Elaine Faber

The days grew shorter, the air crisper, the nights longer, and the whisper of leaves falling on the roof began to awaken each Christmas bird.  Something sang to them, calling them, until they wiggled with joy, crinkling their crepe paper walls. Soon, the Christmas ornaments would be lifted from their crepe paper beds where they had slept since last Christmas.

As the special Day grew nearer, the Christmas tree birds felt a thrill in their springy wire clips and gold porcelain bodies and their bright, feathered tails.

The youngest Christmas tree bird lay warm and snug beneath Gold Bird. Soon he would be on the Christmas tree with his Christmas bird friends and the others. Some of the round ornaments had beautiful paint, but weren’t as beautiful as the Christmas tree birds with their springy wires and pinchy clips. He closed his little red eyes and dreamed about Christmas Eve. He would look down from the Christmas tree at the family gathered by the fireplace, singing Christmas carols. Being part of the Christmas Eve celebration made him feel alive.

Perhaps today was the day. He imagined being taken from his box and hung on the tree. It would become a thing of beauty. “I’ve been thinking that I am the most beautiful Christmas bird,” he whispered to Gold Bird, his voice trembling, filled with self-admiration.

Gold Bird’s tail feathers quivered. “Oh, really. What makes you think so? Blue glass bird is made of exquisite hand-blown glass, and it has a fine blue feather tail. The antique bird is missing some of its tail feathers, but its glass is so fragile, you can see through it. For that matter, most of us are more beautiful than you.” He fairly shook as he scolded the young bird, lying in the tissue below him.

“Well, I don’t care what you say. The Christmas tree would not be nearly as beautiful if I weren’t right near the top.”

Gold Bird, being older and wiser, turned his head away.  “You conceited fellow, it would serve you right if you got left behind this year. You obviously don’t know the true meaning of Christmas. You don’t deserve to be included in the holiday events.”

The young Christmas bird trembled. Thinking he might be left behind scared him a bit, but not enough to change his opinion of himself. With a slight tremble, he added, “You don’t think that could happen, do you? I don’t mean to sound conceited. It’s not that I think you aren’t very handsome, but my tail feathers are longer and softer and fluffier than yours, and…my paint is much shinier...”

“Tut tut,” replied Gold Bird. “I won’t listen to hear another word.”

For several uncomfortable days, the young bird lay in his soft cocoon of crinkly wrapping paper. Gold Bird’s words haunted him. “You conceited fellow, it would serve you right …” Not to be part of the Christmas Eve celebration?  He could not bear the thought.

The days grew shorter and the nights longer. A soft sprinkle of snow blanketed the roof. The wind whistled through the trees, their bare branches just visible through the tiny window at the end of the attic. The long dark days of November edged into December.

Footsteps on the attic steps awakened the Christmas birds early one morning. They held their breath as their box was carried down the stairs. “It’s time! It’s finally Christmas! Soon we’ll be on the Christmas tree!” the Christmas bird whispered. The young Christmas bird lay in the box under Gold Bird, wrapped in soft white tissue paper. His friends were lifted, one by one, from beside him. He heard them squeal as they were hung on the tree. He could faintly hear the music. He could hear the children laughing; he could even smell the cookies! “It’s nearly time,” he whispered to Gold Bird.  “It’s nearly my turn.” Gold Bird’s fluffy tail no longer tickled his nose. His box was tossed into the corner; empty except for the little Christmas bird. He was alone.

His comfortable bed was now a prison, his beautiful body lay swaddled in crinkly tissue paper. Muffled Christmas sounds reached his ears. A tiny plastic tear formed in his little red eye. “I’ve been conceited and proud, and now I’ve been left behind.”

He lay alone and forlorn through December. The Christmas season was nearly over, and he had missed everything. On Christmas Eve, the family gathered to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The Christmas tree bird lay in his box in the corner, imagining the tree with his Christmas bird friends hanging on its branches, along with the round ones he had scorned. “They may not be as beautiful,” he thought,” but they are on the tree, and I’ve been left behind.”

The little girl read the Christmas story. “They wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger.”

Christmas bird thought, “I’m wrapped in swaddling clothes, like the baby Jesus,” and he imagined the tiny baby, sung and warm, lying in a manger. He heard the daddy telling how Jesus came to earth as a tiny baby, and if we loved and trusted Him, He would take us to heaven and we would not be left behind. The Christmas bird sniffed, “I know what it’s like to be left behind. How much worse if I should be left behind in Heaven.”

He felt his box jiggle, the crinkling tissue paper lifted away, and he felt the warmth from the fireplace. “Look, Mommy! It’s another Christmas birdie. He has a tear in his eye. Can we hang him on the Christmas tree?”

Daddy helped her hang the little bird near Gold Bird.  Looking down, the joyous Christmas bird saw the family gathered around the tree. He felt the love in the room. Finally, he was where he needed to be. Gold Bird gave him a loving glance. “Welcome to Christmas. Did you learn anything?”

The tear in his eye had turned to gold, glinting in the firelight as he swung toward Gold Bird. “I understand,” he whispered. “Christmas is not about who is most beautiful, who is round, or who has a springy tail. The true meaning of Christmas is God’s gift to everyone; the birth of Jesus. When we accept His Gift, we will never be left behind.”

Alice pulled in her driveway and stepped out of her Prius. Her neighbor, Millie, hailed from across the street. “Yoo-hoo! Alice! Wait up. Happy Fourth of July!” as she scurried across the street.

Millie was the last person Alice wanted to talk to. They had nothing in common. Millie’s husband, George, collected Revolutionary War memorabilia. Their house looked like a war museum. Why did Millie put up with such nonsense?

Millie ran up, breathlessly, “Are you coming to the Independence Day celebration at the Vet’s Memorial Building? It starts in an hour. They’re having a military band, Viet Nam veteran speakers, and fireworks after the meeting. You’re welcome to ride over with us.”

Alice lifted her grocery bags from the back seat. “Sorry, can’t make it. Gotta’ get these things inside. Frozen stuff, you know. Talk to you later.” She hurried into the house. She felt a twinge of guilt. Snubbing Millie wasn’t very nice, but Millie was so gol-darned boring. Every conversation somehow turned to her husband’s latest E-Bay purchase. A Minute Man rifle. A battered sword. A faded British shirt. Alice sighed. Who cared about all that stuff anymore? What difference did it make, anyway, two hundred years later?

The 4^th of July was such a nuisance. The fireworks always made the neighborhood dogs bark and the next morning, the streets were a cluttered mess.

Alice went to bed early. She pulled the pillow over her head and closed her eyes… It helped block out the sound of fireworks down the street.

Alice jerked and twisted. What? What was that? She opened her eyes to find herself standing in the middle of a battlefield! The boom-boom of nearby firecrackers became the sound of a beating drum. The sun blazed down on men wearing brilliant red jackets. Sweat poured from their faces as they marched in a straight row toward an outline of shadowy figures in buckskin, hiding behind rocks and trees.

Redcoats? English soldiers? A battlefield? She didn’t belong here! She couldn’t be here. That’s it!  She must be dreaming. Wake up! Wake up! The field would soon be littered with dead and dying men. She turned to run.

Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her down behind a rock. Her heart pounded. She could smell the sweat on the man crouched beside her.

Grimaces lined the faces of the older soldiers, knowing what was to come. “Hold the line, men. Steady now.”

Younger soldiers, terrified of the unknown, sniffled as each beat of their drum brought the redcoats closer. Though the ragtag soldiers were outnumbered by the advancing troops, they had the advantage with the cover of trees and rocks. The men primed their guns with powder and ball and squatted in the dirt, waiting, waiting as the formidable enemy advanced, step by step.

Alice had to get away. This couldn’t be real! She knew she was dreaming! Why couldn’t she wake up?

The drumbeat stopped. Silence! What happened? She peeked around the rock. There stood the redcoats, frozen in time, guns at the ready, feet in mid-step. The flag drooped, unmoving. The drummer’s drumstick hung above his drum, suspended in mid-air.

Alice lifted her head toward the brilliant sky where scattered patches of clouds gathered as though suspended from wires. Overhead, a bird hung motionless...

She opened her eyes and blinked against the darkness in her room. “I was dreaming!” Dreams were, after all, just snatches of thoughts and memories, sounds and sights stored willy-nilly in one’s mind, and pulled into a fractured scenario to haunt our restless minds. She shuddered, thinking of the day when her dream had been the reality for young men and old who would not live to see another sunrise.

She turned toward the window. Rivulets of rain streaked the glass, curving and twisting as they traversed the pane. Outside, the tree in the backyard wavered in the breeze of an unseasonable summer shower. The Fourth of July celebrations and fireworks must have ended by now. Alice put her hand to her pounding heart. It was just a dream. Everything was fine. Just a dream.

Alice rose from her bed and found a book about the Revolutionary War in her library. She sat in a rocker and began to read:

For the sake of independence, farmers, storekeepers, bankers, men from all walks of life, rebelled at the tyranny England imposed on their fledgling nation. Ill equipped, with antiquated guns and untrained, the Continental soldiers chose to fight a highly trained army made up of Englishmen, German mercenaries, and Hessians.

The Revolutionary war lasted over eight years.
The estimated population in America in 1776 was three million.
80,000 militia and Continental Army soldiers served at the height of the war
25,000 American Revolutionary soldiers died during the war
8,000 more Revolutionary soldiers died later from wounds inflicted during battle
17,000 Revolutionary soldiers died from disease
25,000 Revolutionary soldiers were wounded or maimed
1 in 20 men were affected.

All for the sake of following generations, so we could have the freedom to make laws and live by our own rules as established by the Declaration of Independence.

Alice called and left a message on Millie’s answering machine. “This is Alice. Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight. I hope you had fun. I promise I’ll come with you next year. Our freedom is important, isn’t it? We need to remember what the holiday cost our forefathers. It really matters.”

Alice returned to her bedroom. Boom! Another firecracker cracked in the night. Alice stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror. “Does that child have any idea what he’s celebrating or why? We all take so much for granted.”

****

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DOES GOD LOVE CATS? YES, HE DOES!

I love my cat, Truffie. She has added joy to my life for 16 years! Every day, she brings a smile to my face and makes me laugh. She loves me unconditionally even when I’m grumpy or had a bad day. She even loves me when I tease her and tickle her back foot!

When Truffie was very young, one day, she stopped eating. She lost weight. I’d taken her to the vet twice. My credit card charges was over $600. The vet scratched his head. “All the lab tests and x-rays are normal. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Maybe we could−”

“No,” I said. “I can’t afford to spend any more money. Not if we don’t even know what’s wrong.”

Truffie was sick for five days. If something didn’t change soon, I thought she would die. She still wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t drink water. She had a fever. None of her prescribed medications had helped.

I worried and wondered. Does God even care if Truffie is sick? We know He cares about our health and our finances and foreign affairs and the troops in faraway places. But does God really care if my cat is sick? Does He have time to hear my prayers, considering His busy schedule healing folks, protecting our loved ones, and trying to make our politicians get along? You see, I’ve prayed about all those things for a while, but what about Truffie’s fever? Does He really care? Do I dare pray for God to heal her and expect a miracle?

I asked my pastor, “Do you think God answers our prayers when our animals are sick?” My pastor described a certain day at the Catholic Church, where people bring their animals to be blessed, but he couldn’t think of a verse in the Bible that specifically deals with God healing cats.

I opened the Bible to search for anything to suggest that God cared and would answer our prayers when are animals are sick. I found the following:

(Matthew 10:20 NIV)' 'Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your FATHER’S care.’ Humm… Sparrows? Cats? Not quite the same, but if He loves sparrows, maybe He loves cats, too.

We’re all familiar with God’s blessings and promises. God gives us everything we need. Our home. Our loved ones. A job...–well, most of us have a job, or we had one, before the company downsized and now some of us have unemployment. But not many of us are going hungry, so even in our adversity, God supplies our needs. But that didn’t answer my question. Could I really expect Him to hear my prayers for Truffie? I moved on, reading more about prayer and faith.

(Matthew 7:7 NIV) 'Ask and it will be given to you.” Really? Just asking? Was that the key?

(Matthew 17:20 NIV)' 'For truly I say to you. If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move and nothing will be impossible. That sounded promising.

(Matthew 7:11 NIV)' And lastly… 'How much more will the Father in Heaven give good gifts to those (his children) who ask Him.’ Now, we were getting somewhere. Perhaps it was a matter of prayer with faith, not the specifics of what we pray for. What did I have to lose?

So, I prayed for Truffie. “Lord, you know how much I love her. You know how it would grieve me to lose her. I’m calling on Your promise, 'Ask and it will be given…'. I place this little cat in Your loving hands, Lord, and ask You to heal her and raise her up again. I’m asking because You’ve promised if I have faith…”

Now, I’m not going to tell you that a bright light surrounded the house or that Heaven opened and God’s voice rang out, “Truffie. Rise up and walk,” but the next day, Truffie started to eat. Her mood brightened. She purred. She was on her way. She would recover! And she did!

I know that God cares for our cats and dogs and rabbits and horses and all our pets. Not because there’s a verse in the Bible that specifically says so, but because we love them and He loves us enough to want our joy to be complete. He promises that if we ask and have faith, we can move mulberry trees into the sea, or move mountains from here to there, or maybe it’s all about teaching us to take all our cares to the Lord, no matter how big or small. And many times, according to his will, our prayers are answered.

Truffie is living proof.

God gave me the victory. God answered my prayer, and yes, I’m convinced.

God loves cats.

An author must consider all aspects of writing a book to be successful. In many ways, our lives have similarities to the elements of a novel.

COVER

When a potential buyer is in the bookstore shopping for a book, the first thing he notices is the cover. If the cover appeals, he picks it up. It must have a snappy, good-looking book cover. The color must be-- bright and eye-catching with an interesting title and intriguing pic suggesting the story line. It must have Large easily read words and a fairly simple design that will look good in a thumb print on Amazon. The buyer flips it over to read a summary of the story. Does the plot sound intriguing?  A novel can have the best story in the world but if it has a poorly designed cover it may not get sold.

Similarly, the way we present ourselves to the world is as important as the book cover. How we dress, our hair style, how we put on make-up when we go out in public is like OUR book cover. As soon as we walk through a door, people form an instant impression about us. It may not be fair, but it’s true. People judge our appearance and make an instant decision. Do they want to know us better or not? If, we are carelessly dressed, wearing wrinkled clothing, or unclean hair (ladies) it creates a poor impression. We may be the most likable person in the world, but appearance can create the wrong impression.

A nicely dressed, clean appearance, cheery smile, and pleasant demeanor creates a good first impression.

Editor

A writer needs an editor to review a manuscript to find spelling errors, poor punctuation, poorly written sentences or scenes that don’t make sense. He inspires the author to dig deeper, to help the reader experience the story better. She points out these errors in a gentle constructive manner. The author then makes the changes to create a better story.

My editor helps me find the writing errors in my manuscript, but mostly, she suggests changes to move my book from a story to a journey, so the reader becomes one with the main character, able to leave their world for a few hours and experience the adventure the book presents.

In our relationships and business, we need a life editor. This is a ‘best friend,’ brave enough to point out our faults, to tell us 'There's spinach in our teeth'. She may suggest we join a gym and lose weight, stop acting like a fool at parties, or point out that we’re spending too much money on frivolous things. No one wants to hear these things, but our 'editor' wants us to succeed.  When I heed my editor’s advice, it always makes my novel better. When we listen to our ‘life editor,’ we can become better friends, parents, or siblings.

Supporting Characters

Besides the main characters, a good novel has supporting characters. These are the friends and relatives, or even the main character's pets they will interact with. Often, they drive the conflict in the story or help provide the solution.

In my first book, Black Cat’s Legacy, Dorian, the lovely hometown detective, helps Kimberlee solve her father’s murder. She also tries to steal Kimberlee's boyfriend, adding conflict and a sassy complication to a romance that otherwise would go off without a hitch. 

We also need supporting characters in our lives. These are our friends, neighbors, sisters. They are your ‘tribe’ or group that support you in times of trouble or sickness. They help you celebrate in times of joy, like birthdays and weddings. They perform an important role in our lives. They add companionship, or angst, or drama to your life. They make your life interesting. Without them we’d be like the guy on the island, talking to his beach ball.

PLOT or Storyline

The plot is what happens in the novel. Is the story about a hard-boiled detective, bringing the killer to justice, or is it a romance with the boy next door going off to war? In my Cozy Cat mystery novels, mysteries abound in a small town, on a Texas horse ranch, and in Nevada City. Even in Austria! The location differs, but the characters, in my case, Kimberlee and Brett drive the storyline while Thumper, the cat’s, ancestors’ memories help Kimberlee either solve a crime or avoid a cat-astrophe.

A novel with a good plot draws you into the story and takes you willingly along an adventure while the main character solves a crime or finds the solution to a certain situation. In a good book, the writer makes you feel you are experiencing things as they happen in the story, both good and bad. You’ll laugh or cry, get scared or surprised as the hero experiences the events throughout the story. At the end of the book, you wish there was another 100 pages because these characters have become your friends, and you want to spend more time with them. That’s when you look for the sequel.

Your experience, your situation in life is the plot of your personal story. Each one of us has a different life story.  Your adventures are varied. You’ve raised children, had varied careers, served in the military and probably experienced unbelievable hardship, raised families during the depression, overcome illness or experienced memorable circumstances. The combined experiences of the folks in this room could fill a library.

Conflict

A good novel must have conflict, or it isn’t worth reading. The girl next story must have a rival for her boyfriend. The CIA agent must have a villain to pursue. The puppy must be lost. All these examples create conflict; or something that prevents the main character from easily fulfilling the storyline goal in less than 300 pages. If the CIA agent catches the villain on page one, where is the adventure? If the girl’s boyfriend doesn’t flirt with her best friend, where is the romance? If the puppy isn’t lost, he’s just a puppy.

In Black Cat’s Legacy, Kimberlee tries to solve her father’s murder, but someone doesn’t want her to find the killer.

In Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer, Grandmother’s attorney plans to kill her before she changes her will and disinherits the false charity organization he created to embezzle her money. Of course, Thumper, the cat, has to help keep Grandmother alive.

In Black Cat and the Accidental Angel, Thumper, now called Black Cat, is left behind at the scene of an accident and has lost his memory. He must try to find his way home.

Do we live without conflict in our lives? It seems like one thing after another comes along to give us grief.  None of us has lived without some degree of trouble, whether in the form of lost loved ones, teenagers, business reverses, a home burglary, an unexpected illness, a sick pet, or a missed opportunity. Each of us could make a list of ten conflicts we have overcome and probably 3-4  over the past year.

Why is there conflict in our lives? Do we deserve the grief we experience? Maybe. Maybe not. There’s a reason why we have these troubles. Like that lost puppy or the CIA agent mentioned above, where would 'our story' be without conflict? If everything went totally right every day, we’d cease to appreciate anything because it would just be expected. We could never experience joy if we had nothing to compare to it. We have to experience pain to know joy. We must experience and overcome problems to appreciate success. Just like conflict in a good book to keep the reader intrigued, we need conflict in our lives. Can you see how a little bit of grief is good for us?

Beginning—Middle--End 

A good book has a beginning that makes you want to read it, a middle that holds your attention, and an end that satisfies. An author writes the story with these concepts in mind. The beginning must have a mystery revealed or a romantic situation that jumps from page one with an event that convinces you to travel this journey with the main character. If it doesn’t hook you in the first five pages, you’re likely to lay the book down and stop reading.

By the middle of the book, the characters should have identified the plot line problems and be well on his way in a struggle to overcome the obstacles, but events MUST continue to go from bad to worse, implying an unsurmountable problem that can’t possibly have a happy ending.

By the end of the book, the author must tie up all the loose strings, solve all the puzzles and bring the story to a conclusion. It may not always be a happy end, but it must satisfy the reader. Did you ever read a 300 page book and have the main character die on the last page? What a waste. All these hours you’ve spent with this character, rooted for him, wept for him, laughed with him and the author kills him off on page 300? You want to heave the book against the wall! Are you likely to buy another book by that author?

What about our lives? How can we compare the beginning, middle and end of 'the story' of our lives?

We start out as babies and then become children. We played, got educated, we grew. Some of us had a good childhood, others had situations that weren’t so good and sometimes these experiences continue to affect us as adults. We all carry things from childhood, good and bad.

During our middle years, most of us married, raised children, and had a work career. Some of us divorced or overcame tragedies. Events we experienced in our childhood, may affect how we reacted to these life events.

Many of us are approaching life closer to the end. These times may be affected by events from our middle years. For instance, our finances could be limited, or not, by investments, savings, or other life choices. Whether we are still married or are widows or widowers, whether we live alone, or with our children. Whether our health is good or less than optimal due to heredity or previous life choices.

An author must consider how to bring her novel to a satisfying conclusion. Many of us are beginning to arrange matters that will affect an appropriate conclusion to our lives. Our thoughts may turn to mending personal fences, writing wills, or visiting relative and friends we haven’t seen for years. Whether we realize this consciously or unconsciously, actions in our senior years move us toward a satisfying end to our life story.

Satisfying conclusions

A novel must have a satisfying end. The hero gets the girl, the killer is revealed and brought to justice, the interplanetary monster is vanquished, the puppy finds a home. The challenge for the writer is to keep creating stories that satisfy and keep the reader wanting more.

As we all reach the last quarter in our life, our goal turns to how to experience a satisfying end. Are you satisfied with all you’ve done or are there still things you’ve always wanted to do? Have you accomplished all you hoped to accomplish? Or do you still have unfulfilled dreams?

If you haven’t yet reached that satisfying conclusion where you can say, 'I’m happy with everything I’ve done', I encourage you to think about the things you’ve dreamed of. It’s never too late to follow your dream.

What better time than now?