A day on two wheels

I rode 100 miles on my Bicycle today. If you have ever done so yourself you probably understand what that entails and what I am feeling right now. However, for the majority who have not had the privilege of such an experience, let me tell you how it went down...

6:15 AM. Out of bed, slowly. 3 and 3/4 hours is not enough sleep for one night...

8:10 AM. Arrive in Georgetown where the Horsey Hundred ride started. Realized I left my tire pump at home. Borrowing one, I prepare to start. A hundred or so of the day's 2000-ish riders mill around the starting point as I arrive to look for my friend Steve who is meeting me there. I find him by spotting his bright orange tube socks...Don't ask. Well, ok, since you insist on knowing why he was wearing bright orange tube socks on a bicycle ride-he was using them, along with a T-shirt to promote the fundraiser he was helping with.

8:30 AM. We start riding, He on his Orange Trek with aero bars and me on my gray Independent Fabrications Club Racer with my pannier rack bag full of energy food and repair tools-just in case.

9:05 AM. About 10 miles into the ride I strike up a conversation with Katrina, a girl from Dayton, Ohio who has driven down each of the last 5 years to do this ride. She is a fast, competitive rider and is a little frustrated with her friend she brought with her...her friend is not fast. :(

9:20 AM. Steve and I tag in with a group of about 15 riders who are riding together. Riding together like this allows us to go faster, as leaders of the pack can rotate, permitting those in the rear the benefit of riding in their wake, so to speak. This is called drafting, it is easier to ride behind another rider-there is less wind resistance. We ride with this group for about 15 miles.

9:46 AM. I meet Keith, a ride leader for the Bluegrass Cycling Club. He is a mustachioed, muscular character who organizes 2-3 rides per week with the club. He was wise enough to wear a cloth skullcap under his helmet. I would later wish for one myself as sweat drizzled down into my eyes from under my own protective covering.

10:15 AM. Steve and I leave rest stop #2 ahead of the group thinking they will catch up to us soon. They never really do, leaving us riding more on our own from about mile 38 on. I guess that means we were going fast though, right?

11:02 AM. The hills begin. The ride was fairly flat up to this point, but NO MORE! Now hill after hill roll under our tires like waves. Unfortunately, it did not feel as effortless as waves always appear. We had to work for our hills, climb by climb, one pedal stroke at a time--much to the chagrin of my buddy Steve :)

11:24 AM. Leaving the last pre-lunch rest stop at mile point 46 we see Keith and his group entering the rest area as we leave. Slowpokes! :)
Also at this rest stop I noticed a very impressive individual. A man of approximately 55 years with a prosthetic leg, riding his bike...fast! I stand in amazement of his fortitude.

12:09 PM. Mile 55. After passing the Lexington airport, we ride on Man O War to arrive at Keeneland, our lunch stop. I eat my Peanut Butter sandwiches while admiring the 500+ beautiful, two wheeled machines lined up against the fences and under the trees. After about 15 minutes to eat we roll on. Too much of a break would make our muscles sore and stiff. Er..sorer and stiffer.

12:36 PM. Our muscles tell us to go back to lunch again.

1:07 PM. At mile 68 Steve begins to wish he had taken the mile point 65 turn off which would have allowed him to finish the ride at 73 miles instead of 102...
We are both feeling each of the 68 miles in our legs, backs, necks...all over really :)

1:49 PM. Steve and I have been talking of teaching, school, triathlons, basketball and many other things, getting to know one another better. We only met 6 days ago actually, through a mutual cycling friend.

2:15 PM. Steve is tiring and tells me I should go on ahead. He has many other cyclists passing and riding near to keep him company. We are at mile point 73 more or less.

2:30 PM. At mile 76 I finally follow Steve's advice, planning to wait for him at the rest stop at mile 81. Upon arrival, I am exhausted. I pushed myself hard those 5 miles and it was pretty hilly. I fill water bottles and wait in the shade for Steve.

2:40 PM. Afraid Steve may have passed by the rest stop, I decide to head on the the finish point to meet him.

2:45 PM. I hurt.

2:46 PM. I hurt BAD! Not only that I can't seem to ride very quickly...what is the deal? It's like I have already ridden 80 miles or something.

3:15 PM. At mile 89 it begins to rain. I welcome this for the cool wetness :) You know how rain is. It felt great!

3:17 PM. My socks and shoes are soaked.

3:18 PM. I realize the rain has frozen up my cyclecomputer...it stops recording my mileage. Sad day. I must now motivate myself by something besides the numbers on the screen...no more average speed, current speed, nothing. Just zeros :(

3:27 PM. I use other riders as my motivation. I see one ahead in a yellow jersey, I must catch up! There is another beyond now, in orange. They become my new goal. I am plagued by a group of four guys behind me too, I must not let them catch up :)
I pedal on, unsure how fast I am going. I think I am going slowly...

3:50 PM. I know I must be nearing the end as I pass and am passed (more of the latter) other riders in the final miles. That one pesky guy in the white jersey, I have been completely unable to catch him, he is too fast!

3:55 PM. Finally I enter town again, back in Georgetown at last! I follow the riders ahead to the ending point at the college campus. I find myself at my car, lying in the back seat. I am sweaty, covered in gross old sunscreen, and dead beat tired. I want a shower.

4:00 PM. I reconnect with Steve, who it turns out was only a couple minutes behind me since the rest stop at mile 81. I meet his friends who did the 50 mile ride decked out in their own orange tube socks.

I am too tired to look at the vendor booths selling cycling gear and food, I am too tired to talk intelligently with Steve and his friends. I do not want any of the whole barbecued pig that is available for riders. I want to go home.

I do so.

One day, one hundred miles, two wheels. Fun? You bet!

Results:

Sunburn, 5% of my body
Sore Muscles, 68% of them
Tired, 90% of me
Stronger than before the ride? Yes
Thinking other people should try this at home? Definitely (after proper training)
Looking forward to next time? Expectantly!
Going to bed now? As soon as possible!

In Truth,
Stephen

Playing It Unsafe, Chapter 3

Playing It Unsafe

Installment 3

Here is the last section, finishing out the story...to see the first two sections, look back at the previous posts :)

His sword hit the ground first, digging into the surface of the battlefield. As it swayed softly, hilt upright it seemed to represent Pwan’s surrender of all that he valued; the comfortable, leather-wrapped handle of control and the sharp blade of vengeance, intersected in a cross-like fashion by the protective hand guard. The shield, the helmet, breastplate and armored collar followed in quick succession, each resounding with commitment as it struck the surface of a black or white square behind Pwan. He could feel the difference as he moved. Lightened from the heavy encumbrances his steps quickened; walk to a jog, then running outright.

Though still unsure why he was running, Pwan felt certain he was doing the right thing. He could feel the joy of the King in seeing him obey and heard the cheers from his friends, urging him on. They seemed to want him to succeed, but what was his goal? All he saw ahead after a few more squares of field was the edge; the end of the world as he knew it and in the enemy territory to boot. Pwan wasn’t fooling himself, he knew Pawns can’t go back-he could end up pinned by the edge in the very heartland of the opponent’s power.

Inexplicably, his enemies did not seem to want him to get there. He could read surprise and perhaps fear in the eyes of the first ones he passed. As soon as they could react they began chasing him. He saw the Knight who had captured the Queen up ahead. He was cutting a corner, heading to intersect Pwan’s course. It looked like Pwan’s run would end there, at the point of the Knight’s spear. Why hadn’t he brought his sword? At least he could have put up a fight with it, now he would just be taken shamefully with no struggle. He had no time to stop, no space to reconsider, and could still feel the King, willing him forward into the very path of the dark horseman.

At the last second a friend appeared out of nowhere. Flying past Pwan like a kite before a living wind was the white Bishop freed earlier by the Queen’s heroism. He moved in to threaten the enemy King, distracting the Knight just long enough for Pwan to get by. The Bishop forced the Knight to fight him in order to protect his own dark leader, thereby freeing the way for the little runner. He was sacrificing himself to help Pwan succeed!

Though not understanding much of what was going on around him, unaware that threatening forces were closing rapidly around his King, and with no idea of what he was going to do, Pwan was yet very aware that for some reason he must reach the far edge of the field. With the Knight out of the way he was closing fast, tears of joy streaming down his face, hardly able to believe he had made it this far.

Suddenly, there he was. Pwan slid to a stop in the very last square, panting, exhausted in every way. He had made it! His joy, though, was dampened by the unknown. What came next, now that he was here? He only had a moment to wonder before something happened that he never would have believed. Pwan had his first encounter with something from outside his checked field of experience. Someone was speaking, it seemed. Speaking to him!

“Is it your wish, Pawn, to give yourself up to ransom another prisoner?”

It is an ancient, primal law that provides this ability of transfer to the Pawns. Though the weakest of the warriors, they may yet become the most powerful through an act of chosen surrender, forcing the release of another prisoner captured in battle. They must go to the enemy stronghold, up to the very gates of the prison containing those taken in the combat and demand the exchange. It was this power, this timeless right that Pwan’s opponents had feared when they saw him dash for the edge of the field, toward their stronghold and prison gate. They feared him because he ran with abandon, holding nothing back. They feared him because they understood the inherent power that grows from acts of complete surrender. They feared him still, waiting breathless and silent for his decision. Would he follow through with the surrender of the very last thing he had, his freedom?

For Pwan, the decision seemed less difficult than his enemies supposed. His real choice had been made back on the battlefield when he dropped his weapons and set out on this all or nothing journey. It had been there that he had chosen surrender, giving up his own freedom and safety, trusting his leader. This now was simply an extension of that choice already made to follow the directions from his King. But that was not the half of it. One thing was going through Pwan’s mind as he stood there looking into his future, deciding what it should be. He could see clearly in his mind the lighted fire of love and concern he had seen earlier in the concentrated eye of the King as he had watched his Queen. He remembered, too, the Queen’s heroic, sacrificial rescue that led to her capture, and he knew what his choice must be.

As he spoke, Pwan’s voice held a new quality of confidence, illustrating the certainty he now had in the truth of what he was doing. No more questions remained, and no hesitation. Fearless and clear, his voice cut through the expectant silence that was holding the battle in breathless anticipation.

“Yes” he said “I want to give up myself to redeem the Queen!”

Afterward

The Queen’s reentry into the battle upset the balance of power and changed the momentum of action. She was so near the black King and was able to work together with Battlebar to affect a swift victory for the White army. Other soldiers helped too, of course. The Knight had a critical role in finishing the opponent and even Panzi did his part by helping block the Black Queen from reaching the action until it was all over.

The King and Queen were ever grateful to Pwan for his willingness to do the unthinkable in the face of danger. He, a mere Pawn, had made the deciding move that had saved their army and their people from certain disaster. It was his willingness to abandon his own desire for security, vengeance and personal glory that enabled him to choose the path of true glory in surrender.

Panzi was never the same again after that battle. The lessons he had learned about trust and attitude helped him become one of the most positive coaches for new Pawns the army had ever seen. He would regale the new recruits with humorous stories of days gone by and inspire them by recounting the story of Pwan the Valliant, the Pawn who had given up all thoughts for himself and run desperately through dangerous enemy territory to purposely force them to put him into prison. He would tell them all about how the battle worked, introduce them to the other troops and impress them with the idea that no matter what all they should always trust the King.

Battlebar, for his part in the victory, was nominated for the Brick and Stone Wall of Fame, a prestigious honor for any Rook. Upon receiving the placement, he was also given a new, improved outer wall using an upgraded type of brick, stronger and more durable. This wall proved to be a valuable addition, saving his life in a battle about six months later.

The Knight was promoted to the position of Lord Protector for the royal family and became famous for his wisdom and good counsel. He was eventually able to develop his own army, and as a King used his abilities of discernment and care for others to win great victories for the cause of truth and justice.

Pwan and Dreem got to reconnect in prison. Dreem had been able to learn much more about the things beyond the field, and they discussed his ideas to some length. They began to see their own lives on the field in a different perspective based on the larger reality. But that is another story for another time.

Upon their release from prison after the battle, Pwan was hailed a hero. He was praised and decorated, even given a gift by the FOP (Fraternal Order of Pawns). They had made him a walnut carving of his sword, rising cross-like from the surface of the battlefield where he had left it. He couldn’t quite say that he didn’t enjoy the attention for a short time, though his sacrifice soon faded into the story book of recent history, all but forgotten even by those who had lived through it. Attentions turned to newer things, newer people, but it mattered little to Pwan. He had a much more permanent motivation for his feelings of satisfaction in the part he had played. He knew he had given his all for a good cause. Unnecessary were the momentary cheers or praises of a crowd. Pwan knew he had obeyed his King and done what he needed to do. Awards were temporary, but he would always carry with him the lessons learned through surrender.

Symbolism and Notes

The names of the pawns are significant.

Pwan: Obviously a simple variant of Pawn, reinforcing his role as weak follower.

Panzi: (Pansy) relates to his fear and doubts about the King

Dreem: (Dream) points to his visionary role. He is the idealist who dies young…

Some may interpret the King as filling a God Role. That can work, and certainly there are elements of this. He could also in many ways be an earthly authority. Because of the unmentioned Chess player element, the King would not truly be in control, though he functions that way as far as the story is concerned. Certainly, the King communicates with his soldiers in a mystical, almost God-like way.

The ‘reality beyond’ that Dreem introduced; the world outside the chessboard represents the spiritual world, a reality we often overlook.

Pwan is part of the white (good) army vs the black (evil) army in the chess game.

At the moment where Pwan decisively surrenders, his sword becomes a cross symbol. This recalls Christ’s surrender on the cross in a subtle way while yet remaining very connected to the issues facing Pwan: Control, Vengeance and Security.

Beyond this there are many other ideas influencing this story. I have also attempted to include some elements and issues in the story that actually occur in our lives. Some examples are:

--Dealing with the ‘meaningless’ loss of a friend

--Lack of trust in a parent or authority figure is often a result of a weak relationship with them

--The question of where and how we place blame

--The difficulty of letting God work in his timing often creates impatience

--Vengeance

--Can we trust God even when we can’t see what’s going on

--Surrender to God’s will, regardless of personal comfort

--The Power of self sacrifice

Well, that is it! I wrote this story for a class called Narratives and Ideologies of Hollywood, where we studied story structure and writing techniques among many other things. Then, we put it into practice :) I hope you will comment and tell me what you think!

Thanks-

In Truth,

Stephen

Playing It Unsafe, Chapter 2

Playing it Unsafe
A pawn learns about the power of surrender

Continued...If you haven't yet, read the previous post to see the first part of this story :)

Pwan looked to the King but his lips hadn’t moved. Had he heard right? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go of course; Pwan was ready. He wanted to do something valuable, meaningful, something for Dreem. Pwan didn’t wait to be told again, he moved.
Up a space, forward another space, Pwan moved as quickly as he could. “Finally I get to do something,” he thought to himself. Unsure of how far to advance, Pwan stopped in a square next to another Pawn. It turned out to be his old companion, Panzi.
“Panzi, isn’t this great?” Pwan began. “We finally get to fight.”
“Oh, shur ‘tiz buddy” Panzi retorted with a tinge of sarcasm. “We don’t seem to be doin’ much help though, jus’ sittin’ here in th’ middle of the field, you know? Least it wuz safer further back-where the King’z at now.”
“Speaking of which, I think you are wrong about the King, Panzi” Pwan commented thoughtfully. “He really does care about each of us--you can see it in his face if you get up close.”
“Hmph! Ah’ll believe it when I sees it, that’s all.”
At that juncture, a Pawn stepped toward them from the ranks of the darker colored pieces across the way. Though still too distant for Pwan to make out his facial expression in detail, he had an impression that it was ugly and threatening. Here was a member of the group that had taken his friend; that was opposing his King and threatening his own safety. He was ready for the moment, prepared to show the world what he, Pwan, could do. He was ready to fight fiercely, full of the courage only love or hate can give.
Pwan turned to Panzi to tell him the strategy, but stopped short. Panzi himself had stopped short of all activity or movement, frozen in fear. Towering above him on the other side from Pwan was a literal tower of stone and brickwork. A veritable powerhouse of force it stood, its frowning parapets lined with weapons and rusty chains, ready for prisoners. If they had thought Battlebar Rook was fierce, the enemy seemed fiercer and stronger and bigger, blotting out the friendly sun with it’s grimly threatening shadow. The hysterical look on Panzi’s face told all he felt at that moment. His time had come and he knew it. All his bitterness and cynicism had taken flight, leaving only a heart full of stark terror in the face of certain doom.
Oddly though, instead of making a move, the Rook just sat there. All four eyes peeled, the pawns watched for any movement of the studded gates or iron-wrought window shutters. Nothing happened, the castle just sat there. Their eyes closely followed every pointed arrow or javelin tip visible in the turrets of stone, watching for an attack. Still nothing happened, the fortress just sat there and then…then it…just moved away. The Pawns looked at one another, disbelief reflecting disbelief in their wide eyes. What had just happened?
“Why’d ‘e leave?” gasped Panzi “he could’a captured me straight up!”
“I’ve no idea” answered Pwan, just as surprised.
“Itz like somebody has got to watchin’ out fer me…” the old soldier continued almost in a whisper.
Pwan’s concentration on his friend was interrupted when he suddenly noticed the enemy Pawn advancing again in the next row over. “Perfect positioning, Pwan-good job” he told himself while taking leave of his friend. The positioning was just right, the angles between himself and the other pawn were perfect for his most powerful attack moves. He counted spaces, calculated distance, evaluating the enemy’s approach with a knowing air. He tried not to notice his opponent’s face, which somehow didn’t seem as frightful or evil as he had imagined now that it was close enough for him to make out the emotions of its hesitant expression. Instead he focused on the movements, the spacing and the ever narrowing space between his enemy and his own prepared position. In his mind he could almost hear the songs and stories of this heroic battle being sung and retold across the battlefields of the future, the exploits of Pwan the Valliant inspiring countless other Pawns and perhaps even a Bishop or two to similar feats of courage and strength.
As the opponent drew near, Pwan pretended not to notice. With exaggerated actions he scanned the far horizon in the other direction, as if completely unaware of the presence of his foe. Yet from the corner of his eye he traced every curve of the grain of his enemy’s wooden construction and every movement he made. At just the right moment he sprang forward for the capture, all his strength and skill combined in a single gesture of confrontation. Success! The thrill of victory filled every fiber of Pwan’s being with an excitement he couldn’t begin to describe. He felt powerful, exultant in his strength, satisfied in his enemy’s downfall; a vengeance sweet as honey, giving him a heady sensation of capability and of fierce loyalty to his friend. It has been said, though, that even the delightful sweetness of honey is not sufficient to make up for the agony of eating too much of it. Pwan, flushed and over-full of the excitement of victory began to feel the inner agony immediately.
It was his own mistake, really. He looked at the face of the prisoner being led away, the defeated Pawn taken by surprise by his own move. He did not see a face of anger or evil, of hatred toward the world of good as he might have expected. No, the eyes that looked back into his own seemed to Pwan like the innocent, thoughtful eyes of Dreem, confused by what had just happened. That look of question from the prisoner on his way off the field left Pwan feeling as if he had just collided with a Rook. The sweetness was gone, replaced by an inner numbness and vacancy. What had he done? What were his own victim’s friends even now thinking of him? How could his actions be any better than those of his enemies?
The Queen moved past Pwan just then, awakening him from his guilt-ridden reverie. Looking up he saw her disappear in the direction of the enemy lines. She was always busy, powerful and confident. The mainstay of the army, she was the right-hand woman to the King, helping project his power across the board, encouraging and leading the troops. Consequently, she was always a great target for the enemy; she had to watch herself wherever she went. The opposing King was always trying to mastermind her capture.
Panzi moved up to join Pwan just then, followed shortly by a Knight, the very same gallant horseman who had disappeared earlier at the King’s bidding.
“Pwaun!” exclaimed the older pawn excitedly. “You’s never gonna guess what wuz up w’that thar Castle, b’lieve me.”
“Why, what happened?” Pwan wondered.
“This here Knight wuz jest a’sittin over yonder guarding me on account of the King’s very orders. We didn’t note him, but th’ Castle seed ‘im alright. That’s why he didn’t ‘tack us. I s’ppose you was right ‘bout the King, he does care!”
“That is correct” Interjected the Knight. “I was commissioned by the King to protect you two during your advance. He told me to keep you all safe.”
“Wait” Pwan interrupted “you mean the King was telling you where to move the whole time? How do you hear him? How can I hear him?”
“You must listen” responded the Knight with a smile “and not simply do whatever you personally want.”
Pwan felt pretty sheepish after his recent experience doing what he wanted with the enemy Pawn, but didn’t say anything about it to his companions.
“Look around you” encouraged the horseman, “watch how the battle is going. You must learn to focus on things besides your own desires. See what needs to happen for us to achieve victory and try to hear the King’s directions.”
“Thanks for the advice” Pwan responded thoughtfully. “I’ll try that.”
The realization that the King was watching out for them and would direct their moves throughout the battle gave the pawns a new perspective on their whole situation. As the Knight moved off, their eyes were opened to what was happening around them, to look for the piece behind the piece, for who was protecting whom. They noticed a Bishop ahead who was in a tight spot, indeed. Threatened menacingly by a Rook from one side, and a pawn from another, yet unable to move for fear of placing his own King in danger, the poor fellow was rather pinned down.
To and fro across the field Pwan looked to see who could help the Bishop, knowing that he himself was much too distant to intervene. The protector Knight he could see, but he was between Panzi and another advanced Pawn position, protecting them both; he couldn’t move. There was Battlebar a few spaces over, but too busy maneuvering to front an offensive that could hopefully put some pressure on the defensive position of the enemy King. Many of his fellow pawns were gone, captured already by the opponents. He saw few other soldiers from his army anywhere, perhaps another Rook in the far corner, but he was unsure. It seemed that all his own army’s soldiers were in tough positions, holding the line against an advancing enemy. It was a grim outlook.
Suddenly, Pwan realized he had overlooked the Queen. She entered the picture now, sliding between two enemy pieces, her eyes blazing with energy. Quick, quick as the light itself when it had entered to awaken Pwan before the battle started, she came. Before the enemy fortress had time to react, to close his gates or prepare defense against her, she had him captured. What a move! What a capture! Only a Queen as brave and strong as she could have done it, Pwan was certain.
A collective sigh of relief rose from the white army, and especially from the Bishop who had been rescued. Perhaps the tide would turn. A Rook had been captured, that was something. The Queen seemed perfectly positioned behind enemy lines to weaken their defenses and threaten the King, coordinating with Battlebar in his efforts. The opposing Queen was safely out of the way, in a far corner of the field. Everything seemed to have changed and each soldier was ready to do his part to keep the momentum rolling. Pwan and Panzi exchanged excited glances; sure they would soon be part of a victorious army. Pwan tried to think about what he needed to do, just like the Knight had told him. “How could he help achieve victory?”
“Hold up, what’s ‘at?” asked Panzi suddenly.
The fear in his voice froze the confident smile on Pwan’s face. As he followed Panzi’s gaze, what he saw killed the smile; their heroic Queen was in a trap. Pwan never figured out whether the enemy King had planned the whole thing that way or whether he just noticed an opportunity after she moved, but it mattered little. Right now she was in harm’s way and no one could move fast enough to help her. From behind a cluster of dusky Pawns there suddenly appeared a black horse and rider, full and heavy with darkly armored plates. The snort of the charger, the jingle of the spurs and the thunder of the hooves seemed to reach the pawns as disconnected sounds. Somehow, they couldn’t be related to the sight of the dark Knight closing the space between their Queen and the point of his jagged lance. It was an inconceivable reality for the friends, definitely a sight Pwan wished not to behold, but he was wholly incapable of peeling his eyes away from the action.
The worst part about the whole situation was the cheering. The enemies were so happy about the capture, jubilant and scornful in their rejoicing. Pwan wanted to personally fill each laughing mouth with fine sawdust and sharp wood splinters, they were so obnoxious. Something would have to be done; in fact he would have to do something.
“I know we can’t win now” Pwan thought. “There’s no way without the Queen. But at least I can teach some of those pompous windbags a lesson they won’t forget!”
“Don’t you remember” he asked, turning to Panzi “how the King loved the Queen? He must be so angry right now too. We’ve got to show these guys they can’t mess with her and get away with it!”
“I’m with ya thar pal” Panzi responded “though I s’pose we’d best mind what all that Knight sed, r‘member?”
“Oh yeah…” Pwan’s mind stopped short in its plans of retribution. With Panzi’s comment he suddenly realized the similarity of this to the situation with Dreem. What had the Knight said, anyway, something about listening to the King’s voice for direction? That sounded right, but could it actually work?
Pwan tried to listen, though at first he found himself distracted by the clockwork movements around him. Every enemy piece seemed to be working together in a coordinated plan, advancing steadily. Though the loss of the Rook had interrupted their momentum, Pwan had the impression that they were better organized now than ever before. A row of Pawns marching here, a Bishop sailing by there, everywhere there were dark, shadowy soldiers on the offensive.
“I am supposed to be listening for the King” Pwan reminded himself, guiltily. He bent his mind to listen, to hear what he could not hear. He looked for opportunity in the meantime, too. Sure he could see a weakness in the enemy position, he almost ran forward to attack the unprotected opponent. Then he remembered again, he was listening for the King’s direction.
“Focus, Pwan, focus” he told himself.
Panzi moved up to help protect the Knight, a seemingly odd turn of events. Pwan looked around to see one of his fellow Pawns several squares over captured by the enemy Queen. The Knight and Panzi on his left seemed to be holding down the forward position; Battlebar to the right was making little progress alone but at least he was occupying a few of the enemy soldiers in a defense against his threatening movements. Looking back, Pwan suddenly remembered the King again. He was supposed to be listening for direction.
Suddenly he felt an urge that the time had come to move forward again. Pwan was willing, certainly, though unsure of what to do next. He looked around, but saw no targets in his path, no grim Rook or swift Bishop to oppose him, not even a Pawn in front of him. Who was he supposed to fight? It made no sense. Well, there was still that Knight up there somewhere…
The strangest thing happened just as Pwan was about to move. He heard the King say: “Leave your weapons behind. You won’t need them and they will only weigh you down. Just run!”
Pwan’s eyes widened in disbelief. That was crazy, he must have heard wrong. The King didn’t want him to leave his weapons; they were the only things he had to fight the enemy. He would be useless, fodder for the lance and the sword of the opponents, would affect nothing but to be killed or captured in shame. How they would laugh at him, too, when they got him. “Who drops their weapons on the battlefield?” he could hear enemy voices taunting. “Some idiot this guy is, ha, ha, ha.” The laughter rang in his mind’s ears, real enough to make him look around to see if everyone was looking at him. He saw no pointing fingers, only felt the gaze of his leader, urging him forward.
“No, it doesn’t make sense!” his brain protested. “This is stupid!”
“Go!” urged his heart. “Go now!”
Pwan went.

Please leave comments :) I want to know what you think of this story...

The last section will be posted soon, so check back!

In Truth,
Stephen

Playing it Unsafe: Chapter 1

This is the first Chapter of a story I wrote for class my last semester of College. Please post feedback, I would like to know what you think about it, honestly. I will post the following portions soon. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

Playing it Unsafe

A pawn learns about the power of surrender

Light entered Pwan’s world like a living dagger, slicing his familiar darkness open to its brilliant scrutiny. First a knife’s edge creating shadows where blackness was; then the full, blinding noon of visibility as the two sides of his home swung apart. He felt the invigorating caress of its warmth as the hollow encasement opened, exposing him to its power. Had Pwan been a reading man he might have compared his experience with that of a letter on a page of a book being opened for the first time, its cover swinging wide to permit the light to illuminate its story. As it was, he only knew that the light hurt his eyes. Before he really had time to adjust to the light’s stimulating force and explore his surroundings, he was lifted from his carved slot, away from the remaining half of the enclosure he had known as home for so long.

Pwan stood on a flat surface, his eyes still adjusting to the light. Looking down to avoid the blinding pain he saw a flat field, checked with interlocking, two-toned squares. Row by row, file on file they ran, black and white, black and white, as far as he could see. Across the field on the other side there seemed to be a row of people, perhaps they were—

“Howdy Naybur” came a voice from Pwan’s left elbow.

The realization that he was not alone brought great comfort to an unrealized fear. Turning toward the voice, Pwan found he was actually part of a row himself; behind the speaker were 5 or 6 other soldiers, each in his own square, facing forward. Every of them looked nearly the same and also very similar to Pwan himself, he realized. A solid wooden base gave way to a tapered, circular body, an armored collar and a round, sturdy head. Pwan looked back at the sour-faced speaker and realized he was expecting an answer.

“Oh, hi there” he stammered “I’m Pwan”.

“Me name’s Panzi” replied the stumpy foot soldier.

“And I’m Dreem” interjected a young, cheerful fellow on the other side of Pwan.

Dreem was the last one in the row. It seemed that the field ended on the other side of him, perhaps even dropped off like a precipice. However, before Pwan had time to investigate more Panzi continued speaking.

“Ya’ll ‘pear a tab bit lost. This yer first battle?”

Pwan and Dreem both nodded as Panzi went on.

“It’s all kinds of tough, our job. We’s the first defense, the first offense, and we git captured a lot. We-uns just has to do what the King says so, no choices. Might not be too bad but he don’t care much ‘bout us Pawns. We’s expenduble.”

“Oh come now, it’s not as bad as all that!” A new voice entered the conversation from directly behind Pwan.

He realized there was, in fact, another entire row of warriors behind him. They were not all the same as was his row. Each one appeared unique and different. The one who had spoken was a stately gentleman on horseback, sitting at ease on his fearsome charger. His armor seemed carved with care from the finest white maple, and his lance, pennant fluttering in the breeze, rested in a holster on his stirrup. The helmet visor was open just enough to give Pwan an idea that his face was kind and wise.

“Sure, we each have a role to play” the Knight continued “but each one has its own unique dangers. It’s important that we trust the King, he knows what he’s doing”.

Panzi’s replying grunt showed that he was not convinced.

“I apologize, gentlemen” the horseman continued “the King is actually summoning me to move out front now.”

Sideways, up and over he went, and was gone. Before Pwan had time to figure out where his path had taken him, a booming voice from behind and above Dreem interjected

“Sure there are dangers just like the Knight said. That’s why we’ve got to be strong and courageous.”

Looking back, Pwan could see the last square was occupied by a tower of solid brick and stone. The battlements seemed to scrape the sky, gleaming fierce in the golden glow of that bright sun.

“Easy fer you to say, Ha!” muttered Panzi.

As Panzi and the Fortress continued, Pwan turned to Dreem.

“What do you make of all this?” He asked.

“It’s interesting” came the reply “I am more interested in this, though, look! I can see beyond this field. Do you see that?”

“What?” Asked Pwan, “you mean there is more, something outside this field?”

“Yes, can’t you see-I see a big box of some sort; I see another surface under this field, larger than this it seems. I even see something moving, or wait-perhaps someone?”

“What can it all mean, Dreem?” Pwan questioned his new friend.

“I wish I knew” Dreem responded. “Say, I think I need to move forward now. The King is asking me to go.”

Pwan wanted to ask how he knew; he wanted to tell him to stay, he wanted--but Dreem was gone, gone forward to the battle. Pwan could just make out his friend’s shape ahead, standing strong in his square. He seemed so brave, so fearless, and so good.

As his attention returned to the other soldiers around him he realized that Panzi had advanced a little as well. The bishop, another of the back row warriors was moving too. He glided by Pwan, his willowy trunk swaying as he moved. At that moment, Battlebar, as the fortress in the corner was called, pointed attention to the front.

“It looks like our friend Dreem is in danger” He rumbled.

Straining to see, Pwan could make out several of the opposing soldiers standing near the little Pawn. There was a flurry of activity, of soldiers maneuvering for the capture, of mind-bending strategy, of setting up the positions until suddenly a move was made. An opposing bishop slid in from across the board and captured Dreem. Pwan wanted to be there to protect him, to help his friend, but he was too far away.

Just then, a white Knight cut in to attack the bishop, then a black Rook to attack the knight. Move after move left Pwan feeling dizzy and a bit sick. As the action settled all Pwan could think about was his friend’s smiling face. He was always so happy, and he had this ability to see things others couldn’t. Pwan wanted to hear more about the stuff beyond the field, things only Dreem seemed to see.

“Why him? Why?” He asked no one in particular.

Sadness was quickly replaced by anger; anger at the enemy troops and anger at the King for letting Dreem go forward. Could Panzi be right? Perhaps the King didn’t care.

Timing is a funny thing, really. At that moment the King himself moved over next to Pwan. He basically traded positions with the Rook, Battlebar, who moved over near where the King had been before. The Pawn decided to seize the opportunity. Overcoming his hesitation to address the royal warrior who presented such an imposing figure in his hardened oak armor and beautiful, polished cloak carved from the finest red cherry, Pwan stepped forward. Forcing all the courage in his frame into one single phrase, he blurted to the King:

“SiremayIgofightnowtheyjustkilledmyfriend!”

With a quizzical smile, the King held out his hand.

“Slow down there, Pwan. Take a deep breath, OK?

As Pwan felt foolish for his haste the King continued.

“There now, what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’d like to go fight, Sire” Pwan repeated. “I’m ready, can I move forward?”

Pwan could tell by the look in the King’s eyes that he would say no. “What is it” he wondered; the tall ruler seemed sort of sad, yet was almost smiling. It didn’t make sense to Pwan-he wanted to go fight. Why wouldn’t the King let him? It was frustrating.

Time slowed to a drag for Pwan. Nothing seemed to happen; he was useless, sitting here in the King’s shadow unable to help his friend in any way. He began to think about how he could repay the enemy for what they had done to Dreem. He got so distracted that had the King not been so near he would likely have been completely unaware of the battle around him.

As it was, Pwan’s thoughts kept being interrupted by the King as he watched and talked with the other soldiers. The King was constantly involved in whatever was happening anywhere on the battlefield. He planned, directed and encouraged.

“How does he do it?” Pwan wondered to himself “how does he talk to them even when they are far away?”

He remembered Dreem telling him the King had asked him to move. Even the Knight had said something similar. So, how did they know, Pwan wondered. It all seemed very mysterious and Pwan did not understand. On the other hand, one thing he did begin to understand was how much the king actually did care for his people. Emotion etched his face as clearly as if it had been carved there, especially when a Pawn or even more when his Queen was in danger. Pwan began to understand the level of love the King had for his people, his cause and his wife. He valued her above all. The blame he had placed on the King for Dreem’s capture began to slip. Pwan wanted to blame him, to blame someone, to be angry. Yet, the King cared so much, so obviously, that the only thing Pwan could do was wonder how the King had felt when Dreem was in danger. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the King’s voice.

“You may move forward now, Pwan” he heard.

Chapter 2 will be posted soon, so check back :)

In Truth,

Stephen

Most Popular Book

Well folks,

The winner is Pride and Prejudice. Of the four books I put in the poll it had been read by the most people. I will post a new poll soon and have an interesting story to share, so check back soon.

In Truth,
Stephen

Balm for the Soul

I used to dislike all yard work if it didn't involve power tools like a mower or gas trimmer. The feel of that power in your hands is great, but without an engine...I mean, digging weeds? Seriously.

I just spent the last 3 hours wrestling small trees, dandelions and poison ivy out of some of our flower beds. I have somehow found a little time to do a little bit of this kind of work over the last couple months and my opinion of yard work has changed. I believe there is something about the tedious process of rooting deep into the earth to remove an ugly bramble that is good for the inner man. Probably for the inner woman too, but I can only conjecture :)

Slow paced, outdoor work with dirt and plants, spending peaceful time in the sun, these are good for a person's soul. It is something we never do anymore, we don't have time to slow down and work with the daffodils. I am just as guilty as anyone, I know. My life has felt like an hour with only 53 minutes in it for the last four years. I had to try to cram a lot of activity in everywhere. I want that to change. I believe it is healthy to step back, to spend time doing old-fashioned things...working with our hands.

I invite you to join me in a quest for life breaks, block off time to spend doing healthy work. Give it a try; wash the car, plant some petunias, or grub out a mess of dandelions from the back yard.

Just don't get poison ivy...

In Truth,
Stephen

Looking ahead to when I look back

On May 9th I will graduate from Asbury College with a degree in Communications and Leadership.

As the path of my life winds its way past the milestone of College graduation, I pause. I look back over my shoulder, viewing the sections I’ve already trod, from the very beginning where the shadows of earliest memory fade, then all the way back here to the point where I stand today. The memories stream in; strong as the warming sun they pierce the leaves of time like light through the trees that line this path I tread. The memories are good ones. Any lingering remnants of pain and difficulty in my historic mind simply lie forgotten, like the dead, fallen leaves of years past mulching the ditches on either side of the trail. The real memories, the things that inspire me in my journey here grow in living color along the trail, swinging like sprigs of flowers or branches of fruit to touch my hand as I pass.

These memories that touch me are people; I see in my mind the faces of friends whom I have known. I recall their helping hands given when times were tough, when I stumbled or couldn’t see the path. I see in my mind’s eye the faces of those who shared my life’s trail, who were adventurers together with me, finding joy in the journey. Perhaps you are one of these people; the memories I treasure.

Deep gratitude and glory I give to God, my Creator, my Savior, and in a very real way my Father. Special appreciation and honor I give to my mother, who has loved, given, and taught me so much, and to my siblings for putting up with me so long. I give thanks for several of the men in my life who have been role models and leaders for me, and for all the great friends with whom I have worked, studied, ridden bicycles and so much more. You are where I have gotten the determination to proceed through the last four years, so thank you.

I thank you for reading this, for participating in a way in this 21^st century rite of passage. As a cyber-reader, you are now a part of a special moment in my life. You are now a member of my community and perhaps will be one with whom I adventure in the future, creating memories to review at another pause in life’s journey some miles down the road.

Please begin this journey with me now by writing a comment on this post. Leave a piece of advice for me as a graduate, in fact for any graduate who may pass this way on the web-path of life. Tell us what you wish you had known when you were 21, 23, or 26. Or what you are now learning at 21, 23, or 26.

In Truth,

Stephen