A Christmas post

Hi everyone I'm back!
Exams are all over and done and now I'm looking forward to Christmas and relaxing... yeah this is going to be a kind of Christmasy post, only because I thought I'd share with you this speech I did on Christmas characters. It's more of a an expose, but I really enjoyed researching it so I hope you enjoy it as well! (Note: I am not implying that you should stop doing Christmas or anything, this is just purely for interest)

Christmas Characters

When you think of Christmas what comes to mind?...
Santa Claus or Father Christmas is what we might think of but for children and adults across the centuries, many other Christmas characters come to mind...
In this post I'm going to cover a few characters from different countries and ages. For each one we're going to look at their Christmas legend, their origins and also how they compare to Santa Claus.

The first character is Odin. Odin was a old Norse god, often depicted as having a long beard, a broad floppy hat and a dark cloak. He carries a spear and has only one eye (as the other was lost in some battle)

(Wikipedia)

Odin's link to Christmas is that every year during the Winter Solstice (21st of December) he would lead a ghostly procession of the dead across the sky, on his eight legged horse Sleipnir. During this time children would leave hay and carrots in their boots by the chimney, as food for Sleipnir and in return Odin would leave a present by their boots. 

Apart from this Odin is known as someone who searches for and gives wisdom, yet has no regard for 

laws or justice. He is a complex character, both a 'war god' and a 'poetry god', and generally is a bit sinister.

Similarly to Santa he leaves presents in footwear and rides an animal through the night sky. An interesting thing to note is that Odin's stead has eight legs and Santa has eight reindeer. But other than that Odin seems and interesting choice for a children's hero.

La Befana

La Befana is the Italian gift giver who holds a place equal to Santa for many Italians. She is a good witch who is seen flying on her broomstick on Epiphany eve (January 5th) with her sack full of presents and candy for good children, and she also carries lumps of coal for the bad ones.

(Historyandwomen.com)

As popular legend has it Befana was visited by the three wise men on their way to see baby Jesus. She invited them to stay the night at her house as she was the only housekeeper in the village. In return the Magi invited her to come with them on their journey, but Befana declined saying she had too much cleaning to do and so the wise men left. Later on Befana changed her mind and after gathering some presents she went after them, but the star disappeared and she got lost. And ever since then, she has been giving present to children in the hopes of getting baby Jesus.

But, however, the origins of Befana seem much older than Christianity...Many believe she is based on the Roman goddess Strina who gave gifts at New Year. Befana may also be the older state of the Celtic mother nature who's figure used to be burnt on a bonfire at the end of each year. Interestingly enough a figure of Befana is still sometimes burnt on a bonfire. 

Befana is similar to Santa in the way that she flies through the air and carries gifts in a sack. Befana is also known to slip down the chimney to deliver her gifts. However she said to be poorer than Santa and so Italian children ask Santa for the expensive presents and Befana for the lighter, more inexpensive presents that Santa didn't bring.

Julenisse

The Julenisse, as you can see here, looks a lot like Santa. He is about the size of a child and is rather slim. He wear a red cap and traditional Scandinavian farmers clothes.

On Christmas eve the Julenisse travels around Scandinavia with his sack full of presents, knocking on doors and asking if there are "any good children inside."

(Johannasdeckarhorna)

The Julenisse is a blend of several characters, but he is mostly based on the Nisse, a figure from Scandinavian folklore. The Nisse were solitary, temperamental barn sprites that loved playing practical jokes. They were only found on farms, where they would help the farm prosper by doing farm work and taking care of the animals. In return all they asked for was respect and Christmas porridge with butter on top on Christmas eve. There is one story about a Nisse flying into a rage and killing a cow because the farmer had accidentally put the butter on the bottom of the porridge instead of the top. When the Nisse came back and ate the porridge he realized what a terrible mistake he'd made and so to patch things up, he went an stole a cow from another farm.

The Nisse however have origins in ancestor worship as the present farmer would try and appease the spirit of the original farmer (the Nisse) to gain his favor.

The modern Julenisse (Julenisse = Christmas Nisse) unlike Santa lives in a nearby country or forest. He doesn't slide down the chimney, instead he walks right up to the door. However he has now been more 'santafied' as he now rides in a sleigh drawn by reindeer, although these reindeer can't fly.

Santa

Most of us know that Santa came from St Nicholas, and was popularized by the Coca Cola ad in 1930. What is not so well known is that Santa was heavily influenced by the Holly King.

(ashsilverlock.com)

The Holly King was the Celtic winter god who would battle with the Oak King (the summer god) during the winter and summer solstices to figure out who would reign. And funnily enough the Holly King won every winter solstice (21st of December). The Holly King is documented to have worn red, and ridden in a sleigh pulled by eight deer. Interestingly Santa nowadays has a sprig of holly in his hat.

Santa is also linked to Odin as before mentioned, with his night-riding and gift giving. 

His jolly character, flying vehicle and red clothes may also come from the Norse god Thor (yes that's the god of thunder and lightning)

(http://jefffsbeardboard.yuku.com)

Others trace aspects of his legend to Freyr (lord of the elves) La Befana and the Nisse.

So when it comes to Christmas who are we really celebrating?

Changes

Hi everyone

In case you haven't noticed I haven't really been in the blogging world lately. Unfortunately life picks up and I don't really get time to sit down and write. I am currently doing a pre-health course and working as a cook (catering at a camp) as well as being a kitchen hand on the weekends. But now that it's end of semester and winter over here in New Zealand I'm going to try and post some more.
So that brings me to the next thing... what do you guys want me to write about? I realize that I have done a whole heap of inspirational/rants here in the past and I can't really keep writing them without repeating myself, which is a good thing I guess. So I was thinking of doing mostly sewing/writing/food posts as those are the ones I know the most but if there was anything else you can think of I'm open to suggestions.

Interesting Articles

 So I’m obviously not really in the blog world that much at the moment. But I thought I’d share with you some very thought provoking posts.

Myth vs Fact: 6 common myths about prostitution and the law

This is very sad and pretty graphic so proceed with caution, but definitely something that needs to be shared.

You Don’t Need To Plan A Book: Here’s What Works Better

The unorthodox way to write books, and if you don’t like planning (like me) it’s almost too good to believe.

Yes, Lily James, you shall go to the ball

How they made Cinderella’s dress in the new film Cinderella. I got to see it the other day and it’s really good. This article’s for all you crazy costumers out there.

Prior Attire

This is one of my all-time favorite sewing blogs, perfect inspiration to get you motivated, even if you don’t plan on making kokoshniks

Nanowrimo year 2

Heeheee I just realised I haven't done an update on what happened to my writing! Well it didn't get very far, 9k but hey, I wasn't even planning on doing it this year, so I guess it's more than nothing.
This is my second year on the book "The Chased" which is now 43 pages and I've already started revising with a published author/friend. In other words I've worked myself it too a hole, so I've reverted back brainstorming and pinning ;D gotta get inspiration somehow.
One thing I have learnt is that this story is going to take it's time, no 51k in a month for me :/
I'm actually missing just plain writing and making up stories for fun, and not worrying about the details.  I know, that sounds bad, I'm meant to enjoy writing this,  I'm not meant to worry about what other people think. But it happens regardless... oh well I'll stop moaning, sorry all you non-writers for all the mumbo-jumbo
-Tiffany

I am starting again

I am starting writing again. I haven't written for my story in nearly a month. My story is in a mess (more or less) and will need heavy re-writing. I don't know how to end it. And I may have to change my characters. -If you know anything about writing that is really hard. Honestly I don't really want to write another word but I want to continue discovering their story+ I'm pretty much at my "heroine's" lowest point I love her to much to leave her there in short. Prayer for inspiration p.l.e.a.s.e -also for how to weave God into this.
So after asking for so much I guess I must give you some idea of what you are praying for. Warning it (hopefully) will contain romance.

(don't have a title yet), a Summary:

Beatrice is from East-End London 1885. One night she is attacked, in a battle of self defense an important person is accidently killed, Beatrice flees to New Zealand, she is pursued by the dead man's hired killer, Martin.

Her life gets no better when tragedy after tragedy hits Beatrice begins to break down, suicide becoming her only hope. But it all seems as if something stronger is pulling, pulling her to Jesus.
But behind all of this her killer is still seeking, ready to work his revenge. 

Excerpt from (don't have a title yet):

Last updated on 11/27/2012

He began to undo her top buttons, clearing her neck. She knew then that he would kill her... Her fears were confirmed when he wrapped his fingers around her wind pipe, at first gently pushing as though to test her vulnerability, then he dug in his fingers, and she had the odd sensation that he'd done this before... And was certainly not afraid to do it again.

(haha that's pretty much the best scene -thought that is going to change)

Anyway thanks very much

-Tiffany

When the computer fails, call your writer friend

Well after my dearest friend wrote this post on her blog I knew I had to write something back (aren't both sides of a story best)

So on Wednesday I was chatting away on google to Esther about how terribly hard the next scene in my story would be to write. Well actually it was probably whining 'I can't do this, I've got writers block..." blah blah blah and she was saying "I think you should do this I know you can!" anyway I explained more of the situation and she started saying "well maybe you should just quit" and I'm like "I've written 17k+ I can't give up now"
So anyway she was so persuasive that I decided to turn off chat and start plotting (which for me is something short of a miracle as I've only done it 3 times before)
So I put on the head phones and listen to Does anybody see her? -Casting Crowns. I needed something depressing as I was planning the worst thing so far that has happened to my MC -main character-

After  30 minutes or so I something slaps me in the face.  My MC is attacked by the "Baddie" and I need to come up with a injury that seems fatal but she actually survives -without medical attention.

So I surf the internet looking to see if you can actually survive a neck fracture (which is very possible depending on where the break is Buuutttt big fat problem for me: it requires medical attention, just what I need)  So I try something else: Maybe her attacker has a knife? So I google the possibilities of surviving being stabbed by a knife and end up in this forum debating whether being shot or stabbed in the stomach is more lethal. Apparently it is pretty even, though  depending on the gun it is "supposedly" meant to be slightly less prone to infection as when the bullet enters the body it is in one area and the flesh bounces back (more or less) to it former position as opposed to a knife which wrecks havoc. Anyway by now quite a lot of time had past and I was getting no where so I turned chat back on to see if Esther had any wild ideas and this is what I saw:


{4:20 PM}  Esther: You still on? I need to ask a question.
*impatiently* In a BAD WAY!!!{4:21 PM} Hmmm....you’re not responding.
You must be gone. {4:32 PM} Esther: Okay, you probably won’t get this until tomorrow, but anyway—my problem is this:
I know what the history is, and how it’s going to work, but I don’t have a ‘problem’ for my MC [main character—writer’s lingo]. You know how it’s good to have a plot-inside-a-plot? That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t have anything “small” for her to resolve while I tell the real story along side. Nothing for her to fix. I’m stuck. HELP!!!! I’ve prayed about it, but nothing has come…yet. In a moment I’m going to go to a secret hidey-hole with my Bible and try to think…{4:33 PM} your prayers would be very much appreciated (and I’m praying for you, too)


So then I type:

{4:46 PM} hello?
hellooooooooo?{4:47 PM} I have a please please please please answer question, I will like have to ring you if you don’t answer.... I think I might do that anyway....  


Well anyway Esther and I rarely talk on the phone being writers and all that we stick to typing, but by now I'm quite desperate so I pick up the phone and promptly think its Esther answering when it's her Mum.
Anyway to cut it short (well hee-hee not really) we spent 1, 1/2 hours and 4 seconds talking about each of our stories. Oh ok we did spent the last half hour talking about books but that's writing related isn't it?
So after that I ended up with one strange new idea and a lot more clarity of where the story was (more or less) going.
Isn't it awesome that having a writer friend that lives not so far away? And because of what she writes (I assure you our writing is as different as chalk and cheese even though we are both writing Historical Fiction at the moment) she sees my story in a different light and can point out the breaks?
Isn't God great? I mean she and I come from different corners of the globe, in other words  I'm rather thrilled that God sent me a writer friend all the way from America who's lovely-ness doesn't stop at being able to write . She is such a source of encouragement and advice and I'm sure there'll be more phone calls later. As I still haven't figured out what kind of injury I'm gonna give to Beatrice :D

                                                          Thanks Esther!!

 ~Love Miss Tiffany      
  

The reason, I AM

This is the most true to me post ever well I hope so...


Lately I've been thinking; oh my goodness I'm about to turn fifteen, one 6th of my life is almost over -that is if I live till ninety, I'd rather not :)
But you see if you live to manage to live to 90 you have lived your life in thirds, 30, 60 & 90. And what I find scary is that I've already lived half of one of those, now you may be thinking 15 is that old but when you look it in that light you begin to panic....
                                                                                                 ..... Well that's only if you're me

I don't want to waste my life. full stop. Wasting a life is the worst thing I think you could ever do seeing as everyone has so much potential, so much ability. And the only way I can see of avoiding this is by following God, but the only problem with this is that He doesn't hurry. I am not a patient person, and sometimes this slowness annoys me because the other thing I'd most like to do is to do what He wants me to do while I'm still young and that means that I need to get a move on soon, so I can learn what skills I'll need for serving Him. And while he will take anyone with any ability it frustrates me that He does say "I want you to become a doctor". You have to find out the slow way.


I don't believe I have been called to write. (jaw dropping gab). I meant that. I have never dreamt of writing a book, even though I have thought it would be nice. Writing is actually a skill that has only just matured over the last two years, the years I have been a Christian, and while I've got the ability to do it, I don't want to. I think it is a talent that is only meant for now.
Many people, my Mother included think this is mad, that I am wasting a God given talent. But I believe God has called me to bigger things.

That is why you have heard crazy stuff about me wanting to be a midwife. And I can tell you it isn't what I've always wanted to be, I never knew what I wanted to be. But this has grown and though I don't know what it is like to "have a dream" I think this is pretty close to one. But I wouldn't want to be a midwife here, oh no -that is too boring...

Have you ever seen, lets say imagined a little boy walking along a dusty road. Wait a moment I need to paint...

Swirling winds twist and turn along narrow windy sand strewn road they beat against a boy, a boy is walking this street his cailco robe wraps tightly around his legs. His skin is dark, ebony black showered by specks of sand. He has dark eyes, deep and scarred and shot with sorrow, a sorrow so pained, a sorrow one so young should not know...

There is also a woman. But she is somewhere else. Yet sand still blows here, and the heat is suffacating yet many are dressed in black flowing robes that cover them from head to foot. It is a market and there is one particular woman and she is going home.
And it is in her home I first saw her. It was in a room but the surroundings didn't matter all that mattered was the pain there, I knew then that she had been beaten but more than that, I knew that this woman had never had a flicker of love touch her life and I knew she was dying, that she was being strangled, strangled by some unseen force, not pyscially strangled but mentally, emotionaly. And she was screaming for help, screaming like nothing you've ever heard before, but it was the scream of someone who has lost hope, of someone who knows help won't come. And oh how I wanted to be there, well not me as I didn't think I could help, but I wanted someone to. It was then I remembered that lots of people have this happen to them all the time. One just has to pray for them. And please they are screaming out.

I do believe I've been called to women. I believe I've been called to midwifery in the middle east to Muslims. I know what you are thinking.... the middle east..... wars.... certain death, but I'd rather be in the thick of it than lulling where all is peaceful where everything is "Ok"
I believe I've been called to midwifery because then you are reaching the women who are so often shut down in those countries, here you can reach the unreached, here is the worst danger, for here you are under their roof.


"Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell; I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell."  ~ C. T. Studd


Miss Tiffany
              
                  
       
    

writing -about things you've never done

So how do you?
I don't know but I think this post will help -I haven't read it myself

-Tiffany

A fright*!*

Just then I saw something really honestly scary -about writing, just to warn y'all who are getting sick to death of it, sorry :)

But yup it gave me the most dark gripping fright ever (yeah I'm not totally out of nano yet though it ends today :) it wasn't that bad

so this is what it is and if you know anything about writing you'll get just a bit freaked-out:

3 Day Novel www.3daynovel.com/ Write and edit a full novel in 3 days. (WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I though nano was mad enough) so what is it actually about? -wait I haven't actually  looked, I was getting over my fright :P So now that I have read it I have to say you have to read the testimonials some of them are really funny, I love that dog one Anyway three days? Now that is....intense to say the least,  I doubt I could ever get there (well I could if it was a 300 word story :P)

I've done it

So nearly a month ago I told you I was doing the nearly impossible; writing 30,000 words in a month.
Well nearly four weeks later after two weeks of travelling, hours of writing, writers block, counting, and a halved word count goal (to 15,000)
I've done it with a grand total of 16024 words. Not as much as I'd have liked but with the added pressers on sewing Victorian dresses for the Heritage week in Oamaru and packing for a flight to my grandparents for an 80th I decided I'd go for half.

I may be posting the story over at where words are woven after the up coming fun of editing :D :-/    
~Tiffany




here's the web badge I got 

And so it's Nov the 1st (depending on where you live)

So I've started, this morning as soon as I woke up :) well pretty much. Anyway want to hear it?
(disclaimer: I won't be posting here all the time, and I'm just writing enough to be cruel ;-) )

Down the dark, dank, cobbled streets of London the sister's trudged. They passed a beggar/child with sightless staring eyes and a steaming, feverish brow that had turned his sooty face to a mottled grey. A hat lay beside a wasted arm, there was barely a coin in it, but the sister's ignored his plaintive cries and carried on into the deeper filth of London's East-end.

An icy wind breathed down the narrow street and the sister's drew the tattered shawl they shared tighter    , they increased their pace; today had been pay-day at the factory and they needed to get home quickly before the infamous night dwellers, theives, murderers, whores and drunkards appeared.

On they scuttled quite unaware that one such night-dweller was watching them, stalking their progress.
Tonight there'd be murder done.

So how 'bout that? do you think it will do? Please comment, I adore your advice.

Miss Tiffany
( OH and I'll probably post most of the story over at where words are woven my other blog (yes I have two, one just for writing, feel free to read the other storys)  

the next one

The Battle Surrendered

Part Six

Storyteller SilverLoom

     I cried myself to sleep.

     A gentle touch pulled me from my slumber. I looked up. It was Him.

     As fresh tears cascaded down my face, He pulled me into His arms. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed out.

     “Dear heart,” He said tenderly. “I forgive you.”

     He held me until my wails evolved into hiccupping spasms. Then He helped me stand. “Come on,” He said. “You can’t stay here.” Taking that small gold key from his pocket again, He unbound my chained hands and feet.

     I followed Him to the rope dangling into my prison through the crack in the wall. He gestured at our escape route and said, “Ladies first.”

     I tried to pull myself up the rope, but the sides of my prison had somehow become smoother than last time, and my feet couldn’t find a good hold. If I hadn’t been so weak from days without eating, I may have been able to climb it, but I’m not sure.

     After a few tries, I turned to Jesus. “I can’t do it. I can’t climb up.”

     He nodded. “It’s always harder to escape the second time.”

     “So, we’re stuck in here?!” I panicked aloud.

     He waited.

     I remembered Who I was talking to. Not even a sealed tomb could keep Him in, much less my prison. “Can You help me get out? Please?”

     With an ear-to-ear smile, He replied, “I was hoping you would ask.”

     He climbed the rope as easily as a fish swims; the slick wall could not hinder Him. When He was safely above ground, He told me to hang onto the rope. I obeyed, and He slowly drew me up. We were both under the blue sky in a matter of minutes.

     Jesus untied the rope from the tree He had secured it to. As He began coiling the rope, a thought suddenly hit me, but I hesitated to voice it. He stopped His work and looked at me. “Go ahead,” He said.

     “Jesus,” I began, “I know my capture was my own fault; I shouldn’t have given into the shadow creatures. But… why didn’t You help me? Didn’t You… I mean, You must have known what was happening. Didn’t You wake up?”

     His eyes grew deeply sad. “Yes, dear heart, I knew what was happening. I was watching.” His voice cracked just a bit. “But,” He added, “you didn’t ask Me to help. You were too busy trying to fight them on your own.”

     “I have to ask for Your help?” How could He have just stood there and let me be dragged off? I was incredulous.

     He was patient. “You have to want my help. I never force it on anyone; I will only help you if you want Me to. My way is the perfect way, but I gave you a free will to accept or decline My help.”

     So it was still all my fault.

     We started walking through the forest, covering the same ground we had covered before. The sun moved across the sky slowly, but I kept a close eye on it. When it was past noon, I spoke up, “Hey, um, Jesus. Do You think now would be a good time to start my training? Because, those shadow creatures might come back for me tonight and I want to be prepared.”

     “Your training has already begun.”

     “What?” I cried. “But all I’ve done is get captured! You haven’t even given me the smallest bit of advice on how to wield a sword!”

     He stopped and turned to look at me. “Did I ever say your training would involve weapons?”

     “Um, well, not exactly….”

     “I never hinted at anything of the sort.”

     “But that’s what training is!” I protested.

     Shaking His head, He explained, “You train to become better at something, and it doesn’t have to be with weapons. Athletes train to race better. Warriors train to fight better.”

     “But I thought You were going to train me to be a warrior to fight the shadow creatures!”

     He looked me in the eyes before responding gently, “Dear heart, I am training you not to fight.”

Something that didn't work yesterday

the computer went mad yesterday, so here it is today:

The Battle Surrendered

Part Five

Storyteller SilverLoom

     The shadow creatures were back.

     Again they pulled at me with their freezing hands. I cried out, “No!” and tried to stand, but they kept me firmly fixed to the ground. I looked around for Jesus, but the shadow creatures surrounded me and blocked my view of Him.

      Suddenly, there was that same dizzying light. The same feeling of stupor. The same urge to give in.

     No! I willed myself to fight back. I felt that I couldn’t fail again. I couldn’t let myself give in.

     But the shadow creatures did not let me go, and I couldn’t tear myself from them. I wondered if I really wanted to. Was that prison so bad? Were the chains so heavy? And Jesus would rescue me as soon as I asked Him to. He was nice like that.

     The intoxicating aura of false peace washed over me, irresistible. The creature leaned over and whispered, “Followmeee….”

     I don’t even remember the first step this time. All I know is that I found myself starting awake, once again, in the prison tower with the vague recollection that I had chained myself there.

     I had never thought I would fall into the same trap. If it had been horrible the first time I failed, it was double the horror now.

     And then I thought of Him. I’d let Him down. And that was the greatest heartbreak of all. How could I have ever thought He would rescue me again? And even if He did, how could I face Him?

     My shame overwhelmed me. My guilt was heavier than my shackles. I mourned and moaned in the tower for days. No one came, which only made my sorrow deepen, until it was so deep I felt like I could drown in it.

     I was hungry, thirsty, tired, and cold. It was the closest to death I had ever been.

     Finally, just when I thought I would burst from the pain, I did the only thing left to be done. I cried out for help.

     “God,” I whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please… help me. I’ll die without You.”

     I cried myself to sleep.


I think I might do two today, else it's a very sssssssllllllllllooooooooooowwwwwww businesss 

Secret

I'm practicly (sorry) bursting to tell.....  Bbuutt [but] I can't really, something to do with blogs and a magazine   Don't read that or you'll know

a secretive
Miss Tiffy

Part Four

and a belated four

The Battle Surrendered

Part Four

Storyteller SilverLoom

     He shouldered the coiled rope and strode into the forest.

     I scurried after Him, calling, “Wait! Where are we going?”

     “Follow me.”

     I halted. “Did You just quote Yourself?”

     Thankfully, He understood my sense of humor and laughed. “Yes, I tend to do that. It makes it easier for people to see things the way I do.”

     “And that’s supposed to mean…?” I asked as I again hurried to keep up with Him.

     “That I never change. I am the same at this moment as I was two-thousand years ago, and as I was at the creation of the universe. Today, tomorrow, and yesterday, I remain the same. And so I can quote Myself in everything.”

     We continued walking. And walking. And… walking. The forest floor was uncommonly free of debris, and a soft carpet of moss covered the earth, much to the glee of my bare feet. But after several hours of walking, and walking, and… walking, I finally said, “Ok, don’t get me wrong. I want to follow You wherever You go. But can You give me some clue as to where we’re headed? Please?”

     “We are going home,” Jesus replied.

     I gasped audibly, feeling both excitement and fear. He took one look at my face and cracked up. “No, dear heart! I mean your house. It’s not your time yet.”

     “Oh,” I said. Then I saw the funny side of it and laughed along with Him. After a few minutes, it finally occurred to me what He had said. “Hey! Why are You taking me back home? You said You were going to train me!” I cried.

     “No worries,” He replied. “We won’t arrive until you’re trained.”

     It took me a while to try to sort that out. “So… You’ll be training me on the way?”

     “Yes. We won’t get there until you’re trained.”

     “Oh, ok. Gotcha.” Little did I suspect that I had no clue what He meant.

     We walked some more. And walked. And… well, you know. But it wasn’t as boring as it sounded. The forest was beautiful and peaceful, and I was walking beside the Prince of Peace.

     Presently, Jesus remarked, “We’ll stop here and make camp. We’ll continue your training in the morning.”

     I can’t deny that I gave Him a funny glance. Continue? I wasn’t aware that we had started. I hadn’t even touched a sword or a bow yet!

     He stripped the lower branches off some nearby trees and soon had a small fire going. We ate bread and drank water that came from the pack He carried on His back.

     We slept on the soft moss under some light blankets from Jesus’s pack. The weather was perfect. I didn’t feel cold until early in the morning.

     Shivering, I pulled the blanket more tightly around me. My eyelids fluttered for just a second, but what I saw in that moment made me sit up and scream.

     The shadow creatures were back.

Well how 'bout that?

And three

I'm just whipping this on and running off to a ballet practice exam -prayers please.
Anyway... here 'tis

     The Battle Surrendered 

Part Three

Storyteller SilverLoom 

     I lifted my shackled wrists up and said wistfully, “I’m chained. I don’t know where the key is.”

     He reached into a pocket on his tunic and took out a tiny gold object. “You mean this key?” Grinning at my surprise, he quickly bent to unlock the chains on my wrists and ankles.

     “How did you know I was here?” I inquired as he unbound me.

     “Well,” he replied, “I’m here to train you. And I can’t train you if you’re locked up like this.”

     I decided not to push the question he had obviously avoided and let the conversation carry on. “Train me? Why?” I had read many stories of kids who were sucked into fantasy worlds and trained to be warriors for special missions. The thought that I could be like them filled me with jittery excitement.

     “‘Why?’” he repeated, letting my final shackle fall to the floor. “You think you don’t need training?”

     “No, no! It’s just that… why me? Why was I chosen to be trained? Why were those creatures after me?”

     He looked me in the eye. “They are after all of you, dear heart.” With that, he turned back toward the rope, leaving me to follow and wonder what he had against direct answers.

     It was fairly easy to climb out of the dungeon with my feet braced on the wall and my rescuer beneath me to give me a lift if I needed it. Soon, he and I were treading the green grass outside my prison. I shaded my eyes from the sun as I turned to look at the dreadful place. It was a single, tall tower without any doors or windows that I could see from this side. No banner flew from the top of this lonely turret, so I had no emblem to associate with the enemy who had captured me. The tower was set in the middle of a forest.

     “Um, so, Sir…?” I let my sentence trail off and turned to look at my rescuer, who was busy coiling the rope. “Sorry. I didn’t get your name?”

     “Jesus,” was the calm reply.

     I balked. His grin returned as He added, “You wanted directness.”

     Now I had to decide if it was a complete miracle or complete lunacy. The fact that He could read my mind pretty much ruled out insanity, but could it really be Him?

     Before I could say anything, He stretched out His hand toward me. One look at the ugly scar marring His skin was enough to convince me. My mind spun.

     He pulled me out of my circling thoughts by pointing out, “You were about to ask Me something?”

     “Uh, yeah. When do we start… um, that is, when are You…?”

     “When does your training begin?” He prompted.

     I nodded, still dumbfounded.

     “When you are ready,” He said.

     I managed to squeak out, “Am I ready now?” 

     He smiled. “You tell Me. Are you?”

     “I think so.”

     He waited.

     “Yes. I’m ready.”

     “Good. Then let’s get to work.” He shouldered the coiled rope and strode into the forest

Isn't it sad? Five more stories to go :(
-Miss Tiffany  

Awesome story

This is a totally awesome story done by Story teller, it is eight parts so I decided to drip feed it to you, just to make you feel better ; )

The Battle Surrendered  

Part One  

Storyteller SilverLoom

     They came at night. Like gliding shadows, they moved soundlessly across my bedroom. I had no idea they were coming for me. There was no time to prepare for their attack.

     I woke just in time to see them reaching toward me. It was too late. Their fingers were like ice; black icicles circling around my arms, my neck, and my head.

     Screaming in terror, I pulled back, trying to roll over, trying to get away from the shadow creatures. Still they clutched at me.

     All at once, a dim light dawned over me and my assailants. But instead of clarifying, this light seemed to make everything blurry. It illuminated the shadow creatures, but they did not disappear like shadows; instead, they seemed to grow more solid, and their skin turned white, soft, and pleasantly warm. Their eyes were dark, but gentle. The light seemed to emanate from someplace unseen behind the creatures.

     A strange feeling invaded my body and mind, similar to the one you get when you have a fever and take a sedative cold medicine. I could feel my eyelids droop under the unnatural disorientation, and I began to wonder why I was fighting. I reasoned that I was not being hurt, so why bother to struggle? It was too much work to try to get away.

     The creatures pulled me into a standing position beside my bed. I didn’t resist. One of the creatures twittered in my ear, its voice soothing, “Follow meee….”

     I didn’t ask where it wanted me to follow it to. I would see when I got there. It would take too much effort to talk.

     I remember taking the first step to follow the creature. Something nagged within me, telling me that what I was doing was stupid and wrong, but I buried the feeling and stepped forward. The next thing I knew, I was blinking as if I had just woken up and saw that I was no longer in my bedroom...

And that's all for now ; (

Can't wait to the next one, huh? ; )
-Miss Tiffany  

Greetings, me wee guinea pigs!

I've got some reading for you: How 'bout dat? [ uh english please! how about that]

So strong it brings many to their knees, so gripping it leaves one empty.

Like water it fills a well but leaves it dry with thirst. It is demanding.

Like a story that can never be told, a story that that can never be expressed.A story that has incredible power that only the witnesses can dream of retelling. It is unexplainable. It carves out one's heart, it is like a strong wind, it is so big, it is so un-describe-able, how can it ever be put into words? It bursts through walls of iron as if they were made of feathers: It can not be stopped. Some maybe afraid of its rising tide, but I am not. It is so un-contain-able, yes so very terrible, words can not express the thunder of its coming, or the pin drop silence that place when the Master comes, when the hem of the His robe brushes a human's heart, the burning desire for Him that only He can awake. The beauty of its voice. The great honor of of its calling. The immense power, the huge-ness. The GRACE!!. The vastness. It crushes the universe with blinding light. It is so mysterious, it leaves the watcher in tears.To see this is an incredible honor, that can be seen... for free!

It is not to be taken lightly, it takes the broken, the unqualified, the outcast, the shamed and shunned. It takes their pain away, such a beautiful release, such undeserved grace.It can't be compared to anything   ....ever. Without a price!                  

  

It pulls, it tugs, it unravels an adventure, takes the elderly over mountains the children over seas.It falls like rain. Those in its rising flood, turn to those in the desert "Won't you come?! Taste of the rain! Feel the surge of the water! Wade into its unfathomed depths.

Drown in the swells! Here you fear nothing, you need not bring anything except yourselves. Be prepared to change in strange ways.

Oh, sink in the waters of love!"

For it is love that topples many, that sweeps through and leaves one longing for more.Love that tells a story that can never be retold, it craves out the heart with longing; it drives like the wind, it is so large, one can easily lose oneself. Love flies through

every defense. Some are afraid of its changing powers, but the ones who have tasted aren't, no one should, the love is un-hate-able.

Love can never be captured, yet it was nailed to a tree, it is so terrible, terribly magnificent. From the nails blood ran, like water; love can never be stopped. The sweetness of love's voice whispers "Father...forgive"

Without love the earth trembles and breaks mourning its loss to the skies that have lost all color, all light, all stars and moon.

Sweltering blackness has fallen. All suffocates in its thick tangible flow. All can that be seen is a trickle of blood , the trickle of life

the trickle of love ... dying.

Frigid tensions run through the skies agonizing groans ripple through the earth, the surface between is paralysed with fear.

For three risings of the sun the world os empty of life, is stripped of its essence. The earth cries out in grief. The people are the only ones unaware that the universe is in its death throws. They wake on their Sabbat to worship a dead love.

In another world love enters. A kingdom black, heavy, soaked in evil. A place where blood is the water. A place that has never known love. A place reeking with hate, murder. A place where the sun was too scared to rise... the land of fear.

Then like the ripping of curtains, like the crashing of thunder, like a fork of lighting. Love enters, the first rays of its liberating dawn span across a wasted landscape. A delightful aroma arises like steam. Darkness flees, things begin to grow, the sewers of blood vanish. Life has arrived. In the middle of this land is a towering mountain atop of this is an empty pool, Love lands on the  east side of this, the angel of light [ The devil was an angel + most people wouldn't listen to something devil-ish looking I picture him like so:] with dark blood dripping from his hands, the prince of darkness, crouches on the other side. Into the pool bright blood pours: flowing from the one named Love. The dark Prince trembles and hands Love an ancient looking pair of keys.

"Love" leaves the land. Darkness returns.

On earth it is the hours before light. The weary earth will yet again see a lifeless sun rise, the plants will another day suffocate

with its dying presence. Yet the people are unaware that this day the curtain will tear, that from this day the earth will never be the same again. And yet shepherds lie by their sheep and kings by their treasure -sleeping! 

The sky lightens to a deep purple. A breeze blows across the earth. The trees, plants waters and oceans stir beneath its power.

The wind carries a secret; a promise of change.

And then light, blinding light, rips across the land. You can almost hear the universe laughing with unimaginable joy. The ocean dance frenzied dances of happiness,the earth rumbles with delight and the sky shouts out its pleasure. The very air jumps with excitement.

Love has returned!

It's still hear, right now. Unknown to most is its power, its force and its name: Jesus.

Some are still in the desert of darkness, some are still slaves to another world to a dark force.

Few are in the rain of love, few feel its strong insistent pull.But it is there for anyone should they just see what 

"love" has done for them and repent of their sins, freedom is there, joy is there, peace is there for the broken who ask

So what think you?

Impatiently awaiting your comments

-Tiffany

For all those who write to glorify God

For writers
Tell if it doesn't work, something crazy just happened and I'm not sure if it will affect you.

Sorry

Very [not at all really] sorry that I can't write the rest of it and that I'm leaving you all in suspense. I plan to get pictures for the 24th post, sooooooo you're gonna have to wait.