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.

“You Don’t Know Me”

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“Truly, I tell you, we speak what we know and we testify to what we have seen… No one has ascended into Heaven except the one who descended from Heaven – the Son of Man.” John 3:10, 11

“You don’t have his word residing in you, because you don’t believe the one he sent. You pore over the scriptures because you think you have eternal life in them, and yet they testify about me.” John 5:38-39

Between the recording of the prophets’ messages and the coming of Christ, the Jews learned to avoid the obvious false gods and maintain temple worship. Admonished by God’s judgement of insincerity, they sought to ensure never to deserve such an accusation again. Rather than passing off whatever they didn’t want, they micromanaged offerings down to calculating tithes even down to the smallest grain of spice. Rather than complain about observing inconvenient laws, they argued and fought over who could be the most specific about how to obey. Synagogues were built where copies of the law and prophets were housed in state and teachers drilled endless litanies of rules into the heads of the general population. Factions and subfactions developed as pride and ambition led leaders to insist on their own interpretations and specifics to laws that God had expressed only broadly. Resentment of unchecked oppression by enemies of God was transmuted into rabid insistence that God would raise up a warrior king to crush them and form a Jewish empire to rule Earth.

When, after centuries of relative silence from God, miracles greater than any performed by former prophets began to flood Judea, these pedantic and self-absorbed leaders could not face the admission that they had been wrong. Every shred of their status and power had been built upon their micromanagement of God’s precious gift, and the sight of God in the flesh flouting their entire national structure was too much for them.

They looked the Lord and Savior of all in the eye and challenged his right to perform the miracles they could not deny. They wrapped scrolls of copied scriptures in the trappings of deity but denounced the source of those words as a criminal for not meeting their mortal expectations. Rather than argue with them, he simply and sadly acknowledged that they didn’t know him. How could they? Blinded by human concerns, they had never seen him; determination never to be rebuked again, to be completely in control of their earthly presentation, had killed any possibility of recognition. Their own version of God had become their new idol; obedience to Christ meant disobedience to that idol, and they killed him for it.

“Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of Heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in Heaven. On that day many will say to me, “Lord, Lord, didn’t we prophesy in your name, drive out demons in your name, and do many miracles in your name?” Then I will announce to them, “I never knew you.” Matthew 7:21-23

Dry

Color surrounded her, the brilliant yellows and reds and greens of summer in the garden. The sky glared blue overhead, and she glared back at its near cloudless face. Her hand closed around the nearest white spray, twisting involuntarily, the crushed petals releasing their nauseatingly sweet scent as they fell from her fingers.

She took a shuddering breath, her chest aching as if with vacuum. The fountain nearby was as dry as her eyes; she resented it’s deathly emptiness. Perhaps the red that surrounded it was the remains of the bloody tears of its untimely end, an irrevocable stain on the land. She pressed her fists into her eyes until they ached, silently screaming for a single drop of relief.

A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. “It’s going to be alright,” someone said, and the hand caressed the black of her sleeve like flame licking at tempered steel. Her arms fell nerveless to her sides and she walked away without a word.

Footprints

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The old ones called these valleys the footprints of the gods. Impossibly pressed between rocky conifer peaks, the rich dark soil harbored fertile fields and close-knit villages. The only paths in led through crevices and over streams accessible only by foot, cutting us off from all but the most adventurous outsiders. Few even of those stayed long, usually flashing a lot of coin about until they discovered how little value it held here.

According to the old ones our people sprang from the magic left when the gods themselves walked the earth to view their creation. Though others came after to fill the lowlands, they were lesser, lacking the mark of the trueborn and unattuned to the land. Its bounty fed our spirits and held us within our ancestors’ prints for many long lives of soulless men.

Until the greed of the lowlands could no longer resist the lure of the high valleys. The day the peaks exploded changed everything. When the dust settled on the broken pines, the mark of the gods was gone. One by one, the old ones failed, their spirits choked like our lungs by the fumes of destruction. Our villages in ruins, our graves buried, we few who remain will find what comfort we can in the forests of the outside.

God Culture

As an avid devourer of all things historical I have always loved learning about other cultures, both past and present. I am fascinated by all the different ways that humans find to express themselves and to celebrate their unique environments and backgrounds. Whenever I read about any particular culture being destroyed due to invasion or shifts in power, I always feel a sense of loss; an important part of human experience is lost in such a transition, often never to be remembered. On the other hand, watching a culture change as its environment and story develops is exciting; nothing is lost, only built upon.

Humans have an unfortunate tendency, however, to confuse culture with humanity, turning differences into the banners of annihilating armies. This tendency has prevented humanity from working together since the Tower of Babel, when the confusion of language intended to humble mankind instead was developed into an excuse for hate by the resentful and rebellious.

Through all the changes and wars, the thread of God’s culture can be found. Interestingly enough, this culture never seemed to be defined by fashion, music style, architectural design, economic constructs, or any other temporary arrangement. Abraham first wore the tasseled robes and intricately styled beards of the Chaldeans, then embraced the cushioned, portable tapestry of the nomad life. Joseph, as governor of Egypt, lived in the opulent stone palaces of the Nile, shaved his head, and decked himself with brilliant metal and jewels. Moses, born into the grueling and choiceless life of a slave, grew up in a culture of wealth , information, and power. He ultimately exchanged that for the homespun and weary roaming of a desert shepherd.

David spent a huge portion of his life wandering from cave to cave or fighting for hire, finding peace only in the songs he wrote. Esther wore the finery of a Persian queen and spent her life in a world of women. Daniel embraced the trappings of a culture that valued classical learning and rose as high as anyone could within it. Paul, though born into the Jewish elite and steeped in a social structure so rigid that no one could follow it accurately, excelled at adapting to any culture he encountered. He made tents with laborers, argued philosophy and theology with Greeks, taught in schools filled with intellectual elite, and spoke the language of the Roman ruling class.

In all of these cultures the faithful were acknowledged by God as securely His. Melchizedec, the priest-king of a Canaanite nation, was used to describe Christ because of his own unwavering faith. All of these cultures were mere physical constructs, born of shared experiences. The faithful didn’t exist outside of the cultures around them, they merely participated in a different kind of culture in addition.

God culture is also born of shared experience, but not physical experience. It is born of awareness of spiritual identity, of a purpose that transcends the mundane or even dramatic concerns of the physical universe. God culture does not conflate any specific culture with humanity; to God, our differences are what make us all beautifully human. Our creativity and capacity for identity are a direct inheritance from our Father, the One Who Is and Creator of all things. Those who participate in God culture cannot fathom using human differences as excuses to control or eradicate portions of humanity. God culture reaches with delight into the human experience, whatever it may look like, and demonstrates God within it. God culture embraces all human cultures, blending them into one shared experience, one superceding and absorbing identity as God people.

The Garden

I wasn’t feeling inspired, so as I often do I asked my kids what story they saw. Today’s flash fiction is therefore brought to you by twelve-year-old Sarah (edited and embellished by me).

Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine were emotionally broken people, so broken that they were sent to an asylum for healing. While there, the three became friends and wandered the grounds together every day. They stumbled upon an old, forgotten garden, weed-choked and wild.

The three were drawn to the garden, and asked the director for fertilizer, seeds, and tools to reclaim the overgrown plot. They spent every free moment in the garden, hoeing and pruning, clearing vines and saplings, fertilizing neglected soil, and planting new flowers. As time passed and their garden thrived, they found that they, too, had healed.

The three called everyone at the asylum to see the fruits of their labor, and everyone found peace and comfort in its beauty. Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine passed the work to their fellow patients and returned to their homes, where they lived freely and happily for the rest of their lives.

No Limits

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When people ask me what grades my children are in, I have to stop and think where they would probably be assigned in the public school system based on their age, because we don’t level our homeschool in that way. Homeschooling multiple children of varying ages more strongly resembles the one room schoolhouses of 150 years ago than any modern classroom. Learning occurs based on developmental readiness rather than on arbitrary divisions.

We also don’t really divide our education into disconnected subjects. Mathematics tends to be set apart for the moment because numbers have never been my forte, and needing help means we need some sort of curriculum. However, the principles of logic, reason, and spacial relationships naturally form the foundation for learning everything else. And without the enforcement of artificial boxes, even the smallest question can lead to a full educational experience.

For example, my ten year old chose a project about games played during the 1940s from an available suggestion list. I had him write down a handful of questions he wanted to answer on the topic, starting with the obvious “what” question. Before I knew it, he had chased the game of hopscotch back to the Roman empire, learned how to build an early version of pinball from scraps, and followed the game of chess to ancient China.

Because there are no subject divisions or levels to pass, there are no tests. Without age-assigned levels, there are no time limits, so there is no need for scored work. With enough time to practice a skill or explore a concept, mastery or at least comprehension can be reached, therefore failure is never ultimate. Without the randomized sets of skills and concepts assigned to each level, education becomes about the process of learning rather than about deadlines. The mind is trained to look and to think, to process new information and produce with it in whatever context occurs. And what is produced is much more practical than the ability to recite information; it is conversation, play, invention, business, art, architecture, medicine, and so much more.

Without grades, without subjects, without tests or scores, there is no need for carefully controlled classrooms. Discipline becomes about character rather than classroom management. The world expands outside of four walls as far as feet and imagination can carry us, and every experience is food for the mind. There are no divisions. There are no limits.

Spirit of the Tiger

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“Tenzin! Tenzin!” Dorji’s sandals slapped the floor of the quiet chamber as he nearly careened into his teacher. “You must come quickly! The cave!” He clung to the old man’s robes, panting wildly.

“Calm yourself, boy!” Tenzin surveyed the young acolyte with a mildly disapproving frown. “What has happened?”

“I wanted to pray where the holy Rampoche meditated, but I could not go in!” Dorji tugged on the monk’s robe urgently. “Red heat fills the chamber, and a demon’s breath echoes from the walls!”

Tenzin blanched. “Evil has returned! Ring the bell and gather every monk. Rampoche’s spirit has left us, and we must battle once again!”

Dorji stared with wide eyes. “But the holy man himself meditated for three and a quarter years before the demon was vanquished! And he was blessed by the spirit of the tiger! What blessing do we have? We will burn!”

Tenzin’s eyes flashed. “Then you will feed us while we pray. Perhaps three years or more of solitary service in the presence of holy battle will make you worthy of Rampoche’s mantle. Now ring the bell!”

Unschool

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We’re the unschool crowd. Nope, not the uncool crowd; those extra letters are intentional. We don’t have to waste our time in car line or on the bus. We don’t have to follow dress code or wear uniforms. We don’t have to be confined to desks for hours or locked in one room. We don’t have to fill in bubbles to prove we know things. We definitely don’t have to raise hands and get hall passes to go to the bathroom!

We don’t have to wake up before dawn and rush to catch the schoolbus. We don’t have to go to bed before the sun goes down. We don’t have to walk in lines and we don’t get punished for running in halls. We don’t have to choke down cafeteria food in the five to ten minutes left after walking to and from a classroom and standing in line for a tray.

We don’t have to raise our hands to answer questions. We don’t have to complete extra busy work for a grade because the teacher has too many students to focus on one at a time. We don’t have to struggle to follow a lesson plan that doesn’t match our learning styles. We don’t have to be quiet and sit still.

We are the unschool crowd. We read every book we can find. We play every song, we paint every picture, we write every story. We watch the trees and the stars and the grasshoppers and invent new technology with what we observe. We play with computer codes in our living room and design complicated feats of architecture in our backyard. We run barefoot in the rain and harvest God’s bounty under the sun. We play games and watch tv, then create our own. We converse with the aged and cuddle the infants. We chase after dreams and make them goals. We trip over mistakes then use them as stairs. We are free to find out who we are as individuals and free to act on that knowledge. We are entrepreneurs and leaders, philanthropists and friends. We are the unschool crowd, and we are very cool.

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In an extraordinary act of self-surrender, the Creator and Lord of galaxies and chromosomes bound Himself within the limits of the Earth He formed between His fingers. His tangible presence in our sphere of perception carried the culmination of thousands of years of guidance, the ultimate demonstration that could be absorbed in every physical sensory way. Although He exists in a vastness incomprehensible to finite minds, He became part of the universe He held in the palm of His hand.

Humanity – souls bound into finite bodies, lifespans, and planet – has no tangible ability to expand or escape those boundaries. What we can see, hear, and feel is limited by the necessity of seeing, hearing, and feeling. He became part of us and returned to boundlessness to prove tonus once and for all that there is more.

On the sixth day after the dawn, the first moment of actual time, God filled a clay sculpture with His own breath, containing part of His own infinite identity within the boundaries of the measured universe. Despite our inability to sense it in any tangible way, we are in identity more than our physical limitations. When we surrender the insecurity inherent in such uncomfortable limits, when we acknowledge our true selves as part of God Himself, we return in a way to having access to more. We transcend the need to sense in order to know, and begin to know and experience what it means to be more than our limits.

When God became part of us, His vast nature couldn’t help but have an effect on our boundaries. Battles occurring outside of our physical limitations began to be visible, the voices of demons speaking through human mouths and the structure of natural phenomena defied. Because the full force of His infinity had been brought into finity, the foundations of the universe rocked and humanity caught an unignorable glimpse of more. As part of His infinite nature, we have less shocking but still indelible effects on our physical bounds. Our acknowledgement of and surrender to our infinite identity allows God’s vastness to shine through us in our character, our choices, our attitides, and our treatment of others. When we choose to be more, we fill Earth and all humanity with more. In our more, God is tangible again.

Potion

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“Take this bottle. It holds everything you need to accomplish your quest.”

“This bottle? Are you sure?”

“Of course! This is my personal creation, the most advanced I have ever produced. When you arrive at the Dungeon, wait for sunrise. Set the bottle in the exact center of the trapdoor just as the red sky turns gold. It will cast a glowing key into the invisible lock, granting you entrance. But under no circumstances drink any of the liquid inside before entering the dungeon, or all will be lost.”

“Don’t – what? Why would I drink it? It’s marked poison! With a big skull and crossbones! Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! That is all part of the master plan. No one would ever want to drink poison, therefore I created this disguise to ensure the key remained in your possession until required.”

“So, if it isn’t poison, and you said don’t drink it before entering, when do I drink it? And what will it do for me?”

“Has your skull thickened? The liquid will kill you, it is acid of the highest potency! Unless you intend to rot in the Dungeon forever with your precious Cleric, you must pour it over the invisible lock before the trapdoor closes behind you and traps you inside.”

“You’re insane. If I do manage to rescue the Cleric on the strength of your planning, it will be a miracle.”

“Naturally. I will be raised to Eternal Mage for this. I promise not to forget you when I have been sanctified.”