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A quote: “Not all those who wander are lost.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
I’ll start with a story …
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“Ready?”
He takes a last look around, feeling the pang of leaving; of all the books he cannot take. She smiles in sympathy.
“We need to travel light and fast. At least you have all your work.”
His hands travel lightly over the coat he wears, all his years of research and careful calculations sewn into the lining.
“It will get us where we need to go. After that, well, we’ll see what happens.”
They step out on the porch, no need to lock the door. She laughs, “Do you know how hard it was to locate frankincense and myrrh?”
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Merry Christmas, everyone!
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.featured image composite by VG Darleen Click
Sheila Garrett says: He fingered his collar, “Go to see a king?”
“Not just a king, our Saviour! He will free us all!”
He thought about days of nonstop toil; the scanty, tasteless food; the beatings. The fear that someone would see this iron collar and tie him up, like the beast they had made him. He looked at the two men’s rich clothes and their bags with the cloth wrapped presents. What could he give a king?
He fingered the collar again. Her ring was there. He had sold himself to buy it. She didn’t wait.
“Can I come and worship Him? I too have a gift.”
“Yes, come.”
Cameron says: Had to get this in since it’s the last Friday fiction of the year:
You asked me once how I keep things running after the disasters that hit in the first year.
Come here. Look up in that direction. You see that star? That’s probably the same one that guided the wise men all those years ago. And for some reason, it’s always that bright on this night. No matter how bad the weather, it always clears up long enough for us to see it.
I miss Earth sometimes. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I miss the people who died when we came here. But that reminds me that we’re not alone.
Phoenix says: The Bethlehem Star rose in the West. It shone high in the skies above the trees, gleaming, the brightest thing in the night sky even outshining the moon.
Mary stepped out onto her porch, looking up into the sky at the star, and smiled. “C’mon, Dakota,” she called back into the house, to the great, white polar bear of a dog. “It’s time to go.”
He jumped off the couch and padded out the door to nose Mary’s hand. She scratched him behind his ear before shouldering a backpack.
“It’s a long journey. But there’s a miracle at the end.”
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