Day 90: He is Risen!

Based on Matthew 28: 1-6 and Mark 16: 1-6.

Tiberius let out a huge yawn as he leaned against his spear.  Not even the most athletic, strong Roman soldier in Jerusalem could defeat those endless yawned that creep up on you.  What could you expect though after staying up most of the night.  He poked Procleus with his foot, who was sleeping in front of the large stone sealing the tomb's entrance.

"Wake up!  It's your turn to take the next shift!"

The burly man growled and cocked his helmet off from his eyes.  "It's not even dawn yet, Tiberius!  You agreed we'd switch shifts at daylight!"

"But I can barely keep my eyes open, Procleus.  Come on!"

The man groaned again as he stood up.  "I don't know why we have to watch this blasted tomb anyways.  It's just a dead guy.  Who's going to want to even go there with the smell of rotting flesh, let alone have any interest in stealing a bag of bones?  No one can open the tomb anyways.  This stone was sealed in front of it at least five times."

"I know what you mean.  There's only been two people who came by in the past three days.  One of them was his mother!"

Procleus shook his head as he stood up and stretched.  "I don't understand our leaders sometimes."

"We don't have to.  Our orders are only to obey."   Tiberius laid his spear aside and nudged Procleus' arm right before he was going to sit down.  "Look."  He pointed to the horizon.  "Dawn's light.  We're trading off right after all."

Suddenly, the ground trembled right under their feet.  Stones clattered loudly against other rocks on the dirt.  The trees shook violently, and some even became uprooted.  Dirt started slipping into the tiny cracks that were forming not one foot from their feet.  Then, behind their heads, came the most terrifying cracking noise they had ever heard.

"Tiberius, look out!"  The Roman soldier shoved his comrade out of the way as the round stone cracked symmetrical up the middle and began falling to the ground.

They yelled as they ran away and tried to keep their balance.  The rock landed with a loud thud, and the earthquake stopped.  The two soldiers breathed heavily and stared dumbfounded at the tomb and broken stone.

Tiberius was the first one with enough courage to investigate.  He walked a few steps forward before he stopped again.  A light shone from inside the tomb.  Tiberius looked back at Procleus, who wore the face of terror.  Tiberius looked back at the cave.  The light was gone.  Both men stayed paused for minute, waiting for something else to happen.  When nothing came, they both cautiously approached the tomb, grabbing their weapons as quickly as possible.  Tiberius motioned that on "three," they would look inside.  Procleus nodded in agreement with the plan.  The sunlight was bright enough for them to see that all that was inside the tomb was a white burial robe. 

Both men hustled out as soon as humanly possible. 

"Did you see any body?"

"No," Procleus answered in a half-whisper.  "I didn't hear anyone come up."

"Neither did I."

Then, in the blink of an eye, an angel dressed in white stood in front of the two men.  They yelled and jumped back from sheer surprise, which turned immediately to fright when they saw the man shone brighter than any light they had ever seen.

"Jesus has risen from the dead," he smiled.  "Isn't that amazing?  Praise the Lord!"  His voice was illustrious, melodic, and authoritative, but it was just enough to push the men over.  Both fainted on the spot.  The angel chuckled and entered Jesus' tomb to sit at the edge of the coffin.  Daylight had fully broken now, and three women on donkeys could be seen riding towards the tomb.

Day 89: Resurrection of the Saints

Based on Matthew 27: 52-53.

A loud coughing could be heard deep in a cave, right after the earthquake ended that erupted after Jesus breathed His last.  A white linen-clad body slowly sat up.

"It's dark.  What is this this over my eyes?"  The mummy removed the bandage that covered his eyes, revealing the face of John the Baptist.  "I still can't see.  Everything is so dark."  He swung his legs over the side of his coffin like structure and stood up somewhat shakily, as though he hadn't used his legs in weeks.  John saw a light in the distance that indicated the beginning of the cave.  He walked towards it and thought hard about how he got there.  He could not remember.

"What's the last thing I do remember?  I was... in Herod's jail.  Then he called to see me.  I was led into a another room, and there was a large guard.  They made me get on my knees, and I saw the guard pull out a sword.  Then-"

John touched his neck.  No scar could be felt.  He moved his head around.  It functioned perfectly.  He looked at his wrists.  There was no evidence that chains had chaffed them.  It was a miracle.  John jumped up and praised God.

In another tomb, a man slowly rose from what had been his resting place for the past...the decades were too numerous to count.  He groaned as he took his bandages off and coughed from the dust that arose.

"Oohh, where am I?"  The greyed man stared at his surroundings.  "A tomb?  Yes, that makes sense.  I believe I even remember dying, but...what am I still doing here?  Now?"

Puzzled, Samuel decided to look around outside.  He shielded his eyes from the bright sun.

"Gah!  I haven't felt the sun in years!"  He blinked as his eyes adjusted, and he nearly had a heart attack.  "The land looks so different!  So many houses, and they're so funny-looking!  And what's that?  A temple?  It's marvelous!  Wait a minute."  The old man bent his legs a few times.

"They don't hurt me."  He bent down and touched his toes.  "Haha!  This is amazing!!"  He even started to run around.  He smiled and laughed as he felt the breeze in his face and no pain at all.

"It's like I'm a new man!  God is good!"  He stopped short again and felt his stomach.  "Man, I'm starving!"

One man walked out of his tomb and seemed to know that he had risen from the dead.  He was whispering prayers of thanksgiving to God.  When he saw the dark clouds outside, he stopped short and stared towards Golgotha at the three wooden crosses.  "I knew I was right.  God told me the truth all along.  Precious Savior!" Isaiah fell to his knees and wept tears of wonder, thanksgiving, and sorrow for the death of the Son of God.

This was just a few examples of the hundreds of saints that rose to life again on the day Jesus died.  These saints stayed close by their tombs until the day Jesus rose from the dead.  Without even knowing, they felt it was safe to venture out into town on that day.  Most of the older saints went unnoticed by the people that passed them.  The Jews didn't know exactly what the saints looked like.  The younger ones, those who died several years to a few days ago, gave the people of Jerusalem more of a scare.  Here are some of the reactions.

"Ahh!  J-J-Jude, you're here!  Standing right in front of me!"

"I'm sure I saw him!  It was John the Baptist!  He walked right past me, and I clearly saw his face!"

"There's this strange man that was talking to me earlier today that acted like he'd never seen the city before.  He was dressed in dated, peculiar clothes."

"I think I've been out in the sun too long."

"First, Jesus risen from the dead, and now His followers and the saints, what a miracle!  Praise God!"

"I..just got scolded... from the prophet Isaiah.  I think I have some praying to do."

Day 88: Good Friday

Heaven, for the second and last time in history, was completely and utterly sad.  The first time was when Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden of Eden.  The sadness God had felt that His precious creations had sinned had permeated through the air.  Now, the angels felt this same thick, depressing atmosphere, but it was unlike anything they had ever experienced.  They knew this day would come, but they hadn't expected for heaven to feel so...empty.  Every single angel felt some level of sadness.  The more cheerful ones tried to keep themselves busy by pruning the Tree of Life.  Some of the older angels, wanting to be more industrious, had started making sure there were plenty of rooms available for the huge amount of residents they would be expecting shortly.  A majority of the angels could only sit on the clouds, with their legs dangling, or fly back and forth and pace, distraught.

They knew better than to disturb God right now.  He was saddest He had ever felt.  God is never helpless, but in human terms, this would be the closest word to describing Him right now.  His most precious and only Son Jesus, the One had forever existed with Him, was below Him suffering the worst pain imaginable on the cross.  The life was draining right in front of His eyes.  The pain quivered through every muscle of Jesus' body, and fatigue from the lack of sleep, physical exhaustion, and pain were etched in the shadows of His hollow face.  God felt every pain Jesus did, although it wasn't as intense.  God wanted more than anything else in the world to snatch His Son right from that cross and place Him safely in His arms.  He missed Him terribly.  In the very least, He wanted to send more angels down to strengthen Him and remove some of His pain.  But God could not do any of that.  This was the only way the rest of His dear children could be saved and come into heaven.  God missed them just as much.  All Jesus had to comfort Him was God's promises, which were strong, but not quite the same.  God's heart ached more, and He forced Himself to turn His back on Jesus again.  The Lord's cries below echoed in the ears of the Lord above.

The clouds surrounding the Creator grew even darker.  The angels shook; they couldn't even see His throne room anymore.  Some of the angels couldn't take the grief any longer and began shedding tears that splashed onto earth.  Combined with God's intense grief was His growing anger towards those who had harmed His Son and refused to believe in Jesus, to believe in Him.  This anger was manifested in the form of an earthquake.

Even though heaven was a scary place for these few brief hours, the angels remembered that this moment was going to lead to something greater than they could possibly imagine.  New guests would be coming, Jesus would be with them soon, and heaven would have the greatest triumph over Satan.   

Day 87: Mount of Olives

Peter, James, and John followed close behind Jesus as he lead them through the trees of Gethsemane.  It was dark was out, and their torches flickered in the light breeze, which was also accented with olive scent.  In the daylight, this was one of the most scenic places.  It was no mystery why Jesus liked to visit it often.  It was usually undisturbed, making it a quiet, peaceful place to reflect and pray.  The disciples assumed that was what Jesus wanted to do there, but it was unusual for them to visit at night.  Yet, it was not quite unusual that Jesus signaled them out to accompany Him.  They had been with Jesus during the Transfiguration.  He seemed to favor them.  They didn't mind it too much.  They liked getting the extra attention from Him; it made them feel important.  There was something in the back of their minds though that reminded them perhaps Jesus signaled them out because they were the best ones to handle the biggest trials.

Tonight could have been one such trial.  The three disciples were still somber after Jesus' speech to them at the Passover meal.  They were still confused by parts of what He had said.  John secretly intended to write down as much of Jesus' words as possible so he could never forget them.  They didn't dare speak a word.  It was extremely unusual that Jesus, the most hopeful of them all, would be so distressed.  Their hearts ached for Him, but they didn't know what they could say to help them.  What can you say to comfort the Son of God?  To tell you the truth, they were scared.

Once the four men had traveled a good five minutes away from the other disciples (Mark 14:32), Jesus stopped in a small clearing.  There was a large-crowned tree with a rock and some other trees nearby.  He turned around to His three remaining disciples.  "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.  Stay here and watch.  Pray that you may not enter into temptation."  (Mark 14:34 and Luke 22:40).

Peter, James, and John nodded and sat down underneath the large tree and watched as Jesus walked towards the other trees yards away.

"I wish there was something we could do for him," John said.

"I suppose pray, as he said," his brother replied.

"But what do you suppose he meant by not entering temptation?  Tempted by what?" Peter demanded.

John shrugged.  "Maybe he knows someone is coming that might tempt us to disobey him."

"But how?"

"I wish I knew."

James knelt down and started praying aloud for them, reflecting on the emotions of that night which was filling their minds.  They remembered the fear of knowing they would have to suffer terrible things but not knowing what, the pain and sadness of knowing their joyous times with Jesus would come to an end, the helplessness they felt, the guilt of thinking they might have done anything to harm Him, the confusion of the bread and wine, and most importantly, the deep compassion they felt for Jesus' pain.  They could see it written all over His face.  The Master was innocent.  He didn't deserve this.  James voice quivered until he couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and the word, "Please" faded on his lips.  John gave his brother a hug and wiped away a few tears.  Even Peter, the one who hardly showed any weakness in front of anyone, sniffed loudly.

The darkness and silence was actually comforting to them, and they leaned against the tree and closed their eyes, just for a moment.  It was too easy for them, and they quickly dosed off.  Jesus' gentle voice startled them awake again.

He addressed the disciple closet to Him.  "Simon, are you sleeping?"

All three of them started awake.

"Could you not watch one hour?  Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation.  The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak." (Mark 14: 37-38)

They hung their heads in shame, and Jesus walked back to His spot.

"I can't believe we fell asleep!" Peter spat as he jumped to his feet.

James commented, "I didn't feel like we were asleep for an hour."

"We have been traveling all day, and tonight has been stressful for us all," John added, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"That's no excuse!" Peter replied.  "I refuse to let him down."  He walked a few feet away and stared into the distance, near to the area was Jesus was praying.

"What are you doing?" John asking, shifting his position under the tree.

"Keeping watch, like Jesus said."

"Good idea," James yawned.  "I'll watch this side."  He stood opposite from Peter.

"I'll watch from the front," John said, still sitting.

As the minutes stretched on, one by one they eyelids grew heavy.  John was the first to drop.  James kept yawning and fell asleep standing up.  Peter paced back and forth and even jumped a little, but the longer he stared at the endless black, the harder it was to keep his eyes open.  He eventually sat down because his feet were tired and fell asleep as well.  At some point, each man prayed, but they did not try hard enough.

Day 86: Eye of the Storm

Downtown Fort Street is always bustling with people.  At about 8:00 am, they start trickling out as shops open, and people hurry to work. People of all sorts crowd the streets.  Young teenagers shopping with their friends, business associates, families, joggers, mothers with their strollers, dog-walkers, lovers, those in a hurry and those who enjoy a stroll.  Lastly, you see the homeless, in all stages of adult life, wander the streets aimlessly.  Everyone else goes past them.  They seem to be so much a part of the scene that they are overlooked, as the sidewalk is on that street.

Amidst this swirling life sits on the end of the sidewalk a man of close to thirty, dressed in clean casual clothes with a towel over his leg.  He has a chair set up in front of him with a bucket and a basket of cleaning supplies such as a bar of soap, bath salts, and a washcloth.  He has taped a sign to the side of a building above his chair that reads, "Free Foot Baths." 

This odd scene has caught the attention of fewer people than you'd expect.  They are all too self-absorbed.  Those who do see it stop and gape.  One man scoffs at the idea and thinks the man is off his nut.  One woman is confused why he would want to do such a weird thing.  A few passersby think it's nice, but no one takes the smiling man up on his offer.

The stranger stands up now and starts asking people opening.  "Would you like a free foot soak, ma'am?  Come and get your free foot bath!"  A homeless man ambles down the sidewalk.  "Sir, would you like a foot soak?" 

The second man stares at him.  "Me?"

"Yes," he smiled.  "Have a seat."

Confused, the man slowly sits down in the seat and sticks his feet in the bucket of water.  Smiler pours some soap and bath salts in and makes the water erupt with bubbles.  He starts chatting with the homeless man, whose name is learned to be Gerard, and gets his washcloth ready.  Then he tenderly lifts Gerard's foot.  It is a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, a grey black color.  Dry, cracked toes, open sores, scars from cuts, and dirt under the nails can be seen.  Smiler keeps on talking pleasantly as he gently scrubs the foot.  He tries to cause the least amount of pain possible.  When he is done, the water is now as dark as the feet had been.  Smiler dumps it out, fills it with fresh water, and offers Gerard to soak his feet in longer.  Gerard is in tears now and can't stop thanking Smiler.

He places his hands on his shoulders and says to Gerard, "I'm only being a servant to illustrates God's love for you."

Other homeless folk are lining up next to the chair, eager to have their turn.  A few other shoppers who have blisters from their heels or those runners with sweaty athletes' foot line up as well.  Smiler whistles as he fills up his bucket with fresh water for his next customer.

Day 85: Procrastination is Evil

I had a nice idea for today's post, but I put it off.  Now, I have to make a short one.  :P  I'm quite sorry.

#1  Do not procrastinate.  If you have the time to do it then, do it, and I don't wait until you feel like.  If you do things based on your emotions, you won't get the important things done first and most likely end up in trouble (such as me).  Once I think about it, it does feel somewhat lazy too, procrastinating things.  It's like your brain doesn't want to think and would rather sit around and do nothing.

#2  Use your time wisely.  For the most part, I thought I did this today.  I weeded around our house, did the dishes, got a little homework done, and did a few other things.  However, I did not get some important things done (such as this post) because I dawdled too long with some things.

I did have time to work on my nails, which I was very excited about.  I haven't had them painted since the semester started.  One reason because it is hard to keep up with.  I saw a couple cool ideas on some blogs and had to try them.  I also watched some YouTube tutorials.  Look up "striped nail art," and you'll see what I did.  Here are the posts that inspired me.  I wanna try them all sometime!

 http://www.thenailasaurus.com/

 http://www.shelearnsasshegoes.com/2013/03/currently-digging.html

#3 Finally, all things in moderation.  I think I was enjoying my break too much and getting too lazy (isn't that how it always goes?).  Tomorrow, it's back to a more strict time schedule and to-do list.

P.S. Look out for the rest of the week's posts (I hope) to be related to Easter and the Resurrection since it's Holy Week, as Santa Semana as they say in Spanish.

Day 84: Leading Worship

The Prompt: None of the worship overheads at church work and all the hymnals have disappeared.  You have to lead worship, so what do you use to lead the congregation?

After Jake told me the news about the overhead machines, I felt a panic tighten my chest.  I'd only been leading worship for two months.  I didn't know what to do.  I only had ten minutes to figure it out.  It would have been so easy to simply sing any worship songs I had learned growing up, you know, the tried and true "Jesus Loves Me" that just about everyone knows.  I only knew a few of those songs though.  Plus they were short.  I had to fill up a half hour or so.  I would have loved singing a top hit on the Christian radio station, but I didn't have all the lyrics memorized.  The congregation would probably be the same way, and I'd end up being the only one singing broken lyrics because no one else would know them.  I needed one more idea, and I hoped Jesus would inspire me soon.

At 8:00, I walked up to the mic with my Bible in hand.  "Good morning, everyone.  Are you ready to worship?!"

Everyone, at least those who had drunk their coffee, cheered.

"Great!  Now, we're going to do things a little differently this morning.  Let's start with a song we all should know and love, "Jesus Loves Me."

I had already talked to the band about my song selections before, so Brian began strumming the little tune.  Some people happily started singing the song while others gave me a look that ask, "You are for real?"  I tried to keep my courage and remember that I didn't have to feel humiliated about worshipping God.  Once that was done, which was only about two minutes, I announced that "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" would be next.  That song was a little more well-received.  Then we slowed it down for "Amazing Grace."  Things were going quite well! 

Last minute, I remembered another song.  "Hey, Brian, why don't we try 'Revelation Song' next?"  I phrased it in a way that asked, "Do you know how to play it?"  He nodded and started the melody.  Internally I sighed with relief.  That song was able to give me an opportunity for prayer in between verses that stretched the time, but it wasn't enough.  There was still ten minutes left.  As I finished singing the last lines, the light bulb dinged.

"Alright, everyone, for our final moment of worship, I would like you to please get your Bibles.  Before we had worship teams and even written worship songs, churches sang the psalms.  I'd like you to open to..."  I quickly flipped through the chapters and announced to them the one I liked.  I began reading the verses in a sing-song fashion, making it up as I went.  I felt silly but kept on.  Towards the end, I urged others to participate, and about a dozen voices joined me.  Once that was done, I sang the psalm again, and more joined in as they learned the melody.  We sang two more psalms like that.  It was actually a lot of fun.  I had people coming up to me after the service asking of we would be doing that again next week and suggesting it should become a regular part of worship.

Day 83: Truth Wil Prevail

This is the conclusion to my "XG7" story I started a looong time ago.  Try looking at Day #49 too.

The Prompt: Write a short story in which the church’s accountant is stealing money from the church.  The pastor is accused.  What happens?

It had been two weeks since the church had been ransacked.  Thanks to the dedication and willing hearts if the congregation, Pastor Reynolds was able to get the church cleaned up and restored to its original state by the next Sunday service.  Catching whoever did this did not prove to be such a swift process though.  The lead from the gas station owner proved to be a dead end.  He had no idea who was driving the car or where it was headed.  With only a partial license plate, the police had no way of easily tracing the car.  This forced Pastor Reynolds to have nothing to do but wait for God's justice to prevail.  On that weekend, it did, but not in the way he had expected it to.

Pastor Reynolds and Olivia were out that afternoon running some errands.  They pulled into the driveway to see a police car sitting in front of their garage.

"Good afternoon!" the pastor called as he walked up to it.  "Can I help you with something?"

A police officer exited from the vehicle.  "Mr. Reynolds?"

"Yes, sir, I am.  Is this about the vandalism in my church?"

"Not exactly, sir.  We have a few questions for you.  Would you please come down to the station with me?"

Pastor Reynolds was puzzled and looked back at his wife, who was unloading the car.  "Sure, officer.  Just let me tell my wife."

Once they arrived at the police station, the policeman led him into an interrogation room and left him there for about fifteen minutes, during which time Pastor Reynolds prayed for peace and strength.

"Hello, my man is Officer Randall," a tall, broad shoulder man with graying hair greeted as he sat down at the table in front of him.

"Hello, Officer Randall.  Can you tell me why I'm here?"

"We were investigating the attack on your church when we came across some information."

"What sort of information?"

"Well, it's standard procedure to check into everything, and we looked into the church's bank records."  He paused slightly and studied Pastor Reynolds' face, expecting some sort of reaction.  Nothing.  He continued, "It appears as though there is more revenue the church is receiving than it is putting into the bank."

"Oh, I see," he smiled.  "It's rather hard to keep track of the money sometimes.  I'm not the best at recording that sort of thing, but the transactions happen so fast.  You see, I take some the tithe money and donate it immediately to shelters or use it to fund some of our programs and organizations we have running.  Anything left goes into the bank account, which used for renovations on the church or bigger events we host, such as the Christmas concert."

"Are you saying you have spent $4,000 on shelters and church programs in the past three months?  Because that is the deficit."

The pastor was shocked.  "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure.  Just as sure that your bank accounts show that about $3,000 was entered into a savings account under your name about three weeks ago.  How do you explain that?"

"I-I don't have a savings account with that much money in it.  My checking account doesn't even have that much."

"The evidence doesn't lie."

"I don't know what to say.  Are you accusing me of stealing from my own church?"

"It sure appears to be that way."

"But what about the vandals?"

"We're still working on that, but just be aware we're keeping a close eye on you too.  Pastor."

After Pastor Reynolds talked to his wife about all that happened at the station, he checked his bank records to see for himself.  Sure enough, there was a deficit of about $4,000 and another account with a large sum of money in it, in his name.  He decided to call his accountant, Geoffrey Dillard, to get an explanation.

"Gosh, Pastor Reynolds, I have no idea how there could be so much money missing.  Yeah, I guess I must have made a huge mistake.  No, I promise it won't happen again.  I'm truly very sorry.  No, I don't know of another bank account in your name.  Are you sure you didn't just forget or make a mistake?  Hmm, curious.  Don't worry, I'll guard the money well.  Thanks, you too.  Bye."

Pastor Reynolds sighed as he closed his cell phone.  He couldn't shake off the feeling that something strange was going on.

A couple days later, Pastor Reynolds was at the pulpit, practicing his sermon, when a teenaged boy of about fifteen sauntered through the front doors.

"Hello, young man, can I help you?"

He looked distracted with his thoughts.  Pastor Reynolds could tell he wanted to say something.  He approached the boy.  "What's troubling you, son?"

"Is this the church I heard about that got damaged?"

"Yes, it is."

"It looks good."

"Yes, we were able to clean it up, but we still don't know who did it."

"Really?  Not even a hunch?"

"No, but I'm sure whoever did it must be very...upset or lonely.  Perhaps he didn't mean it."

The boy wasn't looking him in the eye.  He sat down at the pew.  "Is this that type of church with curtained booths and stuff?"

Pastor Reynolds laughed gently.  "No, but we do take confessions, if there's something you wanted to say."

"Not sure what good it would do."

"Oh a lot!  It's quite a burden carrying a secret around, especially if it's something you're not proud of.  The guilt eats you up until you can hardly do anything without thinking about it.  You start getting nervous someone might find out, and maybe you start snapping at people.  But you know what?"  He looked straight into the boy's face.  "No matter how terrible you think you acted, God will forgive you, if you are repentant enough to ask.  And if there's any sort of trouble you're in, I promise I'll try my hardest to help you.  God wants you to be happy, and I want that for you."

The boy struggled to hide back tears, and his voice wavered as he spoke.  "I did it, me and my friend Joe.  We don't normally do stuff like this.  At first it was just a funny prank.  Then we were asked to vandalize the church.  I didn't want to do it. I mean, it's a church!  But, I went along anyways.  We didn't hurt anyone.  I'm so so sorry."

Pastor Reynolds wanted to ask more questions, but he saw helping this boy was more important than satisfying his curiosity.  He prayed with the boy, asking God's forgiveness together.  He wasn't ready to become a Christian quite yet.  He wanted more time to think about it.  Pastor Reynolds did convince him though to go to the police.

The whole story slowly unfolded.  "Joe" was short for "Joseph," who was Geoffrey Dillard's younger brother.  Geoffrey had felt Pastor Reynolds had been taking him for granted for the four years he had been working for him.  That feeling, combined with the temptation of stealing, was just too great.  He knew he couldn't do if forever without getting caught, so he orchestrated the vandalism to cover it up.  Joseph and his friend had gotten into trouble before, so he was only asking them to do what they were good at.  He had intended to frame Pastor Reynolds for embezzlement and insurance fraud, but his plan didn't work out that way.  Pastor Reynolds was shocked and hurt that Geoffrey was capable of doing this to him and that he might have provoked him in some way.  He was even more hurt that Geoffrey wouldn't accept any help from him after he was arrested though, and he had dragged his little brother down with him.  There was still hope for Joe's friend Rick.  The truth can sometimes be painful, but it can eventually set you free, through mental healing.

Day 82: Summer Fun

The Prompt: Write a short story using this phrase;  The footsteps came closer.  Also incorporate Goosebumps rose on her arms without using this saying.

It was a hot day, one of the hottest on record in the state of Kansas.  Felicity shifted in her seat at the table again, her legs sticking to the wooden chair.  She threw down the socks that she was folding and pushed the table away from her.

"I can't take this heat anymore!"  She stared up at the fan.  "This doesn't feel like it's doing anything."  She walked to the freezer.  "I gotta get something to cool me off."

Frosty air billowed out as she opened the door.  Her flushed face felt better already.  Felicity saw there were three more Pop-Ice popsicles left, and she eagerly grabbed a blue one and sucked the sweet ice.  Once she was done with that one, she ate a red one and drank some ice cold water.  She cooled herself off so much that she started giving herself the chills.  She shivered and threw away her garbage.  Then her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Felicity!" her best friend Lessandra replied.

"Oh, hi!  What's up?"

"Nothing much.  Can you come down to my house?  I was hoping we could watch a movie and paint our nails."

"Does your air conditioner work?"

"Yes..."

"Count me in then!  Bye!"  Felicity hung up the phone and went to get her shoes.  "Going to Lessandra's house beats folding laundry any day!"

Her friend's house was about a fifteen minute walk.  When Felicity approached the front door, she saw it was slightly ajar.  Fear prickled inside her stomach.  "That's odd."  She cautiously pushed the door open and called out, "Lessandra!  Mrs. Warren?  Is anyone home?"

Felicity walked in, trying to keep her steps as quiet as possible.  The shades were all down, the curtains closed, and the lights turned off.  There was a loud thump behind her.  She whipped her head around to see the front door had closed.

"Must have been the wind," she thought.  "It's so dark; I can't see a thing."  She felt around the light switch, but when she flipped it, the light would not turn on.  She gulped hard and decided to walk into a another room to see if its light would work.  As she walked, she thought she heard footsteps behind her.  She stopped walking and listened.  All was silent.  When she resumed walking, she thought she heard the steps again.

Felicity thought the best thing for her to do was to hide and see if the steps would come closer.  She ducked behind the corner and waited.  Sure enough, she heard that the footsteps came closer.  Felicity's heart thumped loudly.  She anticipating hitting whoever was approaching her.  Then the lights came on.

"Surprise!!!  Happy Birthday, Felicity!"

The living room was decorated with streamers, balloons, and a sign.  All of her friends, including Lessandra and her family, were standing around.

When Felicity recovered her composure, she exclaimed, "This is amazing!  But my birthday isn't until another three days."

Lessandra walked up.  "I know, but this way you can spend the day with your family.  Plus, you wouldn't expect a party before your birthday.  That makes it an even greater surprise!"

Felicity gave her a hug.  "You're right.  I wouldn't have.  Thank you!"

"You're welcome!  Now what do you want to play first, Pin the Tail on the Donkey or Musical Chairs?"

Felicity giggled.  "I would love to play Musical Chairs!"  

Day 81: God is ____

The Prompt: Describe God’s love, but you can’t use grace, mercy or love.

It's warm and bright.  It's more powerful than any other power on this earth.  It is manifested in many forms, through billions of people now and over the course of history.  This emotion can be reflected through nature as well.  God is entirely made up of it.  The Lord's name can be interchangeable with this precious gift.  He gives it freely, even though we are not worthy of it.  No matter how many mistakes we make or times we fail Him, God stills wraps it up for us gives it away freely, knowing there's no way we can ever give it back in the same fashion.  Christians strive to model this attitude through various ways such as: serving at a soup kitchen, visiting the sick or elderly, making friends, staying after school to help someone, or doing anything that does not involve an immediate or direct reward for you.  How can anything compare to it?  It is beyond comprehension, yet it is all around us.  Sometimes, we don't even have to seek it.

Day 80: Circumstances Mold Us

The Prompt:  Try to remember a conversation you had with someone in church.  Write it down.  Now make up two characters having the same conversation, then have them having another conversation outside of church.  What changes? (for instance:  Folks always try to be ‘holy’ in church, but outside of church, they don’t.)

"Hi, Ruby, how are you doing?"

"I'm pretty good, Jamie.  Thanks for asking.  And you?"

"Okay.  I'm having a hard time with my chores and stuff though.  Mom is being really strict about making sure I wash the dishes and clean my room and stuff.  It's hard for me to find time for myself."

Jamie looked surprised.  "You know, Ruby, you really should be more respectful about your mom.  The fifth commandment says to honor your parents."

The brunette hung her head.  "You're right.  Please forgive me.  It's just so hard to be obedient."

"It's alright," her friend hugged her.  "We all struggle."

The next day at the mall....

"Jamie, did you hear about that party Troy is throwing tomorrow night?"

"Yes," she pouted.  "I really wanna go.  It's just going to be difficult."

"At least you're going!  My parents won't let me because there is no adult supervision."

"Well, I didn't exactly get permission."

Ruby stared at her friend in shock.

Jamie quickly continued, "They know Troy is a nice guy.  As long as I come back by 10:00, I should be fine.  They just can't know I've left."

"But, Jamie, that's like lying and disobeying."

"It's for good reason.  And it's not lying exactly."

Day 79: Love Everyone

The Prompt: A bum comes into church.  What happens?

He came in so silently that almost no one noticed he had even come in.  Almost.  He slunk into the back row where he hoped no one would notice him, but he knew that would never work with his smell, his clothes, his hair.  He stuck out like a bright red, pussy pimple on a clean face.  The bum made sure to sit next to no one, but that didn't keep him hidden.  The people in the row in front of him turned around, probably from the smell, and gawked at him, as though he had been in the classroom and had rudely interrupted them. 

Then the wave of whispers started.  In a matter of mintues the mad rush of hushed tones made it up to the fron trows and everyone had to turn around and stare with disdain at the unwelcome guest.  The man bowed his head even lower than it had already been.  He tried to disappear, and he tugged at his tattered, stained jacket, as though that might magically hide himself.  As he moved, a few people wuickly turned their heads arond, so he would not see them staring at him.

A young woman, in her late twenties, rose from her seat in the middle of the aisle about 15 rows ahead of him.  She had dark purple hair and a highlighter yellow dress on with deep blue shoes.  Her limbs displayed some colorful tattoos, and she sported some extra piercings on her face.  She strode right up to him, no reservations, no lack of confidence, and she stuck out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Susie.  Welcome to First Light Church."

The man slowly raised his head and stared up at the face.  Once he saw the genuinity, he took her hand, and Susie shook it warmly.

"I hope you enjoy today's message.  God bless!"  And with that, she turned right back around and cheerfully sat in her seat again.

Richard stared blankly at the hand, remembering the kindness that had touched it moments before.  A small smile spread across his face as he leaned back against the wooden pew.  More people walked over to him or turned around to greet him.  Some were rather shy in their approach, and others seemed to feel a bit ashamed or awkward.  Richard appreciated their sentiments, even if some were fake or delayed.  No compared to that first person though that loved him as she did herself.  To her, he was a man.

Day 78: Town Trip

It was a dark and stormy night.  The wind hollered ferociously, and Mrs. Garner pulled her shawl closer to her body and held the lantern higher.  Raindrops would be falling any minute, but she did not care.  If there was the slightest chance that her husband was there, she would be there to greet him.  Harry had been gone for almost a week now, and Julia felt certain that something dreadful had happened to him.  Simply driving the cart to town to sell some of their merchandise and do the shopping would not take him that long.  At the most, he had been gone four days on a similar errand.

Mrs. Garner felt a kick and looked down at her protruding stomach.  He never wanted her to forget he was there, at least Julia believed it was a he.  She gave her son a gentle rub and looked wistfully behind her shoulder before turning in.  The clouds had opened up now, and she could not afford to get sick.

"Please let him be alright," she uttered in a tone that was scarcely louder than a whisper.  Julia decided to stoke the fire again.  The plate of food that was on the hearth had to stay as warm as possible.  Harry would appreciate the hot meal.  After pacing in front of the window, she sat down in her rocking chair and took up her knitting project again to pass the time.  She was making their son a blanket for the crib.

Julia thought about how Harry said he might pick up some lumber while he was in town to make more baby furniture.  She winced after thinking about him and tried to stop thinking altogether, but a new thought came in that was even better.  She remembered how God always watched over the Israelites in the wilderness, the Christians of the first church, and even her own family while she grew up during Indian raids, bear attacks, and a war.  If God could watch over all them, He was watching over Harry too.  He loved Harry more than she did (although Julia couldn't imagine how that was possible).

A loud thump at the door startled her, and Harry appeared in the doorway, his clothes clinging to his body like limp paper.  Julia raced over to him and hugged him tightly before helping him take off the soaked garments and placing him before the fire to warm up.  While Harry ate, explained why he had been delayed.  His wheel had broken shortly after getting into town, which delayed his errands for a day.  Then, someone stole his money he earned from selling their merchandise.  He didn't know what he was going to do until the owner of the inn where he had stayed the night offered to loan him some money to buy a few of the groceries they needed to buy.  The day before he was about to leave for home, the sheriff tracked him down and said that a man turned himself in with Harry's money.  The guilt had been too great.  In addition, Harry was able to get a baby toy for their son and bought Julia new cloth for a dress.  Everything turned out alright.

Day 77: The Last Straw

This is a script from school that I wanted to share with you.  I had to write a movie adaption for a story we read in class.  I chose it on the short play Trifles that was written in the early 20th century.  Mrs. Wright killed her husband, but this fact is only apparent to a couple of wives who pay attention to "trifle" details, according to the men in charge of the investigation.  The argument and actual killing is never shown, so I decided to do that scene.  Don't worry, nothing gruesome.  I decided to make the setting during the 60's, where women were still somewhat subservient.  Her husband is trying to start a band, and Mrs. Wright is interested in dancing, like American Bandstand.

Mr. Wright walks in through front door wearing greasy work clothes.  Mrs. Wright is in the kitchen.

Mrs. Wright: Hi, dear! How did work on the car go?

Mr. Wright: Fine.  Is everything ready for the guys to come over, Barbara?  They’ll be here in an hour.

Mrs. Wright: Yes, John, I have the last batch of cookies in the oven, and the lemonade is already in the pitcher. (Gestures to large glass pitcher full of pink lemonade and glasses on tray.)

Mr. Wright: Make sure you watch the oven.  Last time the cookies were overdone.  I can’t have the band thinking I have a bad cook for a wife.  (Looks at watch.)  I’m going to get changed.

Mrs. Wright: (Looks inside oven at cookies, then turns the oven off and takes them out.  She checks the cookies she already has cooling and starts throwing some of them away.  The more she weeds through them, the angrier she gets, as the cookies start thumping harder into the garbage can).

Mr. Wright: (Voice heard louder from other room)  Barbara!!  I want to talk to you.

Mrs. Wright: (sighs and wipes her fingers off on her towel) Yes, dear?

Mr. Wright: (Stalks in room, furious, holding up one of Mrs. Wright’s dancing dresses) What is this?!

Mrs. Wright: It’s my dress.

Mr. Wright: Don’t play games with me, Barbara! This isn’t just any old dress.  Have you been out dancing again?!

Mrs. Wright: (back stiffens and her voice sounds more confident) What if I am?  You’re the not the only person in this house that is entitled to some fun.

Mr. Wright: (advances closer to her and waves dress in the air) I told you I wanted you to stay by the house! I can’t believe you’d disobey me like this!  Isn’t going out with your friends all the time enough?!

Mrs. Wright: (voice rising slightly) You let me go out with my friends once a week.  All we do is sit around and gossip.  I wouldn’t be missed.  Dancing is something I always loved to do.  (voice more tender) That’s how we met. (pause) I am going crazy hanging around this cramped house all week, cleaning and cooking.  When I dance, I feel alive.

Mr. Wright: (sarcastic) And how many men have you made feel alive in the process?!

Mrs. Wright: (hurt) John!  I would never do anything like that to hurt you.  I swear it’s all completely innocent.

Mr. Wright: (shakes dress in her face) You can’t tell me that this is innocent.  I know the way guys would look at you.  (flings dress across the room and grabs her wrists) You are going to stay home where I can keep an eye on you, even if I have to lock you up!

Mrs. Wright: (struggling) Ow!!  John, you’re hurting me!  Let go!

Mr. Wright: This is what you deserve.  (starts dragging her)

Mrs. Wright manages to pull one of her arms out from his grip and starts hitting him in the face. Mr. Wright smacks her in the face with the back of his hand, knocking her to the ground.  She puts her hand to her lip and notices the blood.

Mr. Wright: If you dare hit me like that again, I swear you’ll wish you were dead.

Mrs. Wright: I already do!

Mr. Wright yanks her to her feet by her wrists and raises an arm to strike her again.  Mrs. Wright looks around and picks up the pitcher of lemonade with her free arm and knocks him in the head with it.  Mr. Wright stumbles backwards and hits his head against a side table before falling to the ground.  Mrs. Wright drops the pitcher in the process.  Pink lemonade and glass shards are everywhere.  Mrs. Wright stands in shock for a minute.

Mrs. Wright: (small voice) John?

Mr. Wright:  (doesn’t move)

Mrs. Wright: (Steps around glass and kneels down next to her husband)  John? (She tries to shake him and move his head.  Voice is more frantic) Honey, speak to me!

Mrs. Wright feels his neck for a pulse and drops his head suddenly.  Horror is stricken across her face.  Then she lets out a cry. The grandfather chimes in the corner, and Mrs. Wright remembers they are expecting company.  She takes a few deep breaths then picks up the receiver.

Mrs. Wright: (voice collected) Hello, Nancy? This is Barbara.  Listen, John had something urgent come up, and he won’t be able to have the band over today.  Yeah, he is too.  Thank you.  I’ll see you later.  Bye.

She gets a bag and starts picking up the bigger pieces of glass.  

Day 76: The Pastor's Wife's Secret

Now we're on track.  :D  Please note that this is not the same pastor's wife I have written about in the past.

 The Prompt: The pastor’s wife has a secret and she tries to hide it from the congregation.  But someone finds out.  What happens?

It had been obvious for some time that something had been bothering the pastor's wife, but no one knew what. She had been acting nervous or jittery, like she had drunk too much coffee.  Other times, her mind seemed elsewhere.  It was on a Wednesday night, right before the church closed its doors, that someone found out what was wrong.

 Judy had offered to lock up the doors for her husband.  She checked all the rooms to make sure that no one else was there.  Then she stood outside and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse.  She lit one and breathed in deeply.
"Mrs. Murphy?" a male voice asked from the side of the building.
She coughed and hid the cigarette behind her back.  "Who's there?"
"It's Hank Williams.  I'm a member of your church."
"Oh, I didn't know anyone else was still out here."
"I didn't know you smoked."
Judy blushed deeply and slowly pulled the cigarette out.  "Not many people do.  It's a terrible habit. I'm trying to quit, but...it's hard."  Her voice quivered.
"I understand," Hank said kindly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I have a problem too.  I'm trying to quit gambling.  It's ruining my marriage."  He paused.  "I take it one day at a time, with God's help."
"I try.  It just seems like, well, that God's strength isn't enough sometimes.  Terrible for a pastor's wife to say, I know."
"Not so bad."  He laughed.  "It's unexpected, but maybe it's true.  Don't get me wrong.  God is powerful, but maybe God didn't intend for us to carry our burdens alone.  He put people in our lives to help us.  You shouldn't be ashamed of your weakness.  We all got 'em.  Who knows?  Maybe some people in church can relate to you."
Judy's eyes filled with tears.  "Thank you, Hank.  I think you're right."
He gave her a hug.  
Hank became an answered prayer for Judy.  She came clean in front of the whole congregation the next service.  Everyone was quite understanding, and  some even told the truth about other personal struggles they had.  Together, they formed a prayer group and helped each other through their trials.

Author's Picks for February

This is long overdue!  Looking back at the month, my top favorite blog posts are:

1. Day 33: Praying in Church and Day 52: A Psalm

2. Day 40: The Real Story of Jack and Jill

3. Day 42: He Thought What?! and Day 51: iPone Users Anonymous

Your thoughts?

Day 75: The Leprechaun

This post is for yesterday's post (Saturday, March 16).  I have no excuses for not doing it.  I guess I was just too lazy.  This story is in honor of St. Patrick's Day.  We watched Darby O'Gill and the Little People last night.

In the rolling green hills of Ireland, a potato farmer once lived in a dilapidated house with his shiftless son, whiny daughter, and grumpy wife.  Seamus had farmed potatoes as far back as he could remember.  He tried to pass the tradition down to his son, Michael, but the young man of twenty was not very motivated to work in the fields, or anywhere for that manner.  Seamus usually ended up doing most of the work himself, with the prospect of retiring looking farther and farther away.  Katie was almost eighteen, and she did was complain that she could never attract a husband with her complexion.  Her face had too many freckles, her nose was too large and round, her hair was too red, her arms were too hairy and tanned from helping pick potatoes...The list went on.  When Katie wasn't pressed into servitude outside, she was forced to finish her homework or chained to the table to work on her sewing.  Katie hated that most of all.  She saw no sense in stitching dainty hankies that would just get shoved in pockets.  Lillian, her mother, was also unsatisfied with her life.  She complained to her husband almost daily, about how small and worn their house was and how their lives mirrored where they lived.

One sunny afternoon, Seamus stopped working in the fields to catch his breath and get some water.  He sat on a rock at the edge of his field and drank some refreshing water from his silver dipper.  As he set it back down, he noticed a small hole in the ground.  Thinking it was a mole or some other animal that would disrupt his garden, he decided he would smoke the animal out of its home.  Seamus lit a match and blew the smoke into the hole.  He was alert for whatever would come out the other end of the tunnel, but Seamus was not prepared for what exactly lived there.  A minute or two passed, and Seamus saw the dirt start moving a foot away from the hole.  He held his hands over the moving dirt in order to catch whatever would come out.  Then, a tiny milk-skinned leprechaun, dressed in a green top hat, suit coat, and curled shoes, burst out of the dirt.  He coughed and gasped for air.  Seamus quickly grabbed it, not quite realizing what he had in his hands until it was captured.

"Gaa, let me go!  Let me go!" the little man struggled to say between coughs.

"Why, as I live and breath, it be a leprechaun!"

"Wha t'else would I be?" he shouted, hitting Seamus' thumb.

"I can't wait to show you to my family.  Won't they be surprised?"

The little man looked frightened. "I have a family too.  Wha do ya'think they'd say, once they find out I'm missin'?  Why, their poor littl hearts be broken in pieces!"

Seamus shook his head.  "Ya can't fool me.  You don't have no family, or else they'd be diggin' out of the dirt too."

Seamus ignored the leprechaun's pleas as he walked to the house.  He kept thinking about all the things he could wish for.  He heard he could have three wishes.  He could wish for a nice house, which would please himself and his wife.  One wish could be for daughter, and the other for his son.  But wait, that would leave him with nothing nice for himself.  Maybe his children should share a wish too.  No, they'd fight too much.  But it was his leprechaun.  If they wanted wishes, they had to hunt for one themselves. 

His thoughts rambled on in this fashion until his family's cries interrupted them.  They shouted requests for wishes all at once, and bombarded Seamus with questions until he couldn't think straight.

"Let me sit down a minute!" he said wearily.

"We should lock him in something so he won't escape!" Michael suggested and ran out to the shed to see what he could find.  He hadn't run so fast in months.

"I'll bet you're hungry," Lillian said cheerfully to the leprechaun.  "I'll fix somthin' to eat."

"You are a cute littl darlin', aren't ya!" Katie cooed and poked him.

"Don't touch me suit!" the leprechaun snapped.  "You'll wrinkle it."

Michael came back with an old trap that resembled a cage.  "Will this do, Da?"

"Aye, that it will me, Michael."  Seamus locked the wee man up.

"Now, what will you wish?  Is it to make me beautiful?" Katie asked eagerly.

"Da wouldn't waste a wish on somethin' fool-hardy like that!"

"Children," Seamus started before Katie could say something back, "that'll do.  Perhaps yur mother and I should discuss it first."

"Excellent idea, Seamus," Lillian said, dragging her husband by the arm outside.  "Katie, stir the food for our guest.  Michael, keep a sharp eye on him.  We'll be back."

Michael pulled up a chair and stared at the cage with a greedy smile.  "You're going to make me very rich little man."

"You know," the leprechaun said, with his hands on the bars, "yur family won't let you have anything.  Think.  I offer three wishes, and there's four of ya.  If you don't act, you'll get none."

"Then I'll ask for my wish now!"

"Uh-uh." The leprechaun wagged his finger.  "Only the one who catches me makes the wishes.  But you know what I'll do?  If you release me, I'll give you some gold for yur trouble."

Michael tried to remain calm.  "How do I know you're tellin' me the truth?"

The leprechaun solemnly held up his right hand.  "I promise that I'll give you my pot of gold if you'll help me escape."  He snapped his fingers, and three gold coins appeared in his hands.  "This is a sample of what you get."

Michael eagerly reached for them.

"No!"  He pulled the coins away.  "Release me first."

Michael looked at his sister, who was busy at the fire, and opened up the cage.  "Here, in my pocket," he whispered.

The little man jumped in.  Michael crept out a window on the opposite side of the house and ran out to the field as the leprechaun had instructed him to go.  "That way," he pointed, "my gold is buried beyond that boulder."

"Here?" Michael asked as he knelt down in the dirt.

"Yes, that be the place.  Let me down so I can help ya dig."

Michael helped the leprechaun out of his pocket and started digging at the ground.  "How far down do I have to dig, Mr. Leprechaun?"

Silence, for the little man had run away as soon as he was freed.

"Mr. Leprechaun?!!" he looked around.

Seamus was not surprised when he found out his son had released the leprechaun.  Such foolishness was typical from him.  Lillian hit her son with dish towel, screaming at how he could allow himself to be tricked by a leprechaun, when they were known for their deceit.  Katie cried at the table that she would never be beautiful.  As for the leprechaun, he laughed to himself as he imagined the family's reactions and danced a little jig as he disappeared into the grassy hills.

Day 74: Devotion Comments

This blog post is to make up for the one I missed on Monday, March 11.  I might share more of my devotion comments in the future, if you find them interesting.

Currently, I am reading the book of Acts.  In Acts 25, Paul is enduring the unfair accusations that the Jews have brought against him, just as Jesus had to patiently endure in front of the High Priest.  Verses 7 and 8 of Acts really struck me.

When he [Paul] had come, the Jews who had come down from Jerusalem stood about and laid many serious complaints against Paul, which they could not prove,  while he answered for himself, “Neither against the law of the Jews, nor against the temple, nor against Caesar have I offended in anything at all.”

It really irks me when someone says something incorrect or misinterprets what I say or think.  I want to speak up immediately and correct them, defend myself from their false opinions.  Yet Paul patiently takes all the blows.  It might not sit well with him that they slander him but does not let it show outwardly.  A couple chapters ago, he is even polite and civil when he stood before governor Felix to be judged.  Paul doesn't deserve to be subjected to that, but he still maintains his faith in God and the truth.  All the world can deny what he says, but Paul can rest assured because God is on his side.  The truth always prevails.  I just give Paul a lot of credit because I am not sure I could have that kind of composure.

Another thing, I relate to doubting Thomas more than I thought.  I like to think of myself as an optimist, someone who trusts in God and still believes in miracles.  Other times, I am cautious before jumping to conclusions, can be bluntly critical, and try to look at things realistically.  Normally, this means "bursting someone's bubble" or inadvertently hurting feelings.  I was in one of those later moods when my sister called me "doubting Thomasina."  I wasn't insulted, but it made me realize how quickly we can fall into that sort of attitude. Perhaps Thomas did not purposely disbelieve in Jesus rising but chose to be realistic.  He was protecting himself from getting his hopes dashed.  I suppose sometimes we have to put our hearts on the line, especially when it is concerning God or something important.  There might be pain, but God is there is to catch us.

Day 73: Memories & Memento

 I'm not sure what to write again today, so I'm sharing what I wrote earlier for school.  Hopefully you won't mind if I do this more.  I just don't want to write something that I don't feel passionate about.  I want these posts to be pleasant for us both.  :)

Anyways, in English class, we read a short story called "Memento Mori" by Jonathan Nolan then had to watch the film adaption by Christopher Nolan.  Here's some info about it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memento_%28film%29

I had to answer the response questions, and here are a couple.

A. How does memory (or lack of memory) impact are culpability or responsibility for our actions?

B. How does the loss of memory change the way time affects us?

A. If I do something wrong, I tend to relive that moment repeatedly.  By remembering what we do wrong, we are reliving the guilt and pain.  We are not allowing ourselves time to heal and move past our mistakes.  The more we relive the memory, the more it gets distorted.  Additionally, our emotions can manipulate the memories into casting more blame or innocence on us.  We deceive ourselves into thinking that we did something worse than what actually happened or that someone else hurt us more than he actually did.

B. We use memories to create a timeline of our lives.  We refer back to them when something happens in the present, and that helps us move forward in our lives.  With those memories gone, we can get stuck in an endless loop of the present, just as Earl did.  We lose part of our identity with those memories, so we also become no different from the people around us. 

Day 72: Inside a Bubble

This is just some random thing I thought of last minute to post.  I'm not sure what it's exactly describing.  Someone actually living in a bubble?  A nonbeliever?  Someone caught in a bad habit? Let me know your thoughts/ reactions.

I can see the world, but no one can touch me.  I can see everything crystal clear, but I can never feel it in my clutches.  I can hear noises all around me but no one can hear me cry.  I feel so alone.  No one understands me.  I'll never be able to run like all the other people can.  I try to go one way but I get bumped right back to where I begin.  I am stuck in this rut, this endless thought process of knowing I am doing the wrong thing but not knowing how to change.  Is this what a person living inside a bubble feels like?  They live but are not actually living.  They only think they are.  And here I am. Why can't I toss out this pride?  Why can't I just..believe?  But something's holding me back.  Something indescribable.  Perhaps it's fear or stubbornness.  Maybe I'll try again another day.