Alison Hendrix's Blog, page 6

The Dance of the Deer

Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

Molly and her Mommy loved playing outside.  Nearly everyday, they would chase each other around the yard, play on Molly’s playset- they especially loved the swings!- or pick up twigs to play with.  But perhaps their most favorite thing to do, was to rush to the field of soft ground that lay behind their yard, and look for deer tracks.

          Deer footprints were sometimes difficult to see, as there were a lot of weeds and grasses, so they made a game of seeing who could find one first.  Molly especially liked it when she found tiny hoofprints.  She imagined a small baby deer walking through her back yard at night, maybe the deer even played with its Mommy in the yard like Molly played with hers!

          One day, when it was close to Christmas and very cold outside, Molly and her Mommy bundled up and went outside.  Molly’s Mommy went to pick up a gardening flag that the wind had blown from its pole, and Molly went straight back to the footprint field. She laughed as she trotted along, but then stopped still, a very serious look on her face.  The grasses and weeds of the field were laid over and smooshed flat in many places. What in the world had done this? 

          She called her Mommy over and Mommy shook her head, saying, “I’m not sure, perhaps a deer rolled around on the ground here and there.  That would make the grass lay down like that.”  Then she walked away, but Molly didn’t.  She was curious and could not stop thinking that she’d never seen this before.  She wondered what would cause the deer to start rolling around like that.  She thought and thought until her Mommy called and asked if she wanted to play Hide-n-seek, but even then, she did not forget.

          At dinner that night, she asked her Daddy, “Daddy, what would make a deer lie down and smoosh the grass?”

          Daddy answered, “Well sweetie, sometimes deer do that to stay warm, or to scratch an itchy spot on their backs.”

          “Oh,” answered Molly, then she ate the rest of her mac and cheese. 

          At bedtime, Molly brushed her teeth, put on her pjs, and said her prayers, then climbed in bed like always.  But, when Mommy and Daddy turned off the light and gave kisses goodnight, Molly waited until she heard them retreat to their bedroom, then she got out of bed.

          She snuck quietly to her window and softly raised the blind.  She peeked out into her backyard and saw the field beyond.  Luckily, the moon shone bright that night, and gave enough of its blue glow that Molly could see pretty well.  She decided to see if the deer would come out tonight, and if they did, maybe she would see why they had made the grass get squished.

          Suddenly something emerged from the woods behind the field.  A pure white deer!  She’d never seen anything so lovely!  The deer gracefully trotted to the middle of the field, and then something incredible happened.  It began to dance!  It trotted in dainty circles, then lept through the air, throwing two legs forward and two legs back.  It spun and bowed, as if to a King, then raired up on it’s back legs and pawed the air. 

          It came back down and bowed low, it’s head touching the ground.  Then, it leapt up high and ran in larger and larger circles, then dove onto the ground, rolling and wallowing in the grass.  Then up it popped again, with front legs in the air, then back down again, rolling. 

          After it had repeated these lovely motions for some time, the white deer bowed on final time, as if there were some invisible royalty there watching the fine dance.  Then, it walked slowly and peacefully back to the woods.

          Molly was astounded! So this is how the grasses were being smooshed!  She watched this show every night from her room for several days, until it was Christmas Eve.  She knew it would be difficult for her to fall asleep that night anyway, so decided to take a chance on getting closer to the deer.

          After Mommy and Daddy went to bed, Molly crept silently through the house.  She soflty opened the door and went outside.  She snuggled next to her playset, and watched the woods for any sign of the white deer.  She didn’t have long to wait.

          Very soon, she watched as that majestic creature emerged and began its dance.  It was the most beautiful dance Molly had seen the deer do yet, with higher leaps and faster circles and more ups and downs and rolls.  It was simply breathtaking to watch. 

When the deer ended with a bow, Molly couldn’t help herself, and she began to clap.  The deer looked up quickly and saw her.  It took a step toward the woods, but Molly spoke to it.

“Please don’t run away!  Your dancing was so beautiful, I just had to watch.  I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

Then, to Molly’s great surprise, the pure white deer spoke to her.  In a soft and smooth voice, it said, “I am glad it blessed you, dearheart. I dance for my king, but I am happy you saw me, too.”

“Who is your king?” asked Molly, “Is he invisible?” she still couldn’t believe she was talking to a deer, but the deer seemed so friendly, that she didn’t mind.

The deer responded, “The king is your king, and mine, and he is very visible, when you know what to look for.  He is in the cold air we breathe, and the frost that is already forming, and the blue moon shining above.  Meeting you in this way, well, that’s him, too.”

Molly didn’t understand exactly, but she thought aloud, “That sounds like God. He is everywhere in His creation, and He makes magical things happen.”

The deer nodded and said, “Especially on Christmas Eve.  There is much of the old magic left from the birth of the famous one.  I come here to dance every year at this time, and especially on Christmas Eve.”

“Magic.” Whispered Molly. “Maybe God’s magic is letting me talk to you now.”

Then both the deer and Molly were so in wonder of what God was doing right there for them, that niether of them spoke again.  But they both began to dance.  Dancing together, they dipped and bowed and lept and worshipped the visible, invisible king.

When they were done, the deer nodded to Molly and returned to the woods, and Molly returned to her bed.  The next morning was Christmas and she tried to tell her parents about the dancing deer, but they told her it was just a lovely dream. 

“Maybe they’re right,” Molly thought, but she never forgot it and she never forgot to dance on Christmas Eve.

Mr. Nicholas

[image error] Photo by Peter Fazekas on Pexels.com

A very long time ago, there lived a skinny old man with knobbly knees and a hunched over back.  His beard was long and white and thinning, a rather sad excuse for a beard, really, and he lived all alone.  His dear wife had already left this world, and though the old man missed her very much, he kept himself quite busy making bread and doing good for others.

He cared for the families in the village surrounding his humble cottage. Every morning, early, he would hobble out with a large pack thrown over onto his hunched back, and picked his way along with a short and twisted walking stick.  He made a stop at every home, knocking briefly and then dropping a fresh loaf of homemade bread, wrapped in cloth, at the door.  Then he continued on his way, or stopped to chat for a moment with whoever came to the door.

One winter morning, just before Christmas, he left the warmth of his cottage to make his deliveries. He knocked on a door to leave a loaf of especially yummy smelling bread, and the door opened wide.  A small child stood there with tears in her eyes. 

The old man said, “Now here child, what’s this? How is it that you are sad this close to Christmas Day?”

The little girl, who had curling red hair and liquid blue eyes looked up at him so sadly and replied, “I tried to make a dolly for my baby sister for Christmas, but look!”  She pulled from her pocket a bit of cloth that had been dyed blue and braided and pinned into the shape of a doll baby, but it was quite pitiful looking. 

The old man stifled his laugh, because he knew that you should never laugh at a child whose heart has been broken.  He put down his sack of bread, and picked up the rag doll. 

“Hmm, hmm, yes, yes, I see,” he said, then, looking at the child, “I think you’ve done something wonderful here, look at the pretty blue color and the braids!  This is a special gift, because it means you love your little sister very much.”

The child sniffed, “I do love her, and I want the doll to be perfect. It needs arms and legs, and a smiling face, but I don’t know how.”

The old man thought some, and said, “I have an idea.  If I can take this doll now, I promise to bring her back in the morning, and you’ll have plenty of time to wrap it up for Christmas day.”

“Okay, thank you,” said the little girl, wiping her eyes.

That night, the old man pulled out the flour and oil he used to make bread dough.  He tried a little of this and a little of that and thought, “Yes now, this will be perfect!”  Using a special dough that would harden stiff as it dried, he molded and shaped it carefully with his gnarly hands. 

Soon, the dough had hardened exactly as he wanted, and he pulled out his paints and added color.  Finally, he sat back and smiled.

The next morning, true to his word, he returned to the home of the little girl with curling red hair.  When she opened the door, he pulled out the rag doll from behind his back.

The girl gasped! The old man had made arms, legs, and head for the doll out of his special dough, and had sewn them to the blue dyed and braided rags.  He had painted them to look like the little girl, with blue eyes and red hair.

“What a beautiful doll!” cried the little girl, “Sister will never forget this Christmas! And neither will I!  Thank you, Thank you so much, Mr. Nicholas!”

The old man nodded, smiling wide.  He said, “You’re very welcome.  Now, go and wrap it, for tomorrow is Christmas!  Have a happy day!”

As he walked home, all bent over, the old man realized he’d never been happier.  He was beaming from helping the child.  When he climbed into bed, he stared out his window at a very large star, a Christmas star. 

He thought, “Perhaps it is a wishing star! Maybe even the same star that shone over the Christ child on his birth.  Maybe, just maybe, there’s some magic left in the star for me!”

So, he wished, and prayed very hard, that there was some way he could help more children.  It was his very dearest wish!  If only he had more strength in his hands and back, and if only he had a way to get to the other villages close by to help those children, too! He desired it with his whole heart and wished with all his might.

After several hours, he grew tired with wishing and fell asleep.  But, he awoke with a start.  Something was happening!  His skinny, hunched body began to fill out and to straighten.  He stretched his legs and back out and watched his muscles and tummy get bigger and his beard got bushier!  He got so fat the buttons popped off his shirt!  He stood up, straight and tall, and laughed at his new strong body! As he laughed, his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly.

Immediately, he set to work, using his special dough to make more dolls for the girls. For the boys, he molded it into animal shapes, like dragons and lions and bears.  He got carried away and made more than enough for all the children in the village, but he put them all into the giant pack he used for carrying bread.

He prepared to walk outside, but noticed his shirt, with no buttons.  “This won’t do,” he said, but he was now so fat that none of his clothes fit anymore.  He looked around and found the soft red blanket on his bed.  He wrapped himself in it like a fine red cloak, and closed it with a sash. He put on a stocking cap, to keep him warm, and he stepped out of his cottage.

To his surprise, the wishing star had granted him one more miracle.  A sled! This would be a perfect vehicle to get him to the surrounding villages!  Only, he didn’t have a horse to pull it.  Well, the wishing star had taken care of that, too.  From beside the cottage, a huge deer, a REINDEER! walked over to the sled, and nodded to the old man.  The old man laughed a hearty laugh, and threw his bag of toys into the sled, then hooked it to the reindeer. 

From that day on, he was blessed to do the thing he desired most in the world: help children! He worked all year long to make them special toys, and the wishing star helped him deliver them every Christmas Day.  The children in his village called him a saint.  Saint Nicholas.

November Days

Oh November, your golden sun pourings brighten the lingering yellow, the deepening red, and the encroaching rust! A red glow permeates all you do and makes the world a shimmering thing, a singing thing, a hopeful thing.  For though you breathe ice into the morning and that breath hints of a gray and forlorn January, we all know, and laugh inwardly with childlike glee, that Christmas is coming!

Star Pond

[image error] Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“The stars sure are bright tonight!” sighed Princess Serena, “Perhaps Mother will let me climb to the tower and use the telescope!”  The sky was especially clear tonight, one felt they could see all the way into Heaven!

The princess’ guard, named Brent, replied, “Perhaps she will, let’s go and ask her.”

The queen of course gave her consent, and Princess Serena and Brent climbed the long steps to the top of the highest tower in the castle.  There sat a telescope made of gold, and it pointed out of a small opening in the stone. 

Serena jumped to look into it and gasped, “Oh my! The stars are rippling, like they are laying in an enormous lake!”

Brent laughed and said, “Oh princess, your imagination is running wild again.  Let me have a look.”

When he leaned down and looked in the telescope, though, he saw that the princess was right.  The stars and the whole sky seemed to be waving, rippling along as if the wind were blowing across the surface of a lake.

“Amazing,” said he.

Serena was jumping with curiosity and said, “We have to see the sky better! We’ve got to get higher!  Where’s the highest place in all the land?”

Brent answered, “That’s easy, there’s a mountain in the eastern part of the kingdom, and it goes up and up and up.  On the very top, there’s an old man who lives there all alone.  Maybe he could give us some idea of what’s happening in the sky.”

So up they went.  They climbed all the way to the top of the mountain together, and found a cozy cottage.  Brent knocked on the door, and an old man came hobbling out.

He said, “I don’t get many visitors up this way, what brings you here?”

The princess said, “Please sir, the sky is wavy and ripply this evening, and we can’t figure out what’s going on.  Since your house is so high up here close to the sky, we hoped you could help us.”

The old man smiled and said, “Well little girl, the sky has always been that way, but you live too far down below to see it.  You can see it tonight because the night is especially clear and bright.”

Then he scratched his head and sat down in a rocking chair by the front door. 

He said, “I’m sure glad you came tonight.  It gets so lonely here since my wife disappeared.”

Brent said, “Oh sir, perhaps we can help you find her!”

The old man replied sadly, “I don’t think so.  It’s been so long ago. She and I vowed to stay here and watch the sky together for all our days.  We were both so happy, with the sky almost in reach, and I know she wouldn’t leave.  She just disappeared one evening.  It was an evening very much like this one, the stars so close you could touch them, the sky rippling like waves.  She stepped outside for a moment, and when I walked out to be with her, she was gone.”

The old man stopped his tale here and shook his head.

The princess felt very sorry for him, but she was intrigued by his words about being able to touch the sky.

She asked, “Can we really touch the sky, sir?”  and she stretched up onto her tiptoes, fingers in the air.

Brent laughed and said, “Of course not, child, not from there, but perhaps from the roof?”

The old man pointed to a ladder leaning against the side of the cottage. 

He said, “I’ve never tried to actually touch the sky, I always thought it was not right, somehow. But you’re welcome to try!”

So Princess Serena climbed quickly up the ladder and onto the roof.  The sky was so close! She reached up and up and stretched to her tiptoes.  Then, her fingers brushed a liquid sky!

Suddenly, she found herself in another land.  Instead of reaching up, she was bending down, her hand hovering just above a puddle, or was it a lake?  She was on the shore looking down into the sky, as if it were an enormous pond, rippling along in the wind.  She was absolutely astounded. 

She did not get a good look at her surroundings, though, because she was startled by someone calling to her.  She looked up, and as she did so, she slipped and her hand touched the sky-water.  Immediately she was back on the roof of the old man’s house.

She called down to the old man and Brent, “Sirs, there is another world up there!  Just touch the sky!  It’s a liquid sky! Touch it and it takes you to another place!”

She was so excited, she reached up to touch it again, but Brent called to her to come down.

He said, “Princess, I think you should stay here, there’s no telling what dangers that world holds!”

The old man stood from his rocking chair and asked, “Did you see anyone there?”

The princess shook her head and said, “Yes sir, someone called to me and I looked up.  It startled me and I fell back into the sky and was transported back here.”

The old man asked, “How did the person look?”

Princess Serena thought for bit then replied, “Like an old lady, wearing a blue shawl.”

“Ha!” Shouted the old man, then he pushed Brent out of his way and quickly climbed the ladder to the top of his house. 

He looked down and Serena and said, “Thank you, my dear, thank you!”

Then, he stretched up and touched the sky.

Princess Serena and Brent stood there watching and waiting.  After several minutes, the old man appeared again on the roof.  There was someone with him: the old lady with the blue shawl. He had found his long lost love!

The princess and Brent were so happy to have helped the old man, and he and his wife were happy together for the rest of their days.  They all stayed good friends and often visited the other starry world together.

The Goldenrust

“Mommy, it’s happening again!”

“What is happening, angel?”

[image error] Photo by Artem Saranin on Pexels.com

“God is pouring gold on the ground!”

Molly giggled and pulled her mother to the back door and snatched it open.  “See?” she said, and pointed to the sun that had just come up above the trees, flooding the ground in light.  Her mother smiled down at Molly, but, when she looked up, she noticed that the drops of dew were sparkling, like bits of shining gold you’d see in the movies when the hero finds a missing treasure. 

“Hmm,” she said, “It really does look like gold.”

Molly nodded, “That’s because it IS gold, silly.  One day, I’ll go up in the sky and find where God keeps his gold.” 

Her mom laughed and rubbed Molly’s head, something she often did when she was pleased with Molly’s childish antics, and then she went back to sweeping.  Molly, though, stared out the door for a while longer and thought, in the way a child can, that the rust colored leaves of the pear trees and the yellow of the pecan leaves made a nice backdrop for the gold pouring down.  Then she closed the door and yelled, “It’s BARBIE TIME!”

She played hard all morning, her mother doing her best to keep up.  Outside, they climbed on the playset and chased imaginary bad guys across the yard, picked a few late dandelions and collected pecans.  Then, inside, they colored and sang and danced and did Bible devotions, then it was time for lunch. After lunch meant cartoons and naptime.

“I’ll never fall asleep,” Molly told her Mom, yawning wide. She curled up on the couch, eyelids heavy, “I’ll never…fall…asleep…” and then her mom came over and kissed her head, then pulled the blanket up over her.

Sometime later, Molly awoke with a start.  What was that light?  She opened her eyes and rubbed them. Some bright light was coming in through the window.  She quickly ran outside and was surprised to find that the gold that had been poured out in the morning was now turned into actual gold!  The ground was covered in gold coins, rings, and vases and crowns and all sorts of things: all pure gold.

Molly ran outside and dove into the treasure, swimming through sparkling things.  She was having so much fun, she didn’t notice some little people coming towards her.  They were no bigger than she was, though they were obviously much older.  Some had long gray beards.  One such person approached her and “Hemmed.”

Molly was startled, “Oh, hello, who are you?”

“Hello, my name is Batton. I’m ever so sorry to ask, but, what exactly are you?”

Molly giggled and said, “A little girl, of course, silly!  What are you?”

Batton replied, “A little girl? No no no, that’s not right, you’re much too large for a little girl.  You must come with me to the Maker.”

“Alright, I guess,” said Molly, “Who is the Maker? Is he nice?”

Another dwarf-like creature approached and said, “He is loving, but you may not find him nice.  Come along now, step up!”  Then, muttering to himself, Molly heard him say, “Imagine not knowing who the Maker is! And what is it doing playing in the goldenrust that way!”

“Pardon me,” said Molly as she ran along behind them, “what do you mean ‘goldenrust’?”

Batton and the other dwarf stopped and turned in disbelief.

“The Gold And Rust!  The Gold and Rust you were just playing in! My oh MY what an ignorant thing you are!”  said the second dwarf.  He didn’t seem very nice, Molly thought, and inwardly thought his name should be “Grumpy.”

Batton came over and looked at her closely.  He said, “Do you know where you are, child?”

Molly looked around.  Her house was not there, nor the driveway, and she couldn’t see her playset either. 

She was worried, “No, I don’t! I thought I was home, but now, I don’t know! What is this place?”

Batton patted her on the shoulder, “You are in the Gold and Rust.”

Batton looked toward Grumpy.  He said, “We’d better get her straight to the Maker.”

Molly followed them along a path made of golden stones and surrounded by golden grain.  When the path curved, she saw up ahead a glimmering castle, made of pure gold.

“Did the Maker make all these things?” asked Molly.

“Indeed,” said Grumpy, “All that you see was made by him.  And his favorite color is gold.”

“Oh,” said Molly, and they walked into the castle and requested an audience with the Maker.

They walked into a large room, made of gold, of course, and saw a man sitting in a large gold chair. The Maker.

The Maker nodded to Molly and said, “My, child, how did you get here?”

Molly cried and said, “I don’t know, I hope you can help me get home! Is this place far from my house?”

The Maker smiled and said, “No need to worry, child.  You are not at all far from your home, in a manner of speaking.  Do you recall the golden leaves and the rust colored leaves of the trees in your yard?”

“Yes.” Molly said,

“We are the Autumnians, and we are responsible for the gold here.  It is poured out on your trees in the Fall every year and we spread it to the leaves we want, or the flowers, or even sometimes to the grass and on rooftops. You saw it yourself this morning and called your Mommy to see it!”

“But I never saw you, or all that treasure back there.  Where did that come from?”

“Oh,” said the Maker, “You weren’t small enough to see the treasure until now.  We must return you to your proper size so that you can see our handy work.”

“Oh my! You are the ones who put golden colors on everything in the Fall?” cried Molly, “And it’s really all tiny treasure?! It’s so lovely!! You all are amazing!  Can I help?”

The Maker laughed and sadly shook his head.  “No, although it is a treat to see you here, you must return, for you do not belong among the Autumnians.  Now, close your eyes, for it’s going to be bright!”

The Maker began to glow brighter and brighter, and Molly shut her eyes tightly against it.  It became so bright she covered her eyes with her hands. 

Then, suddenly, she realized she was lying down.  She opened her eyes and she was back on the couch in her living room.  The sun was pouring in through the window, golden light falling on her face.

She rushed outside and smiled.  The Autumnians sure had been busy.  It was all beautiful.  She tried to tell her Mommy about her adventures in the Goldenrust, but Mommy didn’t seem to believe her.  So, she scooped up a huge pile of yellow leaves and tossed them into a sunbeam.  She watched the gold glitter and smiled. 

She called really loudly, “Thank you, Autumnians! Thank you!!”

The Soapmaker’s New Soap

There once lived a humble soap maker who was absolutely thrilled by making and surrounding himself with the very best fragrances.  Every one of his soaps smelled amazing, and people came from miles around to pick and choose from the very best.  He started with fruit smells, like strawberry and mango and watermelon, and what deliciously fragranced soaps were these! Then, he created soaps that smelled like freshly cut grass, like autumn leaves, and like the way it smells after it rains.  These were magnificent as well, and all the townspeople smelled great because they all used his soap.

[image error]

Then one day, the soapmaker made something extraordinary. He worked and he labored and he poured his heart into this creation.  He didn’t know what to call it, couldn’t put his finger on what it smelled like, but when it was complete, it was hailed as his most wonderful fragrance. It was by far the purest, sweetest, most perfect fragrance, and every single person in the town wanted some. 

Word spread far and wide of this new soap, until the Queen herself heard of it.  Well, really, she smelled of it, when one of her servants came to give her a glass of tea.  The servant smelled so heavenly, the Queen just had to know where it came from.

The next day, she arrived at the soapmaker’s humble home.  She came with her fanciest carriage and several guards and dancing ladies.  The soapmaker was so pleased she had come! 

He said, “Your majesty! To what do I owe this magnificent pleasure?” 

The Queen answered, “Soapmaker, I demand a bar of your newest soap, the unnamed one, that all the townspeople are talking about.”

The soapmaker was distressed, “Oh Queen, I would happily fulfill your request, except I have sold every bar of this soap! I didn’t even keep any for myself!”

The Queen became impatient, “I demand you make some more of it! Quickly, for I must have this new soap!”

The soapmaker explained, “Your majesty, I will very gladly make more, however, I am all out of the one most important ingredient.  You see, there is a rare flower that the recipe requires.  The flowers are all gone from here now, except one, and it is on the very top of Mount Tippityteetery.”

The crowd that had gathered all sighed, for Mount Tippityteetery was the very highest mountain in the whole land, and climbing to the top would be long and dangerous.

The Queen demanded, “Who will go and get this flower for me?”

Only one man stepped up to her, a lowly knight, in a suit of shiny black armor.  He said, “I will get this flower for you, my queen.”

The queen said, “Go now, for I wish this all to be done quickly.” 

The brave knight, who secretly loved the Queen very much, was eager to please her, and he ran off to the foot of Mount Tippityteetery.  He took a deep breath and then began climbing.  He climbed and climbed and climbed until he had to take a rest.  As he was resting, he heard a wild cry, and suddenly, he was attacked by a mountain lion! The knight wrestled with the large beast and beat it with his strong fists until the thing ran away. 

“Whew!” said the knight.  Then he started off again.  He climbed more and more and more, until it was starting to get difficult to breathe.  He became afraid he might never reach the top, when finally, he pulled himself up to the very highest ledge. 

There, he saw growing, one lonely flower.  “But,” he thought, “Something’s not right.” Nevertheless, he picked the flower, put it in his pocket, and climbed back down the mountain.  He had to pick his way slowly among rocks and thorns, and once more he saw the mountain lion, though he cleverly hid from it until it left. 

Finally, after many days, he brought the flower back to the Queen and the soapmaker.  He said, “Oh Queen, I’ve done as you asked, but something’s not right.  There was only one flower at the very top of that mountain, but it was this.” 

Here, he pulled out the flower he’d taken.  It was a dandelion!

“A dandelion?” cried the Queen, “Dandelions are not at all rare, you daft Soapmaker! You could’ve picked those anywhere, there’s some here by your very door!”

Oh, the queen was angry, thinking the soapmaker had deceived her, and she prepared to throw him into her dungeon.

But the soapmaker said, “Dear Queen, while dandelions are not rare, this particular one was all the way at the top of a dangerous mountain.  Only one who loves you very much would risk everything to go and retrieve that flower.”

Everyone looked at the knight.

“It is true,” said the knight, “I love thee, my queen, I always have.” He bowed to her, and she to him.

The soapmaker continued, “I know now what to name this new soap of mine, I will name it for the special ingredient.  It is called “love.”

The soapmaker made more soap for the land, including the Queen, who married the brave knight, and they all lived happily ever after.

Navy Blue Morning

Navy Blue Morning

Another navy blue morning presses itself against my soul, sinks in to my brain, broods into my own brooding.

Stop pushing in, you heavy, slow-moving bully! These few moments are precious, and they are mine, and your cheerless cheeks and lightless eyes I like far less than your sister dawn of yesterday. Her good mornings were sharp and bright and fell lightly. But, perhaps, then, too, did mine.

Sometimes, when we are dampened and dark, creation mirrors our mood, and what do we do then? We rage at it of course, or else we let it reinforce and press us further into navy, into the incredibly heavy clouds, and we get sucked down and down into the sky.

Will the sun not come?

The Calling of Amelia

[image error]

Amelia always knew she was special, that something inside of her connected with the world around her in a way that no one else could understand.  She FELT nature.  She called to it and it called to her.  It called to her always. Like while she rode the school bus and shut out the noise of the annoying others.  Looking out the window, her heart was called far beyond the gossiping chatter of her seat mate.  It called as she sat in class, chin resting on her left arm, her right arm doodling mindlessly on her writing pad.

Her mother defended her actions as “eclectic,” a word that made Amelia cringe. “She is an ARTIST!” she heard her mother shout as her father left the last time, angrily slamming the door behind him.

She knew she was odd, weird, different, when she didn’t want to go to prom or try on make up or spend hours on the phone.  She knew, but she couldn’t help it.  Something within stirred her, calling her to greatness, to adventure.

A little older now, she drove along, hoping to start over in another town.  Another place where she would be forgiven, for a while, if she didn’t know her way around the social circles.

Looking ahead, she realized the scenery was mesmerizing.  There were tree-covered mountains, in a riot of Autumn color, and her mind and heart swam.  It was calling. She passed by a young man carrying a fishing pole in one hand and a mess of fish in the other.  It made her smile; he must’ve caught them in the creek that was running parallel to this curvy country road.  This area was quiet, quiet like she was.    To a casual observer, Amelia, like this valley she was passing through, was easily overlooked on the way to more exciting prospects; but if one saw what was truly there, there was a chaos of life and thought and color and movement, an existence so raucous, you’d be forced to cover your ears if it could be physically heard.

Her eyes jerked to the left where an abandoned, yet tidy, old church building sat just by the road.  The chipped white paint, or perhaps the loneliness of it, was incredibly alluring.

Amelia braked hard and let the car come to rest in the overgrown grass parking area next to the decaying building.  She climbed out and softly closed the door behind her, so as not to disturb the peaceful busyness of the place. The creek plashed along, the breeze stirred tall grasses, and her imagination. 

She took a deep breath and smiled, unaware of a raw and haggard face snarling at her from a window in the church.

……..

Amelia ambled to the creek and knelt down.  Pulling out her phone, she took several pictures to ensure she would remember the serenity of the place, then she turned toward the lovely little church.  Through the screen of the camera, she saw movement within, a darting shadow.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wondered if it were a trick of the light, but took a step toward her car. 

The rickety front door of the church burst open and a creepy, angry figure ran, snatching and snarling, toward her.  Instinctively, she sprinted to her car and grabbed at the handle, but was yanked backward. She landed hard on the ground and struggled to push herself up.  The snarling angry thing was now yelling, and Amelia, horrified, got a good look at it.  It was a man with long, stringy black hair, medium build, and wild red eyes.  In a flash she realized he must be on some sort of drugs, and she scrambled to her feet. 

The man rushed her, shoved his arm around her neck, and began to drag her back toward the church. Amelia screamed, over and over, and she fought like a mad cat. Her elbows were powerful weapons, and she dug her heels into the ground.  The man had some sort of wild strength, though, and muscled her closer and closer to the dark church building.

Amelia dropped suddenly, flinging herself down and using the full weight of gravity.  The attacker couldn’t keep his grip and she rolled away, coming up quickly, and headed again for the car.  She was nearly there when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled.

Pain flooded her brain and she shrieked and scratched at him, but to no avail.  She was hauled backward into the old church building.  Amelia was terrified, but somehow retained some amount of composure.  The stringy-haired monster threw her on the floor, then turned to slam shut the door.  This gave the girl a split second to feel around in the dark and grab something.  Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw that she was holding an old board, probably from a decayed church pew.  She swung it with all her might and it hit home.

“Gahhh!” screamed out the man, but he seemed undeterred. She swung again, this time the board broke across his shoulders.  He dropped to his knees and Amelia jumped to pass him by. She reached toward the door, he grabbed her foot and tripped her, and she fell flat, smacking her head on the floor.

Her mind swam.  She thought, “I can’t lose consciousness,” but her eyes wouldn’t focus.  She screamed.  Then the man was on top of her, beating her body like a punching bag.

Her mind swam again, and just as darkness began to crowd her vision, a bright light burst through, bathing her face and the church in the golden glow of sunlight, pouring in through the door.  A young man stood there, holding a fishing pole in one hand and fish in the other.  Without hesitation, he slammed the mess of fish into the stringy monster’s face, sending the man rolling from Amelia.  Her eyes were still not focusing well, but she managed to sit up and push herself to the wall.

The fisherman, meanwhile, followed-up the fish-smacking with his fists, and pounded the man repeatedly.  The stringy-haired man screamed, and bolted away, jumping across the threshold of the church and past Amelia’s car, then into the woods beyond the creek.  The fisherman ran after him for a moment, then returned quickly to Amelia.  She was still sitting against the wall, near the open door of the church.

Panting, the fisherman said, “Are you alright?  I’m calling 911.” He pulled out a cell phone and sat next to her as he dialed.  Thankfully, Amelia began feeling less groggy and was able to concentrate as he called the police and told them where they were.  When the young man said, “Thank you,” and hung up, he looked closely at her.

“Are you ok?” he asked, and she nodded slowly.

“I think so, I hit my head pretty hard, but I think I’m ok.” She was shaking and started to cry. 

He let her for a moment, then said, “My name’s Josh.  I live just down the road here,” he pointed in the direction she’d been driving, “what’s your name?”

“I’m, sniff, Amelia,” she said, then, “Thank you for helping me.”

Josh smiled. “You’re welcome, and you’re safe now.  The police will have that guy in no time, and I’m staying with you until they do.  What are you doing here, anyway?”

Amelia swallowed and tried to explain herself, “I, I was just driving by, and something about this place…” She shuddered, the attack so shocking and fresh, she thought anything she said would sound stupid. She had felt so sure that something was here she was supposed to find, something called to her so strongly and forced her to slam on the brakes.  She bitterly regretted it now.

Josh looked past the broken door of the church out toward the creek and the mountains beyond.  He said, “I know what you mean. It’s a pretty enough view, alright, but there’s something about this place that calls to my heart.  It’s why I fish up here all the time.  Speaking of which,” he stood and retrieved his fish and his pole.

“Let’s step outside into the light, you feel up to that?” 

Amelia nodded and he helped her up.  A large rock sat close to the church and overlooked the creek. He steered her there and helped her sit, gently.

He motioned toward the gurgling creek and continued, “Maybe you understand, or maybe I just sound crazy, but I think that God calls to people in different ways.  Especially in nature, and especially to those with the right kind of listening heart.”

He laughed and smiled down at her.  Amelia didn’t laugh, she didn’t believe in God, or at least she never really thought about it, but something Josh said about a “listening heart” struck a chord with her. 

Eyebrows furrowed, she asked, “A listening heart? I wonder… I mean, I often feel like I’m different than other people because I feel like nature, like it is calling to my heart somehow.”

Josh nodded, “Everyone can see that this place is picturesque, of course, but I think that there is something deeper here, and in lots of places, for certain types of people.  A quiet, um, sometimes introverted type person, can sometimes feel God calling to them, pulling them to something greater than the everyday nonsense of this world. I think these people can more easily have a meaningful relationship with Him than-”

Amelia interrupted, “Well, I don’t know about GOD, but I do know that I feel something.”

Josh nodded, “Have you ever heard of the famous writer, Cora Mae Brown? She writes a lot of poetry and stuff about nature.  She says something like, well, here, let me show you.”

He pulled out his phone again and did a quick internet search, then read: “Creation calls to the listening heart, the one prepared to seek, to feel, to discover: a quiet, a reverent, a thinking heart, and one that is indelibly curious. These, often necessarily introverted hearts, were built for greatness.”

Amelia gave a half smile and a little laugh.  “Ha. That sounds a lot like me, ‘indelibly curious, and quiet.’ I do feel like SOMETHING is calling me, why not God?”

Josh smiled, but said nothing.

Amelia said, “Did Cora…what’s her name…did she write more about this?” 

Josh handed her the phone and she read:  “A heart that is more attune to the whispers in the wind and the myriad colors of a mountain top view, the tinkle and swish of a clear stream, the sweetness of a dewy morning; this heart can easily find the Creator, can almost see Him sitting there on a stump, one ankle crossed over a knee, barefoot beneath the pecan tree.  He looks up as looking to a good friend and smiles.  “Hello there, kindred heart,” He seems to call, “come and be refreshed and filled with life.”

As she finished reading these words, a siren rang out in the distance.  She handed the phone back to Josh and said, “Thank you again, for everything.  I can’t imagine what would have happened if…” her eyes welled up with tears. 

Josh put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m very glad I was close by.”

A silver patrol car, lights flashing sped around the curve and pulled into the church parking lot.  It was soon followed by another and Amelia recounted the attack to two officers.  Josh did the same and gave them a good description of the man with the stringy black hair. 

The policemen reassured Amelia that they would catch the guy in no time, as they were pretty sure they knew who he was and where he lived.  Apparently, the man was a known drug-addict and thief. 

Josh walked over to her and smiled.  He said, “I’m going down to the station with them now.  If you need anything, give me a call.”  He handed her a slip of paper with his phone number on it. He’d also retrieved her cell phone from the ground and gave her that, too.

She said, “I can’t ever say thank you enough, it was all so horrifying.  Thank God you were there!” 

He replied, “Yes, thank God.”  He began walking away, but stopped and turned, “You know, maybe you were meant to be here today. Maybe your “indelibly curious heart” is trying to tell you something.”  Then he nodded and walked away.

Amelia recovered from her ordeal surprisingly quickly, and she remained curious and quiet.  She sought with her heart.  This led her to reading scriptures and eventually into a deep relationship with God. 

After a few months of roaming, she found a place to live, a quiet community where she could paint lovely scenery, and people who saw her work were transfixed.   She poured her love for the Creator into every piece, and the magic of creation was woven into each one. 

Many years later, one of her most favorite paintings was hung in an art gallery near a university campus.  A young man, studying law, who knew nothing of God and was a devout Atheist, happened to walk past the gallery.   Something called to him, something pulled him inside and around the corner to stare at this lovely painting.  His indelibly curious heart held him fast in front of it for a very long time.  He stared at the decaying church, with white chipped paint, and the peaceful creek that ran beside, and the Autumn decorated mountains beyond.  The painting was titled, “God, the Creator, Calls.” 

The young man thought, “Something is calling me, why not God?”

Megan and the Monster

[image error]

Megan was a young girl with a dark brown ponytail and pale purple glasses.  Her glasses had hearts on them, but that didn’t make her want to wear them.  In fact, she didn’t like wearing her glasses much at all, and her Daddy often had to remind her to put them on. 

There was one thing Megan DID like, though, and that was playing with her sweet doggy, Sammy.  She and Sammy had many adventures splashing through puddles, racing through the grass, and chasing butterflies. 

One day, Megan woke early and ran outside without putting on her glasses.  She called for Sammy and he came darting toward her from his favorite hiding place, under the porch.  Megan grabbed a ball and threw it for Sammy to retrieve.  Sammy barked happily and ran, fast as lightning, and brought the ball back to her.  She threw the ball again and again, with Sammy bringing it back. 

But then, she threw it a little too hard and it bounced into the woods. Sammy slipped in right behind it, so Megan ran in, too.  The woods were so much fun to play in! There were pretty trees to climb, leaves to look at and collect, and roots to climb over.  Megan and Sammy spent a lot of time playing here, and today was no exception.

They stayed in the woods for so long, in fact, they did not notice a storm rolling in.  Megan heard a rumble of thunder and said, “It might be time to go, Sammy,” and they started heading for home, but very slowly. 

A few moments later, they felt the rain begin, a soft sprinkle.  Megan said, “I’m not worried, it’s just a little rain.  Let’s play some more before we go inside.” So they did.

A little while later, as Megan was picking a clover and holding it to Sammy’s nose, it started to pour! It rained so hard, they were soaked through in a matter of seconds! 

“Run, Sammy!” cried Megan and they both dashed to the porch, up the stairs, into the front door, and then…they stopped still.  There in the hallway stood a large, fuzzy monster! Megan screamed and ducked as the monster reached out two scary fuzzy arms toward her. 

She scrambled for the stairs that lead to her room and turned to call Sammy.  “Sammy, come here boy!”

But Sammy did not come.  He stayed with the monster, and even barked and happily wagged his tail.  Megan couldn’t understand and she called, “Sammy! Come HERE!”

Sammy still did not come, and Megan watched in horror as the monster stooped down and picked up the dog. 

Megan screamed again and ran up the stairs to her room, slammed her door shut, and hid under the bed. She was so scared she started crying.

Then, with sickening dread, she heard, “Thump, thump, thump!” The monster was coming up the stairs! 

Then she heard the doorknob turn and her bedroom door opened.  The monster was in her room!

Then, to her utter surprise, she heard her Daddy’s voice, “Megan? What’s wrong? Why are you under the bed?”

Relieved, she peeked out slowly and saw…the monster! It sounded just like her Daddy!  She shrieked and jump back under the bed.

Then the monster picked up her glasses from her nightstand, and held them out to her.  She heard it say, “Here, put these on please.”

Trembling, she did so, and then…Oh what a huge relief! There was her Daddy standing next to her!  There had never been a monster at all, but, without her glasses, she could only see a fuzzy shape, add in the dark and the storm outside, Megan had easily imagined that her kind Daddy was really a monster. 

From that day on, she never went anywhere without her glasses.

The End

Johnston County Project: The Writer and the Split Rail Fence

[image error]

The Writer and the Split Rail

Amanda drove along in the sunshine, on her way home from a busy Saturday at her family’s small business.  It was a 40-minute drive from her house, and her thoughts were straying as they always did when she had a few moments alone. 

She was a new Mommy and she was thrilled to get back home to her baby and her husband, but just now, in her thoughts, she was struggling.  The family business was brand new, and the responsibilities of running it fell mostly on her, as her husband still had a full-time job elsewhere. Her baby almost always came with her to the business, too, so she was learning to be a Mom and a business owner at the same time, and she was doing it alone. 

To compound the crazy, Amanda had secretly been writing a novel.  She would sneak out of bed every morning at 4:30am and write for a couple of hours before anyone woke up.  This was her passion, but she would often be forced to put her writing away, for days or weeks, to keep up with the demands of the day. This lead to a serious case of writer’s block, and she just couldn’t figure out what her characters in the novel should do next.

This is what she was contemplating as she drove along familiar highway 42.  A small sign on the side of the road caught her eye and drew her from her thoughts.  The sign read, “Apples for Sale, next right.”

For some reason, she slowed the car and kept an eye out for a right-hand turn.  She came upon it suddenly, as it was not a state road, just a dirt path, almost hidden from the highway by the overhanging trees.  The path was lined by a charming old split rail fence, made of graying wood and covered here and there with twisting green vines.

Amanda mashed the brakes and pulled into the dirt lane.  She had a passing concern that maybe the car wouldn’t make it up the bumps and ridges, but she wasn’t really worried.  Instead, with every rotation of the wheels that brought her further into the woods, she became more and more curious about the apples.  Was there an orchard tucked away back here someplace? Who was selling the apples?

After a moment or two, the trees opened into a large clearing, a field, really, and Amanda noticed other cars parked there.  She parked, too, and got out, then walked toward a large sign that simply read, “Apples.”

As she walked toward the sign, she saw a grown man squatting on the ground, building something with a pile of rocks, the way a child might.  And not far from him, there was a lady swinging in an old tire swing hanging from a tree.  Amanda recognized her, she was a neighbor, Mrs. Joy, and she was a grandmother. What in the world was happening, here?  Why were the grownups acting like children?

She approached the Apples sign, and saw beneath it a table laden with plump, bright red apples.  A man with a white beard wearing overalls approached her with a smile.  He tipped his straw hat to her and said, “Hi there! Would you like to try some apples?”

Amanda was immediately at ease with this friendly person, and answered, “They look delicious! Did you grow these yourself?”

The man nodded and said, “I sure did.  These apples are quite special, a hybrid that my family has grown for ages.  Everytime I eat one of these,” here he grabbed an apple and tossed it up and caught it again, “it brings me right back to my childhood days.  Makes me feel like a kid again!”

He held the apple out to her, “Give it a try!”

Amanda happily took the apple and crunched into it.  It was delicious! And something else, too, the sweetness of the juice seemed to seep into her soul.  She understood what the apple man meant about feeling like a kid again.  She’d always been a pretty creative person, but her imagination suddenly exploded into color and sound.  She twirled in a circle, completely forgetting to pay the man, and took another bite. 

She began to imagine the trees were part of a deep and magical forest, their arms reaching up into a sky made of glass.  She rushed to a tree trunk and imagined a home there for fairies and squirrels. She plopped onto the ground, and laughing, she broke little sticks to make a tiny playground for the fairies. 

She played and played until the glass sky began to turn gold and orange and then to darken.  Slowly, as if waking from a dream, she realized that she needed to get home to her husband and baby. She pushed herself from the ground and looked around.  There was no one else there now, even the apple sign and the table of apples were gone. A bit confused, she walked back to her car and drove the rest of the way home, her senses buzzing from her time spent wrapped in imagination.

When she sat down to write the next morning, Amanda was able to very quickly recall her playtime imaginings from the day before.  This was amazing!  Her creativity flowed and her fingers sped along over the keyboard.  Her writer’s block was gone!

From that day on, whenever she got into a bit of a writing slump, she would remember that delicious bite of apple and her day of childhood play.   Many times, she drove back to that dirt path seeking answers about the special apples, but she never saw them, or the apple man, again. 

The End