My 12-year old granddaughter, Elizabeth Dunkel, is a budding author. She loves to write and as you will read below, she is gifted. This is the first chapter of her book which is Christian fiction. She and her older brother actually developed a language and alphabet for the characters in the book.
Enjoy the read — I know I did.
The gusty wind blew against Joram as he ran, over hill and tussock, winding his way through tall trees. He ran as if a whole army of trolls and hags and wolves were pursuing him, Yet Joram felt no fear, instead he felt the most utter joy and freedom he had ever felt. He was alone, except for the woodland creatures, and the ground flew away beneath his legs. Joram’s pace did not slacken as the ground grew into a gradual incline; The trees thinned and soon he was running up a treeless slope, with thick foliage covering the ground. Yet he raced on, his legs eating up the earth.
Whenever he ran like this, it was as if extra strength that he didn’t know he held surged through his veins. Hence, Joram loved to run, he loved the sense of freedom and power it gave him. He finally halted at the crest of the hill, breathing hard. The orangey glow of the setting sun making his reddish-brown hair look brighter than it really was. A faint smile curved Joram’s lips as he gazed over the Kindorian Hills stretching before him. They were beautiful, serene. Rivulets trickled through the numerous valleys nestled between the hills, feeding the thirsty roots of plants and thus greening the valley with luscious foliage. At the bottom of the slope he stood on, Joram caught sight of a large bay horse with a luxuriant black mane and tail. It was Sabin. The stallion looked healthier then when he was still with Joram’s aunt, and seemed happier too. The wild bracken and fen seemed to suit him and, like Joram, he basked in the wild sense of freedom. Freedom was not a thing that used to exist in either of their lives.
They both had to endure the hardship and dreariness of Aunt Parsha’s house, yet it had been worse for Joram. His aunt told him nothing of his parents, she was full of unyielding secrets. It would not have troubled Joram as much if he had not possessed a strange memory of his father, what he remembered was very baffling but still his Aunt told him not a word. Both he and Sabin were free of restraint now, but Joram still puzzled over the one memory he had of his father.
Dismissing such thoughts for the moment he whistled for Sabin. The horse lifted his head to look up at the figure standing on the hilltop. Joram whistled again. The stallion always came at the second call. He now tossed his majestic head and picked up an easy canter, heading towards Joram. the evening light glinted on his golden-brown coat and his mane floated on the cool breeze. When he reached the slope’s crest, he was barely breathing hard. The stallion snorted and reared a little before coming to a complete stop.
“You show off.” Muttered Joram, reaching up to stroke the horse’s neck. “Maybe you’d like to go on a gallop before dark?” Sabin only closed his eyes in delight, enjoying the petting. Joram laughed and swung nimbly onto Sabin’s broad back. Without a word of command the horse broke into a gallop and plunged down the slope. Joram could feel Sabin’s muscles rippling and flowing like water as the rushed down into the valley; Joram had ridden his horse down this slope many times, but he still experienced the awful thrill of the valley floor rushing at them and being utterly helpless to do everything.
All too soon they reached the foot of the hill, and Sabin slowed his pace to a fast walk. The sun had sunk lower and the sky to the east had turned a dark, hazy blue. Joram nudged Sabin towards the opposite slope where a cave was nestled in the hillside. The horse ambled along in that direction, in no real hurry to go anywhere. His rider didn’t press him, he had no desire besides getting back to the cave before night. At length they came to the small rivulet that ran through the valley. There Joram slid off his mount and knelt to refresh himself with the cold, clean water, and Sabin also bent his magnificent head to drink.
“It is a paradise here, isn’t it Sabin?” said Joram presently, rising from the ground and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A thought skittered through his mind when he considered what he had said, and he muttered, “But I have seen one more beautiful than this.” Sabin raised his head and looked at his owner innocently, water dripping from his muzzle. Shrugging the thought off, Joram leapt nimbly across the stream by the use of several conveniently placed rocks. Sabin sloshed along behind him.
The two started up the hill towards the cave; the ground became rockier and full of brambles as they walked. The cave itself was surrounded by nettles and broken slabs of shale, a scar on the lush green hillside. Yet that was the reason why Joram had chosen to make it his home, for its unpleasantness and difficulty to get to made it an unlikely choice for wild animals to find a meal. By the time he maneuvered through the spiky barrier, Joram already felt the night’s chill.
He ducked into the mouth of the fissure and shivered at the coolness of the place. Sabin had meandered off to the few eatable patches of grass around the cave, seeking a little more to satisfy his stomach before resting. Joram bent and lifted his cloak from the sandy floor and, wrapping the garment around his shoulders, crouched beside the lingering coals of the previous fire he had kindled. He coaxed the smouldering ashes back to life and soon a bright blaze illuminated the interior of the cave. Joram leaned back, enjoying the heat of the fire. The sandy floor was soft and the crickets had begun to chirp their nightly sonatas, and Joram felt and unexpected weariness come over him. It was not long before he fell asleep, heedless of a danger that now lurked in the hills.
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Setting Things Straight
by Donna Lee Schillinger
Above my son’s changing table is a collage of photos: the latest family portrait in an antique oval wood frame, pictures of each of our children individually, and one of Gwen and Chaise together. When we lay Chaise down on the changing table, one of his favorite naughty things to do is bat at the picture of his sister. Sometimes he’s a bit more judicious and gives the wall under the picture a subtle, but firm kick, rather than an obvious batting. There is a black “swing” mark on the wall from where the corner of the frame has rubbed against it so many times.
Each day, whether by Chaise’s efforts or simply from the vibrations of people walking (and sometimes running) up and down the hall in our pier and beam house, our family pictures go the slightest bit askew. I have to adjust them every day, or live with them crooked. I have even tried putting sticky tack on the corners to secure them – doesn’t work.
One day as I was straightening the pictures, wondering why I even bother, it struck me that my actions were symbolic of another kind of daily straightening that is needed in my family. Every day has its opportunities to swing us off center, and unless we want to be a crooked family, every day we have to work at straightening ourselves out.
The first task is to forgive each other our imperfections. As family, we’ve got box seats to our daily follies and it ceased to be entertaining a long time ago. We can either let resentments mount, or we can forgive. The instructions from Christ are pretty clear on that – “If you forgive men when they sin against you, your Heavenly Father will also forgive your sins. But if you do not forgive men their sins against you, your Father will not forgive your sins” Matt 6:14-15.
After we’ve been reconciled to each other, then we can align ourselves with God (Matt 5:23-24). From Him, we ask for and receive our daily bread – just what we need to get us through the day, living according to His will.
And then we need a daily dose of His word, to chaw on all day long. (Do not let this book of the law depart from your mouth; meditate on it day and night” Joshua 1:8.)
Honestly, it is a little disconcerting that some things have to be done and redone every day. I am not one that enjoys daily repetition. I have moved so many times in my life that I have become a new-and-different junkie. Straightening out the same crooked spots each day gets old, and sometimes I feel like just taking the pictures down and staring at a blank wall. There is a good measure of personal discipline required to straighten things out every day. And here is where the daily bread comes in handy. It’s not by my power or my might that I reach out to straighten my relationships each day, but by the Spirit of God.
Donna Lee Schillinger is the author of On My Own Now: Straight Talk from the Proverbs for Young, Christian Women who Want to Remain Pure, Debt-free and Regret-free. Visit her on the Web at www.OnMyOwnNow.com, www.iBelieveinMiracles.info, and www.throw-away-your-401K.blogspot.com.
