The last entry of the year.
The Prompt: I got this idea from Max Lucado. Put Jesus in modern times. He
is a plumber named Bob who just fed a football field of people ham
sandwiches. He took a little boy’s lunch of ham sandwiches and pretzels
and fed 5,000 people. He goes into hospitals and heals people. He
claims he is the Son of God, but the religious leaders say he’s not. He
healed the son of a senator from California and healed a general’s
butler. Now a write a short story about how folks see him. What
happens?
A group of coworkers were drinking cocktails at their year end office party when Barbara brought up the headlines of yesterday's paper.
"Did you hear what Bob the plumber did now?"
One guy sniggered at the mention of Bob's twin. "What? Pull apart a pair of siamese twins with his bare hands?"
"Something like that," she sipped her drink. "He healed Senator Davis' son. Apparently all he did was visit the boy in the hospital, lay his hand on him, and say, 'Your faith will make you well, my son, walk.' "
The group laughed. "It sounds like something from a bad movie," a third person, Arnold, commented.
"Yeah, and then ghostly occurrences start happening," a blond named Maria joked.
The first man, Ed, continued, "Bob is just a guy who's running a scam. I can't believe people actually take this guy seriously. I mean who ever heard of a plumber who heals people? He has no medical training. Plus a plumber is such a disgusting job. I'd slightly more believe this stuff coming from an office man or government official, but not a plumber. He might as well be a sanitation worker."
"They need to lock him up," Maria agreed,
Barbara nibbled on an appetizer. "They looked into his family history, to see if there was anything fishy, but found nothing. He came up clean."
Ed sniffed, "He probably paid people off."
Arnold finished the last drop of his drink, "He's like the latest cult leader."
Marcia, one of the quieter girls, had been shifting in her seat as she listened to the conversation. She cleared her throat. "I actually think Bob is a greater man than you are making him out to be. He sounds crazy the way you guys are talking about him, but he's more than that. I, I think he really is divinely inspired."
Ed and Arnold snickered. The rest of the group was too polite to make fun of her.
"Look, Marcia," Barbara said, "I'm a Christian, but you have to be careful. Just because someone claims he's from heaven doesn't mean he actually is. There are godly signs and his motives to consider."
"But I have. Look at all the good he has done. He follows the Bible. Everything he says, everything he has done has aligned with the Scriptures. I even saw him at one of his meetings. The way he speaks captures your attention, and when he looks at your eyes, you feel loved by him. He's the real thing."
Barbara could tell Marcia was convinced of Bob's authenticity and couldn't think of any other ways in persuading her otherwise. Ed shrugged it off as emotional tricks, and one of the men shifted the conversation to current sports news. A few of the participants were oddly quiet though as they thought about the possibility that Marcia had suggested.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Author's Picks for Oct/Nov
The lines for these two months are blurry, so I am combining both months into the top five. These are basically all my school posts.
5. Day 272: Ballet Memories~ Especially after seeing the Nutcracker for Christmas, this was fun to think about. I do want to write more about this someday.
4. Day 278-282: Confessions of a Disney Princess Fan~ This is a fun one.
3. Day 266: The Absence of Nature~ One of the my favorite poems I wrote this semester. Beauty is found in the most unlikely places.
2. Day 256: Reversing Your Mindset~ Again, another thing I struggle with. It's an important lesson to remember. This was actually from November.
1. Day 257: That's How I Love~I enjoyed thinking about this, and I liked writing it. I actually came across something in a book that I was reading that reiterated this, saying "God the Mother" can be seen through specific Hebrew words that were used in the Bible. God loves us as a mother deeply loves her child. We can do no wrong, and it hurts Him deeply when we hurt Him.
5. Day 272: Ballet Memories~ Especially after seeing the Nutcracker for Christmas, this was fun to think about. I do want to write more about this someday.
4. Day 278-282: Confessions of a Disney Princess Fan~ This is a fun one.
3. Day 266: The Absence of Nature~ One of the my favorite poems I wrote this semester. Beauty is found in the most unlikely places.
2. Day 256: Reversing Your Mindset~ Again, another thing I struggle with. It's an important lesson to remember. This was actually from November.
1. Day 257: That's How I Love~I enjoyed thinking about this, and I liked writing it. I actually came across something in a book that I was reading that reiterated this, saying "God the Mother" can be seen through specific Hebrew words that were used in the Bible. God loves us as a mother deeply loves her child. We can do no wrong, and it hurts Him deeply when we hurt Him.
Author's Picks for September
3. Day 251: Analyzing a Love Triangle~ This was an academic exercise, but this class has stayed with me on views of love and relationships. It's fun seeing how compatible two characters might be for each other. It's good to be conscious of what is going on during a relationship too.
2. Day 242: Frenchman's Rock~ My sister and I loved inventing this story. I think it is uploaded on Fan Fiction now, called Chipmunks of the Atlantic. It's a Go to the Movies spoof from Pirates of the Caribbean.
1. Day 241: A Losing Battle~ This post is still relatable to me now.
2. Day 242: Frenchman's Rock~ My sister and I loved inventing this story. I think it is uploaded on Fan Fiction now, called Chipmunks of the Atlantic. It's a Go to the Movies spoof from Pirates of the Caribbean.
1. Day 241: A Losing Battle~ This post is still relatable to me now.
Day 304: Meeting of the Queens
The Prompt: Queen Esther and ex-queen Vashti meet. What do they say? Esther 1
Esther was walking through the village streets, greeting her people and hoping to visit some of her old friends, when she stumbled into a haggard cloaked woman. "Forgive me. I didn't see you come out from behind the stall."
The woman set down the cloak from her hood and studied the young queen. Esther noticed she looked Persian. Her face, once youthful and treated with beauty products regularly, showed faint wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her hair was frizzled. Her clothes looked worn, like she traveled often. Aside from the few fine jewels she wore hidden beneath the cloak, Esther thought she was poor.
"You don't know who I am, do you?" she asked accusingly.
"No, should I?"
"No, you probably wouldn't recognize me anyways," the bitter voice answered. "My name is Vashti."
Esther couldn't help but gasp, causing the woman to snicker sarcastically. "Didn't expect that, did you?"
"Are you sick?" she asked quietly.
Vashti scoffed. "This is what happens when your king dumps you."
"I'm so sorry th-"
"You're prettier than I imagined," Vashti interrupted, obviously not paying attention to her. "Of course nothing finer for his Majesty. I suppose he acts like he loves you."
"Well yes-"
"Don't believe him. He'll get tired of you soon enough, just as he tired of me. Then you'll be disposable."
Esther's eyes mirrored the hurt Vashti displayed. "If you need anything at all, Vashti, my ladies and I would be more than willing to help. I can get you food, a place to stay."
"I don't need handouts from my replacement," she scoffed. "I should be on my way. Lovely to meet you, Highness." She gave an exaggerated curtsy and left.
Esther watched where she walked, making a mental note when she would need to deliver something to Vashti later. "I'll be praying for you."
Day 303: Blood Money
The Prompt: Continuing with the previous prompt, what happened to Delilah when she heard about Samson’s punishment and death? Judges 16.
Delilah had been drinking wine in the city with a man she had met earlier that day when she found out the news.
"Come on, Delilah, g-give us-s a kiss," he slurred as he pulled her chin to his face.
"Get off me." She slapped him as she rose from his side and walked to where she heard the news. "Repeat what you said, merchant," she commanded to a middle-aged man who had arrived an hour ago, "about that blind slave."
"Oh, Samson?" he asked, his breath making Delilah step back a pace. "Like I said, the Philistines had chained him in the square, as a sort of trophy exhibition, and he called something out to his God about getting revenge on the Philistines. He knew he would die with them when he pushed against those pillars. Selfish suicide. If you ask me, I don't think he could take the pain anymore and claimed he took his life as an 'act of God.' They dug him out of the rubble later, all bruised and squished."
"Are they sure it was him?" her voice cracked.
"Saw the same scars on his arms and backs from the whippings of a slave. Plus he had Israelite blood."
Delilah walked out the inn and into the dusty streets. She wasn't sure where her feet took her. Dead. Samson, the strong, powerful Samson, was dead, and by his own hand. She shook her head.
"Serves him right. I told him he shouldn't have gotten himself involved with the Philistines." It shocked her to think that she had barely thought of Samson after she betrayed him. The hurt in his eyes and voice had stayed with her like a shoulder out of joint, but wine and new people had buried it deep in her mind. "I didn't kill him," she tried to reassure herself as she heard the jingle of silver in her bag. A few steps more, and she pulled a coin out. She fingered its bumpy edges.
"Blood money," a voice whispered. She heard Samson's screams of agony as the boulders crunched his bones, just as he had crunched the bones of his enemies with the donkey's bone.
"I didn't kill him!" she screamed. Tears flung from her eyes as she whipped the bag to the ground and ran down the path.
Day 302: Love, Lust, and Power
The Prompt: Did Delilah really love Samson? Write a 500 or more short story about them. If she loved him, then why did she betray him? If not, then why did she stay with him?
Delilah stared into her small, cracked hand mirror and brushed out her long dark locks, counting the strokes. When she had satisfied herself with her hair's texture, she started braiding her hair, weaving in jewels and ribbons.
"Delilah," a deep voice spoke from the entrance to her tent.
"Samson, come in, darling," her sultry voice greeted.
"You look beautiful."
"As always," she grinned.
"I brought you something." Samson pulled out something from his canvas bag.
"A new hand mirror. Samson, you do know how to care for me." She wrapped herself into his large chiseled arms and drank in the kisses he rained over her face and hair.
Delilah had never met a more passionate, devoted, powerful lover, both physically and politically. Samson stood against the Philistines and had the admiration of nearly every Israelite he came across. With Samson, she had never known hunger. He treated her like a princess, with a new gift almost every time he saw her. He stated often how much he loved her, and she would reply with a kiss. Why wouldn't she stay with such a man? She didn't necessarily believe in his God, but that was a flaw she could ignore, as long as he didn't bring Him up.
She liked to think that she loved Samson, but she had never really been "in love" with him. She enjoyed his company but they never quite saw the issues the same way. She thought he was wasting his time campaigning against the Philistines, and she could never convince him to do what she wanted. It was Delilah's wish for them to travel, forget others, and live for themselves, but Samson was too stubborn to listen. He cared about helping his people. She couldn't understand why he gave away money to the poor when others could care for them. She couldn't understand why God seemed so important. She was restless but tried not to let it show. She couldn't afford to lose Samson.
When the Philistines came with an offer, she had at first refused. She didn't trust them and knew Samson would destroy them in a matter of days. But the money was too tempting to pass up. Like Judas, her love for money surpassed the love of man. Perhaps she didn't think Samson would be hurt too bad. Then they could use the money to get away together. An opportunity like this could not be passed up.
So when she went about trying to find his weakness, she put what she was doing to him out of her mind and focused on the end goal. Rich new clothes, several lovers, an exotic life away. She found she enjoyed having power over the weakened Samson, just as she had always had the upper hand in their relationship, and she taunted him to the song that she used to sing to him during one of their late nights. When she was bored of her new life, or when her money ran out, she would return to Samson. His love for her was so strong that he would wait an eternity for her.
Day 301: 'Twas The Night Before New Years
The Prompt: Write a Christmas poem parody of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, only write it about an unexpected guest who isn’t Santa.
I'm adjusting this to fit in with the next holiday now. It's slightly abridged.
'Twas the night before New Years
and all through the house,
not a curtain was stirring,
not even from a louse.
The streamers were hung from the ceiling with care
in hopes that a light show would be seen in the air.
The appetizers were nestled all snug in the fridge,
while the card table was set up for our game of bridge.
Dressed in black sparkles and my hair sprayed like that,
I was waiting for my date to visit my flat.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter
I sprang to the door to see what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but my miniature self and one from eight future years.
The girl wore a shirt featuring a show from Nick
and I knew in a moment it was 7 year old Nic.
The woman wore a ring, a bright smile shone through
Happier than me, and had a picture of children too.
I stepped a few paces back as they dropped from the roof.
I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or my brain was aloof.
They walked in happily, stretching their backs,
Then sat on the couch, beckoning me to come back.
Nicole, it's me, when your days were more merry.
And you haven't met me, but I'm not different very.
We know you are worried for the next year to show
But we're here to tell you to let the worry the go.
I'm here to remind you of a happier elf.
One full of joy, who believed in herself.
And I'm from a time not so far ahead
to show that you've got nothing to dread.
You're so focused on your goals pertaining to work
that you've forgotten that life has more simple perks.
Show love to others, be nice to those
who stare down at you from the tip of your nose.
Most importantly, hope in God, and obey Him
and you'll never worry for anything again.
Then I heard them exclaim as they disappeared from sight,
Always remember things turn out alright!
I'm adjusting this to fit in with the next holiday now. It's slightly abridged.
'Twas the night before New Years
and all through the house,
not a curtain was stirring,
not even from a louse.
The streamers were hung from the ceiling with care
in hopes that a light show would be seen in the air.
The appetizers were nestled all snug in the fridge,
while the card table was set up for our game of bridge.
Dressed in black sparkles and my hair sprayed like that,
I was waiting for my date to visit my flat.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter
I sprang to the door to see what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but my miniature self and one from eight future years.
The girl wore a shirt featuring a show from Nick
and I knew in a moment it was 7 year old Nic.
The woman wore a ring, a bright smile shone through
Happier than me, and had a picture of children too.
I stepped a few paces back as they dropped from the roof.
I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or my brain was aloof.
They walked in happily, stretching their backs,
Then sat on the couch, beckoning me to come back.
Nicole, it's me, when your days were more merry.
And you haven't met me, but I'm not different very.
We know you are worried for the next year to show
But we're here to tell you to let the worry the go.
I'm here to remind you of a happier elf.
One full of joy, who believed in herself.
And I'm from a time not so far ahead
to show that you've got nothing to dread.
You're so focused on your goals pertaining to work
that you've forgotten that life has more simple perks.
Show love to others, be nice to those
who stare down at you from the tip of your nose.
Most importantly, hope in God, and obey Him
and you'll never worry for anything again.
Then I heard them exclaim as they disappeared from sight,
Always remember things turn out alright!
Day 300: Kidnapped by Santa
The Prompt: You wake up in a daze only to find out you’ve been kidnapped and are
currently tied up to a chair. After hours of unsuccessfully trying to
escape, a door starts to open. Your kidnapper is none other than—Santa
Claus? Write a story explaining why Santa kidnapped you and what he
intends to do with you.
It was dark. My wrists hurt from the chafing, and this chair wasn't very comfortable. I hadn't seen Santa since he had shoved my into a velvet sack smelling of peppermint. I had been a little skeptical of believing in Santa since my teenage years, but not even I could deny the North Pole cold, the elves, the industrious atmosphere of the workshop, or the twinkle in Santa's eye before he locked me in this dark room, I assumed his office. Meeting Santa was sort of like meeting Jesus, not that that's an accurate comparison. It's just how the two would make you feel if you stared into their faces. You just know.
I wasn't sure how long I was tied there before Santa finally walked in again, carrying a tray with hot chocolate and slice of Mrs. Claus' pie. He locked the door behind him, set the tray on his broad knees as he eased into a chair across from mine, and took the gag off.
"How are you feeling?" he asked jovially. "I thought you might be hungry so I brought you little something to nibble on. Mrs. Claus is famous around here for her apple pie, but I prefer the cobbler."
"Why did you kidnap me?" a voice mixed with shock and indignation answered.
"Oh, cut right to the chase, huh?"
"I thought Santa was a happy, giving guy, not someone who commits federal offenses."
Santa set the tray on his desk and sighed as he rubbed his brow. "Mark, it was not an easy decision for me to do this to you, but it was the only solution I could think to stop you."
I was taken aback. "Stop me, from what?"
"In the last few years, you haven't had much Christmas spirit, not since your paycut, the move, and your girlfriend leaving you."
My face was red, and I stopped myself from asking him how he knew those things. The answer was obvious.
"Now I feel terrible for adults who suffer through rough patches. After all, they're the ones who need my gifts the most. I miss giving you gifts, but I can't reward people who don't believe in me anymore. That would take away from the young at heart who do believe. But when you start affecting children, I need to make it my business."
He didn't need to explain that part. I used to be one of the top history teachers at a private school, but two years ago, I had to settle for a crummy public school job. I hated it, and I guess I took it out on my second grade students. I had a reputation for being one of the meanest teachers at school, but I could get results. I was also dubbed as the worst Scrooge anyone had ever met. I guess I killed more of my students' Christmas spirit than I thought.
"You needed an intervention, my boy, before you hurt anyone else, especially yourself. Your so-called 'friends' couldn't help you anymore, so I took matters into my own hands. You used to be one of my biggest fans, so I figured the best way to get you to believe in me was to show you what you had longed to see when you were little."
"Santa's worshop," I thought.
"Let's get you untied, now that I know you won't try to beat me up, so I can show you around."
Santa's plan was working already.
It was dark. My wrists hurt from the chafing, and this chair wasn't very comfortable. I hadn't seen Santa since he had shoved my into a velvet sack smelling of peppermint. I had been a little skeptical of believing in Santa since my teenage years, but not even I could deny the North Pole cold, the elves, the industrious atmosphere of the workshop, or the twinkle in Santa's eye before he locked me in this dark room, I assumed his office. Meeting Santa was sort of like meeting Jesus, not that that's an accurate comparison. It's just how the two would make you feel if you stared into their faces. You just know.
I wasn't sure how long I was tied there before Santa finally walked in again, carrying a tray with hot chocolate and slice of Mrs. Claus' pie. He locked the door behind him, set the tray on his broad knees as he eased into a chair across from mine, and took the gag off.
"How are you feeling?" he asked jovially. "I thought you might be hungry so I brought you little something to nibble on. Mrs. Claus is famous around here for her apple pie, but I prefer the cobbler."
"Why did you kidnap me?" a voice mixed with shock and indignation answered.
"Oh, cut right to the chase, huh?"
"I thought Santa was a happy, giving guy, not someone who commits federal offenses."
Santa set the tray on his desk and sighed as he rubbed his brow. "Mark, it was not an easy decision for me to do this to you, but it was the only solution I could think to stop you."
I was taken aback. "Stop me, from what?"
"In the last few years, you haven't had much Christmas spirit, not since your paycut, the move, and your girlfriend leaving you."
My face was red, and I stopped myself from asking him how he knew those things. The answer was obvious.
"Now I feel terrible for adults who suffer through rough patches. After all, they're the ones who need my gifts the most. I miss giving you gifts, but I can't reward people who don't believe in me anymore. That would take away from the young at heart who do believe. But when you start affecting children, I need to make it my business."
He didn't need to explain that part. I used to be one of the top history teachers at a private school, but two years ago, I had to settle for a crummy public school job. I hated it, and I guess I took it out on my second grade students. I had a reputation for being one of the meanest teachers at school, but I could get results. I was also dubbed as the worst Scrooge anyone had ever met. I guess I killed more of my students' Christmas spirit than I thought.
"You needed an intervention, my boy, before you hurt anyone else, especially yourself. Your so-called 'friends' couldn't help you anymore, so I took matters into my own hands. You used to be one of my biggest fans, so I figured the best way to get you to believe in me was to show you what you had longed to see when you were little."
"Santa's worshop," I thought.
"Let's get you untied, now that I know you won't try to beat me up, so I can show you around."
Santa's plan was working already.
Day 299: The Stealing Elf on a Shelf
I found some Christmas-themed prompts on another website. Here is the first of a few I will be doing. I had already planned them but couldn't get around to finishing them until now.
The Prompt: You brought an Elf on the Shelf into your home, but instead of him visiting Santa every night, you believe that he is mysteriously stealing money from your wallet and taking nightly trips to (fill in the blank) [your kitchen]. One night you stay awake and secretly follow him to find out the truth. Write this scene.
It all started when I saw some broken glass near the tree skirt where an ornament had broke. Thinking I hit it while vacuuming earlier, I swept it up and didn't think anymore about it. I saw cookie crumbs near his cot the next day. Three cookies were missing from the fresh batch of peanut butter blossoms I had made. The elf on a shelf- I named him Brownie- never looked any different from how I had positioned him on the bed I had borrowed from my childhood dollhouse. Brownie usually slept in his little cot I set up under the tree. Each day I would position him in various spots around the house and tuck him into bed at night. I thought he'd enjoy looking at the ornaments as he drifted off.
Little things started disappearing. A whole box of toothpicks, the pen from my organizer, bits of ribbon. I thought I had misplaced them. I was always losing things. It started getting serious when, a few days later, I went to pay for my peppermint mocha at Starbucks when I saw I was three dollars short. I dismissed any doubt in my mind that I was robbed, thinking I had miscounted how much money I had in my wallet, and paid with my card. When it happened a second time, I moved where I kept my wallet from my purse to a dresser drawer. I wasn't sure how much that would help, but it eased my nerves.
A couple days before Christmas, a pair of of my Christmas earrings went missing right off my dresser. I looked under the dresser, in my jewelry box. They had vanished. I started getting nervous now that a robber was breaking into my house, but it didn't make sense that the burglar was stealing fairly inexpensive things. I mentally went through my head who the culprit might be. I was no Sherlock Holmes, but I couldn't bother the police with something as miniscule as this. They would never take me seriously. I felt the items seemed somewhat personal, so the person must know me. I had no hired help, no one who had a copy of my key. My doors and windows were always locked. Was it my next door neighbor Gladys? She always did act a bit odd. My best friend Margie as a Christmas prank? It couldn't have been my sister. She was in vacation at Tierra del Fuego. It must be mice, I joked and decided to get some sleep.
Drowsiness tugged at my eyelids, but different suspects kept flashing through my head. I groaned as I tossed from side to side until my mouth went dry. Grumbling that I had to leave my comfy sheets, I slipped on my robe and creaked downstairs to get some water and maybe a cookie. On the third to last step, I thought I heard rustling near the tree. When I went to look, everything was still. Brownie's feet though were sticking out from the blanket on the cot, and I distinctly noted the bed was moved. For a minute, I thought my toy was alive. He was the only person that made sense. I decided I would sit up and watch him.
"What am I saying? My toy elf comes alive at night, like Toy Story?" I shook my head. "But what harm would it do to watch?"
I grabbed my drink and munched a couple Spritz cookies at the top of my steps, waiting until Brownie thought it was safe to come out again. The silence dragged on until ten past one. I pinched myself to stay awake and thought back to when I was a kid and did this to try to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. Jingling bells interrupted my thoughts and I almost tripped as I moved downstairs.
Brownie was gone, the blanket thrown aside on the tree skirt. I strained my eyes to see where he might be. My skin crawling with goosebumps. I prayed he didn't see me as I came out of the staircase. Faint humming to "The First Noel" drew my attention to my kitchen, and Brownie skipped out carrying tubed icing. The bells on his shoes jingled, and his hat shifted across his eyebrows. He stopped in front of the tree and dragged out something from behind my small mound of presents.
It was a gingerbread house, just a few inches taller than Brownie. Toothpicks framed the windows and buttons, Hershey's kisses, and hardened globs of frosting made designs on the walls. Dangling over the door were my earrings, fashioned into a makeshift wreath. A card sticking from the sides said it was addressed to me from Santa. Touched by this gift, I crept noiselessly back into bed and thought of what I could buy my hardworking elf in return.
The Prompt: You brought an Elf on the Shelf into your home, but instead of him visiting Santa every night, you believe that he is mysteriously stealing money from your wallet and taking nightly trips to (fill in the blank) [your kitchen]. One night you stay awake and secretly follow him to find out the truth. Write this scene.
It all started when I saw some broken glass near the tree skirt where an ornament had broke. Thinking I hit it while vacuuming earlier, I swept it up and didn't think anymore about it. I saw cookie crumbs near his cot the next day. Three cookies were missing from the fresh batch of peanut butter blossoms I had made. The elf on a shelf- I named him Brownie- never looked any different from how I had positioned him on the bed I had borrowed from my childhood dollhouse. Brownie usually slept in his little cot I set up under the tree. Each day I would position him in various spots around the house and tuck him into bed at night. I thought he'd enjoy looking at the ornaments as he drifted off.
Little things started disappearing. A whole box of toothpicks, the pen from my organizer, bits of ribbon. I thought I had misplaced them. I was always losing things. It started getting serious when, a few days later, I went to pay for my peppermint mocha at Starbucks when I saw I was three dollars short. I dismissed any doubt in my mind that I was robbed, thinking I had miscounted how much money I had in my wallet, and paid with my card. When it happened a second time, I moved where I kept my wallet from my purse to a dresser drawer. I wasn't sure how much that would help, but it eased my nerves.
A couple days before Christmas, a pair of of my Christmas earrings went missing right off my dresser. I looked under the dresser, in my jewelry box. They had vanished. I started getting nervous now that a robber was breaking into my house, but it didn't make sense that the burglar was stealing fairly inexpensive things. I mentally went through my head who the culprit might be. I was no Sherlock Holmes, but I couldn't bother the police with something as miniscule as this. They would never take me seriously. I felt the items seemed somewhat personal, so the person must know me. I had no hired help, no one who had a copy of my key. My doors and windows were always locked. Was it my next door neighbor Gladys? She always did act a bit odd. My best friend Margie as a Christmas prank? It couldn't have been my sister. She was in vacation at Tierra del Fuego. It must be mice, I joked and decided to get some sleep.
Drowsiness tugged at my eyelids, but different suspects kept flashing through my head. I groaned as I tossed from side to side until my mouth went dry. Grumbling that I had to leave my comfy sheets, I slipped on my robe and creaked downstairs to get some water and maybe a cookie. On the third to last step, I thought I heard rustling near the tree. When I went to look, everything was still. Brownie's feet though were sticking out from the blanket on the cot, and I distinctly noted the bed was moved. For a minute, I thought my toy was alive. He was the only person that made sense. I decided I would sit up and watch him.
"What am I saying? My toy elf comes alive at night, like Toy Story?" I shook my head. "But what harm would it do to watch?"
I grabbed my drink and munched a couple Spritz cookies at the top of my steps, waiting until Brownie thought it was safe to come out again. The silence dragged on until ten past one. I pinched myself to stay awake and thought back to when I was a kid and did this to try to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. Jingling bells interrupted my thoughts and I almost tripped as I moved downstairs.
Brownie was gone, the blanket thrown aside on the tree skirt. I strained my eyes to see where he might be. My skin crawling with goosebumps. I prayed he didn't see me as I came out of the staircase. Faint humming to "The First Noel" drew my attention to my kitchen, and Brownie skipped out carrying tubed icing. The bells on his shoes jingled, and his hat shifted across his eyebrows. He stopped in front of the tree and dragged out something from behind my small mound of presents.
It was a gingerbread house, just a few inches taller than Brownie. Toothpicks framed the windows and buttons, Hershey's kisses, and hardened globs of frosting made designs on the walls. Dangling over the door were my earrings, fashioned into a makeshift wreath. A card sticking from the sides said it was addressed to me from Santa. Touched by this gift, I crept noiselessly back into bed and thought of what I could buy my hardworking elf in return.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Day 298: The Real First Martyrs
In Matthew 2:16, King Herod murdered every male child in Bethlehem in an attempt to kill Jesus. The murder of male babies in Egypt might come to mind. What struck me is that these children were completely oblivious to what was going on about them. At two, they hardly did anything wrong to warrant a punishment. Some were just newborns. This is why the Bible refers to this poor forgotten event as the Massacre of the Innocents. Not to say they are martyrs, but this is not unlike the Sandy Hook massacre of innocent children that took place a year ago around this time.
Anyways, these babies were killed for Jesus' sake. They didn't believe in Him, like martyrs are murdered for their faith, but it was because of Jesus' existence that they died. It was cruel, unfair, and they were innocent. I'm sure God has special crowns in heaven for all the innocents who have been unfairly murdered, for their faith or out of no good reason except evil. Children, real martyrs, have died for their faith in other countries. Why does it happen at Christmas? I can't say. Maybe they die to remind us of the battle at hand, with Jesus' presence in the world and His stand against Evil. Once you think about it too, Jesus told us to have the faith of a child. So all martyrs are really children at heart.
Day 297: Jesus as a Baby
Have you ever thought about how Jesus was like as a baby? Being God incarnate, He could have been the most beautiful baby that has ever and will ever exist. A perfectly proportioned face. Smooth, unblemished skin. A warm shade of tan. Soft, wispy strands of hair. Ruddy cheeks. He'd be the type of baby that always laughed, always had a smile on his face, and who you'd want to smother with kisses and hugs every moment. He could have been the easiest baby to care for.
Considering Jesus came to save the world though, I picture He wanted to blend in, to be the unlikely hero. Maybe He didn't look as perfect as the paintings depict. Maybe he had one ugly, glaring feature that made Him more human, more relatable to those homely followers. Maybe Jesus was one of the most difficult babies in the world. What if He cried several times in the night, usually right after Mary had drifted to sleep, as if to ask her, "How much are you willing to serve Me?" He could have tried Mary's patience dozens of times, causing her to remind herself she had the King of Kings in her midst. But just an intense glaze of adoration and peace into Mary's eyes would have made all the trouble worthwhile.
I'm sure Jesus had a gravitational pull to Him, even as a baby. Mary would love to spend time with Him and couldn't bare to be apart for a minute. I'm sure He loved being surrounded by nature, being reminded of His Father's creations. He probably seemed pensive at times, acutely aware of everything that occurred around Him. I'm sure He still possessed a beautiful smile and hearty laugh.
Considering Jesus came to save the world though, I picture He wanted to blend in, to be the unlikely hero. Maybe He didn't look as perfect as the paintings depict. Maybe he had one ugly, glaring feature that made Him more human, more relatable to those homely followers. Maybe Jesus was one of the most difficult babies in the world. What if He cried several times in the night, usually right after Mary had drifted to sleep, as if to ask her, "How much are you willing to serve Me?" He could have tried Mary's patience dozens of times, causing her to remind herself she had the King of Kings in her midst. But just an intense glaze of adoration and peace into Mary's eyes would have made all the trouble worthwhile.
I'm sure Jesus had a gravitational pull to Him, even as a baby. Mary would love to spend time with Him and couldn't bare to be apart for a minute. I'm sure He loved being surrounded by nature, being reminded of His Father's creations. He probably seemed pensive at times, acutely aware of everything that occurred around Him. I'm sure He still possessed a beautiful smile and hearty laugh.
Day 296: My Favorite Character from The Christmas Story
I was at a Christmas tea at church when the speaker shared who her favorite characters were in the Christmas story. I hadn't thought about it much until now. I still need to read Luke again, but for now, I think my favorite character is Joseph.
Joseph worked hard every morning from the time the sun was shining its first rays on the land to the moment the orb slipped below the valley. He hadn't met Mary until a year or so ago, but he was charmed by her willing, giving heart and natural beauty. He had picked up carpentry skills recently, and he did every carpentry job the village had to offer in order to pay the dowry price and prepare a house for him and his betrothed to live in. He hadn't grown wealthy, but he had saved enough money to be comfortable. His character earned the respect of the whole village. Mary was blessed to be married to such a man.
Then he found out Mary was pregnant.
What kind of fool was he to believe that Mary hadn't been with another man, that she had been touched by...by the Holy Spirit! Who had heard of such a blatant, blasphemous lie? Yet Mary had never lied to him about anything. He could see the fear in her eyes as she told him about her pregnancy, but mingled with the fear was slight excitement and joy. Her eyes never wavered from his when she told him.
The easy thing to do would be to leave town and find another, more honorable girl, but to such a man of character, he could not in good conscience leave her defenseless. She needed someone to support her, to believe her. It would be a huge leap of faith to believe her, or maybe love was making him crazy, but he believed her, just as Noah believed he needed to build the ark. With this truth, Joseph also embraced the ridicule that came with it. On the one hand, he could just shut her away. He could say he would forgive her indiscretion, keep her hidden in the house and provide for her until she gave birth, and then turn her out with some money that would last her a few months until she found work. That was more than anyone else would do.
But he wasn't anyone else, and he did care for Mary. He could claim the baby was his, tarnish both their names, and be married as planned. But how could he face the villagers? They would be shunned! That was not how he had planned his life would go. He didn't want to raise a baby that wasn't his, Mary's son that they had not created.
That's when God made it clear to him, through a dream, to not be afraid but marry her. The dream was so vivid that Joseph would have to deny his own faith in God if he ignored it. He would follow through with his original plans. He would marry Mary and tell people the truth. Her baby was not his, or any other man's. It was the Son of God.
God rewarded Joseph for his acceptance of plans that deviated from his own, his devotion, courage, and faith by having the Roman census occur. Through this, the couple was forced to leave the judgmental stares of their neighbors and have Jesus in privacy. Eventually, they were able to raise Him without any assumptions or condemnations, and outsiders saw the trio as a happy family, no scandal seen. After all, who would believe the Messiah would come from an unwed woman?
Joseph worked hard every morning from the time the sun was shining its first rays on the land to the moment the orb slipped below the valley. He hadn't met Mary until a year or so ago, but he was charmed by her willing, giving heart and natural beauty. He had picked up carpentry skills recently, and he did every carpentry job the village had to offer in order to pay the dowry price and prepare a house for him and his betrothed to live in. He hadn't grown wealthy, but he had saved enough money to be comfortable. His character earned the respect of the whole village. Mary was blessed to be married to such a man.
Then he found out Mary was pregnant.
What kind of fool was he to believe that Mary hadn't been with another man, that she had been touched by...by the Holy Spirit! Who had heard of such a blatant, blasphemous lie? Yet Mary had never lied to him about anything. He could see the fear in her eyes as she told him about her pregnancy, but mingled with the fear was slight excitement and joy. Her eyes never wavered from his when she told him.
The easy thing to do would be to leave town and find another, more honorable girl, but to such a man of character, he could not in good conscience leave her defenseless. She needed someone to support her, to believe her. It would be a huge leap of faith to believe her, or maybe love was making him crazy, but he believed her, just as Noah believed he needed to build the ark. With this truth, Joseph also embraced the ridicule that came with it. On the one hand, he could just shut her away. He could say he would forgive her indiscretion, keep her hidden in the house and provide for her until she gave birth, and then turn her out with some money that would last her a few months until she found work. That was more than anyone else would do.
But he wasn't anyone else, and he did care for Mary. He could claim the baby was his, tarnish both their names, and be married as planned. But how could he face the villagers? They would be shunned! That was not how he had planned his life would go. He didn't want to raise a baby that wasn't his, Mary's son that they had not created.
That's when God made it clear to him, through a dream, to not be afraid but marry her. The dream was so vivid that Joseph would have to deny his own faith in God if he ignored it. He would follow through with his original plans. He would marry Mary and tell people the truth. Her baby was not his, or any other man's. It was the Son of God.
God rewarded Joseph for his acceptance of plans that deviated from his own, his devotion, courage, and faith by having the Roman census occur. Through this, the couple was forced to leave the judgmental stares of their neighbors and have Jesus in privacy. Eventually, they were able to raise Him without any assumptions or condemnations, and outsiders saw the trio as a happy family, no scandal seen. After all, who would believe the Messiah would come from an unwed woman?
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