Margie settled onto a bench near the playground and opened her novel. Morgan and Bryce, her six and four year old children, laughed as they climbed the monkey bars. Margie read one paragraph before Morgan plopped down beside her. She lowered her book to discover Morgan staring intently at her.

“Why don’t you go play with your brother?”

“Mommy, I’ve been thinking about an allowance,” said Morgan.

“Have you?”

“Yes, mommy. I know what I could do that you could pay me for.”

“What’s that?”

“I could be your informant.”

Margie suppressed a laugh. “Do you know what an informant does?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Of course I do, mommy. They learn things, then sell what they learn to others. It’s kinda like a spy.”

“Wow. Where’d you learn that?”

“You an’ daddy watched that movie last night, after Bryce an’ me went to bed.”

“I didn’t hear you sneak back downstairs.”

“Informants gotta be sneaky. I was practicing,” said Morgan proudly.

Margie tried to think what else Morgan might’ve seen.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I need an informant.”

“Yeah you do, mommy. For all the bad stuff Bryce does.”

Margie watched Bryce climb the slide. “Be careful, Brycie,” she said. “Bryce doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“He will,” said Morgan.

“Why do you say that?”

“That’s easy. You know how everyone says Bryce is just like daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Member when daddy pinched you in the bum an’ you said he was a bad man? That means Bryce’ll be a bad man, too. You need me to keep an eye on him.”

Margie laughed. “If Bryce is anything like his daddy, he’ll be alright.”

Morgan glared as she stared at Bryce running around the playground. “I dunno, mommy.”

“Trust me,” said Margie.

The two sat for a moment in silence.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Last night, why were you an’ daddy giggling so much?”

Margie quickly closed he book and stood up. “Time to go home!”

“I love the silence of snow,” said Blake. “Isn’t it amazing how quiet the world is when it snows like this? Everything’s so still and peaceful.”

Leia raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. “Actually, the individual snowflakes combine to dampen the ambient sound waves causing a noticeable change in volume. I certainly wouldn’t consider it amazing. I consider it a welcome respite from the usual assault of noise pollution.”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

“I suppose,” she said.

“When I was little, I used to collect falling snow on my tongue,” said Blake.

“You must’ve fallen under the misconception that snowflakes are sanitary because they’re white. Studies have shown that brighter shades of white lead to an assumption of purity. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Blake sighed. He wondered why his sister, Lori, would set him up on a date with this woman.

“So, how do you know my sister?” he asked.

“Technically, I don’t. Your sister and my sister, Brittany, are friends. They work together in the fraud division at Royal Bank.”

“I don’t get it. Then why set us up together?”

“When the idea was presented to me, I approached my sister with the same query. She explained that this is an experiment based on personality studies they were performing at work. Their hypothesis is that opposites do, in fact, not attract.”

“Nice. Very nice. I love being used as a guinea pig,” said Blake as he kicked at the snow in frustration. “Wait. If you knew what was going on, why go along with it?”

Leia looked away.

“What?”

“The truth is, I held their proposal in contempt when it was first presented. Then I was reminded that it’s been twelve years sine my last real date. I know it must sound pathetic, but I was drawn in by the hope of an evening meaningful social interaction. I’d understand if you want to end our date at this point,” said Leia.

Blake thought a moment, then laughed. “I’ve got a great idea. Let’s blow their little theory to bits. I say we go out to dinner, have a great time, then when we see Lori and Brittany tomorrow, we tell them we eloped.”

The two laughed.

“That sounds like a plan,” said Leia as they walked off into the fallen snow.

Behind a nearby tree, Brittany and Lori watched the couple as they faded into the snow. Just before they disappeared, Leia looked back in their direction and nodded.

“D’you think our plan worked?” asked Brittany.

“Like a charm, Brit. Like a charm.”

“Dr. Burke.”

Sid froze. He couldn’t tell who was calling his name.

“Dr. Burke. Over here. Come, join us.”

In the far corner of the lounge sat three distinguished looking professors. One of them had his hand in the air, waving Sid over. It was Dr. Pieno, head of the English Department.

“Dr. Burke, please, join us,” said Dr. Pieno.

“Thank-you, Dr. Pieno,” said Sid. He nodded to the other two at the table.

“Excuse me. Let me introduce you to Dr. Shapiro, tenured professor of Sociology, and Dr. Egret, the leading expert on emergent Western subcultures. Dr. Burke is our new professor of twenty-first century literature,” said Dr. Pieno.

“I sense opportunities for collaboration,” said Dr. Egret. “What’s your view on flash fiction as a legitimate form of literature?”

“Well, I think web published writers like ‘vanyieck’ and others are innovators. The web’s allowed them to stretch traditional literary boundaries,” said Sid.

“Bull sh-. Vanyieck writes crap. Just another deluded ego in a mass of talentless hacks,” said Dr. Shapiro.

“Let’s give Dr. Burke a few days to settle in before we crush his spirit, eh? Speaking of spirits, Mr. Allen, please bring Dr. Burke a scotch on the rocks,” said Dr. Pieno.

“I don’t drink scotch.”

“You do now,” said Dr. Shapiro.

“Dr. Burke, let me ask you something a little less controversial. What’s your approach to undergraduate education?” asked Dr. Egret.

Sid took a deep breath as Mr. Allen set a glass in front of him.

“I’m of the opinion students and teachers engage in a dynamic relationship of mutual learning…”

“Oh, Good Lord. He’s read Parker Palmer,” said Dr. Shapiro. Dr. Egret laughed.

“What?”

“Confusion.”

“Huh?”

“We don’t teach. We confuse,” said Dr. Egret. Dr. Pieno nodded his agreement.

“With any subject you teach, confuse what you can,” said Dr. Egret.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“By confusing an issue, you secure your position of expertise,” explained Dr. Pieno.

“But teaching’s about growing, letting your students enrich their lives, maybe even society as a whole,” said Sid.

“Talking to you’s the conversational equivalent of training a puppy with a rolled up newspaper,” snapped Dr. Shapiro. “Look around you, man. We’re surrounded by a bunch of oversexed, alcohol imbibed dullards. They’re not here to learn. They’re here to prolong their adolescence as long as possible before being thrust into adulthood.

“Look, you teach, whatever the hell it is. At the end of four years your students get a degree in what, English Lit? And what does that get them? An expensive piece of paper that cost their parents their retirement. No one is in danger of enriching society as a whole,” said Dr. Shapiro.

“Wow,” said Sid. He plunged into his scotch and came up coughing for air.

“What my esteemed colleague is trying to say is you’ve slightly misjudged your role as a professor here,” said Dr. Pieno.

“Yeah. We don’t exist for them, they exist for us,” said Dr. Shapiro.

“Ah.”

“People see us as experts, so they come to us for knowledge. If we relinquish all we know, we’re no longer experts. But if we make them think they’ve learned something, they go off as stupid as when they arrived and we’re still experts See? Confusion. The sooner you embrace it, the better,” said Dr. Shapiro.

“Thanks for the insight,” said Sid. “Out of curiosity, what’s your area of expertise, Dr. Shapiro?”

“The Sociology of deviant behavior.”

When Blake turned eighteen, he ventured to Algonquin Park, just like Tom Thomson. He lived off the land and painted in the same places Thomson did nearly a hundred years before. After two months of work, he returned to Toronto with twenty-six paintings under his arm. He went from gallery to gallery, searching for someone to exhibit his work.

Despite his enthusiasm, no one was interested in a copycat of Tom Thomson. One gallery owner even called him ‘the lamest tribute band of the art world’. It was a crushing blow.

Despondent, his mother welcomed him home. She even displayed his paintings in her living room. Somehow, it only added insult to injury. Being a typical teenager, Blake locked himself in his basement and vowed never to paint again. He stayed there for four months.

Inspiration is a mysterious thing. While Blake wallowed in self-loathing, inspiration appeared and blessed him with the most extraordinary gift: fractals.

Blake discovered fractals accidentally surfing the internet. He was fascinated by these marvels of mathematics. His thoughts turned to art. Experience already taught him that it wasn’t enough to duplicate what already existed. He spent hours sketching, adapting fractals into his art.

He painted landscapes using fractal shapes and patterns. He applied the same technique to cityscapes and portraits. Sometimes it worked beautifully. Other times his subjects came out deformed and grotesque. He saved every painting. Eighty-four in all.

Gathering his collection, Blake returned to the galleries that rejected his earlier work. This time, six galleries offered him exhibitions. Blake became a sensation. In a matter of weeks galleries around the country, then around the world sought after his paintings.

It was on a flight to London that Blake had time to sit and reflect. As the hours slipped by he ruminated on how he became a success. He settled on three conclusions. First, talent is important, but it’s not enough. Second, originality is at least as important as talent. Last, never burn bridges or carry grudges. He smiled at the last one.

Blake settled into his seat and closed his eyes. Before he drifted off to sleep he made one more realization. Despite what anyone said, he was always an artist. Experience helped him become a smart one.

Griffin asked Amy out to dinner because she seemed like a safe choice. They attended the same Bible study at church. She was bright and funny and attractive and at a similar stage in life. If nothing else, they could spend the evening swapping parenting stories.

He took Amy to a sushi restaurant called ‘He’s Got a Knife’. Griffin hoped it would help him appear playful and sophisticated. Being a boring old home body, he knew very little about restaurants.

The two sat a long bar. A man in a white coat and chef’s toque approached. His name tag read ‘Len’.

“May I help you?”

“Yes,” said Griffin quickly. He paused nervously and looked at Amy. His pained expression was an attempt to apologize for his presumptuousness.

“Is there something two can share?” asked Amy.

“Ah, yes. No problem. I’ll be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink?”

Griffin waited for Amy.

“Water please,” said Amy.

“Same for me,” said Griffin.

The chef stepped away. Amy gave Griffin a look of concern.

“If you want wine or a beer, please don’t let me stop you,” she said.

Griffin looked perplexed. “It’s okay. I prefer water.”

“Oh, okay. I just thought you were thinking, with me being a recovering alcoholic,” said Amy.

“I didn’t know that,” said Griffin.

Amy blushed and looked around the restaurant.

“How long have you been… recovering?”

“Six years.”

Griffin and Amy sat in silence. Neither one had the courage to look at each other.

“Does it get easier? After a while?”

“Yeah. The first few months were killer. I don’t want to say it gets easier. I mean, it does, but it’s when you get overconfident that you slip. You know what I mean?”

“That makes sense,” said Griffin.

Len the chef returned and began slicing salmon. Amy noticed all the band-aids he wore under his vinyl gloves.

“Knives look sharp,” said Amy.

“You have no idea,” said Len.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. After five minutes of slicing he presented the first course. I looked like pâté.

Griffin and Amy shared looks of trepidation. Len noticed their hesitation and dropped his shoulders.

“I’m terrible at this, I know,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” said Amy.

“Don’t lie,” said Len. He pointed to the salmon he just finished slicing. “That looks like something my cat threw up on my couch.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” said Griffin. He looked at Amy for help.

“You don’t have to be nice. I never wanted to be a chef. My mom made me. All those Food Network shows, I hate ‘em. The only reason I became a sushi chef was so I wouldn’t haveta cook. You think this is bad? You should see me make pasta. Last time I made linguini, three people went to the hospital.”

“Out of curiosity, what would you’ve been if you had your way?” asked Amy.

Len looked back at the kitchen to see if anyone was watching. “I always wanted to be a phlebotomist. You know, work in a lab. How cool would that be?”

Amy spoke carefully. “Well, I’m the CFO at Mercy General and I know we do training. If you’re serious and would like a career change, I can look into it for you.” Amy pulled a business card from her bag and handed it to Len.

Len was so excited he dropped his knife and ran to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you were a CFO,” said Griffin.

“It’s not really that glamorous,” said Amy.

“It’s glamorous enough for me,” said Griffin. “I’m a librarian.”

The two giggled under their breaths.

“Maybe we should find some place else to eat. That is, if you still want to,” said Griffin.

Amy sighed and smiled. “Absolutely. Who knows how many more lives we could save?”

“I have a friend…”

“Already I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“That you have a friend.”

“Okay, I had a friend, from my old neighborhood. He was nuts.”

“That I believe.”

“Quiet. Let him finish.”

“Thank-you,” said the first attorney, sarcastically. “Like I said, he was nuts. And fearless. One time, he ate a live scorpion just to gross people out. Another time, he took apple juice to the doctors. He had to give a urine sample, so he filled his specimen cup with the apple juice. In the middle of the waiting room he told the nurse he was thirsty, then he drank the specimen cup.”

“That’s nasty.”

“I know, right? Anyway, he decided to go on ‘Fear Factor’. If anyone could do it, it was this guy. He got on the show and had an epic fail.”

“What happened?”

“His girlfriend showed up during his challenge and proposed. He ran off the set, screaming, never to be heard from again. Turns out he was afraid of commitment.”

“Oh, snap!”

“That’s nothing,” said the second attorney. “I knew a guy who was a total genius. A major Mensa. Eidetic memory and everything. I mean, the guy knew everything. He broke the Harvard bell curve. One time he even made a professor cry, right in his own lecture hall.

“So he decided to go on ‘Jeopardy’. You know how they got two rounds, then final Jeopardy? Well, through the first two rounds the guy kills. He answers, like, everything. At the end of the second round he was ahead by twenty-five grand. But the guy gets greedy. The final Jeopardy category was ‘Famous Streets’, so he bets it all. Well, the question comes up and the guy totally blanks. Loses it all. Epic fail. Epic.”

“I thought you said he was a genius.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t have street smarts.”

“Oh, that hurts. That’s so bad,” said the third attorney.

“So? What’s your story then?”

The third attorney thought for a minute, then leaned forward. He looked carefully at the other two. “I got something, but mine’s actually true.”

“Alright. Lay it on us.”

“I know two guys who are so full of crap they spit brown.” He ducked under a barrage of flying french fries.

During a routine physical Roger learned the truth. Dr. Youhannan opened her folder and paused.

“We got your test results. Hmmm.”

Roger hated when doctors said ‘hmmm’.

“I’m going to refer you to a specialist,” said Dr. Youhannan.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Then why am I going to a specialist?” asked Roger.

Dr. Youhannan peered over her glasses. “Just to be safe,” she said.

A week later Roger sat in his underwear on a doctor’s table wrapped in white paper. Dr. Sarnia, a rheumatologist, was poking and prodding every joint in his body.

“Ow,” said Roger after a jab in his knee.

“Did that hurt?”

Roger glared at Dr. Sarnia. “Yes.”

“Hmmm.”

“What?”

When he was finished, Dr. Sarnia sat at his desk and started writing. Roger tried to read what he wrote, but it was written in doctorese.

Dr. Sarnia leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Your joints seem to confirm your seropositive blood tests.”

“That’s good. I hate internal conflicts,” said Roger.

“You have rheumatoid arthritis.”

The two stared at each other. The buzz of the fluorescent lights echoed in Roger’s ears.

“What does that mean?”

“Among other things, it means you have an old woman’s disease,” said Dr. Sarnia. He smirked as he spoke.

“Excuse me?”

“Your immune system, for whatever reason we don’t know, is attacking your joints,” explained Dr. Sarnia.

“How’d I get it?”

“We don’t know. It’s not contagious.”

“What, it’s like, genetic?”

“Actually, no. We don’t know why people get it.”

“So I can’t even blame my parents for this?”

“Nope. It’s all you. I’m surprised you didn’t complain this sooner. Didn’t you think something was wrong?”

“Well, no. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I hear people complain about aches and pains. I just figured I was getting older.”

The reality of the situation slowly sank in. Old woman disease. He was a thirty-one year old, old woman.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

When the lone angel spoke, he was truly profound. He tells the shepherds that the child is the savior, the Messiah, and the One True God.

He has come to save humanity from itself- it’s sin, it’s selfishness and rebellion

He has come to be the the Messiah- the anointed one, who speaks the very words of God like Moses of old.

He is the Lord- the name he uses is the Old Testament name of God himself.

More than this, the angels also explain to the shepherds why Christ came. They said, “Glory to God in the highest.” Christ came to bring glory to God. His presence, his ministry, and his sacrifice bring glory to God. His redemption brings glory to God. Everything does, everything he says is for the purpose of reflecting God’s glory.

The angels also say “Peace to men on whom his favor rests.” Christ brings peace. Peace with God. Only when we have peace with God can we have peace with each other. Christ shows us the way.

The angels came with a message. It not only changed the shepherds, it changed the world.

It was especially troubling because Jason wanted to do something extra special for his wife for Christmas. When he proposed, Jason promised Bella a life of adventure. They’d only been married four years, but those years were marred by turbulence and uncertainly. Despite their efforts to get ahead and start a family, they felt trapped in their one bedroom bungalow on the wrong side of the tracks.

Christmas inspiration struck on a snowy day in late November. Jason found a crushed ring in a coffee shop parking lot. He took it to a jewelers who confirmed that the stone of the broken ring was a third of a carat diamond.

Jason decided to create a ring for his newly discovered treasure. Being a man who was secretly an incurable romantic, Jason’s boss was eager to help. He let Jason use shop tools to finish the ring and kept the shop open so he could work after hours.

A leftover byproduct of their manufacturing process were thin washer-like steel blanks. Jason took one of the blanks, heated it in the furnace room and formed it into smooth ring. He then looked online at hundreds of diamond ring styles. After two weeks of trial and error, he became adept at forming tiny steel stems into an elegant setting.

Perseverance paid off when Jason finished the diamond and steel ring the Thursday before Christmas. He could hardly contain his pride.

On Christmas morning he presented Bella with a wrapped jewelry box. She opened it to discover his hand made gift. Bella gave Jason a look of pain.

“It’s… nice,” she said.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s really pretty, but what I really wanted was a toaster.”