Sense the Scent of Christmas

As a child the scent of pine drifted from the mostly unused lounge room when the door was opened by my mother who held a dustpan and brush in her hand.  Her eyes scanning the floor for pine needles that had  fallen off the limb that posed as a Christmas tree, deck in magnificent glittering decorations.

Most of the decorations were made of glass.  The red, green and gold balls, toy soldiers, Santa's and angels had to be handled with gentle care.  Bells were made of metal and rang when moved from side to side.

Electric lights that looked like small candles were unrolled and placed on the floor, then plugged into a power point.  My parents always hoped for working lights, one blown bulb would stop all the other bulbs from working.  I was amazed that one broken element in a globe could turn off so many lights.  The set I have now is not that fussy, one or two lights that don't work are not noticed.

Reaching up to the top of the limb my father always placed a angel.  This reminded me of the shepherds out in the field with their sheep, terrified by angels singing "Hosanna to God in the highest".  What the shepherds saw and heard terrified them so much that one of the angels had to tell these men not to be afraid.  What was happening was Good News.

Reassured by the angels words the shepherds hurried off to Bethlehem to see for themselves what all the commotion was about.  For a shepherd to take off and leave his sheep in the field unattended is extraordinary behaviour.  As a child I was on a sheep farm and understood that sheep need a shepherd.  Sheep seem to find trouble for themselves, but that is another story.

Years have flown past, only those with mileage on the odometer claim that phrase, now the Christmas tree comes out of a box stored in the shed for forty-eight weeks of the year, and pine is no longer the scent in the house. The decorations are impossible to break if dropped.  They possess bounce these days.   I could claim that something has been lost because my tree is artificial, but the forest and farmers could not supply a real tree to everyone each year.


Christmas for Christians comes with symbolism embedded into the decorations, the tree, the feast.  Some are personal others traditional but all give meaning to this time of the year.  The custom of decorating a Christmas tree has only been around for 500 years but the custom captures the Good News of the birth of a Baby given names of Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace so well.  The sight of a glittering decorated tree is full of promise of gifts to receive and to give.

 

6. The Kobalt Influx

Silence is deafening, thought Norman.  Wind bounced off the roof of the refectory, candles flicked and waved, a draft brushed across his hand.  From somewhere above and behind he heard a scraping sound, and then a thud.  The flames on the candles stood straight.  Someone had closed the draft off.  But the action did not stop minutes from feeling like hours.  His need for food had not yet been met, a gurgling stomach told him he needed more.  The bubble bread was increasing in desirability.

Hunger and agitation combined to convince Norman that another piece of bread would not do any more harm, and might help to ease the discomfort that was taking residence in his body.  He pushed down on the anger that was trying to rise from somewhere near his stomach.  The thought that he would not be where he had planned to be, that he was somehow a prisoner, yes, that angered him.  Losing control of your life, and the ability to chose, freedom was important.

Anger is never a good master, Norman thought.  To let anger rule is to adopt a code of chaos, it provides a false sense of fixing a problem, all one tends to do is smash a chair or two, punch someone, tip the table over.  And then what.  I still care about what might happen to me.  It is ever okay to break things if you know for certain that you wont get broken.  No, it was never okay.  Besides Norman could not guarantee that he wouldn't be broken in some way that he might not mend from, if he did decide to handle the current situation that way.  He wasn't being hurt, just inconvenienced.   That thought helped Norman gain control of his anger.

Norman chose the only activity available to him.  He ate another piece of bubble bread.  This time he was not surprised by the crackle and fizzing against his teeth, he rode the sensation like a surfer rides a wave.  The sensations eased after a while settling into an enjoyably sweet flavor, this time the food slid down his esophagus, this time he did not feel like choking on the food.

There was a theory developing in Norman's brain, this is what happens when you have time to think.  To test the developing theory Norman ate the third slice of bread and held the bread in his mouth as long as he could.

Interesting, the longer you can hold the bread in your mouth the better the flavor and satisfaction in the meal. The fourth slice of bread went into Norman's mouth.  He sat and looked at the painting.  The man seated in the middle with his arms and hands, palms up, stretched out over the table looked at piece with himself.  Six men on either side, now that was strange, why six either side?  Was the artist just trying for balance in the picture, or was the artist trying to illustrate some coded message by posing the men the way he did.  Because the six men on either side of the man in the middle where discussing, arguing some point that Norman could not grasp.  Every picture tells a story; something the man in the middle had done or said was causing the rest of the dinner guest concern.

In the picture the plates looked to be metal.  Not one plate had any food on it, the artist had food on the table, Norman could see what looked to be small rolls of bread scattered over the table.  But none of the men in the picture were showing any interest in placing the bread rolls on their plates.  Food was not their main concern.

A chair scraped over the stone floor.  A man stood up, he was six chairs further up the table from Norman's position.  The man removed the hood from his head revealing a sallow face with sunken eyes.  The eyes searched the room, and focused on a waiter moving towards him.

'I did not pay for bread and water, I was promised a cure.  Take me to the person in charge.'

'As you wish,' said the waiter, who inclined his head and indicated that the upset diner was to follow him.  Norman watched the waiter and man disappear into the shadows.  From his experience so far, Norman suspected that the sallow faced man would receive an unexpected solution to his complaint.

The diner with the fat hands, coughed and spat something into his napkin.  Norman noticed that on the man's plate was the most delightful looking bread roll.  He had not noticed the waiters delivering any bread, or the glass of water.  The waiters were not that quiet.

Norman was confused, why hadn't he noticed the waiters delivering the bread?  Then he remembered drifting, being in a very nice place, and drawn into the painting on the wall above him.  Feeling that the painting was his world.  He would not go as far to say the people in the painting were alive, they weren't.  He had felt like he was walking around the people in the painting and able to study three dimensional figures that inhabited the painting.

The painting he remembered, might have been one of the paintings archaeologists had discovered buried underneath tons of ice. He doubted that the pictures the archaeologists found looked as stunning as the one on the wall in this room.   This painting was a reproduction, something formed from the remnants of a much older civilization.  What was this place, it was far more than a private museum.

The man with the fat hands grabbed his glass of water and drank ferociously.  Norman realized that he did not have a glass of water that he could drink.  Another puzzle for the mystery that this meal is becoming thought Norman.  I wonder what the next event will be?







 

5.

Norman had finished studying the fat chubby hand on his left, thinking that at least one person has seen a good pasture, the hand on his right was, well, right, not thin and not fat, with long fingers that were trying their best not to fiddle with a white cloth napkin.

Norman put down his napkin.  Then picked it up again, just to hold onto the piece of cloth gave him comfort.  He looked across the table, three pairs of hands he couldn't see, the owners had their hands neatly tucked  underneath the table on their laps.  All this hand watching made Norman self conscious of his hands, he moved his hands slowly, till they were on his lap, still holding the napkin.

Then his brain fired, he guess it had to do something but all of a sudden the niggle, the not quite right found consciousness.  If this place was an hour and a half behind the mainland, he could have caught the ferry.  The times on the board on the mainland said the ferry would return at 6.30 pm.  He had not changed his watch to Island time as the voice had recommended. His watch was on mainland time and he had most definitely an hour before the ferry left.

So how could he have missed the ferry if the Island was an hour and a half behind the mainland.  Was his math skills failing him.  He didn't think so.  Or did the 'sir' man mean something else by Island time.  Norman felt uneasy, some piece of information had been hooked up like a worm and left to dangle underneath a float waiting for the fish to work out if they dared to take a bite.  Was he supposed to stand up and yell and scream that he was missing his ferry or what?  Now that he was in the refectory seated at a very long table he could work out easy enough that he would definitely be missing the 6.30 ferry no matter what time was followed.

A noise from his stomach sounded loud and he hoped that his imagination was working overtime on the volume.  The sandwiches he had eaten for lunch were now just a memory and a little comfort in eating might be all the comfort he would get tonight.

The candle on the stand waved and twisted, waiters appeared from some corner that Norman could not see,  they were holding trays, at last thought Norman, food.  When he saw what was on the tray he almost said no, but the brain was remembering another thing the 'sir' man had said.  Don't think too hard about the look of the bread.   He was looking at a lace of bubbles, the outer crust resembled bread.  He hoped that it was bread and tasted better than it looked.  Norman almost said no to a piece of the bread, especially when he could see that the majority of hands were waving no.

The words 'be thankful for your daily bread' whispered, then his brain made the words into a mantra, his stomach echoed the brains labor of the mantra by gurgling at the sight his eyes were seeing.  One of his hands released itself from its position on his lap and closed all but one finger. The waiter placed one piece of bubble bread on his plate.

Norman eyed the bread with suspicion, his stomach pleaded.  His hands gave in to the demands of an empty stomach and cut the piece of bread into quarters.  Then his right hand picked up one of the quarters and placed the piece of bread into a mouth that he could not remember opening.

Norman was not expecting the piece of bread to fizz and crackle against his teeth.  And because it is not polite to spit out of your mouth what you have just put into it Norman swallowed the contents in his mouth, trying not to choke as they slid down his esophagus fizzing and crackling.

Norman stared at the remaining three pieces of bread.  Too much soda was the verdict.  Then he belched.

'Pardon me,' escaped from his lips before he could think past the surprise and embarrassment of making a noise when you are supposed to be quiet.  Norman's embarrassment eased when he heard another belch followed by a dozen or so more belches, and pardon me's.

This is going to be one unusual meal, Norman thought to himself.  He looked at the remaining pieces of bread, full of bubbles and too much soda.  But will I survive?  He hoped he could.

4.

Norman had been wearing the robe for only minutes and was aware that the fabric the robe was made of was scratchy on any skin that came in contact with it and the weight of the garment was pulling his shoulders down, it felt like there was something heavy in the hem, he would have liked to pick the garment up to look at the hem but he was interrupted.

"Sir, It is required that you enter the refectory with the hood over your head."
"Your kidding me." said Norman.
"I am sorry sir, but His Excellency likes one to be dressed appropriately."
"And I'm guessing that it's because I'm eating in a refectory," said Norman.
"Yes sir, that is right."  While Norman was left wondering exactly what the word refectory meant on this island museum, the man placed a hand on either side of Norman's head and pulled the hood up.

Norman was not expecting a confirmation of his guess, he had said it because he was tired and cranky and was wanting to get on the evening ferry back to the mainland.  There was a room waiting for him in a hotel tavern ten minutes walk from the ferry terminal.  The thought of a warm shower, no, a hot shower.  He realized that even with the heavy robe on he felt cold, the thought of a long hot shower helped to calm his uneasiness about his current position.  At the moment he felt he was hijacked and there was nothing he could do.

He did not know the floor plan of this place, he had been raced through too many corridors to find his way back to the room he was working in.  This was one big museum, the building he normally worked in was big, but this place was enormous and there was something empty and unsettling about the size, he could not pinpoint.  He would need this man with the polite 'sir' to navigate the warren of corridors that seemed to exist in the building.

Norman wondered how long he was expected to wear the hood up on the robe that hung over his body.  The fabric was rubbing on his ears and they were beginning to itch to the point where he wanted to rub the irritated spot.  But the 'sir' man was looking him eye to eye.  Norman broke off the stare, there was no doubt in Norman's mind, the hood stays up and you do not scratch.  He was not game to ask what would happen if he did.  But the thought that he might loose his head clawed its way down his back.

"How long is this meal going to take."
"Three, maybe four hours," said the man.
"I was hoping to catch the ferry to the mainland this evening."
"That won't be possible sir, the ferry left half an hour ago."
"By my watch I still have an hour," said Norman as he looked at his watch.
"That is mainland time sir, we are one and a half hours behind the main land."
"Then I'll have to stay the night!"
"Yes sir, I will wait for you to finish.  Then I will show you to your room for the night."

 Norman felt that somehow, somewhere he had been in a fight, no not a fight a battle and somewhere, somehow he had lost the battle.  "You are going to wait for me?" It was a silly question but Norman needed assurance.
"Yes sir, I will stand over there with the other valets and wait for you."

Norman followed the man's gaze to a row of similarly dress individuals who were standing against the wall. If he placed a lamp shade on each of them he was sure that they would pass as a light stands.  Men and women stood in the order they had arrived, another assumption, the first assumption might be that these stands were  human, it would make more sense if they weren't.
"Are you human?"
"Part of me is sir."

A bell rang drowning out the next words that Norman was beginning to speak.  Norman had to wait for the noise to stop.  When the clanging rattle became an echoing sensations in his ears Norman put his hand on the man's arm and said "For the part of you that is human, take some time off, I will wait for you, come back in four hours. Do what you need to do, eat, sleep, take a shower.  I would not be able to eat anything if all I can think of is you standing here for hours and hours waiting for me."

The man looked at him with relief and maybe a tear in his eye.  Norman wasn't sure.  "You need to go into the refectory sir," the man paused then said "And sir, be thankful for your daily bread.  Sir, you must go now, the doors are closing."

Norman rushed between the closing doors he just managed to get into the refectory before the doors closed.  He hoped that the 'sir' man took some time off.  He had to ask him for a name, he couldn't keep referring to him as the 'sir' man.  He also hoped that the 'sir' man did not stand out in that cold hall way for four hours.

When Norman came to a stop he found himself in a room that had a table or series of joined tables, because there was at least thirty metres of table.  On the table was one, he was sure there was no hidden join, white table cloth the length of the table.

About every metre there was a candelabra holding seven candles.  The candelabra's could not be classed as a decoration, they were plain, designed for a purpose nothing more.  The knife, fork and spoon were also plain and designed for purpose nothing more.  In between the cutlery was a white bowl plate.  Norman could not find the words to describe the table ware.

"Makes one wonder what the food is going to be like," said another guest who was standing next to Norman waiting to be showed to his seat.

The top end of the table had people seated, they were waiting for the last half dozen people at the doors to be seated.  When the usher came to Norman, he did not show him to a seat next to the people he had been standing with. He signaled that Norman was to follow, not one word was spoken, except for the man who had just spoken to him.  He was now seated at the end of the table.  Norman was lead to a place that was overlooked by a large painting of thirteen men who appeared to be arguing over their meal.  The usher stopped in behind a vacant chair. This had be planned, someone knew that Norman would be in the refectory for a meal? The usher pull the chair away from the table so that Norman could stand in the space waiting for the usher to move the chair in behind him. The room's quiet dinners spoke volumes, there was no argument, and invitation was issued and this was your seat, take it.

Remembering to lift his heavy robe just before sitting down on the chair that swept in behind him saved Norman from having to rise again and rearrange the garment.  He had noticed that the people who were seated before him had struggled with their robes when they were seated and had to do a lot of wriggling to get comfortable.

With the people seated next to him holding their tongues, the seconds seemed like minutes and minutes were like hours.  Then a bell chimed and a voice was heard to say "We bless this food we are about to eat." Then nothing, no explanation and no waiter with food, Norman wondered if they were going to eat because his eyes focused on the sparse table decor, and he thought that if the food was the same as the decor he might be in for a long hungry and quiet night.

Change Is a Roller-coaster

The last six weeks have been a roller-coaster ride of change.  Some has been good and expected.

 My youngest child is now all grown up, he has gained his drivers licence and bought a car with money he saved over three or four years.

The biggest change came four days before my son got his drivers licence and the change was unexpected.  I received news that my 84 year old mother had suffer a stroke.  The medical term used to describe the severity or her stroke was "significant".  After a week or two we deciphered this word "significant" to mean "major and lucky to survive".  The stroke has left most of my mother's right side paralysed.

The unexpected and most likely unwanted change for my mother has been moving to a bed in a nursing home.  The hospital has done all they can for her, the doctors have advised us that any further improvements will be minor.  She will not go back to her unit in the retirement village, her mind is still muddled and would not be able to turn a TV on let alone get out of bed by herself.

 Even harder to accept is that her speech has been affected too, and we find communicating with her difficult.  So her children don't know if she understands exactly what is happening in her life.


Jumbled in all of this change for myself, my brothers and my mother......

......... the rooster that was attacked by a dog has is tail feathers back.

And when you have a rooster or two walking around with the hens......one of the hens disappears for a while and then one night the hen comes back with extra's.

So, this month has taught me that not all change is bad, and some change is an achievement in one's life journey.  The answer to the question as to 'Why do bad things happen?'  Has to be left to the future.  All I do know is that when things get really terrible in the present, that is when you pass the parcel to the Lord and ask him to take some of the load.  

As yet I don't have answers to any of my questions, but that in itself is not enough to say there isn't an answer.  Sometimes I have to look back to realise that there was an answer, I just didn't see it at the time and then the answer might be as simple as learning to trust my Lord in both good and bad experiences.    

3.

"Fifteen minutes."

"Yes Sir, and I do apologise Sir, but we need to leave now," said the man.

"Right now?"

"Yes Sir, I am afraid right now."

"What if I don't want to eat in fifteen minutes, and what if I prefer to eat here?"

Norman knew he was being difficult but he really didn't want to stay overnight.  He wanted to stay on the mainland, not on this manufactured rock.  He was planning to keep in touch with Samuel and the Museum, and was also hoping to keep his museum work moving.

"Sir," nudged the waiting man.

"Okay," sighed Norman, suspecting he was not free to refuse the invitation.

I must find out the man's name thought Norman as he raced after him.  He would never find his way back to the room, he had been working in. And why the rush?  Norman asked himself.  If he had been invited the host would wait, especially with an invite that seemed to be the meal start in fifteen be there or...what. Who issues invitations like that, a King with an axe that chops off heads if your late.

"Hurry Sir," the man said over his shoulder, not panting, Norman could noticed,  and disliked him for it, and the man's expectation of the speed Norman could sustain through unusual corridors, that deserved more than a glance, was cruel and unusual punishment.

Norman found himself jogging on a long runway of carpet, that would best be described as a corridor, a corridor that wasn't a corridor, because the carpet was a pathway between rooms.  He would have like to stand a study each room they passed through.  But when he did stop to take a look at a group of people who were sitting at a table with a white table cloth and plates of cakes and sandwiches, and women holding delicate cups, half way to their mouths.....

"Sir."

How could he know that I stopped, Norman asked himself, he must have eyes in the back of his head.  The pace lifted after that and the next rooms passed in a blur of brown, yellow, he was please of the pace through yellow, thirty seconds was enough to make him ill.  After that he noted, light green, purple, more green, he had to stop taking notes he was getting too far behind the man, and didn't want another 'Sir!'

Then the man took a sharp left turn and stopped three paces from the turn.  He should have ran into the man, Norman thought,  for stopping short around a bend.  The only thing that saved the man and accident,Norman  thought as he bent over panting, was his slowing to a sluggish need-to-stop jog.

Then, the man annoyed Norman even more, if that was possible, Norman was trying to regain his breath, and the man handed, no, shoved a garment at Norman, a garment that looked like something from his mother's wardrobe.  His mother wore her garment when she sang in a choir. Norman was never a fan of the clothing, but his mother had insisted that the audience wanted the choir to wear this sort of robe.  The ancients wore them when they sang their music.  Norman had said that one statue of a man holding something, the statue was damaged, and what looked like a music sheet was by no means confirmed.  His mother had said the audience thinks that is what it is, so that is what it is, and one statue is enough to confirm things for me.  That was the end of that discussion.  Norman hoped that he was not supposed to sing, he had no ear for reproducing melody.

He was going to have to have a talk to this 'Sir!' man, he did not like being dressed, and in a hurry, suited  Norman even less, there needed to be boundaries.  At the moment too many boundaries were being crossed.  Norman put his hands up, and shook his head, he did not want any more help, if some of the buttons on this robe were not done up, he didn't care.  The evening meal was, Norman suspected going to be a most of the night affair. And he was the last guest to arrive.

Memory

August is the month for wattles in flower and the first daffodils.  Natures signal that winter is passing.  I can hear the birds change their song from, I'm around, to, I am here where are you, our nest needs order.

The sheep in the paddock next door, they remember me, for the handful of grass tossed over the fence. Their owner, as far as the sheep are concerned, does not provide enough hay for nibbling.  I try not to toss too much grass over the fence, because when the sheep see me, they remember the handfuls of grass, and stand at the fence asking, begging for a treat.  For a little bit of quiet, I end up giving them more grass, habit forming I think.

While I sit typing this post, I can hear a young magpie warbling over the buzz of  lawn mowers cutting grass.  The days still have a chill, but I can see the subtle changes that a new season brings.

Memory of the dry, water restricted, smoke filled years of the last decade are fading.  They have been replaced with memories of drenching rain and floods.

picture courtesy Wikimedia Commons

But after the storm, the sun comes out and shines, the rainbow glows, and reminds me that God still has promise in place.  There will always be high ground.  God remembers.



Much better than I did. I was busy, that much I remember,  I just can't remember what the busy was about, possibly lost myself in a book, or was it the mending pile.  By the time memory kicked in, I had missed the deadline for the sign up to the Christian Writer's August Blog Chain.  So this is unofficial.  I do apologize.

2.

Norman stared at the door. You expect a door to open he thought.  He grabbed the door's handle pushing and pulling the door in the hope of shaking the door open.

"Hold on for a second, I'm almost finished," said a voice from the other side of the door.  Then Norman heard something that sounded like rushing water.  The door opened into him, first time in his life that he was thankful for large feet.  His nose was saved a bruising blow. 

"Sorry," said the voice.  The door opened after Norman stepped back out of the doors arc.  He found that the voice belonged to a woman with a pretty face and laughing eyes.

"Hi I'm Vicky, and I'm guessing your the translator."

"You have me at a disadvantage," said Norman. "But yes, I am 'the translator', I'm Norman, Norman Charring."  He was not feeling the humour in the meeting that Vicky seemed to be finding, his discomfort seemed to amuse her.  He shook her offered hand.

"I need to get back to my desk, but the en-suite is free now."  Vicky turned around and walked through the door in his room and through a door on the other side of the en-suite room.  Norman wouldn't have minded a chat, but it seemed Vicky had other things to do.

Curious as to what was in the room Vicky had stepped from, Norman thought that he might have a look.  What he stepped into was a 20th Century bathroom, but Vicky called the room an en-suite, the museum where he worked had examples of a room like this.  Something to check, he thought, their description might need updating, silly really, should have thought of the different words for the a bathroom.  This would, he thought, excite Samuel no end, to see a 20th Century bathroom that works.  Now that I'm here I might as well be comfortable.

Norman's curiosity was too strong, he knew where one door went; to Vicky's desk, and he assumed an office, but where did the door between his door and Vicky's door go.  There was only one way to find out, he opened the door.  

It was a storage room, there was bath crystals, soaps, solid and liquid, bubble bath, towels, shelves and shelves of towels. Underneath the shelves were laundry facilities. And not the 20th Century type either.  Handy to know that he could have his clothes cleaned while he relaxed in either the shower or bath, or the spa.

At the other end of the storage room, past the shelves, where racks of bath robes, blue on one side and pink on the other side.  Norman looked through the blue side, there seemed to be a range of different sizes, the pink robes were the same. Passing the robes, Norman stood at another door, he paused,  I've come this far, he thought, I might as well open this door too.

The room was a square, and had bench seats on three of its walls, the fourth wall had the door in it.  In the center of the room was an metal basket full of bubbly rocks.  A voice welcomed him to the sauna, and informed him that the sauna would be ready in 30 minutes.  He was asked if he wished to confirm? Norman had a moment or two of confusion, he was looking for the owner of the voice, this was not part of a standard 20th Century bathroom, he managed to utter "No," before he was asked anymore questions.

Norman turned around and walked back to the room where he had spent his day.  It had been a long day, arriving early morning, shown straight to a desk full of documents, he had thought that he would be finished by the time the ferry was ready to return to the mainland that night.  But the documents were like the shelves of towels. Never ending.  That raised questions too.  He wondered why the owner of the documents didn't simply scan the documents into a translator program.  He knew one or two programs that could do the job.

"Sir," said a voice.  Norman jumped, he was not expecting anyone to be in the room, but the man who had bought him his lunch, sandwiches, was standing in the room.  Norman also noticed that the documents he was translating had disappeared.

"My sincere apology, sir, I did not mean to frighten you but your evening meal will be served in the dinning hall in fifteen minutes, I am here to show you the way. "

1.

 Norman Charring stood up and stretched his body, he leaned and twisting one way and then the other way.   Then he interlaced his fingers and pushed his palms out and away from him, as far as they could go.  His body was stiff from spending hours sitting and his fingers were stiff from hours of writing.  He shouldn't complain, it was his choice to use the ancient format of paper and pen.

Samuel, his friend and colleague at the Museum was surprised that Norman had been offered the commission, which came from an unexpected sector.  Samuel made the point that the commission was perhaps too generous.  He had also made the point that the text on the sample page of the manuscript was not overly difficult and that he would be able to do the job.

Norman had agreed,  but for reasons unknown to them the private museum wanted him.

"Be careful Norman," Samuel said.  "The offer is too generous, there is something we are not being told."

Norman  was pleased that he had taken Samuel's advice, and packed his never ending paper. The documents he had seen were fascinating, and they appeared to be originals.  It was hard to be ninety nine percent sure unless you could run diagnostics on them.  At the moment that was something Norman couldn't do.  Even after the diagnostic test, there was always the chance, that the ancient pages might not be ancient at all.  Norman had to consider that some-one might have re-organised things a little, he suspected that there had been some nano enzyme repairs made to the documents that he was studying.  How much repair had been done he couldn't tell.  It was how the skin on his fingers felt more than anything, whatever had been done, was recent.

The owner of the documents, Ulrich, was in the habit of popping into the office every couple of hours to see how much progress was being made.  Norman did not need the pressure, ancient language was tricky sometimes, not that he didn't know the words, it was more the context of the word.

Take the word 'wicked', sometimes it meant very bad and other time it meant extremely good.  He was sure that the ancient people who used the word could distinguish the difference, he like a challenge he reminded himself, and that was the reason he was here.

He grabbed his cup and took a sip.  Oh yuck, how long has that cup been sitting on the desk, he needed another cup of coffee, and something to eat, something more than just the small plate of sandwiches he'd eaten for lunch. Norman grabbed his cup, he wondered if he could get a refill.  He turned the handle on the door only to find the door seemed to be stuck.  His heart stepped up its beat.

© M. J. McKay

Celebrate

This rooster has been named Lucky, because at the start of the month he was attacked by a dog that wandered into my backyard.

Some of Lucky's feathers. There were plenty more scattered around the block.  The rooster and his friends were lucky that my husband and I were home at the time, and could give chase to the dog that was attacking Lucky.  We managed to catch the dog with feathers still in its mouth, there was no doubt about what the dog had been up to.  Fortunate too that the dog was a small terrier something and used to being handled by people and not yet whiley enough in attack to go for people it didn't know.

My chooks have chosen to be free range birds, they can fly out of their pen any time they want to, one day soon  the nine amigos will have that freedom limited. I don't like discovering the eggs. Hard to work out how long they might have been in that nesting spot.

Not good news for the dog that attacked.  The law of the land is very tough on dogs that attack. First up, owners are meant to keep their dogs in their yard or a  pen, and owners are responsible for any damage that dog causes. Unfortunately the owners loose their dog because of the attack, no-one wants a dog around that attacks another animal, the only outcome for dogs that do this is death.  Harsh but for the safety of everyone, necessary. 

In this case though, the owners were fortunate that no major damage was done to the rooster or other chooks or people. Lucky has survived the attack and his feathers are slowly growing back. He is currently walking around the yard with two other rooster (yes two too many, but that is another story) and six hens.

For a moment Lucky was in a really bad place, and what does a story about a bad place have to do with the theme "Celebrate"?

It has everything to do with how Christian are supposed to handle bad places, and I am not making any claims about easy and just get down and celebrate, because when circumstance seems to be grinding down on you "Celebrating" is the last thing that you feel like doing.

Silly isn't it, to be encouraged to "Celebrate" when your in a bad place, but this is exactly what we are asked to do. Paul and Silas practised what they were preaching. There they were, recently arrested, flogged, and feet clamped in stocks. Now Paul and Silas didn't yell insults and threats to the guards, instead Paul and Silas prayed and sang songs of praise.  What happened next?  An earthquake rattle the prison, doors flew open and chains broke loose, everyone in the prison had been given the freedom to leave, but Paul made sure everyone in that prison stay put.

The most amazing thing about this story is that prayer and songs to God gave a powerful witness and provided Paul and Silas freedom in a bad place, spiritual and physical.  The celebrating also bought a guard or two into the Christian family, this is something to think about.  (Acts16:16-40)

Now all I need to do is practice Celebrating and Praising God, sounds easy enough, except that some places are not all that easy to get out of, circumstances that we can't control, like too much rain, or not enough rain, wildfires, all cause us stress and doubt.  Psalm 107 leaves me in no doubt that we are to praise and "celebrate".  God rescues those in trouble, and like Paul and Silas, the rescue can come in an unexpected way, and also come with a challenge, Paul and Silas could have left that prison, fled with all the other inmates, but that would have killed their guards because they had failed to keep the prisoners in prison.  The guards would not have become members of the family of God either.

Give thanks, "Celebrate", God is snapping our chains and bringing us into the safety of his harbour!

Noble Bucket of Pursuit.

I have been on a search for the perfect blog post, one that bounces around pinging like the sonar in a TV submarine, and manages to pop a few dollars in the bank account.


I am consigning this search to my Noble Bucket of Pursuits.  My search reminds me of the people who came to the Beechworth gold fields a hundred and sixty years ago, must add though that typing up a post for a blog is a much easier process than digging a hole in the hope that there might be a nugget or five in the spot you chose to dig.

Lake Anderson, Chiltern Vic. Australia

The dig for gold idea comes with the danger of a collapsing hole, then what do you do with the hole? Start again, or go somewhere else that may or may not do the same, and hope that if it does collapse your not at the bottom of the hole.

A hundred years ago the people in Chiltern, Vic. Australia, had to ask that question, they decided to turned a disaster into Lake Anderson, which is now a favourite walk for visitors and locals alike.


Yes, gold was found in the hole, and for some the amount of gold they found made them very wealthy, and for those few life would have been good. And yes part of me does wish for this type of wealth.


So far my search for the perfect blog post has been more miss than hit, I should be asking if I am looking in the right place, or even if I am searching for the right something.  


I ask this because I get the feeling that while there nothing wrong with my search, I should not have the search for a perfect blog post in my Noble Bucket of Pursuits.  Do I need to toss the contents of my bucket?  Then run a new search, because so far my search has not found the perfect blog post. 

My feelings are that my search needs firmer ground, that where I'm digging might be on the verge of collapse, so where do I go to find solid ground?  

I have gone and done it again, forgotten the most noble pursuit of all.  This happens to often to count, but where is God's Word in all of this searching?  And perfect is not this world either, I have to wait for the perfect, the mansion, the room that is being prepared for me.  Till I check in to this mansion, my most Noble Pursuit should be God's Word, pursue this and everything else sorts itself out eventually.  Why do I have trouble remembering this.?




Luke 6:47-49

A Friend's Comfort

Deborah sat on a bench seat, her back leaning against the wall, her legs swinging.  She did not want to be in this room full of people.  Some like her father and brothers were standing with their friends, others, like the two mothers Deborah could see on the other side of the room, were sitting on bench a bench seat just like the one she sat on, both held sleeping babies in there arms.

Everyone was quiet.  If they spoke, it was little more than a whisper.  The standing people moved, changed their positions and their friends, so that they could greet another person or family entering the room. 

'He's not here yet, is he?' asked Ruth.

'No, I don't think he is,' said Deborah, wondering how she would know if the promised friend had arrived.

Deborah did not understand why her parents had insisted they come here.  She had heard her parents talking between themselves, her father said that the meeting might be very dangerous.  Especially if the temple elders decided, they should be in the temple, and not with the friends of a man who was condemned and executed for blasphemy. 

Deborah's mother had insisted they go to the meeting, we know that Jesus is alive she said.  We saw Thomas placing his hands on Jesus body and saw him feel the wounds left by the nails and spear.  You just can't do that to someone who isn't real.  When he left us to return to the Father, Jesus promised us a friend who would be always with us, and He asked us to wait together for His friend, her mother had said.  Her father had agreed that they needed to go to the meeting.

Deborah squeezed Ruth's hand.  She felt uneasy in her tummy.  The adults in the room were too quiet, normally you could hear someone laugh, but not today, she wished Jesus were with them.

She remembered what her mother had said, that Jesus was with His Father, she hoped that everyone was quiet because they missed Jesus and not because they were afraid the temple elders would find them.

Ruth gently returned the squeeze.  Deborah was about to let go of Ruth's hand when she heard it, she knew Ruth heard it too, her eyes were big brown circles, and they were sitting closer together.

The wind howled, drowning the quite conversation in the room like a bucket of water thrown onto a fire.  The window shutters rattled and broke open, the door of the room swung inward letting in a stream of sunlight. 

Deborah let go of Ruth's hands so that she could place her hands over her ears.  A bone rattling wind was doing battle with the walls and roof of the room.  Noise, not wind, something else, exploded in the room.  Deborah took her hands away from her ears; everyone was speaking and then shouting. 

Faces changed, in a blink of an eye, from sad and scared to happy.  A hand tugged Deborah's arm, 'Look at that,' said Ruth, she pointed into the room.  Deborah's eyes followed her friend's finger.  She had trouble working out what her friend was pointing to, Deborah stared, blinked, stared some more, the most unusual thing she had ever seen in her life.  The room was full of heads that had a hat of tiny fire. 

Deborah turned to look at Ruth.  'You have one too', she said.

'So do you', said Ruth.

'What does the fire mean?' asked Deborah as she passed her hand through a flame that didn't burn her hand.

'Jesus friend must have arrived, who else could make us feel so happy', said Ruth.

Deborah hugged Ruth, 'I know you're right, I feel wonderful, let's sing,' said Deborah.  'Hosanna, hosanna, thank you to the Father, he has sent his Son's friend, Hosanna, Hosanna.  Jesus loves us.  Jesus cares for us.  Hosanna, Hosanna,' Deborah sang the words until Ruth knew them, and then they both sang louder and then more people joined in the song that Deborah and Ruth were singing.

Happy Pentecost, remember we always have and always will be in the care of the Father's nurture.

The Meal, 1891, by Paul Gauguin

 THE MEAL

I told them that

today was 

a Special Day

they would only

understand if they 

served themselves 

for this feast

Independence is my

 lesson for them

tough love

gently given

fruit salad and 

ice cream 

I will thank them

for their efforts 

it is Mother's Day

and I am happy.

 

My World Spins

Last week a low depression swept down from the north and a cold front came in from the west. Rain, that sweet and wanted commodity, at least it was three years ago when we seemed to be in the never ending dry spell, has changed to a never ending supply of too much rain.
 
As this is the 21st century and not the bronze age, I don't expect to be inconvenienced by weather and yet I am. I might be forgiven for thinking that this is THE BEGINNING OF THE END, hoping it is not I wonder if something or someone is to blame for the mess.  The thought hits me that maybe God is to blame, because He didn't stop the bad weather from happening. I have been told that God is good and He can do anything, I feel that he should be able stopped bad weather, but He didn't and I would like to know why?

In my search for an answer I go to the start of everything. I ask why did God let Adam and Eve crunch down on that apple? Everything was good in the Garden of Eden, if God had stopped them from eating the apple, Adam and Eve would still be in the perfect place, maybe I would be in that place too, safe, no changes, no thought that there might be something I didn't know about (good and evil), no choice..... I am having trouble imagining not being able to choose, not knowing that something could be different, and if I don't know what is bad, can I know what is good? Would the world change, could I recognise change?


Descartes the philosopher declared 'I think, therefore I am'. It is my ability to think to see difference that makes this world, if God removes the bad things from this world and wraps me up in the perfect safe place, I would have no choice and I would not think, I would not know good, I would not know bad, I would not know God. And I would not be thinking that maybe the bad weather needs to be, because if God stopped bad weather he might have to change me to a zombie and that does not sound like a fabulous life.


I think I will stop here, my brain spins with the all of this thought, I will continue to ask questions and search for answers, it is I feel a life time quest, and only when I can stand face to face with God will many of my questions have an answer I understand.

 





 

A Leap Of Faith

 

I was planning to do something else for February's theme the reason I changed my mind is that I have been busy with Vic SES since Sunday, filling sandbags and dealing with anything too much rain -250mm- that is around 10 inches in five days can generate. Everyone is now hoping that we don't get any more rain even though more is forecast.

 I was standing behind the camera man when this rescue was filmed  a couple of days ago, about one kilometre from my place, the creek where the rescue took place is now, at the time of writing this post a metre higher than when the driver was pulled off  his truck.

When I saw him leap into the inflatable dingy I was struck by the thought that for a Christian that is exactly what God asks us to do, leap into his care, he promises to be there underneath us holding us when life is good and when life becomes a struggle.

Just to finish this post off I am including some of the News stories from the nights news.

 

Many residents will not be able to go to work tomorrow and to be honest might not want to go to work as driving through flood waters is dangerous, and not recommended. High School for my son was cancelled at 10am this morning because teachers feared that the buses would not be able to return the children to their homes if they left at 3.30pm too many roads have been flooded. 

I am pleased to say that my drenched town has settled for the night, Vic SES members are home taking a break, some started the day at 2.30am this morning with a request for sandbags.

Christian Writers Blog Chain

 

Orbit

 Karl walked, Word had summoned him, he did not blink, did not complain, this day was obligation and promise, he left his home that was a garden with rich soil, plants grew in care an nurture, all were watered by a stream of gurgling crystal water, the life essence of everything.

Outside Karl's garden the land was unpredictable, bandits roamed looking for opportunity to further their realms, in this realm Karl had to always be on guard, but the memories of home grew an armour strengthened by Word.

It was into this wild unpredictable land that Word led Karl, he walked with steady feet between walls of stone, carved through mountains and down into valleys, there was danger with every step that Karl took, he had enemies, powerful, lurking in shadows that formed the shape of scorpions, who lifted their tails ready to strike but they sensed the time was not right.

Shadows obscure and hide unseen forces who wait for any sign of doubt, they have interest in turning Word's protected to hearts that favour the wild raucous anything goes empires that fight for territory in the land. Karl's only hope of protection is placed in word.
 

Stone trickles down the side of rock walls as Karl walks past, scorpions lift their tails higher, an attack is planned, some release their barbs, but Karl's armour, fastened with truth, light, unseen by a blind enemy, is able to deflect the barbs that fall to the ground with the pebbles that slide down the chasms walls.

This is the day, come rest with me, bells call, Word call, Karl looks forward to the rest stop where he can join with Word's gathered, there strength, given by word and feast are given, the witness is given, soft gentle nurture strengthens and repairs any cracks in Karl's armour.

This is Word's call, to witness, to love, to be on the frontier, exciting more to be washed in life's water, the road is not always clear, sometimes enemies threaten to overwhelm, but for Karl there is no doubt that Word comes to him, walks with him, and that one day in every seven the light of Word shines, life's purpose to listen to hear, Word speak.