Story within a Story

I have some wonderful friends and family members who agreed to read my manuscript, before I complete my final edit. I have been working on this project for so long that it is hard to remain objective about it. I received feedback recently from one reader, and she was very perceptive. She told me that she liked how I had written a story within a story. Hmmm. That is true. I hadn't really thought of it that way, but as I think back over my books, they all are really a story within a story. It seems to be a literary device I use subconsciously.

And then I got to thinking, all of us are living stories within a story. The Main Story is about God, and how He created humans in His image, with the power to follow or reject Him. He knew they would be imperfect in their ability to follow Him, and so from the beginning, He devised a way in which the conflicting necessities of justice and mercy would be enacted. From the beginning, He knew He would send a savior to those hopeless people, who would provide the only possible means back to their Creator.

The stories within the Story are the lives of each of us as we make the decision to follow God or to reject Him. Our tales are fraught with struggle, turmoil, victory, defeat, pain, delight, despair, sin, and overcoming. Some of our stories will end in tragedy. Some will end in triumph. 

And the Savior Himself told stories to draw those hopeless humans to Himself. The funny thing is, all His stories were stories within stories too! There was the literal meaning of the story, and then there was the spiritual meaning -- the message that He hoped would capture the heart of His listeners. All His stories work that way. I guess I am learning to write at the hands of a Master.

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He continued, “Do you see how this story works? All my stories work this way. “The farmer plants the Word. Some people are like the seed that falls on the hardened soil of the road. No sooner do they hear the Word than Satan snatches away what has been planted in them. “And some are like the seed that lands in the gravel. When they first hear the Word, they respond with great enthusiasm. But there is such shallow soil of character that when the emotions wear off and some difficulty arrives, there is nothing to show for it. “The seed cast in the weeds represents the ones who hear the kingdom news but are overwhelmed with worries about all the things they have to do and all the things they want to get. The stress strangles what they heard, and nothing comes of it. “But the seed planted in the good earth represents those who hear the Word, embrace it, and produce a harvest beyond their wildest dreams.” (Mark 4:13-20 MSG)

Show Pieces

We debunked the bunk bed and put the single bed in the Master bedroom against the wall. We didn't want to get rid of it for a variety of reasons- one of which is we didn't want Asherel to have to sleep on the floor when both boys come home to visit,as they will at Christmas.
Arvo threatened to get all gooey and sentimental on me as he disassembled the bunk bed support he had built years ago.
"Many small feet went up and down this ladder," he said, misty eyed.

I don't need anyone in my immediate world starting to reminisce about the good old days when the children were little. My carefully crafted sheen of self control will be ripped away and I will become a bubbling mass of unconstrained grief. I loved those little kids underfoot. So I told him to go get all weepy elsewhere, while throwing the bunk scraps outside. Harsh yes, but life is cruel. (PS- Remember, exaggeration is a key literary device so don't start sending me emails about how insensitive I am.)

I am not much of a home decorator, but even my unskilled eye could see that the twin bed against the wall of the master bedroom left much to be desired in terms of beauty and design.
"What would you think of me making that pretty...like a day bed with pillows and a nice cover?" I asked Arvo, who had recovered by now, with the bunk ladder out of sight in the garbage pile.
"That's fine," he said.
"I'll do it as cheaply as possible," I said.
And off I went to outlet linen stores. I prowled the aisle of one for many minutes before a saleswoman decided I was either homeless, and just warming myself in the store, or needed assistance.
"May I help you?"
"Yes! I hope you can anyway. I have an ugly bed in a master bedroom- an extra twin bed that we need to keep there. So I want to beautify it."
"You mean like a day bed look?"
I almost kissed her.
"Yes! Is that weird?"
"Oh no, that is quite common."
"Really!?" I don't think I have ever stumbled on appropriate, common decorating schemes before.
"What color scheme?"
"Greens...and most importantly, cheap."
"Cheap is not a color, ma'am."
Neither is bankruptcy."
"OK, I understand. Well, the cheapest option would be two king pillows with shams and a couple of decorative throw pillows."
We scoured the store together. They had only one king pillow and it was not as cheap as I had hoped.
"Pssst," she whispered, "Go next door. They are on sale and they have lots of shams and covers to choose from. Best of all, their favorite color is cheap."
I tiptoed away after giving her a big wink and high five.

When I set all the pillows and decorative cover over the bed, it looked stunning. It is currently my favorite part of my house. As soon as I smoothed the cover and settled the pillows at just the right angle, the dogs leaped up on the bed and stretched out.
"Hey!" I said, "This is not for sleeping on! This is art!"
Arvo shook his head, "Do you want to just put a plastic bag over it?"
"No, but I don't want to have to clean dog hairs off it!"
He left, looking a little disgusted, and Honeybun looked anxiously at me.


Even I have to laugh at myself sometimes. Decorating a bed that I don't want anyone to sleep on. There are homes with such exquisite furniture and decor and pristine carpets that I am nervous entering them. I am just not comfortable in those types of dwellings. They are beautiful, and I love beauty. But those homes have lost sight, in my opinion, of the primary purpose of a home. A home should be a welcoming, unpretentious place where you can be who you are, surrounded by those who accept you anyway.

It is not supposed to be a showpiece, I reminded myself. It is first and foremost a bed. And strange as this is to non-animal people, the dogs are family, thus have rights to the bed too. I have seen homes with large ornate Bibles on the coffee table. Those Bibles, embossed with gold, are too large and too precious for dirty hands to open. Yet the miraculous power of God's word cannot be unleashed if it is unread. And dirty hands are the ones that need it the most. And we all have dirty hands.

"OK, you can stay," I told Honeybun, "But no shedding on it!"

Isaiah 6: 3-7
“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty;
   the whole earth is full of his glory.”
 ⁴ At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.
 ⁵ “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.”
 ⁶ Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. ⁷ With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.”

Luke 5: 12
...When he saw Jesus, he fell with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

Leaves Abound

We have a pile 50 feet high and still the oak trees are only half bared. Since it is almost Thanksgiving, I will think of the leaves in a new light. We are blessed with leaves, abundantly and overflowing with the blessing of leaves. Our yard runneth over.

My bible verse this morning was about loving each other. This is not always easy, in fact I find it to be often quite hard. I want to love others, and I especially want them to love me. But others can be such irritating schmucks.

However, the prayer at the bottom of my study struck me. It said to view others as Christ sees them. And then added another little zinger about how we are forgiven and loved while we were yet sinners.  My love should overflow like the leaves in my yard. And my heart should be filled with forgiveness. And my eyes should be focused on the person that Christ knows he or she can be, not necessarily who he or she is at the moment. This is impossible, like raking all those leaves. And yet, it is what we are urged to do. Loving well, like raking, is a never ending task.

Isaiah 43:4 NIV

Since you are precious and honored in my sight,

and because I love you,

1 John 4:19 NIV

We love because he first loved us.

Romans 5:8 NIV

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

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Where to find Peace

I looked in all the usual places.....no Lucky. The chronic escapist, trouble making dog was not in any of his beds, couches, or crates early this morning, as I crept out of my room, with darkness still dripping from the night.
Ohoh.  I had taken off his electric collar, thinking at nearly 9 years old, surely surely he no longer wanted to dig tunnels or climb the fence to get out of the large, lush back yard that had everything a dog could want.
I hurried out back, noticing stars still twinkling in the still, cold sky.

Lucky lay in the middle of the yard. Honeybun raced out at my heels, and seeing the golden blob on the grass, she began barking to warn me of this alien intruder.
"That's your brother, dope," I told her.
Lucky looked at us, as though there was nothing at all unusual in him spending the night curled up on the cold, damp ground.
"Lucky, do you want to eat?" I called.
He gazed at us, but remained still in the quiet night. Honeybun began twirling in circles and racing back and forth to her food bowl. I glanced a few times at Lucky as the sun began to lighten the dawn. He didn't move, except to peacefully turn his head and perk his ears at the sounds of the world awakening. Lucky seemed to be quietly greeting the new day.

Matt texted me last night. He thinks he may have broken some fingers, which he will have xrayed today. This is not happy news at any time, but particularly as he heads into his last week of his first year of law school.
Did you break them turning so many thousand of pages of law books? Or perhaps typing so many thousands of words of papers and briefs ? Perhaps you broke them while lugging all your books back and forth from the library where you were busily preparing for your final exams?


No, he broke them playing frisbee. Law school is rough, I guess.


And then he texted me, "and I got attacked by a dog."
What!? Were you attacked by the dog while walking to your professor's home where you would discuss some of the fascinating cases you are studying? Were you attacked in the early morning as you trudged through the mist to a study group of other devoted students? Or in the evening having worked hours on your paid research job in hopes of glowing recommendations to gain you the best internship possible to fund your marriage in two months?

No, he was attacked while on a run. A pleasure run, I might add. Not a run to the library, or professor, or job.

It is not that I want my son miserable, or working every second of every day.... I just find it curious that this first year law student has time to do anything but study. It just seems like misplaced serenity....like Lucky spending the night just watching the bats flit overhead. He did well his first semester, so I will just hope that he is putting in the time and effort he needs to pass.

Then he texted me a new recipe he had made up for making quiche. He had devised a clever way to make a gourmet low fat crust. He typed in all the delicious, healthy ingredients, that even I would have no idea where to go to shop for.

"Well if law school doesn't work out , you could become a chef," I suggested.

I went to check on Lucky. Maybe he was injured? He still lay in the middle of the grass, shivering a little. I walked over to him, and he wagged his tail and stood up. All seemed fine. The noises of the neighborhood were slowly erupting across the stillness as the sun rose. He looked around, sniffing. Sometimes you just have to settle into the silence, and the joy, and the delight of the world. Sometimes you just have to step outside the daily grind and hear the beating of your own heart in the infinite stretch of the sky. Sometimes you have to break fingers playing frisbee instead of laboriously turning countless pages. I tend to be more like Job, who cries out , " I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest but only turmoil." (Job 3:26).  I like that my son and my dog can remove themselves from the ravaging tumult of overwhelming business and noise of life. As long as they know when to come in......

Lucky finally came in and scarfed down his breakfast. The hard work of a dog began. There were countless people walking by the house that he would need to bark at. Servicemen would be traipsing in nearby yards that he would need to terrorize. Squirrels would need to be chased, and holes would need to be dug. But for that brief portion of that cold still night, he had known peace.

It might not come so easily to me, but I do know the source of real peace. It is the only time I have found true quietness for my soul. It is when I have opened the pages of His book and rested in His promises.

We were reading a novel about World War 2 yesterday. It is a true story of a man who went to war, was gravely injured, and crippled for life as a result. He was filled with anger, bitterness, and despair over what he had seen, what he had done, and what he had become. But his mother had given him a book, a very important book, he wrote, which he had stashed at the bottom of his backpack before he had gone off to war.
I paused in my reading to Asherel, "And what book was that?" I asked smiling.
She wrinkled her head in thought. "The phone book?"
I blinked at her.
"The phone book? Her only son is going off to war, she herself is dying and may never see him again, and the important book she slips in his backpack is the phone book?"
Sometimes I wonder if this whole homeschool thing is working.
I think I need to go lie in the cold, damp backyard with Lucky under the stars and regain some peace.

Psalm 4:7-8

⁷ Fill my heart with joy
   when their grain and new wine abound.
 ⁸ In peace I will lie down and sleep,
   for you alone, LORD,
   make me dwell in safety.