Today's Reading

September 3

I should not be writing this tonight. That thought is in my head right now.

I should pray. I should sleep. I especially should sleep. I should not write, for it is wasteful and prideful. Or so whispers my uncle's voice, from long ago. So chides my father. His voice is stronger.

But still, I write.

It is a prideful thing, that I sit here in the faint light alone. So the echoes of my past tell me. Around me, the house is asleep, as I should be. I like the sound of it, this sleeping house. It is not empty, because even though I can barely hear it, the softness of breathing fills the house like goose feathers.

Jacob barely stirs, strong boy that he is becoming. Sadie, oh, Sadie. She sleeps well, soft and safe tonight so far, thanks be to God. I pray, O God, that she will sleep tonight.

I say that I must stay awake until my heart is stilled, and I say that I must stay awake to listen for Sadie. But Hannah knows. She knows that I need to write.

Hannah is so kind, to understand. I should be in our bed with her, and I will be. But soon.

Today was good, a blessing, like every day is a blessing. I suppose that is why I still write here, to remember the blessings. And all things are blessings, even the hard things.

Memory is why I began to write. It was why I wrote as a boy, to remember my dreams and the hopes I had. I read back those old books now, written in secret. I am still that boy, I think.

But I needed to write, too, all those years ago when I was out in the World, out among the English.

I wanted to remember, to remember what I thought and felt and knew. It was so different, amazing and terrible, and I wanted to remember. Others left with me, when the time came for our running around. Some
came back. But others didn't return, not to the hard coldness of the community where we had grown up.

Atlee fell into drinking, and then he was gone. Martha, with her laugh, with that twinkle in her eye. That twinkle was gone when I last saw her, and her laugh was hard like brass. So many terrible things in the world.

And Simon. Simon had never liked the Order, never been at ease with the life of the plain. I should not miss him, but I do miss him, his mischief, his joyous playfulness like a young goat. He chose rightly. He was at home in the world.

I was not. Though I could not stay in the Order that my father had taught me, neither was the world for me. The world made me sick.

Not with hate. Not sick with hate. Just sick. It was wildness, churning chaos. It upset my soul, making me dizzy like a little boy spinning circles in the field. The spinning is fun at first, but then you cannot stop, because if you stop, you fall and your stomach turns inside out.

I haven't ever liked that. And I like spirit sickness least of all.

She stirs now. A little cry. O Lord. Now more. I must stop.

September 4

Mike came by today with an order. We have not had an order in a while, because the English are struggling, so Mike says. So this is good. He is a funny one, Mike is, so talkative. Big and loud. So large, his truck barely holds him.

I do not ask him any questions, not about the world, but he always talks to me about the world anyway. I try not to listen, but Gracious Lord, does that man talk. He is so angry about the president and the government and the Congress, and he uses words he knows I would rather not hear.

I think he forgets, or he says it because he knows he can and I will forgive him. I can't say.

But the order is a big one, bigger than I had hoped. I will need help with it. So many pieces! I remember how large the houses were, the houses of the very rich. Funny, that the very rich want such simple, handcrafted things. So much, for one house. But Mike says it is just one order, from one person.

There will be much work. My hands are eager for it.

Isaak visited in the late afternoon, before dinner. We sat and shared some lemonade, and talked about what he thinks he will preach on this Sunday. He likes to talk to others before he speaks, to hear what they have to say. He is a good friend.

What our readers think...

Contact Us Anytime!

Facebook | Twitter