Meg Grimm's Blog

Aside from being cold and flu season, the abrupt weather change from summer to fall signals one of the most beloved times of the year for countless people. Autumn thrills not just those whose hearts beat faster for pumpkin spice, but even the kiddos seem especially drawn to spooky-themed cartoons and the season of pumpkins and costumes. My nephews are already requesting trips to the Halloween store for window-shopping. My Bible study group has been able to enjoy perfect outdoor fires in these cooler evenings, and I already noticed crisp leaves crunching under my feet today when I took a walk.

Personally, I love sipping hot tea, cider or chocolate. I love changing leaves and vibrant harvest vegetables everywhere I turn. Like many, I don’t care for the winter at the end of this progression, but something about fall elicits deep feelings. It’s time to prepare for the cold. To enjoy the sweet smells and sounds of nature ending a life cycle. To watch the large, orange moon rise into the sky sooner and sooner. To relax into the early nights with a mug of warmth, thinking about the darkness for the first time in a while, and maybe thinking about what it means.

When the sun is bright and we’re consumed with summer fun, we rarely ponder the dark. But the dark has never stopped pondering us. It’s always watching. So, now that we are on the cusp of another October, I have once again published my own ponderings on the dark. This year, I made my book "How to Deal with Demons: a letter from Meg Grimm" available in print and Kindle format on Amazon. Originally, I did not write this book to share with a broad audience. I felt my unique perspective on the spiritual realm would be helpful for my family and friends. I did a limited, private printing of the book in October 2020 and gave free copies to my closest family and church family.
But we all have the same enemy of our souls, so this year, I changed my mind.

When it comes to demons, Christians must be careful what they read and who they trust. I myself do not agree with every point-of-view held by the scholars whom I even quote in my book. There has been much written through the centuries about demons by both Christian and secular sources. Only a discerning Christian should venture into deeper study on the matter. Someone who is prepared for spiritual attack and expecting deception. Nevertheless, no Christian should ever be ignorant of the schemes of the devil, and I hope to help all readers to recognize them.

Also, it’s true I have no academic credentials to write about demons. However, I did not write the book as though I do. As a Bible researcher and historian with a passion for the subjects I feel called by God to put into print, I intended only to bring to light this taboo subject. After all, the Bible does not mince words when it comes to evil spirits in the heavenly realms. Nor is the Bible silent about how we should respond. Rather, the Bible tells us all we need to know, instructing us for the spiritual battles that we are to anticipate. Therefore, I humbly offer some guiding light through the murky waters of the reality of demons. Light for the darkness that really is there, watching.

If you have ever wondered about demons, and I’m sure you have because, well, everyone does, this concise handbook full of real-life examples is a great place to start. I speak from the perspective of one who has been in demonic bondage twice, encountered demon-possessed individuals, rebuked an evil spirit, and researched all manner of demonic manifestations through history extensively. I share because it’s worth it even if only one thing I write helps just one person. What we are meant to do with the trials of our past is to comfort others. Our stories are meant for them, too.

So, brew yourself a cup of coffee or tea and settle in! How to Deal with Demons is a short book that can be read in one sitting. It is perfect for a dark, October night. Perhaps it will spark into flame just what you needed to finally deal with that bit of darkness that has lingered too long in the hidden parts of your life. Or maybe, it’s time for some real discussion about the enemy of our souls with other brothers and sisters in Christ, and this book can be a jumping off point. No matter your reason for opening these pages, my prayer is that you find what God has for you.

Enjoy!

The following folk tale was published on my new story blog - Spindle (www.storyspinnerbooks.com/spindle). A new story based on folklore and fairy tales is posed every Sunday. Subscribe to be notified about each new tale. It's a bit of reading to end the week!


A WARRIOR'S LAST KISS

The hired hands were in the churchyard when Gudrún made her way through the patch of monuments.

She was a morbid, unaffected girl. All the men groaned when she approached. The grave they were digging was nearly finished. The strange girl would want to look inside. Or, for all they knew, she might crawl down into it to find out what it was like.

One of the men addressed her. “Greetings, sister,” he said. Perhaps he might distract her. Gudrún was a servant in the house of the pastor. It was best to be gentle with her.

The girl observed the hole in the hard earth. “Who is to be buried?” she asked.

“It is Magnús Kort, of course, so you be off now and respect this resting place."

Magnús had been a member of the parish council and a farmer of substance. It would do no good to arouse the ghost of a man with his standing.

Gudrún seemed to consider this, but a faint smile played across her mouth. She stayed where she was and watched the men work. No one looked at her again.

Suddenly, one of the grave-diggers shouted, “Over here!" He moved the dirt about with his shovel unearthing a large object. The men gathered around.

“What is it?” they asked.

“A bone,” said the astounded digger.

“Not just any bone,” someone remarked. “The bone of a giant.”

When they examined the artifact, it was determined to be a thigh bone of substantial size. A murmur went through the crew.

“Probably a warrior.”

“From the sagas.”

After the bone was passed around, it was placed on the ground outside of the grave. Right at the feet of Gudrún.

In the excitement, the men had forgotten about her. Before anyone could stop her, she picked up the heavy thing for her own once-over. Her glinting eyes raked it up and down.

“It would have been fun to kiss him when he was alive,” she said. “I wonder how he feels about you disrespecting his resting place.” At that, she put the bone down and walked off.

The men looked around at each other. In the end, it was decided that the warrior had been dead and gone much too long to bother with coming back. Besides, the new grave was nearly done, and they would not be paid if they did not finish.

Later that evening, the pastor was in his house with his studies. He realized he needed a book he had left at the altar of the church building. The night was very dark, but he knew Gudrún would not mind fetching it. She had a reputation for being unafraid.

As expected, Gudrún presented no objections. Off she went with a small lamp for light.

Inside the church building, Gudrún picked up the book from the altar and began walking back down the aisle. When she was nearly to the door, she noticed a new shadow. Looking closely, she recognized the form of a large man sitting in the last pew on the north side of the building.

Gudrún held out the light toward the figure. The man turned toward it. A deep voice said, “Gone is my glowing skin tone, good my maid, and faded.”

The girl’s skin pricked. She took slow steps toward the giant closing the space between them. His eyes reflected the glow of her lamp.

“Look in my dead eyes, lady, lustrous of old, though cold now,” he said.

She came to meet him stare for stare.

“Hacked in half my buckler had I of yore in war. My beard’s uncleaned, but kindly kiss me if you still wish to.”

Gudrún's lips slid into a smile as she brought them promptly to his. When their mouths touched, her warmth seemed to subdue the chill of his skin. Her small hand brushed and held his cheek. She kissed him long to make it count.

Then Gudrún turned and left. She returned to the house with the book and told the pastor about the warrior. He was astounded, but Gudrún seemed to think nothing of it. She bid the pastor goodnight and went to bed.


The End.


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Notes:


*This story is based on an Icelandic folktale first collected by Jón Árnason (1819-1888). The words of the ghost, and the following words of the girl, are from the original tale: “It would have been fun to kiss him when he was alive.” In the tale, a spunky servant girl happens by gravediggers unearthing the large bone. The girl's name is unknown. In another version, the normally unafraid girl did not kiss the giant but ran away in a panic and was never the same again.


Source:

Icelandic Folk and Fairy Tales. Translated by Mary and Hallberg Hallmundsson. Oddi, Iceland: 2014. Print. (Tale titled, “Gone Is My Glowing Skin Tone”)


Copyright by the author Meg Grimm.

If you are reading this, you probably enjoy old ways of life, to include the enchantment of folklore and fairy tales. As of 2021, I launched my permanent website, Story Spinner Books, which features a story blog that will give you your weekly dose of magic.

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Hello! I will eventually be starting a blog of fairy tales, folklore and legends. That project is in the making and still some time away. So, I thought I would drop a quick, short story here for you to enjoy. If you have a moment, please let me know what you think of the story and/or the idea for my future blog. God bless!


The Last Faery Tale

The old man sat at a checkerboard. He slowly slid the pieces back and forth. No one sat in the chair across from him.

I stood watching while I waited for my party to use the restrooms. People came and went through the little lobby. Some grabbed brochures. Others loudly discussed their day. Still others rushed around anxious to get back outside.

No one came for the old man. No one even looked at him.

I finally found myself sitting down in the empty chair. “Would you like to play?” I asked.

He glanced up. “I suppose that would be alright.”

We set up the pieces and began the game. My friends waited for me for a few minutes but eventually went on their way. I would catch up. We were biking the Appalachian Trail. All of these people were. The little bathhouse was buried in the woods along the trail. I wasn’t sure how this feeble old man was able to bike. How had he come to be here?

I started some small talk.

The man’s name was Benner.
No, he did not have family. Not anymore.
Yes, he was alone.
No, he did not need any help, unless I happened to believe in faeries.

I did not, I told him. But I felt a little guilty saying it, especially because he looked so sad to hear it.

“Then you cannot help me,” he said. “But thank you for trying.”

“You believe in faeries, Benner?” I asked.

He sighed. “Well, no. I don’t suppose I can anymore. No one does. So they have all gone away. All but one.”

I glanced down at the board. It was my turn, and I was winning. I felt bad about that, too. I made an unnecessary move instead of collecting another of his pieces.

“Where does the last faerie live?” I asked.

“Close,” he said. “But he will soon go away, too.”

Benner made his slow, clumsy move. I decided to go ahead and take a piece. I didn’t want him to catch on.

“Where do the faeries go?” I asked.

“Nowhere. They vanish and are no more.”

Just then. a woman came into the lobby with two children. “Where are the restrooms?” she asked me.

I pointed down the hall.

“Thanks,” she said, and ushered the children away.

When I looked back, Benner’s chair was empty.

(Copyright by the author Meg Grimm)