Reader – Page 18 – The Word Worker

The Pod

Lise’s eyes darted back and forth in the dim light under the trees. Jole was always following her around, but she didn’t want to share her find with her loudmouth little brother. Sure she was alone, she ducked under the hanging moss hiding the strange pod and its contents.

The bones were merely a curiosity; scraps of material that crumbled at a touch held no meaning, though she did run her antenna over the hands. What possible use could require the use of five fingers? No matter, she had seen stranger creatures.

It was the box that she came for. The lock was simple and old; nothing a quick finger circuit couldn’t shock open. Inside was a roll of some thin stiff substance, cracking with age despite being protected in the box, and covered with what could only be a map. Lise had seen one when she snuck inside the council bore; a whole cycle of silence had been the price of that indiscretion. This one didn’t look right, though; the outlines were far bigger and more wiggly than on the other.

Beside the map was the strangest device, like a small box except covered with gadgets that spun and clicked under her fingers. She dropped it with a alarmed purl when one side flew open and whatever had been inside scattered as dust over the square objects beneath it. Carefully she pulled them out, wondering at the images on their smooth faces. Nothing like them grew anywhere near her home; surely such things were nothing but fever dreams of a creative. Still, her eyes drifted to the five-fingered creature’s remains and the odd looking map. What if they weren’t?

Gathered

ecclesia – translated “church” in English language Bibles – a summoned assembly, a gathering of people for a purpose

“And I also say unto you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not over power it.” Matthew 16:18

“He will lift up a banner for the nations and gather the dispersed of Israel; he will collect the scattered of Judah from the four corners of the earth.” Is. 11:12

“Knowing their works and their thoughts, I have come to gather all nations and languages; they will come and see my glory.” Is. 66:18

“As for me, if I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself.” Jn. 12:32

“…you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God (the heavenly Jerusalem) to myriads of angels, a festive gathering, to the assembly of the firstborn whose names have been written in Heaven, to a Judge, who is God of all, to the spirits of righteous people made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood, which says better things than the blood of Abel.” Heb. 12:22-24

“Be on guard for yourselves and for all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has appointed you as overseers, to shepherd the church of God which he purchased with his own blood.” Acts 20:28

“Greet one another with a holy kiss. The churches of Christ salute you.” Rom. 16:16

“…all the churches of the saints…” 1 Cor. 14:33

“We want you to know, brothers and sisters, about the grace of God that was given to the churches of Macedonia…” 2 Cor. 8:1

“And he subjected everything under his feet and appointed him as head over everything for the church…” Eph. 1:22

The spiritual gathering that belongs to God is never named or given a title. It is simply described as being individuals in any place who are drawn into the common purpose of belonging to and serving God. In scripture, it is most often not even qualified, but simply referred to as the gathered (the church).

Folded Paper

What image comes to mind when you imagine a person who likes origami (the art of paper folding, in case someone doesn’t know)? I can tell you I did not envision my nine year old son’s face. I was wrong. I’m not even sure how he was exposed to the idea, but for about two weeks now he has been rapidly draining our supply of construction paper.

His usual approach to tasks is wildly haphazard. Impulsive is an understatement for his personality. This new interest in origami has shown me a side of him I have been desperately trying and failing to find. He used the search engine on the old phone our kids use as a tablet to find instructions for folding ideas he dreamed up, read them carefully, and followed each step with painstaking care and accuracy. On his own he realized that construction paper isn’t square like origami paper and carefully measured and cut to create his own squares. Our house is filling with paper dinosaurs and weapons.

As parents and teachers, often we have a tendency to pre-judge our children. Daydreamy, wild, stubborn, unfocused, the list of paper boxes we create continues. We wrap our own ideas and expectations around our children like bubble wrap in preparation to ship them off into the world we recognize, ensuring they can’t move or bounce around as if their value might go down for a few scuffs and bruises.

The truth is our children are not commodities to be packed into paper boxes and shipped in whatever direction we choose. They are beautiful, unique, and surprising souls, folding their own lives into the image they choose. Sometimes they will fold incorrectly and leave marks on the surface of their lives. Sometimes they will cut or fasten in the wrong place, leaving nicks and scrapes. Sometimes their delicate constructions will be dropped and stepped on and have to be reinflated and smoothed. Sometimes they will fashion themselves into many different forms before discovering the exact set of folds required for the structure they are meant to have. The finished product will have been wrinkled, folded, torn, stapled, taped, glued, and crushed, but without all of that, it could not be the unique masterpiece of a human soul.

Book Teaser: In the Giant’s Hall

My breath caught in my chest. Was it possible he had heard my silent scream? My fear hadn’t lessened, but somehow my need directed it outward. Dagda had said to use my feelings rather than letting them control me. I kept my eyes on the Eimlach and begged wordlessly. He didn’t move, but shreds of music began to separate the gray.

I turned my attention inward, listening with every fiber of my being. The Eimlach’s eyes bored into mine, the sneering laughter of the vampyr fading under the swelling, unifying song in my mind. I didn’t realize I had begun to sing, words that I did not understand, until my hands began to tingle. I lifted them in front of me and watched as the notes shaped a great sword, unsheathed and deadly sharp. Movement around the room pulled at the periphery of my vision. The giants moved, slowly stirred by the battle song.

My eyes returned to the Eimlach, whose lips moved with the words of the song though little sound accompanied them. I turned slowly to find Dagda and Balhon watching. Balhon lowered his head and a whirl of red light streamed from his horn, wrapping itself around me and the Eimlach, seeking the Eimlach’s warriors. I could feel the heat of its intent; fight, it said, fight for your lives! Dagda stood, sword drawn and ready, seemingly as tall and mighty as the Eimlach himself. His smile to me glittered through the retreating gray and the swirling notes in my mind.

I whirled back as the Eimlach’s voice boomed suddenly behind me, his deep bass joining my girlish tones as he heaved himself to his feet, face still gray but with color quickly returning. A sword twice the size of mine formed in his hands, and the other giants in the hall stood and joined the song. Dagda shouted the windows open and both the song and Balhon’s red-hot light flowed into the city.

The Undying Sacrifice

The sun crept over the hills, its deep shadows still heavy on the path to the tomb. The women bringing oils to preserve the body of their teacher halted transfixed by the sight of the seal rolled to the side and bright rays breeching the darkness within the cave. The broken body taken in grief from the cross and gently laid to rest behind that seal only two night before was gone, and as they turned in confusion the One who made use of that body stood before them, very much alive.

The ground around the temple still stank with the blood of the many Passover lambs blessed and slaughtered there only days before. The Levites still worked frantically to mend the great curtain dividing the seat of God’s mercy from the nation who awaited it. Two disciples struggled to quiet breath ragged from their headlong rush to see the empty tomb for themselves, only beginning to understand that they had stood beneath the shower of blood on the true seat of mercy as God offered Himself as the final Passover lamb.

As crowds flooded the city for the great festival of harvest, the friends of Jesus went home to Galilee. There the Living Sacrifice met them on the shore where they worked and waited for something they did not fully understand, and brought them back to the site of His Altar. There, in the garden where His first drops of blood spilled, He allowed them to see Him ascend like the smoke of the offering to His rightful place as the Receiver of the Offering.

As the sun rose on another festival morning, worshippers ascending the temple mount were drawn away from their dead sacrifices by the expression of God’s presence over a humble house within the city, where the friends of Jesus received the gift of His life. For the first time since Mt Sinai, God showed himself to His people in a new Holiest Place, the hearts of those who loved Him. For the first time since Mt Sinai, the temple stood empty as the Living Sacrifice blessed the beginning of a new harvest.

The tomb remains empty. The temple has long since been destroyed. The harvest continues. The undying Lamb still shows Himself every day to those willing to see the power of His presence and walk in the light of an eternal festival morning.

Book Teaser: The Innkeeper

Dagda led us to an inn near the edge of town. The door, large enough to accommodate the tallest of giants, was made of solid oak planks, heavy and impenetrable. Fortunately for us, a smaller door was set into it, still solid and heavy, but with a latch that was accessible to smaller beings like humans or Tuatha De. Dagda lifted the latch and opened the door to a huge room filled with light and people.

A centaur, his human torso wearing a linen shirt and an apron that hung to his knees, approached us as we entered. “Welcome, Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, rubbing his palms on his apron before extending his hand. Dagda grasped it with a warm smile, and the centaur pulled him in to slap his back with the other hand, towering head and shoulders over him. “It’s good to see you again, my friend!” They turned to us. “Balhon you know, of course. Kizi is the one sticking her tongue out at you from beneath his mane. And this is Selene. Selene, meet Khirrafi, the best innkeeper in all Fae.”

“Nice to meet you, Khirrafi,” I acknowledged, examining the centaur with interest. In all the fairy tales and legends, creatures like centaurs and giants were spoken of as fierce, terrifying warriors. I had never considered them as people, with families, homes, and occupations. Yet there was Khirrafi, his dark skin and long straight hair looking not at all incongruously civilized. A leather thong tied his hair into a braid down his back, and grease stains adorned his apron.

He smiled broadly at me and bowed slightly. “The pleasure is mine, Chosen,” he responded. “Whatever you need is at your disposal with my compliments.” He turned to Dagda and Balhon with a similar bow. “You as well, my friends.” Kizi twittered, an indignant note in her voice as she propped tiny hands on her hips in midair. Khirrafi laughed suddenly, a guffaw that startled me and drew momentary attention from half the occupants of the room. “As for you, mischievous sprite, mind your manners and refrain from annoying my cooks and there will be a sweet treat for you!”

Dark Star

Her sisters already framed the night sky, swirling gently into the place reserved for them by Zeus. Only she remained, already touched with the stardust of the light she would become. The light she had not chosen.

The grasses crushed softly under her bare feet as she walked slowly across her mother’s pasture, their scent drawing agonized tears to her eyes. If she joined the others in the globe of the heavens as commanded, would she ever smell the sweet scent of life again? How could this be protection? Why could not Orion be cursed to travel the heavens, far from his beloved forests and the game he sought?

Her sons were so young, only millennia yet gifted to them. Especially Lycus, so impetuous and headstrong. He was his mother’s son, she thought, a quick smile chasing stardust from her face. He would take what he wanted, she knew, but without her guidance he would never escape the consequences. After all, had she not learned from her father’s fate? Some battles could not be won by force, only by wit and cunning.

Yet even she seemed unable to win this one. Celaeno, the daughter of the mightiest Titan ever to walk the earth, would be banished forever, while her tormenter remained free to choose his own fate. The stardust thickened and she clenched transforming fists around the folds of her now radiant gown. “I will never be a star!” hung voiceless in the windless night as a seventh light joined the circle above.

Book Review: Is It Far To Zanzibar

Have you ever been on safari? Bought a juicy mango from a street vendor? Searched for the elusive crown of Mt. Meru in the clouds? If you live in Tanzania, chances are you have at least chanted about doing all these things and more while playing childhood games.

Tanzania’s rich and varied cultural tapestry is beautifully painted in Nikki Grimes’ simple poems. Ancient traditions and native foods blend with crowded bus rides and modern adventures in the pages of this book, just as they do in Tanzania itself. Every young reader can experience the cozy hut in rainy season or run from the hungry lion.

The language in this book is simple enough for children to read on their own, but we had so much fun using this as a read-aloud. We enjoyed stumbling over the swahili words introduced by Ms. Grimes, then checking our pronunciation on the glossary page at the end of the book. Perhaps your children would enjoy making up tunes or dances to the catchy rhythms of the poems.

Symphony

He flexed his fingers and shifted nervously. He stroked the keys, drawing a deep, ragged breath as he moved his hands into position. The first notes were soft, tentative, sending dim blue tendrils into the darkness of the sound chamber.

His pulse quickened, notes grew stronger. The tendrils thickened and swirled, the darkness within their coils taking shape. He closed his eyes, desperate to focus on the music, but that coalescing shape tugged at his consciousness.

A face emerged, sound pulsing across delicate features. His chest rose and fell with increasing intensity, and first one note then another fell flat. A discordant clang echoed around the room as the song ended. A set of wave blue eyes opened, lighting the chamber with their residual glow. Symphony awoke.