Parable of the Pit

Once upon a time, a woman named Bertha found the entrance to the Strait and Narrow Way. It appeared to be much less crowded than the Broad Way she had been traveling, and she thought she'd like to try it. But the Narrow Way also looked rather steep, and her knees had been giving her some trouble lately. So she settled there at the crossroads, and enjoyed watching the people go by as she waited to become stronger.

As Bertha returned home one day, she noticed that a large sinkhole had appeared between the two roads. Alarmed, she stepped carefully around it, and safely reached her house. Later, though, she glanced out the front window, and saw a young woman fall into the pit. Bertha hurried outside.

“Help!” called the young woman. “Can you help me?”

Bertha peered down. “How did you fall in?”

“I didn't see the hole. Can you pull me out?”

Bertha reached in, but the pit was too deep. She could not reach the young woman's hand.

“Do you have a ladder, or a rope?” the young woman asked.

“No, I have nothing like that. I'm sorry, but I cannot help you.” Bertha left the disappointed young woman in the pit, and returned to her comfortable home.

Over the next few days, more people fell into the pit. A couple of teenaged boys dared each other to jump in, but could not jump back out. A girl was pushed in by a false friend who ran off, giggling. A scholarly-looking older man convinced his pupil that the only way to understand and solve the problem of the pit was to explore it fully, and they climbed in. Some rushed along the road without paying attention, and fell in. Others looked down, curiously, until the side seemed to give way, and they fell, too.

At first, Bertha worried about the fallen travelers. She advised them to climb the sides or boost each other out, but the pit was too deep, the sides too slick. Eventually she decided they must deserve to be down there, if they weren't going to pay attention or stay away from obvious danger. She began to smirk when she saw someone fall. Occasionally, she'd toss a casserole down to the victims. There really wasn't anything else she could do, was there?

One morning, Bertha heard the fallen ones calling for help, and looked outside. A new traveler approached the pit. He looked like one of those hippy types, with long hair and a beard. He leaned down and smiled at the people in the pit. Then he climbed right in. “That figures,” Bertha thought, but she went outside to see what else he would do.

The people in the pit were clamoring around the newcomer.

“We've been here so long. We've tried everything, but we can't get out. Can you help us? Please?”

“Yes,” he said. “I can.”

Bertha thought that was unlikely. He looked no taller or stronger than any of the others. But most of the people in the pit seemed to believe the stranger.

“I will lift you out,” he said, “but you'll need to do something for me.” He spoke to each victim quietly. The old scholar scoffed, but his pupil agreed wholeheartedly to whatever the stranger had asked. So did most of the others.

The young woman who had fallen first sat staring at the wall. She had given up asking for help some time before. The man took her hands. “Even you,” he said. “I can even save you.” Tears streamed from her eyes as he helped her stand. Then he crouched down next to her, offered his hands for her to step on, and lifted her out of the pit.

Bertha was amazed. Had the stranger stretched that far? Or had the hole shrunk? Both looked the same as before, but there was the young woman, backing away from the edge, smiling up into the sunlight. And soon others joined her. When the man had lifted out all who were willing, he climbed out, too.

Bertha thought they were a sorry-looking lot, all smudged and stained from their time in that muddy hole. But they all smiled, and called the man their Savior, and he smiled and put his arms around them.

Then he said, “Come,” and led the group to the entrance to the Strait and Narrow Way. As each went through the gate, the dirt on their clothes disappeared.

“Wait,” Bertha called as the gate began to close. “May I come, too?”

The bearded man turned and extended a hand toward her. “Come, follow me.”

Bertha tried to walk that way, but her feet would not move.

The man walked back toward her. “Would you like me to help you out of the pit?”

“I'm not in any hole,” she replied indignantly. “I knew better than to fall in there.”

“But did you warn your neighbors of its danger? Did you minister to those who had fallen?”

Bertha suddenly knew that her casseroles hadn't counted for very much. “Well, no.”

“Then you, too, have fallen into a trap.” Bertha saw that she was, indeed, surrounded by the tall, slick walls. “I will return, should you desire my help.” The man walked away.

When another woman fell into the hole, Bertha rushed to comfort her. When a young man peered cautiously over the edge, Bertha begged him to set up a sign, or a fence, to warn other travelers of the danger. She found her knees strengthened as she spent more time on them. And she waited patiently for the return of the only one who could rescue her from the pit.

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.  Isaiah 53:4-5

Grandeur

Wise Men Journey, by Joyce Tremethick

They journeyed far to seek the Light,

a star their compass through the night.

Their dearest hopes and dreams, could all

be brought to pass by one so small?

The majesty of earth and skies

were kindled in the baby's eyes;

the power that ruled the heavens, crammed

into a tiny infant hand.

Wise men bow to a humble King

whose love gives life to everything.

Merry Christmas!

April Shower

Photo by Takkk

Unpack your colored chalks;

draw them in an arc across

the gray slate sky, washed clean.

 

Invitation

A Magpie Tale

Feast in the House of Simon, 1610, El Greco 

You run a certain risk
when you invite the Master to dine--

You may run out of wine,
or water,
for His dozen dusty friends;
unsavory gate-crashers
may entreat Him with more unction
than thou.

You make a show of listening
when He answers your
unspoken sneers.

What if you opened wide
your narrowed eyes,
unstopped your pride-corked ears?
You just might recognize His truth.
And if you dare
lay bare your heart,
He'll heal your hidden scars.

Forgiveness can't be bought.
It must be begged--

and then He freely gives.




Find out more at Mormon.org

Cardboard Christmas

A Magpie Tale

The Ice Cutters, 1911, Natalia Goncharova

Lisa reached into the back corner of the closet. She stood on her toes and tugged with her fingers, and finally the box came free. She carefully pulled it out and stepped down from the chair. The last box. She hoped it was the one she wanted.

As she set it next to the other boxes on the floor, Lisa heard little feet coming down the hall. Was naptime over already?

“Mommy, I waked up,” Josh announced. “What’s in the boxes?”

Caleb followed his brother on loyal little legs. “Peasants?” he suggested hopefully.

“No, not presents. Just some things we haven’t unpacked yet.”

Josh peered into one box and pulled out a tiny sweater. “Whose is this?”

“You used to wear that when you were a baby. And so did Caleb. Put it back, please.”

Caleb toddled over to Lisa and patted her belly. “Baby.”

“Yes, the new baby will wear it, too. But not for a while.”

Josh was already investigating the clothes in another box. “Did I wear these?”

“Yes, but–”

Caleb pulled a skirt out of a third box, and knitted his blond brows together. “I wear this?”

“No, that’s mine.”

“Mommy was baby?”

“Mommy wore that before you were a baby, and hopes she’ll be able to wear it again someday.” Lisa sighed, and refolded the skirt. “Anyway, I’m not looking for clothes right now. I’m–no, don’t touch that one!”

Lisa swung Caleb away from the box containing the equipment and remnants from her stained glass class. Someday she’d get back to that again, too, but it was not a safe hobby to practice with toddlers in the house.

“What are you looking for?” Josh asked.

“Christmas ornaments.”

“Kiss-miss?” Caleb repeated.

“Yes. I’ve looked through all the boxes but this one. Shall we see what’s inside?” Lisa picked up her scissors and slit the tape. Her heart thumped with anticipation. The bright colors, the familiar shapes, must be right there beneath her fingers. She opened the flaps.

Papers. Kevin’s college notes. No wonder the box was so heavy.

The little boys looked inside. “No Kiss-miss?” Caleb stuck out his lower lip.

Lisa sank to the floor. “No. The movers must have left my box of ornaments in Grandma’s garage.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

Josh wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Mommy. Come on, Caleb. Let’s play trains.”

“Choo-choo!” Caleb hooted as the boys pattered back to their room.

Lisa knew she should put away the boxes and prepare the room for guests. But she felt drained after her fruitless search. She went downstairs for a glass of water, hoping Kevin would be home soon to help with the lifting.

She looked around the small living room. It was comfortable, but not very festive. She had hoped to be all ready for Christmas before Kevin’s parents came to visit. She’d bought the groceries and done most of the cleaning. But Kevin had been working late, training for his new job. He was too tired to decorate when he came home. They had not even bought a tree.

Lisa brightened. Maybe Kevin’s parents could find the box of ornaments and bring it along tomorrow. She gave them a call.

No answer. They must be still at work. Lisa left a message, and hung up with a little more hope.

It had been a blessing to live with Kevin’s folks, Dale and Donna. They had invited the young family to stay after Kevin graduated, just until he found a good job. The few weeks he expected had turned into two years, though, as Kevin applied for position after position. He worked some odd jobs during that time, and played with the little boys, but he’d spent more and more time grumbling about the economy and playing video games. Lisa was grateful that they’d had a comfortable place to live all that time. They’d never gone hungry. But she knew her husband hated depending on his parents.

Everyone was thrilled when Kevin was hired. Lisa loved the fresh sparkle in his eye, his new sense of purpose and responsibility. She also looked forward to setting up their own home, having their own space, and starting their own traditions.

As the moving van rolled away, scattering the fallen leaves, Donna pulled Kevin into a tight squeeze. “We’ll miss you so much, but we’re so proud of you.”

“That’s right.” Dale gave Josh a tickle before buckling him into his car seat. “But you’ll be back for Christmas, won’t you?”

Lisa looked at Kevin with concern. His parents’ Christmas celebrations were too glitzy for her taste.

“I won't earn much leave by then,” Kevin said. “We’ll probably be staying in our new home.”

Lisa breathed a small sigh of relief as she buckled her own safety belt.

“Then we’ll come visit you,” Dale declared.

“You bet,” Donna agreed. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without a child in the house!”

Kevin waved as he drove the car away, but Lisa felt frozen.

She’d had some time to thaw over the past couple of months, and had determined to show her in-laws a Christmas her way. A nice dinner on Christmas day, not a Christmas Eve extravaganza. Homemade cookies. Singing carols around the–well, someday she’d get a piano. Singing carols around the CD player, then. And a real tree. A small one, to be sure. Expense and living room space dictated that. But she looked forward to arranging her small collection of ornaments on a sweet-smelling fresh tree. Lisa closed her eyes, imagining the aroma.

“Behold the conquering hero!”

Lisa’s eyes flew open as the front door slammed. Little feet pounded down the stairs, and cries of “Daddy!” filled the air. Lisa struggled up from the couch.

Kevin swung the two boys into the living room, then caught Lisa in a hug. “I’ve completed my certification. I'll meet my first client after Christmas!”

Lisa gave him a kiss. “That’s wonderful, dear,” she said. “Oh, look at the time. I haven’t started dinner yet.”

“No big deal,” Kevin said. “Let’s pick something up on the way.”

“On the way to where?” Josh asked.

“To buy a Christmas tree.”

Lisa and the boys cheered, and the family piled into the car. After supplying everyone with hamburgers and fries, Kevin drove straight to the tree stand in the mall’s parking lot. The brightly colored lights turned off as they approached. Kevin stepped out to talk to a man who was sweeping pine needles.

“All sold out, sir,” Lisa heard him say. “They went fast this year. You could try the supermarket, or the lot on Old Holly Road.”

There were no trees left at the supermarket, either. Lisa and Kevin had different ideas about how to find Old Holly Road, and it took them a while to reach it. When they finally found the tree lot there, it was empty, too.

“Maybe this is why Mom and Dad use a fake tree,” Kevin said, leaning on the steering wheel. “Is it normal to run out the day before Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t think so,” Lisa answered. “Where I grew up, most lots had a few scraggly trees left even after Christmas.”

“Huh. Well, we’d better take the kiddos home.” Kevin nodded at the boys. They were asleep in their car seats, and Caleb was losing his grip on a handful of fries.

After helping Lisa set up the guest room, Kevin spent most of Christmas Eve shopping. Lisa wondered if he would come home with a fake tree. If he did, she’d be stuck with it, probably forever. Ugh. But having no Christmas tree would be worse.

She tried not to think about it as she rolled out sugar cookie dough. She helped Caleb wield a star-shaped cookie cutter with his pudgy fingers. Josh cut out a cookie and held it up. “Is this what our tree will look like?” he asked. He wiggled the tree shape until it broke and fell to the counter, leaving just the point in his hand.

“Probably so.” Lisa squished the dough together and rolled it out so Josh could try again.

“Will we put up a 'table?” he asked.

“This is the table.”

“No, a Christmas 'table.”

Lisa frowned, trying to read Josh's mind. “Oh.” She remembered that Dale built an elaborate train set on the coffee table each Christmas. “You mean like Grandpa's? We don't have anything like that.”

"Why not?"

Lisa slid the cookie sheet into the oven, and the front door opened.

“Don’t look,” Kevin called, sweeping past with something held behind his back.

Josh covered his eyes with his hands. Caleb put his hands on his own face, but missed one eye.

“Did you bring a tree, Daddy?” Josh shouted.

Kevin looked around the corner. “No, but I have an idea. Come here, kiddos.” They followed him to the living room, and he shut the kitchen door.

Lisa finished baking the cookies and started some soup for dinner. A pair of headlights swept up the driveway as she stirred. Donna's sweater sparkled as she came through the door. “Merry Christmas Eve, Lisa, honey,” she said with her usual broad smile.

Dale followed her inside, carrying a box. “We couldn’t find your box, Lisa, but we thought you might like these.” He set the box on the table.

Lisa’s face fell as she looked inside. Instead of the treasures her own grandparents had sent each year, or the cute ornaments her crafty aunts had made, there were packages of silver bells, violet balls, strings of blue lights, and a huge silver star. They had never been opened.

“We can’t use these.”

“Sure, you can! We bought them all on clearance last January,” Donna said with a wink.

“But we don’t have a tree.”

The kitchen door opened. “Yes, we do,” said Kevin. “Come see.”

The little boys rushed at their grandparents, who paused for hugs and tickles. Kevin took Lisa by the hand and led her to the living room. On the floor she saw that a large moving box had been cut in the shape of a fir tree. The boys had obviously been coloring it, with large swathes of green ink and little patches of green crayon.

Tears came to Lisa’s eyes. Kevin put his arm around her. “It doesn't smell great, but I think we can have some fun with it. Okay?”

Lisa wiped her eyes and smiled. “I’ll go find the construction paper.”

After supper, Kevin led the way to the living room, flexing his muscles. “So, I cut this tree myself, and hauled it all the way from the shed with my bare hands. Let's dress it up.”

Dale frowned. “That's not a tree. That's a tree by-product.”

“Start producing some decorations for it, then.”

Dale chuckled. “I'm no artist. You kids go ahead without me.”

“I'll help you.” Josh handed his grandfather a piece of orange paper. “Draw around my hand, Grandpa.”

“Me, too,” insisted Caleb, and the decorating began.

           Donna snipped lacy snowflakes to tape to the cardboard tree. Lisa tied yarn into bows. The boys colored their handprints, then drew stars, train engines, and more abstract shapes.

           Dale traced his own hand, colored it like a turkey, and cut it out, too. “I call it, 'Self-Portrait,'” he said, taping it onto the tree.

           Donna rolled her eyes. “That's you, all right. Full of stuffing and nonsense.”

           Kevin searched the Internet for origami instructions, and busied himself with sheets of aluminum foil. He showed Lisa his creations.

           “Christmas cranes?” she asked.

           He grinned. “Silver swans a-swimming.”

           Soon the flat tree was covered with colorful, fanciful, utterly original decorations.

           “This certainly is unique,” Donna said, surveying their work. “I'll never forget this little tree.”

           “Neither will I,” Lisa agreed. “But how will it stand up?”

           “Got it covered,” said Kevin. “Make me another big bow, will you?” He looped some yellow yarn through a hole near the point of the tree. After attaching Lisa's bow, he hung the loop on a hook in the ceiling. The cardboard tree dangled, swinging slightly in the breeze from the heating vent.

           “Pity,” said Caleb.

           “Yes, it's a very pretty Christmas tree,” Lisa said, hugging her sons, “though I feel like I've forgotten to do something.” She yawned.

           “What about a 'table?” Josh asked.

           “Not now, Josh.”

           “The tree is just fine this way,” Kevin declared, “and you're tired. Go ahead and get the boys into their pajamas. I'll take care of the dishes.”

           Lisa woke with a start. “Did you hear that?” Kevin did not respond. How could he not hear it? Lisa shook his shoulder. “Kevin, what's that sound?”

           He rolled over and grunted at the darkness. “Huh?”

           “That rustling sound. Listen.” Lisa sat up, heart pounding. “There's a light on, too.”

           Kevin raised himself up on one elbow. “I doubt our presents would attract burglars,” he said.

        “Well, probably not.” The gifts they had set out, after tucking the boys in, made a pretty meager pile.

           “I bet it's Mom and Dad, sneaking some more packages downstairs. Go back to sleep.” He rolled over again.

           Lisa lay down, breathing deeply, willing her heart to stop racing.

           She woke again to the sound of giggling. Weak sunlight glowed around the edges of the window blinds.

           Kevin sat up. “It must be Christmas morning,” he said, grinning.

           Lisa pulled on her robe and headed for the boys' room. “I wish your dad wouldn't tickle the boys awake.”

           “He was already awake, weren't you, little man?” Dale laughed along with the toddler.

           “Merry Kiss-miss, Mommy!” Caleb called when he caught his breath.

           “Merry Christmas, sweetie. But where's Josh?”

           “I dunno.” Caleb collapsed in a fresh round of giggles.

           Lisa walked down the hall to the guest room. “Josh, are you bothering Grandma?”

           Donna put down her magazine. “He's no bother, but he isn't in here.”

           Lisa grabbed handfuls of her own hair. “Where's Josh?”

           Kevin looked out of the boys' room, surprised. “What do you mean?”

           “He isn't there, he isn't here.” Frantic, she hugged herself. “I heard noises last night. Maybe someone took him!”

           Kevin put one hand on Lisa's shoulder, and smoothed her hair with the other. “Calm down, Lisa. He's probably getting a head start on the presents. Let's take a look downstairs.”

           Caleb and his grandparents followed silently as Kevin led Lisa down the stairs. At the bottom, she closed her eyes, afraid of what she might see. Kevin stepped out into the living room.

           Soon he returned and took Lisa's hand. “Come and see,” he said quietly. Lisa let out the breath she was holding, and followed him.

           The gifts had not been disturbed, but there was a mess beneath the dangling cardboard tree. Josh lay curled there in a nest of crayons. Lisa dropped to his side, giving his round cheek a grateful kiss. Josh's blue eyes opened in the pale morning light.

           “What are you doing down here?” she asked. “You gave me such a fright.”

           Josh looked surprised. “Sorry, Mommy. In the night I waked up, and I made the 'table you forgot. Look.” He pointed to a folded piece of cardboard, standing near the trunk of the swinging tree. Lisa picked it up.

           Brown crayon marked walls and a roof. A yellow star with eight or nine points shone at the top. Smiles split the round faces of three figures within—one wearing blue, with long hair, one with a pointy brown beard, and a small one between them, balanced on an X. Curly-hided animals stood nearby, smiling, too.

           “The stable. You're right, that's just what we need.” Lisa wiped her eyes.

           Caleb knelt down next to her, and pointed reverently to the central figure in the drawing. “Baby.”

           Lisa sat on the couch, sipping hot chocolate. She watched as Dale chased Josh through a tunnel of empty moving boxes. She leaned her head on her husband's shoulder. “The boxes were a great idea, dear.”

           Kevin grinned. Dale poked his head through a window in one box. “They're just like you. No matter what we gave you, you'd just play with the boxes.” Then he roared, and crawled after Caleb while Donna snapped photos. 

           Lisa looked around the room. She could barely hear the Christmas music from the CD player. The cardboard tree swung. Wrapping paper, crayons, and packing peanuts littered the floor. It was not quite the vision she had had for Christmas morning. But it was perfect. She picked up the cardboard Nativity and studied it again.

           “Your mom was right, Kevin.”

           “Huh?”

           “It just wouldn't be Christmas without the Child.”

For more Christmas tales, see my Anthologies page

A Prophet's Dream

A Magpie Tale

photo by Mark Haley

wandering through
a dreary world
one bright spot ahead:
a tree
with fruit
of joy

at the summit of
a narrow path
steep, uneven, long
flanked by an iron rail
those who lean on it
won't stray

Choose:

make your own track
through dark mists,
distractions,
vain heights and filthy depths

or

cling to the way
that leads to where
God's love, bound in sweet flesh,
hangs on a tree
free for all who come

one taste begins
to right all wrongs
and dry all tears
not shed for joy



The prophet's name was Lehi.  He lived around 600 B.C.  You can read the vision in his own words, and explore its interpretation from his son.

To hear what a prophet has to say today, click here!

Reflection

A Magpie Tale

Photo by Elena Kalis

The barrier is not so firm, but fine.
Did you catch a glimpse before slipping through,
leaving behind
the canker that muddled your mind,
limbs weary from fighting the current?
Is the other side a reflection
of this murkiness, but clear?
Take along your vivid colors.
A sweet savor trails in your wake.
Rest with the saints in glory,
but we know you won't be still.
If work there be to do, you'll find it;
idleness was never your ideal.
Family ties still anchor us--
we'll watch for your beacon smile
when our turn comes to cross
and wait, with you,
'til every silken hair will be restored.


For my mother-in-law, Sierra Sue Osgood, 1946-2013

Eve's Kitchen

A Magpie Tale

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka

What's for supper?
Bread, again,
seasoned with our toil
among the thorns
and creeping things
and storms.

Oh, yes, I miss it, too,
the vines and branches
hanging low
with just-ripe fruit
for just us two,
a feast for the plucking,
juice dripping
down our skin.

But recall:
until that one
Forbidden flavor
taught us other-
wise,
we knew not
how sweet it was,
our Paradise;

without that bite
we would still be
unsalted dough,
no need to rise
to any occasion,
ever baking
in the sun,
but never done.

Merry Christmas

If a picture is worth a thousand words, 

what is the exchange rate for music?

Put them together, and you get 

this priceless piece from The Piano Guys.

He came,

bringing light,

direction,

forgiveness,

healing,

eternal life.

He will come again.

Evening at Home

A Magpie Tale

 

Midnight Snack, 1984, by Curtis Wilson Cost

Within our walls, where all is warm and bright,
set aside the troubles of the day;
shut out the threat'ning shadows of the night.

Sing a song, let voices take wild flight!
Fill the air with cheer, keep fear at bay,
within our walls, where all is warm and bright.

Tell old tales of victory through right.
Let safety found along the narrow way
shut out the threat'ning shadows of the night.

Start a silly game, devoid of spite;
laugh as young and old join in to play,
within our walls, where all is warm and bright.

Enjoy the taste of family delight--
scoop up its sweetness, soothing all dismay.
Shut out the threat'ning shadows of the night.

Gather in the children, hold them tight,
kneel together, bow your head to pray.
Within our walls, where all is warm and bright,
shut out the threat'ning shadows of the night.


Family Home Evening is a tradition among Mormons, in which

"a special time (is) set aside each week that brings family members together and strengthens their love for each other, helps them draw closer to Heavenly Father, and encourages them to live righteously." (from LDS.org) 

Because, you know, the family that prays together and plays together will want to stay together.  Give it a try!

Shellbound

A Magpie Tale

I.
I have no arms to take up
against misfortune's darts.
When waves crash,
and whirlwinds sling sharp shafts,
I etch a grim grin on my tough facade
and retreat, recoil,
shrink deep within my shell
alone with echoes of the troublesome sea,
more strident than the storms outside.
Shaken, aching,
I stir up squalls long past,
spin showers into cyclones,
and drown again,
ensnared in my own shield.


II.
The barnacle that's anchored
on the boulder's solid side
learns to weather scathing storms,
awaits the soothing tide.

And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.  Helaman 5:12

The Best Books

A Magpie Tale

books beckon

titles tantalize

volumes of unknown capacity

to teach truth

set spines shivering

offer refuge

or simply delight

compact companions carry

worlds within words

brimming with inky life

passive potential waits

just open the cover

complete the circuit

unleash the current

and add a lasting light

to your soul

Yea, seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom;

seek learning, even by study and also by faith. 

Doctrine and Covenants 88:118

African Violets

A Magpie Tale

Tender scions,

severed from diseased roots,

struggling to survive

in barren soil

bright eyes staring

from soft, dark faces

receiving gratefully

what heaven sends their way

clustering together

in minimal defence against the storms

imagining the sun's warmth

until it shines again

     My friend, Lisa, is on the board of directors of the Eternal Hope Children's Home in Nairobi, Kenya.  Her love for these children is awe-inspiring.  Recently she requested donations of small stuffed animals.  It seemed like a great opportunity to use some of the amigurumi patterns I have been collecting, so I sat down and started to crochet.  By the time I had finished a few, Lisa's suitcase was already full of other contributions.  I would still like to use the toys to benefit the orphans, so I will auction them off.  All proceeds will be used for the welfare of the orphans.  Please see my Amigurumi for Africa posts!

Growing in the Green House

A Magpie Tale, a little bit late

My sister and the green house, 1983

     I grew up in a green house.  My parents selected the five-bedroom, two-story model from the builders' standard floorplans, and chose the mint-chocolate color scheme from the aluminum siding the builders offered.  They could not have known that no one else would choose the same, nor that the builders would decline to dig the full depth of the basement into the slope.  Thus our green house rose head and shoulders above the beige split levels of the neighborhood.  The only rival for its height was the old willow tree in the yard of the farmhouse behind it.  The old man upon whose tomato fields our home was built apologized when he built a fence around his remaining acres.  "It's not because of you," he promised, offering cucumbers.  His farm provided a peaceful view from my window.  When I gave directions to our home, I always finished with, "It's the green house.  You can't miss it."  Our house, set on a hill, could not be hid.

     It fit our family, though.  Somehow we tended to be culturally distinct from our neighbors.  We shared eclectic tastes in music and literature, and a nearly undecipherable sense of humor.  We spent our vacations in places of cultural interest, not among the cheap pleasures of the local beach resort.  We ate foreign recipes, with ingredients grown in our garden and canned in our kitchen.  Our faith, and our devotion to it, set us apart as well.  Not that we were trying to be unusual.  We just did what we liked, what we felt was right.

     I never grew to be tall, but I found myself standing out at school.  I wore clothes that my mother sewed, from patterns and fabric of my choice.  My choice had little to do with prevailing fashions.  I was leery of popular music and television, mostly because of their popularity.  I preferred to form my own opinions, based on my own standards.  When my friends drew their midday sustenance from a candy bar and a diet soda, I kept packing my peanut butter.  I was a good student, because I could be, and I participated in many activities, because they interested me.  Thus I became well-known, if not popular.  My friends were those who respected me the way I was.

     Many things change, of course, but character remains.  The farmhouse and willow have been supplanted by tall houses with tiny yards.  The trees along the street have grown enough to crack the sidewalks, and perhaps enough to obscure the green house, from certain angles.  My parents have moved to a less obtrusive home in the shadow of the everlasting hills.  But it is also green, and it has room for all of us and our shared history.  I live along a busy street, far removed from my childhood home.  When I give directions to my home, people say, "Oh, the yellow house?  I always liked that one."  And beneath its peaked ceilings, I teach my sons to stand tall, and reach higher.

An Authentic Christmas

A play in three scenes for an LDS audience.  Overzealous about her Christmas decorating scheme this year, Julie is forgetting the reason for the season.  Can an unexpected visitor help her refocus before it is too late?

Faith of the Shepherds

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Shepherd, Sheep, Lilac Sky by Twink Designs

They knew that He was coming,
but they did not know when.
They could not know they’d be
among the first to hear the news.
They did their duty humbly
in the field and in the pen,
‘til angels sang the birth
of the Messiah of the Jews.
Not doubting it was true,
they spread the word abroad
that they had seen the newborn Son of God.

We’ve heard that He is coming,
but we do not know when.
Prophets say that soon,
in regal glory, He’ll return.
Do we do our duty,
to love and to befriend,
to lead our neighbors to
the peace and joy for which they yearn?
Believe that He is true,
and help prepare all men
to greet the Savior of the world again.

Cold Determination

A Magpie Tale

and this one is true...

     I arrived at the university full of vague hopes, fond wishes, pleasant dreams, and one concrete goal.  I never wrote it in my planner, but it was clearly defined in my mind, measurable, reportable.  I was determined not to slip and fall on the ice more than once that winter.
     In the maritime climate of my Maryland upbringing, snow was a rare occurrence.  The scarcity of snow led to its identification with delightful surprises.  "Our football team won the game?" a friend might say.  "It's going to snow!" 
     If snow did fall, we thrilled at the sight of the first flakes, and hoped they would stick.  When an inch or two accumulated, my sisters and I would cluster around the radio, listening to the alphabetical list of school cancellations as the various counties phoned in their bids.  One hour late . . . Two hours late . . . Closed.  Jackpot!  If a few more inches fell, the "non-essential workers" would be sent home from the capital.  Beltway traffic was snarly enough in good weather; no one needed those impatient drivers to get stuck in the snow.  Whether the total came to three inches or three feet, with an inch-thick layer of ice on the top, the result was the same:  everyone stayed home and let the snowplows do their work.  We would sled down our front yard, build forts in the back, and try to enjoy the white stuff before it turned slushy and melted in a day or two. 
     My parents, who hailed from a different climate, assured me that in places where it really snows, life goes on.  People put on their snow tires and drive sensibly.  Snow doesn't melt all winter, and schools never close.  Thus warned, I went to further my education in Utah, which boasts the "greatest snow on earth."
     When the first flakes fell that winter, I was thrilled, as usual.  As it piled up on the ground, I wrapped myself in my puffy yellow corduroy coat, put on the most sensible shoes I possessed, and continued to walk all over campus.  I trusted the army of students employed in the Grounds Crew to arise early and apply their plows, shovels, and salt to the walkways.  I watched my step, and stayed upright.
     I was quite pleased with my success toward the end of classes in December.  I even wore ordinary shoes from time to time, but stayed wary.  Constant vigilance was the key.  Then, after studying form and function in my History of the Decorative Arts class one day, I left the Fine Arts building with some of my classmates.  Perhaps I was too eager to eat lunch.  Maybe I was distracted by conversation.  I only remember that when I reached the top of the short flight of icy stairs, my heel slipped out in front of me.  I fell, bouncing as I went.  It was a spectacular slide.  When the others caught up, concerned, I just had to laugh.  I had allowed myself one fall, and it turned out to be splendid.
     Putting that slip behind me, I went forth into the new semester with stronger determination.  I am pleased to say that I did complete my goal of keeping my seat off the concrete for the rest of the winter.
     The next winter was a different story.  I learned that my first year had been rather light on snow, by Utah's standards, and the mountain reservoirs held little for the farmers the next summer.  Returning to school, we were all encouraged to pray for "moisture."  Our prayers were answered with abundant snow.  Having grown complacent in my uprightness, I set no goal regarding slips and trips.  Therefore, I crashed on the same icy spot on my way home every day for a week. 
     I guess the moral of the story might be:

If at first you do succeed,

stick with the program!