The constant thump, thump, thumping was making him crazy. “What in the world is that incessant noise?” he thought. The sky was clear except for heat lightning playing tag in the distance over the gulf waters. “Well, it’s not thunder! I’m never going to get any rest at this rate. Ugh!”
Slowly, the
thumping slowed. He was drifting off in
fond memories of fishing with his dad, then his kids, and then his
grandkids. “Life has been such a
blessing,” he thought to himself. A
smile played across his face. “I’m so tired!”
There, in
the room, by his bedside, his children and a few of the grandchildren watched
this transformation happening on the sweet old man’s face. “What’s he thinking about, dad?” one of the
grandkids asked. “Well, if I know my
daddy, he’s thinking about fishing.” Came the reply. “Gosh, I haven’t seen him smile in a long
time!” replied another.
There was a
deep breath from the bed, a long, slow exhalation, then nothing more. A nurse, who’d been sitting on one side of
the bed, placed her stethoscope on the man’s chest, over his heart. After a few moments, she looked up with tears
of compassion in her eyes and made the announcement. All those present let out a cumulative breath
that they didn’t realize they’d been holding.
After a few
minutes of sniffling and quite sobs the eldest son bowed his head and thanked
God for this beautiful, wonderful man that he called dad. Then, the youngest grandchild whispered these
words, “I hope you catch a lot today, grandpa.
I already miss you! Good luck!”
The view master found its protagonist. He was draped in a myriad of colors, and was
chasing around and around. Just a
sliding shuffle and click away from another heroic scene. What adventure awaits? Who would become the antagonist to this
adventurous soul? Ah, but isn’t that
what the wheel of fate has in store for each of us. We spin and shuffle through life hoping to
load the next adventure and scene that will be better than the last.
Stop! Get out of the loop and live. We only have so many spins in this life, and it seems the more that pass the faster we go through the next set. Just a thought…
As
I sat on the park bench I happened to glance down and see a peanut sitting
inconspicuously behind one of the legs.
Naturally, I bent over and picked it up.
Glancing up, across the walking path, I noticed a squirrel suddenly stop
his constant hopping and digging to give me a hard stare of anticipation.
Laughing
aloud and looking down at the small nugget of gold, that I obviously held in my
hand, I debated whether to toss it over to the little grey fur ball or hold it
out as an offering.
Isn’t
this what we do in life sometimes? We
know what the right thing to do is, yet we hesitate and try to figure out
another path.
Instinct tells me to toss the peanut to the squirrel, so why don’t I do just that? Is it God whispering to me to toss the small gift, and, in return, me trying to rationalize another or better way? Perhaps.
Am
I being selfish to want the squirrel to come and take the prize from my
hand? Why do I need that confirmation of
its trust?
In
the end… I tossed the peanut to the squirrel and he cracked it and ate it then
and there.
My
reward was found in my own smile and warmed heart! Thank you, Lord!
Hebrews 13:16 “And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”
Not long after the sun sets and the moon begins her celestial climb they too begin their climb. A climb from deep within the burrows, which go unnoticed during the day, but could never be missed in the night.
Calciarites,
with their distinctive appearance of long, filthy fur, and unmistakable height,
make their nightly foraging run around the forests, parks and abandoned
neighborhoods along the old polluted rivers.
Though mankind is now aware of the existence of the Calciarites, they
have no idea of what, if anything, to do about them.
It
was believed that these creatures were extinct, but the carcass of one
discovered near an old southern town, by a dried-out riverbed early in the 2120’s
ended that thought. No, these creatures,
for whatever reason, had reappeared.
Theory holds that when the once mighty Mississippi river, all but dried up now, lost her claim to the land it forced the creatures to leave their apparent, underground homes. Now, they again make the surface their playground.
Contact made: Air is abnormally unhealthy in the southern part of the states. However, that doesn’t stop certain elements of the population from “exploring” the area. This is how confirmation of the Calciarites was solidified.
A
group of young “explorers’” found the carcass of one of the creatures, and took
live videos, which in turn were fed across the Intercontinental Network of Nations
(INoN). People from around the globe
bore witness to what happened.
The
video serves as a lasting reminder that the Calciarites don’t only come out at
night to forage. The young men were
never seen again.
When
the monsters came I was not prepared.
Even my granddaughter had the right idea when she told her mommy, “When
the bad guys come in the night, I will punch them!” Yeah, I should have heeded the three-year old’s
advice.
Too late! I didn’t turn on the light when I reached under the bed and the monster got me! So much for being brave. My only salvation is that I screamed like a woman (not an attractive sound for a man in his mid-50’s), and my wife jumped out of bed and turned on the light.
“What
the heck is going on?” she queried. “Umm…
I… umm… I thought I was being grabbed by a monster under the bed!” I managed to
squeak out. “Bad guys in the night? Buahahahahaha! Get in this bed and go to sleep! I have a long day tomorrow.”
Needless
to say, after a few minutes, the bed was giggling from the laughter that was unsuccessfully,
under great attempts to be quelled. You
know what I mean!
No,
it was not a good night for sleep! Maybe
tonight!
Suddenly, darkness fell and Mika feared for his life. He felt as if the whole of the world had encompassed him. In his panic, he held tight to what he thought could only be the Lost Hilt of the Scabbard of Kaliespis.
The day was bright and sunny with a subtle breeze that did little to cool the sweat forming on the faces that stood solemnly staring. A voice was droning on but the old man wasn’t really comprehending what he was hearing. To his left were two figures that were shaking and sniffing.
Reaching out the old man placed a hand on top of the small coffin wherein lay his precious, grandson. As tears formed, welled and dropped heavily from his eyes he said a silent prayer.
“God’s speed my dear, sweet grandson! I hope you found what you were searching for. I’ll be with you before you know it, and we can continue our adventures… I love you, Mika!”
Mika had not returned that day. His small body was found beneath a ton of earth where one side of the gully had caved in. He was sitting upright clutching a lump of clay against his chest while his other hand lay at his side grasping a stick.
Legend tells the story of a great warrior of days gone by. Stories passed down through generations, now, are only stories. Some call them pure fiction based on wild imagination when winters were long and indoor activities were few. However, others believe they are based on truth. Such is the case of the Lost Hilt of the Scabbard of Kaliespis.
Mika sat mesmerized as his grandfather recounted the story of the Lost Hilt. In his mind, he could picture the sword fights and the blood, decapitations, and thrusts from the infamous weapon as it sliced and diced through the enemy of the Kaliespis tribe of Shear.
Mika loved the sound of his grandfather’s deep, melancholic voice. He was always disappointed to wake up the next morning having fallen asleep during the story. Though he knew the story well he never tired of it.
Now, Mika, an over-enthusiastic young lad of 11 years, would often play down in the gully near his home and pretend he was one of the warriors of the Kaliespis tribe of Shear. With the perfect stick in hand, he would thoroughly thrash the bushes and trees with his overwhelming skills in swordsmanship. In his mind, he too one day would wield the infamous sword.
On such a day as this Mika was tired after an intensely fought battle. Against the shaded, shear bank of clay that made up one wall of the gully, Mika sought his rest. He found that if he dug out some of the walls that the clay was cool and comforting. This was especially attractive after annihilating and dismembering so many of his dreaded foe on this hot summer day.
As he leaned back against the wall he was aware of a distinct discomfort pressing rather obtusely upon his left shoulder. He turned and with some effort, he managed to dig out the offending clay-encrusted clump, using his trusty sword (stick), and lay it down before him. “What the heck is this?” he wondered aloud. Poking and picking away the clay Mika gasped at what he held in his hands. Running down to the very bottom of the gully Mika found a small puddle of water left over from the last rain. He thrust his prize into the water and feverishly rubbed it clean. Holding it up in front of him he exclaimed, “no way!”
