tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80365505544130601992024-03-13T17:03:54.962+07:00Doesn't Speak Klingon...I speak some German, Mandarin, and am learning Vietnamese, but no Klingon. Yet.Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.comBlogger701125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-59676124233396316562023-11-13T17:54:00.002+07:002023-11-13T17:54:40.746+07:00Writing Writing Everywhere<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">...Just not always here.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I signed up for Nanowrimo. And I'm doing well, right on track. I had my writing all "done" for the day (meaning I wrote enough words, and came to a reasonable stopping place, so I stopped writing and started doing other things) but I'm about to start up again this evening because of a sudden revelation...</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>I want to know what happens next!</i></b></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At any given time I have at least two books that I'm reading - a book on ink and an e-book that I can read in bed in the dark. And this evening, when I have the time to pick up a book and read, I found myself wondering what was going to happen next to <i>my</i> character! That I'm writing! For Nanowrimo! And I was sitting here hoping that she'd do this one thing that I just realized she needs to do.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I guess I'd better write that scene. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, that's where my time is going. But I was talking to another writer the other day and realized how much I miss writing flash fiction, so Flash Fiction Fridays will be coming back. Later.</span></span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-84273834351810467542023-11-04T14:02:00.006+07:002023-11-04T14:05:21.363+07:00One Year Death Free <p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">...And that year was 2022. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I didn't want to jinx it, so I didn't say anything as 2022 ended, and then it was 2023, and out of my mind. Actually, that's not entirely true, but whatever.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As of now, I am uncle-less. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As a kid, I had four biological uncles (brothers of my parents) plus three in-law uncles (married to sisters of my parents). Yesterday - Friday, Nov. 3, US time - my mother's younger brother died. I don't know any details at this point, but he'd suffered from Parkinson's Disease and probably other heart/cholesterol issues due to weight. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Grief is different each time. Of course, an uncle is not as close as a sibling or parent, so I haven't been teary yet. (It almost happened just before writing this.) I just ran away to the beach for a break in the morning.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's about a 10 minute bike ride, and I usually swim for 7-10 minutes. Today I lay in the sand for a bit after that. It was later than I usually go, so the sun was super-warm and the waves were a soothing background. While I was there, I realized that's become my post-death go-to. After I got back from my nephew's traumatic funeral in 2019, I went to the beach for a bit. After my sister's funeral, took almost a whole morning just sitting and reading. Dad, too. It really helps to clear my head.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">ANYWAY! Uncle ... let's call him Devin. I was thinking that we weren't that close, and we weren't. We didn't stay in touch or anything, and that whole family is scarce on social media. But suddenly I realized that, growing up, he was probably the uncle I saw the most. Uncle Devin lived in the neighboring town to my mom's mom. So every Christmas, every summer vacation, we would spend time at Uncle Devin's house. Especially as Grandma got older, he and his wife did more of the hosting. They had a cool, split-level house, and the town's water tower was right outside. It was very tempting to climb, although we couldn't get very high up before the ladder was locked down. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Uncle Devin has two sons, so the whole family was very into scouting. It was a boy-haven house, even with a zip-line from one upstairs window to the tree-house... DECADES before zip-lining was mainstream. They had an extra garage where he taught his sons how to fix cars. With a sunken pit so they could just walk down some steps under the car to be worked on.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was fun, and funny. When Brett and I were road-tripping across Iowa, we stayed with them for a night, and boy, they got along well. Brett and Uncle Devin had first met at my cousin's wedding a year before, and after talking together, Uncle D gave me the thumbs up. It felt like getting approval from the cool uncle. Because that's what it was. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Uncle Devin's approval meant something. I remember, at Grandma's funeral - she died at 101, so had everything planned out - my sisters and I sang Beautiful Savior. Afterwards, Uncle Devin, an impressive tenor himself, told me "You've got some pipes!" It meant the world. I don't sing much outside of church choirs, and only to myself these days. Not that he was stingy with praise, just that he gave it when you weren't expecting it.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is life. Death happens. He was a good man, who left a good legacy. He will be missed.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And life will go on.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">One calendar year without a death. <br /></span></span></p><p><i><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">p.s. Blogger is doing its thing where I can't reply to comments right now, and I can't remember how I fixed it. I'm reading them! I want to comment! I'll get around to it eventually!<br /></span></span><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></i></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-64164269746841519612023-10-01T16:53:00.001+07:002023-10-01T16:53:22.098+07:00Story Ideas<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm considering whether to do Nanowrimo again this year. It's like an addiction, though. I feel like I *have to* do it. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">BUT... I have no ideas of what to write. There's no burning story that is bursting to come out of me. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I've been generating ideas for what to write, if I decide to do Nano. Here are a few ideas:</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">1. Sci-fi. Manager of a coffee shop on the Moon, in a time when the trendy thing is to move on to Mars. But this person doesn't make the cut for Mars, and feels stuck. A couple story options. A)S/he learns of something that could be a danger to all Moon-lings and has to escape or save the Moon. B)S/he meets someone, relationship starts, the SO makes the cut for Mars and either they go together or it ends in heartbreak.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">2. Dystopian. BFFs were broken apart by a cataclysmic event in their youth. They reunite as adults, but their ideals and paths have diverged so much they have to overcome their new differences (because they share this deep connection to a brutal past). In the end, by coming together they find their new talents/skills/education are complementary to a degree that they can help their community/society/nation avert a coming catastrophe.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">3. Parallel/Future world. A young woman's life is spared for a rare, prized physical trait. She wants a normal life, but is used for DNA harvesting. She begins/joins a rebellion of others trying to overthrow the DNA harvesters.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">4. Modern world, possible Women's Lit. Woman breaks free from financial hardship through an online business. As things are looking good, she suffers death and loss from multiple angles and sinks into depression leading to loss of business and isolation. Back on her heels, she learns new skills to help herself, and in the process helps others. Story ends with her finally leaving her house for the first time in years.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">5. Environmental Collapse. Climate change is wreaking havoc on the world's populations, agriculture, business. Storms, droughts, wildfires all take their toll. In the middle of the growing crisis, scientists find a way to weaponize weather and target opposing governments.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now that I lay these all out here, they're each pretty heavy. Maybe I need to simplify and write REAL things about realistic people. Hmm... Thoughts? </span><br /></span></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-50502129904339534992023-08-26T10:35:00.003+07:002023-08-26T10:35:53.810+07:00American Road-trip, Part 4: Abundance<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Recently I found myself musing on moments I had in the States last June, feeling lost among options. It happened often.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For example, I like keeping some snacks with me in the car when I'm on a road-trip. So I wanted to get something suitable. We were in a big box store, and I went to the grocery section. Snacks. Or wait. Nuts and Popcorn. Or wait. Cookies and Crackers. Or wait. Chips. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">These are all AISLE headings. Whole aisles full of so many choices my mind boggled. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Convenience stores. Drug stores. Gas stations! Even on the highway, When there's an exit coming, you will see a bunch of signs telling you exactly what your choices are for food or fuel. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And the abundance went on. It's expected. I've lived with it. I understand it. I've just been away for so long it struck me differently. Not just "stuff" but convenience and availability. And assumed availability.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">While we were on the east coast, a section of a major highway (I-95) collapsed in Philadelphia. We were in Delaware at the time, planning to drive up to New York in the coming days. Now this main path would be closed. I considered taking the ferry over to New Jersey instead and driving from there, but when we looked at ferry times, realized we needed a reservation. They were booked. Apparently everyone else visiting the Delaware shore had the same idea.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, to avoid I-95 we hit the Jersey Turnpike instead. If you don't know, a turnpike is a toll road. On long toll roads in the States, service areas are spaced out every 50-90 miles, where you can pull off for gas or food without paying an exit toll. It's expected. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first service area had a sign up saying it was closed for maintenance. 60 miles to next service area. Which was closed, too. There was a ton of traffic. My guess is that a lot of people were diverted to the turnpike because of work on I-95. Finally, at the third service area we gassed up, then waited in long lines for fast food options. There were no tables so we ate outside by the car before continuing. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had assumed an American level of availability, and found ourselves with no options. One service center. It seemed almost un-American! This is why New Jersey has a bad reputation. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Note: I've been to NJ before several times, and enjoyed my visits. I may have even taken the turnpike before; I don't recall. But it does have a murky reputation in the rest of the US.</i></span></span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-47011570981515497682023-07-26T12:45:00.003+07:002023-07-26T12:45:51.685+07:00American Road-Trip, Part 3: Hobbies<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, my brother-in-law has a new hobby: Making perfect ice.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have not seen the results of this hobby, because we didn't visit their house, just met up at my mom's. I guess it is ice that is perfectly clear, with no streaks inside from bubbles rising to the surface? There's a specific way to do this. Apparently.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He's an engineer. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, but I do think it speaks to a mindset that appreciates technical challenges. So... perfect ice.</span></span><br /></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When he takes on A Hobby, it is one hobby for a duration. For a while, he brewed beer. Then he was making mead. I know he also enjoys researching the best ways to cook certain things. Like I say, technical, detail-based, precision tasks.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Someone else we visited works in the gun industry. I believe he tests new models of guns coming to market. He loves his work, and enjoys talking about it. I didn't understand a lot of what he said. He showed Brett some of his personal guns. So it's a job <i>and</i> a hobby!</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">One fun aspect of this trip was finding out about hobbies that developed during the pandemic. Good friends have developed their gardening in ways specific to their abilities. A self-proclaimed NON green thumb, she created a cactus garden. He grows strawberries. They planted a grape vine to grow over the arbor they built (it's not grown that high yet) and they added a decorative sculpture garden in one corner of their property.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Another friend has also been working on his garden, but in his case the big draw is a fire ring that will have raked, flag stone seating around it when complete. </span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A good friend of mine who found herself gaining weight during lockdown has jumped on the fitness bandwagon, walking with friends, and throwing down an exercise mat at home to get exercise in inclement weather.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">These are not the things we talk about during the occasional long-distance phone calls. Or if so, the topics don't bear the weight of the hobby. "What did you do today?" "Oh, I took a walk / worked in the garden / made ice." Then the conversation rolls on. That's why it was so great to actually visit with all these people. We can talk all the time, but seeing a person's life is a different level of communication.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's the little things that make a person whole.</span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-33441593234268754112023-07-07T14:00:00.001+07:002023-07-07T14:00:51.862+07:00American Road-Trip, Part 2: Edibles<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I'm not a drug person. Never was. Once, at a college party, the guy I was talking to invited me to join him in lighting up with some friends. I excused myself from the room until they were done. Now of course, marijuana is legal in some form in most US states, and easy to get everywhere. But I live in Vietnam. It's around, but illegal.<br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A few years ago, we were in Canada and shared a joint in a legal lounge. I didn't get much out of it. Not being a smoker, I probably did it wrong.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Now, in the latest book I'm working on, a character is given edibles from a friend. I don't explore this character's history with pot - she allows that she's not a "regular" user, but seems familiar with it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">During our trip to the States, I decided to do a little research.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First, I asked a grower about it and got some solid information about the different effects coming from the different strains. Cool. Helpful.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Near the end of our trip, I decided to try gummies for myself. A friend was buying some brownie bites from the dispensary at the same time. Not too long after I ate a gummy, back at their house, they offered me a brownie bite. Of course I wanted to try it! See, I had already forgotten this was A Drug. And that it was For Research. In my head, gummy candies and brownies are snacks. That's a hard idea to alter!</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Two edibles in quick(ish) succession was a mistake. I'm just not used to trying to get high!</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Sure, at first came a pleasant, light, buzzy sensation, but then it became unpleasantly like being <u>way</u> <u>too</u> drunk. Plus. I felt like lead. If I got up to move, I knew <i><b>(did I?) </b></i>that there was every possibility that I'd fall down, or vomit, or both. <a href="http://transformednonconformist.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Brett</a> - who had elected to stay sober while I experimented, brought me a slice of the leftover pizza, and after I finished my one beer I switched to drinking water. We were having a movie night, and I safely fell asleep there on the sofa during the movie.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Midway through the movie, Brett woke me and convinced me I might as well go to bed. I managed to get myself ready for bed and slept very soundly, never wishing to do that again!</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The next morning, I was kicking myself for wasted research. I needed to know how to write about this! What if the brownie was the more potent edible? What if the late hour had conspired against me? And what about that beer I had early in the evening - the combination of alcohol and drugs is not in my book! We had some open time that morning, so after breakfast, as I was repacking our bags, I tried Just One Gummy. This time I could focus. It was morning, my head was clear, and I was without the audience of those sharing in our previous movie night. Plus, I was doing a task that I've done numerous times and knew how it should go.</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">While packing, I took notes:<br /></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">45 minutes in, it was getting hard to focus. Visually and mentally.</span></li><li><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">1.5 hours in, that floating sensation kicked in. It was accompanied by a tingling in my lips.</span></li><li><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">At 1 hour 50 minutes, my mouth was dry. SO dry! I drained my water bottle.</span></li></ul><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">That's where the notes stop. I recall that, mid-packing, I stretched out on the bed and relaxed for a while. Did I sleep? If so, not for long. My nature is task-driven and I had a task. After finishing packing, I picked up the book I was reading and sat in a corner, in a haze, reading, until it was time to go. I was fine, but operating at low energy.<br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Overall, even a tiny little pot-gummy is too potent for me. Although I was able to move (<i>no leaden sensation as of the prior night</i>) and I didn't feel ill, it was no fun. I am in NO danger of becoming an addict!<br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And the research was worth it. They say "write what you know." I will be removing the drug parts from the book. It was all unnecessary to the plot, anyway. </span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Have you ever done anything "for research"? Gone somewhere you wouldn't normally or tasted a food just to see? How did it turn out for you? </span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-65404661156851963302023-06-29T12:35:00.004+07:002023-06-29T12:35:51.660+07:00American Road-Trip, Part 1: No Home is Safe!<p><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-family: georgia;"><i><u>Last week we returned from our month long trip to the US. Rather than write a play-by-play, I thought it would be more interesting to write individual stories or perspectives. This is about being a house-guest. </u></i></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">If I've ever visited your house, just know that I've redecorated it in my mind. The habit started during my baby-sitting days in college and pops up from time to time. Our recent trip was prime for it!<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Take the residence of certain friends, for instance. Old friends we've stayed with twice during our extended trips abroad. The guest room is clean and simple, while the house is chock full of collectibles - Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, movie memorabilia, games... It's a big enough house that all I've really re-done in my head is the room where we've slept. Each time, it turns into a yoga room. I'd strip away the carpet, remove the closet door (to store yoga clothes and gear) and probably set up a meditation corner by the tall window.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Given the space I'd always want a yoga room. Another house we stayed in had a screened-in back porch... which would be (and was, for those few days) a good yoga space. It was big enough that in my mental refurbishment I could even keep some of the communal seating and just add storage and re-organize part of it for yoga. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At that house, I also had ideas to "fix" the front porch.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They have a porch that runs the full length of the house, but do nothing with it! There's one lonely bench near the door, presumably for deliveries, and that's it. To be fair, I noticed the majority of houses in that region kept sparse front porches, with more activities focused out back. Now me, I like a front porch. I like to watch the world. A couple chairs, a table, maybe a potted plant or some flowering shrubs to accent the front edge. A wreath? Something to show personality. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I lived in that area, I didn't have a front porch, but hung wind chimes on my small side porch, and lined it with conchs and driftwood. It wasn't much but gave it a little personality. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not that my house is perfect. I've been in this house four years and still can't settle on my favorite garden furnishings! </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Am I crazy? Do you ever do anything like that - think about how you would design a place differently?</span></span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-25598749665031066522023-06-01T18:56:00.000+07:002023-06-01T18:56:24.802+07:00What Day is it?<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>*looks at corner of laptop screen*</i></b> June 1st. Okay, so that's...</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>*digs planner out of suitcase*</b></span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> ...Thursday. Fine.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are traveling in the US for a few weeks. We arrived </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>[*checks notes*]</i></span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> one week ago. It's 6:40 a.m. Central time, and I've been up for 3 hours because although we are traveling, we are keeping up with our online teaching as much as we can, so I had a class at 5:00. I'm always tired, and there's no telling if it's because of jet lag, or emotional fatigue from being <b>Social</b>. All. The. Time. - or if it's just the constantly rotating sleep schedule due to class times.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tomorrow we leave Brett's hometown and head off to see my family. Or whatever portion of my family decides to show up. My family overthinks everything, and people are trying to set things in stone instead of just accepting my "I'll be there from this date until that one so come whenever you can." No. Someone must organize something. Which sounds great in theory, and worked quite well here in Brett's hometown, but my family likes to have every detail ironed out before committing to anything.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Apparently.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'd never noticed this pattern before. Maybe it's because my oldest sister is no longer around to set things up in a simple way.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It'll be fine. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It'll be whatever it is. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We'll drive to my mom's town tomorrow. Maybe a brother will show up that night. The next day my sister will come down for the afternoon. Probably we'll go picnic at a winery. Probably my niece will come down that evening - maybe she'll even stay overnight! </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We have things to do in the city on Monday or Tuesday, and I've let it be known that we plan to leave on Tuesday or Wednesday. We've got people to see on the East Coast who actually want to make plans to get together. People who actually want to see me and are excited I'm back in the country!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can't blame my family. I just saw them 3 years ago, and that was for my sister's funeral, so we really don't have a ton of positive recent memories. If I was my sibling, I'd probably prefer to stay home, too. That might be best: if everyone just decides to stay home. I really hope that everyone does what's on their heart, and doesn't push themselves to visit out of a sense of obligation.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So far, this first leg of the trip has been cool. I'm really looking forward to the final leg, out on the coast. The middle part will be fine. I'll be happy to see whoever I see.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Family can be weird. </span></span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-35173348755250635952023-05-01T09:52:00.002+07:002023-05-01T09:52:08.223+07:00Reflections on #AtoZChallenge<p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I did it!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I didn't do as well as I'd intended, but I succeeded in getting through the alphabet, mostly on theme. I had half of them set up in advance, and thought that would help ensure I had time to do more blog visiting this year, which is always where I fell short.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Due to life, the fact that I'd planned in advance merely allowed me time to deal with the new chaos generating around me, so I still didn't visit many blogs until nearly the middle of the month. Rather than run down the list of blogs, I generally visit ones with a them that I like, or blogs I've visited previously. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This year, I was able to tick off a few blogs as "yes, visit again later" during the first few days when I was visiting one or two as I could. But by the time I was ready to sit down and knock out a good chunk of blog-visits... several of the ones I visited had abandoned A-to-Z - either dropping off blogging, or random blogging without adhering to the letters. I'm all for blogging how anyone chooses, but it seems to me that if someone registers to follow a particular set of rules for a challenge, they should stick to them. I don't know why, but it bugs me. I'm a rule follower. (One or two of the blogs that had simply cut off at an early letter still made it to my "check them out later" list, but none of the "using AtoZ to gain followers while not really participating" blogs did.)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This year was more stressful. I LOVED the stories I wrote. I had fun with them. Of course, being flash fiction, there are things I would change on an edit, or if I lengthened them and added more depth, but overall, I'm happy with my part in this.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Will I do it next year? I will take into consideration what is happening in my life at that time. I may do as one of my favorite bloggers, Liz A. of <a href="https://lawsofgravity.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Laws of Gravity,</a> does: Simply follow the alphabet as I do my regular blogging in April. I might not even register. Just to relieve the stress. If stress is what my life is offering me next year. We'll see.</span></span><br /></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-13141032686627548672023-04-30T09:44:00.007+07:002023-04-30T09:44:00.280+07:00Zombies? - #AtoZChallenge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>
<br /><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mila crouched in the rocks and watched for movement. The valley below was well-sheltered, and she'd stay there all night if it looked safe. But safety could change in a moment. The floor of the valley was littered with old bones, which could mean it was abandoned, or could mean it was an active dumping ground. So she watched for movement. Animals, people, anything coming out of hidden crags or caves in the shadowy rocks.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Show yourselves," she whispered as she made herself comfortable and pulled a dried cake of fruit and nuts from her pack. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Soon enough an old man came out of a pathway beneath her vantage point. He was walking with a staff, and appeared to be talking to himself. She smiled. One crazy old man was not a major worry. The old man was undeterred by the scattered bones, and walked straight into the middle of the valley, looking around at the bones and scrub brush around his feet as he went. He'd probably cross straight through and be gone in a minute.<br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He stopped and stood still, apparently listening. Mila listened, too, but heard nothing. Not a whisper of wind. What a strange old man!<br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">With a jerk he raised his arms up to shoulder height, the staff in one hand, the other splayed, palm facing down. He called out loudly in a language Mila did not know. After calling out a few sentences, he lowered his arms and waited.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mila was so intent on watching the curious old man that at first she did not see the movement on the ground. It started as a stirring of dust, as of mice or moles digging their way out of holes in the ground. Then she noticed it. No mice. No moles. The bones themselves were sliding around. More bones were coming up out of the dirt. The movement increased, sped up, and intensified as bone connected to bone. Her eyes widened in shock. She wanted to move but found herself glued to the spot. Dozens - no, hundreds - of skeletons were coming together and standing around the man. More and more emerged every moment.<br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She squinted down at the skeletons she could see best. Was that - tendons? Mila felt a convulsion in her gut and controlled her sudden urge to vomit. Tendons were growing out of the bones, connecting them together as they stood there, as even more dry bones came together into bare skeletons. There were surely over a thousand skeletons growing in the valley now. Her jaw dropped open and her throat dried up. When muscles knit themselves together around the shoulder of one tall skeleton, Mila's own muscles found their strength and she scooted back from her hidden perch.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The old man was shouting to the valley full of bones again. It was more like a valley full of disgusting, skinless people, now. Whatever he said, those bones started moving, and so did she. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As quietly as Mila could manage, she got her feet beneath her and rose into a low crouch. She wanted to keep eyes on what amounted to an army of the dead, but she'd have to turn around to run. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She rose slowly and stepped backwards with care. One of the muscle-covered skulls turned it's eyeless sockets in her direction. Could it see? Without eyes? Mila froze, petrified by the red, fibrous, muscles moving the face into a gruesome, eyeless, sneer. The skulls atop the skeletons around that first one were now turning in her direction, too. She needed no more proof of danger. She turned and ran as fast as she could back the way she came.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The sound of bones clattering against the rocks as they clambered up the side of the valley followed her. Or was that merely the echoes of the terror in her mind?</span></span></span><br /></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The story of the Valley of Dry Bones is a famous passage from the book of Ezekiel, chapter 37, verses 1-14. I've been reading too much Stephen King lately, and wanted to consider this from a horror perspective. The only characters in the Biblical story are the prophet Ezekiel, God - who was telling him what to say, and the bones themselves.</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-74207640181959532672023-04-29T16:23:00.003+07:002023-04-29T16:23:47.904+07:00YUCK! - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">YUCK!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Again, as with my "W" post, this is not Biblical flash fiction.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was trying to write my Y story - on the "Y" day, because I fell behind in my pre-planning, and found myself in the middle of a panic attack over it. Literally.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yuck. Not worth it.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, I am not prone to panic attacks, so curling up on the floor in the corner of the living room on a hot Vietnamese spring day is not something I'm familiar with. I don't wish to do it again. I forfeit.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then again, it's the "A-to-Z" challenge, not "A-to-Z-and-you-must-not-deviate-from-your-plan" challenge, so writing about the yuckiness of feeling a failure, the yuckiness of my creativity not rising to the spontaneous task I placed in front of it, the yuckiness of not doing what I'd intended, still fits the bill.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Probably, I should just not have signed up this year. I thought, with half of my posts pre-planned, I'd have a lot more time to visit other blogs. But life had other plans. In the first half of the month I was swamped with prepping for a long trip and all the work of CYA for that. Then, in the last half of this April, I've become entangled in a brand new project for my boss, who does not organize herself and her files and her work in a way conducive to easy partnering.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So today is just YUCK!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm done. </span></span></p><p>Tomorrow's Z post is pre-scheduled. So I'm literally done with this challenge.<br /></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-59692182205968817512023-04-28T16:35:00.001+07:002023-04-28T16:35:40.189+07:00Xuan-Xuan of Xi'an - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The star gleamed in the window of Xuan-Xuan's room. She removed her student's robes and the binding she wore around her chest to disguise her gender. "Aaah..." She swung her torso side-to-side luxuriating in the freedom of her privacy. One day, maybe women wouldn't have to disguise their sex just to study.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She exposed her naked body to that pesky star. It out-shone the moon these days. Was it possible it was growing even brighter? Her hand ran over her shaved head, as if ruffling phantom hair. Pulling on her shift for sleeping, Xuan-Xuan plopped down onto her mat and crossed her legs under her to meditate. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was no use. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the light of the star staring at her. Her mind was too full tonight. She got up and pulled out the scroll she'd hidden in a secret pocket of her robe. It was a promising text for illuminating the clue of the star, but she needed help. No one here in the revered towers of Xi'an Xue were curious enough to help. Looking out at the star, she thought of its trek across the night sky over the past weeks. Maybe she should follow it. The landscape below was not easy. How far away was the next scholar who might understand? The next day she packed up a dromedary and left.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thousands of leagues away, high in the snowy mountains that divided the continent, she met another scholar who'd observed the same astronomical phenomenon. "I'm amazed you came so far alone, young..." </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Xu-Yuan," she offered the male version of her name. The world was a dangerous place for a woman traveling alone. At Faisal's monastery, they consulted together for three nights, discovering among hidden texts the first hint that this was a portent of a new and powerful king. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally, with the blessing from his superiors, they determined to travel on together, still following the star. "You must not go empty-handed," the Lama of the monastery advised. "Take gifts suitable for a ruler of such wisdom and far-reaching impact." Xuan-Xuan had brought with her a supply of gold but the monastery added more gold and a quantity of frankincense, a gift from pilgrims who had climbed the mountains to seek wisdom here. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Faisal and Xuan-Xuan carried on, bringing with them a young novice to manage their supplies along the silk road. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was only a couple of days before they came upon a large caravanserai heading for the rich ports on the sea to the west. They joined forces for added safety. Soon a pair of young men from the caravan came forward, having noticed the same star. They were not scholarly, but young, clever, and curious. "A king! We knew it must bode something great. Tell us more." Xuan-Xuan and Faisal spent their evenings educating the two men.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Beyond the Euphrates, Xuan-Xuan and Faisal prepared to leave the large group. "Would you take us with you?" one of the two young men asked. They couldn't pronounce his name, so they'd taken to calling him "Chin" and his friend "Fen". Xuan-Xuan asked, "What will you bring as a gift for such an important new king?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The pair consulted, and then Chin responded. "Fen picked up some Myrrh at the last traveling bazaar we met with. Will that be suitable?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Xuan-Xuan hadn't heard of this thing, but Faisal appraised the two younger men. Did they understand the properties of myrrh? After consulting with Xuan-Xuan, he smiled at their new proteges. "We may have misjudged you because of your youth. Any king will value such a noble gift."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The journey had taken Xuan-Xuan the better part of a year, but with her new traveling companions, she, and Faisal, Chin, and Fen finally found the small town of Bethlehem. When they finally found the young family, she fell on her knees in tears of joy and relief. The four wise "men" presented their gifts to a grateful father and bemused new mother. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few days later, they said farewell to the infant king, and left for the coast. Xuan-Xuan would decide later whether to return to Xi'an or find a new quest. Her eyes had been opened.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The wise men (magi) are included in the Christmas story in the book of Matthew, chapter 2, verses 1-12. The Bible does not say there were "three wise men", but names the three gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh so most people assume three people. It also says they came from "the east". Why not start the trip in what is now Xi'an, China? And if Joan of Arc could disguise herself as a man to fight, why not a young female student disquised as a wise man? </span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-83466012850676115562023-04-27T09:45:00.002+07:002023-04-27T10:25:35.069+07:00What if -? - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span style="color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Disclaimer</u>: This isn't exactly flash fiction. We're nearing the end of this challenge, and there are a lot of story ideas that I've had, or that have been recommended that I didn't get to. So here are a few very short concepts, not brought to full "flash fiction" level. Feel free to write your own story about any of these if you choose. (If you do use one of these ideas, I hope you'll come back here and let me know!)</span></span></i></span><br /></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u>With no further ado, and in no particular order: <b><i><br /></i></b></u></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>What if...</i></b> the Queen of Sheba was a nerd? All the Bible tells us is that she was rich and talked long hours with Solomon, very interested in his wisdom. When he showed her all his wealth, she added to it more gold, spices, fabrics, etc. But the main thing was talking and listening to his wisdom. (I Kings 10:1-13) I think the general impression is of a rich, beautiful queen. But why? Nothing is ever said of her beauty. Or her family. Maybe she never married. She traveled with a huge retinue, not a king or consort. A queen, solo, off to find out if this guy was as smart and rich as everyone said he was. <i>What if it was more like a real life D&D quest?</i></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>What if...</i></b>dragons really did exist? In the book of Job, "leviathan" is described as a fierce creature, and even goes so far as to talk of his breathing fire. Granted, it's in a poetic passage, so probably metaphorical, but there's a whole chapter about leviathan. <i>What if?</i> (Job 41)<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">King Solomon had 700 wives and 300 concubines.</span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> (I Kings 11:3)</span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> What must it have been like to live in that harem? <b><i>What if...</i></b> the place they lived was like the brothel in the musical <u>Best Little Whorehouse in Texas</u>?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nothing, nowhere states or gives the impression that Mary of Magdalene was a prostitute or Jesus' lover. That is purely pop culture </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">(possibly stemming from the musical <u>Jesus Christ Superstar</u>)</span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">. What is told is that he removed 7 demons from her, and that she was a devout follower, as were several other women. (Luke 8: 1-3) I wanted to write some kind of story to set this straight, but couldn't think of a good angle. <b><i>What if...</i></b> she missed the demons that had possessed her?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Bible contains numerous visions and prophecies. I've written about some prophecies, generally with an understanding that they must have seemed incredibly confusing at the time. But what about the times someone interprets a dream? Joseph interpreted his dreams and Pharaoh's. Daniel interpreted for the king of Babylon. How did they know they got it right? Was there a tingling in the brain? Did they hear God's voice and simply repeat? <b><i>What if...</i></b> they got it wrong? (Of course, any misinterpretations wouldn't have been included in the Bible.)<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was trying to find an angle to tell the story of Samson and Delilah, but I couldn't think of anything unusual. How beautiful and charming must she have been to have him so snowed that he gave up the secret of his strength to her? (Judges 16:1-22) <b><i>What if... </i></b>he wised up sooner, left her, and never was taken captive?</span></span><br /></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-46755516626656436722023-04-26T09:43:00.034+07:002023-04-26T09:43:00.142+07:00Vendetta - #AtoZChallenge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
<br /><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"C'mon, Dad. We've said we will lead these people through the desert. We can't just show them where to go and hope they'll follow. You think this mob will just go as a big ol' crowd together? There's already been infighting and it's only been weeks since they left Egypt." Jesus looked at his father, knowing the answer was there, just waiting for inspiration.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jehovah sighed. "Son, they are just so rebellious. We parted the sea for them, and it's like they forgot already. I'm beginning to regret the covenant." Nevertheless, a covenant was a covenant. He had to do something.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yeah, true. We'll have to sharpen that up a bit. Show consequences. Let them see that we're on their side. Meanwhile, we have to find a way to get them moving without sniping at each other. And without driving Moses distracted with petty squabbles. If he's going to lead, how can we help?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sanctu sat off to the side. "Sat" might be an exaggeration. The white vapor floated above the discussion, looking down at the tribes of Israel settled in disarray far below the Holy Trinity, trying to survive, always on the edge, tensions running high. Even in a random clump, Sanctu felt the chaos within the camp. She descended to hover between the Father and Son. "A little organization goes a long way."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jehovah and his son looked on, inspired by the short statement. That was Sanctu's role, after all - inspiration. "Yes," said Jehovah, and he leaned back, bracing his head between interlaced fingers. In a minute he added, "Tribe by tribe. Call Moses. We'll talk."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Are you sure?" Sanctu asked. "Tribe by tribe is great, but which tribe by which tribe? In what order?" She had another good point. These were not just going to be marching orders, but camping orders. It was a good idea that needed fine-tuning.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jesus placed a plexiglass grid over their view of the mess of tents and herds and people that sufficed for the Israelite camp. "Shall we do the camp first?" He looked at his partners. "If we decide how the camp should be arranged, that will inform the order they travel." The others agreed.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It took hours. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"No-no! We cannot put the tribe of Simeon next to Benjamin! Simeon was forced to stay in Egypt while Joseph waited for his mother-brother Benjamin. Do you think it's forgotten?" Jehovah knew their hearts and minds.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Oh, good point. A vendetta's brewing there, for sure. Let's give them space." Jesus moved things around for a minute.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sanctu watched, then offered a gentle suggestion. "I really think Rachel's descendants are best kept together." Jacob had two wives, Rachel and her sister Leah. </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The rivalry between them </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> might reignite in their descendants at any time. Sanctu was, as always, on point.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"What about the handmaids?" Jesus took Sanctu's idea to the next level. The two wives had two servants, who had also borne children for him.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the end, the Holy Trinity - Father, Son, and Spirit - looked at the grid. The tribes descended from the two sisters would be on opposite sides of the tabernacle. The tribes of the handmaids provided a buffer. "I think that's the best we can do." Jesus looked around for confirmation.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jehovah smiled. "Wait a few centuries. We'll be watching them going through this 'who can be next to who' issue for personal events like weddings." They all laughed. "Now. Let's get Moses up here on the mountain. We have some explaining to do."</span></span><br /></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The marching orders for the Israelites are given in the book of Numbers, chapter 2. It was during my recent rereading of this passage that I looked up - Genesis 29:31 - 30:24 - and realized which tribes came from which mother. Seeing that the layout of the camp separated sister from sister and handmaid from handmaid was too amusing not to write about it. (I wrote about the Simeon issue <a href="https://doesntspeakklingon.blogspot.com/2023/04/brotherhood-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">here</a>, for letter B.)</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-83534953663077409062023-04-25T09:30:00.333+07:002023-04-25T09:30:00.182+07:00United Front - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I kicked Bartholomew's foot as he lay, blinking his eyes open. "Hey," I whispered, "Here comes Judas." No one had seen him since the middle of our Passover meal. We'd left for the garden later, but it seemed he'd found us now. Now Jesus was trying to get us all to wake up from our snoozing, but Bartholomew was always a heavy sleeper.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just as Bartholomew sat up, and asked, "Who's that coming with him?" Jesus turned and I could swear I heard him say, "Here comes my betrayer." Peter, who was standing next to Jesus, must have heard the same thing because he turned to look at Him in horror. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As Judas and those with him passed under the shadows of the trees, I saw their clubs and swords. We were all on our feet now, alert but confused. Judas? Our friend, surrounded by this mob? </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But at a motion from Judas, the mob stopped and he stepped closer. He looked around at us with a tight-lipped smile, then crossed to Jesus and gave him a kiss. "Greetings, Rabbi!" he said. It would all have been perfectly normal, but for the crowd around him. One of the men in front - a temple guard, to guess the uniform - seized Jesus. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was chaos. I stumbled over Bartholomew as he got to his feet. The guard led Jesus away while the mob held us back. I saw a determined look in Judas' eye as he turned to follow the guard. Then he was gone. We were all shouting, cursing Judas for bringing this about. Didn't he realize the danger? </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then I remembered a conversation I'd had with Judas one day about the coming "second kingdom". The Messiah was to usher it in, and didn't we all believe Jesus to be the Messiah? Judas and I were both anxious for this new kingdom but he seemed... overly passionate, maybe volatile. He was frustrated that Jesus wasn't doing enough. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Lost in thought, I looked up when I heard James confronting one of the other disciples. "No, we can't all go. How would that look?" All? I counted heads - only nine of us were here. Judas was gone, of course, and it looked like John and Peter had followed the crowd back into Jerusalem. James looked to Andrew for support.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"James is right," Andrew said, ever the voice of reason. "We can't help him if we get arrested, too. We should go back to the upper room. John or Peter will be able to get word to us there."<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On our way back through town, Thomas walked next me. "Simon - you were closer to Judas than I was. What was he up to? What's his plan?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"I have no idea," I confessed. "I wish I did." He'd been our friend! And Thomas was right. I had been close with him. I'd trusted him! We all had. I had to hope he had a plan.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was late. We'd all been drinking wine with the Passover meal. We were all tired, but apart from our recent light dozing in the garden, none of us would get any sleep this night. Back in the upper room, some reclined at the tables abandoned after supper, but more of us were agitated - pacing, arguing, wondering. It was pointless. The night drew on, with no word from John or Peter. We were in a panic, while trying not to panic. We knew Judas. Jesus knew Judas. Surely it would all be okay. But why hadn't Peter or John sent any kind of message? Or had they been taken prisoner, too? Were we next? James began saying something about "a united front". We weren't fighters, but we all had to be strong and stand together, whatever happened.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The stars were fading and the sky was lightening to grey when there came a pounding on the door. We all froze. "Let me in!" came the cry. It was Judas' voice. I was about to lunge for the door, but James was standing there and raised a hand. Andrew nodded and mouthed to the rest of us, "United."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">James answered him through the door, "What's happened?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Let me in! I'll tell you everything!" James anchored his hand over the latch on the door, covering it. What if that mob from the garden was standing behind him in the hall?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Where is Jesus?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"It wasn't supposed to happen this way!" Judas sounded worried and apologetic.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"What way?" Thomas called out to him.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I heard a weight against the door and guessed that Judas had leaned his head against it. We all heard a shuddering inhale and exchanged looks. Was he crying? But Andrew reminded us to stay united. We needed more information.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now Judas' voice came through the door, full of sorrow, muffled, as if reasoning to himself. "He's supposed to usher in the new kingdom. This should've worked. He wasn't doing anything! He wasn't -" Then his voice came through loud and clear. "I did this for us. He could have overcome them, but he didn't!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I groaned. I knew he was passionate about the new kingdom, but this? A tight knot formed in my stomach. I could feel bile rising as I guessed what the next bombshell would be. We were all clustered around the door now. "Judas," I said. We were friends. He trusted me. "What. Have you. Done."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A shaky sob came through and I heard a weight hit the door - his hand? His head? "I didn't - I can't - They want to crucify him," the pronouncement came out weakly. Judas was just as exhausted as the rest of us, I realized. I wanted to let him in to join us, but we had to stay united until we knew everything.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Inside the room, silence reigned. I saw Bartholomew crouch down and breathe deeply, steadying himself; </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Philip </span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">and the other James collapsed onto seats. Crucifixion was a Roman punishment. How could this be? I bolstered myself with the hope that this could never happen. The priests and pharisees who were against Jesus - and us - didn't have enough power to make that happen.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Judas was still making excuses through the door in a small voice. "I don't know how. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You have to believe me." He jiggled the door, but James held the lock fast. Andrew looked around at all of us, not speaking. We had to stay united.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In silence, he went around the room, checking each man's thoughts - should we let the traitor in, or was he out? We were split. Some wanted to let him in - hadn't Jesus taught us to forgive? Some would never trust him again. Thomas and Bartholomew shrugged their ambivalence. Bartholomew looked like he might be sick all over the floor from the pressure. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It took another 20 minutes of whispered debate before we decided. James opened the door, but Judas was gone. We checked the hall and the lower floor. We looked out the windows into the early dawn, but there was no sign. James locked the door again. Until we had some word from Peter or John, we all agreed this was the safest place to stay.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It wasn't until four days later, after the miracle at the tomb, that we relaxed enough to go out and search for Judas. His body was found hanging in a tree, being feasted on by carrion birds. </span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> Judas' infamous betrayal of Jesus is told in the book of Matthew, chapter 26, verses 45-50, and his death is listed in Matthew, chapter 27, verses 3-5. He was a friend and one of the tight-knit group of disciples. That's why I wanted to tell this from the perspective of one of the disciples who'd known him so well. Betrayal only hurts when it comes from someone we trust. If an enemy betrays us, is it even betrayal?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-53073763499057672522023-04-24T12:04:00.047+07:002023-04-24T12:04:00.174+07:00Temple Trauma - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tim nodded to Simeon, seeing the aged prophet enter the temple courtyard. He couldn't greet him properly, as a customer had just approached Tim's money-changing table. The customer saw his nod and looked at the old man. "Friend of yours?" he asked. Every visitor felt a need to make small-talk.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"That's Simeon," Tim made the change for the man. "I see him around. He's waiting on the 'consolation of Israel'." The customer raised his eyebrows and moved on. Tim welcomed the next person in line. "Shalom!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Simeon meandered the courtyard as if looking for something or someone, before settling near the stairs. Tim observed this new searching behavior with curiosity. Between customers he kept an eye on the comings and goings around Simeon - families, devout men, children distracting the animal sellers. One sweet young family had caught the eyes of everyone they passed. The baby in the woman's arms couldn't be more than two months. <i>They were probably here to dedicate him</i>, Tim thought. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Between his customers, he noticed people kept stopping them on their way through the temple courtyard. Several times people wanted to coo over the baby or offer blessings to the parents. It happened often enough that Tim learned the parents' names were Mary and Joseph. As they approached the temple steps, Tim saw Simeon rise from his seat and lift his hands toward the baby. <i>Ah! Maybe this was the family he'd been looking for earlier</i>. Simeon began speaking to the parents.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tim was turning back to his work when he and his customer both noticed Simeon's head jerk upward as his hand touched the top of the baby's head. His body went stiff as a board and Tim's instinct was to race over to check on him, but.. He glanced at his stunned customer and stayed put. They watched in open-mouthed horror, their transaction paused.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One hand on the baby's head, the other gripping Mary's arm, Simeon's eyes rolled back and a loud and dark voice boomed from him. "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many..." As loud as he was, the reverberation muffled some of the words. "...A sign... spoken against..." The words resounded as everyone stopped to watch. "...many hearts will be revealed." The otherworldly voice rose to a shrill pitch. "And a sword shall pierce your own soul!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A beat later, Simeon unfroze. With a jerky movement his face turned down toward the child again. He blinked at the wide-eyed mother as if in a daze. Smiling benignly, he removed his hands from mother and child and resumed his seat on the steps. The father stared down at Simeon and ushered his family up the steps to the temple, through a path that now cleared around them.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tim turned back to his customer, who glanced over to where Simeon sat back down unaware of what he'd done. The customer looked at Tim warily, gathered back the money he'd been about to change, turned, and left the temple courtyard.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The presentation of the baby Jesus at the temple is told in the book of Luke, chapter 2, verses 21-38. Simeon comes into it in verses 25-35. Not much is said about who he is, and although the words he says are given, nothing explains the manner in which he spoke, or Mary's reaction. What do you think of my take on it? How would you react? Belief? Skepticism? Annoyance? </span></span><br /><p></p><br /><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-71032778864661435332023-04-22T09:30:00.001+07:002023-04-22T09:30:00.193+07:00Skin - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Eve slurped the juice off from around her mouth. This was a delicious kind of fruit! "Hey Adam! Come try this!" She could feel a tingling in her head. Not from the taste. She took another bite, to be sure. There was a surge inside her brain, she could feel it in her eyes. Something was changing. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As Adam approached, Eve turned her head curiously. He was the same Adam she knew, but somehow looked... different to her. What was it? Her mind seemed to have opened. Sparks were igniting inside. Dumbfounded at the sensations, she held out to Adam the fruit in her open red palm, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Every muscle, red. Veins in blue and red. Red. This was wrong. He was wrong.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He ate, and while he chewed, she watched the raw muscles of his face and jaw working. Muscles. He nodded in agreement that this was, indeed, delicious. Then his eyeballs brightened. Eyeballs. She watched the red, fibrous muscles of his neck move, repulsed. That one blue vein pulsed as he looked up into the trees. Veins. In the tree the serpent was twining his way among branches and vines. Adam was fascinated at the movement.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As Adam turned around on the garden with new eyes, seeing things afresh, Eve watched in horror. Why could she see their inner workings? She reached out as if to touch the stretchy, red, fibers of his torso, but he saw the movement and flinched back, as if seeing the naked bones, muscles and tendons of her hand for the first time.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"What have you done?" he asked. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She pulled back her hand, feeling a strange, stinging moisture leaking from around her eyeballs onto the bones and muscles of her cheek. "I don't know. The serpent said..."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"You're naked!" he exclaimed. Looking at his own gesturing arm he added, "<i>We're</i> naked." He turned his hand over in front of his eyes. "This isn't right."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">All she could do was nod. It was a mistake. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was quicker to action. "We shouldn't see this ugly, red, blood, fiber, muscle... quick, we need to cover it. Protect ourselves!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They began pulling leaves off a nearby fig tree, and tied and stitched some of them together using grassy reeds from the riverside. They sat, back-to-back, working as fast as they could. Eve kept glancing back at Adam, embarrassed. He felt her shoulder twitch each time she moved, and refused to meet her eye. It was too grotesque!</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A strong breeze moved through the trees behind them. The gentle voice of the maker came on the breeze. "Where are you?" </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They cringed behind the tree, for all the good it would do them. Adam's arm pressed against Eve's and she pushed him out from behind the tree. Suddenly, today, now, after all this time - the feel of his pulsing muscles in contact with her own revolted her. Caught off guard, Adam stammered, "Oh - I - uh, that is, we uh, hid. We're a bit - embarrassed. At being naked."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Naked? Who told you that?" In no time, Adam had spilled the beans about Eve and the serpent. How she had eaten the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Their maker sighed in disappointment. It was his one rule: Don't eat from that tree. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For a moment, Adam turned back to Eve, still hiding behind the tree. She saw something like hope in his eyes. The maker had been nothing but good and kind. Surely this would all work out. But when he spoke again, it was not in his usual gentle tones. He bellowed curses at the serpent, who promptly fell out of the tree and slithered away on his belly in accordance with the maker's words.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Eve sighed in relief. They were okay. It was really the serpent who erred. Then the maker turned to her and doled out curses on both her and Adam. She took comfort in the fact that they did not sound immediate. Certainly, she wouldn't feel the pains of child birth as quickly as that serpent was relegated to the ground. As soon as the curses were completed, all went black.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When Adam and Eve awoke, their muscles, veins, bones, everything, was covered with a thin membrane of some earthy, light brown color. When Eve turned her arm in amazement, examining this new garment of skin, she could see through it in some places to the blue veins within. She reached out to touch Adam, who didn't flinch. There were new sensations to explore through this strange skin garment. Maybe they would be okay.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The fall into sin is told in the book of Genesis, chapter 3. In verse 21 we are told that God made "garments of skin"</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"> them</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">. One time I read that and just wondered "what if they weren't actual garments made of animal skins?" What if the "garment of skin" was just... skin? What do you think? Fascinating? Gross? Too sacrilegious to think of? </span></span>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-32798230665896974382023-04-21T10:00:00.189+07:002023-04-22T11:43:00.122+07:00Resentment - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I wasn't too sad when my little brother left home. It was typical, you know? Just another "whatever" moment. Theoretically, I should have been pissed. He asked Dad for his inheritance - can you imagine? Our living, thriving father? - and just took off with his share. But honestly, I always did most of the work anyway. It made little difference to my life that he was gone.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was just the nerve, you know?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Did it bug me that our father went ahead and gave him his part of our inheritance? Sure, a bit. What was that about? But then again, now if I work hard and the income builds for the family, that's more for me in the end, right? Baby bro' skedaddled - he's out! So, fine. I can work with that.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I did. I worked hard. "Yes, father," "Of course, father," "Not a problem at all" when it was really a huge annoyance, but I could manage it anyway. We're doing great. Dad, me, the staff. He's getting older, slower, and leaves a lot of the decisions up to me. It's good. As it should be.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, years after running off and living god-knows-where doing god-knows-what horrible things, he - again with the nerve! - he's coming back? I heard rumors in town yesterday that he'd been seen on the road heading this way. He wouldn't dare.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">...</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next day, I'm walking back in from the fields and even from a distance I can see excessive activity near the house. "What's going on?" I wonder aloud to the field hand with me. He shrugs. We'd both been out in the fields since dawn. He knew as much as I did.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A little closer we can see clear evidence that one of the fattened calves has been slaughtered. A feast? But why? And as we emerge around to the front of the house, I can see neighbors arriving. There stands Dad and... no. Couldn't be. He's back? He really did it? And Dad stands there with his arm around my kid brother - this virtual stranger, a man I can barely recognize, greeting our friends and neighbors as if we should all celebrate him for squandering Dad's money?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No. Just... no. I turn on my heel and head off to the wood-working shed. I won't be a part of this. I am not going to celebrate. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the years since he left, I've taken whatever spare minutes I can find to practice wood carving and building. The woodworking shed is my haven. It's become my favorite hobby, and I'm good at it - furniture, artistic work, whatever anyone needs. Being in here, with the smell of sawdust and wood shavings, I can lose myself in my work. That is all I need right now. Maybe the scene outside will fade and disappear.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dad must have seen me turn in here. It doesn't take long for him to arrive. "Son? Are you okay?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Fine."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Your brother's back."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Focused on the chair I was sanding, I answered, "My brother is dead." But it wasn't enough. I stood, looked my father in the eye and said, "He left me behind to do everything for you! You never once gave me so much as a goat to have a party. And now? You celebrate him with a whole calf?!" I was fuming.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My father nodded, then picked up a doll I'd been working on for a friend. Rolling it in his hands, he said, "You could have anything you want. All you had to do was ask." He put the doll back and looked at me. "Don't you see? Your brother - who, yes, was dead to us - is alive! He's back with us. I must celebrate. I hope you will, too." He turned and left.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Naturally. Of course Dad would celebrate. I picked up my plane and smoothed it over some planks held together on my workbench. Hunger after a long day's work was growing in my belly, but I could at least finish this piece. Eventually, though, my baser instincts took over. "No point in starving," I muttered as I closed the woodshed and headed up to the house.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I tried to slip into the feast unobtrusively, just to grab a bite, but my brother saw me and tore across the hall, weaving through people to get to me. Here it was. My chance to tell him off.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Before I could speak he was on me. "Brother! I'm so, so, sorry!" were his first words as he wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. I was dumbfounded. My arms hung limp at my sides. A hug? Was this all an act? What was he playing at? But then I could feel him shaking and hear a sob gasp from him. "I've been a fool," he moaned into my shoulder, now wet with his tears. I put my hands on his back, returning the hug in a fashion. He leaned back from me and looked me in the eyes. There was no mistaking the contrition on his face. "Can you ever forgive me?" Still unable to speak, I felt my head involuntarily give a tiny nod, and he slid to my side. "Come, sit by me and tell me everything. I'm here to pull my weight."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Makes one wonder what happened to him in those intervening years. Only time will tell if the change will last, but for now, I guess I should get used to having my brother back.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The parable of the prodigal son is told in the book of Luke, chapter 15, verses 11-32. I always wonder about the older brother - it could go so many ways. The story is written focused on the younger brother and the father, with the older brother's negative reaction told at the end in verses 25-32. How would you feel in this situation? What if you were the younger brother?</span></span><br /><p></p><br /><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-27009087366780571882023-04-20T09:41:00.019+07:002023-04-20T09:41:00.192+07:00Queen Jezebel - #AtoZChallenge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>
<br /><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKTffHZVTCOb-c38j55GUYc56UrhGyG_4l8obkiK29VsoIS69W1vN3hy9RgVgUi_M3TtQJm3gr8B0LL_xubNvg6mhUScz0Lvgg9XSRxiK1b-k-2sa31xAY9YuDf4Bjb6k1-lnx2cN5ILSpKQE5aBv2DJ7OUTqm6cQL-BnOdDxEI5akPnRwNRFzi--g/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">The servant bowed to the queen and left to fetch more wine. Queen Jezebel watched him leave with a smile of satisfaction. All was going well. She was entertaining the prophets of Baal - a key step in maintaining her power. One must keep the devout satisfied with food and wine.</span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the servant reappeared with the wine, her husband the king was mere steps behind. He pushed through the curtained doorway, a deep scowl on his down-turned face. She watched him cross the room to the side table where the servant poured him a goblet of wine. Something was wrong.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her prophets discreetly gave him space, but it wasn't enough. Jezebel clapped her hands to get their attention. "Gentlemen, please leave us!" They did as they were bid, leaving half-drunk cups and not-yet-empty plates on nearby tables, window ledges, or any surface available. The servant remained near the table to pour wine. She caught his eye and made a quick movement of her head toward the door. He scurried out.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ordinarily, she'd greet King Ahab by moving closer and putting a hand on his arm, or some other gentle touch. His face told her this was not the moment. She watched him drain his goblet and pour another, not touching any of the delicate dishes and edible delights spread around the serving table. "What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?"</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, nothing. It's just - Naboth won't sell me his vineyard!" He was used to getting his way. He was the king, after all. Jezebel scowled. He was king, but she was much at utilizing their position.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">"So?" she asked, crossing the room toward him. He turned to her in surprise. Only his queen could speak to him like that. "Aren't you the King of Israel?" She took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. With a smile she said, "Cheer up. Eat something. I'll get you that vineyard." It was gratifying to see a relaxed smile on his face at her words. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">She left the room and sent the servant in to attend to him.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">After a brief campaign of letters and messengers, all was in place. The city elders of Naboth's town proclaimed a major event for all the people to attend - such a thing had never been seen! Naboth attended as expected. Jezebel's lackeys were there, too. They spread rumors and lies. "Naboth! He doesn't deserve to be here!" "Don't you know he has cursed the king?" The crowd was easily riled up. Soon Naboth found himself being forced out of the city. Stones rained down on him.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">That evening, Queen Jezebel accepted a private messenger into the chamber where she and King Ahab were dining. "My liege," the messenger bowed deeply to the king, then turned to Jezebel. "Naboth has been stoned and is dead." She gave an elegant nod, and he backed away the way he had entered.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">A wicked smile crept across her face. "There you are, my king. Go. Take that vineyard you like. There is nothing in your way now."</span></span></span><br /></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The full story of Naboth's vineyard is told in the book of I Kings, chapter 21. This particular portion of the story is based on verses 4-15. I feel as though people use "Jezebel" in relation to loose morals. We are not told anything about that. She was, IMHO, more like a power-hungry, evil, murderous woman.The Bible mentions Jezebel a few more times, but I like this story for its perfect "someone is in my way so I must murder them" vibe. Do you have any associations with the name "Jezebel"?</span></span><br /><p></p><br /><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-12692537556827847822023-04-19T09:30:00.000+07:002023-04-19T09:30:00.194+07:00Progeny of a Prostitute - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rahab fixed the bedding in her suite, sprayed a sweet-smelling mist into the air, and returned downstairs to see if there was another client. The city of Jericho was quiet this evening; she didn't expect much business. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Down in the lounge, her brother - who served as the bouncer of Rahab's brothel - nodded in the direction of two strangers, travelers by the look of their clothes, seated at a table in the corner. That silent nod meant they had already paid. Two of her girls were attending them, but Rahab joined them anyway. The big one intrigued her.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seeing her mistress coming, one of the girls got up and moved away. Rahab nodded to the other girl. "Mishal, I believe we have two rooms available upstairs. Let's lead the way for these men."As they walked, Rahab made small-talk. It was her way to set new guests at ease. "I don't recognize you, where are you men from?" she asked, slipping an arm through the crook in the big man's elbow.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We're Is-" The other one started, but Rahab noticed his companion swat his hand as they climbed the stairs and he closed his mouth again. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Too personal?" Rahab smiled. Where they were from didn't matter. "May we know your names? What should we call you?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The man on her elbow answered. "I am Salmon. This is Josiah." </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Sal-mon." She tasted his name on her tongue. "I have not heard such a name before." </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the top of the stairs, they took rooms across from each other. Later, as Rahab rose from her bed, Salmon relaxed and told her an amazing tale. Her gentle questions had prodded him to confess that he and Josiah were Israelites - the very people who were camped in the land outside the city walls! </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"But what are you doing here? Why have you come to me?" Rahab knew the king and all the people were concerned about that mob of people and everything they'd done to other cities as they traveled. "You have brought danger to my house!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"It's done," he answered. "We know what we came to find out."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A distant shout and clatter of hooves racing through the streets drifted in the window. "Follow me," Rahab said, and pulled him from the bed. She knocked on the door across and collected his friend. "These men are leaving," she told Mishal. "You can have the rest of the night off."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She hurried them men out onto the flat roof and covered them with old baskets and blankets. "Wait here." Down in the house, her steps slowed to her usual relaxed pace. In the lounge, her brother had sent the other girls home for lack of business. She took a sip of sweet wine to compose herself. The noise outside grew louder. Soon enough, fists pounded on the door. "Go," she told her brother. "Let them in."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He did as she requested, and a man in a king's guard uniform stood there. "Urgent message from your king." He said. He opened a scroll while Rahab sashayed over to join the group of men standing in her doorway. "By order of the King of Jericho, I am to take the men who came to your house tonight. They were sent as spies." He rolled up the scroll and all eyes turned to Rahab. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rahab gave an apologetic little laugh. "Oh! My! Yes, there were two travelers who came in, but earlier, when the city gate was closing, they left. You may yet catch up with them outside the city if you go fast." Her house was near the city gate, built into the wall. It was not uncommon for her guests to leave right as the gate was closing. This guard knew that well.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He stared into her eyes for a moment. Then, satisfied, he turned and led his squad back out into the city streets. Rahab's brother bolted the door. "What -?" But Rahab just shook her head and raced back up to the roof. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She pulled the baskets and blankets away and confronted Salmon. "There. I have just saved your lives. Now I know your people will take this city. Repay my kindness by saving my family when you bring back your armies to take Jericho."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Our lives for your lives!" the astounded men agreed. She let them out through a window in the city wall and watched them leave. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then the waiting began. The worst thing was knowing what was going to happen, but not knowing when. It seemed to take forever. A month was well past before the citizens of Jericho could look out on the Israelite armies. Rahab gathered her family into her house set in the wall. Business stopped and her girls were dismissed. The city was on tenterhooks. How much longer could it take? </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One day as they ate together in the tightly locked house, her mother looked at her and said, "There is something different. You have that look of -" she sucked in a breath. "Oh, Rahab." She put a hand on Rahab's abdomen. A mother could always tell. Rahab closed her eyes and said, "It will be fine."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On the day the walls of Jericho fell, Salmon and Josiah entered the city first. They came to Rahab's door and called in. "Come!" Salmon shouted. "It's time!"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Time indeed. Rahab's family streamed out and were led safely out of harms way. In due time, Rahab had Salmon's baby. She didn't know it yet, but in time she would be remembered as the great</span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><b>(x30)</b></span></span></span><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">-grandmother of Jesus.</span></span></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The story of Rahab saving the Israelite spies is told in the book of Joshua, chapter 2, verses 1-21, and her part in the genealogy of the Messiah is listed in Matthew, chapter 1, verse 5. I left out a lot of the Biblical detail, and filled in my own fictional assumptions. I love this as yet another example of God using the looked-down on (in this case, a prostitute) to further his plan. Can we all agree that EVERYone has value?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-76713507475993522122023-04-18T12:03:00.137+07:002023-04-18T12:03:00.191+07:00Open-minded - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Hosea's brother stood gaping at the woman standing with Hosea on the doorstep. He was blocking the way in, not saying a word, just staring. "Um, Jessup?" Hosea started.<br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Jessup's eyes never left Gomer. "Hosea -?" he drawled, dumbfounded. Hosea took a deep breath and put an arm around her. He asked acidly, "Aren't you going to invite us in, little brother?"</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Finally dragging his eyes away from the gorgeous Gomer, Jessup began, "Who... I mean what is-" Obviously he recognized her. Hosea sighed. He should have expected as much. He pushed past his brother, arm firmly around Gomer's waist, tugging her along with him. "Yeah, thanks, bro," he said as he passed. Was it his imagination, or did Gomer give a smile and a wink to Jessup?</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Inside the house, his mother's greeting was warmer. "Well, hi there! I didn't know you'd be joining us!" She kissed him on the cheek, then observed his companion. "And what a lovely - lady friend," a questioning tone, "you've brought along with you." She touched Gomer's exposed arm briefly before saying, "I'll just set an extra couple of places at the table."</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">He relaxed a little. At least his mother didn't seem to have a biased opinion of her. </span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When his father arrived and sat at the head of the table, everyone followed suit. As the dishes passed, before anyone's plate had filled, Hosea spoke up. "I have an announcement to make." Everyone turned to him and he tensed. This wouldn't go well. "I, that is - we -" he held Gomer's hand above the table. " - are going to be married."</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"What?!" exclaimed Jessup in horror. Their father's jaw dropped open and his eyebrows clenched together. Only his mother responded with more typical puzzlement. "This is a bit sudden." She turned to Gomer with an apologetic look, barely masking her suspicious glance down to the woman's abdomen. With a smile she told her, "We barely know you, dear."</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Jessup blushed scarlet but said nothing. Hosea was about to explain but couldn't get a word out before his father exploded the silence. "The hell we don't! You may not know her, dear, but I recognize this woman as one of the -" Would he say it? He struggled for a moment, finally saying, "Gomer here is one of the 'loose women' who hang around the temple during the week." He turned accusing eyes on her. "Aren't you?" </span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Hosea loved her even more for the way she took the accusation. It wasn't untrue. She raised her chin and looked his father in the eye, a soft smile on her face. For a fleeting moment, Hosea wondered if his father had ever been with her. He assumed his brother had, based on his reaction to her. "Stop," he told his dad, halting the words that were about to come from his mother. "You won't believe me, but -" he took a deep breath. "This marriage is ordained by God." He was not surprised by the uproar that statement caused. His father flung up his hands with a grunt of disgust; Jessup actually laughed out loud, and his mother covered her mouth for a moment before getting up and beginning clear the untouched dishes. "If you could just be open to hearing what I was told by the Lord!"</span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"Oh, stop it now!" His father said. "The Lord is speaking to you? Speaking? To you? You must take us for fools." The argument raged on. Dinner was forgotten. Gomer sat silently listening to everything. She had expected this. His high hopes that his family would be open to trust his words had not convinced her for a minute. In this world, in this climate, his claim of divine intervention would not fly. She knew. It was how it must be.</span><br /></p><p></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> In the book of Hosea, chapter 1, verses 1 and 2, the prophet Hosea is told by God to take "an adulterous wife" or "a wife of whoredom" or "a wife of prostitution" depending on which translation you choose. Everything that happens in the following chapters is intended as an example of how the Israelites "prostituted themselves" by worshipping other gods. Hosea had several children with Gomer, some from him, some with unknown fathers. Can you imagine? I'd like to point out here that, although sexual immorality is decried throughout the Bible, there are several examples of God using prostitutes to further his plan. So, maybe we should be a little less judgy and more loving to EVERYone?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-90942327201226914302023-04-17T12:02:00.193+07:002023-04-17T12:02:00.180+07:00Nineveh - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nineveh was teeming with people. The annual music festival had just ended. It had grown in past years to the point where even the week before and after were crazy with tourists - lingering music fans and newly arrived gawkers - determined to keep the party going.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ben and Junias sat near the city gate, having a drink while watching people pass through the guarded gates. Someone got into an argument with the guard and was sent home. They laughed. "Ah, see? You always have to be nice to the ones in charge!" Ben said. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"He'll know better for next year." </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Innkeeper! Two more!" </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They were laughing at a trio trying to stuff everything back into one of their bags after it spilled in the road, when Junias noticed a tense looking man trying to get around them. "He doesn't look like a party-er," he said, pointing him out. Ben took a drink and angled his head, as if to make sense of the one very serious, uptight looking man standing out like a sore thumb in the middle of the noisy, laughing revelers. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was looking around, trying to find something or someone. Striding with determination toward the nearby intersection, the two friends saw him climb onto an upturned crate and raise his arms. "Repent!" he cried out. "Repent from your evil ways!" </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Oh, not this again," Junias said. Every year, some ascetic or group of reformers would come and try to tamp down the festivities. "Isn't he a bit late?"<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A prostitute approached him from a nearby doorway, her covering dipping dangerously low beneath her neck as if to give him a peek and a thrill. She got close enough to reach out and touch the cuff of his sleeve. He jerked back and stared down at her. "The Lord has seen your wickedness!" </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A group of rowdy boys strutted over to knock him down. He saw them and shouted "You have 40 days!" before jumping down and getting lost in the crowd that was moving toward the city center.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Crazy," Ben said, shaking his head. Junias drained his cup. "I better go."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Can't keep the wife waiting, huh? See you tomorrow." Ben stayed where he was a while longer. The stream of people passing in and out of the gate grew more chaotic before it tapered off around dark. All that night, a cacophony of music and partying could be heard throughout the city.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At Junias' house, his wife was telling him about coming home from the market. "I was running late, you know, had to get back to make dinner, and this - this - I don't know - crazy man? - had stopped traffic, shouting about the destruction of the city."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Really? I think I saw that guy come in. Was anyone listening?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Mm, some maybe. I think more were jeering and telling him to get out of the way."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Typical. There's one every year, isn't there?"</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yeah, but - this guy seemed really serious. There's something different about him, if you ask me."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Two days later the king declared a city-wide fast. "Fast! Pray! Turn away from violence!" The prophet Jonah had convinced the king that the entire city needed to repent or risk destruction.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"You have got to be kidding me," Junias said when his wife declined to serve him breakfast the next morning. It was going to be a long 40 days. Stupid prophets.</span></span></p><p></p>
<p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> This <u>second part </u>of Jonah's story is in the book of Jonah, chapter 3. Credit to Lu of <a href="https://lulubyplace.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Lulu-By Place</a>, who left as a suggestion on my <a href="https://doesntspeakklingon.blogspot.com/2023/03/theme-reveal-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Theme Reveal post</a> "a citizen of Nineveh". What other Bible stories, or other perspectives would you be interested in?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-38595696129577849032023-04-15T09:30:00.021+07:002023-04-15T09:30:00.185+07:00Milk - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jael waited patiently in the tent. She tried to go about her business as normal, but couldn't deny the tense knot in her belly. The distant sounds of the battle rolled down the mountainside to their camp. Thankfully her husband wasn't a fighter, but he was near the lines, tending and mending armor and weapons for their Canaanite soldiers. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Moving through her daily routine on automatic pilot, Jael milked the goats, and prepared food for dinner, assuming her husband's return. She busied herself with as many mundane tasks as she could. When she stopped for a cup of milky mid-morning tea, she looked up to the hillside and saw the army being routed by their enemies the Israelites. They were retreating in haste down the mountain, fleeing every direction and falling under the sword. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back in the tent, Jael stayed quiet, praying to her gods. The battle was not too near, but would surely reach her that day - if anyone remained to fight. Was her husband even still alive? The Canaanites were losing to the Israelites, it was clear. She was going to have to make a decision to secure her future, and that of her husband, if he survived.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As fate would have it, that afternoon the tent flap rustled and she turned, prepared - she thought - for anything. The Canaanite commander, Sisera, stood there. "Come in, my lord," she said with a bow. She walked over to the entrance and looked out before pulling him inside. There was no chariot, no horses, except for the fallen ones she could see littered around the countryside. He had been running from wherever his horse and chariot fell. That was clear.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sisera bent double, hands on his knees. "I am thirsty," he panted. "Bring me some water." </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jael gave a nod. Her decision was made. It took no thought for her to pick up the skin of fresh milk instead of the water. The milk was still warm from that morning's milking. She watched him drink until he told her, "Stand guard at the front of the tent. If anyone asks, you are alone."</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She moved a stool to the entrance and took up some sewing, giving him peace to drink as much warm milk as he wanted. Soon enough, he'd fallen asleep on a pile of animal skins. She crossed over and covered him with a rug. If he awoke, she'd say she was hiding him. He didn't wake.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jael watched his rhythmic breathing for a moment. The gods had given her an opportunity to secure her future. It was a sign. She took one last look out the front, to where she could see the Israelites slowly moving through the battlefield for the plunder. It was now or never.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Out back, she heaved on one of the long stakes that anchored the large tent. It finally pulled free.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She quietly reentered and approached the sleeping commander. This would take strength, she knew. There could be no hesitation. She grabbed her husband's hammer and drove the tent peg into Sisera's temple as he lay there on his side. Leaving him like that, tent peg, rug and all, Jael returned to the entrance of the tent.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As the Israelite commander neared, she called out to him, "Come! The man you are searching for is here!" Her future was safe. She had made the choice.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> This story comes from the book of Judges, chapter 4, with praise for Jael's heroic actions in chapter 5, verses 24-27. Honestly, I didn't change much, except that we don't know what Jael was thinking, just that she did it. Pretty gory, huh? What other Bible storis, or other perspectives would you be interested in?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-91772735218230708532023-04-14T09:00:00.018+07:002023-04-14T09:00:00.182+07:00Lions - #AtoZChallenge<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKaDHoD3dDmK4XmNFcMNt33YY7n5KoFgHY96u5Rz6RbHMA7sinsC2KrcvcBmdH_pon-1-CSHZs7ZOlz5_Da0RYMsPYItz8WlzjMmypexeEGfEI90Q_v1b9dkDs1Hq4hE1XjA_-5axi0m0EcKC7DTivJS8ITXv9KQxw_UgNjCiz9tsTydfNZQNyacRbw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sala and Bet prowled around in their den. They were ravenous. The humans who had enclosed the pride in their cave usually fed them more often than this. The pride was in disarray. Shatu, their alpha, lay listless on a rock. Two of their sisters were in opposing corners, licking their wounds after a petty fight earlier. The lionesses were being prevented from hunting and tensions were running high.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This couldn't go on much longer. Sala looked at their leader, laying there disheartened. She knew Shatu wanted to rip some poor sop limb from limb and disperse the carcass to his pride as he saw fit. That was his right. But no carcass was coming.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bet passed her as they paced, and they exchanged a look. How much longer? Everyone's ribs were showing. It was disgraceful.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then a creak and the rusty grate that hung above the lions opened. There was a blast of glowing light as some being covered with eyes and wings escorted a lean young man into the lions' den. The eyes of every lion turned up to the blinding brightness, stunned. A stone was rolled over the grate, but the glare of the brightness continued unabated.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As the young man arrived on the floor of the den, he looked around, startled alarm fading from his eyes. He turned a kind smile on each lioness in turn, then looked to Shatu, who looked at the winged being before nodding at the man. The eye and wing covered being had the big cats transfixed for a moment, but only a moment. That was all it took before they understood.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bet moved toward the man, watching his face as she approached. His hand hung at his side. She nudged it with her nose and swished her head in a way to force a gentle stroke from his fingers. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Daniel looked down at the lioness by his side and gave an attentive caress to her ears and neck. She started to purr. Sala strolled over and he reached another hand to her, squatting down now to keep one hand on the neck of Bet's form, reclining on the ground at his feet. "Aren't you a beauty?" he cooed at the lionesses. Their sisters emerged, one by one, from their separate places, and he reached to give each of them a pet. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sala, still standing near him, licked his neck as he petted her sisters. Soon he was singing soft tunes and relaxed in a circle of powerful, furry, felines. He slept that night, warm and safe among their bodies, his snores blending with the purrs surrounding him.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the morning, at first light, the stone was hauled noisily away from the grate and pink light filtered in. "Daniel? Daniel? Are you okay?" The King's voice called out. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Daniel groaned and stretched luxuriously, draping an arm over one big cat before answering. "I'm fine. Is it morning?" He crawled up to the opening, the lions mewing behind him.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not long after he left, a series of ornately robed officials were lowered into the den of lions. Sala, Bet, and the rest of the pride leapt into action, making swift work of their long awaited meal.</span></span><br /></p><p></p>
<p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> The story of Daniel in the Lions' Den is told in the book of Daniel, chapter 6. This part, from when he was thrown into the den until his release, is in verses 16-24. To be honest, writing yesterday's story from the perspective of the bears made me think to tell this from the POV of the lions. What other Bible stories, or other perspectives would you be interested in?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8036550554413060199.post-41308050451361297922023-04-13T09:30:00.002+07:002023-04-13T09:30:00.189+07:00Kids - #AtoZChallenge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="#AtoZChallenge 2023 badge" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWmRwtC6H98S7_G0SqGiHRuU-DcQRJ6V5u0uo72eCgZ4BOdqxtCoFilZQXBhltX42S59uZuR7mhu8BGzF4FgVMDnfcNvktURzM7W9xYcm1oHHJvDjgn0wu1M6cTe2PyuDDFQbzijMVQwH-uPckGRbw6fFjc6FtanPgUSMlHPIAEGKZHJX4zD19MDL/s1600/Sq400.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>
</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-lSl_Calw90n2jV0KXzHS8BA5lPpltSNHYovoGKaF8BidG-DyBlpX3pk249JjXqh78uVZIRKcliWro7aGyV6fsmAT3yyIXXyD7UTu6z1EuXoNf2SSI8iuOU2cf_FD68gDhH657iKWpAEoZ6TuyjY9F1skbXJaiyY5FLYmGBab86o0Cd5DLPNDDtlmw/s1350/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="1350" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-lSl_Calw90n2jV0KXzHS8BA5lPpltSNHYovoGKaF8BidG-DyBlpX3pk249JjXqh78uVZIRKcliWro7aGyV6fsmAT3yyIXXyD7UTu6z1EuXoNf2SSI8iuOU2cf_FD68gDhH657iKWpAEoZ6TuyjY9F1skbXJaiyY5FLYmGBab86o0Cd5DLPNDDtlmw/s320/2023%20AtoZ%20theme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sasha scratched her back on a tree, watching Trion pull a fish out of the river. She rolled her furry back to a different part of the trunk with a patch of rougher bark. Her long sharp claws just couldn't reach the spot in the middle of her spine. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">With her itch fully scratched, the big bear dropped back to all fours and lumbered off to join Trion in the river. This was a great spot - shade trees, clear water, ample fish - it would do for now. After a healthy lunch of fish, the pair of bears rested in the shade until raised voices pricked into Sasha's ears. She kicked at Trion and woke him to join her. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The humans in the town below were making a lot of noise. Alert, the bears rose to their feet and moved slowly in the direction of the sound. People were not typically their concern, but something lured them closer. At a break in the trees, they looked out at a crowd of young people harassing one of the venerated elders. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Quite a large crowd of young people seemed to have gathered around the old man. The human words made no sense to the bears. They could only watch the old man trying to break out of the crowd of younger, stronger, male humans. It wasn't a fair fight. Then again, they didn't really seem to be fighting, just making noise.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The old man struggled through to the edge of the ring of people, and turned around and shouted something at them. His hand was raised, palm to the sky as he spoke words Sasha and Trion could not decipher, then turned and walked away. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sasha felt a stirring inside, in her belly and her heart. A strange fire seemed to burn within. She looked to Trion, who was looking at her with the same fire reflecting in his own eyes. As one unit, the bears ran out of the woods and attacked the crowd of youths, who tried to scatter away from the fierce claws and jaws. Some fought back, but most collapsed in self-protecting balls of flesh.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">After mauling 42 of these humans, the fire in the bears faded. They looked around, surprised at themselves, and stalked back to the comfort of the woods for a long nap.</span></span><br /></p>
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><u><b>Reference:</b></u> This story is based on a brief mention in the book of II Kings, chapter 2, verses 23-24. Some youths were taunting the prophet Elisha and he called down a curse on them, after which two bears came out and mauled 42 of them. Crazy! It's like in Star Wars when a Jedi knight uses the Force for his own personal gain. I don't quite know how to take this story, but to me it is just one of the little gems within the Bible that smacks of being so HUMAN - What do you think?</span></span><br /><p></p><p></p>Redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06870283055927616591noreply@blogger.com5