A familiar fox arrives, the rose behind its left ear bobbing as it bows its head to you, then takes a missive from the bag at its side.

You take the letter, and begin to read...

Hello, friends!

In personal news...

We're restoring a Canada Goose decoy a friend of ours has been using as a decoration. From lichen-covered and paint chipping to a fairly goose-like appearance... at least we hope. This is the entire reason I studied birds as a child. Years of Academy training... finally come to fruition.🤣

Also, babysitting the wee lord (my nephew), and more cooking.

Also, if you all would not mind praying for a little boy in my church, I would be very grateful. He's been diagnosed with a very rare form (and placement) of an aggressive cancer: spinal Ewing's sarcoma. I won't share his name, as I don't have permission to do so, so I'll give you the nickname Key to work with. He's a sweetheart from a really kind family and while they're trusting God, watching someone you love hurt, and being unable to help, hurts. The chemo treatment is making him seriously ill and he's needing to keep his weight up... but he has abundant sores in his mouth and it hurts too much to eat. Please, please pray for him.

What I’ve Been Reading:

​Draven's Light, by Anne Elizabeth Stengl: a Goldstone Wood story that I hadn't known existed until quite recently: a little story that really doesn't connect much to the main narrative but is a good tale showing the Brothers that were mentioned primarily in book 4, Starflower, and the Asha lantern. (5 stars. I wept.)

​The Girl Who Could Not Dream, by Sarah Beth Durst, a story about a girl who cannot dream on her own but who, when she dreams brings things to life... (a reread with my sister: very enjoyable)

​The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls, by Claire Legrand: a story about the perfect little town that has a darker undertone: how much of perfection is a ridiculous ideal, and do we love others for who we want them to be, or who they are? (Creepy. Good characters but not to my taste.)

​The Blue Bottle Club, by Penelope J. Stokes, is a book about four young women and a friendship pact that will lead down unexpected paths... (I would recommend this book. It starts horribly. You think it's going to be preachy and cheesy and it's not. Try it.)

Some Funny Stuff:

Snippets/Stories to Share:

This space was occupied, for some time, by a series of stories based on Havok's themes of the month. Last year, they had a Multiversal theme, which meant that the only thing in common amongst all the stories was a single character. They didn't have to be a major character in the story or anything... they just had to be there.

This year at Havok, the annual theme is Encore! Each month, they'll review one past season and accept new submissions for those old stories. Season Two, Stories that Sing, was one I really wanted to participate in... but found out about far too late. So, I've taken the liberty of summing it up for you: Stories that Sing was all stories based on songs. So I'll probably be doing stories like that All. Year. Long. The title of the song is clickable to the song the story's based on. I don't listen to songs with language in them, that I know of, and I'll search for clean versions if for some reason I've never understood the lyrics and have been by accident.

I'm sorry in advance, but not that sorry. If you have suggestions for songs, email me back and you might get to see one you love!

And now, for your perusal.. A scene from my in-progress novel that attempts to capture the song Oracion... Or, more properly translated, Prayer.

~~~

Jack perched on the tower’s windowsill as usual, one brow crooked. “I’m not always able to sleep, myself.”

“What do you do about it?”

He chuckled, pulling his brush from within his doublet-vest pocket. “What else? I paint.”

“Can I try?”

He looked at the brush, then at her, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Will you get frustrated if it doesn’t look like mine?”

She shook her head. Really, the prospect of using his brush was anything but calming— it was sheer excitement that now pulsed through her veins, but it was still something to think about other than the dark thoughts that lingered just out of reach.

“Well, if you’re sure.” He stepped in, lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, and brought her to the window-seat. He slipped the cool, smooth brush handle between her fingers, and pulled the window so that it was within reach.

“Gently stroke, and focus.”

She obeyed, watching each hair bend in a smooth arc as she pressed the brush to the glass.

Cold shivered down her arm, and a swirling pattern appeared on the glass, faint at first, then spiraling outward. She turned the brush minutely, releasing a bit of the pressure, and pulled. Her breaths grew more even as she stared at her creation taking shape stroke by stroke, and finally, she pulled it back.

It was an elegant cage, holding a small songbird inside it.

“Good,” he said. His voice sounded a bit stilted, and she passed the brush back, feeling silly.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I know it’s not very good.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s…” he stared at it, voice fading, then he shook his head. “When I first saw you, that’s what I wondered about.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you might be the songster in the cage, waiting for someone to release you and calling for them. But since then, I’ve seen— your song had nothing to do with that. It was just an overflow of your heart.”

The vision faded, and she was left with his words ringing in her ears. The darkness about her grew, for the last braziers were burning low indeed, and the chill crept in, making it still darker.

She wished with all her heart that it was an overflow of her own self. But it had nothing to do with her.

As if in response, the Song rippled from far away, a chiding strain of notes.

“Don’t tell me it’s not true,” she said aloud, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not as lovely inside as the song is. I almost ran away and left Ari behind.”

Silence. A trill, sharp and declarative.

“Then show me. How am I like the Song? It was made without error. There’s never a faulty note. No faltering. No sharpness when it should be smooth. No—”

A bell tolled, deep and unwavering.

She fell silent, as others joined it.

Deep, rich notes, accompanied by a smooth background of strings, barely audible, then rising as the bells built their way towards something greater. Drums joined in, building up the piece as a whole, until the strings took the lead, sweeping and soaring as flutes joined the climax. The bells rang in joyous accompaniment, and the drums pounded out their agreement.

You, too, are flawless to the Maker, the Song seemed to say. There is no mistake in His workings. Keep silent and see: All awe and glory and grandeur, all loveliness and hope and joy, find their beginning in Him.

She sat and drew in the Song, unable to do anything else, feeling its notes pulse through every fiber of her being as the climax grew, and then became the denouement.

The flutes receded from the tune. The drums faded away. The strings grew soft one by one. The great bells ceased, until the only things left were small, light bells— and they, too, faded, to leave her in silence.

All was quiet as tears streamed down her face, and she scrubbed her eyes with her fists, unheeding the weight of the chains.

“I choose to hear it,” she said, throat raw. “I hear.”

Something Cool to Me:

I used to love This Old House, Trading Spaces (Boys Vs Girls!), and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (what we could get on broadcast television, anyway). The fixing and remodeling were really interesting to me. These days, it's usually about being historically-accurate when restoring old homes, which is less fun for me... but there are different places you can find stuff like that.

This, for example. Found a few videos she did about the in-progress repair and rebuild on her daughter's room. I liked it, and thought you might also enjoy.

​

Closing thoughts:

I've been thinking over the Parable of the Prodigal Son of late. There are some points that I've been mulling over in the tale, and while the whole of the story has an excellent point (that I will not be ignoring), there are some details that I've heard before... and some details that I think it would be wise to zero in on.

Taking the story in order:

• The Father had every right to tell his son "no", and to even disown him for his greed and pride: ("I can't wait long enough for you to die. Just give me my share of the inheritance now," is basically the Greek translation.) but he didn't. He gave him what he demanded asked for.
  • God will give you enough rope to hang yourself with, if that's what it takes.
• The son comes to himself after being low for long enough: but not only does he return humbly, he returns with an action plan.
  • Repentance doesn't just involve making a big deal out of being sorry and then moving on, nor does it mean skipping the sorry and just waltzing back in. The son doesn't just come back and wail over his bad decisions, nor does he just go home expecting to be welcomed back with no further word or action. Repentance is coming to God (and others) knowing that you aren't worthy, and coming in true humility... that is to say, actively doing what you can to make it right.
    Don't come expecting the red carpet treatment and everything to be hunky-dory, since we're entitled, as sons. God is utterly gracious and absolutely DOES roll out the red carpet because He loves us... but we are certainly not entitled to any such thing. We gave up that right, the minute we rebelled against Him. As for other people, being in a relationship requires work on both sides, and your fellow man will have to work harder to forgive you than God will, as a matter of course.
• The father comes running to meet his son... in a culture that did not excuse such behavior. The man publicly humiliated himself by running full-tilt, especially after that son treated him with such disrespect and scorn.
  • God doesn't react out of disgust or hold us at arm's length when we repent and return to Him. He full-throttle forgives us, and welcomes us back with rejoicing. He's eager to see us. It's not just He forgives us because He's good. He wants to.
• The elder son was upset that he was missing out; he'd done his duty, and he didn't get half of what his selfish jerkhead of a brother seemed to be getting in the way of love and celebration. His father responded that the elder son had all the inheritance left to him--- that he'd had the right to ask for what he wanted, but that the son he'd thought was lost to him was now found once more. Could he not join in the celebration? And the story ends there.
  • Those of us who are believers shouldn't harbor anger against those who have much forgiven them... and we have the freedom to ask freely of our Father that we can take advantage of at any time. We also have the right and joy of celebrating our family's redemption. Can it be hard? Yes... but there is a joy to it that is holy.

I'm not ordained, but I do think through when I read things; so I hope that something in here might help, encourage, or chasten you like it did me.

The fox bows again, and as it turns to leave, cocks its head.

"Shall I take a message in return?"