#43.12, Thurs., April 27, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. On the road to Châlons

This night in the straw I hear the boys talking to one another, sorting out the things they’ve seen and heard. They must assume I am asleep or that I’m not even here with them to listen to this.

Gabe speaks first, “I’m glad Papa doesn’t shave his chin.”

Greg answers, “I think Baro Dithrum shaves his chin bare like that with the fangs of his mustache hanging down to make him look like a soldier.”

“Well, he doesn’t look at all ferocious; he just looks silly with that round little knob of chin held way up high so he can hardly see over his own nose.”

“I guess he thinks it makes him look important.”

There is a moment for giggles and now I’m the subject of their whispers.

Greg starts, “Do you know why Momma calls Papa, ‘Laz?’”

Gabe knows, “It’s short for Lazarus.”

“So, why does she call him Lazarus, when everyone else calls him Ezra?”

“Because Lazarus is a weird name?”

“No, Gabe, I think it is because the monks found him dead, and when they took him to Momma she healed him so she thinks he is like the bible story Lazarus.”

In this time when no one but monks and noblemen learn to read it is good to hear them remembering the pages Ana scribed for them to learn reading even when it was a remote story about some bible guy.

Now the boys yammer on pondering the nature of death and life, and they even consider life again when their childish imaginations bring them to the odd little question – so when did Lazarus really die dead?

“Maybe he dies and just never stays dead?”

“Maybe Papa really is Lazarus.”

And they giggle themselves off to sleep and off to their children’s dreams. While I have to know that one day I will be the one who grieves for them, longing forever to have one more night with them to overhear their childish chatter. It is my strange circumstance of life and life again that leaves me always the one left grieving.

Dear God, thank you for the imaginations and dreams of the children, and for the signs and wonders that always tell us we are simply born in the image of love. Thank you for this tangible life – glimpse of love intangible, spirit of unfathomable wonder. Amen.

(Continues Tuesday, May 2, 2023)

#43.11, Weds., April 26, 2023

istorical setting: 602 C.E. Beginning the journey to Châlons

The mayor’s guard leaves with all but four of the horses: the baro’s very tall black stallion, a bay gilding for me, and the boys had horses which the baro explained were for “experienced mule riders requiring that special touch.”

Greg and Gabe took that as a complement affirming their long years of equine experience in managing our farm mule. After all they have known of mules, and particularly our mule, for nearly their whole lifetimes. The same understanding of teens that the baro used for manipulating me also worked to fit these boys with appropriately gentle horses. And now they are very proud of their equine assignments. Gabe got the gentle gray, and Greg the “longer horse” –though sagging a bit – that is said to be a horse “of many heroes in white.” I agreed with the baro, for once, that these were good choices for my boys. These horses are followers going wherever the baro goes on his stallion. So in our grand procession with Baro Dithrum leading on his great black horse, followed by the swayback mare, then the gray, and the last is this bay with me and the all-important message bag, and an extra box for the bird to return to Luxeuil.

At this traveling pace it will take us a week or so to reach Châlons. That will bring us into the council of bishops after they’ve been assembled for a few days and are awaiting the arrival of Father Columbanus, probably expecting he will fall before them repentant or at least defensive. He is not coming. He has chosen to respond to their summons with this message I carry in the bag.

Our stops along this way are many. The young boys and the elder horses they ride need frequent rests.

At each town where we stop for a night the baro finds the finest house, assuming that to be the mayor or the magistrate. He sends one of the boys to the door to summons the master of the house, and then it is either Gabe or Greg who announces in a loud clear preaching voice, “The Baro Dithrum of Metz.” Then the baro is welcomed into the home as a guest, while we go on to the stable to care for the beasts and sleep in the straw. It is different traveling with nobility than was my journey with Ana.

(Continues tomorrow)

43.10, Tues., April 25, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

Our packs are weightier than they were for the pilgrimage. My boys set a fast pace walking as they imagine they will soon be horsemen. They still muddle in the fantasies of children, sharing the chatter of dreams between them. I seem no longer included in their world.

Today we arrive at Luxeuil, a very different place with the pilgrims mostly gone and now, desolate are the areas where we were all gathered in the camp and the courtyards for visitors. The chanting of the nuns continues in the halls and behind the walls assuming always, God stayed to listen. Or maybe, it is the voice of God herself in this psalm. Today our prayers are for a safe journey.

The boys go on to the stable while I wait here at the gate for Brother Servant to come out and give us our assignment.

I’m relieved to know we won’t be crossing the mountains or riding to Rome. He said the bishops are meeting in Châlons as the place most central for the nobility. It’s a city Ana and I visited on our journey some years ago. So I release the bird to Ana with the message of our destination, now known.

We soon learn our sponsor, the mayor of Metz, Dux Waldalenus, intends the message from the Father to be delivered by an entourage of prancing horses. But Father Columbanus discusses an approach to the bishops that is less ostentatious since the purpose of the message is to excuse himself from appearing before the authority of that council. The Father insists on no swords, and no more than four on horseback so not to appear as warriors.

As Brother Servant calls out the abbot’s orders, “All we need are the two young boys and their humble, unarmed father, Ezra.” And again he reminds us, “Father Columbanus chooses not to give any appearance of an army prepared for war.”

Baro Dithrum, like any good soldier, puts those orders above his personal wish to present a strong show of force. The band of royal swordsmen are sent back to Metz. Deep in my heart I celebrate the little paradox that the least of us, the most humble and ill-prepared, are chosen for this important task so that it not be considered a military challenge to the bishops.

The baro and my sons are disappointed this isn’t going to be a sword slashing event. There was a fantasy in their minds.

(Continues tomorrow)

“How Still Waters Run”

Dear Followers of Lazarus-Ink.blog

The story that is unfolding now through the end of July continues in the blog as always, narrated in first person by the character/literary device, Lazarus.

Also, for this part of the story, I chose to write the same story again, but in a different voice — that of ten-year-old Simon. So, separate from the blog is this stand alone novella, a long short story, “How Still Waters Run.” It is a mirror image of the story line, but from a completely different point of view.

“How Still Water’s Run” deals with the topic of child grief. So one wonders why would a fiction writer, with all the power in the world to make-up only happy endings, choose to venture into that dark place? It is because I needed to write it. May you, the reader, discover also the need to know the life and beauty amid the tears.

I am including the novella here as a pdf for free download. (As with the blog it is free for reading. The copyright for sharing or copying is ©Julie K. Marlin, 2023.)

Thank you,

J.K. Marlin

how-still-waters-run-1Download

43.9, Thurs., April 20, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Home in the Vosges Mts.

This morning the pilgrims are going out from Luxovium in all directions returning to their homes. When we stand here on the brink of our hill we see people walking along the creek path below where the path will meet the River Moselle.

Ana released a bird with the message saying that our sons and I will carry the letter to the council of bishops, though she said it with few enough little words to fit the leg of the bird. Only a short time now the bird we took to Luxeuil in the traveling box returns with a message to us.

“Be here and ready tomorrow.”

There is still no hint as to where we will be going, how long we will be gone, or how many will be in this envoy. We still have questions. But, just this meager order to show up kicks the imaginations of Gabe and Greg from dreams to possibility and maybe even to reality. These near teens aren’t even satisfied with a simple display of privilege over their siblings; they feel an urgent need to go and to tell Charlie of their new status on becoming horsemen, and maybe even swordsmen if the baro and dux need soldiers for this mission.

Ana reminds me this obnoxious display is how they are able to rally new courage in the face of their own likely fear and trepidation. They simply need to grow into a new perception of themselves. She doesn’t require me to remember my own life stage when I was nearly a teen. She just tells me how it is to see the world through very young eyes, and of course, I know she is wise.

There is no guessing what our travel needs will be, so I recommend we pack as little as we possibly can – maybe just a fleece and cloak for sleeping. We each roll a pack and tie them with some good twists of rope. Ana packs some cheeses for us, and dried plums, some small barely loaves and a blade and a fishhook. She sends a needle and a thread of silk, some linen strips to be bandages if needed, and of course, her choice of always-helpful herbs. The only things I will long for are Ana and the children with whom we share these long good-byes.

(Continues Tuesday, April 25, 2023)

43.8, Weds., April 19, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Home in the Vosges Mts.

“So you felt tricked.” Ana has more clarity of thought than I. We both know our children well. “Laz, Greg and Gabe are literate, brilliant in fact, and we both know the burden the world will place on them all too soon, demanding their many gifts. In another year or two they will be as tall as men, and no one but us will see them as children though they will be teens — crazy with courage — and caring deeply about perceptions of themselves as seen from the viewpoints of others well beyond our walls. We can’t control them, always.”

“I know what you are saying, Ana. You think our little hatchlings will learn to fly even though we want to keep them in the nest.”

Ana knows, “And you know perfectly well, you can’t teach them the world by telling them of the dangers of lurking duxes and baros. They will surely go off to learn all about guardsmen and swords and horses and warring for themselves. The more you tell them not to go, the more they will know they must.

“So I will send off a bird in the morning with a message and tell them you will carry that message and our sons will be the envoy.”

“But Ana, what about you, and the babies, and the farm?”

“Simon is quite able to manage the farm these days. He is fully ten-years-old, and will still accept my relentless guidance.”

“But Ana, in so many ways Greg and Gabe are still innocent children.” I plead for naught, wishing it were so. “Maybe they can learn responsibility by staying at home?”

“So don’t you want to be the one to see them into their adulthood? Or would you rather they just go off against your will as thwarted but precocious children will do?”

“Yes, you are right, Ana, but …”

“So where is it you are going? How long might you be away?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“So you have no idea where you are going? I will worry for them and pray for you…”

“Yes, Ana, I know you are right about this. I just need to consider it.”

The softness of this night can make everything seem right. Thank you God. It is much too rare in these times to have this quiet night in the scents and softness with Ana. I’d still rather not be gone.

(Continues tomorrow)

43.7, Tues., April 18, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Home in the Vosges Mts.

The children are sleeping. It was a long day that started with Easter, then the walk home and the welcoming hugs and the reports of all that happened. Simon and Hannah still did the evening chores, while Greg and Gabe practiced their archery and the mounting and dismounting of the mule who seems to have grown more patient with age. Who are the grown-ups among these children?

In the quiet softness of a sleeping night here with Ana she asks me why I am still stern with my sons. She’s heard from them already, and now she wants to know my view of whatever it was that demanded such wrath from me and sent my children dreaming.

“Ana, when we arrived there were crowds of pilgrims, and right in the midst of all the fasting pilgrims came dux Waldalenus, the mayor of Metz, in a carriage with armed guards. The boys were awestruck seeing this swath of power in the midst of a great pilgrimage, but I could only see the Spirit of heaven was suddenly marred by earthly politics.

“Then when the boys were sleeping Brother Servant summonsed me to meet with the Baro Dithrum who headed up the mayor’s guards. Remembering our journey to Metz, those years ago they were asking for the same messenger to take a letter from Father Columbanus to a council of the Frankish-Roman bishops of Gaul. It seems Bishop Arnulf of Metz, and his wife, Sister Doda, remembered our visit to them, and they came to know the work of Father Columbanus with opened minds. Now they’ve become followers and benefactors of Luxeuil. So it is that dux Waldalenus of Metz also gives his support to the Celtic father and he is now arranging for the Father’s peaceful message to the bishops council be carried by that same messenger. I clearly said I couldn’t be that messenger this time.”

“So why are you angry with your sons?” She asks.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be angry at them. You’re right. They’re just children with children’s dreams and lofty imaginations way bigger than their understanding of the world. But they let themselves become victims of the baro’s trickery, all for promises of swords and horses and glory.

“After I said no to it, Baro Dithrum followed me to our campsite. When I was asleep he lured the boys to the stables with promises they could ride the horses and become guardsmen.”

(Continues tomorrow)

43.6, Thurs., April 13, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

Ana and the children will be home from church soon, expecting we will be home too. But our long walk is punctuated with one childish plea after another — random arguments — tossed at me like unbaited fishhooks hopelessly cast onto the sea. I remain silent. I’ve no reason to argue. I know what is right.

“But Papa, God needs young swordsmen and riders!”

“Father Columbanus would be pleased.”


“Momma would be proud of us.”

Finally they just settle into quiet seething with a few snarling interludes so at least I can think now and try to make sense of this.

They are at an age. I’m not of an age. I am older. I know what they don’t know, and I never want to see them riding off with swords and armor because some baro who works for a dux convinces them God needs soldiers. Father Columbanus would never send out messengers armed with anything but his own fine-spun words. Surely Columbanus isn’t condoning children as guardsmen. And why does an abbot’s messenger even need guardsmen? Why do bishops even have guards? They just think they need guards because generations of nobility don’t know any better. Surely a great man named for a dove, follower of Christ, has no need for an armed envoy.

But in their little child minds they imagine their beautiful mother riding off across the rivers to carry healing and a message of peace for people in need; then, they imagine she would be proud to see them on warhorses, girding swords? They are children.

Dear God, they are beloved children. Why does it call for greater strength to be peacemakers than warriors? Why can’t their mindless, and incessant heroism just be about peace? Is love so much harder to believe in than hatred? I’ll wait for answers. Amen.

So the argument lands at Ana’s feet.

They are just returning from the church in the wood. Hugs and welcome, home smells and fragrances of familiar. I wish we could ignore this worry and just be home.

“Simon and Hannah have been such able helpers” Ana reports.

So a ten-year-old is a fine farmer, but a twelve-year-old is a child. A ten-year-old sees a need and rescues with a fix and everyone is better for it. A twelve-year-old can only see himself in the light of others’ opinions. This whimsy of courage is irrational.

(Continues Tuesday, April 18, 2023)

43.5, Weds., April 12, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

We’re celebrating the Feast of the Resurrection today, by the Irish calendar, that is. The somber chanting turns to halleluiahs, and after the familiar but still confusing readings from the gospels for this time we are all supposed to be happy again, just as we were when Jesus sat at the table with us and offered himself in the bread and the wine. How quickly we forget the impending tragedy and we simply recall the familiar people gathered at the table.
I gaze over the crowds who are ever-pressing in together to get a glimpse of the abbot with his arms raised giving blessings to us all however many of us are here. It is the largest crowd ever, I’ve been told. So where are my two nearly men, Greg and Gabe? They aren’t here in our usual place to stand in this oratorio. It’s where I expected they would be. I study the crowd stretching my hopes around every hooded head that could possibly be the right size and in a pair together, as they always are. I don’t see them anywhere.
That pulse of panic for missing family members ravages my imagination. It’s a terror for a parent that none of these holy men could possibly understand. Where are my sons? Dear God, Stay close. I trace my way back to our campsite. Then I go on back into my prayer places of last night, then back to the place I had met Brother Servant and the baro not far from the stables of Luxeuil, and there they are in the stables brushing down the horses of the visiting nobility just chatting with the stable groom. Is it anger or gratitude owning my speech just now?
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over. How could you go…?”
“Oh, Papa! Look at the beautiful horses! Baro Dithrum said Dux Waldalenus set them aside here for the abbot’s envoy of messengers. He said they are looking for more men to train to be the abbot’s guard.” Greg is just babbling on and on.
Gabe clarifies, “We told Baro Dithrum we’ve only ridden on our farm mule, but he said we could easily learn to ride horses. He asked us about our farm and he said he knows you. But he calls you Ezra like the brothers here.”’
“This is the day your mother expects us home. Let’s go now!”

(Continues tomorrow)

43.4, Tues., April 11, 2023

I stumble back through the darkness, finding my way among the campers to reach the place where these precious two, oldest of my seven, are still sleeping soundly.
Dear God, Thank you for these beautiful children. Am I being selfish and greedy to hold so tightly to this gift of family so not to listen to the plea to help this whole community?
It is Holy Week so, of course, I’m also remembering Jesus. Maybe the abbot feels betrayed by his follower, abandoned by his friend, sorting his options and priorities, dealing with the dangerous politics of popularity, wrangling the power of the mob with his silence and navigating the unquenchable thirst of others for violence by numb autocracy.
Dear God, you give us these earthly choices, all the while knowing us so well. Is it possible love for family is your own metaphor for love? Or is this choice more perplexing? Or is that the paradox? I’m confused with so many righteous possibilities. In another time I would easily go off to Rome or to Paris or wherever for whatever years and days it takes, but how can I leave Ana and the children just now? I listen for your answer. Amen.
I can’t really sleep tonight. So many thoughts are twisting and spinning, and maybe even marching in lockstep through my brain. It isn’t too hot or too cold for sleeping just now. Maybe it is too many stars. Really it is just too many thoughts.

Already the sun is rising, and here people are already returning from matins though some of us are sleeping. Greg and Gabe left without waking me. Their fleeces are in tidy rolls put aside here for the day. I had best go search them out. I know they can take care of each other on their own, but I can’t dismiss my need to know exactly where they are. After all it is my loyalty to my family that makes me such a disappointment to these brothers of Luxeuil.

(Continues tomorrow)