“No, no. It’s fine,” I said shoving my laptop into her hands.

“Are you sure? I can go to the library,” answered my friend.

“And we know how dependable those computers can be,” I replied, recalling the last time she’d done so and lost half of the research paper she had been working on leading to her being docked a grade for lateness.

“Go.” I insisted.

She went. That was two days ago. Her paper was due on Monday and I assumed she would get it back to me by then. Yes, I know what they say about assuming things, but she’s my friend.

Why doesn’t she have her own laptop? I don’t know. I figure being poor can do that to you. Because she is; not the kind of poor that qualifies for free stuff, but the kind of poor that is enough to make life inconvenient and slightly uncomfortable.

I was up early Saturday morning, plan in my head and truck keys in my hand. It was north – actually northeast – and I knew that if I traveled ahead and then left, I would reach the place within an hour. Maybe two. Maybe three. (Okay, so estimations have never been my forte, and let’s admit some vehicles are more dependable than others which, of course, makes a difference in times of arrival.) But of the direction and distance? I was sure of it.

So certain was I that I left without my watch, the band being uncomfortable, and a compass, because who uses a compass besides the military and orienteering buffs? (Oh yes. I had one. I displayed it on a small round end table along with an Adelaide Hurricane lamp and an old copy of A Message to Garcia. It was a gift I valued because of the giver, but never used.)

You’re thinking I should just GPS it on my phone. Of course you are. I agree, but I had dropped my phone in the community pool the day before while I was trying to find the link for my suit that a new acquaintance admired and asked for, and it was currently spending the day in a package of uncooked rice. (I have to admit my swimming suit is amazing.) No, I couldn’t map quest it on my laptop, which, as you’ll recall was in the possession of my friend.

Some people collect old pickups. Let’s just say they wouldn’t want mine. I started it and set out.

By hour two I was beginning to feel slightly unsettled. Feeling undone would come later.

to be continued . . .

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I spent the better part of an hour nosing around by the meter. I even opened the boxes I had moved for the meter readers, examining every single item which I removed piece by piece. It was a good thing I’d changed out of my pajamas and had a decent pair of shoes on or I would have lost a toenail over a large set of old Star Trek DVDs that slipped from my grasp as I unloaded it. I found nothing in the boxes, but the intermittent beeping continued.

Time slipped away and I would have to figure things out later. I had the luxury of a remote job, but that didn’t mean I could ignore my computer all morning.

The beeping couldn’t be heard on the main floor, and as I mulled it over while frying a small steak and broiling cut-up potatoes sprinkled liberally with seasoning salt, I realized that I probably wouldn’t have noticed it without the visit from Remer Electric’s annoying meter readers because I wouldn’t have been in the basement in the first place. I wouldn’t have noticed it this time, either, but for the boxes I had hurriedly carried down there a couple of weeks ago.

I’d done a little research over my lunch break and discovered the probable source of the beeping, though I could hardly believe it. So after supper, I went outside and squatted to examine the side of my house. There it was: a patched hole in the wall where my meter was installed. Someone had attached the wires (barely covered by shallow trench I should have noticed) from their own home to my circuits!

I marched over to the neighbor closest to that side of my house – he had moved in last August to my recollection – who, after a stuttering denial, admitted he had planned to only temporarily borrow some electricity when he first moved in, but that time had gotten away from him. How convenient.

“Electricity shouldn’t cost anything, anyway,” he continued, “You’re probably unaware of this, but an inventor named . . .”

“Tesla. Nikola Tesla. Yes, I know.”

My neighbor’s eyes lit up.

“No no no no,” I interrupted his excuse. “Tesla is dead . . .”

“As far as you know . . .”

Heaven help me. I had a nerd of the highest order next door. I hurried to get us back on track before he wandered into a wormhole.

“Someone, in fact, is paying for it regardless, and that someone is me. And I have enough keeping up with my bills without paying for yours, too!”

“Only the electricity.”

“Change it back to your house and change it by morning, or I’m reporting you.”

He held up his hand. “Has it occurred to you the sound from your meter could align your entrainment?” In explanation, he added, “I’m a neurologist.”

“I don’t care if you’re a circus clown! Besides, you’ve no need to borrow anything from me with what your paycheck must be.”

“It started out as temporary, remember? I had no intention of stealing anything from you. Please. Let’s discuss this like two reasonable adults.”

Nothing seemed reasonable at the moment: not smart meters, not pesky meter readers tromping through my house, and not sneaky neighbors.

He opened his door wider and motioned me in. Why did I go in? It was an automatic response.

A person should check automatic responses in herself every once in awhile, I realized, as I sipped on an excellent cup of tea and enjoyed a macaron.

It was midnight by the time I returned to my house. My neighbor had turned out to be knowledgeable in more than neurology. Before this, I hadn’t noticed him much. I thought he was an accountant. We ended up having an intriguing discussion bordering on nerdiness of the highest order. It would’ve been embarrassing had anyone listened in. Which they didn’t. That I knew of.

My neighbor must have stayed up into the wee hours because when I woke up and checked, the beeping was gone and the shallow trench had been dug up and covered over again.

It’s been six months. Six months of the pesky meter readers interrupting my first cup of coffee once a month. Six months of lower electric bills. And six months of talking over the fence, shared dinners, and a surprising comradery with my neighbor. And I’ve decided that free and convenient in some things isn’t so bad after all.

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“You can’t come here every week!” I said in my most politely agitated voice. The look on the face of the two service people told me they didn’t hear my effort at polite. I tried to sympathize. But seriously? How often did a meter need to be read?

Thinking to myself that everything with the word smart in it was probably smart in favor of someone other than me, I had elected to forego the free and convenient smart meter that would tell the electric company what they needed to know in favor of one that wasn’t smart (according to them). They, of course, needed to install it inside my house. And not being terribly fond of strangers knocking at my door at 7:30 in the morning while I was still in my pajamas trying to enjoy my first cup of coffee, I found their visits less than welcome; and they found them less than welcoming. At least we had something in common. This was the third visit in five weeks, and I was beginning to wonder if Remer Electric had a secret ground game to irritate its uncooperative customers into compliance with their preferences. They were clearly unaware of my ground game of living life on my own terms. Some people might call that crabby. I call it the why am I paying for something that Tesla said should be free in the first place POV. I doubted the meter reader had read anything about Nikola Tesla, but who was I to judge? Everyone knows public utilities are for everyone’s well-being.

After they left I went down to my basement to move back into place the few boxes that had been in the way of them reading the meter. A high pitch followed by a couple of chirpy beeps caught my attention and I stopped long enough to try to determine where it was coming from. The meter? I don’t know much about electric meters, but I’ve lived long enough to know it was unusual for them to make that sort of sound. A quiet hum maybe, but a high-pitched whine? I pulled the boxes away again and examined it. I wasn’t altogether convinced it was the meter. But it was something – what? Attached? Behind?

The problem was going to need another cup of coffee, I reasoned, and I jogged upstairs to fill my cup and get dressed. If I had only known what was ahead, I might’ve done something  more calming, like watching a Star Trek marathon.

to be continued . . .

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It was so dark he couldn’t see his hand even if he held it in front of his face. At first he hadn’t noticed the gradual encroachment. It was a bit misty, perhaps. Maybe exceptionally cloudy. It was possible he needed his eyes checked. No one believes a lie as easily as the one telling it, but with time his excuses started sounding false even to him. It was dark everywhere lately, and he recalled a place he could get a light to break a path so he at least wouldn’t trip. His grandmother had told him about it – the light – when he was young enough to believe such things existed, and where to find it. He hadn’t given it much thought until now. But now? Now it was all he could think of!

He counted. .7..8..9..10. Ten steps from the base of the storm cellar. He felt around. Brushing through spiderwebs and – eech – surely that was a spider that just ran across the top of his hand – dust, he persevered. Ah! At the back of the second shelf from the top there was something small and about the size he remembered from those years ago. He picked it up. It was a little bigger than an ink pen. He moved his fingers around it until he found what felt like a switch and slid it up with his thumb. Light! A burden he hadn’t known he’d been carrying fell from his body as he looked around the small room. Yes! There. Old canned goods. Metal cans of Folgers. A stack of old wool army blankets. Some matches. He held the light close to them. They looked dry. At that moment the little storm cellar felt like paradise.

After two days of selfish possession there, his conscience tweaked him. The thought of exiting the storm cellar made him a bit nauseous. But, he chided himself, he must. He had friends, even family, who would benefit. And the town just a mile from where he was? They would be thrilled with such an invention! So, too, the towns beyond. But the dark! He dreaded it.

Holding tightly to the light, he set out; first shining it at his feet, then just ahead. And so he made his way to a neighbor’s house at the half mile mark. He wondered if he should knock at the door or call from the yard. What could he do if they tried to wrest it from his grip and hoard it for themselves?! He would not part with the light. No, indeed! He would do whatever necessary to keep it, that was for certain. He needn’t have worried, though, for when his foot stepped on the edge of their property, a light ignited within the house. What? He guessed he didn’t need to stop after all. He approached his sister’s home just a quarter mile ahead. And – another light?! It appeared he hadn’t needed to make this trip in the heavy dark. Still, dark enveloped the town ahead and he continued on. And each time his foot touched a property, a light flickered on in the building it held; sometimes two, sometimes more.

It occurred to him there was a peculiar power in the light he carried that he had not before understood nor even imagined, and that by simply making his minimal effort to bring them the light, a light appeared to them without his further effort.

Soon the town was alight and the darkness seemed to recede.

He plodded on into the suffocating dark ahead. And it happened as before. One step on the property and a light flickered on; house after house, business after business. Somewhere near what he imagined would be the break of dawn except for the forbidding dark, he turned and looked back to where he’d walked. Light! Lights in buildings and on streets! People were venturing out into the glorious open spaces! Over his shoulder a line of darkness still fell. But he knew now that it would yield. Energized, he turned toward it and walked on.

Image: pexels-gift-habeshaw-3415211.jpg; pexels-photo-348392.jpeg; mike-ralph-0yIzvpbRFw8-unsplash.jpg; jordan-wozniak-xP_AGmeEa6s-unsplash.jpg; Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on a candlestick, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. Matthew 5:15-16; When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’ John 8:12; The truth is like a lion; you don’t have to defend it. Let it loose; it will defend itself. Often credited to St. Augustine of Hippo, but the origin is uncertain. Charles Spurgeon is the source of: Let the pure gospel go forth in all its lion-like majesty, and it will soon clear its own way and ease itself of its adversaries. and is a more likely origin.; One basic truth can be used as a foundation for a mountain of lies, and if we dig down deep enough in the mountain of lies, and bring out that truth to set it on top of the mountain of lies, the entire mountain of lies will crumble under the weight of that one truth…from Behold A Pale Horse by Milton William Cooper

We all feel like a small piece of a very big puzzle from time to time. It’s true! During the reign of King Josiah of the Old Testament, a prophetess named Huldah was instrumental in doing her part to help the wayward nation of Israel move back toward honoring God’s law. Her name might not be well-known, but her part was important in purifying Israel under King Josiah. You might have a small part in this time in history, but it is nevertheless important. Speak truth.

She knew it was a Jubilee year: a 50 year marker in which debts are forgiven, land is restored, and captives are freed isn’t easily missed. At least not for her. Her parents had named her Jubilee, after all. When she was young, she told her friends to call her Jules. Not many knew her given name. But with her 50th birthday only a few days away, the Jubilee called to her.

Oh sure. Some people, maybe even most, believed the Jubilee was dismissed with the scattering of her people. It might’ve been because of her name, but she disagreed. A Jubilee was a Jubilee! And she could use one just now.

Her nation felt anything but celebratory. She, herself, had been yanked from her home only a couple of months ago. The person with her had been killed within two days, so she was alone. She was kept in a cage in the attic of a teacher sympathetic to the cause of her nation’s attacker and given a little rice to eat on some days, nothing on others. One day she’d been forced to eat toilet paper. She’d seen things she wished she could forget, but they haunted her dreams. She needed a rescuer. She prayed for a rescuer! So many prayers.

Her people had been promised one would come, hadn’t they? The prophets had said so! Along with everyone else, she waited for Messiah to come. It was surely not the one who had come 2,000 years ago! Absolutely not! An imposter, more like. Even considering the possibility made her feel disloyal to her heritage.

But something pinged her conscience; yes, even in her present desperate state. What if she was wrong? What if His followers were right?

Then one night she had seen someone in a dream. If she had to admit it, she would. It was the One some called the Messiah, Jesus! She immediately knew she had been wrong about Him. He spoke to her about how delightful her name was. His voice had a tenderness in it she had never experienced. He was very kind, but with an edge. The edge told her that rescue was on the way.

She listened hard all the next day. And the next. Maybe she had only imagined things? She shrank down and sat in a corner. But then! Then the attic door burst open and some masked men yanked her out of the cage and hurried her to their vehicle. As dust filled her mouth and nose and the cold made her shiver, she wondered what fate awaited her.

But that dream had been so real! It gave her hope. And if hope is in the form of being pushed out of a vehicle onto her homeland, then she would embrace it with all her heart. And more; she would forever embrace the One who gave it to her!

She ate birthday cake that night with her family and told everyone to let go of her childhood name, Jules, for she wanted always to be called Jubilee! And another thing. They would celebrate Christmas. Oh yes they would. There would be no argument! For Christmas, she told them, is a time of miracles and she knew the Man of miracles; for she had met Him – kinder than her best friend, stronger than a storm, and He had given her one.

*Some believe beginning September, 2023 is the 70th and final jubilee year in the Biblical timeline. This author is one of them; Image: mads-schmidt-rasmussen-v0PWN7Z38ag-unsplash.jpg; juan-encalada-RSyYMb5Km_k-unsplash-scaled.jpg