Life without a computer? Well the story I wrote a few months ago for Julia’s 100-Word Challenge for Grownups takes things one step further, but I think it fits the requirement of the prompt nicely:
The Written Word
The quills were ancient. She’d found them locked in a closet of the abby. But the points were sharp, the monks having taken great care of them.
Mara sighed. “Remember, Robert? … Computers and photocopiers? It was all so easy?”
“Yeah … life before the E-bombs. Who would have dreamed our electronic infrastructure was so unprotected!”
“If the new dictator hadn’t confiscated all the manual typewriters and pencils as well, we could at least communicate to some extent!”
Picking up a quill, Robert replied: “Well, this is how our ancestors printed letters and books. We come from the same stock. So –” dipping his quill into the ink – “let’s get started.” ~~~
Today is a sad day for me. My father passed away. But because he loved the Lord Jesus Christ with all of his heart and has served Him faithfully since he was 12 years old, he went right from our family’s presence into the presence of Jesus. So although I am sad for me, I must rejoice exceedingly for him.
In honor of his life and his loving care of me, I am re-posting this article about my dad (originally posted on Father’s Day, 2012). I hope it blesses you, my readers.
Just what is a father’s most important job? To love? To provide? To discipline? Certainly all of the above would qualify as part of his job description. But, ultimately, I believe a father’s most important responsibility is to show his children what the Father God is like. That responsibility involves telling his kids about God.
But telling isn’t enough. Kids learn more from what they experience than from what they hear. And when children are told that God is their “Father,” they naturally relate that “Father” to the only other “father” they have experience with – their flesh and blood daddy. I have been inordinately blessed by God’s gift to me of a father who didn’t just talk to me about my Heavenly Father, but who excelled in demonstrating God to me. And although my life of 64 years is full of one experience after another of my dad’s faithfulness to show me God, there are three specific experience that are indelibly embedded in my memory.
The Word tells us that God is a father who enjoys His kids. He enjoyed recreation with Adam and Eve in the Garden; He enjoyed parties when He was on earth in the person of Jesus; He was always instructing Israel to have a party in His presence; and He even says He rejoices over us with singing and dancing. My dad has always been able to get into the spirit of having fun with his kids. When I was very small, he bought me a train that had a real steam engine with sparks and smoke that billowed out as it ran around the track. He delighted in playing trains with me.
But I think the events that stand out most clearly in my memory of a dad who was willing to come down to my level and have fun were the episodes in the grocery stores. My mom, dad, sister, and I always went grocery shopping as a family. That’s often a fun experience for kids, but my sister and I had the privilege of having a dad who wanted to add to our fun. So sometimes, if the store was not crowded, he would roll the shopping cart into a clear aisle, prop one foot on the bottom rung, push off with the other foot, and go flying down the aisle, grinning from ear to ear, all for the sake of bringing squeals of delight to two little girls. I’m sure others thought he was silly, but giving his girls such a treat was worth it to him. Those experiences left us convinced that dads loved to “play” with their kids, and they opened a door between God and me that made me sure I could enjoy Him just like I did my earthly dad.
The Word also tells us that God’s ears are always open to the cries of His children and that He is always present with them in trouble to deliver them. When I was a child, I was plagued by a lot of fears – most of them unnamed and foolish – but there nevertheless. God eventually got control of my life enough to deliver me from all fear, but in early years I often had serious trouble sleeping peacefully. Many nights I woke up sick, but I believe most of it was the result of fear. The cause didn’t matter, however. What mattered was that when I awoke and called for my parents, it was often my dad who immediately heard my cry and came to my side. Certainly my mom was equally loving and attentive, but for some reason my call usually woke my dad first. I have lost count of all the nights he patiently and lovingly gave up sleep to comfort and pray for me.
Once, even as a young adult still living at home, I became ill one night with alarming symptoms. I didn’t call for my parents, but my dad woke and heard me stirring around in the wee hours. He came to check on me and found me sitting in the living room, in the throes of, not only the symptoms themselves, but also the disabling fear brought on by those symptoms. He immediately suggested I make a bed on the living room sofa, gave me two aspirin, sat down in a big chair opposite the sofa, and started talking to me from God’s Word. He spoke God’s truth to me until he had talked me back into faith. He then continued to sit in that chair and promised me that he would sit there and pray until I was back to normal.
Within minutes I was sound asleep. I woke once some time later to see him still sitting in that chair praying. After that night I was totally delivered from that physical problem. But more importantly, my dad’s concrete example made me even more convinced that when my Heavenly Father said He’d be there for me, He’d really be there. I’ve never doubted it once since that night.
The Word also promises us that our Heavenly Father knows our needs and will provide for us liberally. My dad has worked hard ever since I’ve known him. He’s worked hard at earning money, at providing a peaceful and safe environment for our family, at serving the Kingdom of God, and at helping those less fortunate than himself. When growing up, I was aware that we were less than financially prosperous by the world’s standards, but we never felt that we wanted for any necessities. And, somehow, my parents’ efforts and sacrifices managed to provide a few extras as well.
One particular experience of provision during my early college years stands out. I was commuting to school at the time so still living under my dad’s roof. I got up one morning and walked into the kitchen, straight to the bread box, intent on making toast. The box was empty. Now, my dad generally left for work a little before the rest of us woke, and we had only one car at the time, so grocery shopping usually had to wait until he was home. When I saw the bread box empty, I thought, “Oh no! Now what can we do?” I wasn’t anxious to begin my day with a very long walk in the heat to the nearest store. Then suddenly, in the very next second, I thought, “Wait a minute! I knowmy dad. He would nothave gone off with the car for the whole day and left all of us with no bread! I knowhe had to get us bread!” With that thought I began looking around, and turning to the other end of the kitchen, I saw a brand new loaf of bread in the middle of the table. Dad had been to the store to buy the loaf before he left for work.
That event may seem minor to many people, but at that point, God Himself spoke to my heart and said, “You see: In exactly the same way that you absolutely know without a doubt that your dad would not fail to provide even something as minor as bread, you can also know without a doubt that I will never fail to provide everything you need.” I have thought of this incident many times throughout my life. It has quickened my faith each time. And I have to wonder what my life would have been like if I had not had a dad I could trust so implicitly as my example.
Needless to say, I consider my dad worthy of being named “Father of the Year.” He will always be mywinner. And whether he is ever awarded any earthly honors or not, there is an enormous reward awaiting him in Heaven for having exemplified so accurately that Holy Father to whom all creation will eventually bow its knee.
“Hey, Gramps.” Sighing heavily, Ronnie lowered himself onto the flat monument beside his Grandfather’s. Warm sun soaked him, highlighting the beloved name engraved in the stone he focused on.
Quiet …
“Well … I just got out again. Two years this time.” Tears brimmed. “I’m sure sorry, Sir … for messin’ up my life.”
A twig snapped, broke the silence. Ron looked right – chuckled. “I see your neighbor still keeps your goats. That’s good. They can come visit.”
Ten minutes passed. “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about what you always told me: A real man does what’s right no matter what.” Tears flowed now.
Reaching to lay his hand on the engraved letters, Ronnie finally choked out words again. “I promise, Gramps. Starting day … I’ll be a real man.”
~~~
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields. Visit her site to get all the details and join in the fun.
All my life I wanted a merry-go-round. Little more than a big wheel tipped sideways and mounted high enough off the ground to turn freely when pushed. I often passed playgrounds and looked longingly at other children riding – squealing with delight – each taking a turn at pushing.
But Mom never let me ride. And I swore that, when I grew up, I’d build myself a great big merry-go-round of my very own. But, alas, I’ve lived in apartments.
Well, last month, I bought an apartment building. And my first “improvement” project was constructing my dream ride. No yard to work with, I went right to the top.
It’s almost finished! Yay Me!
~~~
Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all the scoop on how to take part in this 100-word story challenge.
I originally wrote this post a couple of years ago for my “Happy Patriot” blog, but today I am impressed to share it on my other sites. It just says something that I think needs to be said again and again.
As Mitzi sat on the bus, she enjoyed the rhythmic movement – and she enjoyed the respite from the heat she’d been walking in for the past hour. She leaned just slightly against Pete’s leg, both for the comfort of knowing he was there and the reassurance that he was all right. He was her responsibility, after all, and she never forgot that for one moment.
Her nostrils flared slightly as she gradually identified and responded to all the various scents that wafted through the air of the full vehicle. There was the expected scent of human sweat, and that was a natural part of Mitzi’s life, so even though one or two of the passengers had probably failed to bathe that day, Mitzi’s sense of smell was not insulted by it.
Of course, there was the unmistakable scent of cigarettes that clung to the clothing and hair of half the people on the bus – a scent that just couldn’t seem to be erased or camouflaged effectively by any order eliminators. Of course, some people tried to cover that smell with perfume, and naturally, there were several different flavors of perfume and cologne surrounding Mitzi. She couldn’t have told anyone which flowers, which wood essences, or which spices had been used, but she most certainly recognized the scents as natural and non-threatening.
And then there were all the delicious scents that emanated from the grocery bags and baskets carried by some of the passengers. Many days Mitzi found this trip on the bus thoroughly enjoyable because she could sit and sniff the tantalizing aromas of pork, or fish, or – her favorite – salami from the Italian market at the end of Jasper Street. Her nose was hard at work now, sorting through all the variety of groceries, trying to determine exactly who it was who had that salami. There! The lady in the green coat sitting just three rows up from Mitzi and Pete. Delicious! Mitzi was hungry.
But right after identifying the owner of the salami, Mitzi turned her head to the side just slightly and sniffed harder. There was something else in the air. Something new. Something unusual for the interior of this bus. Something … not right. She wriggled in place a time or two, turned her head the other direction, but then brought it right back to where she’d been focusing. Some sixth sense stirred a warning so deep inside that it put every sense on high alert. Even the hair in her coat bristled. She whimpered and moved again, restlessly. Pete reached a hand over and patted her head, then scratched her ear slightly. “You getting’ restless, old girl?” he asked tenderly.
The young man sitting in the seat that faced Pete spoke now. “That’s a beautiful dog you have there, Sir. A guide dog, if I’m not mistaken?”
Pete turned unseeing eyes toward the young man, his hand still resting on Mitzi’s head. “Yes. Yes, she is … and the best in the world. Been with me for 10 years now.” He chuckled and ruffed Mitzi’s fur affectionately. “We’re both getting pretty old, but we keep sojourning on together.”
“She seems very affectionate,” the young man replied. “I noticed how she leans against your leg constantly.”
“Yes, that’s her habit. Feels responsible for me, I think.” He turned his head as if to look down at Mitzi, who had glanced up at him. “Good girl, Mitzi,” he said. His voice had grown gravely with age, but there was still a tone of kindness that over-road everything else when he spoke. His eyes didn’t see the look in Mitzi’s. It was a look of concentration — wariness. She was puzzled by what she smelled – by some strange entity that every nerve in her body was responding to – and she wanted her master to know. Aware, by training, that he would not see her face, she understood that she would need to convey her concern by movements and sounds. So she wriggled agitatedly and leaned harder on his leg, still sniffing the air, her head turning several directions, trying to get a reading on exactly what and where the problem came from.
All of her senses eventually focused on a passenger across the aisle and two rows up from Pete. He was reading a newspaper, his black briefcase on the floor, held snugly between his feet. Her eyes focused and a low growl sounded in her throat.
Pete was concerned. Mitzi never behaved in such a manner on this bus. She was used to riding it, and she never had negative responses to people. But she whimpered now, pressing Pete’s leg even harder. He leaned down, wrapping one arm around the dog’s neck. “What is it, Mitzi? What’s wrong, girl?”
Mitzi whimpered again, then whined openly. “Shhhh,” Pete whispered. “Quiet, girl. We’ll be home soon.”
There were two more stops before the corner where Pete and Mitzi got off the bus. That meant at least 20 more minutes, and Pete was a little worried that some of the other passengers might become frightened if Mitzi continued growling – even though it was low.
But Mitzi growled again, and then immediately emitted a sharp bark.
“Mister, you’d better keep a tight hold on that dog of yours! She sounds mean to me!” said an overweight guy sitting behind Pete.
Pete turned in his seat to address the man face-to-face, even though he couldn’t see him. “Oh, Mitzi would never hurt you, sir. She’s as gentle as a lamb.” Just then, though, Mitzi’s growl and tug at her leash indicated things could be otherwise.
“Hey, shut that mutt up!” another man yelled from several rows up.
“Hey, Pete,” the driver called back. “What’s going on back there? Your dog never gave us any trouble before.”
“I know, Randal. I don’t understand it myself.” At that moment, Mitzi barked sharply again and pulled on her leash so hard that Pete only barely held her in check. By this time, she was up on her feet and pulling on the leash, whining, and giving Pete every signal she could give to say he needed to follow her lead. She looked toward the man holding the briefcase between his feet. Her eyes were focused on the briefcase, though none of the passengers realized that fact. They believed she was looking at the man.
“Sir, you need to get that dog off this bus,” came from a middle-aged woman. She didn’t want to insult a blind man, but she was starting to become frightened herself. Pete stood to his feet to try to handle Mitzi better.
At that moment, the bus slowed to make it’s next stop – still two stops away from Pete’s corner. But by this time, Mitzi was almost beside herself and pulling on her leash with all her strength, whimpering now, more than growling. It was as if she’d traded her natural instinct to attack the “enemy” for her well-trained instinct to protect her master.
Once the bus was stopped, the driver stood and called back to Pete. “I’m sorry, Pete, but I think you’re going to have to get Mitzi off of here now.”
Pete nodded. “Yes … yes, you’re right Randal. He turned his head in an effort to address the other passengers, just hoping they could see his face enough to recognize his sincerity. “I’m sorry, folks. Mitzi’s such a good dog —” Before he could finish his sentence, Mitzi had emitted another sharp bark and jerked the leash so hard that Pete nearly lost his hold completely. “All right, girl. I’m coming!” he said and began to move up the aisle behind his dog.
The driver took the time to help Pete down the steps. He knew the old man could get down just fine under normal circumstances, but for some reason, today was anything but normal. “I’m sorry, Pete,” he said again. “You take it easy walking from here.”
Pete reached out toward the voice to touch Randal’s arm. He made contact and patted the arm. “It’s all right, Randal. I’ll figure out what’s wrong, and we’ll be back to ride tomorrow with no problems I’m sure.”
The door slid closed; Randal changed gear, and the bus moved on down the road. Pete knelt down to talk to Mitzi. How strange, he thought. The dog was completely calm now. No more growls, no more whimpers. She wagged her tail and licked his cheek. Sorely puzzled, he rubbed her back and spoke reassuringly. “Good girl, Mitzi. You’re a good, good girl.”
As he knelt there beside her on the sidewalk, the bus moved on to the end of the block, and then on to the end of the next block, where it exploded and burst into flames.
~~~
If you’d like to take part in this writing challenge, visit Bumba’s blog here and get the details.
As Cody sat on the cracked seat at the back of the bus, jostled by the jerky movement of the nearly worn-out vehicle, he couldn’t get her off his mind. He kept seeing her smile, hearing her throaty laugh at his flimsy excuse for jokes. He could still feel the softness of her fragrant hair and feel the warmth of her in his arms.
But mostly he could see the hurt in her eyes – the confusion and – yes – he was sure it had been fear. He shook his head now at those memories. He shouldn’t have taken off like that. He shouldn’t have given up so easily – shouldn’t have left her in the clutches of that family of vipers!
He’d known what their attitude would be towards him. He’d grown up in the gypsy caravans – no confirmed lineage as far as a father was concerned – and the best he’d been able to do for work was traveling tool salesman for the local company. He knew as well as her relatives that he didn’t deserve someone like her. Of course he didn’t. But then who did deserve someone as wonderful as Tess?
Besides, deserving didn’t have anything to do with it. It was love that mattered, and there wasn’t another man alive who could love Tess Montague better than he did!
But she had to make the choice. He couldn’t choose for her. And she had lived almost 30 years doing exactly what Mom and Daddy – and Granddad – told her to do. They held the purse strings, but that wasn’t what put the pressure on Tess. He knew that. No – it was the emotional stranglehold they had on her. That guilt trip they always laid on her any time she wanted to be independent in any way at all. He shook his head again. He knew she wasn’t strong enough to get free from them by herself. Why had he given up?
Well, for one thing, she had held back when he asked her point blank if she loved him. He’d confessed his love for her repeatedly for weeks, but she’d never say it back to him. She looked at him with love in her eyes. And goodness knows, the woman kissed him like she couldn’t get enough of him! But she wouldn’t say the words. And it would take words to make her his wife. It would take words to tell that lordly Brewster Harrison, Jr. that she wasn’t going to have him as her husband, regardless of Granddad’s threat to disinherit her if she didn’t marry Brewster.
But if he had stayed a little longer …. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would have made any difference.
He shifted his position sideways and stretched out his legs since the other half of the seat was empty. He sighed and leaned back thinking that his staying wouldn’t have helped. Tess just didn’t have the strength to choose him over all the rest. As the last thought weighed him down in spirit, he glanced to his left to look outside the rear window of the bus.
What the …! What was he seeing? He blinked … rubbed his eyes … strained to look again.
Was it …? Could it be possible …? Running after this bus for all she was worth …?
By golly … the woman did have the guts to do it!
He jumped up and stalked down the narrow aisle of the bus to the drivers seat. “Hey, buddy, I gotta get off!” The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror to get a look at him. “I gotta git off NOW!”
“I can’t make a stop out here in the middle of the road, mister!”
“You got to. The woman I love is runnin’ down the road after us, and I gotta go to her!” As he spoke the last words, he was already standing on the steps with his hand on the automatic door. “If you won’t stop, I’ll force these doors open and jump!”
The driver spared him a disgusted glance and saw more determination than he could fight against, so he put on his flashers and pulled over to the shoulder, shocking the other passengers into voicing their irritation. “You better get off quick, ’cause I can’t sit here!” he ordered.
Cody punched the air with a “thumbs-up” sign, and the second the door opened he and his suitcase were on the ground. A quick salute to the driver was all he managed before the bulky vehicle lumbered away, with all gears grinding and a thick cloud of exhaust fumes burning Cody’s nostrils.
But he didn’t really notice. Because as soon as the cloud of exhaust cleared enough for him to see through the haze, Tess was all that filled his mind. She had run until she had collapsed to her knees, and she obviously had no breath left to speak. But she was beautiful. And her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
~
If you enjoyed this story, you might like the companion story — Tess’ side of the story — which I wrote for the Friday Fictioneers challenge this week. Here’s the link to the story from Tess perspective: “Racing for a Second Chance”
Lungs burning, gulping breath, she could hardly see.
Keep running: her mantra.
The bus was gaining speed rapidly.
Keep running. Have to catch it! Have to stop him!
Best thing in whole life … How could I …?
But submission to her family’s pride was a life-long habit – nearly impossible to break.
Keep running!
You’re making a fool of yourself.
Keep running!
I AM a fool: I let him go!
Keep —
The bus suddenly screeched to a stop … pulled away again.
Too spent to chase it further, she dropped to her knees, squinting through the exhaust fumes.
He stood there, suitcase in hand.
She had no breath for words, but her eyes said it all.
~~~
I wrote this story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. But I also wrote the other side of the story — from the guy’s point of view — for the new writing challenge — AS I SAT ON THE BUS — over at Bumba’s blog.
The Written Word
The Happy Wordcrafter 
