Ok, so I FINALLY figured out what the riddle on the medallion in The Blood of the Lamb is going to be! I've been meaning to accomplish for a while, seeing as how the idea is a year old already, but I really didn't know until today what I was going to do with that daunting part of the book called the middle. So anyway, here it is, the first draft of the riddle of The Blood of the Lamb!
Note: I did the riddle in parts since it is to guide the plotline of the book. The characters then will naturally only receive a chunk of the riddle at a time, giving them progressive information as the story progresses through its individual stages. Riddle parts are separated by paragraphs.
Whoever finds this, make it clear,
A prophecy fulfilled is very near.
Through depths and crags and tales of old,
Find you a city more precious than Gold.
Where children laugh and weather be bitter,
Beware, for not all is gold that doth glitter.
Whoever finds this, if you dare,
Play upon the fiddle,
And avoid the Serpent's snare.
For not all is as it should seem.
Behold, awake!
Lest you should find it a dream.
Whoever finds this, mourn by night,
And watch the bird's stellar flight.
For Morn is far and Night is near,
A deep, dark sorrow for all you hold dear.
But wait for Dawn and you will see,
Another thing to be done for me.
Whoever finds this, do you see?
A city shining forth with Glee?
Wolves by night and sheep by day,
Take heed and never wander astray!
But look to Light and you will find,
A Truth that is forever Mine.
Whoever finds this, seek me where,
Those who are brave, to go, never dare.
Look to the Star, let her be your guide,
From her yourselves never do hide.
Go wherever she might,
For my will she doest not fight.
Whoever finds this, see through the fog,
The trap set in the Serpent's bog.
For not all Old are wise and not all Wise are old,
Separate one from the other by the gift untold.
Tread the path narrow and straight.
Beware the road of the wide, open gate!
To them who find this, it will not be long,
Before right is made of what was wrong.
Fear not the fire, for it will not burn,
Provided Forgiveness takes her turn.
A wound in the flesh, though painful to do,
For all of mankind, a love to renew.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
A Party to Murder- Backward Glances at Shine's Latest Production!
Early August- I stepped into my drama director's home, alongside my friend Bekah and our two moms. She welcomed us into her new and beautiful abode, seating us upon the sofas. As she chatted with both of us and our parents, she gave us the run-down about what drama troupe life would look like and demand from us. We moved through the rest of the proceedings, Bekah still auditioning the acting life and myself pumped and ready for another full-blown season.
Nine months and plenty of intensive practices later, I sit here in my living room, reminiscing over the fun, the trials, and the spoofs me and my eighteen fellow friend-turned actors experienced. May I share them with you?
For the first several months, we concentrated on games to enhance awareness of other actors and many different facets of acting. We'd laugh at one another's antics, cheer successes in team-oriented games, etc. But, before long, we had the first draft of a script in our hands, auditions behind us, and our individual roles distributed....
The crack-down rehearsals really began in March, when we'd go every Tuesday from 1-4 p.m. running through our script. Sometimes we got through only two scenes a day. Week by week, we inched the pages out of our hands, began to learn our characters, and were continuing to silently build bonds as a team.
Soon enough, we had a week before our first performance. We were so scared- many of us still forgot our lines, nobody had any idea what they were doing, and our director was only getting more and more stressed. Some thought we wouldn't be ready. Others believed that we would pour our all into it until we were ready.
Until the last Tuesday, when we went through the play once and a half in six hours. It was unbelievable- we had never done that before with this play! Surging over our faces, smiles dominated our cast as we filed home. A new realization, a sudden strength rushed through us- we could do this....
"Ten minutes," said our director as she poked her head backstage. I grabbed my friend Grace and we screamed quietly amongst ourselves- screamed with our whole beings and every nerve, yet bottled inside so we would maintain our concealment behind the artificial walls that consisted of our stage. Roving amid the crowd of nineteen actors, each and every one of us spread quiet words of encouragement to each other, whispering about how we were going to rock and trying to calm ourselves as a team. Before long, we were herded into our dressing rooms, the first actors onstage taking their places, and the rest of us trying to refrain from useless chatter and to concentrate on our scripts.
Nine pages into the play, I found myself standing behind the actor that played Sutton, my nerves going beserk. Applause escorted out the first scene. The lights went down and came back up. Putting one bold foot in front of the other, I stepped out to leave everything out there.
Several minutes went by...I knew I was starting shaky, but slowly I gained a foothold. More characters had been introduced, and we began to fake a tea party. One of the actors entered, set the tray down, and just stood there. Oh dear.....
My friend Christine began to think as we tried to buy time for our fellow performer. "Aren't you going to leave now, Sutton?" "Do you have anything to say, Sutton?" she said.
"No, Madam."
Somehow or other, he recovered himself and we continued...for about a page, until another actor said his line in the wrong spot. But, luckily, by now we were well-prepared to ad lib, and another character filled in the blank spot with a geniusly impromptu line, which we all applauded in our minds. Once I almost tripped over the stage, but I caught myself in time.
Other than that, the performance went smoothly. We all had so much fun-the murder scenes went off without a hitch, hardly anybody guessed whodunit, our cast performed their parts with a talent that definitely overruled our low-budget attempt at a mystery. With what God had given us, we had used it to create the best performance possible.
But what was peculiarly fun to the actors was all the interesting characterizations we got to do during a part when we all stole some coins and the Inspector demanded them back. "Surely you don't suspect me!" "At least I've still got my good looks." and "Simply an over-active writers imagination." were some of the few lines that never made it to the script but we nonetheless used to add style and taste.
The saddest part of the night, however, was actually after the curtain call. When our director acknowledged our seniors, she broke some grievous news to everyone (including us).
Due to their age and insurance issues, six of our beloved friends wouldn't be able to come back to us next year. It was terrible. These were people I had practically grown up in theater with! We didn't even have time to react because we had to act strong in front of the audience!
The very next day, we performed the last production of this play. This one went off basically flawlessly, save for one major mishap....
I happened to be back in the girls dressing room (only two actresses were onstage), when I heard this alarm. Oh dear....
Rushing out, I found the rest of the cast in quiet confusion. We didn't know what to do. Candles were kindled all over the stage as part of the set...could this possibly be our worst nightmare come true?
Well, we had no orders and we weren't about to abandon the performance we had worked so hard for if we didn't have to.
"Should I go on?" the boy who played a very stoic butler said.
"Yes, yes," we whispered, hurrying him on.
The two actresses were still onstage when he stepped before them. We still had no idea what he was going to say (in a very droll monotone), but what came out of his mouth rocked our worlds....
"There is no fire in the back room, Madam."
We laughed. We shouted. We cheered. It was unbelievable! Something Satan could have used to entirely wreck our hard work God had turned into an unforgettable, happy memory that spiced the play with the unexpected! And the audience loved it!
The lights went down for the last time. Backstage, we gave up a mighty cry, we hugged, we danced. We joined hands as a team, held on to each other through thick and thin, and came out to a victorious standing ovation- still a team. Even as our lead ran into the dressing room to change back into her everyday self, her and I chatted elatedly about the performance and people's reception of it.
Yes, it was a bit sad. Goodbyes to good friends are never easy to say- especially when a quarter of our cast will probably never return to our team. But together, God had given us memories, special time with each other, and raised us to a height we could have never reaced without Him or each other.
Nine months and plenty of intensive practices later, I sit here in my living room, reminiscing over the fun, the trials, and the spoofs me and my eighteen fellow friend-turned actors experienced. May I share them with you?
For the first several months, we concentrated on games to enhance awareness of other actors and many different facets of acting. We'd laugh at one another's antics, cheer successes in team-oriented games, etc. But, before long, we had the first draft of a script in our hands, auditions behind us, and our individual roles distributed....
The crack-down rehearsals really began in March, when we'd go every Tuesday from 1-4 p.m. running through our script. Sometimes we got through only two scenes a day. Week by week, we inched the pages out of our hands, began to learn our characters, and were continuing to silently build bonds as a team.
Soon enough, we had a week before our first performance. We were so scared- many of us still forgot our lines, nobody had any idea what they were doing, and our director was only getting more and more stressed. Some thought we wouldn't be ready. Others believed that we would pour our all into it until we were ready.
Until the last Tuesday, when we went through the play once and a half in six hours. It was unbelievable- we had never done that before with this play! Surging over our faces, smiles dominated our cast as we filed home. A new realization, a sudden strength rushed through us- we could do this....
"Ten minutes," said our director as she poked her head backstage. I grabbed my friend Grace and we screamed quietly amongst ourselves- screamed with our whole beings and every nerve, yet bottled inside so we would maintain our concealment behind the artificial walls that consisted of our stage. Roving amid the crowd of nineteen actors, each and every one of us spread quiet words of encouragement to each other, whispering about how we were going to rock and trying to calm ourselves as a team. Before long, we were herded into our dressing rooms, the first actors onstage taking their places, and the rest of us trying to refrain from useless chatter and to concentrate on our scripts.
Nine pages into the play, I found myself standing behind the actor that played Sutton, my nerves going beserk. Applause escorted out the first scene. The lights went down and came back up. Putting one bold foot in front of the other, I stepped out to leave everything out there.
Several minutes went by...I knew I was starting shaky, but slowly I gained a foothold. More characters had been introduced, and we began to fake a tea party. One of the actors entered, set the tray down, and just stood there. Oh dear.....
My friend Christine began to think as we tried to buy time for our fellow performer. "Aren't you going to leave now, Sutton?" "Do you have anything to say, Sutton?" she said.
"No, Madam."
Somehow or other, he recovered himself and we continued...for about a page, until another actor said his line in the wrong spot. But, luckily, by now we were well-prepared to ad lib, and another character filled in the blank spot with a geniusly impromptu line, which we all applauded in our minds. Once I almost tripped over the stage, but I caught myself in time.
Other than that, the performance went smoothly. We all had so much fun-the murder scenes went off without a hitch, hardly anybody guessed whodunit, our cast performed their parts with a talent that definitely overruled our low-budget attempt at a mystery. With what God had given us, we had used it to create the best performance possible.
But what was peculiarly fun to the actors was all the interesting characterizations we got to do during a part when we all stole some coins and the Inspector demanded them back. "Surely you don't suspect me!" "At least I've still got my good looks." and "Simply an over-active writers imagination." were some of the few lines that never made it to the script but we nonetheless used to add style and taste.
The saddest part of the night, however, was actually after the curtain call. When our director acknowledged our seniors, she broke some grievous news to everyone (including us).
Due to their age and insurance issues, six of our beloved friends wouldn't be able to come back to us next year. It was terrible. These were people I had practically grown up in theater with! We didn't even have time to react because we had to act strong in front of the audience!
The very next day, we performed the last production of this play. This one went off basically flawlessly, save for one major mishap....
I happened to be back in the girls dressing room (only two actresses were onstage), when I heard this alarm. Oh dear....
Rushing out, I found the rest of the cast in quiet confusion. We didn't know what to do. Candles were kindled all over the stage as part of the set...could this possibly be our worst nightmare come true?
Well, we had no orders and we weren't about to abandon the performance we had worked so hard for if we didn't have to.
"Should I go on?" the boy who played a very stoic butler said.
"Yes, yes," we whispered, hurrying him on.
The two actresses were still onstage when he stepped before them. We still had no idea what he was going to say (in a very droll monotone), but what came out of his mouth rocked our worlds....
"There is no fire in the back room, Madam."
We laughed. We shouted. We cheered. It was unbelievable! Something Satan could have used to entirely wreck our hard work God had turned into an unforgettable, happy memory that spiced the play with the unexpected! And the audience loved it!
The lights went down for the last time. Backstage, we gave up a mighty cry, we hugged, we danced. We joined hands as a team, held on to each other through thick and thin, and came out to a victorious standing ovation- still a team. Even as our lead ran into the dressing room to change back into her everyday self, her and I chatted elatedly about the performance and people's reception of it.
Yes, it was a bit sad. Goodbyes to good friends are never easy to say- especially when a quarter of our cast will probably never return to our team. But together, God had given us memories, special time with each other, and raised us to a height we could have never reaced without Him or each other.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Another Blood of the Lamb Excerpt
A clang crashed through the air, shattering the fragile calm of the castle. Arrenia threw herself upon her bed, clutching her pillow close as she wept into it. Body convulsing with sobs, she tore into the bright purple casing, delving her grasp deep into the feathery recesses. Pools of liquid dripped from her cheeks, dotting the cloth with droplets from the rain of grief.
A long creak whistled from the ancient hinges as the door cracked open. Small steps tip-toed across the stone floor, stealing to the bed. The mattress sagged with the weight of another being. Sniffing, Arrenia stifled her sobs.
Then the voice came, strong and impeding. “Arrenia, I must say that your conduct has embarrassed me with the utmost shame. He sought to marry you, which is more than penniless princess might expect from anyone! He was a guest- and an honored guest at that. And yet you disgraced him. I am ashamed of you, Arrenia de la Cornia- ashamed!”
Blood spurt upon her lip as Arrenia sank her teeth into it, clotting a cry in her throat. Every sinew twisted in a saddened knot, she lay stiff and unmoved. She clamped lids over her eyes, bracing herself against the memories suddenly flooding her mind. Resonating in her ears and echoing through her being, every nerve exposed to the acute pain. Castor’s rich voice thundered in her head, accompanying the images of melodic mirth with heavy harmony. Warm grass embraced her once more, only this time with the cold chill of belated warning. The sun kissed her cheeks once again, caressing them in its conniving light until the awaiting rosebud burst forth, only to watch the premature crimson splash dwindle slowly away.
Why hadn’t she remained in Sleyvink? For surely imprisonment in an enemy camp held more freedoms than the unseen and unsympathied confinement to a man for which one had only hate!
“How difficult would it have been, Arrenia? He is a man of great standing- a man many wish to marry and who comes at no low price. How kind he was to stoop this low and ask you to marry him, too! All he wished to be your bride-price was that worthless half-medallion that adorns your throat, saying that your fame, beauty, and sweetness of soul sufficed all other payment. And were it not for me, you would have turned him away like a dog gone astray!”
Arrenia jerked slightly, raising her head from the pool of tears, thoughts swimming through her mind. The medallion?! No! It couldn’t be! Castor had said to keep it safe!
She grasped it in the palm of her hand, enveloping it in a protective grip. Looking wildly up, she said, “No! He can’t have it!”
Illana glanced at her with a sharp scold. “And why not?”
Gulping, she shrank back slightly, recoiling into her thoughts. Sniffling softly, she clutched the medallion closer. Despair marked her fragile features. What could she say? Anything she could say about Castor her stepmother would take no heed to. Delicately tracing the golden outer ridges, she glanced down at it- the embossed edges, the green emeralds shining forth, the mysterious half-picture of an engraved Lamb, beckoningly calm in its unhampered ferocity.
The final memory of her mother, her rosebud cheeks like a faded flower, retiring into eternal rest. Light brown hair hallooing her head, thinned and tangled by the attenuations of disease. She recalled the little braids she used to place in those tresses, which were once so vibrant and full. String many jewels into it, she would, until it glittered in bedazzled splendor. Rubies, amethysts, turquoise…all adorned the sweet locks, including the emerald that was now set in the medallion. Could she really relinquish it?
“I…it…was my mother’s,” she stammered. “Her last present…and my only reminder of her presence.”
The woman paused for a moment. “Hmmph! Dearest Arrenia, I believe you are learned in our legends of old. Pray you, have you ever heard tell of a girl who would not exchange worn-out reminiscences for the prospect of a future most prosperous?”
Arrenia shook her head, cautiously beginning to throw up her internal shield.
A triumphant little laugh escaped the cruel one’s lips. “I thought not. ‘Tis a wonder, since memories are so dear to us after all. We are left to wonder why no one bothered to pen these tales into immortal retellings, are we not? Everything of a good substance must end happily. Well, dear, hearken to the tales untold and hear their unuttered stories. In them, there is no happy endings, which is why they were seen as unfit to lie atop the page.”
Pressing her lips together, the girl lowered the deepening ponds of her brown eyes. Her grip loosening around the precious object, her hand fell into her lap, gently clasping the other. She remained quiet, for indeed she felt there were no more words to say. Crushed and heartbroken, she sat in surrendered silence, the last ounce of rebellious nerve drained from her body.
“Your betrothal will be considered official,” Illana said, rising. “And, upon the day appointed by the court, you will give him your heart, your soul, and everything in your possession, should he so ask it. Like it or no, that is how it will be. And with that, I will take my leave.”
In a blurred rainbow of color, her dress swirled about her, its folds rustling their mocking secrets. Fists curling at the ends of her arms, Arrenia fought off their whispering voices, bracing herself against the berating battering breaking her being. Crumbling beneath its crushing force, she curled onto the bed and cried into its cushion of comfort. Pools puddled about her eyes, deepening as she sobbed from the depths of her grief.
Hand flying to her heart, holding gently beneath it the hurt of her whole being. Bittersweet reminisces clogged her memory, lancing her through with piercing poignancy. Sniffing, she lay there, completely helpless against the battle that within her raged.
“Castor,” she whimpered, savoring the sweet sound of his name. “Castor.”
In a flash, she saw Lucrious, his hidden face fired in the crimson hues of flames. Ghastly figures whirled through the dark expanse of her mind, spinning to the escalating screams. She clustered the silken covers in her hand, shutting her eyes against the scene. Snakes swerved before her, forked tongues flicking in and out, hisses shrieking from their mouths. A single strand of smoke curled into the inky blackness of the night. She felt Castor shoving her head into the soft recesses of the spring grass, the deathly words resonating wickedly across the world.
Die they must! Die they MUST!
Unbeknownst to the girl weeping upon her bed, behind the door a hand probed into the recesses of a swollen sleeve, producing a key kissed by the rust of the ages. Carefully inserting it into the handle, the long, thin fingers twisted and twined until a click- a quiet, cautious click- sounded from the throat of the hole.
Tearing at the blissful quiet of the night, a trumpet blasted the breaking of dawn. Castor stirred in half-wakefulness, tossing around, battling the day until he finally retreated into the covers. The first ray of light enveloped him in its crafty clutches, spreading its warmth over his body. Shakily, he shivered as bright brilliance invaded his senses, dancing before him with a mockish gait.
Rolling over, he threw a pillow over his head and pinned it down with a pinch of his fingers. A midnight hue crowded out all color, immersing him into the mindless mercy of the blind. He set his teeth. The hurting had already begun.
A small creak crept into the stillness. Occupying the crack in the doorway, the queen peeped around the corner, sending in a shaft of lighthearted merriment. She paused momentarily, then shook her head, slipping one brocade slipper into the room.
“Why so somber, oh son of the king?” Striding over to him, she peeled back his sheets. “Arise, oh valiant warrior!” She tossed aside his pillow and kissed his cheek softly. “For today, my son, you shall stand head and shoulders over the finest knights of the land.”
Groan gurgling from the back of his throat, he turned about, shielding himself from the invading sunlight. Just outside his window, metal rang upon metal as jousters prepared for the tournament ahead of them, draining his body of the puddle of energy as it sapped the strength from his arm. Slowly, his muscles relaxed upon the bed, the heavy weight of a sword still hefty in his mind. A soft, small breath slid between his teeth, hissing its way out into the world.
Sinking into the mattress, the queen pushed aside a strand of dark hair, unveiling the face beguiled in gruesome pain. Sighing, she traced her way down his cheek, cradling it in the palm of her hand. His wild brown gaze met her soft green one, stinging her expression with a smile of sweet tenderness. “Still lovesick, are you? Well, she was a very fine maid. One so fine is rarely seen, yet rarer still is she snagged in a heart’s trap like you for her at birth had laid. Oh, son, rid yourself of the questioning look and doubt not my word! Did you not think I did not observe the way she looked at you, the way you lightened the spark in her eye? Oh, hearten yourself and doubt not my words- you her mind shall not soon forget!”
Calluses dug into her caressing touch as his fingers embraced hers. “This is truly your thought, Mother? You believe it to be as you say?”
Emotion ebbed and brimmed in her voice as she stared at her boy, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. Happy in her heart for his love requite, she yet grieved the bittersweet loss of the babe she once had beheld. Shimmering in the morning rays, a tiny tear tinseled her complexion with silver’s sparkling shine. Leaning, in she whispered, “Truly, lest I have not eyes to see.”
Folding his hard hand over hers, he said, “You are a good woman.”
She laughed. “Not so good as you would make me out to be, dear one. Now hurry. You have a competition to prepare for and I have some things I must see to.”
Patting him one last time, she rose from his side and exited the room. He lay there for one more lazy minute, squinting into the sunlight seeping its way around him. Then, with a sigh, he tossed aside his covers, slipped into the silky cloth of his garb, laced his fingers about his sword, and went out to practice his jousting.
A long creak whistled from the ancient hinges as the door cracked open. Small steps tip-toed across the stone floor, stealing to the bed. The mattress sagged with the weight of another being. Sniffing, Arrenia stifled her sobs.
Then the voice came, strong and impeding. “Arrenia, I must say that your conduct has embarrassed me with the utmost shame. He sought to marry you, which is more than penniless princess might expect from anyone! He was a guest- and an honored guest at that. And yet you disgraced him. I am ashamed of you, Arrenia de la Cornia- ashamed!”
Blood spurt upon her lip as Arrenia sank her teeth into it, clotting a cry in her throat. Every sinew twisted in a saddened knot, she lay stiff and unmoved. She clamped lids over her eyes, bracing herself against the memories suddenly flooding her mind. Resonating in her ears and echoing through her being, every nerve exposed to the acute pain. Castor’s rich voice thundered in her head, accompanying the images of melodic mirth with heavy harmony. Warm grass embraced her once more, only this time with the cold chill of belated warning. The sun kissed her cheeks once again, caressing them in its conniving light until the awaiting rosebud burst forth, only to watch the premature crimson splash dwindle slowly away.
Why hadn’t she remained in Sleyvink? For surely imprisonment in an enemy camp held more freedoms than the unseen and unsympathied confinement to a man for which one had only hate!
“How difficult would it have been, Arrenia? He is a man of great standing- a man many wish to marry and who comes at no low price. How kind he was to stoop this low and ask you to marry him, too! All he wished to be your bride-price was that worthless half-medallion that adorns your throat, saying that your fame, beauty, and sweetness of soul sufficed all other payment. And were it not for me, you would have turned him away like a dog gone astray!”
Arrenia jerked slightly, raising her head from the pool of tears, thoughts swimming through her mind. The medallion?! No! It couldn’t be! Castor had said to keep it safe!
She grasped it in the palm of her hand, enveloping it in a protective grip. Looking wildly up, she said, “No! He can’t have it!”
Illana glanced at her with a sharp scold. “And why not?”
Gulping, she shrank back slightly, recoiling into her thoughts. Sniffling softly, she clutched the medallion closer. Despair marked her fragile features. What could she say? Anything she could say about Castor her stepmother would take no heed to. Delicately tracing the golden outer ridges, she glanced down at it- the embossed edges, the green emeralds shining forth, the mysterious half-picture of an engraved Lamb, beckoningly calm in its unhampered ferocity.
The final memory of her mother, her rosebud cheeks like a faded flower, retiring into eternal rest. Light brown hair hallooing her head, thinned and tangled by the attenuations of disease. She recalled the little braids she used to place in those tresses, which were once so vibrant and full. String many jewels into it, she would, until it glittered in bedazzled splendor. Rubies, amethysts, turquoise…all adorned the sweet locks, including the emerald that was now set in the medallion. Could she really relinquish it?
“I…it…was my mother’s,” she stammered. “Her last present…and my only reminder of her presence.”
The woman paused for a moment. “Hmmph! Dearest Arrenia, I believe you are learned in our legends of old. Pray you, have you ever heard tell of a girl who would not exchange worn-out reminiscences for the prospect of a future most prosperous?”
Arrenia shook her head, cautiously beginning to throw up her internal shield.
A triumphant little laugh escaped the cruel one’s lips. “I thought not. ‘Tis a wonder, since memories are so dear to us after all. We are left to wonder why no one bothered to pen these tales into immortal retellings, are we not? Everything of a good substance must end happily. Well, dear, hearken to the tales untold and hear their unuttered stories. In them, there is no happy endings, which is why they were seen as unfit to lie atop the page.”
Pressing her lips together, the girl lowered the deepening ponds of her brown eyes. Her grip loosening around the precious object, her hand fell into her lap, gently clasping the other. She remained quiet, for indeed she felt there were no more words to say. Crushed and heartbroken, she sat in surrendered silence, the last ounce of rebellious nerve drained from her body.
“Your betrothal will be considered official,” Illana said, rising. “And, upon the day appointed by the court, you will give him your heart, your soul, and everything in your possession, should he so ask it. Like it or no, that is how it will be. And with that, I will take my leave.”
In a blurred rainbow of color, her dress swirled about her, its folds rustling their mocking secrets. Fists curling at the ends of her arms, Arrenia fought off their whispering voices, bracing herself against the berating battering breaking her being. Crumbling beneath its crushing force, she curled onto the bed and cried into its cushion of comfort. Pools puddled about her eyes, deepening as she sobbed from the depths of her grief.
Hand flying to her heart, holding gently beneath it the hurt of her whole being. Bittersweet reminisces clogged her memory, lancing her through with piercing poignancy. Sniffing, she lay there, completely helpless against the battle that within her raged.
“Castor,” she whimpered, savoring the sweet sound of his name. “Castor.”
In a flash, she saw Lucrious, his hidden face fired in the crimson hues of flames. Ghastly figures whirled through the dark expanse of her mind, spinning to the escalating screams. She clustered the silken covers in her hand, shutting her eyes against the scene. Snakes swerved before her, forked tongues flicking in and out, hisses shrieking from their mouths. A single strand of smoke curled into the inky blackness of the night. She felt Castor shoving her head into the soft recesses of the spring grass, the deathly words resonating wickedly across the world.
Die they must! Die they MUST!
Unbeknownst to the girl weeping upon her bed, behind the door a hand probed into the recesses of a swollen sleeve, producing a key kissed by the rust of the ages. Carefully inserting it into the handle, the long, thin fingers twisted and twined until a click- a quiet, cautious click- sounded from the throat of the hole.
Tearing at the blissful quiet of the night, a trumpet blasted the breaking of dawn. Castor stirred in half-wakefulness, tossing around, battling the day until he finally retreated into the covers. The first ray of light enveloped him in its crafty clutches, spreading its warmth over his body. Shakily, he shivered as bright brilliance invaded his senses, dancing before him with a mockish gait.
Rolling over, he threw a pillow over his head and pinned it down with a pinch of his fingers. A midnight hue crowded out all color, immersing him into the mindless mercy of the blind. He set his teeth. The hurting had already begun.
A small creak crept into the stillness. Occupying the crack in the doorway, the queen peeped around the corner, sending in a shaft of lighthearted merriment. She paused momentarily, then shook her head, slipping one brocade slipper into the room.
“Why so somber, oh son of the king?” Striding over to him, she peeled back his sheets. “Arise, oh valiant warrior!” She tossed aside his pillow and kissed his cheek softly. “For today, my son, you shall stand head and shoulders over the finest knights of the land.”
Groan gurgling from the back of his throat, he turned about, shielding himself from the invading sunlight. Just outside his window, metal rang upon metal as jousters prepared for the tournament ahead of them, draining his body of the puddle of energy as it sapped the strength from his arm. Slowly, his muscles relaxed upon the bed, the heavy weight of a sword still hefty in his mind. A soft, small breath slid between his teeth, hissing its way out into the world.
Sinking into the mattress, the queen pushed aside a strand of dark hair, unveiling the face beguiled in gruesome pain. Sighing, she traced her way down his cheek, cradling it in the palm of her hand. His wild brown gaze met her soft green one, stinging her expression with a smile of sweet tenderness. “Still lovesick, are you? Well, she was a very fine maid. One so fine is rarely seen, yet rarer still is she snagged in a heart’s trap like you for her at birth had laid. Oh, son, rid yourself of the questioning look and doubt not my word! Did you not think I did not observe the way she looked at you, the way you lightened the spark in her eye? Oh, hearten yourself and doubt not my words- you her mind shall not soon forget!”
Calluses dug into her caressing touch as his fingers embraced hers. “This is truly your thought, Mother? You believe it to be as you say?”
Emotion ebbed and brimmed in her voice as she stared at her boy, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. Happy in her heart for his love requite, she yet grieved the bittersweet loss of the babe she once had beheld. Shimmering in the morning rays, a tiny tear tinseled her complexion with silver’s sparkling shine. Leaning, in she whispered, “Truly, lest I have not eyes to see.”
Folding his hard hand over hers, he said, “You are a good woman.”
She laughed. “Not so good as you would make me out to be, dear one. Now hurry. You have a competition to prepare for and I have some things I must see to.”
Patting him one last time, she rose from his side and exited the room. He lay there for one more lazy minute, squinting into the sunlight seeping its way around him. Then, with a sigh, he tossed aside his covers, slipped into the silky cloth of his garb, laced his fingers about his sword, and went out to practice his jousting.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
God's Call
Back when I was still considering many missions' trips, I must admit that Satan had me sort of frozen in a clutch of fear. I was so young, and a foreign missions' trip was so long to be away from home. What if something were to happen?
And yet I felt God calling...me? Timid, shy little me? Surely an unadventurous, stay-out-the-way homebody would never survive a week unless it was by Divine Providence!
Just the other day, however, God stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't just me He was calling...it was everyone.
Yep. You. Me. Great Aunt Jane. The guy across the street who has a Jesus bumpersticker on his motorcycle. All of us- no matter where we are, of what social status we are, or what we're doing- if you are a born-again Christian, then you have specified orders from God that you are to go out and spread the Word in whatever way possible.
Now, I'm not saying that you have to go face a tribe of head-hunters that happen to be armed with...well, let's just say less than comforting accessories. What I am saying is that you must listen and be able to distinguish God's Voice from among all the other voices we hear in our world today. You must learn to ascertain what He's saying, where He's telling you to go or whether He's begging You to stay and work for Him wherever You happen to be (hey, and even if you do die at the hands of the head-hunters, at least you'll have died doing something you know God wanted you to do). And, to tell you the truth, nowhere in Scripture does it exempt any of us from persecution. Nowhere that I know of does it say that such-and-such a nationality of Christians won't be persecuted because they were born in such-and-such a country. Given that many governments today protect a person with the promise to either prevent or avenge any voluntary harm upon that individual's body, there is no guarantee that persecution cannot come from elsewhere. Look at how Christianity is quickly declining into the "uncool" category of our culture. With people of conflicting and too often times dangerous worldviews muddling and poisoning us with the trifles and pleasures of this world, our population is beginning to sip that which satisfies their sinful lusts. And, once drunk on those lusts, will tempt and ridicule all those who do not follow their example. It is to these people that many of us are called to reach, and their job- if perhaps less life-threatening- is not much easier than those who go abroad to reach some of the most primitive people groups of the world.
If you should, however, feel God's call to go abroad, do not- PLEASE do not- hesitate as I did. You will not only be wasting your time, but you will be out on some of the coolest God-moments of your life. Perhaps not the least of which is the new courage and strength He will give you.
And if you're thinking you're not perfect for the job...you're right! No one's perfect. You're going to trip- you might catch yourself, you might not. But the glorious thing is that God knows we're imperfect. He knows. He knows we'll stumble. He knows we'll fall. And yet He chooses us to carry out His perfect plan. That's a miracle within itself, is it not?
So my point (or, rather, God's point since He's the One doing the calling) here is that there really is no excuse for us not to be ministering to each other- whether it's to the man who sits next to us on the subway, our friends at school, or some remote tribe to which God has just been telling you to go to. He calls all of us. Even the timid, shy ones. He created us the way we are. He loves us so much that He sent Jesus to die for us so that we- who were imperfect for that as well- could live forever with Him if we just believe. Through our imperfections, He sees Christ. And will those you mission to if you are right where He wants you to be.
And yet I felt God calling...me? Timid, shy little me? Surely an unadventurous, stay-out-the-way homebody would never survive a week unless it was by Divine Providence!
Just the other day, however, God stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't just me He was calling...it was everyone.
Yep. You. Me. Great Aunt Jane. The guy across the street who has a Jesus bumpersticker on his motorcycle. All of us- no matter where we are, of what social status we are, or what we're doing- if you are a born-again Christian, then you have specified orders from God that you are to go out and spread the Word in whatever way possible.
Now, I'm not saying that you have to go face a tribe of head-hunters that happen to be armed with...well, let's just say less than comforting accessories. What I am saying is that you must listen and be able to distinguish God's Voice from among all the other voices we hear in our world today. You must learn to ascertain what He's saying, where He's telling you to go or whether He's begging You to stay and work for Him wherever You happen to be (hey, and even if you do die at the hands of the head-hunters, at least you'll have died doing something you know God wanted you to do). And, to tell you the truth, nowhere in Scripture does it exempt any of us from persecution. Nowhere that I know of does it say that such-and-such a nationality of Christians won't be persecuted because they were born in such-and-such a country. Given that many governments today protect a person with the promise to either prevent or avenge any voluntary harm upon that individual's body, there is no guarantee that persecution cannot come from elsewhere. Look at how Christianity is quickly declining into the "uncool" category of our culture. With people of conflicting and too often times dangerous worldviews muddling and poisoning us with the trifles and pleasures of this world, our population is beginning to sip that which satisfies their sinful lusts. And, once drunk on those lusts, will tempt and ridicule all those who do not follow their example. It is to these people that many of us are called to reach, and their job- if perhaps less life-threatening- is not much easier than those who go abroad to reach some of the most primitive people groups of the world.
If you should, however, feel God's call to go abroad, do not- PLEASE do not- hesitate as I did. You will not only be wasting your time, but you will be out on some of the coolest God-moments of your life. Perhaps not the least of which is the new courage and strength He will give you.
And if you're thinking you're not perfect for the job...you're right! No one's perfect. You're going to trip- you might catch yourself, you might not. But the glorious thing is that God knows we're imperfect. He knows. He knows we'll stumble. He knows we'll fall. And yet He chooses us to carry out His perfect plan. That's a miracle within itself, is it not?
So my point (or, rather, God's point since He's the One doing the calling) here is that there really is no excuse for us not to be ministering to each other- whether it's to the man who sits next to us on the subway, our friends at school, or some remote tribe to which God has just been telling you to go to. He calls all of us. Even the timid, shy ones. He created us the way we are. He loves us so much that He sent Jesus to die for us so that we- who were imperfect for that as well- could live forever with Him if we just believe. Through our imperfections, He sees Christ. And will those you mission to if you are right where He wants you to be.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Guatemala!!!
Hey, ya'll! So I believe I mentioned in my last post that I wanted to go on missions' trip this summer. Well, I am pleased to announce that yesterday we sent a little something out in the mail...a little something addressed to Wycliffe Bible Translators in Dallas, Texas.
About a week ago, my mom visited the Wycliffe Bible Translators website and took a look at what their teen missions' trips were like. Now, in case you're not familiar with Wycliffe, they are an organization 100% devoted to the concept of the Good News of Jesus Christ being available to every man, woman, and child in his or her native tongue. They employ missionaries to take the gospel into the farthest corners of the earth to teach and translate everything God has to say to the local people. This has an effect that we could never comprehend- can you imagine being a Christian and not knowing a word of the Bible? Obviously, the Bible in forms that make it accessible to anyone on earth is a must if the spread of Christianity is to effectively continue.
Anyway, the Wycliffe Bible Translators site is where we found something that caught my attention...an all-teens' trip to Guatemala.
This is more than just a tropical summer escape, however. Once we arrive in Guatemala City, we will begin a study of K'anjob'al- a Mayan language! After that, we will fly to Huehuetenango, where we will meet two missionaries, who will explain to us how God's Word is forever changing individuals and communities. San Miguel Acata'n will be our next destination, where we'll lodge with real K'anjob'al families, eat their food, work with them, and speak to them in their native tongue so we will develop a good grasp of the language before we head for the Zaculeo ruins and Lake Atitlan, which just happens to be the place where the founder of the Wycliffe organization first worked with the Cakchiquels to translate the Bible into their own language!
Now that I've told you what I'll be doing, I have some prayer requests for you- First and foremost, that will be light for God, secondly, that I'd get accepted, and thirdly, that God will provide health, finances, and whatever else the team members might need. Thank you very much!
About a week ago, my mom visited the Wycliffe Bible Translators website and took a look at what their teen missions' trips were like. Now, in case you're not familiar with Wycliffe, they are an organization 100% devoted to the concept of the Good News of Jesus Christ being available to every man, woman, and child in his or her native tongue. They employ missionaries to take the gospel into the farthest corners of the earth to teach and translate everything God has to say to the local people. This has an effect that we could never comprehend- can you imagine being a Christian and not knowing a word of the Bible? Obviously, the Bible in forms that make it accessible to anyone on earth is a must if the spread of Christianity is to effectively continue.
Anyway, the Wycliffe Bible Translators site is where we found something that caught my attention...an all-teens' trip to Guatemala.
This is more than just a tropical summer escape, however. Once we arrive in Guatemala City, we will begin a study of K'anjob'al- a Mayan language! After that, we will fly to Huehuetenango, where we will meet two missionaries, who will explain to us how God's Word is forever changing individuals and communities. San Miguel Acata'n will be our next destination, where we'll lodge with real K'anjob'al families, eat their food, work with them, and speak to them in their native tongue so we will develop a good grasp of the language before we head for the Zaculeo ruins and Lake Atitlan, which just happens to be the place where the founder of the Wycliffe organization first worked with the Cakchiquels to translate the Bible into their own language!
Now that I've told you what I'll be doing, I have some prayer requests for you- First and foremost, that will be light for God, secondly, that I'd get accepted, and thirdly, that God will provide health, finances, and whatever else the team members might need. Thank you very much!
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