Stress

We all live with too much stress...if you are in college you are probably living with a lot of stress in your life. I know I am certainly guilty of over-stressing myself (every stress test i've taken has placed me in the high percentile of stress and risk of illness because of it). So I have decided to try to come up with ways to reduce stress and hopefully save my body from any terrible damage and try to share them here (and ask for any suggestions you've found helpful!). So far this is my list...still to be built longer...but a good start.

1. Pray. God is in control of all of this...I am learning. It's so easy to start stressing and then trying to fix and finish everything in your own power and while this succeeds for a little while, eventually it saps your spiritual walk with God [i found this out this semester] and leads to self-reliance with robs us of experiencing God's provision. So number one thing...always keep God in his proper place and keep talking to him and listening to him. I think that would solve a lot of problems.

2. Eat well. Sleep often. Schedule life with time for eating and sleeping...it keeps you from getting sick and worndown...which gives you more time in the long run. So hard to keep the long term perspective, but I think it can really help. 15 mins to do homework or try to read over lunch? Choose lunch...it keeps you awake and healty and you can so much more done when alert and healthy than when worn out and hacking your lungs to pieces.

3. Along those lines...schedule your time and stick to it. This also includes. NO PROCRASTINATION. Leaving everything to the last minute makes life a wreck...and schedule in time for things to go wrong...so then if one things takes a dive, the rest of your life does not crumble as a result.

4. Take 30 mins a day to relax. Read a book for fun, take a walk, listen to music, do something cathardaic. But give your mind and body a break...it will keep you going.

5. Invest in friends. Relationships make or break life and are (after God) probably one of the most rewarding things to invest in. God said the golden rule was to love God and then your neighbor. Isolating oneself only serves to make you more miserable, and alone, which cannot lift your spirits. Fellowship with others brings joy in a way solitude simply cannot...and by bearing one anothers burdens we can find and give the support we all need to make it through life.

6. Take time to be alone. This does not mean isolation, but take time to process life and let it sink in...sit under a tree and think about life for a bit. This can be worked into prayer time and relaxing time...but make sure there is time for solitary reflection. If all your time is spend working or with other people...life will just get stuck inside you, I think.

7. Don't get lured into overachieving. Recognize your boundaries and when you have enough to do, say no to anything else that comes you way. I suck a this...just in case anyone was wondering.

I realize, this all seems obvious, but I have realized that the obvious things are sometimes the easiest to ignore. I write this partially as a reminder to myself...hopefully I'll do it. I hope this may help anyone else too...if you have any further ideas to contribute, your thoughts are most welcome!

A Lesson from Mrs. Bloomfield

Mrs. Bloomfield was the schoolmaster's wife and she is just the sort of lady I hope to one day become. MacDonald describes her this way:

There was something about Mrs. Bloomfield that was very pleasing. The chief ingredient in it was a certain quiant repose. She looked as if her heart were at rest; as if for her everything, was right; as if she had a little room of her own, just to her mind, and there her soul sat, looking out through the muslin curtains of modest charity, upon the world that went hurrying and seething past her windows.

I have always wondered how women become like this...is it just how they were born? A lack of any great calamity in their lives that allows them to be at peace? Perhaps, but as I kept reading (she is a character in Adela Cathcart, sorry i didn't mention that earlier) she tells this story about herself that...well, I'll explain after the story. [and I realize it's long...but if you have time, it's worth reading, at least I found it to be so]
~~
A good many years ago, now, on a warm summer evening, a friend, whom I was visiting, asked me to take a drive with her through one of the London parks. I agreed to go, though I did not care much about it. I had not breathed the fresh air for some weeks; yet I felt it a great trouble to go. I had been ill, and my husband was il, and we had nothing to do, and we did not know what would become of us. So I was anything but cheerful. I knew that all was for the best, as my good husband was always telling me, but my eyes were dim and my heart was troubled, and I could not feel sure that God cared quite so much for us as he did for the lilies.

My friend was very cheerful, and seemed to enjoy everything; but a kind of dreariness came over me, and I began comparing the loveliness of hte summer evening with the cold misty blank that seemed to make up my future. My wretchedness grew greater and greater. The very colours of the flowers, the blue of the sky, the sleep of the water, seemed to push us out of the happy world that God had made. And yet the children seemed as happy as if God were busy making, the things before their eyes, and holding out each thing, as he made it, for them to look at.

(brief interruption to explain that one of her children is now in India and the other had passed on a few years ago)

Well, I was glad when my friend stopped the carriage, and got out with the children, to take them close to the water's edge, and let them feed the swans. I liked better to sit in the carriage alone -- an ungrateful creature, in the midst of cause for thankfulness. I did not care for the beautiful things about me; and I was not pleased that other people should enjoy them. I listlessly watched the well dressed ladies that passed (she talks for a while about the people that pass by...a good part of the story, but in trying to cut this down I shall leave it out)

At last I caught sight of a poor lad, who was walking along very slowly, looking at a gay-coulored handkerchief wich he had spread out before him. His clothes were rather ragged, but not so ragged as old. On his head was what we now call a wide-awake. It was very limp and shapeless; but some one that loved him had trimmed it with a bit of blue ribbon, the ends of which hung down on his shoulder. This gave him an odd appearance even at a distance. When he came upand I coudl see his face, it explained everything. There was a constant smile about his mouth which in itself was very sweet; but as it had nothing to do with the rest of the countenance, the chief impression it conveyed was of idiotcy. He came near the carriage, and stood there, watching some men who were repairing a fence which divided the road from the footpath. His hair was almost golden, and went waving about in the wind. His eye was very large and clear, and of a bright blue. But it had no meaning in it. He would ahve been very handsome, had there been mind in his face; but as it was, the regularity of his unlighted feature made the sight a sadder one. His figure was young; but his face might have belonged to a man of sixty.

He opened his mouth, stuck out his under jaw, and stood starring and grinning at the men. At last one of them stopped to take a breath, and , catching sight of lad, called out:
"Why Davy! is that you?"
"Ya-as, it be," replied Davy, modding his head.
"Why Davy, it's ever so long since I clapped eyes on ye!" said the man. "Where ha' ye been?"
"I ain't been nowheres, as I knows on."
"Well, if ye 'aint been nowheres, what have ye been doing? Flying your kite?"
"I 'aint got no kite; so I can't fly it."
"But you likes flyin' kites, don't ye?" said his friend, kindly.
"Ya-as," answered Davy, nodding his head, and rubbing his hands, and laughing out. "Kites is such fun! I wish I'd got un."
Then he looked thoughtfully, amost moodily, at the man, and said:
"Where's your kite? I likes kites. Kites is friends to me."

But by this time the man had turned again to his work, and was busy driving a post into the ground; so he paid no attention to the lad's question. Soon, another man had come up. he had a course, hard-featured face; and he tried, to pretended to try, to wheel his barrow, which was full of gravel, over Davy's toes. The said toes were sticking quite bare through through great holes in an old pair of woman's boots. Then he began to tease him rather roughly. But Davy took all his banter with jsut the same complacency and mirth with which he had received the other man's kindness.
"How's yer sweetheart, Davy?" he said.
"Quite well, thank ye," answered Davy.
"What's her name?"
"Ha! ha! ha! I won't tell you her name."
"Come now, Davy, tell us her name."
"Noa."
"Don't be a fool."
"I ain't a fool. But I won't tell you her name."
"I don't believe ye've got e'er a sweetheart. Come now."
"I have though."
"I don't believe ye."
"I have though. I was at church with her last Sunday."

Suddenly the man, looking hard at Davy, changed his tone to one of surprise, and exclaimed:

"Why, boy, ye've got whiskers! Ye hadn't them the last time I see'd ye Why, ye are set up now! When are ye going to begin to shave? Where's your razors?"
"'Ain't begun yet," replied Davy. "Shall shave some day, but I 'aint got too much yet."

As he said this, he fondeled away at his whiskers. They were few in number, but evidently of great value in his eyes. Then he began to stroke his chin, on which there was a little down visible -- more like mold in its association with his curious face than anything of more healthy significance. After a few moments' pause, his tormentor began again.

"Well, I can't think where ye got them whiskers as ye're so fond of. Do ye know where ye got them?"
Davy took out his pocket-handkerchief, spreak it out before him, and stopped grinning.
"Yaas; to be sure I do," he said at last.
"Ye do?" growled the man, half humorously, half scornfully.
"Yaas," said Davy, nodding his head again and again.
"Did ye buy 'em?"
"Noa," answered Davy, and the sweetness of the smile which he now smiled was not confined to his mouth, but broke like light, the light of intelligence, over his whole face.
"Where they gave to ye?" pursued the man, now really curious to hear what he would say.
"Yaas," said the poor fellow; and he clapped his hands in a kind of suppressed glee.
"Why, who gave 'em to ye?"
Davy lookep up in the way I shall never forget, and, pointing up with his finger too, said nothing.
"What do ye mean?" said the man. "Who gave ye yer whiskers?"
Davy pointed up to the sky again; and then, looking up with an earnest expression, which, before you saw it, you would not have throught possible to his face, said,
"Blessed Father."
"Who?" shouted the man.
"Blessed Father," Davy repeated, once more pointing upwards.
"Blessed Father!" returned the man, in a contemptuous tone; "Blessed Father! -- I don't know who that is. Where does he live? I never heerd of him."
Davy looked at him as if he were sorry for hi. Then going closer up to him, he said:
"Didn't you though? He lives up there' -- again pointing to the sky. "And he's so kind! He gives me lots o' things."
"Well," said the man. "I wish he'd give me thing's. But you don't look so very rich nayther."
"Oh! but he gave me some bread this mornin', and a tart last night -- he did."
And the boy nodded his head, as was his custom, to make his assertion still stronger.
"But you was sayin' just now, you hadn't got a kite. Why don't he give you one?"
"He'll give me one fast 'nuff," said Davy, grinning again, and rubbing his hands.

I assure you I could have kissed he boy. And I hope I fel some gratitute to God for giving the poor lad such trust in Him, which, it seemed to me, was better than trusting in the three-per-cents; for you can draw upon him to no end o' good things. So Davy thought anyhow; and he had got hte very thing for ht ewant of which my life was cold and sad and discontented. Those words Blessed Father, and that look that turned his vacant face, like Stephen's, into the face of an angel, because he was looking up to the same glory, were in my ears and eyes for days. And they taught me, and comforted me. He was the minister of God's best gifts to me. And to home many more, who can tell? For Davy believed that God did care for his own children.

Davy sauntered away, and before my friend came back with the children, I had lost sight of him; but at my request we moved on slowly till we should find him again. Nor had we gone far, before I saw him sitting in the middle of a group of little children. He was showing them the pictures on his pocket handkerchief. I had one sixpence in my purse -- it was the last I had. But I wasn't so poor but I could borrow, and it was a small price to give for what I had got; and so, as I was not able to leave the carriage, I asked my friend to take it to him, and tell him that Blessed Father had sent him that to buy a kite. The expression of childish glee upon his face, and the devout God bless you, Lady, upon his tongue were strangely but on incongrously mixed.

Well, it was my last sixpence then, but here I and my husband are, owing no man anything, and spending a happy Christmas Day, with many thanks to the Colonel and Miss Cathcart.
~~

So I realized that she was not born with her wisdom, or simply free from care and worry (she certainly dealt with her fair share of trouble [depression, being broke and sick in this story...and losing her child as we also found out]. But she took the right lessons from her difficulties and let God shape her into a person who trusted him in all things. I pray that as I am young, I may also learn the right lessons in times of darkness so that one day I might be like Mrs. Bloomfield.
And for anyone reading this, I extend that prayer to you too (unless you are a man...then be like Mr. Bloomfield [also an excellent man...same lessons learned ;)].

A Winter's Goal

So I have recently discovered that a good friend of mine is going to try to read all of the Torrey novels for this semester over break. (see this post) Will she do it? I sure hope so. I am going to try this as well :D We will see if it works. But yeah...at least half? I can do that!

so books on the list (1st half)
~Pride and Prejudice
~Jane Eyre
~Wuthering Hights

Hopefully I'll post some thoughts on these too...

I also want to read Adela Cathcart, cause its Christmastime and I still have not read it yet and Christmas time is the perfect time to read Adela Cathcart.

That is all.

Goodbye.

The Seduction

Her face appeared every time he closed his eyes. A beautiful face, though he could not make out any of her features. He knew he had studied them carefully, and yet the memory was vague. If only he could remember the shape of her face, perhaps he could drive her from his mind. He decided to take a shower.

The hot water relaxed his body and he breathed in the steam like warm breath. He suddsed up a washcloth and tried to wash, tried to get clean. He knew he had to go see Carrie tonight, he told himself he was cleaning up for her. He tried to think about her face, but it was so clear. He turned off the water and dried up. He put on a suit.

Calmly, he closed the door of his car but he failed to accelerate as slowly. He suddenly was speeding down the highway, out of the city and towards the forests just beyond the last few straggling houses. The red and golden leaves shuddered as he entered, and suddenly he began to feel her again. This was her home, she ruled here he felt deep in his being. The chills returned, across his entire body he felt as if the circulation had been cut off and was just now coming back all at once. He could hardly focus on the road.

Her face was still vague. Carrie would have been waiting about an hour now.

He pulled the car off the main road and onto a hidden but well-worn trail. The wind caressed his face and wrapped around his neck, drawing him along the path. Yet, it almost was an unnecessary caution, for his feet while unfamiliar on the path quite easily found their way. The sun had set nearly three hours before, but he easily avoided the fallen branches blocking his progress. He walked until Carrie had certainly given up waiting for him, he walked until she had most certainly cried herself to sleep. He began to wonder how far this path would take him before he got there.

Just a little farther.
I should turn back. She was waiting.
You’re almost here, it’s too late now.

He walked for much more than a few steps and saw dark walls at the top of a hill. He felt excited. He had been searching for this. His heart began to pound in his chest and he breath trembled as it came from his mouth. He slowly, carefully, gently, approached the walls without a ceiling to hold them together. They seemed so delicate, though so strong…as if a wind could knock them over, and yet they would stand strong through the torments of a hurricane.
Her face tempted clarity.

Come come. Enter my home, cherished one.
He hesitated outside the door, fearful of entering. A strange smell inside.
What do you fear? The smell was worse when you first met me.
Her hand brushed against his neck and gently moved down his shoulder to his arm, she stroked it as she had the day he first felt her. He had longed for months to discover her.
You must only open the door to know me. You were made to seek out mysteries, come and know mine.
He put his hand to the door and turned the knob, but did not open it. The smells of fragrant perfume came and overpowered his mind, all reason removed by the deep and lovely aromas. He stood, breathing them in, filling his lungs with them.
There is so much more for you, open the door, I am waiting.
Still, he did not open the door.
I will not wait forever.
She was angry with him, his hesitations had angered her, she knew his hesitation. He could not live with her angry. He quickly stepped in.

Bright lights blinded him and all around him moaning and screaming deafened his ears. Yet for being blind he saw first the girls, scarcely dressed in gold with ornaments to adorn their flaming hair. They moved with men, chained to the walls – moaning and screaming to be let out. The old men had given up screaming a long time ago and had learned to enjoy being here. The young men also moved strongly, almost unaware of the chains, seemed enraptured. The other men did all they could to avoid the girls, to try to escape. They screamed to be let alone, cried out for mercy, and yet the onslaught continued, the girls driven by a maddening fear. The men bound to never escape.

And then she entered, and roused them all and they stood before her. He tried to look at her face, he knew she had come for him but how much grander she was here than in life. Her light was radiating, and covered all the place with a blinding light so all he could see was her. He still could not fully see her face.

Stay here with me, beloved? How I have longed and desired for you to be here with me.
Who are you?
The one who loves you. Stay with me? Caress me?
He meant to think about the men in chains, he meant to turn away and run away, but the men seemed like a dream. He extended his hand slowly and touched her pale, white hand. Suddenly he felt pain in his side and looked in time to see an arrow pierce him and disappear. She grabbed his arm and shackled him and placed one of her priestesses before him.
Worship our goddess with me. Look in my eyes and love me, and our love with each other will glorify our mother. This is the first mystery.
He looked at her and loved her and the girl consumed him.
The lighted-she left the room as suddenly as she had arrived, a bit stronger now for his worship, while all around they cried.
Hail, Aphrodite.

The Thursday I Took Out My Earrings and Made Lisa Cry

Thursday, October 14th marked the first time I did not go with Lisa to the tattoo parlor. That day, while Lisa was busy getting her fifth diamond-colored stud shot into her left ear, I was busy taking all of mine out for good. The decision had been a long time coming, but she didn’t know that because I hadn’t told her. There were a lot of things I had’t been telling her lately. Like how scared I was about liking Sean, or that I wanted to stop wearing my lip rings…all my piercings in fact, or that I didn’t actually want to be like her anymore.

“Hey I’ve been feeling like crap lately, let’s going to Zee’s today to get another stud,” Lisa had said that morning in her usual, half-apathetic tone. It took her awhile to get the whole sentence out. She was straightening her already stick-straight hair into razorsharp bits that hung across her face and she apparently found it most natural to talk between passes of the superheated ceramic plates. She made eye contact with me through the mirror while I sat lazily on the bed that neither of us had thought to make for weeks. I was fingering a few old pairs of fishnet leggings Lisa had given me last year for my birthday. I wasn’t sure if I should wear them under my jeans today so they’d show through the holes. I usually did, but I thought that maybe these too would need to go.

“We’ve both got seven each….just in our ears,. We might want to take it easy for awhile?” I half-asked her, trying to soften my impending statement.
“What?” Lisa almost laughed. “When has that ever mattered?”

I didn’t answer and kept thinking about whether or not I should wear the leggings. She raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise, giving her face an even more superior vibe than normal. My phone buzzed and I turned my head around just in time to see a dirty, silver Toyota pull up, the type that probably wouldn’t have looked new even ten years ago. I tossed the leggings back in my drawer, I’d made up my mind about them, grabbed a faded green sweatshirt instead and started towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked, her tone was stern, but her eyes softened for a moment, a look Lydia knew meant she had been taken off guard.
“Sean just drove up.”
“And…?”
“And?” I didn’t want to say straight out that I wasn’t going to go with her and was going to hang out with my own friends instead, so I tried for the door again. Lisa’s face hardened and she quickly stepped in with the straightening iron in hand. I relented.
“And we’re picking up Tawney and going to an animal shelter,” I said so fast I could hardly keep my tongue straight. Monday morning I had held my ground in an argument and the burns on my arm still hurt. Morning arguments are always the most dangerous.
“You’re freakin’ kidding me. You’re ditchin’ on Zee’s to go look at a bunch of diseased dogs with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and we’re getting kittens.”
“Oh, kittens. Well,” Lisa tossed her arms in the air. “What the hell is up with you Lydia! You never go partying anymore…and since when do you care about kittens!”

I shrugged. I wasn’t actually quite sure why I suddenly cared about kittens so much. We both stood there for a long time. I thought about how bad would it be for me to go with her. I could call Sean and tell him I got sick and just never let him and Tawney know I went. They’d hate me for going back on my promise, they were both so proud of my decision. But, they had made me promise that I’d stop getting piercings, not that I couldn’t go into the place, exactly. Then I could put this confrontation off with Lisa for a little bit longer. Maybe? My phone started ringing. Sean was calling. “I’ll be right there,” I said into the phone and quickly hung up.

Lisa rolled her eyes and let me though the door. I ran down our staircase and pulled that green sweathshirt on over my head. It wasn’t cold at all, but I couldn’t wear the types of clothes I usually wore when I saw him. When I’m around Lisa’s friends I don’t really care how much of me they see or what all they think of me. But somehow I didn’t want Sean to see me that way. I ran down the hall towards the door, pulling out every one of my piercings from my nose to my navel and stuffing them in my pocket. I’d gotten quite good at this so that at the top of the staircase I looked like I belonged with Lisa and her crowd and by the bottom I looked a bit more like…well, I’m not exactly sure what I looked more like. Just plain I guess. But this time, I was never going to put the earrings back in.

I stopped at the door and paused for bit. That was a bad idea, to let myself think. I grabbed an umbrella, I opened it and closed it, and opened it and closed it, and opened it and closed it until finally I could walk out the door. I ran across the driveway and hopped in the front seat. Sean told me I looked pretty. I didn’t say much back to that…what are girls supposed to say to that anyways? I never could figure it out. He said it again when he dropped me back off. Most boys would have tried to kiss me, but he wasn’t like that. Instead he just said, “You looked really pretty today Lydia. Thanks for helping me find Shia.” He meant the little grey kitten that sat in a crate in the backseat. I smiled and climbed out of the car clutching mine. I had named him Milo. I know Milo’s not that original of a name, but it seemed to suit him at the time so that’s what I decided on.

I watched Sean drive off and then walked into the house. I passed by the downstairs mirror and felt instinctively to reach into my pocket and start putting my piercings back in, but I knew better. Instead I started petting Milo to give my hands something to do. The door to our room was shut, so I knocked. A loud thud, probably from one of my books hitting the door, was all I heard. I slowly walked inside, still clutching Milo, and saw Lisa sitting on the couch with a new earring in her left ear, crying.

Buddy

I am going to begin posting my short stories that I write...it should be fun and it will make this blog more of a place to try out creative ideas, which I want it to become. So that should be fun...I start out with a much lighter-hearted one, most of my stories have dealt with harder subject matter. I was getting tired of writing hard stories, so I tried my hand at a comedy...so please allow me to introduce my very first attempt at writing comdey...don't laugh (will, I mean laugh, but not like that ;) )

~The Author
Tawney had only met Buddy for 45 seconds and he ruined her life forever. She had been perched in her favorite eucalyptus tree for the last two hours trying to compose a poem. It had not been going well. This was evident because all the leaves from where she sat had been torn from the branches leaving a bald spot in the tree and leaf litter on the ground. It was also evidenced by the fact that in her notebook there were only three words and of those three, two had been crossed out.

Now Buddy was the sort of person who enjoyed seeing odd people doing odd things, thus when he saw the teenage girl with purple sunglasses sitting up in a bald spot of a tree, he enjoyed it. So, unknown to the girl-poet, he sat and watched her rip leaves and deliberately scratch out words while he ate an entire bag of potato chips. After a while, Buddy thought he would very much like to meet this girl. However, the potato chips he had just eaten happened to have been Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion potato chips and he knew that the only thing worse than onion breath, was onion powder breath. The skinny boy sat down rather dejected and pulled his plaid overshirt a bit closer to his chest. Then it occurred to him that she, given the height of the tree, would necessarily be rather far away from his mouth and so the chance of her smelling his breath was greatly reduced. This gave him much encouragement. He was going to meet the girl in the eucalyptus tree.

Meanwhile, Tawney had not an inkling of her impending doom. She had thought, being in a eucalyptus tree, to write a poem about koalas and she had finally started to get some momentum on it. Only, not very many words rhyme with koala, or Australia or even emu. This last one was only related by merit of it being an animal from Australia, a line of thinking she had taken up when a poem strictly about koalas had failed her. For lack of proper words to rhyme with Australian fauna, she decided to give up entirely.

She lept out of the tree and landed on directly in front of Buddy.

She was startled.

He also, felt surprised.

He scratched his head, but then extended his hand and almost said, “Hello, my name is Buddy” when he remembered his onion breath. He quickly resolved never to open his mouth, so he simply stood with his hand sticking out in the air. Tawney stared at the outstretched hand, she was not quite sure what to do with it. At first she thought about shaking it. This seemed the best option, but what if he was one of those sleezy boys her brother had told her about and as soon as she touched him, he would run away with her and she would never see her family again. She considered this for a while but then realized that this particular boy was likely to be beaten in a fistfight by a nine-year-old and she was much larger than a nine-year-old by at least three years, so her fear of that was offset. In fact, he was much more likely to be one of those street magicians who might electrocute her when she shook his hand, but since she was not on a street and much more thinking on the matter would lead to a truly awkward social situation, she decided to risk it.

She shook his hand.

It took Buddy a moment to shake her hand back, he was rather shocked she had actually done it after waiting so long to get around to it. He knew if he had might have spoken it could have made all of that go faster, but that was simply not an option. Not with a bag of onion powder flavored chips sitting on his breath.
Tawney let go and stood there, looking at the boy. She expected him to introduce himself now. She imagined that perhaps he had been a part of a community where words came after handshakes, or what sort of odd or strange things must have happened to him to keep him from being able to talk, never in her life imagining it to be something half so boring as a bag of Lay’s potato chips. Still no words were forthcoming.

“I’m Tawney,” she finally said.

He said nothing, but smiled. It was a cute smile. Maybe he was hiding some terrible secret, behind that smile and he was afraid to speak for fear it would all come tumbling out.

“Can you speak?” she asked.

He nodded, but never opened his mouth. Maybe he was a very young monk and had taken a vow of silence, and now his heart was breaking with love of her but he could never speak to her or marry her for monks also must be chaste. Chaste seemed like a strange word, she wrote it in her book.

Buddy saw her writing and wondered what she could be doing. He saw her write the word “chaste” and wondered if she was reminding herself of her virtues. Then he realized this was a very ridiculous and self-conceited thought and resolved to think it no more. He stood there a bit longer, hoping to hear her say one thing more before he left. She fulfilled this desire.

“What is your name?”

Here Buddy was in quite a bind. This comment required an answer and it required an answer that went beyond a simple head nod or shake. He knew what he was about to do next was mad, but he had no other option. He covered his mouth with his hand and said it much louder than he had intended to.

“Buddy!”

And then Buddy ran away, to quickly escape the shame of the breath that must surely have slipped between his fingers, clenched as tightly together as they were.
Tawney watched him run away. A thousand questions about Buddy raced through her mind. She was utterly intrigued by the boy she had met for only 45 seconds. Suddenly all sorts of words began to fly into her mind. Glasses. Scratching. Monk. Circus Performer. Lion Tamer. Lost Love. Secret Love. Forbidden Love. Runaway. Siberia. Spy. Lonely. Orphan. Hermit. Egypt. Ancient Pharoah. Second Life. Time Traveller. And many other words of even more extravagant meanings and lofty expectations entered and stuck in her mind. She wrote furiously all night and well into the next day and even then she felt she had only barely scratched the surface of this boy and all he was.

She had fallen in love with him, that much was certain. Not the romatic sort of love, but the obsessive sort of love where one cannot help but think about the person they love because they are intrigued and fascinated and thinking about them and their many possible lives has become a sort of fantasy, like a video game, but in the mind. And it completely takes over your life so that you never can have it back the way it was before this falling in love happened, and in some ways your life is forever ruined by a chance meeting. This was exactly what had happened to Tawney, and she knew she could never for the rest of her life stop being in love with Buddy.

With wit...

...my wit is marred.

Photo Contest

My Favorite Photo (I've Ever Taken) Brickfish

{aspirations}

Sometimes I thought I would like to be a trapeze artist. Soaring overhead and flipping through the air.

Then I remembered gravity.

Sometimes I thought I would like to be a trapeze artist in space.

{these thoughts courtesy of Lydia Brown {a character I am starting to develop}...she is also the "I" in the post below. I have recently discovered this girl...I'm trying to let her talk a lot so I can get to know her better and soon she'll have her own story. Not sure what yet...but she's starting to talk on her own now. Yesterday I discovered her name}

{the wind did it}

He was just sitting there, you know. Not really moving and I didn't think it was particularly my fault...I had just walked up on him. So I kinda just stood there and looked at him for a bit. Couldn't think of anything else to do. The clouds up in the sky were making weird shadows on the sidewalk, and it was kinda cold you know that fall cold that still has some sunshine but is basically deceiving because it is cold. I guess its the wind that does it. I don't mind too much because I love wearing jackets and sweaters and scarves and mittens...it kinda hides me to an extent, more than I could hide behind say one of those spaghetti strap tank tops. Don't get me wrong, I mean they're cute and all, but nothing you can pull up to your chin and pretend that you're hiding from everyone around you, you know. So I did that, pulled my green striped thrift store sweater up a little closer to my chin and decided that maybe he didn't like me staring so I decided to look up at the clouds. They were pretty, starting as these clumps of white, so dense they were almost grey. And then as the wind kept moving it [yes, it was the wind making it so cold, I'm sure of it] but as the wind kept moving it, it started to spread across and dissipate into the air until it disappeared entirely. As if it was promising to keep together to form some sort of shape in the sky that we little people down here could sit around and make guesses about, but then it laughs and disappears before anyone can say anything worth remembering. People are kinda like that. I don't know if I mean the not having time to say anything worthwhile or like the clouds. But people are like that. I'm not much of a cynic, but sometimes I just know these things. Its like a gut feeling but then I'm never sure what my gut feeling is about until after it happens which of course makes it pretty useless. Lots of things would be pretty neat if we knew what we were supposed to do with them beforehand. Kinda like with this guy...maybe running into him was some great opportunity to be compassionate or something like that but right now I was just staring, and not even at him anymore but at the clouds. So I looked back at him and realized that his gaze was still looking straight ahead, just like when I first happened across him in the allyway shortcut home from the grocery store. I had just bought some flour to make cookies for my little brother's birthday party, I didn't really want to but sometimes moms just give you that look and you know you'd better just get your butt out the door and buy the flour, which is why I didn't have any money left. Just a few pennies and I think giving him pennies would have been more of an insult. So if I had known, I woulda grabbed a few extra dollars, but here was my gut instincts failing me again. He still didn't change what way he was looking. I looked a bit closer and his body wasn't actually moving at all. He was stiff, kinda like a woman stuck in one of those bodices they used to wear way back when, except not breathing. So I pulled out my cell phone and called the police to let them know a dead man was sitting in the alleyway. Well not really sitting, but I didn't actually know what else to call it. I guess he was kinda propped up or something. He must have died from the cold, even though it was sunny. I think it was the wind that did it.

Prince Charming is an Alien

[revised after a conversation with Hilary Grunder who helped me figure this out a bit more]

Yes, that is what I said. Prince Charming is an alien. But before you think I am a chronic cynic, please let me explain.

In today's "someday my prince will come" culture, the idea placed in the heads of many young girls is that someday that perfect man will come and rescue them from their troubles. For years, many of us have lived lives of struggle where our value and worth are often called into question and we hide and change ourselves to simply survive. We live day by day hoping that someday everything will be different and this struggle will soon be over. That one day, we will be rescued from all of this.

That doesn't sound so bad...right? And so often our expectation is that a man will come and, just like in Cinderella, take us away from our evil stepmothers and finally show us what it is like to be loved and valued and we can live happily ever after. But when Prince Charming also has struggles...suddenly we feel un-rescued. And suddenly, everything seems the same and we are right back in the same situation we were before. So this idea of Prince Charming coming to rescue us leaves no room for him to be human. How completely unfair to the wonderful men who come into our lives! Which is why I think Prince Charming must be an alien. Now if that works for Cinderella, great. I personally say, no thank you.

I would much rather be in love with a man. A man who is human and will struggle, but a man who I can also stand beside as we seek to find the answers to our struggles in God. For that is the only person who can actually rescue us, both women and men. The only one who can come and take away our problems entirely and be completely steadfast and perfect for us to rely forever in the future is Jesus Christ. Our culture, subtly, tells us to place our hopes of salvation upon a romance and a Prince coming to rescue us. In one very beautiful way, romance is picture of salvation and men are, I think, a type of Christ figure to help us to understand the way that Christ loves us. But place the responsibility of salvation upon their shoulders is entirely unfair and only destructive to both sides. So first and foremost, we must hold onto Christ, the first lover of our souls and our only true Savior.

And yet, God did in fact give us romance for a reason. I seems that there is something inherent to romance that helps a person learn to love and be loved, and in some real sense men do rescue women. They show us what it is like to be loved in a tangible way, to have a friend to come alongside as we struggle not to fix it all but to help us seek the one who can fix it, to understand our value, and many many other things. They can be and are our heroes [I have personally experienced more healing and restoration because of the wonderful man God has placed in my life right now, than I have in a very very long time].

But all that to say...Prince Charming is an alien. Sorry Cinderella. It makes a great story though...I still think there is something beautiful about fairy tale romances, and we can actually learn a great deal from them, but they are not real, that is all.

{also, this song i think perfectly exemplifies what I am talking about. Not at all to bash on Taylor Swift, I actually love her music and I actually really like this song and think there actually quite a few good things to be gleaned from it, but it is also a very good reminder of how our culture is conditioning girls to look at men and I think it is very harmful to both genders...so listen to it if you like and see what I mean}




Also, another song that addresses the need to find the Lord as our Salvation. I'm not sure if they are Christian...but the song certainly can speak to this topic.

Show Me What Im Looking For - Carolina Liar

Since Now Is the Perfect Time to Prove This Point

The desert of Southern California gets its water from two places: Colorado and Northern California

Northern California sends water to Southern California down the California Aquaduct[see picture]

Up here, we are rationing water.

As in, we turn off the water between the beginning and end of our showers..otherwise, if we use too much, we get huge fines.

I am sure that if I went to Biola they would still be watering the sidewalks.

That is all I have to say.

Reading List and Summer Projects

So this summer I am attempting to read a number of books ... and once I get the reading list for the Trinity Meta-Torrey I shall be adding those into the top priority places. I plan to write on some of them [maybe all?? but that is too ambitious to set as a goal...i'll only frustrate myself!] So here is what I am reading:

Currently - Till We Have Faces ~ C.S. Lewis [such an amazing book...still not sure all that he is doing with it, want to read it again once i know the ending. But if you have not read this book -- READ IT!]

Future books:

At the Back of the North Wind ~ George MacDonald

Lilith ~ George MacDonald

Life of Moses ~ Gregory of Nyssa

The Problem of Pain ~ C.S. Lewis

Miracles ~ C.S. Lewis

The Holy Spirit: Eastern Christian Traditions ~ Dr. Stanley Burgess

The Holy Spirit: Ancient Christian Traditions ~ Dr. Stanley Burgess

Then some poetry by Eliot and MacDonald

So we shall see how that goes. I also have a number of projects going on this summer. With blogging I am wanting to finish up the series on Faith and the Faithfulness of God [for those of you following, this has a good ending, I promise] and also start a series called When Science Has No Answer that will be a series of documented miracles from our church for the purpose of archiving them and also having them to look back on and see God's faithfulness to help inspire my trust in Him for the future. I posted one a long time back about my sister's healing.

As for other projects, I am helping to lead a college group this summer so that is exciting. The focus is going to be service projects and ministry to the poor as we read and apply the book of Acts. I am really excited about some of the ideas that the group is coming up with...this is going to be a great summer in that respect!

Also *hopefully* making a music video for a local band called Signed by You. Their song Popular Demand is quite interesting and I look forward to collaborating with them to make this project. Its just that age old problem of time and money. meh.

Other than that I am working at Tuesday Morning still, taking a math class online, and trying to reconnect with family and friends.

And James is coming to visit in 16 days!!! Wooooooo!!!!! [not a project, but i'm still excited :) ]

Overall a lovely summer. Yes, a lovely summer indeed.

Faith Part II - The Problem of Job

~Behold, all that he has is in your hand~ Job 2:3

So I had fallen off the monkey bars [read post below for context]. Here was my problem…Job. I have never been so emotionally struck reading a book before. I cried and cried while reading the book [at this point I want to thank Katelynn Camp for her kindness in letting me cry on her futon]. I was at a breaking point when I opened up that book. My mom’s cancer was at a critical point excruciating pain forever in her voice over the phone, my sister had been talking to me just a few days ago, locked in her room with a 103 degree fever, shaking and crying because she was so afraid she would get my mom sick and that she would die. My Dad was overworked, trying to hold 2-3 jobs at a time just to pull my family through. I had finally begun to address personal issues in my life, and I was overwhelmed, convicted, condemned and afraid. I wanted things to settle down, but my family’s track record was not in favor of such. How did I know if once we got through this major illness, another one would not follow closely after its heels as it so often did? What the heck was God doing? Didn’t he see how my parents had sacrificed everything to serve him? How could he let a child so young as my little sister was suffer through such horrible pain and social stigma?

And then came Job…with his gut-wrenching questions of God. If I was feeling like I was suffering, how great the pain and sorrow of this dear man of God must have been. To have lost so much, so quickly. Where was the sin that he had committed? Job knew he was blameless before God, a man of righteousness, he had not horrendous sin to atone for [not to say he was perfect…but he was not hiding idols in his tent or some other gaping-hole-in-the-earth-swallows-man-and-family type of sin]. And his friends ramble and rant. And God stays silent.

The crucial problem that I have with this book lies in chapters 1-2. In the beginning of the book, as you all know, God and Satan talk. The conversation goes like this [abridged from ESV]: The Lord said to Satan, “From where have you come?” Satan answered the Lord and said, “From going to and fro on the earth…” “Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away evil?” “Does Job fear God for no reason?...You have blessed the work of his hands…but stretch out your hand and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” “Behold, all that he has is in your hand.”

Okay, so correct me if I was wrong, but it seemed like God was almost taunting Satan with Job. Why does He even bring Job up at all? To show off about how great some of his followers are? And if perhaps I am going too far here…in 2:3 God admits that Satan “incited me against [Job]. Why does Satan have this sort of ability? Should God, the almighty God, be able to be incited by Satan? What is God up to? It feels as if Milton is right that God is just using humanity to get one up on Satan. God could not possibly be so petty. And also, for those of you who have always heard [as I have] that Satan was the one who caused the suffering but God simply stood by and allowed it to happen…nay. In 42:11 the scripture says [and this is the narration not a person speaking…since many times in this book people say things that are quite faulty] “[they] comforted him for all the evil that the Lord had brought upon him”. The context of this verse is at the very end, after Job has repented and given sacrifices to atone for his sinful friends and the Lord is restoring Job’s fortunes. So in the context of this seemingly resolved situation, God is given full, active responsibility for this suffering and evil. It sets up God as the giver of evil. Not Satan. And I had…and honestly still have…no idea what to do with this.

How do I trust a God who does this sort of thing? Who seems to allow so much suffering in my own life and in the lives of my dear friends. And my faith was shaken. For I had not ever truly believed and had firm foundation that God was good. I had been taught as much…but when it came to it, I don’t think I believed it. Or else, would I have been so shaken. And these questions seemed insurmountable. And God’s answer was only “I am God, you are man” and a rebuke for seeking to understand the ways of God. How could this be enough for Job? Who only chapters before [9-10] had complained that it is impossible to bring a suit before God, for who could judge God and tell Him he was unjust or unfair. The account would forever go unanswered, because he is so much more powerful than we. So if God was unjust, who could stop Him? Perhaps the best way to avoid suffering was to follow the Greeks and try to be just pious enough to avoid disdain or pleasure. Then at least God would leave you alone and not boast about you to Satan and then have your children all killed and land destroyed. When considered in human reasoning, this seems the best course of action.

But then, I knew that was wrong. So what was I supposed to do? How was I to trust God? I felt lost and turbulent and so lost not having the foundation of faith that I had always clung to in the past….

New Perspective on Faith - Part I

~Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.~ Hebrews 11:1

This past semester has been trying to say the least. I have been truly tested in my faith in God. I used to think that I trusted in God...until I realized I didn't. Have you ever had one of those moments when you were certain you could do something, knew how to handle it perfectly [or at least sufficiently] only to realize that you couldn't do so at all? It's one of those moments like when you were in Kindergarten and the 3rd graders were all going across the monkey bars and you know for a fact you can do it too. So you climb the ladder and reach your tiny hand to grab ahold of the first bar. You grip tightly. Confidence rises...you know that you can do it. You swing forward onto your next hand, you've got this. Another hand and it keeps going...but suddenly your strength begins to fail. Your fingers slip. Stubbornly you try to grip tighter, but it's too late. You feel sick as the bar begins to slip away. Your feet kick, as if they can help to push you back up. But no use. Finger by finger you slip. Shame washes over you before your last finger even slips from the bar. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears. And then the fall. Hardly noticeable. The pain from the fall is nothing compared to the overwhelming shame and guilt. Then you run. Run from the embarrassment. Run to save face as best you can. Run to feel your shame alone.

That is what it feels like to realize that you do not really have the faith in God that you think you do. I realized that this semester [more of this story to follow, but this is just my intro to a series of posts I want to publish on Faith], but the wonderful thing about falling off the monkey bars is that you have the chance to get back on them. You have the chance to actually learn how to climb across. For as long as that child thought she knew how to cross, she would never learn. But as soon as we fail, we finally get the chance to learn to do something right. So, as long as I thought I was trusting God when really I wasn't, I would never actually be able to trust him. But in failing, I was able to learn the hard process of building trust in God. And I pray that as I post what I have learned about Faith, perhaps it may help others as well.

Directing Project 1

This is my first directing project from this first semester. My roommate Stephanie and I actually did this to each other...haha. It's been fun :) The girl who shows up first is supposed to be Stephanie and the second girl is supposed to be me [as far as story goes...for anyone who was wondering]. Otherwise, it is just a fun short film. Enjoy!



PS. My apologies, I cannot make the widescreen format fit the blog window...i'll work on that one eventually.

The Tree and Fountain

While walking one day a friend and I came upon a tree with paper-like bark and remarked at how sad it is when the bark is stripped from a tree that it dies. We moved on to talking about wrinkles and age, and how in The Golden Key by George MacDonald, the older a person is, the more beautiful he or she becomes [i'll write more on that later]. However, we both resolved to write the story of a tree stripped of her bark.
This is mine...


She calls him deeper
The boy with the dark black curls
To play in the woods
To be lost in her branches
To see her amongst the host of trunks and leaves.
He hears the call and steps in
Tender feet crunch leaves and twigs
And he touches her bark and peers deeply

The mountain calls him higher
The man with the dark black curls, now masked with grey
His weary eyes peer down at the old parchment
They said he’d never find it
But now he must, else she dies.

The boy reaches his hand out
Peels back the bark from her branch
Reluctantly it lets go and her pure, smooth bark shines
His breath quickens, heart pounds
Twigs crack at slow, retreating footsteps

He cannot read the map for the shaking of his weathered hands
As hers so often do
No longer does she embroider, her hand too unsteady to thread a needle
Her face weathered, her body weary
Yet her face smiles with deep beauty and her clouded eyes blanket her dear ones
But he cannot see it.

Her brilliance pulls the boy back and he is drawn
The bark tears more easily now
Turning it over and over in his hand
Brushing the soft wood with his young fingers.
She pleads with him to stop,
The layers protect what is precious within
But he cannot hear it.

The crest of the mountain disappears behind in the mist
The mist that flows down the crevices and valleys
Down to the lake.
It’s surface smooth, perfectly reflecting the barkless trees that surround
Flawless.

She had asked him to stay…not to go on this journey
But he didn’t hear her.


The man approaches the water,
Dips his hand cautiously and rejoices.

The boy drops the bark and walks towards her
His lust for the smoothness blinds him
He rips the bark away, strips her
Poping and cracking
Insects that took refuge within her flee
New twigs are ripped off, cut short by the violence
He peels her layers away, driven by the trunk beneath.

She pleads with him to stop, but he cannot hear
He is fixed upon her.

The man stumbles through the door and offers her the water
She reaches her hand out to him and accepts it.
Poping and cracking echoes through the house
Wrinkles that took refuge within her flee
Her face pulled taut, the skin flat across her face

The bark is completely stripped away,
He steps back and sees the smooth wood beneath.

He steps back and looks at her face
Weariness has gone and youth has returned
She lowers her eyes, ashamed, exposed
As her wisdom turns brown and falls to the ground
Her eyes harden, the compassion given from years of life has fled.
The gentle touch and knowing caress leave her now supple hands
The gentle tremor in her voice vanishes
And her youth shines forth.

The tree shivers and wind blows against it
The boy is gone and she is
Dead.

The man steps back and walks away
Her husband is gone and she is
Dead.

to give these pictures permanent htmls

i'm putting them here...ignore this post.