Blanketed

Note: The following is an edited version of a fiction story I wrote on February 20, 2025, in 10 minutes, using the one-word prompt ("blanket") I was given.

The photo was taken in 2005 at Montecito Lodge in the Giant Sequoia National Forest in California. Although the details in the photo don't align with every detail in the story, I'm posting it anyway because it's a photo I enjoy seeing again and again.

Fluffy snowflakes float effortlessly toward the ground. As the hours pass, accumulated snow conceals still-brown grass and shrouds limbs of leafless trees. The drab winter canvas outside disappears, hidden under a blanket of pristine snow. 

The covering will melt away as soon as temperatures rise above freezing. The world will return to its ordinary-ness, the magic of freshly fallen snow gone until another day, perhaps even another year. And I will resume my hectic schedule.

But for one day, this day, the world has been made exceptionally beautiful. So white. So quiet. So still.

I am warm and cozy inside a climate-controlled house where a furnace purrs like a contented kitten. Decaf coffee brews and drops into the carafe from which I pour a cup of comforting warmth. I lounge in my jammies and feel no need to rush off to work or do anything other than relax.

I realize I’ve been given a perfect day to curl up on the sofa beside the fireplace and cover myself with the comfy throw my neighbor gave me for Christmas. Before I reach for a nearby book, I bow my head and say, “Thank You, Father, for this unexpected—and undeserved—day of pure bliss, a day You have created, a day You have provided for me. I am awed by how You cover me with Your love even more gently and completely than You’ve covered with snow this little part of the world I call home.”

I Need Thee

 Note: I hope you enjoy this fiction story I wrote. I based it on the personal experience column I submitted for the Oct. 2021 issue of Chapel Hill News and Views magazine.

As Sharon swiped the perspiration from her face, she said, “I feel sad about all the stuff that’s going on in our world. I wonder when—or if—life will return to normal again, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do! Elaine replied.

After the two friends topped the hill on their walk around their neighborhood, Elaine recovered enough breath to continue the conversation.

“Early this morning, the words in an old hymn came to mind...the one that says, “I need Thee every hour…stay Thou nearby.”

Sharon smiled. “I love that song! I wish more people, including myself, realized that human strength and human wisdom are not adequate to deal with life’s challenges.”

      “Life is hard, isn’t it? It was hard even for the saints of old.”

Sharon stopped. Making eye contact with Elaine, she said, “Funny you should mention that. I've been thinking about Psalm 18 that my pastor read last Sunday morning. I read it again this morning in the Contemporary English Version. Just listen.”

Sharon opened up the YouVersion app on her cell phone and read verse 4: “Death had wrapped its ropes around me, and I was almost swallowed by its flooding waters.”

“Wow!” Elaine said. “As bad as things are today, I wouldn’t want to swap situations with him, would you? But…don’t keep me in suspense. What did David do?”

      “He cried out to the Lord for help! And the Lord heard David’s cries and rescued him.”

      “I imagine David was one happy man!” Elaine said, grinning at her friend.

      “Yep! But he didn’t just say, ‘Thank You very much.’ He took time to praise God. Listen to what David said in verses 30b-32: ‘You are a shield for those who run to you for help…You give me strength and guide me right.’” 

    As they started up the next hill, Elaine said, “I love stories about real people with real problems, don’t you? I learn so much from them.”

They walked on in silence for a bit. Then Elaine said, “While doing my daily Bible reading this morning, I read the 3^rd chapter of Lamentations. I can sooo relate to what the writer said.”

This time Elaine was the one who opened up YouVersion on her phone. “Listen to what he says in verses 19-24:

Just thinking of my troubles and my lonely wanderings makes me miserable. That’s all I ever think about, and I am depressed. Then I remember something that fills me with hope. The LORD’s kindness never fails! If he had not been merciful, we would have been destroyed. The LORD can always be trusted to show mercy each morning. Deep in my heart I say, “The LORD is all I need. I can depend on him!”

Sharon said, “He’s so right about that. Since we can’t stop thinking about all the stuff that’s going on, and neither could he, maybe we should do what he did. Take time out to focus on what we KNOW to be true about God and to remember how He has always helped us through our difficulties—little ones and big ones.”

When they reached Elaine’s driveway, they paused to chat a bit more, as was their custom. Sharon said, “Let’s take a minute and pray together.”

Elaine nodded. “O Father, since problems ranging from mere annoyances to major upheavals continue to plague the human race, we often feel powerless and hopeless and full of despair. But today we cry out to You as countless other people of faith have done. We say, ‘O Father, we don’t understand why certain things happen, particularly to good people and innocent children. We don’t know what to do or say to reduce suffering. We don’t know when relief may come. But we know that You know.”

Elaine paused in order to give Sharon an opportunity to pray. “O, Father, we do look to You. We cry out to You regarding the needs of others as well as our own. While we wait for You to intervene, help us to remember, with thanksgiving, the countless times when You came to our aid when we felt scared and hopeless.”

When Sharon’s voice broke, Elaine prayed while Sharon regained her composure. “Help us to quiet our anxious thoughts by recalling the promises You’ve made, including this one: ‘I am the LORD your God. I am holding your hand, so don’t be afraid. I am here to help you’ (Isaiah 41:13, CEV).

“So, Father, we will cry out to You again and again. We will believe You love us and want to help us even more than we want to help our children.

“O Father, help us to live in faith, fully assured of this truth expressed in Ephesians 3:20-21: You are indeed able to do far more than anyone can ever ask for or even imagine. Thank You, Father.”

Sharon and Elaine both said, “Amen” and hugged each other. “See you tomorrow!

As they walked toward their homes, each hummed the old song, I Need Thee Every Hour, for indeed they did need Him. Don’t we all?  

 

©2021 by Johnnie Ann Gaskill

A Chance Encounter?

Note: Another FICTION story using these words provided by one of my grandsons:

Noun-duck

Adjective-slimy

Adverb-quickly

Verb-jump

Career-seminary professor

Abstract-hope

Color-indigo

Evan eased his lanky frame onto a park bench to watch the ducks glide serenely and seemingly effortlessly across the pond. Sometimes they disappeared into the murky water and reappeared, holding a slimy “something” in their beaks. He enjoyed watching them, as well as feeling the gentle breeze rearranging his wavy hair. Being so chillaxed, he startled when someone sat down beside him. 

When he and the young woman occasionally caught each other stealing a glimpse of the other, both blushed before she looked away. But one time, she held her gaze, her blue eyes looking even bluer because of the indigo jogging suit she wore.

Smiling, she said, “Do you come here often?”

“Sure,” he said. “I work near here.”

“Where?”

“At Union Theological School.”

“ What do you do there?”

“I’m a seminary professor.”

“You can’t be," she spluttered. "You’re too young!”

He grinned. “Well, I’ve known since I was twelve that God wanted me to know His Word and teach it to others, so I just jumped right into that. After I graduated college, I enrolled at Union and did so well there that the administration asked me to serve on the faculty.”

She lowered her eyes. “I wish my path had been made that clear. I’m still struggling.”

“Have you asked God to reveal His will for your life?”

“Many times. But I’ve given up hope that He will.”

“No. No. What God said a long time ago is still true—and true for you, too.”

Sensing her eagerness to know more, Evan seized the opportunity to quote Jeremiah 29:11 to her. “For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Then Evan added, “You can be sure of that.”

“Thank you for encouraging me. Maybe even this chance meeting is part of God's good plan?”

Evan nodded. “Nothing happens by accident. God uses all our experiences for His glory and our good.”

“I have to go now,” she said, “but could we meet again to talk more about this?”

“I’m available after 3 most days—and my time is God’s time.”

“Well, how about we meet right here tomorrow at five?”

“Certainly. If you’d like, we can walk around the pond as we talk.”

Evan watched her until she disappeared from sight, confident that she, like the ducks, would reappear--which would definitely delight him.

A Tough Assignment

Notes: 

• As per my request, my 19-year-old granddaughter provided a word/phrase for each of the seven categories I sent to her. I challenged myself to use all seven in a FICTION story.

Noun: Japan 

Verb: refine

Adjective: lustrous

Adverb: safely 

Color: cherry blossom pink

Career: writer

Abstract word: justice 

• The photo is one I took years ago on a street near my house.
• The word count is much higher than in my usual posts, but I hope that won’t be a problem.
• I’d love to know what you think of the story. Please post a comment or send an email.

Valerie gasped as she did every spring when she turned onto Sunset Avenue. This IS a sight to behold. Yoshino cherry trees in full bloom stood in single file in the middle of a 20-ft.-wide grassy median that stretched as far as her eyes could see up the sloping street.  

After she parked her car—half on the street and half on the grass—she grabbed her camera and began to photograph the graceful sweep of the trees. Once she’d gotten what photographers call “environmental shots,” she stepped toward the nearest tree to photograph closeups of the blooms where buzzing bumblebees sipped sweet nectar.

The sights and sounds and a slight almond fragrance so captivated her senses that she “plumb forgot,” as her granny would say, why she had come. But when an old truck rumbled past, spoiling her sense of wonder, she returned to her car and opened her iPad to write the article assigned to her.

Unsure how to write the controversial piece, she bowed her head and whispered the words she prayed before beginning any writing assignment: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to You, Lord.”

Taking a deep breath, Valerie started typing whatever thoughts popped into her mind, knowing she’d probably have to delete most of the words and then refine—and rearrange—whatever remained. But, as a writer, she understood the value of warming up, of just beginning somewhere, of clearing a mental path for the right words needed to explain sensitive and significant matters. 

While she appreciated having a loyal following of local readers, many of whom said, “I trust you to tell the truth about what’s going on in our town,” she always felt the weight of that trust since she knew words either doused or fanned the flames of controversy. That was certainly true in this situation. 

Although everyone agreed the cherry trees were beautiful, especially during mid-March to mid-April when they bloomed profusely, the property owners on Sunset Avenue were enraged over what happened in their neighborhood during that time. Practically every resident of the city and county, as well as out-of-towners who’d heard about the trees, drove slowly up and down Sunset Avenue to take lingering looks at the beauty. Occasionally, they parked and wandered around to photograph the trees, as Valerie had done. Some parked on the edges of the lawns that bordered the avenue, which incensed the property owners. “We work hard to keep our yards pretty. We don’t want people parking on our grass—or making it hard for us to get out of our own driveways. Something has to be done!”

To deal with the complaints, the chairman of the City Council scheduled a special “open” meeting to discuss the matter. The Council expected a large crowd: angry residents eager to ban the traffic; other citizens insisting they had every right to see the annual sight. A week before the meeting, the mayor said to the newspaper editor, “Send your best writer out there to snap some pictures of the trees, to interview property owners, and to write an article that will clarify the situation.”

“Will do! Valerie is my best writer. I’ll send her.”

Valerie began with these words: “For fifty years the Yoshino cherry trees on Sunset Avenue have delighted onlookers and provided food and shade for bees, birds—like Cardinals, Cedar Wax Wings, Robins— and small mammals, just as they do in their native Japan and elsewhere. Surely, we can work together to create a win-win solution for all concerned.” 

After quoting people on both sides of the issue, she concluded the article by saying, “Why not invite onlookers to park in the city-owned strip between Town Creek and Sunset Avenue? They can easily— and safely—stroll up and down the median to enjoy the trees without being in the street or on private property. Perhaps a benefactor or one of the garden clubs could consider placing metal benches, painted cherry-blossom-pink, near the trees at the entrance to Sunset Avenue and at the top of the hill so that those who’d like to linger or rest a bit could do so.”

Pleased with her work, she pushed her lustrous black hair away from her face before heading back to the newspaper office.

“See what you think,” she said to the editor as she sat across from him. “You may have to refine it a bit, but I think it’s pretty good. I presented both sides of the issue, and I tried really hard to get some great pictures of the trees….though I’m afraid none of them do justice to the beauty of those trees.”

After reading the article, he grinned at her. “This is brilliant!”

She returned his smile. “Well, I did have a lot of help!”

“You did?”

“Yep! My Source came through once again.”

A Grateful Heart

Note; Although the following is a fiction story I wrote in 2015, its message is true: it IS possible to have a grateful heart even in trying circumstances.

As Linda Leigh sipped her morning coffee, she became increasingly aware of the birds that flew to and from the feeders outside the screened-in porch where she was sitting.

Unlike her, they seemed to be unaffected by the chilly air. They conversed with each other as happily as they had on spring mornings and balmy summer evenings when she’d listened to them as she’d sat alone in her favorite chair on the porch and sipped her hazlenut-flavored coffee.

As she enjoyed the sight and sounds of the birds, the words to a simple blessing she’d said with her third-grade students many years ago popped into her mind.

“Thank You for the world so sweet. Thank You for the food we eat. Thank You for the birds that sing. Thank You, God, for everything.”

Surprised by those long-forgotten words, Linda Leigh whispered them aloud—and realized, for the first time in over 30 years, that she felt truly thankful. With pleasure she noted that the feeling warmed her cold heart even more than the hot coffee warmed her chilly body.

Clasping the hot mug, she mused, Is it possible to give thanks for everything?

Her first response was Absolutely not! I will never be able to give thanks for the horrible things I’ve been through. Never! Never!

But as she listened to the birds, she reflected on how they chirped happily in stinging cold or sizzling heat, in pouring rain or in dazzling sunshine.

She, on the other hand, had let circumstances snatch her song from her. But as she listened to their songs and watched the energetic actions of the Chickadees, the Nuthatches, the Finches, and other birds as they flew from feeders to trees, she wondered, Will I ever be able to recapture the joy I’ve lost?

O how she wanted to feel happy and purposeful again instead of angry over and defeated by the hard blows she’d sustained. So, taking another sip of coffee, she whispered, “Thank You, God, for the warmth I feel.”

As she sat there, she spoke yet another small thanksgiving. “Thank You, God, for these quiet moments to linger here before I meet with the oncologist.”

Realizing it was time to go, she stood—and was surprised once again to hear herself whisper, “Thank You, God, for strength to stand.”

The following morning when she was sitting on her porch and sipping her coffee, her friend Marie stopped by to check on her. Linda Lee said, “Pour a cup of coffee and come out here. I have something to tell you.”

As Marie seated herself, Linda Leigh said, “The strangest thing happened to me yesterday.” After telling Marie about the blessing that had popped into her mind and how she’d surprised herself as she’d begun to whisper one-sentence thanksgivings, Linda Leigh said, “And I couldn’t stop! Throughout the day, I said things like, “Thank You, God, that I can see and smell. And hear. And taste. And feel. And Thank You, God, for money to buy the things I need.”

As sentence after sentence spilled out of her mouth, Linda Leigh noticed Marie was smiling at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I think the ice around your heart is melting,” Marie said softly.

“I believe it is!” Linda Leigh said. “I still can’t thank God for everything He’s allowed to come my way, but I can thank Him for the things He’s given me that help me get through the tough times.”

Smiling, she whispered, “Thank You, God, for a friend like Marie.”

© 2015 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill

Go In!

NOTE: The FICTION story below is a change from the kind of writing you normally find here. For an explanation...see the previous post (“Going in Circles,” posted on June 25, 2018).

I wrote the piece below while learning more about how to write “fast fiction.” As instructed, I typed the rough draft of that "short short" story in only 5 minutes and then edited it extensively before posting it here. I based the story on a photo I’d taken recently while running errands in town. (I added the word WELCOME to the photo.)

Enjoy! Please leave a comment to let me know if you like the change.

I am a black wrought iron bench with lovely designs. Day after day, I sit in front of a white marble wall and to the left of the entrance to what folks around here call Opportunity House.

Not everyone notices me. But I notice them. Some people stride confidently to the door and hurry in. Others approach Opportunity House slowly, or, I should say, timidly. Others sit on me for a few minutes to catch their breath and do some deep breathing. But they finally do go in.

Some folks linger but then leave. As I watch them walk away, their shoulders stooped, their faces dejected, and their heads bowed with shame, I feel sorry for them. I want to cry out, “Come back! Come back! Go in! If you leave now, you’ll never know what you could have been and what you could have done.”

"...be strong and courageous. 

Do not be terrified; 

do not be discouraged, 

for the LORD your God 

will be with you 

wherever you go."

Joshua 1:9, NIV

Pockets of Peace

NOTE: The story below is a fiction one I wrote in 2006. I hope you enjoy it and that you will let me know what you think of it.

A smile begins to form as I sit at the kitchen table and watch the softly-falling snow as it slowly hides the brown earth underneath a blanket of white. A soothing calm settles over me as I gaze at the beauty outside my window.

I linger over my morning coffee, reluctant to focus on the bitter realities of the day. My health is failing fast, as fast as early morning frost disappears under the rays of a rising sun. My daughter Dianne and her family no longer live nearby. Though they had to move across the country to find work, I miss them terribly. And I need them more than ever, now that the man who has been the love of my life for 55 years is slipping away from me, too. Alzheimer’s, the doctor says. Some days, he knows who I am. Other days, he looks at me as if I’m someone he’s supposed to know but doesn’t.

Here lately, my spirit feels as cold as my body did during the harsh winters my parents and I lived in a ramshackle farmhouse heated by a drafty fireplace in the living room and a wood-burning stove in the kitchen.

But, I say to myself as I sip the last of my coffee, we survived those bone-chilling days. By the grace of God, I’ll get through these difficult days, too. I may not be “at ease” every day, but I know I’ll have the strength and resources I need to get through this tough time.

I become even more convinced of that as I recall what happened yesterday. The doorbell rang around 8 a.m. When I peeped through the mini-blinds on the kitchen door, I saw Nancy, one of Dianne’s dearest friends. “My goodness!” I gasped, holding the door wide open. “What on earth do you have?”

“Just a little bit of Christmas cheer,” she said, juggling her festive load as she stepped inside.

Within minutes, she’d placed a miniature Christmas tree on the breakfast table and had unwrapped plates of food that looked more delicious than any I’d seen in magazines.

“Now, for the gifts,” she said cheerily, handing two packages to me. “Let’s get Tom so he can enjoy this, too.”

       

We found him sitting in his recliner facing the picture window, gazing out at the falling snow, his eyes as blank as an unpainted canvas.

       

“Honey,” I said, “come and see what Nancy brought us.”

       

He followed me, his steps (and mine) unsteady and slow. As we seated ourselves at the table, Nancy warmed our food in the microwave oven. “I thought you two would be up and around,” she said. “So, I rushed over to start Christmas day off just right for you.”

       

Other friends dropped by later, bringing gifts and offers of help for Tom and me. One neighbor promised to cut our grass next summer. Another said, “I’ll take you to the doctor whenever you need to go.” The young mother who lives four doors down said, “I’ll deliver your groceries.”

       

So, as I sit here today, I’m greatly comforted by their expressions of love and offers of help. I realize such kindnesses can’t remove my difficulties. But, like the snowflakes drifting down one by one and covering the bleakness of the winter landscape, accumulated kindnesses will mask my hardships—for brief periods, providing me with welcomed pockets of peace like this one.

Well-Crafted Stories

When a friend asked me to read the first three chapters (and the synopsis) of a fiction book she was writing, I gladly agreed. One morning I curled up with the 40+ pages and enjoyed a “good read.” Because I liked the two main characters she’d created and cheered for them as they grappled with painful emotions of the present (and the past), I was sorry when I reached the end of chapter three. I wanted MORE details about about how they’d find the true bliss I knew (from reading the synopsis) the author had planned for them. 

As I read my friend’s book, I recalled how much I’d enjoyed my few (and feeble) attempts at writing fiction. It’s really fun to bring characters to life and to choose what happens to them. I do a similar kind of thing when I create images with my camera. I get to choose what goes into the frame—and what doesn't.

God does that same kind of thing—only in a far, far greater way. As Max Lucado points out in his excellent book, When God’s Story Becomes Your Story, each life is “a crafted narrative written by a good God who is working toward your supreme good.”

God’s already written the book of my life—and yours, Dear Reader! We’ll just have to wait to “read” the remaining chapters!