abortion? Abortion is defined as termination of pregnancy followed by the death of embryo or fetus. It is clear that abortion is not “killing”. Please do not make abortion sound terrible that “it’s killing of an innocent baby”. I asked my cousins and some my friends about what they think of abortion and they are all against it. They said that it is killing of a baby inside the mother’s womb. Some of them were mad with how irresponsible some mothers are.     We are all human and as humans we make mistakes and one of that mistakes is   abortion. Some of those mothers have to choose abortion to save her life other women are choosing abortion because she does not want her baby to suffer that will result in dying early. Other mothers made a mistake of not using contraceptives or some of their contraceptives broke down the result is the sperm to come out and join the egg that will result a baby. We are just people and we make mistakes for being  irresponsible, but it can happen to all of us because we are only humans. To some, their baby is sick inside the mother’s womb. Yes, our life is a gift from the Eternal, Eternal God, Jesus or Father Christ. He gives life in the womb because He knows that we have knowledge as a mother and our obligation if we want to make our baby suffer which is connected to hers. Their lives would be in miseries. As a woman, I do not want that for my baby. Thank the Eternal God or Father Christ that He created birth control pills that helps women not to have ovarian cancer according to some of my friends, helps me get a monthly period or menstruation and not to have a baby. It helped me tremendously to the point where I did not make a mistake of having a baby then did abortion. Some women are making a mistake by waiting for the embryo or fetus to grow & have a life that is a gift from the Eternal, Eternal God or Father Christ. It is not a gift to the mother if the baby is sick inside her womb. It is our responsibility to thrive for the best result. That thriving is “Abortion    Liberty” to free the babies from adversities that he/she have to endure while out of this world if the mother did not choose abortion. It is our obligation to search for that wonderful life with or without our child. It is also our responsibility as an adult woman for the life of our baby not to go through adversities. The mother chose not to experience the hardship or difficulty of both the lives of her baby and hers. It is not bad to have an Abortion Liberty  because the Eternal, Eternal God, Jesus or Father Christ said that the babies are safe in heaven. It is nuisance or inconvenience to the mother in finding her life and thriving to be prepared for what her life has to offer. As an adult Filipino woman, it is my responsibility to decide if, when and with whom to start and grow a family. Jesus or Father Christ knows that it is my job to let the Pro-Lifers understand about the Pro-Choicers and I offer my life for them to be understood by everybody because I do comprehend them. It is true that life came from Eternal God or Father Christ and as a Filipino American woman it is my duty for what will happen to both our lives. Ok people, is it that hard or difficult to comprehend abortion? “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” They are our  sisters in Eternal God, Jesus or Father Christ. Let us show Father Christ our love and care to our neighbor or sisters, they need us. Jacqueline R. Mendoza

uvh41e

Meeting God and Devil in one day

It started out as a normal day, during a time of being heavily addicted to crack and other drugs. Life consist of stealing, lying and turning tricks to acquire money to get high. After getting high all day the money had finally ran out and nightfall had come. Time to hit the streets for the next piece of change. Walking around with my pockets rubbing together because they are so empty, I decided to walk along Broadway and 151st. street, this was a direction I do not usually go but knowing there was nothing going on on 145th, I figured I will try my luck....a car pulls up and a guy yells to me to stop, wow, my lucky night...I thought. We negotiate a price of $200, and I get in the car. He starts to drive over the bridge leaving NYC, I ask where are we going, and he states just across the bridge to pick up someone else so we can really have a great time. At first I was ok, until we continue to go farther and farther down New Jersey turnpike, again I ask where we are going turning to look at him. As I looked in his face he appeared to transform into something so evil and scary looking that the hair on my arms stood up and I felt a chill of fear creep thru my whole body. I tried to ignore it but the fear was overwhelming and I knew I was in trouble as we rode down the darkness of the turnpike. I thought about jumping out but that was not an option as we continued to ride in silence. Again I asked where are we going and how much farther. Just a little more down the road he says. In my heart I knew he was lying. Suddenly, I start to pray and asking for forgiveness of my sins and overall protection of my soul. I did not know how this was going to end, but I did no expect it to end well. Finally, we came to a rest stop and he pulls in and stated he was going to get gas. He gave me some money and told me to go inside and get something to eat, walking away I continue to pray for a way out and asking God to protect me. I ordered some burgers and sodas, and went back outside, he was nowhere in site. I walked around the whole rest stop and he was definitely nowhere in sight. Immediately, I began to cry, and started cursing myself for being so dumb and careless. How was I going to get back to NYC, I had spent all the money he gave me on food. I started walking on Jersey Turnpike, in the direction we came, it was dark and scary, my mind started playing tricks on me from the fear, as I cried and walked. I threw the food away and continued walking and crying, because no cars or trucks seem to be coming my way. Finally, I looked back and saw lights coming my way, I decided to put out my thumb for a ride, the truck continued to pass me by. After what seemed liked minutes, I looked ahead and the truck had stopped. Not sure what to do I started running to catch up to it. Leary and thinking about what had just happened, I approached with caution. The driver sticks his head out and says, come on I am going as far as 181st, street across the bridge into NYC. He said I do not usually do this but God told me to pick you up. I gave a sigh of relief and jumped into the truck, immediately, the man started to tell me of the life of Jesus and how he loves me and want me to give me life to Christ, he spoke of the Lord all the way across the bridge into NYC, he left an impression I will never forget. I had to get back downtown from there but that was the easiest part of my whole night.....one thing for sure I new that God had answered my prayers and saved me from certain danger. Once I got home, I cried from relief and reflected on what I had just experienced. I began to thank God for saving me and answering my prayer. I knew that it all seemed unreal, but I know what had just transpired and that it was a revelation on how I was being protected by Gods grace and mercy once again. I stayed inside for the rest of the night. The fear stuck with me but the gratefulness I felt was greater. I went to my roommate and shared the story with him, of course he did not believe me but I know that I was saved from only God knows what. I would also like to say that I changed my ways that day, but I did not. The very next day the addiction was at an all time high and I was at it again, stealing, lying and turning tricks to get money for drugs. Eventually, I allowed God to come into my life and deliver me from the streets and the addiction. The word says that Jesus is the truth and the light, and that the Devil is darkness and there is no truth in him. I know that their is power in prayer. I sometimes wonder what made that guy leave? I like to think that as I saw the transformation of evil in his face, he saw the Archangel Michael or Gabriel standing over me with a mighty sword ready to fight off the evil that was planned for me that night, so he had no choice but to leave me stranded, knowing he could not do any harm to me. One thing for sure, I know I had met God and the Devil in the same day. And that a truth continues coming to light.

lv8kno

Bean cakes

It was the first time in seven years I was going to see my grandma. I could remember the last time I saw her vividly, it was almost like yesterday. I could still see her move over the kitchen with that treacherous spoon of hers. Oh that spoon! It was the disciplinary spoon. Make one wrong move and then you have a spank on your head, your hands, your back, even your buttocks; basically whatever part was available was where the spoon landed. It was terrible to break one of her precious dishes. I had broken one a number of times, but there was this was one, one that I know she had treasured. It was one of the memories I had with grandma I could never really forget. I always loved to be the kitchen assistant. Mom was always at work, same with dad…. I never get to see him anyways even on holidays for he was a reporter. I was left most of the time with grandma and my little sister Mary, and then she’d make us these awesome bean cakes. It was a local delicacy mom never had the time to make for us, but always grandma did. She’d have me soak the beans in hot water making it soft for grinding, and then add all these crazy ingredients to it. I always messed up the kitchen with the palm oil. It was on one of these kitchen lessons I had broken her precious plate. I had expected the usual spanking. I shut my eyes, crunching in anticipation of a hit from the Infamous spoon. But then grandma just stayed and stared, she stared long at the pieces of the shattered dish.  “I and your grandfather ate from that plate for years," she had said. “Throw the pieces away.” she instructed before tying off the last bean cake and leaving it to bake in our makeshift oven. I couldn’t forget that day nor the memories. I wondered why I never got a spanking from her after breaking something so precious. “We are almost at the hospital." Mom announced. I had been caught in my thoughts and had not taken cognizance of the happenings around me. Mom was dressed for work as usual in her prim suit and that her awful glasses. She was an accountant for a microfinance bank. All her life was about numbers, how much supplies was left in the store; how many bills were left unpaid, how little was left in the family account and most importantly how much little time dad spends with us. It was a classic line from mom. She complained about it everytime dad was around, breakfast or dinner, Family meetings or in the car. She never missed an avenue to vent her frustration at his job and this pulled father further away from us. Now, we get to see him only on Sundays and mom's new complaint was why he wasn’t accompaning us to church. “Bola, you know how important it is for me, I can’t be in two places at once. I can’t care for you, your sister, your father, the home my job, the bills still care for grandma at the same time” she said while glancing at her wrist watch. “You are late for work, I know all these” “Good, just keep her company for a short while, I don’t want her all alone” Mom ran her hands through my hair straightening a loose Cornrow. “You should get your hair made over the weekend “ mom said with a weak smile before giving me some cash to buy whatever caught my fancy.  “Keep your phone alive.” she warned before leaving. When I stepped into grandma’s ward, she was already awake. She sat upright with a tiny tea cup in her hands. She had changed. Her hair had thinned and were a bright silver. She had shrunk a whole lot from old age and the lines on her skin had creased a great deal. I was surprised to see her seated upright. Mom had said she was terrible ill. I had hoped she would sleep all through the time I was here and then I’ll have time for my self and my phone before mother arrives to pick me up in the evening . This was a disaster. “Good morning grandma” I greeted with a smile, stooping with both knees to the ground as every well trained child should . “Bola." she called. Although her attention was fixed at me, but her eyes were else where. She looked disoriented sort of and when she dropped the mug in her hands, she spilled the liquid in it. Why did mom withhold this information from me? Why didn’t she tell me grandma had lost her sight? Now I had to care for a sick, blind old lady. It was not what I signed up for. “Iya re nko ?” How is your mother? she had asked in our local dialect. She also proceeded to ask about father, my Mary and a whole lot of things. Mom had grandma transfered from the village straight to the hospital, two days ago. It was the first time I was seeing her since she was transferred. I only agreed to this because mom decided to pay me for the service. Mary would join me tomorrow, so I’ll be getting a half pay. Grandma didn’t talk much afterwards, she slept a great deal and didn’t even stir when the doctor came to check up on her. This left me to my devices, I was on the phone all the time with this boy I recently got introduced to. He was cute . I had never had a boyfriend at fifteen, with the connection we were having over the phone, I might have one before Christmas. Now he was telling me about how beautiful I had looked the last time we had seen each other, his compliment brought silent smiles to my face. I’m hadn’t realized grandma had awoken. “Do you know what I regret most in my life? “ she had asked out of the blue. I was irritated, grandma chose the wrong time to be awake. I was having a very important conversation with the my potential boyfriend and then grandma chooses to interrupt with some bizarre questions. “No, I don’t, how can I know “ I replied stealthy. Like I cared . She just smiled in the fashion of old ladies, shaking her head slowly. “Help me with that bible over there, and open to Ecclesiastes 3” I rolled my eyes as I went to fetch the Bible, not another Sunday school, I cringed inwardly. Looking after this old lady was more chore than it had posed to be. She ought to be on her bed, asking me to pass a napkin or a mug and not preparing for a sermon! “Read to me.“ she instructed with her now frail voice. And then I read it all untill she stopped me at the 11th verse. “Now do you understand? “ she asked. “Understand what?" I questioned in bemusement . “What I regret, the most." she was silent for a long time, a very long time. She just stared at the wall, although I know she could not see the wall, but her mind was seeing years behind. Years I had no knowledge of “I regret not doing the right things at the right time” she said finally. “So you mean there’s a time to do something and a time not to do anything “ I asked sarcastically, just trying to imitate the verse I had just read. “Yes, yes more like it. I regret not doing anything when I should have done something, and then doing something when I shouldn’t have done anything “ she said. I was beginning to understand, it was a syndrome with old people, it happens when they begin to miss their youth and the vigor that came with it. It happens to them when they realize they had little time left. I was not new to this. “You miss your youth?” I asked just to let her know I understood and she could just stop the chatter. “No, not my youth, but I missed the things I should have done with them” This was new and I listened. “Now I can hardly read without you helping me out, I know it’s a burden, but there was a time I could see, and do things all by myself, but those times I chased the things that were not important. I chose to rest when it was not yet time to. Now all I do all day is to lay down and sleep.” she laughed a laugh, but it wasn’t a merry laugh. This laugh had an odd pitch to it; it was a bitter laugh. “You know I should have forgiven your grandfather a long time ago, he had hurt me terribly cheating on me with some young intern at his place of work. I let that mistake eat deep into our marriage. I never did forgive him till he was down with diabetes and now he is gone. I didn’t forgive him at the right time and I had lost years of my marriage. “ “You regret that” I say just to keep the conversation going. "Yes I do” she replied slowly. “ I regret not opening my own line of local confectionaries , not doing the things I loved to do.” I remembered grandma’s bean cake. I remembered how messy I’d make the kitchen after spilling the floor with palm oil. I still remembered that old dish I broke. “Why didn’t you ever spank me that day, that day I broke your precious dish?” I ask interrupting her. "What day? Which dish? “ she asked. From her blank expression I knew she remembered nothing. “The one you had with grand father “ I supplied. Then she smiled. "It didn’t matter no more my dear, what was broken was broken. It was an old memory that made the plate precious, but then I was building a beautiful memory with you and your sister. Spanking you for a dish that was already broken would ruin the beautiful memory we were creating “ I said nothing, I had never expected that answer. “Then why didn’t you go ahead… .Open the restaurant? “ I asked. “ I... I just felt there was time, enough time but the days turned into years. It’s subtle it’s gentle. You never see it coming.– You know your mother loves to paint” she said after a while. I never knew that, I had never seen my mom paint, although I must say, she was very good with colours. “She’d paint me and sometimes your grandfather, although she did a whole of painting of me. But your grandfather thought it right that she go on and be an accountant. Art was just a hobby. I should have said something, but I was quiet. Now look at your mother….. .she works like a slave, she hardly has time for anyone and vents her frustration on your poor father. I don’t blame her, I did the same to your grandfather, reminding him every second we spent together of what he did long ago with that young intern." “Why are you telling me all these now?” I asked. “It’s too late for me, but not for you my sweetheart. Its 2020, you still have years ahead of you. Your life is not filled with so much mistakes, you can make the right choices now” she said. “what choices?” I scoffed. “…..choices like staying clear of that boy you’ve been on the phone with for the best part of the day” “How could you?...... I thought you were… …” “Blind “ grandma supplied. “ I may be blind but not deaf, maybe not yet” she said as she chortled. Then I understood, I had thought she was asleep when I made my calls with Jude. “Jude has no plans for you now, maybe in the future who knows? But not now, now he’ll just give you pain, and cause a whole lot of strain with your parents especially your mother. You still have your whole life ahead of you. A life that would be filled with loves you can ever imagine.” She finished. “so it's all about this grandma” I say after all. "A time to love, and a time to hate. " she replied. # "Why are you up so early? “ Mary asked as she stepped in to the kitchen yawning loudly. Wild creature . I had woken quite early this morning, something grandma had said had troubled me over the night. No, it was not about Jude, but about the restaurant she never had. I wanted to surprise her with a treat she had always made for I and Mary when we were younger—bean cakes. I had soaked the beans in hot water and blended then to a soft pulp. I added the seasonings, fish stock, boiled eggs, and oh! The messy palm oil. “I’m making bean cakes for grandma” I say to her, while she watched me in awe. “I’m not going to that hospital with you.” she said after helping me remove the already baked bean cake. It was sizzling hot and the aroma filled the kitchen. Mom had left for work that morning, leaving I and Mary home. “It’s moms instructions ,” I continued “Besides I can’t leave you all alone." I admitted. “Am thirteen, I am fine by myself!” she announced with puerile pride. “We are not having this conversation,” I say. “ Do help me with the tasting of the bean cake”. I had unwrapped one of them. Its consistency was exact, the palm oil gave it a reddish brightness and the fish stock could be perceived in the aroma. It must be a master piece. I made it just the way I had always watched grandma do. I wanted to give her something that would bring good old memories of the little things she had done right. I watched Mary has she took a spoon, breaking the soft pulp into half. Her face changed from that of delight turning into one of distaste. “What is it? How does it taste ?” I asked with uncertainty, her reaction after her first bite was not at all encouraging. “It’s seems you left the beans for too long in the blender–it had began to sour.”

lucly3

Farewell, Father Felix

Content warning: homophobia, child sexual abuse I understand that I will never see Father Felix again. I will never again hear the gaiety in his laugh, see the brilliance of his smile, hear the great charisms in his sermons, or eat any of the bread that he has turned into God. We have loads of bread at the church. That is where we go to think about God. God is the one who made our mothers give birth to us. He did the same thing to their mothers. Father Felix’s job is to turn the bread into God so that we and all our mothers can eat Him. Father Felix had plenty of other jobs, too. He was a busy man. He would organize retreats and food drives and pancake breakfasts and bring the bread that he turned into God to people who were too ill to come to the place where we think about God. My favorite job that Father Felix did was talking to whoever was supposed to admit things to him. I would see Father Felix once or twice a week to admit things to him and he would tell me that it was alright. * * * Me and Father Felix both had parts called a “dick” that could turn girls into mothers. Lots of people have them. If I touch mine too much by myself, God wants me to go tell Father Felix and then he will tell me that it’s alright. I touch it too much every few days because it is very hard not to, but then I go see Father Felix and he tells me that it’s alright. He does this for all the other people my age who have dicks. Most people with dicks tend to touch them too much every few days. Every time I go to the church to tell Father Felix about how I touched it too much the other day, there is always a long line of other people with dicks waiting there to do the same. We have chemicals in our heads that make us want to turn girls into mothers, but if we just touch our dicks too much instead, the chemicals don’t know the difference. Girls don’t want you to turn them into mothers all the time, so the people with dicks usually just touch themselves too much instead and the chemicals stop for a little while. Then we go tell Father Felix and he says it’s alright. One time he told me that I didn’t need to admit things so often and that I could just come once every month or so, but I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t too awkward or unpleasant, admitting things to Father Felix. He would always say it was alright and that God loved me greatly. It felt nice to hear someone who could turn bread into God tell me that God loved me. He meant it, too. When Father Felix said that God loved someone, he really, truly believed it. I’ve never seen anyone believe it as much as he did. There wasn’t a single person I knew who didn’t love Father Felix. Probably because every time he saw you, he would tell you how God loved you, and he didn’t even care if you had a dick or if you touched it too much every few days. * * * Father Felix is never allowed to turn any girl into a mother. Most other people can, if they go with the girl they love to the place where people think about God and get permission to. Several years ago, Father Felix went to the place where people think about God to get permission to turn bread into God. That permission was granted, but only on the condition that he never turn any girl into a mother. * * * I will never eat any bread that Father Felix turned into God again. I will never again tell him that I touched my dick too much the other day. None of the people with dicks who are usually in line to admit things to Father Felix will ever see him again, either. He didn’t die. He isn’t even very old. Father Felix will probably live a few more decades for all I know. We can’t see him anymore because they kicked him out of the place where people think about God. A lot of people who can turn bread into God have been kicked out because they did abhorrent things to children. Some of them got to stay. Some people who can turn bread into God have been kicked out because they tried to make girls into mothers. Father Felix never did anything abhorrent to children. Father Felix never tried to make any girl into a mother, either. He didn’t even want to, and the chemicals in his head didn’t make him want to. Father Felix got kicked out because the chemicals in his head made him want to be in love with a person who had a dick. Most people in the place where we think about God don’t want people with dicks to be in love with other people with dicks, so sometimes they get kicked out or told to go somewhere else. All the people who can turn bread into God have dicks, so none of them are allowed to be in love with people who have dicks. That’s why Father Felix got kicked out and that’s why I will never see Father Felix again. * * * I’m not happy with the people at the place where I think about God who kicked him out. I think I am mostly alone. The other people there liked Father Felix, too, and they loved when he told them that God loved them, but they could never stomach eating bread that was turned into God by someone with a dick who wanted to be in love with someone else with a dick. That sort of thing cannot be tolerated at the place where we go to think about God. Sometimes, I don’t know if I really want to keep going there to think about God. I wish they didn’t care if Father Felix liked when other people had dicks. It is becoming increasingly hard for me to bring myself to care. If Father Felix didn’t want to love a person with a dick, I might see him again. But I won’t. I won’t ever admit things to him again, so I will have to find someone else to admit things to. Someone else will hear from me and from all the other people with dicks about how we touch them too much sometimes and then they will tell us that it’s alright. Someone else will turn bread into God and we will eat Him. Someone else will tell me that God loves me, but I’m not sure if they will mean it as much as Father Felix did. I’m not sure I will believe it as much as I did when Father Felix was the one saying it.  

92jbkr

the windows of the soul

I am an ageless timeless being of infinite life. Before bedtime, and before I close my eyes to sleep I look out my window, and often imagine that the stars in the sky are kissing me on the cheek and that they turn into angels, and hold me close in their arms. I see the darkness as a light of life. I may not naturally see in the dark but spiritually I can see through it. I am ageless because age is a state of mind. I am timeless because there is no time in the spirit world. my body may die, but my spirit lives forever. My eyes are the windows of my soul, and what I see enters into it. There is no time like the present. I believe in the now not later. I believe in success, not failure. even when I do fail I get up and try again. I am a spirit, I live in a body, and I have a soul. I try to be the best I can be but, perfection never resides within my being. I notice many of my bodily members getting weaker, but my spirit says strong, and it supports my soul. I don't know a lot about the beginning, and end of life, but I do know we are born in this life, and in time we die at the appointed time our heavenly father has chosen for us. You might say that our eternal life is on the way. We have to live this life on earth for the betterment of man in order to live in harmony in heaven with God. As a child I was strong, but now I am old and so weak. I can not relive my childhood, but I can remember the good times. I can see them outside the window looking at the playground we played on. the friends we made, the first real kiss on the cheek from a girl. Outside every window, there is always someone looking in while you are looking out. We can not see them, but they can see us. God sees us. He sees us when we sleep, and he sees us when we awaken. He sees our yawns and knows how many times we breathe. I wish other people had a window like mine. they can see their dreams become reality, their visions will appear before them. I am somewhat sad because there are days I do not want to leave this world. Not until I have done all I am called to do and even then I would miss everyone that was left behind. My window opens and closes. It opens so I may feel the breeze hitting my face, and drying the tears from my eyes. My window closes when evil tries to enter it like a thief. I have to hold my window up because there is no brace to hold it. It takes all I have to keep it open, and all the strength in my body to close it. Looking out my window I see the sunrise and sunset. I see the daylight and the night. As the sun shines I can see its reflection create little sparkles upon the water after a rain. At night the moon and stars are my light in the widths of the darkness. It seems like the darkness is but a short time, and then the daylight is reborn once again. My bed is next to the window. I can see yet sleep, observe and yet dream. I can see everything and everyone going to and from my window. I welcome the good but close it when the evil forces try to attack me. I love my window. I can see for miles and miles away even with my eyes closed. One day I will be in heaven and look out from its windows, and see the glory of God around me. My window will stay open forever, and ever then the earth will take that which is hers for spirit, and soul will never ever end in death." good morning window. I am so glad to see you" Life is so precious, and death is far away but yet close at hand. I must keep watching out of my window for God's invisible hands to reach into it, and pull me from my mortal body, and place me in an immortal body. do you want a window of your own.? God will help you. all you have to do is reach out to him, and let him take your hands into his. He may seem so far away but he is closer than you will ever know. He may not speak audibly, but in the spirit, he has but one voice that you can hear if you just listen. Listen.! don't you see it, hear it.? it is the air you breathe every time your window is open. open the window, and let God in. He wishes to dry every tear from your eyes. his invisible hands are outstretched to. Rejoice, for it is God's pleasure to give you paradise. watch, pray, and wait for the darkness to become light. God is so close, and never far away. My window is white. white is the color of purity. I painted my window by myself. I even gave it a name. I call my window: Nature's eye. I can look into it, out of it, and when closed I still see everything. "Oh, the windows of heaven will be much greater." I have had this window all my life, but I could never see out of it until I realized that my eyes could bear to see such a sight. My window is my world. I see everything in and around in. At times I see my reflection, and other times I see others looking in wanting a window of their own. My tears fog up the window so it is hard to see out of, but God often takes part of his mantle and clears the window so I can see through it. my widow. There will never ever be one like it because it is my world and I won't desire any other. My window is a virgin. it has never been broken by evil. God's strength holds the pane in place, and the glass is unbreakable. At one time my window was no more than the weight of a feather easily broken and ruined, but God fixed it to be stronger than ever and built to last a lifetime. Never again will my window be broken or neglected. I keep my window clean when the dirt from the outside covers it, and when the dust accumulates on the inside. the eyes are the windows of the soul. look into them. you can see my window.!

9tor29

The chains that bind us

My mother has always been hard on me. I was expected to be the best of the best,no matter what I was in. Soccer,math,volleyball,you name it,I had to be the best at it.I always had to place first,and look flawless while doing so.It was a stressful process,but I always reassured myself that it was for my own good. Colleges would be looking for the best of the best,right? Letting my mother down would be suicide. It’s not just with academics and sports,however. My brown hair had to be perfectly curled,with no spilt ends. My makeup had to be able to cover my pimples but still look completely natural. My uniform had to be perfectly pressed,my student government pin just right. At school I’m known as “Little miss perfect” or “Mrs.Government” because of how stiff I look. Especially at church. My mother is head pastor,a very religious woman. Since I'm the pastor’s daughter,I have to set an example for the other kids. My mom sometimes drones on with speeches of me finding the perfect husband. “He must be as pristine as you!” She says. I always tell her that I’m not interested in marriage,that it would only slow me down. The future had different plans. I sit at my desk,eye bags heavy. Tons of crumpled papers cover the floor, with scribbles of failed letters on them. I never thought this day would come. I always said I wouldn’t get married,that it slows me down. But now here I am,trying to figure out a way to invite my mom to my wedding- and leave out the part about my groom being a bride. My fiance’ walks into the room,with a fresh cup of coffee. “Evelyn,you haven’t slept in days…” She rubs my back with a look of concern. “Are you still doubting if you should invite her or not?” I rub my eyes,and slam my head on the desk. “No of course not. I want her to be there but…..she doesn’t..” I sigh and take her hands,”She doesn’t know I’m with a woman yet.” My Fiance, Lily, looks at me with a shocked face. “I thought you guys talked all the time!” I sigh again,picking up my pen. “We do,she knows I’m dating SOMEONE but...not who they are.She’s a very christan lady and...” Lily wraps her arms around me and gives me a kiss. “You never know unless you try,hun.” She gives me another kiss and starts out the door,but pauses for a moment. “And just know...I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.” She walks out the door,and I hear her car start up and leave our driveway. I touch the tip of the pen to my paper,with a lump in my throat. “You never know unless you try….” I begin to write my letter,keeping it short and sweet. Dear Mom,      You remember that person I told you I was dating?...Well,we are engaged. I’d like nothing more to have my mom there with me,as the one to walk me down the isle. I hope to see you there!         All my love,                            Evelyn. I seal the envelope with a white wax seal,to symbolize an invitation.My mother used to teach my wax seal color meanings,so that when I send her letters she doesn’t get a scare. Putting that letter in the drop box was harder than an exam I have ever taken. I prayed that maybe it would get lost in the mail,or that she would be too busy to come. Unfortunately,that didn’t happen.When her letter arrived,I opened it with gritted teeth. Dear Daughter                    I’d be more than happy to attend your wedding! I always knew one day you’d find the perfect husband! From the way you describe him,my grandbabies will be beautiful! I can’t wait. Much love,                  Mom. I sigh on the verge of tears. What would my mom do when she saw? Would she disown me? Maybe never speak to me again? I don’t know what I’ll do without her. I break down on the floor of the living room in tears,my sobs alerting Lily,who just got home. “Evelyn!” She drops down to the floor next to me and wraps her arms around me. “It’s gonna be ok,let it out.” I sob into her chest,her running her fingers through my hair. I should be excited,but I dread the day we are wed. It’s the day of. My hair done up in a braided updo,my dress pinned in all the right places. My makeup was done just right. I should be nervous or excited,but i'm horrified. My mother is almost dressed,and will soon be by my side. I put my hands together,and prayed a silent prayer. “Boo!” I jumped at my mother’s voice,knowing what is soon to come. Through all the pain,I forced a laugh. “Hi mom.” She gives me a kiss and I see her eyes tear up. “Oh Evelyn honey you look beautiful!” She hugs me tight,and for a moment,there is just happiness. A gleam of hope that maybe,somehow,I would be alright. As soon as I hear the wedding music play,however,the bliss fades away. My mother turns to face the isle,as do I. She takes my hand,and two men in tuxedos open to curtains to reveal my bride. I could see the terror form on her face. Me and my Fiance’ reading our vows,crying and laughing like any other newly weds. But my mother’s disgust and hatred was burning through me. I knew exactly what would happen as the preacher said, “Any objections?Speak now or forever hold your peace.” “I OBJECT!” My mother’s voice rang through my ears as I turned to face her. “Mom...why?” She scoffed. “Do not why me young lady! When you said you were getting married,I didn’t think you would be marrying a female!” My mother made a gagging noise,and her eyes began to tear up. “Oh the horror,I raised you better than this! I read verses to you every night! What did I do wrong?” I ran over to my mother,wrapping my arms around her. “Mom,you didn’t do anything wrong...I fell in love with someone that just happened to not be a man.” I turn to my soon-to-be wife,smiling at her. “I won’t hide it any longer.” I ran to my wife and kissed her, tears rolling down my face as the rest of my family stood up from their chairs and cheered. I hug my wife and turn to my mother again. “Mom,if you can’t accept who I love... I don’t think I can keep you around any longer. Please leave.” She started her walk out the door,and turned to look at me one last time. I turned away to let her know I didn’t regret my decision,and THIS is my new life. Today I got a letter. Dear daughter,                          I’m sorry. I was blinded by what I believed in,so blinded that I couldn’t see my daughter through my hate filled glasses. I love you so much,and I want to see you again. You and your wife. I want to hear all about your honeymoon if you choose to come!                                           With regret and love,                                                                             Your proud mama.

cblo83

Lights, Camera...Action

Cameraman 3, Dan Cheselford, felt like he was going to throw up. He paced around the small room they had placed him in, to go over the script before it was time to go on air. Go on air? How was that going to work? He was the one who put others on air, not the one smiling into the lights. His lips felt numb. Were they still there? He patted them to make sure. Dan's boss, Alan Tideman, had assured him that he was the best choice for this assignment. The regular anchors, and their back ups, were all either awol - or refused to do this story. Alan had made it all seem so reasonable. But, how can an anchorperson refuse to do their job? And why? Dan glanced back down at the short script prepared for him by old Dougie. He had worked with Doug since they were both fresh out of community college. Doug with the words, Dan with the pictures. They worked together, drank together, dated cousins and almost had the same wedding! Dougie would not let him down now. But the words on the page did not make sense. He could not read this to a waiting world. Even if they were one of the few stations up and running again so soon after the disaster. Why didn't Mr. TIdeman do this himself? Why a cameraman? Alan had explained that he was the right demographic for this particular news update. His handsome face and graceful posture borne of youth and great health - this was just what the people needed now. A young man who believed in tomorrow - he was going to tell them that. But did he believe it? Dan was not so sure anymore. "Five minutes", Olivia announced through a crack in the door she had opened to stick her pretty nose in. "Olivia," Dan begged." you read this! I can't stand public speaking - you know that. I am going to faint." "You won't faint," Olivia soothed as she stuck her face in another few inches. "Just keep your eye on the green light and when Jake points at you - read the script. Calmly, cheerfully. Boom - you will be done in no time." Before he could respond, she had closed the door and he could hear her heels clicking away down the corridor. Dan stared at the door for a bit. Thinking exactly nothing. He had been doing that a lot for the last few days. Hearing people talk about it, eating, walking, sleeping - but not really processing. Not actually making his mind face the facts. And now he was going to read the facts to millions of people and explain what the sitting president had decided had happened. He missed his mom. And at that thought, tears began pouring down his face. Silent globes of grief, sliding down his cheeks and into his shirt collar. Another stage hand, Chrissy he thought her name was, appeared in the suddenly open door and watched some of the tears on his pained expression. She seemed totally unmoved by this sight, and took him by the hand - leading him into the hall and down towards the set. And all those lights and cameras. She placed him on a stool, on his spot - primped his hair a bit, as the make-up girl had not even called in - just failed to show up for work as so many were doing this week. "You will be fine," maybe-Chrissy whispered. "You ready, old buddy?" Jake asked without waiting for a reply - his hand swooped downward and his pointer finger pointed right at Dan's heart. A nod, when Dan failed to start reading immediately. "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen - fellow survivors. KOAM brings you this important message from our sitting President, Joseph Mitchell. Four days ago, our world experienced a disaster like nothing it has seen before. All nations have been effected by this outlandish event and heads of state have been in constant communication as we draw on our scientists and experts to determine the origin of these disappearances. It has been determined that the asteroid that we have been tracking since November 17th, is actually a vehicle from another galaxy." (At this, Dan giggled hysterically and hiccupped before going on). "There is evidence that the people missing since last Sunday, April 4, 2021, have been abducted by this space craft. Scientists are still examining some crucial footage of some of these abductions, and are still determining how this was accomplished. Let it be said that this technology outstrips anything earth can comprehend. Local authorities throughout our countries are setting up stations for you to report your missing friends and loved ones. Be sure that you make thorough searches for them prior to reporting them missing. Local food banks and medical centers are being strengthened by Federal government aid to restore daily life in it's simplest form, for the time being. Do not fear and stay in your homes as much as you can. Phone and internet service will be restored as soon as possible. Some areas are already up and running. We can and will get through this...." The words blurred beneath Dan's eyes. Where was the supposed sitting President who issued this statement? No one had seen or heard the House or Senate install him after the chain of command had either disappeared or mysteriously died four short days ago. Jake was motioning frantically for Dan to continue, when he looked up again. But the ache in his soul began to moan - and some of it leaked out of his mouth, as the tears did from his weary eyes. Would he ever sleep again? His mom would know what to do. Even at 27 years of age, she had always been there for him when things got bad. And they were so completely awful right now. She would know just what to say. She would know just what to pray. But she was gone. Four short, endless days ago. She had been one of the vanished. His beautiful, loving mom. And just like the other millions that had suddenly disappeared from their cars, homes, jobs, shopping, nursing, teaching, doing....she suddenly was not. She would have know just what to pray. Susan Whitlock 2/10/21

pipupz

To Endure Suffering

           Zinnia answered the cell phone, only to hear Jan, her supervisor, on the other end. With eyes half shut and an unsteady slump, she breathed slowly.            “The new nurse quit when she realized what wearing the PPE was like. We need you in the ICU.”  Zinnia did not dare go back to bed. She straightened up and opened her eyes fully. “Yes, I’ll be there.” After dressing in the white nurse’s uniform, Zinnia entered the bathroom and stared at the slightly wrinkled, tired face of a fifty-year-old woman. “Is it worth brushing my hair? No one will see it, and the headgear will squash and tangle my hair anyway.” She grabbed a loose strand of light brown hair. “The patient won’t even know my hair color.” “Thank you God, for my job, but I need help to withstand the heat and the sweat of those PPE suits.” With a cotton swab doused in rubbing alcohol, she stroked the underside of her breasts. “Maybe that will keep it dry enough to prevent a rash from re-forming.”            On arriving at the hospital, Zinnia held her arms wide while facing Jan who did the same. The imaginary hug between co-workers met a comforting need for the day ahead. “Thank you so much for coming in.” “Three times in two weeks is enough. Any prospects for hiring more nurses?” “Personnel hasn’t said anything.” “How is the hospital’s war on CoVid going?” asked Zinnia. “We’re keeping up. So far. This CoVid is supposed to become worse. We will run out of suits before the end of the week.” Jan fidgeted. “No one wants to deal with Barton Gustave.” With hope in her voice, she said. “Will you be his nurse? You know what he is like. The rest of the nurses are already stressed out by him.” Zinnia sighed and nodded with understanding. Not the first time one like Barton has been assigned to me. As she took off her coat, her face brightened with hope. “Have Barton’s children called?” “No,” said Jan. “A nurse from the previous shift called one. That child said, ‘He did not have time for us as kids. I will not waste my time on him now.’”  Zinnia sighed yet again. “All we can do is relay calls,” said Zinnia. “No visiting. Just another curse of the disease. Those who want to visit, can’t. And those that don’t, won’t even call.” “Barton needs a sponge bath,” said Jan. Crummy PPE. It is worse than being in grade school with no bathroom breaks. “I’ll go to the bathroom, then suit up. Zinnia entered the ante room next to Barton’s room. The inhale and exhale of ventilating machines in other hospital rooms could barely be heard. First, she scrubbed her hands, including between her fingers in the proper hygiene manner. At least this is familiar. Then she put on the oversized isolation gown which would prevent contamination from her clothes. These PPE suits are easy to tear. No rubbing against anything! Then the facemask, then the clear plastic face shield, then the gloves. I’ve never timed it. I wonder if it takes as long to suit up as to give a bath. When she was about to enter Barton’s room, she brushed up against the door frame. She gasped, then relaxed to see the PPE had not been torn. Thank You God. On entering the patient’s room, Zinnia glanced at the clicking heart monitor, then at the oxygen reading. Barton gave Zinnia a look as if she was prepared for outer space. “What planet are you going to? I don’t want to be on it.” “Good morning, Barton,” said Zinnia smiling underneath the mask. “I am Zinnia. I’m here to give you a sponge bath.” She set the pan of soapy water on the table-tray. “Dadblasted. I don’t want a bath!” he said. The man had thinning gray hair. The bags under his faded green eyes aged him even more. “I do not get sweaty,” cough, cough, “like you nurses claim.” With labored breathing, he said, “Get me a male nurse. I don’t want a female seeing me naked.” “ I know what it is like to be sweaty,” Zinnia said as the sweat trailed down her face. She licked it for the sake of her already dry mouth. “Take my word for it, you are sweaty from your fever. You either let me give you a bath, or we sedate you and give it to you that way.” Barton turned his face away from her and pounded his fist once on the bed. Then he turned to her again, pursed his lips, then glared at her before sticking out his tongue. “I’m starting with your face, then your neck and chest, then your arms, and finally your legs.” Zinnia pulled back the blankets and opened Barton’s gown. She dipped the washcloth in the pan and started wiping down his face and neck. “I’ll take you to a lake and . . . Let’s go skinny dipping.” Zinnia halted, gave him a look of disbelief, then realized he was delirious. He tried to thrash his arms as if playing in the water. “Maggie, do you remember when we first touched each other on our wedding night?” The feel of a plastic glove on his chest interrupted his memory. Barton coughed, wheezed, but found the energy to yell. “No! Not there. Not anywhere. That’s none of your business.” He balled up his fist. “You witch! I’ll tear your arm off and beat you with it!” He swung at Zinnia, but only managed six inches off the bed. Zinnia stopped a moment to consider what to say. Maybe a conversation about his wife. “You must have loved your wife a lot.” “My wife didn’t love me. She said so when she served the divorce papers.” Whoops. Barton wheezed, coughed, and gasped for breath. “I don’t need—“. After another cough and wheeze, an insufficient gasp passed through to his lungs. “Mr. Barton Alexander Gustave. You need to calm down so I can finish this bath. “I am going to roll you over for the other side. And check for bed sores while I am at it.” “I can roll myself over.” Zinnia stood still with hands on her hips. “Then try it.” Barton leaned to the side but dropped back to bed for lack of strength. That brought on a coughing, choking, wheezing fit. “Stop flailing your arms. You are using all your energy. Save it for breathing.” “I love running.” Barton’s arms weakly pumped back and forth as he ran in his mind. “Late spring. A breeze that keeps me cool. And the flowers smell like Maggie’s perfume.” His voice turned angry. “Those kids again. She can’t run with me because of those kids again. I hate those kids.” He breathed in with a mighty effort, then coughed out the exhale. “You children of a whore! I fed and clothed you. What right do you have to say you don’t love me? You have to love me!” Barton remained silent as Zinnia washed his right arm. He broke his silence by asking, “Nurse. Did my children call?” She debated what to tell him. It will be best to keep the answer simple. Zinnia braced herself and answered, “No.” It is the truth. The children were not the ones who initiated the call. Make him think of something else. “I will be your nurse when we put a tube through your mouth to ventilate you.” That’s worse than not saying anything. Her voice drug Barton back awake to the reality he did not want to know. “When?” “Tomorrow. You may feel like gagging when the tube is put in.” Zinnia said. “But if the doctor sedates you, it shouldn’t bother too much. For now, I am going to do your legs.” “I am so glad,” sang Zinnia as she lifted his right leg, “that Jesus loves me.” She sang from habit. “Jesus loves me.”   With the intubation and sedation, what would be the last thing that I would want to hear? “Jesus loves e-ven me,” Zinnia sang while washing his left leg. Barton turned to study what little he could see of her face. Zinnia’s crows’ feet showed when she smiled again under her mask. “We are finished, Mr. Barton Gustave. “With God’s help, I love you too.” Barton smiled and drifted to sleep. ******************************************************** ICU nurses who have worn PPE: Help! I need your critiques on procedure and whatever else you find.

g1qvio

Wine

 -     look at it! Sleeping on the table, with that disjointed window that keeps opening from one side to the other! - Asserted the 60-year-old Blessed Bertita, with an unknown face due to the veil that had never been removed from her.  - Do not deny because to deny is a sin! - The priest of the chapel replied, yawning, with the chalice of holy wine in her hand, from which she sipped little by little, while she laughed.  "Surely you must already be canonized as holy as you are," she said, upturning her nose, a sin that became customary.  -     that's how it is! - Yawning her. In truth, almost closing the eye.  The blessed could only extend her arm covered with the purple of the penit to close the left side of the window, the one that had not yet detached from its frame.  - Or else, all the people spy around here - the saintly woman justified herself, with a laughing finger.  - It faces the alley.  - The cobblestone?  - Yes, the cobblestone behind the parish.  - Ah! If it is true - affirmed the father,  -, opening his eyes - is where it was distributed  - bread to the ordering in the mornings.  - It is the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, carried out by means of divine mercy, charity and love of neighbor - explained the parish priest, sanctified by the wine from the sacristy, which seemed to diminish every day in the cruet.  -It is that everyone knows that the window does not have a knocker that protects the privacy of anyone, and they all start to spy inside the sacristy through the silk curtains - Blessed Bertita explained, covering her flushed face with her veil .  - That's right - observed the parish priest with a grimace: and everyone knows that the priest of the chapel falls asleep on the sacristy table after a few, let's say, somewhat generous copetizers of the wine of the Eucharistic celebration - looking for a key to his room , at the bottom.  -Suddenly, he drops a plastic bottle from his pocket.  He runs to pick her up, hiding the dropped bottle with Franciscan sandals.  - being poor is not a sin! - He said, showing his perforated sandals and the cassock that was longer in the back than in the front, as well as being darned on the sleeve.  "I'm sure he's going to sleep now," said the saint, leaving the room on tiptoe so as not to wake him up.  -And many times he had fallen asleep in the middle of the celebration.  Upon awakening, she would fix her hood and girdle, straightening her slightly crooked posture in the priest's chair.  Then, he was dedicated to sanctifying the divine blood, tasting all kinds of wine "to honor the Blessed One", until the end of the celebration.  A hooded man, with an unmade beard and dressed in black, approached the famous open window of the sacristy.  "She doesn't have a padlock, she's only supported," said the hooded man, opening the window a little with the tip of the knife he was carrying.  - It is better to certify that the pious women are not in the sacristy - with the hurried glance of the crime, seeing the father asleep.  Not a shadow of them! is now ! - He whispered, looking around.  It is not known exactly how it happened, however, in the same second he was inside the room, like a cat trapped in the sandbox.  He opened his gaze from eye to eye, seeing the cruets, bread and cheese covered by a tablecloth.  He took the tablecloth and put the bottle, the bread, the cheese, the forks arranged on the table, the keys to the cupboard where there were the gold crucifixes, the hóstias, and some coins kept in a white envelope.  The priest was still asleep.  But the man took the opportunity to also take the gold curtains, the gold cups, the pearl necklaces given to the saints by the faithful on the occasion of the Christmas celebrations washed down with more wine, hosts as well as greetings and blessings as well as songs. typical of the time.  - hosanna in the heights "- faithful years repeated, while the parish priest poured holy water on the heads of the faithful, but not on his own - throwing the straps of addiction in more a victory over sanity - this, normally disguised as homilies:  -    Faith moves mountains. Come on! Receive the salvation of the Lord! Before the enemy takes us all in his hands and makes us burn in the infernal embers of sin.  Thus, the parish priest said that the shape of the body did not matter, because “the most important thing is the spirit of the divine word glorified by eternal love - it had arrived together with the inauguration of the bust of the martyr of independence in the square, when his predecessor - a certain Don Francisco, I believe that he died, according to the pious women of unknown cause.  As a vacant position it had to be filled, to avoid the demand of the faithful to other churches.  Don Panchito - the priest - fresh from a cold that took him away from the curia for some time, offered to fill the vacancy that nobody wanted - that was obvious: nobody in their right mind would like to be bitten by malaria or spend nights followed without wine or a fiery saint - as he had in the curia.  - But ... Don Panchito ... this ... in that town there are no benefits as there are here- said the secretary of the curia, a fourth-year student who did administrative practices- “I must be a great administrative priest,” he said, "To put the souls of God in order."  -    No matter. What matters is saving more souls and offering them to the Lord.  Don Panchito knew that there were ways and means to save souls.  His specialty was the hidden collection of services, as when he simulated an exorcism on a girl who had many seizures, she would turn purple as a grape and stiff as a statue.  -His soul from him is saved, save! Thanks be to God, let us give thanks to God our father and to this faithful servant who saved the soul of his beloved daughter in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  - Amen- almost said in chorus those present, because they cried so much that you could not understand what they were saying.  Grateful, they served him feasts with a lot of food, a lot of wine, and they also offered him a house "so that you could stay as long as you wanted."  Don Panchito - and let it be known that that name was not free - stayed in the house, closed at night, when he received the blessed women "for special healing and spiritual healing sessions", stripping them naked to wash their sins "that are impregnated in the body and soul ”.  He had pictures brought from the curia, the most valuable, in order to get support "from the faithful during their prayers full of hope and faith."  She asked the pious women to bring her lunch "with a little demijohn of wine and three glasses, one for me and one for you and for you" to her rooms, where she would take off her white coat, perfume herself ("these perfumes are sacred. the faithful in the curia gave it away, "he said to the pious women who served him lunch, making them dizzy, until they fainted and fell into the priest's bed, where they woke up still drunk with wine or perfume - they did not know it - and out of pure modesty they they closed their blouses "I opened up? It can't be! I must do penance and ask God for forgiveness, bring the rosary and let's start right now to ask God for forgiveness for our sins.).  Without worrying about payments of any kind, all the salary that he received from the curia was kept in a flask, closed with two padlocks and hidden under his bed, high and sovereign as a worthy representative of God on Earth.  One afternoon, the bell rang for him after tea that the blessed served him punctually at five in the afternoon.  Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  - Come on. You, go see who it is, this ...  -     Martha . My name is Martita.  - So, Martita, go open the door.  Without even wiping her mouth, she sees her beloved and distant secretary-student-clerk walk into the food hall.  -Dear Don Panchito, how is he?  - Oh! Dearest disciple in God! What brings you here from so far away?  -We need his help: there is a chapel that almost fell in this town. We were thinking of building a new chapel for you, but nevertheless the curia asks me to tell you that this will not be possible.  -    That is not a problem. There is an old chapel that can be renovated.  -    Yes. That is why I came. I came to bring you the permission that the curia grants you for the chapel spare parts, with the right to carry out the necessary transactions for the work.  -    Money?  -    Yes. Besides that, you can have the workers and other people for the repair.  -    Well. Where are the papers?  -    Here. You must sign them.  - Sure- yes, he would sign it because that was his chance to rise in the clerical hierarchy, conquer better positions within the church and finally establish his informal influence in the political media.  - We're going to have to interdict the entire building, temporarily.  -    No problem.  - In this case, we already started the works.  -    No problem.  And the window, symbol of a life, was destroyed, leaving behind the shame of an inglorious past, and perhaps with the hope of finding some future ... with wine?

czcnzt

The Point of the Ruse

" You dirty drug mule. Running a community center in the name of social service but furthering your own little selfish agenda by selling strong drugs like LSD to kids! Typical slum-dweller! ” the brutal police officer yelled at 17-year old Coleman. Queens was never a good place to be born in, especially not in the early 2000s, the unfortunate time of birth of Coleman. Coleman was a lovely young teenage boy with excruciatingly cute looks. He had a chiseled face and a lovely prominent jawline, beautiful as if hand-drawn eyebrows and lovely supermodel eyes. His hands were hardened due to constant toil and hard work he did for his father’s small-scale construction firm and even though he had never been to a gym, his body was an exact copy of that of the statues of the Greek Gods we see in museums. His neighborhood though was not nearly as cute as him. This neighborhood I’m talking about was and still is one of the top choices for gangs to establish their headquarters in. This neighborhood was famous even in the inside circles of the biggest gangs as the Ku Klux Clan (yes, the white-supremacist group who the FBI and the CIA are crazy for) had established several branches in a pretty congested pattern here. I’m not saying that all the people in this neighborhood had gang-like behavior otherwise Coleman’s little community improvement project that we’re going to talk about would never have succeeded, but I am saying that the bad influence they faced from the gangs in their neighborhood or due to the harm that the gangs did to the normal households that wanted to work their way out of the neighborhood to keep those respective families “under control”, forced them to get involved in the nasty drug and other businesses the gangs dealt in. One thing to admire though was that the gangs never fought among themselves. They had this uncanny brotherhood among themselves as if they were “working for a common goal”. This eerie unity among the gangs worried the government in a very extensive manner. The thing which made Coleman different was that he was originally not from this neighborhood. You might be wondering why on earth someone would ever move into this neighborhood from any other neighborhood because frankly speaking, any other neighborhood was better than this neighborhood. The answer is that Coleman’s father loved doing social service. He loved to see the surroundings prosper. He loved to see his city, as a whole, prosper. Yes, these kinds of people are still found in this world. The Colemans previously lived in upper Manhattan. The Coleman sincerely believed that life meant more than just slopping around on a couch and bingeing on shows all day. Also, the construction business that Coleman’s father owned needed a much bigger market. There were not many constructions to do in upper Manhattan except for fixing couches and attaching cupboards. So, his business was naturally stuttering and on the verge of bankruptcy because fixing cupboards didn’t earn much money. So one day he was travelling through a better alley in Queens for construction work when he noticed the aforementioned neighborhood with houses having broken roofs, broken drains and even a broken community center. The most important thing he noticed that that was no construction firms nearby. This was when this wonderful opportunity struck him. This area needed a construction firm and a broken community center meant an opportunity from the government for him. So he quickly rented a house because he thought, “This many repairs! It will take a whole lot amount of time.” the biggest mistake he ever made in his entire life. His family did not want to live separately from him, so they moved in with him. Only if they had seen the state of the neighborhood they were moving into. Coleman’s father moved his entire team working at the firm to the neighborhood and gave them the first floor and the second floor of the three-story building they rented. Well, Coleman’s father was not wrong about one thing, they did get the Government job of fixing the community center but not for hosting parties and balls and stuff, but to serve as a welfare center for the people in the neighborhood, devastated by the ruthless gangs beating up on them, physically and mentally. But, to state the entire thing, Coleman’s father was not offered the job without any conditions. There was only one condition. Coleman’s family would have to arrange the staff that would run the community center. The Government apparently appointed a lot of people in past to run the community center but all of the previous major staff members were beaten up. Since then, nobody would take the job to run the community center. Well, for Coleman the problem wasn’t nearly as complicated enough. Coleman, himself was an ardent lover of community service. “ Well, the problem is solved then! ” the government official exclaimed happily. “ The government will surely have a piece of mind now knowing that the neighborhood is in good hands. ” Little did Coleman know what he was in for. The first anomaly that Coleman wanted to address in this respective neighborhood was the drug dealing problem. He first analyzed the pattern in which the gang members chose the families who they would recruit for their drug operations. They were usually members of families whose senior members weren’t educated or resilient or resistive enough. He then systematically wrote down the names of families with a similar profile and knocked on the door literally one by one. It was not like he did not have help. His father’s construction workers were also kind of his friends. So, those construction workers also helped him a lot. After varieties of grades of interrogation most of the family members gave in and confessed. Coleman assured the family members that nothing would happen to them now that they have confessed. He then reported the names of the families and the non-intentional drug mules inside them to the police, specifically requesting that the police don’t arrest the members of the family because of the promise he made to them. The police abided by his advice and did not arrest the members of the families. They instead counseled the hypnotized teenagers turned drug mules and generously enrolled them in government schools which would educate them for free. Coleman did not only target the drug operations of the gangs but also targeted various torturing operations that the gangs carried out against the members of the neighborhood. He set up a hotline so that the members of the neighborhood could report any crime against themselves or their family members. The most remarkable thing to be noticed here is that Coleman never ever did take law into his hands. He always reported it do the respective authorities responsible for handling those kinds of crimes. However, the gang members were not the kinds of people who would just stay silent and watch their entire base crumble. As expected, they retaliated. Coleman, being a ferocious but innocent person did not see the plot coming, and only realized afterwards that some of the last deliveries that some of the last remaining drug mules of the gangs did was in the name of Coleman. The police who absolutely adored Coleman was surprised just see his name in the recent drug busts they did. They instantly figured out that there was something much more malicious in the play. The police did not like the gang members pinning their nasty crimes on Coleman. Therefore, in order to flush out the last of the gang operators in the neighborhood, they decided to televise Coleman’s questioning. The police knew that the gang members were very ceremonious about their parties, as they held each and every one of them in their operations center. If they came to know that the police that Coleman was behind the crimes, they would undeniably and out of habit hold a party, a huge party in their operations center. "You dirty drug mule. Running a community center in the name of social service but furthering your own little selfish agenda by selling strong drugs like LSD to kids! Typical slum-dweller!” the brutal police officer yelled at Coleman on camera which almost made Coleman tear up even though he knew that it was all a ruse. “Family fallen due to bankruptcy so you decide to come here and sell drugs to pull your family out of the crisis” the Police Officer yelled further. The staged questioning went on for further half an hour till the time even the neighbors were convinced that Coleman was guilty. That half an hour of questioning that Coleman faced was the most humiliated he had ever been his entire life. But it was worth it. As expected, the gang members held a huge party which was surprisingly just beside the building Coleman’s family lived in. The noise coming from the building in which the party was being held led the police straight to the gang members, even the most senior ones. All of them were arrested on-spot. The neighborhood hailed Coleman as their hero. Here came a simple 17-year old boy with undeniably powerful grit and determination who changed the entire neighborhood  just with the help of some construction workers. He was the teenage boy who fought ruthless gangs to change a neighborhood of his city which, for decades, had been in the grasp of crime and was now crime-free.

w6r2b1

Truth Always Prevails

Human beings have a natural love for light. It is no wonder, for light and all it represents was the very first thing that God introduced into his creation. The first two verses of the Bible proclaim, In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.” (Gen. 1:1-2) Creation was a structureless, lifeless, lightless, and watery chaos. And the Spirit of God hovered like a mother bird over the chaos. He loved the chaos, cared for the chaos, and was about to develop the chaos over a period of six days. Remember that we shouldn’t, strictly speaking, talk of “six days of creation,” for creation was achieved in a moment. Rather, Genesis 1 describes six days of God enlightening, ordering, filling, and enlivening his creation. This is day one: And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening and there was morning—the first day (Gen. 1:3-5). 1. God spoke light into existence - And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light (Gen. 1:3). Witness first the power of God: he speaks, things happen. In other words, what God wills happens. As Basil of Caesarea explained in his sermons on Genesis 1: “The divine will and the first impetus of divine intelligence are the Word of God.” What happens, happens because God wills it to happen. There is no higher will than God’s, there is no will strong enough to compete with God, and there is no realm where God is not present and where his will does not rule. This is the doctrine of God's sovereignty, and it is inherent in the word “God.” God by definition is the eternal being whose will reigns supreme and unchallenged. Thus, we call God “Lord” or “The Lord Almighty” or “King of kings and Lord of lords.” In the Greek Pantheon, each god competes with the others. Even Zeus—king of Olympus—is outwitted and manipulated and frustrated by the mischievous wills of both gods and men. Elohim is not at all like this. He rules, full stop. Note especially the power of God’s words. For Paul, this underpins the gospel mission. The gospel is God’s Word, so it is inherently powerful. Mighty Rome might find it pathetically weak, and the philosophers might find it grotesquely foolish—but even the “foolishness” of God is wiser and mightier than the power and wisdom of humanity (1 Cor. 1:18-25). And when God speaks directly to the human heart and spirit, his word is invincible (2 Cor. 4:6). 2. Light is a marvelous thing - For starters, light is very quick, moving just shy of 300,000 kilometers per second. If you drove your car to the sun at 110km/h (the speed limit) it would take you 157 years to arrive. But if you could ride a beam of light to the sun, it would take you only eight minutes and twenty seconds. I am always delighted by the thought that when I look up at the stars, not only do I see a glorious picture of the number of Abraham’s descendants, I see also the distant past, the light of far distant stars and galaxies that may have taken thousands of years to reach me. Our amazing scientists still do not wholly grasp the paradoxical nature of light. Physicists talk about “wave-particle duality,” or a “duality paradox”; for on the one hand light behaves like waves and has frequency and amplitude, but it also behaves like particles that can be amassed and focused into a laser beam that can cut through steel. The Jedi knight’s brilliant light sabre might be mythical, but the sheer awesome potential of light is not. These two distinct properties of light have not yet been harmonized. Albert Einstein said, "It seems as though we must use sometimes the one theory and sometimes the other, while at times we may use either. We are faced with a new kind of difficulty. We have two contradictory pictures of reality; separately neither of them fully explains the phenomena of light, but together they do."(The Evolution of Physics, p. 278) Light is built into the very fabric of our universe. For as Einstein (again) taught us, mass is but latent energy, and energy is unleashed mass; and the amount of energy contained in mass is represented by the elegant equation E = mc2, E standing for energy, m for mass, and c the speed of light. 3. Light is also truth and wisdom - Moses, however, is not just talking about physical light. In the Bible, light is also truth and wisdom. God delights to shine truth into the darkness of ignorance, and wisdom into the murk of foolishness. Christianity is not a philosophy, a useful way of looking at the world that will get us through. It is not a system of rituals, following a set of sacred acts to manipulate God’s favor. Nor is it essentially a system of morality: doing this and not doing that in order to win the prize of heaven. The beating heart of Genesis and the Bible and Jesus and Christianity is truth. The truth about who God is. The truth about what God has done and what he is doing. The truth about humanity. The truth about the new heaven and earth that lies ahead. The luminous truth of the Bible delivers us from ignorance, superstition, obscurity, wishful thinking, and lies. Many demur, “But how can finite humans discover the truth about God? How is this possible?” Indeed, left to ourselves, it is impossible, for our innate blind foolishness leads us down every false path. But if it is impossible for us to grope and fumble and discover the truth about God, God is entirely capable of coming to us, to shine his truth upon us. This is what makes Christianity unique. Whereas human religions grope for God, in the Bible God confronts humanity with the bright light of truth. A word here about the common term absolute truth. First, truth is one of those words which needs no adjective. There is truth and there is error; and there are no shades of grey in between. Anything less than truth is not truth. Many say that “there is no such thing as absolute truth,” yet that statement is itself a self-contradictory claim of absolute truth. These people would prefer a world where it is not possible to know the truth about God and humanity, where we are free to choose to live however we like. The religious decree, made ex cathedra from the throne of presumed self-rule—that “there is no absolute truth”—is not a noble philosophical contribution to human understanding, but the echo of the screaming toddler in the nursery, “But I want to!” 4. God saw that the light was good - Note also that light was the first thing that God made. The blackness could not long endure before God flooded it with light. God is good, so everything that he makes is good. He is incapable of mistakes, of lying, of fumbling, of misdirecting, of mismanaging, of failing, of botching. This applies to history, and this applies to you. It is a tremendous thing when a person takes up the Bible and reads it and sees the truth for the first time. Ignorance and obscurity are banished. Wrong thoughts scatter like the bugs under the old paver that you lift up in the garden. I have seen again and again that when a person comes to Jesus, ‘the Light of the World,’ they begin for the first time in their lives to question and think hard—and reason. The light is good. 5. God called the light “day” and the darkness “night.” - Parents name their children because the children are their children who are in their care. Parents will, for better or worse, determine a great deal of their children’s character and future. Indeed, names are considered to be strangely powerful predictors of personality and success. In any case, God names the light and the dark “day” and “night.” They are his, and he determines their function and future. For if the day is manifestly good, God also has a good purpose for the night: that it be a time of rest, recuperation, sleep, and peace. 6. Light can exist without the sun - Notice the extraordinary fact that day and night are at this point utterly independent of the sun and the moon. Some think Moses blundered here. “Didn’t he know that there can be no light when there is no sun!?” But Moses didn’t miss this. God’s prophet wanted us to get this: that light—and all it stands for—comes not ultimately from any created thing, but from God himself. God is the source of illumination, wisdom, knowledge, and truth. By creating light three days before he created the sun, moon, and stars, he made this crystal clear. The sun is merely God’s tool, God’s torch. We could say that in the same way the moon dimly reflects the light of the sun, the sun dimly reflects the light of God. And that is why in the new heaven and earth there will be no sun, for it will have fulfilled its purpose: “They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light” (Rev. 22:5). We can all rejoice that God is the God of light and that his Son Jesus is the Light of the World and the glorious fulfillment of Day One of Genesis. “In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it” (John 1:4-5). Let us come into the light . As I watch the unfolding of events around us and all over the world, I've noticed a pattern emerging. I see this pattern as an undercurrent reality which certainly is present in today's chaotic world. But I also see it in our history, where our past blunders and mistakes litter the historic landscape. This pattern exists in each individual lifestyle and at the national and international level as well. This pattern is no respecter of persons: It operates among the rich and the poor, the black, the white, the Latino and Asian. It is manifested in businesses, both small and great, and is present in our nation's politics. This pattern is really a truth, a universal fact that works all the time in all places and among all peoples. This pattern is not only a general truth but a biblical truth that God himself has incorporated into the very fabric of existence. God has spoken it to us in his holy word, the Bible, and ensures its operation. This pattern is the Law of Hypocrisy Unmasked. It is a part of judgment. This truth and operational principle declares and forces all secret things to eventually come to light. The question is not if things will come to the light but when? Therefore, as I watch events unfold in all over the world I know that what is done in the dark will come to light — even if the events are historical in nature, such as the Medgar Evers murder case and other civil rights injustices, the Armenian genocide, the Bosnian genocide or the mass murder of 6 million Jews by the Nazis. The truth is that whatever one seeks to hide and cover up will eventually work its way up to the light and become known. In Genesis chapter 4, God says to Cain, "Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground!" Even Abel's blood is shouting out this principle for us to understand. You cannot hide injustice. It will surface sooner than later. What is done in the dark in the countryside or in the closet will eventually come to light. Finally, one could argue that the reason for so much being unveiled today is our technology. It is the proliferation of cameras everywhere, it is our space-based satellites and other surveillance systems which give us the ability to see, search out, and find things that once remained a secret. But we need to remember and recognize that God uses us and our technology as his means to accomplish his principles and will. God has determined as he said in Luke 12:2-3, that the secrets will be uncovered, the truth will come forth, and God's thought about every behavior and action will be vindicated. What's done in the dark will come to light, and thank God he has created it to operate so! 2 Peter 3:9 - The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God. ( John 3.21 ) . Life never hands out things that you can't handle. How you approach it will determine how you come through the other side. You can assume the victim role and feel sorry for yourself, or you can reach into the essence of who you are and find your inner strength. Then demand the self worth and ability to rise up and meet your challenges heart on. You need to believe you can do this -- you are powerful, you are amazing and you are inspirational! I am sure you have heard many stories of people saying that they feel blessed to have gone through their hardship as this defines who they are today. This is not something that people just say, this is something they know. Through darkness comes light, through fear comes love and through pain comes triumph. This is the triumph of the human spirit; it is not in a select few, it is in every one of us. Your struggles and hardships are your gifts so that you can reach deep down inside of yourself and discover your inner power and the glory of who you are. Use them to share your message of hope and love with the world. The world needs your voice, your message and your experiences so that they can resonate in the hearts of others and give hope and courage to show that it is possible to overcome anything. Let us share our gifts with each other as we will be far richer for the experience , because we are light of this world .

9pgxfe

Root Beer and Memories

“Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:18-19 At times like this when I am alone, just me and my thoughts, with nothing to really focus on, and I can slow down, I like to think back, to ponder and to think about where I have been. Yes I remember what Isaiah 43:18-43:9 tell me, I do not consider it hypocritical though, because the people who this verse was written for when they look back, they remember glory days and exciting times, they give a dissatisfied groan, wishing for what once was that is what God warned about when He spoke those words. Me? I remember the past, and where I am now, and when I think about where I am and where I was. It amazes me. As I look down at the plastic, cold bottle in my hand I twist the cap, a fizzing sound comes out as I remove the cap, take a drink, and let my mind go back to the beginning of this journey. "I resign from my position, effective immediately" I remember those words, I wrote them myself, I guess technically e-mailed them. How long ago was it, 7 years, 8 years ago? Might even be more than that. To be honest, I guess it doesn't matter, seeing as how it seems like a lifetime ago now. My how things have changed. And now, here I am in the twilight hours of the day sitting on a hotel room's balcony, a root beer in my hand and soft autumn breeze blowing through what is left of my buzzed hair wondering how I went from somebody who seemed to be stuck in a dead end, go nowhere job to sitting here, within sight of an arena that you can just barely hear the buzz of the LED sign when it changes and this is only if you are truly focusing on hearing it. But the biggest part of the wondering is not that I am in the hotel, or the arena, or the sign but it is the fact that one of these pictures of upcoming events on that sign looks very familiar, granted it has a large SOLD OUT across it in red, but it looks familiar. As it should. Because it is me. Angelo McMaster, at least that is what the world knows me as. I started to do preaching over the internet during that worldwide mess. For a laugh I even put some of the stuff together in a book and self published it on one of those selling sites as an EBook, I thought it would be cool if something happened and even half joked of becoming the next Billy Graham. I never thought it would actually happen. And yet, here we are, like the bubbles that rise from the bottom of this root beer bottle to the top of it, I too rose. One book became two, two became three and so on. One person in a magazine during an interview even told me forget being the next Billy Graham, Billy Graham was the previous Angelo McMaster. I rebutted that statement, I'm still nowhere near that bar, or at least I don't think I am. Try to say humble after all. I'd like to say I got everything I wanted, but I can't. I may have the book deals that many others long for, the speaking deals that sell out arenas and enough interviews that it seems like I am never off the TV or airwaves, but I have lost much on this journey. Not to mention, some things that before this happened I I was striving for may never be achieved. To give you an example, It is only me in this hotel room, no wife, no kids, and not because they are home waiting for my return but because the only place they exist are in my Sims game. Since I have been writing the books, and preaching and the tours I had to leave my home town. A woman and I, Linda, were getting close when all this started, a big part of me thought she would make a good girlfriend, even a good wife. But then this life began, I haven't seen her in a while, some nights I still think about her and pray for her. Did she find a good man to treat her well? Did she get married? Did she live the life she said she wanted? Or is she back there, still living the life she had when I left to chase down this goal, this dream of mine? One day I should go back and see her, catch up with her, I have talked with her on FaceBook, but it's not the same. I pause in my thoughts to take another mouthful of my Root Beer.  On top of that, I have lost some friends along the way, some due to difference of direction, many of them still back in my hometown, all of them back there actually. Some of them I lost due to time spent doing the things I felt had to be done in order to to get here. Some because as I went down this path, metaphorically and literally, I discovered they were toxic false friends some of which were waiting for my ship to come in so they too could cash in, others who tried to hold me down. I remember one of them, Dan. Dan was a great guy for the most part, he was a little anti-social, and a little weird, but then again who isn't a little weird in this world of ours, we would chill out, watch my streaming network, play video games and so on, but we would get in to fights and then we wouldn't speak to each other for a while, sometimes months, he always had this dream, that he kept saying he would like to do, but then he would quickly add how he would fail so he never would try. One time I told him in one of our conversations that "“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.” but he would always come up with some weak reason why it did count and why he could never be more than he was. That was sort of the direction change that sort of sent our friendship downhill. But there is truth in that statement that I had told him those many years ago. .  People tend to add if/then statements to being happy, but at the end of the day, happiness is a choice. And I am happy, exhausted, but happy.  If I had accepted defeat, if I had stayed in that job I wouldn't be here. And here is an amazing place to be.

ahg092

Pumpernickel Mouse

Pumpernickel Mouse had eleven brothers and sisters, who worked day and night to fill the bellies of Mouse Town with sweet, juicy fruit pies. Each morning they filled the shelves and display cases of their little pie shop. Each evening the mice floured and rolled and basted and baked until the shop was filled with the smells of caramelized peaches and buttery crusts. Pumpernickel Mouse wasn’t allowed to flour, or roll, or baste, or bake. He wasn’t allowed to measure. He wasn’t allowed to stir. In fact, it was preferred that he didn’t go in the kitchen at all. Instead, he took out the trash. He scrubbed the dishes. He gathered hickory logs for the oven. Most importantly, he stayed out of the kitchen. Pumpernickel did the small, ugly tasks nobody else wanted to do. He didn’t want to do them either, but more than anything he wanted to feel useful. Pumpernickel had one thing his siblings didn’t, which was his name. He was named after his grandfather. He was proud of his name because a long time ago, Grandfather Pumpernickel opened a pie shop in a burrow under an apple tree. The mice of the town hurried through that round yellow door each day for a freshly baked slice of pie, and it had been that way ever since. Sometimes the story went that it was a gooseberry pie, or maybe it was a cherry? Sometimes the story even said that the mice baked things besides fruit pies. But nobody could remember, because it was a long time ago. Unfortunately, the only thing Pumpernickel Mouse inherited from his grandfather was his name. He could not bake pies. When he tried, the filling would curdle or the crust would burn. He would put salt instead of sugar, or hot peppers instead of cinnamon. So Pumpernickel kept to the shadows while his brothers and sisters floured and rolled and basted and baked, and he hoped one day he could make something too. In the spring, the mice went to town and returned with baskets filled with cherries, blackberries, and lemons. In the fall, they chopped sour apples and stalks of rhubarb. And when the snow began to fall, the mice would pull cans of fruit preserves from their storeroom. Pumpernickel watched the bustling lobby from the window of his wash room. As he scrubbed dishes, he was grateful for the warmth and laughter that filled the burrow. To him, the cacophony of voices was what made the pie shop feel like home. One day in Deep Winter, the mice huddled by the oven for warmth and waited for the bell to jingle. But when the customers came, bundled in heavy cloaks and mittens, they frowned. “We are tired of fruit pies,” they said. “Haven’t you anything else?” But the fruit pies were all the mice had, so the customers left. The mice looked at one another. There was a great pause. Then, they grinned. “A break!” they cried in relief. They locked the front door and turned off the oven. “Wanna play cards?” “Let’s build a snowman!” “Can I just take a nap?” Pumpernickel didn’t want to do any of those things. He wished that the pie shop would open again, and that the customers would return. As it was, the burrow felt sad and empty. He began to think to himself. He thought and thought, scratching his fuzzy chin. He wondered, “What if we didn’t sell fruit pies? What if we sold something else ?” Pumpernickel decided to go to town. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but imagined returning home with arms full, his brothers and sisters praising him. “Why didn’t we think of this?” they would exclaim. “You’re a genius, Pumpernickel! This will change everything. Quick, get it in the oven! Tell everyone in town! Oh, thank you Pumpernickel!” When he arrived, he found the snow-dusted cart of a traveling salesman sitting in the square. “Excuse me,” Pumpernickel squeaked to the salesman. “My family owns a pie shop. Do you have anything interesting?” “Take a look,” the salesman said. Pumpernickel sifted through jars of apricots and pouches of dried persimmons. He dug through a spice drawer that smelled of freshly crushed cloves. He was nearly ready to give up when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was buried under a box of silver flatware, some tools, and a stack of Mice Almanac. His breath catching, Pumpernickel removed the items and looked down at his prize. A GUIDE TO COCOA, the title of the book said. Well, if you wanted to call it a book. The pamphlet was thin, maybe only thirty pages in length. It was faded, limp from the cold, and had been doodled on with coloring wax. An illustration on the front cover showed a group of people laughing, each holding a cup with a squiggle of steam drawn above it. Pumpernickel stared at the image. Cocoa. He had never heard of such a thing, but it seemed wonderful. He imagined the pie shop filled again, customers chatting amongst themselves with merry hearts. “Ah, hot cocoa!” the salesman interrupted his thoughts, tapping the image. “What a perfect treat for a cold winter’s day. You make that, and your pie shop will be the talk of the town!” Pumpernickel was sold. He paid the salesman, and along with the pamphlet bought something called cocoa powder , which the salesman said was necessary. Pumpernickel dreamed of hot cocoa as he hurried home. He pictured himself sitting on the pie counter, pouring from a wooden ladle. “We’re sorry for ever doubting you,” his brothers and sisters would say. “You’re the cleverest baker of all!” When he returned to the burrow, it was quiet. Pumpernickel knocked the snow off his hat, set his coat on the hook, and peeked into the kitchen. It was empty. He pulled a stool up to the counter, washed his hands, and then carefully placed the pamphlet in front of him. A GUIDE TO COCOA. He opened the book and flipped to the page. The page number was easy to remember because it was page nine, and he was almost nine years old. After finding it, he beamed. This was it! Hot cocoa! The one that would change everything! But as he looked down at the recipe, a shiver went up his spine. They were the most complicated instructions he had ever seen. Pumpernickel stared and stared at the page, but the more he looked at it the less sense it made. He turned the book sideways and crossed his eyes, but nothing he did made the words clear to him. He was stuck. Hot tears formed in Pumpernickel’s eyes. What was he playing at? He didn’t know what he was doing. If he couldn’t make something as simple as a pie, why should he think he could make something completely new? Pumpernickel stepped down from the stool and crumpled the pamphlet into a jagged ball. Just as he was thinking about throwing into the fire, his brothers and sisters returned to the burrow. “We were skiing!” the mice exclaimed, cheeks red from the cold. “We wanted to invite you, but you weren’t here. Where did you go?” “I went to town,” Pumpernickel said, looking down at his shoes. “I found a new recipe, but I can’t read it. I’m useless.” Pumpernickel tugged the pamphlet apart until it was mostly flat again, and showed it to his brothers and sisters. They gasped. “Don’t you know what this is?” they asked. “It’s a recipe book,” he replied. “It’s not just any recipe book,” they said. When he looked up, he could see they were smiling at him. “Look at the name. It's a Pumpernickel Mouse . You’ve found Grandfather’s lost recipes!” They pointed to the front cover. There it was, in small letters he hadn’t noticed before: BY PUMPERNICKEL MOUSE “You’re not useless,” his brothers and sisters said. “And, we’re sorry for treating you poorly. You might not be a good cook, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve done something even better! Now we can make all of the recipes in this book, and it will be because of you!” The mice poured in around Pumpernickel, hugging and congratulating him. They clapped his back and placed a large white hat on his head. Then, they got to work. They whisked and measured, and not long after they had successfully made hot cocoa. They topped their steaming cups with freshly-cut marshmallows and sweet whipped cream, and when the mice had tasted their creation, they cheered again. Outside of the pie shop a banner was hung which said: HOT COCOA by PUMPERNICKEL. Meanwhile, the mice studied the pamphlet and wrote a new menu based on all the recipes they found: chocolate cake, chocolate fudge, chocolate ice cream, chocolate pudding, and even chocolate pie. The burrow was soon full again. As before, the mice floured and rolled and basted and baked. The front bell jingled and customers shared stories by the fire as they waited for the ground to thaw. Sure, a fruit pie was occasionally sold. But the most popular treat was the one called hot cocoa, which Pumpernickel was even allowed to stir. 

ybz3ct

Well Done

She looked back. Nothing could be changed now. She couldn’t return. The road ahead was winding and long, straight and narrow. The voice in her head said it would be okay, but she didn’t know how to trust it, or if she even could. Sophia looked up. The sun was bright and shining. She began to get a little anxious, and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the fear creeping in the back of her throat. Yet, somehow, she stood tall, the fear departing and confidence overtaking her. She took hold of the straps of her heavy bag full of the supplies for her journey, and began. Sophia had never traveled outside of the house. There was no way that she could do it without the voice in her head. The voice that had told her to leave in the first place. At first, she just thought that it was her own doubts, but the voice kept saying to go, to leave everything behind. “You will die here,” it said,” you must leave home. I will lead you. Now go. I will lead you to the Land that I have promised to those who love Me. Trust Me” it had spoken. “The Land?” Sophia had questioned,”what Land? Why only I? Why not my sisters or brothers? Can’t they come with me?” Sophia’s trust for the voice did not get better, for she had many older brothers and sisters. “Trust Me.” the voice repeated. So Sophia left. She left everything, save a couple of essentials; food, extra clothes, as well as some of her favourite things. The bag was heavy and would often distract from the journey. In order to stay on the road, she would need to focus completely. Yet, the items seemed to speak to her, leading her astray. The voice became less clear and she couldn’t hear it when she wandered too much off the path. Usually, she would fall into the other voices that would overtake her, and the voice she had listened to in the first place became very blurry and hazy. A lot of the time, however, when Sophia did come to a place where an evil voice was trying to trap her in going against the voice and what it said, a knight in shining armor would jump in front and protect her. “The Lord of the Land of Promise has sent me to protect you, no matter what.” he had said,” You are one of His set-apart ones. Whenever you are in danger, I will protect you.” Sophia would thank the knight whenever he would protect or save her, yet every single time he would say,”My strength comes from the Lord. Thank Him, not me.” After a long time of constantly falling off the path, Sophia decided that she would have to leave her bag behind too. “It’s just..too much. I can’t carry it anymore.” After she finally dropped her bag, she felt more free and light than she had since she had left home. The voice said,”You have finally gotten rid of those things that you used to hang so tight to. You shall now be able to travel much easier. I will protect you, so keep going. I am with you always” Sophia smiled knowing that the Lord cared for so dearly. She looked straight ahead and pressed forward. Soon as she began to turn the corner, another voice began to talk, one she recognized, for it sounded exactly like her own. Although, after hearing the gentle, kind, and loving voice of the Lord compared to the harsh, unloving, and angry voice that sounded much like her own, except different, she knew it was not a voice from the Lord. You know that you won’t make it. It said, you’re not strong enough. You’re disappointing the Lord. He won’t want you anymore. You might as well go away and never come back. Sophia would cover her ears and stop walking. She told it to stop,”Stop..stop..stop..shut up! Shut up!” Then the knight would appear and begin fighting an invisible enemy. His sword would thrash and block, strike and swipe. Finally, with one final kick, holding the enemy down, he would stab his sword into the ground and get up, panting and sweating. After the battle was won, he would look at Sophia , a smile on his face. He also hadn’t hesitated to remind her that soon, when Sophia got her armor, she would be able to fight the enemies too. She would also be able to see them, since, as she was beginning her piglarmidge, she was not strong enough to see the enemies or even be aware they were there at all. One time, after he had reminded her, an unprecedented fear lodged itself in Sophia’s throat. Sophia gulped. The thought of fighting all by herself was terrifying. It had been hard enough to resist the voices that told her to stray off the path or go back home, nevermind fighting for herself. “I ..don’t think so. I can’t fight, I’m too weak. Besides, if you are fighting for me, why do I need to fight?” The soldier looked at her. He held her gaze for a moment before looking ahead at the road. Sophia followed his eyes.”Sophia, there will come a day when you will fight alongside the Lord. I will still be here, but you will not notice me.” Sophia clenched her fists and tried to drive the fear out of her mind. The little strength she had she used up when she replied, “Okay.” They continued down the path, Sophia earnestly dreading the day that she would need to pick up a sword. Finally, after many days and nights, the two came to a house. The house’s entrance was open, revealing a room in which Sophia could catch something shining inside. “Here it is,” the soldier said,”Your armor was laid out in advance. Are you ready to put it on?” Sophia stood up taller.”Ready as I’ll be, I suppose.” The soldier led her to the house, which looked very old, yet the windows and steps were clean and looked as if they had never been used, as if someone came every day to clean up. Sophia followed the soldier inside where a suit of armor was laid out on a fine wooden table. He picked up the blade and handed it to Sophia. “This is..mine?” she asked. The anxiety she had had before about fighting crept a bit higher. “Yes. All yours. The Lord has provided everything we need. Although, now you will not be able to see me anymore.” Sophia looked up at him, then looked at her sword again.”I see.” He gave her a reassuring look. Sophia looked at her armor as he explained what each piece was and why it was essential. “The boots are for the peace that the Lord gives His servants. You will have the peace of the Lord with you all day and night as long as you wear the boots. Here is the helmet of salvation. It is the confidence that you will make it to the Land of Promise.This is the breastplate of righteousness. You wear this to protect your heart from the lies of the outside of the path.” “How about the sword?” Sophia asked. “Ah! The sword! This is the Word of the Lord. His Words are built upon the things that He says to you. You’ve heard Him say before,’Do not be afraid. I will help you.’ That is in His Word. You fight with it. You may recite it, and the blade becomes more sharp and powerful. You see, He is in this sword. That’s why it’s one of the most powerful of the armor pieces” “Wow.. that’s epic. So, what about the belt? Or that shield over there?” “The belt is for the truth of the Message of the resurrection. That is that the Lord took on all crookedness on Himself and died and rose again. After He rose again, all evil was defeated. He made a way for His His travelers to travel to His Land through the creation of this road.” “And the shield?” Sophia asked eagerly, holding up the shield and pretending to block an attack. “The shield is the most important of all of them. You see, the enemy’s minions will try to attack you, but nothing can ever get through this shield, unless you let it. But you must guard yourself. He will train you to fight the battles, but you must learn to truly listen to His voice.” Sophia began to put on the boots, then the helmet, then the breastplate, then lastly the belt. It all felt heavy, and Sophia wondered how she was expected to carry all of it around on her. “So..I’m supposed to carry all of this around with me? On me?” she began to get worried that she wasn’t fit to travel to the Land of Promise and that maybe she should have turned back a long time ago. “Haha, you get used to it after a while. It’s meant to protect you.” Sophia didn’t want to wear the armor. She felt weak in it, not stronger. Exposed, not protected. However, after a bit, she became used to the armor. She would take up her sword and shield and began to fight the battles, the voice guiding her every step of the way. Sophia began to trust the voice and let it guide her through everyday trials such as temptation and getting into situations that she couldn’t get herself out of alone. One day, she came across a battlefield. It wasn’t pretty. There were many bodies lying on the ground, lifeless and unmoving . She stumbled backward a bit due to the surprise of having stumbled upon this field, but caught herself in time. Her eyes caught a monster in the center of the corpses, looking straight at her. Her heart skipped a beat and beads of sweat began to form on her brow. Then, in the most hideous, deep and terrifying voice that Sophia has ever heard it said,”Come down and fight me.” Sophia pulled her sword out of her belt but her hands were shaking too much to have a good grip on it. “Go on. I will help you.” Sohia heard the Lord’s voice so clearly that she could have sworn that He would be inside of her head. Sophia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, refocusing on the upcoming battle. Her hands stopped shaking and she composed herself quite a bit. “Accepted.” she replied to the beast. Sophia lunged forward onto the battlefield, which was an area surrounded with a steep ledge of rock. She slid and when she got to the bottom, walked right up to the beast, not a hint of fear in her eyes. “Hey, those same eyes. All of them had them, but they all dead now.” The beast spoke. Sophia turned around and walked a fair distance away, then turned back around and made eye contact with the monster once more.”That will be one of the last things you say, I’m afraid.” The beast laughed a sick, twisted laugh that seemed to shake the ground. Sophia let a bint of fear slip out but she was able to gather courage once more. The beast simply walked around the battlefield and went on to begin to curse the Lord and nothing but lies came out from his mouth. Sophia said a quick prayer before beginning the battle.”Stop wasting time. My Lord is mighty and powerful, and He’s about to show you how powerful.” The beast stopped and looked at her, an eagerness in his eyes.”Alright then. I’ll go first.” The beast lunged at her so fast that Sophia could hardly react in time to place her shield in front and block the attack, which pushed her back and she toppled onto the ground. The beast found a blind spot and hit Sophia in the arm. She heard a crack and felt a sharp pain in her arm that pounded harder each time. She stumbled back, but continued to hold her shield up. The battle continued, even with Sophia’s arm. Although she couldn’t attack, she was holding her own against the beast and blocking every attack with only one arm. Then, out of nowhere, the soldier stepped in front of her and blocked one of the attacks, then striked and managed to cut the beast’s face. It held its face and stumbled backward, crying out. “Are you okay?” he asked hastily. “Your arm is broken.” Sophia looked at her swollen arm.”I’m fine. I’ve broken bones before in battle. I’m used to it.” “Haha! You sure have gotten stronger since the last time I saw you. What was that? A year? Two?” “I think about three.” Sophia replied,”And also watch out. That thing’s about to strike again.” “I know, I’m being careful.” he suddenly whipped out his shield and blocked an uncoordinated punch from the goliath beast. “You’ll...pay.” it said. The soldier tossed Sophia a bottle with a blue liquid in it. She screwed the cap off and gulped the contents down.”Ugh, it’s worse than last time.” she looked at her arm as the swelling went down and the pain disappeared. “Wow, that was fast.” the soldier said to Sophia, blocking an attack with the shield just in time.”Who brought you bottles of healing anyways?” “I found them on the road sometimes and somehow knew what they were for. Enough talk. We need to fight this beast together.” “I need to go, Sophia. I was only meant to come until your arm was better.” “Oh. Alright then.” She came in with her sword and lunged it into the beast while saying a quick passage.”God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved; God shall help her.” Sophia managed to strike the beast. It shrieked in pain and landed on its knees. Just as Sophia was about to strike the final blow, the beast swept its arm hard at Sophia’s leg, knocking her to the ground. She fell hard as the beast took her by the legs and swept her into the air, then plunged both fists into her back. Sophia smashed into the ground and lost consciousness. “Hello? Are you awake?” A man’s voice asked. Sophia slowly opened her eyes. There was a bright light. She sat up quickly and tried to look at the light, but it seemed to blind her. “Who.. is that?” she asked herself. A hand full of scars reached out, clearly wanting her to take it. Sophia did and it pulled her up. The light was still bright, and seemed to come from the man’s face. “You were knocked out cold, but I carried you away and fought the battle for you.” His voice also sounded like the flow of a dozen rivers. “Oh..I see.” Sophia knew deep in her spirit Who this Man was. She could feel the holiness coming from His very presence.”So..bright. Who are You?” He looked at her, but she could not see His face, for it was shining like the sun, maybe brighter. “You can call Me Lord.” Sophia felt her breath stop and her jaw dropped a little bit. She couldn’t move, couldn’t comprehend the love in the presence of the Lord. She thought that she had felt holiness before, but she had not. “Come. I must lead you to the Land of Promise. You are very close.” Sophia stood for a moment, too shocked to speak. Along the way, she had heard of people travelling for nearly 60 years. She had expected this, but did not expect to come so quickly after only ten years. “Already?” “Yes.” was all He said. He held out His left hand for her to grab. “But..I don’t feel worthy. I haven’t been very faithful.” “That is not for you to decide, beloved.” He said. Sophia looked up once more to see that His face was no longer shining, and she could look straight into His eyes. They were brown, almost hazel. His hair was a dark chocolate brown as well. His skin was tanned and He wore a white robe and a golden crown sat atop His head. His face was set in a sweet smile and His eyes seemed to almost pierce any darkness hiding itself inside of Sophia. “Okay.” She walked up to Him, joy overflowing like a glass full of water inside of her and a love so unexplainable seeming to cover every inch of her being. She grabbed His hand and instantly felt comfort and peace within her. “Let’s go.” The Lord led her to a clearing with a path. On both sides it was covered with flowers, the most beautiful that Sophia had ever beheld. She almost wanted to stop to sniff them. The two kept walking until Sophia suddenly stopped and remembered the soldier.”Lord, what about the soldier? Did we leave him alone back there?” The Lord looked at her kindly and patiently,”He is in the Land of Promise.” Sophia felt relief and peace once again and nodded. The Lord led her to the door which was made out of beautiful pearls and the walls surrounding it were covered with beautiful jewels and rubies. Sophia could feel more holiness inside of the walls. It seemed to come through the cracks of the door. The Lord spoke the word “open” and the door opened on command. Then, He looked at Sophia and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant. You’re finally truly home.” Sophia’s armor plummeted off as the holiness filled her and she was freed from every ounce of burden. She had finally heard Him say,”well done.”

ukial5

Man In White

It was a bomb. Not a particularly big one, but one big enough to shatter a window. The war had been going on for a couple of years. People had to move every few days because of bombs destroying their new place of shelter. Even if it wasn’t a house, eventually, they knew, it would be destroyed. Charity’s family had thought they would have been able to survive underground with the millions of others taking refuge. In the year of 2089, the war hit. There were people who had predicted this and gone underground. By the time the bombs came, there was almost an entire country under there. There were churches, hospitals, and even an old folks home. Since it was underground, it was cooler, and people didn’t exactly need any fridges or even freezers. But one bomb escaped. It was Sunday night. Charity and her family had just come home from church. It was a bright day. Very hot and humid, not exactly a normal temperature for late September. No one noticed. No one saw. No one could have, because it was over in an instant. As Charity began to get ready to go to bed, she decided that she wanted to play with her toys a little bit more, since no one was actually telling her to put them away. She pulled out her doll out of the toy box and headed over to the box which held her plastic tea set. She grabbed the box and opened it up. Suddenly, Charity heard a faint whistle, like she had heard her dad make when he would imitate something falling. Except it felt like it was coming from outside. Not a second later, the glass shattered in her face and she was thrown across the room. The entire window was gone in an instant. Her mom screamed and ran to Charity’s side. Charity’s mom began to scream for her dad, who came rushing in. Charity’s face was burnt and cut, and glass was embedded into her skull. Her dog was barking and kept trying to lick Charity’s face, but her parents kicked him away as they ran to the door. They rushed to emergency care, but they’re old vehicle did not go as fast as they needed it to. They prayed out loud and tried to wake Charity up, but she would not respond. She was alive though, and that’s all that mattered at the moment. Her dad carried Charity through the doors, and they were greeted by nurses and doctors who took one look at her and grabbed Charity out of her dad’s arms. Her mom and dad followed the nurses, who then took Charity to an operation room. The two then were told they could not come any further. After about 5 hours, Charity’s mom and dad were called. They were informed that Charity’s skull had been cracked open, but that they had used staples to get it back together, and that she would be okay. There had been no signs of any other trauma, but that her face would have scars that would never quite go away. As Charity’s parents made their way to her room. Charity began to stir awake. She laid there, not being able to move, but remembered the pain. She could feel the burns and cut on her skin, and could see that her arms and legs had been wrapped up. She felt uncomfortable and itchy, and a shock of pain traveled through her body whenever she attempted to move. A nurse peaked her head in and made eye contact with Charity, then looked like she was saying something while her face lit up. Charity was confused, because when she spoke, Charity heard nothing. The nurse looked confused for a moment, then her face changed to concern. She grabbed a piece of paper and began to scribble something. She then held up a piece of paper that read,”Can you understand me?” Charity shook her head, a tear welling up in her eye, “I..can’t..hear ..you.” The nurse left the room in a hurry, then came back a moment later with a doctor. The doctor checked her ears with a strange tool that tickled her ear. He then looked at the nurse, and nodded. She then left. A couple moments later her parents ran into the room, her mom grabbing her face and examining her. They kept asking her questions, but Charity could not hear them, and she could not hear her mother’s voice breaking as she blamed herself and cursed herself for leaving her alone in the room. The doctor told them that because of the severity of the impact, Charity’s eardrums popped, and she could not hear anymore. Her mother dropped on the floor and held her face against the blankets, grabbing them until her knuckles turned white. Charity looked at her mom with tears in her eyes. She slowly reached out her hand toward her and put her hand on her cheek. “Mommy..don’t..cry..” Her mom grabbed her hand, letting it comfort her slightly before getting up and leaving the room. Her dad ran after her. A few weeks later, Charity was allowed to leave the hospital. She had made a full recovery and her head had healed nicely. Charity had begun to learn sign language in the hospital, which really helped her to communicate better with her family. When they came home, Charity was swarmed all over by their dog, Prank, who licked her all over her scars and she played with him until she was so tired she couldn’t open her eyes anymore. As her parents tucked her to bed, with her dog sleeping silently beside her, her mom picked up a book from the bookshelf and sat down in her rocking chair. Just as she was about to read, Charity saw her and reminded her in sign language,”I can’t hear you read.” Her mom felt dumb, but Charity quickly signed,” Don’t cry.” Her mom smiled and got up to give her one last goodnight kiss on the forehead before leaving. She left the door open a crack as she left the room. Charity lay there for a bit. She began to think about why she was the one who was injured. Why her? Why not someone else? Why only one bomb? Now she couldn’t listen to mom’s stories anymore. Now she couldn’t listen to singing, music, the dialogue on TV, or conversations. She began to get angry and started to cry bitter tears of mourning. “Why..why..why” she repeated over and over again until she knew that it didn’t even sound like she was saying why anymore. She had forgotten the sound of her own voice. “Don’t cry, now.” Charity heard a voice on the other side of the room. She felt frightened but couldn’t scream. “Don’t be frightened.” The man came closer and knelt beside her bed.”I am your friend.” “Why can I hear you? Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?” The man shook His head,”No, you are not dreaming. I’m sure you’re wondering what is going on. I can assure you, you are safe.” His voice felt soft and full of love, like He knew who she was,”I can..hear my voice.” “Yes. You were beginning to forget the sound of your own voice. You’re going to be okay.” Charity squinted but couldn’t see the man’s face, for the light was against Him. “Would you like it if I read you a story?” Charity’s eyes lit up.”Really? Are you sure? I mean, my mom was about to but..” “But you could not hear.” Charity began to tear up again. The man grabbed her hand,”Do not cry. I just want to read to you. I didn't mean to make you sad.” “No.. I’m okay.” she wiped the tears away with both her hands.”Please read me a story.” She could not tell from the darkness, but the Man seemed to smile. He got up and picked out a book seemingly at random and sat down in the rocking chair that her mom always used to sit in to read stories. Charity enjoyed every moment that the Man read. Every voice he did for the characters was unique and seemed to fit the character perfectly. He seemed to enjoy it too, and, before she knew it, the story was over and the Man had gotten up to put the book away. As He tucked Charity back into bed, Charity thought about how strange this Man was for coming into her room in the middle of the night and reading her stories. “Are You coming back tomorrow?” Charity asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice. The Man knelt down beside her, hands in His lap.”I will be here, but not like this. You will not be able to see Me or hear Me like you did today. You may even have doubts. But I want you to know that I will never leave any of My children alone.” Charity looked up at Him, sad but somehow understanding everything that He was saying. “Okay. I will know that You are here.” The Man stood up and sat in the rocking chair. He began to sing the sweetest, most beautiful tune that Charity had ever heard. She fell asleep in a couple of minutes to the song. In the morning, she wiped her eyes. She realized that they were wet. She had cried in her sleep. “How strange..” she said,”I wonder who that Man was..” Charity heard steps coming up the stairs. Her mom came into the room and signed for her to begin to get ready and that her breakfast was getting cold. Charity signed “okay” back and began to change. As she was brushing her hair, she realized just then that she could hear the brush going through her hair. She could hear the birds outside her window. “Mom! Mom! I can hear!” she screamed and ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over the stairs and being caught in her mom’s arms at the bottom of the stairs. Her mom kept questioning but Charity could hardly talk she was so happy.They both sobbed until they felt they had run out of tears. Charity’s father was at work so he couldn’t participate in the celebration until later on. “It was the Man! The Man healed me!” Her mom loosened her grip and looked at her daughter curiously.”The Man? What man? Was there a man in your room last night? Why didn’t you tell us? He could have-” “But mom He was a nice Man! He read me stories and sang me to sleep. He didn’t do anything mean and then I woke up later and my hearing is back!” Her mom was immediately extremely skeptical. She had the men next door check Charity’s room and check for any sign of breakin. None were found, which baffled Charity’s mom all the more. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming, honey?” her mom asked, knowing full well that Charity’s ears never could have healed overnight, or at all. “No, mom. It was clear as you are standing here right now.” Her mom still was worried and decided it must have been a ghost or a spirit. But then how did her daughter's ears become healed? She was so puzzled and couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. When Charity’s father came home, the celebration began again. More hugging, kissing, and tears than before. That evening, as she took out the family Bible, Charity took it from her hands and turned to a story in Mark where Jesus had healed a deaf man. Charity gave back the Bible and sat down beside her mom. “Read it, mom.” Her mom began at the beginning of the chapter, but Charity pointed to near the end of the chapter and said,”Read here.” She looked curiously at her daughter,”Alright, I’ll start there.” She cleared her throat and began.” And again, departing from the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, he came unto the sea of Galilee, through the midst of the coasts of Decopolis, and they bringing unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his head upon him. And he took him inside the multitude, and put his fingers in his ears, and spit, and touched his tongue; and looked up into heaven, he signed, and said unto him,”Ephphatha”, that is,”Be opened.” And straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue loosed, and he spake plain.” Charity then put her hand on her mom’s and looked up at her,”That’s what happened to me. The doctors said that my eardrums were better, right? Jesus came to my room and healed me.” For a second Charity’s mom promised that she saw a flash in the corner of her eye of a Man dressed in white.

w6y493

One Good Memory

On September 11,2001,it was a sunny,cloudless morning in the East Village neighborhood of Manhattan and Callie,who had just started 9th grade,arrived at the East Side Community School. She went up the stairs and met her friend Katie and continued on to their English class together. As she went down the crowded hall, her anticipation grew with every step she took toward room 209 at the end of the hall. She always enjoyed school,never wanting to miss a day,always asking questions about the world around her and was very smart for her age of 14.     Then the final bell went off down the hallways,loud and strong. Then the teacher named Mrs.Williams stood up to address the class. “Good morning everyone,let us get out your workbooks and turn to Lesson 2- Clauses and Sentences.”and quietly sat back down in her chair behind her desk,then asking a boy at back of the room,named Daniel to come to the whiteboard and write a “complete sentence” from his workbook,underlining the two main parts of the sentence. He frowned at the teacher,while walking up to the board,having a look of unwillingness and anger that everyone in the classroom could see. He grabbed a marker from the tray and wrote “I played my Playstation on Monday.”and was wondering why she had to pick him at all,as he sat back down.  Mrs.Williams said “Thank you Daniel. Now who can tell me what every complete sentence needs?” A few hands raised,then she looked at Callie and chose her to answer the question. “The two main parts of a complete sentence are the subject and the verb.” replied Callie, feeling a sense of gratification for her response,as the teacher gave her a thumbs up. Mrs.Williams continued on with the lesson,making sure all the students were focused and ready to listen,before she went on with the spoken part of the lesson. She defined the word “clauses”as an “expression including a subject and a predicate,but is not always a complete sentence. Then asked the class what are the types of clauses?” Katie and Callie were the only ones of the class that knew what the answer to the question was. Their hands raised together and Mrs.Williams chose Katie to come up and write the names of the parts on the board. Then she popped up from her seat with a feeling of joy to do the work and put her answer of “Independant and Dependant”on the board,then Mrs.Williams asked if she could define them for her,but she shrugged and said “Sorry Mrs.Williams,I’m sure about that,but my answer of the types is right.” Mrs.Williams nodded her head and told Katie that she could sit back down. As she returned to her desk,Daniel called her a “show-off”and scowled at her as some of the other kids laughed. Daniel’s rude comment didn’t seem to phase her like he wanted it to because Katie was a very competitive child since she is on the school’s soccer team and knew how to keep her emotions in check when it came to playing a game or school work. Mrs.Williams went on by defining the two types as “the part of a sentence that could stand alone as a complete sentence or the opposite:they cannot be complete a complete sentence.” Everyone was staring at the clock.just waiting to get out with the ending of the class,when at 8:46 am all of the students and staff in the entire school heard a sound that they would remember for the rest of their lives. It sounded like a bomb had gone off to them. Then Mrs.Williams took the remote from her desk and switched the T.V. on. She went through the many channels, arriving on CNN. Everyone was glued to the T.V. screen as they showed the image of the Twin Towers with the North Tower smoldering,then they were reading the caption at the bottom of the screen. It was saying that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Callie screamed “Oh God! My mom works in that building!” All the students were shocked at the event,not knowing what to do,wondering if it was an accident or something else entirely. Callie began to cry,still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened,feeling terrified about her mom. The other students in the room came over to console her. Her friend Katie hugged her,while telling her to not worry and that her mom would be alright. The other students surrounded her,all feeling sorry for her,stood in silence,while fighting back tears of their own. It made her calm down a little,seeing how much they all cared about her, but she had mixed emotions,mainly of unrest and pain about her mother,still unsure if she was alright. Mrs.Williams asked Callie if she wanted to go to the restroom to clean up a bit. She walked slowly towards the restroom,hearing the sirens outside of the different emergency vehicles going by. She went in and wiped her face off,then entered a stall and started sobbing more,feeling powerless trying to contact her mom,but had no luck. Then at 9:03 am,Callie heard another noise much like the first one and thought it had happened again. She bolted back to the classroom to collect her things,while everyone else was flooding the hallways,rushing to the exits. Cars were parking around the building with upset parents waiting to pick up their children. Tensions were rising with every passing minute,Callie felt worse,knowing her mom didn’t have a car,just a bus pass,so she couldn’t pick her up from school. Then she met Katie outside and Katie’s mom pulled up and asked her if she needed a ride home. She said in a low,timid voice “That would be great.”then they got in the car together as Callie smiled. A short time later,Callie arrived at her apartment building,not saying a word on the trip,then trudged up the stairs and opened the door and crashed on the couch,next to grandma, who looked after the baby in the day time when Callie’s mom worked. The baby was sleeping in grandma’s arms with the T.V. muted,but was on a channel with the news on following the recent events. Then at 10:00 am Callie and her grandma were horrified as had just witnessed the South Tower collapsing. Callie was thinking about all the things that were happening in a relevently short time,if she would see her mother again,what would happen if her mom were to die and what would become of her,grandma and baby brother,Nathan. All these thoughts crossed her mind,troubling her immensely.   Callie asked grandma “Can this day get any worse?” Grandma removed her bible from the stand by her side and read a verse from Matthew that gave her strength during bad times to Callie in a calm and soothing voice “To have faith as small as a mustard seed,you can move mountains and nothing will be impossible for you.” Callie whispered to grandma “Okay,I think I can do that.”and she whispered back “I know you can,my dear.” Then the door opened with her mother walking through at 10:28 am,just as the North tower began to collapse,it seemed unreal to Callie at first,seeing her mom alive and she ran to the door,while her mother was embracing her,Callie told her mother that she was “my one good memory”about today.     

2ifvhm

Chiaroscuro

Darkness. Besides the obvious definition, the absence of light, nobody can tell you what it is. I hate darkness. Like ink, its stain somehow can only be blotted out, not erased. It knows no limits and spares no person. Just when you think you’ve escaped, the lamp switches off. The covers no longer a suitable shield. There aren’t even shadows. There is just black. The all-consuming struggle. Light. Somehow, everyone knows what it is. But no one can just quite grasp it. They may fool you into thinking their lives possess it. Just like light, their words are an illusion- or so I thought. What I am about to tell you is MY story. Not Barbara St.Claire’s washed up, edited version. If you don’t want to read something raw, something real, then you should just move on. Go ahead, go read your perfectly predictable yet unpredictable tale, no judgment. Stay comfortable. However, if you open your eyes and give me a chance, you might just thank me for it. My name is Charlotte Keys. I grew up in a loving family. My father had a stable job as a cop. My mother was a waitress at the Bellemonte Diner, a few blocks away from the police station. My older brother Grey left the house for college a few years ago. Growing up we had few main traditions; green jello on St. Patrick’s Day, an early present on Christmas Eve, and church on Sundays. My mother was so different from the other ladies at church. She didn’t wear dresses, hats, or gloves. She wore jeans and blouses. She didn’t praise the Lord, only to curse those made in his image later. She didn’t attend the women’s tea times, but instead, the volunteer projects, the yard work, the homeless shelter visits. She wasn’t afraid to do the dirty work. The work nobody wanted to do. My father loved her for this. He would tell me, “Your mother is something special, something special all right.” We all loved her for it. She was kind and gentle, but also stern when need be. She was like a wildflower, beautiful but not in the uniform way you expected. She sprouted up unplanned, different. I remember going to my aunt Pauleen’s wedding as a child. I was confused why she was leaving home to go live with her husband. I assumed it was because she loved her husband the most. I was curious, so I asked my mother who she loved. I thought she would say my father or me, but instead, she replied, “God”. Plain and simple. I was even more confused. I asked another question, “Do you not love me or daddy?” “Of course I love you guys, but God comes first. If I don’t love Him first, I wouldn’t be loving you two, His creations.” At the time I didn’t quite understand, but I do now. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? “Char, if you need anything don’t hesitate to give us a call.” My mother looked worried. “Mom, I think I’ll be just fine. You two should go!” I reassured her. She was only going to a dinner party with my father for a few hours. Does she think I’m going to burn the house down while she’s gone or something? “Come on honey, the sushi won’t eat itself.” My father teased, trying to get her out the door. My father had been invited to the annual Weatherburn Police Department Gala this year. He was being recognized for the most community service acts for an officer. I’m proud of him and my mother. My parents finally get out the door. I sit down at the kitchen table and start on my geometry homework. The scratching of the pencil on my notepad is almost routine to me. I get through about half the chapter, but I keep getting distracted. Maybe it’s time for a break. I go into the kitchen to make my favorite snack, apples and peanut butter. The apple cutter slides right down the apple, and I throw away the core. Whoever said sliced bread was one of the best inventions, they haven’t seen much. I finally get to eat my snack, and the doorbell rings. That’s odd, my parents have the key, and we’re not expecting any packages. I quietly creep to the door and look through the peephole. Officer Higgins? I open the door. He’s holding his hat by his side. “Charlotte-” He takes a breath. “Charlotte, your parents got in an accident.” My jaw drops. My bowl of apples falls out of my hand and shatters on the floor smearing peanut butter all over the wood. My knees buckle and I fall cutting myself on the shards, but I can’t feel anything. My vision blurs and I go into a state of numbness. About fifteen minutes have passed, and Officer Higgins convinces me to get into his car. On the way to the station, all I can do is stare blankly. I can feel tears in my eyes, but they refuse to fall. Somehow, my brain just can’t register that they’re gone. They’re not, are they? I mean, really gone. That’s impossible. We come to an abrupt stop at the station. A few news reporters are standing outside of the building. The flash of cameras and hoards of bystanders are overwhelming. The second I open the door, I’m asked a million questions. “Do you know who killed them? Do you have anything to say?” Officer Higgins pushes them away and leads me into the station. Every officer stands there, holding their hats, giving me a sympathetic look. I still can’t register. Is this some type of horrible dream? He leads me to his office and has me take a seat. “Can I get you anything? A hot chocolate?” He asks. I don’t respond. “Alright. I’ll be right back sweetheart.” He says, shutting the door behind him. On his desk, there’s a picture of my father and him holding a huge bass. I grab the small frame and hold it. Maybe I can hold onto him for just a little longer. True to his word, he comes back, but with a woman in a pantsuit. “Hello, Charlotte.” She says warmly. I don’t want to respond, I don’t even acknowledge her. She sits next to me anyway. “I’ve called your brother. He’s flying in from New York on the next flight.” She says. “He’ll be taking care of you, don’t worry.” She tells me again. “I don’t want Grey to take care of me, I want my parents,” I tell her. “I know.” She hugs me. I don’t hug her back, I know she’s being nice, but I can’t be right now. “I want to see them,” I tell her. “Honey, I- I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” She tells me. “I want to see them,” I repeat. She looks at officer Higgins and walks out. Her tiny heels clack on the tiles. “Please,” I beg him. He stares at me trying to read the situation. After a few moments pass he can see the desperation in my eyes. He pulls a folded picture out of his pocket. The tears finally roll out like a flood. The car was destroyed. Windows shattered. The metal was so warped, I could barely tell the front from the back. My tears fall on the paper, almost causing it to disintegrate in my hands. I can start to feel the effects. The sight of the crash was eye-opening. The question is no longer if it happened, it’s how. How is life going to keep moving? How can I live without them? How is the world going to continue working? They were the engine of this big machine. An irreplaceable piece, yet somehow it’s gone. I look at the small clock above my father’s plaques. Officer Higgins moved me into my father’s office upon my request. It’s 12:47 am. I know I should be sleeping, but I can’t bring myself to shut my eyes. All I can imagine is the crash. I keep replaying the image over and over again in my head. Smashed windows, warped metal, burning tires. I look around the room, trying to keep my mind off the subject. All of his medals for good citizenship, and acts of kindness are useless now. His coffee mugs and pictures of us- his family, lifeless. Now, there is no family. It’s just me and Grey. It’s now 1:30 am. I glance out the window and all of the reporters have already packed up. Vultures with empty stomachs. A small, red car pulls into the parking lot. Grey. He runs inside, and I hesitate, staring at him. He catches up to me and hugs me. I finally push my hesitation away and hug him back. “Grey,” I whisper shakily half-crying. “I know.” He says. I release him from the hug when officer Higgins and the CPS woman walk up to us. “Son, I’m so sorry.” Officer Higgins says, offering his condolences. Grey shakes his hand, expressing his gratitude with his eyes. “I think we should speak about a plan, and I have some paperwork for you to sign.” The small woman adds politely. “Of course,” Grey replies. They go into officer Higgins’s office, but I stay behind. I sit in the waiting area, waiting for him to come back. It’s been about two hours, and he finally comes out. The drowsiness in his eyes is very prominent. He approaches me. “Char, let’s go home.” He says. We get in his car and start to drive to the house. I don’t want to go home. Grey looks over at me concerned. “Char, it- it’ll get better.” He says. I don’t respond. How, how is it going to get better? This should not have happened to them. We pull up to the house, and I start to hyperventilate. Seeing the beautiful flower garden our mother planted in the front yard, and our father’s fishing boat still in the driveway is just too much for me to handle. I can tell it affects Grey as well but he’s trying to be strong for me. We sit there looking at the house for about fifteen minutes before finally going inside. The apples and peanut butter are still scattered on the floor. Grey starts cleaning it up and I start to help him. “Let’s head to bed.” He says after we finish cleaning the mess. “Okay,” I say before walking out. Laying in my bed I don’t want to sleep, but my eyelids get heavy. I can’t tell if it’s real or not but my parents are standing there. I watch them get into the car. They turn on Grove street. They’re smiling and talking like they used to. Then, before I know it, their car is smashed, and the image from before plays in my head. The only difference is that it’s real. I can hear them screaming. I wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. Grey rushes in. His hair askew, half-awake. “Are you okay?!” He asks, almost screaming. I can’t say anything, I just start crying. He sits next to me and hugs me. “Charlotte, it was just a dream.” He tries to reassure me. “Okay,” I say. I pretend to be fine and go back to sleep. He walks out of the room. I don’t hear him go back to sleep though. After a few minutes of sitting in my bed staring at the ceiling, I go to see what he’s doing. He’s sitting at the table with his head in his hands, praying. “Lord, why?” He asks. Something’s wrong with his voice, he’s crying. He keeps praying but I can’t hear him. All that I can make out is, “I know you have a plan.” He prays for me as well. I go to bed, trying to wake myself up every half-hour so I don’t fall into a deep sleep. *Two Years Later* The light gray shadows are hardly a contrast to the white furnished living room in Grey’s apartment. The sun’s setting for the 231st day this year. Just like the day before, and the day before that. Lately, ever since they died everything has been monotonous and empty. I stopped smiling, I stopped leaving the house, and I stopped going to church. My whole world was covered in a darkness that I just couldn’t shake off no matter what I did. I guess you could say I’m angry at God. How could he take loving parents and Christians who adored him out of this world? How could you love people and then take the ones they love away? Grey would always have an answer. “The Lord has a plan, he can see the bigger picture” or “Charlotte, He loves you and our parents so much” were common quotes in his vocabulary. Grey bursts through the door scaring me half to death, with a bag of groceries. “Need some help?” I ask. “Sure.” He replies. I start putting away the groceries, and Grey flicks on the news before heading to the shower. I start emptying the leftovers in the fridge to make room for new groceries, but something stops me. A reporter on the news. “Today is the second anniversary, of Officer Keys and his wife’s car accident, and the whole Police Department of Weatherburn have gathered today to show their respect. According to officer Higgins, one of officer Keys’ closest friends he is well missed by everyone. Let’s go ahead and show the image from the accident.” She pauses allowing the image to be brought on screen. I try to turn off the TV with the remote, but it doesn’t work. “As you can see it was absolutely brutal, no one could’ve sur-” I cut her off by frantically unplugging all the wires. The image again goes through my mind. The picture that has been haunting me every night since. Grey comes out to see me huddled in a ball on the couch. I feel so childlike. I’m eighteen years old. Everyone has been pushing me to move on, but I can’t. “Charlotte. I think you should come to church with me tomorrow.” Grey says. “You need to heal. This isn’t healthy, and this isn’t what God wants for you.” Grey tries to convince me. I’m done holding it in. “What does God want me to do?! Forget that mom and dad are dead?!” I scream. Grey looks at me, obviously hurt. Good. He’s been ignoring their deaths all this time. There is no recovery. “Charlotte. Don’t be angry at God, he isn’t trying to hurt you. I don’t know why you won’t accept His love.” He says. “Grey, stop ignoring their deaths!” I can feel my words cut deeper. “Charlotte. I am not ignoring their deaths, I am healing. I know that their deaths are not the end for them. Charlotte, I’m choosing to love and accept His love first. He knows your sadness. He wants to restore you.” He says again. “If he loved me he wouldn’t have killed them!” I yell. Grey looks me in the eye, “Whether you want to believe it or not, He does.” He says before walking out the door. I sit on the couch. The significance of the hurt in my words dawns on me. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I turn on the TV to get my mind on something else, this time the remote works. The news turns on again but it’s not about my parents. It’s another car accident. I try to get up, to turn it off but I can’t. All I can do is watch a small red car being towed away. No, this- this must be someone else’s car. It isn’t. They found his driver's license in his pocket. I run out the door, into the street. The ambulances start heading for the hospital, and I follow them. The nearest hospital is about a mile away, I should be able to run there. My lungs ache, and there’s a sharp pain in my side, but I have to get there. Finally, we get to the hospital. They rush him in, and I try to follow, but they don’t let me. “Ma’am you cannot go into the ER. I’m sorry.” A paramedic says in a rush. I make my way to the waiting room to wait, watching the time like a hawk. It’s been about two hours. “Charlotte Keys!” The desk lady calls. I rush to the desk almost running. “He’s in room 241.” She says. I run down the hallway until I find his room. I open the door quietly. A doctor is there. “Your brother is in a coma. He suffered a head injury during the accident. I’ll come back in a few hours.” She says before leaving. I stare at his face, almost lifeless. In the corner, his clothes lay in a plastic bag. I walk over to it, noticing a protruding sheet of paper. The paper read “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. -1 Thessalonians 4:13-14”. It was then that I began to understand. To understand the love of God. God is for me not against me. He loves us all with such amazing love, even if we don’t deserve it. He is not condemning and hateful. He is loving and compassionate. He knows what we go through. He longs to wipe away our tears. I will never forget that day where I learned what my mother meant. On the same day, Grey and I both woke up.

w3oanu

Little Drummer Boy

Little Drummer Boy “ It’s about the right time and the right place to expose my talent, yes this is it,” was all you would hear Fish saying over the last two (2) months. (Noel)that’s his real name, had graduated from the school of music almost a year ago but had not been able to get a job. He had been doing gigs at night clubs for the last six months but still did not feel a sense of fulfillment. Although he was grateful for this humble beginning where he could hone his skills he wanted more. He felt he had a lot to offer the world, and each night when he played somewhere in the back of his mind he wished that a foreigner would walk in. The rhythm of the beat of the drum played a special symphony all by itself. And with each beat, you could see that Fish’s soul and body were lost in the melody. His head nodded with a particular sway whilst his hands and feet synchronized to complete his body movements. It seems to mesmerize all who watched and listened and they keep coming back for more. Did I say they keep coming back for more! It was more he keeps coming back for more. Towards the last Friday of the first month after Fish was hired there was a gentleman who was fascinated by his playing. Mr. Black had been living in Jamaica for the last three (3) years and had been exploring night clubs looking for talent. About five (5) months ago he was drawn to this club because of the ambiance and the music. That night in particular he was just about to leave when he heard the first beat and had to turn his head. Being a producer he knew raw talent when he hears it and this was,” talent.” Every rhythm was a different sensation and each pulsating beat was a signal calling out to Mr. Black. A call to move closer in an effort to connect with this talented drummer. It didn’t happen that night but that was an opportunity for him to return. Every Friday and Saturday since then he had been returning until finally, he got that opportunity to introduced himself. The introduction was great and Fish was excited, happy, enthused but also skeptical. This was too good to be true, his wish has finally been fulfilled but at the same time, he had to be cautious. This could be a scam. But the more they talk is the more he realized that this was real. It was a big break. Mr. Black told Fish that he was a producer from,” Rough Ends Studio, ” and that he had been in Jamaica for some time. His main purpose was to scout around for good musical talent and to showcase them on the global market. He was captivated by his talent and he wants to help him. “ What would that help entails? ” asked Fish. “ All I need you to do is to send me a recording so I can send it to my partner overseas. If he likes it(which I know he will) we would showcase you at our next music festival.” It is a party for musicians all across the globe and it is held every year in Uppsala in Sweden during the holidays. Wow! Is this for real? That night Fish stayed at the club until the wee hours of the morning just to finish the recording. By the next week when Mr. Black came, he could not wait to present it to him. They chatted for a while and then Mr. Black left. Within the days and weeks that followed Fish had a pep in his steps and his attitude. He was much happier and brighter and was even dancing as he passes on the street. But as the weeks turned into a month and over he grew sad and seemed disappointed. It was now over a month and he had not seen or heard from Mr. Black and he began to think that he had been scammed. Persons were also beginning to laugh and made fun of him saying that he is a fool and he has been tricked. Then suddenly one day he received a call from,” Rough Ends Studio, ” Mr. Black was on the other end very excited. He apologized for not calling him but reassured him that all was well. He didn’t want to call until he had something positive to tell him. What he told Fish caused him to almost fainted. Mr. Black had in his position a contract which he wanted Fish to sign. The contract stated that Fish has been signed on as the drummer for the studio and that he was expected to be in Sweden that same weekend to attend the party. This was the most exciting news that he had gotten in all his thirty (30) years. This was his biggest break, this was what he had been waiting for. He was about to take the big stage, he would have the time of his life. Opportunity had met destiny, and as scheduled, he was on the next flight to Sweden. He was not on vacation, this was work and sure enough, he was on stage within the next two days. That was an experience for him. He was accustomed to playing in front of a small intimate group of about twenty (20) persons. Now it’s a game-changer and he was mixing and networking with musicians from across the globe and playing in front of a crowd of twenty thousand or more. But Fish was never daunted because he was confident that he had the ability to do well. When it was his turn to take the stage he commanded both the stage and the audience with such confidence. The audience was captivated and many began to exclaimed,” “ He is the next Derrick.” This was the signature party as pretty soon, the name,” Fish  ” had become a household name. It was heard on the lips of both local and international, and as he gained the recognition he began traveling extensively. His travels took him on tours across Europe, Africa, the UK, Canada, the US, and the Caribbean. He networked and was privileged to collaborate with many other musicians as he built his repertoire. To date, he has played on many soundtracks and has been collecting royalties from many of the records. Thanks to Mr. Black, today Fish is one of the most sort after musicians.

gwjlkw

Half the Truth

Trigger warning: mentions of alcohol abuse            I’m ready to throw my cell phone against the wall.            After a week of bad reception, I returned to the store where I bought it.            “What can I help you with?” asked the clerk.            “I’ve had this cell phone thirty-one days, and the person I’m calling keeps breaking up.            “I’m sorry, but the store guarantee is only good for 30 days. We are quite generous since the phone itself only has two weeks.”            I bet if it was your phone you’d make sure it was fixed.            “So. if I had come in yesterday, you would have fixed it because it was within in the 30 days?”            “Well . . . yes. Or replace it.”            I don’t want another phone like this one!            “You could call tech support,” said the clerk. “I’ll write down their number for you.” She handed me the note.            Pointing at the note, I said. “Call between 8AM and 5PM on weekdays.” I looked from the note to the clerk. “I work 8-5 weekdays.”            Tech support means voicemail, which will take longer than my lunch hour.            “I could sell you another one,” said the clerk.            I about gagged. “No thank you,” and left.            I wonder if the CEO of the carrier ever heard of ‘do to others as you would want them to do to you.’ At least I could relax with my girlfriends over lunch. On the way to lunch, we discussed what stores have the best deals on dresses, who is dating who, and what courses we are taking in our senior year at college. We chose a Mexican restaurant to have for lunch. I ordered tea and enchiladas. Chelsie ordered a beer and chimichangas and Wendy ordered beer and burritos. “I was pulled over yesterday for just having an open beer can in my car,” said Chelsie. “You shouldn’t have been drinking in the car,” said Wendy. “I wasn’t. George left it there on the way to work today.” “You two really need to quit drinking.” Wendy finished off her second beer. “Waitress, can I have another beer?” “ I usually only drink one beer just before going to bed. You’ve had more than I have. You just ordered your third beer.” “I’ve seen you go to parties and drink plenty.” “Parties don’t count.” “I’ll help you with your drinking problem,” said Wendy. She pointed at me. “I’ll help you become like her. A tea-totaller.” Partially opening my lips, my eyes opened wide and I jerked my head back. I’m not the perfect example! What can I say that Wendy would listen to? Yes, I don’t drink, but that doesn’t mean I don’t drink one can of beer when I am too sick to go to sleep. Chelsie’s drinking is a splinter compared to Wendy’s 2 x 4. Wendy expects Chelsie to follow a standard she does not keep herself. She will never be able to help Chelsie’s drinking until Wendy eliminates her own. I made some excuse to leave, paid for the food and tip without finishing eating. The argument spoiled my appetite.            I was excited about the speaker for Wednesday night church service. Herman Hoffman is famous in the state for encouraging messages . . . But, I like to make my own evaluation.            “I’m here to tell you the good news,” Herman Hoffman started, “of how to improve everything for yourself.”             Wait a minute. That’s not the good news. Jesus is.”            After saying the same thing three or four different ways, he finally moved on.            “Invite God into your problems. Look how Paul and Silas sang in prison. Daniel’s friends were in the fire, and God brought them through.”            That’s true. They were being persecuted for their beliefs. Why isn’t he saying that?            “Everything will change when you invite God into your troubles. Your attitude. Your circumstances. Your family problems. Don’t ask to have your troubles removed. Ask God to get involved.”            That sounds right.            “I don’t care what your problem is: family problems, financial, physical. God can do it all. Ask God into your situation.”            He sure is repeating himself a lot. “God is there for every kind of trouble.” A bunch of my troubles were ones I created myself. I needed to repent first. God did help me solve them, but not until matters became worse before they improved. Didn’t Mr. Hoffman experience trouble like that?            “God will give you His favor, if you just let Him into your life.”            Give favor? What kind of favor? Better yet, when does he expect God to give the favor? Is he trying to predict God? Plant your seed of good deeds, and see what happens.”            It almost sounded like he wanted money. I am tuning him out. He barely used scripture. He didn’t include ‘Jesus’ or ‘repentance’ in his definition of good news. He didn’t mention prayer, or that Jesus is the only Mediator between God and man. He was only preaching half the Bible’s message! I pondered what to do.            This is too important to not bring it to his attention. But who am I that he would listen to me? I know. I’ll bring it up to a church elder. Surely the church can have an effect on Mr. Hoffman, because where two or three are gathered together, there Jesus is too.            The next Sunday after church, I talked to Eugene Rivera. The elders like “Brother” to be an informal title.            “Brother Rivera, I want to talk to you because I have some concerns about Mr. Hoffman.”            “Oh?” He seemed surprised.            “He only preached half the truth in the Bible. He didn’t mention sin as the cause of many problems. He barely used scripture. I’m not sure I even heard him say ‘Jesus’.”            “What do you want me to do about it? He has already preached the sermon.”            “I want someone to preach the other half.”            “Hmmm. The other Brothers and I thought his speech was quite good. What he preached is true. You even admitted that. Anything he left out will eventually be covered.”            I was stunned silent from the seriousness of what he said.              Out loud, I said, “I don’t know when Jesus is coming back. I don’t have time to wait for the other half to be preached. It’s time for me to find a new church.”  

x002qg

Broken Chains

This is actually a true story of what God did in my life, how good/ loving He is and the hope you can find in Him no matter where you're at. It came slowly, creeping up behind me and into my thoughts. Into my life as well. There was nothing I could do. I fought and fell, I ran and tripped, I tried to be strong, but It became stronger than me. At a point in my life I was overwhelmed with trails, deep sorrow, and attacks. I'm not sure when it started anymore, but I do know there are some things I will never forget. What I thought was the end, became a gateway for amazing grace, love, and healing. These thoughts that crept up on me were evil, invalid, unwanted, sinful... hated. They were filthy languages(curse words) that I shamefully accepted to read or watch in book and movies. Thinking that I could handle them, I didn't realize I was playing with fire and got burned. Thus, because of them, I became sensitive to everything I saw and heard. This is what opened the door for an attack from the enemy(That is, the devil). He hates every single one of God's creation- saved or not. There is no love in him. The intrusive thoughts came against God, the people around me and myself as well. They were blasphemous, slanderous and rude remarks. I hated them and hated myself more. Whether you're going through this or not(Or it you're going through something else), Just know with Jesus, there is Redemption and Freedom, because, He died for all of our sins so we could be reconciled to God and have life. Often, I found myself weeping as my heart broke hearing those thoughts, as I prayed, as I was in school(virtually), as I was sleeping or even as I woke up( very annoying). It physically and mentally drained me. I remember at this point in my life, I loved entertainment which is why I accepted the things I did. I learned while they were distracting, not one of them could truly help me in my dilemma. Putting God first Is important and it has to happen each day. I think I'm still learning to do that. One of the most important person, (besides Jesus of course) my Mom, noticed a change in my behavior. Lost of appetite and joy, depression, and many among others. She is truly heaven sent. After some convincing(from her), she lend me her ears, and I told her what I felt. But only part of it. I was too embarrassed to say everything(It came out later though). I felt was unloved-I told her- but she reassured me that she loved me. Not just by words, but by actions as well. Despite my mistakes God and my mom still love me. Love is not just spoken words, but they are also the actions and intentions that backs up the words. Just like the Bible said that Faith has to be accompanied by Good works.( Not that Good works saves us, but it's a product of our faith). I find it hard to love myself and others. I'm now learning that we can be empowered to love by the Holy Spirit. Jesus showed me his love through his words and actions. During the times of sorrow and sin, He showed me and told me that He would not leave me nor give up on me. Crazy and awesome how the Creator of the universe loves us so much. Yes He loves you very much. Yet, doubt would always come, fear would overtake me, and anxiety would attack. Yep, the thoughts were still there because while the Lord was fighting for me, the enemy was still after me. In the Bible it says he(the enemy) came to steal, kill and destroy. but Jesus came that we may have abundant life through him. Sin causes death, and binds us. The wages of sin are death the Bible says, but the free gift of God is enteral life through his Son(Jesus Christ the Lord). I had not seen it before, but amongst the trails, our Creator became more real in my life at a time of darkness. He was a light in the darkness. I also learn He talks in different ways. His word, other people and more. He's not limited. Again, I became very anxious that I sometimes shook violently, but this became a thing later on. I was even medically checked upon, but I was not sick, just suffering mentally/physiologically. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can cause the real harm(If you allow them to). I would often hear voices telling not to eat, or to end my life, or convincing me that I'm not saved nor loved. I found it really cool how my mom prayed for me, and with me. She encouraged me to worship, praise and pray. She also helped me eat better. I felt secure in her arms. A sent hero, indeed. I really liked going outside, listening to music, walking and sometimes reading. I learned that I like to be alone many times. Although, I also learned that I could talk to Mom about many things. She would always and still does, lead me to Jesus and prayer. She told me not to give the thoughts attention. Along with her, many others helped. God can send anyone your way at the right time. In the end, I was freed. My chains were broken-In Jesus name. It was a long, hard battle. But since Jesus fought for me and with me, I found victory in Him. There were ups and downs, bitter feelings and thoughts that still repapered, but all along God is- still is, and forever will be- faithful. So whatever you are going through, call upon the name of Jesus and you shall be saved.(No matter the timing) I would like you to know I'm no-one special. I am a human and a sinner with problems just like you. I fall and make many mistakes. But God's love is greater. He is always just, righteous and serious about sin, but through his Son, you can come to Him. There is salvation in Jesus and only Him. What ever you've done you can come to Him. Today is the day to come, after all, tomorrow is not Guaranteed. I hope you're encouraged that Jesus can save you and that you have not gone too far. Turn from sin continuously, and put your trust in Him only. He loves you dearly. Byee, thanks for reading!! :)

c9nkuw

THE BLOODY LAMB

THE BLOODY LAMB After the succulent appetizers, after the first, tortellini in broth, the highlight of the lunch would be the LAMB. Fried lamb would be served, but also stewed lamb, and roast lamb too. They would eat lamb as they always did at the great Easter lunch, to which there were present aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, children of cousins, of nephews…. Eating lamb at the Easter lunch was a tradition to which her family, her relatives would never give up.  Since years she had refused to eat lamb, even thought she had not become a vegetarian. It had been since she had seen a skinned lamb, with its whole body bloody, that, no, it was not exact to say that she had made the decision to never eat lamb again, because it had been as if that decision had been made for her by the bloody body of the lamb. That day, it was winter, an icy wind was blowing. The door had opened wide (open) and the wind had entered, it had turned, circled in the entrance, it was so perceptible that you seemed to see that transparent and icy wind. And together with the wind the skinned lamb, its head and body all red with blood, had entered. Those there, the two men, were holding the skinned animal, one for the front legs, one for the roar legs, to take it under the stairs. They would have hung it with a hook to a beam of the basement. They, had something stealthy, those two, while they were carrying the skinned lamb under the stairs. ( to the basement). You could see, it was evident ( she understood) that they ( those two) would not want to be seen, and , least of all, would they have liked her to see them. She had screamed at the sight of the lamb’s body all colored in blood red. Now she couldn’t remember if she had shouted : “ KILLERS!” , or something worse at the address of those two. Instead she remembered very well what she had felt at the sight of the skinned lamb , all red with blood. She remembered so well that even now she would have started screaming as then. Now that she seemed to see the blood of the lamb dripping from the mouths of the diners, who were eating, tasting that meat . Yes, that was precisely the blood of that skinned lamb…it was filling their dishes full of abundant portions of roast lamb, stewed lamb, fried lamb. “ Oh, don’t you eat lamb, Agnes?Is it possible you don’t like it? It is so good!” The great aunt Ida said, her mouth full of lamb. “ In fact, I don’t eat the lamb, because it is too good” Agnes muttered. “ Eh, but what does she say?” the great aunt giggled. “ No, aunt….She, that there, you know, she is like that….she has her fixations” Her mother said, snorting. “ Ah, really a delight this lamb…ah, what soft meat” Her cousin Joe said, smoothing his stomach, with a very satisfiedd air. She, Agnes, stood up and went out of the living room. “ But look at that rude!” Her father shouted at her behind, in an irate tone. “ Oh, she must have had to run away to the bathroom” Her grandmother Elvira observed, conciliatory.  “ But sure, it will be she went to the bathroom to throw up the lamb! The lamb she didn’t ear! “ Her cousin Clelia burst out, laughing. “ Ah, at my venerable age I did not spend a Holy Easter without eating the lamb” Grandpa John said, wiping his mustache with a white napkin, of an immaculate white. “ Your daughter Agnes should respect traditions. Didn’t you teach her to respect traditions? Ah, parents who don’t teach their children to respect traditions, but what parents are they?” The old man said these words looking at her son, sitting opposite him, with a stern frown. “ Dad, you know what the children are like, they want to do their our minds….I too, do you remember? I too was like that “ Peter said, while Agnes came back in the room and she sit down again at the table. “We were talking about you, darling” Grandma Ada said “ We are sorry that you do not join us to taste the Easter lamb” “ Oh, the paschal lamb” Agnes snorted, with a grimace. “ Listen to me, my girl: the paschal lamb, precisely, which also represents THE LAMB OF GOD, who takes away sins from the world” Grandpa John admonished her, raising his index finger, while she was speaking. “ Good thus one!” Agnes snorted. “ What do you mean? A little respect when it comes to the Lamb of God!” The angry grandfather cried. “ Oh, certainly, respect for the Lamb of God! You respect him so much that you eat him! You are cannibal too!” Agnes said, in a mocking tone. “ But listen to her! Oh, this girl is blasphemous! She is making fun of the Lamb of God!” The enraged grandfather shouted. “ Ah, if anything, you are those who are making fun of him! You who eat him! The Lamb of God!” Agnes cried, pointing to the lamb in the dinner dishes. “ Augh! Peter! Mary! If you don’t slap this decreased, I’ll take care of it!” The grandpa shouted, his face becoming more and more red. He stood up and, staggering, moved topwards Agnes, giving her two loud slaps. Agnes, holding her hands on her cheeks, run away from the room.  “ Ah, that bad, very bad decreased!” The grandfather, trembling with rage, continued to shout.  “On, grandpa, why take it so hard for what Ages said? After all, even when we receive the host of the Eucharist we eat….the body of the Lamb of God “ Alex said. “ What did you say, villain?” The grandpa screamed, indeed his scream sounded like a roar. “ Oh, damnation!All my grandchildren are villains, are blasphemous!” The grandfather shouted, kicking the table, and also the people sitting at the table. Dishes, glasses fell of the table to the floor. All the diners got excited, more and more excited. The grandfather John continued to rant against his grandchildren, those blasphemous! She, Agnes, was crying, closed into the bathroom. She heard the screams and the noises, indeed the roars from the living room. She saw again the bloody lamb, and she felt as a skinned lamb she too.

1snszn

The dreaded day...

Oh no, oh no, oh no. it’s 5:59 in the morning and I have just woken up. Waking up has never felt like such an issue before this time. Oh no, thirty seconds before the first buffoonery may take place. This day is dreaded, not just for me, for a lot of other people too. It is finally 6:00 and I am frantically looking around me for clues to the first act of tomfoolery, but there was no sign. Weird… I got into the bathroom and then looked around continuously for any clues as to who and where the hoax could be. All of the possibilities could come true; someone filling the toothpaste with coloured glue and me not knowing till the liquid touches my teeth, someone backwashing the mouthwash and waiting for me to come into the bathroom, someone replacing the body wash with thickened fruit juice - ok i’ll just skip the bath then. I went to go take my breakfast from the kitchen. There were endless opportunities to ruin my day, replacing my milk with white coloured water, even my cereal being fake. “Mum!” I called frantically as she ran towards me with a resounding “what is it Aiden?!” from the kitchen sink behind me, spraying soap everywhere. “Is everything ok with my cereal?!” I cried. “Aiden is everything ok with you today? You’ve been acting strange.” she wondered as she left the plates, dried her hands and came to check my temperature on my forehead. I slowly backed her hand away and told her that I was fine. “Mum, I'm fine, and it has nothing to do with my temperature!” i said as i got up and put my bowl back into the sink with all the cereal left inside and left for school. I was walking to school, but the fear did not stop there; I was even more scared than I was when I was at home. “AHH!” I screamed in fear and ran a few steps; and I just realised that it was just a tap on the shoulder asking if I could walk to school with them. “What happened, did i scare you?!” he asked me in disbelief; nobody had ever seen me run that fast. Not even myself. “No it’s fine...” “Are you sure?” “Yes absolutely fine...” I stated, while I waited for him to catch up to me. We looked up and he noticed something. “Aiden?” “Yes….?” “It is about to rain, have you got an umbrella?” he asked me, as I tried to rustle my umbrella out of my bag as I suddenly realised…. “Oh no…” I entered into self realisation… “My mum packed my bag….” “Why is that a problem?” he asked innocently, as if he didn’t know what day it was. He grabbed the umbrella from me and proceeded to open it. Then everything went into slow motion… “I don’t think you should do this….” “Why not?” asked Adam “your mother is not cursed…. It's fine.” It opened and then nothing came out of it. No roses, no poem, no letter, no dodgy liquids…. It seemed to be too good to be true…. He handed me back my umbrella and we made our way to school. We got to school and we got into the first class. Me and Adam walked together. I got into class, and I looked above the door if there was the ‘bucket of green or red paint’ they ALWAYS have in american movies. So then I let Adam go first. There wasn’t anything to worry about, but when I walked through the door, I still checked. I took my seat and I listened to the lesson. Almost every word that came out of her mouth, I felt like she was about to call me a very bad name. And every second the video was projected on the screen, I felt like I was going to get rickrolled. But then… after about half an hour of hyperactive fright, the bell rang. I was in disbelief. “Does nobody know what day it is?” I asked Adam, but he didn't answer. Nobody did. “Oh my God, am I invisible too?” This happened in every lesson. I looked around for any tricks, but there were none. And nobody spoke about the dreadful 24 hours that they were going through. I went home and I plopped myself on the couch and my mum came to sit with me. “How was school today honey?” asked my mum. ‘’It was good I guess.” I replied with a sigh. “What happened?” she wondered. “Oh nothing” I said with a fake smile. “Do you want dinner?” she asked politely. “Yeah sure, I just need to change first.” I told her, and then I ran upstairs. I ate dinner, and even though nothing had happened previously that day, I still had the fearful tendencies, as I stared at my food until it became cold; and then I regretted it. “Do you know what, it’s absolutely fine, my mum can never poison me. She gave birth to me.” I thought to myself. Due to the fact that there could actually be a completely mysterious and out of the blue, SUDDEN change of events, I regretted that sentence too. I put my food in the microwave and went to go and sit down at the kitchen table and waited for the ding; I knew it was coming, and I also knew it was going to terrorize me. I waited for the ding, but everywhere was completely silent in the meantime. I looked around and eventually got up. I gazed around the place, looked through the windows, up at the ceiling, down at the floor: and all of a sudden; DING! Goes the microwave. I DROPPED to the floor and my mum ran into the kitchen. “AIDEN WHAT HAPPENED, ARE YOU OK?!” screamed my mum frantically, as she raced to get me up from the kitchen floor. “Yes mum, I'm fine.” “Aiden, no you are not. Come here and talk to me.” demanded my mum, as I clamoured off of the floor, dusting myself off. “No, no, i’m fine!” I replied to my mother as I marched to get my food from the microwave and eat it in my room. When I was done with my food, I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs so I just went to sleep. 10 hours passed and my alarm rang for 6:00 am. “Yes!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I don’t know what i was thinking, but i had to go to school that day, so i brushed my teeth, ended up eventually taking a bath, scrambling to put on my uniform, ate my breakfast, and headed out the door, until…. “Wait!” shouted my mum “What happened?” “You need to get Adam a present!” “What do you mean? Today is April the 2nd. His birthday is on the third.” “Yes and today IS the third.” I can just tell she was very confused with me. She brought her watch to my face and turned my direction towards it and I came to a shocking realization. It was ACTUALLY April 3rd. Doesn’t that mean that yesterday was … April 2nd?

tzsvrx

Sweet Dreams

Sweet Dreams Mornings are my favorite time. Not because my dog licks my face to wake me up. And not because of the bowl of Cheerios with lots of sugar. It's because I survived another night. Now that the sun is out, everything is back to normal. Mom is back to normal. So is grandma, and I'm safe... for now. It's when the sun goes down that I don't like because everything changes. The trees in the yard turn into skeletons, waving their bony branches at me, reaching out to grab me. And monsters hide in the bushes, waiting for me to get closer. Terrible things. Giant bugs with ugly faces. Birds that eat people. Scorpions. I know they're real because I've seen pictures of them. And my dog starts growling and barking at things that I can't see. I think she's guarding us from wild animals. Even the stars are scary. They make me think of Martians coming down and turning us into robots because that's what Martians do. They build tunnels under the beach, and they suck you in. I saw it on the television. The hallway to my bedroom is dark and cold. It's a mile to the living room, but I can still hear mom and grandma mumbling. They talk about grown-up stuff. Words that make no sense to me. They must be important grown-up words.  There are some things good about nighttime. Dessert happens at night. I like taking tubbies with my dinosaurs. Sometimes we play games after supper. I like to play checkers. I even like the sparkling dust fairies that fly around my bedroom when a car drives by. Laying on the couch watching the television is fun. Especially Bozo the Clown. Except Bozo is on in the daytime. Looking at Dr. Seuss books. Putting Bowser to bed. Putting on my PJs. Sometimes, my dad calls to wish me sweet dreams. Not very often, though. Mom always reads to me and tucks me in. She always kisses me on the forehead. But it's all a lie because she changes when she goes back into the living room. So does grandma. And they start talking about me. I know because I can hear them saying my name. Sometimes, a lot.   "I'm taking Jake to the doctor tomorrow. His tonsils are swollen and red." "I'm taking Jake to the doctor, mumble mumble, they're going to chop off his head."                                                                         "Jake drew the cutest picture today of Grandpa's cat. He is a natural-born artist, I think."  'Jake drew the stupidest picture, mumble mumble brat. He is a terrible artist, he stinks, mumble, mumble.' "Jake wants to be a baseball pitcher."   'Jake's, mumble gonna be a bald ditch digger, muffled laughter.' "Goodnight meaty... I mean, Sweetie! Grandma and I are right here in the kitchen if you need anything!"    "Wat doing?" "Grandma is stoking the fire, and I'm sharpening the carving knives." "Wat Foe?" "Mother and I are going to have a midnight snack." "Cookies?" "No, not cookies... you ... I mean, you go to sleep now." "I wan goodie too." "Don't you worry, Honey Pie, you're invited. Now go to sleep." "Weave doe open!" "I'll leave it halfway open, OK?" She does the same thing every night. She leaves me in here alone with my terrors. When she leaves the closet doors open, my mom's white meat wrapper smocks, hanging in a row, turn into ghosts. And if I look at them too long, they start squirming, trying to get off their hangers.  So I have to turn away and not look before they escape and get me. But when I turn away, the invisible rhinoceros comes out and sticks its pointy horn at me.  But I can't turn around to look because the man with the melted face will be in the window, and it will all be real.   But the worst thing of all is the toad that sits at the foot of my bed, watching me. Waiting. All shiny and sticky. His wet throat puffing in and out, so big I think it's going to pop. And he can see me even with his eyes closed. He can see me when he's sleeping if he ever sleeps.  "Croak!" He keeps telling me. His name is Mr. Quiet. I don't know how these things happen. I just know they do. Mom must know bad things are happening in here. How could she not?   Maybe when you grow up, you forget about Magical Things.  She always tries to shut the door. I know why... 'cause she's a witch. A mean, ugly witch. So's grandma.  They think I don't know, but I do. I know they're gonna cook me and eat me when I fall asleep. That's what witches do; they eat kids for supper.  I can hear 'em in the living room. Dirty, Ugly, Smelly Witches. They can't decide whether to make a delicious Jake stew or roast me like a pig.  "Shall we try a little more Cyan Pepper once he's crispy, Mother? Perhaps a pinch of Milk Weed powder?""  "Now, Now, Deary! Let's be frugal with our use of spice! We mustn't spoil the little brat's natural flavor!"  " You are so wise, Mother...as always! I'll sharpen the pointy end of the spit. You relax and finish your Hemlock Tea!" " C a cKLe C a ckLE!!"  It sounds like they've chosen BBQ.  I've tried to catch them in the act. I'll sneak down the hall and peek around the corner.                                                                              But they always know when I'm coming and turn back into Mommy and Grandma because they're Magical Witches.  "Go back to bed, Sweetie! I'll check on you in a minute!" “Kay. doan kwose doe.”  "Don't worry, deliciou…I mean, dearest one… I'll eat…I mean, see you in the morning."  'I might be only two, but you aren't fooling me, you UgLy, SmElly, Old WiTch!'  So I'm gonna stay wake! I'm not... gonna... fall... asweep..." "OK, OK, Bowser... stop licking me. I getting up now." "Good morning, Sweetie! What do you want for breakfast?"  "Cheerios!" 

6o7vzd

Stranger Danger

“Howdy, little pardner, are you lost?” The man’s voice comes out of nowhere in the buzz of the crowd. It scares me. His big face comes too close. Scruffy gray beard. Squinty eyes. A yellow-teeth smile. Something brown is stuck between two of them near the corner of his mouth. His breath stinks. Like a skunk that’s been dead for a long time. But not as bad as when Dad ran over one. The smell stayed with us until the tires finally scraped it all off onto the road. My own eyes get squinty as I search for Dad. He was just here. We were standing at the Pony Express statue, and he was reading one of the signs next to it, and I walked along the rope fence, waiting for him to finish reading. Again. I… walked away… Dad said to never walk away. But if I did, find a policeman and tell him—or her—I was lost. A tap on my shoulder. “Let’s get unlost .” The squinty-eyed, yellow-toothed man wears an ugly jacket. It’s that yucky color of spicy mustard, the kind I tell Mom not to put on my ham sandwich. He reaches for my hand. Lots of black under his fingernails. Stranger danger! Run! Find a policeman. I don’t see a blue uniform. I don’t see Dad. He had on a red shirt with gray squiggles. He’d laughed and said I’d be able to see him easily if we got separated. But I don’t see him. Is Squinty Eyes still there? Oh, no. He’s getting closer. Following me. His eyes even squinty-er. But no smile. Hide. I twist to the right, almost crashing into a lady with two girls a little older than me. “Watch where you’re going, kid,” says the bigger one. I spin around and speed up, almost tripping over my own boots, and my cowboy hat falls off. No time to pick it up. Look back. Squinty-Eyes isn’t behind me. Is he going to “head me off at the pass” like they say in cowboy movies? What would the Lone Ranger do? I slow down. I search: Squinty Eyes? Can’t see him. Dad? Can’t see him. Policeman? Can’t see one. Hiding place? Yes! A covered wagon. The long side of it is next to the wall. I slip in between. But can people see my boots even if I stand behind the wheel? There’s a hole in the cloth cover. Maybe I can squeeze through it. I’m small. And nobody will see my feet if I’m inside the wagon. I wiggle through. It only rips a little bit. I stay low. The whole wagon is empty. Hiding behind a barrel would’ve been even safer. I crawl to the opening in the back and raise up very, very slowly. I keep my head by the cloth part and peek out from the edge. I can see a lot of people, but they can’t see me. I hope. I look for Dad’s red shirt. Lots of blues and blacks and whites and—red! No, that man’s too fat to be Dad. All those blue shirts and not one of them a policeman.            Uh-oh—the yucky mustard jacket. And he’s holding my hat. I duck down. Keep walking, mister. Don’t look in the wagon. Don’t look. Don't look. I count to one hundred. At least, I think I do. I might have forgotten my seventies. Anyway, I count as far as I can think to count. I dare a quick peek, then back down. No mustard jacket. I slide to the other side and peek out again. He’s there! But I only see his back. He’s talking to somebody in front of him. The other person steps to the side. A short lady with glasses and she’s wearing a police uniform. What if Squinty Eyes is pretending to be my dad? And he’s telling the police lady that I’m his kid? Then, he'll kidnap me, and I'll never find Dad. I'll never see Mom again. But if I jump out now and tell her that guy's not my dad, will she believe me? Move back to the side. Make sure she can’t see me. Got to think Okay. I’ll go over there. Tell her the truth. If she tries to make me go with Squinty Eyes, I will run away. And I will scream, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” And I won’t stop until the whole cowboy museum is looking at me. And maybe then Dad will find me. Deep breath. Look outside. The ugly mustard jacket and the blue police uniform are walking away. Go . I jump out of the covered wagon. A family walking toward it stops in surprise. “Can I get in there, too?” the boy asks his dad. I don’t wait to hear the answer. I run. Follow the mustard jacket. Look for a red shirt. Is the police lady still with Squinty Eyes? Yes. I race up to the blue uniform. I tug on it. “I lost my dad. Can you help me?” The lady smiles. Squinty Eyes waves my hat high above his head. He looks too happy. Don’t trust him. The police lady asks. “ What’s your name?” “Jaxon Sanders.” “We’re very glad we found you, Jaxon.” “That man is not my dad.” I give Squinty Eyes a mean look, as mean as the Rifleman when he’s protecting his boy. “Of course, he’s not.” She believes me! Will she arrest him? Squinty Eyes doesn’t look scared of her. He just keeps waving the cowboy hat high above his head. “And that’s my hat,” I tell the police lady. Squinty Eyes hands it back to me. The police lady smiles at him. “This is Cowboy Dan. He used to be a real cowboy. Now, he works at the museum, and he’s been helping your dad look for you.” A real cowboy? Wow. And I’d run away. From a good guy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Squinty Eyes—I mean, Cowboy Dan—holds out his hand to shake. I grip his hand like Dad taught me. A man’s handshake. A red shirt hurries toward me through the crowd.

2dmstk

Recompense Unlimited

Through the dirty gas station window Cade Wilcott watched the light turn red, then green, then red again while not a single vehicle passed through the intersection. The faded redlight swung in the breeze. Cade wondered how many more times the old fixture would have to swing to and fro before it fell to the ground, shattering the bulbs, sparks flying. What would uphold law and order in Redham if not the only traffic light for 30 miles?            The bell chimed as the door swung open. Without moving his head, Cade pushed his cap up to get a look at whoever had walked in. But the man—dressed in all beige, like some kind of asylum patient—turned and met his eyes right away. Cade flashed his eyes down and tapped his phone screen, his face warm.            Two texts. The first he'd already read without opening, his mother letting him know she was on the way, now ten minutes ago. The second, one minute ago, Hey , from Jackie Martin. He unlocked the phone, tapped out a quick whats up , pressed send, and stuffed his phone in his pocket. His heart thumped in his chest.            From his table by the windows, Cade sneaked a peak at the man in beige. The man walked down the farthest aisle, stopping to consider every item, smiling all the while. His dark hair was up in a loose bun, and his tan face was dusted with stubble. He looked up and made eye contact with Cade again. Cade held it for a moment, felt goosebumps spread over his body like wind through grass. He broke away, looked back out the window, and shot up as his mother pulled up in the blue last-century Lexus.            Cade buckled his seatbelt and looked up to find the man standing inside, by the window, staring toward the intersection, the hint of a smile still on his face. Cade's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he couldn't pull his focus away from this strange man. His stomach churned and his chest felt tight.            "You won't find a mosque here," muttered Mandy, his mother, as she peered at the man, severity wrinkling her forehead. She sipped at her mug of coffee.            Cade pulled his phone back out, grateful that the man couldn't hear Mom speak that way.            Wondering when I'll see you again , read Jackie's reply. He tilted the phone away from Mom, replying, off tonight. gotta sleep, ttyl .            "How was yer night?" asked Mom. They rolled out onto the highway.            "Fine," said Cade, pulling off the stained red polo that was his work uniform. "Didn't get shot." He tossed the shirt in the back seat.            "That's not funny." She shook her head. She'd initially objected to him working at the station, saying he might get held up by 'some thug.' As if she didn't know every family in town, white and black. "You need to wash that."            "I'm sure you can manage it." He smirked. Phone buzzed.            "Boy..."            Sweet dreams .            Mom turned the radio up. "... and we know that homosexuality is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. All people may sin, but we must not knowingly pursue a lifestyle of sin, lest we find ourselves without a place in the Kingdom of Heaven ..."            Hearing the words, Cade resigned once again to gazing out the window. Less to see what was outside than to hide the red staining his face. Familiar hurt budded in his chest like a rose, with thorns of fear and hopelessness that pricked at his veins until he ran empty. It was the emptiness that drew his eyes closed and pulled his head against the warm glass; Cade drifted to sleep, lulled by the warmth and the stirring words of the radio pastor.            He woke in his bed to a flood of blood orange through the slanted blinds. Like a magnet his hand went to his phone. One hundred and twenty-two messages from the group chat. The phone buzzed—one hundred and twenty-three. He cleared the notification. And one message, seventeen minutes ago, from Jackie, You awake? What you wanna do tonight? Cade smiled. Jackie had been pretty patient. Cade'd slept for ten hours. bonfire , he sent in reply.            At nine o'clock Cade pulled up in the Lexus to the pipeline way in the back of Jackie's property, a strip of land surrounded by pine woods. He shut off the engine and took a moment to look down the hill. Jackie already had the fire going strong. Two big ol' camping chairs with an ice chest between them. The fire was made at the base of two hills, curtains of darkness hiding their little oasis of dancing light. And Jackie was there, back to Cade, stoking the wood.            Cade grabbed the flashlight from the glovebox, shining it on his face, and opened his selfie camera. Messy dirty blond hair plotted its escape from beneath his old high school ball cap. He checked his teeth one last time, all white and clean but a couple kind of crooked. His father's green eyes that he hated looking at. He tossed his phone in the passenger seat and got out, shining the flashlight ahead of him as he made his way down the gnarly hill.            When he got to the bottom, Jackie turned around. Cade's heart raced. The light of flame played against Jackie's dark skin, kissing his muscle-thick arms and the soft pockets of fat that adulthood had bestowed. His expression was an easy smile, framed by a shower of twists from atop his head. The sight sent warmth blazing all over Cade's body before he had even reached the fire.            Cade walked up and Jackie pulled him into an awkward embrace; Cade wasn't used to the touch and Jackie probably wasn't either. But then they kissed anyway, as best as they could. Cade bit back the urgent feelings rising up from a deeper part of him and pulled back. Keep it cool. They separated.            "Hey," Jackie mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Cade laughed and Jackie joined him.            "What's up," Cade managed, trying not to sound like such a redneck. The accent was practically sewed to his tongue.            "Want a beer?" This was there fifth or sixth time together, and Jackie knew how to pull them out of that weird initial greeting thing they did. The first time they met up, they'd stood there for a good ten minutes making small talk and barely tolerating punctuations of heavy silence.            "Yeah."            They sat down, and Jackie cracked open a couple Blue Moons and handed one over. For a little while they just drank and watched the fire. Cade couldn't beat his smile. A log tumbled. A plume of glowing ash shot high into the air, intermingling with the shocks of stars painted across the black sky. Cade was in another world.            "What'd you do while I was sleeping?" he asked Jackie. His heart was in his throat.            Jackie's voice was soft. "Well, I went to work, then I came home and helped Mama in the garden, and before long I was out here buildin' a fire at your request." Air rushed out of Cade's nose in a giggle.            "It's a good fire."            A branch cracked at the edge of the trees. They both jerked their heads left. The silhouette of a man appeared from between the thin pine trunks; Cade nearly jumped out of his chair.            "You lost, bro?" Jackie called, standing up. The man continued his approach and gave no answer. "Hey, you need get off my property man."            The man entered the light of the fire. Cade gasped. It was the strange guy from that morning. Strands of his hair had fallen out of his bun and drifted around his face. He was wearing the same beige get-up, but it was dirty now, stained with mud and decorated with bits of pine straw. Jackie flicked open a hunting knife.            "Jackie, wait," Cade whispered. Jackie glanced back at him. "I think he's like a mental patient or somethin'." Cade stood up and turned to the man. "Hey, you were at the gas station this morning. You lost?"            The man smiled. "I am no more lost than you are, brother."            Cade wondered whether the guy must be on drugs; he looked sort of gaunt. "Do you need to borrow a phone?"            "Cade," declared the man, smiling bigger.            A chill crawled up Cade's spine. "How do you—"            "I am not looking for a mosque. Your mother is wrong about this, and about many things."            Different words danced on Cade's tongue, but he couldn't get a single one out.            "Alright man, I'm calling the police," Jackie said, his voice stern and deep. "Cade, get in your car."            "Jackie," the man spoke, smiling at him now. "Your grandfather does not blame you for what happened." Jackie's phone hit the ground. His hands were shaking.            "Who the hell are you?" Jackie yelled. Cade tugged at Jackie's arm, pulling him back.            "A visitor. Soon I will take my leave. Sleep now, and take comfort."            Jackie tensed, then leaned back until he toppled onto to Cade, bringing them both to the ground, inches away from the fire. Cade looked up. The heat made his eyes water. The light of the fire flickered across the man's face. He was no longer smiling. Really he looked sad, his brown eyes half-closed.            "Please..." Cade groaned under Jackie's weight.            "You too, Cade."            Cade's eyes shut.            Then he woke. Voices all around. His eyes snapped open. Jackie's head rested on his chest, still out cold. A police officer was bent over, studying Cade's eyes. He recognized the face—a guy he'd went to high school with. He could feel the blood pumping through his entire body, like his skin was about to burst.            "I always heard you could handle your booze, Wilcott. Guess that's not the only thing I had wrong about you." The officer smirked, his eyes on Jackie.            Jackie's parents stood a little farther back, taking in the whole scene, their faces grim. His mom's voice sounded nearby, shrill. She was yelling at another cop. "No my son is not gay. I don't know what he's doing like that."            Miraculously, Cade's heart calmed. He took comfort. His mother was wrong about many things.

m1oalq

Going Back

TW: child abuse, gun violence The bishop began his homily, but I was only half paying attention. I could feel sweat gathering in my hands. Did I really want to do this? A year ago, I would’ve said,   “I’m never doing this!”   But now, I wasn’t so sure. Last year, I had stumbled in here. I had no home. No family. Well, not anymore. As soon as my parents found out what I did, they slammed the door in my face and told me to get lost. No real  family would do that to you.   That thought seized me and tightened its grip around me. I slid down the “thinking about my family hole”, which was filled with questions, guilt, worry, anger, and feelings. Yuck.   Had Aris gotten into Harvard like she always wanted? Were Arnaud and Alya in juvenile detention again? Was Zeth losing figure skating competitions? Was Zizi in the hospital again ? Did they forgive me for leaving them? Did they hate me? Had they changed a lot? Were they doing well?   I had nothing but love for my sister, brother, stepsisters, and stepbrother. My parents, on the other hand. . .   Marshall Perez and Zabella Perez. The parents I used to love. I found it amusing that I don’t love them, given the fact that God and his prophets had specifically written in the Bible many times, “Love your father and mother.” And my stepmother, Aina Perez, who had secretly married my father and had three whole kids with him. By the time my mother found out, it was too late.   Aina Perez was a great person. . . For about three minutes. Then she showed her true colors, which was the colors of a terrible person. She was rude and abusive. I was sure she was secretly a kidnapper, robber,murderer, or terrorist. Aris knew what she was, but she never told me, “because it would scar me for life”. Yeah, right. Aina was terrible to me and my siblings and step siblings, hitting us (either with a chair, a weight, a plate, a ruler, or literally anything) at every opportunity, screaming curses at us, throwing us out the window (I’m not kidding), and taking care of us in the worst way possible. I won’t get into that  much detail.   Aina would lock us up in tiny rooms only she knew about, usually filled with something we were really, really, really  scared of, and put us in there for a day with nothing. No food, no water, nothing to entertain ourselves.   The six of us all had their own. Mine was filled with creepy pictures of spiders, big and ugly, splattered across the walls. If you didn’t think that was so bad, there were real spiders in there, too. Dozens of them. Some were the size of my hand. Being in that room would never get away from my memory, no matter how much I try. I can still remember the haunting sound of their crawling, the sight of those big spiders, the feeling of ripe fear.   The younger ones, Zizi, Arnaud, and Alya used to come to me after they had spent their time in their own “fear rooms”. I would comfort them and do my best, but they never quite got over their experiences. Aina had scarred all of us, even the older ones, Aris and Zeth.   I’m explaining to you the boring, typical, and constantly repeated cliche: when your stepmother is terrible to you. But that’s just my life.   I wasn’t sure how Aina got away with treating the six of us like that, but she did. She was the only adult at home. Mother and father were always working, always away on some business trip that was more important to them than their own children and stepchildren.   When they did come home, Aina would change and act like the best person in the world, but still be terrible to us. Our parents, distant and ignorant, never noticed what she did to us, nor did any of us tell our parents about it. Probably because of the threats. My parents saw how “wonderful” Aina was, and how “naughty” we were. They always took Aina’s side.    Eventually, all of the bad qualities of Aina (trust me, there’s a lot of them) seeped into my father, then the bad qualities got into my mother. They all became terrible people. If you lived in my house for even a day, you would see that I’m correct.   Aina had kicked me out because I had told the police that I spotted her joining the crowd to storm the White House in a riot. She had been carrying a gun. I saw her shooting people. She killed at least one person. My parents managed to get Aina out of jail, but they blamed me for the money they had to spend and agreed with Aina kicking me out. I was seriously wondering if my parents were blind to the real Aina.   In the ten months, two weeks, and four days I had been kicked out and living on the streets, I had become sick, thin, smelly, hungry, and half-mad. These people had no reason to help me.   But they did. They took me in to live here. They did everything they could to make me happy and comfortable. They gave me food, shelter, comfort, education, entertainment, and more. In return, I had to do something for them.   I had to go to church. I had to follow their religion. Christianity.   It was honestly a big favor to do. Adopting into a new religion, especially when you’re a teen, is no easy task. Before, I was an atheist. I relied on science. The rules of science and God kind of contradict each other.   But I had gone to church for a year now. I sang hymns, read the Bible, listened to sermons, and prayed. I’m not sure what had gotten into me to believe. I guess it just felt right . I was pretty sure that made absolutely no sense. But I still believed.   Unfortunately, my faith was still “newborn”. It had only a year to grow. Compared to other people here that were my age, that was nothing. Could I do this?   I had to. I was sixteen now. Everyone had to do this at sixteen. I was no exception. I could do this. God is with me. I just had to rely on my faith and speak the truth.   I could feel hundreds of eyes on me. It was time.   The bishop said,   “Do you reject Satan and all his works and all his empty promises?”   That was easy. I responded,   “I do.”   “Do you believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?”   That was easy, too.   “I do.”   “Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, was crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?”   Yep.   “I do.”   “Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who came upon the apostles at Pentecost and today is given to you sacramentally in confirmation?”   What did that mean? Okay, don’t panic. Break it down into parts. The Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life. That I understand. I know what apostles are.   The Pentecost, on the other hand. . . I should know this! Was it the day where the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus’ disciples, causing them to speak different languages?   Or was it the day the Lord was going to kill every firstborn in Egypt (the tenth plague), but the Israelites followed God’s commands and avoided the tenth plague, therefore getting out of Egypt?   Wait. That was the Passover . Not the Pentecost. The Pentecost is the first one.   So what is the question asking?   Oh. I’m stupid. The question was actually simple. If I believe in the Holy Spirit. The rest of the stuff is just the Holy Spirit’s job description. Okay.   “I do.”   “Do you believe in the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting?”   Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.   “I do.”   “This is our faith. This is the faith of the Church. We are proud to profess it in Christ Jesus our Lord.”   Everyone in the Mass said,   “Amen.”   The laying on of hands went by quickly. Then, it was the anointing of Chrism.   The Chrism was brought to the bishop. I walked over to the bishop. My sponsor, the man who found me, Isaiah, placed his hand on my shoulder. That made me calmer. Isaiah was like the caring father I never really had. He announced my name to the bishop.   “Zunairah Perez.”   Although I changed my name to Esther once I came here, for the sake of me not getting tracked by my parents, I still had to use my birth name. It made me cringe every single time I heard my old name, but I had to deal with it. I couldn’t break our church’s traditions.   The bishop dipped his right thumb in the Chrism and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. As he was doing this, he said,   “Zunairah Perez, be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.”   I replied,   “Amen.”   “Peace be with you.”   “And with your spirit.”   I didn’t have to talk alone in front of so many people for the rest of the ceremony. I felt a huge weight get off my chest. I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I relaxed.   The rest of the ceremony passed quickly. At last, it was over. My friends rushed over to hug me and give me flowers and cards. My “adoptive parents” (it wasn’t official) Isaiah and Ruth were close behind. I smiled at how sweet they were all being and thanked everyone. I had finally done it after months of worrying.   For the first time in years, I felt completely happy and at peace. Out of this world. I remembered months ago, when I had considered leaving because I had to attend church.   I was glad I thought otherwise.   Later that night, I was reading books to distract myself. I had been constantly thinking about my family these days, which was stressful, painful, and rather annoying. As I was about to throw my book across the room for having my favorite character die, someone knocked on my door.   “Who is it?” I called.   When nobody answered, I looked outside the peephole. No one was there. I unlocked the door and scanned the hall. No one was there. That was strange. I closed the door and sat back down on my bed, starting to read again, deciding not to damage the book. Maybe my favorite character would come back to life somehow later. Maybe he wasn’t dead.   A moment later, a hand was over my mouth. Was this another practical joke Sarah and Jonas were pulling? (If you're starting to wonder if everyone in the church was named after people in the Bible, my answer is no. Just most of them.)   A knife was held to my throat. I considered freaking out, but they’ve pulled off more dangerous ones than this before.   A voice said,   “Struggle and you’re dead.”   That definitely  wasn’t them. A distant memory tugged at me. I should know this voice. I wanted to ask who they/she/he was, but I couldn’t exactly talk.   The person dragged me out into the hall. I checked my watch. It was ten thirty at night. Only Isaiah and Ruth would be here. Maybe they could help. How could I let them know some person was kidnapping me? I couldn’t exactly call anyone for help, given that I didn’t have a phone and a hand was keeping me from talking. I couldn’t defend myself, probably because my knife was back in my room and this person was strong, based on the way they/he/she was holding me and how big they/she/he was, so I couldn’t exactly punch this person to get out of this.   That left strategizing, stalling, and talking. That’s just dandy. Talking is especially useful when your kidnapper specifically puts their hand over your mouth, which is the universal sign for, “ shut up ”. And when your kidnapper has a knife. Like I said, talking is extremely useful in situations like this.   The kidnapper dragged me to the nearest exit and opened the door, and I was immediately hit with the brisk Autumn air. I wished I had been wearing a jacket.   My kidnapper got me in a car. A Nissan. There was a scratch on the back, big and noticeable. Huh. He shoved me in the backseat, which smelled like lavender. They patted the knife in their pocket, along with their gun, reminding me that they/she/he was armed, and sped off West.   My kidnapper drove for what seemed like hours. They had turned up the radio and opened the windows. I felt incredibly bored. The music was that one genre I hated, and I hated being in cars, especially in the backseat. I also hated opening windows in a car. That was odd. How did my kidnapper know exactly what I hated? A suspicion started tickling at the base of my throat.   The car lurched to a stop. My kidnapper turned to face me, and I gasped. Although she was cloaked, I could now see her eyes. I was now sure of her gender, along with her identity. Her eyes were small, round, and the color of honey, the type that you would find out in the wild, and would cause a swarm of hornets to chase you and sting you if you tried to eat it. Her eyes were, I admit, beautiful, but also deadly looking, like she was mentally thinking of new forms of horrific punishments that could scar you, both mentally and physically. I never wanted to see those eyes again.   She took off her hood, and her locks of brown hair spilled onto her shoulders. Her skin, which was almost as dark as mine, glinted in the moonlight. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.   “I’m taking you home, kid. Don’t try to escape. I’ll put an end to an attempt to escape quickly.” Aina Perez said to me, her voice filled with no emotion. Her tone also suggested that she would end me  as well if necessary. Unfortunately, I like being alive. Being dead would be extremely inconvenient for my health. She continued, “You’re in for some surprises when you get home. Just you wait.”  

gmbx68

Cursing cross

Write about someone whose been sent to boarding school Cursing cross By Dumisani khumalo Cursing jokes or cursing cross, took Thelma to school on a sacred secret .To do the truth as she was told and listen to the real world of the Bible. However, she did not know the school bus would land her with a contrary domination,and different doctrine. Being a girl guide and one to live by the word of God commanded ,even when she heard those snide jokes about different churches and different folks in her formative religious life. The bus's rolling tyres ,and tweets on her phone ,bugged her for answers ,on the how's and about the new school,her fare  paid for , school fees too ,at the Roman Catholic convent,an interesting change,and she was counting dates spent on her initial days by cancelling those passed and chalked out on the board,in no time. Two religions were going to meet each other in her tender knowing thoughts and ideas of whether respecting Sabado or Domingo,that is Saturday or Sunday ,as her day of worship,was right, and the two church's were unknowingly  mixing oil and water. She also thought about her customs and traditions ,which were taught at home. When the other girls went to church on Sundays,she stayed in the domitory until out of curiosity ,she joined to see what this church did ,after her Fridays were horribly be labored in the evenings,when at home it was times they prepared for Saturday.,the Sabbath.The matron would have bundled her out of the domitory,she was gain told by her bunker mate. She had heard the nasty jokes on how at a funeral one is to behave , you should be careful ,when you invite a seventh day preacher ,be wary of your women ,and if it's the wife that is left ,be careful they do not steal her ,and if it's,a Catholic priest ,hide the beer ,and if it's a born again pastor ,take care of your money .,Cursing kind of jokes were but the phenomenonst to real issues. It was a kind of hard talking on the foibles revealed on each church,and the common dominating ills hidden in each came out in the open, in full view of the whiles and the Will's of it's congregants ,mostly church goers ,cast out like demons into the smouldering fires of hell. However a hell so real and remonstrating on Thelma s mindset. A conscientious battle to do better or to change the world,and her starting point was natural as a flow of wind. First conflict happened over the thoughts on idolatry,the cross at the dormitory door she had moved into ,and the matron who came to ask on its where abouts.Every room ,class ,passage had one serving reminder.They told on her ,and she had packed it nicely out of sight,and strangely to them ,it was not taken seriously,until the fateful moment she was asked about her upbringing,and church she went to at home. Rest assured,she told the truth ,that this was as good as idolatry in her church,worse than symbolism. The kitchen was always packed ,nuns to be in their Grey's and white veils ,in a separate section ,and better food and treatment given to them ,and not in the common aluminium plates used by everyone .They had china plates and sausages, bread ,butter ,and orange juice as they wanted. It had nothing to do with fees .It had to do with their new found conviction. That was there difference,and it was hypocritical. .It was generally pork eating days,and her church had a cardinal sin put aganist those cloven hooves,and she made her request aganist it. They gave her milk instead. .The kitchen had to create for her a menu,and the cooks did not like it .This was the third meal they had to make,after the students and the select few nuns to be that would have theirs.She claimed justifiably she did not eat pork and got her way. The strange hard headed mindset she had ,got her more interests into the Catholic lifestyle,and it was over the separate way they were treated with the boys and put in schools apart, from each other who were just across the lake ,and visited each weekend at Sunday services. Services that would last only a few hours and not for the whole day ,did not give them time know each other. The Boys sat alone as the girls ,and no looking or speaking with the boys was allowed,unless with permission given .Thelma was thrown off and was asking questions about it repeatedly ,and saying the cross is bigger than Rome. The cat came out of the bag ,and the selfies she was making on the phone ,came to haunt her .She took some of them with the boys when no one was looking ,and the matron was hysterical when she saw them. This was a matter for the principal of the school now. The principal s office was all but murals ,crucifix's,stories and prayers ,events of the Bible on corners ,if they worked better than his beliefs ,the devil had a tough time coming into it. Thelma sat down ,and his kind eyes gave her some confidence ,and looking around some more ,a spear and a shield stood in the corner of the office . Tradition came to take its place amidst all ,and the matron started a narrative, the principal did not entertain and he was not listening ,he was looking at the phone. "Who bought you this phone ,"he asked "My mother," The matron was told to leave ,and he started telling her about doing as the Romans do,and not going about antagonising the school rules,it would not be good for the other students ,who wanted an education as she did. She got the message and left,but a heroine to her friends,she had become. They gave her the attention and help she needed,and soon a following came to her. Another pork day and she was explaining to her bunker mate about the cross,how without it you still had to believe in God. The one on the wall was a reminder,but why rely on it ,and believe in a wooden piece when God was all around to see ,to reach out and touch and grasp his power each and every day. There was excitement on sporting days and the boys came well nigh to show what they were made of ,and the special event was to swim across the lake .All the girls never participated,and it had grown to become a culture to let the boys compete on their own .Thelma would not have ,she wanted to beat them hands down . The curious eyes were applauding their previous heroes when with tights on with a fitting bra Thelma came and stood up at the starting line. The matron wanted to call her out ,but the head encouraged her ,and the whistle was blown .Thelma first took a gasp of air and dived in as the boys took the plunge too. It was a date devil race never seen before,as she raised her head left and right to see how far she was getting and at the third place before finish line ,she made made a desperate dash to come in second. It was a stupendous event and soon the other girls would follow suit ,first with small events planned between themselves.

u05zgh

Conversations With Mom

“ To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in it’s perfect power.”--Maya Angelou It was raining hard in October. I wasn’t very surprised after all, it was the beginning of fall or Autumn and rain is supposed to be a normal thing for this time of the year. But, it had been a long time since rain fell from the sky in any month. I was excited and didn’t even use my umbrella as I walked to the car. My hair got wet and I didn’t even care. I jumped in a puddle like I was a toddler and laughed hard. My next door neighbor probably thought I lost my mind or was drunk but I didn’t care. I was on my way to visit my mom. The first week in October was our week to hang out together and talk over a hot cup of tea for her and hot chocolate with perfectly awkward shaped tiny marshmallows of different colors. I like the green and pink ones the best. The pink ones reminded me of Thanksgiving. Always on Thanksgiving since I was a small child I wore something pink. One year it was a pink ribbon in my curly brown hair, another year it was my pink sneakers and last year I wore a pink ribbon pinned on my shirt for my best friend who was fighting breast cancer. The green ones reminded me of Christmas. I love to look at the Christmas lights that hang from trees, homes, doorways, driveways and all over. The green ones always twinkled the most on our Christmas tree. My mom said that every time the green lights twinkled, it was Grandpa who was wishing us a Merry Christmas from heaven. He loved the color green and even got married to Grandma in a lime green suit. I think that Grandma, although she loved him dearly with all her heart and soul, was glad that they had eloped with him in that green suit. My mom was almost 83 years old now. She had more wrinkles that I call smile lines and her hair was a little more grey and she moved just a little slower. She didn’t do as much as she used to do that included driving. She stopped driving her little red and white corvette four years ago. I know she hated to give up driving but she knew it was time. On her great granddaughter’s seventeenth birthday she handed over the keys to her and winked at her and told her the car was hers, to enjoy it but be drive safely. That’s the kind of person Mom is. She deeply believed in blessing others with anything she had. She passed on many blessings to others over the years. I pulled into the driveway of my childhood house just in time for the rain to stop. I popped open the trunk and grabbed my bags. My bags were filled with construction paper of all colors, colored pencils, markers, crayons, scissors, and even my mom’s favorite candy. I closed the trunk and almost skipped to the front door. Being with Mom brought out the little girl in me. I felt like I was 10 years old again. Mom was sitting at the table waiting for me. Her white and blue tee shirt was tucked into her black slacks. She had on her bunny slippers that I gave her for her last birthday. We both smiled big smiles when we saw each other and hugged each other in a tight embrace. I didn’t want to let go. Just something about this hug felt different. I wished that I could just hug her forever. “So, baby girl are you ready?” “Yeah, Mom. I got the stuff. Do you want me to make the tea and hot chocolate?” “I already started the teapot. But, you can finish it if you would like.” Mom said as she sat down at the dining room table looking into my bags. “Be right back, Mom and then we can start.” I walked back into the dining room carrying a big tray of donuts, cheese, crackers, tea cookies and of course, tea for Mom and hot chocolate for me with extra little marshmallows. As I set the tray on the table I noticed my mom was stretching out her fingers. That only meant she was ready for our crafting mini marathon. My mom glanced up at me and smiled. She sipped her hot tea and took a jelly filled donut from the tray and placed it in front of her. “So, what did you get?” My mom asked. “I got some construction paper in all colors and some markers and the usual.” I said putting all the contents of the bags on the table one by one. “You did a good job, Baby Girl with the colors this year.” “I know I was surprised at how many colors of paper I found at the craft store. “ I said, grabbing a piece of orange paper and the scissors. “Baby, you know I love doing this with you every year. Just me and you sitting here at this table which has seen so many people gathered around it over the years and so much food and drinks. Remember Uncle Joe who would always have some drama during Thanksgiving? Your dad would bring the turkey in and it was Uncle Joe’s job to carve it and he would always get mad at Aunt Hilda and stomp off in a huff and puff and we all would be waiting for the turkey and Hilda would cuss him out and he would cuss her out and pretty soon the whole family was cursing and screaming until your dad brought out his big whistle he used when he coached football and blow it. Everyone would cover their ears but they would all shut up.” My mom laughed as she cut a piece of green paper to form a leaf. “Yeah, I remember and let’s not forget that Easter when Uncle Nobel was supposed to cook and he burned the ham and we had fried fish for dinner. That was the first and last time we had fried fish and potato salad on Easter.” I chuckled. “Yep, and Cousin Eugene was allergic to fish. He was pissed that all he could eat was potato salad, green beans and yams.” Mom said folding another piece of paper in the form of a square. “This fall wreath is looking pretty good.” I told Mom as I glued the leaves we had cut together on the Styrofoam circle in front of us. “It is coming along. I think I will put this one on the front door when we are done. But, not on the outside, on the inside where I can see it all day long.” “Good idea Mom. We still have a ways to go before it is done.” “Hey remember right over there in the family room your sister went into labor on Christmas Eve?” Mom said laughing so hard I thought she was going to cry. “How can I forget?” I glued another leaf on our creation. “I thought she was going to have that baby right then and there. Thank goodness her useless husband, Franklin, got her to the hospital on time.” Mom laughed again. “Hey Mom, look at this. I think I made a fall snowflake.” I laughed at how my cutting of the paper took a wrong turn. “Even though it doesn’t snow in Fall, except in the Fall of 1967, we can use it as decoration on our wreath too. After all, it is our creation and we can put what we want on it.” Mom placed the snowflake near the top of the wreath. “You know what?” I asked my mom. “What?” “I’m glad we started doing this when I was little. How did you get the idea to start?” I asked gluing a reddish color flower to the wreath. “Well, out of all my children you were the most creative. You were always writing stories, drawing pictures, having full blown theater productions with your dolls, and the one time you painted your room that awful brown color, so I had to find something to do with you before you painted the whole house brown.” Mom laughed. “Mom, you are nuts. I only painted on a tiny spot on my bedroom wall brown to see how it would look.” “Hand me the purple paper please. I am going to make some purple flowers for our wreath.” I handed Mom the paper and I just leaned back in my chair and watched how she meticulously cut each and every petal of the flower to perfection. I could tell she was getting tired and her hands were starting to bother her a bit but she continued to cut tiny flowers, and bigger flowers in all hues of purple, red, green and orange and she even threw in a brown one. I admired her more than she would ever know. “Jada, what are you looking at? Girl, we have more to cut if we want to get this done by dinner time. Now, stop looking at me and start cutting and gluing.” Mom shook her head as she said it. “I’m doing it Mama. I just can’t keep up with you.” I laughed slightly. “Speaking of keeping up. Remember that time I beat you in the 2k race?” “Mama, I can’t believe you brought that up. Yes, I do remember and I remember that you told all of your friends and all of the aunts, uncles, grand kids, nieces, cousins, just everyone that you beat me. You even told my best friend, Kina. How can I forget? You tell that story every holiday.” Mom laughed so hard that her eyes really did cry tears that time. She had one of those good laughs that come from your belly. The kind of laugh that makes you cry and almost wet your pants. It was good to see Mom laugh like that. Pretty soon we both were laughing like that. Holding our sides and crying with laughter. “Mom, look. I think we finished one wreath. One down and three to go.” I said proudly holding up our creation. “Yeah, baby. It looks good. Now, we have to get started on Aunt Lauren’s one. She would not speak to me if she didn’t get one this year. Remember we forgot her last year and she didn’t speak to me for a week.” “I know. She is something else. We need to make her a red and gold one to match her red couch and gold rug.” I suggested. “Right, baby, she has no sense of decor but I love her anyway.” Mama jokes. Mama passed away two days after Fall in 2019. I will always remember those table side chats and those crazy fall decorations we would make together. Those were the best times. I will always treasure our construction paper decorations. “Hey Mom, are you ready to make our fall decorations?” My own daughter screamed from the kitchen table. “Coming baby girl.” I smiled as I walked to the kitchen and sorted out the construction paper.

1a7rlw

A McMaster Thanksgiving

BEEP BEEP BEEP the microwave alarm sounded as the shower in the bathroom turned off, Angelo McMaster, famous preacher, walked out and dried himself off quickly. The microwave beeped again and he really wished it wouldn’t beep every few seconds as he got dressed and then opened up his laptop. Standing back up he crossed the large hotel room and headed over to the kitchenette where he opened the microwave door and took out his plate. Yes, he thought to himself, he could have easily used the stove, or the single burner cook top he had at this hotel, but the book signing had taken longer than he had thought it would and he was in a hurry to his next appointment.   Crossing the room again he inhaled the steam coming off of his three slices of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and yams with marshmallows on it. Putting the plate down on the table that it now shared with his laptop he started typing on the keyboard. A little light near the top of the laptop lit up as he opened a program and continued typing, soon he saw himself on the screen, his gray eyes looking back at him.  Moments later his laptop gave a soft beep and his picture shrank in half as an older woman and man appeared next to him on screen. They seemed to be in a modest if not slightly older fashioned kitchen complete with yellow wallpaper covered in fruit print, the two people on the screen smiled as the woman waved. “Hi Anthony,” the woman said, Angelo couldn’t help but chuckle, only his family used his actual name any more. “Hi Mom, Hi dad,” Angelo responded. “Do you have your plate dear?” “Right here,” Angelo and his father, Brandon, responded at the same time, holding them up as they were not sure who Audrey, Angelo’s mother, was referring to when she asked. “So son,” Brandon started up, planning to strike a conversation as they waited. “Where are you at now?” “Pittsburgh, last night I did a talk about being thankful at the PPG Paints Arena, the place was sold out easy, it was amazing,”  At that moment the screen split again, this time in to thirds as a lady, slightly older than Angelo appeared. It was clear that she was in some sort of apartment, very nicely decorated. From what the camera showed it was clearly obvious she was doing quite well for herself. “Hi Mom, Hi Dad, Hi little brother,” “Hi Bella,” Angelo said, followed by her parents. “How is the tour going?” Bella asked. “Not bad, exhausting some days though, I’m just thankful I could take some time off and spend it with you guys, speaking of which Bella, thanks for the graphic work, the new stuff is going over great,” Angelo replied.  “Glad I could be of help brother, even though I’m sure once word gets out I did graphic work for the great Angelo McMaster, it will help me way more than I helped you,” Bella said. “I’m not that great,” said Angelo, slightly embarrassed by his sister. “But enough about me, aren’t we missing somebody?” “Yeah, where is Brad by the way?” Bella asked, as if on cue the screen split again. “Right here,” replied the newest entrant, Brad, Angelo’s younger brother. “Hi Mom, Hi Dad, Hello Sis, Hey brother,” “Hi Brad,” Audrey said. “Hi Brad,” Brandon replied. “Hello Brother,” Bella said. “Hey little bro,” Angelo said shortly after. Audrey and Brandon’s picture seemed to glitch for a moment or two as if something was causing their camera to lag, even to the point the camera actually went off for a few moments. It soon came back on though. “Sorry about that,” Audrey said. “Can’t be helped, being out here in the country makes it so we have much slower speeds on the internet than you fancy city folk,” Brandon said, making sure he was using a tone of voice when he mentioned “fancy city folk” that made it clear he was joking with his kids and was not actually upset with the fact that his three kids had moved out of the small town of Tionesta, Pennsylvania and in to bigger areas to pursue the lives that they had wanted. “You know you two are more than welcome to use my place, I am barely in it any more now that I am on the road so much,” said Angelo. “No No,” said Brandon “We are quite happy here, but again, thank you for the offer son,” he added “Now then,” said Audrey “Does everybody have their plates?” she asked. “Yes Mom,” said Angelo, Bella and Brad as they raised their plates. “Yes dear,” said Brandon. “I can see you do you silly,” Audrey said as she chuckled at her husband’s silliness. She then looked at the camera. “Okay then, she added. “Whenever you are ready Anthony,” Angelo knew what she meant, long before this had started, before the speaking engagements, before the books, before the fame, because of the path he had gone down he had been put in charge of the Thanksgiving prayers, and despite the fact that this year people were everywhere, it seemed that would be the one thing that would not change. “Please bow your heads,” Anthony said. One by one his family did so. “Dear heavenly father, we thank you for our time together, even if it is not under the most normal of circumstances, we thank you for the trials this year as well as the blessings we have been given. We thank you for the food we are about to receive and may it give us the strength to continue to your will, we pray this in your name, Amen,” “Amen, the rest of the family said, and with that, they began to eat. As they ate their plates Angelo thought once again of the path he had taken, the roads he had walked down, and knew that even though they were miles apart from each other, his family would always be with him in spirit. And for that, he silently thanked God.

tkuenx

For the love of Candy

"Tell me what does it feel like. To know what you're doing and never have to worry. To know something is inside you that needs to be proclaimed but it can’t. I can no longer lie to you. I have felt privileged to lead this congregation but now it has come to an end. I thank you for listening.” That was my speech of resignation from my pastoral post in our small Chatham neighborhood in Chicago. After six long years I had led people to know the Lord's true and intent purpose in there lives but I was neglecting my own skills keeping them at bay. Not allowing my true talent to come out. I didn't want to be pastor. I stared at my wife and kids. They smiled affectionately at me. That was all the support I needed. I looked around at my church congregation. A shivering silence was in the room. Everyone was in shock. People were truly convinced I had found my calling. An ordained pastor at the age of 18. Son of Reverend John Presley whose father was a reverend and his father before that. It was a generational thing people said. Though in my heart I pursued something different. I wanted something that brought propose to my life. The congregation remained silence once more as I made my exit off the stage. It was terribly embarrassing. The eyes of my father simmered in rejection. It had never been that way before. The were eyes of pride and love. Now as I stay seated I could feel his presence of disappointment like a gun to my chest. My father lead the people in prayer and the worship team began. I tried to sing but the words weren't coming out like they used to. People said I had the voice of a beautiful canary as it flew through the sky. Now it sounded like a beat up raven who had given up hope in flying ever again. My father sermon seemed to be geared at me. How people should follow their calling when it right in front of them. "Now turn your bible to 1 Corinthians 12:28." With my father's announcement people frantically started to flick through their bibles. I just sat there already versed with the scripture in my head. With that my father began to read the verse aloud. "And in the church God has appointed first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, and those with gifts of healing, helping, administration, and various tongues." My father took a look at the congregation. He turned to look at me directly before addressing the congregation again. "Church, let us not be fooled by what we think it means or what we suppose it means to us. It is very clear what it means. All of use were chosen to be either one of theses things listed. Many of us never find it straight away but to those who have it is a blessing. Let us not be swayed by the world's evil dictates that encamp us all around . Let us break forth into ministry. Build the kingdom for the Lord's name. Can I here the church say amen?" "Amen" the church echoed back. Some hallelujahs quickly joined in succession. A few screams and stamping of feet were heard in the front and the back. Old ladies in the pews swinging there hymn books saying "Yes lord" and "Preach his word pastor." The spirit of the Lord was here. I was in agreement with what was said. I know I was doing the right thing. I was going to minister in a different way. The worship team came on once more and church ended with a final prayer. People started to scurry to the back of the room were food and refreshments were served. I took my time knowing too well I was going not be full by the food but by peoples questions and concerns of my future. As soon as I was about to tuck into a juicy pie I was meet by Sister Paulina. An old resident in the church who made it here point to know everything about everyone. "So Reverend Evan what are you gonna do now. I was sure you'd be a preacher just like your father. I know you can preach a good sermon too. We've all heard you do it." Usually at this point people would causally ignore Paulina when she was questioning somebody as a fear kicked in if she would target them next. But now people seemed to hoover around her also questioning what I was about to do with my life. "Well," I began to say I casually put my first bite of pie back on my plate. I was slowing losing the ability to swallow anyway and sweat was slowly started to form form my forehead . I proceeded to begin again. "I was hoping to start a business." With that said I quickly strolled away to grab my plate and proceed to grab items. The food looked delicious yet somehow the thought of it was making me sick. Anyway it was a good way of making it out of the situation. However it didn't seem to be working Sister Paulina wasn't at all perturbed that I seem to be avoiding her. She seemed to be making progress into making herself unavoidable with more pulse racing questions. “Well that does nobody no good in answering anything. A business. Well, why so vague.? The only business we thought you would be running is right the in the church." Sister Paulina words stung me like a blunt sword. When you think about it would hurt more than a sharp one. It takes it time to sink in. A slow and gradual pain. That's what everybody thought. I knew that was all that could be thought in this small town. I began to pick small chicken wings unto my plate before I spoke. "I want to run a candy store." With that there seemed to be a stunned silence in the room. Almost as if everybody had been waiting on what I was to say and were taken back in complete and utter confusion. It lasted for the longest three seconds until people starting to mind their own business and continue with their the conversations. Sister Paulina was stunned also for a few seconds but she continued regardless. “What are you thinking young man you have a your wife and kids to think about. Are you crazy? You have gone and lost you own mind! You can't expect me to believe the spirit of God is in you. You gotta fix yourself before the Lord right this instance." Sister Paulina lectured on and on at me for a good 20 minutes. Quoting scriptures until kingdom come telling me all the things I should know being the son of an ordained Reverend. When she had finished she looked up at me hoping that my response was better. More logical for a christian person to think. More in line with the word of God. I lifted my chest up high before I began. "Thanks for your concern Sister Paulina." First of all I would like to tell you a short story is that okay with you? Sister Paulina nodded in return She started to straightened her skirt and her sunday best hat which had toppled from the heated discussion. "When I was a kid I was always getting into scraps. I was always misbehaving and had a hard time doing what I was told. With my Dad being a minister everyone looked at me for an example in which they're kids should act. I can fairly say they stopped that game soon enough." Sister Paulina began to laughed in response. She remembered well "Well soon bit by bit I was making a name for myself in the street as well as in the church. Hanging with the wrong crowd and influencing the good people to become like me. Everyone was convinced I was a lost case. All but one. " Sister Paulina intrigued asked, "Who Reverend Evan?" "Please Sister Paulina just Evan. Mr Peterson the man who owned the candy store. Do you remember him? "Yes I believe I do said Paulina. He used to come to our service everyday. Never missed a single church service." "Yes, Mr Peterson one Sunday came over to me and asked if I wanted to help out in his candy store. I quickly said no. He kept on persisting until it became an unrelenting yes. I figured it couldn't be so bad. I might get free candy. Although I got free candy I was getting a lot of council from Mr. Peterson. He was showing me the way I was acting was wrong. I needed to leave a life of purpose unto the Lord. I gave my life to God in that candy store Sister Paulina was for once silent and urged me continue with a nod. I began again. "Not only did I become saved in that small candy store I learnt how to make all types of candy. Mr. Peterson made all that candy in the store himself. He made mouth watering fudge, sour tasting lemon sherbets, jaw cracking gobstoppers the whole lot. Every candy you could think of." Sister Paulina started to name off all different types of candy. With every candy she said I began to recall and repeatedly nod to every single one she could imagine. After she finished listing them off she told me to continue. "With the counseling he gave me I was starting to become better at home and in church. I was my happiest at that shop. Not only was I eating candy all day I was making it. I working hard making licorice, homemade skittles, starbursts and other assortments. It got to the point where I was the only person making candy in the store and Mr. Peterson was simply supervising. Then one winter day..." I faltered suddenly choked up with emotion. Sister Paulina nodded with sympathy. Mr. Peterson had died six years ago. His old rugged truck had skied on black ice and swerved into a tree. We had held his funeral at our church. "Well after the accident I vowed never to want to see candy again. I have never eaten candy in over six years in fact. I never wanted to looked at any candy. Nothing that reminded me of him. So I decided to become a minister much to everyone's delight at the age of eighteen. I have been ministering for six years shoving my old life in the corner not to be remembered until now." "What do you mean until now Rev.. I mean Evan.?" As an answer to her question I quickly gave her a letter which had been in my pocket. "I received this yesterday," I said. Sister Paulina opened the letter and began to read. Dear Evan, This is the son of Mr. Peterson. How are you after all of these years? I hope we can come in contact soon and reminisce on old times playing in our neighbourhood . Besides meeting up with you I am writing this letter with great diligence. It concerns the candy shop. My dad has left it to you in his will. I know now that you're probably thinking how on earth weren't you told this before. Well it's quite simply. we never knew. It is only now we found it. Searching through the shop as we are about to sell we found an old letter scrunched up in his bible. His last will and testament. He left his house and all his allowances to us and the family. Thankfully we had already figured out as much and did so many years ago. This shop however was not of interest to any of us yet we still wanted to keep it at the time to remind us of our father. Now as time has moved on and with bills to pay we as a family decided it best to sell. It was just there rotting away and not doing much. That all changed however when we found the will. We hope this doesn't come as much of a shock to you as much as it did to us. We are grateful he left it to you knowing how fond his was of you. We need to meet up sooner than later to discuss your plans for the shop. In every case we hope you stay well. I have enclosed the keys to the shop so you can have a look beforehand so you know what you're dealing with. I wish you all the best. Yours sincerely, Morris Peterson Sister Paulina stopped to compose herself before she began to speak. "It is now I see you reasoning for doing this… even when your plans seem still quite uncertain. It so peculiar but I remember now and how it's very odd you decided to resign today. Well because.. " "Well because what..." I said earnestly confused why Sister Paulina was in tears. Paulina dried her eyes before continuing. "Today... would be Mr. Peterson's Birthday. " With that we both cried and hugged. Many others who had been secretly listened soon followed to congratulate me on my journey on owning the candy store. A sign such as this was surely the move of God. I was almost finished embracing everyone when someone tapped me on my shoulder. It was my father. His eyes also glazed from tears of joy as well as understanding. The simmering eyes of rejection had ceased and love was felt as he embraced me and spoke to me. "Go out my son and spread the Gods love to young and old with your candy." A ministry it will be to the soul as well as to the stomach." We both chuckled at that and shared a few more heart to heart words. My father addressed the congregation beckoning them all to come and congratulate the path I was being lead to follow. I felt deeply touched. My heart was at peace now. The people gradually finished eating and soon made it out to their cars to drive home. Me and my family walked out hand in hand. Finally accepting that the path was set by God. We could see it now. We could all see it. THE END

zq6r2p

Pete’s Resolution

NOTE-this is my first submission. Apologies to whoever reads it, but I will keep working to get better. Thank you for this forum.    “It’s almost 2021. I saw that miserable wretch Colstein walking his dog today. Did you forget our little arrangement?” Pete licked his lips, unsure how to respond. “Well, there was a problem, see and well, I sorta thought-“ “You’re not supposed to think, Einstein. You’re supposed to wipe that scum off the face of the earth.”      The Man in Black leaned in, a small smile on his lips. He was enjoying watching Pete squirm. This was actually his favorite part of the job. Collecting on favors. “Last year you came to us . We didn’t seek you out, right?” Pete looked at the table, his hands scratching his face absent mindedly. He shifted his weight on his chair. “No, I came to you. And you did exactly what I asked for, but I... I just can’t.“ “You’re no killer, right?” the Man in Black said. He nodded as if he was consoling a friend. “But, I’m sorry, a deal is a deal. And my boss himself said this has to be done before the new year or he will personally take out his anger on you.” Pete looked up, with all the blood leaving his face. The Man in Black continued. “Now, me, I thought all along you weren’t right for this job. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a good guy. But that’s the problem- you’re too good of a guy. I knew if we granted your request there was no way you would murder Mark Colstein this year. And now it’s New Year’s Eve and you haven’t kept your end of the deal.” The Man in Black smiled, bearing his sharp, pointy teeth at Pete. He took off his sunglasses, revealing his orange snake eyes. “If it was me and I made a deal with the Devil, I’d be sure to uphold up my end of the bargain. I mean, think about it. The Devil himself is going to come after you if the ball drops and that do gooder is still breathing. Now,” he says as he looks at his watch,” you have exactly six hours to kill the Reverend Colstein. Get going! Accomplish that goal!”         ——————————- The Reverend Mark Colstein was in his church at 9:00, cleaning up from the New Year’s Eve service he held every year. He liked to have a short devotional with a few songs before the members of his church were let loose on the town. He liked to give them a good dose of religion before they engaged in all the many different kinds debauchery they knew were wrong. But it was a holiday, so they believed their sins didn’t really count for the next few hours. The Reverend chuckled to himself when he imagined what some of the college students were up to right now. They were so serious and pious a few hours ago as they were singing praise songs. Some of them were probably passed out by now and wouldn’t remember the night’s festivities. He chuckled because he had been in their shoes himself, lost, looking for meaning but also not wanting to miss out on a good time. Oh, to be young and carefree again. Instead, he was spending his New Year’s Eve picking up paper and snotty tissue paper. He looked at the footprints and decided he would also mop the floors. With any luck, he would be home and in bed by 11:00. His wife was probably already asleep. As he was bent over scraping gum off the arm rest of one of the chairs, he had that feeling of being watched. He stood up and looked towards the door and saw a young man standing there, staring at him. “Good evening and an early Happy New Year to you. You missed the service.” The young man didn’t say anything. He then slowly looked around the auditorium. “Are you cleaning this whole church by yourself, Reverend? Did everyone leave you alone?” “Oh, I don’t mind,” the Reverend laughed. “It keeps me from getting into trouble with the other revelers.” He eyed the serious young man. This man looked nervous, like he needed something but was too scared to ask. Almost like he didn’t even know what he needed to ask. He clearly wasn’t there to offer his cleaning services. “Is everything alright, son? You look like you’re in need of some help. Can I do anything for you?”        ————————————- Pete had his right hand in his coat pocket, his thumb flicking the blade of his knife. He had to do this. He made it this far. If he didn’t... “I - I do need some help. And you are the one to help me,” Pete began. “It’s a hard story to believe.” Pete took his right hand out of his pocket and pushed his hair back and let out a small sigh. “I still can’t believe it.” The Reverend Colstein motioned for Pete to sit down. Once he did, the Reverend sat in the seat in front and turned back to face him. “Are you in trouble? You know, this is the place to be when you need help. And I may not be the best theologian ever, but I have done this for over 30 years and I’ve learned a thing or two.” He smiled at Pete. Pete looked at his shoes and slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe its come to this. Last year I was in a jam and needed help. So on New Year’s Eve, I turned to -“ He looked up at the Reverend. “I turned to the wrong, uh, people. They took care of a problem for me and now I owe them. I have until 11:59 tonight to pay them back.” “Do you need money?” asked the Reverend. He could tell this young man was desperate and at his wits end. “No, it’s not money they want. They have no need for money. They want me to do something. Something bad.” He looked at the Reverend Colstein. “Something you would most definitely not approve of.” With that, Pete put his right hand back in his pocket and squeezed his knife. He tried to pull it out and pay off his debt to the Devil, but he just couldn’t do it. Instead, he pulled his hands out and buried his face in them. He lowered his head onto his knees and let out a wail. The Reverend put a comforting hand on his back. “I’m in so much trouble, Reverend. I won’t pay them back! I can’t do it!” He looked up with tears racing down his face. “You can’t imagine what they’re going to do to me. It is unspeakable. I can’t face them. I don’t know what to do!” “Well, we all have put our ourselves in what we think are unwinnable situations and see no way out, but I believe there is always a way out.” He looked at Pete with as much sympathy as he could give. This poor man looked like he needed all the sympathy he could get. “Now you may still have your debt you owe, but if they want you to do something immoral or against your will, I think you can justify getting out of it or changing the terms.” Pete let out a laugh that had no humor in it and shook his head. “Thanks, but you don’t understand. I can’t change the terms. And immoral? They are immoral personified.   They are demons. Like, for real. “ Reverend Colstein took in a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. He slowly let his breath out and looked Pete in the eyes. “There are two types of battles going on in this world. The physical battles we see and the spiritual battles that we can’t see. I believe God is in control of both. I think if we ask God to help, a lot of times He answers in the spiritual realm where we can’t see Him fighting for us, but we see the results here in our world. We all have to face our demons at some point. I think it would be good for you to talk to God about it and see if He will help. You might be surprised.” “You don’t get it. These guys are really demons. I mean, sure praying sounds good sitting here in a church, but what can it really do?” “Try it. You have nothing to lose.” He smiled at Pete. “The Bible talks about God sending His angels to protect us. Maybe He will send them to protect you.” Pete buried his head in his hands again. The Reverend didn’t know if he was praying or giving in to despair. But before he left to go get his mop, he gave Pete one last piece of advice. “First Peter says if you resist the Devil, he will flee from you. Might be something there for you. Good night snd good luck.” When he came back, Pete was gone.           —————————- The Man in Black was waiting outside the church and he had a tall, dark person standing next to him. It was his boss, and his red eyes burned with anger. “I knew he wouldn’t kill Colstein. He’s weak and doesn’t have that killer instinct in him. I’m going to tear him limb from limb and make him regret the day he cheated me!” “Here he comes,” the Man in Black said, gesturing toward the door. “And by the fear on his face, I’d say Colstein is still alive and able to preach his sermons.” Pete slowly walked down the steps, never taking his eyes off the two of them. When he made it down to the sidewalk he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not doing it,” he told them. “I don’t care what you try to do to me but I am not going to murder a decent, peaceful man.” “You’re going to wish you were never born,” the boss hissed. “When I’m done with you there will hardly be any remains left for mother to identify!” Both of the demons bared their teeth and pulled their claws out of their pockets. They began to walk toward Pete. Then suddenly, they stopped. They looked to Pete’s left. Then to his right. Then behind Pete. Pete followed their eyes but saw nothing. The demons, however, saw five mighty warriors standing around Pete, each holding a sword and looking like they meant business. The boss hissed,”This isn’t fair! He owes us!” Pete slowly looked around again but still didn’t see anything. He looked back at the two demons. “I’m not your puppet. I don’t hurt people. And I don’t believe you can do anything to me if I don’t let you. I’m going home.” He still looked scared, but he began to walk, and actually pushed his way past the two dumbstruck demons. They turned to watch him go. “You haven’t seen the last of us!” bellowed the boss. “We will be back for you. You’ll slip up and these angels won’t be there to help you! Just you wait!” “Not gonna happen,” said Pete. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’m no saint but I’ll never mess with the likes of you again. Now go away!” And with that, Pete went home and celebrated the new year by surprisingly getting a peaceful night’s sleep. 

0m6xnj

Chirp, Chee, Chirp

Timothy’s mother said goodnight, turned out the light, and closed the door. He lay awake in his bed in the dark. The sound of the trees blowing in the wind outside kept him awake just long enough to hear his mother flush the toilet before she retired. It had been a year since his father passed away. Timothy had what some would describe as a comfortable lower middle class life, but at the age of five none of that was his concern. He cared more for Legos and stuffed animals than he did anything else but that evening he was thinking about how the kids at school had been particularly rough on him since he was the only one in his class whose father had not come to career day. His mother could have made an appearance but her job was nothing more than a fast food manager. Even at his age he knew it wasn't glorious. She would come home some days worn out, hunched over, and barely able to carry on a conversation as she made him dinner. But still none of that even mattered as he lay there in bed. Thirty seconds after the toilet flushed he heard his mother's bedroom door close followed by her phone landing on the nightstand ever so softly. A neighborhood dog could be heard barking in the distance—Suddenly there was a rustling. His eyes, which were only half closed, opened wide. He swore he’d heard something under his bed. He shook as goosebumps ran down his body. The shadows in his room danced around. Some of which were those of the leaves outside still on the trees. A late fall it was that year. Others he did not know at his age. One was the five and a half foot tall stuffed bear his father had won at the county fair. Another was—And he heard the rustling again. "Mom," he cried out to no avail. The house was silent. "Mom," he cried again. The sound of her bedroom door, her feet on the wood floor, and there she was. "Yes, my dear?" Timothy’s mother answered. "There's something under my bed," he said. "Hun, we go through this every night. There is never anything under your bed." "But I heard something." "I'm sure it was the trees outside." "Just look," he pleaded. She looked to appease Timothy. Halfway under the bed she spotted two eyes looking at her. She jumped hitting her head and on the bed frame. Before her were two eyes that were surrounded by a green ball of fluff about the size of a small puppy. It stood there staring at her with the two beady little eyes and its weird floppy ears and what appeared to be a tongue hanging out between the sharpest teeth she'd ever seen.  It was a baby monster. Never before had she missed her late husband that much. He would have known what to do. He'd dealt with things like this during his years in The Space Federation. He would have immediately known. True intelligent extraterrestrial life had not yet been contacted but that does not mean they hadn't landed several men on several different planets outside the solar system. “Where did you come from?” she asked cautiously. The creature gave no reply. Timothy’s mother coaxed the cute little monster out from under the bed and picked it up. Holding it in her palms, she tried to show timothy, but he was cowering under the covers. The monster shivered as if it was cold. Timothy’s mother took a step close to the lump under the covers and said, “Timothy the little fella is scared too. You should look at it, it’s adorable.” Timothy peeked out from under his blankets. Suddenly the little monster made the cutest sound they had ever heard, chirp, chee, chirp, while hopping up and down in Timothy’s mother’s hand. Timothy’s interest seemed to pique. He got out of bed to get a better look.  “Can we keep it mom?” he asked. “Do you want to stay with us little guy?” Timothy’s mother asked the little monster. “Chirp, chee,” it said as it jumped into Timothy’s red hair. Timothy’s squeal was somewhere between delight and shock, causing the little guy jump again and chirp louder than before. Timothy began to laugh. Timothy’s mother tried to remove it from Timothy’s hair but the little monster must have thought it he’d found a nest as it tried to settle in. Timothy’s mother ran to the linen closet to get some towels while Timothy sat with the little monster on his head chirping.  When she returned she asked if timothy knew where his clown wig was. Timothy pointed to his closet. She opened the door and pulled out the wig then took the towels and made a little bed across the room using the wig. She picked the monster up out of Timothy’s hair and moved it to the makeshift nest in the corner and just to be safe she slept in Timothy’s room until they got up the next morning. When they awoke the little monster was hopping around the room chirping. Chirp, chee, chirp. It seemed louder more desperate. Timothy thought it must be hungry. “Mom what can we feed it?” “I don’t know honey, all we have is some fruit in the fridge.” “Can we try that mom?” “Ok but he’s going to get bigger. And we don’t know what he’ll want to ear. Maybe we should find out where it came from. He might want to go home.” “But I wanna keep it.” Pondering what Timothy had said she helped him fed the little guy raspberries and blackberries which quieted it for a moment before it began chirping again. This time it was the same happy sound they had heard last night. Timothy giggled with glee as his mother’s heart sank. She had made her decision. Timothy and her mother got to the car with the monster. His mother buckled him in the back seat then placed the little guy on his lap. Checking the review mirror she could see how happy the two were together as she backed the car out of the driveway. She knew what was ahead. Timothy was crying because he didn’t want to lose his new friend. After some walking they heard a familiar sound. Soon they spotted hundreds of other fluff balls by a wrecked ship. The chirping grew louder as they neared the clearing in the trees. The sound was beautiful. Timothy’s new friend began chirping. Timothy placed the monster on the ground. It seemed to recognize the other creatures, but wouldn’t go over to them. Instead it turned and looked at Timothy. Timothy began crying. He didn’t want his new friend to go. Timothy’s mother couldn’t bear to separate them. If it ate berries and stayed this small, she thought, then it might be a good companion for her son. Maybe they could keep it after all. She knelt. “What would you like to name him, Timothy?” “But you’re making him go away.” She wiped the tear from his cheek. “You can keep it. If it wants to stay with us.” “We can keep him?” He sniffled as his eyes smiled. Timothy’s mother looked at the little guy in her son’s arms. “Do you want to live with us, little guy?” It began chirping once more. Chirp, chee, chirp. Timothy’s face lit up. “Can we name him Chirpy?” His mother continued looking at the little green monster, “Would you like that little fella?” Chirp, chee, chirp.

p4nkd5

Martin and the monster

Martin was a very good kid with big brown eyes an brown curly hair. He lived in small town whit his beautiful mother and caring father. Martin went to sleep every night at 9:00 p.m. First, he will eat his dinner and help mom to clean the table. Then he would take a quick shower and brush his teeth, put on colorful pajamas, choose one of the picture books and sit on the bed. Mom or Dad would read him a story that he chose, sometimes they both would read it together, after story they will put blanket on Martin and he would go to sleep. One evening, after doing the same ritual, when mom read him story and put him in bad, Martin heard some pounding while he was under his blanket. At that moment he opens his eyes, he turned on the lamp and quickly looked around the room, but no one was there so Martin thought he maybeheard something outside the hous. He slowly turned off the lamp and tried to go back to sleep. But in an instant, when he was almost asleep, he heard pounding again. He jumped on the bed and quickly turned on the lamp, Martin was now a little scared, but he didn't move from the bed. He stood there and listened, listened and listened, when suddenly he heard pounding again. Martin was now very scared, he wanted to run to get his mom and dad, but the pounding was heard right under his bed. He thought that this thumping thing would grab his leg as soon as he hit the floor. Now he didn't know what to do, he was thinking what that sound could be but couldn't think of anything. Martin remained standing on the bed for some time. He realized that it must have been an hour since he should have been asleep and his kom and dad are probably already asleep too. He thought about peeking under the bed, but he was too scared. The sound of pounding was still coming from under the bed, buy then, something gets in his brain and Martin gathered his courage in an instant, put the blanket around his neck on his shoulders like cloak and pulled the pillowcase over his head for a helmet. He held his stuffed rabbit in his hands so he don't feel alone and maybe stuffed rabbit could help him and then he threw the pillow a little further from the bed. Martin's plan was to jump as far away from the bed as possible so monster can'tgrabhis legs, and since he didn't want to wake up mom and dad, he decided to jump on the pillow so they won't hear the jump. One, two, three and he jumped, falling right on his butt on the pillow. At that moment, Martin was very proud of himself and quickly got down on the floor with a cloak made of a blanket and a helmet made of a pillowcase and looked under the bed. He saw nothing at first. He began to crawl around the entire bed and crawled, and crawled, and crawled until he suddenly saw a shadow moving. Martin stopped but still feeling brave. Two large pointed horns on a huge shaggy head with four arms bearing large claws approached Martin. The shadow was getting bigger and closer and at that moment Martin jumped and forgot how brave he was. He started running and left the stuffed rabbit behind him on the floor next to the shadow and ran to mom and dad in hug. They were just planning to get ready for sleep and go to their bedroom. Mom hugged the scared Martin and told him to calm down, to slow down and tell them what happened. Martin quickly told them everything about the monster under the bed thet he was first listened him and how he tried to find it, but that the monster, in the time when he almost get him, jumped on him with big claws and horns and he start ran away becouse he was too big for him. After his story, dad praised him for his courage, he said Martin that he always can wake up them if he get scared of something and all three of them headed to the room to finde monster. Mom and Martin stood carefully at the entrance to the room and looking at dad, while Dad very bravely came next to the bed. He picked up the stuffed rabbit and put it back on Martin's bad and than he saw a shadow. He first little bit observed the shadow and tried to match it with Martin's description of the monster. He looked like it have horns, but didn't sow four hands. After a few moments, dad get down and reached under the bed. Martin got scared, closed his eyes and hugged his mom and waited, waited and waited. After a few minutes, dad laughed loudly, pulled out the big monster that Martin was scared off and called mom and Martin to come and see the monster. All three laughed when they saw Martin's monster. That was Rudy, their guinea pig. It seems that Martin didn't close his quarters properly after feeding him so poor Rudy wandered around the room and got lost under the bed, he probably was even more scared than Martin. They returned the guinea pig to the little house, and Martin went to bed with relief. Mom and Dad stayed with him for a while and wait till Martin fall asleep so he wont get scared again. That night Martin dreamed about himself, the brave knight that is going on adventure and his brave helper, guinea pig Rudy, how they defeated a big monster with four arms and terrible big horns. After they defeat a monster he got a big medal for being brave. His mom and dad was very proud of him ad they went on ice cream together, and little guinea pig Rudy gets his treats for being brave too.

v8kt9a

Answers From Beyond the Veil

There is a stretch of road on the Pacific Coast Highway where the veil between worlds grows thin. That barrier, typically a heavy, ever present velvet, is like tulle instead, sheer and pliant. There, it almost seems that you could reach out and touch the other side… Almost. Nothing about this part of PCH is predictable other than how it rarely appears between the same crossroads twice. That and the timing. Because this stretch of road is just like any other until that unwavering darkness that settles after the moon has gone down but before the sun rises. I’ve come to believe it’s that piercing dark that causes the opacity of the veil to weaken. How and where it appears are matters only important to those who seek answers from the other world. No one ever bothers to ask what lies beyond the veil. So I warn you now, as I wish I had been warned before, if you find that all the cars have vanished from your rear view mirror and the ocean breeze has ceased to blow through the open window, to keep driving. I did not. I pulled into the shoulder and flashed my hazards, the sands piled off the side of the pavement strobing in yellowed light. The waves barely whispered where just before they were crashing. It was just as I’d heard. Quiet. Impossibly still. But not calm. Not peaceful or empty. No, they were there too. Just beyond the muffled sounds of breaking waves were the ones with answers, waiting with impatient restraint. So I walked to the water, my adidas sinking into wet sand, and asked, “Can I see her?” By “her” of course I meant my aunt. The one that baked my siblings and me a cake each year on our respective birthdays. The one that comforted me after my prom date was found kissing my friend in the bathroom. The one that died of pneumonia a week earlier. In my grief I sought closure. I needed to say goodbye to her kind eyes, not the ashes that remained. After six days of driving up and down PCH I found it, the place where the other side is closest. I asked for my aunt and suddenly the quiet was gone. The crashing of waves returned full force, soaking my sand-crusted sneakers. I returned to my car feeling cold and stupid. Stupid for not noticing the water rushing in. Stupid for believing the stories of the veil. Stupid for chasing ghosts. When I got back to the road cars raced by, making it hazardous to get to the driver’s seat. It was difficult to notice anything other than the uncomfortable squish of my soles against the gas and my own self-loathing. My driving probably suffered from my foul mood so I decided to be forgiving to my fellow drivers, or at least as forgiving as anyone raised in the aggressive roads of Southern California could be. The entire drive home cars honked as I waited for little old women walking dogs to cross the street. They honked as I yielded to teens in their over-capacity cars. I’m not sure I had ever heard such a violent array of horns as I did on that drive. By the time I walked into my lonely apartment my adidas were still wet and I had developed a headache from clenching my jaw. Carelessly, I flicked on the lights. That was when I realized my apartment was not as lonely as I had thought. There in front of the TV sat my aunt, laughing at some movie I couldn’t see from this angle. I rushed to her and threw my arms around her fragile shoulders only to hit the back of the sofa with enough force that I worried I might have rebroken my nose. Confused, I sat back on my heels. My aunt continued to giggle soundlessly and hide her face behind her hands as she did when watching The Holiday . As if I hadn’t just passed through her. I turn around to see the TV dark, just as I had left it before I set out for my nightly drive. But my aunt sat on my couch, as she had countless nights before, laughing at a phantom movie that was, like her, inaccessible to me. The ones beyond the veil had answered my question but I received none of the closure I had expected. Instead, I was now cursed to live beside my beloved aunt without ever receiving acknowledgement of my presence. Living here, as my phantom aunt continuously played out an evening visit, I felt that I was the ghost. It turned out that my aunt was not the only dead person I was suddenly able to see. Everywhere I saw people’s dearly departed, acting out their daily lives despite no longer living. I cannot tell the difference between the dead and the living at a glance, so I’ve become hesitant to interact with any person at all for fear they will ignore me. Every instance I misjudge the dead for the living leaves me feeling closer to a shadow than a person. I no longer judge the drivers that impatiently blare their horns as I yield to phantoms that only I can see. These drivers at least prove my existence, they remind me I am alive. So I continue to take my nightly drives along PCH, like a phantom on its track. When people ask me how to find the place where the veil grows thin, I tell them. I tell them the ones beyond the veil have answers and they might even give you the one you want to hear. They ask for nothing in return but it is not benevolence. I received my answer and now I will live the rest of my days questioning whether I am truly alive. So if you reach a deserted strip of road, somewhere on PCH, where the seagulls avoid and the wind doesn’t blow, I urge you to just drive by.

8790cr

Alice brushes her teeth

Once upon a time, in a dormitory someplace, something very strange and very unbelievable happened to a little girl by the name of Alice. Everyone had already fallen asleep when Alice realized that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth. She was awfully fond of her teeth, and dreaded the prospect of cavities and the possibility of ending up looking like a yellow-toothed pirate. She had, however, already tucked herself in and her comforter was pulled up to her chin and well over her ears. She was snug as a bug and didn’t want to budge. Surely, there wouldn’t be much harm done if she missed out on brushing for one night? Having decided not to get out of bed, Alice drew the comforter closer to herself, rolled over and began to doze, when all of a sudden, an image flashed before her eyes of herself smiling a toffee coloured smile, complete with an eye-patch and all. This was enough to make her change her mind. She flicked the light switch on, illuminating the washroom, and stood in front of one of the two wash basins while she applied a bit of red sparkly toothpaste to her blue toothbrush. She was just about to turn on the water tap when a shrill voice interrupted her- ‘Excuse me, but do you mind using the other sink? This one’s sort of occupied.’ A standard reaction to such a peculiar happening would have been for the listener to drop whatever they were doing and run for the hills like their life depended upon it, putting as much distance between themselves and the voice as possible.  Alice, on the other hand, read the kind of books in which children get transported through a wardrobe to a magical land with talking beasts, about greedy treasure hoarding dragons and about a boy wizard who could speak to snakes. Much like her namesake in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland she was likely to have “ believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast”. She was startled at first, but then recollecting herself, replied politely, ‘Uh, sure,’ as though it were part of her daily routine to hold conversations with mysterious voices coming from sink drains.  Alice, with a mouth full of foam and a mind full of curious thoughts said- ‘Mite I ashk ‘oo arr yoo?’ ‘We’re what you lot call Periplaneta Americana ,’ replied the shrill voice. ‘Wha-? Perry-planets-american? What’s that when it's at home?’ asked Alice who had just finished brushing while she carefully screwed the cap of the toothpaste back on to the tube. ‘Cockroaches, Crumb. Just say cockroaches.’ said a wheezy voice. ‘Fine, we’re cockroaches,’ said Crumb in a slightly grumpy tone. ‘Happy Grubbywing?’ ‘Very.’ replied Grubbywing. ‘Oh,’ said Alice, ‘so, so, perry-planets-american...does that mean you’ve come here from America?’ ‘Nope. We’re local, we are,’ said Grubbywing matter-of-factly, ‘Periplaneta Americana is a name by which many of your kind call us. They call it a scientific name. Some chap by the name of Carl Linnaeus came up with it. In fact, we’re not even native to the Americas. We originally come from Africa and the Middle East. Our kind went to America via the gigantic trade ships that crossed the Atlantic ocean in the 17th century.’ ‘I see,’ said Alice. ‘Nymph-human, might we ask what are you doing here at lamplight time when the rest of your kind are snoozing?,’ inquired Crumb. ‘I came to brush my teeth. Don’t you have teeth?’ ‘We don’t have teeth. Not what you lot call teeth anyway. And we don’t have to brush ‘em.’ piped Crumb in a high voice. ‘Neat!’ groaned Alice enviously, ‘sometimes I wish I didn’t have to brush so often. But we must do it twice a day! Everyday !’ ‘It can’t be as bad as all that, at least you don't have to go around stealing food when no one’s looking. I haven’t had a good piece of paper in aaages,’ sighed Grubbywing dismally, ‘starchy book bindings are a favourite of mine, Crumb is partial toward bakery stuff and sugary thing-a-ma-jigs. We’re not that picky otherwise.’ ‘If it’s spare paper that you’re looking for, you might want to try the big wooden cupboard in the corner on the ground floor. It's full of stacks of paper and old notebooks that nobody actually cares about. But I don’t know how you’d manage to get in, the crevice is pretty narrow.’ ‘Don’t you fret, we’ll find a way. We’re determined like that. Grubbywing here broke a part of his foot once, trying to break into a rather secure kitchen cabinet.’ ‘Oh! I’m sorry!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘Don’t be. Don’t be. It grew back and it’s fine now.’ said Grubbywing airily. ‘Fancy that! Can you fly too?’ asked Alice eagerly. ‘I can. Crumb here, who’s just a nymph can't. Maybe in a few months' time.’ Alice felt that she was pushing her luck here, but she asked anyway in a small voice, ‘Can I- can I see you fly?’ ‘I’m sorry nymph-human. First of all, we can’t stand bright light, what with our mosaic vision and all. And second of all, we’re not very trusting of your kind. As soon as one of them spots us, why! they whack the living daylights out of us.’ ‘I understand,’ said Alice slightly sadly, ‘well, goodnight then.’ she said as she was turning to leave. ‘Nymph-human?’ ‘Yes?” ‘Thanks for the tip about the cupboard. We do appreciate it.’ ‘Anytime.’  In the several years that had passed, Alice often thought about the odd little conversation that she had had on that night. She never told anyone about it because she figured that no one would believe her if she did. At times, even she had wondered whether it was real. She went on to become a famous Entomologist and she published several books on bugs, especially on cockroaches. And oftentimes, when no one was looking, she could be caught calling into sink drains- “Grubbywing, has Crumb learned to fly yet?” - Fenelina Geraldine D’souza

55btjs

The Wolf Who Cried Wolf

I first heard this story from my grandmother, who heard it from her grandmother. At some point, if we go back far enough, a witch makes an appearance, but whether the story really started with her or before her, I’m not sure. Regardless of its origins, it took place a long, long time ago; at a time when magic was commonplace and bears and wolves roamed the dark woods, eating porridge and little girls in red cloaks. Lycidas was the alpha wolf of a small pack that patrolled the outskirts of the village of Randel. Lycidas and his ancestors had been there long before Randel, but the growing settlement of the people had pushed the wolves deeper into Keth Forest, decimating their traditional hunting grounds.  For a few years now the seasons had been particularly harsh. Winter had moved into Randel and chosen to stay, like an unwelcome guest. Many of the spring crops had been bitten by the sharp teeth of late frosts leaving the fruit barrels and hay barns slumped with melancholic abandonment. Heavy summer rains poured sorrow over the sodden fields, drowning vegetables, sickly calves and the anguished bleats of soggy lambs. Even the eggs refused to float. Autumn took the baton from summer and added spices of hail and hoar for additional seasoning, until Winter once more threw its icy cloak around the village. In Keth Forest the wolf pack dug rabbits from burrows with increasing desperation and undertook occasional night raids into Randel for the paltry fowl, risking scorched fur and bruised limbs from the wrath of angry villagers. In the unforgiving grip of hunger, people and animals became more gaunt and more fractious. One evening, Thorin and Jaha were wrestling; a playful tangle of ear bites and tail nips. The pack watched with lidded eyes and aching bones, wrought from famine and fatigue. Thorin sank his teeth deep into Jaha’s flanks and spirited yelps suddenly became snarling growls. The puncture wound dribbled fat, red tears, across the flaxen fur.  Lycidas pounced into the quarrel, pushing his forepaws into Thorin’s neck, pinning him to the damp earth. “Save your bite to feed the pack, not to damage it,” Lycidas warned. Thorin gave a submissive yap and slunk back to the shadows to lick his wounds. There was a madness bubbling within the pack, driven by callous hunger. Lycidas pressed his nose to the ground, his brow furrowed with the burden of pack’s fate. As he padded softly through the undergrowth he scented a young hare above the icy chill. Lycidas pounced, cascading earth and leaves as he cleaved the ground for a taste of warm flesh. But the hare was already gone, through another subterranean shaft that surfaced upwind, offering the possibility of life for another day. The wolf snuffled the black earth, illuminated by a slice of silver moonlight threading through the trees. Digging a little more, he pulled out a small, oddly shaped pot and holding the vessel between his front paws, began to lick the wriggling worm that writhed around the base. Slimy but satisfying. Lycidas startled back as a small puff of smoke formed an ethereal whisper around him. It wreathed and murmured a soft cloud of nothing yet yielded a promise of everything. The wisp swirled and settled. A strange form, half-fairy, half-shadow, shimmered in the gentle breeze of night. “ Whilst you may be brave you may also be foolish. So will your wish be wise or rash ?” Lycidas cocked his head. The wisp swirled, kissing a soft breath across the wolf’s face. Apparently, there were terms and conditions even back then, and Lycidas was told his request for more wishes was not within warranty. One wish was all he could have. The canny wolf considered. Maybe he could ask for a dwelling of straw or sticks in which the pack could take shelter from the icy winds and winter snows? Yet, these dwellings could easily be blown down by the huff and puff of a strong wind. Lycidas considered further. Bricks surely would be stronger?  The pack would be protected from the harshest forces of winter and would have a store for food. Food. Food. The pack had no food. What was the point of shelter if there was no food. Without food, the shelter was nothing but a crypt.  The wish then had to be for an endless supply of food, surely? Lycidas nestled his skinny jaw between his skinny paws and thought some more.  To ask for copious food would strengthen and feed the pack but with no basic instinct of hunger to drive them or hold them together, that would be disastrous. The wolves would become bored, lazy, antagonistic and argumentative. Besides, unlimited food would also attract unwanted attention from other packs in nearby woods, looking for a share of the spoils. Packs that were still driven by basic instinct, not become sluggish by satiated ennui. So there had to be a compromise. A potential supply of food, but not too much and not too easy. A situation that kept the instincts of the pack but not the desperation. Lycidas looked towards the blinking lanterns of Randel. Perhaps an ally in the camp of the enemy could be useful? With careful planning and close collaboration the pack could have a supply line of fresh meat until the end of this cruel cycle of freeze and storms. And so it was that Lycidas found himself transformed into a shepherd boy guarding the flocks of Randel. No-one remembered a time before he was there; for the villagers it seemed he was always there. A part of the fabric of their landscape, stitched into the seams of life. The shepherd seemed a little confused and uneasy however, because he didn’t clearly recall the boy’s arrival and the flocks seemed jittery and skittish when the child strolled amongst them, wielding his crook to trip their ankles.  But most of all the shepherd didn’t like the risk of being caught as he smuggled the occasional lamb down the hillside to the skilful hands of his butcher brother-in-law, and into the mouths of his starving relatives. Lycidas settled and salivated amongst his new flock and no-one but his faithful deputy Thorin, knew. Before the metamorphosis, the two wolf pack leaders had discussed the situation. “We should keep this from the others,” Lycidas advised. “That way you will be providing sufficient meat to keep them from starvation, and they won’t be tempted to attack the flock themselves, which could bring them and me into danger.” “Of course,” Thorin conceded. “My lips are sealed.” They agreed that a faint, half-howl discernible only to lupine ears, would be a signal for them to meet at the northern boundary fence. Lycidas would provide the lamb, Thorin would provide the slaughter. The pack would have enough sustenance until the snows melted when the pack could, once again, save themselves. Lycidas found his human form clumsy and awkward. He hated the upright stance which exposed his most vulnerable organs to the world. He hated having to chew on a flat cake of unleavened cornbread, whilst he drove the most vulnerable lamb to the northern boundary for Thorin to kill. He hated the thought of Thorin and the pack feasting on the supple, tender flesh he had delivered to them, without a bite himself. But most of all he hated the mind-numbing, boring monotony of watching over the stupid, woolly beasts night after night, as the village slept and he chewed and chewed on the tasteless cornbread. His stomach grumbled and his appetite groused. At first the arrangement had been relatively simple and effective. The shepherd boy would occasionally give a half-howl, herd a lamb to the boundary fence, where Thorin would collect it between his jaws and carry it off to the pack. The following morning would see an extensive search but the missing lamb would never be found, and the boy would be thrashed for being so careless and not watching over the flock as he should. Lycidas looked forward to the day the wish was reversed, so he could sink his daggered teeth into the pallid neck of the shepherd. The pack would have to wait. This would be his kill and his alone. Though they would be welcome to the mangy mutton of the shepherd’s flesh once Lycidas was sure that all the life had left the eyes and the only thrashing then would be the jerks and spasms of the shepherd’s final seconds.  After three more ‘lost’ lambs and one beating too many, Lycidas determined that a change of tactics was required. He paced the shepherd’s hut on his spindly, shepherd boy legs, huffing and puffing, considering the various options. It was as though the smoke wisp was here again, but without the terms and conditions. Maybe it was time for the wish to end and for Lycidas to return to the pack? He could certainly do with a decent meal. Yet there would be no decent meal without him continuing in his role as the shepherd boy for a few more months. Perhaps the entire fence of the northern boundary should just be wrecked, and the sheep be ‘encouraged’ towards the forest and ultimately the pack? But that would just provide too much food all at once and Lycidas would probably be beaten to death, by hook or by crook. Perhaps if the boy raised an alarm that wolves were attacking… But no wolves attacked. If he did that enough times the villagers might stop believing him and the wolves could attack for real. It was worth a try. At least it might deflect another beating. Three cold nights went by before the shepherd boy ran down the hillside, a lopsided, two-legged stumble, screaming “wolves” and “help” in a howl that woke the village. Within minutes a snake of torchlight slithered around the village boundary and headed across the hills.  The shepherd assumed the mantle of importance and led the procession, jabbing with his crook towards distance and shadows. The sheep were counted, the locks checked on the chicken barns and the boy was patted on the back for his vigilance. A week later the fiery snake circled Randel once more and once more the flame was extinguished without a wolf being sighted. Barns were checked, chickens shushed and the shepherd boy was scrutinised with suspicion. The sheep were counted and all were present, but there were now grumblings amongst the villagers on the way back down the hillside about the reliability of the shepherd boy. The people did not like being wakened from their deep repose for a danger that, it seemed, was not really there. The whines and moans were carried on the breeze to Lycidas, who smiled to himself.  Thorin too heard the chatter and he too snickered. It would not be long now before he could gather the pack and the flock would be theirs. By the third cry of “Wolf”, the serpent light of inquiry was barely a worm. A few wavering lanterns half-heartedly cast shadows along the Southern fence before the stars reclaimed the night and the people went back to their warm beds. Even the chickens tutted rather than clucked. The shepherd despaired. He railed and raged at the shepherd boy who stared impassively with big, brown, fathomless eyes. Perhaps if the shepherd had been more attentive he would have noticed the boy’s eyes and what big lashes he had. All the better to see you with, especially in the gloom of another rainy night. He might have noticed the sharp blades of teeth that shone in the moonlight. All the better to bite you with. But the shepherd was too angry and stomped down the hillside, his lantern wobbling with the sway of his silly, upright, human gait. The date was set for four days later. Then the wish would expire and Lycidas could return, victorious to his pack.  The night was kind. It was raining hard and sideways. Humans struggled with sideways rain as it got into their pointless, front facing eyes and blinded them in liquid fractals, causing them to stagger around comically, bumping into each other whilst swiping their shiny faces with sodden sleeves. Lycidas had been amazed at the limitations of human sight and indeed all senses, when he’d first become a shepherd boy. It was like a heavy blanket had been cast over him, dulling every sound, blearing every sight and almost wiping out his sense of smell completely. How on earth had these inferior beings managed to organise themselves so well? Lycidas had plenty of ideas to take back to the pack once his wish expired, which would help the wolves finally take their righteous place at the top of the food chain. He looked forward to sharing his ideas with Thorin. The wolf packs would gather together as one, and the revolution would begin. At five past midnight, Lycidas ran down the hillside howling cries of attack and wolves. A flicker of a lantern suggested a possible response, but then a drunken yell and the extinguishing of the light marked the period to the night, and the village slept on. Lycidas continued to howl and the village continued to sleep. In the chicken barn, there was barely a cluck. Lycidas made his way to the northern boundary, funnelling his woolly charges into a cone of compliant panic and worried bleats. He felt lither and more alive than he had for a long time, springing and vaulting over the divots and grassy knolls. He sniffed the air. Even the heaven scent of a young hare could not distract him, though he salivated at the thought of the fresh flesh. The wish was starting to wear off. Lycidas felt his lupine urges becoming stronger and stronger. Thorin and the pack skulked in the darkness as Lycidas pushed the flock closer and closer to the boundary. Then there was completed pandemonium. The efficiency of an assassin’s assault. The wolves bounded the fence and it became almost too easy. Every wolf found a kill of its own. The bleating panic carried down the hillside but the serpent was too slow, and the lanterns were still being lit as the final wolf carried off its carrion. Almost final. Thorin stared at the boy, with the crook and the long lashes. Lycidas winked. “I’ll be home soon,” he said, as he fell to his knees, his legs already starting to twist and bend back into haunches. “No. It’s best you don’t return,” Thorin replied, and sprang at the throat of the boy. *** The following day the shepherd reported that thirteen sheep and the shepherd boy were missing, and there was one dead wolf by the fence of the northern boundary. The villagers of Randel wept for the boy and the lost mutton. Some thought this meant more punishment to come, but others felt it was a final sign of retribution and the portent of change and new beginnings. The local witch wandered in the pastures, dancing her skirts in the breeze and rolling in the frozen grass. She said she had lifted the curse of the village and for a while there was some relief. Five months later, when the spring crops failed again, a noose was tied around her neck and she was strung from the village gibbet. Meanwhile, in the Forest of Keth, Thorin and the pack raged against the treachery of Lycidas. Thorin told how Lycidas had been living as a lone wolf on the other side of the pasture, abandoning the pack in their time of greatest need, but living in abundance off the people’s livestock. Thorin recalled how it had become his responsibility to carry out daring raids on the flocks of Randel and how he had always brought back a kill, even though it was at great personal risk. Now Lycidas was dead, and Thorin, with heavy heart and a deep sigh (which sounded very much like a huff and a puff) took up his role as the alpha wolf. He bowed his head and, expressing a desire to reflect a while on his grief and responsibilities, he retreated a little way into the forest. Thorin padded softly through the undergrowth when suddenly the heaven scent of a young hare blended with the icy chill. He pounced, more from habit than hunger, but the hare was already gone, no doubt through a subterranean shaft that surfaced upwind and away towards the possibility of life for another day.   As a slice of silver moonlight threaded through the trees, Thorin snuffled around the roots of a tall oak. Digging a little more, he pulled out a small, oddly shaped pot and holding the vessel between his front paws, he licked the gleaming surface. A small puff of smoke formed an ethereal whisper around him.  It wreathed and murmured a soft cloud of nothing yet yielded a promise of everything. The wisp swirled and settled. A strange form, half-fairy, half-shadow, shimmered in the gentle breeze of night. “Whilst you may be brave you may also be foolish. So will your wish be wise or rash?” “Hello,” said Thorin, “I’ve been expecting you, and I know exactly what I want.” 

axoxju