In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love,”
—St. Teresa of Calcutta

Emunah stood by the side of the now dusty path leading to the arena, looking at The Clock Maker’s timepiece, trying to figure out what to do. Should she go back and use better arguments to persuade Hannah she wasn’t where she needed to be? That this wasn’t a safe place? That these people milling around, feeding her what she thought was sustenance, that hammock living was not the kind of living The King of All Kingdom’s created her for? Or even arena, living for glory? An evil glory created by the those trying to destroy The King of All Kingdoms and his children?

The Hands of Thyme didn’t offer insight. Exasperated, Emunah sighed a barely audible huff. She wanted this to be finished. She thought all she had to do was show up, trust The King of All Kingdom had the plan, and Hannah would leave willingly with her.

The world’s clock is never a friend – but The King of All Kingdom’s Timepiece, which hers was set to, well that is a different story all together. Henrietta was singing quietly, as though by singing promises, her heart would quiet to a normal 350 beats a minute. Hannah picked up the melody, “He makes everything beautiful in its time.”

In its time. . . His time. . . not her, Emunah’s desired time. Not Hannah’s time. Not even her mother and father’s time. His time. . .

Each step He gave her was in His timing. “Breathe,” she said to herself. “He’s got this.” She just needed to walk through it and trust The King of All Kingdoms and His son. She started humming Hannah’s song again, focusing on Him and not the fear that trailed and swirled around her feet in a tangible fog.

Suddenly, she surrounded by a group of fey soldiers – and the young man in a red jacket and jaunty black hat that had seen better days looked at her, with empty, insolent eyes, black and dull.

“What’s that in your basket?” they asked.

“Lunch,” she said, feeling Henrietta tug her braid, warning her to tread carefully.

One of the soldiers grabbed her basket, opened it, and threw it on the ground in disgust.

“Move on to the arena. Don’t enter the contestants area again. We heard you were harassing one of our competitors. Stay away, or you will find yourself competing also.,” he barked at her. At his lead, his followers turned on their heals, and stormed off, looking for trouble and angry because they didn’t find any. The young man in the red jacket stared at her, empty-eyed calculation until he, too, walked away – as though he knew what she was about but couldn’t do anything about it. . . but wasn’t about to stop trying.

Emunah bent down, picked up her basket, opening it to see what disgusted the soldiers. She found three sandwiches with two sets of ears peaking out of each end of the bread, and two sets of toes peaking out at the other end. Lifting the top off the sandwiches, smothered in mustard were three mice and three chipmunks. She drew back, appalled. Who would sell mice and chipmunk sandwiches? Then she remembered where she was.

“They’re alive? Yes?” Henrietta whispered urgently, her little hands pressing for her to look.

Pausing, peering more closely, her fingers drew aside the bread and touched the chest of each animal. The chipmunks, warm to touch, didn’t move as she counted.

“Four to five beats a minute,” she said, puzzled.

“They’re sleeping,” Henrietta whispered, nodding for her to check the mice.

“I can’t count as fast as their hearts are beating,” Emunah said.

“Good! Good!, Henrietta said. “They’d been given a draught to appear dead in case anyone looked. Those are 3 of the 13 we’ve come to save. Come, we’ve got a few more stops to make on the way to the arena.”

“Is Millie in there?” Emunah asked, hoping they had Henrietta’s daughter safely in her basket. At least as safe as being in a lunch basket in an enemy camp can be.

“No,” was all Henrietta said, her voice tinged with concern mixed with hope.

They didn’t go directly to the arena as ordered. Henrietta guided her to a booth where she bought a fox hand-muff, two beaver hats for nephews she didn’t realize she had, a fox-fur collar for her mantle,, a tin of squirrel stew with holes in the top, seemingly two dead minks for lining her mantle. It took her a few good looks to realize the fox-fur collar and the fox hand-muff were really just one fox all wrapped up together.

That was one more than they had planned to save. Emunah’s heart, so broken by the Hannah’s situation, had cracked open to love those lost, just like her friend. She vowed to save as many as The King of All Kingdom would allow. That love replaced her exhaustion, fueled her determination, built her courage.

The Milliner’s booth put the beaver hats for the nephews in a leather hat box lined with fox fur, with the fox hand-muff and collar. Every now and again, the hat box banged against her leg as if, instead of a tempest in a tea pot, there was a tempest in a hat box.

Just in case you wondered who this menagerie of animals were, let me remind you. Emunah was rescuing Eliza Beaver’s 3rd son from her first litter, her second daughter from her fourth litter; Felicia squirrel’s fifth daughter from her third litter, Sylvie Foxe’s husband, Morwena and Hopka’s parents bounced around in two tabby wool bags looed on the belt at her waist.

Hannah would make 14.

The walled stone arena seemed to have grown up out of the ground. She walked through arched entryways, finding a seat beside a column near the edge stairway. Tucking her hatbox and lunch basket between her gown and mantle next to the column, she looked for every exit and entrance. Dazzling banners of purples, blues, red and yellows hung about the arena, twitching in a breeze that failed to comfort. Sweating, worn by the weight of it all, her nerves tried to persuade her they were fraying.

“Steady,” Henrietta whispered. “You have strength enough for courage for this.”

She knew Henrietta was humming, but Emunah couldn’t hear for the raucous noise.

Suddenly, a trumpet announced the Lord of  the Forest Where No Man Comes Out Unbroken, Master of Ceremonies. He welcomed the spectators with elaborate gestures, droning on and on, welcoming those who’d brought him great gifts deemed valuable to those of the Forest. Emunah tried to close her ears and not listen; some were cruel gifts in jest, some of great worth to those who judged riches by material things, not things of the heart, some gifts puzzled her. She thought it best to not dwell on those. Finally, he announced the tournament and its participants. The trumpets blared and buzzed again, all the contestants marched through to line up before the Lord of the Forest.

Hannah stood proudly in her rags as though she wore her best dress. Emunah almost despaired. How do you  save someone who cannot even see they need saving?

The Master of Ceremonies announced the reward for the Tournament’s Champion – all things which fed the ego – wine, a laurel of golden leaves, a piece of land and live stock to rule. The loser? Well, the loser, it seems is why they all came. The loser was to be the fox in a fox hunt the following day. They had all come, not to cheer on two competitors pitting their gifts and talents against each other. They came not just for the downfall, not just to witness someone else’s low moment, but to be a part of the crowd chasing to destroy one of the King of All Kingdom’s children.

Hannah seemed to wake up when she realized the loser’s. . . punishment.

If Hannah could have sung in competition, she would have won laurels of golden leaves. Hearts would have been stirred, stirred to warm things remembered from long ago, stirred to hunger for things only The King of All Kingdom’s could satisfy. Hannah, always good at games in their childhood, was not prepared for adult games designed to break the soul.

There were three major competitions during the day, with miniature competitions inbetween to give the competitors time to re-gather their energy.

The details of each competition is written in a leather journal. One copy can be found on a shelf in the library in The Kingdom of Song. Another copy can be found on a shelf in a Healing House. It was the first journal put on the shelf. There is now a room of shelves filled with journals of how people found themselves at the healing house between the edge of The Forest Where No Man Comes Out Unbroken and the outskirts of The Clock Maker’s City beside The River of Living Water. Henrietta can tell you how to get there, even Sylvie Fox’s husband. Felicia Squirrel and all her children would gladly guide you, especially if they hear you singing songs of praise to The King of All Kings. . . , but I get ahead of myself.

On a small lined-court with a net now stood two contestants, to much cheering – and, yes, jeering. Emunah swallowed her gasp, stealed herself. Both contestants, one was Hannah – and the other was Yanai, one of the sons from their town who had traveled with them, who must have been scooped up in the raid that had broken up their travels. As children, they had been taught to play nicely together. There was nothing nice about these games.

Each took a skunk-lined racquet and went to their end of the court. Hannah waited to return the serve from Yanai. Emunah watched the serve – witnessing the oddest thing. Instead of a typical ball for a racquet, it was. . . Henrietta gasped the answer for her, “Millie.”

Oh, yes, the first competition was designed to harden the heart. As the game progressed, the catcalls, the reality of her situation woke to Hannah. . . a groggy, self-preservation awakening. How Hannah beat Yanai, Emunah couldn’t tell. Maybe he let her win. Maybe he felt more remorse over Millie’s situation. Maybe he was trying to save Hannah because he understood the risk better. Maybe there was something to gain from letting her win the first game. At the end of the game, something like guilt, shame stole over Hannah, as she covertly slid a badly battered Millie into her pocket.

Emunah left her seat in the arena, trying to reach Hannah, to somehow lead her away. The guards rebuffed her attempts to enter where the pavilion where contestants tents were set up. She did manage to reach her hand out to her, to take her hand as Hannah passed, returning to the arena for the second competition. Hannah slipped her something wrapped in a section of her ragged hem. Emunah wiped her eyes with it, as though it were a handkerchief and slipped it into her pocket.

Henrietta skittered down her shoulders, across the tabby wool bags that held Morwena and Hopka’s parents, into the pocket that held Millie. Hannah pulled her mantle tightly around herself. Under her breath she started singing,

“Saviour, he can move the mountains
My God is mighty to save
He is mighty to save”
~ “Mighty to Save,” Reuben Timothy Morgan, Benjamin David Fielding

As Henrietta tended to Millie, Emunah moved to return to where she had been sitting, still carrying her hat box and lunch box. Climbing the stairs, she stopped, about falling her to knees. Yanai and Hannah were playing Afkadur, which looks like our volleyball game today. Except for a smooth ball, it was a porcupine rolled into a ball. Even now, Hannah and Yanai’s hands were mangled, skin torn, bleeding – arms, shoulders, legs. Their filthy clothes were now stained red. How would Hannah one day roll dough to make bread for her children? How would she hold their hands to guide their steps? How would Yanai play the shawm, a double-reed wind instrument, or hold the shofar to blow to fellowship and praise The King of All Kings? How would he bring in the harvest? Plant seed with hands so very broken and torn? How would he carve toy animals for his children?

Emunah again tried to reach her as she left the arena for her tent. Her eyes met Hannah’s – and though she saw despair within them, Hannah determined to stay. Maybe she didn’t know the way out. Maybe it was pride, not wanting to admit she was wrong. Maybe she couldn’t see a life beyond where she found herself. Maybe she thought The King of All Kingdom’s wouldn’t want her. Maybe she thought she could win this on her own.

She exited the arena, stepped off the path, and found a log to sit on, singing praise in the hard of this challenge. The sun was starting to set, flaming rose and gold as it dipped down and twilight climbed up the sky. She looked at her watch again. Oh, how much longer? The hardest part of living, she was learning, is in the wait of a prayer sent out. She was finding that just possibly it was the most important part, too. It’s where faith and hope lived. It is where love grew. It is where something like joy burned most brightly when He tucked you beneath His wing, comforting. Why is it when the question is not yet answered, the giver of that answer more fully has our attention than after the answer is given? Emunah sat, breathing in, “King of All the Kingdoms,” exhaling, “Have mercy on me.” After her heart rate calmed – surely it hadn’t been beating as fast as a chipmunk drinking his morning coffee.

A thought tried to intrude, that she was just wasting time, talking to the King of All Kings, seeking his help, quieting her soul. Her best friend was in the fight for her life, and here she sat praying and singing songs to Him. Guilt tried to reach its tenticles into her mind – and she knew from there, they’d make a way to her heart if she didn’t stop. She shoved those thoughts away, replacing them by singing her mother’s favorite psalm:

“I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust.”

³ Surely He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler
And from the perilous pestilence.
⁴ He shall cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your shield and buckler.
⁵ You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,
Nor of the arrow that flies by day,
⁶ Nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness,
Nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday.

⁷ A thousand may fall at your side,
And ten thousand at your right hand;
But it shall not come near you.
⁸ Only with your eyes shall you look,
And see the reward of the wicked.

⁹ Because you have made the Lord, who is my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
¹⁰ No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling;
¹¹ For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.
¹² In their hands they shall bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.
¹³ You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.

¹⁴ “Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name.
¹⁵ He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
¹⁶ With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.”
~ Psalm 91: 2-16

Henrietta climbed back to her shoulder, telling her, “She’s holding on, the little dear. I have her tucked in and wrapped her to minimize the bumping and jumbling. Thank you for your song.”

Emunah rose, gathered her box and basket and made her way back to the arena for the final event.

Yanai and Hannah had been put in a gilded bird cage filled with beautiful song birds. The goal? To Catch the most song birds and place them in baskets – two beautiful song-birds from The Kingdom of Song with bound hands that couldn’t catch, parched lips that couldn’t whistle were chasing songbirds. The crowd laughed and jeered at the wingless songbirds trying to catch the winged songbirds. Maybe he realized the ridiculousness of it all. Whatever the reason, Yanai sat down in a curve of the caged wall. That made the crowd angrier. Yanai closed his eyes: closed his eyes and remembered. . .and his voice rose, first in a whisper, then in a rich tenor:

“Lead me gently home, Father,
Lead me gently home,
When life’s toils are ended
And parting days have come;
Sin no more shall tempt me,
Ne’er from Thee I’ll roam,
If Thou’lt only lead me, Father,
Lead me gently home.
Lead me gently home, Father,
Lead me gently
Lest I fall upon the wayside,
Lead me gently home.”
~ “Lead Me Home Gently,”
Will L. Thompson, 1879

When he finished, head bowed, there wasn’t a sound in the arena. All the birds sat on his shoulders, his knees, his head. . . then they flew into the basket, disappearing. At first there was silence – for the beauty of the song. Then there was cheering for the miracle of the birds.

The Lord of the Forest placed the laurel of golden leaves on Yanai’s head. The Lord of the Forest wasn’t pleased. He knew what kind of song it was. He knew how it called to the hearts of many in the stands, many who still had memories buried deeply of the goodness of The King. . . this young man was a risk to his hold over those who were in bondage to the woodland elves.

Hannah having reached the end of herself, collapsed onto the ground, the dusty arena ground and the rock-bottom of her soul. She opened her eyes and saw herself, really saw herself. No beautiful gown, just rags. No golden curls: just a filthy, unwashed mop of hair. Her heart had hardened. She’d lost the work of her hands. She’d forgotten who she was and what she was designed to do. Janai’s heart had hardened. He’d lost the work of his hands. But he hadn’t forgotten The King of All Kings and the Songs that had lined his mantle. Soldiers came, dragging her to her tent, letting her rest before tomorrow’s hunt, before the hounds of the hunt would destroy her.

Emunah looked at her watch. The Thyme leaf hands stirred, seeming to shake themselves. She remembered her conversation with The Clockmaker:

“The world will tell say you need to be somewhere at a certain time, but The King of All Kingdom’s Time runs differently. He can open a wide expanse of time that to the world seems like a minute, but to you will be like an hour or 24 hours, even more. He gives you time to do what you have been given to do for Him. That is the key – to do it, not so much as for Him, but with Him. Keep your insight eyes on Him. Be anxious about nothing,” The Clock Maker caught her chin as she lowered her eyes, realizing that her earlier anxiousness was “wrong.”

“You are learning, Daughter of the Kingdom of Song and Praise. Cast your eyes and your song upon Him when you feel anxious. Anxiousness, the Spirit of Hurry, the Time Thief that says you are Behind – and as such are failing – when those feelings rise up in you – recognize those are the thoughts of the enemy trying to steal the gift of The King of All Kingdoms. Trust in Him. Believe His Time is True – you are not responsible for keeping it. You are responsible only for stepping into it – and giving Him the Glory in Song. He will guide you – and your friend, Henrietta, will be here to encourage you along with way.”

Emunah set her hat box and lunch basket and herself by a column near the stairs. The arena was quickly emptying. They had been spectators. Now they were bent on becoming revelers. Wait, something whispered to her.

“Wait,” came a little voice beside her ear. Emunah jumped at the sound, then realized with a quiet laugh, it was Henrietta. At least, that second, “Wait” had been Henrietta. She would wait and trust The Clockmaker’s Thyme. There would be much to do later – and time enough to do it. The darkness wouldn’t slow her. She saw so clearly with her insight that she no longer missed her eye-sight, and most people never noticed her eyes couldn’t see anymore.

As she waited, she sang the songs that lined her mantle. The stow-aways in the lunch basket, the hat box, the tabby wool bags, a tin of squirrel stew with holes in the top, and a pocket-chipmunk recovering from brutal, bruising injuries all settled down to sleep (the mice and chipmunks in the lunch basket having woken and eaten all the bread were now quite naturally soporific).

Remember Me Monday: #143 Link-up

“I’ll make a list of God’s gracious dealings,
    all the things God has done that need praising,
All the generous bounties of God,
    his great goodness to the family of Israel—
Compassion lavished,
.    love extravagant.”
~ Isaiah 63:7, The Message

In the Old Testament, God repeatedly, quietly and loudly, tells his children, “You have forgotten me!”  (Jeremiah 3:32, Ezekiel 22:12, to name a few). It’s a heart cry from a father to a child who has forgotten all the love, all the saving, helping, little and big blessings – and it leaves me stunned when I realize our Father, the creator of the universe, who knows things I cannot begin to fathom, who authors storylines that leave me amazed, delights in all of us so much, He cries out, “Remember Me.”

While every day is a Remember God Day, I am inviting you to join me on Monday mornings to come by and remember what God has done for you, for your family. Maybe God sent a cardinal darting out in front of you, as if to tell you, “I’m here,” or broke a child’s fever after you laid it all down at His feet in a 2 a.m. bedside vigil. Maybe He stood with you in the wait of a prayer sent out, or brought someone you loved to Christ. Maybe He healed your broken heart, gave your courage, or you gave Him your dreams as a love offering only to have Him give them back in an unimaginable way. Maybe God helped you survive to bedtime after a crazy Monday, or forgive yourself for missing it with your kiddos –– Whatever it is, let’s Remember Him. . . in a “Remember Me Monday” love letter.

“My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
Of your salvation all the day long,
Though I know not its measure.
I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign Lord”
~ Psalm 71:15-16.

Let us delight in Him by telling the  stories of what He’s done!  If you wrote a blog post remembering what He’s done for you, join the linky. If you didn’t but still want to praise Him for what He’s done – write it in the comment section. Then visit a comment before or after yours! One of the beautiful things about the blogging community is the relationships it builds!

Rules?  Write long or short, a list or a story, include photos or not. Just Remember Him and what He has done, and let the gratitude of your heart guide you. Let’s make Monday so Rejoice, that the goodness of God spills into the rest of the week! (Link opens Mondays at 6 a.m.)

Places I’m Linking at This Week:
  Instaencouragements, Legacy Link-Up, 
Let’s Have Coffee Wednesday 
Recharge Wednesday, Scripture & a Snapshot
Grace&Truth, Sweet Tea & Friends