Once upon a time.


There was an attack on the regal city of Krakow.
A very long time ago, by the Tartars, who come from the far northeast with curved swords and black beards.
they scoured the city
They made made fearsome noises round the outer walls
And freaked out the poor inhabitants
And the poor Kasia's and Asia's and Magda's clutched their children closely.
The Piotr's and Jan's and Matteusz'es chewed their mustaches and sharpened their swords.
And the Izdebski and Mazurek and Skowrońska families went to church and prayed that God would fight with them against the outsiders.

But there were burly men who lived on the river
And they poled their rafts on the Wisla
Through the scorching sun and biting snow
And they were not going to put up with any foreign nonsense
So they put their grizzly peasant heads together
And by night, they crept up on those Tartars, who had the audacity and stupidity to take on the polish brave ones
And knocked the tar out of the rascals.

Naturally, though, being good Polish men...
The rafters were not about to let bygones be bygones and walk sweetly back home
So they ordered the bruised and beaten 'attackers' to disrobe
And while the Tartars crept home embaressedly in their old century undergarments
The mischievous rafters pulled on the brightly embroidered red and gold foreign garments and crept back into the city by their river ways

Once in, they ran amok and waved around the purloined swords.
They shouted gibberish in Tartar accents and knocked on doors and tried to hide laughs under fierce war cries.
Once the town was thoroughly roused, nervous, and confused
The rafters stripped off the outlandish clothes and revealed their true selves
And were proclaimed the heroes of krakow
Toasted as saviours with much food and drink.
And the church bells rang and the streets were filled with shouting children and smiling monks.

And that is how the legend of Lajkonik began

The End

once upon a time

there was a little mouse
who lived under a toadstool
and who lost her memory

so every morning she woke up
and it was a fresh new day
and whether the sun warmed her little mouse tail
or the rain dripped over the edge of the toadstool like a silver curtain
she was filled with excitement at all the possibilities
and she wandered the forest in awe at the 'new' trees and 'new' flowers and 'new' friends

and her friends were very patient with her

and while some grew irritated with the constant reminding, and occasionally just found it easier to avoid her
but most of them grew to like the constant introductions, because, while they could never be certain of shared memories
she could never hold on to old hurts or problems either
so they built many half stories together

and every night she tucked herself in under the warm leaves and told herself what an amazing new world she lived in


(and then one evening, heading home, she met a bat, who changed her life... but that is a different story.)

the end

once there was.

and one day there wasn't, and it didn't know what to do with itself.

it was before, it blamed the not on the lack of.

or clung to a will be.

but once it wasn't, there was nothing left to blame and there wasn't going to be.

so there just wasn't.

occasionally hints of is dropped in.

occasionally what might be showed up.

and what wasn't had a chance to someday become.

so it just is or isn't, and tries to be content.

once there was a happy group of stick figures who played basketball. but they had no colour so it was hard to see the lines on the court or where they began and the ball left off. on the bright side, they could reach through one another to steal the ball or even to pull the net closer. the longer they played, the more creative they got with bending lines... and rules... and soon they had to give the game a new name. they called it... ice under the hill. because that's how much sense it made. the end.

WiddlyTinks.com

once upon a time...

there was a small dragon.
she lived with her younger hatchling brothers and sisters in a little cave on the coast.
the group of little wiggly bodies and wings and scales were put to bed every night in a small tunnel off the main cave by their deep-blue mama dragon and their silver-grey papa dragon.
the papa dragon would gently pat each spiky head with his long wings, and he would rumble a good night to them all as they curled up in little heaps.
and the mama dragon would gently hum into the little ears as they swiveled toward her, and rub the little scaly backs until they stopped wiggling around (and poking eachother with not-yet-grown claws).
and some nights, when the dragonlets were VERY restless and VERY full of poking claws, the mama dragon would curl up in a big ball around them and softly growl at them until they were quiet. and if they were quiet enough, she would hum them small dragon songs until their eyelids shut over bright eyes and they lay absolutely still in dragon dreams.
and as the small dragon grew older, she learned the dragon-hums from her mother, and started adding to them. and soon she was the one to hum them to sleep, when the mama dragon was busy or away. and sometimes she would pat the others too, even if the papa dragon had already patted them, just to practice.
but years later, when the small dragon had grown into a big dragon and had a cave of her own, she would still come back to the home-cave to visit. and she would curl up in the old room with the other dragonlets and shut her eyes too. and the mama and papa dragons would come in and smile dragon-smiles at all the hatchlings together again.

because no matter how old or big of a dragon you are, papa-dragon pats and mama-dragon hums are beautiful things before bedtime.

once upon a time

there was a girl
she used to spend all her free time playing outside or reading books
and she was a very lucky girl
because her house had hundreds of books
and her outside was very large
besides her yard and the fields surrounding it, there was a long beach nestled between high cliffs

the girl often read about castles
in books of ancient times, and medieval ages, and modern eras
but she would look around her own white stucco house, and her own backyard, and the timeless cliffs by the beach, and feel she was missing something

that she didn't have a sword, she didn't mind
she used poplar branches from the tree her father pruned
or broke off bamboo lengths near the shore
that she didn't have a horse, she didn't mind
many of the great bards and travelling warriors went a-foot
that she didn't have trusty squires or a handsome prince, she didn't mind
(or fair princess sisters or maidservants)
she simply adapted her sister, brothers, and friends for those roles, as needed
but she didn't have a castle
which was challenging, because castles are the heart and home of so many stories
so she drew her own
she told stories of her own
she claimed some day she'd find one

and one day, her father led the girl, her brother, and their best friend up into the mountains to explore
and there, right at the headland
she found her castle
a giant outcropping of rocks, leaning together, forming a natural small cave and an outlook on the shore and the sea and the rest of the cliffs
she named it "minas tirith", from one of her favourite books
and persuaded her brother and friend to give the corresponding names to their respective castles - for there were three rock clusters!
and for a while they had their castles, somewhere to climb and claim as theirs
for who else would fight for a bunch of rocks on a lonely coastline?

but one day
the girl's mother and father said they were moving
and the girl had to say goodbye
so they took photos
and waved
knew they would always remember their rock castles
but the girl did one more thing
she made a small paper book
and wrote in it with pencil - which may fade but doesn't run like ink
and then she put the small book in a waterproof bag
and she hid it well underneath her castle
and when she said goodbye, she knew that the book would be there and safe a good while yet
and that it would always be her castle

the end

once upon a time
there was a harpist
who strolled the land, went where he pleased, sang what teased his fancy
one day, his laconic elegant self visited a castle he had visited before
and one of the overlords, a greedy ruthless man, was of a mind to punish a waif
this boy had accidentally angered the lord, who recognised him in the great hall and motioned him forward
bent on utter humiliation, if not injury or death, of the helpless wretch
the boy, however, saw Herluin the minstrel, and flung himself at his feet in a silent plea for mercy
"hai my, what is this clinging, small one?" asked the lazy voice
and the long and short of it was, herluin saved the day and won the boy's undying allegiance by trumping the overlord in a chess match
"i am a creature of whim, and i have a mind to this boy".
the boy had a master, an idol, a safety for the first time in his young life.

and yet...
a time later, and a safer, more honourable overlord was visiting, and then travelling to his own estate
and Herluin the minstrel, as much as he liked the boy, in his own careless veneer way...
knew that the only way to really protect the boy from any later revenge or danger, was to send him with the safer overlord

so he did
casually, coolly
citing travel, citing abroad-concerns and almost-concerns at the fate of a boy strapped to a good-for-nothing wanderer.

so he sent him on
and nearly broke the boy's heart
yet they parted on good terms
a final hair ruffle and possibly perceptible undertone of 'i wish you the best' from the languid bard
and the boy rode off, comforted slightly
and found, albeit unwillingly, a new home and life with his new master

and while he only ever met herluin now and again through the wars and days ahead, he never forgot him

whether he ever knew why herluin gave him up, is another question

the end




Retold tale from Rosemary Sutcliff's "Knight's Fee"

Uwaga. Be careful.


"The steps of a man are established by the LORD,
And He delights in his way.

When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong,
Because the LORD is the One who holds his hand.

I once was young, now I am old
not once have I seen an abandoned believer..."

(Mixed paraphrase, Ps 37:23-26)

Once upon a time...

There was a beautiful red brick university. And its bold mascot was a bulldog, and its team colours were red and blue, and its graceful walkways were decorated with peach-toned pansies. One student said, "I didn't want to study here, so close to home, so I travelled the country to find something more exciting. And yet somehow, when I came back, I saw how beautiful it was, and it just felt like where I belonged."

Once upon a time, there was a girl who also did not want to go to that university, despite its history and beauty. Nevertheless, she was pulled to it at times, so she learned acceptance. If it was the closest university to offer a basketball camp, she would show up for a few days and play her heart out. And if it was the warmest university where her friends from Bible study and hang-times attended, she would show up every few weeks on the way to adventures. And if it was the easiest university to offer exams, she would show up every few months to earn and transfer credits.

So she came when convenient and left on cordial terms. More leaving than coming, but she smiled how small bits of the university culture made their way into her life. But as she grew out of the college years, her college friends grew up and moved away from the school too. Her T-shirt from basketball camp wore out while playing volleyball in Europe. Her keychain from the rival school store got scratched up while working in the Middle East.

But one, grown-up day, on the other side of the world, the girl stayed a week with a good friend. Since they were both a long way away from Southern sun, they had to wear coats outside the house and turn on radiators inside the house. And one evening, while talking late into the night, the girl got colder than normal, too cold even for the radiator to help, and asked to borrow an extra sweater. And her friend pointed to a cupboard....

And that night the girl slept warm inside a sweatshirt from the old red and blue and peach school.

once' a time

the world turned over

held a hover

crept in cover

looked in dark to find release


once' a time

the world rolled under

took a wander

held a bonder

wrapped itself up in the black


once' a time

the world ashamed hung

stayed a course long

showed an unstrong

God stepped in to take it back


once' a time

the world stopped climbing

tried reframing

love came Naming

we stepped out and into peace

once upon a time

there was a grandpa
He had a tall son (who does not come into this story at all)
And he had a short daughter in law (who is very important)
As well as two short granddaughters and an even shorter grandson (who are also important, but not as much as their mom).

And one day, all the grandchildren were at their grandpa's big comfortable house
And their mom, the daughter-in-law, who was a wonderful cook, started a big batch of delicious chocolate chip cookies
And she rolled fifteen perfect small balls - three rows of five on one pan, three rows of five on the next
But then she was called away (probably to go shopping with the grandmother, another wonderful cook)
The mother looked worried. The oven was already heated, and the dough was already made, and the children were so excited about the cookies- what was she to do?

"Sir," she said politely (she was a very polite daughter-in-law) " could you possibly make some of these cookies?"
the grandpa, who loved eating all the good cooking in the house, was happy to agree
and the grandkids climbed on stools and chairs to watch, and kissed their mom goodbye
as he rolled out three rows of five chocolate chip cookie dough balls

however....
the day went on, and the clock ticked away.
and the grandpa got tired, and the grandkids got hungry.
so he made a few small changes here, and the kids laughed.
and he made a few small changes there, and the kids opened their mouths to taste.
and the kitchen was filled with happy noises

and when the mother walked back in, she was happy to see all the chocolatey cheerful faces
and she was pleased that such a good solution had been found to her little problem
but then she leaned down a little
and she looked into the big happy oven...
and she saw two cookie pans
and she saw the cookies on them
and she made a not happy face.

the grandpa looked a little worried.he loved his daughter-in-law and didn't like to make her sad... but it had been such a good chance, and it had made the kids so happy. and when the mom turned around and saw all the waiting faces...

she gave in and laughed too. and for years and years later, the mother told the story of how she left the grandpa in the kitchen with the cookie dough
and how when she came back, she did not find fifteen perfect, small circles on each tray
but four huge ones=

and how he had looked and her and laughed, and said, "but now i can tell my wife, "i only ate two!"

once upon a time

there was a girl who was out travelling the globe, hummed independent songs and convinced everybody that she was happy with no sweetheart, no attachments, no home. she kept a small list of a few friends that she 'still kept up with,' a couple of boys she had 'enjoyed hanging out with,' and a few places she 'once was fond of',but it was a very small list on a very small notebook that fit easily her pocket. and every few years she would look at the current page, pretend to be surprised it was outdated, and carefully rip it off. and then as she dropped it and walked away, she would start penning in neat cursive letters the next list of friends, boys, and places.

one day she paused by a bridge railing and looked over the water thoughtfully. as she stood there, one of her friends from two lists ago walked up and held out one of the pieces of paper. the girl recognised her handwriting, but didn't know what to do with this past page. her friend looked her straight in the eyes and said, "i've been trying to catch up with you for a while. you dropped this." the girl tried to put on her usual, "i can't help it, my life moves too fast" face, but failed. she quietly took the paper. as she tried to tuck it in the back of her notebook, another old friend walked up and handed her another page. the girl felt even more ashamed, as she looked down the road and saw how many places and faces she abandoned because she didn't want to take the time for them.

but, practically speaking? a voice in her head argued. when does anyone have time for all the friends and loves and homes they once had? she almost believed the voice, almost stopped tucking papers messily in the back of her oh-so-tidy and controlled notebook... and then one last friend bounced up exuberantly, handed her a paperclip, and gave her a huge hug.

don't stop turning over pages and writing new ones. but don't toss out the old ones either. find paperclip people.

once upon a time


there was a girl who had nothing under control except herself. her parents arranged her schedule, her friends arranged her activities, her coaches arranged her sports position. but *she* had control of her emotions, and she let them out on little coloured leashes when she decided to. orange for happy, blue for calm, green for useful... an occasional black for low, lonely days, a very rare pink leash for girly hours, and the occasional red leash for when she was ticked off at the world and everyone arranging her life.

one day, she moved to a new house. her new friends not only refused to arrange her life, they refused to let her use leashes. "just be yourself" they insisted. they took away the leashes and hid them and made her train her emotions to obey verbal commands instead of physical restraints.

then the girl moved to a new house. she found the leashes in the bottom of a box... and they started making innocent whimpers. "just pull us out and you'll be all colour-coded and in control again," they suggested, temptingly.

...
the girl hung the leashes by the front door, at least until she found new friends to pack them away...

the end

Once upon a time...

There was a little girl
Her father was a mighty hunter

(Another day, i shall tell you the story of when her mother brought her father a small yet powerful weapon....
But for now, know that he had this fearsome weapon.)

In their village, the mountain lions roamed the streets, and they yowled their presence.
Every night
All summer, every night.

And the little girl's father would take his weapon and shoot at them.

Every night.
All summer.
Every night.

Each evening, as the sky dropped over the village, he loaded his weapon with pebbles.
He checked the breeze
He aimed out the window
He coolly fired at the mountain lions

Every night he spent scaring them away, protecting his streets
And his wife would put her arms around him because her small children could go to sleep in peace
She was a very loving wife
But also a very tidy one

One day she was cleaning the house, and, by chance, threw away the precious pebbles

There had been peace lately in the village
But that night, the mountain lions returned
And the father reached with his right hand for the weapon
And with his left hand for the pebbles
But alas!
His left hand came back empty
And his children began crying
And the noise in the streets grew steadily louder
And his wife began to worry

So the brave father-hunter grew creative out of desperation
And he searched the room
Only to find a small pouch of sweets to suck on during illness
So he quickly loaded his weapon with the new ammunition
And commenced firing

And suddenly, there was blessed silence
He gave a smile of jubilatioin
And his children stopped crying
And his wife started humming, secure in the knowledge that her husband had once again taken care of their family

But just as the father turned from the window...
A new noise began
A deeper, rougher noise
The mother came into the room, confused

They stared out the window together
And wondered what new threat had arisen
And suddenly, they laughed
They looked at eachother and shared a small smile
"Those were not mountain lions, this time," they agreed with satisfaction
"Those were the village wolfhounds...
And they had sore throats tonight."


The End

Once upon a time

There was a small bird. She woke up early every morning to watch the sun rise and explore a new day. There was a sea to swim in and an ocean breeze to dry off in... there were small tidying chores to finish before freedom... there were other birds to chirp happy stories with. As she got older she learned it was not polite to play tricks on her nest-mates who slept late, but she could make small bird-laughs and watch while they wasted the day.

Somewhere along the years she found that there were different sorts of adventures to be had when the sun started setting. There were stars to watch... there were new evening-wind ideas to scratch down... and the night owls to talk about deep things with. And as she got older she learned it was not polite to go food-hunting when her nest-mates were slept early, but she could sing very quietly and watch while they wasted the night.

And somewhere along the years she built a new nest of her own. And she learned to not spend so much time with the owls that she neglected her sparrow friends... and she learned not to spend so much time watching the sun that she missed the moon. Or the opposite. And she learned to get enough of both... and of it all... to sing her best stories and scratch her best stories together.

once upon a time

there were three cousins who lived together. they came and they went, they walked in and walked out, but their house perched on a field corner and stayed the same. one or the other or all of them could be heard talking or humming or singing throughout the day, so the house was content. and in the rare quiet moments, trains could be heard humming past as well, because that very same field where they lived was bordered by two train tracks, and near a third. it was a perfect double triangle of a life most days, as the youngest listened to her older, wiser cousins, and watched their faces as the trains went by. and they sang, and came, and went and life traveled on. but some days the youngest cousin felt too drenched in music and too far from the trains, and she thought in triangles.

"if only the trains would run closer. if only i could run farther. if only i could sing sweeter. maybe then i would feel safer."

but one day, the oldest cousin sang her last songs, and talked her last talks, and hummed her last hums... and then she left. past one, two, three train tracks she left, and found a new house and a new life to sing and talk and hum about.

it was quieter in the house after the oldest cousin left. there were only two cousins left to make up the contentment, but they did their best, and learned different harmonies. even the trains seemed to come at different times, and the tracks rumbled in different rhythms. some days it was as if there had only ever been three tracks and two cousins... but other days all the train whistles and songs and hums seemed lonely. the almost-oldest, almost-youngest sister reminded the youngest sister to be grateful for the music and trains anyway, especially when they don't last forever.

so the youngest cousin learned to be content, even with the oldest cousin missing. she learned to love the duets all through the house and to spend long hours being peaceful with the middle cousin. and the older she got the more she realised how fragile the house and the music could be. so she soaked up the music while she could, and listened for the train whistles on the tracks by herself. and she looked at other houses nearby, because she didn't want to live with the echoes of the cousins and the trains going always away.

and then one day, the middle cousin sang her last songs, and talked her last talks, and hummed her last hums... and then she left. past one, two, three train tracks she left, and found a new house and a new life to sing and talk and hum about.

and the youngest cousin sang her last songs and hummed her last hums in an empty house, and moved to a house down the road. friends came and went, and talking came and went, but when the house was very quiet and very empty, the youngest cousin could still hear the trains echo over the roof of the cousins' old house. and she learned to sing her own songs, and to hum her own hums. and she learned to be content all over again.

Fall Cleaning


One of the biggest themes for me lately has been fall-cleaning, and not just because it's autumn. To make some very long, very overdue stories short, I will be moving apartments and adjusting to a different life here in about two weeks. Both roommates will have left to go back to the States by then, and the responsibility will be a lot more on my shoulders for my life. So many things to say that I get overwhelmed, and this is a very long update. Apologies :/

It's so odd... I keep thinking I'm growing up. And yet every time I turn around, there's something I have no idea how to do (or worse, something I didn't know I didn't know how to even start on). Paying for the utilities I had down, for example, but then had to be taught how to keep records for internet bills. The weekend my one roommate moved, I finally learned to just enjoy *being* with her and not insist on understanding. And I've since realised just how many of my friends I've been demanding with and had to go back and apologise to. I learned guitar on my own by following music moods and chords, but then asked someone to teach me a song and realised my impatience was stopping me learning. I started applying for grad school and realised I don't really know why I want a higher education. My other roommate informed me that I've actually been a stablising factor the last while, a concept so foreign that I feel like I've had to meet myself all over again!

Each new month, I think "I should send out an update, tell what's going on, what God's doing, to people who I love and who love me. I should be sending out stories to friends who like stories, who are praying for me while I'm working and learning overseas." And every month I come up with a good excuse (or several) for me not to update. For one, there are so many stories. I could write you several stories a *day*, let alone one per month. But I don't. And I could pull together photos, videos, songs, like crazy, to get across the things that grip me, the sense of urgency and time ticking down for me and others. But I don't. And I feel regretful, upset... but eventually shrug the feelings off and get back to 'real' life. Which, ironically enough, I could tell you, every month, I'm still waiting for. One of these days maybe it'll ring on the apartment buzzer like the 'poczta', mail, deliverers. Maybe 'real life' will show up in an email offer from a mentor or boss. Maybe I'll wake up some morning and KNOW, for certain, that there's a certain path I'm supposed to be taking.

I feel like I've been waiting for life to happen for a long time now. There have been plenty of reasons not to actually start it myself- lack of work details, residency and equipment delays, transitions. But, unless something major changes, I'll be headed back to the States in one week and one year. Regardless of how 'real' life was. And that's pretty sobering. I got a lot done since I've been here, but not *nearly* as much as I could have. And I made a lot of relationships, but not *nearly* as deep as I could have. And I don't want to look back on these two years and regret them. I already wish I hadn't waited this long to get serious, get joyful. But here I am now. And I'm asking you, when you pray for me, to pray that I don't go back to waiting. And I'm asking you, when you talk to me, email me, chat with me- to remind me not to go back to waiting. Because, sure, there's a time to wait, to be patient. But there's also a time when waiting is unfaithfulness. And I have no more excuses for that. So I'll be looking for you in the next unwaiting year and a week, perfect or not.



"Caleb, I don't know how to process this. This is not normal for you." "Welcome to the new normal."
- 'Fireproof'

once upon a time


there was a little girl who lived in a blue world
technically, it was a colour-mix world
but it tasted blue to her

the sky was almost always an amazing turquoise
the sea was almost always a lovely deep sapphire
and the music in her house was almost always classical

the little girl had a little mother, who loved blue
so the couches, and the curtains, and the carpets, in the house were blue with white
even the dishes in the kitchen and the sheets on the beds were blue.

every dusky blue night, the little girl climbed into a little blue bed wearing little blue pajamas.
and her little mother would come in and sing soft blue songs
until her little daughter closed her blueberry eyes and dreamed blue dreams

the end.

Once upon a time

There was an older girl who spent most of her time thinking, first in her mind and then with her hands. And when she thought long enough about something, she wrote it to others, or made it into photos and videos and shared it with others. When she spoke it out loud, she showed what she meant with her hands, so they could understand better what she was trying to give. She shared a lot, all the time, but she still felt selfish, no matter how much she shared. It seemed that every time she looked out her window she saw another face, another story that should be told, that she wasn't sharing. Or she talked with friends who knew how to share without thinking so much.

And she decided that was her problem. But she also remembered there was an answer. Once upon a time, God decided to share part of His story with humans, to even create them in the first place to be in a story with Him. And He shared freely, and didn't hold back. But the older girl spent so much of her time holding back, she didn't know how to stop. So she had to ask God, over and over, how to share with the same openness He did. It was a funny case of opposites, she often thought - the more she shared, the more she had left to share. But the more she held back, the more slipped out of her fingers and mind.

So she learned, surely but slowly, how to let go of what was not hers to keep. Time, space, freedom. And she also learned to hold on to what was hers - trust, faith, and friends. And her hands grew more graceful along the way....