OK…we had a great response to the last “random words” challenge, so we’re doing it again. New words, of course.
Write a story in 200 words or less and include the following words:
- Wrestle (or wrestling)
- book
- windy
- apple
- moon
- glare
Looking forward to reading your stories! Now grab your randomly creative helmet and tackle it!
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11 Comments until now.
A DAY IN JUNE
The day was bright and windy
As she sat outside with her book
and pen.
Wondering and wrestling
what to write of.
The sun was bright
The air was humbid.
It was a beautiful morn indeed.
She would glare out into
the ocean
and be fascinated at the beauty
of it all.
The beach!
How could such beauty be
taken for granted.
The sand was warm to the touch.
The seagulls flying to and fro.
The beach ball by the coast
was red as an apple,
the shape of the moon at night
As the children played.
She took a deep breath in
and enjoyed the moment
to thank God for such a beautiful
morn.
A day in June.
Nice work, Cris!
Thanks! The original poem was one I made last summer, but this “A Day in June” could be a reflection of it.
It was all so tiring–watching her from the window, wrestling with the pull cord, exerting all that energy; made warming up lunch seem even more taxing. Who would be cutting grass in this heat? At least it was windy.
She wanted a reprieve from the exhaustion. Wanted to have energy like she used to, not feel the incessant strain of merely ‘being.’ But that seemed as attainable as caging the moon. Better to make the best of it–rest when she needed, and get as much done as she could when her body afforded her a little extra steam.
Placing the apple and her book on the wooden crate, she leaned back in the adirondack and let the dizziness settle. Not exactly the way she’d envisioned living out the rest of her days, but not disappointing, either.
She knew it was a gift from God–this illness that drew her nearer to him with every setback; that forced her to deal with things she never would have.
Even when the embarrassing glare of those she’d disappointed (by not being healed)pressed down on her faith like anvils of discouragement–she knew it. Even in this, his grace was sufficient.
Love it, Heather!
Greg threw the book down on the table. It was a book his famous father wrote on the fine art of wrestling. How could he ever live up to his father’s expectations? Greg couldn’t understand how his dad amassed great wealth and respect as a world-renowned wrestler when he was alive, but died a pauper.
Greg stared out the window. He noticed it was windy and a full moon hung in the night sky. He recalled his dad telling him that he was the apple of his eye, but that was then and this is now. Others demanded Greg to follow in his father’s footsteps. Greg’s response to them was a grunt and a glare.
Greg could not bring himself to abandon his dreams to follow that of another . . . even if it was his dad whom people admired. He wanted to forge his own path, make his own name and strive toward his own goals with the help of the Lord.
As Greg pondered these things, something dawned on him. Perhaps he would write a book, too, but with a twist: Stop Wrestling and Start Resting in the Arms of God.
Paint by number, connect the dots, color within the lines. These are rules many people live by to stay out of trouble, but there is no creativity in it.
Go ahead. Risk the disapproving glare of those who only paint by number. Oh, we also wrestle with a desire for a sure thing; who wants to hear “I told you so?” Resist the urge to understand everything. Who can explain how an apple grows? It is one of God’s mysteries. Even those who play by the rules know deep down that there are no guarantees.
When the windy storms of life blow our way, the God who set the sun and the moon in the sky says, “peace, be still.” That same God sends his Spirit, which is “like the wind that blows wherever it wants to.” We can’t understand it, but we know that God’s Spirit is on a windy mission, wanting to do a fresh thing in all of us. We cannot predict where it will take us, but we can trust God. This we can know, because the Good Book tells us so.
Windy’s bare feet rested atop the dash of her dad’s restored Chevy. Her eyes shifted from the page of Perreti’s novel to Westbury Auto Parts where inside Mark O’Malley perused classic parts catalogues. Good natured, he’d turn as the wolf man with the moon should he find toe marks on the dash or juice from her apple on the seats.
From the corner of her eye a man, face blocked by sun’s glare, approached. As he got closer she exclaimed “Pastor Jim! What brings you here?”
“Probably same reason as your dad” he replied.
“Hello” said Mark, guarded.
Windy’s feet flew to the floor, wrestling to get the apple into her purse.
“Need parts for my baby”, pointing to a 1968 Camaro.
“That’s yours?” Mark asked surprised
“Just put it on the road ‘bout a month ago. Took a year restoring it. Whenever finding time between saving souls”. he replied, smiling.
Mark laughed. Comfortable for the first time around him since Windy returned from a youth retreat announcing she was saved.
If Windy wrote her own story, like Peretti she’d envision demons scampering away, defeated by the most unlikely. A restored Chevy Camero and 17 year old on her knees
Sitting in the orchard with an apple in hand, Abigail let her worries melt away. The crisp day was refreshing as she sunk her teeth into the juicy apple. It took her a few minutes to realize her mother had found her.
“Abigail, explain this.” Her mother held a torn book in her hands.
The young girl looked up at her mother as she could feel the glare. Her moon shaped face was contorted as she thought of what to say.
“I was reading it yesterday when it was very windy and the . . .” Abigail stopped as she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder.
“You are going to tell me that the wind did this?” Mother opened the book with torn and damaged pages.
“Well . . . you see, the wind was wrestling the book away when the storm was coming in and I dropped the book in the mud.”
Mother shook her head in disappointment. “If you had brought it to me, I could have fixed it. Instead you hid the book from me and now it’s ruined.”
“I’m so sorry momma!”
Mother took the girl in to her arms and forgave her.
You guys are good!
Wrestling with a decision-making problem always requires of me four things, a blanket, a shade tree, a good book and an apple for munching.
This decision-making day turned into a long one. It was a warm sunny, windy day. The gentle breeze and the afternoon sun soon lulled me into a sleep.
Soon the decision-making day had turned into a decision-making evening. As I opened my eyes I was looking up a full moon and trying to read by the glare of the nearby street light.
By now I didn’t even remember what the decision was all about. A good nap can do that for me sometimes.