Mountains Crumble

The immensity and devastation of the earthquake in Nepal has shocked the world. My heart cries for the families of the thousands who have lost loved ones - those who have not the hope and comfort of the Lord.

When I heard of even Mt. Everest crumbling, I thought of the song,

"The Bible stands though the hills may tumble; 
It will firmly stand when the earth shall crumble.
I will plant my feet on its firm foundation;
For the Bible stands."

I also thought of the words in Isaiah, which not only prophecies about Christ's first coming, but His second coming too - 

“Prepare the way of the Lord;
Make His paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled
And every mountain and hill brought low;
The crooked places shall be made straight
And the rough ways smooth;
And all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

I pray that the people of the world will see that there is only One God. He has supreme power over the earth. He is holy, although He is merciful, He will not hold His anger forever. I pray that many will bow before Him in humble repentance.

"Lucky the Chick"

Springtime means babies - 
lambs, calves, kittens, and baby chicks. 

"Lucky the Chick" 

It was Phoebe’s chore to gather the eggs every day. She didn’t mind. It was a fun game to search in the corners of the hay mow and the grass around the barn for the hens’ favorite places.

“Maseppa, did you know that Sissy is brooding under the back step? I think she has at least eight eggs.”

“Yes, it is good that we will have more chickens.”

“How long does it take?”

“It will be about twenty days, but she has been sitting already for five days. I made lines on the wall of the barn.”

Sissy gave a low gravelly caw whenever Phoebe peeked under the step. She made sure there was plenty of grain and water nearby. When it rained, Phoebe draped an old blanket over the edge of the steps to protect the hen and her eggs.

Finally one morning, Phoebe noticed Sissy was very restless. She kept standing up and peeking under her feather skirt. One time when she stood up, Phoebe could see a yellow bit of fuzz. She sat nearby and waited. Once in a while a little head with beady eyes poked out between Sissy’s wings.

Soon Sissy couldn’t keep them contained any longer. She stepped out into the sunshine. Seven little pom-poms scurried here and there around and between her long skinny legs. Sissy gave a constant low chatter, keeping the babies close to her. She scratched the dirt and pecked. The little chicks ran to her and tasted the dirt. Once, she found a worm. Two chicks tugged on each end and broke it in half. They pecked at the wiggling string, not really sure how to eat it.

When Phoebe knew Sissy was far enough away, she crawled over to the step and peeked into the shadows. A jumble of empty shells was left in the nest. There was one more egg that didn’t hatch. Phoebe picked it up. It was already getting cooler. She held it to the bright light of the sun, then shook it gently and held it to her ear. She could hear a tiny peeping. It was still good!

She held it between her hands and thought of how she could keep it warm. She knew the sunshine would be warmer than under the steps. She wrapped it in her skirt and sat on the steps thinking. Sissy wandered back to her nesting spot. Picking up the broken shells with her beak, she scattered them in the dooryard and cleaned up the nest with a few scratches of her feet. Sometimes a little chick would get in the way and be knocked backwards by his mother’s foot.

Sissy cackled a call to the chicks and they settled under her wings for a nap. Phoebe gently poked the last egg under her warm breast feathers.

“Maseppa, will Sissy take care of that last chick? I’m afraid it won’t hatch.”

“Maybe it will hatch tomorrow.”

In the morning, Phoebe leaned over the end of the step to look at the egg. Sissy and her chicks were already out for their morning stroll, finding bugs and worms and bits of grass. She reached in and felt the egg – it was still warm. There was a tiny hole on one side. She could hear a tiny pecking.
She waited and watched. The hole got bigger, and soon a chunk of shell fell out. She could see the little beak.

Maseppa came out of the house. Phoebe lifted her head and whispered, “It’s hatching.” She leaned over the edge again and resumed her vigil. Maseppa crouched and looked underneath, too.

The little chick seemed tired. Its head leaned against the opening with its beak open and breathing hard.

“You should not touch him now. He needs to do it himself. It will make him strong.”

Phoebe felt so sorry for him. “Come on, little guy. You can do it.”

He seemed to find more energy and tackled the shell again. Finally, it broke into two pieces and he tumbled out. His skinny neck wobbled about. His gangly legs sprawled in different directions. His damp feathers were plastered on his scrawny neck. He lay in a heap breathing hard.

“Ahhh . . . he’s so beautiful! I’m going to name him Lucky.”

Maseppa looked at Phoebe. “I would not say he is beautiful right now, but he looks healthy. He will live.”

This is a preview of Going Home with Phoebe - avaible in June.
(Pre-orders $15 until June 1st. 
Both books will be sold for $30 until June 1st.) 

Phoebe's Birthday

Today is a special day. It's the birthday of my nephew and a special friend . . . but I chose April 4th to be the birthday of Phoebe, a young girl born in a little village near Albany, New York - back in 1800's, when the world was bursting with new inventions and discoveries. 
Here is a short excerpt from the novel A Home for Phoebe

Phoebe's Birthday

Once again, the winter winds turned into the warm breezes of spring. Streams roared with the melting snows, linens fluttered on the clotheslines, and the phoebes nested in eaves of the barn. The hens led their broods of chicks about the yard. Lolly, the Jersey cow had a calf.           
Maseppequa returned from the barn with a full pail of milk just as the family roused for the day. Ben tickled Phoebe. “Guess what today is.”
            “Christmas?” Her face lit up hopefully.
            “Close . . . It’s your birthday!  Five years ago, on a warm April day, a day like today, just as the sun peeked through the apple tree, God gave us a wonderful present that had two arms, two legs, and two blue eyes.”
            Maseppequa poured the milk through a clean cloth while she listened.  I remember day Phoebe be born.  Much had changed in the last five years. It seemed a lifetime ago.
            Ben touched the tip of Phoebe's nose. “Yes, you . . . but what happened? You’re much too big to be that little girl!”
            “I grew!”
            “Are you sure? Let’s measure you on the door frame.”
         Phoebe scurried to the pantry door and pushed her back against it, holding her chin up high. Ben scratched a mark above her head and stretched the measuring tape to the floor. “Hmm . . . I don’t believe it! Ten feet tall!”
            “No, Papa!”
            “Hmm . . . Now, this is more like it . . . three feet and four inches.” 
            Phoebe tipped her head to look at the top. “How big are you, Papa?”
            Ben stood against the door as Martha marked him. 
            Maseppequa carried the pail to the shed where the milk would stay cool. When she returned, Ben was measuring Martha. Phoebe hopped from one foot to the other. "Maseppa, how many birthdays do you have?"
            She looked from Phoebe to Martha and Ben. "I . . . I not know. I be many seasons.” She held up her fingers. “Maybe four  . . . five hands . . . I not know." The room suddenly seemed too small and too warm. "I go for walk. I be back before dark."
            I not belong here. No matter how hard Maseppequa tried to forget her past, it crept up and reminded her that she was different. She would never fit in this world of the white man. Maybe Pete should have taken her back to the Indians. No, I not belong with Algonkin. Maybe it would have been better if he had never come back into her life.  I not belong. It be better I not be born.
            The trees and crickets whispered comfort to her soul. When the bright star shone in the west, she followed the trail back to where she knew there was love.

To read more - (CLICK HERE)
To order A Home for Phoebe - (CLICK HERE)

Coming soon- (sequel) Going Home with Phoebe

Song of the Sunbeams

Palm Sunday is one of my favorite days. I love the thoughts surrounding the story of Jesus going going to Jerusalem as King and look forward to the day He will again ride into Jerusalem as King over the whole earth.

 I like the thought of "even the stones" crying out in praise to God. Here is a fictional story that I wrote that came from the idea of all nature praising the Lord -

Song of the Sunbeams

Mike wasn’t supposed to be there, but Uncle Ted said, “History is happening today. Science will never be the same. I want you to have a front row seat to the future.” 

Men and women with briefcases streamed into the auditorium. They set up their laptops and greeted old friends. Chairs clanged and microphones squeaked and voices echoed on the high ceiling. Uncle Ted stepped to the podium. 

“Ladies and gentlemen...” 

People scurried to their places.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Universal Code Project. We are honored to have many science and technical experts here. I am excited about what today will mean for the future. 

“As you can see, we will be projecting our reports to the screen behind me. So, would you each log-in to the Universal Code site with the password emailed to you earlier? If you wish to speak, use one of the microphones set up on each table, please. This session is being recorded. If everyone is ready, let us begin.”

Mike found a chair near the back wall. 

The screen lit up with the UCP logo, the earth with dotted lines across it. Uncle Ted smiled. “The Universal Code Project was established by Dr. Samuel Warden to decipher the newly discovered pattern in all of nature. With his technology, we have been able to digitalize the intricate design of the strange code. This code is imprinted on delicate snowflakes, viscous lava, and even the layers of rock at the Grand Canyon. Instead of listening to me spouting hot air, we’d like to hear from you. Tell us what you have discovered.” 

A man near the front began. “Good morning. My name is Maitland Richards, doctor of biology at Harvard. We have been amazed to find the universal code in everything we have tested. It is in the DNA of the smallest bacteria to the oldest dinosaur bones. It repeats itself, but yet varies slightly from species to species.” A chart flashed up on the screen. “As you can see, even colors have a code, as do the different elements. Especially interesting is the code found in homo sapiens. We seem to have a code of our very own, different from all others.” 

Mike leaned forward in his seat as professors and doctors each presented their data and discoveries.

“I’m Jack Reicher, a music professor from Berkley College. We are excited to discover that with Dr. Warden’s technology, we can digitalize sound. In the past, we have recorded sounds in the ocean and underground, but now we have found sound in unexpected places. There is sound in plants and rocks and even in electricity. This is what it looks like-”


“And this is what it sounds like-” 

A trill of chirps and beeps filled the room. 

Another man stood. “My name is Vince Tacker from NASA. For decades we have heard static sounds from space. It sounded like this-”

A loud buzz filled the room. 

“Now, with our new equipment, it sounds like this-”

The sound changed to cascading tones. 

Mike jumped to his feet. He lifted his arms. The music surrounded him. He turned. An old man with a broom stood in the doorway. “I know dis song! I hear it all da time. It is da song of sunbeams when I sweep. It is da song of raindrops. It is beautiful, yah?” 

Mike smiled, but the others in the room covered their ears and begged for it to be turned down. Uncle Ted tapped his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down. I want to progress to the next stage of our project. We now have a program that converts the digital information into language. In other words, we should be able read the patterns found in nature.” 

He signaled his assistant and the numbers on the screen changed. They became strings of letters. 


The room was silent. Whispers drifted back and forth. Finally one man stood up. “What is this gibberish? It doesn’t make sense at all!” Chaos erupted. 

Mike could see the words. They were squished together, but he could see them. “Worthy, Lamb, Majesty—“

The old man nudged him. “You know da words? I only know da German. What da words say?” 

Mike began to sing. “Holy is the Lord. Worthy is the Lamb.” 

The voices fell silent. Mike closed his eyes and lifted his voice. He could hear the song in his head.

“Glory! Honor! Majesty to God…”

Purim Story

It's been a while since I've posted on my blog, but today being the Jewish feast of Purim, I thought it a good time to post my version of the story. There is so much in this story - treachery, loyalty, humor, irony, etc. It's one of my favorite Bible stories. 

The Man the King Delights to Honor

The king of Persia tossed this way and that. He kicked off his royal silk coverings and fluffed up his royal tasseled pillow. He lay on his back. He lay on his left side and his right. Nothing helped. 

“Servant! Close the window again! That pounding is driving me crazy. How can anyone sleep with all that noise?” 

The king closed his eyes. He could still hear the hammering in the middle of the night. 

“Servant! I must get my rest! Read to me.”

“What shall I read?”

“Read the daily chronicles to me, and don’t try to make them interesting. Hopefully you can bore me to sleep.”

The servant sat cross-legged on the carpet and unrolled a scroll. “On the third day of the tenth month, fifty shekels of wheat and thirty flagons of wine and a hundred measures of corn and sixty sheep and twelve oxen were bought for the palace for the price of three hundred two and forty pieces of silver. On the fourth day of the tenth month, the merchant, Teresh, paid seventy pieces of silver to the merchant, Bigthan, for false dealings. On the fifth day of the tenth month, the doorkeeper, Mordecai, reported suspicions of an assassination of the king. On the-“

“Wait! Read that part again…about the doorkeeper.” 

“The doorkeeper, Mordecai, reported suspicions of an assassination of the king.”

The king sat up and stared at the servant. “Has this man been rewarded for his bravery and faithfulness? He has saved my life. Why haven’t I been told of this before?”

The servant unrolled one parchment after another looking for a record of a reward given to the doorkeeper Mordecai, but there was none.

“I must do something to show my respect to this man. What would be the best way?” 

The king of Persia lay down upon his royal bed and finally fell asleep, thinking of the doorkeeper who saved his life.

Haman, the chief of the princes of Persia, was happy. Early in the morning, he strutted to the palace with a smug grin. Was he not promoted above all of the other counselors, a guest at the king’s table? Was he not the greatest man in all of Persia besides the king? 

As he passed the chamberlains, doorkeepers, and guards, they all bowed their faces to the ground—except one—Mordecai. Haman sneered at the brave man. Soon—soon he would have his revenge on this one Jew who refused to bow to him! The gallows were finished. The workers had labored all night. Soon his enemy would be gone. He only needed the king’s signature and it would be done!

Haman’s stomping footsteps echoed in the stone hallways. Mutters and growls rumbled from his lips. “Arrogantstiffneckedstubbornignorantfoolishrebelliouspigheaded…” As he lifted his hand to the door to the king’s chambers, it opened. A servant, leaving the room with a tray of silver bowls, turned to announce Haman’s arrival.

The king motioned the prince inside. “Haman! You’re just the person I need to help me with an important matter.”

Haman bowed, pleased by this obvious request of the king. “Anything for you, O king!”

“My most trusted advisor, what shall I do for the man I delight to honor?” 

Haman stood and smiled. He strutted around the room with his head high and shoulders thrown back. “For the man whom the king delights to honor, let the royal cloak be placed on his shoulders and the king’s crown on his head. Let this man be put on the king’s horse and be led up and down throughout the city by one of the most noble princes, proclaiming to everyone that the king delights in honoring this man.” 

“Yes! Yes! Wonderful!” The king clapped his hands and removed his crown and cloak. “Make haste! Take these and put them on Mordecai, the doorkeeper. Put him on my strongest horse and proclaim throughout the city that this is the man the king delights to honor.”


Related Posts with Thumbnails