An Adventure - Part 2

 Hey!

Glad you came back! I'm really busy with lots of filing and voting people. Not much time for anything else. Oh, and I'm grading papers and preparing to teach writing class again today. But I don't have to work on Monday, so a 3 day weekend will be wonderful! I already have a list of things I need to get done.

Anyway, enjoy this next part. 

 

An Adventure
Part 2

    Our shoes thudded on the wooden stairs. “What do you need, Mom?”
    Looking up from redoing one of Lisa’s pigtails, Mom glanced at us. It only takes Mom two seconds to know if we’ve cleaned up or not. “Those shirts look good on you boys. Carry out the two coolers to the suburban, please. Then make sure everyone has jackets. Oh, and Randee, will you check and see if the blankets got put back in?”
    “Sure, Mom.” I wanted to ask where we were going, but Mom never said until we were all in the vehicle and on our way. Maybe that was a ploy to keep anyone from trying to get out of whatever we were doing. I picked up the larger cooler and shoved the screen door open with my hip.
    Tom followed with the smaller one.
    “Hmm,” I said softly, “two coolers, jackets, and making sure the blankets are in the car. Think we’re going to be star gazing?”
    “Maybe. It might be rather fun.”
    “Well, it’s a clear night for it,” I said.
    Opening the back of the suburban, I checked for the two emergency blankets we always kept in the vehicle. Yep, they were there, rolled up and ready. Our last trip had ended with a sudden downpour, and we’d spread the blankets over the seats to ride home requiring us to hang them out to dry in the sun the next day.
    After loading the coolers, Tom and I found jackets for everyone and put them in the suburban too. Returning to the house, we waited in the kitchen with Lisa. She didn’t know where we were going either.
    Soon Mom and the boys joined us.
    “The dogs put up?” Mom asked. “Chickens taken care of?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Then let’s get going. Everyone grab your water bottles.” She pointed to the counter where they all stood neatly in a row.
    There was a rush, a clatter of boots and water bottles, and a few calls for “shot gun!”
    “Randee is riding shot gun,” Mom called over her shoulder as she pulled the kitchen door shut and made sure it was locked. “I might need him. You boys get in the back. Tom and Lisa in the middle.”
    It was where we usually rode, but now and then Mom would let someone else ride in the front with her.
    Seatbelts clicked into place and the engine started. The suburban wheels crunched on the gravel until we reached the road and turned onto the blacktop. Then it was time to ask.
    “Where are we going, Mom?” I asked.
    “Aunt Angie invited us to join her and John at a park they discovered. The directions are on the yellow paper, Randee. You’ll have to navigate for me once we get out on the highway.”
    I picked up the paper. Mom’s navigating skills weren’t the best, and after trying to use that fake person on her phone telling her where to go and getting her completely lost, she always goes to a map and plots out her route. Then Tom and I take turns being the navigator. Unless we’re just having an adventure, and then Tom and I have to figure out how to get us home again, which is kind of fun because we aren’t always sure.
    Of course, when Dad’s home no one needs a navigator of any kind. Dad just seems to know where things are. Even if he’s never been there before. He might look at a map for a couple minutes and then he’s never lost. And sometimes he doesn’t even need a map.
    The drive wasn’t short, and the younger ones played the alphabet game and the “I’m going to Argentina and I’m taking apples for my lunch” game. It got quite hilarious because of what they said they were bringing for their lunch. I gave Mom the right directions at the right time, and we found the hidden park right where Aunt Angie said it would be.
    We found Aunt Angie too. She had brought her fiancé, John, with her.
    “Hey, guys!” Aunt Angie greeted us, giving hugs freely and talking as she hugged. “We’ll have to take our food on a little hike. There’s a perfectly lovely spot up on the hill with a view of the river and the trees. And the trees are almost at their peak and look so pretty! You all did bring jackets, though, right? Good. There’s a picnic table up there. John, can you, Randee, and Tom get the food? Bob, Joe, David, get the blankets from my car. Yep, those are the ones. Shannon, we might have to help carry water bottles.”
    “Why’d you bring your camera?” Lisa asked.
    “I always bring my camera,” Aunt Angie replied. “I like taking pictures.”
    “The boys don’t like having their pictures taken,” Lisa reported.
    “Well, maybe they won’t mind if I take them.”
    Tom and I had lugged our coolers out of the suburban. I hadn’t known we’d have to carry them anywhere. Oh, well. We could manage.
    It turned out to be quite a climb to get to the picnic table Aunt Angie had in mind. Bob, Joe, and David didn’t have much trouble since all they carried were a few blankets. But Tom and I had to stop a few times. John did too.
    “We should have brought along a mule,” John said with a grin. “Or eaten supper at the cars and then hiked up here.”
    “We’ll be plenty hungry when we get there,” I replied. “Hey, maybe we should just lighten the load and eat something now.”
    John laughed. “I like the sound of that, Randee!” He looked up ahead. “Except they are watching us at the moment. Come on, guys, let’s get going.” 

Have you ever had a picnic at a new park?

Do you like knowing where you are going?

Or do you like being surprised?

An Adventure - Part 1

 Hello!

 Life is busy! I got called into work at the County Clerk's Office a week before I was scheduled to come in. Which means . . . I'm working the entire month of October! I thought I'd have this week to write, but so far I only wrote on Monday (started work Tuesday). I'm trying to get into a pattern for work, grading papers and preparing for the writing class I'm teaching, keeping up with emails, posting on Instagram, and other home things. So far I haven't gotten any pattern figured out yet. I've been doing lots and lots of filing so my shoulders, neck, and back are sore. 

Anyway, today's story is the first part of a 3 part story. I took the names, every one of them, from the ballot in August. I worked after the election helping certify the ballots which meant hand counting several hundred ballots and the boys names were all names that were in a row. We said them so many times we decided they must be a family. And that's how the story started.

 

An Adventure
Part 1

    “Bob, Joe, David!” Mom’s voice rang out from the house and across the large yard and into the trees beyond. “You boys get inside and clean up your room!”
    I looked at my younger brothers. “You seriously didn’t clean your room this morning, guys?”
    “We were going to–” Joe began.
    “Going to isn’t the same as getting it done,” I cut in. “Better go do it.”
    With groans and sighs, Bob, Joe, and David, ages ten, nine, and eight pushed out from our fort and trudged toward the house.
    “Tom, Randee!” Mom’s voice came again. “Better start on the chores and get the dogs put up.”
    “Coming, Mom!” I shouted back. “Let’s go, Tom. Come on, Lisa.” Tom was thirteen and I was fourteen. Lisa, our little tag-along sister, was almost six.
    It was Friday afternoon. We didn’t usually start chores this early, but maybe Mom thought it would take Tom and I longer since the three boys had to clean their room. Had it been some other job than our usual evening chores of taking care of the two horses, the chickens, and the dogs, I might have grumbled, but I like the animals.
    Leaving the shade of the trees, Tom and I jogged across the yard toward the barn with Lisa following like a shadow. As the only girl, and a rather cute one with brown pigtails, big brown eyes, and a few freckles over her nose, she was spoiled and teased and loved and bossed around by all of us boys. She stood it all pretty well and could give as well as she got most of the time. At least as well as someone her size and age could give. There were times when she’d pull the trump card and threaten to tell Mom if one of us wasn’t being nice, but she almost never did.
    “Lisa, I need you in the house!” Mom called again.
    I glanced over at Tom and gave a slight grin. If Lisa wasn’t around, we would get the chores done faster.
    “I’ve got the chickens,” Tom said, knowing that while I liked animals, putting the feathered fowls to bed was my least favorite job.
    “Thanks.” I jogged to the pasture and whistled for the horses. Since the weather was getting colder in the evenings, we’d started putting them in the barn for the night.
    It wasn’t until I was latching the gate of the dog’s kennel that it dawned on me just how early it was and how odd that we were doing chores already. And it wasn’t just the chores. We only put up the dogs if it was time for bed, company was coming over, or we were leaving.
    “Hey, Tom,” I called, striding over to my brother who had just finished taking care of the chickens. “Do you remember Mom saying anything about anyone coming over or us going somewhere?”
    Tom secured the door and shook his head. “Don’t remember anything. Why?”
    “It’s not even five-thirty, why did she tell us to put the dogs up?”
    He shrugged. Tom wasn’t much for talking if it wasn’t necessary.
    “Race you to the house.”
    Tom and I were even until the last few yard, then Tom pulled ahead. I can beat him in wrestling or anything to do with heavy lifting, but he always beats when it comes to speed.
    Inside the old farmhouse kitchen, we found Mom and Lisa bustling around packing a cooler.
    “Are we going somewhere, Mom?” I asked, eyeing the food already packed.
    “Yes.” She lifted her head and looked us both up and down. “Change your shirts and wash up. And check in on the boys, will you?”
    “Sure.” We left the kitchen and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. Tom headed right to our room to change while I made a stop at the boy’s room. Funny to think that we all called Bob, Joe, and David “the boys” even though Tom and I are boys too. That’s just the way it was though.
    “Bob, Joe, David,” I scolded, finding them messing around instead of cleaning up. “Get this room cleaned up. Mom said we’re going somewhere tonight.”
    “Where, Randee?” David asked.
    “I don’t know. Mom didn’t say. Now get to work.” I waited a moment until I was sure they were actually working and then went to the room Tom and I shared. Tom was already buttoning a clean flannel shirt, and I grabbed one from the closet.
    “Where do you think we’re going?” Tom asked.
    “No telling. You know Mom.”
    Mom was always coming up with random things for us to do or places to go. Sometimes we’d take a picnic into the woods on our land, or drive to a local park. We’ve picked up trash in Grandma and Grandpa’s neighborhood before, and another time we drove two hours and went hiking at a state park and ate our supper in the parking lot. I used to think it was to take our minds off Dad being away on deployment, but we do random things when he’s home too. Maybe Mom just likes spontaneity.
    “Bob, Joe, David, your room had better be cleaned up in two minutes because I’m going to come check it,” Mom called up the stairs.
    I shared a grin with Tom. It was almost never just Bob, or Joe, or David. They were usually called together. It was almost as though they shared a joint name: Bob Joe David. Sometimes our last name of Manning was tagged onto the end if they were in trouble or about to be in trouble.
    Mom’s voice interrupted my thoughts as I tucked in my shirt. “Tom, Randee, I could use you down here.”
    Our shoes thudded on the wooden stairs. “What do you need, Mom?” 

 

Do you like it so far?

Will you be back for next week's part?

What have you been doing?

Returning to Rest - Part 2

 Good morning!

Happy Friday! I hope you had a good week. I've stayed busy. Writing, nieces and nephews over, Instagram posts, reading, editing, working on some things for writing camp, and knitting. No lack of things here. I finally sent off 11 cradle sets to Bridget's Cradles. Glad to finally get them done and mailed so they can be used.

 It's gotten hot again here. Feels like summer. Yesterday it was 98ª F. Ugh! I'm ready for cooler weather! I want to wear sweaters and flannel and long sleeves. But fall will come even here. 

I know a few things might look a little odd on my blog right now. That's because I have to create my own backgrounds since I can't find any that I can use anymore. I'm still working on trying to get things just right.

I hope you enjoy the rest of this story. Next month I should have another one for you.

 

Returning to Rest - Part 2

 

    Leaning forward, Francis shielded his face with his hand and sat still.
    “The Lord has dealt bountifully with you! Yes, with you who have wandered from His rest. With you who have strayed. With you who have betrayed your Lord by word or deed. And yes, even with you who have still refused His offer of salvation. But you say you don’t see His bounty. Are your sins pardoned in the blood of the Lamb? Did you deserve it? That’s mercy and grace. Did you earn it? No, that’s the Lord dealing bountifully with you! So return. Return and rest. Dine with the Master and rest your weary soul in him.”
    Francis didn’t hear any more. He closed his eyes and let the thought of the bountiful goodness of the Lord put to flight the doubts and fears, the worries and discouragements, the shame and feelings of defeat that had long resided in his mind and heart.
    A hand rested on his shoulder and he started.
    “I didn’t mean to startled you.” It was the young man who had coaxed him to come in.
    Sitting up, Francis realized that the service was over. “It’s okay.” He coughed. “I was just thinking. Thanks for letting me come in. I–” He coughed again and reached for his wet jacket. “I’d best be going.”
    “Where are you staying? Do you need a ride? It’s gotten dark, and it looks like we might be in for another storm.”
    Francis shook his head and stood, looking toward the open door. It was dark out. Where would he sleep?
    A man with gray around his temples and a tired but peaceful look about his eyes stopped beside the pew. “Will you introduce me to your friend, Westley?”
    The young man grinned. “I’d be happy to, Uncle, but it seems we were so interested in the singing and the service that it never occurred to me to exchange names.” He turned to Francis and held out his hand. “I’m Westley Moore.”
    “Francis Cartwright.” Francis shook the offered hand. “Thanks for inviting me in and,” he slid the jacket off his shoulders and handed it back, “for the use of that. Mine was a little wet.”
    “Glad you came in. Oh, Uncle Paul, this is Francis. Francis, my uncle, Paul Eastman. Otherwise known as Dr. East.”
    “East? West–”
    Dr. East laughed at Francis’ bewildered expression. “I know, my sister had a strange sense of humor. But she was determined that her son wouldn’t be a physician, so she refused to name him after me. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand.
    Recalled to the social duties he had so long been excluded from, Francis put his hand in the offered one. “Did her plan work?”
    “Perhaps. I think Westley is more interested in helping souls than bodies. Where are you staying?”
    Francis shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
    “Have you had supper?” the doctor asked, eyeing him keenly.
    With a cough, Francis shook his head. “Supper costs money and money takes work and work hasn’t been found, though I’ve searched for it.”
    “Well, then,” Westley sounded eager, “you’ll not object if I press my claims on you and take you home to dinner.”
    “No, I–”
    “I wouldn’t object,” Dr. East said quietly. “Much more exposure to that cold and rain could land you in bed for weeks. That cough doesn’t sound good.”
    Westley turned toward a woman who was approaching. It was the one Francis had noticed playing the organ. “Mother, we have a relative who needs a good meal and a bed tonight. I invited him over. You don’t object, do you?”
    The woman addressed looked older than Dr. East, and her hair was liberally streaked with gray, but her cheeks were pink and she smiled. “Of course not. We always have room for one more. Or two. Paul, are you coming over?”
    Dr. East looked at his watch. “I’ll try to later, Dorcas. I need to stop by the Bridgeman’s and see how Laurel is doing.”
    “All right.” The woman turned to her son. “Are you ready, Westley?”
    “Just about. Oh, Mother, I’d like you to meet Francis Cartwright. Francis, my mother.”
    “Please to meet you, Mrs. Moore.”
    “Just call me Aunt Dorcas, Francis. If you are a relative, there’s no need to be formal.”
    “I’m not really a–”
    “Excuse me, Francis,” Westley interrupted, “but you are my brother, and that makes you a relative.” He looked at his mother. “I won’t be long, but I need to catch Mr. Ross a moment if I can.”
    Francis pulled on his still wet jacket and coughed.
    “That cough doesn’t sound good,” Mrs. Moore remarked. “Where have you been staying?”
    Francis shrugged. “Wherever I could find a place.”
    “That’s a good way to get sick. Oh, Rhoda,” Mrs. Moore turned quickly to another woman who was passing, “do you want me to pick you up for the sewing bee on Saturday?”
    Francis stood quietly in the back of the church and watched. Oh, to belong to a place like this. A place where one was welcomed as though returning home again. Home. What wouldn’t he give to be able to go home once more?
    A hand rested on his shoulder and a warm voice spoke.
    “My friend, I’m glad you came in tonight.”
    Francis turned and found the friendly face of the old minister beside him. “Thank you. I . . . Well, I wasn’t going to come in. Didn’t feel I had the right, for I had wandered away and denied my Lord, but Westley–”
    “Ah, Westley Moore is a servant of his Master. And what about you, my friend? Have you returned to your Lord?”
    Francis gave a faint nod. “Yes, sir. But I didn’t think . . . That is, I didn’t expect . . .” He floundered over his words and coughed. The minister waited silently, his hand still on Francis’s shoulder. “Well, I didn’t think there was a place for a sinner like me to have fellowship with the saints until glory.”
    “Ah, my friend,” the minister said with a smile, “our Lord forgives when we repent and turn from our wanderings and our sins. Are we better than our Lord?”
    His eyes on the floor, Francis shook his head. “No, sir. But other places–”
    “I’m sorry,” the minister said. “There are and probably will always be folks who forget about the log in their own eye. Have you a place to stay tonight?”
    “Yes, sir, he does!” Westley appeared beside them at that moment. “I’m taking him home.”
    The minister nodded. “That is good. By the way, Westley, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this evening. Weren’t you supposed to be helping in the city tonight?”
    “Yes, sir, but my truck wouldn’t start, and I knew if I took Mother’s car she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. So I phoned someone to take my place there. I think the Lord was in that plan.” He cast a smiling look at Francis.
    Francis couldn’t say a word. He was overcome by the Lord’s goodness to a sheep who had strayed. He knew he would not have come into the church or heard the message the minister had shared if it hadn’t been for Westley’s persuasiveness. The Lord had dealt bountifully with him.
    “Westley, are you ready now?” Mrs. Moore asked.
    “Yes, Mother. Francis?”
    Francis nodded, and gripping his walking stick, limped from the pew.
    “What did you do to make you limp so much?” Westley asked, offering an arm to lean on.
    “Fell and twisted my knee. I’ll be okay.”
    “Well, Uncle will be over later this evening, I’m sure. He can take a look at it then. Here we are.”
    And before Francis could protest that he couldn’t afford a doctor, he found himself in car being driven toward a warm home and a hot supper. He didn’t know what would come in the morning, but for now he was going to rest in the bountiful goodness of his Lord.

 

What have you been doing lately?

Are you enjoying your monthly story?

Returning to Rest - Part 1

 Good morning!

Fall is coming. It's been cooler in the mornings. Sometimes downright chilly. Some days are lovely but others are still warm. It has been dry and we could really use some rain.

I've been staying busy trying to get a lot of different things done. Things like the Christmas Play for church written, formatted, and parts to people, starting to teach my new writing students, writing, working on blog posts, figuring out how Instagram works and what to post there, yard work, and more. Life just doesn't slow down.

 Today's story is one I wrote last fall maybe? I shared it at KDWC, but thought I'd share it here now. Hope you enjoy this first part.

 

Returning to Rest - Part 1

    Francis shivered in his wet jacket as he crouched among the trees. He heard another motor and watched as a red pickup rattled down the rough road to join the other trucks and cars before the small, white church nestled against the scarlet trees. The autumn day had been wet and dreary. Even the bright colored trees had failed to lift Francis’s spirits.
    Why should they be lifted? He was alone, sick, hungry, out of work, and did he mention friendless and discouraged? If only he could find some place where he was needed! He’d walked for miles and miles with nothing to show for it except worn shoes and a cold.
    He coughed and hugged his jacket closer.
    A beam of light caught his eye, and he watched as the clouds broke, letting through a shaft of light that seemed to fall on the old church and make the trees glow.
    Music drifted from the open doors of the white structure.

“Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?”

    “Mama used to sing that song,” Francis whispered to himself.

“Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.”

    “Oh, if only I could!” The young man wiped away a tear. “If only I could gather with someone who believes, and be welcomed, I could be sure that– But no. Who would welcome someone like me? God has forgiven me and will take me home at the end, but until then–”
    The chorus rang out again in the clear evening air.

“Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.”

    “Yeah, well,” Francis sighed, moving into the open clearing in an attempt to catch what little warmth he could from the sun, “I ain’t no saint. They only gather with each other. But their singing sure is nice. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if I just stand nearby and listen.”
    Leaning on his walking stick and limping down the road, Francis listened to the singing coming from the white church.

“Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we ev’ry burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown.”

    A smile, too rarely seen on Francis’s face these last few years, turned up the corner of his lips. “I’d be happy with just a pair of warm socks, a dry jacket, and a place to warm up. Don’t need a crown.”
    He limped his slow way closer to the church where the sunlight seemed to be the strongest. Perhaps he could just sit in the sunshine and listen to the music. A cough made him stop and lean on his walking stick a minute just as the song ended. He hoped he wasn’t bothering anyone.
    The organ started another song as he found a seat on the rocky hillside next to the flag pole. He closed his eyes and sighed.
    “Why don’t you come in my friend?”
    Startled, Francis looked up. A young man around his own age stood before him. His smile was warm and friendly. “No, that’s okay,” Francis gasped out with a cough. “I ain’t deserving of being in there with . . .” He coughed again. “With nice folks like you. It’s just nice to hear songs about my Lord.”
    “Has the Lord saved you, my brother?”
    Francis nodded. “He did, and I’m mighty grateful, but well–” He cleared his throat. “I walked away from Him, and now–”
    The young man held out his hand. “Come on. The Lord is merciful and ready to forgive.”
    “But–”
    “Hear that song?”
    Francis listened to the words pouring from the simple church.

“Come and dine,” the Master calleth, “Come and dine”;
You may feast at Jesus’ table all the time;
He Who fed the multitude, turned the water into wine,
To the hungry calleth now, “Come and dine.”

    “It’s not for me,” Francis began, wishing it was for him. “I’ve strayed and am not worthy–
    “Listen,” the voice interrupted.

“The disciples came to land,
Thus obeying Christ’s command,
for the Master called unto them, “Come and dine”;”

    “Do you know when Jesus called those men to come and dine?” the young man asked, looking at Francis.
    He shook his head. It must have been nice to have been called by the Master to come and dine.
    “He called them all after they had forsaken Him before the cross. Peter had denied the Lord, and yet, there was forgiveness and compassion in the Master, my friend. He knew they were weary and sad, and He prepared food for them. Come inside, brother.”
    Was it true? Had this call to come and dine been given after some falling away from the Lord? Without even fully realizing what he was doing, Francis allowed the stranger to help him up and guide him into the warm church building.
    
“Come and dine,” the Master calleth, “Come and dine.”

    The words rang out from the small congregation gathered in the brightly lit church.

“To the hungry calleth now, “Come and dine.”

    Francis sat in the back pew beside the young man who had invited him in. He shivered a little.
    Before Francis quite understood what was happening, the young man had shucked off his own jacket and had tugged off the wet one Francis was wearing.
    “Here, put this one on,” he whispered.
    Francis shook his head, but the dry, warm jacket was put about his shoulders anyway.
    The congregation sang a few more songs, and then a white-haired man stepped up to the pulpit. “That was some fine singing, folks! Let’s gather and dine with our Master this evening.” He bowed his head and prayed.
    Francis, with a feeling that he hadn’t felt in a long time, bowed his head. Perhaps there was hope even for him.
    The passage for the sermon was from the book of Psalms. “Return unto thy rest, o my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.” The minister’s voice reached to the back of the small church. “Return unto thy rest. Return? What is this about returning? If the Lord has dealt bountifully with us, why have we need of returning to our rest? Oh, my friends, how often do we stray? How often do we wander? We allow worry or fear to drive us away from the rest our Lord has given us. Return? Yes! Perhaps you don’t feel worthy to return. You reason that it has been too long, you’ve gone too far, rest won’t happen until we cross that shining river.”
    Francis swallowed. He had been thinking that.
    “You know,” the minister went on. “I was thinking of Peter this evening as we sang about dining with our Master. He didn’t just have doubts or worries. He didn’t just run away like the other disciples when his Master was betrayed. No, Peter denied that he even knew his Lord! Oh, Peter! How miserable he must have felt! How worthless and hopeless. How ashamed. And yet our Lord called him to come and dine. The Lord prepared fish for Peter too. Return! Did Peter return? You better believe he did! Return unto the rest that the Master has given you!”
    Leaning forward, Francis shielded his face with his hand and sat still. 

Have you wandered and need to return?

Do you have fall weather?

Come back next Friday for the rest of the story.

A Man of His Word

 Good morning and happy August!

Life has been a whirlwind these last several weeks! Writing camp has come and gone. I've worked at the County Clerk's Office, worked as an Election Judge, and spent 7.5 hours hand counting ballots after the election. (Don't worry, we only count a small percentage of the polling places.) I have a long to-do list for this month and I'm trying to work my way through it. I have written and edited, ordered proof copies of two books, worked on blog posts, started to learn how to do something new, and wished I could just read these stories that are in my brain and have yet to be written or finished.

 Speaking of stories, here's one I wrote a while ago. I can't remember if it was last fall or in March. Anyway, it's been a while, so if you read it at camp perhaps you won't mind reading it again. And if you didn't read it at camp, I hope you enjoy it today.

 

A Man of His Word

    The colored leaves crunched under his horse’s hooves. Red leaves, yellow leaves, brown leaves, orange leaves. Different shapes and colors.
    But he didn’t notice.
    The ferns growing beside the stream where the earth was dampest were a mixture of gold and green, and their feathery texture was a sharp contrast to the rest of the foliage on the ground.
    But the rider didn’t notice.
    Setting in the western sky, the autumn sun cast a golden light on the leaves and onto the waters of the river as it raced down over the rocks in a variety of waterfalls that stretched from one bank to the other.
    But the rider didn’t notice.
    All he noticed were the faint tracks he was following and the chill in the air. The sun would soon be gone and with it the illusion of warmth it offered.
    “Please, Lord, let me find him soon.”
    He rode without calling, following the footpath that ran along the bank of the river.
    “Please, Lord, keep him safe. Help me find him.”
    He rode for some time until the sound of the waterfall was faint behind them and all around was still. Then his sharp ears caught the sound of something or someone. A slight pressure on the reins halted his horse, and both man and animal froze.
    “Why didn’t I think to bring a line so I could go fishin’?”
    The voice was just through the trees.
    As quietly as he could, the man slipped from the saddle and dropped the reins to the ground. He moved forward on quiet feet.
    There he was.
    The rider breathed a prayer of thanksgiving in his heart as he softly approached. “Ready to go home now, Robert?”
    The young man addressed turned quickly and almost lost his balance. The rider quickly caught his arm and steadied him before letting go.
    “I ain’t goin’ back.”
    “Why not?”
    Robert grunted. “You know why not. I’m no good. I’m not quick like the other boys. And I can’t do things with this bum leg of mine. It’s not good for anything.” And Robert glared down at his twisted leg.
    “Seems to me you can do a lot,” the other man replied calmly. “You walked nearly three miles with that leg of yours that you say isn’t good for anything.”
    “Yeah, well, I have a crutch.”
    “So.”
    “And I ain’t smart and quick like the other boys.”
    “What boys? Last I checked you and your sister didn’t have anyone else living on the farm.”
    Robert half turned away. “The boys in the village,” he muttered.
    “Oh. The ones who make fun of everything they don’t understand? Yeah, well, they made fun of me too.”
    “Of you, Mr. Spoke?”
    “Now see here, Robert, if I’m to marry your sister in a few months time, don’t you think it’s time you stopped making me feel so old? My name’s Albert. Let’s be family, shall we?”
    Robert didn’t move.
    “The sun’s setting.”
    Robert shrugged. “Yeah.”
    “It’s getting down right chilly here by the river.”
    Once again Robert shrugged. “So?”
    “So I think it’s time we headed back to the house for some supper. I think Ruth was making apple pie.”
    “Go ahead. No one’s keepin’ you.”
    “Yes, they are.”
    “Who?”
    “You.”
    Robert gave a snort. “I ain’t keepin’ you, Mr. Spoke.
    “Albert.”
    “Albert. You can just ride on back to the house and tell Ruth I left her a letter on the dresser in my room.”
    “Can’t.”
    This time Robert did turn. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean just that. I can’t go back to the house alone.”
    “Why not? Scared of my sister?”
    “No. But I am a man of my word. I told your sister that I wouldn’t come back without you, so either you’ll have to come back with me or I’ll have to go along with you. Of course, if I go with you, Ruth is going to worry a mighty lot. She might ride over to the neighbors and get a search party going. And they’d find us. Then what?”
    “Well, I wouldn’t go back!”
    “What do you plan to do?”
    “Go somewhere else.”
    “Somewhere where people won’t make fun of you?”
    The boy’s head dropped a little. “Yeah. And I’ll get me a job.”
    “Doing what?”
    Silence.
    “Robert, listen to me. Just because you can’t get the same grades in school as the other boys, it doesn’t mean you are dumb. Why there are some things that you know better than any boy in town.”
    “Like what?”
    “How to soothe a frightened horse, how to mend a bird’s broken wing. You are also strong. I’ve seen the things you do for Ruth, and she says you didn’t have any help. That stone wall is quite impressive. I couldn’t do it. And another thing, you are patient with the young ones. Those younger children look up to you in Sunday School, Robert. They don’t see your leg or care that you can’t do some example in calculus or read Latin; you know how to share God’s truth with the younger ones so they can understand it. Don’t you see, God has given you a work to do here, Robert. Don’t throw it all away because some boys laugh. They mocked our Lord, remember?”
    “But he didn’t have a gimpy leg and struggle to read and write!”
    “No.” Albert’s voice was quiet. “You’re right, Robert. Jesus was perfect. There was nothing to mock, but they did it anyway. Are you better than your Lord?”
    “No. But it’s hard, Mr. Spoke!”
    Albert ignored the wrong name this time. “I know. Jesus never promised it would be easy. But He did promise to always be with us. Can’t you return good for evil, Robert?”
    The boy sighed. “I can try. Can we go home now, Mr. Spoke?”
    “Albert.”
    “Albert. I’m going to have to practice on that.”
    “That’s okay,” Albert said with a grin. “Let’s go get my horse.”
    Together they walked slowly back to the patiently waiting horse. Albert gave the younger man a leg up and then swung himself on behind. “I sure hope Ruth hasn’t eaten all the supper and that apple pie herself!”
    “She won’t have,” Robert promised. “She knew you were a man of your word and would bring me home, Mr. Spoke.”
    “Albert.”
    “Albert.” Robert shook his head. “I hope your horse knows the way home because I don’t.”
    “Don’t worry, he does.”
    Dusk settled around them as they rode quickly down the footpath and then out to the road. There it was brighter, for there were no trees to hide the light still glowing in the sky. “Thank you, Lord,” Albert prayed silently. He hadn’t been entirely sure he would be able to talk Robert into coming home.

I hope you enjoyed this story.

What do you think happened next?

Paths 3 & 4

 

 

 Path 3

    Noah struggled to his feet once more. He gripped his crutch and looked ahead trying to ignore the pain in his wounded leg.
    The sky was overcast, and dark gray clouds spoke of an approaching storm. Already he could hear a few distant rumbles of thunder. A storm was not what he needed right now. He needed shelter.
    The road before him led up a gradual hill and one lone tree stood silhouetted against the sky like a lighthouse pointing the way or a lookout standing guard. On either side of the road, the green grass was covered with bright yellow flowers. From a distance they became a carpet of yellow. Bright and cheery. They were a stark contrast to the gray and menacing clouds overhead.
    Closing his eyes a moment, Noah seemed see not yellow flowers, but red poppies waving in the wind. Red like blood. Poppies like those that grew in–
    Quickly opening his eyes he shook his head. “No,” he said aloud. “I’m out of that now. It’s over. Done.”
    Until the next time.
    “Please, Lord, not another war like the last one! It was too much.” He glanced down at his legs. He still had them both, thank God, even though one might never be the same again. But others?
    Thunder rumbled again and a breeze stirred the flowers and cooled his heated face.
    “If I can just make it to that tree up there, perhaps I can find a barn or house. Somewhere to take shelter.”
    As he started limping slowly up the road, he began quoting the verses that had been his comfort and help for so many months.
    “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His Name’s sale.”
    A rumble that wasn’t thunder made him look behind him and then slowly limp to the side of the road as an automobile approached.
    The car came to a stop beside him and the driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Hop in. That storm’s going to break soon. Where are you heading?”
    Noah hesitated. “Looking for shelter right now and then a job. If one’s to be found for me.”
    “Well, climb in.” The driver was a middle aged man with a friendly smile. “My farm is just over the hill here. You’re welcome to stay for a spell until you find a job.”
    Gratefully, Noah climbed in the car and it started off again.
    “Were you in the war?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did you do before that?”
    “I was in college. Wanted to be a teacher.”
    “Do you still?”
    “Still want to teach? Yes. I think so.”
    The car bounced over a rock.
    “Name’s Armstrong, by the way,” the driver said. “Herbert Armstrong.”
    “Noah Grey.”
    “I just might know of a job for you, Noah. The school in town is looking for someone to take over the upper classes come fall. I can get you in touch with the school superintendent if you like.”
    They passed the tree and started down the hill on the other side toward a cozy stone farm house.
    “I’d like that. Thank you. I was just praying for directions this morning and now–”
    “The good Lord leads, does He not?”

Path 4

    Vivienne stared at the path before them. “Oh, come on,” she said, folding her arms. “You don’t expect me to believe this is a real path, do you?”
    Lucy exchanged puzzled looks with Milly. “Um, yes, it’s a real path. What else would it be?”
    “Ha!” Vivienne remained standing. “Come one. I know a photoshopped picture when I see one. Even if it’s printed on a huge canvas. I live in Hollywood, remember? I even think I see the edge of the canvas right–” she pointed. “There.”
    “Where?” Milly and Lucy asked at once.
    “Right where that strip of dark on the path is.”
    Lucy and Milly stared at the path before them. It was lined on either side by huge trees whose branches arched overhead forming a canopy of shade in summer. Now it was spring and only buds could be seen on the branches. The grass on either side was a bright green with cheerful little flowers growing here and there. Down the path a little way, the light seemed to glow. The girls knew the sun had to be just right for the path to glow like it was now, but they didn’t expect to have to convince their cousin from California that it wasn’t fake.
    “Did the boys do this to try an fool me?” Vivienne asked.
    “No,” Milly said.
    “And it’s not fake,” Lucy put in. “The sun does make it seem to glow for a short time, but it’s a real path and it really will lead to the old mansion.”
    Vivienne tossed her head. “Sure it does. Then you two take this path and I’ll run back and join the adults on the road.” She laughed. “If it was a real path they’d be coming this way. You all can’t trick me. So long!” With that she turned, ran back to the house and joined the adults on the road.
    Lucy looked at Milly. “Well, now what? Should we go and walk on the road?”
    “And convince Vivienne that this is all fake? I don’t think so. Come on. The boys said they’d catch up with us as soon as they finished whatever they were doing for Dad.”
    “But Mom said we were to be friendly and help entertain Viv,” Lucy protested faintly.
    “Well, we can’t do that if she won’t come with us. Mom will understand. Come on.”
    After one more glance back and seeing Vivienne’s mocking face watching them, Lucy nodded. “Okay. Let’s go. Maybe she’ll realize it’s not fake and join us.”
    “Maybe.” There was no conviction in Milly’s voice.

 

Do you have a favorite path story here?

Do you like really short things like today's post?

Or do you like longer stories?

Paths 1 & 2

 Hi!

Here are 2 short stories I wrote for 2 picture prompts at writing camp. Neither one is very long which is why you get two of them. I hope you enjoy.

I'm staying busy with writing and getting ready for camp and life, and trying to get as many extra things done as I can before camp starts and before I head to work for 2-3 weeks at the County Clerk's Office.

 

 Path 1

    The old man trudged up the winding brick road pausing at the light-post but whether to catch his breath or to wait for someone, I couldn’t tell. His coat was brown and matched the rest of his surroundings that chilly autumn day. Except for the overcast sky, the only things not drab and bare were the turquoise flower pots lining the side of the building. I wondered who the old man was and where he was going but I wasn’t fluent in the language to ask. I loved these quite brick streets that almost doubled back on themselves only on a higher level. So much more interesting than the paved black streets back home where one couldn’t pause on the stone wall and look down on the brick street you had just been on.
    Oh, I never could describe this scene. I’ve tried. My friends just send me polite messages back with things like “neat” or “how nice” but I know they can’t see it. They can’t feel the chill in the air or smell the bread and coffee from the little shop just behind me. They can’t watch the old man begin his slow walk up the road. The can’t imagine the old light posts with actual flames that get lit when darkness comes and that burn all night casting their flickering light over the uneven road. They can’t understand why my heart is here even if I don’t know the language yet. They didn’t hear the still small voice that whispered, “This is the way, walk ye in it,” that first morning I walked up this very road.
    I want to share Christ here. To love the young and the old, to laugh with the people, to cry when they do, and to live a live so that others may see my Savior.
    The old man has turned the corner and I can no longer see him. Perhaps if I get my bike which is leaning over there on the railing, I can follow the old man and at least offer him a smile.

Path 2

    Lisa stopped and set down her suitcase in the middle of the road. Early morning sunlight streamed through the trees on her right creating lines and making the green leaves of the trees shine. Even the moss growing on the ground seemed to be a deeper, richer green than she’d ever seen before.
    She drew a deep breath. Everything was fresh and clean after last night’s shower. She could smell the damp earth, the decaying leaves, and somewhere, hidden in the woods, were flowers, for she could smell their sweet perfume.
    “A fresh morning and a fresh start.”
    She glanced back the way she had come and shook her head. She was thankful to be leaving that place. Mr. and Mrs. Steel had given her a roof over her head for four years, but that was about it. Lisa had lost count of the number of times someone in the family had told her she wasn’t worth the food she ate, or reminded her that she was a charity case even though she worked from sunup to sundown.
    With a shudder at the memories of slaps, yells, little food, and worse, Lisa was ready for something different. Something better.
    Last night had been the last straw. She had packed her things into the battered old suitcase that had once belonged to her mother and stolen out of the house when everyone was still sleeping. Afraid to walk the path though the woods at night for fear she wouldn’t find the road, she had slept in the barn. When the first light of dawn had come, she slipped away and through the woods until she came to the road. She didn’t have much in her suitcase, but a few worn changes of clothes and the Bible a lady at the little brown church down in the village had given her last summer when she had ventured to see what all the talk was about. Though Lisa didn’t understand everything she read in her little Book, her heart hungered for more.
    “I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.” Softly she repeated the verse which had led to to making the decision to leave the only home she knew and venture forth into the unknown.
    “Abraham went forth,” she whispered, “and he didn’t know where he was going. But the Lord led him.”
    Dropping to her knees there in the road, with the sunlight streaming around her, Lisa prayed. “Oh, Lord, please lead me in the way You want me to go just like You led Abraham.”

 

Which path story did you like better?

 Do you like pictures of paths?

Next month I'll have 2 more paths for you.