April Showers Bring May Flowers

Hello Readers! 

It feels like summer is already here, technically it's not, but it sure feels like it. 

This month and last month have felt like a whirlwind. 

I know I never posted the giveaway results, so I'll go ahead and do that now! 

Congrats to Naomi W! 

Life has been very busy this past month. I'm always amazed at how God takes our life trajectory and then flips it upside down. What I'm about to tell you about I never would have thought that I would, but here I am. 

I am a college student now. 😮

As is typical for me, I didn't decide to do college till about four or five weeks before registration ended for summer classes. I seem to be a last-minute kind of person. I'm currently working toward a Creative Writing degree at Colorado Christian University. I have one week left of my first class and so far it hasn't been as bad as I might have expected. My first class was an introduction to college writing and so far I've made it. One of my biggest fears of doing college was writing a college paper. I didn't think I could do it. But now I've written a few, and they weren't as bad as I might have thought they were. So that's my first bit of news. 

The second bit is that I done left the teen years. I guess I should probably update my bio since I'm no longer a teen writer. 😦😂 

It feels weird. 

You know how people ask if you feel any different on your birthday... up until now, I've said no... but now... I think I feel a little different. It could be purely psychological, but I have no way of proving it. I had a very lovely birthday with friends and family. 

I don't really enjoy all the attention having a birthday gives me, but I guess you're only two decades once in your life and you may as well enjoy it. 

I've lived a wonderful twenty years. It's been beautiful and ugly. It's been hard and easy. There have been hills and valleys. And I thank the Lord for each and every blessing and trial that He has allowed me to walk through. 

I've learned so much about life and growing up and while I might be in shock that I'm not a teenager anymore, I hope I can learn and grow a lot through this next decade of my life. 

Blessings,

Mattie May, The Blossoming Writer

Who Loves A Free Book!?

 Hello Readers!

I bet you're shocked to see a post from me this early in the month since I usually post at the last minute LOL. 

But today, and this month is different! 

About two years ago at this time, I was furiously editing my debut novel Everlasting Gold to prepare it for the public eye. One week from this Friday will be the two-year anniversary of Everlasting Gold being published! 

It's so crazy to think that it's been that long, that my book is two years old already! 

So celebrate this momentous occasion I am hosting a giveaway! One person will receive a free, signed copy of my book! 

*This giveaway is only open to US and Canada entrants* 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I hope y'all enjoy this as much as me ;D. Have a wonderful April and perhaps you'll see me post again this month to announce the winner! 

Blessings,

Mattie May, The Blossoming Writer 

All About You and Around the Blogosphere Tag!

 

Hello Readers!

I was tagged for this back in September by the lovely R. M. Archer, at Scribes and Archers, so please go check out her lovely blog and enjoy me trying to answer this tag. 

Rules:

Answer the following questions

Tag at least a couple other bloggers

Have them answer these questions

Questions:

What’s your favorite book/book series and why?

My favorite book right now is The White Rose Resists by Amanda Barret

My favorite series might either be The Baker Family Adventures by C. R. Hedgecock or The Whispers of White Duology by Miranda Marie. 

Who is your favorite author?

My favorite author is probably Douglas Bond. 

After him would be the three that I just mentioned, Amanda Barret, C.R. Hedgecock, and Miranda Marie. 

What is your favorite food?

I really enjoy a variety of food, but my favorite is probably Lasagna. 

What gives you inspiration for your books?

Other books, people, memories, random historical facts that I think "Hey, someone should write a story about ________" 

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

Somewhere cold and in the mountains. I love where I am now, but I could go for somewhere with cooler summers. 

Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

I'd have to say introvert. Though I do need to have people interaction and I do enjoy and can get energy from being around people... as long as they don't take too much mental/emotional energy. 

If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

Hmmm

Caution, Writer may spout random facts or speak of fictional characters as if they are real. Or know too much for normal people about  

or

Caution, I may be quiet at first, but beware if you get me on one or more of my favorite subjects. 

I really don't know 😂.

Tagees:

Edna Pellen at Bleeding Ink

Adria Avalon at The Works of Adria Avalon

Maple at Maple Quill Penning Magic

S.J. at When Ice Sings and Stars Fall

Alrighty, I hope y'all enjoyed that and you're impressed that I got this month's post out before the very last day of the month 😉. I'm impressed at myself. 

Also, this past week marked my two-year Blogversary! I forgot again. So consider me finally doing this tag as celebration! 🎉🥳💚✨ 

I'll write to y'all again next month, Lord willing. 

Have a lovely spring! 

Blessings,

Mattie May

Why I Collect Journals

 

Hello Readers!

I've been asked before whether or not I collect anything, and to be honest, I'm not much into dusting things, so I don't really collect knick-knacks and the like, but I think there is at least one thing that I seem to collect and that is Journals. 

I was recently writing in one of my journals, the one I write in daily about whatever happened, and I got to thinking. Those little gears in my brain started turning, and I thought, why do I have so many journals? From where I was sitting, I could see two, plus the one I was writing in, plus one that was in my backpack, which was sitting in the same room. I have this sense that writers, in particular, have a knack for collecting journals... and I'm wondering why? So here are a few reasons I hoard collect journals.

1. They are Really Pretty~

I love my journals; some have Owls, some flowers, or Bible verses, (one even has a wooden cover 😉)... But then others are plain or just dollar tree style. There is just something very lovely about journals. 

2. They Have a Purpose~

Yes, they do. Before you ask about all the blank ones that are tucked into my desk, those will have one at some point. Each of my journals are for a different thing. For example, my pink journal is my daily journal, my owl journal is for writing ideas and scraps of stories, my plain one is my official random journal. (By the way, I believe everyone should have a random notebook. They are amazing.) My fancy-looking green one has funny family stories... I could go on for a while, but you get the point. (Comment below if you'd like another post where I can share pictures... but I'm writing this last minute again whoops... so no pics :( sorry.) 

3. They Represent Ideas~ 

Each blank page, every line, represents a fresh start and new idea. I often write better on paper than on my laptop. There is something cozy about writing in a journal. It's less intimidating than my laptop screen. 

Those are all the reasons I can think of at the moment. Perhaps I'll do a part two with pictures; that'd be fun. I've found journaling/writing in a journal very helpful for both my mental and spiritual health. At the beginning of the day, when I sit down to do my devotions, I end my time by journaling about what I read and end by writing out a prayer. At the end of the day, I usually journal about whatever happened and what I'm thinking about. I enjoy, to some extent, reading my old journals because they show me ways I've grown and can point out ways that I still need to grow. 

So the next time you want to comment about all the journals that your writer friend has, maybe ask why they love journals so much. I'm sure every writer has their reasons. 😉

What are some reasons you have journals? Do you keep a journal? Should I do a follow-up post and share pictures? Let me know in the comments! 

Blessings,

Mattie May

New Years Resolutions Blog Tag

Hello Readers! 

So, confession time. I kept telling myself throughout this month that I needed to do my blog post earlier, and here I am, the evening of the last day of January... doing my blog post... finally. But, hey, at least I'm actually doing it :) 

Last year I got tagged for the New Years Resolutions blog tag, but I didn't do it, so I'm doing it now since it's a fairly new year still XD

Link back to the creator of the tag ~ Lavender Bleu at Always Write The Good Write

Link back to the blogger who tagged you ~ Farren Green at Paper and Quill (sorry I'm doing this a year late...)

Answer the questions

Tag 1-5 more people

Keep at least 5 questions from the person who tagged you and make at least 5 of your own (Basically you can replace up to fifteen of my questions with your own.)

1. What was the best thing that happened in the past year?

Hmm I'm not sure, possibly Camp, getting my Drivers license, Starting my podcast, going to Kauai.... 

2. What was the biggest challenge that you faced in the past year?

I think it would have to be spending a little over 6 months away from home. 

3. What was the most memorable book you read in the past year?

The White Rose Resists. It was AmAzInG! 

4. Did you succeed in completing your new year's resolution in the past year?

I think I did... I don't remember too many of them now lol 

5. What was something new you tried in the past year?

Paddleboarding on a river and in the ocean! Along with ziplinning. And starting a podcast lol. 

6. Do you any any last parting words for the past year?

Did you actually happen? 

7. What does your To Be Read list look like for the new year?

I want to read more classics and theology. 

8. What is your motto for the new year?

Be the moon... perhaps I'll explain that more in another blog post. 

9. Do you have any big plans for the new year?

I wanna go to England for Douglas Bond's Creative Writing Masterclass.

10. What would you try if you knew you wouldn't fail?

I'm really not sure lol... probably a job that helped people... I wouldn't wanna fail at that an ruin their life.

11. What in the new year are you anticipating the most?

Maybe working on getting my NaNo 2020 Project edited... Or maybe a trip to England. 

12. How would you like to spend your free time in the new year?

Reading, Being with Friends and Family, Writing. 

13. Where would you like to go on vacation in the new year?

England! 

14. What time-wasting activity could you part with?

Needless Scrolling... after about three swipes I know there's not much else... so I need to cease my scrolling lol 

15. What is your new year's resolution?

I have a lot, but I'd like to work on time management. 

16. What would you be most happy about completing?

Not be constantly doing things at the last minute... (like this blog post) 

17. What book would you like to read by the end of the year?

I have a lot, but probably Mirage, by Miranda Marie. 

18. What can you never seem to find the time to do that you’d like to find time for this year?

Write. Blog. Podcast. 

19. How can you add 15 minutes of joy to each day?

I've been reading a Psalm every night before I go to bed and honestly I've noticed my general anxiety levels go down, so I think that makes me a more joyful person, in general. I hope that counts. 

20. What was the best way you used your time this past year?

Putting my laptop down and being with my family, and writing letters to friends. 

Well that's the end of that. If you're a blogger who hasn't done this tag, please do it. You're tagged, so you really don't have a choice. 

Blessings,

Mattie May

New Years Wrap Up

 

Hello Readers!

I can't believe this year is over. This year has been difficult for me, one of learning and growing. And both of those things aren't always the most enjoyable. A lot of fun things happened this year, a lot of not-so-fun things happened as well. I didn't write much, compared to some, but I'm learning that comparing myself to others isn't a great habit. I had a lot of firsts this year; I entered my first poetry contest; I went to Kauai; I went on scary rollercoasters; I won the 100-for-100 challenge... 

Reading

As of writing this, I've read 42 1/2 books as I write this. A highlights from my reading were....

Rescue in the Rockies, by C.R. Hedgecock. This was the 8th book in her series, The Baker Family Adventures and as usual it was amazing and I'd highly recommend the whole series!

I reread most of the Chosen Daughter Series. If you ever can get your hands on any of those books, read them, and your life will be better for it. 

You're Not Enough (And that's Okay), by Allie Beth Stuckey. My sisters have been listening to Allie's podcast, called Relatable. It was an excellent book, and I really enjoyed her points. We can't ever be enough for ourselves and other people. But that's okay, because God is. 

The White Rose Resists, by Amanda Barret. The book should be a must read on your list. I don't care what you read, what genres you like or don't. You will love this book to bits and pieces. And if you do read it, please share your thoughts with me and let's fangirl together! 

A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. I don't think I've ever read anything by Dickens before and this was a treat. I remember watching the movie adaptation of this and was intrigued, and I was not dissapointed by the book. 

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson. I didn't think I'd enjoy this book as much as I did. I honestly really enjoyed it. It had a lot of interesting points that I'd like to pull out in a blog post or review at some point. 

To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee. This is a classic, I've seen the movie with Gregory Peck and I was excited to see the characters come to life on the pages. I enjoyed the story very much. 

The Lamentation of a Sinner, by Queen Katherine Parr. This is a short book that'd I'd recommend. Her humility was inspiring, and it was neat to read something written so long ago. I think this book wins the oldest book I read this year it was originally published in 1547. 

A fun read was Bible in Pocket, Gun in Hand, by Ross Phares. It was rather entertaining. My dad originally bought the book for me while I researching Everlasting Gold. I'd recommend it if you love historical books with the kind of stories that make history come alive! 

Dear Author, by Laura A. Grace. If you're a writer, read this. Especially if you're discouraged and wondering why you even thought writing was a good idea. 

Echoes, by Miranda Marie. I love this book. I love the story. I love the characters. I love everything about this book. Please read it and fall in love with it with me. (Technically, I haven't finished it... but as of writing this I have about 10 chapters left and I've already read it once.I'll likely finish it later tonight...) 

So those were the highlights of my reading this year. 

Writing

I didn't do NaNo this year, but I did do the 100-for-100 challenge this summer. It was really fun, and it felt good to write again. 

I wrote about 500 words on my WWI project

I edited the Christmas Truce scene

I wrote and entered the Story Embers poetry contest. You can read that poem on my Writing Page. 

In total, I wrote 18,399 in the year 2021.

In the next year, I'm planning on editing and working through my WWI project. 

Podcast

I started my podcast in June and published 13 episodes, two episodes a month. So far, it's been a success for the amount of effort I've put into marketing... which isn't much. 

Life

We got snow! Quite a bit for the area that I live in. We got two decent snows. It was lovely. I love the snow so much. Here are a few *pictures...

Something I really love about the snow is the day after the storm. Usually the sky is bright blue and there are only a few scattered fluffy white clouds. It's like a lot like life; after the darkest storms, there is light. 

I pray this next year is your light at end of the storms of the past two years. 

Blessings in 2022,

Mattie May, The Blossoming Writer

*These pictures are mine and I kindly ask that you don't use them without asking like a decent human. ;)

'Twas December 25th...

 

Dear Readers,

As you know, I wrote a novel last year that took place during WWI and I couldn't talk about WWI without talking about the Christmas Truce... so, I enlisted help from my dear friend, R. M. Archer to help me edit this chapter in time for Christmas, and in time to share it with some family and friends. I always love working with her and if you're ever in need of a fabulous editor, check out her services Here!

Anyway, with no further Ado... 

The Christmas Truce

Mattie May

'Twas December 25th

All was silent, and all was still

From inside trenches,

Souls sang songs,

From foreign tongue and nation,

Songs of Christmas joy and cheer

The guns were silent

The men just listened

Listened to the voices singing,

“Joy and peace to the world”

How can this be?

How can they sing of peace?

When there is no peace nor joy in war,

Only pain.

Only suffering.

Only loss.




One by one, men appeared,

The land of death now filled with life.

A place where instant death occurred,

Now, a place of song, dance and life.




The men who'd just the day afore,

Cocked, and aimed, and fired, and killed

Now, sang, danced, and played as before war




Men with aching broken hearts.

Those with aching broken bones.

All joined the singing, laughter, games




In the dark corner of a trench,

A heart; aching throbbing torn

Couldn't join the fun.

Not after what those men had done.

They'd taken his brother,

His friend,

His soul.




The joyous cries,

Laughing and cheering.

The kicking of helmets like balls,

The games, the fun.

Everything made the ache acute.




He heard footsteps,

“C'mon, brother,

C'mon, enjoy yerself for once.

Who knows when this war'll end,

we might as well enjoy ourselves,”

A friend encouraged him.

He shakes his head, bitter in reply-

“How do you sing and dance when you're hurt?”

His heart is aching, it's broken.

It's shattered in so many pieces.




He's left alone again.

The cheering: relentless.

It won't leave him alone.

He finally drags himself up.

Out of the trench,

Out of the dark.

The cold, fresh snow stings his nearly bare feet.

He pulls a threadbare coat tighter around his shoulders.

“You've come, ol' pal, you've come!

Enjoy yourself, put down your gun.”

With every game,

With every song,

With every laugh,

The broken heart begins to heal.




⚜⚜⚜

Snow was freshly fallen, and the mud had finally frozen. It was December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. The day that in just the previous year had brought joy and cheer to the men who now sat in frozen French mud. When families should have been together around a crackling fire in the hearth, George sat on his sandbags, breathing into his cupped hands in a vain attempt to keep them warm. As the sun began slipping below the horizon, George ignored the temperature drop as he pulled his coat closer around his shoulders. He shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the gathering shadows throughout the trenches.

Then he heard it. A harmonica. It sounded so foreign to his ears,which had heard only explosions and the groans of dying men for the past few months.

He recognized the tune: Stille Nacht. Silent Night. What a joke in this war zone, he thought. A voice joined the melody. George was surprised that it was loud enough to carry across no-man's-land.

He tried to ignore it as a gust of wind cut through his coat, reminding him where he was. Cold. Wet. Heartbroken. Hidden behind eight feet of frozen French mud.




Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht

Alles schläft; einsam wacht

Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!




The song ended.

George bit his lip and pulled his helmet down over his eyes. Today was not the day for Christmas cheer.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance as the enemy broke into singing another carol. He once again recognized the tune: Adeste Fideles, known better in England as O Come All Ye Faithful.

George groaned. There was no such thing as Christmas cheer in wartime. Songs of this kind seemed inappropriate. This was war, not a Christmas party, not a family joined around a hearth on the eve of Christmas celebration. It was not where they belonged.

George sighed. He should be home right now, sitting around the fire, singing these Christmas carols with his family. He shouldn’t be dug into the frozen French mud. George tried to block out the singing. In disbelief, his eyes widened for a brief moment before he closed them as the wind cut through again, jerking tears. The men of his own lines had joined the unwelcome Christmas caroling:




Yea, Lord, we greet thee, born this happy morning;

Jesus, to thee be glory given!

Word of the Father, now in flesh, appearing!

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him

O come let us adore Him

Christ, the Lord.




George grimaced. Some happy morning this was. Trying to ignore the good cheer, he pulled a thin scarf up, closer to his ears. He noticed that his commanding officer had climbed out of the trench and joined a group of other commanding officers. George was stunned; what was he trying to do? Get killed? He listened intently for the fatal gunshot, but it never came and his officer soon returned without a scratch. George was stunned. What had happened? For a moment he hoped the impossible - that it was all over.

“We’ve decided to have a truce... for Christmas,” the commanding officer announced.

George pulled himself further into the corner. He didn’t want a Christmas truce. Christmas was a time of love, warmth and friendship; war was a time of hate, cold, and man against man. There was no real Christmas in war, only the date of December the twenty-fifth that would pass like every other day during this miserable war - anxiously awaiting the order to go and kill the enemy.

Some of the men cheered, others cautiously looked over the edge of the trenches. George watched them climb out, but it wasn’t for battle and no shots were fired.

The men weren’t slaughtered, and he didn’t have to get up and go over the edge of the trench.

George exhaled once again into his frozen fingers.

George noticed Marvin shuffling over to him, huffing at his pipe as usual. He sighed a bit. He wasn’t feeling particularly friendly, nor was he in the mood for conversation. A smile played at his lips though, remembering Marvin’s kindness.

“You gonna go over, friend?” he asked.

George shook his head. No one had called him that since… James had. And now James was gone.

“Come on, I think it would do you good.” Marvin nudged George’s shoulder.

George shook his head again. He was tired. Tired of war, and fighting. Tired of men who pretended like it was over, who would only return to fighting in a matter of hours. Plus, he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a trick by the enemy to kill them all. He just wanted to be left alone. Nothing would make the ache in his heart any less.

“I know you’re hurting, George, but you have to start healing. You can’t live like this.”

“Like what?” George rolled his eyes.

“Hiding from the world, life, barring yourself from others. You can’t close yourself off from relationships because of fear. Don’t think that going home will fix anything, because it won’t. It’ll only make things worse. I’ve seen things, George. I’ve seen men come back from home. Things weren’t the same as when they left. You won’t be the same after fighting like this. No one will.”

Marvin shifted his weight a bit uneasily, then tilted his head toward the makeshift ladder leaning against the side of the trench. “Why don’t you go over? Say goodbye to James and bury him? Eh? I think it’ll do you good, friend.”

George pulled a blanket around his shoulders. It was a good point. Maybe he could find James and give him a proper burial.

“Maybe,” George mumbled.

“Okay.” The man wandered off and went up over the side of the trench.

For the first time in a long time, George was alone.

He shivered in the cold as he heard the other soldiers laugh and pop open the few drinks that were to be found in the sparse trenches. He never drank much, but he found himself craving some of the warmth that it offered.

George sighed. If James had been there he would have been the first one out, the first one to celebrate… He would have sung with the men… George had to admit that the one song in three languages was spell-binding. Men who had become hardened by war were singing songs of a young babe in a manger, men who likely had families at home waiting for them, men who needed the savior they sang of. There was something in its sound that mere words could not describe.




George sighed again. His mind kept replaying what Marvin had suggested - to go bury James. After fighting the idea for some time, George finally gave in and no amount of self pity could keep him from grabbing a shovel and climbing out of the trench. He had to find James’ body.

He did his best to find the part of the trench that he had been in when he had to toss James out. That night after the battle had been such a blur, but he looked for the familiar sight of sand bags that were stacked along the edges of the trenches. As he walked along the trenches the sounds of the joy and cheer of men drifted through the air.

He tried to block the noise out; there was nothing joyful about trying to find a lost friend. There was nothing to sing about.

When he noticed things looking vaguely familiar, George began dusting the snow off the faces of those that had been killed. After some short searching, he found him. Pain shot through him at the sight and he wished he could keep searching. Part of him wished he never found him. So cold, so pale… so lifeless. Dead.

George blinked back threatening tears and wandered off a bit to try and find a suitable place to dig a grave. Finding the right place seemed impossible in a war torn land. In reality, it was. No grave out here would be fit for James.

George thrust the shovel into the frozen mud, his passion driving each heap of mud furiously from the growing hole. Some flew up in little bits into his face, but the tears streaming from his eyes washed it away.

The mud grew more packed together as he got deeper down, and George bit into his lip ‘til he tasted blood. Exhaustion threatened to topple him into the freshly dug grave, but he resisted as another biting wind chewed through his jacket, making the desire to keep warm overtake the desire to cease his hurried movements.

Finally, he reached deep enough to bury the body. He collapsed at the opening of the grave and sobs once again racked his body. James had been his dearest friend, practically a brother.

He thought of the last time that he and James had sat together at the warm hearth, the last time they had laughed together, the last time they had spoken. He thought of his failure to protect James and bring him home safely. He wished it would have been him that had run ahead when the shell exploded. That it was his body that was hurled through the air.

It was over now, James was gone.

He pulled himself up despite the tears and went over to the body as another wave of tears threatened to once again stream down his face. He took a deep breath, then knelt beside his friend.

He gently touched James’ face, brushing the stray hairs from eyes that were glassy and cold. George gently lifted James and brought him over to where he would finally be at rest.

A final thought crossed his mind. James’ family would probably appreciate one last memory of James. George gently laid James down and carefully pulled the well-worn jacket off. As he did so, a small book, the size of a large wallet, fell out. Without thinking, George picked it up and set it in his pocket. After this gruesome task was done he gently lowered James into the makeshift grave.

If only James could be buried in a nice churchyard grave with a service. What this man, friend, soldier and brother had done for his country deserved to be remembered. George looked down into the grave. This man had done better than he could ever do. He thought over what should be at the burial service. There would be a hymn, a message, a eulogy… but he was too overcome with grief to say anything.

Silently, George began to shovel the dirt onto his friend’s body, wishing that he could be in the grave with him. The shovel felt heavier than it had before, perhaps because this was the final goodbye. He’d never see James’ face again. George shoveled the dirt back. He watched as it slowly covered his friend.

After he had filled the hole he flattened it best he could. He found a couple twigs and shaped them into a cross using some of the barbed wire that was abundant in no-man’s-land. He stuck the make-shift cross into the freshly disturbed mud and surveyed his work. George was surprised by how neat it looked in the midst of a battlefield covered in knots of barbed wire and strewn with bodies of men. As George scanned the battle field, this small piece of order was quickly lost in the chaos of no-man’s-land.

George glanced up as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You did it, brother,” a familiar voice said. The faint light from his pipe highlighted enough of his features for George to recognize Marvin with a small smile.

George sniffed, wiping his frozen nose with his equally frozen index finger, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Come join us. We’re gonna play football here in a bit.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on.” Marvin grabbed George's shoulders and led him to where the men were organizing. George offered little resistance since part of him was a bit curious. “Found another teammate for us.” Marvin announced.

The other men cheered.

George managed a smile. It had been a long time since he had done that. Smile. It felt good.

George felt a feeling of panic spread through him as he noticed a German soldier was on his side of the field. It felt so odd. Before the war, he wouldn’t have thought twice about sharing the road with a German, but now it was different. The panic dissipated as the game began and he was soon engrossed in the game of football, ignoring the nationalities of his teammates, ignoring where he was and what would likely commence in the morning. That would be more serious than any game these men had ever played when they were boys. War had a way of making boys into men. Kicking the ball made out of helmets seemed to be more fun than when he remembered playing as a boy.

After the game ended, some of the men laughed, told stories, and George found himself wrapped up in James’ jacket in front of a small fire that had been started.

He sat there, looking around at the faces of the men he had been shooting at for the past few months. They were real people. It hurt them when a friend died. They had hearts. Most of them hadn’t chosen to join; the choice was made for them.

George regretted making the choice to join, yet at the same time he knew that there was no way he would have been able to stay in his warm home with his family, knowing that there were men just like him giving their lives in this war. George sighed as he reflected. This war had taken so much from him: his health, his best friend, his trust in God….

The last one scared him a bit. He didn’t really want to admit that he had nearly ceased to trust God. He had too many questions that needed answers, and he didn’t know where to find them.

He pulled James’ jacket tighter as the sun finally fell below the horizon, and his hand brushed across something he didn’t remember putting in his pocket. He pulled it out, raising his eyebrows a bit in curiosity and holding it closer to the fire to provide light. It was a book. It was leather. It had a bullet embedded in its center.

George carefully pried the bullet out and opened the front page. It occurred to him that this was what had fallen out of James’ jacket when he had taken it off his body. It had belonged to James… and it was apparent that this book had literally saved James’ life at some point. Tears once again threatened to spill, but George held them back. He didn’t know when the Bible had saved James, but he was grateful that this little book had given him one more day with his friend. For a moment, he could only stare at the book.

Finally, he flipped through the pages. Dirt stained the edges, and some pages had blood on them. George hoped it wasn’t James’ blood. The book so absorbed George’s attention that he hardly noticed when some of the men began returning to their trenches.

As the fire died down, to the point George could no longer make out the small words on the pages, he realized he was one of a few remaining soldiers left and got up to start heading back to his own lines. He was interrupted from his daze at the sight of the fresh mud and cross that marked James’ grave. After blinking back tears, he looked up into the night sky as the stars began to make their appearance. A peaceful smile came to his lips as a sigh left them and lifted up a silent prayer. He would not let his next friend down like he had James.

George wandered back to his division's area of the trench. The familiar voices of the other men he had been around for the past few months and the extra row of sand bags along the top told him this was his home for now. He threw himself into the eight-foot-deep trench. It was cold. And slippery where the water had turned to ice. George struggled to keep his footing.

Tired from the events of the day, he fell onto his accustomed seat. Deep in thought about everything that had happened, he composed a letter to his wife.




Dearest Mabel,

I don't know when you'll receive this, but the most extraordinary thing happened this evening. I'm sure the commanding officers, who are safely hidden at the back of the lines, will not be happy, but this thing has done a good deal for me.

It started when the enemy started playing one of their traditional carols. As they moved into the next one, our men joined in. I've never heard anything so beautiful in my life. It is often hard to realize that in war, men can still celebrate good cheer. It's hard to remember when you are in a war that man is still capable of doing good things. There was a truce declared for Christmas. I was, at first, so heavily lost in sorrow as it is still hard for me to acknowledge that James is truly gone and I will never have Christmas with him.

I miss you and Jenny sorely today. It's Christmas Eve and today is meant to be shared with family and friends. Not in some muddy frozen trench. I think all of us feel lonely.

I haven't been able to really make friends with any of the men. I'm scared to get close to anyone. I might lose them like I did James. I don't know how I would handle that. I don't know if I could.

Every day I fear something might possess me to go over and get myself killed, like that one man. It is truly a frightening thought. Sometimes I think I might be losing my mind.

I don't know how much longer I can hold together. Losing James is by far the hardest thing I've been through. I don't know how to process it. James was such a dear friend, I don't know how long I can go on without his company.

While sitting at a small campfire this evening I found James' Bible. I found out that he had been hit by a bullet. That Bible saved his life. I'm wondering if it can save mine too, but in a different way. Perhaps it’s time I sought God more.

Your husband,



George

Merry Christmas y'all! I'll likely be back sometime before New Years for a Yearly Wrap Up post.

Blessings,

Mattie May, The Blossoming Writer