Advent The Dazed Starling
Founded in 2021, The Dazed Starling: Unbound is the online literary journal of the Department of Modern Languages & Literature at California Baptist University. The Dazed Starling: Advent is its annual winter edition.
Address correspondence to: Dr Erika J Travis, Managing Editor The Dazed Starling CBU, Modern Languages & Literature 8432 Magnolia Avenue Riverside, CA 92504 (etravis@calbaptist edu)
The Department of Modern Languages & Literature offers a Master of Arts degree in English, Bachelor of Arts degrees and minors in English and Spanish, and a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and minor in creative writing. To learn more about the programs and professors in the Department of Modern Languages & Literature, explore www calbaptist edu
The Managing Editor would like to thank Dr. Chuck Sands, Provost of CBU; Dr. Lisa Hernández, Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences; and all of those who offered their encouragement, guidance, and friendship during this publication process The Dazed Starling is currently published with funds generously provided by CBU’s Department of Modern Languages & Literature
©December 2024 Respective Authors
Dazed Starling Advent
Dazed Starling: Advent 2024
Letter from the Editors
Dear Readers,
Thank you for joining us for this year’s Advent edition of the Dazed Starling: Unbound. Advent is the traditional time of preparation for the celebration of the birth of Christ. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the lighting of candles, singing of carols, and reading of Scriptures remind us that the miracle of the Incarnation is rooted in and produces hope, faith, joy, and peace. They testify that no matter how dark the world may seem, the Light has come into the world, and that Light will not be overcome.
So whether or not you light candles on an advent wreath, we invite you to enter into this season of anticipation with us. Come with open hearts and rejoice in the voices that reflect light in darkened times, reminding us of God’s goodness and love.
Merry Christmas, The Dazed Starling: Advent Editorial Team
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Hope
The Other Mary Joshua S. Fullman
Beautiful as Always Jonathan Mejia
The Hour Has Come Michael Vass
Joy Alayna Williams
Faith
A Masked Reality Alayna Winans
What Lies Ahead Jeremiah Suzuki
Reflections Outside the Krispy Kreme Joshua S. Fullman
Joy
Another Wise Man David Isaacs how forever is built Peyton Bell
No Place Like Home for the Holidays Samantha Villanueva
Peace
December Dawn Hannah Noel
On This Silent Night Jenelle Hekman
Christmas Nights Kaylee Houghton
Silver Sun Rebecca Harrel
Winter’s Dream Jennifer Tronti
Hope
Titus 2:13 ESV
The Other Mary
JoshuaS.Fullman
I’m not her. I’m not that other You’re thinking of either neither Mother nor lover. No birthday Nor feast day: shadows in the paint.
Still, I saw wonders with them too, I walked the roads and tasted food From heaven, even paid his fare. You doubt?—just check the story there.
Someone else’s wife my byline, Someone else’s time my own sign. But maybe time doesn’t bring fame To everyone, yet adds a name
To fill the stage with scenery, Give chorus troupes their melody, Sends stargazers toward each chondrite And raises slaves to halls of light.
Beautiful as Always
JonathanMejia
My dad has a mid-sized pine tree in the middle of our backyard. Every year, I go out and decorate it with Christmas lights, ornaments, and a star on the top. It’s a little cliché, but it gives me joy. I usually love to sit beneath it after decorating it and adorning pine cones on the ground along the tree’s trunk. But I’ve been across the country for college, and it’s my first time home in a long time. I notice that it doesn’t snow here as much as it used to. I bring a blanket, hot cocoa, and a few tiny marshmallows as I decorate the tree.
“I hope you enjoy your tree this year, Mom,” I say as I take a sip.
I wipe away a tear and dig my hands into the soil that has mom’s ashes mixed into it.
“I really miss you, but I’m glad you’re always here in some way.”
I smile as I go back inside the house and smile as the tree’s lights turn on.
“You look beautiful as always.”
The Hour Has Come
MichaelVass
The lineage, Of Eternity Past Adam to David Joseph the last. In Bethlehem, Shepherds came worshiping And magi bore gifts For one born king. By father’s dream, Escaped to Egypt From Ramah’s tears by King Herod’s edict.
Till that hour, By kiss were cast aside To Pilate innocent But crucified. Resurrected, And at Your holy throne
Till again you come With all glory shown.
Faith
The fles am have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace & truth.
John 1:14 ESV
A Masked Reality
AlaynaWinans
She was living life in a jail cell with the door wide open. She could easily stand up and walk out; only the cell was masked with tasseled curtains, warm, fuzzy blankets, and pillows that read Live. Laugh. Love. She listened closely as a ticking sound rhythmically beat with her heart.
Tick Tick.
You’re not free. But it's so comfortable, why would you ever want to leave?
Mirrors draped the surrounding walls, each positioned at an angle to illuminate her finest features. The television flashed with the next best thing. iPhones. Cars. Achievements. She ran her hand along the resplendent screen. Every one of her desires flooded her mind as she curled up on the embellished ground, cold against her patchy clothes. Empty. She felt empty.
Tick Tick.
But that emptiness was diverted by snow cakes and frosted doughnuts of gluttony. A table lined with every baked good and confection rested in the middle of the room. Unsatisfied by the television’s incessant promises, she crawled over to indulge in the sweets, unable to move any farther.
Tick Tick.
A man in white robes walked by to see her lost and extended His marred hand into the cell.
“Let me take your place,” He offered.
She wrestled with the cutting need for meaning, drowned by enchanting excess. But she shook her head. It's comfortable here.
Tick Tick.
“Leave this destruction, daughter; I’ll bear the fall.”
She looked up to see the tearful willingness of the man. In an act of faith, she rose from the gem-encrusted floors, taking His outstretched hand. She left her prison as He supplanted her place, a substitution. Then, the cell door slammed shut. The delicacies vanished along with the deceitful jewels, unveiling the cold, stony floor. The furniture and cozy curtains disappeared in a similar manner. The true nature of the cell was revealed.
A curtain of white envelops her as she praises Him. Her heart beats uninterrupted by the prison’s draining countdown. She turns to see, for the first time, the world outside the cell.
What Lies Ahead
JeremiahSuzuki
There are train tracks to my right, and there is traffic on my left. I'll be driving through the night, against those headlights heading west.
I don't know what lies ahead. Or all the roadblocks I will face. But I got two hands on the wheel, and I'm hoping it'll be okay.
I'm not sure where I'm going. Or the side roads life will take. But if the lord is willing. I’m gonna get there safe.
There are train tracks to my right, and there is traffic on my left. I'll be driving through the night, against those headlights heading west.
Reflections Outside the Krispy Kreme
JoshuaS.Fullman
A casual curiosity: the hole in the dough like our midlife’s journey down below; so too a line of holy verse, the l of whe of ris for
Joy
An to t for you great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
Luke 2:10-11 ESV
Another Wise Man
DavidIsaacs
Grandpa saved the old nativity set for last; it was a family tradition.
The mantle cleared, we watched him unwrap each figure so gently, so gracefully, these porcelain pieces so precious to him.
As he unswaddled them with trembling hands, he would look wistfully, seeing Christmases past (people we never knew), and softly recite verses that he somehow still knew, memories themselves unwrapped each year.
But I remember most his hands that shook despite their surety, hands that cradled the pieces like children.
Firm hands, like the wise man’s carrying the gold; Strong hands
Like the shepherd’s holding the lamb; Gentle hands
Like the mother’s clasping fingers to her breast; Deft hands
Like the carpenter’s with outstretched arms; Ancient hands
Like the angel’s standing watch.
As he finally revealed the baby reaching upwards, ever upwards (despite the faded paint), he paused,
how forever is built
PeytonBell
is there a place I could take you? if there was, would you follow? I would tell you everything, no lies, all the specks of truth and ribbons of joy I have gathered in my years, and maybe you could tell me yours. we’d live life in a patchwork of your loves and my loves and the ones we share. this is how forever is built: on the backs of a million “good mornings,” in the palms of a million “good nights.”
No Place Like Home for the Holidays
SamanthaVillanueva
The air was abnormally chilly as I huddled under the blanket. I elbowed my sister in the ribs, almost making her spill her hot cocoa. Our dad laughed from his lounge chair, though we could barely hear him over the TV that showed the menu screen for the Grinch. Mom came in with her and Dad’s drinks, making sure not to trip over our tiny dogs that weaved between her legs. We had set up Christmas dinner in the living room, our plates set on trays that lined the couch. A new family tradition we started during the COVID pandemic. It was much cozier than dressing up in stockings and skirts to visit family.
The dinner was simple: menudo and homemade tamales. Our great-aunt made them and sent them to us, a tradition that survived the lockdown. They were still delicious despite being kept in a Ziploc bag, and they reminded me of Christmases past.
The night was filled with laughter, savory food, my sister sneaking our dogs her food, and the warmth of home.
Peace
For bor give government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6 ESV
December Dawn
HannahNoel
On This Silent Night
JenelleHekman
On this silent night, Snow lays in soft drifts. The air is chilling.
On this silent night, Snow falls quietly. The wind is gentle.
On this silent night, Snow lines the windows. The candles are lit.
On this silent night, Snow swirls in the air. The fire is warm.
On this silent night, Snow catches the light. The reindeer are set.
On this silent night, Snow dusts the tall trees. The sleigh now departs.
On this silent night, Snow has become frost. The presents appear.
Now the sun has come. Christmas Day is here.
Christmas Nights
KayleeHoughton
The empty stocking hangs above a tiny tree filled with ornaments reminding us of him.
A tree of remembrance shines with red and green lights illuminating the mantle of our fireplace. Above it the empty stocking hangs with an embroidered name.
“Dad” the embroidery reads reminding us on Christmas day that he’s celebrating Jesus up above.
While we’re celebrating down below.
We have peace knowing he’s safe in the presence of the all knowing.
RebeccaHarrel Silver Sun
Winter’s Dream
JenniferTronti
“In the snow, time has lost its linearity, and deep history is present.” – Katherine May, Wintering
Looking out the window at the block wall and upper band of sky, I think—it could be any season: spring, summer, autumn, or even winter. The undulating ubiquity of blue clouded only by my own unwillingness to ascribe a feeling to each calling season. Each granite cube of wall mortared with misrecognition as if time didn’t matter, as if cyclical changes weren’t etched into the cracks and airholes, life’s little fissures, betraying and beatifying equally, as if mundane mysteries did not wait, hidden, on the other side of this beige borderland. This is the season of my discovery: sun-lit shafts of light that hit, just so, in afternoon; neighborly cats on pilgrimage stroll; solitary tree whose leaves oracle atmospheric change and house anachronistic birds. I dream of scaling its height and spying hedgerows of snow like tears calcified, compounded, and frozen into heaps and hills and harrowing sites of peace.
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