A Blast from the Past...

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

Just a little story about my writing process...or not, lol.

Last week I had a chat with a friend who is a published author and a supporter of new writers.  Something came up in our conversation that hit a nerve and I suddenly remembered A Thing I had started writing back when my kids were small.

I gave her a quick -ish- synopsis of the story and she strongly encouraged me to pull it out and finish it.

She asked me how many words I'd written and.. I had no idea.  I was, however, pretty sure everything I've ever written was somewhere in my writing folder under my documents.  I'd been pretty careful to make sure to move stuff over.

So the next day, whilst My Sweet Babboo was on a camping trip, I sat down to the computer and pulled up the writing folder.

Nothing.

I poked around a while in some other folders.

Still nothing.

I ran searches on key words and...still nothing.

I looked on our backup drive. More nothing.

Somehow, that file didn't get transferred over to this computer.  It may not even have been on the previous one.

Rats.  Could I re-write it?  

As I was heading to bed that night, I suddenly remembered that there is a physical folder in the filing cabinet with some of my old writing in it.  Maybe...

The next day, I looked and, lo and behold, there it was.

Y'all.  That is CONTIUNOUS FEED paper from a DOT MATRIX printer.  I knew it was old, but I didn't know it was THAT old.  And the backup is apparently on that old floppy disc.  I'd written it on the very first computer we owned... a hand-me-down Apple IIc.  I suspect the files weren't compatible with the Windows machine we replaced it with.

Only about half of what I wrote is on the printout, but what is there is a hoot.

Nobody has a cell phone.  The protagonist checks her phone messages.  They rent a movie from Blockbuster.   She made coffee from those little single-serving tea-bag thingies (remember those?).

I am going to see if a local Old Computer Tech company can extract the files from the floppy disc...but, wow, there's a LOT of work that needs doing, lol. The basic plot is not affected by the time period but all those details...

Or maybe I'll just leave it set in the 90's and call it a creative choice, lol.  

But first to see if the files can be salvaged.

Found another one...

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

This popped up in my Facebook Memories today...from the now inacessible Facebook Notes files.  I did a quick search and it doesn't look like I have posted it to the blog before, so, hey, why not?

It's from a writing assignment in a small group I was in...TEN YEARS AGO.  We were told to write about the Prodigal Son from the Father's perspective, and this was what I came up with:

Dear Dad,

 Sorry to leave while you were out; Joshua and Adonijah came by and were in a hurry, so I left with them. I hope you understand.

 Thanks for giving me this chance!  Don’t think I don’t love you…I do…but I’ve got to get out from under all the expectations and restrictions here.  I’ll never find who I am if I don’t go out and find out what there is besides the farm and this little village.  There’s a whole world out there and I know there are bigger and better things for me than just being the little brother.  I’m going for the big city and the bright lights and where things are happening and people are doing important things.  I’m going to be SOMEBODY! 

 So don’t worry about me. I have plenty to get me established, and I’ve got all the plans made and laid out.  I’ll come back rich and famous someday…you’ll see.

 The guys are getting restless; I’d better go now.

 All my love,

 Eliam

 

 Day 1

So.  Today my son has left me.  He has taken my present and his future and gone out where I cannot follow, cannot guide, cannot help.  He thinks it is wisdom.  I pray he survives.  Adonai, watch over him and bring him back.   Spare him hunger and humiliation,if he will be spared.  If he will not, guard him through it and do not let it fail to teach him what he must know.  Remind him often that I love him.  Amen.

 

Day 8

It has been a week now. His brother says little but is very short tempered with the animals and the servants. Surely he misses his younger brother  terribly. I cannot talk of Eliam just yet; the wound is too fresh, the grief is too deep.  One of the neighbors said that he heard Eliam had been seen heading toward the part of town with the inns where women and wine are cheap and available. I hope and pray that was a case of mistaken identity, that Eliam would look for a respectable place to stay and not wander over to the seedy side of town.

 I have moved my chair to the gate of the house;  if Eliam comes home, I will see him.  No...when Eliam comes home, I will see him…

 

Day 31

One month.  I thought by now I would have begun to get used to the routine, but I find my thoughts constantly going to Eliam…is he safe? Has he secured his money so it cannot be stolen or swindled away?  He was not very savvy about such things; I worry that he will take up with people who will take advantage of his good heart and generous spirit. 

His brother has picked up the slack and made a good plan for distributing the work amongst the servants. But he still seems to me to be a smoldering coal; he is angry often and has been increasingly hard to please.  I shall have to speak to him about treating the servants with respect.  Whatever it is that is upsetting him, it is not their fault.

 

Day 61

 Still no word from Eliam after two months.  Aside from the occasional rumor that he is living it up with friends and a girlfriend, I know nothing at all of what is going on in his life.  I am assuming he is still in the city, although I don’t know that for sure.  The last word I had was that he was staying with some musicians, although that was through two or three connections and may not have been true.  I wish he’d write.  He could write.  Why doesn’t he write?

 I spend the mornings and evenings in my chair at the gate.  It is pleasant to speak to the neighbors as they pass by, although they all are too deliberate about not asking about Eliam.  If he had died, they would have sat shiva with me and mourned him, but a son who abandons his family is worse than dead…ah, my son, did you really know what you were doing to your family?  Did you care?  Adonai, cure him of his selfishness and self centeredness, purify his heart so that this pain will not be wasted.  I can do nothing for him now…he is in your hands.  Deal with him as he must be dealt with, but remember mercy and bring him home. Amen.

 

Day 182

 Half a year has passed since my son walked out into the world and left me desolate.  His brother has worked diligently; the last of the harvest has been stored and we are well ready for a bit of a rest.  It has been a good harvest and we have all we need.  If only Eliam were here to celebrate the harvest with us.  The rumors have completely stopped now; I hear nothing of him from those who travel to the city.  The musicians he supposedly befriended have moved on; he was not with them in the next town to which they were reputed to have gone.  I don’t know where he has gone

 I try not to think about this possibility, but I do not know if he is living or dead.

 It is chilly now, sitting in the chair by the gate, and the days move by slowly.  I am feeling my age.  I remember how Eliam would sit with me and wait for his older brother to return from his studies with the rabbi; even then he talked of things he wanted to do when he grew up.  Lord, Adonai, where is he?  Does he think of us here at all?  Bring him home….

 

 Day 240

 It is cold this winter; we have not had such a cold winter in years.  I wonder where Eliam is, and if he is warm and fed, if he is happy, if he successful, if he ever thinks of his family on the farm.  I wrap up well to sit by the gate, the dark sky and raw wind reflect my heart and emotions.  I realize I may never hear from Eliam; he could have gone far away by now. He could be dead, and we will never know.  With no word at all of even a rumor of his whereabouts, I fear it is one or the other…either he has traveled very, very far away or he has fallen to thieves or illness.  Adonai, as you love me, do not let me go to my grave without news of my son.

 I am very glad for his brother; I don’t think we could have handled the cold if he had not worked to pull in the straw for insulation; he has seen to the animals and we have lost very few to the weather.  He has been where I could not be, and in every case has made the right choice. Still, he speaks little, although he has improved his rough ways with the servants, he is still curt and unhappy. Perhaps he worries about Eliam as well.

  

Day 307 – the last day!

 I must write this quickly, as there is much to do.  Just before I left my chair this morning, I saw someone coming down the road.  As I waited, my heart lurched…surely, surely that walk was familiar.   I began to walk towards him, hoping against hope that my instinct was correct, that this was my boy returning again.  The closer I got, the more sure I became, and the faster I walked.  That was his walk,even though he limped.  That was his tousled head, even though his hair was matted and unkempt.  His head was down, looking at the ground as he trudged down the road. 

 At the moment I knew, I began to run.  He heard my steps and looked up; his eyes grew wide and he dropped to his knees. He was gaunt, haggard and dirty, and his voice cracked and wavered as he spoke.

 

‘Dad!’ he choked, ‘I’m not worthy to be your son.  I’ve made a mess of it.  I’ve lost everything.  If you’ll just hire me as one of your servants, I’ll be the best servant you’ve ever had. I’ll earn my keep.  Just let me stay here. Please…’ Tears were streaming down his face as he glanced up, fear and despair plain to see in his eyes.

 Tears were streaming down my face as I pulled him to his feet and embraced his bony frame. ‘You’re home!  You’re home!’ was all I could manage to say, over and over.

 I half held him up as we walked the last bit to the house together.  By the time we got to the gate, I had my voice back.  I called for the servants to take him and let him get cleaned up and dressed as a son of the house should be dressed,  then I called for others to kill the celebration calf and make a feast.

 His older brother is plowing with the oxen in the far field…he will be so surprised when he comes in for supper!  Oh, we shall have a party tonight!

 He’s home!  My son is home!  The winter is over and the spring has come!

Reunion

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

 Hip surgery went well and I'm anticipating putting on my own socks again in the near future!   Meantime, here's something else from the  'Imagination file'... 

Never had such a drought hit.  Not in all the years Jacob could recall.  It was unrelenting.  The crops shriveled, the sheep starved.  Passing travelers brought word that there was grain to be bought in Egypt.  Jacob looked at the starving flocks and his paltry reserves and sent Judah, along with the rest of his brothers, save Benjamin, to make the journey to Egypt to buy some grain to hopefully tide them over until the rains came again.

They made the journey safely and found themselves lined up with Egyptians and other Canaanites who had come to the capital to purchase grain.   However, their alien appearance made them conspicuous, and they, along with others who were clearly not Egyptian, were pulled out of line and taken to one of the Egyptian officials.  Each group of foreigners was presented to the official, who interviewed them before allowing them to purchase grain.  When it was their turn, they bowed to the ground in front of the official, who frowned at them and spoke through an interpreter.  'Where do you come from?'  

They all spoke up at once, 'From Canaan, to buy food.'

The official’s khol-lined eyes narrowed as he regarded them, clearly unhappy with their answer.  He shook his head and spoke to the interpreter, his eyes never leaving them.  The interpreter replied, 'You are spies!  You have come to see that the famine is here, too!'

The brothers bowed again, protesting that their intention was simply to buy food, that they were not spies, that they were honest men, and Reuben added, 'We are all brothers, sons of one man.'  

The interpreter spoke to the official, translating and pointing as best he could to indicate who had said what.  The official's face never changed; clearly, he did not believe them. He spoke to the interpreter, who asked them, ‘And is this one man still living?’

“Yes!”  They answered almost in unison, and the official closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  Did he not believe them?

Another question was relayed, ‘And you are all the sons this one man has?’

This threw the brothers into a bit of a stumble.  They looked awkwardly at each other, and Rueben finally answered, ‘We have a younger brother who stayed behind with our father.’

This answer seemed to displease the official, who scowled when it was repeated to him.  At last he spoke again to the interpreter, who relayed, 'No!  My master states that you are here to see how bad the famine is, to report that Egypt is weak!'

Again, the brothers protested, and this time Judah shushed them and replied for them, 'No!  We are your servants, and we are ten of twelve brothers.  Our father is in Canaan with our youngest brother, and one brother is no more.  This is the truth.'

The interpreter relayed this message, but the official was unconvinced. He looked them all over again, then spoke to the interpreter, who relayed the message, 'My master is certain you are spies.  He says that you shall be tested and declares by the life of Pharaoh that you will not leave this place unless your youngest brother comes to verify your claims.  You are to decide which of you will leave and return to Canaan to fetch that brother and bring him back while the rest stay here confined until your story is proven.  If you cannot do this, you are surely spies.'  

And, before any of them could react to this incredible statement, the Egyptian official spoke to the soldiers standing about and they were all taken to a house and locked in together, with a guard. For three days they were left there, although they were fed well and otherwise taken care of, clearly under suspicion.  They argued amongst themselves as to who would be the one to return to Jacob with the news that they were captive, and to try to persuade him to allow Benjamin to return and ransom his brothers.  None of them wanted that task, and they went around and around trying to come up with ways to convince the Egyptians that they were really who they said without having to grieve their father again.  And that brought up the old wound; how had they been so callous before?  Finally, they began to pray to El Shaddai to intervene and release them by His power.

On the third day, they were escorted back to the official, who had apparently had a change of heart.  But only a slight change of heart, as the interpreter related how much the man had relented...and how much he had not. 'Do this, ' he relayed, 'and you will live, for I fear God.  I will allow you to take grain back to your household, due to the famine, but one of you must stay here.  If you are honest men, return with your youngest brother, and your story will be proven.'

At first, relief washed over them that they would be allowed to take grain back home, but then the full impact hit them.  They turned to each other and began to discuss how to respond to this latest development...and suddenly they all concluded that this was because of the secret they had kept for so many years:

'This is because of what we did…our guilt has come back on us! "

"We knew our brother was distressed and we did nothing!"

"He begged us to let him return to our father and we didn't listen"

Reuben, in exasperation, finally got their attention.  ‘I told you not to sin against the boy!  But you didn't listen!'  His eyes rested on Judah, who said nothing. ‘So now there comes a reckoning for his blood.’

 None of them noticed that the Egyptian official suddenly turned and left them as they continued to lament their circumstances.  How could they leave one of their brothers behind?  How could they possibly take Benjamin away from Jacob?  What were they going to tell the Egyptian?  The argument and despair continued until the interpreter interrupted them; the Egyptian had stepped down from the platform and was standing next to them.  Odd how red his eyes were...that eyeliner must irritate them somehow.  He made the decision for them; he had Simeon taken and bound.  Simeon would stay behind, he told them through the interpreter, as guarantee that they would return with their younger brother.  But they were free to collect their grain and return home.  The sacks of grain were already set aside for them, as was a generous bag of provender for the trip.

Thus, they returned to Jacob with grain but without Simeon.  And, as it turned out, they had also returned with all the money that they had given to the Egyptians for the grain. Nobody had any idea how the money got into their grain sacks.

Free grain.  But...what had happened?  Were they now to be considered thieves as well as spies?

Jacob was distraught...Joseph was dead, Simeon was gone, and now it seemed he would lose Benjamin...his only living son from his beloved Rachel...as well.  He refused to let them return with Benjamin, despite Reuben's offer of his two sons as hostage.  

But the sky remained brassy and rainless.  Even with strict rationing, they consumed the grain they’d hauled home; there was still no relief in the drought and they were once again in dire straits.  Jacob called them in and told them to go get more.

Judah sighed. 'We can't.  That Egyptian fellow sternly warned us that we would not get any more unless we brought Benjamin back with us.  Now, if you'd let Benjamin go, we can take him and prove ourselves to be innocent and get more food.  But if you still won't let him go, then it's pointless...he won't even talk to us and we won't get anything.'

Israel wrung his hands.  'How could you have been so careless as to tell him about Benjamin!  Why didn't you just keep your mouths shut?'

At this, the brothers all protested, speaking at once.

'We didn't have any choice!

'He actually asked us if our father was still living'

'Yeah, and he wanted to know if we had any more brothers!'

'How were we supposed to know that he was going to ask us to bring Benjamin back?'

'We had to answer his questions!'

Judah, exasperated, finally said, 'Look.  Send Benjamin with me.  I'll take care of him myself.  It's the only way to keep us all from starving...you, us, all our children... I'll pledge his safety; if anything happens to him...anything at all...I'll bear the blame and guilt.'  He looked around at them all. 'This arguing is ridiculous.  We could've gone and come back twice now already.'

Israel closed his eyes for a long time, then spoke in a tired voice. 'You're right.  It's the only way.  But...do this...take some of our best produce with you...balm, honey, gum, myrrh, and some pistachios and almonds, as a gift.  And take twice the money with you, so that you can repay what was in the bags.  Maybe someone made a mistake.'  He paused, then continued with a tremor in his voice. 'Take your brother and go.  May God Almighty grant you mercy from the Egyptian, so that he sends all of you back to me.  But if he doesn't...then...he doesn't.  If that's what God wants, I cannot change it.'

They loaded up the donkeys and, within a matter of days, were once again standing in front of the Egyptian official, who looked them over, spoke to his servant, and left.

The servant indicated that the brothers were to follow him, and they were led to a fine house and taken inside. They assumed it was a palace and a place of judgment, and were worried that they were about to be condemned as thieves and all their goods confiscated.  They found the servant who had brought them there, standing in the door.  They tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t understand them and finally sent for the interpreter.  As soon as he arrived, they began to explain urgently that they had no idea how their money had gotten back in their grain sacks but that they were returning it.   Once the servant grasped what they were so concerned about he waved his hands dismissively, and the interpreter passed his words along, 'Oh, don't worry about that!  If you had money in your bags, it had to have been a gift from your God; I have on record that you paid for that grain and you don't owe anything.'  The servant then beckoned to someone outside the door and stepped back to allow Simeon, who looked to be in fine health, to join his brothers.  The servant then spoke through the interpreter, 'My lord Zaphenath-paneah will come to dine here with you shortly; I will send water so that you may wash and I will also see that your donkeys have been fed and watered.'  Then he left.

When the Egyptian official arrived, they presented the gift their father had sent, and answered the questions he asked through the interpreter.  Yes, their father was still living.  Yes, he was well, for an old man.  Yes, that was Benjamin, the youngest brother.

Suddenly, the Egyptian turned and hurried from the room.  He was obviously a very busy and important man.  Eventually, he returned, looking strained and preoccupied.  He sat at his seat at the head table, separate from the table of the Israelites, and spoke to the servants, who began to serve the food.  The men were instructed to take their places at their table, with Reuben and Benjamin at the head. All the brothers, including Judah, could not help but notice the special treatment Benjamin received.   One platter was put at each brother's place...and five platters at Benjamin's.  One servant was designated to make sure Benjamin's water and wine glasses were full and his plates fresh; three servants all shared the responsibilities for the rest of the brothers.  Benjamin looked uncomfortable, but was gracious to his hosting servant.  The wine was good.  The wine was very good.  The cups never went dry, and the brothers did not even notice when the Egyptian official left the dining hall. All seemed well.  The suspicions had apparently been put to rest, and the brothers were given a place to sleep before leaving in the morning.  They groggily headed off to the designated place, and somewhat less cheerfully rose up in the morning, loaded the donkeys with a fresh supply of grain and headed down the road, squinting against headaches.

They were not far down the road when they were overtaken by the official's chief servant and a contingency of soldiers.  The displeasure of the servant was plain to be seen.  Words were spoken, accusations made and...the Egyptian official's special cup was found in Benjamin's sack.  No!  How could that happen!  Not Benjamin!  The brothers tore their robes in grief and distress, loaded the goods back onto the donkeys and followed the servant and the soldiers, who had taken custody of Benjamin, back to the official's house, where they threw themselves at the feet of the official. 

 The Egyptian scowled at them, and said, through the interpreter, 'What have you done?  Didn't you know I have the ability to find things like this out?'

Judah, having been the guarantee for Benjamin's return, rocked back on his knees and looked up at him. 'What shall we say to you, my lord?  We ...we can't clear ourselves of this; God has revealed the guilt of all of us, and we are all your servants.'

The official listened to the interpreter, then raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  The interpreter relayed his response, 'Oh, no, far be it from me that I should consider you all guilty!  Only the one who took the cup is responsible. He will stay and be my slave, but the rest of you may go home with your grain to your father.'

Judah's heart sank.  He knew there was absolutely no way he could return home without Benjamin.  He slowly stood, and, with his hands palms up in supplication, stepped towards the Egyptian.  'My lord, may I please speak a word in your ear?'  The interpreter quickly relayed the request and the Egyptian nodded.  Judah, the Egyptian and the interpreter all walked to the corner of the room.  Judah spoke lowly and slowly, for the interpreter.  He related the difficulty they had in persuading their father to allow Benjamin to come, mentioning that Benjamin's only full-blood brother had surely been torn to pieces.  So intent was he in carefully framing his story he did not notice that the official’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at that point.  He finished quoting his father, "...if you take this one, and harm happens to him, you will bring down my gray hairs in evil to the grave." Judah paused, then looked at the official. 'Do you see?  If I return to my father without Benjamin, he will surely die...he's that attached to the lad.  We'll be responsible for his death.  Look, I myself guaranteed Benjamin’s safety.  Please, let me stay here and serve you.  I'll be your slave all my life, just let the lad return with the others.  How could I face my father without him?  I do not want to see him die of grief.'

The Egyptian cut the interpreter off mid-sentence as soon as Judah finished speaking.  He was breathing hard, and he looked around at his people and barked a command.  To the surprise of all the brothers, every Egyptian in the room left, including the interpreter, closing the door on them.  Suddenly, the Egyptian gripped Judah’s shoulder and began to weep, a deep, gut-wrenching wail.  The other brothers stood slowly, puzzled.  He struggled, gasping, to collect himself enough to talk. Finally, he found his voice and spoke...in Hebrew.  'I...am...Joseph!'  He gasped, to their shocked amazement.  'Tell me...is my father really still alive?'  

They stood there, speechless, as he released Judah and pulled the braided wig from his head, standing before them with the khol that had framed his eyes now streaking his face.  He wiped his face, smearing it even more, took a deep breath and continued in a more controlled voice.  'I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into slavery.'  He slowly went to each of his brothers, as their perception of him changed and they saw the familiar lines of his face emerge from the façade of the Egyptian official. He clapped the shoulders of each one as he spoke, still hiccupy from the sobbing.  'Don't be distressed any more about me, and don't be angry at yourselves for what you did.  God sent me here ahead of you to save lives.  This famine, that has been so horrible for two years, isn't even half over yet.  We have five more years of this to endure, with no plowing and no harvest. It really was God who sent me so that you could all be saved.  God has made me Pharaoh's chief adviser and He has put me in this house and given me authority over all of Egypt.

'Now, you've got to hurry back home and report all of this to my father.  Tell him to come here; I will see to it that you will have all you need, and that you will not be impoverished by the famine.'  He had come to Benjamin, and his voice wavered as he looked round at them all, 'You all have seen...and my brother, Benjamin, has seen...that it really is me.  Tell my father all of this, and bring him here.'  His emotions overcame him once more, and he embraced Benjamin and they wept long on each other's neck, then he went round the group again, embracing and weeping with each of them....and each of them began to laugh, imagining the joy of their father to learn that Joseph was alive.

The servants outside pretended to hear nothing.

It seemed like a good idea....

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi 

My social media memories have been reminiding me that it was five years ago that I returned from Israel.  We saw shepherds with flocks not too far from this spot...you can just barely see the sheen of green that the sheep were grazing upon.  This put me in mind of a bit of frivolity I wrote back when I was doing the Genesis study (see sidebar for the All Things New series).  I really thought I had posted it, but some searching around on both blogs has turned up nothing, so here's a little filler as the clock runs down to the new hip on Thursday....

The day started out innocently enough.  There was laundry to be done; that was her task. Her sister, the shepherdess, took the sheep out, as usual, headed first to the well to water the flock.  Working over the pots of soaking linens, she’d missed her sister’s message that sent their father hurrying to the well, but the stir in the household had her on hand when her father brought back a dusty, gaunt traveler.  The newcomer had been weeping; the tear tracks were still streaked on his face.  Even her shortsighted eyes could see them. 

He was their cousin, he said.  The son of their father’s sister, who’d left a legend behind years ago when she’d journeyed to a far country to marry a man she’d never met.  Over the next few days, he related more of his story …having rather tricked his brother to giving him the heir’s birthright, he’d fled in fear of his life with pretty much just the clothes on his back when his father had given him the heir’s blessing as well.   His mother had sent him here, to stay until it was safe to go home.  His father had instructed him to find a bride while he was there.

She noticed that his eyes followed her younger sister as he related that part.

He came with the intention of making himself useful, it seemed.  He quickly gave himself the job of assisting with the herds, and almost immediately there was an increase in the number of successful births and healthy kids and lambs.  The animals seemed to grow stronger right before their eyes.

Her father noticed; indeed, everyone noticed.  Her cousin had the gift.  Barely a month went by before her father sat down with him, wanting to make sure that gift stayed in the family, to discuss wages. 

In a way, she was not surprised that the wages would be her younger sister as wife.  But she was appalled.  Her younger sister was betrothed…and she had not had so much as an offer.   How could her father allow it?  What would become of her?  Who would want to marry a girl who’d been passed over?

She complained to her father about it but he waved her off. ‘He’s got to work for me for seven years before they marry,’ he said, ‘There’s plenty of time.  You’ll be married by then.’

But her heart told her otherwise.  Unless another stranger showed up at the well looking for a bride, she had no hope of finding a husband.  Growing up squinting at the world, she had overheard countless conversations regarding how hopeless her cause would be.  The comparisons to her beautiful younger sister could not be avoided.  She knew everyone in the area.   None of them would come to her father to offer for her.  Not that that mattered…none of them appealed to her.  She didn’t dare admit to herself why.

She watched him with the flocks.  She watched him deal with the family, learning the servant’s strengths and weaknesses and applying new ideas…he treated the injured or ailing animals differently, apart from the rest, and he followed a different pattern of grazing than they had done before, moving the herds more frequently.  He threw himself into the work and thrived in it.  

Without being conscious of it, she began to plan her day around when he would be near the tents.  She managed to learn his favorite foods and prepared them again and again, hoping for a smile of appreciation her way.  Occasionally he would complement her on the meal, but he rarely noticed the fresh linens she made sure were waiting for him in his tent, or the full water skins for his use.  His eyes were only for her sister, the shepherdess, as they discussed the flocks and made plans.  She meant nothing more to him than any of the household servants.

She knew it was futile and would only lead to miserable disappointment…but her heart had not asked her permission before it set itself on him.  She spoke to no one of it, her small attempts to please him unseen by the entire household.  She cried herself to sleep more nights than not.

But just before the seven years were up, her father called her to him.

He’d had an idea.

They would spirit her sister away on the day of the wedding, and she could dress as her sister and veil herself well and marry him herself.  That would keep her from living as a spinster lady all her days.

Her mind reeled.  How could she do such a thing? 

‘He should have asked for you anyway,’ her father counseled. ‘Who is it that prepares his favorite foods?  Who is it that keeps his tent comfortable?  Who is it that anticipates his needs and meets them before he realizes he has them?  Oh, he just looks at your sister’s pretty face…once he sees your devotion for what it is, he’ll realize who the better wife will be.’

Her father had been watching.

‘Think it over,’ he said.  ‘I think it’s the best option for you.’

It was a despicable deception. 

But maybe it was what should’ve been arranged from the beginning.

Was her father admitting a mistake and trying to make it right?

Wouldn’t her husband hate the sight of her?

He’d never given her a chance.  All she needed was a chance. 

There would be no shortage of men seeking to marry her beautiful sister.  But this might be her only opportunity.

And it would not only mean she’d marry, but that she would marry the man who held her heart…even if he didn’t know it.    Surely, once she had the opportunity to make her heart known, he’d see what she’d been doing for him and his heart would soften towards her.

All the next day, she watched him.  She made his favorite meals, saw to it that his tent was clean and comfortable.

But he noticed nothing except her sister.   After supper, he asked her father in front of all of them, ‘The seven years are up this month!  It’s time for you to give me my wife as we agreed.’  Then he smiled at his betrothed, who blushed and dropped her eyes, ‘It’s time for us to enjoy loving one another.’

Her father raised his eyebrows and glanced at her, then looked at his future son-in-law. He rocked back on his cushions and slapped his knees, exclaiming, ‘Yes!  And it’s time for you to give me grandsons!  We’ll have a wedding feast in three days!’

The maids surrounded her sister with jubilation.  Off they all went to the bridal tent, to begin the process of anointing and perfuming and dressing the bride.  Her mouth went dry as she realized this was it…if she were going to agree to her father’s plan, she had to do it now.

Tonight.

The servants all assumed the master was speaking at such length to his older daughter that night to make sure all arrangements were made for the feast.   It was a shame that she would never marry, but, then, she was a squint-eyed thing who just didn’t hold a candle to her sister’s loveliness.  Maybe some old blind fellow who needed a cook and housekeeper would be happy with her someday…

A Little Exercise in Creativity...

 posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

We are having once-a-month ladies' leadership meetings to prepare for the 2023 Women's conference; we are going through the book It's Not Supposed to Be This Way by Lysa Terkeurst, and in chapter 5, Lysa writes about her mother taking her to painting events to do some therapeutic painting on a canvas.

Lysa protests that she is not a painter, but no matter to her mom.  They took the painting classes.

So tonight in our meeting, canvases and paint were distributed and...we painted.

I will honestly say that my best artistic medium is not visual arts, lol.  And we only had about 40 minutes to paint, after the devo.

That ain't much time...specially if you want to layer paint.  Can't wait for it to completely dry between layers.

Most of the ladies painted flowers or trees or butterflies or sea/landscapes.

I am not most ladies, lol.

I can point out about 20 different things in that which could have been done better.  But I felt like I expressed the thought I had and that, my friends, is what it's about.  Not perfection. As a non-painter, I am kinda surprised it turned out at all.

Eight years ago I wrote a song taken from Ezekiel 37...which periodically gets stuck in my head.  It's kinda been there for a bit now.  Probably why that painting came to be.

Oh- Oh- Oh

Can these dry bones live? Can these dry bones live?

It's such a dismal sight; bones all bleached and white

But the question comes to light...can they live?

Lord you know, Lord you know, Lord you know....

We prophesy to the dry bones, we prophesy to the dry bones, 

We prophesy, we prophesy - 'Live!  In Jesus' Name!

Live! In Jesus' Name!  Live! In Jesus' Name!'

Oh - Oh- Oh

Can these dead dreams breathe?  Can these dead dreams breathe?

The spark has long gone cold, they're all stale and old

We have not been told - can they breathe?

Lord you know, Lord you know, Lord you know...

We prophesy to the dead dreams, We prophesy to the dead dreams, 

We prophesy, we prophesy - 'Breathe! In Jesus' Name!

Breathe!  In Jesus' Name!  Breathe! In Jesus' Name!"

Oh - Oh- Oh

Can this mute hope sing?  Can this mute hope sing?

Its voice has long been gone, shutters closed and drawn,

Forgotten every song -- can it sing?

Lord you know, Lord you know, Lord, you know....

We prophesy to the mute hope, We prophesy to the mute hope

We prophesy, We prophesy - 'Sing!  In Jesus' Name!

Sing! In Jesus' Name!  Sing! In Jesus' Name!

Oh- Oh- Oh

We will live, we will breathe, we will hope in you, 

With your life, your breath, your song!

We will live we will breathe we will hope in you, 

With your life,  your breath, your song!

Oh- Oh-Oh

 

A Shifting Perspective...

Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

 In which she feels the sudden urge to wax poetic...

Sometimes, the visiting artist said, there's a mountain that your faith won't move.

Because God put it there to teach you to climb mountains.  It only takes a little faith to move the mountain...but it takes great faith to climb it.

Selah.

And I argued with God.

WHY do we have to climb mountains?  What is the purpose?

Why?

And he replied

You have to learn to climb the mountain

Because you can see things from the mountain top you won't be able to see anywhere else.

There where the air is pure and clean, your perspective will shift.

The view is worth it.

Trust me.

Pondering the Creative

posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

Late afternoon moon...not really pertinent to the subject, although  I could probably make some kind of roundabout connection if I had to.  Mostly  just to give Facebook a pic for the thumbnail, lol.  

With the trip to Israel...a trip designed for Creatives, at that, happening in a matter of days, I'm finding myself contemplating my creative activities.  If I am going on this fantastic trip to be creative...I should, well, be creating.

But, I'm sure the dearth of posts over here means it's probably no surprise to anyone that my creative is currently somewhere in the desert.  It's dry and not terribly productive.

So, my over-analytical self is trying to figure out what's going on.  Why am I  so dry?  What's going on here?

I've come up with a few theories...in no particular order....

1) I'm really not as creative as I'd like to think I am.  Of course, I don't want this to be the reason, but I have to face that it may be the truth.  On the scale of creative talent...I may be somewhere around a 5 or a 6, and there are plenty of 10's out there who are not getting the opportunity to put their talent to its fullest and best use; so why should I expect opportunities to fully engage my 5 or 6 level?  Maybe my creativity is meant for personal expression only...or, just enough to appreciate the real superior talent when I see it, so I can encourage the folks who really have the goods?

2) I am distracted by many things...using my creative time and energy for things that really aren't productive; hung up on pride and performance rather than the good thing.  Doing what gets affirmation rather than doing what would express those creative vibes. My job involves being very analytical and systems-minded; I get to do a LITTLE creative problem-solving, trying to think outside of the box, but mostly I'm about processes and procedures.  I've even been told I 'just don't understand the creative mindset'...which makes me think I have really subjugated my creative to the urgent and necessary. Folks don't expect me to be creative so...I'm not.

3) I'm afraid.  That number one might really be true...I'm just not that gifted.  And, as long as you don't venture out with creative things, no one will shoot down the dream.  Or maybe I'm afraid that the opposite is true...I really DO have a creative gifting, but to serve the gift I need to give up other things that I love and enjoy.  What if I needed to quit sewing in order to have time to write?  Sewing gets lots and lots of positive affirmation.  I sew for church...often heading up the sewing effort when there is something needed.  Would it be selfish to say, 'Oh, I really don't have time to do that anymore'...because I want to spend time writing something that, even if I were good at it, might not get past the computer?   Either way, it's a risk that I will get rejected, either because it's really not that good or because I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time and the people who have the yay or nay vote -- vote nay, just because it's not suitable for their plan.  And, in a nutshell...I'm afraid of rejection. Again.  It's a old sore wound. So...safer to just think about being creative, maybe?

4) There just isn't any demand on the anointing, so to speak.  Creative is like a hand pump...it's easier to be creative when the flow is already going.  If the pump loses its prime, it's hard to get it going again.  I put a demand on my own creative for a season, but then it hit a point where my demand wasn't enough...there needed to be an outlet for what I created.  And there wasn't.  So the pump quit pumping and it lost the prime.

I guess I'm really hoping the issue is number 4...that I just lost the ability to inspire myself to create for the sake of creating; even if number 1 is true, that level 5 - 6 creative needs some kind of expression.  So...hoping to re-prime the pump, so to speak, by being in the land of the Bible, with folks who definitely are in the 9 - 10 range of creative expression.   But other than that...I really have no personal agenda.  Just go and observe and absorb.

Death of a Swan

Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

Some days, there is a reaction to life that just erupts and must be given voice...

Let’s say, just for illustration, that I believe I am a swan.

Really. I am convinced a biological mistake happened and I have the soul of a swan. I was never meant to be human...I was meant to be beautiful and graceful.

I was meant to fly.

And, let’s say that I was able to find a doctor who, for a price, would surgically implant feathers into my arms and shoulders and back.

If you loved me, would you encourage me to be my true self, the swan? Would you help me raise funds so that I could afford the multiple surgeries to turn myself into a feathered being? Would you enable my starvation diet, so that I could become as thin and light as air? Would you defend me against the bullies around who told me I was never a swan, would never be a swan and would never fly?

Would you listen to my dreams of flying, of soaring, of being free of gravity? 

Would you stand ready with the video camera on the fateful day when the surgeries are complete and I spread my altered arms and leap into the sky from the rim of Little River Canyon, believing I will soar and swoop, just as a swan would?

At my funeral, would you speak movingly of my bravery to be true to myself? 

If you loved me?

And, hey, maybe your kid is a swan. I mean, she has dreams of flying, too, right? How young will he be when the burning desire to soar in the sky seizes him? If they show any signs of believing they’re swans, you need to act on it right away. If you start them young, before they ever fight the battles I fought (may I rest in peace) to be a swan, maybe it will be easier for them. 

They could have the feathers implanted and become accustomed to them as they grow older. Medically stunt their growth, so they stay small and light and more likely to fly. 

Of course, society will have to change to deal with kids with feathers. Fashions will have to change...hey, maybe some designer will get the idea to make clothes with feathers, so ordinary kids, kids who never thought of being a swan, can be cool like the feathered kids.

Anyone who dares to mention that the kids’ bones are full of marrow, and not light and hollow, like a swan’s, or that their chest muscles were never shaped properly to move wings, or that the artificial feathers could never function like the feathers of a creature who has flight in the DNA of every cell of its body must be silenced and shamed for their hatred of these brave children who are going to fly someday.

And when the day comes when the children launch themselves into the elaborate illusion for which they have sacrificed their humanity...will you cradle their broken bodies, and tell them how proud you are of them, as the lie kills them?

If you really love them?

Turn Aside

Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

1st day of the corporate fast, which meant I got to spend my lunch  (at 3 PM!) in the sanctuary with my Bible and my journal.

It's been way too long since I last did that.

But what sprang out of my pen onto the page...after I noticed that the last journal entry was September 27...! ..was a surprise...

So dry so long...

Wandering off the path, away from the oasis, just trying to get from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible.  So focused on the tasks that I didn't even know I was hungry and thirsty...or starving and dehydrated.  A sip of water or a morsel of nourishment from odd places by the way, I could not seem to turn aside to the well and garden that I knew were just off to the right.   No time or, really, even desire to turn aside, I forged ahead...pushing through the brush.

Finally arriving at my destination, the point at which the tasks were completed, I found there was another point ahead calling with equal urgency. How could I, even now, pause enough to turn aside for refreshment, sustenance, encouragement and instruction?  Duty calls, people are waiting, the clock is ticking.   Plunging again into the thickets, I deny that the call to turn aside is even there, fixing my eyes on the new goal, when I will have enough time to shift my focus and find rest, healing and direction. 

But, no -- there is another deadline, another cause, another need to fill looming even as I fulfill the latest demand.

Suddenly, I see it.  It is a huge circle of overlapping demands.

If I don't find a way to stop, refresh and recharge, I will shrivel into dust as I flail around from one demand on to the next on to the next... 

It is time to take my eyes off of the goal, stop my  ears to its demands and seek the One who holds my days, knows my heart and can pour into me the refreshing that my soul craves and has been too long denied.

Show me YOUR ways, Lord, teach me YOUR paths, for YOU are my God, my Savior and my hope is in YOU all day long.  -- Ps 25:4-5, NIV 11 (emphasis mine)

My Part

Posted by Lisa Laree to Beer Lahai Roi

I wrote a bit on Good Friday last year that  I don't think  I could say any better this year:


Sacrifice is a common theme among world religions.

The Greeks and the Romans were perfectly familiar with the concept of a son of a deity walking around on earth; part of the reason Pilate freaked out when the Jews said Jesus claimed to be the Son of God.  Pilate, a Roman who no doubt worshiped Zeus and Mercury and the like, had no problems with the notion that the Son of God could be standing before him.  So the idea of God coming down to walk around with people isn't unique either.

But...God sacrificing Himself on behalf of the people He loves is unique.

All other religions require people to sacrifice to appease God.  Christianity states that God sacrificed himself so that sin could be removed and His relationship to people restored.

Good Friday is dark and grim and shocking ... Resurrection Sunday is the miraculous fulfillment, and together they are the difference that makes Christianity unique. 

Actually, Good Friday is the culmination of the Great Sacrifice; the first was Jesus leaving heaven, leaving glory, to come walk around on earth as a human, subject to all the same stuff, the same vulnerabilities as every other human. 

That He also endured Good Friday for us...not just the unspeakable physical suffering, but the emotional suffering of being rejected by the very nation He had come to redeem, abandoned by nearly all the people who were close to Him and under the judgment of God for transgressions He did not commit...(my rebellion and my selfishness) ...is further evidence of His amazing love for us.

Inspired by the BSF study of John, May 1996:

Transfer

I see You hanging on the cross,

I know Your death’s for me

I understand no one but You

Could pay the penalty

But, there seems to be so much

That You are called to bear,

I find myself reluctant

To add to that, my share.

Why can’t I drop this load of sin

Before You, at Your feet –

And leave it there upon the ground

And then, delivered, retreat?

But gravity will not remove

The stain that sin imparts.

Either You or I must bear this load

That weighs upon my heart.

So I must claim my part in

The suffering that You had

And deliberately choose to place my sin

Upon Your bleeding head.

“Oh, Lord, forgive me!” I must cry

As the burden I cast on You

And count myself along with those

Whose whips and scorn You knew.

Never again will I lightly treat

Your sacrifice for me

For I see anew it was MY sin

You bore upon the tree.