Peacemakers

“…through him to reconcile everything to himself, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood…” Colossians 1:20 CSB

“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 own household.” Matthew 10:34-36

The longing for peace is inherent in the human soul, so much that world-wide events are often driven by it. National policy is weighed against it. Societal movements claim it as a mantra. Interpersonal relationships are changed by it. But only once has true peace ever existed in the physical realm. Even then, those who possessed it did not recognize or understand it, and in pursuit of something different destroyed it.

What some people understand as peace is the idea of sameness. There are no differences of opinion, no cultural differences, no physical differences, no disorder, no struggle of any kind. This is not peace, it is laziness. Others think peace means there are no standards at all, that every person in the world must cater to the opinions of every other person in the world, while never being the same as anyone else in any way. This is also not peace, it is selfishness.

True peace is far different. It is not dependent upon other human beings or on the physical realm at all. It is rare, a treasure difficult to find, and fearsome to behold. Christ came to make it, but not between men. As the verses above make very clear, humanity often reacts violently when confronted with it.

So what does a peacemaker do if not smooth over all humanity’s ills? What is peace if not the absence of trouble on earth?

Peace is reconnection with God, a healing of the breach torn between Him and His children. It can only be found in Him, by returning our will  and understanding to He who gave it. His character becomes ours, His strength becomes our conviction, His unchangeable truth becomes our unwavering courage to stand against lies.

Peace does not prevent trouble; on the contrary, peace is a beacon to those controlled by the author of confusion and father of lies. Most will choose not to surrender their own will, but like Cain will resent the consequences and grow to hate those who have what they rejected. They will see a sword but not the dragon , and in their willing ignorance they will attack the defender while the dragon burns them alive.

Most will, but not all. Some will see the strength and courage and be drawn to it. They will rise from the carnage and chaos to stand, taking arrows of their own. Some will fall, but more will rise to continue to fight for peace.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs.” Matthew 5:9-10 CSB

Book Teaser: The Queen’s Guard

   The Amrtaka finally drew so close that the rising dunes began to hide them from view. I hissed a warning to Dagda and Balhon, who instantly prepared for battle. I thought about pulling my chain mail hood back over my head from around my neck where I had let it droop, but decided against it. The metal might clink and alert the centaur to our presence before I was ready. I didn’t put much stock in my chances if the Ban Renfra caught me spying on her.

   I tensed automatically as the group came back into view following the stream between the dunes. Gleaming plate armor covered every inch of their torsos as well as their arms, with wide lower breastplates shaped like the spades in a card game extending down from their chestplates and fastened by leather straps between their legs to a broad billet cinched around the barrel of their equine bodies. The billet held livery stitched with what I assumed to be the Ban Renfra’s insignia in gold, green, and purple. Most of the warriors wore helmets crested with the same insignia, but one stood out with a streaming plume of what appeared to be horsehair dyed in the Ban Renfra’s colors. Centaur hair, I corrected myself. I shuddered, my stomach clenching slightly as I wondered for the first time if Dagda had been right to be wary of a ruler who would wear the hair of her own people as a crown.

   “We will rest here briefly,” I heard a woman’s voice say, and the centaur formed up around the plumed warrior. “Never mind formation; you four drink and replenish your water bags. The rest of you take a dune each and scout. Then report back here and exchange duties.”

   Her guards obeyed, and I had turned to warn my companions when her next words froze me in place. “Keep a close watch for the king and his human pet. The dwarves said that they had foiled Dracul’s efforts to liberate Gard, and that they were last seen travelling east. If fortune smiles upon us, His Treacherous Majesty will be on his way to manipulate the pegasi into helping him. Dracul would reward us richly for delivering the girl to him.”

Crow

Brent chortled into the mask. This was gonna be the best prank ever. Forget trick-or-treating, that was stupid kid stuff. He was gonna scare the pants off some partiers in the park tonight. He just needed to find the perfect spot.

He ducked under a vine that hung over the entrance to an old footpath. It obviously hadn’t been used in some time; the parks department must have decided it wasn’t worth maintaining. It would be perfect. He slipped the crow mask over his head and ducked behind a nearby tree. Just enough cover to keep him hidden until drunk party goers walked right up on him. Grinning in satisfaction, he turned around to lean against the trunk and wait.

Behind him on the trail stood another guy in the same mask. Brent jumped, then groaned. “Oh, come on, man! This is my prank! Find another crowd to get your kicks off of, will you?” The other masked figure stood motionless and silent, staring at Brent with arms behind his thin frame. Brent fidgeted. “Hey, that’s an awesome costume. You really know how to get in character, don’t you?”

The beak clicked lightly, setting the black feathers above it trembling. Brent suddenly realized that his own had been tickling him for several minutes as they blew in the breeze, but the other guy’s feathers hadn’t moved at all until that moment. He cleared his throat, darting glances back down the main path, hoping for some early revellers, some lost trick-or-treaters, anything. The beak clicked again, then opened into a black maw. Brent’s scream was lost in the croaking rasp of the crow.

Book Review: Meet Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

What child doesn’t turn a junk heap into a whole magical world of race cars, rocket ships, and airplanes, and spend their days saving the world from horribly evil enemies? Jeremy and Jemima Potts were no different, and when their favorite rusty old wreck of a car is about to be destroyed, they just can’t let that happen. Fortunately, they have two dollars and an inventor for a dad.

With some junk of his own and a little imagination, Mr. Potts transforms the old car into a thing of beauty with a slight stutter in the engine. With their new friend Truly, the family takes Chitty for a test drive around the countryside, but Chitty isn’t just any old car. She has ideas of her own, and before long her antics land Jeremy and Jemimah in a battle to save their precious car from the selfish Baron Bomburst.

This delightful book is an early reader adaptation of the original Ian Fleming book based on the 1968 movie version of the story. It’s bright-colored illustrations will draw children into the Potts family adventure and inspire wonderful backyard escapades. As a bonus, the original novel is still sold on Amazon, along with sequels written by Frank Cottrell Boyce and the movie starring Dick Van Dyke as the eccentric Mr. Potts.

Scorched

It had been a week since Grims and I had sealed ourselves into the storm shelter. Fortunately for us Grims was a bit of a prepper. There had been enough food stored in there that we didn’t starve, although the composting toilet left much to be desired. In fact, as soon as Grims said we could check the surface I carried that thing out and dumped it. I didn’t even care what was waiting out there.

Now that essential task was complete, we had to figure out what to do next. If I didn’t know for a fact that we had been stuck in a hole for the past seven days, I wouldn’t have known where we were. The house was gone, not even charcoal left to mark where it had stood. The air was thick and gray with stale smoke, gusts of wind lifting dust devils of choking ash from the unrecognizable ground. Grims’ orchards were nothing but twisted stumps, stark against the smudged sunlight weakly fading through the smoky cover.

I coughed and covered my nose with my now smelly t-shirt. Grims grunted in displeasure at my exposed midriff, but I didn’t see the point. From the looks of things no one was going to be around to see it. I wondered how many of the neighboring farmers had made it to shelter in time. Maybe they were better off if they hadn’t. On the bright side, there wasn’t anything left for the beasts to come back for. We’d die from starvation instead of fire. Or maybe from suffocation; the inside of my shirt was as bad as the air outside.

The School Closet

Homeschooling is such a fluid undertaking. Unlike in a traditional classroom, where teachers repeat roughly the same lesson plans and teach the same skills year after year, homeschooling goalposts shift constantly as children develop and learn. Although some families maintain special “schoolrooms,” most of us don’t have the space in our homes for such a thing, and with the deeper understanding of our children’s learning styles that comes from the time we are able to spend with them, many families like mine would find that confining learning to a single room would be difficult.

Instead, our homes fill up with random collections of paper, art tools, science kits, memory tools, and of course books. Where others cover their walls with carefully chosen decor, ours are hidden behind bookshelves and child-made art. The household linens share space in the hall closet with school supplies.

The bookshelf situation will be a project for another day, but today our school closet got a makeover. With middle school approaching and STEAM taking over the house, the supplies needed to be updated and reorganized. Paper needs are hovering in a weird transition between construction paper and graph paper. Crayons and markers grudgingly yield space to colored pencils and paintbrushes. Coloring books were purged to make way for an entirely new category of supplies, a box full of microscope, chemistry, and magnets.

And yes, we count board games as school. Don’t you?

Kingdom

Throughout history, people have defined themselves by physical boundaries. We have the God-given need to draw together for support, companionship, and productivity. Nations form based on common location, following leaders who either appeal to a common goal or claim power to exert their own desires on others. As goals change and leaders die, these boundaries change to create new nations, and new leaders rise along with them.

This is the nature of the nations of the earth. Like castles made of sand, the physical bonds chosen by humanity can be molded or erased at will. The waves of time, selfishness, and fear are capricious, and even the most elaborate of structures are not immune to their destructive power.

As humans we tend to cling to our castles in the sand. We work hard to build them, we put much of ourselves into them, we identify ourselves by them. This is not a bad thing, it is part of our nature. But because we do this, often we place far too much importance on human leaders and human systems. We begin to see humans as saviors, as gods to rescue us from ourselves. We insist that our systems of government are divinely favored, and that any opposition must be from the devil.

Only one physical nation ever had that distinction, and it’s time was divinely limited. When its purpose had been served, God Himself saw to its downfall. He spoke of its demise hundreds of times for hundreds of years before the fall, calling attention to the greater kingdom of which it was a part and which would only be clearly seen when it had dissolved.

The true kingdom, the only castle that can never be washed away, is not defined by boundaries on a map or by physical systems of government. The Law that governs it is not defined by laws encoded by humans. Its King will never die or be overthrown; He rules both life and death, and directs the footsteps of humans whether they will or no. The true kingdom is not and will never be a place; it is a bond between the heart of God and the hearts of those who recognize His eternal sovereignty.

The greatest of earthly leaders may possess that bond as well as the poorest citizen. The true kingdom is unique in that only within it will equality ever exist, yet it possesses greater diversity than any human system could ever achieve. Its citizens reside in every nation, it claims individuals from every culture and with every physical trait within human dna.

Unlike physical nations, its borders are immovable and unbreachable. The only way in is on the King’s Highway, and the road signs are planted in bedrock. Unlike earthly leaders, the King cannot be bribed or threatened. He simply IS. Unlike systems created by humans, its goals will never shift and no laws need ever be encoded. The King and the citizens are so closely bound that the citizens naturally embody the character of the King.

Because this kingdom is in the hearts of humans rather than defined by physical boundaries, every nation and every society is inevitably influenced by it. Nations and societies that seek that influence naturally encode systems that reflect its Law, and because the Law is the nature of the world God created those societies prosper. Nations and societies that seek to destroy that influence defy the Law of creation and inevitably fall. Sometimes, the former become the latter and fall; other times, the latter become the former and rise.

Whatever the sandcastle or the wave, the citizens of the kingdom have one responsibility. We must root ourselves in the bedrock and stand while sand and foam beat upon us and scour the beaches clean around us. We must become the foundation upon which the next castle may be built, the bulwark against the waves.

“All flesh is like grass, and all its glory like a flower of the grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord endures forever.” I Peter 1:24-25 CSB

Book Teaser: The Mer

   Marinus and his companion turned and dove into the ocean, waves having piled up around us against the sloping sand. Our bubbles kept pace with them, seemingly drawn by invisible tethers emanating from the merman’s outstretched hands. I tried to look around as we were drawn into the deep water, but the rushing water flowing past me around the edge of the bubble so disoriented my senses that I had to close my eyes to conquer the bile rising in my throat.

   We slowed and excited voices reached me through the liquid shell surrounding me. I opened my eyes to find myself in the midst of a crowd of staring swimmers. Eyes the color of the depths of the sea in scaled faces sharing the bright hues of a coral reef examined every part of us. The voices spoke in a strange language, reminding me strongly of whale song I had heard on Earth. I listened, fascinated, as Marinus responded in the same language, his own voice no longer the roaring of surf, but overpowering the others the way a lion’s roar would drown out the mews of his cubs. The crowd quieted and drew back but continued to follow, attracting more swimmers the farther we went.

   With our speed slowed I was finally able to look around me. Mer was one of the most mesmerizing places I had ever seen. Houses seemingly grew from living coral, pockets across their surfaces filled with small fish and sea creatures that darted about with abandon. Wide thoroughfares of deep sand ran between them. Here and there floated odd water sleds of what appeared to be some exotic leather stiffened with whalebone, harnessed behind huge fish that despite fins and gills reminded me incongruously of cattle.

   The merpeople themselves were nothing like Earth stories had painted them. The men were large and fierce, heavy fins protruding from their forearms and upper backs. Many of them bore scars that broke the sleek lines of their bodies. All carried spears strapped to their shoulders, connected to leather cords wrapped multiple times around their waists. The women were smaller, slimmer, and their fins streamed behind them like rippling trains, but their teeth were as sharp as those of the men and their fingers were tipped with sharp spikes. I was surrounded by colors brighter than I had imagined possible enhanced by the rippling sunlight making its way below the waves.

The Box

She closed the door slowly, keys slipping from her fingers to the entryway table with an absurdly loud clatter in the silent house. A light showed dimly under the kitchen door and her feet moved automatically in that direction.

Her hand slid across the door as she pushed it open and a broad swath of light broke the endless night of the hallway. The overhead lamp blazed above the breakfast table, showing off the place settings for two ready for the next morning’s date. She touched the edge of one plate, fiddling with the paper napkin hanging slightly over.

She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed heavily before looking to the center of the table. Pink roses lay in no particular arrangement around a tiny cardboard box tied with brown cord. Her hand shook as she reached for the box, and nerveless fingers bent the edge of the note stuck beneath the knot.

He should have been the one to open it. He should have been waiting for her as they had planned. It should have been the beginning of the rest of their lives. It wasn’t fair. A panicked urge to flee backed her into the door that had swung shut behind her, and she slid to the floor with the box crushed against face, dissolving slowly in unheeded tears.

Book Review: Hattie and the Wild Waves

Hattie loves to make pictures. While her brother and sister play cards with the maids and torment the nannies, Hattie draws. While the family mixes with society at the seashore, Hattie walks the beaches alone and paints. While her sister gets married and her brother becomes a businessman, Hattie paints.

Hattie can’t play beautiful music on the piano like Mama. She can’t sew beautiful needlework like her sister. Even her hair won’t curl properly. But she can draw barges that Papa says are seaworthy, and she can paint the wild waves.

Hattie is every child with a dream. As readers walk Hattie’s journey with her and her family, they will unconsciously learn lessons of self-awareness, hard work, and never giving up. Although set in the early twentieth century, the appeal of this story is timeless and it’s message always relevant.