sample from original letter 51
Dear Internet, Even as I sit down to write this letter I’m not all the way sure how it’s going to turn out. These things have been building up and rambling about in my brain for some time now, but it’s hard to put them together into any complete cohesive thought. They say that it’s usually easier to just “rip the Band-Aid off” so maybe I should just do that… I think we need to break up and spend some time apart. I know that this is going to come as quite a shock at first (possibly), and maybe that’s part of the problem… The people that know me the best wouldn’t be surprised by this at all. I feel like I should take a little time explaining myself. I guess I owe you that much… We’ve spent the better part of the last two decades together, and I feel like we’ve reached that point where our relationship doesn’t mean as much as it used to. There’s no real spark anymore… We’re simply that couple that’s been together forever but can’t all the way remember why any more. I don’t think this is a sign of a healthy relationship. I, for one, feel like we should take a step back and re-evaluate our relationship. I realize this is going to be hard at first. I feel like I don’t really know how to relate to people without you anymore. But I need to try… I need to go out and meet new people, build old friendships stronger, not hold people at arm’s length any more. No longer define myself or other people simply in relation to you but let me be me. I know that there’s going to be a lot of my friends who won’t understand. Probably some who tell me that I’m making a huge mistake… But I need to do this anyways. I don’t, however want this to be that awkward break up where one person runs away and entirely disappears. We’ve got so many mutual friends and I don’t want them to feel like they can’t hang out with us together… So, if we both get invited somewhere, I want to still be able to hang out as friends. Maybe I’m crazy to think you can have it both ways… That it’s possible to still “be friends” … But I guess we can at least try. At the same time, I know that especially at first, we’re both going to need a little distance. I hope that’s okay… I guess I want to end this letter by saying I hope that, in the end, we can work things out. I really do appreciate our relationship, at least I know I used to… I feel like we barely know each other anymore. So as much as I know we both need distance, I also want to keep in touch. I want to get to know you again, and allow you to get to know me. So I’m going to write letters (you know like people used to do) … Feel free to write back. I really do want to know how you’re doing and you to know the same of me. I guess that’s all I’ve got at this point. I don’t know… Maybe this whole “just friends” thing won’t work out. Or I’ll realize how much I really still do care about you. I guess I don’t have that answer yet. Only time will tell. I just know I need some space to figure it all out. Thanks for understanding BJ
p.s. Years ago, my dad once told me that I was a “black and white thinker.” I’m sure you are aware that my dad and I had a tumultuous relationship, at best. I didn’t really understand what he was saying at the time, but my wife has helped me to realize there is some validity to his words. I tend to relate to the world around me in absolutes. But there are not near as many absolutes in life as I would make there to be: life is much more nuanced. That being said; perhaps “breaking up” isn’t the right idea… I mean, how realistic even is that? I see you everywhere all the time! You have integrated yourself into every part of life. So while a complete breakup doesn’t seem altogether possible, we definitely need some boundaries. I mean, it is all well and good for you to help me find the best deal on a pair of shoes, but I don’t need (or want) you showing up unannounced at 10:30 at night wanting me to come out with you. There must be a limit to what I am willing to give you access to, and I know that boundary is probably smaller than you would suggest it should be. artwork created during this project 53
Haunted by shadows that won’t fade away. Invading my rest, uninvited, unwelcome, stubborn. Darkness insists on creeping in, surrounding me. I push it down, but it destroys me from the inside out. I’m afraid to shine light on the ghosts. What if they’re real? I give my haunted thoughts a voice only to be flooded by pain. HAUNTED M E G K R A A I
Drops of blood No no no no NO! Helpless failure Death in my own body I rest with all my might Powerless to stop the flood You give and take away I hate the death but love the child I will never be the same again HELPLESS M E G K R A A I 55
Healing is elusive... slow, painful, excruciating. I long for sudden restoration, immediate rebirth, instantaneous cure. Instead I feel these long, difficult labor pains. Will it ever end? Will I survive it? Is there another side? Am I doomed to ache forever? The brokenness is so thorough, so complete, the wounds so deep. I know the Author of Life can resurrect my soul and heal me completely, but why does He take so long? HEALING M E G K R A A I
Surrounded by anguish, pain, and fear. Aching, longing, wrestling... What if this is exactly where I need to be? Walking by faith, not sight, claiming a freedom I do not yet feel. Holding on to promises I’m not sure are for me, yet hoping they are. HOPE M E G K R A A I 57
SENTINELS Jake Nuckolls Linocut Bellingham, WA | 2023 We have woods behind our house where there is a small clearing. We've kept goats, chickens, and rabbits back there which means that we visit that spot frequently and often at night to check to see if everything is okay. Walking into that space in the night you get the sense of both protection and smallness with the maples and cottonwoods towering. The print was a way to capture a variety of trees in different styles. The name of the poem came to my mind while looking at the trees. A sentinel being a silent guardian, strong and present. A comfort. photo: Jake Nuckolls 59
R Y A N F E R R I E S SEVEN SACRAMENTS TO SONG In On Christian Doctrine, St. Augustine writes, “Nay, but let every good and true Christian understand that wherever truth may be found, it belongs to his Master” (II.18). If truth is found anywhere and it properly points to God, then beauty too, where one finds it, points back to God. It is in the music and lyrics of Mark Hollis (and his band, Talk Talk) that I have encountered the most Truth and Beauty. I really began, in earnest, honing, obsessing, and analyzing over the meaning of his lyrics after his untimely death. I was waiting for class to start. I sat in the back which was unusual. Professor Allen Jones and I were particularly well-acquainted; we met every Wednesday at 7am to discuss the state and field of Biblical Studies, Old Testament Biblical Theology, our research and writing, and life in general. He was my friend, my mentor when I was in my early twenties: a time when I needed a “mess of help to stand alone” . He was a source of strength and I usually sat up front in order to be the first to absorb his lectures, waiting to receive his wisdom. That day I sat in the back. I opened my laptop and opened Rateyourmusic.com (the IMDB for music enthusiasts). The featured post concerned Mark Hollis (the other source of strength for my angst-ridden soul, my musical mentor) and his untimely death at age 64. I dreamt about going to England solely to find Mark Hollis and ask him about the overt Christian allusions in his lyrics for his band, Talk Talk. That hope was squashed as I read the article in disbelief; the source of so much strength vanished and I was left in this world without him. Though his music was “secular” (as far as genre and airplay on radio stations were concerned), it conveyed more spiritual depth and insight than all the songs on the Contemporary Christian Top 20 Chart combined. Moreover, the truth and beauty of his music, though a source of strength, pointed me to truly acknowledge God’s plan for us as persons, as people. He taught me, through his lyrics, to find strength in God and not in Mark Hollis. For example: the lyrics of “New Grass,” the fifth track of Talk Talk’s last album Laughing Stock, captured the essence of my emotional state and spiritual hope, portraying a so(m)ber-confidence in God’s love and the unification of Heaven and Earth. The song’s unwavering beat, paired with the seemingly random chaos of improvised parts, is akin to God’s control over a seemingly chaotic and overwhelming world. 1.The Beach Boys, “A Mess of Help to Stand Alone,” Carl and the Passions-So Tough, 1972. 1
Take the first verse: Lifted up Reflective in returning love you sing Errant days filled me Fed me illusion's gate In temperate stream Welled up within me A hunger uncurbed by nature's calling Seven sacraments to song Versed in Christ Should strength desert me They'll come They come 2 2. Talk Talk, “New Grass,” Laughing Stock, 1991. Here we have a man who acknowledges the Spirit’s love and yet “errant days,” days of wandering astray, being misled, “filled” him; they disillusioned him, causing great discontent. For me, if not for every Christian, I often “knew” and “reflected” in God’s truth and love; however, the cares of this world, the anger over injustice, and the confusion of my mixed emotions often distorted my perceptions, deceiving me and leading me to “illusion’s gate.” No argument from nature could fully satisfy me or break down the barrier that is “illusion’s gate.” However, Mark Hollis taught me to look to another source of strength. He sang: Seven sacraments to song Versed in Christ Should strength desert me 61
After the errant days, still with the nagging hunger “uncurbed by nature’s calling,” there is one thing that God gives us to address these times, seasons, and emotions: faith, a faith informed by sacraments. A faith-filled life structured by sacraments from beginning to end, from Baptism to Last Rites, and the Lord’s Supper to sustain us in between, is the only thing that can satisfy our “hunger,” our yearning for guidance and deliverance from “errant days,” and the otherwise unbreachable structure that is “illusion’s gate.” The first contains a shift from disillusion (pessimism) to faith; the second verse starts with faith and moves to a vulnerable so(m)ber optimism. Lifted up Reflected in returning love you sing Heaven waits Someday Christendom may come Westward Evening sun recedent Set my resting vow Hold in open heart These lyrics portray a man lifted out of his disillusioned mindset, being transformed, strengthened by the sacraments. Now, though plaintive in tone, this man has faith, anticipating a union of Heaven and Earth: that Christendom, a society governed and ruled by God and His precepts, will occur. That is, God’s justice will prevail and our causes of disillusion will be vanquished. As the evening sun recedes, drawing the day to a close, he can be honest, vulnerable, and hopeful that God will bring a new day, that “New Grass” will appear. Meaning, that God by His faithfulness, as demonstrated and communicated in the sacraments, witnessed by nature, and experienced in the continuation of times and seasons, creates the hope-filled strength that yields fruitful hope in us. Despite not being a “Christian” musician (in the genre’s sense of the term), Mark Hollis taught me that blinding illusions are only overcome by sacraments, by partaking (within a community) God’s physical signs of His ceaseless grace towards us. It is in the sacraments that are “versed” in Christ that a man can be freed from disillusion. This knowledge and hope, “versed in Christ” continues to sustain me when “strength deserts me.” His lyrics captured and corrected my imagination to see the beauty of waiting for Christendom, God’s Kingdom to come. As each day comes to an end, we come closer to that day when God makes all things new, including the grass. In the meantime, let us reflect in the love of God that He sings over His people (Zeph. 3:17). I think that is what Mark Hollis would have wanted.
Come aching traveler The day is sneaking, near As you feel the fuse unravel The snake’s breath is in your ear When the floor falls out from under What felt like solid stone And all the truth that made your marrow Leaves behind hollow bone When you see the devil’s face And recognize his chin The same nose as your father And your own crooked toothy grin Then lift your eyes, look for the hope His face is dear yet new And when your tears fall unrestrained His cheeks will have them too Just after the world implodes In the quiet moment that comes When the bread that was your faith Has been gnawed away to crumbs Look for Him, our Hope The One whose breath is life Who will remain when all that’s left is Silence, laced with strife It’s the story older than the hills Or mountains you must climb The valleys deep are paths He’s mapped Every rut is His design As you walk, your hand He’ll hold As you crawl, He’ll bid you come Till His face you’ve traced and memorized And your work here is done He will greet you at the end And it will matter, that you roamed Through the darkness of your human heart Then faced Him and called Him Home. HOME S A N D Y V A N D E W E G H E 63
“ S H E E P O F H I S P A S T U R E ” B Y E L I Z A B E T H H I G B E E photo: Elizabeth Higbee
“I can’t imagine how all the references to sheep in the Bible are going to become very real to you!” a dear friend had texted me after I told her we had gotten a small flock of sheep. I think often about her comment as I see over and over the wisdom of God comparing us to sheep. They’re sweet, lovable and adorable...and can be rather foolish, unaware of danger and aren’t able to make decisions for themselves. We decide when to move them to fresh grass and how to fence them in because we know the dangers around them and see the big picture. How much more does our Heavenly Father care for, provide for and protect us? We are His people, and the sheep of His pasture. Psalm 23 flashed into my mind the day we were draining a water trough and they refused to walk across the shallow, temporary stream running across the cement floor in front of them. What I had read online was proving true right before my eyes–they have poor depth perception and don’t like moving water, afraid of falling in and lacking the ability to swim well. It wasn’t nearly deep enough for them to drown, but they had no clue. They simply saw running water and didn’t want anything to do with it. He leads me beside still waters. We’re a few months into this sheep thing by now, and every day I see why the Bible compares us to the wooly creatures grazing in our field. They need a shepherd because their only defense against a predator is running or standing together. I need a Shepherd because I am unable to stand in this world without the protection of my Savior. I need a flock of fellow believers because I can’t live the Christian life on my own. Where one sheep goes, the rest follow. Be it running towards the sound of us shaking grain to get their attention or escaping through a hole in the fence, they’re going to do it together. How often do I follow what someone else is doing, without stopping to think if it’s right? All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned, every one, to his own way. When our flock discovered the aforementioned gap in our fencing (that we told ourselves they wouldn’t be able to fit through) and ventured across the road, we immediately stopped what we were doing and focused all our efforts on getting them safely home. The sheep weren’t actively trying to get themselves back–we had to go and get them. Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost. The analogies aren’t perfect–I wouldn’t die for our sheep, and I’m certainly no sinless Savior, but a few thousand years after our Good Shepherd lived among His sheep on Earth, I’m thankful for the reminders of Him and His care for us as I watch over ours. THE SHEEP OF HIS PASTURE E L I Z A B E T H H I G B E E 65
This is my cat named Maryanne. I love animals a lot, especially cats and dogs. I also love drawing flowers with just a green and dif erent color dots. SNUGGLE CAT Beatrice Nuckolls Crayons, markers & pen Bellingham, WA | 2023
Values over Valuables Unlocking the Greatest Transfer of Wealth in History 67
This essay was first published by the Christian Economic Forum. CLARKE [FAMILY TREE] Washington, D.C., The Norris Peters Co., c. 1914. Public Domain | Library of Congress Storytelling: The Incredible Power We’ve Forgotten Chasing our dream of becoming novelists, I stepped away from sports journalism and partnered with my wife to serve as live-in night managers of the Bellingham Willows Retirement Apartments. Every day, we’d walk a mile through upscale hallways to check on residents, banter about the news, bashfully deflect questions about our writing, and occasionally call 911 between the hours of 6pm and 8am. We were 24 and 21 at the time. I sat with twelve men from “The Greatest Generation” around a table every morning at 6:45am, drinking black coffee and swapping stories. One of these men had worked at Boeing, another had served as a sea captain, and still another had played a role at NASA. I’d never heard such unpredictable, riveting dialogue in my life. Their stories would have me leaning in, busting a gut, blushing— you name it, they lived it. For five and a half years, I learned not just what these men had done, but who they were and what they valued— all through the stories they shared. Those sunrise gatherings dwindled from twelve men to two over the years. By the time my wife Brittney and I had launched our writing careers, my motivation to attend morning coffee morphed from delighting in good company to ensuring any company existed for my grayed friends. An entire generation was passing away, with their richest treasure hidden where loved ones could never find it. We had taken that job so we could write stories, but we left humbled by stories left unwritten. On the cusp of my 35th birthday, I asked my dad out to lunch for the first time. It was the only meal we’d ever shared together— just the two of us. My desire was for connection, which I didn’t know how to achieve. So I sought guidance from a mentor whose advice stirred in my chest until my dad and I had finished eating and returned to my car. “Dad?” I said, starting the engine and letting it idle. “I need to ask you something.” He turned in his seat, attentive. V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E
“Would you lay your hands on me… and bless me?” My dad paused for a moment and his eyes grew misty. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and broke into a tearful prayer. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember how it fused our hearts. Raw, truthful storytelling— like an intimate blessing from father to son— speaks a language that transcends age or generation. Why, then, do we put off sharing our story? And at what cost to those we love? My wife and I grew up in an environment that didn’t radiate love. When we finally left that community and experienced grace and freedom for the first time, Brittney started suffering panic attacks. Her heart and mind didn’t know how to untangle from years of trauma. “It’s as if a terrorist is in the room,” she’d tell me. “But I’m the only one who knows it.” In these moments, she’d wanted to scream at the top of her lungs but feared scaring the people she loved most. So she’d retreat to a bathroom, fight dizzy spells, and wait to crawl into bed— exhausted from a mind she felt wanted to kill her. This pattern persisted for six years. “I’ve never experienced loneliness so viscerally,” she wrote in her journal. “I feel like I’m on an island where people think I’m silly and happy, but really I’m alone with my demons.” But one day, Brittney’s mom revealed that she too had suffered trauma-driven panic attacks that ended in hospital visits. Brittney couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Suddenly, she didn’t feel alone or abandoned anymore. Brittney’s mom had built a life-saving bridge to her daughter by vulnerably sharing a part of her own story she’d wanted to forget. Poor Generational Stewardship: Diagnosing Its Root Cause My Grandpa Ray (Pop-Pop) and Grandma Belle (Gran-Gran) glued my robust Breakey family together. Holidays at the “Belle & Ray Hideaway”— the sign at the front of their long, winding driveway— featured lines of vintage automobiles in a cow-pasture-turnedparking lot, half a dozen folding tables, enough food to feed the Western seaboard, and a whole lot of hugs, smiles, and shared birthdays. V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E 69
BLAIR FAMILY PAPERS Family Correspondence circa 1847 Public Domain | Library of Congress Manuscript Division
It wasn’t uncommon to see 50-75 people converging on the evergreen-rich property, and pride would swell in my grandparents’ eyes when we opened stockings, played boardgames, or watched video highlights of someone’s recent vacation. But when Pop and Gran died, the family disintegrated in unbearable fashion. Yelling. Finger-pointing. Lawsuits. Shunning. My family didn’t just break after Pop’s and Gran’s funerals— it shattered. What could my grandparents have done while living to keep the Breakey family moving in the right direction for the right reasons? What had the power to foster connectedness, carry forward values, and bring us closer together? The answer: stories. Each of us has been gifted a one-of-a-kind story— filled with battles of acceptance, faith, fear, forgiveness, love, trust, survival, selflessness, responsibility, redemption— and when we share it vulnerably and authentically with others, it allows kids, grandkids, and greatgrandkids to see themselves in our humanity. Through story, values become “caught, not taught,” and accomplish in the future what lecture hoped to accomplish in the past. That is the power of story. It captures the worst of you and delivers the best of you. Worthiness: Why We’ve Missed the Mark and What to Do About It Issues of worthiness marred every area of my life throughout my formative years. I was physically overweight and emotionally flogged. Raised in a community that exalted depravity, I went decades before my chains were loosened and I was set free in a moment I’ll never forget. Standing in our kitchen, emphatically gesturing with my arms, I shared with my wife, Brittney, that “God loves me— and I feel it.” From that day forward, I saw myself as worthy of affection and viewed life through a new lens of love and fearlessness. I discovered that worthy people can tell the truth, and that “the truth will set you free.” V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E 71
It is impossible to recognize your worth to future generations if you don’t value yourself. Could this be why we place so much end-of-life focus on money and material possessions… because we feel unworthy of giving an inheritance greater than our valuables? Have we doubted and discredited the treasure of our story? Pete is in his early 70s. He recently shared that he had received crystal clarity about his final third of life. To paraphrase, Pete said that his life would no longer be about building his successful business— it would be about impacting future generations with the time he has left. How did Pete arrive at this mindset? “I’m not like a lot of people my age, Caleb,” he said. “I probably overvalue my worth to my successors.” Ponder his answer and its implications: Overvalue his worth. Living out the final third of life well requires worthiness and an uncomfortable amount of self-importance to the mission. Doing the Right Thing the Wrong Way: How to Avoid Pitfalls in Legacy Storytelling My dad, a lovable man well-known for saying the right thing in the wrong way, has always adored his mom (Gran-Gran). From his perspective, likening any woman to his mother is the height of flattery. But one day while hosting a family for dinner, he nostalgically told the visiting family’s mother— with a genuine smile— that she reminded him of Gran-Gran because of her “pear-like shape.” My mom, cutting garlic bread at the time, sliced through her finger and later required stitches. The point: even if we mean well, we can still fail miserably. Here are my best tips to avoid pitfalls as you endeavor to pass your values to future generations through the power of story: History informs; story transforms. Focus on who was changed, not on what happened. Outside of history buffs, future generations are not interested in a chronology of what happened to you. Don’t just label family photos or map out a family tree. Cut the boring parts and show us what shaped you in moments when sharks were bumping against you in crimson water, when guttural emotion strained your vocal cords, when failure forced you onto your knees and you cried out to God in darkness. Fleshing out the highs and lows of your life through narrative is enough to fill a book that reads like a Hollywood blockbuster — making you feel something and think something, like any timeless tale. Trust your story to do the work. V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E
Values Without Stories Are Meaningless. An acquaintance recently shared a list of commonly upheld values with me. They were Integrity, Communication, Respect, and Excellence. He then expanded the screen to show that these values had been proudly displayed by the infamous company, Enron, which had collapsed in spectacular and scandalous fashion. Values are mere aspirations if separated from your authentic story. So before you workshop your family values or mission statement, dive deep into your story. Draw from the well of your narrative. Trust the Truth. Don’t hide true stories that could build a bridge to family members who are isolated on an island. Reveal the lies you believed at the start of your story, mistakes you made in the middle, wounds that were healed by the end, and how the fire of it all redeemed your shame and transformed your soul. Fearlessly Steward Your Living and Lasting Legacy A 67 year-old friend and client of mine felt his relationship with his daughter was about to drastically change— and that scared him. So he started writing to her to springboard dialogue about perspectives, dilemmas, values, and personal stories, free of judgment. His goal? To deepen their relationship, challenge their intellect, and impact the lives around them in every good way possible. He’s now written to his daughter five days a week, every week, for three years straight (and counting). Instead of shutting down her dialogue or demanding strict compliance as in years past, he now wants his daughter’s viewpoint and says, “Tell me more.” Through this, their talks have become richer and longer— a journey that is continually unfolding as they write it in book form. What has my friend’s courage and authenticity meant to his daughter? V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E 73
Have you accepted yourself and started walking in worthiness? Are you willing to share the worst of you so that you can deliver the best of you? Do you want to build bridges to loved ones that transcend age and generation? Daughter (paraphrase): Connecting with family isn’t easy, but it has been one of the most rewarding aspects of my life. I wish more people could step into the learning zone for the sake of their family and themselves. I wish they all could have the courage to tell their story and connect with one another in a place of zero judgment— with love. Wisdom and understanding belongs to the aged, and my friend and now his daughter are taking its transference seriously. It is my hope that these closing questions give you the courage to do the same. Then do not leave your story unwritten. Children and grandchildren don’t just want to hear, “It’s yours now.” They want YOU, now. Your authentic story— expertly structured and told— gives that to them. V A L U E S O V E R V A L U A B L E S | F E A T U R E A R T I C L E A PSALM OF PRAISE FOR MY SON DURING IMAGINATIVE PLAY J A N E L E R C H I N G E R - D A V I S Lord bless this child, for his nonstop sound effects are worship to you. Forgive me Lord, I didn’t recognize it as praise at first, I was too irritated. But you have opened my ears to that noise of creating; it can be a psalm. So our King Creator— Praise be to you, for a boy who builds.
His plastic brick empire has risen in the last half hour and has already crumbled into ruins. Here, my son has orchestrated an epoch of warriors to defend all that he knows is good. Praise to you, our Good Creator, for you’ve already hidden the epic, the knowledge that we must battle evil with all that is good, within his small mortal frame. Praise to you our Intentional Creator. You made this child’s imagination hungry, he wields that freedom like a broadsword— news, chores, and homework cannot belabor it. Every atom of my son is feasting with the joy of shaping his own world. And in watching his full immersive play I somehow think of you my King Creator, Father, Maker— Immersed in joy as You made us singing us into being. And I am set writing this small psalm for the joy you place in us the hungry pull of building a good, beautiful world. So now… Thank you for the making joy in my son and in me now. Amen 75
EVEN THE WIND AND THE WAVES Mary Moore Rabb Reduction Linocut Print Bellingham, WA | 2022
"Even the Wind and Waves" is a reduction linocut print inspired by the disciples' remark about Jesus: "Even the wind and the waves obey Him!" Personified clouds hint that all creation responds to His voice, and we must as well. A reduction linocut is printed in many layers, usually starting with the lightest color. After one color is printed, that color is then carved out of the block, and printed in the next color. This process is repeated until a final layer is placed on top, in this case the darkest layer, which helps define all of the other colors. 77
It is raining again, O Lord. The sky, gray and heavy as my own heart, lies as a smothering blanket over my mind, my heart, my energy. The dark falls early, and I am undone in the absence of warmth and light. I thank You for this physical body, so attuned to the rhythms of the world that early sunsets, skyless days, weeks of drizzling rain, awake in me a hunger for the More I was made for. Remind me of my need for You, make me feel my own fragility and the weight of waiting for what is to come, a season in which to hold hope in tension with grief. May this lack of light-soaked energy, this lethargy of cold muscles and uninspired thoughts, remind me to rest, to step away from productivity for a moment, content in the quiet dusk as a child curled up against his mother, as a seed sleeping beneath the soil, waiting for its time. Cultivate in me a holy quiet, a contentment in the still, small ways of life that Winter demands. For this is a season, too, for grace: water to fill the earth’s coffers, sleep to soothe troubled minds, frost to rest the crops’ leachings, and to entice the Summer’s peaches in their time. Snow to cool the sun’s burning, darkness to rest weary eyes. For You give all things a season. For all seasons, blessing and purpose. Settle my soul in You, whose light outshines that of the moon in its fullness. A LITURGY FOR THE WINTER BLUES M I L L I E S W E E N Y
Awaken in me, even in this drab dullness, a longing for the splendor of Your face, for the coming of Your glory. Turn my mind from this lethargy to the holy ache in my chest: Winter is passing. From the soaked mud and dripping trees, You, O God of new life, will bring forth life again. This hoping, this discomfort, remind me, O God, of my hunger for Eden, and the Garden City that is to come. Thank You, faithful Father, for this promise and the yearly reassurance that Winter will pass, has passed before will pass again. Though not yet. Thank You, gentle Lord, that You do not mete out false cheer, but You meet me here, in the real physical response of my body to the lack of sunlight. You made me to need a good thing in the world. Find me here today, O Lord, in the intermittent snow and gloomy skies, where also Your beauty is seen. Direct my eyes to such pockets of Your visible glory, to the myriad delights of Your created world, where even the Wintertime holds beauty, where bare branches and frost rimes sing Your praise. Guide my soul to such joys, and soothe my weary heart. Console my color-starved eyes with such graces. Meet me, Holy Spirit, in the depths of my being; animate my imagination for today and tomorrow and tomorrow, for awaiting a glorious One Day and living a faithful today. Settle my soul in You, whose light outshines that of the sun at its Summer zenith. Burn brightly within me this day, O Lord, and evermore. Amen. 79
PSALM 130 BJ Ott Ink & paper Lynden, WA
Lord, from the depths, I cry to you. Lord, hear my voice; open up your ears, My voice cries out for mercy. My voice cries out for mercy. If you, O Lord, mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? Yet, you forgive, That we may know and fear you. That we may know and fear you. For the Lord I wait, yes, my soul waits. In his Word I hope, yes, my soul waits. More than watchmen for the morning. More than watchmen for the morning. People of the Lord, hope in your God. In his steadfast love, and perfect redemption. For he shall save his people! Yes, he shall save his people! listen to this song on Bandcamp PSALM 130 B J O T T For the last 15 years, I have read a Psalm every day as a part of my morning devotions. I get up before the rest of the house wakes up and spend the quiet hours of the morning reading and journaling and enjoying a cup of coffee. I have loved getting to know these deep words, covering the spectrum of every emotion. As a Christian musician, focusing mainly on congregational songs, it has been a delight to find new ways to connect with the Psalms in song for today. As I read, from time to time a melody comes to mind to fit a specific Psalm. Once the melody comes to mind, it keeps working itself out until I can sit down with my guitar, or banjo, or ukulele, and get it out. This is one such song. I wrote it back in June of 2020. I connected with the Psalmist crying out from the depths, and also was reminded that even though I wait for the Lord, and sometimes that waiting feels so long, that with the Lord there is steadfast love! He will not forget his people, and he will redeem us by the blood of the Lamb. We have no more sure hope than the Grace of God. 81
My daughter, I’m sorry If I could, I would Turn back through the ripped pages of these centuries Find that paragraph And scribble out that day in the Garden You know well the worn, aged horrors of this world. I learned them, one by one A rebellious explorer into the new evils Of a heart separated from my Creator And though you grieve my disobedience of ages past Remember that with His curse on the Serpent, The Almighty also spoke a threat A promise for me and for my children That one day, another Adam would come To continue the story we began so long ago And bring it to its final, righteous end I praise our King for His faithful promises! Today you are alive in the joy of the Lord You sing His grace and you praise His mercy Angels harmonize your melody As the hosts of Heaven exult in the work of our King Little do you know yet of a mother’s love And less so of a mother’s pain When we lose a dear child I lost one, you know - my boy - And I lost another in a different way - You do not know that depth of grief But you will, my daughter As of yet you have no idea of the darkness that awaits As your belly grows your fears will increase And His destiny will weigh heavy on your heart A L E T T E R F R O M E V E T O M A R Y MY DAUGHTER T I F F A N Y H O L D E N PortionofAdam & EveDrivenOutof Eden (1865)byGustaveDoré PublicDomainImage
There is a grief no language can describe Even after the fall of Babel, violence and bloodshed Are what humanity’s paltry words Have to describe this pain The world of stone and stars will attempt to When the ground shakes underfoot And spits open its tombs When a curtain is rent from top to bottom And the sky darkens at the peak of day In the language of Heaven This grief also has no words It is whispered in the gasps of a dying Savior It is translated by the tears of a Father And shown in a torn Trinity The warriors of Heaven are restrained From consuming the world in holy fire Only by the command of the Almighty These words are mysteries to you, my daughter Today you rejoice in song Tomorrow the weight of your obedience will settle heavily The cold fears of our human flesh will Threaten to douse your flame of faith In all these things, I charge you to remember The God of our praises is the same God in our fears The selfsame power that spoke out light and spun the planets into motion Is at work in your womb and at work in Nazareth The same God who befriended Hagar, and Rahab, and Ruth in their loneliness Will be with you Emmanuel God with us God with you You will be a vessel of His grace A recipient of His peace And you will again say, even with a breaking heart “My soul magnifies the Lord, And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” PortionofChristontheCross with Mary andSaint John(15thcentury)byUnknown Artist -PublicDomainImage
Jesus Christ, the newborn child A sinless baby— undefiled. Holy God in flesh displayed And in a manger, humbly laid. Sent to darkness, He the light Yet in a stable cold tonight. Baby Jesus, King of kings The way to God, this infant brings. Tiny hands, so soft and sweet, Youthful brow and tender feet. Soon to bear the nail and thorn, The mocking crowd, the brutal scorn. He soon will face unrivaled pain— A rugged cross, His blood will stain. And man, once full of awe and praise Will suddenly with hatred blaze. Yet for tonight, this baby boy, A gift from Heaven, brings great joy, A message loud and long and clear: The Savior of the world is here! THE SAVIOR OF THE WORLD IS HERE A B I G A I L L A R S E N Standing somewhere in the shadows While there's worry and there's dread, There's a hand outstretched and waiting, Though the fears within you spread. Standing somewhere in the shadows, Where there's guilt and there's shame, There are are arms open and welcoming, While you cling to bearing blame. Standing somewhere in the shadows, When oppressed by deep despair, There awaits the Man of Sorrows, Ready to bear your burden of care. SOMEWHERE IN THE SHADOWS M A D E L Y N S T O N E Y
BETHLEHEM NIGHT Mary Margaret Brotherton Acrylic and gold leaf Bellingham, WA | 2023 85
I had always been alone, Looking for a place called home A soul without an anchor in the dark Watching wonder in a babies eyes, Catch my breathe and I realize The mirrored glory in that tiny spark And oh Chorus We belong to the far country The wonder of creation calls us home We were born to echo back the melody No wonder this world was never home It’s written in the tales of old Painted on the flowers I hold A picture of a million parts Hidden in my suffering The wounds and scars of Christ my King The love from which the Father made my heart And oh (Chorus) Ending (borrowed from an old lullaby) I'm going home, Will you come with me No longer walk This path alone There is a rest Beyond the sorrow And for the pilgrim There is a home listen to this song on YouTube FAR COUNTRY A V A H ( M O L E S ) V R O O M This song was inspired by CS Lewis’ great sermon, “The Weight of Glory” and was written in spring of 2020. It closes with lyrics borrowed from a lullaby Avah’s mother used to sing her.
When all’s said and done, at the end of the day, I have a strange feeling that God wants to play, so put all your makeup and mirrors away, and we’ll meet at the House on the Rock. Let’s take every treasure, collect to our pleasure, and load it all up in a ship of great measure, and sail ’cross the wide open sea at our leisure, until we arrive to find land. We’ll garden for stories, dig up old books, bring in the criminals, captains, and cooks, and dress in a way that brings quizzical looks from the bishops who don’t understand. For here there be monsters and bumps in the night. Come with us now, let us flee and take flight, and turn all the dirges and darkness to light, and meet at the House on the Rock. Through terrible tunnels we’ll carefully tread, ducking to dodge what hangs overhead. What gallant explorers, still living or dead, may have traveled these caverns before us? And could there be places that no one has seen, untapped and untethered in spaces between? If we found one, would every print magazine come and knock on our door to implore us? Let’s find out together, we’ll draw our own map, we’ll note every danger and each booby trap, and seek out the places to have a quick nap on our way to the House on the Rock. THE HOUSE ON THE ROCK K E N P R I E B E | 2 0 1 9 Originally published in Let There Be Owls Everywhere - Another Book of Poems by Ken Priebe. Priebelieving Press, 2019. 87
Around any corner, much to our surprise, a merry-go-round of fantastical size, each beast and behemoth a sight for sore eyes, could be waiting for us to ride it. Then on to the market to sell off our wares, our cotton and candies, our sugars and squares, contraptions designed by intelligent bears with a clockwork monkey inside it. We’ll walk where the coffee flows sticky and strong, and every freak finds a place to belong. If you need to find me, I’m lost in a song, but we’ll meet at the House on the Rock. A city of dollhouses winds through the street, with cobblestone labyrinths under our feet, but know there are those who are less than discreet who lurk in each crevice and crack. So keep your watch wound, take note of each sound, be wary of every hoodlum and hound, but if you get lost or all turned around, take comfort, for I got your back. For here is where yarns from the court jester spin. The feast at the fire’s about to begin, so fill up your glass, wipe your feet, and come in, and we’ll live at the House on the Rock.
CONTRIBUTORS Thank you to each one for sharing your story & talents 89
“The Savior of the World is Here” (Poem) AVAH VROOM As a classically based vocalist and musician, Avah is passionate about equipping and encouraging God’s people to worship Him through song. Avah earned her Bachelor’s of Science in History through Liberty University and has completed training as a Kodaly method music instructor. She has taught at a local classical school and is the Music Director for Christ Church Bellingham. Avah and her husband Joel love raising their sweet baby girl Dorothy, spending time with church friends and family, and caring for their goats and giant farm dog. “Far Country” (Music) Abigail has been writing for fun since before she could spell, and has come to see this God-given gift as an opportunity to reflect His creative nature. She doesn’t get much down on paper these days, but her love language is sharing other writers’ good books-- especially with her husband and children. You can find her homeschooling adventures, small business updates, and general reflections on her Instagram: @ordinaryjoymama. BJ OTT BJ Ott has been making music in and for the church for the last 20 plus years. He loves the music of the church, especially the hymns, filled with deep history and theology. He loves working with his hands and has worked in oil paints, screen printing, typographic design, wood projects, and sewn paper collage. BJ and his wife and their growing pack of little ones live, play, and make music in Lynden, Washington. “Psalm 130" (Song) and “The Letters Project” (Art & Essay) bjott.bandcamp.com | bjottdesign.wordpress.com ABIGAIL LARSEN BEATRICE NUCKOLLS “Snuggle Cat” (Art) Beatrice is an 8 year old artist living in Whatcom County. She loves to be outside with animals. She especially loves her favorite stuffies: Monk-a-monk, Moosie, and Puma.
CALEB BREAKEY “Values over Valuables” (Essay) renownpublishing.com | sermontobook.com | speakittobook.com CHERYL BOSTROM For most of her life, Pacific Northwest naturalist and bestselling author Cheryl Grey Bostrom has roamed the rural and wild lands that infuse her fiction, poetry, and devotional writing. A Christy Award finalist, her debut novel Sugar Birds has won more than a dozen key honors, with a Carol Award, Christianity Today’s Fiction Award of Merit and American Fiction, Nautilus, Reader’s Choice, and International Book Awards among them. Sugar Birds’ sequel, Leaning on Air, will publish in May 2024. An avid photographer, Cheryl lives with her veterinarian husband and a small pack of Gordon setters in Whatcom County, Washington. “Packing” and “Fall Furrows” (Poems and Photos) cherylbostrom.com | @cherylbostrom Caleb Breakey is the founder and CEO of Renown Publishing, an elite team of publishing professionals devoted to revolutionizing wealth transfer by focusing on values— not just valuables. Through the power of storytelling, he helps high-impact families document their story, capture their values, and cultivate familial harmony. He lives in Bellingham (Washington State) with his wife of 15 years, Brittney, and enjoys visits from three mischievous mini huskies and a smiley Shiba Inu. CHLOE WILCOX Chloe Wilcox lives in the gloriously drippy Pacific Northwest with her husband Jeff, Zeke the cat, Walter the dog, and a harp (whose name is not public knowledge). After homeschooling her three now-grown children, Chloe is finally starting to bring out the stories that have been simmering for decades, asking to be put into words and shared. When not bringing new stories into the world, Chloe works as a birth doula to help women bring tiny new humans into the world. She is a member of Sunbreak Writers, a joyful and supportive community of its own. “In Which Chloe Tries to Review a Concert and Ends Up Thinking About Community” (Essay) harmonyofgrace.wordpress.com | C.R. Wilcox (Facebook) 91
HANNAH BERRY “The Table” (Essay & Photos) and “Then Sings My Soul” (Linocut) @halibutbones_artco JAKE NUCKOLLS Husband of Talia, father of four, and full of conflicting interests. Poet, sports statistic nut, linoleum block printer, fermentation station keeper, music reviewer, and playlist creator, home improvement instructor and trainer, and avid reader of children's books. “You Are Not Alone” (Essay & Playlist), “Sentinels” (Poem & Art) @jacob.andrew.studio ELIZABETH HIGBEE “Sheep of His Pasture” (Essay) Elizabeth lives on a burgeoning homestead in northwest Oregon with her husband, four kids and a variety of sheep, goats, cats, and chickens. Hannah teaches visual arts at a local Christian school, is an avid reader (and more avid book collector), a thrifter, and a lover of botanical artwork. She and her husband recently welcomed their first child. DANICA STEENKAMP “Autumn’s Death” (Poem) JANEL ERCHINGER-DAVIS Janel Davis grew up in the Cascade foothills of Washington. As a mom of two elementary aged children, she seeks outdoor experiences that soak in the light of the sky and take in the freshness of the forest. With close friends impacted by suicide, domestic violence, and drug addiction, her poems often work to process tragedy as it intertwines with faith, nature, and family life. She is frequently found on the beach making a joyful noise on her ukelele, dreaming of matching haircuts with her poodle, and sipping a locally roasted decaf Americano. “A Psalm of Praise for My Son During Imaginative Play” (Liturgy)
MADELYN STONEY “Symphony of Autumn” and “Somewhere in the Shadows” (Poems) @madelynrcreates | Madelyn R on YouTube MARGRET NUCKOLLS Margret Nuckolls is a 15 year-old artist. She enjoys painting, drawing, and ANYTHING related to art. She also loves reading and writing. “Autumn Walk” (Art) I’m Madelyn, resident poet and feline farmhand manager on my parents' farm. Working retail supports my artistic pursuits in the sunny Shuswap of BC. I love writing, baking, video editing, and playing my cello, producing my first public solo recital, “Cello Serenade,” in August 2023. My passion for writing poetry grew from a seed my sister planted to practice writing regularly, and my philosophy of “chasing inspiration” whenever it came naturally developed a desire to write about my faith. The fruits of many late nights and focused writing sessions formed Impressions: An Anthology, my very first book! LOUISA NUCKOLLS “Little Bunny” (Art) Louisa is a 13 year-old artist in Whatcom County. She loves to sketch people and nature. KEN PRIEBE Ken Priebe is an author, illustrator, and animator originally from Grosse Pointe, Michigan and now residing with his family in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Ken studied art, filmmaking, and animation at University of Michigan and Vancouver Institute of Media Arts, has taught animation at several colleges, and now teaches drawing classes for kids. He has worked on several animated shorts for Scholastic/Weston Woods through BigFott Studios, and he is the author/illustrator of several books: Gnomes of the Cheese Forest and Other Poems, Let There Be Owls Everywhere, The Ice Cream Truck at Midnight, and GOBLABET. “The House on the Rock” (Poem) @booksbykenpriebe 93
MILLIE SWEENY “A Liturgy for the Winter Blues” (Liturgy) @millie.sweeny Millie Sweeny is a former writing tutor who now spends most of her time listening to audiobooks while driving her kids around or folding laundry, but can also be found kneading dough in the kitchen or apologizing at the library for losing books. Originally from South Carolina, she lives in Corvallis, Oregon. Her work can be found at the Rabbit Room, Story Warren, and Kosmeo Magazine, or at instagram.com/millie.sweeny, where she geeks out about what she's reading. MEG KRAAI “Haunted”, “Helpless”, “Healing”, “Hope” (Poems) Meg is a contemplative soul who turns to creative expression to process hurt that is hard to express. These poems emerged from seasons of loss through miscarriage, relational trauma, and ministry wounds. MARY MOORE RABB Mary Moore Rabb is a printmaker in Bellingham, WA. She finds her inspiration in midcentury illustration, antiques, and wooden toys, and these colors and ideas evoke a feeling of nostalgia in all of her work. The name of her studio, Stirabout, was inspired by a line she read in C.S. Lewis' Surprised by Joy, and is an Irish word meaning "porridge." “Even the Wind and the Waves” and “Ark of the Covenant” (Art) stiraboutstudio.com | @marymoorerabb MARY MARGARET BROTHERTON “Bethlehem Night” (Art)
SANDY VAN DE WEGHE “Home” (Poem) Sandy lives on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State with her wonderful husband and five daughters. She spends her days homeschooling, throwing pottery, and drinking excellent coffee out of mugs with character. “Seven Sacraments to Song” (Essay) Ryan Ferries spends his time reading great books and scholarly literature. He spends his free time writing, listening to classic rock and bebop jazz, and cooking. He teaches in Bellingham but wishes he could homestead instead in the Midwest. He does not wear bowties; bowties wear him. Most importantly, he is a Presbyterian of sorts. RYAN FERRIES NATE WALKER Nate Walker has been Lead Pastor of Christ Church Bellingham since its founding in 2009. He has a Master’s degree in Mathematics and his MDiv from Covenant Theological Seminary in St. Louis. Nate regularly writes for Renew Northwest, a digital publication for essays on Scripture, theology, church life, and cultural issues from a Reformed perspective, and wrote a book, Oh the Deep Deep Love of Jesus (50 Reasons for the Cross of Christ). Nate is married to Shannon and has five children. He loves any sport with a ball, reading, the outdoors, C. S. Lewis, and the Lord Jesus who has never failed him. “A City of Song” (Essay) renewnorthwest.com | @renewnorthwest MEGAN “MK” MINNICK M. K. Minnick is a warm and brilliant upcoming author with a unique, beautiful perspective drawn from life experiences in ministry and as a mother, homeschooler, doula, and parent educator. She combines deep empathy and insight into human nature with a passion for the power of story to illuminate truth, in order to create compelling, fascinating tales that strengthen worldview and point to eternal principles. She lives in Arlington, Washington with her husband, two teenage kiddos, and an exuberant Dalmadoodle puppy, and is a member of Sunbreak Writers (the other members of which wrote most of this paragraph). “A Prayer for Artists Beginning a Creative Work” (liturgy) 95
TOLLIE NAIL “Together We Sow” (Essay) Tollie Nail has lived in the Yakima Valley for six and a half years. She works with Swan Vocational Enterprises as manager of the vocational program, Swan Seed Company. Tollie uses her degree in Landscape Architecture and years of experience working with teenagers and young adults to sow, grow, and harvest seeds of many flower varieties. She loves her husband of eighteen years, Zack, and son Zeke (age nine). In her spare time, she reads, knits, hikes, and cross stitches. TIFFANY HOLDEN “Come to Tea” (Essay) and “My Daughter” (Monologue) @thehobbitholden | iorganizedthat.com Tiffany Holden writes Christmas and Good Friday productions for churches and liturgies for her PCA church. She loves to find the beauty in the ordinary and everyday, and enjoys the simple blessings: a warm cup of (decaf) coffee, a hug from one of the littles that call her Auntie Mimi, and the peony blooms each spring. THÉA ROSENBURG Théa Rosenburg has worked as a dental assistant, singer-songwriter, peddler of handknit gifts, art teacher, and informal librarian. She is co-editor of the book, Wild Things and Castles in the Sky: A Guide to Choosing the Best Books for Children, as well as the general mastermind behind the children’s book blog, Little Book, Big Story. Her work has also appeared on Story Warren, The Rabbit Room, and Risen Motherhood, as well as in Every Moment Holy, Vol. III. Théa lives with her husband and four daughters in Bellingham, WA, where, when the wind blows from the right direction, she can smell the ocean from her front yard. “Plums” (Essay) thearosenburg.com | littlebookbigstory.com TERRY HARRIS Terry is a wife, mother, grandmother, educator, and author. She loves to share her life experiences through her inspirational stories and daily life lessons in her four devotionals and books of inspirational poetry, both for children and adults. She enjoys her family, grandchildren, church, leading a ministry for single moms in Lynden, reading, preserving her family faith stories, writing poetry, and traveling with friends and family. “God’s Strength & Love” (Poem) authorterryharris.com
SPECIAL THANKS TO LINDSAY PETRIE Copyediting & Proofreading Lindsay graduated from Western Washington University with an MFA in Creative Writing. When she isn’t reading, she is creating stories herself— she plans to publish her current work in progress, a middle grade fantasy novel, in the near future. She resides in British Columbia with her husband and their cat. CHERYL BOSTROM Cover Photo Thank you Lindsay for your detailed and excellent work on this edition of the Storyboard magazine! Any errors that remain are mine alone. Thank you Cheryl for including beautiful photos with your written work. We were delighted to use one of them as the featured cover photos. 97
Storyboard is a platform created by Tiffany Holden that connects Christian creatives of the Pacific Northwest through creative projects and in-person events. Storyboards are a planning document, and meant to be rough, changing, and developing. Storyboards outline highlights and the throughlines of a story, or illustrate pieces of a cinematographer’s vision or plot points for a storyteller’s organization. A storyboard is not the story; but it shows pieces of it. As Christians, our rough, changing and developing creative work and service are but a small image that can reflect one tiny part of our Creator’s grand design and great Story. Storyboard is a place to showcase highlights and throughlines of God’s creative story through the intersection of faith and the arts. Visit our website or social media to see what’s coming up, and to sign up for our regular newsletters. STORYBOARDTHECONFERENCE.COM | INSTAGRAM: STORYBOARD_COMMUNITY ABOUT STORYBOARD art by Pam Holladay; photo taken at the September 2023 Storyboard Meetup
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