His Way

 Happy last day of 2021!

This is late because we slept in. I'm still trying to get over this cold I got last week. I'm on the mend now, but sleep was so nice. :)

Hard to believe tomorrow is January 2022. I don't know how those who don't know that God is in control go into a new year. I'm excited to see what God has planned. I have my own plans and goals, but I'm learning to hold them with an open hand and let God guide my steps.

I'm going to keep this short today as it's already late and I need to do some other things. And you might have things to do this last day of 2021.

 His Way

    Barefooted, Lesley wandered down the beach away from the noisy party. Her head throbbed and she felt exhausted. As she walked, only the soft sound of waves washing gently up on the sandy broke the quiet and peace of the evening.
    Stopping, Lesley looked toward the west where the sun was sinking in yellow light into the clouds just above the horizon. The sky was a rosy gold with piles of fluffy clouds giving a slight purple look to the sky. As she looked, Lesley discovered one patch of blue and smiled as she looked beyond the clouds into the depth above.
    One lone palm tree, growing at a sloping angle stood, a lonely sentinel guarding the empty beach and the one single rowboat resting beneath it.
    As the throbbing of her head continued, Lesley’s face lost its smile and she sat down where she was feeling the longing to give way to the feelings of doubt, frustration, sorrow, and despair which seemed to stalk her footsteps these days.
    “There’s not much I can do,” she sighed. “My life is a mess and even though I’ve tried to fix it, I can’t.”
    Propping her elbow on her knee, she rested her head in her hand letting the quiet and peace surround her.
    “Less?”
    The soft voice made Lesley lift her head. Mary stood beside her.
    “Do you mind if I join you?”
    Wordlessly Lesley shook her head. It felt like too much trouble to say anything.
    Just as silently as she had come, Mary sat down in the sand, her arms clasped around her knees.
    For some time the two friends sat, watching the sun sink lower and lower. The sky darkened and deepened into velvety night.
    “What’s wrong, Less?”
    With a sigh, Lesley shook her head. “Everything.” Somehow she felt as though she could pour out all her troubles to Mary since it was dark. “I can’t get a job that pays well enough for me to work decent hours. Two of the people I thought were my friends aren’t talking to me now because I didn’t agree with something they thought was good. My parents’ health has declined so much in just the last month and I’ve worried about them until I’m almost sick. I hardly have time for anything fun and enjoyable. I thought tonight would be fun. But it’s not. The music is way too loud and people are acting silly, and. . . . Oh, I’m just . . . tired!”
    Mary reached over and gently began to massage her friend’s shoulders. “Oh, Lesley,” she began softly. “I’m sorry. I know things haven’t been easy for you lately. I didn’t realize they were this hard though. What do you need?”
    “I don’t know,” Lesley began, her voice breaking. “Why do I feel so empty, so frustrated and so helpless?”
    “I can’t say for sure, Less, but maybe, just maybe you are trying to take charge of your life in your own way, in your own time, and stay in charge of it. You can’t do it. You will only continue to make yourself miserable.”
    “But what am I supposed to do?” Lesley’s voice was rising. “I don’t have time to take care of my parents because the job is totally draining me, but if I quit how will I pay the bills? And what do I do about my friends?”
    “You pray, Lesley, and keep on praying. And you take time to be still and listen. Remember Elijah? God wasn’t in the fire, the wind or the earthquake. It was after those things that the still, small Voice spoke. Perhaps you need to live Psalm sixteen verse eleven. ‘Thou wilt show me the path of life: in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.’ Have you been living that, Less? Have you been really and truly seeking the path of life? Have you been delighting in the Lord’s presence?”
    Lesley didn’t answer. She knew she hadn’t been, but she was so busy. Why didn’t God just point out the way so she could keep going?
    “Sometimes,” Mary said gently, as though she could read her thoughts, “we have to make the time to slow down and step out in faith not knowing where we are going next. It can be scary. I know. I’ve done it. But oh, Lesley, it is so worth it!”
    There were no words Lesley could speak. She knew she needed to take the time to really seek her Lord and His way, but choosing to set aside time she could be working or taking care of her parents to do so felt–wrong.
    Without another word, Mary rose and slipped away leaving Lesley alone. One bright star peeked through the opening in the clouds and seemed to blink a friendly message to the troubled girl on the sandy beach. She must have understood it, for Lesley, looking up into the place between the clouds, began to pray earnestly for wisdom and joy from the One who offered pleasures for evermore.

Do you ever feel overwhelmed & stressed?

What do you do about it?

Are you ready for 2022?

Behind Glory

 Merry Christmas!

Okay, Christmas Eve, but it's close enough. Besides, my brother and his family are coming over today to do Christmas with us, so it'll be Christmas. Of course the weather is not going to feel anything like Christmas is supposed to feel like as it's supposed to be 77º today. What kind of Christmas weather is that?

It's been a busy first part of the week.

Saturday– I had play practice in the morning and because two people from one group of singers were sick, they'd had to pull a singer from the other group as well as the pastor's son from KC to fill in. And then when my group of singers was singing we realized we were going to need someone else so my sister was recruited.

Sunday– Music practice before Sunday School. Bell practice with the kids after church, and then practice with my sister and two little girls (I played piano for them). I worked on caroling stuff some in the afternoon and then we were off for the Christmas program. It wasn't nearly as stressful and crazy as when I'm directing the play, which was nice. The play went well, and then we had a fellowship meal afterwards and got to visit with different ones.

Monday– Worked on caroling stuff, my grandpa came down for a short visit, saw the house and ate lunch with us before he went to my brother's to see his place. The caroling group met at 4:30 instead of 5 which was wonderful because it meant we could leave at 5 since it took us 3 hours to go to 8 places. Yes, they were scattered all over! Twice we had to drive 20 minutes to the next place.

Tuesday– I put things away and relaxed! Read.

Wednesday– I made a graham cracker house and worked on a blog post and even wrote. I finished today's story

Thursday– My mom and I decided we wanted to do some paper craft things for decorating the table for today, so we tried one thing. Didn't work. Tried another, too small. So my mom created something and it worked! It's so cute! Sorry, I don't have a picture to show you.

 Today's story is one I've wanted to write since Angie Thompson wrote her "Glory" story for her Advent collection. It takes place the same day as "Glory" only in a different place and gives a little glimpse into some other people who were going to be affected by the decisions the characters in "Glory" made. Totally confused yet? :D I hope you enjoy it.

 

Behind Glory

 

    Georgie woke with the pain of his broken leg chasing the pain from his bruised hip up and down his whole body. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Trying to fight back the tears, he opened his eyes. As he sniffed back the sobs, his nose wrinkled. Why did hospitals have to smell so . . . so clean? He longed for the smell of burnt bacon and dirt.
    “Good morning, Georgie,” a cheerful voice greeted him. “How do you feel today?”
    Georgie turned his head. Nurse Maddie was standing beside his bed.
    “I don’t like being here at Christmas.”
    “I know. And I wish you could be at home right now.” She brushed his dark hair off his face. “But tonight we’re going to have some special visitors. Some carolers are going to come and sing Christmas songs to all the children here at the hospital. Won’t that be nice?”
    Staring at the light beginning to come in through the curtained windows, Georgie nodded slightly. He remembered a time when his dad used to sing Christmas carols all December. Mom had said he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, whatever that meant, but she had always laughed when she said it and smiled bigger. Dad hadn’t sung this year. Georgie wished he would. Maybe the carolers would be nice.

*

    It was late morning, the curtains were wide open and the children’s ward was bright with the winter sunshine. In the bed beside Georgie, a little fellow, only about six, lay with flushed face and red eyes. He’d been crying for some time and had only just calmed down enough for the nurse to slip away.
    “I want my mama . . . to sing . . . to me,” little Bobby hiccuped to no one in particular.
    “Bobby,” Georgie said, turning his head so he could see the little boy, “we’re going to have carolers come and sing to us tonight. Won’t that be nice?”
    Bobby hiccuped again. “Really?”
    “Uh huh. Nurse Maddie said so.”
    “Will they come tonight?” Kit lifted her head from her white pillow across the room.
    “Yes, tonight.”
    “Will they sing ‘Way in a Manger?” Lilly asked from a few beds down.
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    All around the room the children perked up.
    “I wish dey’d thing the thong ‘bout my brover.”
    “Your brother, Nanny?” Georgie shifted in his bed and bit his lip to keep back the cry of pain the movement had caused. He wanted to cheer up the other kids.
    “Uh huh. Harry.”
    “I don’t know that song,” Lilly said. “Can you sing it, Nanny?”
    “I don’t know it all.” Nanny half sat up in bed. “But I can thing thome.” With that Nanny began to sing. It wasn’t a very clear tune, but it was a joyful noise. “Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King. Peathe on earth an’ merthy mine, God an’ thinnerth recognized. Joyful all ye naithonth withe, join the twiumph of the thkies, with Aunt Jelly hosth pwoclaim, Chwist ith born in Bethlehem. Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King.”
    A patter of small hands clapping covered a muffled laugh at the nurse’s station near the door.
    “Georgie,” Teddy asked from over near the window, “Will they sing two songs?”
    “I think so.” Georgie thought of all the songs his Dad had sung and wondered how many Christmas songs there were. “Maybe they’ll even sing three songs.”
    A delighted “Oh!” echoed around the room.
    “Do you think they will wear red?” Lilly asked.
    “Maybe they’ll wear green,” Bobby said quite cheerfully having forgotten his own troubles in the promise of something special later on.
    The talk in the ward that morning and after visiting hours was all about the coming carolers. What colors would they wear? How many were coming? What would they sing? Would they come into the room? Would they have candles? Will they be wearing scarves? Do the nurses know them? What were their names?
    Georgie didn’t know the answers to the questions and neither did Nurse Elizabeth who had taken Nurse Maddie’s place.
    As dusk began to settle outside, Georgie felt himself growing restless. This was almost like waiting for Christmas morning to arrive. But unlike other Christmas Eve nights, this time Georgie couldn’t toss and turn in bed.
    “Georgie,” Bobby asked in a stage whisper, “they are coming, aren’t they?”
    “Sure they are, Bobby, why, they’re probably getting their coats on right now.”
    Lilly lifted her head. “You think so, Georgie?”
    “Sure.”
    There was a moment of silence in the dim ward. Supper was over and Nurse Elizabeth had left only a few small lights on.
    “What do you think they’re doing now, Georgie?” Kit’s voice was close to tears and Georgie guessed her back was hurting her a great deal.
    “Well, let’s see. One of the boys has to pick up one of the girls so he’s going over there. And--”
    “Do they know how to drive?” demanded Stevie.
    “I guess they might. If not someone else has to drive them.” He paused a moment and then went on. “But anyway, they’re driving down Main street and warming up their voices.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.” Georgie wasn’t sure if real singers did warm their voices up, but his dad used to say--back when he sang--that he had to warm his voice up. Turning his head toward the door he wished the singers would come. They would come, wouldn’t they? If they didn’t come-- A lump the size of baseball seemed to rise in his throat. They had to come. They just had to!
    “What’re they doin’ now, Georgie?” Nellie asked. “Are they comin’ thoon?”
    “Pretty soon, I ‘spect. They have to get out of the car and walk inside now. Oops, one of them left his music in the car and had to run back out and get it maybe.” A few giggles sounded in the dim room. “Now they have to find out how to get to this part of the hospital. And they might get turned around a bit ‘cause it’s pretty big.” As Georgie wondered how much longer he could keep his story going, he thought he heard voices outside their room.
    Others heard them too and when the door opened, sixteen heads were turned and sixteen pairs of eyes fastened on the four visitors. The guys wore dark suits over white shirts and the girls wore red dresses.
    Not a sound could be heard as they stepped into the ward and began to sing. Their voices rich and full yet tender and soft reached to the most distant beds.
    Georgie felt like a warm blanket had been spread over him as he lay listening too the familiar strains of “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” He would have gone to Bethlehem to see the Baby if he’d been a shepherd. “Even if I had a broken leg,” he decided but bit his lip at a sudden stab of pain.
    After the first song, the carolers moved among the beds and spoke a few words to each child.
    One of the young men came over to Georgie and smiled down at him. “Hello there, I’m Greg.”
    “My name’s Georgie.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, Georgie. What are you doing in the hospital on Christmas Eve?”
    “Broke my leg.”
    “You did? Well, I did too when I was a little chap. Had to spend Christmas in the hospital too.”
    Georgie stared up at the smiling face of the singer. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “I . . . I’m glad you came to sing to us. I miss my dad’s singing.” He swallowed hard.
    Greg squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sure you do. We’ll sing again in just a minute, all right?”
    Georgie nodded, and Greg moved to another bed.
    When the carolers started singing again, Georgie lay quiet and listened, his eyes closed. They were songs he knew and their familiar words and tunes wrapped his heart like a hug and he drifted off to sleep with the soft strains of “Away in a Manger” taking away the sadness of being stuck in a hospital bed over Christmas.

Have you read "Glory"?

Did you have a good week?

What are your plans for Christmas?

Christmas Story Prompt

 This year, instead of taking you on a tour of Garlandsburg (our Christmas village) I'm going to ask YOU to tell me what is happening. That's right, you get to visit the unique village of Garlandsburg. Pick one of the pictures below and write a short (1,000 words or less) scene about what is going on. Share your story and let me know what happens. (Yes, the pictures are posted in the order they appear in the village this year.)

Ready? Start writing!

P.S. If you need any information or have any questions, just ask!

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 3

 Good morning, and happy Friday!

Sorry it's taken me so long to post again. I was planning on posting on Wednesday, but that day must have just blown away. It was in the 70s and we had wind gusts of 50 mph at times. Sure didn't feel like Christmas time.

I'm not sure what all happened this week. I know last Saturday I had play practice most of the morning. This year I get to be in the play instead of writing and directing it. I only sing carols with some other girls so it's not like I have to learn any lines or anything. All the carols are ones I already know, so it's pretty easy. Sunday had a lot of different practices. Before church a few of us practiced a song we were going to sing for the program, but we decided yesterday to cancel it because we just couldn't get everyone together for practice. On Sunday we also had bell practice with the kids at church, and my sis and I practiced a song with the Children's Church group. I also practiced playing the piano for my sister and two young girls who wanted her to sing a song with them for the program. They are pretty cute.

The rest of this week has just disappeared. I've read some, written some, went Christmas shopping with my mom to try and find something for my widow, and worked on getting lots of Christmas cards ready. I'm sure there were some other things I did, but the days are running together and . . .

Oh, wait! On Monday evening all my nieces and nephews were over so their parents could go shopping. We made and decorated Christmas cookies and ate pizza for supper. I wish I had a picture of the 18-month-old rolling and cutting, and patting, and rolling, and eating the cookie dough! It was so cute! She wanted 'noman cookies. :D 

And here's the last part of this story. Well, the last part that I've written. I've been told it needs more. Enjoy.

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 3

 

    The flickering lights of the candles in the windows looked friendly as Old Sawyer crossed the yard with the three brothers. He had put out the lantern and shut the barn door, latching it again from the outside. Looking around at the dark yard, he wondered if Bethlehem had been that dark on the first Christmas. Had the moon shone in the sky? Or had clouds covered the heavens?
    He put aside his thoughts when they reached the house. Once inside, he turned the almost never used lock and set about making his guests welcome. Mark was settled in Old Sawyer’s bed, his leg dressed by the old rancher’s capable hands, and after some hot tea which Old Sawyer claimed was his “Bessie’s cure for fevers an’ such”, was covered with blankets and left to sleep.
    Titus and the younger brother, Elisha, were served bowls of hot stew and then the three men, not feeling like retiring, settled themselves in the front room near the fire. For some time no one talked, then Titus, in a husky voice said, “Thank you, sir. Most cattlemen wouldn’t have lifted a finger for us. At the least they would have left us in the barn and let come what may. But Mark–” He paused, drew a breath, and then went on. “I don’t think Mark would have lasted. He was already feelin’ poorly when–well, when they came. Took him more time to reach the shelter of the bushes and that’s when he got hit in the leg.”
    Old Sawyer shook his head and rocked back and forth. “Ya know who set fire an’ shot Mark?”
    “Sure do,” Elisha spoke quickly. “I had my gun and was ready to fight back, but Titus hauled me away and wouldn’t let me so much as fire a shot.”
    “You’re too hot headed, ‘Lish. You would have killed someone, and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone being killed over sheep again, Especially not on Christmas Eve.”
    “Again?” Old Sawyer paused his rocking.
    “Pa was shot when Elisha was only ten.” Titus stared into the flames.
    “Why’d you help us, mister?” Elisha asked, his face looking more youthful in the light of the fire’s glow.
    Picking up his Bible, Old Sawyer rubbed his hand over the worn leather cover. “Well, I were readin’ the Christmas story for I heard the barn door, an’ I had jest read the line about there bein’ in the same country shepherds. I reckoned if the first ones to hear of the Savior’s birth was a bunch of shepherds, than the least I could do is offer other shepherds a place to stay.”
    “I–”
    Loud voices outside stopped whatever Elisha was going to say and his face grew a shade paler.
    “They’ve found us,” Titus whispered.
    Old Sawyer rose quietly. “Jest get yerselves in that there room with yer brother and don’t make a sound.”
    As soon as the door to the small bedroom was shut, the old rancher picked up his rifle and moved to the kitchen. Taking the lantern from its nail, he lit it and unlocked the door. Quietly, he slipped outside.
    “Who’s there?” he called.
    Instantly, four or five men left the yard and hurried toward the house, the glowing lantern, and the old rancher. “We’re lookin’ for some fugitives,” one of the men called out. “Ya seen anyone?”
    “Fugitives? No. What’s their crime?”
    “They’re tryin’ ta take over our cattle country with the dumb and smelly sheep, an’ if that ain’t a crime, I don’t know what is.” The speaker shoved a hand into his pocket as his companions laughed.
    “Bill Perkins, that you?” Old Sawyer held his lantern up higher and looked at the speaker.
    “Sure is, Old Sawyer.”
    “Why aren’t ya at home with yer folks this Christmas Eve, ‘stead a causin’ trouble an’ seekin’ ta harm yer fellow man?”
    “We knew they’d be home tonight. Folks generally are this night.”
    “Unless they’re out breakin’ the law,” Old Sawyer remarked almost to himself. Then in a louder voice he said, “Ain’t one a ya read the Christmas story?”
    Heads nodded and one of them, a puzzled look on his face said, “Sure, but what’s that got ta do with things?”
    “Shepherds were the first ones to receive the glad news of the Savior’s birth. Now if that don’t show that the Good Lord thinks highly of ‘em, then I ain’t sure what does. Now I suggest ya all get home an’ read it yerselves an’ think it over.”
    For several minutes the younger men stood before Old Sawyer in silence. Then a few in the back turned and walked away into the darkness. One by one the others followed.
    Only after the last man had disappeared did Old Sawyer turn and go back inside. He put up his gun, hung up his coat, and took off his boots. Then he walked to the bedroom door. “It’s all right now, boys. They’re gone an’ I reckon they won’t be botherin’ ya for some time.”

*

    The dawn of Christmas morning was bright and clear. The grass was covered in frost which glittered and sparkled like jewels. Old Sawyer made his way back to the house after he had finished the chores in the barn. Pausing in the yard, he drew in a breath. The smell of frying ham drifted from the house. It was good to have company even if he had to give up his bed and sleep in the old rocking chair. “It’s better ‘n in the barn,” he murmured. “Lord, bless the Tyler brothers. Ya know I ain’t one to favor sheep, an’ were I young I might a been wantin’ ta join them troublemakers last night. But I’m jest an old man now, Lord, an’ ya gave me a bit more sense than I used ta have. Would Ya tell my Bessie Merry Christmas for me? An’ tell her it ain’t a lonely Christmas since I put her candles in the windows. And Lord, thanks for still makin’ me useful even to a bunch of shepherds.” 

 

Do you think this story should be longer?

Have you made and decorated Christmas cookies this year?

Would you rather be on or off stage for a Christmas play?

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 2

 Happy Monday!

I decided not to make you all wait until Friday to read the next part of this little story. Enjoy!

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 2

 

    The house was dark and quiet when Old Sawyer entered. No sweet scent of fresh cookies or comforting smell of savory stew greeted him. It wasn’t how he was used to spending Christmas Eve.
    He lit the lamp, stirred up the fire in the stove and then looked into the cold, dark front room.
    “I’ll do it, Bessie,” he said with a glance at the picture hanging on the wall.
    Taking the lamp, he went in search of candles. He found them carefully wrapped in the bottom drawer of his wife’s worn writing cabinet. With tender hands, Old Sawyer settled each candle in its holder and these were then placed in the windows and the candles lighted. Their soft glow brought a smile to the old man’s face as he turned and set about the task of making his supper.
    As he worked, his thoughts drifted from one Christmas memory to another. The home had been so full of love and laughter as the children had grown up. There had been tears, but not many and they had always been softened by the knowledge that all things worked together for good.
    Old Sawyer ate his solitary supper in silence. Only the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel piece of the front room broke the quiet of the winter evening.
    “It sure would be nice if’n I had someone ta talk to come evenin’s. ‘Specially Christmas Eve. Somehow,” he murmured, “it jest don’t seem right to have this warm house an’ not be sharin’ it nohow. Even a dog would be somethin’.”
    He rose and washed his dishes and then, carrying the lamp, he moved into the front room. “I reckon the Good Lord didn’t have anyone who needed me.”
    After building a blazing fire in the fireplace, he settled into his favorite rocking chair and picked up his well worn Bible.
    “Now it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree . . . And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped in him swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were in the same country shepherds–”
    A slight noise distracted Old Sawyer and he looked up. “Did I shut the barn door? I’m sure I did.”
    Everything was hushed and still and the old rancher was about to return to his reading when another noise again came to his sharp ears.
    “Somethin’s out there.” Setting aside his worn Bible, he rose and shuffled into the dark kitchen. Peering out the window, he thought he caught a glimmer of light in the barn. “Now who would be prowlin’ ‘round my barn at a time like this?”
    It took but a few moments for his to pull on his coat, shove his feet into his boots and grab his rifle. Putting his hat on his head, he quietly opened the door and slipped outside, thankful he’d oiled the hinges in the fall when they started to squeak. He held no lantern to light his way but the moon shown and bright stars twinkled in the heavens.
    All was calm.
    The barn door was shut but not latched when Old Sawyer reached it. For a moment he hesitated, listening. He caught the sound of a low moan. Something wasn’t right.
    Keeping his rifle ready in one hand, he used the other and opened the door. “Who’s in here an’ what’re ya doin’?”
    A slight gasp and then a deep sigh broke the momentary silence. “Please, sir,” a man’s voice said, “we don’t mean you any harm, but we saw your candles in the windows and well–”
    A new voice, younger but still male broke in, “They looked so friendly like an’ the night was so cold, and our brother got hurt–”
    Old Sawyer’s hand found a lantern that always hung near the door but had seldom been used. Leaning his rifle against the wall beside him, he struck a light. Three faces, younger than he’d expected to see, looked up at him from the corner of the barn. One face was pale and the old man’s eyes noticed the stained bandage on his leg. “Who are ya?”
    “The Tyler boys, sir.” It was the older one who spoke. “We–well, we own the Ewe-T ranch.”
    “Yer the sheep ranchers, huh?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Old Sawyer’s brows knitted as the brother he guessed to be the youngest cringed. “What’re ya doin’ out this way on Christmas Eve? Have a run in with some cattle ranchers?”
    “Yes, sir. Or no, sir. That is–” The older one seemed to be having trouble speaking.
    With an effort, the injured brother raised himself up on one elbow. “We didn’t start anythin’. The others just come on us sudden an’ were shootin’ an’ we managed to get away, but they set fire to our house. We . . . were . . .” Clearly exhausted, the man fell back into his brother’s arms. his eyes closed.
    “We were goin’ to the sheriff,” the younger one added, looking worried. “But Mark can’t make it, an’ Titus ain’t sure the sheriff’ll help us, an’ the other men might be chasin’ us.”
    “Huh.” Old Sawyer grunted. “Maybe I don’t like sheep, an’ maybe I don’t hanker ta harbor any sheep-men in my barn for anyone that’s chasin’ ya ta find an’ upset my animals.”
    Titus spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, for causin’ you trouble. We’ll be on our way.”
    “You’ll be on yer way up ta the house. It’s Christmas Eve an’ I’ve got room in my house. An’ I reckon if it were shepherds the news of the Savior’s birth was first told to, than I can give other such men shelter in my house. Now help yer brother there, an’ let’s get out a the barn.”

I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 1

 Good morning,

Are you enjoying your December so far? I can't figure out how it could be the 10th already! I don't think it should even be the 10th of November, let alone December. What do you think?

This week has actually not been as busy as other weeks have been. I finally feel like I'm catching up on things which is so nice. And I've had time to read and even time to write! I haven't gotten back into writing 1k words every day, but compared to what I have been writing, I'm not doing badly. Plus the story I'm working on needs some research.

Today's story was going to be the first part of the Christmas story we put in our Christmas cards this year, but I was informed by my editor that it needed to be longer. Well, I haven't made it longer yet, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way, I am hoping to post more often than just on Friday's this month. What would you all like to see? 

• Christmas decorations
• Christmas stories
• Recipes
• Tidbits about Christmas traditions
• Story prompts
• Other ideas

Let me know in the comments below what you'd like to see.

 And now, enjoy part 1 of this story.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 1

 

    The wind was blustery and cold. Frost lay heavy on the ground as the rancher, his face leathered by years of working in the burning sun and biting cold, tramped from his snug house out to the barn to begin the morning chores. The lantern he carried didn’t shed much light but it was enough. Old Sawyer, as folks called him, didn’t really need the lantern; he knew his entire ranch like he knew the layout of his home, but it was cozy somehow. Perhaps it was the suggestion of warmth and comfort as the flame flickered and glowed. Perhaps it was memories of the many hands which had carried the lantern. Whatever the reason, he always carried it on dark mornings.
    Reaching the barn, Old Sawyer opened the door which creaked a little and stepped inside. The barn was warm compared to the biting wind outside. A horse nickered.
    “I’m comin’, Tunia,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “Looks like we’re goin’ to have a cold Christmas tomorra.”
    One of the barn cats rubbed against his leg with a meow. The lone milk cow mooed, and another horse stamped in his stall.
    “I know,” the old man went on, taking down the bucket and stool so he could get to milking. “It ain’t much of a Christmas we’ll be havin’ this year with my Bessie passin’ away in the spring. But the Good Lord didn’t have much that first Christmas neither.” As he began to milk, he kept up a one sided conversation with the animals as he was in the habbit of doing. “I’m plannin’ on havin’ a nice dinner tomorra, and I think I’ll sit and read the Christmas story tonight by the fire. Or maybe I’ll read it in the mornin’. No, I reckon tonight’ll be better seein’ as how chores keep an old man like me busy even if it will be Christmas Day.”
    The cat rubbed up against him and he squirted a stream of milk into her mouth chuckling a little as he did so.
    “Stan used to do that. Remember that, Millie?”
    The cow continued to chew her cud but a gentle flip of her tail seemed to indicate that she was listening.
    “Yep,” Old Sawyer went on, “he used to milk the cows and send streams of milk to the couple cats we’d keep ‘round the place. They’d all sit and wait for him in the mornin’s.” He gave a sigh as he stood up slowly with the full pail of milk. “None of the other boys could do it like Stan could.”
    As he fed the animals and went out to break the ice in the trough, he found memories of his children and wife in almost every action.
    “Sarah Lou did love the chickens. She never lost a single one when her ma put her in charge of taking care of ‘em. Katie May was always forgettin’ to shut the gate, or couldn’t find the hidden nests, but she was plum handy in the garden an’ always knew where to find the wild berries.” A fond smile wrinkled up the old man’s eyes.
    Walking back to the house with the lantern and pail of milk, Old Sawyer watched his breath show in little clouds of white. “Cold enough for snow. But it don’t look like we’ll be gettin’ any.” He looked toward the east where the sky was turning a pale pink. “Jest cold, I reckon.”
    Before long he was busy in the kitchen fixing his breakfast. “It jest ain’t the same, Bessie,” he said, looking at the tin type hanging on the wall. “Ain’t the same at all ‘thout you bein’ here. Won’t seem much like Christmas, me bein’ alone.”
    Sitting down to eat his solitary breakfast and drink his one cup of coffee, Old Sawyer wondered what his children were doing that day. All had moved away. The girls had gotten married and one lived in the city and the other on a ranch two days ride away. As for his sons, only three were still alive. Stan had married but had died in a train accident many years before. The others were scattered across the country from California to New York and down south to Texas.
    “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “bless ‘em, where ever they be an’ whatever they are doin’. Don’t let ‘em wander from You. And Lord, if’n there’s someone in need a me this Christmas I’d be right grateful if’n ya’d let me know.”

    The morning slipped into afternoon. Old Sawyer saddled up Petunia and rode out to check on the cattle. He’d sold off much of his stock in the fall but he still had enough to keep himself busy. As he returned to the barn, he looked across the yard toward the house.
    “It’s a sad lookin’ place, ain’t it, ‘Tunia? No lights in the windows an’ it bein’ Christmas Eve an’ all. I reckon maybe I’ll put some candles in the windows like my Bessie used ta do.” He dismounted. “I weren’t goin’ ta, seein’ it’s only me that’d see ‘em, but–” He stopped and looked again at the house.
    The windows were dark and no friendly smoke rose from the chimney. Not a trace of Christmas cheer could be seen.
    Old Sawyer sighed.
    His horse nudged his shoulder, and the older man nodded as he led Petunia inside the warm barn. “I reckon yer right, ‘Tunia. Someone might come down the road an’ it might put a spark a cheer in ‘em an’ remind ‘em of the Savior Who came an’ brought light to this dark old world.” As he talked, he unsaddled his horse, brushed her down, and then said as he started on the evening chores. “That house is a might too big for a lone feller like me. Maybe I should think of movin’. But I ain’t young like I used ta be.”

Do you put candles in the windows?

Does this month seem to be flying?

What do you want to see on this blog?

Christmas Giveaway

 I don't have a lot of time, but I did want to share with you that there is a Christmas giveaway happening right now for my audio book His Law is Love hosted by Kylie Hunt over at Kylie Hunt - The Film Director's Wife.

Click on the image to enter.

Head over and enter! And check back here because if I have time I might post again before Friday.