It turned out to be a very different Friday. 
 
Mike had just settled into his desk in the one room prairie school-house he’d attended since grade one. It was the middle of September, and he felt like he was beginning to feel settled into his new grade, grade five. His best grade had been grade one, because then he had sat next to the windows of the huge classroom. Now, four grades later, he was in the middle of the room and the windows seemed a long way off. But, they were huge and so he could still enjoy the prairie sky, the ever changing clouds and the vastness of the universe.
 
But on this morning, he didn’t need to wait for the teacher to get to his grade before actually paying attention to her. He was brought out of his window watching with a start, for he suddenly heard the
words, “art contest!”
 
His body jerked into an upright position in his desk, his head snapping toward the teacher, eyes and ears riveted. He was not sure if he’d heard everything but she mentioned that the theme was healthy bodies….she repeated herself for emphasis, “Remember, everyone, the theme is ‘healthy minds, healthy bodies’.”
 
Immediately, he went into overdrive. He began flipping through his mind, seeing pictures relating to minds and bodies…healthy ones. Very healthy ones. Meanwhile, he could hear the teachers voice in the distance giving details like giving details, like the grade categories, his being grades four to six. ….Hmmmm healthy bodies….images came and went. Then he heard that October 30th was the deadline and all had to have their artwork handed in by that date. Oh, and also one per student.
 
There was more, but her voice disappeared completely when suddenly the image of his picture he’d made of a woman which had been inspired by what he’d seen through the mirror, while trapped under his mother’s bed. It was his best work, but he realized of course that this was a drawing he could never use for the contest. Whenever he thought about it, his pain returned. He still wondered where it was, who had it and where would it show up and embarrass him to no end. End his life as he knew it. 

But there were other works of art in the sketchbook which he could use for the  contest. Perfect for the theme. It had gone down the row of boys in the pew and disappeared! Drawings, perfect for this contest had been in that sketchbook. For all he knew it was probably destroyed by now. He could see it, ruined in some garbage dump. For the fact was that if anyone like a pastor or janitor from the church had found it, that’s where it would go, he was sure!
 
“What if it’s not “lost”! What if one of the guys still has it!” he whispered to himself. He turned sideways in his seat facing his best friend Frank across the isle, he whispered, “We have to talk,”
motioning for him to come as he rose walking down the isle as if he had to go to the bathroom. Frank understood, counted thirty seconds and also left, crouching a bit so it looked like he really had to go badly.
 
When Mike, waiting in the basement saw him coming down the steps he led him into a cramped hiding space behind the furnace. When they had squeezed themselves in Mike began, “Do you think one of the guys has my sketchbook?” he blurted out in a whisper. 
 
“What do you mean?” Frank blurted out. “Shhhhh…”hissed Mike, “I mean the the sketchbook that got lost at the church. I think maybe it wasn’t lost, I think it might have been stolen and that
one of the guys still has it!”
 
“Wow, that’s so great, let’s just ask him for it and he’ll give it you you….” His whisper faded away to nothing. Mike just looked at him with that look of “Can you hear yourself…do you know what you’re
saying?” But of course he said all that, just by looking at his buddy.

“Yea, you’re right Mike, by the way I do have an idea, let’s start with the guys that sat at the far end of the pew, beat every one of them up, one after another and the guilty guy will confess!” he broke into a snicker!
 
Mike cracked up, convulsing in squelched laughter, losing his balance. Crouched in the cramped space he fell against the side of the furnace. The metal gave way bending with a dull bong, but when he regained his balance taking his weight off the tin it came back with a loud “twang” which seemed to reverberate through the whole building. They both gasped waiting in silence for what might happen next. They could hear the teacher voice go on upstairs. Their smiles and laughter returned.  
 
“You better get back up there.” Frank whispered as they began inching their way out from behind the furnace. “We have to make a plan,” Mike said straightening up, “Let’s talk Sunday when you come over, ok?”
 
“OK”. 
 
Mike hurried back up the stairs.
 
More often than not, their two families visited one another on Sunday afternoons. Mike and Frank were third cousins, so it made sense that their parents would spend time together. On this particular Sunday Frank and his parents ended up at Mikes place.
 
After lunch, Mike decided that since they had to talk, they would go to a private place behind the barn. Frank had been here before and could not wait because he know this was where Mike stashed his
home made swords and they could practice sword fighting without being found out. The swords were not really swords, but metal piping Mike had found in the blacksmith shop one day. Mike had spirited them away to this hiding place. Then he’d persuaded his sister Geraldine to join him in the art of sword fighting. Of course, in a few minutes he learned that their hands were vulnerable, so to make sure Geraldine would continue the “sword play” game with him he had “borrowed” some work gloves to provide protection for their hands. 
 
In a few minutes they had their protective gloves on and were facing each other, swords crossed. 
 
“So, Mr. Samurai warrior,” said Frank smiling, rattling his sword against Mikes, “How are we going to find your thief and get that sketchbook back?” He lunged forward, their swords screeching
against each other. They stood chest to chest their swords crossing in front of their faces. 
 
Mike pushed off, they separated now circling, swords tapping. “We are going to be spies,” he said in a horse whisper. “We will check each cloakroom every day and eyeball each pile of books, check every bag, look under any coats, to see if someone tries to bring it to school secretly!” With that Mike made a move, attempting to swing his sword down and touch Frank’s thigh with it. Frank arched his hips away to the right, lowering and angling his sword down to stop Mikes swinging motion, the swords clanging together. Frank raised his carrying Mikes weapon up and they faced each other again swords crossed, breathing hard.
 
“Like the ‘Man Against Crime’ spy guy on TV who never carries a gun?” Frank asked. Mike extended his arm and sword, taking a
few quick steps towards his opponent.  Frank mimicked his move, stepping back exactly the same number of steps. They did this a few times, like linked dancers, back and forth, always staying the same distance away from one another, their swords tapping and scraping together. 
  
Then Frank just ran at Mike, sword  extended. Mike backed up, jumped sideways to the right, raising the tip of his sword and pushing Frank’s sword out of the way to the left as he run by him. “Exactly,” he said, “we will be undercover secret agents, and no one will be the wiser!”
 
They heard Mike’s mother calling them in for desert. They needed no second call, stashing their weapons they were on their way, playfully pushing each other’s shoulders as they went.

To be continued.

 “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone.”    Roman’s 12:17

Photo by Cliff Derksen - English Gardens
Winnipeg MB  September 2013

Mike, sitting on the stoop of the barn-door, dropped a kernel of corn onto the hard ground in front of him, squinting in the sunlight as he looked expectantly at his pet chicken Dizzy Daisy. She cocked her head sideways her one immovable eye zeroing in on the treat. She began her movement towards the target by turning right, doing a 360 degree turn, then arriving at the kernel and pecking it out of the dirt cleanly.

“Good girl, you’re doing great,” he crooned, stroking her back as she shucked it back swallowing. He threw out another kernel and she went through the same process. “You really are very, very
dizzy daisy,” Mike chuckled, thinking how so very right the name he’d chosen was for her.
 
It’s the summer holidays. School is out and summer has begun. Every day is a day when doing nothing is exactly what you plan
to do. These are the days of “no guilt,” your heart and mind being truly free You just do what’s on your mind in the moment. 
  
Mike is enjoying just this kind of day sitting on the sunny stoop of the large open barn-door, playing with his favorite pet chicken.  
 
Mike would never say this out loud, but he “loves” this very weird, different chicken. In fact Mike has a lot of feelings, mixed feelings about this special chicken. He’s bound to this bird like no other. You see, she has this special “handicap” because of Mike. He has made her what she is today. 
 
Because he could not heal her of symptoms he caused, he felt he must at least make the effort to be her friend. The chicken responded in spades. If she were human, we would have said, she forgave him and welcomed him as a friend. It’s kind of strange but Mike’s thoughtless action of the past has enriched both Mike’s and dizzy daisy’s life.
 
It all began on a Saturday about three months before. Mike was on the yard casually throwing rocks at the woodpile when his sister Geraldine joined him. She put her book about a Longstocking girl down and threw some rocks with him, commenting on the neat sounds the they made hitting the dried wood. Very quickly, it became a contest.  Mike, considered himself as somewhat accurate, having actually “practiced” hitting things in his meanderings around the farm. 
  
It quickly became clear that it had been a mistake challenging his sister to a contest. It seemed that regardless of the kind of target he suggested, she either equalled him or won outright. This was
of course extremely frustrating for Mike. After all he’d been throwing rocks, as far as he was concerned, all his eleven years of life. He was truly mystified as to how his younger sister could be so good at hitting things with rocks!
 
He knew she was a “brain-i-ack” and had grudgingly accepted the fact that she was smarter than him. She was one year behind him and her marks were always higher than his had been. Not only that,
they were usually the highest or near highest in her class. Every report card was no fun, as his parents also made a point of reminding him of this fact.
 
 So, he was determined to excel in this, having decided that striking a target with rocks was a way to confirm his superiority in at least something over his younger sister.
 
“I have an idea.” he exclaimed, as he spun around, looking for another acceptable target, something that might even give him the advantage, “How about that power pole over by the barn?” he suggested. 
  
“Sure, ok.” Said Geraldine, seemingly oblivious to the importance of the game. He could not believe how, in in spite of this cavalier attitude, that she’d still equalled or bettered him. This confused and frustrated him all at once. 
 
Having arrived at the power pole near the barn Mike determined the distance of the throw by casually drawing a line in the dust. Geraldine was reading her book. He set up, toe on the line and paused. He decided that if he threw with his arm in an upright motion, in line with the tall post, his chances of missing were much less. There were no rules about how high or low, he just had to hit the post. This he considered was his secret advantage! It was to be, best out of three throws.
 
He threw first, his rock sailing to the left of the post. A miss.
 
Geraldine threw next. She put her book down on the ground and looking for a suitable rock. He offered her one from his pocket. She placed her toe on the line, and without a moment of consideration,
casually chucked her rock in the direction of the post. There was a thud. A direct hit. Mike grimaced, clenching his next rock hard in his hand.
 
For his second throw he considered carefully the fact he gone left on his first throw and attempted to compensate. He stood still, poised with the rock in his hand, his arm swinging slowly back
and forth.
 
Across the yard his best friend, his dog Ricky noticed him and began bounding in pure joy, towards him. Meanwhile, Mike went into his wind-up, leaned back, his left leg in the air and began his
throwing motion. It was at this very moment Ricky hit him full force on his chest, attempting to lick his face. Mike was knocked off balance, but his arm already in forward motion, let go of the stone, which landed no more than ten feet in front of him. Meanwhile the force of Ricky’s enthusiasm landed them both in a squirming heap on the ground, Ricky hopping around in glee.
 
Mike scrambled to his feet, “That’s not fair, I get another chance to throw.” He declared.
 
Geraldine, calmly yet firmly responded. “I saw the rock fly out of your hand. It was a throw. It did not just fall down, it went at least ten feet forward. It was a real throw!”
 
Even though Mike protested, he knew she’d dug in her heels and that was that. Now of course, he did not feel like finishing the game. Thanks to his crazy dog’s antics he could no longer win, and
since that had been the purpose of the whole contest, in his mind it was over. 
 
Just then, an event happened that would cause both of them to forget about the game. A hen exited through the small opening of the hen-house portion of the barn, strutting along like she owned the place. This unfortunately made her even more conspicuous since, she also happened to be the only chicken in sight. 
  
Mike, who had already automatically reloaded, could not help himself. 
 
It’s interesting how when circumstances are just right, we do things we’d never think of doing otherwise. This was one of
those situations. It seemed that the gods of rock throwing had turned against Mike. When this new “target” chicken presented herself, he just assumed that no matter how much he tried it would be impossible for him to hit her. After all, he figured, “if you cannot hit a post that doesn’t move, how can you hit a moving chicken?” 
 
Without any further thought, but the security of knowing he couldn’t possibly hit her, he wound up venting all his frustrations, by throwing the rock towards her with all of his might.
 
His anxiety went through the roof as he watched his moving rock come into contact with the moving head of the chicken! There wasn’t much of a noise at all, but the chicken collapsed in a heap, her legs slowly stretching out, then she was still. Very still. Mike stood, his anxiety constricting his breathing, staring in shocked disbelief at what he thought he'd just seen happen.
 
“You killed that chicken!” Geraldine exclaimed, jumping up onto her feet her face inches from his face as he stood transfixed, staring at the inert chicken, “Mike, you killed that chicken and boy will dad ever be mad!”
 
(To be continued.)

"He also installed the latest in military technology on the towers and corners of  Jerusalem for shooting arrows and hurling stones."
2 Chron. 26:11-15  (Message)

English Gardens, Winnipeg MB
Photo: Cliff Derksen
June 2013

Doll snorted as Mike jerked the reins, bringing her head up from grazing alongside the bush they were hiding in. Mike's plan for escaping the embarrassment of his  friends seeing him ride a horse with blinders on, was to wait till the first  bell had rung and the kids were all inside the school building. He felt quite  smug as he watched the kids move off the yard and into the one room school  house. It was time to go. By the time he got there, they'd be inside.

He entered the yard, passing a knot of parents talking. Being the first day of school, a lot of parents who had first graders had descended onto the schoolyard bringing their kids to school. By this time though most of them had left and no one really noticed him. He crossed the yard, and as he neared the barn passed an assortment of buggy's and waggons standing around. He stopped in front of the open barn door, Doll snorting and neighing in response to the horses already in the barn. 

He concentrated on making sure he had a good grip on the reins as he led his horse between the two rows of horses on each side. He tied his horse on in an empty stall, removed the offensive bridal and hung it on a hook as he left the barn. He was now thinking of how he'd get off the yard without his buddies seeing this bridal with the blinkers on it. He could just imagine the laughter, the scorn and the finger pointing. 

With lunch-pail in hand he walked towards the one-room school.  

Upon entering the building through the huge double doors, he was hit with the very familiar smells of chalk, books and old wood. Memories of grade one assailed him and he was glad he was back. He hung his jacket on the lower row of hooks alongside multicolored rows of kids coats.  

He paused before he entered the large classroom of about thirty kids. He could hear the teacher going through the role-call, moving from one grade to the next. He wondered if his name had already been called. He could see the huge furnace vent at the back of the room and some of the older kids in the last rows near his door. A few of them saw him, snickering... one of them whispering, "You’re late!"
 
He knew, from last year that the grade ones sat right along the far wall from where he was standing. The grade two's would be next to them. Suddenly he remembered he'd know them from last year so would know where to sit. Unfortunately, he'd have to walk right across the whole room to get there.  

The teacher, caught sight of him skulking along halfway across the back of the room turned out to be very nice. She was new and was trying to get to know each student as quickly as possible. She seemed very attentive and interested, asking questions and talking the whole time as she settled him into a desk in the grade two section. She'd placed a reader before him to read as she finished going on through the names of the higher grades.
 
Mike relaxed, enjoying the huge class-room. The thing he liked best about it was the blackboard. This was no ordinary blackboard. He had one at home in the house, which his dad had put up for him to do homework on. But, mostly he drew pictures on it. Also, it was small. This one was huge. As high as the teacher could reach when she stood on her toes, and stretched across the whole front of the room, passed behind the teacher's desk and on. It turned the corner at the far side and went along the next wall, past the girl’s cloakroom door, going on till the boys cloakroom door he'd just entered at the end of the wall. 

He loved this backboard. Last year he'd been asked to draw Christmas decorations for the Christmas program the school put on for the parents. He'd used coloured chalk to draw Christmas candles on the blackboard. He remembered he'd been given large sheets of paper to draw the candles on that first, with his pencil. Then the teacher had suggested poking holes through the paper along the lines, which was then used as a stencil for each candle. He remembered holding the paper against the blackboard and tapping the brush over the holes, chalk dust rising in the air around him. When the paper was removed, the dust having gone
through the holes revealed the whole candle....

He jolted upright in his chair as a new thought splashed across his mind. Later, he would remember the experience, likening it to seeing a sudden, surprising bolt of lightning in the night sky. Like the whole bolt, every aspect of it. All the branches of it, even the glow of light on the clouds around it, everything. 
 
For the rest of the day, Mike disappeared. I mean, at recess. He was there for every class, intense and excited. But for recess, he was gone. No one asked for him and no one noticed. 

At three-thirty pm the school bell rang announcing the end of the school day. Mike was strangely relaxed considering his concerns of the morning. It was like he'd forgotten all about his anxiety about the bridle with the blinders. 

He chatted with the guys as they made their way across the yard to the barn. They would all now hitch up or mount their horses and be on their way home. Mike could not help but smile as he put the bridle with the blinkers on his horse in the stall. He mounted using the stall wall and burst out of the barn door, leaning back in his saddle, working the reins trying to keep the eager, cooped up Doll under control.  

Every horse was always excited to get home after a day in the barn, this was no surprise. But each of his friends stopped what they were doing as their off-hand glances towards him struggling, turned into stunned stairs and then outright laughter and general excitement. Kids began to run and call ahead as he moved along.  Everyone began to crowd around to get a better look. By the time he went past the school building on his way to the driveway, the new teacher was standing on the steps watching as he went by. She laughed and waved. He tried to respond with a wave but ended up with a half panic wave, as his hands were full trying to control his horse, keeping her moving slow enough, so kids could keep up admiring the blinkers on his horse!  

"Be careful Mike," he heard her call. He nodded and smiled broadly as he relaxed the reins, letting his horse break into an eager gallop home as he exited the yard.
 
All the way home Mike replayed the drama in his mind. How he’d pocketed the tin of paints and brushes. How he’d emptied a tin holding coloured pencils, laying them down neatly where the tin had stood. Then stopping to fill the tin with water at the pump outside on his way to the barn. There, in the middle of the isle, he planted himself on the floor with his bridal and the paints. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, so began immediately covering the very black blinkers on both sides with several coats of white paint as a background. He had not finished his work when the bell rang at the end of the lunch hour. 
 
He'd been so immersed in his work, he'd forgotten all about lunch. It wasn't until he went to the barn again during the afternoon recess that his stomach reminded him he was  hungry. He actually bit into a sandwich, but again in his rush to finish before the end of recess, forgot all about eating. 
 
He’d finished the one blinker during the noon hour, so now all he needed to do was finish the other one. Since he’d done the background at noon all he had to do now was paint the large eye in bright blue, outlined in black, on both sides. When he’d finished that and the bell had not yet rung, he had, as an afterthought added long generous eyelashes on each of the four eyes.

He knew he’d have to explain all of this to his dad. What he would think about it, he had no idea. All he knew was he’d changed something embarrassing into something funny. Exciting even. Everyone had loved it. He decided it had been worth it and was willing to pay the price, whatever that might be. 
 
His heart was bursting and he just could not stop smiling all the way home. His horse apparently felt the same as he did, moving along at a steady trot all the way home, not even thinking about stopping to graze anywhere all the way home.

 "So Mike, tell me about the blinkers." his father said, as they were putting feed into the troughs for the milk-cows that evening. 

"The lamp of the body is the eye, Therefore when your eye is good, your body also is full of light."       Luke 11:34