“Hey, Job, you’re glitching again.” Mara’s voice came through the neural transmitter. “What’s up?”
“This uniform doesn’t fit,” Job’s voice sounded tinny. “The collar has restricted blood flow and the shoulder seams are in the wrong place.” His shoulders twitched repeatedly, and one finger ran first left, then right, then left again under the thin collar, pulling it out of shape.
“The uniform is one solid piece, specially made to form fit,” Mara reminded him. “And you don’t have blood.”
“I cannot perform properly.” Job’s voice thinned farther. “My sensors are certain this uniform is wrong. I must have a new uniform.”
“Job, the uniform is not the problem.” Mara checked her feed. “Run a self-diagnostic immediately. These readings are out of balance; you need to find the source.”
“Uniform is sh-sh-shutting down central p-p-processing.” Job’s voice broke and stuttered, and he ripped at the collar of the uniform. “M-m-m-must cha-cha-“
“Manual override, freeze program,” Mara sighed. “Run full diagnostic on all Job circuits. Not just sensors this time! All circuits! This is the fifteenth test run; clearly the central processor is affected because he’s had a different glitch every time.”
“Unfreeze program.” Mara watched the robot press its cheeks until the face clicked open. “Job, put your face back on. Disconnecting your main sensors is not going to fix your processor. Oh good grief, you’ve done it anyway.”
Let’s go to the circus, Leo! I want to see the elephants dance, don’t you? And the pretty ladies on the big swings! Those are my favorite. I ‘m gonna be one of those pretty ladies when I’m big. Cause I like to swing, too! Don’t you like to swing, Leo? Maybe tomorrow you can swing with me.
Maybe they’ll let you be in the circus. I bet you’d be the best lion they ever had. Don’t be scared of the guy with the big black rope that makes loud noises. He won’t hurt you. He just has to make everybody think he will. You just roar and wave and we’ll all clap real hard.
Do you think there’ll be clowns? I’m kinda scared of those. They smile weird. They do make fun balloons, though, and I like those. Maybe, if you hold my hand really tight, I won’t be scared when a clown gives me one.
Can you see the big tent yet, Leo? We’ve been walking a long time and I’m tired. I thought we’d get there faster, didn’t you? I’m hungry, too. I bet Mommy has some animal crackers. Let’s go home and have some. Then all the animals can be in our own circus! Won’t that be fun, Leo? Come on, let’s run!
My husband and I love to go fourwheeler riding. Anyone who does any kind of off-road riding knows that trails develop because they have been driven over. Someone found a way through the woods or whatever terrain and others followed the tracks because the first person proved that path was passable. Enough vehicles pass that way and the dirt packs too hard for plants to grow, leaving an obvious dirt road. Dirt turns into mud, tires plow through it and dig channels, more tires follow the same channels because obviously the first guy didn’t sink there, and the ruts get deeper and deeper.
At first it seems so much safer and easier to follow the same path that everyone did before you, but eventually something else happens. The ruts get deeper while the ground between them stays the original height. The tires going through the ruts carry vehicles, and eventually while the tires could go through the ruts the vehicle frame can’t make it over that middle hump. It’s stuck. The tires keep spinning but the vehicle doesn’t move.
The only way a stuck vehicle is going anywhere is being pulled out by another vehicle. Sometimes the process of being pulled out breaks important parts on the bottom so the vehicle doesn’t run anymore. Suddenly using those established ruts became very expensive and caused a whole lot of trouble for more than one person. The problem is usually fixable, but going the easy established way isn’t easy anymore.
Sometimes life can be like that. It’s so much easier to just follow established paths without really paying attention. It’s what everyone else is doing, so why change anything? We don’t even notice we’re in the ruts until we’ve sunk ourselves so deep we can’t go forward or backward. When we finally manage to get out of the roubles we caused, often we are so broken we still can’t go anywhere and the need to heal consumes the time we could have used to reach our goals.
Have you ever thought about the disciples of Christ as human beings? People just like you? Can you recognize the following descriptions based on what we know about them from scripture? Do you recognize yourself? Might Jesus have called you if you lived in first century Palestine?
A blue-collar worker, impulsive and outspoken, trying to support a family, never quite staying ahead of expenses, fed up with oppression and ready to fight for king and freedom
A blue-collar worker, lives with his brother, searching for more of God than religious leadership offered, ready to trust, focused on political freedom from oppression
A blue-collar worker, co-owner of a family business, hot-headed, loyal, ambitious, honest, deep thinker, likes things simple
Seeking more of God than religious leadership offered, a good friend, excited to follow God, eager to bring more people with him, focused on physical solutions to problems
A slow listener, loyal, skeptical, unshakeable once convinced
Ambitious, materialistic, black sheep of the family, considers God expendable compared to comfort and success, unsatisfied
Proud of ethnic heritage, fierce proponent of independence from oppressive political system, militant political activist, trained fighter, rigidly adherent to the religious system passed down from previous generations
Ambitious, selfish, lacking conviction, dishonest, disloyal, belatedly regretful of decisions, convinced of hopelessness
Naïve teenager, committed to future of poverty and hard work, rule follower, trusting, condemned by society
Possessed by multiple demons, outcast from society, unable to function, desperate
Housewife, hospitable, focused on making a good impression, respected in the community, constantly busy
Leader, teacher, rigidly adherent to religious structure, secretly conflicted, sincere, afraid of society, cautiously hopeful
Soldier, leader, loyal to the ruling political system, unaware of God, desperate for help
Classically educated, financially well off, militantly religious, respected by religious leadership, committed to serving God, murderer, hateful
Something about each of the above was changed by contact with Jesus, but not everything. Often what seems the worst traits became great strengths; other times, the worst traits became the catalyst for great service. What will you let Jesus do with you?
When I did see it, I would have screamed if I could have breathed. I no longer heard the waves or felt the wind, and the sunset faded into nothing. Dark red scales and black horns filled my vision. The scrape of a leather belly against stone drowned out every other sound. I watched, frozen, as the creature I had seen in the map crawled yard by yard out of the spire.
The head was massive, with arm-length black spikes rising above nostrils and eyes, fangs as long as I was tall showing through snarling jaws. More spikes, longer than my arm and wickedly curved, fanned out from the back of its head to protect a thick, sinewy neck. The neck rose high above the spire then snaked down as a razor sharp set of claws scarred the stone. The intense chalkboard sound set my teeth on edge and stabbed my eardrums; I choked down a scream of pain. Another set of claws joined the first, and two muscular legs heaved the creature’s body into full view. The thing spread leathery wings, extending them so wide to blot out what remained of the sun. It reared up, a black shadow against the darkening sky. The wind from the movement of its wings nearly knocked me from my perch and I knew my time was up. I stabilized myself one last time as the creature threw its head back and roared.
The bellow was like nothing I had ever heard. It was as if all the stones in all the mountains in all the world fell in one great living avalanche, grinding and cracking against each other with a sentient voice. Flame spewed from its gaping jaws, a raging volcano spitting and splashing its molten death into the air. I could see very little in the deepening dusk, but answering roars and sparks lit up other crystal columns with a horrifying frequency. I had not yet been seen, but my strength was gone and there was no time to waste.
Remember that old woman who swallowed a fly? This zany monkey takes her appetite to a whole new level with a slew of odd decisions, starting with a frog. A host of jungle animals (and a dancing mango) parade in silly formation into the old monkey’s stomach.
This book is a delightful new twist to an old favorite. Kids cackle at every new meal choice. The repetitive verses make a hilarious read-aloud. The wacky illustrations add another level of fun as each animal eaten is given its own unique personality, and they all seem to have a party inside the monkey’s expanding stomach. Wouldn’t that give you a belly ache?
It was an odd place, cobblestone streets and medieval plaster houses confusingly paired with modern storefronts and colorful canvas awnings. Agatha loved it. Every birthday and anniversary, she insisted we have lunch at the little bistro on the tiny mishmash of a square.
The city had long since turned the houses into a retirement village, which meant that the crowds tended decidedly toward the downward side of the hill, if you know what I mean. I asked Agatha on one birthday somewhere in her early thirties why she preferred the square to any of the popular and romantic downtown spots. She said she couldn’t think of anything more romantic than the square.
Agatha loved watching people, and I loved watching her, so I rarely saw what she saw. But that day she made me pull my chair next to hers and look out over the square. She showed me the couple at the next table whose wrinkled fingers entwined as they sipped black coffee from plain mugs. She showed me the elderly man pushing his wife around in her chair while she chattered excitedly about the window displays in the little shops. She showed me the three sisters with bobbed hair and oversized handbags who made the same round of the square every day, just for the chance to be together.
For thirty years she made me promise we would retire to the square. She never saw her wish come true. Today would have been her 65th birthday, and for thirteen years I have ridden the elevator from my fourth floor plaster-walled apartment to sit under the green umbrella in front of the bistro. Now I watch the young people who occasionally visit, wondering what they are thinking, what Agatha would have made of them. They are different these days, yet the same. I wonder if one day that boy with eyes for only one person will sit here fifty years from now, and hope that bright-eyed girl he adores will be holding his hand over a mug of coffee.
“…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
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.”
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.
The Word Worker 