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.

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

Waiting: Part 2: What's It?

Or, some stories for you. :)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. And this little girl loved horses. (Don't most?) The fabled "horse bug" bit her when she was around seven years old, and it just never really quit.

Of course she asked for a horse, she wanted a horse--but her parents couldn't afford a horse, and that was that. So she wore the covers off her book on how to take care of horses, reading it and re-reading it. And always she hoped for a horse. She befriended horses that showed up in the cow barn (unfortunately they stayed only a few days) and then she made friends who had horses, and she got to ride one at long last. But only once or twice before her family moved. She still hoped for her own.

Eventually, three years after the initial bug bit, her grandpa offered to fund riding lessons every other week. She learned to walk and trot and eventually to canter. And still she hoped for her own horse. There were bad instructors and good ones, lost confidence and regained confidence, and as she got older the horses got younger and a bit wilder sometimes. There were more falls, more bumps and bruises, broken bones, drives home in tears because things didn't work out. And still she hoped for her own.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. And this little boy decided he wanted to work with physically hurting people, to reach their spiritual hurts too. So when he grew up he went to college to study. 

But when he got to college some huge issues came up. Issues so big that it seemed there was no way through. No way around. No way over. He tried every angle. He analyzed every opportunity. But things just didn't seem to be looking up. So he asked, and he shared:

"What keeps you going?" 

The answer? Hope. Hope to make a difference. Hope to change someone's life. Hope to shine a light. 

So he kept getting up every day, and he kept going to class, and he kept hoping for that difference. There were no answers, and there were no guarantees, and the dream was held off (it seemed) maybe forever. He waited on the answers, and he waited on the outcome, and there wasn't much promise of a good turnaround and a happy ending. Still he hoped to be that difference. 

* * *

Two stories, two very different people, two very different situations. Or maybe, at the core, not so different after all.

What is "waiting"?

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:

------

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.

-------

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!

On Writing

(Florida beach)

Changing the title of this blog has me thinking about (what else?) writing. I love to write. I have been "writing," either on paper, on a computer, or with my voice (telling stories) for as long as I can remember. I discovered poetry sometime early in my high school career and it has been a lifesaver for me since then. I love stories, editing other people's work, and letters. I love e-mails and websites and Facebook. I enjoy articles, but only if I can write them semi-creatively!

But I need to write more. Like my Spanish language learning and my harp practice, I won't write decently if I don't write often.

So I am devising a scheme for keeping myself as accountable as I can be (which, sometimes, is not very accountable in areas like this!) in my hope to write more and write more often. I hope to unveil it in a few days. Until then, I am thinking about entering this challenge...posting one photo every week this year. I found out about it from Annie at Daughter of His Grace. I have some catching up to do, obviously, but I've been posting photos fairly regularly, so it shouldn't be too bad. At least, not till I start working this summer. So okay, it might not be 52 photos for 52 weeks. But I could try! :) I shall start this weekend.

Possible Title & a Poem

There. Yes? I like it better than the previous title, anyway...might still change it. :) Here is a somewhat-recent poem by Me. Yes, I like free-verse. At least, I like writing it. Sometimes I like reading other people's free-verse, and sometimes not...but that's a long topic!

AWAITING
I’m standing here
Waiting on the threshold
On a new horizon
Uncertain, alone
But trusting in the One
Who gave me this dream, and
Led me on to here

For others, dreams
are only dreams;
For me, they’re stars
so far away, and yet
He promised He
would make them all come near
If I would only
Give them up to Him

So I’m waiting
Hoping, watching
Wondering still
Just how He will
bring them back to me
In His way
in His time
More beautiful yet
Than those I left behind

Poem :)

I write poetry every now and then...well actually pretty frequently...and this is one of my many favorites. :) Reminds me to wait for GOD's plan for my life, and not go running off after something that just looks good, or that everyone else thinks is great.

BIRD OF PARADISE

It shimmers, it gleams
It’s like flames in the night
Every color of the rainbow
Silk-brushed soft feathers

They ran for nets
And set up snares
Arranged lures
Even fought with each other

I stepped away
Just held out my hand
Watched it flit by
From tree to tree

If you come you’re not my captive
Neither will I be yours
Though I love you just like they do
I will never force

You must choose to land
Will you? I don’t know
But the true bird of paradise alights
Only on the open hand.