THOUGHTS ON THE WIND
Copyright 2008 by Steven & Margaret Larson
Smashwords Edition
Published by Margaret Larson at Smashwords
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold. Thank you for respecting the work of the authors.
Other books available by these authors
CHILDREN’S FANTASY BOOKS
Murky Manor
Cave of Discovery
Worlds Within
The World Beyond the Door
Print versions available at: www.lulu.com/larsonworlds
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CONTENTS
Moon Shadows
The Unknown Scribe
The Empty Flagon
A Portrait of the Past
Making Tracks
Mists in Time
Ms. Morgan
Reflection
The Ice Cream Call
Emily’s Birdhouse
The Passageway
Miller Week
Star Light, Star Bright
The Baron’s Treachery
A-Mazing Story
A Shower of Butterflies
A Ship in the Dark
Out of the Green
Building a Throne
Narrow Bridges
A Canyon Moment
The Scientific Cat
Dog Tags
The Steel Cat
A Trip to Mars Hill
Uncle Joe
A Michigan Memory
A Walk in the Woods
Side Thoughts
The Tree
A Silver Opportunity
The Very Large Array
Whispers
A Leap of Faith
Deep Wonders
Gargoyle Guardians
Rocking in New Mexico
INTRODUCTION
This book is a collection of our writings. It holds childhood memories, work experiences, vacation adventures, and moments from everyday life. Mixed in are a few fanciful short stories. We trust it will be obvious which writings are fiction.
God can be seen and found in the wonders and lives around us. Even our imaginary worlds are made from the gift of creativity that comes from Him.
Scripture speaks to each of us in different ways at different times and at different levels. The verses we chose for these writings spoke to us as we put the book together. Some verses were added to give insight to the inspiration, sometimes subconsciously, that led to the piece’s creation. Others were a result of our reflection on finished pieces.
The Word of God stands on its own. You may not see the same connections we did, but we are confident that the scripture will speak to you.
One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all
Ephesians 4:6 NKJV
for in Him we live and move and have our being Acts 17:28a NKJV
MOON SHADOWS
Vacationing in Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah
The full moon hike would start in ten minutes. We were determined to make it. The speedometer needle climbed to 60 miles per hour. The rental car began to tremble as we closed fast on the car in front of us. Out here in the middle of nowhere, we were stuck behind a slow moving vehicle and forced to reduce our speed. The car’s trembling ceased, but minutes were slipping by. Finally, we were able to pass.
Our plight was a result of Daylight Savings Time and three time zones in three days. Somewhere along the way we had lost an hour.
The parking lot was full when we arrived, but the meeting place was empty. We grabbed our sweatshirts and dashed up to a couple sitting on the porch of a restaurant.
“Did you see which way the group with the ranger went?” I asked.
They pointed, and we ran. About 100 yards away we caught sight of them standing on the edge of the canyon. In our best casual manner we sauntered up and joined the back of the group. While the ranger concluded his talk about the moon’s orbit, I tried to don my sweatshirt discretely and quiet my labored breathing. A cool breeze brushed my skin making me glad for the fleecy warmth.
It wasn’t quite dark, but the full moon dominated a cloudless sky. Our tour started down the narrow path into the canyon.
One side was a sheer drop off. On the other side a wall of colorful rock rose up. Occasional openings left the path exposed on both sides. Pebbles rattled behind me when someone’s foot slipped in the loose gravel. I pictured him falling and carrying us both over the edge. Now I understood the park rules requiring shoes with lugs.
At points along the way we paused, and our guide shared nocturnal tales of the full moon. Facts about flora and fauna of the region gave way to epic lore and myths. Scattered stars began to appear. His quiet voice led us back to a distant time when Native American accounts of the heavens and rock formations around us came to life.
As night deepened, the moon appeared to get brighter and cast its light earthward. Hoodoos resembling animals or stone figures in the daytime, were now the shadowy sentinels of the night.
Moonlight illuminated the path as if we were walking under a streetlight. We passed in front of a wall of rock, and our moon shadows danced eerily on its surface. It was almost bright enough to read by.
Our last stop was on an exposed outcrop. Before us lay a moonscape right out of a 1950’s science fiction show or an H.G. Wells novel. Skinny, twisted trees rose up from ground that was otherwise devoid of vegetation. Their exposed roots were raised in the air as if they were aliens walking on their toes across the barren ground. After a quiet moment of meditation the group began to break up and start the slow ascent back up the steep path.
Early next morning we took the same hike in daylight. This time we followed the trail all the way to the canyon floor. Vivid colors and crisp images replaced the previous evening’s mysterious shadows and stark beauty. By day or by night it was a land of fascination, with secrets waiting to be revealed to anyone with a heart for wonder.
The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore. Psalm 121:5-8 NKJV
THE UNKNOWN SCRIBE
Traveling Exhibit in Washington D.C.
Dust particles floated in a shaft of light. It streamed through a small window into a sparsely furnished room. Hunched over a crude wooden table, a man in drab brown clothing gripped a quill pen. With painstaking care he copied a manuscript, checking and rechecking to make sure every letter was perfect.
A thin piece of gold leaf glinted on the table. The delicate sheet waited to become part of a special page. He had combined arsenic and lead in a clay pot, and would use the deadly mixture to add red and yellow coloring. Gold and silver powder would highlight a heading or decorate a side column.
A piece of copper soaked in his flask of wine, preventing him from slacking his thirst. Later he would scrape off the patina to create a green pigment.
Those weren’t the exact words used by the narrator speaking in my headset, but looking at the parchment fragment in front of me I began to envision the scribe who had created it. The exhibit was called “In the Beginning, Bibles Before the Year 1,000.”
We had traveled for a couple hours to come to this museum, but these pieces of parchment, vellum, and wood had traveled thousands of miles. We stood in line for almost three hours before being allowed to enter the dimly lit room where the treasures of the past awaited us. But these delicate remnants of scripture had survived hundreds of years before appearing in this exhibition.
Many of these ancient and fragile pieces of antiquity had been hidden away in dark rooms or sealed in clay jars for centuries before they were discovered. Now climate-controlled cases with subdued lighting preserved each treasure.
The dim light carried my thoughts back through time to the places where these artifacts were created. Perhaps the scribe labored by light from an oil lamp, a glowing candle, or just simple daylight coming through an open window. Was his room more illuminated than this one when he mixed his pigments, or was his illumination only a spiritual one?
I paused in front of a picture of an old tome. The colors on the cover were still vivid. To my surprise, I discovered the picture was made of wax that had survived years of heat and cold yet was still intact with brilliant colors. Somehow the fragile surface had not melted into obscurity as generations passed.
When I returned home, I picked up one of the many copies of the Bible that I have in my home. At my fingertips I have the choice of a number of translations, all in English with notes that span the ages. Copies are printed by the millions on modern, high-speed presses at a cost that makes them accessible to anyone.
All this is possible because unnamed scribes labored tirelessly through the ages, never imagining the future they were helping to create when they preserved these words so faithfully.
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Psalm 119:105 NKJV
For You are my lamp, O LORD; the LORD shall enlighten my darkness. 2 Samuel 22:29 NKJV
So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I send it. Isaiah 55:11 NKJV
THE EMPTY FLAGON
Rynold huddled in his secluded spot. It was not yet daylight, and he was plotting his raid. Muffled footsteps alerted him to someone’s approach. He held his breath and peered through the dense foliage down the dark pathway. The footsteps paused, then retreated. Rynold let out his breath in a whisper.
A sudden light appeared at the end of the path. He stifled a cry of pain as it seared his eyes. The moon had set long ago, and it was too early for dawn. This was artificial light. Light from some other nocturnal creature. The guard was on duty.
His bloodshot eyes watered from the glare, forcing him to look away. Through blurred vision he squinted and focused on his empty flagon. He was not surprised to see that his fingers were tightly curled around the handle in a frozen grip. When he tried to free his fingers, his arm began to tremble uncontrollably. Soon it would be too late. He had to act quickly.
The sound of dripping water stabbed his brain, and strong odors assailed him from the path. He had to risk it now before the guard returned or reinforcements arrived. Listening for returning footsteps, he stumbled awkwardly onto the path. His right arm was still shaking, and he tried to steady the flagon with his other hand.
Hanging vines brushed against his neck making him skitter sideways. The guard was nowhere to be seen as Rynold stumbled into the clearing. He filled the flagon with a dark solution from the urn – but only half full.
The hot liquid sloshed as his arm trembled, and little bits of fire spotted his skin. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth as he bolted back down the path and scurried into his shelter. There he lifted the flagon to his eager lips, burning his tongue as he gulped the hot fluid. As it flowed down his throat, the shaking stopped. His fingers began to release their hold.
The light down the path became steadily stronger. Voices and laughter drifted towards him. He wiped his eyes and sighed. He had made it just in time. Suddenly a woman peeked around the corner of his shelter. She pushed aside the hanging spider plant.
“You’re in early Rynold,” she said. “I’m just going around now to collect for the coffee fund. Are you in for this month? Only five dollars. The night guard just made a fresh pot."
He joined her in the doorway of his office, and looked down the hallway past the potted plants and hanging flowers to the coffee station.
Holding up his travel mug he said, "No thanks. I get mine on the way in."
Who is like a wise man? And who knows the interpretation of a thing? A man’s wisdom makes his face shine, and the sternness of his face is changed. Ecclesiastes 8:1 NKJV
A PORTRAIT OF THE PAST
Even in my imagination I could not pretend she was looking at me, or even thinking of me. She gazed out from a different world and from a time I never knew. The old brown-toned photograph was taken long before I was born.
Her soft hair was pulled back loosely from her face and twisted into a bun. She sat tall and straight with just the hint of a smile. She was my great aunt. Although she never knew me, I felt a connection with her.
My mother had told me about Aunt Jennie and her daughter Borghilde. Who could forget a name like Borghilde? Just saying it out loud created images of exotic lands and courageous people who came here to carve out a life in a new land.
When I was growing up my mother would take out the old family photographs. They were printed on heavy cardboard with worn, frayed edges. She would recite the names of the mysterious strangers. Then she would tell me stories about when she was a little girl, and visited Aunt Jennie and played with Borghilde.
While going through some old papers, I came across a fragile envelope. There was no street address, just my mother’s name with the city and state. A three-cent stamp showed an eagle with its wings outspread and a bundle of arrows clutched in its claws. The banner across its chest read “win the war.”
I slipped the letter out of the fragile envelope. The paper was soft with age, and the writing had faded. It was from Aunt Jennie.
As I read the letter, her picture began to come alive. Instead of just an image on a page, she became a real person with hopes and dreams. Reading words that were penned over sixty years ago transported me to another place.
The little girl, Borghilde, was grown up and working in a factory while waiting for her husband to come back from WWII. Her brother, Mung was serving in England. As the holidays approached, the burden of the war weighed heavily upon the hearts of the family.
I wish I could have met Aunt Jennie or the little girl with the intriguing name who was a part of my mother’s stories. I look at pictures of myself and wonder. Will there be great nieces or nephews who someday see my picture? If they read something I have written, will they wonder about the past and their heritage? I hope that the traces I leave behind are uplifting and inspiring. Perhaps our lives will touch in a way that while not physical, will still leave an impression.
Mancelona - December 21, 1944
Dear June and yours,
Thanks a lot for your Christmas card and the good wishes. I’ve been thinking of writing to you for a long time but mislaid your address and kept putting it off. We enjoyed the picture you sent of your nice family. Glad to see you are looking so well. Bert and I are keeping house by ourselves now. Borghilde is married but her husband is in the service in Hollandia, near New Guinea. He has been in the Army for over two years and across two years next February. Borghilde works in a factory in Detroit making reamers. She has an apartment close to her work and not far from Borci's (Paul’s folks). She likes it there but gets terrible lonesome for Paul. She is coming home over Christmas, and we will be glad to see her again.
Magnus, or Mung as we call him, is in England. He has been in the Air Corps for 28 months now and across two years last September. He was a year in Ireland and now in England. He is pretty fed up on this mess same as all the rest.
Harold and family live close to us and we see them every day. They are well. The girls go to school every day and are getting along fine. We are sending you a snapshot of them, and one of us all that we took at Elk Rapids the day we all were there at Grandpa’s funeral. Guess you know us all.
I’ll write a longer letter some other time, now that we have your address. Hope you all are well and have a very nice Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Love, Jennie and Bert
Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2 NKJV
MAKING TRACKS
Vacationing north of Dinosaur Park, Utah
The paw prints were clearly visible, right next to tracks left by the shoes of other hikers. They were deep as though made by a heavy animal. The pads, toes, and claws were clearly defined. Apprehension set in. It was early morning. The time of day that all the guidebooks said was “best for viewing wildlife.”
I shifted my weight, and the movement sent pebbles skittering over the side of the cliff. My breathing blocked out all other noise. I held my breath and discovered the soft sound of my hat brim rubbing against my shirt collar. The weight of silence descended like a physical pressure on my ears. I tried to breathe quietly as I released my breath.
Dark evergreens mingled with aspens and cottonwoods on the distant mountainside. Most of the lower branches were bare, and only the tops of the aspens were adorned with the brilliant yellow autumn leaves. The bright splashes of gold protruded above the dark green Ponderosa Pines like flames on bayberry Christmas candles.
Sudden movement brought my attention back to the path. A tiny gray lizard raced across the rock and stopped to look us over. Its steps were quick and jerky, like a dancer caught in the beam of a strobe light. Then it darted into a crevice.
After some hesitation, we decided to go on. The trail would lead to the dinosaur trackways – fossil footprints made by ancient reptiles that roamed the earth eons ago.
The crunching of our shoes on the sand and gravel filled the air and covered the sound of my breathing. A fine layer of red sand had coated my white shoes making the laces a dusty pink.
Tree limbs extended over the trail. Overhanging rocks on the surrounding cliffs formed natural caves. I’d seen plenty of old western movies. This was the perfect setting for a lurking mountain lion waiting for its prey.
The tracks appeared intermittently. Apparently the path was a good place for animals to walk as well as people. The trail became rockier. The tracks disappeared only to vividly reappear when the path turned to sand again. We joked about the parallel human tracks. As long as the other shoe prints were still there, the lion had someone else to occupy its thoughts.
Then I noticed prints going the other direction. It occurred to me that maybe they were not from a wild beast. Perhaps it was simply a large dog. It looked like the hiker and his four-legged friend had made the trip down and back again.
The top of a steep stone bank led down to a lakeshore. A plaque marked the end of the trail and directed us to the dinosaur tracks. We studied the flat rock surface for some time before spotting one. A three-toed print, resembling that of an enormous bird, came into focus. Once we recognized the first one, we found many more. Like children on a treasure hunt, we excitedly pointed out new discoveries to each other.
Then we found several in a row – a trackway. The fossil record revealed the path taken by a carnivorous dinosaur as it walked, or ran, through a bed of mud. Was it pursued, or pursuing, or just passing through? Whatever its purpose, it had left behind the permanent evidence of its existence.
The prints we left on the trail were not unique or fascinating. They would quickly be erased with the next rain. Seeing the fossilized impressions led us to speculate on what lasting impression our lives would leave.
When we returned to civilization, we compared pictures of mountain lion and coyote tracks. We concluded we were right about the dog. Paleontologists believe the dinosaur tracks were those of a carnivorous predator, but the animal prints on the trail belonged to the faithful companion of a fellow hiker. We were living in the right age.
Direct my steps by Your word, and let no iniquity have dominion over me. Psalm 119:133 NKJV
The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD, and He delights in his way. Psalm 37:23 NKJV
MISTS IN TIME
Visit to Medieval Times Dinner Theatre Anne Arundel Mills, Maryland
We bought our tickets weeks in advance. Time travel is more popular than you might imagine, and these ventures often sell out. This was our opportunity to take a trip into the past through the enchantment of a time machine.
The portal was nestled inside a castle with a shopping mall built around it. Normally castles and shopping malls don’t hang out together, but this shopping center was unconventional in many ways. It contained unique decorative tableaus ranging from ancient Egypt to modern pop culture. Visitors spoke several languages and dressed in a wide variety of styles and cultures. Some could have even have been from other time periods.
Our passage was set for 7:30 p.m., but we arrived at the castle early because “time waits for no man.” We brought along a couple of family members. It’s always good to have some company when setting out on an adventure into the unknown.
At the castle’s entrance we were given a crown for identification, and then hurried off to have our picture taken with a kingly chap. He appeared to be a person of some importance. He may have been from the past, or just a time traveler like us. For a nominal fee we purchased a copy of the portrait to commemorate the trip. The picture could also be a useful tool for the gatekeepers if we became lost in time.
We milled around in a kind of holding area while waiting for conditions to be just right to pass through the gate. The area filled up quickly with other intrepid travelers. Amusements and exhibits were set up to help the crowd acclimate. There were magical flowers that shone with an inner light and wands that glowed. Statues of knights and horses in varying sizes lined the walls. Miniature figures of kings, ladies, horses, and dragons were displayed in cases and could be purchased as tokens of the adventure.
One exhibit was a replica of a dungeon. A sign advised it was not for young children. We took that to include the faint of heart. One young man and his fair companion decided to visit this dreaded place. He quickly guzzled down the beer he was holding, no drinks allowed in the dungeon, and they strode up to the guard at the doorway. When they discovered there was an additional fee to observe the horrors below, they decided to pass.
A few children wore costumes. For most of us, our paper crown was the only outward sign that we were heading into the past. Some wore their crowns on top of cowboy hats or baseball caps. One fellow wore his upside down with his mop of hair poking through the top and falling down over the sides like a grassy plant in a hanging pot. Perhaps he hoped to pass as the court jester.
Finally the signal was given. Trumpets blew, and we were ushered inside according to the color of our crowns. Perhaps this was part of the time travel science. Once through the portal, we found ourselves looking down at an arena.
We were ushered to a table set for a feast. This was an encouraging sign. We were famished. A charming wench came and explained the rules of engagement. A variety of food would be served, we would eat with our fingers, and we would express our support and admiration for the yellow knight (the color of our crowns) with loud, boisterous cheers. Contempt for all challenging knights should be expressed with equally loud disdain. Obviously a drama was about to unfold before us, and we were expected to participate.
The next hour was filled with delectable though messy food, beautiful horses, thrilling daring-do, and awesome battles. We cheered loudly for our knight, “YEL-LOW, YEL-LOW,” referring to the color of his garment of course. He was courageous and won many flowers from the princess for his valor and skill. These he gallantly shared with his loyal group of admirers by tossing them into the stands. One noble fellow caught one and presented it graciously it to his lady. Another damsel just barely missed catching a red carnation when it glanced off her fingers and fell at her feet. The wench sitting below her quickly snatched it up and kept it for herself. All is fair in love, war, and catching flowers.
Our brave and heroic knight won the tournament. Alas, he was betrayed. In the end he was defeated by a wicked knight who himself came to a very bad end. Yes! When it was all over, through some marvelous magic, all the knights who had been killed or wounded in the tournament returned. They paraded majestically around the arena to the admiration of the crowd of witnesses who cheered and applauded wildly.
With justice restored, our money bags lighter, and our appetite for food and spectacle sated, we made our way back through the portal to our own time and place. It seemed a bit gray and mundane after the excitement and grandeur of the medieval times.
We are born with a fierce desire to cling to this life. The excitement and treasures of life on earth can absorb us. Someday I will pass from this world to one where the colors are richer, the smells are more fragrant, the sights more beautiful, and the texture of everything more exquisite. I will then see that this world is truly just a shadow of the joys and beauty that have been prepared for us and that await those who choose now to accept those wonders that are offered.
…”Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” I Corinthians 2:9 NKJV
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. I Corinthians 13:12 NKJV
MS. MORGAN
In my hand was an old friend, Ms. Morgan. Affectionately she’s known as Old 1900. It’s a real silver dollar I picked up in the ‘60s when I was a kid. Back then it was not uncommon to find coins, and other things, of genuine substance. This dollar was passed around the family a bit before it came back to me and has been in my possession for the last couple decades. It was very worn when we first met.
It started its existence as a shinning, freshly minted coin in the year 1900 at the now closed New Orleans mint. From Louisiana it worked its way north through the Midwest. Who knows the path it took through farmland, mining towns, or railway stations, and the tales it could tell of its journey before landing in my pocket over half a century later.
While it circulated, it surely played a part in many lives. It may have passed through the hands of some rich gentleman as he entertained a lady at the opera before he proposed. Perhaps a businessman bought a hot dog or newspaper from a corner vendor as he hurried between meetings. I suppose it has been to the fish market at least once. As it traveled through the first half of the 20th century it no doubt at times saw the darker side of life, and at other times shared in small joys. For the present, it now resides with me.
The thing I enjoy about it is that it’s so worn. This one is not just another pretty face. No, this lady has been out there with the doughboys of WWI, the GIs of WWII, and survived the great depression when she was very sought after and coveted. She’s seen the speakeasies of the ‘20s and the revival meetings that followed in both high and low churches. She’s a real trooper.
I thought about taking her back to New Orleans in the year 2000 for her 100 birthday. But that didn’t happen, and she never complained. I think she likes retirement and watching the world go by. I haven’t joined her in retirement yet, though I am starting to show signs of wear.
For now, I’ll put Ms. Morgan gently back in her folder. Another day I will once again visit with her, and she can tell me stories of the past. She has a million of them.
That which is has already been, and what is to be has already been; and God requires an account of what is past. Ecclesiastes 3:15 NKJV
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11 NKJV
REFLECTION
Visiting the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
We picked our way down the steep switchbacks. It was early morning but already hot. The noise of tourists faded as we descended further into the canyon.
Thick pine trees clustered together, hiding the canyon floor. They towered over our heads blocking the sun. We were isolated, suspended between the worlds above and below. Air cooled by the trees brushed my face, and heat faded to a memory.
The guidebook described the trail as strenuous and difficult. Earlier in the week we watched people jogging up the trail. For me, just walking this path into the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone was enough of a challenge.
It wasn’t long before my shins began sending messages to my brain. They started out polite enough, but soon they were shouting. We stopped to rest, and I considered the return trip when each step would have to be retraced.
Trees that provided shade and coolness often stretched their long roots treacherously across the path. Occasionally the trees thinned giving glimpses of the Upper Falls in the distance. The roar of the Lower Falls was getting louder.
We arrived at the bottom and collapsed onto a welcome bench. The majesty of the thundering waterfall silenced the complaints from my muscles. We sat alone in our secluded spot like children who had left the audience and wandered on stage. The curtain rose. The sun peeked over the mountain. Birds called to one another. Fallen leaves rustled as chipmunks played tag in the underbrush. Light shimmered on the tumbling water.
Then I saw it. A double rainbow. They are difficult to see unless the air is especially clear. The second bow’s color bands were reversed creating a mirror image.
On those days when my life is clear of the mist and clouds of self-centeredness, I have the opportunity to be a reflection of Christ – a second rainbow.
God spoke: “Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature…” Genesis 1:26 The Message
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. 2 Corinthians 5:17 NKJV
THE ICE CREAM CALL
My thoughts drifted to dark winter nights with softly falling snow, but the only coolness in the room emanated from the whirring fan. As I hovered on the brink of sleep, the clear tones of Silent Night floated through the open window. The tune transitioned into the tinny notes of Deck the Halls. Even my sleepy brain recognized the curiosity of Christmas carols in May. Spring showers bring flowers, but spring also brings ice cream.
In our neighborhood it comes in a truck. Sometimes a swarm of trucks, each with its own identifying jingle. They meander endlessly along the side streets and alleys playing their themes. Like metal Pied Pipers, they call children out of their homes. When the trucks pass each other, the noise clashes in a harsh cacophony as the pipers vie for supremacy and the hearts of children. At intervals they pause to serve ravenous appetites, but the endlessly repetitious music continues. The sound mixes with the roar of the cooling unit and exhaust fumes, and invades nearby homes.
But this truck was different. No noxious fumes. In place of a single theme, it had a repertoire. A series of Christmas carols, nursery rhymes, American ballads, and pop songs blended smoothly from one tune to the next. Nostalgia replaced monotony.
As I lay listening, my mind automatically identified the tunes. I discovered that some of the melodies fit more than one song. Was it Mary Had a Little Lamb or London Bridge? The words to The Toledo Donut Shop ran through my mind as Turkey in the Straw was played. Were the children humming along with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or reciting their ABCs? And strangely enough, Little Brown Jug was vaguely reminiscent of a hymn, though my groggy mind couldn’t quite place which one.
People also have hidden identities. I perceive one message, but they may be singing something different. When I hear a bawdy drinking song, the person could be humming a hymn – or vice versa. People are always more complicated than the lifeless categories where I try to force them. When I take the time to get to know them, they inevitably slip out of those limited boundaries. Sometimes they surprise me with something familiar, but unrelated to the image I created for them. Sometimes the song they sing has words I never imagined.
“…For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” I Samuel 16:7b NKJV
Eat honey, my child, since it is good; honey that drips from the comb is sweet to the taste: and so, for sure, will wisdom be to your soul: find it and you will have a future and your hope will not be cut short. Proverbs 24:13-14 NJB
“…And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it.” Revelation 2:17b NKJV
EMILY’S BIRDHOUSE
Emily let the front door slam as she raced up the steps and threw herself on the bed. Her hot tears left a wet smudge on the pillow. She kicked the door shut.
“Emily?” her mother’s voice penetrated the closed door.
She squeezed her eyes shut wishing her mother away. Hearing the footsteps on the stairs, she sat up and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. After a soft knock the door opened, and her mother stood in the doorway.
“What’s the matter, Emily?”
“I didn’t get the part in the musical.”
Her mother sat down beside her and put an arm around her. “Who got chosen for the part of Dorothy?”
“Denise,” she spat out the word. “She’s only been at school for a month and everyone is bowing at her feet. They fall all over themselves like puppies trying to get her attention.”
“Never mind dear,” her mother said as she squeezed her shoulder. “You have a lovely voice. Besides, you’d have to wear a wig if you got the part. Come on down for some cookies and milk.” She kissed the top of her head and headed back to the kitchen.
Emily groaned and went to the bathroom sink. Her world was falling apart and Mother offered cookies and milk. A red blotchy face covered with freckles stared back at her from the mirror. The messy red hair was nothing like Denise’s beautiful wavy brown. A wig would be an improvement. With a grimace she turned away and went downstairs.
She grabbed a handful of cookies and headed for the old apple tree at the back of the yard. Sinking into the worn spot on the exposed roots she was hidden from the world by the fat trunk. Low hanging branches hovered over her like protective arms.
Maybe Denise’s hair will fall out she thought as she bit viciously into a cookie. Maybe she’ll catch a cold and get laryngitis or even pneumonia. She swallowed hard. Better yet, she could get strep throat and be diagnosed as highly contagious. Then the doctor wouldn’t let her come to school for a month and someone would have to take her place. She closed her eyes and imagined the drama teacher desperately trying to find a replacement. Then he would ask her to take the lead part and save the school musical. Of course she would meekly accept.
She sighed and looked up. Dangling from the branch in front of her was an old birdhouse. She frowned. Now how did that get here she wondered. Has someone else been in my spot? How dare they. She yanked on the birdhouse. The frayed rope gave way, and she almost fell backward.
The wood on the little house was cracked and weather stained. If it had ever been painted, the colors were now dull and gray. Odd she had never noticed it before. She peered inside. Grimacing she stuck her finger in and dug out old twigs and withered leaves.
She stood up, brushed the dirt off her jeans, and went back to the house. From the basement she heard music filtering up. “I’m going to join the airforce today,” the oldies station on the radio wailed out the Beegees tune. Always easy to find Dad. Just follow the ancient music. He was in his workroom painting a model airplane and humming off key.
He looked up. “Hello dear,” he said squinting over the top of his glasses. He pushed them up leaving a spot of silver paint on his nose. “What do you have there?” He took the birdhouse.
“It’s pretty beat up,” Emily said. “I should just throw it away.”
“Don’t be hasty.” He tapped the walls. “Appears to be sound. Just needs a little remodeling,” he said, chuckling at his own joke. Emily smiled. He handed it back. “Some paint ought to make a big difference.” He pointed with his brush. “There’s some on the shelf over there in a fancy box. Just came yesterday.”
Emily pulled the small wooden box off the shelf. It had a tree engraved on the lid and a clasp in the shape of a leaf. Inside were four small jars of paint. Mardi Gras Purple, Caribbean Blue, Rainforest Green, and Glittering Gold.
“Are these the ones?” she asked. The paints looked expensive.
“Yep,” he said. “They aren’t the colors I was expecting. Not good for airplanes. I was going to send them back, but you can have them if you want.”
She snatched up the birdhouse and called, “Thanks,” over her shoulder. Back at the tree she settled into her spot. Using the corner of her hooded sweatshirt she brushed the dirt off the birdhouse before beginning. When she finished she had used all of the paint except for a tiny bit of Glittering Gold. She tucked her hair behind her ear leaving a smear of green on her cheek. With the tie string from her sweatshirt she hung the house back on the branch.
“Well, it’s bright,” she said. “Every bird from miles around should be able to see it. Guess I’ll need to get some birdseed.”
She sat back against the trunk. The afternoon sun was hot and made her sleepy. As she dozed, she began to get cold and shivered. Something tickled her nose and she woke up with a sneeze. She gasped. A living wall of vines now closed in her sheltered spot. They started from the birdhouse and wrapped around the branches before dangling to the ground in a thick mass. The light filtering through them had a green tint. The only thing unchanged was the birdhouse. It was as bright as ever. Its gold trim sparkled and glittered as the house slowly swayed.
Then a leaf fluttered down and landed in her lap. She tried to look down, but was stopped by something pulling her hair. “Ow,” she said rubbing her scalp. It seemed to be caught on the tree behind her. “Ow,” she said again as she tried to pull free.
It finally came loose, and another leaf fell in her lap. Looking down she saw the leaves moving. She caught her breath and her eyes widened as the leaf rolled over and looked up at her.
Emily rubbed her eyes and squinted. The leaf person gave her a lopsided grin and waved. Then he helped up the other leaf. The two of them stood balancing shakily on her leg.
“We’d be obliged miss, if you’d hold a bit steadier,” the leaf said.
“What are you?” she said. Her voice trembled and came out a little hoarse.
“Well, miss,” the leaf person said as he brushed himself off. “We’re part of the NGS – New Growth Surge.” He leaned sideways to look behind her and shouted, “Hey back there!”
Emily shivered as little feet moved across her head and down her shoulder. There was shouting and pulling. Leaf people got tangled in her hair making her wince. Then they got free and launched themselves into the air. Spreading their brown arms wide they floated down to the ground. She reached back and tried to straighten her hair but it was hopeless. The curls had snarled and she couldn’t get her fingers through the tangles.
The leaf people swarmed up the vines toward the door of the birdhouse. One by one they disappeared inside, and it got very quiet. She stood up on tiptoe and looked into the house. It was empty.
For the next few weeks, school was a blur for Emily. She forgot all about the Wizard of Oz musical. Each day after doing her homework she hurried out to the tree and pushed her way through the wall of vines. She never knew which evenings the leaf people would come. While she waited she drew pictures of them climbing on the vines with their hair standing up on their heads like tuffs of grass. There were pictures of them peeking out the door or leaning on the porch of the birdhouse. She tried to capture the colors as their leaf bodies shimmered first silver and then green as they slowly somersaulted through the air and floated to the ground.
She was captivated when they visited. They would pour out the front door of the birdhouse and chase each other down the vines. Once Emily held out her hand and a brave leaf stepped onto her palm. His tiny feet tickled as she slowly lowered him to the ground.
They taught her songs and sang with her, weaving harmonies around the tunes. Her hair was tied in knots as they twisted tiny purple flowers and twigs into the strands. When they danced, the dust was stirred up until it made Emily sneeze. Then laughing and calling back and forth to each other they climbed back up the vines and disappeared into the birdhouse.
On those evenings her mother would say, “Take a shower Emily dear before bed. You’re a mess. Don’t leave those twigs in the tub, and remember to bush your teeth.”
A week before the musical, Emily was leaving the lunchroom in a hurry when she crashed into a girl. Her books and drawings spilled onto the floor. She scrambled desperately to pick up the sheets of paper and stuff them into her folder before anyone saw them.
“Did you draw this, Emily?”
She looked up. It was Denise holding one of the papers. Her mouth was agape in wonder. Her eyes glistened as she looked at the paper. Emily’s face felt hot. She snatched the paper and stuffed it in her book.
“What are they?” Denise said softly.
“Nothing. Just pictures,” Emily said.
Denise cleared her throat. “I’ve missed you at practice. I thought you were going to be in the musical.”
Emily stammered, “I…I had…other things to do.”
There was an awkward silence. Then Denise asked again, “Did you draw them?”
Emily nodded reluctantly.
“How did you ever think of them?”
Emily frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”
Denise shook her head. “If I could draw like that,” she said wistfully, “I would cover my walls with pictures.”
As Emily turned to leave, Denise said quietly, “Will you sit with me at lunch tomorrow?” Emily nodded and hurried to class.
When she got home that afternoon, she headed for the apple tree. The vines were waving gently in the chilly breeze, but they were brown and withered. She reached out a trembling hand. At her touch, they crumbled to dust and blew away in the wind revealing the birdhouse. It was once again faded and weather stained. Tears rolled down her face, and she collapsed at the foot of the tree. After a long time she heard far off singing. She began to hum and heard the soft harmonies of the leaf people. Then the voices faded and all that was left was the breeze whispering through the branches.
In her room that night she took the jar of Glittering Gold paint. Using the last of it, she carefully filled in the outline of the tree on the top of the wooden paint box. Before closing the lid she laid one of her drawings inside. Tomorrow she would sit with Denise at lunch, and the box would be a present for her new friend.
A man who has friends must himself be friendly, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Proverbs 18:24 NKJV
Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. Philippians 2:4 NKJV
Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do so. Proverbs 3:27 NKJV
THE PASSAGEWAY
I could almost hear faint notes from the piano, as if ghostly fingers of past students floated across the keyboard. The starkly furnished practice room had no windows, but sunlight stole through an open door. It transformed the worn carpet into a golden path to the outside world. The scene beyond beckoned me to step outside into another realm.
A manicured lawn covered the ground in vibrant green. The army of sharp grass blades marched in orderly ranks up to a line of tall pine trees and stopped. The trees held their ground like sentinels. Beneath their heavy branches it was dark. The ground lay in shadow and was layered with years of fallen needles.
Some days my senses are seemingly heightened. Colors are infused with light, and tiny details are sharpened. I experience an awesome awareness of the world around me. It’s as if I had stepped into a plasma screen, and become part of the movie.
Much of life is like Plato’s cave. We live in a dim world where the outside light casts shadows of unknown mysteries beyond our experience. We see only vague images of who we are and of what lies beyond the cave. But sometimes we can find truth in the shadows that dance upon the walls.
If we believe in things we have not seen or experienced, we are thought strange. But it is a small universe where we are confined by only believing in what we can perceive. If we dare to look beyond ourselves, we can live beyond ourselves in a larger world.
I know your works. See, I have set before you an open door, and no one can shut it; for you have a little strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My name. Revelation 3:8 NKJV
After these things I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven. And the first voice which I heard was like a trumpet speaking with me, saying, “Come up here, and I will show you things which must take place after this.” Revelation 4:1 NKJV
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands... Isaiah 49:16a NKJV
MILLER WEEK
They’re coming through the air vent!” I shrieked.
Half a dozen were already in the room. My husband grabbed up a travel brochure and slapped it over the vent. I stood on the bed and held the newsprint tight against the wall, ducking as they flew past my head. He methodically chased down and killed each one.
Then he left me guarding the air vent. For the second time he ventured into the dark, infested night to visit the hotel front desk.
Millers. Moths with fat, fuzzy, brown bodies and gray and brown wings. At first I had wanted to go to another hotel. It didn’t matter how much it cost. But the sky outside was thick with them, and we were better off inside the room with just a few. After his first trip to the office, my husband returned with a can of bug spay and the one bit of information that we hadn’t found in any of the tour books. For about a week each year, the millers proliferate and fill the skies. We just happened to pick “miller week” for our vacation. The owner assured us that although they were everywhere, they were no big deal. He was right about them being everywhere.
Armed with the spray, we approached the vent. I could see two of them behind the metal grate, walking around and looking out with their buggy eyes. With a smooth motion my husband raised the can and fired a shot. It didn’t have the desired effect. Not only did it not stop them in their tracks, but they decided the air in the room was much preferred to the fog filled vent. We discovered there were not two, but dozens behind the metal grill – pushing and thrashing against the grate. Then one by one they folded their wings and squeezed through the bars.
That’s when I shrieked. Now I stood on the bed with my arms aching, waiting for him to return from his second trip with a new remedy. I tried to shift my position just a bit.
They must have caught a glimmer of light or a whiff of fresh air because I could hear their little feet scrambling around inside as they searched for freedom. My arms might fall off, but nothing would convince me to move that paper from the vent.
Finally he returned with the universal solution for every problem - duct tape. Once the paper was sealed on all sides, I collapsed in a chair. In a few minutes they settled down, and we could no longer hear them fluttering around in their dark prison. After checking the room for stragglers we went to bed, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Early the next morning we meticulously packed. I discovered a few of the winged terrors in the room that had spent the night with us. We were careful not to pack any of the little beasties in the trunk. Then I nestled down into the passenger seat and felt the tenseness ease out of my muscles. I was free from the creepy little things.
It was a cool fall morning as we set out. We traveled west, and I caught a glimpse in the mirror of a beautiful sunrise coming up behind us. I turned to enjoy the full view. Instead I spotted three of the monsters flitting around in the rear window. Since we were driving on twisting mountain roads, I thought it best not to be distracted by flying insects. So we pulled over and extracted them. This became an ongoing routine the rest of the day. Sometimes we shooed them out the window, and sometimes we squashed them in the back seat.
For the next three days they continued to emerge in ones and twos. They were hiding in the trunk and finding their way through to the rear window of the car. In desperation we stopped to buy more bug spray, and filled all the holes and crevices in the trunk. As the fumes drove them from their hiding places, we opened all the windows and ushered them out.
At the end of the week we boarded the plane with the hope that none were hiding in our luggage. In spite of the millers we had a wonderful time and saw amazing scenery. The west has many colorful names for the beautiful and exotic landscapes that attract travelers in droves. We hiked through places with names like Devil’s Tower, Dead Horse Creek, Devil’s Kitchen, Devil’s Backbone, and Crazy Woman Canyon. Maybe that last one was named after a woman who visited during miller week. It should be added to the tour book’s calendar of events.
Tired from a long day of travel we pulled into the driveway. It was a relief to have left behind our unshakable winged companions. To my amazement, as I wearily trudged up to the door I was greeted by one of their distant cousins. A brown moth clung to the screen and welcomed us home.
Without counsel, plans go awry, but in the multitude of counselors they are established. Proverbs 15:22 NKJV
Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV
STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT
Scary tales are abundant of asteroids threatening continents and planet lineups causing tidal waves. They are the fabric of stories that adapt well to the grandeur of the theatre.
Meteor showers, fuzzy comet sightings, and lunar eclipses lack sensationalism. But they are inspiring in a way that cannot be matched by a fictional thriller.
Sometimes we drag ourselves out of bed in the wee cold hours of the morning to view the heavens, only to be disappointed. Light pollution or manmade structures often spoil the view. Those failures fade into vague memory after the success of witnessing an event in the night sky firsthand.
When we heard that the Space Shuttle Discovery and the International Space Station (ISS) were linked together and would be visible in the twilight sky, we began our preparations. Unlike a planet that stays visible for hours, this sighting would have a very short window. Less than four minutes. It would be imperative to look in the right spot at the right time. Our window of opportunity was between 9:10 and 9:14 precisely. For once we would be observing a celestial event at a decent hour!
I printed a map of the sky, set my watch, and headed for the open field at the local high school. Choosing a relatively comfortable seat at the top of the bleachers, we settled in and scanned the sky. It was now 9:00 p.m. Dinnertime for mosquitoes. Fortunately, it was dinnertime for bats also. I cheered them on as they flew back and forth over the field, consuming their weight in insects.
We located Jupiter and the gibbous Moon, our pointers in the heavens. Several false sightings turned out to be airplanes. Had we missed it? My neck was getting tired from craning upward.
Then suddenly, there it was! At 9:12 a spot of light far above the horizon glided across the heavens. It shone as a bright unblinking star gracefully arching across the sky. Then it disappeared behind cloud cover.
It took an amazing amount of planning, money, and dedication to make that brief glimpse a reality. Of course the astronauts’ view from the ISS must have been much more impressive, and certainly lasted longer. I wonder what they were thinking as they looked down on our little corner of the world.
The event has been duly noted in our Celestial Events Log (CEL). It is right there next to our first sightings of Jupiter’s moons, Saturn’s rings, and the Orion Nebula.
Bless the LORD, O my soul! O LORD my God, You are very great: You are clothed with honor and majesty, Who cover Yourself with light as with a garment, Who stretch out the heavens like a curtain. Psalm 104:1-2 NKJV
Of old You laid the foundation of the earth, And the heavens are the work of Your hands. hey will perish, but You will endure; Yes, they will all grow old like a garment; Like a cloak You will change them, And they will be changed. But You are the same, And Your years will have no end. Psalm 102:25-27 NKJV
…until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts; 2 Peter 1:19b NKJV
He counts the number of the stars; He calls them all by name. Great is our LORD, and mighty in power; His understanding is infinite. Psalm 147:4-5 NKJV
THE BARON’S TREACHERY
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