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.
There he was, in all his lacy glory. I’d heard of the viscount, of course, from every local in every cafe and bistro between Paris and Calais. Quite the legend, apparently, that no one outside of France had ever heard.
No one remembered his full title, or even his family name, only that he was a viscount. A fact that had only fueled my dismissal of the story as a joke on gullible tourists, until now. Who could scoff with semi-transparent but gloomy dark eyes boring into one’s soul over the longest cascade of a collar ever seen in 18th century portraits?
“Je vous maudis, traitre!” The voice was bitter, but the lips set and motionless beneath the oddly unstyled black hair that streamed down both sides of a gray face. I glanced around, a shiver uncalled for in the warm summer night air setting my teeth chattering. Even my abominable French understood the word traitor.
“Th-the revolution is over,” I quavered in English. “I’m just a tourist.” Not that there was any point in speaking English to a dead French aristocrat, I thought. Even one that had managed to escape the guillotine only to be thrown from his horse into that widely spreading tree I could see through his face.
“Je vois maudis!” he shrieked, suddenly inches from me with his fist blending with my throat. My breath turned to ice in my chest and for a moment the world became as transparent as the viscount. Then it was over. I smiled with grim satisfaction, quickly twitched the lace on my cuffs back into shape, and turned back toward Paris. The traitors must die under their own cursed blade.
A legend of quiet courage becomes the centerpiece of a tale of adventure and intrigue in this lovely classic. The Hejnal, still played to the broken note in St. Mary’s today, plays only a minor role in Kelly’s story, but is a symbol for the goodness and innocent courage in the hearts of Joseph and Elzbietka. Two children on the brink of adulthood, they are plunged into a private battle begun hundreds of years before they were born.
Joseph’s ancestors have for centuries guarded a secret, a crystal to which the ancient scholars attributed mystical powers and whose beauty rivals that of the purest gemstone. Now their secret has been discovered, and danger threatens their precious charge on the eve of its fulfillment. But the children have a secret of their own, one created as a childish joke but that may prove the salvation of both the crystal and Joseph’s family.
Although written nearly a century ago about an age long past even then, this book is a timeless example of the human story. I love The Trumpeter as a read-aloud, even for young children. While the more formal writing can be difficult for younger readers to decipher on their own, when read aloud it breathes life into the characters of a time long gone, transporting listeners into lives they could not otherwise understand.
How long had it been? One hundred years? Two? Locked deep within the castle vaults, skin burned black and then white by the silver of his sarcophagus, thirst that would not be assuaged by his own blood turning his mind to enraged madness. How long since his screams of pain had turned to bitter silence, how long since the silence had been broken by his own maniacal cackling?
He remembered companions. Barely. What companions had they been. Women whose blood slaked his thirst and woke already fading emotions. Sycophants who pleased him for what he could offer – wealth, the illusion of power, eternity. Dust all of them. Worth less than that in life. No matter, he no longer cared for companionship.
He remembered children. Children of blood who hunted with him in the night, children who had filled the earth with their fascination and their hunger. Children who had fallen to the mobs who would not bow to their new gods. No matter. There would be more.
This one who had freed him would be the first. She stood before him, unbending, unyielding, unworshiping, unafraid. She would turn, oh yes, and she would be a queen such as had never been. They would rule a world of their own remaking. The crumbling throne before him waited for the liege lord, and all others would soon bow before it or die.
Parenting often feels like walking a tightrope. Without a balance pole. Meeting physical needs of growing bodies can alone feel like an insurmountable challenge. That pair of shoes you just bought last month that already don’t fit. The three hundred dollars worth of food that didn’t last a week. Then there are the emotional needs, theirs and yours. Because in the middle of all the midnight wake-up calls you might lose your sanity. One of the most difficult juggling acts of 21st century parenting is the seeming war between the digital world and the physical world.
With digital technology at the center of almost every occupation, and surrounding every aspect of our lives, we have an urgent need to teach our children how to use it, to wire the areas of the brain stimulated by its use to employ the digital world without becoming sucked into it. At the same time, all the skills previous generations possessed to interact with the physical world must also be preserved. Not just the skills of interpersonal communication without the aid of a keyboard, but basic skills and knowledge of the earth’s practical workings. Its a lot of information to cope with, and often the two worlds seem so opposite that they cannot be reconciled.
So, like everything else, these become family affairs. Minecraft wars with Dad become the preferred recess activity. Old phones get wiped and become tablets filled with games, music, approved video content, and books. Always books. Screen limits don’t apply to reading. Imagination runs wild and ingenuity is trained in the midst of shouts of laughter and good-natured competition. Technology usage becomes irrevocably connected to memories of family and lessons learned gently.
When school is over, with the sun at its warmest and responsibilities fulfilled, the outdoors calls. Those creative connections teased by the digital world are tested against the physical one. The flotsam of the passing winter becomes the building material of childhood games. Sprouting plants will be examined, tested in mud pies, and transplanted into fairy gardens. Fallen branches will become the tools of the trainee woodsman, deadwood and rocks a boy’s rickety fort which will fall down and be rebuilt more securely from the mistakes of the first. Emerging insects and amphibians find temporary homes where they are studied and cared for until the dusk brings release.
Tomorrow it will rain and there will be no outdoor afternoon play. Perhaps they will be lost in the digital world longer than today; perhaps they will transfer their creative energy to dolls, legos, or art. Maybe we will use the extra time for a more thorough cleaning day. Another day will be too beautiful for concentration, and not only the digital world but physical responsibilities will be discarded, forgotten for the joys of dirty hands and outdoor adventures. The acrobat teeters from one side to the other, almost plunging to the ground below with every step, yet using the swing back and forth to stay balanced on that tiny wire that connects us to platform from which our children will be able to stabilize themselves and begin on their own tightrope walk.
Matthew 4:18-22 “As he was walking along the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter), and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the sea – for they were fishermen. ‘Follow me,’ he told them, ‘and I will make you fish for people. Immediately they left their nets and followed him. Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat with Zebedee their father, preparing their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.”
Priorities
Matthew 10:34-39 “Don’t assume that I came to bring peace on the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man’s enemies will be the members of his household. The one who loves a father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; the one who loves a son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever doesn’t take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Anyone who finds his life will lose it, and anyone who loses his life because of me will find it.”
Preparation
Mark 8:34-38 “If anyone wants to follow after me, let him deny himself take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life because of me and the gospel will save it. For what does it benefit someone to gain the whole world and yet lose his life? What can anyone give in exchange for his life? For whoever is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will also be ashamed of him when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
Preoccupation
Luke 9:57-62 “As they were traveling on the road someone said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus told him, ‘Foxes have dens, and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’ Then he said to another, ‘Follow me.’ ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘first let me go bury my father.’ But he told him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and spread the news of the kingdom of God.’ Another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord, but first let me go and say goodbye to those at my house.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.'”
Protection
John 10:27-30 “My sheep hear my voice, I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all. No one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.”
Persecution
John 12:23-27 “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains by itself. But if it dies, it produces much fruit. The one who loves his life will lose it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me. Where I am, there my servant also will be. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him. Now my soul is troubled. What should I say – Father, save me from this hour? But that is why I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.”
With my first full-length novel tentatively releasing this summer, I will be sharing a teaser from the unpolished manuscript every couple of weeks until release. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Laughter like the tinkling of a wind chime drew my attention to a small copse. I approached slowly, my heart fluttering, peering closely into the shifting branches. A delicately pointed ear nearly escaped my notice until a merry eye the color of deep indigo followed it around the trunk of a tree. It disappeared the instant I saw it, but the chiming laughter rippled through the leaves. I followed it, forgetting the strange path entirely as the mysterious creature led me deeper into the forest.
The laughter suddenly ceased, and a heart shaped face dropped from the branches overhead, inches away from my nose and upside down. Green hair hung like Spanish moss from a pale impish face, and slim fingers sprouting tiny pink flowers prodded my eyes and ears and pulled my hair. I tried to back away but my heel struck a root that had inconveniently pushed its way above ground behind me, and I crashed into the underbrush with my arms and legs flailing awkwardly. The creature laughed again, tumbling out of the tree and somersaulting through the air as it clutched its belly that shook with mirth.
I stared at the creature from the flat of my back, too astonished to even be irritated at its mischief. “What are you?” I asked, my heart skipping with excitement.
The floor undulated beneath me, its checkered waves lifting me although I could not feel a surface under my feet. I wasn’t sure I even had feet; I couldn’t seem to find myself. The door hung from nothing, stood on nothing, with light streaming through it from some unidentifiable source. A Fedora sat on top of it, incongruous and yet belonging.
“From where have you come?” The light flickered with every word that hung heavy in the blackness like a star.
“What are you?” I would have gasped, but could not find my lungs.
“I am the Doorman. From where have you come?” The stars increased and yet lit nothing.
“Um, Earth?” I would have swallowed, but could not feel my tongue. “Small town USA?”
“What is your purpose here?” The stars began to coalesce into nebula, filming the blackness with cloudy light that could not obscure the Doorman.
“I don’t know.” I would have shaken my head but the muscles had vanished. “You tell me, I don’t even know what here is.”
“Where are you going?” The light behind the Doorman intensified, searing into my unprotected soul.
I would have covered my eyes with my hands if I had possessed either. “I wish I could tell you. Where do you lead?”
“You have asked correctly.” The checkered waves froze, the fedora vanished, and the door opened.
In my quest to read aloud all of my childhood favorites to my own children, this was the latest challenge. It is a challenging read in many ways, although as a child I simply enjoyed it for the adventure. I had no idea at the time how much my heart was being shaped.
Three unlikely heroes – the children Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin – are summoned to cross time and space in order to save their long-missing father. The villain is evil itself, centralized in a disembodied brain on a far-distant planet, but with shadows that threaten to engulf Earth itself. The children are the only ones capable of rescuing their father, according to the beings of light that summon them, but before they can succeed they must face the potential darkness within themselves and learn to banish it.
Though the language is simple, the lessons for the reader are deep. Love is more rare but stronger than hate. Emotions are only as bad or good as how we use them. Cold logic can be dangerous if misapplied. Confidence and arrogance are not the same thing. Character traits are neither good or bad; their nature depends upon their application. Evil disguises itself as order, safety, equality, and comfort, but truth is always discernable for those willing to look beneath the surface.
My favorite thing about this book is the contextual use of scripture and literary quotes. When Meg doubts her ability to do what is required, the reassurance given is that “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things of the mighty.” When Calvin is told where to find the missing father, the hint is given in the form of a quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. In this very natural way the meanings of some of the deepest principles become plain to children.
This flash fiction was inspired by a photo prompt that I unfortunately don’t have the right to share. You the reader get to imagine the scene for yourself this week! Enjoy! *********************************************
Gramps kept the old black and white postcard in his wallet, folded up neatly to fit in a card slot. Sometimes he would take it out and gently unfold it, smooth it with a caress of his fingertips the way he touched Gram’s hair. I asked him once what was so important about a gray picture of a boat and trees. He gave me a long look and then handed me the creased and worn card.
“My brother was eighteen that summer,” he said. “I was ten. Wasn’t much we did together anymore, but we did like fishing.” Gramps put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair, staring into the distance with a half smile. “That summer he told me to pack my camping gear, we were headed upriver for a week. We threw sleeping bags, fishing poles, and a frying pan in an old boat he’d scrounged up and caulked and set off for a boy’s heaven.”
“Did you catch lots of fish?” I wondered.
“Enough to fry every day,” he chuckled, “but mostly we swam, chased each other up and down the bank, and slept in the sun. It’s a wonder the snakes didn’t carry us off; mosquitoes sure tried. Once, the boat sprung a leak. Not a bad one, but we were taking on water. Jack showed me how to stuff moss in the crack and caulk it with mud.”
“Did it work?”
“Well… not too well,” Gramps admitted. “But we were having too much fun to care. I’d never spent so much time with Jack, just the two of us.”
He sighed. “He enlisted the next day, headed to the Pacific. We were dirt poor and there were no photos, but I found this in a drugstore a week after Pearl Harbor. It may look like a boat to you, but to me that’ll always be Jack.”
It’s a lost art, families working together. Here and there you will find a small family owned business that includes the kids, but thanks to child labor laws that is rare. Our family doesn’t work together because of business. It’s our life.
Our lifestyle is somewhat non-traditional. My husband doesn’t work a traditional job; he is supported by a relatively small congregation to preach the Word. That means he gets to be around all the time, part of the daily dynamic of our household! We homeschool our kids, which means that they are also always around creating the daily dynamic of our household! I don’t work outside the home; I clarify that way because I can assure you that I do indeed work! I choose to stay home with my children because I know God gave them to me for a reason, and my family is my number one priority. We don’t live in a large, up-to-date, fashion-plate mansion (although I certainly wouldn’t argue with the space!). Being a one-income household means that we have what we need, and we have learned over the years what need really means. We never go without and often have extra for some things we want, but by now our wants are actually pretty small.
We do not have central heating/AC in our small, rather ramshackle house, which means that inthe winter we crank up the wood heater. We are blessed to have access to family-owned property where we can cut our own firewood, which saves us hundreds if not thousands of dollars in heating bills every year. Cutting firewood, however, is a big job, which is where the whole family comes into the picture.
That’s dad out in front, setting the example of how to work hard and efficiently. Everyone has a job to do. Dad carefully chooses and fells the trees, cuts them into manageable logs, and makes sure we fit as many of those logs in the wagon as it will hold. The kids fetch and carry, then push and pull. Mom supervises the fetchers so that no one breaks his or her back trying to pick up something too large or tries to get away with carrying less than they are able. (Believe me, both have been attempted. Often.)
These winter afternoons of working together have created some of our favorite memories of family time. Movie nights, game nights, family dinners, and other “normal” modern interactions are all more enjoyable becauseofthebonds and lessons that are built from thise memories. Our kids get along better because those family jobs teach them the skills involved in cooperation. They learn to be observant of other people’s movement in the space around them so they don’t fall over each other or cause injury. They learn to assess a task and figure out the best way to complete it. They learn to communicate with each other in order to work as a team.
Lest you leave this blog thinking that all this gives us perfect children, let me assure you that no one has cleaned off the dining table today and there are toys all over the floor. And you haven’t heard my six year old’s ringwraith screech of fury or seen my four year old’s crocodile tears. As you can see from the photo below, capability does not always equate with desire. That might bother me if I wanted perfection, but I don’t. My children will grow up with values of hard work and family instilled in them both by example and experience. That’s a goal worth taking the time to fulfill.
The Word Worker 