Celebration in Betria by Steph Beth Nickel

Photo Credit: Steph Beth Nickel

The following is a short holiday story based on the characters in my yet-to-be published YA (young adult) novel, Rule and Reign. Think medieval, earth-like setting; political intrigue; and strained family relationships.

"Again." Definitely Under Officer Othar's favourite word.

The newly appointed Betrian Council Lead, Princess Unita Jumalik, sighed as she pulled her horse to a stop in front of the under officer. "Really? I've hit the target three times."

"Out of seven attempts. While trotting—slowly. While riding Tenacious. You'll need to do this at a full gallop on the back of a warhorse when the time comes."

"Let's hope that time never comes."

"Still . . . we must prepare for the eventuality nonetheless."

"I will never be ready to host the Arrival Day celebrations," Unita muttered as she led Tenacity away from the under officer.

Just as she got her mount up to speed and nocked her arrow, she caught a glimpse of Vice Chancellor Selton Wright's carriage approaching the castle. Miraculously, she let the arrow fly in time, but it hit the edge of the straw bale.

"Four out of eight?" she asked sheepishly when she came to a stop.

Othar shook his head and pointed to the stables. "We will work on your skills four sun-risings from now. First thing."

Unita made quick work of handing Tenacity off to the royal stable hand and taking the less-travelled route to her chambers. While she had instituted many changes since becoming council lead, wandering the castle in her late father's shirt and riding trousers wouldn't impress the guests who had begun to arrive. 

“Quickly, Princess,” Marra said, as the princess entered her chambers. “I’ve drawn a bath and laid out your gown. The welcome reception officially begins in less than two full measures.”

In three-quarters of a full measure, Unita was ready to greet her guests. “You will come with me, won’t you?”

Marra looked down and shook her head slightly. “But, Princess . . . Unita . . . It’s unheard of.”

Unita reached out and touched the young woman’s forearm. “Marra . . .”

She looked up.

“What is your title?”

Marra took a deep breath. “I am chief advisor to her highness.”

“And so, it’s settled. I have never hosted a gathering for the Betrian people, residents of the Borderlands, and Children of the Promise. No one has. I will most definitely need an advisor.”

A smile spread across Marra’s face. “I have no doubt that you will do an amazing job on your own, but I would be pleased to join you. And . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize again.” The advisor’s voice was just above a whisper. “For my role in your capture. For my cousin. For making assumptions about you.”

“Marra. My advisor. My friend. That is all behind us. And the Promise had a plan all along. And you were—and are—part of that plan.”

When the two entered the reception hall, the princess saw that the guests were clustered in segregated groups. It would take time to overcome their differences and to accept—and forgive—one another. She hoped the assigned seating at the sun-setting meal would spark pleasant conversation and perhaps, be the first step in breaking down some of the barriers.

Vice Chancellor Wright approached Unita and bowed. “Princess. Your Highness. Council Lead.” His eyes sparkled, and he grinned widely. “What exactly should I call you?” he added quietly.

Unita felt the faintest flush in her cheeks. “You may call me any of the three.” She glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their exchange. “And I will do my best not to refer to you as VC Selton.”

Just then, the double doors behind them opened. “His Majesty, King Hart Jumalik of Betria,” a steward announced.

 “Grandfather?” Unita exclaimed.

The king beamed at his granddaughter. “You didn’t think I would miss the princess’s greatest achievement to date? And the first Betrian celebration of the Arrival of the Promise?”

Steph Beth Nickel is the former Editor of FellowScript and the current InScribe Contest Coordinator. Steph is an editor and author and plans to relocate to Saskatchewan from Ontario to be close to family in 2026. (Headshot Photo Credit: Jaime Mellor Photography)

When the Angels Came on the Night the Christ-Child was Born by Sandra Rafuse

Christmas Eve Day is such a unique day of the year. It is the culmination of hundreds of years of prophesy and waiting for the promised Messiah. Few people knew was was going to happen in Bethlehem on the night we now celebrate as Christmas Eve.

In our present time, over two thousand years later, Christmas Eve Day is the last day before December 25, the day when you rush out to finish your Christmas gift shopping (remember the stores close at 3:00), you pick up the last of the groceries you need, and you wrap the presents that still need wrapping (or all of them if that's the case) late in the evening. Or maybe you have done all that already and you are so enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of this special day. Oh, and make sure your car is gassed up for any unexpected trip you might need to take later in the day. Things happen you know. 

Christmas Eve Day at my home with my family was always very busy. The enticing aromas of food cooking were floating around the kitchen and drifting into the other rooms of the house long before the evening meal started. One of my brothers was sent to the grocery store for more butter. "Hurry," my Mother would say, "They will be closing soon!" The table was set with the Christmas china and the best cutlery. Even though it could be hectic, it was also a happy time. Finally we were all seated around the table. The candles were lit and grace was said, "Our Father, who art in heaven . . . ".

I step out the back door dressed warmly in my winter gear. It's cold out. Brrrrrrrr. The  temperature is -25C. I am heading out on my annual Christmas Eve walk. Supper is over. The warmth of the house and the delicious aromas of the festive meal we just finished are left behind. I walk down the street, the crunching sound of my boots in the snow rises up in the silence around me and fills my ears. I walk until I can see the sky above me in all its crystalline beauty. I stop. There's a feeling of something different in the air tonight. A feeling of expectancy. The sense of a holy hush. It's so quiet out. I listen to the silence. I'm thinking, "What a night it must have been when Christ was born. Mankind had no idea what was about to happen in a crude and dirty little stable in Bethlehem so long ago." 

But the angels did.

This is the night God chose for the arrival of his Son, Jesus Christ. It is time for Jesus to be born. I am still. Frozen in time. Not because of the cold. I am still because I know what is about to happen. The angels are waiting. They are watching. They are ready. I wonder what they are feeling in their hearts as the moment of Christ's birth approaches.

And then it happens. Suddenly. Gloriously. JUST LIKE THAT! The long expected Saviour is born and the angel appears to the shepherds.

"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified." Luke 2:8-9 (KJV)

An angel? An angel appeared? How big are angels anyway? How much room did this first angel take up in the sky?  And how do angels go from being invisible to being visible? From being out of sight from everyone to all of a sudden being present in the air seemingly just above your head. The shepherds were terrified. TERRIFIED! They were "feeling extreme fear". They were "very afraid". Not only were they seeing an angel . . . a celestial being . . . but the glory of the Lord was shining around them! What was happening?

I wonder if the shepherds had to cover their eyes because of the dazzling display of brightness that was streaming down upon them. I wonder if they had to but didn't really want to. 

Then they heard words of comfort and reassurance; "And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." Luke 2:11-12  (KJV)

A baby? The long-expected Saviour was born a baby? In a cattle stall? And the shepherds believed the angel.

"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2: 13-14 (KJV)

A multitude. Suddenly there was a multitude of angels. JUST LIKE THAT! A multitude is an awful lot of angels.  And the shepherds got to see them in all their splendour and to hear them giving praise to God. 

"And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us." Luke 2:15 (KJV)

The multitude of angels . . . did they leave quickly? Or did the shepherds have several seconds to watch as they faded from the sky? What had just moments before been a celestial display of the most incredible angelic sightings ever was now the former familiar expanse of sky they were used to seeing to the men watching over their sheep. Or was it familiar anymore? Did they look at it differently in the months and years to come? Did they hope the angels might come again? 

Then the shepherds, believing the words the angel had told them, went into Bethlehem to find the baby lying in a manger in a stable. The one who was born to set us free. 

Merry Christmas, Everyone! 

 

Sandra Rafuse lives in the small town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan, with her husband Bob, a Gordon Setter named Sadie, and a Peregrine falcon named Peet. She is a retired teacher, an amateur writer, and is thoroughly enjoying having the opportunity to share what God is teaching her through her life experiences.

 

 

 

 

Coincidences, Providence, And Godwinks At Christmas by Bob Jones

Call them coincidences, providence or Godwinks.

When your faith needs re-assurance, they're what you can expect.

God has a timely way of letting you know He's got His eye on you, and you are never alone.

An Angel Named Lynsey

Cory and Lynsey Jones were delayed leaving Saskatoon. Our son and daughter-in-law eventually headed off for a family Christmas celebration in Delmas, Saskatchewan about 80 minutes away. They were just east of North Battleford when a black pick-up truck accelerated past them.

A hundred yards ahead now, the driver, trying to settle the Ford 150 back into its lane, hit black ice and started to fish tail. The pick-up ended up in a sideways slide down the highway before slipping into the ditch and flipping onto its roof.

Cory was already dialing 911 as Lynsey pulled their Rogue over to the side of the highway.

They dug away at the snow to get to the driver’s side door. A young student and her grandmother were trapped inside. Smoke started to rise from the under carriage. After getting the driver out, Lynsey calmly crawled through the door and said, “I’m a nurse. Are you hurt?”

The woman replied, “I’m Norwegian and its gonna take a lot more than this to kill me.”
 

A day later, after being treated for only a minor neck injury, the feisty Gramma called Lynsey her “angel.”

When You Need Assurance

Chemo and radiation treatments had left my friend Kathy suffering from severe nausea, exhaustion and unease.

She knew she was in good hands with the medical personnel at the Cross Cancer Institute in Edmonton, Alberta. What she wanted was the assurance that she was safe in God’s hands and that He would see her through.

On her way to radiation treatment on December 23rd she and her husband Jim ended up driving behind a Chevy Avalanche. The owner had a vanity license plate that displayed five simple letters – K L B U O. 

The creative arrangement of the letters on the license plate left them momentarily speechless. If you knew Kathy, you’d have to call that a second miracle. The first miracle was the message on the plate. “UL B OK.”

What are the odds of a cancer patient praying for re-assurance, ending up behind a vehicle with a license plate declaring, “You’ll be OK.”

The First Christmas Godwinks

It was like that for Mary.

When you’ve traveled eighty kilometres on a donkey in your third trimester of an unwed but wanted pregnancy, you need a place to rest body and mind.

Your name is “mud” with your family because they don’t believe your story of a miraculous conception as a virgin. The arduous trip has left you too wearied to resist the raging doubts in your mind from all that had happened over the past nine months.

A stable was no place to deliver your first born with only farm animals and an anxious first-time father as attendants. But a stable and a manager is all you have. So, you nestle your son into a feed trough.

Then, you ask for some re-assurance from the God who started this whole thing.

But you never expected assurance to come in the shape of breathless shepherds. 

An angelic host?
Good news?
Great joy?
A Savior?
Peace?
God’s favour?
A baby lying in a manger? 

What are the odds that the very words you needed to hear would come from the least likely sources.

This Christmas expect the unexpected from a God who sees and knows you.

Merry Christmas to all my friends at Inscribe and everyone who reads this post!

All God's best to you in 2026.

 

 

 

Whispers of Tissue and Chiffon by Brenda Leyland

 

Me and Little Sis in our velvet and chiffon dresses

The whir of Mom's Singer sewing machine was a familiar sound growing up in the little farmhouse we called home. A young wife and mom, Mom often had some sewing project under construction—garments for her growing family, draperies, craft projects, bridesmaids dresses, quilts, etc. Of all the things she sewed, my favourites were the Christmas dresses she made for me and my sisters.

With the approach of December a sense of anticipation would begin to fill the air. Mom would study the Eaton's and Sears catalogues looking for ideas of what to make. Then came the time for Mom to visit the fabric store. Sometimes we tagged along with her; I always loved that starchy smell that greeted us when we walked into the store. Amazed at the bolts upon bolts of fabric in every colour and weight in tidy rows from floor to ceiling. Not to mention the dazzling array of buttons, ribbons, and laces. The cabinets were bursting with patterns... the possibilities seemed endless. There was so much to look at—but please don't touch—that we were rarely bored while Mom sat studying patterns, musing over  fabrics and colours, feeling this cloth and then that one. Should it be floral or plain? Satin, jacquard, or velvet? This shade of evergreen or that holly red?

Back at home, the big day arrived. The kitchen table was cleared. Amid scissors, tape measure, and stick pins, sheets of ecru tissue rustled as each pattern piece was carefully laid out on the fabric. Putting it this way and that way to find the best fit before pinning it down. There'd be that moment of slight tension—just before Mom made that first scissor snip through tissue and fabric. Before long, threads and fabric bits littered the floor, and there'd be the hot whoosh as the iron pressed damp cloth against newly sewn seams.

Trying on the dresses while some seams were still held together with stickpins created a balancing act. Arms held over our heads, Mom gently slipped the emerging garment over our shoulders. My little sisters and I would try not to wiggle, turning s-l-o-w-l-y like a stiff mannequin atop a chair, while Mom adjusted seams and checked hems for length. Finally all the pins were gone and we stood in our finished dresses. One last twirl. The wonder as we stared in the mirror. It was such a proud moment to stand in our newest finery on Christmas Eve with our Sunday school class, reciting mostly memorized verses and warbling partly familiar carols.

Many holiday outfits passed beneath the pressure foot of that old sewing machine. The holly red velvet dress trimmed with lace, the swirly skirted green taffeta with three-quarter sleeves, a jacquard textured royal blue shift offset by a white pleated organdy collar (a bit reminiscent of those Queen Elizabeth I fancy collars in her 16th century portraits—not that I knew anything about her in those days). And of all the dresses made through the years, it was the pretty peacock blue velvet with a skirt of whispering chiffon that ended up being my forever favourite outfit of my early childhood.

No matter how many Christmases come and go, recollections of pretty handmade dresses and annual concerts in the old country church are as carefully bundled in filmy memories as any treasured holiday ornament. The wonder of it all is that these gifts of love were wrapped in the celebration of the One who came to express the love of a generous God to our world. Who would have thought that the whisper of tissue paper on velvet would echo that great love to three little girls?

Photo above from the family archives

Growing up Brenda could never decide whether it was her birthday or Christmas Eve that was her most favourite day of the year. Some things never change, she still can't decide. She enjoys writing on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and here on InScribe. She can also be found on Facebook and Instagram.