The Shufae: The Story

(Author's Note: Apologies for the long hiatus. I blame life, school, and...well, more life. I hope to write more from now on.)

The little boy placed a book into his backpack that day. He thought that rather than walking hither and yon, as he had in the past, he might instead find a place on the mountain to simply sit quietly and enjoy a story. The boy had just the place in mind: a clearing not far from his house, where the roots of a particular tree provided an unusually comfortable seat.

On the day of our story, however, the mountain had decided to be a bit different. As you ought to know, this is a very strange quality to find in a mountain; most of them rarely change, and even more rarely will you find one which is able to decide for itself that it desires to change. But this mountain, as you also ought to know by now, was not quite ordinary. As a result, the little boy soon found himself wandering amidst unfamiliar twists and turns in the forest.

After some time, the boy did arrive in a clearing, where the mountain rose up on one side in a solid wall of stone. The comfortable tree roots were not present, though, and the boy finally admitted to himself that he was well and truly lost. With nothing else to do, he sat down to wait for someone from the village to come find him. Removing the book from his backpack, the boy began to read. He was interrupted, however, by a small voice. It simply and politely told him that he was warmly welcomed to the clearing, but he was blocking the sunlight, and would it be too much trouble for him to move a bit please, thank you very much.

The little boy looked down to see a small fairy, no larger than an exceptionally large mouse, staring up at him. Now, I imagine that you most likely have never seen a fairy; they all left our world some time ago, for their own fascinating reasons. Fairies have skin which mimics the life of the forest around them. In the autumn, they turn every shade of red and gold that we are accustomed to seeing among the trees. In the spring and summer they are mostly green, with flower-spots of every beautiful color upon their wings. Winter is a very unfashionable and depressing time for fairies.

This particular fairy wore a pair of glasses and held in her hands a tiny book, which she had very nearly finished reading. The little boy stared for a moment, surprised by her presence. The fairy, however, merely straightened her glasses and repeated herself:

"I said, young sir, that you are quite welcome to my clearing, but would be even more welcome a few feet to your left, where you might not be blocking the sunlight. It's very difficult to read without light, you know, and I have only a few pages left."

The boy scooted a few feet to his left, resting his back against a different tree, but he could not keep himself from staring. The fairy returned to reading her book, but kept glancing up at the boy. Finally, she slammed the book shut.

"I simply can't read when people stare at me." She gave the boy a meaningful look. "It's quite annoying. Do you enjoy people staring at you while you're trying to eat?"

The boy was confused by this. "But you're not eating. You're reading. They're quite different things, you know."

The fairy sighed, "Not for me, young sir. I am a Shufae." She paused. Seeing that the word meant nothing to the little boy, she straightened her glasses again and explained, sounding a bit like a dictionary, "A Shufae is a book fairy. We have no need for food to eat, only books to read. Without them, we grow weak and cannot fly, or move at all. So you see, your staring has interrupted my meal."

The boy started to apologize, but the Shufae waved her hand and said, "Oh, never mind. It was a large book anyway, and I'm quite full. Too much Brontë goes straight to the hips, you know. I really should take in more poetry." She gestured to the clearing. "Welcome to my humble home! My name is Currerbell."

Looking around, the boy noticed for the first time how very quiet the clearing was. One might expect other fairies to be around -- after all, they are quite social creatures. Besides Currerbell, however, the boy could not see a single living thing. He asked the Shufae whether she lived alone in the clearing.

"Oh my, no," she laughed. "Let me introduce you to my friend!" With that, Currerbell flapped her wings a few times, carrying herself over to the wall of stone at one side of the clearing. She called out, "Branwell! Oh, Branwell! We have a guest I'd like you to meet."

From a small hole in the stone came a very large worm. Now, you ought to understand that when I say Branwell was a worm, that is truly an inadequate word to describe him; it is simply the closest thing we have in our world to describe what he was. It is true that he had no legs, like our worms. But where our worms are nasty and slimy and ugly, Branwell was none of these things. Instead, he was a beautiful shade of violet, with intelligent eyes and a winning smile. If ever you were to invite a worm to a party, I expect it would have been Branwell.

Currerbell introduced the two of them to each other and explained, "Branwell and I get along rather famously. He's a bookworm. We have the best discussions about poetry and our favorite characters. In fact, he's currently working on his own book, and I expect it shall be very good."

Branwell blushed. "Of course, I may be able to write, but I haven't yet designed a way to repair this leak." He gestured upward with his head, and the little boy noticed for the first time that a trickle of water was pushing its way out from a crack in the stone, a little way above Branwell's home. It dripped down the face of the stone and disappeared into the damp ground beneath it.

The bookworm looked back toward the little boy. "It's dreadful when the water gets in my eyes. But enough about that, you didn't come here to listen to my housekeeping troubles. You seem to be very much lost. Perhaps we may help you find your way?"

The little boy explained about the village where he lived, and how he had gotten lost even though he thought he knew where he was going. Currerbell and Branwell exchanged a knowing look.

"Well of course you can't expect to always see the mountain the same way," the Shufae said patiently. "It is quite a unique mountain in that way. But in any case, we know your village." She gave him some simple directions, he thanked her, and returned home.

A few weeks later (during which time many more adventures happened, but that is another story -- several of them, in fact), the little boy woke up to find a very curious sight in the field between his house and the mountain. During the night, a large rock had rolled down the mountain, leaving a deep trench in the ground behind it. Water flowed down the mountain through this trench, turning aside once it reached the stone and rolling down towards a nearby creek.

The little boy quickly put on his shoes and ran toward the stone, to see what had happened. When he reached it, he heard a familiar voice saying, "Oh bother, that leak must have been worse than I thought." Resting atop the rock was Branwell the bookworm, looking out over the path cut by the water.

Branwell and the boy discussed the problem for some time. They decided that the water flowing behind the stone must have eventually worn it down, until the bookworm's home broke free of the mountain and rolled down toward the boy's village.

"I could carry you back up there, I suppose," the boy offered. "It would be quite a long way to crawl by yourself, Branwell."

The bookworm considered this offer for a moment, then shook his head. "My home is in this stone, and it is far too heavy to carry back up the mountain. If you would, though, go visit Currerbell and tell her that I am all right, please."

The boy promised that he would, only he had some things to do and could not climb the mountain that day. One busy day became a few busy weeks, and it was some time before the boy found an opportunity to once more go visit Currerbell. He started at Branwell's home and followed the river (which had grown a bit in those few weeks) up the mountain.

What the little boy found there was very surprising. Instead of the quiet and simple clearing he had known, Currerbell's home had become a center of activity. He saw several fairies he didn't recognize, all of them blue with sparkling scales, sitting on the banks of the river. Several more like them swam peacefully in the shallow water. Still others danced and sang near the stone wall.

Looking around, the boy spotted Currerbell to one side of the clearing, leaning against a tree. Near her sat two of the blue fairies. Each of the three held a book in her hands, and the boy could tell that all three books were alike. He walked over to them, and Currerbell looked up.

"Well hello again, young sir!" She saw the boy looking at the blue fairies in confusion, and continued, "This is Ellisbell, and Actonbell. They're Huffae." She paused, then realized that the word didn't mean anything more to him than 'Shufae' had. "The Huffae are river fairies. They came here to live after Branwell...well, after the river broke through the stone."

The little boy suddenly remembered his reason for coming back to the clearing. "Branwell lives near my house now," he said quickly. "He wanted me to tell you that he's OK, but that he can't come back because his home is too heavy to carry."

Currerbell blinked, and straightened her glasses. She looked around, at all the Huffae frolicking about the river. With a small tear in her eye, she asked the boy, "Will you tell him the same for me?"

The little boy smiled, and agreed. After returning home, he told the bookworm about what he had seen on the mountain. Branwell was glad to hear the news. The boy felt that it was very sad for two friends to be separated, but Branwell interrupted him.

"Of course it is sad. But my house no longer leaks, and dear Currerbell has made many friends at the river which pushed me here. Who am I to complain?"

The little boy fell asleep that night, wondering at how something could be so sad and yet contain such blessings.

The Song Weaver: The Rest Of The Story

God teaches many different lessons in many different ways. Sometimes He teaches through Scripture, sometimes He teaches through circumstance, and sometimes He teaches by revealing Himself in nature. Sometimes, however, I am particularly stiff-necked, and at those times God brings people into my life who get it; those spiritual obstacles I refuse to overcome, they have already left behind. Through their experience and submission to Christ, God softens my own heart and shows me more about Himself. Bonnie is one such person.

I am a terrible student. I don't mean that I get bad grades; it's just that I am the chief of dawdling and taking shortcuts. My classmates often stare in amazement when I recount the harrowing tale of the all-night research paper, or shake their heads in disbelief when I explain that no, I did not in fact study for the test. Somehow, I have managed not to completely destroy my academic career through procrastination, but not to worry -- I can do that later.

I don't dislike school, really. In fact, I enjoy learning new things. My problem is that I do not live in tomorrow. If I did, I would certainly be most productive, for all my thoughts are directed towards planning and dreaming for the future. This tendency reveals itself even in small things; for instance, I often make "to-do" lists. By writing down all the things I ought to do, I grant myself a feeling of accomplishment. After all, I have a list. What could be more efficient and productive than a list?

The sad truth, however, is that I hold such agendas until the last minute, doing my work only when I have no time to spare and can no longer produce excuses to avoid my responsibilities. During class, I daydream about the coming years and what I will do with the knowledge I am supposed to be absorbing, only to leave the classroom and discover I have taken no notes and remember only scraps of my teachers' lectures. In my mind, life has always revolved around my destination, with its only question a persistent child's "are we there yet?"

Bonnie is a very talented young lady. She is a singer with a particular knack for Broadway musicals. She is a knitter with a love for the color turquoise. She is a speaker with a flair for making serious issues accessible to the listener. She is a chef with an uncanny ability to make me hungry simply by describing her creations. Perhaps most importantly of all, her heart is that of a true servant, with a burden for missions.

She is fifteen years old.

At such a young age and with such a presumably bright future, Bonnie has understandably struggled with the same issues I have: constant daydreaming and restlessness. Unlike me, however, she seems to have largely overcome these obstacles. In contrast with my bird-watching focus on the future, Bonnie lives in the present. She meets her responsibilities from day to day and tries to keep her eyes on the road. Rather than reserving her talents and her knowledge for coming years, she puts them to use as opportunities arise, blessing those around her in the here and now.

A lot of people (or maybe it is just me) tear themselves to pieces worrying about what Christ would have them do with their future. What we often forget is that He has not given us tomorrow or any promise of it. Instead, as the psalmist reminds us, this is the day the Lord has made, and we are to rejoice in it. We have no need to live in the future, for there is work to be done around us every day.

I have a lot of hopes for the future, a lot of goals. Too often, I allow myself to be consumed with mapping out ways and paths for myself, all in a vain effort to reach those goals. Christ says, however, that He Himself is the Way. If we would reach a worthy destination, we must be careful to follow the one worthy Way. To remain in Christ is to live each day rightly. It is not an easy path, but it is very simple: love the Lord your God with all that you are and love your neighbor as yourself. What better preparation for the future could we ask? After all, if we follow the path each day, we cannot fail to reach the destination Christ has prepared for us.

For now, I will find beauty in every day. I refuse to worry about the doors through which I'll walk in the future. When I reach those doors, I will knock and at that time they will be opened to me.

The Song Weaver: The Story

Perhaps by now you have begun to notice, dear reader, that the little boy has discovered many things which he ought to have known before. "How is it possible," you may ask, "that he never knew there was a cave near his own house, or that he had never seen the lamb dancing on the cliff before?" These are good questions, and you ought to be proud of yourself for having asked them of me.

The reason for the boy's ignorance of local geography, you might say, was in part caused by his ignorance of local time. Allow me to share a story which may better illustrate his predicament. In the forest on the mountain, there is a lake. It is around this particular lake that the little boy learned this particular lesson.

The story does not begin, however, anywhere near that lake. It begins at the very edge of the forest, not far from the boy's home, and it begins with a bird flitting among the tree branches. The little boy stood, watching the bird soar here and there, back and forth. It was quite a beautiful bird, very small and colorful. After some time it began to fly further into the forest, taking no notice of the boy, who followed along behind in a kind of daydream and paid no mind to where his feet carried him.

For some time, the bird continued to fly and the boy continued to follow. Quite suddenly, the ground was no longer beneath the boy, for in giving his attentions to the small bird, he had failed to notice the lake to which you have previously been introduced. At first, the boy was wet. Then he was both wet and confused, for the lake (as I have failed to mention and beg your forgiveness) was a deep purple. On its surface floated many flowers with golden petals and green leaves. The boy was quite certain that if he reached out and touched one of the flowers, he would find that they were not merely gold-coloured, but actual gold.

You may ask how actual gold would have floated on water. I might point out that the water in question is purple, and so you really needn't concern yourself with such things.

At this point the boy had been wet and confused, but he now found himself saddened, for try as he might, he could not see the bird any more. And so -- wet, confused, and sad -- he climbed out of the lake to discover that he was also lost. He had walked for some time without minding his path, and so could not remember how to return home. Sitting down on the shore of the lake, he began to consider how he might solve this problem.

A voice came floating across the water. The little boy looked up, across the lake, to see a woman in the distance, singing to herself in some language he did not understand. After watching her for a moment, the boy realized that she might know the way back to his village. He stood excitedly and ran around the edge of the lake to ask her. When he reached the other side of the lake, however, what he saw caused him to forget all about home and birds and lakes.

There, floating in the air before the woman, was a quite long and yet unfinished tapestry. It bore a complicated design, beginning on its left with an image of a weeping girl, a heart, and a mountain in the background. The pictures progressed, through cycles of winter to spring, and joy to sadness. The girl grew, and began to speak kind words (and sometimes, unfortunately, unkind words) to other people. There were storms and calms, and many more things besides this girl's story.

That was not the most amazing thing about the tapestry, however. The most amazing part of it, you see, was that it continued to weave itself out of thin air, adding images and stories to itself. But no, the boy realized, it wasn't weaving itself. Instead, as he watched it appear out of thin air, he came to realize that the images were formed from the song the woman sang. As she sang more quickly, the tapestry wounds its threads around each other with great speed. As she sang higher notes, the colors grew brighter. Somehow, in the magic of her song, her words became fabric and came together in beauty.

The woman noticed the little boy, and stopped singing for a moment.

"May I help you?" she asked with a smile on her face. The tapestry had ceased to extend itself, though it continued to float in mid-air before them.

The boy stood speechless for a moment. He ought to ask about his home, he knew, but another question jumped to the front of his mind and asked itself before he could stop it: "Where will it end? The tapestry, the story? What will happen?"

The woman laughed, but it was not a cruel laugh, not making fun of him. She looked at the boy and told him quite seriously, "I do not know where it will end, young man. I only know that for now, I must continue to sing its song. Perhaps one day, I will see the end of the story as it all comes together into a single image. But if I think too much about the end, I find, I cannot enjoy the tapestry itself. Isn't it beautiful as it is, right at this moment?"

The boy was very disappointed. He could not see anything beautiful about an unfinished tapestry, with its ragged edges and incomplete stories. He looked from the tapestry, to the woman, back to the tapestry. Finally, he decided that it was time for him to leave.

"Do you know the way back to my village?" he asked the woman impatiently.

She smiled again, and thought for a moment. "I'm afraid I don't," she told him. "I've never seen your village. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to work." With that, she continued her song. The boy, who had once found the song magnificent, was now simply annoyed by it. Without a way home, however, all he could do was sit down and wait. Maybe the bird would come back, he thought, and lead him back the way they had come. Perhaps Milly or his mother would come looking for him.

He waited. As he waited, he watched the tapestry unfurl. There were detailed pictures of so many things upon it -- flowers, wrens, home-cooked meals like the boy's mother made. The images floated past the boy's eyes, and gradually he came to see their beauty. He realized that he didn't need to see the tapestry's end. Every piece of it was beautiful, and that was enough for now.

As he thought these things, a new image began to weave itself near the bottom of the cloth: a mountain. But that was not all. As the woman continued to sing, the detail of the mountain began to increase. Now the boy could see clouds floating around it, now he could see the trees growing on its side. Then, with great excitement, he realized that he could see a lake amidst the trees -- a purple lake. Before he could even begin to hope, his very own village appeared at the mountain's base. He examined the picture carefully, and saw that he could return there very easily; the bird had not taken him so very far from home after all.

The bird. He thought about the bird for a moment, wishing that he had not lost sight of it, wishing that it had not flown away from him. Maybe he would see it again one day, he thought. Then he remembered the tapestry, and his village.

Maybe he would see the bird again some day. For now, however, it was enough for him to turn and walk away from the lake, towards his home.

The Stone Rabbit and the Glass Man: The Rest of the Story

People always ask Richmond whether or not he was named after the city in Virginia. Honestly, I don't remember whether he was or not -- I only mention it to assure you that yes, that is his real name.

Richmond and I were members of the same debate club in high school. When the club discussions became too serious, overly tense, or just plain boring, we took it upon ourselves to interject arguments about the Star Wars universe, or perhaps mythical creatures. One time we succeeded in pulling the entire club into an extended debate regarding the superiority of unicorns over dragons, a day my younger sister still remembers with glee. I'm fairly certain our debate coach felt differently about the matter.

Richmond is one of the people I call a "best friend", a distinction held by few and desired by even fewer. We read the same books, laugh at the same (usually dumb) jokes, and share a deep love for stylish hats. When there's girl trouble, we discuss it with each other. To the objective observer this might seem like a bad idea, given that neither of us has had any romantic success whatsoever. Somehow, though, we have each maintained the belief that the other understands something about the female species that we do not. Perhaps that's the reason for our lack of success. In any case, discussing our respective girl troubles ensures that we stay in regular contact with each other.

All of these things, however, are only symptoms of the strength of our friendship. The root cause of it is the honesty we share. Lots of people glibly state that honesty is the best policy, but Richmond and I try to actually live it out in our friendship. Our mutual agreement is essentially that while silence is preferable to falsehood, truth is always preferable to silence. We don't always enjoy hearing the truth. "Well, that was stupid" is a piece of wisdom we've shared with each other on several occasions. It's not that we harbor ill will towards one another -- we simply don't mince words when discussing serious matters.

The trust such a policy allows us to share is one of the key factors in our friendship's strength. I can speak honestly with Richmond about any personal matter, because I know that he will do the same with me. From girl trouble to college worries to faith struggles, I can be sure that Richmond will give me his real opinion, whether it is total agreement or pure disgust.

I think that's one of the reasons I'm drawn to Christ. Scripture says a lot about truth. Jesus even goes so far as to say that He is the Truth -- not merely that He knows the Truth, or even that He tells the Truth, but that He himself is the ultimate answer to our questions. It is in Him and through Him that we can find our way.

People weave lies all the time. They're little white lies to prevent hurt feelings, they're elaborate rainbow lies to explain a missed deadline, they're transparent omissions to smooth things over. There have been times I have looked into a person's eyes and couldn't help but wonder what the last lie he told was, and why he told it, and whether he was lying at that moment. It's tiresome. In Christ, however, we find rest and refuge because He will never betray our trust. Such a thing would simply go against His nature.

In turn, it's important to be entirely honest with Christ. This begins with confession of sins, usually. The Christian walk is a process and a relationship, though, not a one-time event. As we continue, Scripture encourages us to regularly cast our cares upon Christ. It's only right; my teachers expect participation in class, Richmond and my other friends expect honesty from me. Why shouldn't God, the Wonderful Counselor and Friend closer than a brother, expect us to practice such trust in Him? We speak truth to Him, because He is Truth to us.

Of course, I don't always enjoy hearing the Truth. Jesus tells us some pretty crazy things, you know? "Turn the other cheek", "go the extra mile", "take up your cross." It's all very intimidating, as though I'm an elementary school student who has suddenly found himself sitting in a college philosophy class. Some days I skip class, and some days I tell Jesus I'm just not interested in what He has to say. Yet there He stands, and there He always draws me back to Himself. In being the Truth, He has become my Way and my Life.

The Stone Rabbit And The Glass Man: The Story

One morning while the boy was climbing on the mountain, it began to rain. Usually, the boy enjoyed watching the rain, and even playing in it. This rain, however, was very heavy, and began to soak through the boy's bag of food which he had brought with him. The boy knew that if he didn't get out of the rain soon, his bread for lunch would be ruined. The village was too far away, and so he began to search for some other shelter.

Behind a group of bushes, the boy found a cave entrance. Of course he knew that one should never enter an unfamiliar cave alone, but then again one should never allow a perfectly good lunch to be ruined, either. And so the boy stepped just inside the cave to wait for the storm to pass.

He waited for a long time -- so long, in fact, that he had already eaten his lunch and had begun to grow hungry again. Just then, behind him, he heard a voice say, "Who are you?"

It seemed to the boy that the voice was the most beautiful he had ever heard. He turned around, expecting to see a shining angel or perhaps a fairy with thin and papery wings. Instead, he saw a small rabbit made of dark stone, staring at him with big eyes of gleaming copper. She spoke again.

"Who are you?"

The boy was confused for a moment. After all, rabbits ought to have fur and a cottontail, and this stone creature had neither of those things. Finally, the little boy collected his thoughts, and explained, "I live in the village at the bottom of the mountain. I came into this cave so that my lunch would not be spoiled by the rain. It seems, though, that I will have difficulty reaching my home again if this storm continues much longer."

The rabbit laughed, a sound which captured the boy's heart. She really was a very beautiful creature. "You silly boy," she said, "Don't you know that in this very cave, there is a path which leads to your village? I could show it to you, if you would follow me."

The boy was not too sure about this idea. "The cave is very dark," he objected. "How will we find our way?"

With a sweet smile and another gleam in her copper eyes, the rabbit spoke softly to him. "I live here in this cave, sweet boy. I can show you the way, if only you will follow me. Or perhaps you would rather wait for the storm to wane?"

The boy thought for a while longer, then shrugged. She had called him a sweet boy...how bad could it be? He said, "I suppose if you know the way, then it couldn't hurt. Please, show me the way home." And so the boy followed the rabbit deeper into the cave. He could not see her, but he could hear the click of her stone paws as she hopped along.

They walked and hopped beside each other for some time. The boy could tell that they had turned a few corners, and he could only feel a faint breeze to tell him from which way they had come. He tripped over something -- a loose stone, a crack in the ground, he would never know. As he fell, he was surprised to find that he kept falling, down a slope in the cave. Far behind as he rolled further and further down, he heard the rabbit's beautiful voice call to him, "Oh yes, watch your feet there, sweet boy!"

Eventually, the boy stopped rolling, coming to rest in the darkness. He didn't know what to do. Could he find his way back? He waited where he was, listening for the click of the rabbit approaching, but she did not come. He waited longer, hoping that she would find him, but she did not. Just as he began to feel like he might cry, he thought that he could see something in the distance -- which was ridiculous, you understand, for there was no light in the cave.

And yet there it was: a spot of visible cave wall in the distance, gradually growing larger. As he watched, the boy realized that there was a tall man, made of glass, approaching him. There was still no light that he could tell, but somehow when he looked through the man he could see perfectly, as though all the light of the sun had reached into the cave and found him there.

The man reached the place where the little boy had fallen. This close, the boy could tell that in addition to being made completely from clearest glass, the man wore a small hat of that same glass. The man stopped, and looked at the boy for a moment.

"Well? Aren't you going to stand up? I can't lead you out of here if you won't stand up, you know."

The glass man's voice was not like the stone rabbit's. It was rough, and the boy could not imagine that it would ever say the words 'sweet boy'. He stood up slowly, then realized what the man had said.

"You can lead me out of here?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," scoffed the man, "And I'll do a fair sight better than that rabbit of yours. Come along." Without another word, he turned and began to walk. The boy followed, looking carefully through the man into the tunnels before them.

They walked for some time, then the glass man spoke again. "It really was very foolish of you to follow that rabbit. She's not a bad girl, of course. Her voice is quite magnificent, as I'm sure you noticed. But she has no light to guide visitors through this cave, and believe me when I say that it's a very dangerous place for one to get lost. You ought to have waited for someone with a light to come along, so you could see clearly to follow them."

The boy thought carefully about this, but didn't say anything. He knew the glass man was right, but it hurt him to admit it. He decided, though, that it did not hurt nearly as much to admit it as it had hurt him to fall down the slope earlier. As the boy realized this, he began to see light in the distance -- not just the light he could see by looking through the glass man, but actual light coming from the cave's exit. They drew closer and closer to it, until finally the boy was standing, looking at his home. The village was not far away.

The glass man smiled at him briefly, before turning and returning to the cave. After he was gone, the boy realized that he ought to have thanked the man, or perhaps invited him to dinner. The sun was setting, however, and the boy knew better than to enter the cave again without a guide. He turned towards his home and began walking. And as he walked, he decided that the glass man's voice was in fact more beautiful than the stone rabbit's.

The Dancing Lamb: The Rest of the Story

Abigail Faye taught me about flooring, sign language, oil rigs, the tribe of Benjamin, constellations, Irish dancing, gelatin, insulation, the importance of transmission fluid, gypsy princes, the contents of pepperoni, goats who like to bite people, and faith.

I met this dancing lamb on Mississippi's gulf coast, during a week-long trip to aid in post-Hurricane Katrina reconstruction. We met on a Friday night, and before sunset the next day had been told that "it sure seems like you two have known each other a long time." And it did. For the rest of the week, we worked side-by-side, laying down new floors for damaged houses, trading lists of favorite movies, hanging up insulation, discussing political issues, repairing roofs and getting pulled over because her truck's tag had expired. (She didn't get any tickets -- the officers were reluctant to fine a reconstruction volunteer.)

Abby described us as brother and sister, separated at birth.

I have a confession to make: I am not very skilled in construction or repair of any sort. How I convinced myself that I was qualified to participate in rebuilding the coast, I'll never know. Fortunately, Abby has been involved in such things for most of her life, and was able to teach me what I needed to know. From tile floors to shingles, she patiently guided me through so that I could help, rather than hurt, the relief effort.

One of the things that Abby feels strongly about is that our generation has been misled regarding the value of formal education. It's not that college isn't important, she says; after all, she is pursuing multiple majors at her university. However, many young people are taught that if they are sufficiently successful in the academic world, they won't need the kinds of practical skills that were being put to use on the coast -- the hammer and saw, the nail and board. As demonstrated by my predicament, such ideas simply aren't correct. Abby brings together the old and the new, pursuing both experience in construction work and knowledge in academic fields like astrophysics, applying both to the glory of God.

Although she would modestly deny it, Abigail also brings to modern times another trait which I thought had become a relic of the past: radical faith.

I really try to believe that everything in the Bible, ancient though it may be, is relevant to my life today. Some things test the limits of that belief. Take Abraham for example: God told him to get up and go, without even providing a destination. God simply said that when Abraham got there, He would show the place to him. How far away was this place? How long would the journey take? What would it cost him? He didn't know.

He went anyway.

If you had asked me a few weeks ago, I would have told you that such faith doesn't happen these days. In a time of commercial airplanes, online maps and cellular phones, what does it even mean to leave home anymore? You're rarely more than fifty cents away from a friendly and familiar voice. But that isn't even the point, really. The point is, even if such faith had a place in today's world, who would live it out? No one. Or so I thought.

Abigail had just parked her truck, when she heard a radio commercial for Eight Days of Hope, the reconstruction trip. She immediately turned off her radio, because the idea of driving for two days to do such a thing was insane. The next time she climbed into her truck, however, her radio inexplicably turned itself back on and began playing the same commercial she had interrupted before.

How much would it cost her? Could she even make it there in her truck? Could she make a meaningful impact in a mere eight days? She didn't know.

She went anyway.

Abby left her home with just enough money for gasoline on the way to the coast, in an old and battered truck (affectionately dubbed "The Jolly Roger") that had left the mechanic's shop only the night before. She slept in her truck when she was too tired to drive, because she couldn't afford to stay in a hotel. During her time at the coast, she had to repair the defroster on the Jolly Roger because we were experiencing record low temperatures for the area. Fortunately, there were mechanics who had also volunteered there who were able to do some rewiring for her, free of charge.

In the course of this rewiring, however, they saw enough that they were able to tell her she would need the entirety of the truck's electrical systems replaced before long. Later in the week, due to other mechanical issues, she was also told that she would need her transmission replaced within the month. In total, the work she needed done came to several thousand dollars' worth. I don't tell you all of these things to make you feel sorry for her, but rather so that you'll fully understand the importance of the following fact.

Abby worked joyfully the entire week. And when it came time for her to drive north, she did so confidently, singing praises to God along the way. I know, because she took me with her.

Abraham heard the call of God, and believed, and it was credited to him as righteousness. Thousands of years and half a world away, Abigail Faye heard that same call. In a mere eight days, she taught me that Abraham's kind of faith still lives, breathes, and even dances for joy at the beauty of God. I hope that some day, I will learn to clothe myself with such trust in my Father.

The Dancing Lamb: The Story

One night, the little boy could not sleep. There was a very loud thunderstorm outside. It was not the storm, however, that kept him awake. The boy was very excited, and kept thinking about all the adventures he would have on the mountain the next day. He was so excited, in fact, that he climbed out of his bed before the sun rose the next morning and prepared some food to carry with him. At dawn, just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, he stepped out of the door and turned toward the mountain.

Far away, the boy noticed something he had never seen before: a cliff jutting out from the mountain's side. Outlined in the early morning light, he could see something small standing on the very edge of the cliff. Well, not really standing -- it seemed to the boy that whoever it was, they were dancing. He decided that he should go tell them that dancing on a cliff is a very foolish thing to do, because of course it is a very foolish thing to do. And so the little boy began to climb the mountain.

The boy began to grow cold. He could not remember ever being this cold before, and supposed that the part of the mountain near the cliff must be a very cold place. As he climbed higher and higher and came closer and closer to the cliff, the leaves of the trees around him began to turn blue. The boy thought the blue leaves were very beautiful. He was so distracted looking at them that he did not notice how close he was to the cliff until he almost ran into a sign hanging from one of the trees. It said:

FAYE WILL NOT LIVE ON THIS CLIFF.

The boy could see that the word "not" had been written by someone different than the rest of the sign. This was very strange, of course, but not nearly so strange as the sign next to it, which simply said:

YES SHE WILL.

Looking past the signs, the little boy saw the cliff he had been looking for. In the very middle of it was a small house. Approaching this house, the small boy knocked on its door very quietly, then a bit more loudly, and waited. Eventually, a small lamb opened the door and smiled at him.

"Hello," said the boy. "I saw you dancing this morning, and thought I should tell you that it is a very foolish thing to dance on cliffs."

The little lamb just smiled at him. "Did you like my dance? It is an Irish dance, you know. From Ireland. I do it every morning, out on the edge of the cliff. My name is Faye."

The boy didn't know what to say. "Yes, I liked your dance. But I mean, you shouldn't dance on the cliff! You might fall! In fact, you shouldn't even be living on this cliff at all. It is very cold and dangerous."

Faye just smiled at him again. "If it's cold and dangerous, why are you here?"

The boy didn't know what to say.

"And anyway," said Faye, "I have to live here. The signs say so. Come inside!"

The boy stepped inside Faye's house, and discovered that it was much warmer inside, and that maybe it wasn't so bad to live on a cold cliff after all, if you had a warm house. "What do you mean the signs say you must live here? Didn't you make the signs?"

The lamb shook her head. "I don't know who made the signs. I was just climbing the mountain one day, and there they were! This house was standing here with the door open, and there was a sign saying that I would live here. Of course, as you said, the cliff is a very cold and dangerous place, and I did not want to live here, so I changed the sign and wrote that I would not live here. I rather like to just follow the wind wherever it takes me."

The boy was confused. "Only one sign? But there are two signs outside. Where did the second one come from?"

"I don't know that either. After I changed the first sign, I kept walking," said Faye, looking a little confused herself. "The next day, I passed by again, and there was the second sign -- 'YES SHE WILL.' So I thought, if the signs want me to live here so badly, then that is what I will do. I have lived here since then, and it has been wonderful."

Yet again, the little boy didn't know what to say. He thought. And then he thought some more. Finally, he said, "Well if the signs say so, then I suppose you should live here. But still, it is very foolish to dance on the cliff's edge!" He looked very sternly at Faye, expecting her to agree with him. Instead, she smiled at him again. She smiled a lot.

"Come outside with me, and I'll show you why I dance," she said playfully, and before the boy could object to the cold, the lamb had darted out the door. Reluctantly, he walked outside and found her standing at the edge of the cliff, looking into the distance.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Faye asked him. "It's simply too glorious, and if it wasn't for the mountain, I wouldn't ever have seen it."

The boy looked into the distance. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing, but when he did, he understood why the lamb couldn't help dancing.

In the distance, beyond the boy's village and beyond the forests on the other side of it, the boy saw the ocean. In the morning light, it sparkled and glimmered bright lights and rainbows at them. White birds flew over it. Small fish and big fish swam in it, and boats sailed on top of it. The clouds overhead were reflected in it, and waves of all sizes rolled steadily towards the shore. The ocean was so beautiful that the boy felt like dancing from joy. He realized that Faye had already begun to dance again, and so he joined her. He could not dance the dance from Ireland like she could, but he tried.

After a while, they were both tired, and went back inside where it was warm.

"Now I understand why you dance," said the little boy. "It is very cold here, and very dangerous, but the ocean is so beautiful. And after all, if the signs say you should live here, then that is what you should do."

The lamb smiled, and the little boy went home again. But sometimes, when it is dangerous or cold, he thinks of Faye and the beautiful ocean, and he dances.