...otherwise known as the Year of Really Scary Birthdays. In my family, we have a 50th, a 25th, a 20th, and a 16th birthday looming this year. Add me starting community college and Lyn entering her second year of college, and one of the cousins on Mom's side getting married (the first of the eighteen of us to do so)...wow. Lots of changes.
So recently I was thinking about the dreaded NYR: New Year's resolutions. Last year, I made several, and managed to complete...a few...of them. I did read 30 books in 2008 and I did push-ups and sit-ups every day through the end of March (after that things grew a bit more sporadic, to say the least), but I failed miserably in several other aspects. In view of this, I decided that this year, instead of making resolutions for the whole year, that I would make mini challenges for myself each month. Each month will have a different focus: diet, exercise, dance, writing, reading, beauty's building blocks, doing hard things, habits, and cultivating interests. (I'm focusing on writing for three months and reading for two.) Each month has different "requirements" for me to fulfill...for example, I have to read eight books each month in March and September; peform one or two random acts of kindness every day for a week during February, for the focus on beauty's building blocks (which are compassion, contentment, consistency, and the Fruits of the Spirit); do a writing prompt and write 1,000 + words every day in April, August, and November for writing; walk 20 minutes every day and exercise in other ways four times a week during July for exercise (I can hardly wait for this one!), and so forth. I've always enjoyed one-month challenges such as the ones that Brio Magazine occasionally suggests, so this should fit me pretty well.
The only downside to this is that I an the type of person who is highly motivated to get a lot done, but will either get distracted easily or overestimate the amount of time I actually have. Therefore, I almost always end up getting much less done than I would have liked, and then berating myself relentlessly afterwards. Therefore, I am cautiously optimistic about everything I'm going to try to make myself do this year. So it really is my "year of living dangerously". Wish me luck! I'm definitely going to need it...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Once We Were
We stand at the edge of the world
Where the oceans pound on the rocks
Where the water stretches endlessly
Where sand meets sea and sea meets sky
Once we were like the surf,
new and fresh all the time;
Like the sand on the shore,
plentiful beyond count,
Full of dreams that were limitless
Now we are like
a starfish missing its leg;
We lost it when we lost our
Imagination.
Where the oceans pound on the rocks
Where the water stretches endlessly
Where sand meets sea and sea meets sky
Once we were like the surf,
new and fresh all the time;
Like the sand on the shore,
plentiful beyond count,
Full of dreams that were limitless
Now we are like
a starfish missing its leg;
We lost it when we lost our
Imagination.
We stand here in the valley
Where the mountains stretch above
Where the flowers grow abundantly
Where the grass tries to touch the skies
Once we were like the sunflowers,
Rocketing skyward without bounds;
Like the peak of the highest hill,
believing we could fly,
Knowing we could achieve our goals
Now we are like
a dandelion without petals
We lost them when we lost our
Courage
We stand here in the forest
Where the trees offer shelter and canopy
Where the sun seeps through the branches
Where the moss carpets the ground
Once we were like the ants,
Never ceasing in our desires
To attain the height of dreams;
Like the animals that forage
And always find a way
Now we are like
a dead tree without branches
We lost them when we forgot how to
Dream
We stand here in the twilight
When the sun has sunk
When the lights are turned on inside
When the children come out to play
Once we played too,
Ignoring what the world thought;
Like a lighthouse in the darkness,
We were unique and new
And we were guides
Now we are like the dead of a night with no stars
We lost them when we forsook
What we believed in
Once it was spring;
there was new life,
New growth everywhere,
And anything was possible.
Once it was summer;
We were flourishing,
We were flying,
And nothing could bring us down.
And it was on the brink of autumn
That we made our choices
And we left summer behind,
Never to return.
Now we stand here in winter
When the shutters have been shut
When the snow is swiftly falling
In a new direction.
Once we were like the clouds,
Always releasing new energy
And new ideas;
We were ready to make a difference.
Now we are like
A snowflake that blends in with the rest
We failed when we lost our
Passion
We lost our strength and our drive
We are just another at the brink of eternity,
Falling swiftly towards the snow-laden ground.
We still have a choice
Once we were new; now we are old
And we have lost many things
But one thing remains:
The memory of what we once were.
Will we grasp it again?
The ground is swiftly approaching.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Just Because...
After all these relatively serious posts, I guess it's time for some humor. So here we go:
Did anyone bother to proofread this ad...?
"Call your doctor right away if after taking LUNESTA you walk, drive, eat, or engage in other activities WHILE ASLEEP." {emphasis added}
So yes, I do tend to make journal entries late at night...
"Thanks to Maria's $20, I discovered that eating 3 and a half donut and 2 ginger snaps will inevitably lead to a headache and stomachache. Amen."
"I knitted, embroidered a square, and cross-stitching. Um, that was quite a sentence."
"Plus my skate guards, one of them broke. Another amazing feat of grammar."
"Though this journal harbors a lot of emotions and feelings...*builds up to some eloquent proclamation*...I must confess that all its ribbons have been pretty darn annoying."
25,682 Words
Nope, didn't make it in time. But, miraculously, I have not been beating myself over the head for it - on the contrary, I'm quite happy that I, one, managed to write 23,000 more words than last attempt; two, got a little more than halfway through; and three, that I wrote 25,000 words in a month (I have NEVER done that before). So, all in all, a very satisfying experience...I'm definitely going to try again next year, though if I've learned anything, it's that having a laptop is very, very, very conducive to getting more writing in.
Not that anyone cares. So I'll be quiet now, and proudly resort to displaying my badge *grins cheekily*.
Not that anyone cares. So I'll be quiet now, and proudly resort to displaying my badge *grins cheekily*.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
NaNoWriMo 08 - Excerpt #1
I'm over 17,000 words now...that might sound impressive, but it's not comforting when you consider the fact that to make it to 50,000 words in November, I have approximately 33,000 words to write in a week. *gasps and chokes* BUT anyway...here's the first excerpt, and keep in mind that this is a very rough draft. Through this whole NaNoWrimo thing, I have finally learned how to vanquish the inner editor - that little guy who looks over your shoulder, reads what you've written, and laughs.
So...without him hanging around...here's a bit of what I have so far. Enjoy and comment! :-D
“What are you doing here?” the kitchen supervisor asked her the next morning, in a tone of some genuine surprise.
Tyatsai stopped dead and wondered for a moment if she was still dreaming.
“Didn’t they tell you?” asked the supervisor, waving a few more slaves in.
“Tell me what?” Tyatsai said, truly bewildered.
“You’ve been transferred to the laundry, as of this morning,” the supervisor said. “I would’ve thought they would have told you last evening.”
“I had no idea,” she said, her shock audible. Transferred? “Where – where do I go?”
“Two hallways over to the left,” said the supervisor, and turned to the next slave.
Tyatsai turned away and walked slowly in the direction the supervisor had pointed out, now certain she was still in some sort of nightmare. Steam billowed out of the open doorway and a thick scent of animal lard permeated the air. She made slow progress into the room, her mind still reeling and her feet not fully willing to keep going.
The laundry was huge, at least twice the size of the kitchen. Along the right side were large vats of hot water, the source of most of the steam; shelves stacked with round brushes, cakes of soap, bolts of folded linen, and flat irons lined the left side. Another, smaller courtyard was visible through the door in the back of the room, as were the lines of drying laundry stretched across the landscape. At least fifty slaves had crowded into the room, forming exceptionally straight lines beside the vats or the shelves, and all of them were eerily silent.
The supervisor was making slow progress along one of the lines, looking each slave over once or twice, as Tyatsai stepped slowly into the room. Only the supervisor, a stocky man who was barely Tyatsai’s height, looked up at her awkward entrance. “And you are?” he said, his words echoing around the room.
“Tyatsai Falcons,” she said.
“Oh,” he said, sniffing disinterestedly. “Yes, they told me you were being transferred here. Line up with the rest, along this side. Yes, right there.”
Tyatsai followed the other slaves’ lead and stood almost unnaturally straight, keeping her head facing forward and her arms at her sides. Though their heads didn’t move, a few of the slaves chanced curious glances at her, so she did the same.
The supervisor continued down the line until he reached the slave next to her. He examined him for several long moments, but found nothing out of place and sniffed in a disappointed manner as he moved on to Tyatsai. She tensed immediately as his eyes moved up and down her, focusing particularly on her hair, which she sheepishly remembered that she had done nothing with that morning.
“Hair,” he pointed out, “needs to be neater. Hands need to be cleaner.” He took one last look, then sniffed and turned away. He stood in view of both lines and magnified his voice slightly as he said, “This line to the vats. Half of this line, collect the hanging laundry and fold it. The other half – go and collect the laundry from the officers and the apprentices in the east wing.”
The slaves scattered and immediately began talking amongst themselves. Tyatsai found herself shepherded back out through the laundry doors and down the hallway with the half of the line that had been assigned to collect the soiled laundry, a group of fourteen.
As they walked, Tyatsai noticed that the rest of them seemed to semiconsciously divide themselves into smaller groups that chatted amongst themselves. After a few seconds, only she and a boy no more than eleven were the only ones left without a group. She turned and looked down at him and he looked up at her and gave her a charming smile, one she thought would easily woo his future female when he came to the right age.
“Where did you used to work?” he asked, in a voice deeper than it seemed he should have at his age.
“In the kitchen,” Tyatsai replied.
“Why did you get transferred?”
“I have no idea, honestly,” she said, smiling just slightly at the expression of genuine puzzlement on his face.
“And your name is Tyatsai?” When she assented, his eyes widened a little, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You tried to escape, didn’t you?”
His innocent question served to effectively wipe the smile off her face. “Oh,” she said drily, “you heard about that.”
“Well, of course,” he said indignantly. “Everyone heard about it. All of the slaves, I mean.”
“Doesn’t it happen often enough?”
His eyes widened again and he shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s tried in two or three years,” he said, staring up at her in seeming awe of both her bravery and her ignorance.
“You’re joking,” she said, staring back down at him.
“No, I’m not.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but they had reached the east wing corridor, lined on either side with apprentice dormitories, all empty for the day. Tyatsai and the boy followed the rest of the group into one of the dormitories, which had been crowded with as many bunk beds as would possibly fit, all of which were piled with the apprentices’ luggage and other personal belongings. An oversized, overflowing laundry hamper had been squeezed into the extra few feet next to the door. The stench of sweat was nearly overpowering as two of the slaves lifted the hamper and headed back in the direction of the atrium.
None of the other dormitories were any different. All of the slaves came back for second and some for third trips between the laundry before the east wing was laundry-free. Then they moved on to the south wing and the officers’ quarters, each one of which was the same size as a dormitory. But these were furnished instead with four beds and two wardrobes, and a much less crowded laundry hamper.
It took another half an hour to empty the south wing, and when they got back to the laundry, they were assigned to hang up the clean laundry coming out of the steaming vats.
Tyatsai and the boy each grabbed an armload of laundry and headed out into the courtyard, which was empty of all but the group of fourteen. Lines had already been strung in webs and mazes across the courtyard, and each one was dotted with dozens of crude clothespins.
“I’m Norek, by the way,” said the boy as he hung a pair of white trousers on one of the lines.
“How long have you been here?”
“I’ve been at Gavendal for…” The boy squinted into the sun as he thought. “I’ve been here about seven months, I think.” He looked back at her innocently. “And how long have you been here?”
“A little over a month,” she said. “But I’ve been a slave for about twelve years.”
Norek’s eyes widened again, evoking an unexpected laugh from Tyatsai. “What’s funny?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she said, turning back to the pile of laundry at her feet.
“I don’t think being a slave that long is funny,” he said seriously.
“Well, it’s not.”
“Is that why you tried to escape?”
She glanced sideways at him and he smiled sheepishly.
“I’ve only been a slave for seven months,” he said. “I’ve been at the laundry the whole time. It’s not so bad, really.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not as dull as being in the kitchen, I’ll give you that,” she said.
“What did you do in the kitchen?”
“Scrub floors, wash dishes,” she said, and laughed as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And only one person talked to me, and – uh – we didn’t really get along.”
Norek smiled at her. “Well,” he said, in a tone meant to assure that everything was now taken care of, “you have me to talk to now.”
Tyatsai smiled as she hung a shirt on the line.
“I heard something else about you, too,” Norek said after a moment.
“Did you?”
“I heard that you talked back to Enthon at one of the banquets.”
Tyatsai felt her mood darken again. “Two of them, actually,” she said, jerking another shirt from the pile. She was sure his eyes widened at her defiance.
“I think you’re brave,” he said. When she turned around, she found him gazing up at her with deep admiration in his eyes.
“You’re very nice to say so.”
“But it’s true,” he protested.
“Brave and foolish,” she muttered to herself, and to him said, “Maybe so”, and forced another smile.
“My parents were brave like that too,” he said, staring at something beyond the courtyard’s walls. “They never liked being here.”
Tyatsai tried in vain to make out the meaning behind the expression on his face. “Were?” she repeated softly.
“Well, they died a few months after we were brought here,” he said, but there were no tears in his eyes, just deep-seated grief. “But they died because they didn’t let themselves be told what to do.”
They were both silent for a moment, lost in separate thoughts as their hands continued to mechanically hang the dripping laundry on the lines. “My parents died too,” Tyatsai said quietly, “but it was because they gave in, not because they stood up to anything.”
Norek looked up at her, squinting in the sunlight. “You’re not going to give in, are you?” he asked.
She smiled down at him. “No,” she said. “Neither are you.”
So...without him hanging around...here's a bit of what I have so far. Enjoy and comment! :-D
“What are you doing here?” the kitchen supervisor asked her the next morning, in a tone of some genuine surprise.
Tyatsai stopped dead and wondered for a moment if she was still dreaming.
“Didn’t they tell you?” asked the supervisor, waving a few more slaves in.
“Tell me what?” Tyatsai said, truly bewildered.
“You’ve been transferred to the laundry, as of this morning,” the supervisor said. “I would’ve thought they would have told you last evening.”
“I had no idea,” she said, her shock audible. Transferred? “Where – where do I go?”
“Two hallways over to the left,” said the supervisor, and turned to the next slave.
Tyatsai turned away and walked slowly in the direction the supervisor had pointed out, now certain she was still in some sort of nightmare. Steam billowed out of the open doorway and a thick scent of animal lard permeated the air. She made slow progress into the room, her mind still reeling and her feet not fully willing to keep going.
The laundry was huge, at least twice the size of the kitchen. Along the right side were large vats of hot water, the source of most of the steam; shelves stacked with round brushes, cakes of soap, bolts of folded linen, and flat irons lined the left side. Another, smaller courtyard was visible through the door in the back of the room, as were the lines of drying laundry stretched across the landscape. At least fifty slaves had crowded into the room, forming exceptionally straight lines beside the vats or the shelves, and all of them were eerily silent.
The supervisor was making slow progress along one of the lines, looking each slave over once or twice, as Tyatsai stepped slowly into the room. Only the supervisor, a stocky man who was barely Tyatsai’s height, looked up at her awkward entrance. “And you are?” he said, his words echoing around the room.
“Tyatsai Falcons,” she said.
“Oh,” he said, sniffing disinterestedly. “Yes, they told me you were being transferred here. Line up with the rest, along this side. Yes, right there.”
Tyatsai followed the other slaves’ lead and stood almost unnaturally straight, keeping her head facing forward and her arms at her sides. Though their heads didn’t move, a few of the slaves chanced curious glances at her, so she did the same.
The supervisor continued down the line until he reached the slave next to her. He examined him for several long moments, but found nothing out of place and sniffed in a disappointed manner as he moved on to Tyatsai. She tensed immediately as his eyes moved up and down her, focusing particularly on her hair, which she sheepishly remembered that she had done nothing with that morning.
“Hair,” he pointed out, “needs to be neater. Hands need to be cleaner.” He took one last look, then sniffed and turned away. He stood in view of both lines and magnified his voice slightly as he said, “This line to the vats. Half of this line, collect the hanging laundry and fold it. The other half – go and collect the laundry from the officers and the apprentices in the east wing.”
The slaves scattered and immediately began talking amongst themselves. Tyatsai found herself shepherded back out through the laundry doors and down the hallway with the half of the line that had been assigned to collect the soiled laundry, a group of fourteen.
As they walked, Tyatsai noticed that the rest of them seemed to semiconsciously divide themselves into smaller groups that chatted amongst themselves. After a few seconds, only she and a boy no more than eleven were the only ones left without a group. She turned and looked down at him and he looked up at her and gave her a charming smile, one she thought would easily woo his future female when he came to the right age.
“Where did you used to work?” he asked, in a voice deeper than it seemed he should have at his age.
“In the kitchen,” Tyatsai replied.
“Why did you get transferred?”
“I have no idea, honestly,” she said, smiling just slightly at the expression of genuine puzzlement on his face.
“And your name is Tyatsai?” When she assented, his eyes widened a little, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You tried to escape, didn’t you?”
His innocent question served to effectively wipe the smile off her face. “Oh,” she said drily, “you heard about that.”
“Well, of course,” he said indignantly. “Everyone heard about it. All of the slaves, I mean.”
“Doesn’t it happen often enough?”
His eyes widened again and he shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s tried in two or three years,” he said, staring up at her in seeming awe of both her bravery and her ignorance.
“You’re joking,” she said, staring back down at him.
“No, I’m not.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but they had reached the east wing corridor, lined on either side with apprentice dormitories, all empty for the day. Tyatsai and the boy followed the rest of the group into one of the dormitories, which had been crowded with as many bunk beds as would possibly fit, all of which were piled with the apprentices’ luggage and other personal belongings. An oversized, overflowing laundry hamper had been squeezed into the extra few feet next to the door. The stench of sweat was nearly overpowering as two of the slaves lifted the hamper and headed back in the direction of the atrium.
None of the other dormitories were any different. All of the slaves came back for second and some for third trips between the laundry before the east wing was laundry-free. Then they moved on to the south wing and the officers’ quarters, each one of which was the same size as a dormitory. But these were furnished instead with four beds and two wardrobes, and a much less crowded laundry hamper.
It took another half an hour to empty the south wing, and when they got back to the laundry, they were assigned to hang up the clean laundry coming out of the steaming vats.
Tyatsai and the boy each grabbed an armload of laundry and headed out into the courtyard, which was empty of all but the group of fourteen. Lines had already been strung in webs and mazes across the courtyard, and each one was dotted with dozens of crude clothespins.
“I’m Norek, by the way,” said the boy as he hung a pair of white trousers on one of the lines.
“How long have you been here?”
“I’ve been at Gavendal for…” The boy squinted into the sun as he thought. “I’ve been here about seven months, I think.” He looked back at her innocently. “And how long have you been here?”
“A little over a month,” she said. “But I’ve been a slave for about twelve years.”
Norek’s eyes widened again, evoking an unexpected laugh from Tyatsai. “What’s funny?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she said, turning back to the pile of laundry at her feet.
“I don’t think being a slave that long is funny,” he said seriously.
“Well, it’s not.”
“Is that why you tried to escape?”
She glanced sideways at him and he smiled sheepishly.
“I’ve only been a slave for seven months,” he said. “I’ve been at the laundry the whole time. It’s not so bad, really.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not as dull as being in the kitchen, I’ll give you that,” she said.
“What did you do in the kitchen?”
“Scrub floors, wash dishes,” she said, and laughed as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And only one person talked to me, and – uh – we didn’t really get along.”
Norek smiled at her. “Well,” he said, in a tone meant to assure that everything was now taken care of, “you have me to talk to now.”
Tyatsai smiled as she hung a shirt on the line.
“I heard something else about you, too,” Norek said after a moment.
“Did you?”
“I heard that you talked back to Enthon at one of the banquets.”
Tyatsai felt her mood darken again. “Two of them, actually,” she said, jerking another shirt from the pile. She was sure his eyes widened at her defiance.
“I think you’re brave,” he said. When she turned around, she found him gazing up at her with deep admiration in his eyes.
“You’re very nice to say so.”
“But it’s true,” he protested.
“Brave and foolish,” she muttered to herself, and to him said, “Maybe so”, and forced another smile.
“My parents were brave like that too,” he said, staring at something beyond the courtyard’s walls. “They never liked being here.”
Tyatsai tried in vain to make out the meaning behind the expression on his face. “Were?” she repeated softly.
“Well, they died a few months after we were brought here,” he said, but there were no tears in his eyes, just deep-seated grief. “But they died because they didn’t let themselves be told what to do.”
They were both silent for a moment, lost in separate thoughts as their hands continued to mechanically hang the dripping laundry on the lines. “My parents died too,” Tyatsai said quietly, “but it was because they gave in, not because they stood up to anything.”
Norek looked up at her, squinting in the sunlight. “You’re not going to give in, are you?” he asked.
She smiled down at him. “No,” she said. “Neither are you.”
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
#44
Around 11 p.m. last night, Senator Barack Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States. When I stopped watching, the electoral count was 333-156 (though the popular vote was much closer), a huge, though unsurprising, win for the Democrats.
This was a historic presidential race. With a president with dismally low approval ratings having been in office for the last 8 years, with huge economic and foreign policy issues facing the country, and with an African American on one ticket and a woman on the other, there's little doubt that this was the most watched, the most exciting, and the most controversial race in years and for probable years to come.
I will confess that (though I can't vote yet) I supported McCain, enough to wear a McCain sticker all day yesterday. But, surprisingly, I was not hugely disappointed by the news that Obama had won. Strangely, seeing the words "Sen. Barack Obama elected 44th president of the United States" and hearing the crowds scream all across the country was almost exhilarating. Why? Because at the end of Election Day, at the end of every day, we're all Americans. No matter who we voted for yesterday, we can (and must) put our differences aside and remember that united we stand, divided we fail. Life isn't really about partisan preferences or politics, and there comes a time when, somehow, the differences between us suddenly don't seem quite so important.
Barack Obama made history yesterday. He has inspired millions of Americans with his eloquent, well-delivered speeches on change, and he will continue to inspire for the next four years. Do I agree with him on everything? No. Will he make a good president? That remains to be seen. but the point is - similar to the way former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani put it - no matter who wins each election, American needs to stand behind them. It won't do this country any good if we can't put our differences aside for once and fully support our 44th president, now that we know who he is.
I have another confession to make: I cried all the way through McCain's gracious concession speech. (To put this into perspective, I have never actually cried during any movie.) But I don't think I was crying simply because McCain lost (how lame would that be?!); it was for many reasons.
It was because an African American made history and effectively ended America's infamous era of racial prejudice by becoming our president. It was because of how hard both candidates had worked and how much support Americans had given them. It was because of the crowd in New York City that could put aside their partisan differences and celebrate America's new president, and new beginning, side by side - whether or not he was the candidate they had voted for. It was because after months of campaigning, after months of intense media coverage, scrutiny, and *cough cough* rather obvious bias, the whole thing is finally and very suddenly over (I mean, gee, what is Newsweek going to talk about now?). It was because John McCain, an American hero, had worked so hard on the chance to be president more than once and for several years - but today, he's probably just glad the whole thing's over. it was because after two months of media punches and overwhelming[ly wrong] popular opinion against her, Sarah Palin will suddenly head out of the spotlight and go back to being Alaska's governer, without the title of vice president. And, I think most of all, it was because we are all Americans - diverse, wonderful, crazy Americans who made history yesterday and who will continue to make history every day.
One more thing. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God knows exactly what He's doing. While, to some of us last night, it may not have seemed like it, it's still true. However future president Obama leads America, it's all in God's hands. Knowing that was also part of the emotion tonight. This election just reaffirmed my sometimes-shaky belief that I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know Who holds tomorrow. And because of that, I can rest totally assured that my past is forgiven and my future is intact - so I can live purely in the here and the now.
Today, the here and the now is the celebration of Barack Obama's election to the presidency. I sincerely wish him all the luck (and the wisdom) in the world. May America bless God and God bless America.
This was a historic presidential race. With a president with dismally low approval ratings having been in office for the last 8 years, with huge economic and foreign policy issues facing the country, and with an African American on one ticket and a woman on the other, there's little doubt that this was the most watched, the most exciting, and the most controversial race in years and for probable years to come.
I will confess that (though I can't vote yet) I supported McCain, enough to wear a McCain sticker all day yesterday. But, surprisingly, I was not hugely disappointed by the news that Obama had won. Strangely, seeing the words "Sen. Barack Obama elected 44th president of the United States" and hearing the crowds scream all across the country was almost exhilarating. Why? Because at the end of Election Day, at the end of every day, we're all Americans. No matter who we voted for yesterday, we can (and must) put our differences aside and remember that united we stand, divided we fail. Life isn't really about partisan preferences or politics, and there comes a time when, somehow, the differences between us suddenly don't seem quite so important.
Barack Obama made history yesterday. He has inspired millions of Americans with his eloquent, well-delivered speeches on change, and he will continue to inspire for the next four years. Do I agree with him on everything? No. Will he make a good president? That remains to be seen. but the point is - similar to the way former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani put it - no matter who wins each election, American needs to stand behind them. It won't do this country any good if we can't put our differences aside for once and fully support our 44th president, now that we know who he is.
I have another confession to make: I cried all the way through McCain's gracious concession speech. (To put this into perspective, I have never actually cried during any movie.) But I don't think I was crying simply because McCain lost (how lame would that be?!); it was for many reasons.
It was because an African American made history and effectively ended America's infamous era of racial prejudice by becoming our president. It was because of how hard both candidates had worked and how much support Americans had given them. It was because of the crowd in New York City that could put aside their partisan differences and celebrate America's new president, and new beginning, side by side - whether or not he was the candidate they had voted for. It was because after months of campaigning, after months of intense media coverage, scrutiny, and *cough cough* rather obvious bias, the whole thing is finally and very suddenly over (I mean, gee, what is Newsweek going to talk about now?). It was because John McCain, an American hero, had worked so hard on the chance to be president more than once and for several years - but today, he's probably just glad the whole thing's over. it was because after two months of media punches and overwhelming[ly wrong] popular opinion against her, Sarah Palin will suddenly head out of the spotlight and go back to being Alaska's governer, without the title of vice president. And, I think most of all, it was because we are all Americans - diverse, wonderful, crazy Americans who made history yesterday and who will continue to make history every day.
One more thing. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God knows exactly what He's doing. While, to some of us last night, it may not have seemed like it, it's still true. However future president Obama leads America, it's all in God's hands. Knowing that was also part of the emotion tonight. This election just reaffirmed my sometimes-shaky belief that I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know Who holds tomorrow. And because of that, I can rest totally assured that my past is forgiven and my future is intact - so I can live purely in the here and the now.
Today, the here and the now is the celebration of Barack Obama's election to the presidency. I sincerely wish him all the luck (and the wisdom) in the world. May America bless God and God bless America.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
NaNoWriMo 2008
Yes, it's that time of year again: National Novel Writing Month, from November 1-30, in which several thousand brave (translated: crazy) souls attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in a mere 30 days (http://www.nanowrimo.org/). Yes, I am one of them. The few. The proud. But I still think I was completely crazy.
The first and last time I tried this, two years ago, I ended up with a pitiful 2,000 words - the equivalent of about four pages. I decided it was hopeless and didn't even consider it last year. This year, however, I made several over-ambitious New Year's resolutions , one of them being that I would write a full novel in November.
Well, as the year went on, I began to despair of the idea - until suddenly I was reminded of it totally randomly while doing math one day late in October. I dug out the magazine that had given me the inspiration in the first place, read it over, and got inspired to try again.
So this year I decided to completely rewrite an absolutely pitiful fantasy novel I had finished in May 2006. I took out the long journey, incidents with dragons and old wizards, random encounters with mermaids, and villains obsessed with finding treasure. I also felt the need to cut out some humorous sections with the main character, Tyatsai, and her arch-enemy (whom she winds up being a personal slave for near the end) Enthon. They were kind of funny, but kind of tacky in a way, and they no longer really fit into the story. However, I will paste two of them here for your reading enjoyment:
Enthon returned the book to the shelf and sat down. He settled back in his chair, his feet on the table, and poured himself a glass of rum. "Ah-what a day!" he said, sighing in satisfaction. "My fortress is going well, I'll soon have Mount Olivent's treasure under my belt, my least favorite person in the world is my slave...life is good."
Tyatsai couldn't stand him any longer. Dropping the firewood she was carrying, she went over to Enthon and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.
Enthon, in fury and indignation, spit out the sip of rum he had just taken at Tyatsai, who dodge it coolly. It instead splattered onto the brocade window curtains, leaving a large brown stain.
Enthon cast a very ugly look in Tyatsai's direction, closed his eyes, and began to take deep, slow breaths.
"Now what are you doing?" Tyatsai said.
Enthon opened one eye. "These are my breathing exercises. I must commence them when you exasperate me."
And I thought that was worthy of being published?!
Several days after the fight, Enthon was slumped miserably on his throne. Tyatsai was bringing in more firewood when Loule [Enthon's third-in-command] stepped in, and with him, several insects. His nose ring quivered as he saluted. "All is going well on the construction, milord. The wall is almost complete."
Purposely forgetting her place, Tyatsai asked, "What wall?"
Enthon examined his fingernails and spoke to Loule. "You may tell Miss Falcons that some of the slaves are building a wall around a new compound to house consons. They will be trained to fight for us."
Loule looked bewildered as he turned to Tyatsai. "Some of the slaves are building..."
"I'm not deaf," Tyatsai replied coldly. "You can tell Enthon that consons cannot be tamed or trained, that they'll likely tear him to pieces, and that I won't care at all."
Loule turned back to Enthon. "Consons cannot be tamed..."
"I'm not deaf," Enthon interrupted. He glared at Tyatsai but couldn't think of a good reply.
Loule spoke again. "Sir, you have a fly on your head. I shall remove it." He stepped forward, but Tyatsai intercepted him, carrying a piece of firewood.
"I'll get it!" she exclaimed, and brought the wood down heavily onto Enthon's head. Loule's nose ring dropped to the floor.
Enthon flinched slightly but otherwise showed no discomfort or displeasure. "I beg your pardon, Miss Falcons," he said. "You may want to hold your firewood more firmly from now on. It may slip again."
Both Tyatsai and Loule looked confused.
Well, one can only hope that this year's efforts will turn out much better than that. :-) I will occasionally post excerpts as the month goes on, and will look forward to any brutally honest comments you might have on them.
The first and last time I tried this, two years ago, I ended up with a pitiful 2,000 words - the equivalent of about four pages. I decided it was hopeless and didn't even consider it last year. This year, however, I made several over-ambitious New Year's resolutions , one of them being that I would write a full novel in November.
Well, as the year went on, I began to despair of the idea - until suddenly I was reminded of it totally randomly while doing math one day late in October. I dug out the magazine that had given me the inspiration in the first place, read it over, and got inspired to try again.
So this year I decided to completely rewrite an absolutely pitiful fantasy novel I had finished in May 2006. I took out the long journey, incidents with dragons and old wizards, random encounters with mermaids, and villains obsessed with finding treasure. I also felt the need to cut out some humorous sections with the main character, Tyatsai, and her arch-enemy (whom she winds up being a personal slave for near the end) Enthon. They were kind of funny, but kind of tacky in a way, and they no longer really fit into the story. However, I will paste two of them here for your reading enjoyment:
Enthon returned the book to the shelf and sat down. He settled back in his chair, his feet on the table, and poured himself a glass of rum. "Ah-what a day!" he said, sighing in satisfaction. "My fortress is going well, I'll soon have Mount Olivent's treasure under my belt, my least favorite person in the world is my slave...life is good."
Tyatsai couldn't stand him any longer. Dropping the firewood she was carrying, she went over to Enthon and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.
Enthon, in fury and indignation, spit out the sip of rum he had just taken at Tyatsai, who dodge it coolly. It instead splattered onto the brocade window curtains, leaving a large brown stain.
Enthon cast a very ugly look in Tyatsai's direction, closed his eyes, and began to take deep, slow breaths.
"Now what are you doing?" Tyatsai said.
Enthon opened one eye. "These are my breathing exercises. I must commence them when you exasperate me."
And I thought that was worthy of being published?!
Several days after the fight, Enthon was slumped miserably on his throne. Tyatsai was bringing in more firewood when Loule [Enthon's third-in-command] stepped in, and with him, several insects. His nose ring quivered as he saluted. "All is going well on the construction, milord. The wall is almost complete."
Purposely forgetting her place, Tyatsai asked, "What wall?"
Enthon examined his fingernails and spoke to Loule. "You may tell Miss Falcons that some of the slaves are building a wall around a new compound to house consons. They will be trained to fight for us."
Loule looked bewildered as he turned to Tyatsai. "Some of the slaves are building..."
"I'm not deaf," Tyatsai replied coldly. "You can tell Enthon that consons cannot be tamed or trained, that they'll likely tear him to pieces, and that I won't care at all."
Loule turned back to Enthon. "Consons cannot be tamed..."
"I'm not deaf," Enthon interrupted. He glared at Tyatsai but couldn't think of a good reply.
Loule spoke again. "Sir, you have a fly on your head. I shall remove it." He stepped forward, but Tyatsai intercepted him, carrying a piece of firewood.
"I'll get it!" she exclaimed, and brought the wood down heavily onto Enthon's head. Loule's nose ring dropped to the floor.
Enthon flinched slightly but otherwise showed no discomfort or displeasure. "I beg your pardon, Miss Falcons," he said. "You may want to hold your firewood more firmly from now on. It may slip again."
Both Tyatsai and Loule looked confused.
Well, one can only hope that this year's efforts will turn out much better than that. :-) I will occasionally post excerpts as the month goes on, and will look forward to any brutally honest comments you might have on them.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
In It, Not of It
I hide me far away from trouble
The world outside me grows darker by the day
So I promise to stay here close beside Him
Surely God would want His children safe
Then reading, how my eyes were opened
I find that He is leading us out into the world
Into the middle of fallen saints and sinners
Where a little grace is needed most
Wait a minute
If we say we love them
Why are we not in it
Why we run and hide
Entertain a stranger
Maybe entertain an angel
The danger is if our worlds don’t collide
Come take the light to darker parts
Share His truth with hardened hearts
We are not like the world
But we can love it
Come bring the hope to hopeless men
Until the lost are found in Him
He came to save the world
So let us be in it, not of it
Avalon
Today I am in Erie, Pennsylvania. This is where my sister’s college resides, so we brought her up here for her freshman year. This being her freshman year, we decided to check out a local church’s evening service.
Now, this is no ordinary church. This church does not meet in an elaborate building; there are no stained glass windows depicting Jesus’ miracles, robed choirs with organ accompaniment, or a preacher in a black suit, shouting about fire and brimstone from behind a distant pulpit.
Far from it. This church meets in a place downtown known as the Cell Block. A bar. Yes, Bud Light banners and all.
No one else is there on a Sunday night; it’s just the church. The songs are sung with the accompaniment of two guitars; no piano, no drums. The pastor and worship leaders are wearing jeans and T-shirts. They’re very friendly and down-to-earth; they don’t sound “holier than thou” when they’re preaching or talking.
So why do they meet in a bar? One of the worship leaders said, “Some people think it’s weird that we meet here. But the church is not a building, it’s the people, so we’ll go anywhere necessary to reach them.”
As we were leaving the Cell Block after the very Bible-based, very church-like, very casual service, I said to my sister, “That is the best illustration of ‘be in the world, but not of the world’ that I’ve ever seen.”
Well, it’s true. Holding a church service in that kind of atmosphere, yet being so different from it at the same time, is pretty awesome, in my opinion. They’re doing something right by standing out from the crowd. But the same thing couldn’t be said for all of us.
John 15:19 says, If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, because of this the world hates you. Translation: being in step with Christ might mean that we’re out of step with the world. We’re not of the world, so they’re going to hate us. There’s no escaping that fact.
Yet, Matthew 5:13 says, You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? 2 Corinthians 4:4 mentions “the light of the gospel”. We have the gospel, so we have to be light if we’re to reach the world with it.
Out of these verses, we can logically conclude that God has intended for us to be in the world, but not of the world. Let’s take a closer look.
Not Of
“Not of the world” means three things: not loving the world (1 John 2:15), not being attached to the world (Matthew 24:25), and not being like the world (John 17:14).
Not loving the world: First of all, it’s important to understand that the “the world” is not a place. “The world” is what we have made it – very different from “the earth”, which is what God made. Loving the world means loving the sin we brought into it. (This doesn’t mean that we can no longer enjoy books, fashion, sports, nature, food, or friends anymore.) Obviously, we’re all still going to sin, but there’s an enormous difference between sinning and deliberately choosing to do something again and again when you know it’s wrong. While all sin is wrong, repetitive, willful sinning shows love of the world. God hates sin, so we should make a conscious choice to hate it as well.
Not being attached to the world: This world is not our real home. It’s pointless to become attached to material possessions, because they won’t carry over to heaven. It’s fine to enjoy them while we’re here, but it’s not fine to completely focus on them, because that will always leave us unsatisfied with what we already have.
Not being like the world: We’re called to be different. We’re called to a higher purpose than shrinking into the crowd and being the same as everyone else. We’re called to listen to different music, wear different clothes, read different books, talk about different things, watch different movies, and act in different ways. We’re called to stand out so people will take notice.
In the World
I don’t think it’s the “not of” part that a lot of Christians have the most trouble with. After a few years of being a Christian and finding Christian alternatives, it’s not so hard to be different. Pretty soon we settle into our home schooled, sheltered, comfortable conservative lives, raising our children to be different, having family devotions every night, going to church on Sundays and maybe helping around the church in other ways. We vaguely support our political parties, listen to classical music or hymns if we don’t like CCM, pick up our entertainment from the local Christian bookstore, receive our Christian worldview magazines, home school our children or send them to a Christian school, get involved in various Christian sports teams or art classes or homeschool functions or other Christian activities, support our Christian churches, and try to lead our non-Christian acquaintances to Christianity.
Did you notice how many times the word “Christian” appeared in that sentence? It’s not a bad word, and none of these activities in of themselves are not bad. They’re all great. It’s important to be totally plugged in to Christianity. But we’re missing half of our conclusion!
“In the world” does not just mean “live on the earth and be different”. We all live on the earth. It’s not a command. Breathing and sneezing aren’t commands either; they come naturally. Truly living in the world means that we need to be integrated into the world, living “among” the world, so to speak, and being different there.
Salt and Light
Have you ever tried shining a flashlight in broad daylight? I have. There’s not much point. You can hardly even tell it’s on. But when you shine it in total darkness? Whoa. It’s got a lot of power. It changes the atmosphere and can light up the darkest corners.
So what’s the point? You have to be surrounded on all sides by darkness to shine.
We are called to be the salt and light of this world. That is a command. If you’re always surrounded by light, how do you expect to fully fulfill that command? If a bunch of flashlights got together and all shone, what a great gathering that would be. There’d be light for miles around. All the flashlights would learn better ways to shine from various other flashlights, totally ignoring where the reach of the light ended.
Well, I’ve got news for you. Darkness doesn’t move. The only way for light to reach the darkness is for the light to move. We can’t expect the darkness to come to us.
So what’s the point we’re missing? It’s that we can’t hide in our little Christian corners and hope someone comes along and notices that we’re different! That’s not how it works, nor is that how God intended for it to be. Even Jesus mingled with the sinners and the outcasts. He healed those who didn’t deserve to be healed and touched those who weren’t worthy to be touched. Guess what happened? They believed in him! Jesus didn’t spend all His time with His disciples, ignoring the sinners who were desperately trying just to be near him. He went to them. His disciples? Well, I guess you could say they were there for moral and spiritual support. He said it Himself that He didn’t come here for us. He came for the sinners.
Jesus said that we are constantly to strive to be more like Him. So our focus should also switch to the desperate people all around us who may not even know that hope exists. We know what the hope is, but what are we doing about it? Hanging out with fellow Christians, so that we can be edified and encouraged and so that the world won’t be a bad influence over us.
First of all, the words “we”, “me”, and “I” need to be removed from the equation. This is not about us. This is about God, and His primary goal is to bring more people into His kingdom. If we’re going to be like God, then His priorities have got to become ours.
Secondly, while it is important to hang out with other Christians, only keeping the company of Christians isn’t going to win any more followers. If they’re saved, they’re saved, and that’s awesome, but it’s time to give those who are not saved at least an equal amount of our time. If everything we’re doing is with Christians or with Christian organizations, and we never allow ourselves to get “out there” and live a bit radically, we’re not truly in the world. Break out of the exclusive homeschool group and youth group crowd. Make other friends in other circles. Participate in organized or totally unorganized outreaches.
Thirdly, nowhere in the Bible will you find the idea of “stay away from the world lest it influence you to sin”. That would contradict (key verse reference), and the Bible never contradicts itself. However, you will find warnings about what’s out there and exhortations to be on your guard; that’s all over the place. All of us need to constantly be on our guard, but that’s different than avoiding the world altogether. To be in the world and stay rock solid, you’ve got have a firm foundation, know what you believe in, and be able to make the right decisions.
Intro to the Real World
Several years back, I was reading a small Christian magazine. I don’t remember its topic, but one article said that it’s unwise to keep your kids sheltered all their lives, and then get a sudden jolt into the “real world”. It suggested that around age 12, you begin to let them “out” a little – by signing them up for quilting or perhaps music classes.
Now, how much exposure to the real world do you expect your kids to get from quilting or music classes? That’s not the real world. That’s not the answer to being in the world. The real world is messed up and broken. People all around us are filling their holes with junk, only to find that they’re poking more holes. There’s only one thing that can fill every hole for good, and we know what it is. We have the chance to stand out, but we’re not even in. We’re the light, yet we refuse to go out into the darkness.
Those of us who claim to follow Christ should not be blending in with the Christian crowd. We should be standing out, being different, doing radical, crazy things for God simply because we love Him. We should be shining.
I have one more thought. It’s a quote from the book Jesus Freaks by DC Talk: “You may never have to face the decision of whether or not to die for your faith, but every day you face the decision of whether or not you will live for it.”
Can you truly say you’re shining into the darkness? Venture out farther than you’ve been before. Unless we shine, the light won’t be reaching any farther than it is now. It’s time to make the decision. Are you going to live for what you say you believe? Or are you going to keep it all to yourself?
What would Jesus do?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
More than Ordinary
No one of our age has ever taken power...which is why we're too young to realize that certain things are impossible. So we will do them anyway. {amazing grace}William Wilberforce was an ordinary man. Born in 1759, he became an independent member of Parliament for Yorkshire in 1784 and was converted to Christianity a year later. In 1787, he met Thomas Clarkson, Hannah More, Granville Sharp, and others who convinced him to take on the cause of abolition. From then on, he worked tirelessly for years to abolish the slave trade throughout the British Empire, finally resulting in the Slave Trade Act 1807. He also "tranformed the hearts and minds of his countrymen on education, health care and prison reform to accomplish his second great dream - making a better world."
Ordinary, yes. But God used him to do extraordinary things - no one would argue that abolishing the slave trade was an ordinary task - and his life became more than ordinary.
I'm an ordinary person. I'm a human with human emotions and human desires, limited human knowledge and judgement, a limited human mind. God created me that way. He created everyone that way. We're all human, and we all fail and sin like humans.
William Wilberforce was no different. David, a man after God's own heart, was no different. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was no different. Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, was no different. But though each of them was ordinary, each of their lives was more than ordinary. Why? Because God assigned them an extraordinary task to accomplish. And then He empowered them with the strength they needed to accomplish it.
God placed each of them and each of us where they were and where we are for such a time as this - whatever "this" means for each person. He created us with our lifespan, our life works, our life story, our life accomplishments in mind. He knew before He created time what we were going to do and why we were on this earth at the time that we are. He has placed you and I right here, right now, for a reason, a perfect reason, and all of us are just a fraction of His bigger plan. Even though at times it doesn't seem like it, He always knows what He's doing.
So I'm ordinary. But God can make me more than ordinary. He can empower me to do bigger things than I ever imagined were possible. He has incredible plans for my life, and He can take the ordinary-ness of my life and twist it and turn it upside-down until I shine with extraordinary-ness. He can make my little plans for my life explode until they make an unstoppable difference in the world.
So I am unstoppably ordinary. I am an ordinary person whom God can make much, much more than ordinary. But a responsibility for me comes along with that. God can bless me all He wants, but if I just sit back and wait for it, I will get nowhere. Blessing, just like salvation, is a two-way conversation: He offers, and I accept.
I'll wait for the offer. And then I will accept. I want to be more than ordinary.
I want to be unstoppable. God is. If He's in me, than I can be too. It's time to move some mountains.
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