Category Archives: Stories

Those I’ve seen/heard

The Lady of the Linden Tree– a Tuesday Tale

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From The Lady of the Linden Tree by Barbara Leonie Picard. (This is one I mentioned earlier)

Sir Merewine of the Hill was accounted among the best of all knights, no matter how one chose to reckon it– whether by skill, or courtesy, good looks or good deeds. He was a truly noble man and was adored by many women, but he politely declined all their attentions.

He had sworn to take as his lady only the most beautiful woman in the world, though he did not yet know who she was.

Nevertheless, he served equally any who had need of him. He was not unkind in his determination to choose the loveliest, only set in his mind.

One day, as he was on his way to a midsummer tourney in the Joyous Valley, he passed by the edge of a wood and heard weeping. Being unable to hear the sound of distress without offering his help, the good knight looked about until he saw a young woman under a linden tree, weeping into her hands.

He approached, asking if there were any way to assist her. When she looked up it took all his skill to carefully conceal his disgust, for she, truly, was the ugliest of women.

The lady explained she had three requests to make of some brave knight, but because of her awful appearance she had been unable to find any willing to help her.

“More shame to them,” said Sir Merewine.

He offered to take on her tasks, and asked what they were, but she would only tell one at a time.  The first was a knight Sir Merewine must challenge in her name, in order to bring back his helmet.

Upon meeting the knight, Sir Merewine saw the battle would be hard, but he stood by his word and fought the dark knight until the the larger man fell unconscious under a blow from Sir Merewine.

Having won, Sir Merewine took the fallen knight’s helmet and returned to the lady for the second task.

Continue reading »

Taking a Lesson from Saint George

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(Excerpts from the excellent book Saint George and the Dragon, that I’ve mentioned before.)

After the tremendous battle to slay the dragon, the king says to George (not yet Saint):

“Never did living man sail through such a sea of deadly dangers. Since you are now safely come to shore, stay here and live happily ever after. You have earned your rest.”

How many times a day do we hear– or think– that? You’ve earned it!

Usually we hear it from people who want something from us. Mostly advertisers. Isn’t is sad we desire that “truth” so much we’ll even take it from those we know are seeking to manipulate us?

Do we ever stop to ask ourselves what we have done that’s so exceptional? Worked hard? Made some sacrifice (by which we usually mean we did something unpleasant, not that we gave our best)? Did more than someone else?

I always feel convicted when I read this bit in Luke 17, that ends with Jesus saying,

“So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’ “

What others are or are not doing should make no difference to us and our rating of our work. That depends on my assignment– which will be different from anyone else’s. So what if I’m sometimes more hospitable, my husband more generous, than someone else? This makes us merely obedient, not exceptional or worthy of notice.

George could not, indeed had no reason to, deny the magnitude of what he’d done by freeing a kingdom. But even he would not accept the fairytale ending, because he knew his life was not his own.

“No, my lord, [he told the king] I have sworn to give knight’s service to the Fairy Queen for six years. Until then, I cannot rest.”

Any deed, no matter how great, will not change who we’ve bound ourselves to.

In the same way that there is nothing I can do to earn God’s love, there is nothing I can do to pay back my debt. Once I surrendered to Christ he doubly owns my life: not only by creating it, but by buying it back from where I sold myself to sin.

My time of service is my whole life– not measured just by the six years, or my parenting years, or my “office” years. Our lives are meant to be full of work. We’ve been given work, and somehow we are even offered the chance to joy in it.

(The concept of retirement— especially of retirement in the way we use it in America– doesn’t have much foundation in scripture. The ending of this season of work should merely mark the shift to a new season, and a different work.)

I pray we have the perseverance to get past merely what we want to hear, or do, and live our lives as they are: bound in the service of the one who gave his life for ours.

For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s.

The Fly– a Tuesday Tale

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In Vietnam there was a rich man who shrewdly increased his wealth through loans with usurious interest.

One day, intending to take anything of value he could from a poor, hard-working man who’s payment was due, the rich usurer walked to the poor man’s hut. No one was home but a boy, entertaining himself with spinning sticks and stones.

“Where are your parents, Boy?” the man asked.

“Father is cutting living trees and planting dead ones,” the boy said, his voice solemn. “Mother is selling the wind to buy the moon.”

Of course the rich man recognized a riddle when he heard one, but he could not think of the answer.

Being who he was, he expected the boy to answer when asked, but the boy went on playing as if he’d heard nothing. Finally the usurer was so angry he promised to cancel the family’s debts if the boy would only speak the answer to his riddle.

This interested the boy.

“Do you really mean it? Would you really cancel the whole debt?”

“I swear by Heaven and Earth,” said the usurer, thinking how easily he could get out of the swearing.

“No,” said the boy. “Heaven and earth cannot speak. We must have a living witness.”

Just then a fly buzzed past, then returned to light upon the usurer’s staff.

“Will this living creature suffice?” asked the man.

“Yes, ” said the boy. “I will agree to the witness. For the price of our debt:

“My father has gone to cut bamboo to make a fence for the man who hired him. My father is quite sensible for planting dead trees. It is good, honest work.

My mother has gone to the village to sell fans in order to buy lamp oil. Surely you must agree that is selling the wind to buy the moon.”

The usurer chuckled to himself, figuring he had bought the answer to a hard riddle for nothing more than a lie.

The next time he returned both parents were home, and the usurer demanded payment. The frightened peasants begged for more time, and the commotion woke the boy. He quickly told his parents of the riddle and the bargain he’d made. When the usurer denied it the case was brought before the local mandarin where the usurer insisted he had never spoken to the boy.

The mandarin was a fair, kind man, but when faced with the word of a man against the word of a boy, he could only say he was sorry, but word to word he could not forgive the debt.

“It is too bad, child, that you did not take the precaution of having a witness.”

“But we did, honorable one. There was a fly. He landed on the face of this man!”

“Little liar! He was no closer than my staff.” The usurer clapped his hand over his mouth, but the damage had been done: The mandarin was convinced the two had spoken.

Having found one lie in the usurer’s mouth already, the official ruled in favor of the boy and his family, and the usurer was forced to forgive the entire debt.

The White Deer– a Tuesday Tale

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From More Easy to Tell Tales.

Years ago there was a young married couple who lived in Ireland. Though they often wished for a child, in the five years they’d been married none had been born to them. The husband’s parents lived with them, and the older couple had a sorrow of their own, for the wife had been blind for 15 years.

They were quite poor together, but managed to scrape by until the potato crop failed; then starvation came to their door.

The young man knew it was up to him to save his family. So, taking up his axe (it was the only weapon he possessed), he crept over the wall that surrounded the landlord’s estate, hoping to find some game.

Now, this landlord was one of the cruel ones. He’d made it known that anyone caught hunting on his lands would be hanged, as a poacher. The young man knew the risk he was taking but felt he had no choice.

After seeking the entire day and finding nothing, the young man finally managed to corner a beautiful white deer at sunset. As he raised his axe to strike the killing blow, the deer spoke.

“Spare me!” it said, “And I will grant you one wish.”

The young man paused and shook himself, certain starvation had attacked his senses. He raised his axe again, and again the deer spoke.

“Listen,” it said. “If you kill me, you’ll be hanged as a poacher, but if you spare me your wish could save your whole family.”

And when the man still hesitated, the deer added, “You don’t have to decide right away. Go home, sleep on it, and come back at dawn. I will still be here if you want to kill me.”

In a daze, the young man climbed back over the landlord’s wall and headed for home. The first person he met was his old dad, so he stopped and told his father the whole story.

Without hesitation his father said, “Wish for gold! Gold will solve all our problems.”

The young man couldn’t really disagree, but he wanted to hear what his mother had to say as well. He found her next, and shared his story.

Without hesitation his mother said, “Wish for my sight to be restored! Surely that is more precious than gold!”

Again, the young man couldn’t quite disagree, but he’d been married long enough to remember also to seek out his wife’s opinion and counsel.

When he had found her and she’d heard the story and his parents’ responses, she said at once, “Husband, you know I love your mother, and your father, too. But all these years we have prayed for a child. Surely that is the most important wish of all!”

So the young man didn’t sleep at all that night. He could think only of the wish. How should he use it? He only had the one.

Finally, with the first light of day, he crept back over the landlord’s wall and went to the place where he had caught the deer. It was there, waiting for him.

“Have you chosen your wish?” it asked him.

“Indeed, I have.”

“Then speak it, and I will give it to you.”

The young man took a deep breath, then said, carefully and slowly, “I wish for my mother to see my wife rocking our child in its golden cradle.”

And his one wish was granted, and the family lived in contentment for many years.

Not for kids? (Defending the Use of Fairy Tales)

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I have heard (and said myself) that fairy tales were not meant as entertainments for children.

While I still believe most of the content needs to be filtered by discerning parents, as my kids get older (and, remember, they’re not very old yet) I’m finding and thinking that some of the tales aren’t as inappropriate for them as I once thought they would be.

I first started thinking this way when I hung on to Wiley and the Hairy Man despite my mother’s opinion of it. I can see that the book is intense, but I know my kids, and went though it with them until they were acclimated to the story.

More troubling to me are (several) “children’s” movies that are equally or more intense than this story and too often used to “babysit.” That is, entertain a child without the adult’s involvement.

I am not “above” using movies to entertain my children. That’s what they’re there for. That’s why I watch movies. I have a stash that I am comfortable doing this with.

My general complaint with children being left alone with the television is that too many people equate cartoon with child-friendly.

For this reason I won’t let my girls watch certain “childhood standards” and I will continue to delay those while I can.

I like the movies (well enough). I think they’re good storytelling and art and all that, but I don’t think their level of tension is appropriate for preschoolers.

One of the difficulties with movies is that all the images and emotions come rushing at you like wild animals, and there’s no time or context for processing one of them before being attacked or buried by the next one.

When reading stories– even the same ones the movies were made from– I have more control, the children have more context, and (therefore) more safety for the whole exercise.

~

Why do it at all if it requires special presentation to be “safe”? Because I enjoy them, for one thing, and I best meet my own expectations of reading aloud frequently if that first criterion is met.

Also because the stories, told in the right way, create opportunities to talk about real issues (this can be good or bad, depending on what issues are brought up).

Did you know the original Snow White (from the German, not Disney) was a child? She first angers her step-mother at the tender age of 7. There is nothing remotely passive or weak (common complaints about the tale) about a 7-year-old being taken somewhere by an adult she trusts, or being told what to do for her own safety (e.g by the dwarfs).

We have used the original Snow White (still edited slightly as we read aloud) to talk about the danger of disobedience; the reasons for adults’ warnings, designed to keep children safe. Continue reading »

King Thrushbeard– a brief commentary

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I have read an annotated version of King Thrushbeard that “proves” how misogynist it is, and confirms the story’s purpose in frightening women into subjugation and obedience. And I can see where the annotators get that.

But this story has always appealed to me, and it was only as I was retelling it for Tuesday Tales that I finally understood why.

In it I see a sort of parable.

There is the princess (free to choose, but having no power of her own) who will not accept the young king. He is offering himself to her, even though (apparently) she has no dowry to come with her. He has chosen her for herself.

She thinks she doesn’t need anyone, then learns otherwise when she is cast penniless and unskilled into the world. The king who wanted her humbled himself and became the beggar who won her “by chance,” and lives along side her in poverty, with patience, attempting to teach her skills while at the same time revealing how unfounded all her former prides are.

He provides for her not having to go hungry for long (probably letting the cook know who she is) and shares her public humiliation cleaning up the scraps in the great company.

(Yes, some of this is magnified from the original in my retelling, but that is my prerogative as the teller.)

Mostly I was struck by the image of a great King who humbled himself to live alongside a useless princess so that he could protect her through trials that would make her more fit to be queen.

Our Engagement Story ~ one strand untangled

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God is gracious and knows all we need.

If my good man had followed this sensible advice offered on Boundless for our situation, we probably wouldn’t have married, because as much as I might have missed him, I wouldn’t have understood (or trusted) that the feeling meant I loved or needed him.

Seven years ago on the last day of May, I knew I loved him. And I was physically unable to say yes.

He hadn’t expected a “yes” right away (there are family stories about my mother and sister needing to be asked three times each), so when I couldn’t say anything serious,

“Would you consider marrying me?” he asked.

“Well, I’d consider it,” I said, answering his question.

he didn’t react much and we simply started back to the main trail. I watched his back the whole return along the narrow, winding moose track we’d explored together, and felt so disappointed.

I knew I wanted to marry him, but I’d lost my chance to say so, and was too overwhelmed to attempt revisiting the idea.

Weeks before this, before he had a ring, Jay described his search for just the right one. I was still praying and wrestling with the question of whether I could live without him. He said he’d finally decided to special-order a custom ring.

I was horrified.

“But it will be non-returnable!” I said at once, stopping to stare at him. “What will you do if I say ‘No.‘?”

He just kept walking, still holding my hand (we did a lot of walking in those early days), “I’ll just save it for the next time I ask.”

So I wasn’t afraid I’d utterly lost him, but I was sad, because I’d missed something precious.

We climbed onto the observation platform that looked over the marshy area we’d just come out of, and still neither of us had said anything. All that was going through my head was, I want to accept him, but I can’t say *yes.*

And then we had what these days you’d have to call a movie moment (because it seems both scripted and perfectly executed). The kind that makes certain viewers misty-eyed.

He wrapped me in his arms and said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And there was my opening. God provided so graciously that I could accept without needing to say “Yes.”

“Me too,” I told him, turning around and hugging him back. He held me tighter for a moment, then, hesitatingly, he asked, “Would you like a ring on that?”

I nodded.

Even Jay may not know how often I’ve thanked God for my man’s gentle perseverance.

King Thrushbeard– A Tuesday Tale

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Once upon a time…

There was a king with a daughter so proud and clever he had a hard time getting her married off.

No one was good enough for her, and she put her wit poorly to use finding uniquely appropriate insults for each suitor– priding herself on never using the same insult twice.

She was making enemies and losing friends for her father, but the princess didn’t care. Finally, and at the end of a long line of last chances, the princess came face-to-face with a young king that she could find no fault in.

Unwilling to admit defeat, she brushed his narrow gotee with her finely formed fingers and laughed, calling him “King Thrushbeard,” and acted as though she thought him a very plain-looking man.

Turning from the princess the young king bowed slightly to the girl’s father and walked out without looking back. The old king was furious.

“The first beggar,” cried he, “the first swineherd, the first musician– the first thing at my gates that will pass as a man and take you away– you will marry him that same hour.”

The princess didn’t believe him, but the next morning as she ate her breakfast she heard her father speaking to someone as he approached the high table.

It was a beggar. A scraggly man with a dirty face who looked like he’d never eaten well in his life.

The princess was about to object to eating in the same room with such a man when the king raised his voice.

As I swore yesterday, I now hold to my word: Behold the bridegroom of the princess.”

The princess blanched, then nearly fainted as she heard her father say he would not allow the wife of a beggar to sit at the high table. Two soldiers guided her stumbling feet to the step where the beggar sat, eating scraps. She began to weep and was unable to eat any more.

With only a small, poor bundle, she was turned out of the palace to follow her new husband, and they walked for many days as they worked their way back to his homeland.

Continue reading »

Let Them be Warriors

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I have often felt sorry for modern boys and young men. They have so few chances to kinesthetically apply their problem-solving skills.

So few opportunities to be a hero.

Watching Honey I Shrunk the Kids a few years ago was the first time I really thought about this.

The greasy teenage boy changed from lazy and purposeless into a confident leader. I had to wonder how many of the high school guys I knew could have been marvelous rather than eye-rolling if they’d had the opportunity.

It’s started a new point of interest in my folktale collecting:

I’d really like to find some über-manly tales of knights and princes. The type that dominate the scene, according to the authors compiling books of women-centered folktales.

I guess I haven’t been paying enough attention up till now, because most of the stories I find don’t raise men nearly to the level women reach in their corresponding tales (trickster tales being the exception).

Even Cinderella, Snow White and The Sleeping Beauty— castigated as being about passive women– are still just about the women. I’ve noted before that in these stories the man is merely the accessory. A part of the packaged fantasy played out in the fairy tale.

Granted, I’m familiar with a lot of tales where a youngest son or some poor young man who is all alone is kind to the right person, finds the right friends, follows the advice of the wise man (or woman), and gets the girl, the gold or the kingdom, but they only rarely feel heroic.

Bryan Davis, the author of the Dragons in our Midst series (and another) wrote a fabulous article about the heart of heroism in boys and girls, and how naturally it plays out in line with the roles God ordained: Champion and encourager. Protector and helpmeet.

Read it. It gave me goosebumps (if that’s any additional recommendation).

So far in my brief search I have found two noteworthy books that I expect to buy by the time Elisha is a pre-schooler:

The title story from Lady of the Linden Tree is another good example of what I’m looking for, and is among the half-dozen or so of Picard’s tales I’d love to see in picture book format.

The Black Falcon, changed from its original incarnation in the Decameron, becomes a tale of sacrifice, about loving a person over a possession. The other is about a fierce battle, with honor, faithfulness, and the happy ending.

I’m keeping my eyes open for more like these, because as nice as it is to see the triumph of “the little guy,” I think it’s good, too, to have heroes that are larger than life.

My girls love their picture books with the pages of beautiful ladies and journeys that they can see themselves on. I want to give my son the same opportunity to identify with men of honor and bravery.

Yes, I hope to teach my son gentleness, but I also want to equip him with stories and images he can admire; those showing the proper use of strength and power.

Home Again…

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Was gone much of the last week for our last (immediate) family wedding.

Random “over-heards” from the weekend:

A tee-shirt on the groom:

No, I don’t have a girlfriend.
But a know a girl who would be pretty upset if she heard me say that.

After the wedding:

60-something uncle: So, [Groom] what are you planning on doing tonight?
Unbelieving stare from groom.
40-something uncle: Has it really been that long since you were married?

Of course the question was more about where they were spending their honeymoon than what they’d be doing.

And then there was the one on the drive home where my oldest asked,

Are we going to Fairbanks and real-Alaska, now?

And here we are, at almost 1400 miles of driving in less than a month, five in the Subaru Legacy.

Family 8/07

Do we look a little dazed to you?

Now, Lord willing, my goal is to really set up house and find a balance now that sickness, dog (yes, dog :( ) and crazy-fast weekends across the state are over for the present.