finally I could feel, as slow as honey, the turn and movement of the world. I was dismayed that there was such a lack in my knowledge of the world. What else might I have gotten wrong? I thought Circe knew everything. She was my teacher. Then I instantly cheered up, hoping maybe that knowledge about the world was what I needed- though I couldn't really see what possible difference it could make in everyday life. I stood still with my fists clenched for a moment. But I didn't feel any different. The book of days I had been trying to work on didn't magically reappear and I wasn't transported back. Never mind, the object I needed would appear sooner or later. While Adam slept, had she yet wondered Their glorious depths and wicked heights? And had Lilliandil with her father Foreseen the wicked serpent’s bite? Still when Odette traversing forests, avoiding arrows by their tips, Considered she the strife this toil Her dear Orion’s amaurosis. True Éowyn in pain, not glory, Took up for uncle fated blade. This love that ponders every story, And still speaks yes— wake up to breathe. L O V E Uliana Akulenko 51
Materials: Cardstock, distress ink, markers, heat embossing powder. Tools: Stamping binder, manual die-cutting machine, heat embossing tool. scripture from John 15:13 should cause us to consider Jesus’s sacrificial love that bore our guilt and shame in full to defeat death once and for all. My creative process is typically very streamlined, especially when I’m making cards in batches. Whether I’m making something basic or advanced, I always start with a cardstock base. Each of these card fronts feature a white cardstock base that is specially designed to hold alcohol-based inks with minimal smearing. To create the backdrops of these cards, I use distress ink and blending brushes to achieve a gradient look that appears like watercolors. The flowers and other images are stamped, colored with Copic markers, and cut using a die-cutting machine before I attach and layer each of them to my card base. The scripture sentiments are printed, stamped, or heat embossed with black pigment. Of course, the key finishing touch is always writing my personal message to the recipient inside. F O L D E D P A P E R B O U Q U E T S : C A R D S O F S P R I N G A N D E A S T E R Emily Holden I enjoy designing cards that speak to the recipient’s personality, unique situation or occasion, and themes of the season. Most of all, I strive for my creations and written words to point to our Creator. After putting all my Christmas supplies away for the year, I got to work on my Spring designs that harken to the season of Lent and Easter, as we anticipate the glory of our risen Savior. The floral designs (“paper bouquets”) allude to the new life we have in Christ, as we have entered an eternal covenant, by faith, through His death and resurrection. The scripture excerpts are intended to comfort and encourage, reminding recipients of what a friend we have in Jesus. The image of the cross and
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Chickadee Théa Rosenburg Linocut
We’ve been told to “Just Write,” And to some that might produce fear, To face the “Great Expanse of White,” But writing doesn’t have to be Shakespeare. For me, a poem just feels like home, To begin writing carefully, The structure for word-foam, Sets you up to be worry-free. By that I mean, each verse stays Within the realms of poetry, Limits syllables, and shapes phrases, Almost automatically. Then that rhyming scheme, Saves time in the endless word-search, Even when your exciting theme Seems to leave you in a lurch. Each short line, made hunky-dory, Perfectly clean of useless words, To better paint the intended story Leaving off longhand to the birds. At the end you get a wieldy portion, To edit and manipulate, Easily fit to the proportions, An idea necessitates. There is why I like poetry, And will never come up dry, When I’m asked to elucidate, Facing the “Great Expanse of White.” T H E G R E A T E X P A N S E O F W H I T E Madelyn Stoney 55
The Winter is Past Lorna Rande Photo & word art
T H E A R T O F N O C O M P R O M I S E Madelyn Stoney Art without compromise? How do you make ideas unique and powerful without breaking rules? Cinema and film have propagated the ideology that art, or creativity, can only be sparked through “breaking the rules”— throwing out the old forms and styles, exchanging them for new and radical ideas. Since even Christian creatives are influenced by secular culture shifts, here are my thoughts and experience drawn from walking with Jesus Christ while growing in writing and creating. Hopefully these thoughts ring true, inspiring you to align your craft or hobby closer to your walk with Him. READ GOD’S WORD Professing Christ’s name is one thing, but even for works that are not explicitly gospelfocused, artists need to read and know God’s word. Christians are selling themselves short when their KJV is collecting dust on the shelf. Not only does it enrich your walk, but it plainly presents history in a way that addresses the sin contained within, without glorifying it. If you are having difficulty navigating the complex laws in the Old Testament, or are simply daunted by the sheer volume of 66 books, skip to Matthew Chapters 5-7 and read or listen to them by audiobook as many times as necessary. No one says it better than Jesus Himself. When you desire to create without compromising His truth, you must know God’s word. TRUST HIM FOR INSPIRATION Compromising the very foundation of any work, by pursuing topics or projects you think you should, or that other people say you should but doesn’t honor Him, is a good way to find yourself stuck without any way to proceed. 57 PRAYTHROUGHOUTTHEPROCESS Prayer humbles you before God; it is a work of complete reliance on Him in how you use your ingenuity. He knows what skills you have better than you do, and will help you use them effectively and purposefully, guiding you to better conclusions.
DON’TCOMPROMISE Popularity isn’t a good guide rail for your creative perspective. God’s truth and your relationship with Him doesn’t change with popularity. It contains, in its very fiber, a familiar attraction for every soul, and limitless, life-giving potential to explore His magnificent creation. Therein lies all the “fresh ideas” you could ever desire, and if it becomes popular, you’ll know that it is because God is awake in Heaven, stirring life through your work. OUR CREATOR’SCHALLENGE The devil wants nothing more than for a lowly creator like you and I to take “the truth and mix it up with lies to make it all taste good” (1). Compromise opens that door in our faith. We like to justify why it’s necessary, but is it? Many new Christians’ testimonies tell of a distinct change in discipline by the Holy Spirit providing discernment of true godliness apparent through an abandonment of compromising righteousness. I can attest to this testimony by witnessing the Spirit’s work in me by changing my priorities over time to a greater focus on sanctification and eternity without the posture of worldly disinterest. While considering my drastic shift in interest, I begin to see the consequences of the ever popular, “You do you, no judgement here,” sentiment; foolishness to everyone who truly understands the Gospel because it indifferently defies the intense, sacrificial love put forth through Jesus’s life. 1.Tim Hawkins, “The Government Can” “Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumbling block or an occasion to fall in his brother’s way.” - Romans 14:13 - Righteousness will be rejected by those living and loving rebellion until they humble themselves before Jesus Christ, our Lord. In fact, our beloved scripture is not good news for those loitering in sin. Creators must be faithful to maintain our witness of uprightness by remaining close to our Divine Creator, obediently judging our work in the light of His perfect word. No exceptions, No compromise. Listening to Keith Green’s album by the above name conveys the pure testimony of a new Christian/life-long musician redeeming his secular career. Beneath its erratic 70s flavor, the album showcases a saved man using the tools God gave him in popularity and style to proclaim an unapologetic and unexplanatory Gospel message, savored by a new believer.
In today’s culture of confusion, God’s word must be clear and distinct when it proceeds from our mouths while our work echoes the hope of redemption from the heart.No compromise. God wants our whole life, not just Sundays and Wednesday nights. Choosing what we do for Him, in order to protect ourselves from the world’s mockery, muddies the wondrous attraction of His Gospel. Keith Green could have taken the “safe” road to success by composing tepidly heartwarming and nostalgic tunes, speaking to a wider audience in sensitivity towards the cultural movements of his day. Instead, keeping a single, devoted mind, he chose to boldly proclaim God’s work in his life, making the message unique and powerful. God’s work in you is unfailingly unique and powerful, fully restoring a hard heart like mine. “I know how I ought to be, Alive to you, and dead… to me.” (2) 2. Green, Keith: “To Obey is Better than Sacrifice,” No Compromise, Sparrow, 1978, Track 10 The rain comes down in bursts of sound Pounding, pounding, not mere drips. I struggle to see across the field But the view is blocked by a veil of gray. Where does it go; where does it flow? It races with staunch determination. Pounding, pounding, never stops. This torrent rain, seems full of anger. A wall of water from the sky In streams of ribbon from high to low. The puddles grow and grow. Will the heavens continue to proclaim their power? At some point it will stop To reveal the glorious burst of sun To reveal God's proclamation of goodness. The water and sun to nourish the beauty of His Earth. R A I N Terry Harris 59
Today, in honor of your day, I did nothing (heroic) at all. I pledged fealty to Lord Sun in absentia by his proxies the dandelions, culled reverently. I confounded your imperialist protégés by gentling three burgeoning sons to the pulling of petals and putting up of swords and to kindly words towards brothers which is civility. I fought no dragons, only feared the bees but kept them courteous company anyway in bumbling industry. Man of valor, you were first a farmer, tender of things that grow. Let me, with you, love gentle things valorously. O N S A I N T G E O R G E ’ S D A Y W E M A K E D A N D E L I O N W I N E Laura Trimble
Daffodil Louisa Nuckolls Watercolor | “I love daffodils because they are such a joyful flower. In this painting I used watercolor on watercolor paper. I decided to brighten it up by sprinkling some of the colors I had already used across the paper. I chose daffodils since they remind me of spring, hope, and happiness.” 61
This is one of a series of four short creative historical fiction pieces that I’ve written about the Crucifixion/Resurrection story, inviting you to put yourself in the shoes of the gospel writers. This is the one for Matthew and is based off of his account in his gospel, with some creative additions of my own. S H A L O M Amma Taddei The words sting your ears. “Crucify Him!” He is in the streets now. His arms can barely hold the cross on His back. Someone needs to help Him but you are terrified. You are in the crowd next to Peter, who is distraught as well, but you can tell there is something else bothering him. Peter's hands form two fists as he tries to hold himself back. To be honest, so are yours. The two of you struggle through the crowd to follow Him, something that is so natural to you now. His first words to you, “Follow Me,” replay in your mind. Finally a guard finds someone to carry His cross for Him. “Peter.” You whisper in shock and hold him back, only barely. Peter just lunged forward to try to help. The crowd makes it impossible for the two of you to get to Him. Red droplets took the place of the palm branches on the road from the days before. Women wail and fathers cover the eyes of their children. Finally the two of you get to the hilltop. You force yourself to watch the guards nail Him to the cross. You watch the guards mock Him and cast lots on His garments. Peter falls to his knees beside you and you place a hand on his shoulder to both comfort him and steady yourself. Your eyes are fixated on Jesus's face. Your eyes on His. His meet yours. His chestnut eyes have no fear in them. They hold hints of Spirit-filled fire. They radiate love… and exhaustion and pain, both human and Godly at the same time. Suddenly you feel a wave of peace, shalom, wash over you. It makes no sense. How can you feel peace at a time when all felt lost? How can you feel peace when this man you called Brother and Rabbi is dying before you? How can you feel peace when you and your friends are all in anguish, desperation, and grief?
You can barely pay attention to all that is happening because the shalom is overwhelming. “And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” You hear a woman say that man must be calling Elijah. The shalom fills your heart and you know they are wrong. He's calling His Father. And then He dies. Chaos ensues. You hear a centurion say this man was the Son of God. Peter grabs your arm and drags you with him as he runs from the hill. Earthquakes move the ground underneath your feet which makes it hard to run. A man walks by you as you turn a corner and you realize you recognize him. “PETER!” you shout. You stop running and yank Peter back. Peter looks at the man and his skin pales to sheet white. You both have seen resurrection before but it still shakes you. This man died months ago. He rose again. Jesus didn't even have to physically be there. Peter grabs you again and pulls you into an upper room. Others are there and you all stand there in shock. Your knees give way and you fall to the ground. “What do we do now?” someone asks. “Where do we bury Him?” someone with a practical mind says. “Did anyone else feel a wave of peace?” You hear your voice whisper. You feel them stare at you like you are crazy. All except one. “I did.” A whisper came from the other side of the room. You look up to meet Andrew's eyes. You weren't alone. Despite that, a dark cloud of guilt settles over you. How could you have felt peace at a time like that? You feel like a bad friend. “I denied Him three times.” Peter whispers beside you, his shame penetrating the room from his whole body. “I didn't help Him. I should have helped Him carry the cross.” You say. “What will they do to us now that He's gone?” Thomas says next to Andrew. “He was supposed to save us,” James says. “Have faith, dear children,” His mother speaks softly, power radiating from her words. “Mary, He's gone.” 63
The hours and days that follow feel like weeks. You watch them bury Him and place a stone across His tomb. You watch a guard take his post next to it. You hear the reasoning is so you and your friends couldn't claim He rose again. Suddenly you realize why you felt peace. His promise has been repeating in your subconscious for two days straight. He promised resurrection. Mary's words from the day before fill your mind: “Have faith.” The third day is tomorrow. You sleep soundly knowing and hoping if He was truly God, He would keep His promises as He has done for centuries. You wake to women’s voices shouting that He is alive. You watch as Peter, Mary Magdalene, and John run out of the house to confirm their claim. You have faith. An hour later the men come back upset because the tomb was empty. Mary Magdalene comes back and says, “I saw Him.” Minutes later, you feel the rush of shalom again and turn your head. Your eyes meet familiar eyes you thought you'd never see again, big chestnut eyes that seem to always be filled with joy, even on that cross days before. A cup drops in the room followed by an exclamatory shout from John. He's here. You fall at His feet and finally release your bottled-up emotions, holy tears anointing His nail-pierced feet, your head grazing His nail-scarred hands. His hand grips your shoulder as He kneels down and lifts your head up to make you look at His face and sit in His presence. His first words to you pierce your thoughts for the rest of your life. "Shalom Aleichem." Peace be with you.
photo: Jake Nuckolls 65
Christ Meets His Mother Hannah Berry Watercolor pastiche. An homage to Jozef Speybrouck, a 20th Century Flemish artist whose original artwork is titled, “Christ meets His Mother”
S O R R O W Hannah Berry “Unto the woman He said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children…” (Genesis 3:16, KJV) And in an instant she held a tiny form who already knew this world would be a sorrowful one, a bruise forming quickly where warmth and comfort broke through bone and flesh. Off-kilter, just as every child who had ever come into the world before and just like every child after. None have escaped this curse, not even the One whose eyes saw the galaxies lifted gently into their places. In sorrow bring them forth into this world where you will be the first to hurt them and not the last. Bring them into a home that is broken with your selfishness and hatred. Bring them into your arms that tire easily. In an instant, she saw her firstborn release His spirit in one heartbreaking breath, a bruise forming quickly where He had trod on bone and flesh. Her sorrow was born with Him and multiplied in every moment where she couldn’t rescue Him, could not shield Him away from pain, could not carry His cross. In sorrow she brought Him forth and in sorrow she let Him go, knowing only that her gentle boy was fulfilling something incomprehensible. She could only watch as He bent under the weight of all the sorrows through all of time. She could only watch as He closed His endlessly merciful eyes. 67
Each year by some mystery not of my design, Good Friday finds me waging war on one foe or another. Golden-tufted groundsel advancing on green pastures; mounded brambles bristling with thorns fit for a king, the which blossoms nourish honeybees, entice with tart temptation and march on to occupation. And so I spade out brambles bloodyhanded, rip out groundsel— my own and my neighbor’s— sundering roots from earth, displacing clots of living soil, rending that reverberates through dirtcaked palm. I crush lush leaves thrust out from sturdy stalk, snap heads hung on near-naked stems yielding yet a thousand seeds, evolutionary coup of fallen flora. And so I reap my paltry harvest, free one patch of cursed earth, pass over a starscape of flourishing foes devoid of constellation en route to compost bin where pressure, heat and billions of bacterial mercenaries will slay the adversary. And so having exhausted human means and ends I hang my hoe, surrender my spade and await the consummation. C R U C I B L E Amanda Bird
I S E E L O V E Tiffany Holden Before dawn on a Sunday morning. Mary Magdalene clutches a pottery jar to her chest as she walks through the garden. My life truly began that day I met You, so long ago in Galilee. Before that is a jumble of memories. Some pleasant, some mundane, but all are overshadowed by the pain of the years that followed. I was a broken woman, my spirit a slave to seven demons. They taunted me, they controlled me. They would sit silent and allow me to see the sunlight, to even hope for relief, then break me down even further. Usually, people would pass me by as quickly as they could. When the demons would take my voice, the children would scream and run away. Men yelled at me to stay away, and their wives wouldn’t look me in the eye. The most compassionate looked at me with pity, but no one with love. And then that day— You saw me. You looked at me in a way that no one ever had. You looked past the spit and the dust and the ripped robes and right into my eyes. And I saw You with my own eyes. The demons screeched their horrors as loud as ever, but for the first time, they couldn’t take me. And when I saw You— I didn’t see fear. Or pity trying to cover up disgust. I saw— Love. I saw a Love that encompassed what I was right then. A Love powerful enough to conquer my tormentors. A Love that shone through Your gentle eyes and told me my fears could be over. And a Love that welcomed me to look back at You, and to know You. In that moment I knew that only You could free me from my living death. It was that day You changed my life. I saw You heal those who had been sick all their lives. I felt You pull me from the very jaws of the Abyss. Isn’t this the work of the Messiah? Weren’t you the Savior of our people? When I heard You say, “It is finished,” I thought the sky would rip open with Elohim’s wrath and a torrent of heaven’s angels. But it didn’t. Night fell, and the Sabbath began. Jesus, I believed You. And then I buried You. 69
All is quiet, the early morning dawn, The garden tomb in which our Lord was laid. But now an angel, for our Lord has gone, Sacrifice accepted, a ransom paid. The Arimathean who took Him down, The Son of Man given a place to lay; The humble Gardener with kingly crown, Tattered linen, a stone that rolled away. The sun rises, new day in the Near East, The ends of Earth will not see it coming— The gospel preached to every man and beast, Moses’ proclamation, David’s strumming. Christ, fulfillment of prophecy and praise, Ruler of night, Commander of our days. E A S T E R 2 Douglas Gates
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photo: Cheryl Grey Bostrom
“Watch As It Wakes” (Poem) AMANDA BIRD Amanda Bird is a freelance writer and editor living outside Eugene, OR, with her husband, teen daughter, a handful of chickens and pigeons, and an asthmatic cat. She compulsively collects and reviews picture books and anything related to the Turko-Persian world. Her reviews appear on her Birds’ Books blog and the Story Warren website. Her work in progress is a historical novel set in 1908 Tajikistan. “Crucible” (Poem) Ali Noël hails from the tiny town of Yelm, Washington. She spends her days with her three young children and rambunctious bulldog, Sir William Wallace. In her (very little) free time you can find Ali scribbling poems, baking or hiking fairy trails with her kids. Her work has been published by Twenty Hills Publishing, Z Publishing House, SobreMesa Zineand WOW! Women on Fiction. You can follow Ali's poetry on Instagram @the.authoress.life CHERYL GREY BOSTROM Tyndale novelist Cheryl Grey Bostrom, M.A., writes surprising prose and poetry that reflect her keen interest in nature and human behavior. Her four books include her international best seller Sugar Birds—the winner of more than a dozen fiction awards, and Leaning on Air, endorsed as “a reader’s dream,” and a “cross-generational masterpiece." An avid photographer, she and her veterinarian husband live in Whatcom County, WA. “Mice" (Poem) and nature photos credited throughout AMMA TADDEI “Matthew | Shalom” (Historical Fiction) Amma Taddei, a substitute teacher in the local school district, grew up a missionary kid that slowly became a Bible nerd, so she's well versed in culture and art. She dabbles in written and visual art and leads a faith-based creative Instagram account focused on sharing her work, sharing others' work through different projects, and building community and connecting authentically with fellow creatives from around the globe. ALI NOËL 73
“Come In, Sit” (Poem & Linocut) DOUGLAS GATES I live and work in Boise, Idaho. I mow lawns by day and do nonprofit work and write poetry in my spare time. I also like traveling as much as possible. “Easter 2” (Poem) Danica was born and raised in South Africa where she was, above all else, inspired. Left to grow amongst weeds, horses, chickens and mud, her quirks come barely as a surprise. She loves banter, spontaneity, and just about anything creative. She enjoys a variety of pursuits including dancing, singing, playing violin, beadwork, painting, hosting parties, writing, and managing her family’s business. Seeking Jesus in all things has become her obsession and, as much of her writing reflects, she finds Him in solitude and nature. ELIZABETH HIGBEE Elizabeth Higbee lives on a burgeoning homestead in northwest Oregon with her husband, four kids and a variety of sheep, goats, cats and chickens. “The Adventures of Howard and Rosie” (Short story) and “May His Abundance Never Scare You” (Nonfiction) ELISABETH MOODY “The Small Shift” (Poem) Raised in Appalachia, Elisabeth is now deeply rooted in the Pacific Northwest. She is a writer, teacher, listener, and asker of thoughtful questions. As a beholder of beauty in story or art, you can often find her with a memoir or children's picture book in hand. Elisabeth is a placemaker for her husband, four children, and their yellow labrador retriever. DANICA STEENKAMP
“Cat Tales Information Poets Working Group” (Fiction) EMILY HOLDEN I live in Lynden, WA and work as a Nurse Practitioner in Bellingham. When I am not in the clinic or outside riding my bike, you may find me in my craft room creating my next batch of handmade greeting cards, or curating a variety of worship and sacred music for singing and listening. Greeting cards (Paper arts) Elizabeth Scott Tervo, a native of Boston, has lived in Bellingham since 2010; her husband is Fr. Michael Tervo of St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Church. Her publications include The Sun Does Not Shine Without You, a memoir, published in the republic of Georgia (Azri 2021), and Eve in the Time Machine, a poetry collection (Basilian Media, 2023). Her poetry and stories have appeared in Ruminate, the New Haven Review, among others, and Inscape, where she won a prize. She is the coordinator of the Doxacon Writers Group. JAKE NUCKOLLS Husband of @mrs.nuckolls, Father of 4, 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. “Mixtapes and Playlists” (Essay) and “Leaves to Roots” (Linocut, collaboration) ELIZABETH SCOTT TERVO HANNAH BERRY “Christ Meets His Mother” (Watercolor) @halibutbones_artco 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. @jacob.andrew.studio 75
“Prayers of the People” (Feature article collaboration) LAURA TRIMBLE Laura Trimble writes, bakes, and gardens in Beaverton, Oregon. She taught highschool literature in classical schools for six years before staying home to homeschool her three sons. Her poetry and prose has been published by the Rabbit Room, Calla Press, Literary Revelations, and Humane Pursuits, and appears on Instagram at @trimblepoetry. “On Saint George’s Day We Make Dandelion Wine” and “Overlays” (Poems) 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. LORNA RANDE I have had forty-five years of passionately capturing the handprint of God, through my photography. It has been my honour to capture the details in our world that “the dearest freshness of deep down things” (Gerard Manley Hopkins) would cause others to turn aside and investigate further, that they may hear God calling them by name. “Lovely” and “The Winter is Past” (Photography art) JANEL ERCHINGER-DAVIS LIZ SNELL “Prayers of the People” (Feature article collaboration) Liz Snell lives in Victoria, BC. Born and raised on Vancouver Island, she studied writing at the University of Victoria then worked and lived for seven years at Canadian L'Abri. She currently works with adults with disabilities, studies psychology, and is part of The Table, an Anglican church. Liz enjoys various creative endeavours but is perhaps most renowned for her love of puns.
“Daffodil” (Watercolor) LUCI SHAW A 1953 graduate of Wheaton College, Luci Shaw has published approximately a dozen volumes of poetry and other books, including collaborations with her longtime friend Madeleine L’Engle. She was an English language style consultant for the 1993/1994 NIV Bible translation, a founding member of Image (a Christian arts journal), and this year was a contributor to Every Moment Holy Vol III. Luci Shaw lives in Bellingham with her husband John Hoyte. “Storm/Calm” (Poem) Louisa is a 13 year old artist who enjoys reading, writing, and sketching. She loves being outside anything from a spontaneous soccer game with her brother to a wild chicken chase. She is homeschooled, so there is plenty of time for art. MARGRET NUCKOLLS Margret is a 15 year old artist from Bellingham Washington. She enjoys painting, drawing, and anything else related to art. She also loves reading and writing. “Leaves to Roots” (Acrylic & watercolor, collaboration) LOUISA NUCKOLLS MADELYN STONEY “The Great Expanse of White” (Poem) and “The Art of No Compromise” (Essay) 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. 77
PHOEBE ROSENBURG Phoebe is in fourth grade. She lives in a house with her mom, dad, three sisters, three cats, and her dog. She likes to make crafts, and she loves linocut so much she’s even teaching her mom and sister how to do it. “Moth” (Linocut) TERRY HARRIS “Rain” and “The Seed Planter” (Poems) authorterryharris.com 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. 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." “Wide-Eyed” (Art & Poem) stiraboutstudio.com | @marymoorerabb 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. “Chickadee” (Linocut) and “How I Learned to Love Love Stories” (Essay) thearosenburg.com | littlebookbigstory.com
“Prayers of the People” (Feature article collaboration), author profile, and “I See Love” (monologue) ULIANA AKULENKO Uliana is very grateful to be creating and teaching in beautiful Vancouver, BC. She loves words even if they elude her at times, and she loves all manner of arting and crafting though she says she eludes it sometimes. Most of all she loves Jesus because He never hides his face (except for when he plays hide and seek). “Skies” and “Love” (Poems) 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. TIFFANY HOLDEN VANESSA ANN VIS “Seeding” (Poem) If given mental space, I am often floating in world of ideas and words. Lines compose, seed themes root, nestling and unfurling until they bloom into written composition. I am a daughter of the Great Storyteller, a wife, and mother. My world revolves around my immediate nest of four earthside children. As a lover of beauty and truth, I aspire to share my Creator with my family and inspire them to catch the wonder and allure of His work. While I may wish to live in my mental world, you will usually find me keeping house, teaching, working, and caring for my home and family. When I am gifted the opportunity of time or an idea simply cannot wait, I write the notes thrumming my heart. @thehobbitholden | iorganizedthat.com 79
LINDSAY OPETRIE 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. MARY MOORE RABB Cover Art. (Detail - full piece can been seen on page 71) I’m so incredibly thankful for Lindsay’s work on this new edition. She kept this project on track, and stayed positive, proactive, and always cheerful. I’m thankful to have her on the team, not only as a professional with an observant eye, but also a kind reader, graceful commentator, and dear friend. Thank you Lindsay! Mary Moore - it’s a pleasure to know you. Thank you for sharing your gorgeous artwork and hospitable soul, both in this magazine and at multiple events this Storyboard event season. The Crew TIFFANY HOLDEN General Editor Once again, it has been a privilege to collect pieces from Christian creatives around the Pacific NW and put them into one volume. We had a large number of returning contributors, and several who are brand new to the Storyboard world! Thank you to each of you for sharing your work.
About Storyboard Storyboard is a community that connects Christian creatives of the Pacific Northwest through collaborative projects and in-person events. Behind the name: 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. Stir Imaginations printing workshop as part of the EMH Vol III. event Linocut print by MaryMoore Rabb, at the Winter Festival. 81
This digital magazine release is the final ‘official’ event of the first ‘official’ Storyboard season (around here, ‘official’ is meant in a very loose sense of the word. But on this first season closure, I’m taking the opportunity to write a summary of what has brought us here, so that the story of Storyboard isn’t left to fickle memory and a too-lengthy Instagram history. Storyboard: the Community found its initial inspiration in October of 2021, when I spent two days sewing on the floor of my dining room while listening to presentation after presentation from artists, musicians and writers. This was Hutchmoot: Homebound, a virtual Christian arts conference produced by the Rabbit Room. The next year, Hutchmoot returned to in-person only, and while thousands of us mourned the impossibility of all converging on one church in Franklin, Tennessee, the question grew: could something like this be done in Bellingham? Addendum (Reflection) September 2023 Meetup; artwork by Pam Holladay So into Google Docs I went, and emerged a few days later with a 15-page hypothetical planning document for creating a PNW-flavored Christian arts conference. (Not an aspirational project at all, right?) On February 7, 2023, the Storyboard social media launched and people started following along, slowly at first. The website was published in August, and the concept had been out in the world a full six months - but still “nothing” had happened except a failed attempt at a summer meetup. Except that I was finding new friends who had cherished a similar vision. Chats on the side of a dance floor or over drinks at the Temple Bar explored the could-bes and what-ifs of the idea. Charcuterie on a deck overlooking Bellingham Bay sparked an Every Moment Holy Vol. III launch party featuring regional contributors - and maybe we could frame it as a Storyboard event. And then, the first event in September - would people want to come to a no-name, admittedly rather vague, “meetup for Christian creatives” in a small town? Well, it seemed 25 or so would. We listened to harp, banjo and guitar music, poetry and essays, tried linocut printing, and viewed a pop-up art gallery of works that walked in with our guests.
November 11 was a red-letter day. Local EMH contributors welcomed nearly a hundred guests at two special events, and in an incredible turn of events, the book’s author and illustrator flew in from across the country to join us. Soon after that, the first Storyboard Magazine came out, with 100 pages of regionally-contributed poetry, essays, and works of art. And then came December. A Storyboard friend wrote themed Advent reflections, and several others sent in their works to share in the weeks leading up to Christmas. January saw the launch of The Steeping, a 3-part winter writers’ night series. While the groups were small and varied from month to month, each event had something special for those in attendance and I treasured witnessing and being part of those discussions. In February, we produced our largest and most ambitious project yet - a Narnia November 2023 EMH Vol. III Launch Party themed family arts festival that welcomed about 150 guests to create art, shoot bows and arrows, and listen to music and theatre selections inspired by The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. From the costumed characters to the cheery folks manning the booths and performing in the program to the friends who tirelessly coordinated, sponsored, supported, and cleaned up afterwards, the Storyboard community gave an incredible gift to our community - and two months later, we’re still hearing about it from our guests. February 2024 Winter Festival (photo by Lorna Rande) 83
And finally, our Easter social media series and the Spring Magazine - another collection of works from you, this time focusing on the hope of spring and the pain and beauty of Holy Week. And here I sit, in a classic PNW coffee shop, typing on a classic PNW-officeworker MacBook, so incredibly grateful for each person who has made this creative experiment the enriching and FUN time it has been. Every single Storyboard event is what it is only because of the people who are there. The friends who offer to teach, to host, or to share their art and works in progress. The tentative newcomer who brings a poem they’re willing to read to a group of strangers. The out-of-state contributor who emails in poetry along with a note saying they’ve long desired an outlet for Christian creativity in our region. The people who step into Narnia and welcome dozens of children to explore the Deep Magic. The new guest who attends tentatively, and then says later, “you are my kind of people”. Storyboard isn’t and will never be simply an “arts club”. We delight in our creative work, we are grateful for our community, but we do not worship it. We are Christians - image-bearers humbly working out the gifts God has given us, with praise to His name, and His name alone. Thank you for joining us during the first season of Storyboard: the Community. I’m so glad you’re here. ~Tiffany Fall Meetup prep Fall Magazine; cover photo by Cheryl Grey Bostrom
photo: Tiffany Holden 9