First Night

It was night when I became a guardian.

To you that might seem inconsequential--a little puzzling, perhaps. But we have only experienced night three times in six thousand years.

That was the second time.

It was also the reason I became a guardian.

You see, in the beginning, I thought about guardianship and decided not to. It seemed a very difficult job--and not only difficult, but wearing.

Then that night came.

It fell suddenly, like a shadow from some gigantic monster, a darkness almost smothering in its heaviness. From one side of the city to the other, we pressed into the Father's throne. The air vibrated with emotion. Only once before had this happened--and we could not imagine what might make it happen again. We did not know what fear was, then, but I daresay that fear was what we felt.

The Father was weeping. There had been tears of joy when the stars were made. There had been shouts of welcome when humanity was placed. But only once before had we seen sorrow. We glanced at each other, and pressed closer. He looked up.

"My children." The sound was flat, and almost dull, shot through with a pain I could almost touch. "My children--" and His voice failed. He only motioned. And we looked, and we saw.

The darkness. Oh, the darkness. If we had thought it was bad here, it was a hundred times deeper there. And as the days passed it grew worse. The planet itself seemed to groan. The ground, to shriek. And they were deaf. Deaf to the pain. Deaf to--to everything. They thought they saw, they thought they heard--but they saw only a flicker, heard only a whisper. When the light is gone, you do not know how deep the darkness is.

The light returned to the city. But not to Earth. Not to most of it, at least. I watched and the pain tore into me like so many knives (those, too--I had not known them before that night), till I could no longer stand it and I rushed into the Father's presence.

"Is there not something I can do?"

His eyes were full of pain, but gentle. "Yes. Yes, there is. But it is hard now."

"I do not care. Whatever it is. Anything to ease that pain."

"Anything?" He whispered, as if to Himself, and I thought He blinked away a tear. "Yes, my star, there is something for you. Look." He pointed. "See that one?"

"Of course. She is only a child. How can a child live in such a dark place? She will die. Oh, my Father, she will die!"

"She would," He said, with a smile, "if not for you. Will you go?"

I only bowed my head in response. He laid His hands upon me, and gave me blessing enough to last the years. And so I went into the night, and I became a guardian. And a star.

Evening Star

Dusk.

Sun slowly glides behind distant mountains. Thunderheads glow orange, then pink, then only the edges are highlighted gold.

Tires whir on the road. A car passes. Another. Blinker clicks and I glide to the left. A moment later, back to the right. Signs flash by. The highway twists and turns.

Sometimes I could believe the walls around my heart are real. Like tonight. I can almost feel them sliding up from where they've been hidden all day. The scattered tears dry on my cheeks and the glass doors close inside; the locks click into place. I brush a hand across my face. Keep my eyes on the winding road.

Dusk gives way to dark.

Half-moon appears in the sky, as if by magic. Evening star hangs low ahead.

Why do you come here? I ask it silently. Why do you bother?

Yet I know the answer. It comes for the same reason I return. Perhaps it, too, longs to stay in the safety of some far-away mountain. Perhaps it, too, aches with loneliness after a glimpse of what it no longer has.

But we are called here by One greater than ourselves. And so we come. We shine. And we wait for the morning.

Canaan Bound

Source

It seems all the stories start the same.

"It was just an ordinary day. . ."

Maybe that's because it was. Until. 

Mine was. Or I suppose, I should say, it was an ordinary night. Until...

Wait--the whole story--you haven't heard it. It's a long story, you know. You don't mind? Well, let's begin, then...

Flat roofs are meant for stargazing. I've always been up there nights, as long as I can remember, maybe even more once I had a family. The breeze skips by, touches your face like a lover's hand; the stars twinkle and flash overhead; sometimes the moon burns a hole in the sky. A whisper-smell of jasmine, a far-away owl's hoot. You just can't sleep for long, not in so much beauty.

The moon was full that night, and it threw a halo all around. I've hardly ever seen a moon that bright--seemed you could scarcely see the stars. I'd fixed a bed up top of the roof, threw down a blanket or two at the end of a long day. And I lay there, hands behind my head, staring up at that sky and a thousand questions running in my mind. Don't even remember what they were about, really.

I guess I dozed off despite myself. When I woke the moon was half across the sky. For a moment I wasn't sure what had woken me--but I knew there was something. Then I heard it. Music. But unlike any music I'd ever heard before. It started soft; it took a moment before I could make out... words. And what words...

Get out of your country
From your family
And from your father's house
To a land that I will show you.

If I'd had questions before, they paled in comparison to my questions now. This was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. All I knew was here. All I'd ever known was here. My family, my father's house--it was all I had. My inheritance, my life, my hope for the future. To leave all this--for an unnamed land?

But the music swelled and grew and pulled at me. Somehow I knew it was for me. I remembered how God--the great YAH--had spoken to men in the past. Was this how He spoke? This beautiful but so uncertain way? Would He not be more specific, not give more directions?

I will make you a great nation;
I will bless you
And make your name great;
And you shall be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you
And I will curse him who curses you;
And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.*

The music faded. Only the moon remained, and I found myself on my knees, knowing I bowed before the Creator of All. Was it enough--His promise? To leave all I knew, to begin in a new and hostile place, knowing no one, with no family, no inheritance, no life?

"I will go," I whispered, though deep within a part of me recoiled from such a life-altering decision. "Tomorrow I shall tell them. We shall go."

* Genesis 12:1-3

Priorities: Time

Stars sparkle between the clouds that are finally scudding away. Half a moon, slanting toward the west, shines sleepily through the trees. Even the night insects chirp more slowly. The birds doze in their nests. A breeze sweeps slowly across the lake and up the mountainside. Leaves flutter. Far off, an owl cries.

A leaf crunches suddenly, and a single figure slips among the trees. The steps are unhurried, but eager. Part way up the slope, it pauses, and in the shadowy half-moon light turns face toward the sky.

In the still night air the words float, quiet but ringing with unconcealed relief and joy to finally, finally, be here and be able to speak unfettered.

"My Father. . ."

"Now in the morning, having risen a long while before daybreak, He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed." (Mk. 1:35)

 ---------

How much would I give to speak with God? Do I prioritize my time to make sure I have time to keep that connection alive? I'm afraid not much...

Writers' Notebook

This, is fantastic. :)

Good to laugh, sometimes, at nothing at all
photo that isn't really silly
comment meant to just be dry
To giggle
And then to laugh
A lot
is good.

Dialogue from the Book With No Name

"You've got to figure out a way to handle this," she said.

"I'll try. . . "

"No--you will."

"I will." I closed my eyes and pictured his face, got it sharp in my mind. I had to do it, for him if not for me.  "I will," I repeated. I hoped my fervency would convince my own mind. I was glad they didn't know what I'd been thinking earlier.

Today's Storm from the Pasture, and a Brief Character Sketch

Forgot yesterday, so here is something for both:

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Lighting dashed white fire in the distance.  I counted. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three, one-thousand-four...Thunder rolled. It wasn't close yet. Minutes later, turning back to the clouds, I watched a white curtain descend over the thunderheads. Rain. Lots of it.

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Kahlira:

16-year-old girl. Living in real life during the day, and dream world at night. (Bit of fantasy here--just a way to play with two plots at once). Special talents: animals. Not necessarily what you call an animal communicator, but able to connect with them on an intuitive level. Easy enough in the dream world, but transferring it to real life? Not so fast.

From the Book With No Name...

Two paragraphs today. From the Book With No Name, or, the Autobiography That Isn't. ;)

            The end of summer came faster than I thought. Soon we finished loading up the big yellow moving truck and were ready to drive away. Mommy and Ben climbed into the car and I climbed into the truck beside Daddy. I buckled my seatbelt and tried not to bounce up and down. Daddy started the engine and we all drove out. The neighbors waved. I waved back. I’d already promised to write them letters when we got to Wyoming.

            We drove and drove and drove. We drove through mountains, and through desert, and over the salt flats. Sometimes there were horses in the fields beside the road. Most of the time there weren’t. Finally we got to the last big mountains we had to go over. We climbed and climbed. The truck’s engine got hot and we had to stop. I was tired. Mommy was tired. Everyone was tired, but we had to keep going. Finally the truck cooled down and we kept driving. A few hours later, we turned into the driveway between two big bushes. Next to it was the house I’d already seen on the video. We were in Sheridan at last!