Post #4.7, Wednesday, January 15, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

         Blue sky, the bright of winter, syrup colors fuse surreal and today Colleta and Ezra returned from their journey bringing all varieties of news. Celeste leads Daniel in a welcome of shouts and cheers and tears and grabs as lean and lusty as a camel at first oasis. Little Margey lets go of her ever-curious watches and turns babe in arms as she finds the welcoming breast of her mother.

         My report, “Everything is well here, peaceful, waiting for your return. The storm brought down a bit of thatch but there was straw enough for the fix, and Eve chased the water from the cottages along with some old summer’s sands. So you might have noticed things are clean and ready for your return.”

         Ezra’s report is abundant. “The young father, turns out, is Colleta’s own cousin Jesse. He was so grateful Colleta came and saved the baby from death or worse.”

         Colleta clarified, “He said he feared the snares of sin since the child was not birthed Christian. He said our own family had all gone to the church for the Christ Mass so he could find no one to help.” Eve pressed her lips straight and silent.

           Ezra continued, “He didn’t want to send a messenger to inform his wife’s family, so we just buried her with a short prayer as we have done so often in these times.”

         “She was so alone.” Eve whispered.

         Dear God, please hold my own child close so she can feel your breath and know she is not also so alone…

          “So after the burial” Ezra continued, “I went and informed Colleta’s family, and they gathered with Jesse and the baby. Colleta was also blessed to be with her sisters again for two overnights.”

         “Celeste, Daniel,” Colleta announces, “Your grandfather sends his love, and your grandmother sends you a basket of biscuits!”

          How could they not notice that this grandfather who is right here also loves them? And they have surely found no dearth of biscuits at this hearth.

         Dear God, help me loose the snag in my own jealous heart. Amen.

(continues tomorrow)

Post #4.6, Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

         “I don’t think I care to learn to read, Papa. But surely Daniel needs to know it one day and Ezra has no time to teach him. So you  should teach Daniel if you really want to make another person learn things.”

         “Oh, Eve, I wasn’t…” What can I say? Maybe I really do want to ‘make her learn things.’ Maybe I want to shape this twenty-seven year old woman back into the child so I can be a proper father for her.

         Dear God, empower me to let her choices be her own. Amen.

         “So does God tell you I need to learn to read even if I don’t want to, Papa?”

         “No. God wants me to let you make your own choices, as God allows each of us, all of us — Her own created sons and daughters — to do.”

         “Your prayer was too short for such a complicated answer. Are you sure it was God who answered or did you just think up your own answer to please me?”

         “God answered by being an example to me of a longing parent, as I am also.”

         “I can see you’ve set out a God trap for me, Papa.”

         “A ‘God trap’?”

          “‘Sure,’ you say, ‘It’s all your choice, but if you choose wrong you will burn for it!’ That’s a God trap.”

         “That doesn’t sound like the God who is love and who answers my prayers. I would think setting snares with fearful ends and punishments sounds more like a meager last-breath power grab by some retreating emperor or abusive new king rising. It sounds pagan to me. No, I wasn’t setting a God trap. You may choose as you wish. I need to trust your gift to make your own choices and I will still love you even if you would rather not learn to read.”

         “I just don’t think it would be good for me to read. Because I can see that only the strange trolls and hags and lonely women read. I mean, no one but hags and trolls and popes even own books.”

         “You don’t have to explain it Eve. It’s your choice to make.”

         “But Papa, I do remember my name – E-V-E backwards and forwards. I choose not to be Enola – alone anymore.”

(continues Tomorrow)

Post #4.5, Thursday, January 9, 2020

This photo is of an artist’s High School Botany Class notebook, showing handwritten pages, and detailed drawings of nature. The artist was this blog-wright’s mother, Rosiland Munro (Heitzman) and the book was created around 1932.

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

“How is it that you have a book?”

         “I’m sorry Papa. I know I shouldn’t; I know books are only for the Popes and Priests.  But this one came to me from the hag when she was reaching to take death by the hand and go off to her wonderful pit of hell to leave me alone. She told me to find it with her things because it was precious and I could cherish it forever.”

         I’d not given it a thought before, that the possession of a book was only a Christian privilege. I assumed it was simply a circumstance of a last thread of the Roman economy. And that makes me wonder how might one who reads be empowered in this new world without writings?

         “So, Eve, if Ezra has no book and he doesn’t even know of yours, what is it that he reads?”

         “He reads the parchments of lords and tax collectors and the edicts that are used over us. He says it keeps the wealthy and the priests wary of him because he might actually know what is written and they can’t easily flounder him in lies. When someone comes on horseback and unfurls a document and speaks an order, Ezra simply asks to read it; and they just roll the parchment back into its bows and laces and move on to another peasant who doesn’t read.”

         “Eve, if you think reading is helpful I would be glad to spend a bit of time each day after the chores to give you reading lessons. Then you can be the one to teach the children to read. They can read the stories you letter for them onto a wax board. That will be a very good thing! Our family can pass along and shelter this reading gift until books and letters are again to be had by anyone who reads. There are scriptoria in monasteries these days. I expect books will soon become more abundant.”

         “I don’t know Papa. Perhaps I shouldn’t read. Isn’t it even against the Christian law that I would own a book?”

         “Maybe not. Yours is a book of medicine and science. It isn’t heresy in these times because it is simply unknown and nearly forgotten information about healing. I would say the right thing to do with the book is keep it forever and ever and read it when you wish to know things that are mostly forgotten, things that become lost in the dark places.”

         Eve seems hesitant, “I need think about this. Maybe I will choose not to learn to read.”

(Story continues Tuesday, January 14)

Post #4.4, Wednesday, January 8, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

While Ezra and Colleta are away I find that the icy waters have poured through several splits in the thatch. Clearly Ezra is no expert in making a roof. Probably both cottages will need some work to be ready for more winter to come. I find he keeps a stout ladder and sturdy iron fork for tucking the wangles of straw into the splits. So I have several day’s work ahead of me.

         For a short time I have helpers. Celeste and Daniel can fetch straw and hand it up in proper bundles but they are quickly weary of this project and ready to do whatever chores Eve has for them this morning as long as they can be inside near the warm hearth. This is really no task for anyone’s frosty fingers even wrapped in wools so I’m also only working in short stints.

         Inside the cottage Eve sits on the bench at the board with Margey asleep in her arms, and Daniel and Celeste are rapt in the story Eve is reading to them from a tiny book. When I left her as a child I was only beginning to teach her letters and words. And how is it that she even owns a book of stories in this language of Gaul? The stories are animated with Eve’s telling and the children are enthralled, but when she notices me in the doorway she stops and hides the book.

         “What is this book you are hiding from me?” I supposed it would be something of trolls and creatures as she was telling — a pagan story, no doubt.  She dutifully, ruefully, painfully hands the book to this apparently demanding judge of a papa of hers.

It is a roughly copied book, an ancient herbal, mostly in Latin. It is a book of medical remedies — bits of ancient science and some recipes and incantations all added in by the hand of an unpracticed scribe.[Sidenote]

[Sidenote]  “An herbal (Latin liber herbalis)  is a book used by apothecaries and physicians, listing the names of plants, their descriptions, and their medical virtues.” Storl, Wolf D. “The Untold History of Healing: Plant Lore and Medical Magic from the Stone Age to Present” Berkely: North Atlantic Books, 2017.

“Papa, I’m so sorry. Ezra is so good at reading but he has no book. And I have a book, but I don’t remember your reading lessons.”

         “How have you a book?”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #4.3, Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

Colleta welcomes this journey to a farm so near her family and Ezra is always glad to be useful to others in need. They carry an extra bag of things for her family and some fresh rags and supplies for a new baby. They have planned a visit of several days. As I hear Eve’s directions to that farm I realize she had a very long walk for herself alone last night in that ice storm. She is not the frail eight-year-old I remember. And her own chill reminded her to fill a pot with hot coals for setting by Colleta’s feet in the wagon. It’s that thing about turning her pain to empathy for others which is Eve’s gift. Why do I criticize her for her dauntless mercy?

         God surely must know this human version of parent She created who would hardly know how to manage relentless love with all its turns and tangles. I struggle to shape my mother/father gift into earthly purpose like order and wisdom. I know I could choose to be a father who rules behind a veil of pretend omnipotence to keep my hurting love smothered in pomp. But I am just not that man. So be it.

         Last night I lay under the warm blanket letting myself imagine the sounds I was hearing were a bad dream. If it were only a night terror I would soon wake. Last night I failed to enter into her world and chase the troubles from her door with all the grand splendor of a patriarchal enforcer. If I had only been a harsh papa I would have demanded her safety. I clearly failed my duty as a heart-hiding, “responsible” father turning away that needy fellow at her door. But I was simply terrified for her courage so I hid in my sleeps.

         Dear God, who is mother and father to each of us you have burned your own ilk of love onto the heart of your image and we hardly know how to handle it. You answer so simply, “When you love others, do it as you love yourself.” Yes. That’s the lesson I need to tell her! Or, is that the lesson you are telling me?

         Thank you for life and children — pain and all.

         Amen.

(Story continues tomorrow)

Post #4.2, Thursday, January 2, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

“Papa, I’m okay. I’m feeling stronger already.”

         Eve is pushing back the cover and pulling herself to sitting on the edge of the bed platform.

         “I can send Ezra for the burial. I can stay here with you.”

         I feel an urgency to send Ezra on.

         “Papa, Colleta should go too. I’m okay now. I can stay with the children if you want to go with them.”

         “Why would you think Colleta and the baby should go for a long ride in this winter’s wind? This is surely a task for Ezra and I.”

         “No Papa, I was too late to save the mother but a sweet baby boy is swaddled and in the arms of that father who has no idea what to do next.”

         Dear God, thank you and keep us useful in your rescue. Amen.

         “Do you pray silently, Papa, because you know I don’t want to hear it?”

         “My prayer was that we could be God’s hands in this time of need.”        

          “God surely needs more than hands today. I don’t really suppose you are offering to be God’s paps. Bring little Margey with you when you bring Daniel and Celeste. Colleta will be a help to the new father and then they may also wish to pay a visit to her own parents and sisters since her family’s home is nearby.”

         I understand the urgency. “How will a new baby live this day with no mother?”

         “Well, Papa, please know I didn’t leave them helpless. The father knows to give him small drops of water. And he also knows, but it would not be good for a new baby to get too much of a liking for sucking mead from his father’s fingertips. That new father will surely have to borrow a fresh cow or maybe a goat — a nanny with its kid – that will quickly turn his grief around.”

         The warmth melts the ice on the thatch and water is dripping down through the roof.

(Continues Tuesday, January 7, 2020)

Post #4.1, Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

Despite Eve’s plea, God is with me as I carry her back in my arms as though she were still a small child. 

         Dear God thank you for this strength.

         She is wrapped in a mud-soaked blanket but her cottage is well supplied for needs so it is not hard to find dry wools to warm her. I wrap her in a bunting and tuck her into bed.

         She wakes and I have a hot broth of herbs for her because she has supplied her cottage well with things for the sick.

         “Papa, are you still here with me?”

         “What can I get for you Eve?”

         “Thank you for bringing me home Papa. I was too cold and tired to walk that distance. I feared I would fall and turn to ice.”

         “You had a hard go of it in a fierce storm.”

         “That farmer’s house was nearly to the St. Martin’s shrine and it was all such a hurry. Then it went so badly.”

         “Eve, why did you ask me not to call to God? What is this tiff you are having with your Creator?”

         “The mother died. I came too late to help her. When we got there she was so alone in a dense stillness amid the chills of death. She was as icy white as winter’s remnant. The father fetched me believing I had power of pagan demon spells to bring her back. But I don’t. There is no power. He had already begged help from family but the church was having the Christ Mass this night so no one could go with him. And there was a storm. With Christians abandoning, who but the troll would care? So he came to my door.”

         “Did you go with him just to help him rake vengeance against God?”

         “Of course not. And I didn’t go to honor God either. I went because I wanted to help. But I was too late. She was so alone. Oh Papa, did I sleep too long? I have failed him again! I told him I would send someone who could sit with him and who could help care for his wife’s body. I need to let Ezra know.”

         “It’s morning still. And you have done all you can. Ezra and I will go right away. Maybe Colleta can come up here and stay with you until we return.”

         “No Papa. You stay.”

         “Let me help Ezra ready the cart. Then I will stay.”

(Story continues tomorrow)

Post #3.13, Tuesday, 12-31-2019

Historical setting: 561 C.E. Gaul

         This day of the longest night I waken shivering in the hayloft to the roaring torrents of cold sleet tormenting this frail roof. The longest night was surely inflicted with terrors – a man yelling above the storm at Eve’s cottage door. Fully awake now I’m aware it was no loose demon at play in my dream. Even in this morning’s waking I know it was a very bad night.

         Waiting now at her door while she doesn’t answer I notice the walking tracks deep in the mud of the roadway sculpting yesterday’s ruts with forms of footsteps — a man’s, coming and going, and a woman’s smaller foot following over the top of the larger ones going away from here toward the east.

         The commotion in the dark of night was surely not a mere night terror. I did hear a man knocking and calling to Eve, summoning help for his wife who was alone in a long ordeal of childbirth. He was panicked and tearful and Eve’s voice was strong and calm, assuring she would go with him and see to her. It was calming enough that I could sleep again not even wondering what my own child’s needs may be.

         Now I set my pace into the tracks in the mud and follow to find wherever she may be. I take no time to put the donkey to cart, and besides it would be hard to follow these muds in the deep and sinking ruts of rain. Better, to be sure that I too am on foot.

         The sameness this wash, rain rendered, was only shadows of roadway and farmlands, hills and trees all a monotone of drear, but for one silhouette at a distance on this road. The slender stalk of woman is coming toward me slowly slogging in the unrelenting waters flooding up from earth.

         “Eve, is that you?”

         She stumbles in the mud as I reach her. Shivering, quaking, and nearly silent except for a moan, I take her in my arms.

         “Dear God, please stay near…”

         “No Papa! Don’t summon God. This was all God’s fault so I cursed God for it. God is surely angry with me.”

         My prayer is silent. Dear God, stay close, amen.

(New Year, new chapter – “Light May Come” starts tomorrow)

Post #3.12, Thursday, December 26, 2019

Historical setting: 561 C.E. Gaul

Thank you God for giggles of children, for beauty shining through old pox. Thank you God, for riches of life and for family to share in all of this.  Amen.

          Echoing through imagination is the dark tune of the Jesus birth with all its angels, the bold star and the glare of glory and here below I know the rarely spoken verses are hovering in the story too of royal jealousy sending soldiers pounding on doors, bringing the world back from hope’s magic into normal and believable fears.

         Today the task is to empty the caldron of feasting and return it to its usefulness for the stirring of remedies. Yet the church, that everlasting body of Christ, will name the new season Epiphany for the Creative Ah-ha.

         These frail tentacles deep in the earth that root the predictable plantings of traditions drink from the subterranean silence, the ever-flow of God’s grace tickling root, sprouting up a new thing growing here, and maybe an idea over there. The herb garden is a plethora of whims. Everywhere there is a mingling of creative variety: some for healing, but also some for savoring, some for fragrance and some just for beauty. The spirit of the thing is in the cacophony – the chaos.

         In the dark, into the new light rising we will fill again, this caldron.

Eve will stir in recipes of traditions for healings: earth things of plants and animals caught in a moment between life and death. The pre-determined ingredients for rescue in this healing brew are purposed with easing mortal hurts and ailments, stretching the physical being of a human sort around snatching more time for earthly continuance. That is what healing is, is it not?

         I know healing well. I live in the unique promise of always healing to earthy life, over and over again. If I am to consider this a blessing and not a curse the choice for life I must make is not for healing but for the creative power, the driving inspiration, the ah-ha of love. Without the creative source I would live into a surplus of years simply by clinging to the promise of oldness. But brewing a kettle of beauty, fragrance, relentless love, life is driven by the always new, the Spiritual image of Creator of life.

         In the beginning is the Ah-ha. Thank you God. Amen.

(The story continues Tuesday, December 31 – Come again.)

Post #3.11, Wednesday, December 25, 2019 (Merry Christmas)

Historical setting: 561 C.E. Gaul

Why do these old-time earthy details of numbers and politics even matter? All anyone needs to know is that the angels sang, the shepherds searched and the baby Jesus was found. God is with us, so what else matters?

         The last berries of autumn and the honey and cream are delivered to the table in the dark by Eve—now fully unveiled; and one child asks for light in this darkness.

         “Aunt Enola, do you remember we made candles from the wax of the honeycombs? We took that wax and wrapped it around a stem for burning. Do you not have a candle yet?”

         “Of course I do. But I have them set aside.”

         “We should have a candle now to light our table together here.”          Celeste suggests it. Eve wants to dismiss it.

         “I keep the candles in my bag to take to the sick. When I am called out in the night I might need a candle at a bedside.”

         I ask the hard question. “Did you save no candles for people who are well?”  Eve accepts her father’s query as reprimand and obediently lights a candle for the center of the table. The flicker pours light spreading from core flowing out a spilled goblet of light flooding onto the table and the people and onto all the faces — all the smiling faces and shining eyes – all of us together.

         It’s Daniel’s childish truth-telling that reminds us this family finds the miracle this very night and tonight we each have eyes for seeing it.

         “Aunt Enola, you have such a beautiful face tonight.”

          “No, she’s the same, Daniel.” Celeste explains it factually.  “Maybe you just never saw her smiling.”

         All eyes are on Eve. Even Coletta leans forward to see passed Ezra. And Eve is still smiling, barefaced, scars and all, aglow in the flickering light.

         “Yes Eve, you are indeed my beautiful child.”

         Thank you God. Amen.

(The story continues tomorrow – Merry Christmas)