At the age of sixteen, Anita stayed with her aunt and uncle the day before Easter luncheon to help scour down the house before the rest of the family arrived. After half a day of housework, her cousin grabbed her shoulders and asked her to please stop singing or I’ll start calling you Princess again.
“Now the birth of Jesus Christ was as follows: After His mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Spirit. Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not wanting to make her a public example, was minded to put her away secretly. But while he thought about these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.
Across this desert land we came
With laden backs and heavy loads
We didn’t have an easy trip
No simple paths or painless roads
But standing here, outside the house
We share an anxious smile
Will what we find inside be worth the while?
We fear to find the truth
It’s such an odd and crazy thing
The truth: Might we be wrong again somehow?
It seems too ordinary for a king
But no—it’s too late to turn back now
This started out as a submission for Mary's contest (http://enterthewriterslair.blogspot.com/2011/12/announcing-first-ever-writers-lair.html), but it was too long. It’s a Christmas story, as you can’t tell from the title, but it’s also a lot of other things. So…onwards and upwards.
*
One of Three
Anita’s exasperated cousin once asked, “You think life’s a soundtrack, don’t you?”
In Defense of Scrooge?
I was on the HSLDA website, and I clicked on the 'contests' link. One of the categories for 2010 was to write an essay on an article entitled 'In Defense of Scrooge' by Michael Levin, a Libertarian. Although the contest is long over, I would still like to write my own essay on this article. So, here goes.
Zadok, Elias, Cephas, and half a dozen other shepherds burrowed into their fleece vests as the fierce wind tugged on their tunics. “If only we could light a decent fire,” Elias muttered.
“Not tonight,” Zadok, chief shepherd, cautioned. “The wind is too strong. We wouldn’t be able to keep it under control even if we could light it.”
“Well then, “ Cephas lazily reached out his crook to poke a wayward lamb. “How about a story?”
“Your stories all start with the same source—a wine jug!” Another shepherd snorted.
“This is the Door of Humility, originally built in the seventh century.” The guide droned on, ignoring the muttered curses of the tall Americans who bumped their heads and the protests of the elderly who were already bent double with age. Among the later was a quiet woman with paper-white hair and gleaming onyx eyes.
She wandered away from the crowd into the Grotto of the Nativity. Underneath the elaborate tiles and plaques, it was still just a cave.
“He was born in a stable, Mara. Just think of it! A stable, like this!”
