The Snow Fort: An epic of three warriors

Perhaps school is turning my brain to mush, but I wrote an epic out of a snow fort fight...

Yep.

I know.

:-/

However! I cling to the idea that creativity is proof of some remaining brains. Besides, it was fun to write something in the style of the old, unrhymed-iambic-pentameter epics I'm studying in school.

The day dawned dark; the sky was lade with snow.

Sun showed just the gray bald back of his head

Left flurried, self-secure littles preparing

For white, stormy arms. Gray atmosphere seeped

Into the hearts of all. But yet remained

Three warriors. The one, a youth, declared

To two his purpose. His design meant ill

Towards all who loved him, raised him, did him good.

Some land of theirs he stole in secrecy

And sought snow castles thereupon to build

His purpose scofflaw fugitives to hold

In “freedom” but still bent to do his will.

By such he thought to earn a treas’ry vast.

By hard work first, he’d live a slothful life

And toil by breaking backs of other men

Thereby to win himself a vast estate.

To such end joined one of the twain fighters.

Together labored they to build their hall.

Betwixt they swore the fortune they would share

But to his heart, each swore to keep the whole.

That last wise warrior knew a better scheme

Which would reward the good and right a wrong.

He let them build the castle to their will,

Then he would seek to turn the profit good

To such an end he let them labor on

Thinking to make them slaves to their own work

And on their finish, conquering would serve

To punish them, and give their fruit to those

Who lovingly did raise them their whole lives

And gave own labor to raise these two traitors.

By such a scheme he waited through the seconds

And seconds turned to minutes, minutes hours.

Then was time ripe to satisfy their greed

And they began to seek out those in need

Of escape from a dire, and criminal life

By giving righteous “well paid” work of light.

Then did the third, our hero, gladly rise.

And went him forth among them as a spy.

He sought by hard work, constant, to earn trust.

And surely it did work. For such a man

Of character is surely never found,

But is compared to him, who lives in legend.

Thus was it that he came inside their lodge

And knew the secrets, strong and weak thereof.

Beyond this, knew him patience, for i’ faith

He waited hours more for them to part

And leave him master, caretaker and heir

Should aught befall them ‘fore they made return.

So sure their downfall, eminently near

The third of that bold party made his call.

He stood upon the parapet and declared

“I claim this fortress and this castle mine

For use as should be for our benefactors

That they which gave us home and health should be

Returnéd that same gift by warriors three.

If thou standest by me, come and welcome.

Our names be renowned for hospitality.

But if thou durst oppose, gird up thyself.

I will attack thee forthwith as you stand.”

With such, he waited their reply with calm.

But they knew not aught of humility

And threw themselves against the walls to fight.

The warrior threw them back and then rained down

A shower of stones and snow and ice unceased.

The two were so beset, one ran away

Deserting what he had not first begun.

The other stood and used with his strength

A shovel – left from work – became his shield.

Howe’er he stood, he could not win the wall

But stood away from reach of raining stone.

Until by chance he spied him such a tool

As might befit the conquering of a wall.

There lay a pickax where his warrior friend

Had thrown it down as he fled far away.

This he took up and quickly advanced close

And when he reached near enough for his arm

He raised, and threw the pickax on the wall.

It struck its target, and tumbled down inside

Lay the last warrior, slain for his good heart.

So thought the wicked one in triumph glad.

But lo! There stirs our hero living still.

He creeps, bleeding, weak, up to the gate.

There he grasps the handle of that ax

And pulls it from his body carefully.

He staggers, wounded, out, and finds his prey.

The warrior gaggles, frightened, runs away.

He thought him conqueror, and his opponent dead

But the man was living and pursuing.

Then came the wounded man so close in fight

He grasped the wayward warrior by his helm

And thrust him forth into a cloud of white,

He cried “Die now, thou villain! Be dispatched

Into this wild, white, devo’ring abyss.

I end thy black days here, in death of white.”

Dusk.

I tried something new here. Something new new. I invented my own poetic meter. The lines are vary in length and number of poetic "feet", but there in each is a break before the last four syllables. The rhyme scheme is a simple abcb one. Each line becoming a sentence in itself was not intentional.

Dusk

Blooms abused as weeds dance light-footed, on whispering breeze.

Birds share songs of night; ignore the moon.

A pure westward glow shrinks shyly upon itself – blinking at dusk.

Traffic sounds blur miles away: tonight they will not reach, in my cocoon.

Evening sighs a happy breath, its colors fade.

The silver maplett tousles, wrestling wind.

Pale colors transform white, dark becomes black.

My soul’s asleep, now, with nature’s twinned. 

Freedom Run: Fighting Darkness One Step at a Time.

Yet another day of school. I promised myself I'd study in five minutes. First, facebook. JUST five minutes.

M had posted something that had a big red X logo. I scanned it for anything interesting. "We're in to end it" the post said. End what? *Scroll* Ahh. Human trafficking. Good cause, I thought. Good cause indeed. *Scroll*

S had posted something that had a big red X logo. I did a double take. The same post! I'm  proud of you, S. I nodded silently to myself. Perhaps I should re-post this. It's a good cause. It'd be good to raise awareness about human trafficking.

I moved the mouse over to the "share" button.

NO.

What?

NO. This isn't what you were trained to do. This is not how your parents, your youth leader and your time at Summit Ministries trained you to think.

Oh, ok. What, then?

Check it out.

I shifted the mouse just in time and clicked on the link.

The website was mostly black and red, with the big X logo etched in flashy places. I scrolled through, taking it in. Statistics barreled at me. And estimated 27 million people are enslaved worldwide. Over 100,000 thousand people are enslaved in AMERICA alone. Two children are sold every minute. 

Every MINUTE? The bloody logo stared at me, daring me to believe these outrageous facts.

I can't just ignore this.

I looked at the top of the page and found the "Action" tab. There must be something I could do, some way I could support this movement besides re-posting it onto my social media network. A list of fundraiser ideas came up. Host a bake sale, have a car wash, do a dodge ball tournament, on and on. My hometown does dozens of these a year. They looked way to ordinary. HOST A MARATHON. I jumped. The words flashed at me. I laughed. I don't run! And I'm supposed to host a marathon? That's comical, really.

School tickled my brain and I closed the tab. Homework doesn't wait well.

But I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. I tried not to think about it as an obligation, but in the back of my brain I boiled down the marathon to a more workable portion: a 5k run. A day passed, then a few days, and a week. I couldn't forget about the horrible things I'd read about girls deceived into sex trafficking, and children who didn't recognize pimps until it was too late.

I presented the idea of a 5k to raise awareness about human trafficking - especially sex trafficking - to my college Bible study and my youth leader. They fanned the idea into a plan and volunteered to help see it carried out.

We are hosting a Freedom Run.

Together we have organized a 5k run/walk for June 22nd. Check in begins at 7 AM and the race begins at 8 AM. There is a kids run starting at 9 AM and a silent auction during the races. Strollers are welcome! No skateboards, bikes, wheely-shoes, etc.

Register early for the run to ensure a t-shirt! The deadline for early registration is June 8th. Registration info and the registration form can be found at www.stayclassy.org/1corinth926. Registration after the deadline costs $35. The kids run is only $5 but I still need a registration for each entrant.

There is even a place for people to volunteer NOT to run! We'll need some to point the way for the runners, some to keep track of timing to determine first place winners, some to manage check in, somebody to help with water tables, etc. There will be plenty of work for people who would love to help in a way that doesn't involve a lot of sweat.

If you have questions about donations, donating items for the silent auction, sponsoring our race, registration or volunteering, please contact me! My email is gianna.freedomrun@gmail.com.

Thank you so much for your support and prayers.

May God bless our humble event and use each dollar for precious people caught in trafficking and for his glory.

Amen.

2013: Make it Meaningful

The new calendar hands me a snazzy empty grid to fill with life. Is it opportunity, or is it intimidating? 

I begin to plan for the new year; I pick out meaningful things from the endless list of opportunities and drop them onto that handy sectioned cardstock. But the word meaningful catches me. Meaningful. It’s used so often to describe the old year that I feel it’s a mandate: Find thou something meaningful in this year!

I can’t.

I’m not going to look back and point to 2012 and tell you that my character took great strides, and that I 

gained a sense of direction.

It wasn't like that.

My definition of meaningful changed.

In June I went to New York City with my choir. I would describe it to you in the varying hues of the markets we visited, or the audiences we sang for, or the places we ate. But all that comes to mind is “We had so much fun!” It was a pleasurable and empty trip. We went. We sang. We came home.

In September I went to Colorado with Katie. I won’t try to describe it to you. I can only try to clarify the meaning it taught me.

There was fellowship. There is a fellowship in a choir, just as there is a fellowship in God. But a choir needs a purpose. God is purpose. And to fellowship in Christ then, is meaningful as nothing else can be.

Things came of this fellowship. Study. We came together every morning, afternoon and evening for lectures. We studied the solidness of the truths of God. Desire to study. We took notes, bought books, took time to meditate and pray about what we learned. Close fellowship. We were divided into small groups to pray for, lean on and support each other. Joy. Maybe we just looked like another group of volleyball players at the park, but our smiles didn't end with our physical exertion. We served joyfully – taking plates after meals or helping Mat with his sprained ankle. We took joy in learning, in praising, in prayer, in fellowship and in sleep. More fellowship. We now worship together by posting verses on Facebook. We study by posting and responding to articles and listening to the wise voices of our new friends.  

In June I came back from New York with the choir exhausted, ready to sleep.

In September I came back from back from Colorado with Katie; Katie-bug; My Katie, exhausted and eager to fellowship.

That gridded wall hanging beckons me again. I smile.

Opportunity.

For Meaning. 

Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving. Not Easter. Yes, I’m grateful for over-stuffed turkeys and aromatic pies, time with my family, laughs shared with friends, and another blessed year. Yes, I’m rejoicing that I live a life of plenty, that God has blessed us with a bounteous abode, abundant land, and canine adorers. My stereotypical little life is a thing I have great thanks for. But that which my heart sings the loudest for, that for which I can find no words but I must express, is my gratitude for the spiritual blessing that begat all spiritual blessings. I thank God for Christ.

I praise God for his peace in my confusion, his joy when I’m discouraged, and his love when I want to be angry; I praise God for his death for my life.

Lately I have been studying the book of Esther. I’ve read it before, and it’s a good story. Esther becomes queen in time to save her people from annihilation. But the question has been hounding me: why is this story in the Bible?  And in the few nights I prayed for revelation and truly studied, the Holy Spirit whispered. I could suddenly see the fantastic way this story pictures in a human romance God’s heart and mind.

Esther was not perfect, as a lamb must be. But she was submissive to her cousin-turned-father, and showed honor to the husband she was not allowed to choose. She invited Haman to feast with her, and endured the realness of evil without Mordecai’s protective presence. Xerxes in turn renounced his closest counselor and trusted friend for the love of his endangered bride. The Jews were empowered and overcame their assailants on that fateful day ever after entitled Purim, a day of salvation.

The parallels astounded me. Each element seemed to point to Christ’s perfect offering, with a human spin. Esther released her life without dying. Xerxes granted life to the nation he first sold into destruction, all with eyes for one woman and ears for whomever spoke.

The record of this small segment in time is a breath-taking panorama of heavenly design. It emphasized God’s zealous protection of his chosen in the past. Even Zeresh realized that “’If Mordecai, before whom you have begun to fall, is of the Jewish people, you will not overcome him but will surely fall before him.’” Medes and Persians understood God’s reputation. Yet this epic, like a glass of water, also magnified Christ’s coming story. Ever so clearly, this type of Christ fit together piece by piece and pictured salvation.

Esther was afraid to offer herself, and prayed for three days. Christ wept and endured agony at the thought of his suffering. Xerxes killed his advisor rather than lose his wife. God turned away from Christ to win us.

It is for all this I feel gratitude this Thanksgiving. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing…even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him…to the praise of his glorious grace with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.” Ephesians 1:3,4 and 6.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise him all creatures here below.

Praise him above ye heavenly hosts.

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

 

Amen.

Sunday.

We gathered.
We chatted.
We volleyed the ball.
We laughed hard.
We were breathless.
We lay on the grass and made shapes out of the clouds.
We played on the swings.
We tossed the football.
We roasted acorns.
We ultimated the frisbe.
We claimed we had it.
We dropped it.
We made good saves.
We chuckled.
We put our shoes on.
We panted and drank water.
We promised next week.
We decided every sunday, this must happen.
We left happy.

A Dangerous Journey

Dear friends:

Once upon a time, I posted the first chapter of a story I wrote.

This is the second chapter. Enjoy. Comment. Critique.



Normal is Write (part one)

            Maleya slammed the front door to vent and turned cheerfully down the sidewalk. The writers gathered weekly in a park only a short distance from where Maleya lived. Leaves both shaded and carpeted her walk. Emerald filtered light fell around her.

            "He-ey Leya! Whatcha got written?" Straight blond hair danced around the face of Maleya's friend.

            "He-ey Liss! What's your guess?"

            "Nope. You have to tell."

            "Fat luck." Maleya smiled up into the face of the taller writer.

            "Pout." Liss frowned at Maleya and bounced beside her on long legs.

            "Suck it up, cupcake." Maleya laughed at Liss's irked face.

            "You know I could take you any time. Then you'd have no choice. Cupcake." Liss bunched her fists.

            "Yeah, yeah. You think you're stronger than me."

            "Think?!" Liss was always easily riled. She attempted to control herself. "I can take you, Leya." Somehow the telling wasn't enough. Maleya found herself unceremoniously draped over Liss's lofty shoulder, watching the leafy cement receding.

            "I get your point, Liss."

            "Thought that might help." Liss dropped her friend on her feet and let her stumble a few steps.

            "You know something?" Maleya grasped the manuscript and pert-paper that had fallen. "Your story's gonna feel like that. Real soon."

            "Like what? I can't claim to know how that felt, honestly," Liss said savoring her victory.

            "Punched in the gut, dropped from a great height, and left in pain and awe to ponder."

            "Good to know you respect me," Liss swallowed the complement for it's worth.

            Maleya turned to an arch between two of the trees and let her feet plod as a hill ducked out from under her.  Sunlight had plopped itself in the broad lap of the lawn and Maleya's finger print on  her lens made the lenses of her glasses into shades. Fellow writers stood and sat everywhere – most talking, some writing, some glancing around snobbishly.

            At the bottom of the hill sat Hendlic Todd, the writer the whose expertise they had all been assigned to learn from. The hill sloped into a natural amphitheater around the man at the bottom. From the top there was a glorious view of forest covered hills and peaceful country villas fading into purpleness. Maleya sat at the bottom and closed her eyes. She felt – but did not see – Hendlic look up and narrow his eyes at her. It was a sweet moment.

            A sharp whistle stopped several writers short in their mixed conversations.

            "Shut up, Liss!" Hendlic's voice cut the whistle short and secured the attention of the proteges. Maleya looked up. Liss was standing behind Hendlic with her lips still pinched into an o. She let out another short blasting whistle and grinned. Hendlic backhanded her and glared at the writers. The author wasted no time.

            "Today's lesson is about beginnings," he said simply. He stood up and did not wait for Liss to take her seat, or writers to pull out their electric, note-taking pert-paper. Maleya turned up the volume on hers and watched a heading fade into view – "Today's lesson is on beginnings." Maleya scribbled out the first four words with her fingernail and capitalized the word beginnings. It would do for a title.

            "Do you know how people decide which story to read?" Hendlic dared anyone to answer incorrectly. The beautiful blue in his eyes had practiced this menacing glare for the extent of his career.

            "The first sentence," a newcomer bellowed from the top of the hill. Writers nodded and glanced apprehensively at their instructor.

            "Why?" Hendlic always had a question ready. There was a moment of silence.

            "Because the general public has a short attention span. They must become interested in the first sentence or two, or they will decide the story is not worth their while." Maleya answered without looking up from editing her notes.

            "Read me your first sentence."

            Maleya took a breath to start reading and paused suddenly. She had two stories prepared. One was normal. The other not. It was dangerous; the merging of areas of expertise always was. It would serve as a signal flare for Maleya. The future of her mixed writing and techy inventions depended on the reaction to her story. But it's about time, anyway. And the first sentence won't hurt me. Maleya tried to shrug away the knot in her mind and read her sentence aloud.

I haven't Got a Prayer

There were a few times this week when I came questioning before the throne of God.

Each time, I was kneeling after an enjoyable day. I had received blessings in the weather, in my company, through my family and friends, through my time and blessings in the form of opportunity;  I had nothing to pray for.

I didn't understand.

Every night I ask God for something. More of his character manifested in my life. A second chance to not yell at my brother. One day to be cooler than the rest. It is typical for me to find something that has gone wrong and pray God to put his blessing over it. I try to cover it with prayer at the end of the day for the next morning.

But those days, I came up empty. It seemed as if all those days had already been perfectly blessed. I had to wonder what I was supposed to improve upon. It was insanity to me that God would give me a day without poking my character in another direction (or again, in the same direction.)

So the first day I just thanked him.

The second day I started praising! I remembered David and turned hastily to Psalms, hoping his prescribed words would suit the helium-like joy that insisted on rising beyond me.

More perfect days followed. Sunburn, slivers, swallowing half the lake while skiing and sticking to inside of my sleeping bag ruined each evening, morning and afternoon. And I couldn't get anything out of myself but more Psalms!

Today I still can't think of anything to pray for. I am so grateful to God for the moments our church spent together worshipping and learning. I thank him for time this afternoon to work on projects and to blog. I am still excited by eating supper outside and throwing a hotdog bun over the edge of the porch to my dog. I look forward to the evening.

I see now that God is poking my character. Towards praise. Is that not a glorious thing? We were created to praise and worship! Shouldn't it be a repetitive part of our twenty-four hour lives?

And what a lovely and perfect repetition!

Psalm 21:1-5
"O Lord, in your strengh the kind rejoices,
and in your salvation how greatly he exults!
You have given him his heart's desire
and have not witheld the request of his lips.
For you met him with rich blessings;
you set a crown of fine gold upon his head.
He asked life of you; you gave it to him,
length of days forever and ever.
His glory is great through your salvation;
splendor and majesty you bestow on him.
For you make him most blessed forever,
you make him glad with the joy of your presence."

Just New York City

I was going to blog about going to New York.

Now I don't know if I can. So much of it was just tourist attractions and travel! I enjoyed it without a doubt, but there was so little of substance that happened.

So I'll compromise. I'll post my pictures and give you a photo blog post (for once) and get this self-inflicted need to blog about NYC off my mind.

Then I can freely write about things that actually give me words.



This is my first picture of the skyline! If only the UPS truck hadn't changed lanes. Grrrr.

This is the Lincoln Tunnel. It goes under the Hudson River from Brooklyn, New Jersey to New York City, New York. This picture was supposed to show how wet the walls were from being right under the river.





This was the old graveyard at Trinity church. William Bradford is burried here! Also - think National Treasure.

The boys started feeding the pidgeons during breakfast.



And they gathered somewhat of a crowd before they realized it wasn't a very good idea.

This is the 9/11 memorial site. the water runs from a under a ledge down to the first level, and then it falls down into that square in the center.

Around the rim is a ledge on which is inscribed the name of every victim of 9/11 from the two towers, from the Pentagon, from the volunteer rescue workers, and from the victims of the terrorist attack in 1993.

These are some of the names inscribed on that ledge.

And this next picture is what brought all of this into focus for me.

Inna. The nickname of one of my dearest friends. I had to stand for a minute to take this in. It struck me then that people's friends died here. That their families, their sisters, their childhood playmates did not escape the tower before it fell. That the pain from this tragedy was still hurting my country.

The rest of the pictures I took at Ground Zero were much less from a tourist's point of view, and more from that of a touched countryman. It was a sad lesson, but I am grateful I learned it.

Thoughtfully,

Gianna.

(More pictures later. :)







I tried.

You have to want something so you can try it.
You have to try it so you can make mistakes.
You have to make mistakes so you can figure you out what you did wrong.
Once you figure out what you did wrong, you can do it right.

I want to be a good writer. So I tried.

My Creative Writing class is interesting. It's very laid back. For the poetry section, we have to post an original poem of any form to the forum online and revise it over the next few weeks. I guess what really bothered me was that there weren't any requirements as to what kind of poem we had to write. In another class I took (from a different school) we were required to write three poems of three different styles.

Anyway, it was really tempting to sit there and post a poem from the other class, because I had already been told it was well written. But I challenged myself and wrote a new one. Then I posted both of them to the forum.

The first one I wrote for Intro to Lit last year. It's a Shakespearean sonnet - the rhyme scheme is ABBA ACCA DEDEDE {with a subtle break between the first and second groups of four lines, and between the first 8 and following 6}. The form overall is that during the first eight lines, a dilemma or situation is described and in the second six, it is resolved or changed.

Battle Worthy Spring

I fain would have a battle-worthy Spring

To spite cold Winter's crude and cruel designs.

Invoked by her, our tired and weary sighs,

Our dirges and our mournful carols ring.

And winter's vice!—her mortal arrows sing—

Snow; snow; in drifting, streaming lines

The rain and weeping, howling wind betimes

Encircle dwellings all, with icy wings.

But sunlight warms, inspires our tongues to dance

With soft, sly songs of coming season's cheer

And words of buds and blooming. Every chance

Of stolen sunshine gives us reason more to leer

As wounded Winter with her shattered lance

Admits a battle-worthy Spring for one more year.

{It's coming guys!}

Second poem: (no name yet - another Shakespearean Sonnet)
We hold our breaths one season of each year.
Fall, spring and summer bring us joy; surprise;
Winter freezes through – snow in shocked eyes,
And cold outlines the warmth within our cheer.
A stouter heart arises out of fear
Our motto: we will champion, not enjoy.
We suspect charming Winter’s beauty ploy.
We hide our weakness from those held most dear.
But restlessness drags us outside in guilt.
One moment, just to feel the wind, I swear.
We laugh, grasp living white as if a hilt—
For the innocent spectator to appear.
And soon the snow is unarranged and spilt –
It’s pattern spelling love of winter clear.




Um...let me know if you have a good name for the second poem!! Critique is welcome. That's what they're here for. Like I said, we have to try so we can make mistakes. 

*Deep breath* You choose the title!

...is something I love to do. I had to write a paragraph using setting to insinuate mood. And not just any setting or mood...I had to choose from a list of settings and mood.

Settings: City in the Rain; Midnight on the Farm; 1890, in the Parlor; High Noon on the River; A Spring Morning; In the Bar, After Hours; The Dusty Road; Dawn in a Foreign Place.

Mood: sinister, sick with love, full of promise, suicidal, dangerous, suspense, happy-go-lucky, lonely.

Sooooo...here be the paragraph, and you see if you can determine which I chose from each list! Leave a comment with your guess before I tell you!

Droplets made music in puddles. Singing water filled damp air, thrusting out delight and receiving its delight thrust unceremoniously back, leaving ripples. There was work to do: high rises and business men with newspapers, Hyundai Sonatas honked angrily, afraid of spoiling their polish on the wet city freeway – uncheery, all. Rain’s embodiment, wearing mother-enforced galoshes and brown ringlets, mad the weary water smile by leaving vanishing footprints on the drowned sidewalks and kissing the raindrops with green eyes wide in wonder. Rain fell, surer of its task of joy, and bathed the world in sweet dancing sorrow.

D2

If you have changed a life, can your life stay the same?

I have to wonder how I've changed. I didn't see it happen. But I think it must have, somewhere.

I don't know when I first learned about disciple making. It probably happened to me before I really knew what it was. Mom lead a Bible study for me and my sisters. We attended. That was that. Then Dad led a Bible Study every Wednesday night for men at the church. Then both my parents told me I should lead one. I gulped. And I turned them down.

Two years later, I must have had a better idea of what Discipleship was. "Mom!? I think I could lead this Bible Study. Do you think so? Can we order the training kit?"

And two years after that, I actually got to learn about disciple making.

Left to Right - Me, Mariah, Tiffany. Tuesday Ladies, we call each other.  Should be more like girls, maybe. We're not old. We studied Discipleship as we practiced it. Mariah and I were discipled by Tiffany as we learned about discipleship. The three of us studied it. We learned that disciple making is a three-tiered work of faith. First we are discipled. We study scripture and strengthen our faith. It's easiest really. It's like going to school. True, you have to work for those moments of revelation, and there's homework, but at least you aren't the teacher.

And then suddenly, you are the teacher. D2. You're a disciple who makes disciples. Just like a graduate student who tutors, you realize the reason for homework. You've needed it all along. And the opportunity to teach usually comes just before you actually think you're ready for it. It must be healthy for us.

Last week marked D2 for me. I have been friends with Little Leah - as my mental faculties consistently label her - for over a year. I can't get her off my heart. I didn't think I loved her any more than any of the other little girls, but God pointed her out to me. When God points something out, you don't have much choice about whether you're gonna do it.

I met with her Wednesday. Tuesday, at 11 p.m. I wrote down a few questions for Leah. "Can you tell me what the Gospel means for you? What do you want to learn about and study in our times together? What do you think 1 Timothy 4:12 means?" I figured I had a pretty good grasp on an hours' worth of material, counting a few awkward pauses and some meditative time.

God: *Snort* Yeah, ok Gianna, if that's what tosses your confetti.

I did get to use one of my questions. "So Leah? Can you tell me exactly what the Gospel means in your own words?"

"Um...I don't think so. No, I'm not sure."

...

*Crickets*

...

"Well, ..." And I began with Romans 3:23. When I finished explaining the gospel, Leah just looked at me. I asked her if she wanted to accept Christ.

"Yes! I do!" So I prayed with her.

I don't think I really caught my breath until that evening. Wait, what?! I think I just...lead somebody to Christ! I couldn't believe what I'd done. I thought back and tried to realize it. Yes, she'd sat there and nodded her head. I'd prayed with her, holding her hands, listening to her talking to her new Savior.

I guess that's what listening feels like. God whispered, and I acted. I can't recall actually thinking about what I was doing. Chances are God was doing the thinking for me.

I want it to stay that way.

When I was Young...

When I was young, perhaps 5, our homeschool co-op hired a science teacher to give once-a-week lectures to the kids. It must have been interesting, because while I was not the oldest, I was certainly not the youngest either. But regardless, this man was very patient - he must have enjoyed children as much as science - because he encouraged us to bring our own science experiments to class. One day I decided to do so. I read through a book that had scientific concepts in it and picked the one about condensation. The instructions were to fill a jar with ice water, cap it, and wait for condensation to collect on the outside. I had no idea what the word condensation meant, but I figured doing the experiment would help. So I duly brought a jar, filled with ice water and neatly capped, to class. The teacher was kind and allowed me to interrupt the lesson a few times to check my jar, which was slowly but surely getting wet on the outside. All of the adults were proud of me. "Yes, yes! There you go! That's what condensation means!" and in my young mind, I understood. 

Condensation was the concept that ice cold water could seep very slowly through glass and get the other side wet. Even when there was a lid on the jar. 

I was surprised by how miraculous science was, but I did not question my theory. It was amazing. And I half ways still wish I could believe it. 

Broken Road

Hello everyone! My name’s Mariah Steenerson… I know, I know you were expecting a blog post by my talented friend Gianna. Sorry!

A few weeks ago I got a call from Gianna to do a guest post on her blog about something BIG that’s about to happen in my life. January 15, 2012 I will be leaving this small town of Minnesota for Townsville, Australia to do a program called Youth With A Mission (YWAM). I could give you a long complex definition of what this program is but I’ll keep it basic. YWAM is an opportunity for anyone (generally 18-25 years of age) at any place in the world to come together to be taught and teach the gospel everywhere and anywhere, to make disciples of all nations. The idea of a program such as this was originated by a man named Loren Cunningham while he was on a missions trip. It came as a vision of waves crashing onto the sand of beaches. Then, the waves turned into young people that not only were covering beaches but all the nations.

Fifty one years later and this small program that started out as just a vision is now located in 1,000 locations in over 180 countries! The waves of young people envisioned by Loren are completely evident today. I think of this and I am totally blown back at how amazing our God can work. No words can describe.

So what will a small town girl like me be doing in a big continent like Australia? For 3 months I will be going through a Discipleship Training School where I will learn more about who God is and who he made me to be. This is just like a regular school in many ways. I have a set schedule for each day of the week, tests and homework—you got it, and no sadly I don’t get to sleep in every day of the week. 

Then the next three months are filled with outreaches. Usually a YWAM Discipleship Training school will have one outreach to somewhere around the world, but my specific school will be doing two outreaches. The places I might be are: Thailand, Indonesia, East Timor, Papua New Guinea, Fiji, or New Zealand.

It sounds as though when I arrive in Townsville I will have two weeks to pray about the two places God wants me to be. If you would be willing to pray for me and this two week period of hard decision making that would be great! I don’t want to pick a certain place just because it would be a cool place to visit; I want to go wherever God wants me.

Along with these two main phases of my trip; I will be doing a two week camping trip in the outback, visiting Billabong, involved with different ministries in Australia, and hanging out with some cool Aussies.

From reading this you may think I’ve had my mind made up about this for awhile now, but truth is it’s only been a few months. This past year has been one long broken road. I could go on and on about how difficult it was, but the main point is I was broken and defeated and through it God made me stronger. He used every difficulty, every problem to get me where I am today and for that I am very thankful. 

Don’t be afraid to get broken. In fact, you should desire to be broken; desire to be so defeated that your only option is to surrender to the one true God, because it’s when we’re broken that we are closest to God and can be used most effectively by Him. Do not fear brokenness.

For those of you that are young and are still trying to figure out college and a major, I have some simple advice for you. Instead of crying your eyes out every night like I did. Trust in the almighty God! Jer. 29:11 says He has a plan for you. Sometimes we are called to wait and be patient, but take heart God has made many promises in His book, promises that should be taken as truth so much as to thank God for them even before they become evident in your life. None of those promises say I will lead you up to the time you graduate high school and then I will leave you to make all of the decisions. No. God will be there EVERY step of the way IF you give your life to Him.

Below are some verses that have helped me through this past year.

Thank you, Gianna for allowing me to have a guest post on your blog. I am thankful to have such an encouraging and loving friend! I thank God for you daily. Keep on glorifying God with your blog posts; he has definitely given you a gift. 

 

If you’d like to check out my blog go to 

http://heart-of-a-sojourner.blogspot.com

Have a great Thanksgiving everyone!

Blessed.

mariah

Gratitude Challenge: Day Next.

A.K.A. I can't remember which day I'm on and I don't really feel like checking.

It's late, so ya'll just get the basics.

*Frolfing. (Is that how you spell it?)

*Getting some time with my wonderful Heavenly Father during church today.

*Eating chocolate ice cream.

*Squishing five teens (arrrgh, fine. 4 teens and one 20-year-old) into a tiny Chevvy Cavalier. It. Was. Squished. A little.

*Listening to Owl City while cleaning my room.

*Enjoying my room after cleaning and vacuuming all the flies out.

*Standing on the brick ring around a bonfire late at night with my friends.

*Eating (most of) the most ginormous burrito I've ever had in my life! I saved half of it for tomorrow.

*Looking at the stars.

*Seeing one of the proofs for my senior pics.

*Sleep.

G'night!

Gratitude Challenge: Day 15

Today was a good day, a really really good day. I can sleep well.

*Piano. I love making music. The Easy Winners by Scott Joplin - ragtime. Prelude in G Minor by Rachmaninoff - clllllassical? No. Romantic. I think. Ahhhh. I need to build stamina though. My left arm/hand gets so tired playing my prelude - which I need to work on in case I end up applying for a specific music scholarship...

*Acing a test. Need I say more?

*Sunshine.

*Running across the yard - barefoot - in the frost.

*Finishing up my first college application for-reals. (I know, I know. I put that yesterday. Um, I forgot to stamp the envelope though...)

*Having two more applications ready to go. Almost. I need $20 for the application fee for MSUM and an academic reference for NWC. (Any takers? All you have to verify is that I'm really brilliant - a second Einstein of sorts. Not difficult. *Coughcough*)

*Playing the hammer dulcimer. Yep! It's been hiding under my bed forever. Mom bought it years ago, rather more wishfully than needfully. But I like it! Now that I've got some piano under my belt, I have the "tools" to play it. I figured out how to tune the thing and picked out a few melodies on it. I don't think I really want to put it back either.

*Changing my profile picture. You should look at it. The pooch? Yeah. S'my dog, Rusty (female!!!) Her and I is best of friends.

*My soccer coach. I've played under him for 3 years, ever since he started coaching our team. I didn't play this year though. At the end of the season, it's tradition to get the team together for a potluck. We watch a slide-show of pics from the games, make the coaches give speeches, give them a little gift, and give the seniors medallions. I wasn't expecting to receive a medallion during the ceremony. In fact, I had stuff to do, so I stayed home. My coach talked to mom and said "I can't give out the medallions if all the seniors aren't here! Can't she come? Doesn't she get a medallion?" Mom admitted that she'd ordered one for me and just hadn't felt right honoring me with the others. But for him, she called me and asked me to come. It was so special! And I quote my coach: "When I started coaching, there wasn't much of a team. It was these seniors - they were younger then - that I relied on for a majority of the hard work. They played hard and well and they were the players I depended on."

*Baby puppies.

*Good night.

Gratitude Challenge: Day 10

I had a full day. Good day to be grateful. And an easy day to be grateful. For just about everything.

*Sunshine.

*Friends.

*Horses. Galloping with my brother riding behind me, trotting while riding behind my friend, such joy. Ahhh.

*Reading crazy books about children falling off giant chess boards and flipping coins as to whether the sun will rise or set.

*Flipping to the next chapter of a fairy tale and reading the chapter title: Enter the Pea. Is that not fabulous?

*Eating potato cheese soup. My absolutely favoritest soup ever. And our first soup this fall. Mmmmm. So cheesy. So good. *Dies of amazing soup.

*Playing with puppies in the light of the full moon. With sisters and brother and friend.

*Loving people. (In response to the comment about No. 5 on yesterday's list.)

*Leaving my Bible open in my bedroom all day long. Whenever I went in there, it was just encouraging to look at it.

*Eating Chocolate cake. Always a plus.

*Playing games on the trampoline in the sunshine. I didn't win, but it was a blast playing anyway. (Of course it was, it was a word game!)

*Attempting to do handstands. They kinda failed.

It was a good day.

Gratitude Challenge: Day 7

Life. Is. Good.

And it's entirely due to God's grace. A couple of reasons I know that's true:

*I have sisters who love me.

*I have hilarious friends.

*We have hilarious conversations.

*That I can talk dead-seriously about things like majoring in chickens and yard work to perturbing images of hippos in pink wetsuits.

*That I can sit up late at night and hear the music of silence. It sounds somewhat like the wind blowing and the fridge running and typing on me laptop and absolutely nothing else.

*That when I randomly looked at a model in an advertisement, she had the same haircut as me. (I am not paranoid about weight and name brand clothing etc., but it's encouraging to see a model showing off the same style and color hair as you have.)

*That I had cheese and broccoli for supper.

*For goosebumps. Because they necessitate blankets and cocoa and fires in fireplaces and good books and no homework.

*For a mumsy who likes to play with my hair.

*For sleep.

Goodnight.

Gratitude Challenge: Day 6

Today in youth group, we talked about life not being fair. Mom asked what I thought about it. *Ponders* I don't know. I guess I enjoy life. I mean, it's good. I immediately thought of my challenge. Does that have anything to do with my outlook? Or is it the other way around? Whatever it was, I realized...once again...that I am more blessed than I even understand. Thus these posts, I suppose!

*I am more blessed than I know, and my heavenly Father likes it that way. Especially when I run up and thank him!

*For a choir teacher who understands what dog days are all about. We didn't sing today, which she is usually a drill sergeant about. We went outside and sat in the sunshine. Well, some of us sat. Mostly the cute girls watched the football boys playing with a big, rubber bungee strap. They were trying to catapult the littler fellas into the football practice mat.


*For the knowledge that the flies plaguing my life out will die tomorrow at the mercy of the black hole. Its Latin name is Vacumeous.

*For Friday nights. I know, it's Wednesday. Duh. But Friday cometh, ye scholars! Rejoice! Unless you have homework. Then still rejoice, because there's Saturday and Sunday afternoon.

*For being grateful for so many things, I can't remember all of them.

*For my World Music class. Some of the stuff I hear...I tell ya. "When the dance is over, Sweetheart, I will take you ho-ome in my one-eyed Ford. Way-ah ah-ah oh ay..." I cracked up just listening to this! It's a love song, and you just read the one and only line. :D

*For text messages. For LY's and JK's and LOL's and ROFL's and dude-speak.

"Dude." [Greetings, friend.]
"Dude." [Greetings.]
"Dude?" [What do you think of the media's take of Michele Bachmann's run for Republican nominee for President?"
"Dude." [I think they're biased and should take into consideration Bachmann's background and campaign thus far.] (This is not a political opinion - just an example of Dude-speak.)

You get the drift? Redicuhlous, wot? Pardon....*ahem*..."Dude?"

*For parents that understand me, and encourage me, and support me, and tell me how much they love me.

*That I can still remember the fingering c sharp harmonic minor scale.

*And the a flat harmonic minor scale, which is harder.

*And the f minor harmonic scale, which is harder yet.

I don't think those should really count as three, but hey! It's my blog. I make the rules.

It only counts as two.

*For sending in my first college application. It's a good feeling.

*For friends of my mother's that like me enough to say "You can't graduate," when what I know they're saying is "I don't want you to go off to school!" I offered to one friend that I could go to school in the town she lives in. Unfortunately, the population there is prolly under 100. The nearest legit public school is 10 miles away. Heh. Heh.

*That my friend is doing this with me. I'm not alone! Yay!

*For having more than 10 things that I can actually remember to be grateful for.

Gratitude Challenge: Day 5

*Reading in bed.

*Dancing around like a child and trying to catch leaves as they fall off of the trees. Even the dog was giving me a funny look.

*Realizing that I might just have enough money to go on a choir trip!

*Knowing that I have friends.

*Eating a midnight snack at 11:21.

*Entertaining my parents. Primary mode of entertainment was teasing. They were trying to go to sleep and I was wide awake, so it was highly amusing for me to tease them while they were helplessly wishing I would leave. (They were laughing also, just so you know. I'm not usually as cruel as I sound.)

*Reading aloud as a family and talking and laughing about it the whole time. The book is Heaven is For Real by Todd Burpo. You oughta read it too. Srsly.

*Seeing the moon.

*Howling at the moon. It's an inside joke and an old tradition with a particular friend. Sorry. *Turns and raises hands to mouth* "Aahhhooooooo!"

*Knowing that you are giving your computer a really funny look right after reading that last statement. You should see your face.

*Giving a piano student her first lesson (with me) and knowing that she's more advanced than any of my others. Woot!

*Going to sleep. I am going there shortly, and I hope it is not a long journey. Sometimes it is farther and more ardorous than otherwise. Hopefully not tonight - I'm not up for a long trek.