The Joy of life is God, Family, and Books. And, of course, Dragons.
Author: wordworkerrussell
I'm a homeschool mom of five, three girls and two boys. I'm a daughter of the King who works hard to keep her family living as close to God as we can. God created a world perfectly designed to provide everything we need, and designed us to reflect Him throughout it.
Writing is my happy place. I have always loved stories and words because they express the human spirit so beautifully. A story can speak many messages, each received by the reader as needed or understood by individual experiences. I hope that my stories, both true and fantasy, speak to you in some way.
Jax had always hated Cosmopolis with its plasfalt streets, adamantium tracks, and neon lighting. It was as if the city founders had built their idea of a city on bad sci-fi movies from the 20th century. Probably had, he thought with a grim tug at his sleeves. Back at the end of the 21st century, when the mission to settle Proxima business moon had launched, two generations would have been born and died on the ship carrying them across space. The generation that built their new home would have been raised on memories in an artificial world.
Now, of course, wormhole technology had linked systems much farther than Alpha Centauri into a “small universe.” With little distance and time between Earth and colony, the settlers of the last century or two showed little variance from modern Earth culture. Cosmopolis, however, remained apart, preserving their artificial world in a bubble of self-exaltation.
Jax sighed as he tugged on the sleeves of his bodysuit. It certainly wasn’t designed for comfort, but at least the dull coloring made him hard to spot in the dim street. Venturing out of one’s registered residence during curfew was risky, but his business could not be conducted under the suspicious eyes of Cosmopolitans.
“I see you made it,” a hard voice spoke behind him. “No, don’t turn,” it snapped as he jerked into motion. “You can hear what I have to say just as well with your back turned. If you are caught, or lying, you must have no information with which to give me away.” After a brief pause, the voice rasped even more harshly. “I know how to hack the AI. Cosmopolis will be ours within the month.”
When I was a child my grandmother made many of my clothes and taught me to use a pattern. If you have never sewed anything or seen a dress pattern, you might have the idea that it looks like the end result and that it contains all the details needed to produce carbon copy replicas. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
You see, patterns actually tell very little about the end product, and while some details are included and necessary, those details are few and far between. In order to create a garment that will shape and drape properly around a three dimensional human being, many smaller, odd shaped pieces must be fitted together. Some larger pieces must be folded and sewn into even more odd shapes. The size of some pieces must change depending upon the size and shape of the person who will wear the garment. The pattern contains marks to ensure correct joining, measurements for correct adjustments, and marks for sufficient seam width for the garment to hold together. These marks are often not labeled with language, however, and the person using the pattern must learn which ones are which and how to apply them.
The pattern itself cannot become a finished garment. Its purpose is to be applied to fabric with the appropriate markings for the individual transferred to that fabric, which will in turn be sewn together into the shape of the wearer. A pattern can be applied to any fabric, usually one reflecting the personality of the wearer. Different types of fabrics require different treatments; finer fabrics are more fragile, thicker fabrics can only be combined in certain ways, and still others stretch or slip easily so must be cut with great care to preserve the correct shape. The placement of designs within the fabric must be considered when a pattern is placed; the direction of the fabric weave must be carefully considered to avoid misshapen garments. Thread colors, trim styles, even fastener types can all be personalized to the needs or preferences of the wearer. The pattern itself doesn’t command any of this; the person using the pattern must take time to learn each person and each fabric before attempting to make the garment required.
If the same pattern is used to make garments for three individual people, each of those three garments will also be individual. They will be similar, the same recognizable garment, but one might have more space in the hips while another is slimmer in the shoulder. One may be made of sturdy material with a more sober design, while another may be flamboyantly colored silk. One may zip and have no trim, while another may fasten with buttons and be trimmed with elegant embroidery.
My grandmother also taught me that our lives are to be made according to a pattern, the pieces of which can be found in the stories and lessons of scripture. As a child, still learning the basics of sewing, I didn’t understand what that meant, but as my faith has grown I have learned what a beautiful gift our pattern is. You see, God as Creator understands the incredible uniqueness of each individual human. He understands that with that individuality of nature comes difference in application. The pattern He has provided is minimal, with marks for connection and adjustment that we must learn to read as we learn ourselves, the fabric upon which the pattern is to be applied. Just as a garment sewn for a large person would not fit properly on a small person, or a silk garment would be inappropriate for a manual laborer, applying rules based on one person’s needs or preferences to someone with completely different spiritual requirements cannot work.
We all have the same pattern we are to follow. We are all different types of fabric, designs, and trim styles. We each have the responsibility to know both the pattern and ourselves in order to become a finished garment pleasing to God who created both.
The weather is warming rapidly, flowers are blanketing the world, and (sometimes) peaceful breezes whisper through the trees. It’s the perfect time to curl up on a porch swing or in a backyard nook with a great story. That makes it a perfect time for a book sale!
Take advantage of the ebook discount on your preferred platform via the following link: Https://books2read.com/u/baDgr6
She stopped on the last rise overlooking the coast, breath catching in her throat. She swallowed painfully around the lump of it and sank to her knees. Shades of red and purple bathed her, along with the waving grasses that now slid around her shoulders in the ocean breeze.
For a thousand years her people had told tales of the sun tree. The great tapestry in the Hall of Ancestry depicted the Leaving, when the Ilanga had been forced from their beautiful sea haven by marauders from the Invisible Lands. They had built a new life for themselves in the deep forests, and the Sun Tree had become the myth of a far off Heaven where one could join the ancestors in eternity.
They had mocked her quest in the Hall, declared what she sought reachable only in death. When she persisted they denied her aid, believing she would abandon her purpose. Her heart drew her on, however, and she had slipped away in the darkness, living on what the land provided.
And now she faced the Sun Tree itself, its light held in sacred trust in the embrace of wide leafy arms. She rose on shaky legs and stumbled forward down the slope, her own arms outstretched. She stumbled with a cry of pain and, still bent double gripping an injured foot, failed to see the red and purple sails rounding the nearest point.
The hay was in. The last two bales perched like strange giant eggs at the edge of the field nearest the house, securely wrapped in their white rain guards. Not that the sky gave any reason to believe the guards were necessary; the colors of the mountain grasses shone in brilliant contrast under the cloudless late summer sky.
Looks were deceiving, Uri knew. The mountains played fickle games with the winds, churning storms into existence within hours or stubbornly channeling every wisp of cloud away from the valleys between them. Little grew in the rocky soil, but the grasses seemed to have some special charm that left them untouched by drought or flood alike and held their roots firmly attached to the bedrock. This year’s crop was exceptional, and would feed the family’s small stock through the temperamental winter to come.
Tomorrow he and Bjorn from higher up the slope would make their yearly trip to the city to resupply the root cellars and pantries before the first snows at the peaks. He smiled, a somewhat grim twist to the corner of his mouth nonetheless. The haying had been late, and the first storms would come soon. It would be the mud that trapped them first, deep and miring. Not even a sled could cross the gullies then. They would need to be quick to prepare in time.
A gust caught his shirt where he stood in the cropped field staring up the mountain. He closed his eyes and let it whip around him, alert for the subtle daggers of cold mixed with the last of the summer warmth that would signal the wild end of peace for the year. There it was, an eddy from above, just the smallest tickle at his bare neck. He breathed deeply and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d better call Bjorn before supper; they’d need an early start in the morning.
Recently I posted a series of questions on social media. I wanted, and received, feedback revealing how we as a society understand certain concepts that are central to a civilization. Need, work, and identity are necessary in order for a culture to thrive, but perception of what constitutes those things varies widely. When those varying perceptions clash in a battle of wills, a civilization teeters on the brink of collapse. Differences of opinion don’t have to be a death knell, however; if considered carefully without prejudice, they can become a stronger, more stable framework that incorporates every possibility.
As evidenced by many of the answers given, we often get stuck in one pattern of thinking, a pattern that applied to a particular society with particular tools at a particular time. We look back with disdain on past eras, talk with pride about progress, celebrate increased opportunity for prosperity, while at the same time treating everything that led to our current situation with contempt. New ideas, different opportunities, can’t be good ones because our grandparents didn’t have them. New tools must be luxuries because our grandparents didn’t need them. Little consideration is given to how new ideas, new opportunities, and new tools changed the civilization in which we live.
As little as a hundred years ago, the automobile was unaffordable by all but the wealthiest. Roads were narrow and unpaved, traveled by pedestrians or horse-drawn vehicles. Some of the bigger cities might have the convenience of streetcars or elevated trains, and long distance travel relied on the railroads, but even those were recent developments. Communities were smaller and more self-sufficient; schools were smaller, with their primary focus teaching basic literacy skills, as children entered the workforce early to contribute to the family’s support. The children were educated in the factories, the fields, the construction sites, or if they were very lucky, behind the counter of a store. The arts were expensive pursuits that the common citizen could not afford to pursue and that the wealthy, although they enjoyed the entertainment gleaned from artistic production, considered demeaning. The wealthy, focused on increasing their wealth and status, pursued a classical higher education and built careers in business or politics. Information about the world outside one’s immediate community was limited to rumors or newspapers, and arrived slowly if at all. Telephones existed but were expensive and often communal.
Now, a century forward, our nation would be unrecognizable to the people of the past. Not only are automobiles so common that roads, communities, and cities are built around access by car, but the train has been made obsolete by air travel, a possibility barely even imagined at that time. Schools are not only available to the average citizen, but require attendance of every child under a certain age. Not only does every citizen have access to higher education, but lack of a college degree has become a barrier to employment or advancement. Not only are telephones common, but the invention and development of computer technology has turned phones into handheld instant access to information and long distance communication. Improvements in transportation and communication opened up the world beyond the community, allowing the average citizen access to opportunities impossible in small communities. Family businesses can now become large corporations with worldwide customer bases in a relatively short amount of time thanks to the ability to network and market via the internet. Creative pursuits are now not only possible for the average citizen but often extremely profitable, even independent of established circles.
The world has changed, and with it the definitions of concepts. Bare subsistence by the definitions of a hundred years ago is now considered a moral standard to be achieved, as if barely avoiding starvation and exposure in a world of plenty makes one virtuous. The opportunity of exercising one’s God created individuality by using one’s God-given abilities to support oneself has expanded the definition of work and jobs, yet we cling to the outdated insistence that only doing manual labor in the employment of another is “real work.” Intellectual pursuits, although glorified in the form of insistence on college attendance, are still despised as leaching off of the “real workers” of the world. Those same opportunities only exist using the great connective powers of modern technology, making technology a necessity in our culture, yet we call it a luxury and religiously advocate to prevent the pursuit of our God-created identities.
A hundred years ago these opportunities did not exist. People didn’t have a choice. The average able-bodied citizen was forced to ignore and repress individuality in order to survive. Life was hard and the people who endured it often equally so. Those who possessed physical or mental disabilities couldn’t conceive of even the limited opportunities available to the able-bodied and able-minded. Most were institutionalized, tortured with experimental treatments for conditions that no one understood, and often died young. Some few with undeniable gifts in the arts found patrons who allowed them a semblance of a normal life, but even they were often ostracized by society for “scandalous” behavior and ended up self-destructing. Their lives held no value to other humans because as far as society was concerned they could not contribute a fair share.
In our age of information, understanding, and opportunity, attitudes haven’t changed. Oh, we talk a good game, but we still insist that everyone meet the same standards, perform the same work in the same way, rise to the same challenges, produce the same outcomes. In an age where individuality is so obvious and tools are so readily available, we despise differences and try to force uniformity. In an age of plenty, we try to force poverty. In an age of information, we try to force ignorance. In an age of opportunity, we try to force disadvantage.
In this incredible time and place, we have the greatest of opportunities. We can choose to value every life, every contribution, every ability, every effort, and every challenge without prejudice. We can support the intellectual and the manual laborer with equal respect to the different types of effort required. We can accept the vast amount of time and skill required to produce an artistic endeavor and take time to enjoy the result with respect that the artist cared to bring joy into our lives in the form of entertainment. We can provide relief for our loved ones who suffer from visible or invisible differences in ability, and ensure them the opportunity to contribute in their own equally valuable way. We can recognize that need is as individual as individuals, and support each other without disdain or dismissal. We can break away from conformity made unnecessary by opportunity, and choose to celebrate the designed individuality of every member of God’s creation.
When Indiana Jones went to find the Grail, he had to cross a wide, deep chasm with no bridge in sight. His father told him the only way to cross was to take a step out over the chasm, a “leap of faith.” As soon as Indy stepped out as instructed, believing that somehow he would be able to cross, a bridge appeared beneath his feet. It had always been there, he just couldn’t see it until he used it.
The above story is obviously fictional, but it reflects a Biblical truth. The author of the letter to the Hebrew Christians wrote that faith is the reality of hope and the evidence of the unseen. In other words, in order to see what God has in store we have to step out like Indy, knowing that something is there. After we are willing to do that, after we can allow ourselves to know that truth transcends our limited sight, He allows us to see Him.
Enoch lived in the millennia before the flood reset the earth, in a time when men lived for hundreds of years and had opportunity to explore every possible imagination, good or evil. When most others pursued their own ends and lost favor with their Creator, Enoch lived his life in harmony with the God he could not see. As a reward, he was given a gift of eternal life without death, his body changed to walk in the physical presence of God. He saw God more completely than any other before or since.
Moses, though raised with every opportunity to pursue physical wealth and power, chose the life of a nomad chieftain in order to be close to God. He sought to know God, and submitted his will to loneliness, struggle, and abuse from the people he was tasked to lead. His anger was never roused so greatly as when he saw God disrespected, and when given the opportunity asked to see his protector. He didn’t want proof, only deeper connection, just as you or I would seek to look at and touch someone we love. Because Moses knew God so intimately as to crave such a thing, God allowed the privilege to the point that Moses himself carried so much of God’s glory that other humans could not physically look at him without pain.
Elijah stood almost alone in a nation that hated God. Without divine help his life would have been forfeit many times for his persistence in declaring God’s warnings to people who wanted nothing to do with God. As a reward for a lifetime of faithful service, God gave him Enoch’s gift, and carried him to eternity without death in a fiery chariot of honor.
When Elijah’s protégé, Elisha, was called to God’s service from his life as a wealthy farmer in that same rebellious nation, he not only obeyed, but quite literally burned the trappings of his old life as a sacrifice. He removed his own incentive to ever turn back. He knew God without seeing any evidence of His existence in the land. As a result he was allowed to see Elijah’s divine chariot, and it seems that he was given an even greater gift. Many years later when enemies surrounded his home, death seemed certain, and a fearful servant cried to him, Elisha asked God to show the servant what Elisha himself could apparently already see: an angel host greater than any human army standing ready to defend them. Because Elisha believed in what was invisible, God made it visible to Him.
Daniel and his friends faced immersion in an alien, pagan culture as boys. Despite what seemed to the rest of the Jewish people as visible signs of God’s desertion, the boys trusted that He was still there protecting them and held firmly to a life that honored Him. As a result, God Himself walked with three of them in human form in fires that should have vaporized them and brought them through alive. Daniel’s faith was so strong that in spite of all odds against him that faith gained respect from one godless king after another. Because he knew without seeing that God was with him, God walked with him in human form and told him the history of the next millennium in detail before any of it happened.
When Stephen was arrested for persisting in teaching and working when opposed by the Jewish counsel, his faith shone so brightly in him that even his accusers compared him to an angel of God. He faced what he knew would be at least great pain, if not death, and told a roomful of men who hated him about the power of God. When they predictably sentenced him to a brutal death, God allowed his physical eyes to see the spiritual world he entered by the blows of his enemies’ stones. Stephen saw the glory of God and Christ ruling over all because he had believed it without sight.
I can’t say that I have heard of anyone in our own age experiencing such a gift. Even in ages past it was a rare thing, but in two thousand years not a reference has been recorded. It’s a sobering thought to consider our own faith in light of that which resulted in such intimacy. Perhaps God doesn’t give such obvious boons anymore since He lived and died and rose as a human, but what if He would and our faith isn’t strong enough? Do we have the surety of God to do right while surrounded by doubt and evil? Do we have the surety of God to actively look for glimpses of His glory, to beg for a glance at even the smallest part of Him? Do we have the surety of God to walk away from everything we are and become something else when service to Him requires it? Do we have the surety of God to continue a godly life in the face of abuse and death? Do we have the surety of God to step out over the abyss and find the bridge under our feet, or will we huddle forever whimpering on the ledge while the bridge remains forever invisible?
A spider finds her perfect home in a cozy head of lettuce in a lady’s garden. The leaves collect water and tasty insects buzz and crawl within easy reach. The lettuce even provides quick shelter from larger animals who might turn the spider herself into a meal!
When the lady harvests her lettuce she doesn’t notice the little spider hiding in the leaves. The poor little spider endures quite a terrifying adventure as the lady prepares her lunch. When the lady does finally notice her plight, what will happen to the spider?
This book is a simple, precious story that will capture children’s hearts while teaching unconscious lessons about how we treat others. In this story there is no hero or villain, only two characters with vastly different perspectives. Each has a purpose, and they must learn to understand the place of each in the garden.
We like to think that hard only happens in stories, that hard is a thing of the past. But it isn’t. We like to think that the ultimate achievement would be to eradicate hard from our memory. But it wouldn’t.
A young woman breathes deeply through the pain of her muscles contracting. Her skin stretches to its limit as a tiny head presents itself to the world. She collapses in exhaustion, sore and weak, but lifts her arms to receive a screaming, wiggling new life. Her breasts ache with pressure of milk flowing, and she winces at the tug of her baby’s eager tongue. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.
A toddler struggles to his feet, swaying a little on unaccustomed legs. He reaches for support, but it’s just too far away. Slowly he leans forward and shifts one foot slightly. He falls forward but catches himself with his hands and struggles upright again. Undaunted, he lifts his foot again and manages to move it two inches before he sways and nearly falls again. Encouraged, he tries the other foot. This time he does fall forward, but his daddy’s hand that he reached for from the beginning is there and he has taken his first steps. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.
A mom of five lies awake long after her family is asleep, her mind churning. One of her children has challenged her will, determined already at five years old to plot her own course regardless of destruction. Another struggles with an alien within that tries to destroy him against his own will. Another blossoms rapidly into womanhood, her gentle innocence challenged by changes she does not yet understand. The mom weeps alone, praying for the wisdom and strength to face another day trying to fulfill all the needs. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.
A man, his hair prematurely gray, fills the fuel tank of his old truck with grim resignation. He has been near broken so many times he lost count long ago. This latest seems beyond his power, and he prays for resolution. War looms, the meager contents of his wallet stretch thin, and he can’t seem to collect resources quickly enough to ward against what threatens. He didn’t want this; someone far away with more power than is healthy chose their own temporary gain over true good. He counts through a mental budget yet again, trying to balance his family’s needs against ever shrinking ability. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.
A soldier shivers with pain, tears burning paths in his cheeks. All he wanted to do was respect the country he loves, and make his family proud. He never expected to fight a war, to stare down the barrel of a weapon at living people he was tasked to kill. He never expected to purge himself over mutilated remains beneath rubble, or to have his gut ripped open with shrapnel from a carelessly launched missile. He never expected to be lying in his own blood on foreign soil, wondering if that would be the last thing he ever saw. Hard. Necessary. Anything but beautiful.
Hard makes us who we are. The specific hard we endure makes us individual, whether it’s the hard of providing for a family, the hard of dealing with illness, or the hard of facing pain and death. Hard is meaning and purpose; hard is the reason the human race still exists. Hard is necessary. Usually, hard is beautiful.
” Lift up your hands in the holy place and bless the Lord.” Ps. 134:2
“So I will bless you as long as I live; at your name I will lift up my hands.” Ps. 63:4
“I spread out my hands to you; I am like parched land before you.” Ps. 143:6
When a small child wants anything from his parent, he runs to them and reaches both hands up as far as he can reach, fingers spread wide with urgency. It’s an instinct born of need to reach out to the one who can fill that need. When that same child receives what is desired or needed, he raises his hands again, this time in celebration.
In Bible accounts of God’s people approaching Him in prayer, they spread their hands out to Him in a gesture of appeal, much like that of a child. They instinctively reached for the One who could fill every need. When they sang songs of praise they lifted hands high in celebration of His glory and provision. They worshipped Him.
“Therefore, I want the men in every place to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument.” 1 Tim. 2:8
When we as God’s people approach Him today we must still have this attitude of child-like trust and appeal. We must come to Him without reservation, knowing without possibility of being dissuaded that He will hear and respond. When we offer gratitude, it must be more than just empty words; it must be drawn from deep within us, so joyful that it cannot be buried or contained. We must worship, our hands and our souls spread high before Him.
The Word Worker 
