Walk On Water

As I grow older…though not necessarily wiser…I gain more experience on which to base my judgments. So it’s not completely irrational that I think I know what I’m doing most of the time. The operative word here is “most.”

I discovered recently that I had completely misjudged someone based on past experiences. Usually, I give people the benefit of the doubt using my trusty default nice streak. But at the time, I wasn’t in any mood to do that.

Granted, there had been a host of disappointments that set my trust-o-meter to sub-zero, but still, this person carried not an ounce of responsibility for other people’s failures.

As my life—with truth and lies unfolding—becomes more complex, my world shifts and my vision blurs. As I pondered my past mistakes, I realize that misjudgments are probably more often the case than not. It’s hard to judge myself accurately, much less anyone else. It’s impossible to climb in someone’s head, peer down into the heart, search out motives, and clear away all the emotional clutter we carry around inside, burying our better selves or hiding behind chosen perfection.

So, in all humility, where can I turn? Who will understand and not judge me for a mere fool? Who sees beyond my excuses and takes an honest look at how I behaved?

In the end, I turn to the One who has much better eyesight than I do. One who can peer into my self-centered mind, my protective heart, my overzealous soul, and take me where I actually stand. In surrendering myself to God, I have found peace. I’ve also discovered that I can accept the mystery of other people a bit better. That doesn’t mean I accept evil as good. But the controlling—save myself, others, and the whole blinking world—part of me has loosened its grip.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Good heaven! I don’t even know what will happen this afternoon. But I’m getting a little more comfortable with that fact…that uncertainty. Reality has consequences. Jump from a cliff without wings and you’ll likely die. Lie, cheat, steal, treat other human beings as toys…and the taunts of hell will trip your every step.

In a world where everyone seems like an expert—I’m okay being uncertain about some things. I’m glad that God is God. I don’t want His job. I’ve got to make a semblance of sense of the struggling-to-survive-world in front of me. This human journey is a labyrinth fraught with peril, and our choices can have eternal consequences. Yet we must live. We must make decisions. We must keep walking. On water. So it seems.

That seems to be the key. If we’re going to join the mystery of God and trust Him with our frail humanity, we have to walk on water.

Just keep walking.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

With Your Help

Leander dropped his head on his hands and slouched on the edge of a metal, straight-backed chair.

The crowded room murmured with low-toned conversations amid a swirl of officious activity.

A uniformed officer paced before him, his hands clasped behind his back. “So you—what? Give online advice?”

The floor, grey plastic tiles with chipped edges and age cracks, offered not an ounce of inspiration.

Leander peered up, barely lifting his head above his hands. Weariness engulfed him. “No. Not really. I just…chat with people and reflect on the state of things in our world.” He sat straighter. “How could that be so wrong? Everyone does it.”

The officer stopped mid-pace and blew air into the stagnant room. “People make all sorts of suggestions—demands even. But few listen. In your case, you were unlucky enough to have someone follow your advice and do exactly as you suggested.”

Leander stood, his hands waving, imploring. “I only said that we should throw all our guns in the ocean…you know…get rid of our weapons of destruction.”

The officer chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “So this lady gets a group of moms, and they gather every weapon they lay their hands on, hire a boat, and go out…and do just that!”

Leander gripped the desk for support. “I didn’t think anyone would really do it—not like that.”

“Like what—you think?”

“I just wanted to make a concrete suggestion, something people could do to make the world a better place.”

“Drop your assorted guns in the ocean?”

“Out of kids’ hands! Yeah. Is that a bad idea?” Embarrassment, fear, and anger played touch football in Leander’s stomach. “Listen, Officer, I’m not the bad guy here. I didn’t mean anyone should break the law or do anything stupid. I figured anyone who read my post would understand what I meant.”

“You know, when Ms. Stevens was apprehended, the first thing she said was—‘Leander Jones told me to do it.’”

“Oh, God.” Feeling faint, Leander dropped back into his chair.

The officer stepped over and crouched before him. “What—you’re in your forties; you’ve got a wife and kids, and you honestly thought you were helping humanity out.” He stood. “When she mentioned your name, I read through your blog. Got some nice sentiment there.” He stepped away and stared at the wall. “I’ve seen the aftermath of a school shooting. I know what guns can do. I know how—” He stopped and ran his hands over his face. He turned. “Still—fact is—she blames you.”

Lander pulled himself to his feet. “I didn’t say anything that Hollywood stars and politicians haven’t been saying for years. Guns are dangerous.”

The officer pulled out his desk chair. “In the wrong hands. I agree with you.” He sat and glanced up. “So is advice.”

~~~

Leander sauntered over to the embankment and stared at the waves rippling over the lake. Kids and adults hustled between picnic tables, arranging and snatching food, joking, chatting, and having a fun Sunday afternoon.

A man dressed in black, wearing a Roman collar, plodded over the short grass and stood next to Leander, facing the scenic beauty. “Love this view. Trees, sky, and water refresh the soul—” He glanced at Leander. “Don’t you agree?”

Leander’s eyes narrowed. “They should.” He sighed. “But I’ve found that life is nothing but a bundle of contradictions.” He whisked a fly off his arm. “You oughta know better than anyone. Blessed are the poor…riches lead to slavery…good intentions pave the way to hell.”

Father Peter retreated to a log situated on the water’s edge. Propping one foot on the trunk, he crossed his arms over his thigh and watched a flock of geese fly overhead.

Leander faced his priest. “What? No clarification? Aren’t you going to explain that God knows our hearts, and we should trust in Him no matter how wretchedly things turn out?”

Father Peter dropped his gaze and met Leander’s eyes. “You said it—what’s left?”

Leander pounded across the spongy turf and stood before the priest, his hands on his hips. “You know what happened! I gave innocent, well-meaning advice—and I nearly went to jail.” Tears welled. “What that would’ve happened to Jeanie and the kids then?”

Father Peter’s waited. His gaze steady, his demeanor calm.

Leander flung out his hand and waved a finger in the priest’s face. “Really, it’s all your fault! Aren’t you always preaching about how we should be salt and light in the world? What a world!” He turned and paced away. “The other day, I gave a steak bone to the dog, and he choked!” He swung around. “I gave twenty bucks to a homeless guy and not ten minutes later I saw him buying cigarettes!”

Someone called from the distance and waved.

Father Peter straightened and waved back. He returned his gaze to Leander. “So what do you want to do?”

“Do? Duck and hide—if only  I could. But this damned world hounds me. The other day my son came home with a guy dressed like a girl, my sister was hospitalized for alcohol poisoning, and my boss thinks he might have cancer.” Leander plopped down on the log. “There’s too much grief and when I try to mend a problem, I nearly get sent to Alcatraz.”

Father Peter shook his head. “You can’t save the world.”

“Save? Heck, I can’t even apply a decent band-aid.”

Father Peter chuckled and patted Leander on the back. “The job of Savior has already been taken.”

Leander pivoted on his heel, thrusting Father’s hand away. “Ah! There’s where we disagree.” His face flushed, he felt nearly drunk on fury. “Kids are killing other kids, drug abuse is on the rise, for all our prosperity—the world’s a miserable place.” He glared at the priest. “Doesn’t seem to me that anyone’s safe—or saved!”

His jaw hardening, but his eyes softening, Father Peter lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re right. The world as we know it is pretty miserable. No denying that. But this world is not all there is. We don’t have to be saved —not if we don’t want to.”

“Stop being so sanctimonious.”

“Stop trying to be God.”

The two men glared at each other. A shuffle turned their gazes.

A little boy hovered near, his eyes wide. Fear scrawled across his face.

Leander closed his eyes and rubbed his temple.

Father Peter crouched and beckoned the boy over. “It’s okay, Davy. Your dad and I are just having a little discussion.”

Davy hesitated, glancing from one man to the next. He finally settled on his dad. “Mom said lunch is ready. Eat now cause she’s not fixing anything else.”

Leander opened his eyes and nodded. “Be right there.”

The boy turned and scampered away.

Father Peter turned to follow but glanced over his shoulder. “Everything you said is true, Leander. You’re not wrong. But you’re not completely right, either.”

A sob welled up inside Leander as he peered into the distance and watched his son tug on his wife’s arm, probably babbling on about how dad was arguing with the pastor. “So what, in Heaven’s name, am I supposed to do? How do I live in this crazy world?”

Father Peter sighed and waited. “Do the best you can. Remember, you’re a man. Not the Creator of the universe.”

Leander shuffled forward. “There’s a new world waiting for us—and God’ll make everything right in the end?”

Father chuckled, patted Leander’s arm, and moved on. “With your help—yep.”

Leander snorted, shook his head, and headed for lunch.

 

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Surprise Me

Sometimes I like to joke around with God. When trying to predict how something will turn out, I imagine all sorts of scenarios and feel pretty certain that nothing I imagine is even close to what will actually happen. Knowing this, I tell God, “Go ahead and surprise me.”

He does.

This has already proven to be a colder, snowier winter than I expected, so when I had to drive an hour away to take the kids to an appointment, I prepared for the worst. But in fact, the roads were perfectly clear, and the drive was easy.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the waiting room. Or rather the Kafkaesque reality therein.

The television—front and center—was blaring the latest news. Gloom and Doom. Isn’t it always? Lots of conflicts, doubt, and innuendo. I fully expect the news commentators to throw up their hands one of these days and screech “Head for the hills, the sky is falling!”

I pulled out my book and tried to shut out the flat screen horror. But…

To the left of me, a teen decided that it was time to quiz her mom on Spanish vocabulary, despite the fact that the mom kept insisting that she didn’t know any Spanish. The kid’s pronunciation was poor, so I could hardly blame the mother for not understanding her even if she did speak Spanish. But what caught me off guard was the kid’s snarkasm. New word. Like it? She was so snarkastic that she practically filled the small space with her snarality.

I crouched tighter over my book and pulled my coat up around my ears. Blinders. I thought that might help.

It didn’t.

Directly in front of me—just hovering over my book edge—a young couple huddled in glorious love. Glorious, except for the small fact that we were in the middle of a medium-sized waiting room. A strangled attempt to clear my throat never touched their consciousness.

And to the left of me…a young guy played with a bright, shiny, flashing arcade. Personally, I think he was almost as deeply impassioned as the snuggling couple before me. His bouncing, bopping, chattering to every mechanical ding and ring altered my sense of the human-machine divide. Apparently, some humans have crossed into new dimensions.

I’ve been blind. Again.

As I drove home, I relished the idea of retreating into my safe and snug little home world. Though I have to admit, I realize more than ever that my understanding of humanity is often based on fantasy and is nothing close to reality. I read books and watch a few programs and expect certain real-world scenarios to go according to a scripted formula. When they don’t, I’m a bit flummoxed.

I suspect God’s having a bit of fun with me. I worry about my kids driving on the roads. I scheme and plan for special events. I pray my heart out for certain causes. Sometimes, things go flat, and I’m disappointed. Sometimes terror strikes, and I have to hold on to my courage. Sometimes, I’m amazed by the richness and breathtaking joy of God’s vision, which turns into reality I could never have planned for or imagined in my wildest dreams.

All in all, I’m glad I went out in the cold and snow and sat in that waiting room. I could have avoided it by staying at home. Living in my safe, imaginary world. But then I wouldn’t really be living…

Would I?

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Test a Theory

From OldEarth Ishtar Encounter

Ark, dressed in a somber grey bio-suit and brown boots, waited for his superior to approach. It would never do to appear hasty.

Ungle, a Crestonian with bright red cilia wavering on top of his plump head and dressed in a spring-green bio-suit and matching boots, meandered the circuit of the room with two tentacles wrapped behind his back in a contemplative manner. A third tentacle held a long-stemmed glass filled to the brim with blue gelatinous goo, and with his last tentacle, he shook hands—or mechanical armatures as the occasion required—with various Luxonian and alien representatives.

Ark slumped and glanced at a staring Luxonian. He patted his breathing helm as if stifling a yawn. His wide-eyed, peeved glare turned the Luxonian’s gaze away. Boor.

“So you finally made it.”

Ark’s head jerked so hard he felt a crackling in the bone holding his spine erect. Blast. I’ll have a muscle spasm from that. Holding out two tentacles, he clasped Ungle’s offered tentacle with gaudy bracelet attached. Ark blinked and swallowed. Better not expect me to kiss that thing—like some weird Bhuaci sign of obeisance.

“Not for kissing, just admiring.”

Ark swallowed convulsively. Uh, oh.

Ungle laughed, nearly spraying liquid over the top of his breathing helm. “I can’t read your mind—but really—Ark, you’ve become practically translucent. Among humans too long in my opinion.”

A waiter glided in close and offered a tray of pink, blue, and green drinks.

Ark glanced at Ungle.

Ungle poured his blue goo into his breathing helm, slurped, and shivered. “Not bad. But I’d recommend the green. Not authentic green, you understand, but less of a kick than the blue.”

Ark swiped the blue drink off the tray and poured it daintily into his breathing helm. Like a connoisseur savoring an ancient wine, Ark sipped his liquid while his gaze wandered the room.

Ungle waved the servant away.

Ark returned to his superior. “You were the first to recommend Earth observation. Have you changed your mind?”

“Not at all. I think humanity has a great deal to offer—in time. But I also realize there are many complications that must be considered—”

A bell tinkled.

“Bothmal those bells!” Ungle tapped Ark on the shoulder. “Meet me in my chambers after the meeting.”

“You aren’t staying for the Balatin Reenactment and festival?”

Ungle gurgled. “I’m a Crestonian. Science not pleasure dictates my schedule.”

Ark took the hint.

~~~

Ark settled in a pump chair and hated the hiss of his bio-suit as it wedged between the stiff arms. Dark waters, I’ll never get back up without help.

The Crestonian chambers included a mini-pool built into the back wall, plump, light-colored furniture, and a simple cleansing and dressing closet.

Ark glanced over as Ungle tapped a console, lighting up a holopad.

“Pay attention now. I’ve done careful research, and I think I have just the solution we need.”

Ark grunted as he tried to wiggle out of the chair. “What…is…the…problem?” Popping like a cork, he sprang to his feet.

Ungle straightened, and a hologram of Teal appeared before them.

Ark clumped forward, his embarrassment forgotten. “Teal?” His gaze swiveled to Ungle.

“As I mentioned earlier, science dictates the direction of my life. I believe that humanity has a great deal to offer Crestonian studies. Not the least of which is their obsession with good and evil.”

Ark wrapped his tentacles behind his back and meandered in closer. “Surely we understand the concept as well as anyone. Why—?”

“We don’t experience the polar opposites as humans do. It makes quite a difference. Consider—” He tapped the console. Teal dissolved, and Chai appeared beautifully dressed in his crimson robes embroidered in gold. “A dangerous—by all human standards—evil force controls this man. It’s a force I’ve rarely encountered before. Yet, this human believes he’ll benefit from the experience.”

Ark’s tentacles wiggled nervously behind his back. “What does he have to do with Teal?”

“This being—calls himself Chai—will cross paths with the one you call Ishtar. It doesn’t take serious extrapolation of data to figure this out. Their paths must intersect.”

“So—”

“Teal will be watching. He’ll care what happens. He might even attempt to interfere.”

“That goes against all his training.”

Ungle shrugged. “Given proper motivation, we all go against our training. Don’t be obtuse, Ark.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to see the natural exchange between Chai and Ishtar. I want to witness a soul damned to—”

“Hell?”

“Yes, I believe that is the term.”

“You want me to keep an eye on Teal—is that it?”

Chuckling, Ungle tapped the console. “Not primarily. I want you to keep your eye on her.”

The holographic image of Chai dissolved, and Sienna appeared in all her radiant glory on the holopad.

“Sienna? She cares for Teal, but—”

“She’s a Luxonian with a healer’s soul. She wants to help so badly, she could do a great deal of harm in the process.”

Ungle tapped the screen and Chai, Teal, and Sienna appeared together on the holopad facing away from one another.

“They are each convinced that they know what’s best for humanity. I’m convinced that they have no idea what’s in store for them.”

“And you want me to observe and collect data?”

“I want to test a theory—about good and evil.”

Ark waited.

Ungle smirked. “You’ll see.”

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Beyond Words

As I sat in the Chapel at Greenville University on Sunday evening, I realized for the ka-billionth time that though our music on Earth may not exactly transport us to Heaven, it certainly builds a beautiful bridge.

This is the second year I’ve encountered The Greenville Choral Union and Orchestra, and this time they not only played selections from The Messiah but also beautiful compositions in Russian, Nigerian, and Spanish.

As I sat in the packed room, two college kids in front of me swayed to the rhythm, an assembly of older folks listened in rapt attention, and couples joined hands. Even small children stopped squirming. A remarkable feat in this technology-dominated era.

The glory of the voices mingling as an intertwining chorus and the skill of the musicians drew my attention to sublime realities.

One major thought that struck me was the sheer cooperation that had to take place for such an event to happen. There must have been well over fifty musicians and support people who set this evening as a priority in their lives, arranged their schedules, their family’s schedules, and accomplished all the seriously hard work to prepare for the occasion. For faith-filled music? And considering this was a donation event, it’s clear they weren’t doing it for the big bucks.

As I listened, I imagined different places in the world at the same moment in our shared human history. A God’s-eye view, perhaps. I thought of all the Illinois families trying to put their lives into some sort of order after the recent tornadoes, the Alaskan families struggling with the massive damage due to the recent earthquake, various people across the globe—some living in squalor, some sleeping in soft beds, and some suffering from addictions, violence, and terror.

But the music played on. The glorious sounds stretched beyond our globe of human pain and suffering—and for a couple hours—some of us knew peace, joy, and pure gratitude.

I can’t help but believe—for that moment—God knew it too.

It’s not often that humanity offers a perfect gift to God, but the Greenville University Choral Union gave a supreme effort. On behalf of humanity, I’m grateful.

Beyond words.

 

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Crushed—But Not to Death

Camilla sat at the outdoor café and listened to the twittering of the birds and the distant rumble of thunder. How was possible that the two co-existed yet seemed so oblivious to each other? Did the birds worry about an approaching storm? Not so you’d notice—they flew and chirped in their usual abandon. And the storm clearly wasn’t about to alter its course to avoid a flock of happy birds.

“Perhaps it’s a grace…”

“Excuse me?”

Camilla glanced up. A man in blue jeans, a white shirt stretched over defined muscles, with wavy black hair, intense sparkling eyes, and a charming grin stood before her table with a tray in hand. A hot flush swept up her cheeks. Lord, don’t let me blush…please… Too late.

“Uh, oh, nothing…just talking to myself. Odd. Me.” She glanced around. All the other tables were full. A quick glance at her purse loitering on one empty chair and her foot absently propped on the other. Selfish slob. She dropped her foot, snatched her purse off the chair, and blushed. Again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—” Oh, Lord, he’s sitting down…at my…table. Not mine. Just…a table…

“Do you mind?” He gestured to the unencumbered portion.

She scrunched her books closer. “No, course not.” She swished her gaze around the bustling café. When did it get so busy? She glanced at her watch. “No, can’t be!”

Arranging his breakfast plate and hot coffee, the man peered up. “Something wrong?”

Camilla swallowed. “I just lost three hours.” She adjusted her glasses on her nose. “I came in when they opened at 6:30 and now my watch is telling me that it’s 9:30. That can’t possibly be.”

After slathering his wheat toast with grape jelly, the man proceeded to take a large bite. He chewed, swallowed, and tapped his watch. “What day is it?”

Frowning, Camilla blinked. The dark clouds and their faint thunder had veered north. Sunshine reflected brilliantly on every surface. “Uh, Friday, November eleventh.” She grinned like she had just won the final match of a tennis game.

“Nope. It’s Saturday, November the twelfth.”

Shock drained all thought from her mind as Camilla shot to her feet. “It can’t be! I’d have missed my class and mom’s evening medication—Oh God!” She practically inhaled her notebooks in one encompassing swish.

A strong hand reached out and gripped her hand. “Sorry! Really.”

The grin was still there, though a little sheepish now. “I was joking. Didn’t think you’d take me seriously. Please. Sit down. It’s Friday. No time warp or anything.”

Camilla thrust her hand against her chest as if she could put it back in place manually. “Lord, have mercy.” She glanced at him as she sat down. Such a sweet face, too. Kind or cruel…

He cut his egg into bite-sized pieces with the side of his fork, dropped a bit of bacon onto each piece, and enjoyed.

Camilla pursed her lips. “You like to traumatize people before you eat?” She thrust out a hand. “Camilla. Just so you know who you almost sent into coronary arrest.”

He swallowed. “James.” Then he took a sip of coffee and leaned back for a moment’s respite from the exhausting labors of eating and teasing. “So tell me, Camilla. How did you manage to lose three hours on such a glorious morning?”

Clutching her notebook against her chest, one shoulder doing its own little shrug, Camilla glanced across the campus. “I was writing. It’s like that Narnia story where you go into another world for a few days and thousands of years pass back home.” She met his intense gaze. And blushed. Again.

“What do you write?” He sipped his coffee, his hands cradling the cup, but he seemed interested.

Camilla swallowed panic. He’s really bored. Waiting for his girlfriend to get here. Or his wife… “Oh, just stuff. Stories that never get published and sit on my laptop languishing for—”

His gaze followed another student as she sauntered by.

Hot lead burned in Camilla’s stomach feeling strangely akin to jealousy. Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t even know this guy! She gathered her notebooks. One slid off the top and landed on his jellied toast.

He glanced up and met her gaze. “Why do they languish? Stories are meant to be read.” With care, he used his napkin and wiped the notebook free of jam.

Camilla laid it back on top. She peered at him. “To be perfectly honest, I’m ridiculously sensitive—totally crushed by rejection.”

“Not totally.” He started on his second egg.

Camilla clutched her books tighter. “Yes. I am. I know how I feel about my writing. I’m sick for days when my professors correct my papers. I hate it when anyone finds fault—”

He took another sip and frowned. “I didn’t say you liked it. I said you wouldn’t be totally crushed. You’ll be a better writer by hearing what others think of your work.”

Oh, really? Camilla tried to take the edge of sarcasm off her tone and slipped back onto her chair. She leaned forward, her hands clenched tight around her stack. “I got something published once…in a magazine. You know what happened?”

James bit his toast and raised an eyebrow.

“One reader wrote in and said that my beginning sucked, it was boring and flat. But then, some other guy wrote and said he loved the way it began and thought I had an artistic touch.”

James wiped his mouth and drained the last of his coffee. “So?”

“So, readers mess with my mind! I didn’t know what to think or who to believe.”

“Do you like your work?”

“I love my work. That’s the problem. Each story is like an innocent child—and when I send them out in the world…they get throttled. Or ignored. Which is even worse.”

“Was your next piece a little better?”

“That’s generally the goal.”

“So you weren’t crushed.” He looked around. “I wish they had waitresses who came around with coffee.”

Camilla kept her gaze steady. I will not roll my eyes…I will not roll my— “It’s self-serve, here.”

James stood with his plastic coffee cup in hand. “Yeah. I get that.” He glanced at the table and her empty cup. “Want some more?”

Camilla glanced at her watch. “I have a noon class.”

“So you’ve still got a couple hours—right?” He started away. “You said it. Self-serve. Gotta take a chance. That’s what writing is all about—isn’t it?”

Swiping up her empty, she trotted to his side and filled her cup with just enough room for three scoops of sugar and a dollop of cream. “How do you know so much about writing?”

“I’m an architect. I plan beautiful buildings and cities and—” Stirring his coffee, James started back to the table. “You know what happens?”

Camilla shook her head, frowning.

“Everyone makes suggestions. Helpful hints. Monetary considerations. Historical reflections…” He slid back into his chair. “No one gets to have it their own way.”

“But you’re not crushed?”

“Crushed. But not to death.”

A shadow dimmed the light. Dark clouds swept in and a rumble of thunder rolled overhead.

Camilla laughed. She glanced at James. “Perhaps, it is grace…”

 

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

A Deep Moral Dilemma

So, an old farmer friend called today and asked if I wanted my annual bales of straw. Since the dogs and cats seem to appreciate the snug houses my kids build for them each autumn, I maintained my routine. My friend is the kind of person that I’m convinced that if more people acted like him, angels could retire. Uncomplicated but thoughtful. Honest yet self-effacing. He’ll never take money for the bales. Though, thankfully, he will take jars of homemade pickles, salsa, and jam.

Near the end of our “How’s life treating you?” conversation, which naturally canvasses the weather, family, and sublime universal themes, he asked if I needed any wood this winter. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to say. Seemed like a simple question, but it involved a deep moral dilemma.

When my late husband and I moved out to the country, we hadn’t a fig’s newton what we were doing. We were both city people and the idea of raising children in the country seemed so terribly healthy and right. So—you know—natural. Turns out—it sure is. But nature is nothing to be sniffed at.

John being John, he did all the muscle work, and I did the other stuff. House management. Finances. Kid care. Education. We made an excellent team. We were practically Amish in our desire to keep everything as natural as possible. As close to home as possible. As holistic as possible. We were going to “steward” our world, not destroy it.

After his death, I continued our long-standing traditions. So far as I was able. A few things changed, though. The bees have had to manage on their own, and I’ve about given up reasoning with the hens. They lay wherever the huff they want to and good luck finding the eggs before the dogs do.

But before my friend called today, the kids and I had been watching a documentary on JRR Tolkien. At one point, his son, Christopher, described Tolkien’s severe dislike for machinery, and my mouth about dropped to the floor. How familiar—that sense that man-made takes us away from God-made. Except in the case of washing machines, of course. Washing machines are a divine gift to the human race. Try washing eight sets of kids’ clothes by hand, and you’ll see what I mean.

Getting older myself, and having kids who keep adding years to their ages at an alarming rate, I realized that perhaps our woodstove would become another casualty of “Things-That-Just-Can’t-Be-Managed.” I like the woodstove because the heat feels warmer and because, like the garden, it takes healthy work. I’m more sensitive to the weather and the natural world around me because I have to plan ahead if a cold blast or a storm is coming. The kids have to fill the stick boxes. Wood has its own lovely scent, rough texture, and can smash your fingers if you’re not careful. I wasn’t ready to let the woodstove go, but I honestly couldn’t scrounge off my friend or chop down the scanty woods we have around here. So I explained that I’d love to keep the wood stove going, but…

Turns out, my friend has a friend who sells wood at a reasonable price and even delivers. Reprieve! Tendrils of wood smoke will still grace our chimney this winter.

I certainly appreciate Tolkien’s view on machines…though I’ve made peace with more hardware than I’d like to admit. Still, I think he had a point…and my younger less-worn-out self had a point too. Nature-made tools and materials speak to a part of our humanity that we often abandon for more efficient manmade tools. They demand a level of attentiveness and care that comfort seekers might find irritating.

Yet I can’t ignore the fact that my critters abandon their plastic igloos and snuggle up in their straw bale abodes ever winter, and nothing beats the cheery glow, embracing warmth, and crackle of a wood fire on a cold evening. Perhaps I feel this way because I, too, am naturally God made…

But I’ll still keep the washing machine.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00