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."

Oh Happy Day!

It's amazing how theology happens to you sometimes.

I've been to rock concerts before. You buy a ticket, find your seat (sometimes - usually you don't) and spend the rest of the evening plugging your ears and jumping up and down. I've been to worship concerts too. You stand there feeling like you should raise your hands and look dedicated, but you think everyone's looking at you (they aren't) so you don’t.

This was a worship rock concert. I was confused. We bought tickets and found our seats. We performed the whole pre-concert crowd roar; people were leaning over railings, standing in their rows, running out to the bathroom and back, finding tee-shirts, or sitting in their seats – and everyone was talking to someone. We all knew the drill and played out the same scenario that’s happened at every concert I’ve been to. It was when the music started that I was confused.

All the worship I’ve been too has had a toned down beat and gentle lyrics. This worship concert was different. The drums and the lead guitar didn’t sound nice anymore, they sounded wild. Party wild. Kinda took my breath away. But after all, they’re the opening band. Guess that’s what you’d expect. I shrugged and smiled, moving a little to the beat. And then the lead band came out.

Music ripped through the air and battered our willing ear drums. Vibrations shoved themselves up through the cement floor and rattled my feet, like laughter. Lights flashed on their rotary stands, stabbing into my eyes for a millisecond before beaming at the next eager face.

Thoughts tumbled slowly and thickly through my mind.

The idea of worship left me and I began to just sing. There was no hope of hearing my own voice above the roar, but I opened my mouth and joined with hundreds of others to let the band know that we were singing too, however unnoticeably.

The pointlessness of trying to make noise turned my mind back to the words I was singing. “Sing, sing sing, and make music to the heavens! I will sing, sing, sing, Grateful that you hear us. As we shout your praise, lift high the name, Of Jesus!” I began to feel them. I stopped trying to sing well and sang to God. I lifted my face and closed my eyes. “Grateful that you hear us…” Almost without my consent, my arms lifted and I reached for the God I was singing to. I was no longer thinking about who was watching, because God was watching, and taking pleasure.

Finally the rumbling beneath my feet and the drum beat rattled me back to the auditorium. I began jumping with the rest of the crowd. And I wondered where the worship had gone. Here we are, having a celebration, I thought with something bordering on fear, but this is a worship concert! What were we doing wrong?

Nothing. We’re not doing anything wrong! We’re celebrating GOD! Call it a thunderbolt moment if you will, but I think that’s an understatement. I found myself unable to stop bouncing and singing and reaching up. I had so much praise inside, and it kept coming out in action and song.

Realizations demand thinking time, which there was not a lot of during a rock and worship concert. I simply discovered that God enjoys a celebration. And that it doesn’t take a degree in theology to discover something like that.

It was a second incident that completed my lesson. I took up my usual evening stance – sitting cross legged on the bed with my Bible and journal in my lap, enjoying the silence of my family asleep. Tomorrow was Bible Study with a few girls from youth group. My brain slapped me to point out that perhaps I should actually read the chapter we’ll be studying tomorrow.

John 2:2- “Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples. When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” …Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water… and take [some] to the master of the feast.” So they took it. When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine…” (Bold mine)

And I stopped. Jesus’ statement caught me. “My hour has not yet come.” Before this night, my question always remained: If Jesus’ hour to do miracles had not come, why did he do a miracle? An answer dropped into my head. “To let the party continue.”

What?!  “Yes. To let the party continue.” I shook my head and read further, waiting for a testimony of somebody’s life changed, a soul given new life through this incident. There was none.

And gradually, the concept merged with my experience. God enjoys celebrating.

My first, fleeting thought was Could it be? And then I wondered, more accurately, Would I want it any other way?

It’s a bigger lesson in theology than I’ve had in a while. And I’m still celebrating it.

The rest of the gulp.

Chapter 1: Of Dangerous Bifocals  Part 2
   Hunger was the only force that could pull Maleya out of her area when she didn't want to. She pressed her thumbprint into the handle of the fridge before opening it. When she did, blue light shone on her favorite foods. Maleya pulled out feta cheese curds. She turned and leaned against the counter. To her right the counter ran in a U shape, curving around in front of her again six feet away. Across this counter from her, tan-ish hair bobbed and twisted, disappearing momentarily sometimes before coming back into view. Maleya smiled and threw a cheese curd at it. The tan-ishness ducked behind the counter and Barley tossed her a thumbs-up before nimbly retrieving the fallen cheese curd.

            "Leya."

            "Mmm."

            "You have writers 'spert stuff in a while."

            "Mm-hmm. S'why I'm eating." Another cheese curd. She savored the spices and the crumbling tangy cheese against the roof of her mouth.

            "Kay. Leya, think I'll ever be an expert?" It was a ridiculous question, which may have been why Barley loved asking it so often.

            "You're not practiced in the art of failing, so my suppositions are that yes, one day you too will be a spert." Half of a face appeared above the counter, cut abruptly off at the bridge of a nose. Tan hair and blue eyes stared at deep brown hair and green eyes.

            "Good." Barley's eyes thanked Maleya seriously. "In what?"

            "What do you love?"

            "Knowing."

            "Barley!"

            The eyes widened. "Why not? Other people have made up new expertesses before."

            "Areas of expertise, Barley."

            "Expertesses. It's a new word."

            "Um...Barley? Words are not invented." Maleya looked serious. Barley rolled his eyes and propped his chin on the counter.

            "D'they really? You're such a parrot, Maleya. You say everything you hear in your writer's class thingy because you're so scared to be different, a cross-over, to be a writer-techy, because people don't like that. So what? What can anyone do to you?"

            "Lot's of things."

            "Leya, seriously."

            "People could take away everything I've been working on. Everything. You don't know what that means."

            "Ok, ok. But whadda you really think about words. Aren't they invented? Do they always gotta come from the right people?"

            Barley, you know too much. You figure out so much more than anyone else would. It's because you always have to know! Maleya didn't voice her exasperation. It was better to just answer Barley's question. "Ok, fine. I don't think words grow. But I don't think they're invented either," she cast a superior glance at Barley, "they are discovered. They wait, hovering on the fringe of consciousness, dancing out of reach of our thoughts when we reach for them, and then slipping in when we need them and forget to look for them. It's perfection."

            "That's why you're a writer," Barley stated. They stared at each other for a few minutes.

            "I want a drink," Maleya intoned, pushing her off the counter. A cupboard opened and the tap started running.

            "That's why you're a techy." Barley stood up all the way and leaned against the counter, watching Maleya drink her water.

            "Barley, you have no idea."

            "But I will." Barley grinned and held a slender black wire, barely visible even in the brightness of the kitchen.

            "Is that a microphone?"

            "Mm-hmm. I've got a bunch. Dad brought 'em home," Barley championed grinning. Maleya sighed. Her father was the only real techy, and it was dangerous for him to be bringing supplies home to his family. It was hard to say exactly why, though. All areas of expertise just kept to themselves, without sharing what they had or what they knew with other areas, unless there was a finished product that would benefit everybody. Maleya's dad had always been bringing things home because his literal area was in the house, where he preferred to work on things. Naturally Maleya and Barley had grown up with more than their share of tech knowledge.

            Knowing some things about tech wasn't so much a problem, because everyone was allowed to have some tech. But not too much. The Hominy's had too much. Even that wasn't such a problem, except that they used it, instead of just knowing. Of course using the knowledge made them more proficient in it, and soon Maleya's dad had begun telling the children not to flaunt their tech knowledge. They obeyed. But Maleya still used it.

            And then had come her idea to use it in conjunction with writing. There she had crossed a line. Nobody knew about it yet, not even Barley, to whom Maleya told everything. It was too dangerous. It was mixing two areas of expertise. It would change the way things were. It would blur lines and confuse both techies and writers. It was a fascinating secret, and Maleya was confident that it was worth the time she spent on it, and worth the difficulty and the isolation of hiding it, but it was getting more difficult.

            "Leya."

            "What?!" Maleya scowled, confused by her thoughts.

            "You really should go. The writers' expert meeting is in a few minutes." Barley only used full words when he was serious.

            "I know." Maleya tried to ignore what she was thinking and went to her room – her area – to gather her manuscript and pert-paper for notes. Confounded technology.

             
{Hey - same rule here as before. Comment. And thank you kindly for reading, friend.}

*GULP*

Eyes closed, fingers crossed, I'm handing it over. 

Taggitenreadit. Pretty pretty please?

I'm posting the first part of a story I'm working on. Before you proceed, you must promise to comment. I don't care if it's only one word - I just want to know what you honestly think. Except still be nice. But comment regardless. I command thee. (I will be sneaky and check my page views and compare them to comments to make sure you all did. Don't think you'll get away with it. -_-  )

Chapter 1: Of Dangerous Bifocals
{Part two of chapter one to follow in a later post.}

Wind snapped through the grass with angry speed.

            "Nope," Maleya muttered darkly. She slid her fingers across the screen and tapped a different tab. Another tap and a keyboard appeared below codes dictating grass texture and strength. With one fingertip, she highlighted a section of code, deleted it, and typed something to replace it. She grabbed a pair of bulky, thick-lensed bifocals and slipped them on over her own tiny glasses. Tapping the screen again, she changed the control from touch to voice.

            "Wind snapped through the grass with angry speed."

            The bifocals – screens in reality – glowed for a moment, then grass appeared in them, waving and bending under a heavy wind. Maleya watched five seconds of footage before the motions began to repeat themselves.

            "Um...." she searched desperately for a word or a sentence that would keep the story going. “The two field mice were...were...unperturbed by um...the fury above them." Images flickered belatedly across the lenses. Two something-or-other’s blobbed together sheltered by the waving grass. Maleya grabbed the microphone and pulled it as far from the touch-screen as the limited cord would allow.

            "The mice scurried!" she exclaimed trying to keep her tones natural. Frustration was taking over. The blobs in the vision of the bifocals shrank and became detailed images of the tiny rodents specified. With deft fingers she took control of the screen again, delicately dragging an iconic marker back to the first word, which had appeared on a digital paper with handwriting coded to her own.

            "And...open book." This time she paused the pantomime before the mice came into the story. Sky: blue. Grass: improvised mixes of green and tan. Soil: barely visible through the thick growth. Slowly Maleya nodded. Tap. Story deleted. Maleya removed the bifocals and slipped them into a soft velvet bag.

            "Now..." Maleya dug a sloppy sheaf of notebook paper out of a drawer in her desk and began to read it aloud to the screen.

            Maleya was a writer. Well, really she was a renegade. But she was supposed to be a writer. Writing was what she did. It was what she knew. It was her passion. Everyone knew Maleya was a writer. Even Maleya did. But that didn't change her mind about anything. It just scared her.

            Barley wasn't an anything yet. He would be, soon enough. Everyone knew that. He'd be an expert in something. He'd be the talk of the town. He'd learn from the best and improve on their methods, until he was the best. But he was still trying to figure out which pert to ex.

            Well, currently he wasn't figuring anything about exes or perts. Barley was rather viciously concerned with knowing. He seemed to always know what was going on with everybody in the family. It was his business, somehow. He'd pop up whenever anybody had an idea, or a new plan, or a change of plan, or a challenge. He was always the first to know. How he knew when to pop up was a mystery. Most likely he had programmed his intuition to sense that sort of thing – that time when someone is bursting with an idea or nervous about an appointment and just aching to tell someone. It wasn't an annoying thing. Barley was the family calendar. It was his quirk. Everyone had one of those too, just like they had an area of expertise. Things just were that way.

            There was really nothing wrong with the way things were. Everyone was an expert at something and their expertise usually became obvious when they were 10 or 11. Everyone had a quirk, and it always lasted at least a year or too after you became an expert (only cropping up occasionally thereafter.) Everyone was beautiful in some way. If you didn't have soulful eyes, you were bound to have beautiful lips. If you didn't have those, well your complexion was probably perfect. More people than not had several of these handy features. Most people only had a limited amount of techy stuff. It was typical. But the Hominy family had a bunch of tech knowledge and equipment. That part wasn't supposed to be that way. Only Maleya really took it too far though. But no one knew, so even though it wasn't supposed to be that way, it was, and it didn't matter.

***

       

Something Beautiful

I think I have an inverted hole in me somewhere. Probably in the region of my heart, seeing as those things are generally located in that area. It's a hole because I have a need - I need to make something beautiful. It's inverted because it's not something I need to receive but something I need to do. Inverted hole.

I tried to do that singing.

I think I'll leave the singing to someone else. It's not that I don't like singing. I love music, and I love choir. But when I perform, I blank out technique (while words - Italian though they be - remain rooted stubbornly in my mind.) I don't think I'm cut out to be a soloist. It's fun when I do it right, but it takes a lot of work. And then I'm focusing on technique, not beautiful.

I want make beautiful. So I have to go somewhere else, try some other voice. I think my fingers speak better than my vocal chords sometimes. Make that all the time. It must be why I've always liked loved writing. When I write, I put something together that's never been put together before. I can choose my words, my tools, and I can sit and play them until they sing to me.

A singing mosaic. That's the goal. Each word a piece of glass?! - and each synonym, however close in color, never quite the same shade. And when you want a subtle, alluring shadow, you have to take the darkly shimmering bit of clearness that is exactly that color. Too dark and it's menacing. Too light and you don't need to explore it because you can see through it from across the courtyard.

Words are like that. Each gathering of letters, syllables and emphases has it's own personality. The more alike one is to the next in the thesaurus, the more vital it is that you know which one you want. Which one will tint that shadow with perfect justice, perfectly despised rightness.

Not for the reader - for me.

I want a mosaic that will stun me. I want to look at the beauty, created by words - chosen, sprinkled, cast out, placed with care. I want something so beautiful, it chains my hands when it looks I look it in the eye.

When my fingers can procreate that beauty, then I will be a writer.

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. 

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 13

I am noticing a trend. I make a noble resolution (such as 21 days of posting about gratitude) and then, on the weekends, I get busy with family night and friends night and Sunday night - typically another friends night - and I end up with four posts a week.

I can still do 21 posts, it'll just take longer. Oh well. I'll be thankful for more days that way. :D

*Listening to other people getting up and knowing I got to sleep in. Weeeeeell, I guess I shouldn't call it sleeping in exactly, I got up at 7:30. They just had to get up and be out of the house by 7.

*Playing Battleship with my favorite little brother. (It's ok. I only have one.)

*Winning my favorite little brother in Battleship!

*Sipping delicious, cold water out of my favorite mug.

*Seeing that my mother brought home a Dragon Fruit. There can hardly be a more thrilling name for a beautiful fruit with a uniquely spiked, peeling rind than Dragon Fruit. Doesn't it just sound like it should tast magical? (See next comment.)

*Eating Kiwi to get Dragon Fruit taste out of my mouth. Turns out Dragon Fruit doesn't tast as appealing as it sounds. We peeled off the rind and there was an imaginive - if not particularly tasty looking - white juicy fruit with seeds that looked like Kiwi seeds scattered evenly throughout. It tasted like a gross, slimy lot of nothing. I was glad to eat the Kiwi.

*Talking to my brother. He's not really living at home anymore, so I enjoy talking to him some evenings and hanging with him when he is home. *Sigh* Miss you Bro!

*Getting two chapters read, one assigment turned in, and realizing I have one less assignment than I thought! It was a good day of school.

*Talking about my senior recital with my piano teacher. I've got special plans!

*Actually being able to remember all 7824 notes of my 24 Major and minor arpeggios and 24 Major and harmonic minor scales. The average number of notes I played in a minute was 306...but when I was playing my fastest (sixteenth notes at 100 bpm) it was more like 400. Not to brag or anything.

*That soon, we'll have a roaring fire in the fireplace downstairs and I can sit there to blog! Yay!

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.

Gratitude Challenge: Day 3

Oops.

I missed a few days. Boo for busyness.


I'll keep going. Day three can be today and yesterday combined.

*I love ice-cream. Yummy.

*I love ice-cream even better when you have a ginormous bowl with chocolate on top and you get to eat it watching a chick-flick with your amazing mother and fabulous sister. Wonderfulness.

*I love the new movie, Courageous. God is clearly at work when a church can produce a strongly Christian movie that has you laughing breathlessly one moment and sobbing the next.

*When the pastor of your church says something that makes sense and speaks to you where you are.

*Autumn has cast a spell-binding charm over me with the richness of her color pallet. I am ecstatic in this season.  

*The sound of dried leaves dancing gently to the grass in the middle of a fall afternoon.

*Realizing that I can enter the throne room of my Holy and Almighty God - and run into his arms singing and laughing!

*Realizing that that reaction thrills God!

*Having friends over for supper - making homemade pizza - eating outside? - enjoying fellowship.

*Having my older brother home.

"Thank you Jesus for the beauty and wonder that surround me."

A very nearly Bad Day. But not quite.

There is a vast difference between getting up and waking up. This morning, as usual, I got up long before I woke up. I warn you, it's a vulnerable practice. Family members seem to have the innate ability to discern when you are up but not awake. 


School started and I went around doing nothing in particular and trying to get ready for choir. I had to prepare some errands, which somehow managed to distract me until 9:30.


Walking to choir did pick me up a little. Sitting down and singing "Ahhhhh" on various pitches and in various tones did not. I think I yawn more in choir than I do before bed.


Being tired set me up for moodiness. I ran my errands hurriedly. The wind gave my hair a distinctly different look from the carefully combed and waved one I'd prepared in front of my reflection. Altogether, I was eager to get home and finish my school so I could plan something pleasurable for my evening.


Mumsy called as I was leaving town and asked me to wait in town for her so we could switch vehicles. Through no fault of anybody's, it ended up being half-an-hour of non-school down time waiting to go home.


Mother brought with her another errand and sent me off with the glad tidings of a list she'd left for me on the kitchen counter. By now, I was attuned to even the littlest thing that would add to my gloominess.


The right blinker was out.


The sky was gray.


There was no gas in the tank.


I forgot my checkbook at home and had to use pocket change to put on gas. Luckily I had $2.55 on me...


Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to say "Pump no. eight," spill a handful of quarters, dimes and nickle on the counter? "I think that's right..."


Not cool.


My favorite song came on as I parked to run my final errand.


Do you begin to understand my discouragement? But God has amusing ways of reminding us what life is really about.


When I came back to the truck, my favorite song was still playing. The first phrase I heard was "Oh glorious day!"


I came home...lunch dishes greeted me.


But I only had a paragraph left on one of two papers.


I turned in both papers by 4.


I finished the dishes, which were easier than I expected.


There was hardly any laundry to hang out.


My loyal pooch came and sat by me while I clipped color to the clothesline.


I got to make two pans of brownies! It was actually on the list Mom left me.


I licked the beaters. Not just "licked the beaters" I did acrobatics with my tongue to get all the batter I could off of the outside and the inside. They hardly would have needed washing. I threw them in the dishwasher, just in case any of you were going to ask.


There were hardly any clothes to take off the line!


And I did it barefoot.


I'm not going to do any more school. Period.


I am going to play the piano.


I am going to eat a brownie.


I'm going to see if my bestie has emailed me.


I'm going to publish this blog post and wait for comments.


Cuz I want to hear about your glorious days.

!

Forget Me

Today I was bored. Key word is was. But I'll get back to that. This weekend has been full of friends and family and graduations and all that goes with them. We had a graduation in the family (not mine) so I have been busy cleaning and preparing for over a week. The actual weekend of graduation, I had several parties to attend, so I did plenty of hugging, hand-shaking, and punch-sampling. (That's sampling punch, but I needed it to fit my roll.) I won't relive the gory details (more for my sake than yours) because the basic point is that today, school is out, parties are over, guests are gone, and I had too much energy to stay in the house and watch the wind wreak havoc on our yard. I wanted to be a part of it. So me and Little Bro borrowed a theme from Megamind and my mother's baton and went dandelion hunting.

We used the "Forget-me Stick" to make dandelions our first victims of Sudden-and-Unexpected Amnesia Syndrome. It felt good to go out and goof off like a kid again. (Some of you are wondering if I ever stopped. Be quiet and don't blow my cover, ok? Ok.)

I had to run inside to get my camera...a camera....my sister's.

Rusty waited for me on the front porch!

Bro advances on the dandelions. You can't see the baton, he's twirling it around his wrist.

Bro's knee forgets him.

Bro forgets himself.

"Forget me, Dandelion!" Told you this would be juvenile.

Mid-swing on a dandelion! Ahhh. This was such fun.

Searching for new amnesia victims.

Bro finds a final victim. The fragment of cup on the right is mid-air! Mwahahahaha.

Today I Did

5.1.11 Today I washed my hair and let it dry in front of our fireplace. What a lovely feeling.

4.30.11 Today I went to the Evangelical Covenant Church and helped package rice meals with Kids Against Hunger. It felt wonderful to know that I was helping starving children. By the time we finished, I was regretting that I'd been frustrated with my mom for making me go. I only wish I'd volunteered to go earlier. As a note in passing, to help somebody who can't help me back is one of my New Year's dreams. (Yes, I'm still thinking about them.) Last night I thought this would qualify, but now I'm not sure. Helping to package the food gave me a deeper sense of compassion and a desire to do more. Isn't that a way of helping me back?

4.29.11 Today I studied hard. Aside from the fact that it was studying and it took forever, it felt good. (Astronomy, if you want to know. Mostly about stars: Red Giants, Supergiants, White Dwarfs and all that jazz.)

4.29.11 (Evening) My study was rewarded - I went to a sleepover with some girlfriends and we had a wonderful time playing Kinnect, Bananagrams, and watching a movie. Got to bed at 3-ish. *Blissful sigh*

5.1.11 Today I and my older brother led the High school Sunday school class. We played clips of a speaker talking about using good questions to discern inconsistencies and contradictions in false worldviews. It was a good video, humorous, relevant, profound, and useful. We prayed beforehand that the teaching would impact the class and be meaningful.

4.25.11 Today I was jealous when I found out my friend is going to Alaska played basketball and soccer with some friends. It was a beautiful day, and it felt sooooooo good to be outside. I think the girls team won too. (Just sayin', Friend-in-Alaska.)

5.1.11 Today I received the following email from my dad.

"Hey G babe! This is doting dad! I can't think aof anythibng rlly good to anny U at the momnt except fir realyy bad spelling and hpfully grmmr!"

Uh-huh. I have great parents, just for the record. Life if rough.

He got this back.

"I don't know exactly what or who gave you this mistaken idea, but you seem to think you're hilarious. News flash. You aren't. Read that again. Memorize it.




Are we clear?"
 
But of course, he couldn't let that rest. So I got this back.
 
"Perhaps someday you will rise to my level of humor... until then I suppose I shall have to put up with you as you are, irritating little dolt that you may be."
 
Yeah. Loving, no?
 
I searched him out and pummeled him. As well as I could. Which...wasn't very well, but I tried.

5.1.11 Today I went out to breakfast with my dad. We had a lovely time talking and laughing. Talking about books that I was reading and he wanted to read: laughing (mostly Dad) when we discovered I'd talked right through spilling on my dress pants. FYI: melted cheese doesn't wipe off of dress pants as one might desire. Also: be very careful what you eat and how you eat it if you are going to speak in front of a crowd.

Character Sketches

I love the little things in life so accurately and clearly portray some one's character. It's an instant in time when everybody is doing something different - oblivious to the fact that I'm furtively sneaking glances at them, the object in their hands, and pausing occasionally to scribble notes. Mwahahahaha - if your name (or something representative of your name) appears in this post, keep a look-out behind you for a short fella with glasses (lime green rims,) a tall yellow hat and an epic beard. He's my insurance policy*.

My brother and two sisters sat on the couch one evening. For blogging purposes, their names are Nonchalant, Shutterbug, and Art Maniac.

Nonchalant was flipping through a magazine, discussing with another irrelevant the engine sizes of particular cars and small trucks, comparing estimated miles-per-gallon averages, and generally drooling over anything less than 17 years old and rust-free.

Shutterbug was intently perusing resale sites online in hopes of finding the cheapest perfect ipod on earth. If it was there, she was going to find it and she was going to drive a hard bargain. Her only presence in the room was denoted by the space she took. Consumer reports and "SAVE MONEY NOW!" advertisements manipulated her attention in turn.

Art Maniac was blissfully unaware of my photography as she studied products and pictures from a horse magazine. Horse and Rider? Quarter Horse Associated? Didn't matter. I don't even remember - all I know is that it had horses, which is all it took for her to sit mesmerized for as long as it would have taken me to memorize the thing.

See what I mean? It is as clear a picture of (that facet of) character as one could wish.

And another instance. Art Maniac, Shutterbug and myself were miles from home, talking, giggling, getting bored and otherwise enjoying our life-long sworn friend, Lari, when the idea came (it is not difficult to imagine how - we were goofing off) to give ourselves tattoos with the mascara that Lari was in possession of. Lari began to tattoo herself on her upper arm. In a minute or two of pondering and painting, a little black heart appeared, outlined and then filled in.

Shutterbug snatched at the idea and the mascara and in another minute or two, a face with a jolly smile and sarcastic tongue took life on the arm of my sister. I watched in amusement but without particular interest; the sleeveless dress I would be wearing for the next day's piano competition would advertise a tattoo rather  more distinctly than I really cared for.

But Art Maniac would not be outdone. She held out a well-muscled arm for decoration. "But I don't want a  ridiculous heart," she explained scornfully. A moment's conference and the design was decided upon. I was rather shocked; she was scheduled to compete in a piano competition on the morrow also, but she rebuked me for my fears, claiming that her sleeves would hide the "beautiful thing" and that it would help her endure the wearing of a dress. Shortly thereafter, she proudly displayed a barbed-wire tattoo before my bemused father and shocked mother. I believe she thought the reactions more than worth it.

You never knew watching people could be so amusing, did you? Another secret is to listen to the way somebody talks about a book they're enjoying. In my family it goes something like this:

Short Stuff (little brother): "Storyfingers! Guess what! Mom's reading me this book about the Pony Express and I'm going to be a rider for them!" "The Pony Express doesn't exist anymore, S. Stuff. See, it says in your book that..." "I know that, but I'm going to start my own. And if you want to ride, you have to come see me in my office." Some hours later (representative of days, perhaps?) I find mail, hand scrawled on torn note-book paper and dirty from a ride across the prairies and mountains of our backyard, safely resting on my bed.

Art Maniac: "Hey, get this. There's this book about a girl and her horse, and she rescued the horse from a ranch that was going out of business. And read this description - 'White with a perky medicine hat...'! Storyfingers, don't you know what that means?! It's like, the coolest marking a horse can have! And if you can get a well trained, papered horse with a medicine hat, you could sell it for, like, thousands! Storyfingers, isn't that, like, amazing?!" Receiving mostly a confused response, she returns to the book to retrieve more astounding facts about this miraculous dream horse.

Shutterbug: "Storyfingers, the book I'm reading is sooooo sad! It's about this girl, and her dad goes off to war, and her brother dies, and she's like, made fun of at school just because she's _____! I mean, can you believe it? That's just not fair! And her family isn't nice to her either. I mean, her dad was the only one who liked her, and he's gone. You know, the only way I can stop myself from crying is to keep reminding myself that it's just a book. It's not true, after all. But you should read it! It's soooo sad, I mean, just look at everything she goes through and none of it's her fault!"

Storyfingers: "Oh! I loved that book. I had to read it twice, I just had too. The author is such a good writer! Look at how she develops the lead character! It's so realistic and well written. It's so subtle and yet powerful how she changes the character throughout the course of the story! You should really read it." Or, "Yeah, I know it was about punctuation, but it was so humorous! Lynne Truss does is so skilled at laying out the guidelines for and the history of punctuation in a clear and interesting way! I don't see why anyone wouldn't want to read it. Her puns, dry humor and play on words are all so captivating." Or yet, "Not just his message, but his style really drew me in. I love the way he uses his adjectives. He writes to give every word it's full worth and potency. I love the way he balances simple, poignant sentences with a lengthy use of adjectives; it seems to create a much more vibrant picture."

Ahhhh. Just reading what I've written makes me want to go re-read some of those authors!

Now. Comment. Wait-wait-wait. Slow down. You didn't let me finish. Comment with style. Sketch a character you know well, and in so doing, sketch yourself in profile.

*Insurance policy: If you're looking for him, you'll never notice me. *Grin*

Sky Dancing

Walking the dogs was not what I wanted to do. Outside on a dark, cold night was definitely not where I wanted to go. I wanted to sleep. But I live in a family and my opinion is not law. So outside I went to walk dogs.

*Sigh*

I trudged through the snow, trying to convince the dogs that they should hurry without having to drag them through any deep drifts - more for my sake than theirs. Bored stiff and cold stiff I walked around the corner of the house. A chill wind welcomed me forbiddingly. Then.

*Gasp*

The sky was adance (it's a new word...the Storyfingers Revised Dictionary) with northern lights. (Now you understand why I could say ablaze!)

Green magic slipped, shaped, twisted; made a silent music as I turned to stone under enchantment. Vibrant color waved and danced freely, boasting unreplicable beauty. I wouldn't have known if the dogs had tied me with their leashes and run away until I tripped when I tried to walk.

Mean while my conscience poked, jabbed, screamed and all but hit me upside the head to get my attention. Reluctantly I ran to the window to make my family aware of the beauty they were missing. Whether my muffled shouting and wild gestures actually meant anything to them, I remained unaware. Duty performed, I charged across the yard to get ouside the shelterbelt which hampered my view. I was soon joined by family members whose broken-record Oo-ing and Ahhhh-ing disturbed the night like small but self-important ripples in a lake.

I don't live on a lake but the image was to good to pass up.

I remained spellbound (and frozen) longer than anybody else, but it was worth it to see the northern lights. Later, my little brother asked for some pictures of the northern lights (since we can't see them extremely well from our home) and I showed him these images.

I love how bright the lights get further north.

Isn't the dancing and motion of the lights breathtaking?

I only saw green lights, so I had to find some pictures with more variety for my own sake.

A lot of the time they went straight up like this. I didn't notice any spectacular curls or twists.

*Yawn*

I went to bed a happy person.