Christa Kinde's Blog, page 14

YouTube – “100 Words”

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Another video is live on my YouTube channel: CJMK Books. I demonstrate my quirky fondness for telling stories in 100-word installments by reading a chapter from Rough and Tumble. Word counter provided. And blooper reel a must.

“100 Words” on YouTube >>

And please do subscribe!

 

You know about Byways, right?

Me & Myself. From time to time, I mention my other books here.  Christa publishes family-friendly fantasy under her maiden name—C. J. Milbrandt. The Byways Books have been getting some welcome attention. The series won an award last year, placing in the “Best Book Series – Chapter Books” category of the 2016 Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards. And now we’re working at creating audio editions.

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[ChristaKinde.com & CJMilbrandt.com]

If you have the time, I’d be happy to tell you a story. The entirety of Byways Book #1, On Your Marks: The Adventure Begins has been posted to the CJMKBooks channel on YouTube. You can listen for free! For links and more, visit CJ’s BYWAYS: Audio Editions post. (And by all means subscribe. New audios and videos are scheduled in the weeks ahead!)

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Milo & Zeke: Blue Skies and Biscuits

On Wednesday nights, I tell a story to our church’s Awana clubbers. They’re getting to know Milo & Zeke pretty well. (Although none of them know Milo’s secret … yet.) Each story ties in with our T&T verse for the week. Today’s story went with a review section, so it recaps some of the attributes of God.

 

Section 1.6 – Review

Blue Skies and Biscuits

Zeke’s family was so big, they left for church in shifts. Grandpa Pete and Grandma Nell always left earliest, partly because Grandma was in charge of the coffee pot. Next was the big van, which coulda fit everyone if they were all ready at the same time. But Zeke’s oldest brother Tad did just about everything slow, and Zeke’s younger brother Jude wasn’t much different.

So Dad and Momma always let Tad drive over in the mini-van with any other stragglers. That way, Jude could eat his oatmeal as slow as ever, and nobody had to wait for Zeke’s sister Prissie to decide what to wear.

Whenever possible—and that was pretty much every week—Zeke took the early shift. That way, he could get away before Momma took a hairbrush to his hair, which never did settle down, not even for church. And he would be there before any of the other kids in his class. Which meant he’d have Milo to himself!

Zeke thudded down the stairs to the church basement, where all the kids classes met. Milo’s classroom walls were painted sky blue with puffy white clouds here and there. One wall had a marker board, and there was a bulletin board by the door. Milo had a desk, but he mostly only used it to sit on; the rest of them sat at four round kid-sized tables. The room wasn’t fancy, but Zeke was glad for Milo. Because blue was his favorite color.

Zeke charged into the room. “My ’Lo!”

“Good morning! You’re just in time.”

“I thought I was early.”

“For class, yes. I was talking about this.” Milo offered a half-sheet of yellow paper. “I added some new questions.”

“Sure! I mighta changed my mind about some stuff.”

Milo made interview sheets for the boys in his class. And not just the new kids. The questions were a mix of serious and silly. It was like a pop quiz that no one needed to study for because you could make up the answers.

What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

Do you prefer sisters or brothers?

How many hot dogs can you eat before you’re full?

Have you read an interesting book since the last time I asked?

Zeke bounced from foot to foot, all exited to share his answers. This was another reason Zeke loved coming early. Because if it was just him and Milo, Zeke didn’t have to fill out the sheet. Things like that took way too long … and meant paying attention to penmanship and spelling. Nope, when Zeke came early, Milo let him say his answers out loud. And talking about stuff with Milo was Zeke’s first best favorite part of Sundays.

“If I just tell you the answers, won’t you forget?” Zeke checked.

Milo pulled a stack of blue papers out of his satchel and set them on the corner of the desk. “I wouldn’t and I won’t.”

“Even if I change my mind a whole bunch of times?”

“Even then,” Milo said with a laugh. “For instance, I remember when you changed your favorite color to red because your dad had bought you your very first pair of red high-tops.”

“Yep! I always get red now.” Zeke looked down at his feet. Since it was Sunday, he had on his church shoes—scuffed brown loafers. “Only I can’t wear them to church. They’re my school shoes.”

Milo finished getting everything ready for his lesson and sat on one of the kid-sized chairs across from Zeke. Stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, he said, “I remember when your favorite was almond bear claws because they’re Neil’s favorite … and you wanted to be just like him.”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “That was when I was little!”

“And now, you have your own favorite for your own reasons.”

“Sprinkles are the best!”

Milo frowned thoughtfully. “Why? They don’t really have a flavor.”

“I know. But they make everything they touch extra special! You’ll always notice the ones with sprinkles! They want to be picked!” Zeke added, “And I know your best favorite.”

“You do?”

“Grandma’s biscuits with lotsa honey.”

Milo chuckled. “I think you may be right. Any chance there will be biscuits today?”

“’Course!” Zeke promised. Because Milo came over for Sunday dinner all the time. And Grandma Nell pretty much always made Milo biscuits. She was actually the one who’d noticed it was his favorite.

Zeke asked, “How come you always change your questions?”

“I suppose for the same reason you always change your answers,” said Milo. “Everyone changes. It’s part of growing.”

“Getting taller doesn’t make me want a new flavor of ice cream.”

“Well, no. But every day brings new chances to try things and make discoveries. You’re learning about yourself as you go along, and I don’t want to miss out on anything important.”

“Everything changes?” Zeke scrunched up his face in thought. “Like I might maybe change my mind about red being my favorite color? Someday?”

“Everything can change, but some things won’t. God doesn’t change.”

“Never?”

Milo nodded. “We can count on Him because He’s always Himself.”

Zeke held up his yellow sheet. “If you interviewed Him, would He always have the same answers?”

“What an interesting idea!” Milo tried to rub a smile off his face, but he didn’t quite succeed. “By any chance, do you feel bad for God?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be boring … never getting to mix up your answers or switch to sprinkles?”

This time, Milo laughed. “Let’s look at it another way. God is always God, and He is full of surprises. He’s never bored, and we’ll never find him boring … because every day brings new chances to learn something new about Him and make discoveries about how many ways He cares.”

“So He’s always the same, but in different ways?” Zeke wrinkled his nose. “Did I say that right?”

“One of the reasons we’re here at church every week is to learn about God. The things that never change—God is the Creator, holy, just, and eternal. We also know that God is love, but He’s creative in how He shows that love to each of us. For instance, if love was something good to eat, God would make sure that Neil got an almond bear claw, but He’d save something with sprinkles for you. Because God always knows what we need. His love is personal.”

“So God gives you blue skies and biscuits?” asked Zeke.

Milo stood and ruffled Zeke’s hair as Jasper and a couple of the others came in. But he winked and answered in a whisper. “Blue skies, biscuits, and you, my ’Eke.”

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Zeke and his little brother Jude!

If you’re looking for more Milo & Zeke stories, use this blog’s Awana tag! ♥

ART: Bridge

Highlighting one of my favorite Threshold Series pieces … by the same artist who does the watercolor illustrations on the book covers in the Pomeroy Family Legacy collection.

Angel Unaware, Part 23: Firm Believer

Part Twenty-Three: Firm Believer

Mr. Turnquist and Uncle Al disappeared, only to stagger home a short time later under stacks of pizza boxes. A rare treat, since the stuff didn’t meet Mrs. Turnquist’s high standards for nutritional content. Landon cheered, and Flopsy twirled through the kitchen in a dance of delight.

As the evening progressed, Aleff monopolized the conversation, recounting tales that often qualified as tall. But Marcus was grateful. By taking the brunt of everyone’s attention, Aleff provided an opening, and Marcus strolled through it by following Brenna into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” he asked.

His sister turned from the cupboard with a handful of paper napkins. “Just needed more of these.”

“Not that.” Marcus jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re different.”

She blinked. “You can tell?”

“I’m your brother. Of course I’d notice.”

Brenna pulled him into a fierce hug. “Ugh, I’ve missed you! And yes, things have changed. For the better. This summer was amazing!”

“What happened?”

“Where do I even begin?” Brenna searched his face, then tentatively asked, “Were any of your other foster families … religious?”

“If you’re talking about Christians, then yeah. Uncle Al believes, and so do my older brothers. Same goes for me.” Marcus quietly admitted, “One of the hardest parts of moving here was being surrounded by people who’d never heard of Jesus.”

“I’d heard of him. Hard not to with a neighbor like Russ. But I never really paid any attention since Mom and Dad always brushed him off.”

“Why’d you decide to listen?”

Brenna blushed and shyly answered, “Sheldon.”

Early the next morning, Marcus waited for Ransom’s internal alarm to go off. Mr. Pavlos had given the boys one last night, so Landon had built a makeshift tent of sheets and blankets in their room. The three of them had stayed up long past a reasonable bedtime, sharing summer stories until the boy fell asleep between them.

Ransom stirred long before sunup, still very much attuned to brightening skies and predawn birdsong. Marcus rolled onto his side and lifted a hand in a silent good morning.

Blinking and stretching, Ransom sat up. “Wanna go raid the bakery case at the convenience store?”

“I could eat.” Marcus shook Landon’s shoulder and asked, “Up for a hike?”

His little brother flashed a grin and scrambled to dress.

The three of them tiptoed past the living room, where Uncle Al and Daichi were sacked out, and Marcus took the time to leave a note for their mom. Letting themselves out the kitchen door, they strolled past the motorcycles at the end of the driveway and on through their hushed neighborhood. Everything was strange after the long absence, yet bursts of familiarity struck Marcus, like the barking dog five houses down, the uneven spots where the sidewalk did its best to trip the unwary, and the whoosh and ping of the automatic door at their destination.

A man leaned against the counter, chatting with the manager, so Ransom veered toward the beverage cases. But Marcus did a double-take at the kid by the man’s side. Unruly honey-blond hair was a decent tip-off, as were the kid’s blue eyes. But his pink-winged escort’s wave removed any doubt. Ethan means Zeke. And Zeke means Pomeroys. And that could mean … what? Was this providence at work? Would Ransom finally meet the man who baked all their cupcakes?

“Got one for you.” Ransom slapped a quart of milk against Marcus’s palm.

With parting words and an easy wave, Jayce Pomeroy strode past, Zeke close on his heels. And Ransom didn’t even notice. Marcus’s heart clenched over the missed opportunity. Should he have done something? Said something?

“Ransom!” exclaimed the manager. “Haven’t seen you all summer. I was just telling Jayce that his biggest fan was on summer break.”

“Who?”

“You just missed him.” The man pointed to where a big fifteen-passenger van could still be seen, turning out onto the road. “He’s the owner of Loafing Around.”

“No way. Really?”

The bakery case was freshly stocked with apple turnovers and more apple turnovers, and Landon asked, “Can I have three?”

“Yeah.” But Ransom was still looking back. In a low voice, he said, “That was the guy.”

Marcus said, “Yep.”

“I didn’t pay any attention.” Ransom frowned. “Did you see what he looked like?”

“Yep.”

“Would you recognize him?”

“Yep.” Marcus pointed out, “We still have some time before school starts.”

Ransom grabbed a waxy white bag and reached for tongs. “Yeah. I want to check out that bakery.”

The closer Uncle Al came to saying goodbye, the more Marcus dragged his feet. Yeah, farewells were as fleeting as they were inevitable, but he wasn’t ready for summer to end. Not like this.

“Why so downcast?” asked Daichi.

Marcus slouched against the side of the house. “I thought something would happen over the summer.”

“Something did.”

He followed his big brother’s gaze to where Brenna stood chatting with Aleff. “Yep, and I’m glad. But I’m also … not.”

Daichi’s silence was the attentive sort.

Marcus sighed. “Guess I got my hopes up.”

“And that hope has ended with a single summer?”

“I know what you’re saying, but I….” Burying his head under his arms, Marcus quietly confessed, “There’s a part of me that’s frantic.”

“You want him to trust God.”

Marcus groaned. “So much.”

“Then lead the way.” Daichi gently mussed Marcus’s hair. “Trust God.”

They left. Ransom left. And without the familiar rhythm of their journey, Marcus hardly knew what to do with himself. All the things he’d loved about their summer together had come to an end. Anticlimax left him restless.

Marcus wandered upstairs but stopped short in the hallway. Jedrick sat on the floor, legs bent, arms folded, an immovable guard before the apple blossom door. His mentor beckoned him closer, and Marcus presented himself, shuffling his feet under Jedrick’s scrutiny.

“You have grown.”

“Seems that way. But I can’t tell if it’s just me or if Uncle Al meddled.”

Jedrick poked at his toes. “How long has it been since you wore armor?”

“A while.” Marcus thought back. “Not since you visited us in the mountains.”

“Show me.”

He unfurled … and winced.

“Off with the boots. I can adjust the buckles. But you are overdue for a trip to the forges.” Jedrick quietly ordered, “Fly away with me.”

“I’ve gotta be back early. Ransom wants to run his route.”

His captain smiled. “A single night can last for days with the help of an obliging Caretaker.”

And so, having only just returned from one journey, Marcus was stolen away for another by the cherub who’d claimed kinship, then responsibility. Jedrick kept his orders simple—follow me, stay close, fear not—and in obedience, Marcus found rest.

The sun was barely up when Ransom asked, “Good to go?”

“Yep.”

Ransom was back on his newspaper route, and Marcus tagged along more often than not. Sometimes they ran, but today’s plans called for bicycles. He followed his friend to the bike trail that skirted the highway north into West Edinton. But the purpose of their trek was thwarted even before they rolled to a stop in front of the bakery on Main Street.

“You’re kidding,” groaned Ransom.

“Closed.” Marcus walked his bike to Loafing Around’s front door in order to read the sign taped to the glass of the front door. “Looks like they close up during the fair.”

Ransom slumped over his handle bars. “How long’s that?”

Posters for the Milton County Fair lined the front window. “Another whole week.”

“Practically to the end of summer.”

Marcus nodded. “We can always come back any Saturday.”

“I don’t want to wait,” said Ransom. “Ever been to the fair?”

“Nope.”

“Know where it is?”

Of course he did; he’d flown over it often enough. The Ferris wheel was as distinctive a landmark as Shimron’s tower. Marcus pointed unerringly to the northeast.

“Biking distance?” Ransom checked.

“Yep.”

“How much do you suppose it costs?”

“Depends on how much you plan to eat.” Marcus pointed to the poster, which listed admission prices. “But this gets us in.”

Ransom asked, “Wanna go?”

“When?”

“There’s no time like the present!”

Next Month: Angel Unaware, Part 24: “Heartbreaker”

Collect the other Threshold-based serials now available in print and digital formats:

NaNoWriMi 2016

Whew! I’m still catching up with “normal” things in the aftermath of NaNoWriMo. I claimed my official win on the last day of November (though I’m pretty sure I hit the 50,000 mark on the 19th). The month confirmed several things about my writing habits.

I’m motivated by concrete goals. You know those old-school sticker charts where little kids would earn a gold star for meeting their goal? Yeah, those still work for me. Earning badges on the NaNoWriMo site helped me push myself. Even when I was so tired, my eyes were crossing, I hammered out those last few hundred words to reach 10,000 … and 25,000 … and 50,000.

I’m good at short bursts. Word sprints are my friends, and group sprints are friendly competition. I’ve already mentioned that word sprints are already a part of my writing routine. Using the NaNoWriMo site’s word sprint timer, I was able to keep my word count climbing. I found that I could usually get 600+ words in a 20-minute sprint. But strangely enough, I could crank out 350+ words in an 8-minute sprint. So doing more short sprints actually increased my overall output. (Weird, huh?)

I’m comfortable with ebb and flow. From the beginning, I planned to take a slow-and-steady approach. After all, I had other writing to do in addition to Tad’s story. And so some days, I only clocked in with 350 or 500 words. But my daily average for NaNoWriMo was 2,000 words because I set aside my Saturdays for a big push. (Something I plan to keep up.) Those days, I used word sprints to write 7,000+ words.

I’m a big fan of daily. The badge I most wanted to obtain was the one for adding to my word count 30 days in a row. Daily habits speak of a way of life, and I’m definitely happiest when I’m up early, quietly tapping away at the next story … and the next story … and the next.

[My NaNoWriMo Badges]

What about you? Did NaNoWriMo teach you anything about yourself?

 

Milo & Zeke: Taking Forever

On Wednesday nights, I tell a story to our church’s Awana clubbers. They’re getting to know Zeke pretty well. Here’s a recent installment, which ties in with our T&T verse.

Section 1.5 – God is Eternal

Taking Forever

Zeke had a job to do for Momma, and that job was doing something he was pretty good at—breaking stuff.

With five boys in the Pomeroy house, fragile things didn’t always last very long. All it took was one game of cantaloupe football or a teensy little wrestling match on the family room floor, and something would get bumped off a table, knocked off a shelf, or kicked over.

Sometimes, it was big stuff. (Dad had warned Momma that it was risky, choosing a glass-topped coffee table.)

Sometimes it was small stuff. (Like that time a brand new jar of cookies sprinkles went spinning, and the kitchen floor was rolling with itty bitty balls in rainbow colors.)

Sometimes, it was important stuff, like the antique Christmas ornaments that broke that one time when the tree tipped over. (Zeke was too little to remember when that happened, but everybody said it was his fault.)

And sometimes, it was little stuff that were easy to fix. (Like that hole in the wall that Grandpa Pete patched up real good.)

Even though everyone had their share of bumps and breaks, Zeke was kinda famous. Not only did he tip over the Christmas tree when he was little, he broke a whole tractor when he was four, even though he was only trying to fix it up like Grandpa did. Then there was that time when he barely did nothing, but all the buttons just sorta exploded off the television remote.

Broken windows, holes in the knees of his jeans, lost keys, missing buttons, and failed kitchen experiments. But most of all … lamps. Zeke was personally responsible for the demise of more lamps than he was years old. And since he’d recently turned nine, that meant he was into double digits.

Someone knocked on their kitchen’s screen door, calling, “Package for the Pomeroys!”

“Hi, Milo!” Zeke called.

Milo Leggett wasn’t just the town mailman, he was Zeke’s Sunday school teacher at church. And a good friend of the whole Pomeroy family. He stepped inside, wearing his mailman uniform and a smile. Until he saw what Zeke was doing.

“Did you break something again, Zeke?”

“How’d you know?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been given this particular job. Are you allowed visitors?”

“Momma won’t mind since it’s you, my ‘Lo. And it’s okay. I already apologized, and she says nothing in the house hasta last forever except love.”

Milo slid into a chair across from Zeke. “Your momma is a wise woman.”

“Guess so.” Zeke got ready to let his hammer drop. “Dad says breaking lamps is way better than breaking promises.”

“Another wise saying.” Milo used his hands to sweep together the scattered pieces of broken shells all over the table. “Are you going to crack all of those walnuts?”

“Yep. Momma says I should put my talents to good use.” Zeke banged one of the nuts sitting on the cutting board. With a crunch, the tough shell smashed.

“I’m beginning to see the logic in her plan,” said Milo. “If you’re going to break something, it may as well be something that needs breaking.”

“Yep. And when I’m done, we’ll make brownies.” Zeke fished through the shell fragments for the nut meat and dropped it into a waiting bowl. “I like this job. Only there’s a lot of walnuts, so it’s taking forever.”

Milo propped his chin on his hand and smiled. “Forever is a lot bigger than a pile of walnuts.”

“Huh,” said Zeke, who always brought his craziest questions to Milo. “How come people say forever like it’s bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“When Neil (who was Zeke’s big-big brother) makes breakfast, he always says the toaster is taking forever. And Sis takes forever to get ready for church on Sunday.”

“Oooh.” Milo chuckled. “Waiting can feel like forever, but that’s not the same as the forever I mean.”

“Are you talking about Bible-forever?”

“Eternity? Yes.”

“And that’s a good kind of forever,” said Zeke, who lined up another walnut.

“For those who belong to God, definitely.”

Another walnut went crunch, and Zeke asked, “How long is forever?”

“So long that no matter how far you go, you’ll never reach The End.” Milo swept more shell bits into a pile. “You’re really given this a lot of thought.”

“Guess so.” Zeke shrugged. “Nothing much else to do when you’re smashing walnuts.”

Milo said, “Forever is a part of Who God is. He has always been alive, and He’ll always be alive. ‘From everlasting to everlasting.’” As Zeke’s hammer landed on another walnut, Milo added, “Even God’s names are eternal, and most of them are like promises.”

“Like what?”

“He is called the God who Provides, because He knows what you need. He’s called Most High because no one can compare. And when you call Him your Heavenly Father, it’s because He promised you a place as one of His children.”

“Like you?”

“Like me,” agreed Milo. “And just like God is eternal, the promises He makes won’t end. They can’t ever be broken.”

“Like Momma’s green lamp.”

“Oh, Zeke,” sighed Milo.

“It’s okay,” said Zeke, since Milo sounded worried. “Momma’s lots like God. She liked the lamp, but she promised to love me forever. And make brownies.”

With a lopsided smile, Milo repeated, “Your momma is a wise woman.”

♦♦♦

Psalm 90:2 – Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever You had formed the earth and the world even from everlasting to everlasting, You are God.

Uniform selfie! : P

Reader Art [Threshold Series]

It’s high time I shared more of Phoebe’s art for the Threshold Series. Enjoy!

Thank you, Phoebe! ♥

NaNoWriMo 2016: Go!

And they’re off! I was up early (by west coast standards) to sneak in a word sprint or two before Rain or Shine, my Tuesday morning Bible study. It’s always fun to watch the word count climb during NaNoWriMo. If you want a buddy or two, Elza and I are both participating this year. She’s Elza Kinde, and I’m using CJMK as my user name.

While it’s tempting to go crazy and pile up words during the first week, I know from experience that while I can crank out 8,000 words in a day, I’d end up needing a couple days to rest and recuperate. Nope. I do best at a slow-and-steady pace. Which is only appropriate, since I’m working with Tad Pomeroy this November.

 

Angel Unaware, Part 22: Archivist

Part Twenty-Two: Archivist

In the Pacific Northwest, they ran into rain, so Uncle Al proposed whiling away the morning in a big city bookstore with a coffee shop. Marcus let Ransom take the lead, preferring to learn more about his friend’s tastes than revealing his own. Not that he learned a whole lot. Only that Ransom’s got a tenacious streak. I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. 

“Altair?”

“Nope!”

“Alamar?”

“Double nope!”

“Uhh … Alaric?”

Uncle Al favored Ransom with a bemused smile. “Do you plan to read the entire book to me, Mr. Pavlos?”

Ransom’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that evasion? Did I get it? Your name’s Alaric?”

“No, I am not and never have been designated Alaric.” He strolled into the travel section. “But you’re getting warmer. Alphabetically.”

With an eager light in his eyes, Ransom hefted the baby name book. “Alcott?”

“Nope!”

“Aldo?”

“Wrong again!”

Ransom turned a page. “Aldrich?”

Uncle Al chuckled. “Why not try Rumpelstiltskin while you’re at it?”

Marcus trailed after them, hands deep in his pockets as his attention drifted to the sorts of things humans couldn’t see. Like Ardon, who’d taken up a post near the children’s section, where he unobtrusively loomed over a pair of preschoolers turning pages in a Bible storybook.

“Aldrich? Alexio? Algernon?” Ransom blinked. “Do people actually name their kids Algernon?”

“And call them Algie for short,” Uncle Al said with a smile.

“Isn’t that like … pond scum?”

“I’m not sure you’re the best boy to quibble. What does Ransom mean?”

“Dunno.”

“Maybe you should check.”

Marcus eased closer and peered over his friend’s shoulder. “So are you in there?”

Ransom thumbed to the appropriate page. “Sure am. Let’s see … Ransom means ‘warrior’s shield.’”

“That’s good.”

“What about you?”

Marcus shrugged. “Look and see.”

Fanning back to the M section, Ransom found the entry and read, “Son of war; warrior. Plus, Marcus is linked to dedicated and faithful.” He grinned. “You’re the warrior, and I’m your shield.”

“Nice.”

“Did you hear that, Uncle … Al?” Ransom went up on tiptoe, craning his neck as he searched the vicinity. “He won’t get away that easily!”

Three minutes and two floors later, they cornered Uncle Al in a section of cookbooks, which didn’t entirely distract Ransom from his appointed task.

“Alison?”

“Nope!”

“Aloysius?”

“Not even close.”

At lunch, Daichi placed a leather-bound journal on the table before Ransom.

“For me?” he asked.

“Make a record of your travels,” he said. “One that will last.”

Ransom immediately turned to Marcus. “Want to share?”

“That works.”

No sooner had they finished eating and swept the table clean, then Ransom dipped into his personal archive. From the back pocket of his jeans, an inner pocket of his coat, and a zipped compartment of his backpack, he brought out folded placemats, creased programs, ticket stubs, a jumble of business cards from bakeries and diners across the country, notes scribbled on napkins, a crumpled collection of newspaper mastheads, and a handful of postcards he’d kept for souvenirs.

“Looks like the book’s a good idea,” said Marcus.

“Help me put my junk in order?”

If there were ever any doubts that Ransom had a highly organized mind, this project laid them to rest. During spare moments over the next week, he worked doggedly on their journal. Every rainy day and quiet evening had taken on new focus.

“Feels a whole lot like homework,” sighed Marcus, who thanked God that he wasn’t one of the adahim.

“Not to me. This is more interesting because it actually matters.” Ransom spared him a concerned glance. “Bored?”

Flopping onto his own bedroll, Marcus said, “Nope. Can I see?”

Ransom passed along the book, and Marcus paged back through their journey. The memories were fresh, vivid, and mostly legible. Marcus smiled at his best friend’s notations about everything from diner fare to Daichi’s “ninja moves.”

Finding a half-page gap near the front, he asked, “You saving this spot for something?”

Ransom leaned over. “Oh, that. Not sure. That was before I started keeping stuff, so there’s nothing to tape in.”

Marcus smirked. “I know what’d work.”

“Yeah?”

“Daichi, can you help?” Marcus held up the journal. “Ransom needs something to go on this page.”

The man rose smoothly to his feet. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great,” Ransom said, offering his pen.

“If I may?”

When Daichi returned the book a minute later, Ransom’s entry was illustrated with a sloping hillside, distant treeline, four bedrolls, and a night sky full of streaking stars.

“Two oceans and a gulf,” said Uncle Al. “As promised!”

“Can we camp here?” asked Ransom.

“I don’t see why not. So long as we choose wisely.” The man smirked. “There’s the tide to consider.”

So they watched the sun slide into the sea while blues deepened overhead. Daichi distributed food, and they ate in silence, as if no one wanted to interrupt the show.

Marcus stole a look at his best friend. Way different from shouting at television chefs. Ransom seemed to be paying attention, but Marcus had no way of knowing if he truly understood what he was seeing.

Hazy stars filled the sky before Daichi interrupted the silence. “Nature speaks, but it does not tell its own story.”

Ransom turned to look at the man.

“The mountains we have climbed, the land we have slept upon, the seas we have touched, the sun and stars that bear witness—they are neither accidental nor incidental.” Daichi calmly addressed Ransom. “And you are not here by accident.”

“Nope. I was invited.”

Daichi chuckled. “Yes. You were invited to travel with us for a season, and it is good. Just as God Most High invited the world to become, and it is good.”

“I dunno,” murmured Ransom. “Maybe.”

“This is good,” asserted Marcus.

“The best,” Ransom said with feeling. “So amazing, I sometimes wonder if I’m really here.”

“Yep, we are.”

His friend scooped up sand and let it trickle through his fingers. “This summer really happened?”

“Yep.”

“Not sure I want to go back.”

“And why that?” asked Uncle Al.

It took Ransom a while to answer. “Nah, I take it back. The stuff I like best about this summer is stuff I can have at home. But there’s stuff at home I can’t have here.”

“Like Flopsy’s cooking?” Marcus asked with a smirk.

Ransom groaned.

Daichi’s voice took on a lyrical quality. “It is said that those who wander learn to appreciate home, and when they return to it, they find the peace hinted at by calm seas and starry skies.”

“Did you just make that up?” Ransom asked.

“Yes.”

After a couple of beats, Ransom muttered, “Well, don’t forget it. I want you to put that in my book.”

The next morning, Uncle Al announced, “We’ve dawdled in high style, but we’ve reached the end of scenic routes. Stretch your legs and fill your lungs with salt air. As of today, I’m taking you boys home.”

Marcus set an easy pace, and Ransom matched his rhythm.

“We took all summer to get this far,” said Ransom. “Hard to believe we’re only four days from home.”

“Yep. Glad?”

“Guess so.”

Ransom lengthened his stride, and Marcus gamely kept up, splashing right through the swirling wash of lazy waves.

Marcus asked, “What do you miss most about home?”

“Familiar stuff. Like my job … and my bike … and buying up all the cupcakes in the bakery case … and school ….”

“And Miss Priss?”

Ransom rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. “I guess she counts as something familiar. Next to you, she’s the person I look forward to seeing most.”

“Because you like tormenting her.”

“Is it that obvious?” Ransom laughed. “You think she’s guessed those postcards were from us?”

“Doubt it. We’re not exactly the first people on her mind.”

“Bet it’s driving her crazy.”

“Yep.”

“Home in one piece, as promised!” exclaimed Uncle Al as he shook Mr. Turnquist’s hand. “And no worse for wear, though a bit sun-browned and shaggy.”

Mrs. Turnquist left off hugging Marcus long enough to reach for Ransom, who endured her mothering in abashed silence. Marcus couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t used to the attention or because Mr. Pavlos had been waiting with the Turnquist family to welcome them back.

Landon grabbed Marcus’s arm and pulled hard. “Did you bring me stuff?”

“Nope.” Smoothing his hand over his younger brother’s short curls, he quietly added, “Only me.”

“That’s pretty good, I guess.” The boy eyed Aleff shrewdly. “What about you?”

“Me?” Uncle Al began patting his pockets and cheerfully said, “Hold out your hands!”

Landon’s eyes widened, and he presented his palms.

One after another, Al pulled out odd rocks. “This is a scrap of the Grand Canyon, and this plug of granite is from South Dakota. I found this turquoise in a river, and this agate was sitting near a crossroads, waiting for a ride. Red pebbles, one from each ocean. An arrowhead. And, oh! I found this pretty little chunk of crystal in a cave.”

Marcus was distracted from Landon’s enthusiasm by Ransom, who shuffled over to greet his dad. But at that same moment, Brenna ran into the kitchen, all smiles.

He froze.

“What’s that look for?” she exclaimed, swooping in for a hug. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Stunned, Marcus grabbed hold of his big sister and … clung.

She laughed and leaned back, trying to see his face. “I can’t wait to hear all about your adventure.”

All he could do was stare, because while he was away, Brenna had changed.

Shining brighter than the stars that had sung him to sleep. Lovelier than any dawn he’d rose early to watch. Running deeper than every river he and Ransom had plunged into. Marcus wanted to shout and weep and sing for joy.

His sister believed.

Next Month: Angel Unaware, Part 23: “Firm Believer”

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