2005. Dallas, Texas, USA. A first year seminary student, James Martin, is searching the internet. James is studying to be a minister, but his hobby is collecting old coins, especially from the Holy Land. He finds a rare coin for sale on web site he's never visited before. The coin is just like one he has seen in the news - a Frankish silver half drachma, discovered in Jaffa, Israel. His archaeology professor brought the newspaper article into class, and spent most of the hour talking about it. James can hardly believe his eyes, as he compares the coin on the website to the one in the article. Identical! Quickly he types in his mailing address and credit card information, and with a few clicks ot the mouse he purchases the coin. As he does so, he ignores a question from his wife, Becky: "how do you know this isn't a stolen coin?"
"If it were stolen, would it be out here in the open on the internet?" James rationalized. "It's just a similar example of the same rare coin. Anyway, I don't know that it is or isn't. I'm just buying, so it's not my problem!"
Jaffa, Israel. An Arab boy named Ziad befriends an English girl, Anna. Anna's father is an archaeologist, specializing in the Crusader period. Anna tells Ziad about a rare coin her father has found. The coin is about seven hundred amd fifty years old, she explains, and was found in a ceramic bowl, along with a girl's hair comb. He asks to see it. Anna shows it to him, and he looks the coin over eagerly.
"It's not one of our coins," he says.
"What do you mean?" asks Anna.
"It's not a Muslim coin. It has Christian writing on it.
"Yes, father told me; that's what makes it so unusual." Ziad gives the coin back to Anna, and she replaces it carefully in a box in her father's study. The next morning, however, the coin missing. Her father is frantic, and calls the police. Anna wonders...could Ziad have anything to do with this? Should she tell her father that she showed the coin to Ziad?
The year is 1251. The Holy Land is controlled by the Crusaders, who call it the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. In the walled port city of Jaffa, a French girl named Giselle receives a new coin from her mother. She notices that this shiny silver half-drachma is different. It shows a cross, a fleur-de-lis and Arabic writing within a square on both sides. Her mother, who can read Arabic, explains that the words mean "the Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost".
"As Christians, her mother explains, we have different beliefs from those who ruled the Holy Land before us, so now we have coins that say what we believe."
She turns the coin over and reads the text around the edges: "his is the glory for ever and ever."
"Everything we have, all we are, and all we do should honor God," she says. Giselle realizes that this is not just a coin; it has a much deeper meaning for the Christians of the Holy Land. She puts the coin away carefully in a ceramic bowl.
2005. Jerusalem, Israel. The government Bureau of Antiquities. Agent Ronen Barkovsky is trying to log on to the internet. His computer crashes. Agent Barkovsky's job is to look into reports of stolen artifacts. He complains to his superior that he has a missing item to trace and now, no computer. His superior, Agent Gewirtz, says, "What, so, it's a missing coin. Worry about it tomorrow." Tomorrow comes and Barkovsky's computer still isn't fixed, so he gets busy with some old paperwork, and forgets all about the missing silver half drachma.
Part II
Summer of 2006. Jaffa, Israel. James Martin has finished his first year of seminary study. After months of late evenings working at Chip 'n' Dale's Fish 'n' Chips to pay his school bills, James and his wife Becky are enjoying a three week study tour in the Holy Land. This is a dream come true for James, who hopes to add more old coins to his growing collection. Coins are not Becki's favorite subject, however, especially since James bought one from a shady-looking website. The coin was very similar to one that had been stolen not long before from the home of the archaeologist who found it. To make matters worse, Becky felt, James had brought the coin with him. He hoped to prove to Becky that his was just a similar coin, not the stolen one; and that is why they were spending their free day in the port city of Jaffa.
In order to convince Becky to come along, James agrees to do something she does love - horseback riding. They have rented a chestnut mare for her, and a black stallion for him. As they ride along the waterfront, they come upon a group of Arab children playing. "Hallo! Hallo! The children shout. "You have money?" they ask. "Give me dollar!" James smiles and reaches for his wallet.
"I'm not sure you should do that," Becky warns.
"Just quarters," James says, as he opens the coin compartment of his wallet.
Suddenly the black stallion rears in all the noise and confusion, and James' coins fall to the ground as he grasps at the reins.
"Whoa, boy. WHOA!" The children snatch up the coins like gulls darting in for bread, and scatter as quickly.
"No, not, those, give me those!" By now you have guessed that these coins are not all quarters, nor indeed, modern day coins. One of them is James' seven hundred and fifty year old silver half-drachma. A dark-eyed boy in a red jacket picks up that one. He looks at it, astonished. Then he looks up at James, and his eyes seem to say, "thief"! Then he runs.
James digs his heels into the flanks of the black stallion, and Becki follows reluctantly on her chestnut mare. Soon they are almost upon the children, who dash in through the city gate. One of them shouts in Arabic, "this way, Ziad!" but Ziad breaks off from the group and disappears down a side alley. James has to make a decision: who has the half-drachma, the group or the boy on his own?" Following his instincts, he heads down the alley after Ziad. There must be some reason he broke off from the group. Suddenly, Ziad comes to the end of the alley, jumps - and disappears. James and Becky pull their horses to a stop just short of a deep pit at the end of the alley: a dig, an archaological excavation. Ziad has disappeared underground.
"Come on," James shouts, tethering the horses.
"Are you crazy?" Becky shouts. "I'm not going down there."
"Well I'm not letting him get away - I'm not losing that coin!
Becky knows that James will get into more trouble without her, so together they jump into the pit. Shafts of light come from openings above, and as their eyes adjust, they find themselves in well-preserved quarter of the Medieval Crusader city, once above ground, now buried by the city above it.
"Awesome..." Becky begins, but James hears footsteps running ahead.
"This way!"
James runs ahead in the darkness, and Becki hears a sickening "thud" as his head hits a low stone doorway.
He looks up from the ground. The room is bathed in bluish light and a girl with flaxen hair is bent over him. She speaks to him in French. Where is Becky? James thinks. Becky paid attention in French class. James gets up from the floor, and the girl backs away, frightened. "Mama, Mama!" she calls.
"Shhhh!" James begs. "I'm sorry... I stumbled in here... looking for a half - drachma."
"Drachma?" the girl knows this word. "Êtes-vous un mendiant ? (Are you a beggar?)" she asks. "Im-shi! ("Go away")
"Mendiant," James thought. That's beggar! No, no," James pleads. "I lost my half-drachma, a boy stole it!"
"Voici une moitié-drachme." The girl reached into a ceramic bowl and pulls out a shiny silver, new coin. She puts it in James' hand. It is the 750 year old coin, the silver half drachma, with all the markings. But now it is new, brand new. James falls to the ground.
When he opens his eyes he is in the Jaffa hospital, and a doctor is bandaging his head. "You have a concussion," the doctor said, "from hitting your head running around in the excavation."
The doctor leaves the room, and Becki comes to James side. "Did you call the police?"
"Did I call the police to report that the coin I think is stolen that you are trying to prove is not stolen was stolen? No, I didn't. I thought a concussion was enough trouble over a coin for one day."
"Then it's gone. For good."
"Oh, you don't know that. Maybe it will turn up. Rest now, and we'll think about it tomorrow.
(To be continued...)
Mannix Foklar
Since he was a young boy Mannix Foklar dreamed of being an ambassador to other worlds. While other boys made paper airplanes, Manny made paper rockets, and flew them to far-flung galaxies in his imagination. The son of a clergyman and a teacher, Manny was a born leader. He believed he had a special purpose in this universe, and that it awaited him somewhere among the distant stars.
From his earliest schooling everyone could see that this young man, with his quick mind and confident manner, was destined for greatness. At 16 years of age Manny was accepted into an elite school for training in the interplanetary service. He quickly learned the history, languages and customs of Bo`oto, Hasîtî, Kalayaan,and Perdamaian, Earth's most important allies, as well as those of many unfriendly planets. He also learned the arts of self discipline and self defense, including the use of a pyrophosphate sabre.
After eight long years of rigorous study and training, Manny was graduated with highest honors. As the first in his class, he was given the rare privilege of choosing his first assignment. Most young men in his position would have chosen a place like Kalayan, a peaceful, warm planet drifting lazily around a double sun, known as the Tijauna of the Sombrero Galaxy. Not Manny. The planet that most interested Mannix Foklar of the United Earth Diplomatic Corps was neither friendly nor peaceful. He felt himself strangely drawn to Ubeliaar in the Perseus Galaxy, a dark, cold, yet powerful industrial planet, and our world's greatest enemy. He believed that somehow a treaty of peace and cooperation between the two planets was possible.
Those dreams were far in the future, however, he thought. He would begin his career, no doubt, in a junior desk job, or as an assistant to an older, more experienced diplomat in the Perseus Galaxy. It would take years to work his way into a position where he could really make a difference. When a letter of assignment arrrived from the D.C.C.C. (the Diplomatic Corps Central Command), Manny opened it eagerly. He could hardly believe the words before him. His chest swelled with pride as he read aloud "Mannix Foklar is to be named United Earth's Senior Ambassador to Ubeliaar. Signed, Commodore Bragdon, D.C.C.C." Senior Ambassador! It was unheard of. "Steady, Manny," he told himself, as the realization of his own greatness came rushing over him. No matter how he tried to reign in his thoughts, he could not help imagining that there was nothing he could not do. The sheer sense of his own power nearly sent him reeling.
Two months of intensive preparation followed. Before dawn he arose each day and trained with a master of the pyrophosphate sabre, their bluish-green glow lighting up the morning sky. Over breakfast he was briefed on the day's news of Ubeliaar's oppressive government. The morning was spent with language and protocol coaches. In the afternoon and evenings, he read everything he could on the history of the Iron Revolution on Ubeliaar.
Some twenty years ago, when Manny was flying his first paper spacecraft fashioned out of his father's old sermons, Ubeliaar had undergone a tragic change. It was once covered with countless acres of rich farmland, growing wheat, soybeans, and other grains for export to other planets. Then a young scientist named Hakiru introduced a new method of mining and processing a harsh chemical used in manufacturing called sodium sulfite. In a few short years, the new industry had destroyed the planet's farmland. Hakiru, an evil man driven by greed, became more and more wealthy and powerful. He was as clever as he was deceitful, and quickly became the most influential man on Ubeliaar. Then came the famine: not a lack of food, for the planet was wealthy enough to import food for everyone. The famine was in the lack of one particular and rare nutrient, mononitrate THX, a substance the people of Ubeliaar must have to survive. Hakiru seized the opportunity. He gained complete political power, winning the support of the people by promising them all the mononitrate they could absorb. His plan? To dominate the only other known world in the the universe whose farmlands yielded crops rich with mononitrate THX.
That was Earth.
Manny's first assignment would be to head off an interplanetary conflict with Ubeliaar, a war that Earth might well lose.
At the end of his two month's preparation, he found himself on a diplomatic cruiser headed for the Perseus Galaxy. A face-to-face meeting had been arranged with Emperor Hakiru. Manny was dressed in the bright crimson robes of an Earth Ambassador. As he studied his reflection in the mirror, he felt again that surge of pride, of power, of destiny.
Manny had prepared himself to face in the Emperor every kind of evil he could imagine. There was one evil, however, he had not yet faced.
Manny's ship docked with the Emperor's craft in orbit around Ubeliaar. When the airlocks opened and Manny stepped into the other ship, he was greeted with great ceremony by the Emperor's Ministerof Interplanetary Affairs. Once again, Manny was filled with a great sense of his own importance.
"Ambassador Foklar," began the Emperor, "let us come straight to the point. You have something we need."
Manny nodded cautiously.
"No, I don't mean the mononitrate THX. I mean you, Ambassador Foklar. Now don't look so surprised. You must know what a rare individual you are. I have heard much about your extraordinary abilities, and your desire for peace and cooperation between our planets. You must also know that the United Earth government will never agree to my terms, and that I will stop at nothing to save my people from starvation."
For a moment, Manny actually believed Emperor Hakiru cared.
"You and I are destined for greatness, Ambassador Foklar," the emperor continued. A holographic image of earth appeared between them. "Behold, Ambassador, the world that could be yours: oceans, continents, civilizations. If we join together, we can rule two worlds as one. You are the only one who can help me make it happen. Serve me, and when I have conquered earth, you will be it's ruler!"
Manny could see his own reflection, small and distant, in the Emperor's eyes. He saw a boy in a grown man's robes. Then the truth swept over him: he was being duped. He was not great, nor powerful, nor as wise as he had thought. He was young, and proud, and very foolish to be taken in for even for a moment. He remembered a warning his father had often given him from the Bible: "Pride leads to destruction; humility leads to honor." (Proverbs 18:12, CEV) The Emperor would use Manny's pride, and when he had what he wanted, destroy him. Manny quickly refocussed. "I must respectfully refuse your Eminence's generous offer. I am here as an Ambassador of United Earth, and have no power to act on my own. I can speak and act only as I have been instructed. I serve one master, and seek no other."
The Emperor suddenly smiled. Then a portal opened behind Manny. He turned, his hand moving instinctively to his pyrophosphate saber. In walked a handful of professors and students from the Foreign Service Academy. They were all applauding. He turned to Emperor Hakiru, who was peeling bits of a latex mask from his face. It was Commodore Bragdon.
"As you see, Manny, this has all been an act, a simulation. This was your final exam, and your test for entering the diplomatic service," said Commodore Bragdon. "Your pride wouldn't let you see that no one would be given such an assignment without first being tested. Congratulations; you passed." Then, more applause.
Manny's face was flushed with embarassment. "Is this really the final test," he asked, "or will there be more?"
Commodore Bragdon paused, and then said slowly, "From this point on, Manny, it's all a test."
The Deep Sage Forest
Once upon a time there were two beavers who were going to have a feast. They invited many friends and neigbors in the Deep Sage Forest where they lived. Their home was called the Deep Sage Forest not only for the silvery green color of the moss on the old trees, but for the wisdom there. You see, it was a very old forest, and with great age comes great wisdom. But not all the creatures of the forest were equally wise, as we will see.
Among the wisest creatures were Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. As they invited their friends and neighbors to the feast, they asked the animals what the feast should be called. The animals thought that "Harvest" was a good name, but Mr. and Mrs. Beaver preferred "Thanksgiving." In the end, they insisted on this name, though many of the animals couldn't see the point.
When the day of the feast came, only five animals came: Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit, Mr. and Mrs. Chipmunk, and Skunk. They didn't realize that they would have to come through the water to get to the underwater entrance to the Beaver's home. The rabbit and the skunk had no trouble, for they were quite good swimmers. When Mr. Chipmunk came up sputtering, he was mad!
"If I knew we would have to come through the water to get here, I'd have never come!" Mr. Chipmunk scolded. He then shook himself, spraying water all over Mrs. Beaver's new tablecloth.
Mrs. Chipmunk calmed her husband down, and they were all seated at the table. When all were seated, Mr. Beaver prayed a fine prayer of Thanksgiving. When he finished, he expected a hearty chorus of "amens." Instead there was only an awkward silence. Then Mr. Rabbit spoke up.
"I don't know about being thankful. Mrs. Rabbit and I find all we need, just laying around for the taking. Mrs. McCrosky's cabbages are there for the taking, and Farmer Sutton's peach trees give us delicious bark in the winter. They don't seem thankful, but they would gladly put us in a pie if they could catch us! So it seems to me that it's all the same.
"Ditto," chimed in Skunk. I don't see what I have to be thankful for, what with winter coming and all. The grasshoppers, crickets and beetles I love will be scarce in the winter, and soon I'll have to start stealing eggs from Farmer Sutton's henhouse.
Chipmunk looked at both of them scornfully. "You two are pathetic, ridiculous, and lazy! You've never worked a day in your life. I have a great store of nuts for the winter, and I have no one to thank but Mrs. Chimpmunk and myself."
After another awkward silence, Mr. Beaver spoke again. "Chipmunk," he said, "you are right about one thing. Skunk and Rabbit are lazy. They've never worked, so they don't know the value of what they take. Rabbit, it takes weeks and weeks for Mrs. McCrosky's cabbages to grow. She has to work hard hoeing, weeding, and watering, but you come along and destroy her cabbages in one night. Farmer Sutton's peach trees take seven years to mature, and you come and eat the bark off those trees in one night and destroy them."
"Skunk," Mr. Beaver continued. "Look how fat you are!" and with that Mr. Beaver poked Skunk's plump belly. "You've eaten well all spring, summer, and fall. You should be thankful that you'll make it through the winter just fine! You'll live to see another spring, with plenty of grasshoppers, crickets, and beetles.
"Chipmunk, you've made the worst mistake of all. Who made the oak trees you live in, the trees that give you your acorns? Inside every acorn is the seed of another great tree - but who gives it life? Mrs. Beaver and I built every part of this great house of ours, and we're proud of it. But should the waters of this river swell suddenly from a flash flood, it would all be swept away in a moment. Unless the Lord builds our house, it is all for nothing. We depend on him for every breath of life, and so do you! That is why we insisted on calling this feast "Thanksgiving" - because we all have so much more to be thankful for than we even know!"
For the Love of Charlotte
Once upon a time there was a washer-woman, or to be exact, a washer-girl, by the name of Charlotte. She was a fine, responsible girl just seventeen years old, who lived at home with her family. Her mother took in laundry to help make ends meet.
Among the folks who brought their laundry to Charlotte's home each week was a young man named Vincent. Vincent was a tall, agreeable looking young man with a happy-go-lucky smile. His work, however, was anything but pleasant. Vincent spent his days laboring in the foundry, the place where metals were brought from the mines and melted down in great seething cauldrons. As the copper, iron, brass, silver, or gold grew hotter and hotter, the impurities would rise to the top. There they would either burn or be skimmed off. What remained was pure metal.
Every Monday on his way to work Vincent dropped off the laundry at Charlotte's, and he would stop to chat for a few moments. In the evening he would pick up the clean clothes, and then he would stop and chat even longer. He said Charlotte could work wonders with a bar of laundry soap, and she admired him for being cheerful even after a long, hot day of work at the foundry. The truth is that Vincent and Charlotte were growing to love one another. In time they realized this, and Vincent got up the courage to ask Charlotte about marriage. As they talked about it, they agreed that they both loved and admired one another. There was one thing that stood between them, however, one thing on could not agreed: money.
For Vincent, money was like water. It flowed easily into his hands and just as easily out again. He loved to spend it as quickly as he earned it; he never held on to his pay long enough to save a penny. He was always buying something new from the market, and often gave Charlotte lovely presents .
"Thank you," Charlotte would say, "but you should save your money, Vincent, and not go spending it on me." Charlotte believed in saving money - every penny she could get. She wouldn't even spend when she ought to, for things she truly needed. One day, as Vincent chatted with her after work, she said that her feet hurt. Looking down at her shoes, Vincent scolded, "Look at those shoes! They're two sizes too small, and the soles are nearly worn through. Why don't you buy yourself a proper pair of shoes, and your feet wouldn't hurt so badly!" Charlotte just looked at him and said, "no need to spend money when you don't have to."
Because they were so very different in this one important way, Vincent and Charlotte wondered if they would be happy together. They decided to wait. Then something happened that changed both of their lives forever. War broke out, and Vincent joined the army. Most of the men who worked with Vincent went, as well. It was at the foundry, however, that men worked to refine the metals for making the weapons of war. For that reason, the older men who remained in the village, along with many of the women, were sent to work in the foundry.
So it was that Charlotte learned first-hand the work that Vincent had been doing. She worked amid the fiery cauldrons, while far away, Vincent bravely defended his country. There, he had much to learn, as well. A soldier has to fend for himself in many ways. When they were not in battle, when there was a chance to enjoy things like clean clothes, they had to do the washing themselves. Each soldier was given a big bar of laundry soap and a washboard, and sent down to the river. Vincent began with a shirt. First, he dipped it in and out of the river. Next, he rubbed the bar of laundry soap back and forth across the wet shirt. Then, he rubbed the soapy shirt back and forth across the ridges of the metal washboard. Finally, he dipped the shirt back into the river to rinse it clean. Now this may sound easy enough, but Vincent found out there is some skill in it. When he went to grab the bar of soap the second time, it had become so wet and slippery it swished right out of his hands and plopped into the river. As he leaned over to get the soap out of the water, he lost his balance and fell in, clothes and all.
The months passed, and Vincent and Charlotte thought about one another more and more. One day Charlotte went to talk with a friend about Vincent. "I really do love him," she said, "but I don't know about marrying him. I'm afraid he's got too much of the love of money in him; all he wants is to buy things." Charlotte's friend was surprised. "Dear," she said kindly, "if your worried about that, you'd better look inside your own heart. There's more than one way of having the love of money. You can have it by loving to spend it, or by loving to have it." Charlotte didn't like to hear these words, but as she looked into her heart, she knew her friend was right. One day, as she stood watching the red-hot metal being refined in the cauldrons, she prayed. "Dear Lord," she said, " if the love of money be in my heart, please burn it from me, and make me pure within."
At about the same time, Vincent talked with his captain about Charlotte. "I really do love her," he said, "except for this one thing. She does love to hold on to her every penny! I'm afraid she's got too much of the love of money in her." The captain laughed. "Vincent," he said, "If you're worried about that, you'd better look in the mirror. I've noticed that every time you get your soldier's pay, if there's anything to spend it on, you've spent it before the week's out. There's more than one way of loving money. You can love it by holding on to it, or you can love it for what it will buy." Vincent didn't like to hear these words, but he knew they were true. Later, as he kneeled by the river, scrubbing his clothes with all his might, he prayed: "Lord, if the love of money be in my heart, please wash it right out of me and make me clean."
The Lord answered them both. Back at home, times were hard, and hard times shape us. Charlotte had to spend from her savings so that the family could eat. As she began to spend, she found out it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would! More importantly, as the months passed, she realized what mattered most. All she really cared about was seeing Vincent - and all the boys of the village - come home safely. On the battlefield, as the soldiers went deeper and deeper into enemy territory, there was no longer anything to buy. Vincent had to hold on to his pay, and he found that after awhile he didn't miss the things he used to want so much. What's more, he realized what he cared about most. All he wanted was to be at home with his family again, and to start a new life with Charlotte if she would have him.
At long last, the war ended, and the soldiers came home. They had gone away boys, and come back men. The village held a great victory parade, and how proud all the girls were to see their beaus marching in uniform down the main street. As soon as the parade ended, Vincent went into the crowd to find Charlotte. His first words to her were "I'm sorry Charlotte, I haven't had a chance to buy you a present!"
"Oh, Vincent," said Charlotte, "you know I don't want a thing from you but to have you home safely!" Then, as Vincent looked at her, he gasped with surprise. "Charlotte! You've bought yourself a new dress, and a new pair of shoes!" Charlotte blushed. "Well," she said, "money isn't everything, just a means to an end." Then they both laughed until they cried, and Vincent asked Charlotte to marry him, and of course, she did.
Freedom’s Chickadees
All the chickadees in the town of Freedom, New Hampshire knew that Mrs. Meyerson’s bird feeder served up nothing but the very best: pure, white suet from the local butcher, and the finest black oil sunflower seeds around. Birds have their own ways, though, and most of them still flew around town from one neighborhood to another, from home to home, from feeder to feeder, in a daily routine that kept them fit and made for variety, too. Along the way some would spot winterberries, and stop for a treat; others might pause at the base of a tree whose loose bark promised a meal of bugs beneath. This was, for them, the adventure each new day held, and the joy of being free birds.
Dee, Chick, and Addie were three little birds who flocked together. That is to say, they were of a kind, birds of a feather, chums who thought alike and stuck with one another through thin and thick. They had traveled the same feeding route together as long as any of them could remember, until one day they had an idea. It was uncertain who came up with it, or whether it was really an idea at all. It could have been, rather, that they lost an idea. One day, while lounging at Mrs. Meyerson’s bird feeder, not one of them could think of any reason to leave it.
You see, this bird feeder was unlike any of the others. Mrs. Meyerson was very fond of birds. She had bird knickknacks all over the kitchen. She had a bird song clock on the wall that chimed a different birdcall every hour. She even got cable TV so that she could watch the Bird Channel – all birds, all the time. Her bird feeder, the one in which Dee, Chick, and Addie were lounging, was a glass box built into her kitchen window, so that the birds who came to feed there were in fact inside the house, separated from the kitchen only by three walls of glass. This gave great shelter from the winter winds, and provided some warmth from the kitchen. It also allowed Mrs. Meyerson to get a closer view of the birds, who grew very used to her being nearby.
Food, shelter, warmth, and companionship. What more could anyone want? Cable TV? Dee, Chick, and Addie had that, too. From the moment they lost the idea of moving away from Mrs. Meyerson’s feeder, they spent their days staring blankly at her TV, absent-mindedly munching sunflower seeds, and marking the passing hours only by the electronic birdsong from the kitchen clock. The rest of the birds had other skies to fly, other adventures to seek. They no longer bothered with Mrs. Meyerson’s, except one pesky bluejay named Jake. He was not a bad sort once you got to know him, and he kept an eye out for Dee, Chick and Addie. “You ought to keep moving,” he would tell them. “Not good to sit idle like that. It’s not natural,” he would scold, and then be off to pester another feeder somewhere else.
It was not natural, indeed, but I’m sorry to say Mrs. Meyerson encouraged it. She continued to fill the feeder, and even put fresh water out for the birds every day. Then she noticed that while the chickadees were getting more and more plump by the day, they seemed to be getting colder, as well. They huddled pitifully against the glass for heat, never thinking about how a good fly around to block would warm them up. At last Mrs. Meyerson, thinking to take pity on them, did the worst thing she could have done. She bought a cage. One cold evening she placed it just in front of the feeder and opened the sliding glass door. Feeling the rush of warm air from the kitchen, Dee, Chick, and Addie did what seemed natural: they hopped out of the feeder and tumbled onto the floor of the cage. No more cold air. No more darkening sky. No more uncertainty. Now, just the warm, secure feeling that there would always be food, warmth, and cable. Dreaming of mountains of shiny black sunflower seeds, the three birds fell asleep.
They awoke in the morning to a tapping at the feeder window. It was Jake. He was helping himself to heaps of seeds and suet. Dee, Chick, and Addie looked around the cage for their breakfast. There was none. They looked around the kitchen. It was strangely quiet, and Mrs. Meyerson was nowhere to be seen. To make matters worse, the television was off. The birds began to panic. Outside, beyond Jake, was their world, their sky, trees with bugs beneath the bark, and bushes with winterberries. Beyond metal bars and panes of glass was freedom – the idea they had lost, and which suddenly came rushing back to them. They called out to Jake, “Jake, help! How did this happen? How did we land in this cage? How did we lose our freedom?”
“You didn’t lose your freedom,” Jake scolded, “you gave it away. You gave it away the moment you stopped finding your own food and let someone else feed you. You gave it away the moment you stopped making your own heat by flying free, and let someone else warm you. You gave away your freedom when you stopped singing your own songs, and started listening only to the songs of others. You gave it away when you stopped flying your journey, and just watched others flying theirs.”
The birds were stunned at the truth of Jake’s words, and the seeming hopelessness of their situation. They could not have known that Mrs. Meyerson had been taken to the hospital during the night, or that she had arranged for a friend, Mrs. Perkins, to come and feed them. Before long, however, Mrs. Perkin's station wagon backed into the driveway. There was still snow covering the trunk and part of the license plate, so that all that could be read of the State motto was “live free.” Mrs. Perkins turned the key in the lock at the front door, and came into the kitchen carrying a five-pound bag of bird seed. She walked up to the cage and gasped.
“Chickadees!” she exclaimed. “Wild birds! Why, I never… this will never do. It’s not natural. It’s against the law! I’m taking you poor things right now to the Bird Rescue Shelter, and I’ll explain to Mrs. Meyerson later.” With that, she snatched the cage and headed for the door.
You might think that the kindest thing they could do at the shelter was to simply reverse what Mrs. Meyerson had done by opening the cage and setting the chickadees free. But freedom is lost by degrees, a little at a time, and when it is so lost it cannot be regained in a moment. Freedom lost by degrees must be regained by degrees. Had they been released into the neighborhood, Dee, Chick, and Addie would have become breakfast for the first passing housecat or circling hawk. All three had become as plump and round as miniature Thanksgiving turkeys. They could barely waddle, much less fly to freedom! So first, the staff at the shelter put the birds on a strict diet of low calorie birdseed. Then they transferred them into a larger cage, where they could begin to fly around and exercise. Finally they moved the three into the aviary, a special room with large sunlit windows where the birds could fly about with others. Then the staff just watched.
They watched Dee, Chick, and Addie and waited for the moment when the three birds began perching at the windows, looking out, longing for the freedom beyond more than the security within. Then, when the chickadees were not only strong and healthy, but determined to be free, the staff opened the windows.
Up, up into the cloudless sky the three flew, bursting into song. “I’m going to find winterberries,” exclaimed Dee.
“Look,” said Chick with glee, “That tree over there – I just know it’s crawling with bugs!”
“Remember Mr. Morganstern’s feeder across town?” called out Addie. “He always served up the low-calorie seeds – I’m headed there. See you round!”
Dee, Chick, and Addie always remained friends. But from that day forward, they flew their own journeys, fed where the winds took them, sang their own songs, and never gave up their freedom again.
Parents: children who are ready (perhaps age seven and up) may benefit from discussing the following questions.
1) Why was it important that the birds find their own food?
2) Food in the story stands for God’s Word, the Bible, our spiritual food. Many people do not read God’s Word for themselves. Who do they rely on instead to “feed” them?
3) How should we get our spiritual food?
4) Singing is also a symbol in the story. It stands for worshipping God. Some people go to church, but while they are there they just watch and listen to others worshipping. How should we worship God?
5) Flying in the story is a symbol of living for God, that is, doing the things he wants us to do. When birds don’t fly, they become weak. A cat or a hawk can easily catch a weak bird. What could happen to a Christian who doesn’t live for God and becomes weak?
When we give up the freedom God gives us to learn His word for ourselves, worship him actively, and live for him, we can become spiritually weak and helpless, like the chickadees in the cage. In order to stay spiritually strong and healthy, we need to read and study God’s word, pray and worship actively, and serve God with our whole hearts. The Bible says, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Galatians 5:1 NIV
The Chickadee is the State bird of Maine and Massachusetts. The Chickadee graphic is courtesy of the Maine Secretary of State’s Kids’ WebSite, © 2004.
The stories on this page and the study questions are © 2005 Kevin S. Patterson. Permission granted for public reading in a non-commercial setting. Please e-mail me and let me know when and where you used it, and how it worked for you.
Little Sheqed
Once upon a time, in a small village at the foot of Mt. Haran in Syria, there lived a boy named Sheqed. He was a foundling, discovered as a baby early one morning in a basket under an almond tree. The tree was just outside the village convent. The nuns heard a loud ringing at the front gate, the sound of someone pulling urgently on the bell cord. Then the sound stopped as suddenly as it had started. When they opened the gate, there was no one but a tiny baby in a basket. The only clue to who he might be was on a gold chain around his neck. Hanging from that chain was a key, with a beautiful handle of fine gold and strange words the nuns could not read. The baby, too, was somehow unusual. Like all the other babies, his hair was dark and curly, he had skin the color of roasted wheat, and perfect little ears like soft dried apricots. His eyes, however, though of a common brown, were almond-shaped, like those of the children of the east. The nuns called the baby little "Sheqed," which means "almond," or "the one who blossoms early." As for the key, since it was the only clue to his past, they kept it for him, and gave it to him as soon as he was old enough to wear it.
The almond tree is the first of all the trees in the Middle East to blossom each year. And so it was with Sheqed among the children of the village. Although – or perhaps because – he was looked down for being a foundling, he was determined to succeed quickly in everything he did. He spoke earlier than any of the other children in the orphanage. He took his first step while other children his age were still starting to crawl. He ran circles around toddlers his age taking their first steps. He was the first to write his name, and could read before he began school.
Sheqed also learned very young how to climb trees. The first tree he climbed, naturally, was the almond tree at the convent gate. He climbed it first when its branches were white with blossoms. He sat high up among the mounds of blossoms, and imagined he was on top of snow-covered Mount Hermon, which they called Jabal As-Sheikh. Breaking off a small cluster of blooms, he took it to one of the nuns he was very fond of. "When I saw this I thought of you," he said, and the nun blushed and shooed him out of the kitchen.
He climbed the tree again when the flowers had given way to green almonds. Careful not to break the heavily laden branches, he sat close to the trunk and ate the unripe nuts, velvety green outside, still tender and white inside. His mouth puckered at the sour flavor, as yours might after biting a green apple. He gorged himself until his stomach ached, and the nuns scolded him. "Next time you will remember, little Sheqed, the early ones are not always the best. You have to be patient and let the almonds ripen slowly. Then they are sweetest, and most agreeable to the stomach."
Sheqed grew, and thought less about climbing trees and more about serious things. Sometimes he thought about his past. Who were his parents? Where were they? Why had they left him? The key around his neck was a constant reminder. Were they alive somewhere, and did they think of him? Other times he thought about his future. With no parents it would be almost impossible for him to get married. No man would give his daughter to someone with no family, no land, and no money.
After Sheqed’s fifteenth birthday, because he was quick and clever and good with his hands, he was apprenticed to the village goldsmith. At first, he swept the floors, fetched cups of Turkish coffee or mint tea for the goldsmith and his customers, and ran simple errands. This was the usual life of an apprentice; he seldom saw the real work he was to learn until he had paid for it with much other labor. But Sheqed was very eager to learn, and the goldsmith had more orders than he could handle. Along with the usual brides to be adorned with gold chains, bracelets, rings (for fingers, ears and nose) and tall, veiled headdresses, there were new opportunities afoot. The border with Persia, which had been suddenly closed some fifteen years ago, had been re-opened. Once again there would be travel and trade, once again diplomats would be coming and going. That meant gifts to be made for governors, sultans, sheiks and all manner of nobility. So early on the goldsmith, out of necessity, taught Sheqed the art of working with gold. From that time they began working closely together, and seeing how quickly Sheqed learned, the goldsmith looked kindly on him.
One day Sheqed announced to the that he wanted to marry. "You are only fifteen," said the goldsmith. "Who will give his daughter to a boy of your age?"
"Who will give his daughter to a boy with no parents, no land, and no money?" Sheqed replied. "It’s only a fool’s dream."
"No, my boy, not a fool’s dream. Wait for the fullness of time. You are still young. With patience, everything will come in time."
"I want to marry and have a real family like others. I have no patience."
"Patience is the fruit of long struggle, and you are still a green almond."
So, with great difficulty, Sheqed set aside his dream of marriage and applied himself to learning his trade. One summer day the goldsmith, nearly overcome by the heat, stopped his work. "God is merciful," he said. "I must rest now. Get me a drink of water, then take some rest yourself, or we will perish." Sheqed stopped his work and untied the laces of his shirt. He brought a cup of cool water from a large clay jar in the corner of the shop. As he bent to give the cup to the goldsmith, the key around his neck slipped out of his shirt, dangling from the chain. The goldsmith grasped the key in his hands, looking at it intently. His nose was inches away from Sheqed’s face, and his eyes squinted with suspicion. "Where did you get this?" he asked.
"As you know, I am a foundling, sir," Sheqed replied, unable to move away from the goldsmith, who still held the key tightly. "The nuns will tell you I was found with this around my neck. No one knows where it came from, and no one can read the writing on it."
The goldsmith released his grip on the key, and Sheqed moved slowly away. "I know this key," said the goldsmith, and I know the writing on it."
"How do you know?" asked Sheqed, suddenly trembling.
"I made this key, and I made the golden locket that it opens. It was forged fifteen years ago, about the time the border with Persia closed. I made it for the wife of a Persian nobleman; the writing on it is in their language, Pharsee. The inscription on the key says, "always with you," and inside the locket are the words "my love." It was intended that the nobleman would wear the key and his wife the locket. I alone know now what really happened. When the border suddenly closed, the couple had to flee for their lives. It was winter, and their journey would take them through the mountain passes where the border was not guarded. They had to leave behind almost everything, and especially that which was most precious to them."
"The golden key?" asked Sheqed, now very confused and frightened.
"No, not the key; a baby. The lady had just borne a child, who would never survive the winter journey. She had to leave the child behind, but no one could know who his parents were, or his life would be in danger, too. So she put the gold key around his neck, and left him at the gate of the convent orphanage. She put the child in God’s hands, leaving with him words of love on a golden key."
Sheqed sat slowly down, trying to understand the goldsmith’s words. Both were
were worn out with talking and the heat. They lay down on cotton mattresses on the floor, and fell quickly asleep.
Some two hours later there was a knock at the door. It was a messenger from the convent. "Sir," he said to the goldsmith, "the nuns are asking for Sheqed. A lord and lady of Persia have come to the convent, and are asking after the boy with the golden key." Sheqed jumped from his bed and started for the door. "Wait," ordered the goldsmith.
"I have waited fifteen years," replied Sheqed.
"You can wait fifteen minutes longer," replied the goldsmith sternly, with a hint of a smile. "Look in the mirror. Would you have your mother see this grimy face? Go and wash, and I will fetch you a clean suit of clothes."
When Sheqed had washed, the goldsmith dressed him in a shirt and pantaloons of white linen, with a turquoise vest embroidered with gold thread. Then he wrapped the boys head in a turban, and gave him a pair of fine leather sandals. "You have worked hard as my apprentice, and I cannot send you away dressed like a beggar." He took one last, long look at Sheqed, who waited patiently to be dismissed. Finally the goldsmith said with satisfaction, "now I think the almond is beginning to ripen. Go in peace."
Thanking the goldsmith, Sheqed left the shop and walked slowly into the street. Now he did not run, but walked with the stately stride of a nobleman’s son. When he arrived at the convent he paused beside the old almond tree, then rang the bell. The gates swung open, and there before him were his mother and father. His mother stepped forward, and with tears in her eyes held out a heart-shaped locket. Sheqed took the key from around his neck, and fit it into the locket. "My love," his mother whispered through her tears. "Always with you," answered Sheqed, turning the key.
Sheqed was reunited with his parents at last, and traveled with them on their diplomatic missions. In the fullness of time his mother found him a suitable bride. His name, however, they changed to "Saber" [pronounced "Saw-bear"], meaning "patience." But to the nuns and the goldsmith, whom he often visited, he was always "Little Sheqed."
Click here for a beginning reader's version of this story.
Yochanan and Yoram
(This is a make-believe story, but the setting and historical events are real. You can read about the actual events in the Bible, in Matthew 21:1-17.)
Many years ago two boys, Yochanan and Yoram, lived with their parents in the village of Bethany just outside of Jerusalem, on the other side of the Mt. of Olives. They were ten-year-old twins, identical in almost every way -- except one. Yochanan was lame in one leg. When he was a young boy he and his mother were on their way to Jerusalem, Yochanan on a small donkey, and his mother walking along beside. Suddenly, several Roman soldiers on horseback galloped past them and startled the donkey. It shifted all its weight toward the wall on one side, and crushed Yochanan's leg. The limb never healed properly, and from that time on Yohanan limped badly. Still, he and Yoram were a team, and would not be separated. Yoram was patient with Yochanan, and Yochanan did his best to keep up.
Their favorite time of year was Passover. The city welcomed visitors from all over the Roman world, and the air was filled with excitement. On this particular morning at the beginning of the Passover week, the boys woke up early. They washed and put on their good tunics, and then the new cloaks their mother had sewn for them. Before their parents were ready, Yoram and Yochanan rushed out the front door without a word. "Wait!" their father called out, "Wait for us, we'll go into the city together!"
The boys heard. They guessed, however, that going into the city meant going to the temple to take part in the prayers and religious ceremonies. They wanted to get out and run around among the crowds, and be a part of the excitement in the streets! Besides, they had heard that someone very important was coming into the city that morning, a man people said was a prophet from Nazareth. They very much wanted to see what all the talk was about, so they pretended not to hear what their father said, and ran quickly up the hill toward the Mount of Olives.
Whent they arrived they found that the crowd was already gathered, and there in the midst was Jesus of Nazareth on the foal of a donkey. Many in the crowd had cut palm branches and were beginning to wave them in the air. Yoram looked around. The palm trees were off in the fields, and he didn't have a knife. If their father were with them, he would get branches. Now it was too late. Jesus was already coming toward them. Then Yochanan noticed that, as Jesus began to move through the crowd, people took off their cloaks and spread them on the ground in front of him. "Yoram, your cloak!" he said, but his brother said, "No, your cloak!" They thought about how much trouble they would be in if they went home with their cloaks ruined. Jesus was almost up to them now, and they had to make a quick decision. Off came the cloaks, and down on the road they went. Jesus of Nazareth looked into their eyes, and he nodded, as not only the donkey, but the crowds following, trampled their cloaks into the dust. Yochanan and Yoram were swept onward with the crowd; there was no going back now. They walked with the cheering crowd all the way through the Kidron Valley, and then up to the Temple Mount. "Hosanna," they shouted with the others. "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna to the son of David! Hosanna in the highest!"
When they got to the temple something happened that frightened them. From what they had heard of Jesus, he was a gentle prophet, and no one expected what came next. Jesus walked into the courtyard of the temple where the moneychangers and merchants were. Everyone knew how dishonest these men were. They pretended to be working in the service of the temple, but they were unfair in their dealings and cheated worshippers out of their money. Suddenly, Jesus made a whip and started driving them and their animals out, and knocking over their tables. He told them "My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers."
Then people began to come to him who were blind and lame, and Jesus healed them. When Yoram saw this, he turned to his brother and said "Yochanan, look what he is doing! Go, brother, go to him!" Yochanan, however, remembered what had happened earlier that day. He remembered that he had broken God's command - "Honor your mother and father." He did not feel worthy to ask anything from Jesus. "Go," said Yoram, and still Yochanan hesitated, until his brother pushed him right in front of Jesus. Now there was no getting away.
Jesus looked at him and said, "What do you want, Yochanan?"
He knows my name, Yochanan thought, beginning to tremble. "I - I don't deserve anything from you. I am here today because I disobeyed my parents," he confessed.
"No, child," said Jesus, "You are here because I called you. You disobeyed your parents because you did not trust me. Do you trust me now?"
"I trust you, Lord."
Then Jesus knelt beside Yochanan and touched his leg exactly where it had been crushed. In that moment the leg became whole, healed, straight, and strong. Jesus got up, and Yochanan bowed before him. "Thank you Lord, thank you!"
"You may call me 'Lord,'" Jesus said, "when you have made things right with your parents. Go to them now, and sin no more!"
Yochanan and Yoram ran down from the Temple Mount, back through the Kidron Valley, past the Garden of Gethsemane, and up the Mount of Olives. They both ran like the wind, and Yochanan felt like a dove flying free. They arrived at the place where they had thrown down their cloaks, and found theirs among the many others. They were covered with dust and filth, and Yoram's had a tear in the sleeve. The boys shook out as much of the dirt as they could, and headed home.
When they arrived and walked through the front door, they saw their mother and father seated at the table. On a bench nearby lay their parent's cloaks. The boys gaped, their eyes wide with surprise. The garments were caked with dust and filth! The boys held up their own cloaks, and then they and their parents burst into laughter. Yochanan and Yoram could not have believed that their parents wanted to see Jesus of Nazareth as much as they did! In fact they had all gone to the same place, but missed each other because of the size of the crowd. "Abba, Abba," Yochanan said when they all stopped laughing, "Look! Look what Jesus of Nazareth did for me! My leg is straight, and I can run like the wind!"
His father could hardly contain his joy, but he didn't want to show it quite yet. He knew the boys had disobeyed him. "I'm very happy for you, son," he said, "and since both of you are so strong and able-bodied, now, you can go out to the olive grove and fetch me five armloads of firewood each, as a punishment for disobeying me!" The twins took off happily, without a word of protest. They knew mercy when they saw it, after what they had done, and after all that had been done for them.
These coins, from the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, show the symbols of the cross and a fleur-de-lis, like the recently discovered coin in our story.
A Coin for Giselle is a purely fictional tale, based on the real discovery of a silver Frankish half-drachma in Jaffa. For lots more interesting news of archaological finds in the Holy Land, go to the Archaeology News website.
The Dawn Chorus
Once upon a time there ruled in Persia a most unhappy king. His wealth was endless. His palaces sparkled with mother-of-pearl and costly stones. He feasted daily on caviar and shellfish, which he shared with his twin long-haired cats, Tabriz and Fabriz. His kingdom was at peace, his rule secure, and yet he was still not happy. He could not sleep at night for sadness, and equally dreaded the coming of each new day.
One evening while he walked slowly in the palace garden, he heard the song of a nightingale among the nettles. He could not see the bird, shy as it was, brown in color, small, and blending into the shadows in the dense thicket.
(c) 2005, 2006 Kevin S. Patterson. Permission granted for public reading in a non-commercial setting. Please e-mail me to let me know when and where you used it.
A Coin For Giselle
The Birds' Passion
An Easter Poem by Pastor Kevin
A rooster crowed in the dark of night,
"What'll you do, what'll you do, what'll you do?" he cried,
A mournful call, and a gasp of fright,
For one who his Lord denied.
A mockingbird perched on a nearby limb,
And said with a careless sigh,
"Crucify, crucify, crucify him!"
The Savior condemned to die.
The swallow hovered above the cross
And sang "Console, console;"
A Raven flew among the lost,
Condemning every soul.
A bat flew out of a borrowed tomb
And caused a dreadful fright;
He said, "the grave has always room
For those on their way to the night."
A nightingale watched through the darkest hours
As she leaned upon a thorn,
And mingled drops of her blood with his
And sang till the light of morn.
A dove flew down at the light of dawn,
And gently, softly prayed:
"They have taken my Lord, his body's gone;
And I don't know where he's laid."
An eagle circled the empty grave
And soared like a prisoner freed,
"For sinful man his life he gave
And now he is risen indeed!"
Donatella and Sylvio
Laughter came from the crowd gathered around the puppet stage set up on the Piazza Verdi, a small park in the midst of the busy streets of Palermo, Sicily. Behind the stage were two puppeteers, Sylvio and Donatella. Sylvio was a big brute of a man with a mean temper, though he had once been handsome. At least, Donatella had thought so. She was a delicate woman, kind spirited, with fine features and a loving heart. She had fallen in love with Sylvio when he was a younger and kinder man, but soon after they were married he grew cruel and heartless. Donatella began to think the wooden puppets had more feelings than Sylvio.
Donatella lived a sad life, but not without its joys. She loved to pray, and she took great pleasure in the puppets she and Sylvio used to bring laughter to the people of Palermo. They were called Maria and Giovanni. Very special puppets, they each had their own personalities and, Donatella thought, minds of their own. As though by some miracle of her love, it seemed to her that Maria and Giovanni could actually think and feel. Sadly, they could only talk or move when the unseen hand or voice of the puppeteer worked their strings.
This was especially sad since Sylvio often insisted on working first one puppet, then the other, and the characters he created were always cruel. He told Donatella, "You make the characters too kind and good, and that isn't what people want to see." Donatella knew better, however. She heard the disapproving gasps of mothers in the street when Sylvio's cruel hands took over the puppets, making them do spiteful and mean things. The puppets, Maria and Giovanni, feared Sylvio, and dreaded his wicked ways and the things he made them do. Sometimes Donatella would slip away while Sylvio was napping, and perform for the little children by herself. Her innocent stories made the children laugh, and brought joy to the mothers' hearts as well.
Donatella had little time to spare, however, as Sylvio worked her cruelly. When she wasn't working with him, he made her gather sticks from the hillsides around the city to sell as firewood, or clean people's houses for money. One cold winter she became very ill. She grew weaker and weaker, and lay in bed with a cough and a fever. Sylvio lay asleep next to her, snoring heavily. Maria and Giovanni, hanging from pegs on the wall, looked down at her helplessly. If only they could move or speak to comfort her! Without her, what would become of them? They could not bear the thought of being left alone with Sylvio.
Then, as though hearing their thoughts, Donatella prayed, "Dearest Savior Jesus, I accept that I must die, but please, free Maria and Giovanni, and let them know that I will always be with them!" and with that, she died. Maria looked down and wept. The tears that rolled down her painted wooden cheeks, however, were real, human tears! Giovanni reached up with his hand, and wiped them away. The moment her tears touched his fingers, the strings on his hands fell away! He took Maria's hands in his, and her strings fell off, as well. They both jumped down to the floor, no longer wooden puppets, but real, grown children!
"When Sylvio wakes up, he will make us his slaves just as he did Donatella," said Maria fearfully.
Giovanni looked down at the floor, where the puppet strings lay. "Quick, we'll tie him up with these!" As soon as the puppet strings touched Sylvio's hands and feet, however, he was changed into a tiny, ugly wooden puppet. Giovanni hung him outside from the windowsill, and ran away with Maria. The next day, when the news spread through the streets, the neighborhood children gathered and threw apple cores at the ugly puppet, and called him all the unkind names he deserved. As for Giovanni and Maria, they lived happily ever after, and always carried the goodness and love of Donatella in their hearts.
The nightingale was well known in Persia for its clear, pure melodies, surpassing all other birds in song. The king, however, had never before taken any notice. Now, here it was in the moonlight, gurgling, whistling, and trilling, thrilling the very sadness of the king's heart with it's music. The king plucked a rose, and the bird cried out still louder, as though in pain. "Here is a creature that feels the pain of a plucked rose, and sings of the very sadness of my soul." From that moment he determined to have the bird for his own.
He called the finest huntsmen in the kingdom to set traps, and they caught the nightingale. They put her in a golden cage, and the king ordered his servants to bring the bird fresh berries to eat each day. The nightingale sang beautifully in its cage, if a sadder melody, a song of deep longing, of ardent desire. It began in the evening, and sang through the night, gaining in fervor and loveliness as the dawn approached. The king kept vigil by the bird's side, and his aching heart was soothed by the nightingale's song. "It sounds," thought the king, "as though it longs for Paradise." As the sun rose, both king and bird would fall asleep, only to awaken when the afternoon shadows grew long again.
The nightingale did long for its own paradise; to be free in the rose garden, among the nettles in the thicket, to sing under the moonlight sky. There seemed no hope of escape, however. The king had placed twenty-four tiny golden bells around the edge of the cage, and they rang out with the slightest motion. While the king slept he wore a leather tether on his wrist, the other end attached to the cage. Then there were the royal feline guards, Tabriz and Fabriz, who watched the cage hungrily and jealously.
One morning, the king fell asleep, but the nightingale stayed awake. Softly, so as not to wake the king, the bird began to sing again, this time calling out for help. To the open windowsill a great eagle flew. The eagle could not bear to see the nightingale in captivity, and so the two made a plan.
That night the king and the nightingale kept their sad vigil as usual. The next morning, however, when the nightingale's song had come to an end and the king began to doze, the dawn chorus suddenly began. First, a pair of turtledoves landed on the branch of a tree outside the window and began to coo. The sound awoke the king, but the nightingale began its song again, and out-cooing the doves, put the king back to sleep. Then, suddenly, a large red rooster flew up to the windowsill and began to crow hysterically. The noise startled the king awake, but the nightingale sang louder, so loud that he out-crowed the rooster. The king began to doze off again. The next moment, from the courtyard below, a donkey began to bray hideously. Once again the king was startled awake. The nightingale sang still louder, out-braying the donkey. Now, the doves, the rooster, and the donkey all joined together, and still the nightingale sang louder, until the king's ears rang with the commotion. So the noisy chorus drove sleep from the king all that day, and when evening came, he fell upon his royal bed and, exhausted, fell asleep. Not a bird chirped, not a sound came from within the palace or without. Then, through the open window, only the whisper of the eagle's wings. The king slept deeply; the sound of the bells did not awaken him as the eagle began to work at the latch of the cage. All was going as planned.
All, that is, but one detail, or rather, two: Tabriz and Fabriz. Startled by the eagle's sudden entrance into the bedchamber, they jumped on top of the king, and he awoke. Seeing the eagle, he quickly understood all that had happened. He hurried to the cage, and the eagle fled into the night. The nightingale was still his prisoner. For the first time, however, he realized the meaning of the nightingale's sad song. It longed to be free. To soothe his own sadness he had brought unhappiness to another, and with this understanding, he did the first noble thing he had ever done: he brought the cage to the window, and opened it. The cats stood on the edge of the bed, their tales twitching madly. The nightingale hopped from its cage, and flew to the nearest branch outside. The moon was full and bright. The scent of jasmine filled the air. The nightingale burst into jubilant song, a song of paradise regained. It was free, and freely offered its song back to the king. From that moment, the king's sadness began to grow less; slowly at first, and then more with each passing day, until at last his own heart echoed the sounds of the nightingale's now joyous song.
A Few of Pastor Kevin's Children's Stories...
Surprisingly, the item never sold, and ended up in the attic above the shop where Clarisse and Devon took up residence in it.
Though the two white mice who lived above the shop didn't know it, this particular day was Good Friday. Outside in the market, they could hear the shouts of "Hot Cross Buns! Hot Cross Buns!" up and down the street. The street vendors carried large trays of sweet buns marked with a cross of icing to symbolize the cross on which Jesus died. From house to house and shop to shop they went, filling the air with the delicious, sweet scent.
It was this scent that awoke Clarisse and Devon. They sniffed the air, stretched, and prepared for their morning routine. At precisely seven in the morning the bells in the tower of St. John's church would ring. The bells were just loud enough to provide fifteen seconds of cover for the two mice to scurry down the thirteen stairs from the attic to the second landing, avoiding the mouse traps, and without attracting the notice of a large black alley cat called Mephistophiles, who slept in the stairwell. On the landing was a trunk, filled with a mouse's dream of miscellaneous treasures, including old books, woolen stockings, leather shoes, and most importantly, a large bag of walnuts. The mice had chewed their way into the chest one night, and now it was their favorite breakfast spot. At seven-thirty, the shopowner, Mr. Symmes, would come through the front door and chase Mephistophiles into the street. It took the cat precisely thirty seconds to find his way back in, providing just enough time for the return trip to the attic.
This, however, was Good Friday, and Mr. Symmes would not open the shop today. So it happened that Devon and Clarisse found themselves trapped in the trunk, with Mephistophiles lying nearby, and no way to escape.
The clock struck half-past seven. Devon knew that the half-past chime lasted only a moment, but Clarisse did not. Hearing the sound of the bells, Clarisse scampered out of the trunk. Suddenly the chimes stopped, and the stairwell was silent. Hearing the sounds of tiny feet, Mephistophiles open his eyes and spotted Clarisse.
Devon dashed out into the open and squealed. The cat turned away from Clarisse, and pounced on Devon. Like all cats, Mephistophiles liked to play with his food, so he took a few moments to swat Devon from one paw to the other. Meanwhile, Clarisse saw her chance. Behind the cat was a mousetrap. Clarisse crept slowly up and pushed the mousetrap closer. As she did, Mephistophiles backed away from Devon and sat down. His tail sprung the mousetrap, and the cat yowled and dashed down the stairs! The mice scrambled up the stairs toward the attic. Just then the front door to the street opened and a vendor called out "Hot Cross Buns!" and poor old Mephistophiles dashed out, with the mousetrap still on his tail.
Safely in their silver slipper in the attic, Clarisse turned to Devon. "You were willing to give your life for me!" she said.
"But," replied Devon, it was you who saved me in the end."
"Well," added Clarisse with a chuckle, it was the trap that got the cat, 'in the end,' and serves him right, too!"
When old Mephistophiles finally got free of the mousetrap, he found another stairwell to live in at the other end of Portobello Market. Clarisse and Devon returned to their happy life in the attic above the antique shop, in the Duchess of Cornwall's silver slipper.
Once upon a time there were two little housemice named Devon and Clarisse, who lived in a silver slipper. The slipper had once belonged to the Duchess of Cornwall, until her Welsh Corgi carried it off. It was found years later and ended in an antique shop at the end of Portobello Market near Notting Hill Gate in London.
Devon and Clarisse
Forgiven
Once upon a time in the old West lived a boy named Jeb. At twelve years old, Jeb was finally old enough to travel with his father to the big rodeo, half a day's journey away. He had been looking forward to this, it seemed, all his life.
His father, a soldier in the Cavalry, was home on leave and had promised to take him at last. Three days before the big event, Jeb's father called him downstairs and said, "Son, I have bad news. I'm not going to be able to take you to the rodeo."
Jeb was a boy with a fiery temper, and this news made it flare.
"But you promised!" he cried, and ran from the house...
Filled with anger at his father, Jeb mounted his horse and rode wildly away. He didn't know where he was going, and didn't care, as long as it was far away.
The mid-day sun was hot in the sky above as Jeb rode across the scorched plain toward the hills beyond. The anger within him was hotter still, and he felt it burning in his face. How could his father break a promise that meant so much to him? It was unforgivable.
At last Jeb reached the low hills at the edge of the plain. He had left home in such a hurry, he had not even brought a canteen. Now he was hot and thirsty. He saw a cave in the hillside; maybe he would find water there. He tied his horse to a boulder and went into the cave. It was cool, at least, but the air smelled foul. Jeb went down, deep into the cave, and found a small pool of water. He cupped his hands, scooped up some water and tasted it. Quickly he spat it out.
"Bitter," he thought, "just like I feel." He sat in the darkness of the cave, beside the stagnant water. In his heart he did not want to let go of his anger. He did not want to forgive his father.
It was cool in the cave, at least, and little by little Jeb's anger began to cool, too. He got up and walked back outside into the blinding sunlight.
"Hello there, young feller," a voice called. "Whatcha doin' out here in the heat o' the day?" It was an older man on horseback.
Jeb was caught off guard and didn't know what to say. "I'm looking for water."
"Mighty strange place to look for water, out here," said the stranger. "Ain't got none at home?"
"I left home," replied Jeb.
"Aha. I see. Had some trouble with yer folks, did y' ?"
"My father. He's home on leave and promised to take me to the rodeo. Now he's breaking his promise."
"Hmmm. Home on leave, is he? What division is he with?"
"He's in the Cavalry, sir."
"Well, now, haven't y' heard? The Cavalry's been called back to the front lines! Heard about it just this mornin'. Didn't yer pa say so?"
Suddenly Jeb realized what had happened. He hadn't even stopped to ask his father why he couldn't take him to the rodeo. Then he thought of his mother and sister at home alone. What if his father had already left, and Jeb had no chance to tell him he was sorry, or even say goodbye!"
"I gotta go," said Jeb, as he mounted his horse and raced off across the plain and back toward the town.
The afternoon sun was in his eyes as he rode, fast as the wind, determined to see his father before it was too late to say what was on his heart. He rode straight to the town square, where the cavalrymen were still gathering. His father was there! Jeb rode quickly to him.
"I'm sorry, Jeb," he said, "I really wanted to take you."
"No, Pa, I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"I know, son, it's all right. God willing, there will be other years and other rodeos."
"It doesn't matter, now, Pa. Just come home safe."
"You go and take care of your Ma and your sister."
"Yes, Pa," Jeb said, fighting back tears, trying to be strong, "I will."
He rode back to their home, as the sun was setting. A cool breeze was blowing now, and the sky turned from gold to orange and red. Jeb realized that his father had never even held his anger against him. While Jeb was brooding in the cave, his father had already forgiven him! How could he have allowed his temper to get the best of him that way? He had wondered how he could ever forgive his father. He realized now that it was he who had needed forgiveness, and that he had been forgiven from the start.
First Baptist Church of West Townsend
